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[fumifooms]

Kabru party analysis - Trust, and codependence vs emotional unavailability

I flip flopped on calling this a masterpost a lot, but looking back, yeah. While I do compile every fact I can about the party and its characters a significant part of this is interpretation, extrapolation and speculation enough that it's an analysis more than compilation at this point. Feel free to skim, skip around, whatever makes the experience more enjoyable and useful. I’ll also try and compile parallels they have with their Laios party counterpart, since them being foils and ‘shadow version’ of sorts to our main party is a big part of their fun fact meta, I am however most interested in analyzing them as their own characters- and as a whole together as an entity & narrative device. I did end up getting into narrative and thematic analysis for the main story... Mostly the Kabru & conclusion segments though.

But ultimately the goal of this post is mostly to analyze their relationships with each other because I think that’s the messy interesting part of their group, beyond just being a kabru party facts list.

Table of contents:

Kabru + party timeline

Rin

Holm

Daya

Mickbell

Kuro

Relationships and overall dynamic

Do they matter at all to the story?

For easy finding if anyone wants to do a focused reread, the main chapters featuring the Kabru party are 10, 15, 31 and 32, and then with chapter 45 everyone but Kabru (and Rin) stops appearing until the final battle.

Kabru of Utaya & his party

What to say about Kabru that hasn’t already been said, how to summarize him as perfectly and concisely as possible… I don’t think I can reasonably do him full justice here! This is an analysis about his party and not just him so I don’t want to spend forever here. Unlike every other character in his party Kabru is a main character of Dungeon Meshi so plenty of analyses around, meanwhile information can be hard to find and string together for the rest of them or the party as a whole. This isn’t a deep dive on Kabru but a summary, I’ll go over his timeline, goals and general attitude.

This'll be critical for later, but notice here that this means Kabru's party formed 2 years before the story happens. We get no indication of whether or not party members have changed much or little over those years, even if the party overall seems somewhat incompetent. Kabru's profile says that despite his skills, his lack of experience makes him a mediocre party leader and we do have that inexperience with monsters and dungeons, from what we see in canon. It's partly due to his foster mother training him intensively in combat against humans but seemingly not monsters or dungeon survivals, and partly from what we see with canon's framig because Kabru has no interest in monsters- You know and understand what you love better than what you hate, so Kabru is good at fighting humans and Laios is good at fighting monsters. The party does have rather good chemistry in action, with Kabru orchestrating everyone with commands, but they still end up being defeated as often as not, and despite Mickbell's warnings Kabru pushes to go to a dungeon floor lower than he thinks they can handle with their current ressources, for example. Laios' party at the start of canon were broke, but it's only because their money got lost in the dungeon and (chap 28) the bank would take too long to get their tokens back & take money out to save Falin- meanwhile Mickbell talks about being in the red just because of their current unfruitful dive, meaning they aren't as successful and have tighter finances overall. We see the party hanging out in taverns off-work (though not unlike Laios' very occasionally does as well) and things like Kabru meeting Dia's fiance and the party visiting Kabru's room, so they mayy be paralelling how it's said Laios' party hung out very little outside of work? They don't seem much closer for it, though.

One other thing to note is that Utaya is not necessarily his birthplace/hometown? The details are unclear, the adventurer's Bible does refer to it as his birthplace twice, but it's also mentioned several times that his mother was "chasen out", even in the original japanese. It sounds like leaving a town to me, but it could be that they were only driven out to their house and moved to a different part of town...? Either way, his mother was "chased out of home" after he was born beause of his blue eyes. Of course, Utaya is where the dungeon overflow tragedy happened when he was 6-7 years old, so it's the town Kabru and his mom were living in, one way or another. It's also mentioned kobolds lived near Utaya, explaining him speaking some kobold, which kobolds also implies the region had conflict beyond the dungeon overflow considering what Kabru says about kobolds in the kobold page.

Her mom having been "chased out of home" over him and then working hard as a single mother to support both him and herself is likely to have made him feel like a burden, which may have influenced his selflessness: the way he's hardworking, the way he neglects himself, the way he keeps others at arm's lenght (maybe thinking getting closer to him would do them no good)*, the way he can be very quiet and a great listener, gauging others' needs- the same way he was his mom's venting outlet when very young whenever she got drunk. *I explore this possibility more in this kabrin brainstorm post. The insecurity of being an incubus/monster, especially with how Kabru did see people transforming into monsters in Utaya- A very interesting recurring angle for him.

Let's be clear, as Kabru shows again and again his goal was 1) to pierce the mysteries of the dungeon, and 2) ensure that if anyone defeats the current dungeon lord that they won't accelerate the process of the dungeon overflowing or use the power for evil, essentially that the dungeon's power won't fall into the wrong hands, which includes him thinking the canaries shouldn't get the final say in how to handle it all. His goal/plan of becoming dungeon lord himself was to take care of both of these in one go.

He's been at this for years and he's seen a lot of things firsthand when he was 6, so already when he first confronts the canaries at the Island governor's he explains the stages of degradation of a dungeon quite well, he has his own theories that turn out accurate, but he's made them while being barred from most information on dungeons, which the elven monarchy controls access to. Goal 2 is always the main point, but goal 1 is important in order to be able to do it efficiently. Once this, goal 1, is achieved and Kabru learns about the demon through Mithrun, he becomes solely focused on goal 2 again (whereas the On Floor 1 chapters ended with him breaking alliance wth the canaries to demand answer) to ensure the demon stays under control and to stop the current (and possible next) dungeon lord. And then, well, the meeting at Thistle's house happens. Defeating the dungeon then at the beginning of canon was half-cover, a simple unsuspicious way to present his goals, half-goal 1 which would also take care of goal 2 by Kabru himself becoming the dungeon lord, as said. The canaries show up so he indulges in goal 1 while carefully teetering on being an obstacle to the canaries and helping them, and then it's right back to goal 2 with renewed determination together after he and Mithrun fall down into the dungeon and Mithrun spills everything. He doesn't trust Laios as dungeon lord, but he also doesn't trust the elves having the sole duty of managing dungeons.

It becomes this sort of tug of war of distrust, of who does he trust less to ally against, who does he trust more to ally with, which side to take once it's clear his own side isn't viable alone- he ends up somewhat playing double agent covertly through the story, but ultimately he ends up more or less trusting everyone and playing double agent openly with the final battle, quote unquote having faith in humanity & others, which he'd been cynical about for so long, finding red flags in everyone. But yes yes backing up again, he came to trust Mithrun during the six days in the dungeon together, but not the rest of the canaries and when they meet up again he's still on bad terms with them, we see it at Thistle's house where he tried obfuscating Laios' party's secret and pinned Mithrun to keep him from chasing after them, preferring for the ball to be in their court and for Mithrun not to go kamikaze mode.

His interest in Laios also extended to Falin, their party was quite capable and was more or less next in line to beat the dungeon, but since she died and Laios went into it on a shocking desperate mission, Laios becomes a focus of his as they make very quick progress. No one dungeon diving ever went beyond the big doors guarded by the gargoyles, but Laios' party passes through them just a little after Kabru and Mithrun team up.

All these deeper thoughts were largely unknown to his party members before the story.

He’s secretive and often cold with his party. Even Rin, presumably the closest friend he has, the one who’s devoting herself to specifically following and helping him (while the others also seem to admire him and partly follow him to put him on the dunlord throne, they have their own reasons too), is left in the dark with an arm of distance kept between them. Kabru first reveals he's been keeping an eye on the Touden's party during the sea serpent 2 chapter for example, and goes into it a little more during the Toshiro-Laios parties meetup chapters.

Although, it might be more appropriate to say that rather the party members aren't really listening. Kabru spoke about his goal to keep the toudens away from the dungeon lord title here, has a whole speech about influence and power falling into the wrong hands, and their reaction is "we know, only you is fit to be dungeon lord!" when that's never been the actual core of the matter, the point. It was the red herring being set up yes, that that was only what kabru wanted, but ultimately looking back he's always had that guardian type motivation more than leader, being a judge and executioner more than a king on a throne, he wants to support what's good and dismantle what's bad, so it suits him to have become a politician in the end instead of the ultimate chief. That also goes into his arc- him learning that sharing duties and goals is good, that he doesn't have to do everything alone and fully trusting others when teaming up can be beneficial, that he alone doesn't have to be the sole voice, that his shouldn't be the sole choice to be made about matters or courses of action. So going back to the topic- another instance of his explanations being dismissed is in this convo with Rin above- Again he talks about dungeons and reveals hints about his true goals, yet after all of this Rin literally only goes "hmm" and silence falls, and then she says she's hungry. Wether she was contemplative or uninterested, the change of topic is rather quick and unceremonious. And this is the person who'd know best about his motivations too, knowing his past well.

And maybe this phenomenon is also why he gets peeved at Rin here and silently chides her. In a "she should know how to think this through by now, she should've taken a second to observe and remember how we do things, she should think deeper about the true important matters" way etc etc. What are we doing this for, what do you take me for? This kind of righteousness is detrimental rather than helpful and strategic, Rin.

I place both Laios and Mithrun to be very important to Kabru's character and arc, and with Mithrun a significant part of the puzzle imo must have been that Mithrun listened, easily understood. Mithrun understood the gravity and danger of dungeons, was even similarly a victim of one. Where everyone else shallowly misunderstands or dimisses what he says about dungeons and his goals, they're very understandable and familiar to Mithrun, and such bumps don't happen with him. Mithrun isn't playing the social game the same way as others, he just dishes out whatever blunt straight to the bottom of the matter points, he skips the social dance Kabru often gets so hang up on, in a way that helps kabru communicate with him honestly rather than hinder, especially since Mithrun is still quite good at reading between lines. This could be a good part of why they take to each other rather quickly and team up, each other's rationale and plans feel intuitive to the other and they find someone else traumatized by the dungeon, someone who understands, understands not only what he's talking about but also what must be done, the ruthlessness needed. And Laios comes to ultimately balance this out, not invalidating their wants and needs but showing there are other ways to proceed, other people to trust, even when they don't intuitively understand them.

And on that note I want to talk about Kabru and laios' confrontation. I've already said that his "Laios obsession" is about his dungeon goals and that's very straightforward, and it only got to this point because Laios previously dodged his every attempt at closeup info gathering and still now he can't get a read or grip on him. BUT while some think Kabru's "I just wanted to be friends with you" is just a bullshit he made up on the spot complete lie, I don't think so. We see Kabru cycle through some explanations, angles and speeches he has like scripts, like one of them on the second page is close to this. And we know they're like scripts because that's what he said and how he spoke with his party, the backstory talk, the framing, it's all how he presented it to others as well. But he knows none will work on laios, Laios pushes him like Mithrun to go offscript, to find new approaches and communicate in ways that are more vulnerable and uncomfortable. And Kabru has trouble finding that angle that'll work with Laios, because he doesn't know Laios well enough, and that's what he wants, too, it feels so frustrating and vulnerable not understanding him. As his desperation mounts it sort of just slips out- I wanted to be friends with you. Childish, simple, inappropriate for the grave context and very embarrassing. And he immediately freezes and backpedals- BUT Laios endlessly dunks on the very idea that it could be true and that sets kabru off- after which he unloads a more personal perspective of how it was like chasing after him. And I think that's what it is, it's not a lie but it's a bit of an oversimplification- Not the full reason, but a part of it. Kabru wanted them to get to know each other better and get along, for him not to have to kill Laios, a want he still clings onto even when stakes are rising. He says it all himself here, explains his statement after Laios all but laughs in his face in disbelief. I think this scene and the slip-up shows that Kabru does have a desire for connection, that even when he's all calculating and manipulative with his business mode on, there's that desire under it all. And with Laios, well, what better excuse is there to be interested in someone that so conveniently is at the center of his plans and goals for the dungeon? Meeting practicality and genuine interest makes for this- I don't think that's unique to Laios perse, I do think Kabru is interested in people in general like he himself puts it in contrast with the touden siblings who don't, but with Laios the difference is the utter onesidedness of it, the brick wall of social cues he doesn't know how to approach but both needs and wants to. Repressing a desire for social connections, being bound by it despite wanting to not need them, is a common theme in Dungeon Meshi! And I think this fits into that. It's in the grabbing of Laios' arm too. Yes it's from despair, from the situation and from not being heard out, but that despair hides a desire, and it's a desire both to fix everything and to be seen and heard finally. And you could theorize it's his time with Mithrun that made him help realize here that yes there's some truth to wanting to be friends with Laios, and learn to seize the opportunity, to chase it not just through mind games but also try honesty, bluntness...

His arc with Laios (and with Mithrun) is a lot about teaming up imo, his party disappears and accomplished little because he never fully opened up to them, but when push came to shove and he was thrown into teaming up with someone (Mithrun) unfamiliar with no pretenses possible in an urgent situation he slowly gained trust for him, he learns that trust can be valuable even through the risk, enough that by the time he has to make his ultimate choice of going against Laios and even killing, vs helping him and letting him do his own plan, conflicted as he is Kabru still chooses to defend Laios from Lycion and have some faith- and this despite having his own opinion dismissed by Laios in the scene we just looked at. He is putting faith in Laios to have the weight of that world he was carrying alone for years put into someone else's hands, upon their choices, despite it meaning everything to him. Dungeon Meshi is a loooot about community and unity, about reaching each other halfway to have understanding and accomplish things together, better, and Kabru's arc very much is about that whole thing. Laios decides to go with his own gut instead of agreeing with Kabru's pleading, and there's much to say about that, but ultimately I see it as Kabru being forced to reckon with having to put full trust in another person's judgement yes, terrifying and risky, but sometimes it'll pay off. Seeking to understand each other earnestly IS good, and it's only after all pretenses are out the window that things start to look up, compromise shows willingness to do that.

So like. Mithrun's half of kabru's storyline is about being understood, getting some of that social connecting need he's been neglecting and showing how genuineness pays off, meanwhile Laios' half is about understanding others, seeing the flaws in how he approaches others. How do you expect people to understand you if you aren't earnest with them, Laios asks? Lycion hammers it home too, being the one to expose Kabru having been fake with Laios and trying being very blunt and direct with Laios. With Mithrun he learns to socialize without playing 4d mind chess again, it's easy with him befause he's so uninterested in respecting social conventions anymore and is so blunt and honest, and with Laios he learns to apply that. Mithrun is his parallel and Laios is his contrast.

Okay this was the story arc bit now getting back to a character analysis focus. Kabru is interested in anthropology in general, with a genuine interest in learning about people and languages & helping people at large. He's concerned with the greater good and "preventing Utaya from happening again", not because he himself doesn't feel safe but because he wants to prevent tragedies in the world, tragedies that affect others the way he's been before. Kabru is individualistic in the sense that he takes everything upon himself, doesn't readily trust others with decisions, but he's also incredibly selfless. He's dedicating his life to investigating dungeons and stopping their meltdowns, thinking someone else than the elves must get involved, he has personal reasons to be motivated to stop the demon but unlike Mithrun it's not out of revenge but out of a concern for others' wellbeing, while Mithrun's motivations are stuck in the past Kabru's are in the future's. In his determined pursuit of his goals he neglects his own needs and wellbeing- Due to his upbringing with the sheltering Milsiril, Kabru has a hard time even doing basic care tasks like cleaning and cooking, if it wasn't for his landlord doing the cleaning of his rented room for him it'd be very messy, bottles laying around because he drinks alcohol to help with insomnia regularly for one. Dungeon diving isn't all that profitable, especially being Kabru's party, and it's unsafe, and it's uncomfortable, and not exactly well seen- He's not enriching himself either in wealth or status, and yet Kabru his spending his every day and every ressource researching about dungeon diving parties on the Island to keep an eye out for possible future dungeon lords, making influential connections like the shadow governor, and of course dungeon diving itself. He even puts it himself, that he'd rather die in a dungeon in pain than stay at Milsiril's, and it's very important to remember that unlike Laios Kabru hates dungeons- He loathes monsters, is terrified of them and the threat the dungeons make, and doesn't even seem to have true curiosity or interest for dungeons' workings beyond how to stop them from causing harm- his dedication to dungeon diving is solely in relation to his mission. While I'm sure he does find some interactions fulfilling here and there, he also keeps himself from connecting with others, treating relationships either as tools (like drinking is to him) or situations to people please and focus on helping fix their issues like with Dia's fiance, sinking a lot of time into it and not opening up himself, gaining nothing from it except maybe some loyalty and reputation, a sense of satisfaction and a sense of having done a good thing.

The end very much justifies the means with him. He's one of the more politically conscious and few greater good caring people of the cast but he's not without bias, his talking about kobolds for one... more on that in the kabru & Kuro section. He's not blinded by ideas of good and evil since he has no problems with greyer areas if the ultimate result is good- but he can be blinded by laser focus somewhat. His fear over Laios- while clearly not unfounded since kui herself stated that at the beginning of serialization she really thought Laios would become a demon king as dungeon lord in the end- makes him take rash decisions, where if it wasn't for people reviving and saving his party again and again and again, Kabru would never have even met Laios. See, again the theme that he can't achieve his goals alone even if he tries. He doesn't want to share burdens and plans, refuses help sometimes, but he does rely on it like everyone else, and ultimately I think that's what his arc is about like we covered- from being so distant with his party to opening up with mithrun and ultimately, in his kill Laios vs trust Laios dilemma he picked trust.

I do think growing up with Milsiril shaped him into who he became a lot, not only because he had access to knowledge with her ressources and her teaching yes, but most importantly imo he learned to manage an emotionally needy adult. It's mentioned his dead mother would sometimes vent to him when drunk, and it's different but similar to Milsiril being a sensitive recluse hermit who jumps from tears to anger in the blink of an eye, with emotional manipulation whether intentional or not, guilt tripping for even small things like which home cuisine he picks to talk about. Kabru grew used to having to anticipate and pacify or counter Milsiril's moods, to push through the wails and downright threats to be able to make a point and be heard like when saying he wishes to go into dungeons, and she seems to overburden her kids with the task of managing her emotional stability like I implied. She doesn't have friends except literally maybe just Helki her employee, she likes dolls and interacting with her kids and that's all that we see, so she seems emotionally dependent on her kids and esp Kabru imo. So like with how he operates in the present, he learned to "manipulate for good", what words tend to set people off, what ways to phrase things make pills easier to swallow, what face is most pleasing and soothing, what gestures are too much and what gestures are too little. Daily life and ineracting at home with his foster family became a visual novel with right and wrong answers and for smooth days he needs to be a good kid. Milsiril & Kabru is a topic for another day but I do have a lot to say. I do want it to be kept in mind here that Kabru's opinion that it's impossible for elves to see eye to eye with shortlived races is explicitly linked to his experience with Milsiril, as written in his Adventurer's bible pages. This coming up is definitelyyy a headcanon though but since [Helki is the only friend adjacent relationship we know milsiril has] and their relationship is master & servant there's grounds to theorize about how much kabru interacted with him too- how much Kabru saw Milsiril and Helki interact, his only father adjacent figure you could even say... As @room-surprise puts it, growing up in that house watching Milsiril and Helki and himself he learned that life is not to eat or be eaten but instead "to use or be used". Having grown elsewhere than the rigid elven kingdom first, that place with its tons of social etiquette rules and hierarchy, helped him be more critical of that society even as he observed how it worked and how he could work it, his original home may have not been much more welcoming, but sometimes difference is all that's needed to start comparing and realizing how systems are built, and not innate or unchangeable. I think being thrown into it rather than born into it shaped how Kabru perceived it. Psychology also helped him deal with his own trauma imo- in the incubus & parasitic bee comic it seems rationalizing the people from his hometown's superstitions helps him make his peace about it, makes it feel less personal, more distant- it's not my great aunt thinking I ruined my mom's life by being born, it's the human instinct and phenomenon of people being scared of what they don't understand, like a child with pale blue eyes. People being scared by what they don't understand, hm, it really always goes back to this in Dungeon Meshi doesn't it.

I think it's needless to say at this point but it's obvious Kabru is a character very affected by trauma. Faced with monsters, which've ravaged his home in the blink of an eye, he shakes and hesitates. He gets flashbacks when thinking about eating monsters. Wild topic swing but believe it or not there's a recurring "is it ptsd or autism" debate that often happens with characters, including L from Death Note for example, and Kabru has had this phenomenon in a niche of the fandom too. As one myself I do heavily relate to Kabru in the lens of him being an overachiever masked autistic, who unconsciously was drawn to learning psychology out of a need to do so and used to approach social interactions as a more scripted and logical affair than intuitive, and that was in part due to trauma yes- but autism and social-based trauma that pushed you to overcompensate and overachieve is, well... There's a causal link there yes, and it's a tendency that does happen with autism, especially in its afab presentation. And Kabru having ptsd is pretty much undeniable, so then, both? Personally I would claim kabru suffered not only the trauma of Utaya being destroyed but also social trauma living through being feared and hated by villagers and then taken in by elves and being constantly talked over- again different but similar to Rin's own experience and trauma. Truth is Kabru not being autistic doesn't change all that much from the "Laios caught his eye because he doesn't mask well and Kabru has to teach him about it he has to tell him that's illegal and look out for him" magnetism theory because that's also what ptsd does, someone with ptsd depending on the trauma also can become very scripted and nervous about skirting from it. Autism just gives it a more personal lens, where it's not only trauma but just who you are, always feeling a bit apart from everyone else in a fundamental way. In the end what autism and ptsd share in situations like this is that they treat social situations like a survival game, no fun included. This isn't the kabru is autistic analysis that's another topic plus many exist already I bet, but yes just know that these are common and coherent readings that can give a good lens for his behavior or obsessive tendencies.

Last tangent last tangent- but words are Kabru's main weapon right, knowledge is Kabru's main warfare method. Being in a society and with a parental guardian who doesn't put weight into your opinions and wants, speaking and being listened to is hard, and Kabru learned to play the game and dance the dance until he could make connections anywhere. It's of course relevant with how he dealt with Misilril and just how he continues to approach problems and matters now too, it's a way to be, a defense mechanism too, again like Rin's. It's interesting to note that it's Milsiril who taught him a lot, which he mentions is what he's grateful for her for most, teaching him and training him- and isn't that very in line with how Milsiril also felt spoken over and rejected by elven society as well, how she despises elven society even. Almost as if knowledge is a tool when you're devalued and pushed down in a society- Something that was important for Milsiril to teavh to him, which also fits nicely in with Kabru teaching Kuro the common tongue later on too. Milsiril's approach to the game of hierarchy was to keep her head down and obey orders until she could retire living rich as a hermit and foster parent, though, and that's emblematic of where they differ too- Kabru wants to be proactive, do more prevention with dungeons to have less damage control to do, even if you have to throw yourself into danger, even if you have to seek it out, so he makes connections and builds influence and goes dungeon diving. Milsiril wants to go away from trouble, leave to be safer, avoid danger, in life like in work, so she decides to live away from wider society to deal with her trauma and social anxiety, and so she retires and doesn't understand why Kabru would ever want to go near a dungeon again. Words are Kabru's main weapon but ultimately he drops arms and shed this attitude for open communication instead... 😌

I've started doing more analyses with enneagrams, I'll link back here when I make my first enneagram character analysis feature with Laios but in the meantime, sorry if you know nothing about it... If I had to call one for Kabru right now, 5w6/6w5 and 163 for tritype? Which would somewhat complement my reading of Laios as a 4w5 478, being his contrary in the action center 1 vs 8 which is the center that dictates how you judge/approach others/interactions, and the order being that the socialization center is the facet that's most important to Kabru vs what's least important to Laios. Inversely what's most important to Laios and least important to Kabru is the heart center aka how you judge yourself, your relationship with your own self-importance, Laios is very concerned with his own identity and interests and flees oppressive places that make him need to conform too much meanwhile Kabru is to himself only a tool for his greater goal and is ready to sacrifice individuality and his own comfort for it. But hey why would Kabru be 6w5 but still have 1 has his most important type in his 163 tritype? Well 6 is the desire for stability, security, and 1 is the high strict standard & concern for what's right vs wrong. I would consider 6 as his more important type because it's that desire that shaped his 1 importance given to morality, justice, good on a wider scale, etc, especially as someone marginalized where moral policies naturally benefit more people, often especially those devalued ykwim? Bettering the country with policies is right and also benefits him, he thinks everyone should have stability and safety, that it's the most important thing for everyone, but it presents as a 1 way to deal with that issue.

I think an important recurrent theme you can notice here too is onesided and unbalanced relationships. Kabru had the role of significant emotional support to both parental figures he had in his life, when as a child you're the one supposed to emotionally unload and the parents are supposed to take on them and manage the both of you, and it's made him be stuck into that mode sort of by default, letting others open themselves to you as much as they want but not opening up in turn, being more detached and unemotional- and of course, that's what's needed when you need to fix things, when you have to make sure everything is taken care of. It's the approach he takes both for his life and for relationships, so he shuts out his own emotions and pushes himself for others and for the world. He likes knowing, but not being known, because that's not supposed to be his role or purpose. He knows how burdening that can be. It does make the reversal of Laios being interested in Laios actively and Laios being uninterested in Kabru himself interesting. I don't know Kabru knows himself all that well, it's always about others so he doesn't take nearly as much time pondering his own wants, I think that plays into the "I wanted to be friends" too. It's how he's so able to get Dia's fiance to emotionally unload on him and vent over a couple hours and so at ease with it- he's used to it. Ah and even with Rin! He was specifically asked to befriend Rin as a kid, a very heavily traumatized girl- he was asked this because he's a shortlived race kid like her and nice, was asked this by his foster mother for the canaries' sake- he was literally put into that emotional support situation there too.

I am not mentioning every parallel & contrast he has with Laios I don't wanna be here all day!! But hey where Kabru had his town ravaged by monsters as a child and has always holds importance for having community, Laios fantasized about monsters tavaged his town because he hated his community, for one. In this precise scenario, Laios saw flaws and he immediately wanted to give up on that community, meanwhile Kabru saw flaws and wanted to fix them- Well, mostly, since Kabru did give up on relations with elves for a good while, and both end up amending those beliefs and seeking to make a better society within the golden kingdom together.

Here is my very quickest Kabru analysis apparently 😭😭 I NEED to get dragged offstage this can't go on- Idk man I still haven't gotten THE ANGLE with Kabru's narrative in the story I still can't see one thread that makes everything seamlessly connect together like it usually happens with Dunmeshi for me, but there's so much going on here about typical dunmeshi themes like authenticity, balancing considering others & your own needs and connecting...... But my biggest impression after my first read that still lingers now is that Kabru was in good part there to embody that people are a tapestry and that we're like an ecosystem, you can't carry the weight of the world alone because you are not alone and humans are creatures that accomplish feats through being social, like how Kabru couldn't have defeated the monster without Laios' help, Laios couldn't have gotten this far without Kabru's interference. Again it's all comes to that final battle where everyone, different as they may be, come together to fight on the same side, to save their collective world... And the guy everyone believed in least being the one on who all hope and faith and trust is placed in the last desperate shot at winning. Idk man!!! What are we doing here go touch grass breathe in the breeze hug your loved ones what a joy it is to be alive and human!! Take example on Kabru and love yourself. Because you're human and he loves humans I mean- don't actually take notes on self-love from Kabru that would not go well I feel. But yeah like to me Kabru's party gives me a nudge of what direction I should go in to figure out what his portion of the story is getting at, the importance of Kabru's party then becomes showing the state of his relationships at the start of the story before things get shaken up, as contrast and a reference point...

Rinsha Fana

OKAYYY here we are. Not everything is about you Kabru! <- said with Rin's voice (it really truly actually is lol)

I've already done an incomplete analysis of her here, please look at it for Rin pictures & material, but basically her sour and strict attitude seems to be a defense mechanism she can't fully control, like how she tends to frown when she wants to smile. Kabru's words about it are somewhat dubious to be sure, we don't have a guidebook on "when is Rin truly angry and when is she just smiling upside down :) ", but it is notable that Kabru does have a point with that, from what we see.

Her nagging attitude is part of that defense mechanism- As explicitly stated several times, her main purpose in following Kabru is that she's worried he'd get himself into trouble without her. Not unjustified, since he has trouble even cleaning and eating well, and then he gets all wrapped up with the canaries during canon, but yes according to Rin he's too smart and reckless for his own good. This may be why he sees her as a big sister figure, she nitpicks every little thing but at the end of the day her support is unconditional and she'll stand with you whenever you need her. Sort of like a big sister, she gives tough love but ultimately just wants you to be healthy and to take your pain away.

She had a very difficult upbringing, seen as a heretic to burn at the stake in her early childhood then treated like an animal when growing up with the elves. Her parents had an unaligned religion and its practices are tied to how she learned magic, which is why her family was reported to the canaries as dark magic users, but not in time for them to arrive before the townspeople killed her parents. Where with the elves Kabru learned to people please in order to gain more agency and safety when he grew up seen as a pet, Rin learned to be irreproachable and stand her ground when she grew up treated as an animal. The townspeople in Kabru's hometown sought to break up his home and chase out his family, and they may have threatened heavily for all that we know, but Kabru was able to keep his love for humans and belief that humanity is good, the trauma he has is of monsters killing people during the dungeon overflow- Rin's trauma is townspeople burning her house down and lynching her family until she was the only survivor. She sees others as a threat, and not without reason.

Both Rin and Kabru wear masks socially. They go in opposite ways though, Rin oversells her toughness to tell people not to mess with her, she makes herself closed off and intimidating, meanwhile Kabru is more of a chameleon but mainly, he makes himself seem open and appeasing, unthreatening to be trusted and liked more.

She was sent into shock and suffered through severe trauma especially since the people who collected her amidst all this, the canaries, are very ill equipped to deal with emotionally/mentally fragile people, especially shortlived race kids. Because of this whole situation she has some contempt for those who had it "easier", like mages who went to magic school instead of having to self-teach like Rin did. And some of this is disdain that where she had to study everything on her own others have teachers to guide them through it all, a sense of superiority, but imo it's also doubtlessly a defense mechanism, an anti magic-elitism where she sneers at them before they can sneer at her. Before they can call her uncultured, she calls them talentless. Counter before they can even strike. Defense mechanism. In the main story, we hear of this tension Rin has about academy mages with how she speaks of Marcille and her spells- specifically she's rude about Marcille's protection charm/ward and says something about how the one who did it was definitely an academy mage because the spell is too by the book in chapter 32- and this is what I mean, she takes issue with how strict about rules and spells they are, how much they conform, because her own background is being severely mistreated and sotracized for being an unaligned unconventional mage, for doing magic outside of these rules and books. Interestingly, we also see in chapter 10 though that she looks down on people she sees as not successful or capable, saying that they'll definitely defeat the mad mage and "we won't be hand-to-mouth adventurers like you people", perhaps from trauma too- wishing to put a distance between the group she'd normally be categorized with and who she wants to become, or having felt mocked by the guy who talked to them before by having been related to them, because she's so on guard and bad faith always. We don't really know the details of Rin's time with the elves, escept that she was "minded like an animal". We don't even know where she stayed, even, just that Milsiril couldn't take her in because her house was already full. Where did she stay, then? Some shitty orphanage? I like to think she stayed with the canaries as "an impounded article" until she became an adult and left with Kabru, explaining even more her attitude since she'd have all the military influence, and further proving the point that any success she earns was self-made, that anything she knows she had to teach berself because her environment never gave her opportunities. But yes wherever it was, we can only assume that it was close enough to Milsiril's mansion or easily accessible, because Kabru and Rin continues seeing each other. It seems like at first, they would have made trips just in order to have Kabru befriend Rin until she could talk. They may have continued through letters eventully too if they couldn't meet. Hust a lot of uncertainty on every ground, all we know is Rin and Kabru became important to each other.

We actually know little of Rin and Kabru's pre-canon relationship, but we know that Rin was taken in by the elves some time after Kabru was, after her parents were killed by townsfolk and report them as black mages to the canaries, who arrived too late to be able to tell, so just took Rin in and...... Well we know very little of how she was treated, too, even where she was kept, just that Milsiril couldn't take her in and that they "minded her like an animal". We know that Kabru wanted and wants to "get her away from the elves somehow", something he doesn't say about the other kids living with Milsiril and explains his reason as being because Rin has bad experience with the elves, but it's unsure how Kabru left home and how Rin came to go with him. Because of that quote of his though it's likely he invited her along when he left, and she followed. But it's not confirmed, for all we know Kabru could have only invited her after 2 years after leaving when he founded his party. It's obvious Rin holds no love for living with the elves anyways, but we don't know how much freedom she had- it was hard for Kabru to be allowed to leave because he was coddled, notably only leaving 2 years after he reached in-world adulthood despite having first voiced his want to leave when he was a kid, but meanwhile I like to think Rin left very easily because no one cared, she was something that took up space and food where she wasn't wanted or needed, an obsolete "impounded article". She was catatonic when she was first taken in, but it's likely things were cleared up once she was able to talk that no, her family wasn't practicing black magic, and then the canaries just didn't know where to send her because she had no home or family anymore. But then, if she could leave whenever she wanted why wouldn't she have left earlier? Probably precisely because of Kabru too, because she didn't want to leave him. She loves him, and they're more or less the only friend each other had, so she couldn't just leave him behind and try to build a life without him, similarly to how he couldn't do that either. She stayed for Kabru and she left for Kabru.

I made another little post speculating more about her life with the elves and the possible impact of Flamela here if you're interested, as well as elaborating on her abandonment issues and the importance of Kabru to her.

Rin does seem to believe in Kabru's cause, in making him dugeon lord and that being important, but her main motivation is still pretty clearly that she's doing this for Kabru because it's Kabru. She doesn’t seem to really know why or what, just that it should be ‘someone who deserves it’ that beats the dungeon and becomes dungeon lord, and her first lines show her determined to prove everyone they can beat the dungeon. Like stated, her main motivation is she wants to make sure Kabru's safe and out of trouble, so hey why not put the "heretic" magic she learned to use and become his offense mage, why not use it to manage a feat so big and desired (defeating the dungeon) that everyone will have to admit she and her art are worthy of respect, to prove to everyone she can make it with her own skills and own unconventional knowledge. Her magic, the last remnant of her family. Her house burned down with everything she possessed, and she's said to have little attachment to her culture due to having been an immigrant on top of everything else, so the memories and knowledge they've taught her, the lessons they instilled in her and the person they tried to shape her to be, that's all that's left of them. She never speaks of them, at all, likely due to the whole heay childhood trauma thing, so we don't really know her feelings on well, everything, beyond that it was traumatic. We don't know what her relationship with her parents was like. She's a very closed off person. That's another contrast we can point out with Kabru, Rin flees her pre-canaries past and never brings up her family, has little attachment to places she's lived in or her culture, but Kabru is fixated on remembering, brings up his mother and culture whenever he can like in the halloween local sweets extra, has made the tragedy of Utaya at the center of his entire life mission. Rin and Kabru really are contrasts of each other in how they deal with trauma I think, whereas they both become very guarded in very different ways I think this highlights how simlar he may have felt with Mithrun, the both of them having become obsessed with their trauma and eradicating the cause of it which happened to be the same thing, having become workaholics and consumed over it.

She's in love with Kabru, but the way I see it it doesn't seem like she's particularly pursuing him romantically. I do think Kabru's occasional flirting with her gives her needless hope, but I don't think getting with him is either her goal in following him or her plan, I think she's content just following him to taking care of him selflessly, even when she knows he can be a womanizer and dishonest asshat, albeit she'll complain every step of the way yes. Again, unintentional big sister attitude.

Post-canon, she keeps in touch with Kabru and becomes a pharmacist, presumably living in Merini but there's no mention of the location, we just know she's kept touch because of a post-canon extra with Laios and Kabru. Her new profession supports that 1) Rin likes caring after others and 2) Rin never had an interest for anything about dungeon diving in itself. It's also ironic, since she was a offensive mage and didn't do healing.

Contrasts with Marcille, where to start... Marcille is optimist and rather open and Rin is pessimist and fully closed off, Marcille is social and smiles a lot and Rin is the reverse. Both of them have a caring mom friend attitude, but Marcille is more gentle and coddling about it whereas with Rin it's pure tough love, both of them do this to a often stifling degree (Falin, Izutsumi, Kabru). There's the contrast in their appearances too, and how Marcille dresses practically but Rin is more flashy, with an... Ambitious skirt cut? They're both elegant but in different ways, they're both very bold in fights, and stubborn and loud in their beliefs. Marcille was a more or less sheltered girl who learned magic in an academy while Rin learned on her own at the cost of blood and sweat. Both of them seem to have grown up in towns rather than cities, a more rural setting, since there were large fields and chickens roaming where Marcille lived and the little we see and know of Rin's town makes it seem closed on itself. They were presumably lonely growing up, Marcille had no peers because of her irregular aging and spent her time absorbed in novels, where Rin because of her family and culture/race was mistreated and avoided and it seems she spent a lot of her time focusing on learning things instead, perhaps paralleling novels with textbooks even in young age. Marcille lost one parent of natural causes and was traumatized by it to the point it became at the center of her life mission, and Rin lost both parents to murder and was traumatized by it to the point she avoids thinking and talking about it ever again. Both of them seek to learn, use and even create unconventional magic eyond the rules set by people. Both of them have cat energy, thank you for coming to my ted talk

Holm

Holm is actually rather mysterious. The biggest thing to notice here is that Holm has been to elven jail before, because his research was too close to dark magic. We have no idea of what his research was about at all, we have no details and little clear hints. He's a man of theorics though, it shows in how he talks about magic and spirits, and with his christmas gift exchange gift it shows how nurturing living things with magic really is something he enjoys and has interest in. It's not a lot to go off of, especially since we know canaries are trigger happy when it comes to dark magic, both arresting people who had minor brushes with it or that seem suspicious without any confirmed crime, and with elves exaggerating people's crimes so they become a canary for manpower. Who knows, maybe he is dungeon diving to try and subtly do research at the same time, but the way we get no hints of that and he just keeps working as a spirit user post-canon makes me think it's just work to him. He never mentions researching or seems to be studying something in the dungeon so it doesn’t sound like that was significant part of his reason for dungeon diving. So he had his run-in with authorities and decided to live more simply from thereon. But that could also just be because of the nature of dark/ancient magic and how it more or less poofed from the world after the demon left, too. With the truth revealed and ancient magic unavailable to channel anymore, research becomes less needed and viable. I doubt Kabru knows about his past. Again, much like Laios' party pre-canon, what got them together is work before anything else, with the added bonus of Kabru spinning an important narrative about conquering the dungeon to become dungeon lord.

His chill laidback, more passive and calm attitude makes him feel more vague and mysterious too, hard to get a good grip on, but he’s also the most mature and put together of the group. Very mellow. He's not quiet to the point of seeming asocial like Dia somewhat does, he just seems... Average, in the extra about his sister for example. And good at keeping secrets. His skeleton in the closest is the jail thing and that's that, seems like it put an end to his researching career and he’s now settled for being a spirits magic user as a job which brought him to dungeon dive. Nope sir prison isn't worth it I'm keeping myself into trouble from now on. What job can I do now though, my specialization is spirits arts... Dungeon diver, okay sure. It could be theorized that his usual attitude + his secret are a persona of sorts, where he keeps himself largely hidden and keeps people at an arm's distance. It's pointed out he freezes in the face of conflict- it shows he dislikes fighting, even being worried for the spirits he makes fight, and that makes me think even more that dungeon diving wouldn't have been his first choice. It could also be a good part of why he's so laidback and quiet then, passive. He dislikes conflict, so he avoids being in the spotlight also helpful skill to have when you've had run-ins with the law, and he has such the nice guy reputation that Mickbell doesn't think twice about crashing at his place in the middle of the night- and sure enough Holm lets him in and practically serves him. You could think him a doormat, but we see with the comic of him & his sister that he's very capable of being mad and agitated and go more on the offensive in a social situation, but yes he has that helpless -panics and wails while all his coworkers does things around him against his will- energy that's pretty sopping wet cat. He seems chill and cool but oh no he was actually the stressed overworked protagonist of a sitcom movie. My condolences for your life Holm. In general he's also a decently judgemental person, and although casually and often with a smile he has no problem "telling it like it is", calling out Mickbell's treatment of Kuro and talking about how Kabru can't clean for shit, how he'd "be willing to do anything to achieve his goals" and is too people pleasing, etc. He's confident in himself, and pretty set in his beliefs though we see him debate and compromise with Kabru.

His sister is the only personal relationship we see him have, but it's stated. She must live on the island too, considering Kabru visits her. The Island isn't exactly a place you're typically born in, so it's interesting to wonder what it means that both Holm and his sister would have moved there. Did their parents disown him after he got arrested over his research? There's nothing to say they did, but nothing that hints they didn't either, honestly, so Holm is a bit of a blank slate backstory wise as well. We know his religion's very important to him too though, and it affects his diet. His spirits are very dear to him and it's mentioned for example that he's raised his undine since basically the spirit equivalent of a baby, so it's implied he's been raising spirits for a long time. If his social life doesn't seem to be thriving, his spirits are definitely filling some of his social & connection needs as pets would. He does both healing and offense.

His contrast with the Laios party would be Falin since they're both healers lowkey doormats who notice the flaws in the people around them but don't act on them and prefer being passive and take upon themselves. They both love nature and were pushed by capitalism and rigid structures that prioritize conformity into work they aren't passionate about. The most important thing in Holm's life seems to be his spirits, and the most important thing in Falin's life are her loved ones, I'd say his enneagram is 592 while Falin's hmm, 926.

I ramble more about Holm in this kabuholm post and compile more of his moments, but it's more speculation than analysis, it's a take on him essentially. My personal verdict is- king of staying in his lane. He's here for work and he keeps his thoughts to himself to speak when it's necessary, he's not afraid of letting people have it outside of that though. The separation of professional and personal life is not going to great with his coworker occasionally imposing on his home lol. Reflecting his maturity, he lets others handle themselves and only steps in when he's needed. Hm, sounds like someone else doesn't it?

Daya

First things first: Daya or Dia? You'll probably have noticed I use Dia, and the reason is pretty simple: Daya/Dia is a nickname. Her official name is Diamond, but the shortening is always used instead- Diamond we have an official spelling for, the nickname we do not. Since it's in katakana (da-ya) and a fantasy world, translations call her Daya, but that's the same pronounciation as the "dia" in "diamond", and isn't it logical for her nickname to just be a shorter version of her actual name? We do know that Kui translates names to katakana being mindful of their pronounciation and not just spelling, like how Tims in Chilchuck tims is written as timzu. Yenpress the official english translator has messed up character names before and this even after official spellings came out, like Mikbell and Sissel, but notablyxthe anime english translation has also gone with Daya. But so, yes, I call her Dia, but of course there's no right or wrong here and by going against official translations I'm making things harder than they need to be. It's just...... Hard to unsee.......

Daya is very underrated for having such an interesting background! She was esentially raised in a cult? The "dungeon keepers". That protects dungeons, in that they keep people from going into it. She never knew why it was an important thing to do, and never questioned it, but as readers at the end of canon we now can imagine that they kept people from going into dungeons so that there would not be new dungeon lords and dungeons would not overflow. Ultimately, Dia fled her home and community because she refused the notion of marrying an older relative to have a child. There's a mistranslation from Yenpress that Namari is from the same tribe as Namari, when the original japanese sentence is just about how they're both from the same race- both dwarves.

No wonder with this background that she "has a slightly otherworldly air". She's very stonefaced and hard to read, but with the focus on duty and discipline she had growing up it's easy to see how she'd have become a somewhat emotionally constipated person in this way. She fell in love with someone of her choosing and is intent on marrying him, contrasting with the man she was ordered to marry back home. It's with a renewed interest in understanding what the life she'd spent so long upholding was about that she went back to work with dungeons as a dungeon diver, in her own words with the goal of understanding what they were protecting. In this way, it seems the marriage order was truly the thing that made everything snap and finally caused her to shake up her life, to look back and start questioning everything- and now she's free, she chooses what to do with herself and who to be with. It's said she loves her husband, and her husband seems very attached to her as well. Somewhat paralleling Chilchuck and his wife, we can imagine how nervewracking it must be to be the spouse of a dungeon diver, who faces death for a living. Dia is very independent and disaffected on top of it, so we see that her fiance feels insecure and even doubts she may cheat on him with Kabru. This insecurity is born from feeling like Dia doesn't need him- and so may leave him in the future. He feels neglected, and Dia probably doesn't show him love and how much he's valued in a way that he sees or satisfies him. That said, her fiance after a couple of cups and an hour with Kabru is shiwn to be very open and emotional, which would presumably complement her well. Dia seems unemotional but she does have her bouts of strong emoting, whether it be distrust, worry, frustration or even wonder- That said, she's not the greatest conversationalist around and I can definitely see her not really understanding how love, care affection and attention, is supposed to look like- Again, she grew up in an extreme social environment.

She's bold and fierce, confident, and notably very very strong. With training from a young age not only in discipline but in fighting she's a warrior born and raised. These are considered tomboyish traits, but I do like how Kabru and the adventurer's bible calls her a lady- she shows wonder at the treasure insects too! She's not disinterested in oretty things, or anything of the sort. We just have little window into her interests, since her life centers around work so much. She also calls out Mickbell for his mistreatment of Kuro, but also does nothing about it. She's quiet and is most often seen closing up the tail end of the psrty looking around for threats while they're on the move. She's quieter than Holm and also more standoffish. The queen of staying in her lane, if you ask me. We'll be talking more about it in the relationships section but you can already see this very interesting party dynamic forming of Rin and Mickbell having their nose all up in others' business while Dia and Holm are very permissive and quiet even while kabrin and mickuro look insane from an outside perspective. Who knows what normal looks like to Dia, though. She disliked Namari because her father made things rocky for dwarves on the Island for a while, so that can show how critical she can be and how her value of not sticking her neck out and staying put & not rocking the boat manifest/the why of it. Like in her home community we can imagine, you have a role in society and being overly disruptive can ruin things for everyone including yourself- even if the one who did the mistake was your parent the fault befalls on your whole family. Very strict hierarchy based outlook on society and community I think... It's interesting that despite of having been a victim of such behaviors herself, part of those faulty lessons stuck with her and she upholds much of the same fallacies.

All of this is very interesting foundation for a character, but yes not much else is developed on Dia and that's wher her story starts and ends- I'll make a diaholm post eventually that delves into her themes of freedom and emotional wallbricking but that's about it from me. I like to think that she likes her husband, but rushed into marriage- that going from a life where everything was structured and decided for her by others to having nothing but choice, from the prospect of marrying an old relative to anyone she chooses, she sort of picked the first guy she liked and made a move on her. Pure speculation, because I like exploring the side effects her upbringing would have had and this sort of detached attitude she has, with some typa off attachment style...

Fun facts: if the modern au christmas gift exchange extra is to be believed, Dia enjoys reading and has some books of her own. In a Daydream Hour she's drawn with Holm out of their work uniforms but she still has a sword at her hip, which may mean she carries a weapon with her even just around town. She has two younger siblings that she never mentions and we presume she left behind at home.

Mickbell Tomas

Okay okay okay now the true insanity may begin! Please refer to this post to see Mickbell's profile pages. Also see the bath comic for another great show of his character! I cannot make a mickbell collage for this there is no pic page umm ummmm additional compilation here.

Despite being an adult of 22 years old, even older than Kuro both literally and developmentally, Mickbell often acts rather juvenile. He tends to be very black and white, he wanted to steal the corpse retrievers��� stuff and was mad when Kabru didn’t allow it, he thinks Kuro talking to others will make Kuro leave him. He's judgemental (exhibit A: comic about Rin smiling) and critical (esp with Kabru). All means justify the end (him having fun, becoming rich) but if others do something wrong efficiency or annoying behavior wise you better believe he'll voice it. He’s very expressive, both in body language and words, swinging his arms as he walks and jumping and stomping the ground in anger. He also has a mischievous streak. He’s casual with touch, touchy feely if you will, and clings to Kuro a lot, both for safety and because he simply likes to. Cough cough separation anxiety and abandonment issues. He knows how to be serious however, especially when it comes to money or risky situations. He does his job well and does it conscientiously. In many ways he's similar to Fleki, if Fleki was more dedicated on the job. He may be very layered, and manipulative when he wants to be, but he seems to value in others the same type of directness that he has with emoting and interacting with others, as seen with his distaste for Rin being a tsundere. He's blunt and straightforward (whenever he isn't with Kuro or scamming), and in that way it seems those are values of his, which may be why he does usually gets along best with Rin, especially on the job.

He has loose ethics and likes to goof around but is otherwise often highstrung, reflecting Kabru's "relax a little" view of him. He's serious on the job- a contrast you can especially notice in the christmas exchange special. He had to steal and do scams to survive, again the christmas special shows he's good with money and making deals- mischievous and full of himself when he has to sell stuff and quick to flee when he smells trouble, but very focused when it comes to calculating costs and revenue.

Again, despite all his troublemaker toddler behavior Mickbell is surprisingly serious! It's still undeniable that he has capital i Issues, from being very uncaring about how others may see him and developing this "it's us vs the world" mentality with Kuro, to how emotional, exaggeratingly expressive and impulsive he is- in a way that lacks emotional regulation skills I'd even say, to what he says when something displeases him like "she'd be a lot cuter if she smiled more" about Rin after she doesn't laugh at his jokes... This all seems to point towards Mickbell having pretty bad emotional intelligence. You could even easily call him stunted. He doesn't seem very self-aware, his manipulation of Kuro is not something he can do solely unconsciously but it is genuinely debatable how much he knows he cares about Kuro, how much he's aware of what he feels & why, why he says what he says and does what he does. What would he do if you told him that trying to manipulate Kuro into thinking that everyone except Mickbell wants him in shackles and in pain and wanting to have a house and a nice domestic normal life with him is sort of mutually exclusive? I don't think he thinks about the wider picture like that, I think it'd cause some dissonance a bit. He thinks ahead when it comes to finance, but socially he seems to very much live in the moment, not really trying to anticipate how much others will appreciate his input or behavior or thinking about how he'll keep up the charade 2 years down the line. He wants to hustle his way out of being homeless, but in many ways he still has the mentality he had to have for running scams and surviving on the streets at his lowest, one day at a time, succeed this step so you can then succeed the next. In his mind he's constantly making charisma rolls on Kuro and he needs to not fail them.

Don't you worry Mickbell & Kuro is getting a whole section, buuut with Mickbell and Kuro both, character analysis is inseparable from analysis of the two's relationship. The ethics and circumstances of Mickbell working Kuro for peanuts are surprisingoy complex- because that is how Mickbell sees their dynamic, but Kuro sees it completely differently and assigns himself full agency in wanting to stay. Kuro obviously wants to follow Mickbell, and that’s what Mickbell takes advantage of unknowingly, what he thinks is Kuro’s helplessness. What I find much more alarming is Mickbell’s need to control not only Kuro's economical and social life but every aspect of his life. He’s not only overcontrolling, paranoid that someone will want to steal him away from him (both for Kuro’s sake but very transparently desperate to not allow Kuro to leave him as well- will get expanded on), but he also wants to isolate him. It’s no coincidence Kuro has no friends apart from Mickbell- the closest thing would be Kabru and even with him, communication can be difficult and Mickbell does interfere. It's not Mickbell's fault there is a language barrier, but it is Mickbell's fault that Kuro has amassed so few tools in navigating the world without Mickbell, but it is his fault that Kuro feels like he can't tell him he's learning common with Kabru, and it is Mickbell's canonical intent to render Kuro just that, powerless enough to need him- again I cannot overstate how it is straight up said and confirmed in the Adventurer's Bible that Mickbell mistreats Kuro the way he does because he's scared Kuro would/will leave him. Mickbell sees their relationship as employer-employee while Kuro sees it more as guardian & guy who needs to have one, but it is also said that Mickbell sees Kuro as family, and I do think that makes sense, and I do think it can't be overstated how on a deeper level it's Mickbell who needs Kuro, and that Kuro is Mickbell's absolute most important person in the world- his only person in the world, even, in many ways.

"Until he met Kuro, Mickbell was all alone in the world, so he seems to see him as family."

Mickbell is desperate for stable relationships, both seen with his clutch on Kuro and his wanting a house to settle in. Or I suppose, relationship singular, he seems very ride or die on the idea that Mickbell and Kuro are the only thing each other needs, he never seems to particularly try or want to befriend others, is a bit clammed up on himself. Distrustful, assumes bad faith, especially as we see with the half-foot union. Perhaps because he's never felt a sense of community where helping each other out of good will was a thing, survival made everything transactional living on the streets, so he has a hard time having good faith with organizations like unions, and this notion of relationships being transactional would have also shaped why he would frame his and kuro's relationship that way, as employer-employee. Not to say he doesn’t like socializing though, we see him work a room all self-satisfied and tell jokes in an extra comic, and he gets peeved when Rin doesn’t laugh at his jokes, he does like getting general social approval. As he isolates Kuro he also willingly isolates himself, and is ready to burn bridges or opportunities for him.

He's sleazy! Debate about egg or chicken all you want, but I think Mickbell running scams definitely shows in how manipulative he is in relationships as well. With the christmas gift exchange thing we see that he can do scams the straightforward way, selling an item to be much more than it us for an inflated price, but it is specifically said that Mickbell doesn't have half-foot pride the same way Chilchuck does and has no problem using his race to "curry favor", so I would think he's done the emotional manipulation kind of scamming as well, acting like a child in need or such. "If you can use something, you should" is stated to be his motto. Because in a life like his you don't have a lot, you seize the opportunities you get because it's a matter of survival and there's no ace up your sleeve dirty enough to justify not taking advantage of it. All this to say- Mickbell's most iconic scene is arguably his short interaction with Kuro here, and it's extremely blatant manipulation. The anime even ups this with the teary eyes and voice acting- the borderline tears followed by a grin shows just how conscious and intensive his manipulating really can get. Again there's a transactional lens he sees relationships through I think- and that plays into Mickbel scamifying his relationships up... Which in the end I do think he feels scummy over. Simply because, chaining someone to you like that is not something you do if you think you're lovable- if you're all that, if you're great and likable and worthy of unconditional love. That man can't believe in that, he can't believe in his life partner of many years choosing to stay if that didn't happen to be his only viable option. Mickbell lives in fear of being abandoned and it's in good part because the world has taught him he's not valuable on his own.

I think Mickbell lives in fear!! And I think that's deeply interesting. Makes sense for someone with such an harsh extreme upbringing as him to be hypervigilant, with food like with money the way he is with the party, he keeps grudges, both in his backstory extra comic and during canon. He lives in fear and distrust and all these little ways he knows toxmake himself feel more powerful than he is. And I think it's so, so interesting how when he finally accepted Kuro following him, inventing something about him becoming his bodyguard, it was because Mickbell just witnessed Kuro kill and maim a man and he was shaking, so afraid but also accustomed enough to violence and needing to bullshit his way through situations to tell Kuro things like "I'm your master" and for Kuro to just go along with it. Mickbell's is the art of faking it till you make it. Mickbell was afraid of Kuro then, and I do think Mickbell was scared of the idea of what this kobold man stranger could do if he decided that Mickbell wasn't his master after all, until his attachment grew and keeping the charade going was less out of a need for Kuro not to hurt him and more out of a need for Kuro not to leave him. So the fear of retribution because he did not know Kuro became a fear of abandonment when he did learn to know and love him- Kuro leaving him alone, the very thing he desired the firt time they met and Kuro followed him after Mickbell freed him. And this is why I made this web weaving about them this makes me ill good god. He lives in fear of being "found out" by Kuro in a way, for this scam of a relationship to be discovered so he only gets tangled up in his manipulation more and more to keep it going as the stakes keep rising and rising because Mickbell is only more invested with time- and he fears that Kuro would realize it one day but he also fears others will expose him, a big part of why he monitors what others say to Kuro, why he wants to be there whenever Kabru talks with him, why he's so scared at the slightest conversation had out of his hearing range. But! Part of it I'd say is also genuine fear that they could take advantage of Kuro, perhaps because due to his own taking advantage of Kuro and how readily the kobold accepts it Mickbell sees Kuro as a particularly vulnerable person, that he could get tricked by anyone, and let's remember that Mickbell met Kuro in a slave trader's cage- Mickbell's fear of others "taking Kuro away from him" is a double edged sword, it's 'them turning Kuro against Mickbell' but it's also what he always says about Kabru or others trying to 'kidnap' Kuro, what he says about how the half-foot guild wouldn't like his bond with Kuro and take him away from Mickbell. He's drunk his own koolaid in many ways. Separation anxiety and abandonment issues!!!!! Distrust at the world and feeling like he can never have nice things or be safe!!! And this plays suuuuuch a role in Mickbell's dream of having a house I think. Because a house is safe- a house means routine, means a place you can stay in and be protected by, is there a more emblematic symbol of stability and safety? In a house Mickbell is shielded from others' gaze and judgement, he's sheltered from the rain and he can keep food inside, he doesn't have to sleep with one eye open to not be attacked or have his things stolen through the night anymore, no there are four walls and it's warm and he and Kuro can live a peaceful life unbothered, away from the rest of the world that seeks them harm and wants them separated. Which hey that could parallel surprisingly deeply Chilchuck's feelings about a house actually, a house and family as something he has but that can be lost and destroyed- both in people leaving and in nightmares of home invasion.

But like Mickbell telling Kuro to stop snarling and growling because it's scary is such a good and fascinating example of this. How much of it is "it scares me" and how much of it is "you're damaging your own reputation, I'm scared of how people will react if you look too beastly and dangerous and what they might do to you- to us"? And this is especially true because Mickbell knows that kobolds are discriminated and how- for these years they've known each other Mickbell has been the one being the middleman between Kuro and the whole world- he's the one securing board and room for the both of them, noticing how people treat them and what they whisper about them, he's the one who gets told "this bathhouse doesn't allow kobolds" and he's the one who decides to leave and visit every bathhouse until they find one who does allow kobolds, becayse he's not taking a bath without Kuro. Mickbell is sticking with Kuro. They are ride or die for EACH OTHER not just oneway. Mickbell washes Kuro, he did that first time after they met each other and Kuro was a ghastly sight and very stinky, and he does now too, Mickbell patiently explains to Kuro how everything works, and when Kuro messes up something like getting Mickbell wet from shaking off water Mickbell gets mad but offers no punishment except chiding. In the bath comic, we see Mickbell spend HOURS brushing Kuro after his bath. There is immense care put into Kuro from Mickbell's end, as well.

"Now you're the cleanest dog in the whole wide world. No one can look down on you."

But hey, where did Mickbell learn "people leave"? That he’s unlovable and no one would stay for him? It’s a common fear that could be from anywhere honestly, whether insecurity alone or a very specific experience- but we do have trails we can follow... Mickbell lived in the slums of Kahka Brud, which he may have been birn in or interestingly enough since Kahka Brud is seen as a city of opportunities might have moved there. First of all, we have to wonder how he got into the streets in the first place. His relatives are listed as "unknown", but well, as a rule of thumb everyone has parents. Not even Kuro has "unknown" listed in his relatives section, and he's had cut contact with them for a long time by canon. What we know about the "relatives" section of Adventurer's Bible profiles is that it only lists living relatives, for example Marcille only has her mother listed, her father isn't listed as deceased and her step-father isn't listed there, meanwhile Kabru only has Milsiril listed, not his mother or even his father (which we don't know the status of, but Kabru doesn't know him either since he left when he was born). So what does this mean for Mickbell's relatives? Either he doesn't know what family he has, or he doesn't know if they're alive. It's not unlike how Kabru's name is stated as unknown, which either means he was renamed Kabru or that Kabru doesn't know just a part of it, like his last name- perhaps forgotten due to trauma, or his mother never told him due to their disowning them.

It could mean he was abandoned on the streets before he could remember so he doesn't know of any parent or caretaker they had, or it could be a lot of things. I do want to point out that both Mickbell and Kuro have "permanently out of contact" with their siblings, but Kuro still has his siblings listed on his profile, not "unknown". Since we get this info I do think Mickbell knew his sister, and I think it all lends itself to the "he doesn't know if they're alive" theory more. I mean, so much could have happened! But I think it's pretty safe to assume that Mickbell and his sister were on the streets together, until they were separated. Due to her messy hair and dead inside look I used to like to think she fell sick and as the older brother it fell on him to take care of both their needs and he couldn't manage to heal her before she died- or they were separated or something happened and he had to assume the worst. But something like some big event making them flee on their separate ways and then fail to see each other again, some other tragedy that made him part from her without knowing of her state... Or my favorite: one day she disappeared. Maybe he told her to stay there while he went to steal some food and he came back and she wasn't there, maybe one night she didn't come back to the alley where they always slept and she never did again, just. Did something happen to her? Was there an accident and she died in some ditch somewhere? Did someone kidnap her? Did she just leave him behind? He doesn't know. He doesn't know and he never will and he can't get an answer. And not having closure is almost worse than suspecting she's dead, or even if he knew it for certain. Because there's always a doubt. There'll always be that he doesn't understand what happened. There'll always remain that knowledge that things can just suddenly disappear one day, it'll be a normal day until it isn't, that people can leave, that everyone he's ever had (and there weren't many) HAVE left they're GONE and he's ALONE, and there'll always be that knowledge that Mickbell couldn't protect his little sister, couldn't even know she was in danger that time, if she was. Again in a way there's that parallel with Chilchuck where Chilchuck is very muh someone worried about the people he cares about's safety and has a protector role the best he can, and Mickbell usually is the one getting protected but he is very possessive and overprotective of Kuro, the one person he has. And just. Waughhhh. Idk if I'll make another post about Mickbell backstory speculation or his sister now if unprompted but for the record I like to call his sister Yukibelle/bella. Yuki because it means snow like deathly pale sickly skin, and it's a 4 letter japanese name, which being 4 letters 2 syllables suits half-foot names aaand most importantly, since Kuro isn't Kuro's real name and it just means "black" in japanese I like to think esp because of the language barrier taht that's just what Mickbell named him. And having no parents imo Mickbell would have named his sister, or even renamed her if she did have a name to spite whoever abandoned them...... In big brother fashion he likes to call her Yuckbelle. Ickybell and Yuckbelle the sublings ever. I was the one who chose your name so I can't make fun of it? Haha try again!........ I need to cope somehow guys. Having lived in the streets with the highest degree of life or death survival on the daily it's also easy to speculate Mickbell had other hardships and trauma like, say, selling his body and to people who are less than ideal. Just saying!! A lot of things you can resdy into his backstory that further explain or explore aspects of his character.

Unlike Chilchuck "I will never fight" Tims, Mickbell actually never fights. Like at all. Ever. His skills are clinging, cowering and getting covered, and giving orders. Both Chilchuck and Mickbell can be both mature and immature, but Chilchuck tends to embody maturity within the narrative and Mickbell is usually much more remembered as immature. Enneagram 6w7 (wants stability and simple pleasures & freedom on the side), same as Chilchuck. 6 is the fear of being without support and that's exactly what Kuro offers..... Very 8 as well, there's a case to be made about him being 683 like Chilchuck but I could see him be more of a 2 or 4 too. God he wants to be loved so bad. He's also quite tall but never mentions a diet to not set off traps, which may be because his diet is already poor. To me he seems like he doesn't care for culture at all having lived in survival on the fringe of society, similarly to him not having much half-foot pride, but he does smile as a dwarf so dwarves being the ideal body type still seems to be something he's in line with.

Post-canon, he opens a variety store with Kuro, and it's said his relationship with Kuro stays unbalanced. We don't know where it was opened, if they stayed in Melini or went back to Kahka Brud- but since Mickbell's dream is to specifically get a house in Kahka Brud's best neighborhoods and it's where he lived before on the streets, it seems to make sense house in Kahka Brud would still be his goal and to set up shop there. Not that we get an update on the house funds, the post-canon blurb is still in the near future after canon so their futures are still very much left open.

Kuro

Please refer to this post to see Kuro's profile pages.

Mickbell is so tragedy coded but Kuro is honestly... Like he's vibing. He has normalized the abuse (emotional manipulation & isolating the target both so that they need you for stability and emotional supoort + control their life and relationships are literally abuse tactics come on guys) but so much so that it appears both to Kuro and to us like that abuse has little grip on him, we see that he has more agency than we'd assumed. Kuro allows Mickbell to lower his quality of life way too much for sure, partly because Mickbell plays the part of vulnerable lil guy well, but what's so funny is that where Mickbell thinks he's being a mastermind all "🥺I was the one to save you from the streets, without me you'd be lost!! Everyone else wants you suffering, better stick with me!!😊" Kuro literally explains their relationship with "he's so pathetic and anxious, he needs me there :(" - which lends a whole new look to how pokerfaced Kuro always is when Mickbell is giving him his manipulative drivel lol. It flips the dynamic Mickbell was presenting because where Mickbell tries so hard to force their relationship to be that Kuro needs him, Kuro correctly identifies that it's Mickbell who needs Kuro- even more than for safety and financial reasons, because of emotional ones. So where it felt like their relationship was one where Kuro was fully tricked in that Kuro can only live by Mickbell's side for his own sake, Kuro wants to stay for Mickbell's sake and is well aware of Mickbell's issues and wants to help as a therapy dog would?? He doesn't care about the money or the food, he cares about Mickbell. The irony of it all is that Kuro could have left anytime, but stayed for Mickbell all along. It's easy then to assume that Kuro has it all figured out after reading the secret study session comic but that's also oversimplifying. Kuro seems emotionally intelligent in many ways- but sort of lacks sense in how it should be applied and how things should be, I guess is how I would put it? I still call their relationship abusive because it still is, Mickbell still isolates Kuro and manipulation is still the intent of a lot of what he says and does with him, and "well I know very well they're shitty but they need me" is a common dynamic irl in abusive and toxic relationships too, but it still reframes their relationship a lot to know that Kuro is not at the stage of "Mickbell is always right about everything and I'll follow him to the ends of the world because of it" but at the "this anxious miserable boy needs me and it's my duty to protect him". Mickbell is running a manipulation onemanshow against himself and Kuro is taking another path entirely, he has an immunity called language barrier lmao. /hj Kuro is hiding things from him Mick has no clue about, that he's having nightly study sessions with Kabru, but he's not hiding this out of a sense of fear but out of care.

Their relationship is based on misunderstandings and lack of communication, and that's due to a lot of things both the language barrier thing and how they tend to run with their own interpretations of things (Mickbell thinking he knows why Kuro stays, Kuro thinking MICKBELL IS A KID WHEN MICK IS OLDER THAN HIM). Kabru himself thinks that when Kuro becomes fluent in common and the two can truly speak together is when they'll really become fruends. It's a hopeful outlook! But it makes sense, because again their relationship is based on miscommunication, Mickbell is afraid Kuro only stays because he has to because Kuro can't reassure him that he cares for Mick, and Kuro only has part of the picture because they can't talk it out, so giving them the tools to truly be able to talk and understand each other fully would completely flip the dynamic. It's truly interesting how they only have each other, but even in their relationship they're both very isolated.

"I don't want to make him anxious if I can help it. He's still a kid, but he's been through a lot of rough stuff. I'd like to be somebody he can feel relaxed around."

So yes, Kuro explicitly thinks of Mickbell as a child he must protect and watch over, care for! He has a more mentor way to talk about it, but it's easy to assume Kuro sees Mickbell as family too. Especially since he has a lot of siblings, many younger! He has a bit of a protective instinct and thinks he should be a protector, simply because Mickbell needs him, not for other more grand or personal reasons. He takes upon himself, both duties and in general for everything, he can't talk with others but that's fine, he's a dungeon diver who gets worked hard and even fights and that's fine by him, he just takes upon himself incessantly, like with Mickbell he sort of shrugs and says it is how it is.

Kuro still thinking of Mickbell as a kid has interesting implications. During the main story Mickbell is 22 and Kuro is 18- how many years could they really have spent together? He left his hometown to see more of the world and was kidnapped at a port, so we could assume he left home after coming of age at 13. He was kidnapped at a port and was part of slave market on the eastern continent, where kobolds are rarer and thus probably more profitable, so it makes sense that he'd have gotten sent to the eastern continent straight away. Just travelling the sea can take a while- the world map makes me think the sea between the western and eastern continent is of Atlantic Sea size, which irl can take a little under a week to travel through at a good pace, but with the lack of navigation technologies compared to today if you're less sure of where to go it can be more around a month. Unlikely for Kuro to have spent all that long in a cage on a boat then, but where it could get messier is once he's on the eastern continent. Mickbell freed Kuro from the guy who was holding him in a cage calling him a demihuman trader rather than an owner, so Kuro wouldn't have gotten sold yet? Or traded between different slave merchants, I wouldn't be surprised if he changed hands a couple times without having been ever sold to a customer really. It's said that the Island has a slave market for example so there seems to be large demand in many places and for it not to be done in secrecy really. But their meeting happens in Kahka Brud let's remember- which is a city with a big economical growth and market & sompopulation due to the dungeon cluster there, so it'd make sense for Kuro to have been sent there straight. Kuro was obviously mistreated, shown to stink and likely starved not unlike Izutsumi's experience caged in a freak show, but he's not bony enough for me to really be able to give a time estimation of neglect and starvation with his looks alone. This is a lot just to say "Well if we assume he left home at 13 and was enslaved soon after leaving home, and the process of getting to Kahka Brud could have taken a month at fastest, he could theoretically known Mickbell since then". During canon they're both on the Island rather than Kahka Brud, but we have nothing to be able to tell when Kuro and Mickbell came to the Island, just that they came together and that he was probably hired when Kabru formed a party 2 years before canon. We can try to compare him with Chilchuck- Canon happens in year 514, but Chilchuck came to the island five years ago, when he formed the half-foot union. Comapring them is relevant because Chilchuck comes from Kahka Brud too, again the place with a cluster of dungeons, so Chilchuck and Mickbell choosing to come to the Island for dungeon diving prospects shows the same attitude that the Kahka Brud dungeons are already all pillaged and overworked and to seek dungeons elsewhere. And who knows, maybe Mickbell didn't really choose to become an adventurer, maybe it was just about fleeing Kahka Brud since that was where he stole and did scams, but dungeon diving does seem to be a desperate man's job in many ways so it makes sense either way. The way Mickbell talks about Chilchuck, I don't get the feeling Mickbell's been on the island for longer/as long as Chilchuck and for longer than the half-foot union's existed, which makes sense if we go by the "maximum 5 years ago" theory of Mickbell and Kuro's meeting. They likely stuck around Kahka Brud for a while before deciding to go for it and move to the Island. So I guess, we can shoot to say that they knew each other for a maximum of five years but a minimum of two? I like to think Kuro spent at least a couple of months enslaved and so I'd put my own estimate at around 3-4 years, which is already a lot if you're them. A looot of time to bond with the only person in your life.

It's a bit odd, usually in a character who's been stolen away from their home a goal of theirs would be to go see their family again, but Kuro never brings up anything like that. Whether that means his homelife wasn't great, or that he feels closure enough just continuing to travel as he wanted, or even that he more or less forgot because of the trauma, who knows truly. You'll notice his stated dream is to travel with Mickbell, which ironically is directly incompatible with Mickbell's dream of settling down and getting a house with Kuro to live in. Since he was kidnapped by slave traders at a port in his original continent, we can surmise Kuro always had a taste for travel. Kuro isn't even his real name, Yodan is! His detachment from his homeland, family and cukture is very interesting. He has no problem just leaving it all behind indifinitely.

So yes Kuro isn't his actual name- so "Kuro", meaning "black" in japanese must have been a nickname given to him, and I bet it was Mickbell. Being a half-foot and a kobold who can't understand each other, the language barrier made Mickbell just start referring to him by the color of his fur. Kuro never mentions his real name so it doesn't seem he particularly cares- which is a wider point about Kuro actually, that he seems to be very laidback and laissez-faire type, unbothered and passive. Things are how they are and he goes along with it. He's not a confrontational person but he also trusts his guts when someone like Izutsumi feels off. He never questions Mickbell. When Kabru inquires about him and Mickbell, Kuro goes "oh don't worry about it it's nothing tbh". Which is also in line with how it's stated Kuro doesn't give a rat's ass about honor or wealth, he doesn't really seem to have a moral compass as much as "Mickbell is what matters to me so only what Mickbell wants and thinks matters", he follows Mickbell's orders with blind devotion when it comes to work or what they decide to do with their lives and that's just well with him. This reminds me of Falin a lot, the way I perceive them. Just utter devotion to their loved ones without really caring for what's morally right or wrong- because love is the priority and loved ones' wellbeing and happiness are all that truly matter, and sacrificing themselves and their own agency to make that happen. Kuro overlooks his own needs because he prioritizes others', Mickbell's. I think his views on relationships and what’s normal are very skewed. That said, Kabru calls Kuro overprotective too, and I think Kuro can be very stubborn as well, and as we see with the comic where Kabru and him talk about Izutsumi's smell he's perfectly able to have strong opinions, he's not only the stoic type. Kuro's very coddling with Mickbell, and while I do think he's a nice guy I definitely think Mickbell is an exception where that's pushed to the extreme for Kuro, Kuro's fixated on Mickbell just as much as Mickbell is fixated on Kuro. Codependence has never been truer a word gdbdgd. Kuro is rather polite and conscientious, in a regular conversation you'd think he very well-adjusted, he's smart and very observant, not just aided by his nose but with how aptly he notices psychological aspects of Mickbell for example, he's eager to learn and hardworking.

Kuro's biggest interest and dream is referred to be travelling, he left home to do just that before he was ever kidnapped already so it's not even an acquired taste from being encaged. And that fits well with Kuro just following the flow imo, Kuro's wants like Mickbell are small pleasures in life like that, just walking around and seeing new sights... Mickbell wants food and a roof over his head and Kuro wants food and freedom. Ironically, their wishes are directly contradictory- Mickbell wants to live in a house with Kuro and Kuro wants to travel around with Mickbell, Mickbell even has his dream of a specific neighborhood. But it is very notable that both their dreams mention the other, whatever it is they end up doing they want to do it together. Post-canon, he opens a variety store with Kuro, and it's said his relationship with Kuro stays unbalanced. We don't know where it was opened, if they stayed in Melini or went back to Kahka Brud- but since Mickbell's dream is to specifically get a house in Kahka Brud's best neighborhoods and it's where he lived before on the streets, it seems to make sense house in Kahka Brud would still be his goal and to set up shop there. Not that we get an update on the house funds, the post-canon blurb is still in the near future after canon so their futures are still very much left open. Just wait until Kuro learns common...! That'll solve everything........!

I tried to go extensively into his parallels with Toshiro and Izutsumi here. Hmm 7w6? Noo 7w8 actually god... Too real... Get me out of here the Mickbell and Kuro double whammy is making me need a smoke. Soooo many characters in Dunmeshi have this theme of learning to live for yourself be comfortable in your skin and get in touch with your needs and desires more Kuro!!

Relationships

: Overlook

Ok THIS is the fun part. So I made this chart as sort of a summary- we'll especially be looking at the personal bonds and work besties relationships through sections, but that's not to say those dynamics are the only things going on. I tried to keep only the basics and essentials, but you could also totally have added a Kuro to Kabru arrow mentioning how Kabru is teaching him common, or one from Mickbell to Holm about how Mickbell crashes at Holm's place occasioanllu. I made the purple lines based on what we see in canon, but it’s totally possible that Rin also judges Mickbell and Kuro, and that Holm and Dia judge Kabru & Rin as well, even though I don’t really think so, not particularly.

And that's what I’m getting at here: their party has a lot hanging in the air that everyone is more or less aware of but don’t truly acknowledge aloud, don't speak about or resolve. Holm and Dia needle Mickbell about his treatment of Kuro but don’t actually do anything or push, Kabru tries to help by teaching Kuro common but seems to be content "meddling" in only small subtle ways over time like that doing just what he can, concludes that the relationship mess goes bot hways and decide to just keep an eye on it quietly, meanwhile Mickbell seems tired of seeing Rin and Kabru bicker over her crush when Kabru teases and they argue, but doesn’t think to have a tal kabout whatever the fuck it is they have going on- it’s routine, it’s just how things are. It's commonplace- so their serious accusations about Mickbell are mentioned a grand total of twice and that's that, and only Mickbell out of everyone acknowledges aloud that Rin and Kabru have a weird thing going on and that Rin is weirdly deoted to Kabru/loves him implicitly. Everyone is much more ready to comment on Kuro & Mickbell than Rin & Kabru- which, absolutely deserved yes, but are what Kabru and Rin have not intensely weird behavior. Would you not get a headache trying to understand what's going on there and listening to their flirting and scolding and arguments on the regular. Do they never get "this needs to stop"? No, only Mickbell? Okay

Made this lil collage above but it's notable that the whole party throws casual jabs at Kabru all the time also, whether about how he can't take care of himself or how obsessed or weird he can be. Although everyone has respect and trust for kabru, they're also all fairly comfortable criticizing him. We see this in the shapeshifter "what if" comic too- his party members often find KAbru too extreme and overly dedicated, but ultimately trust him and follow his lead. Dia keeps her nose out of things but beyond hater duo Mickbell & Rin, even Holm comments regularly on his people pleasing and bad cleaning and organisation habits. Paralleling the Laios hater duo of Marcille and Chilchuck in the main party, Rin and Mickbell are especially critical and harsh on Kabru, here's a short and incomplete compilation to illustrate the point. Do they do fuckall about it though? No not really.

Everyone at some point or other shows concern for Kuro, it shows they don’t default to treating him as furniture or a tool after a long time of working together, they value him, but there’s always a third party barrier through which they have to interact, Mickbell- except for Kabru who can communicate with him on Kuro's own territory and have alone time with. But no one except Kabru and Mickbell even try to talk to/with Kuro, and you could also easily argue Kuro is not fully humanized, there's how no one except Mickbell worried for Kuro here for example.

I want you to imagine being Dia or Holm. I want you to imagine what it must take for there to be not one but two insane dynamics in your party amongst your coworkers, with who your job is so to camp with for weeks at a time, and not even blink at it anymore. I want you to imagine being kind and queen of staying in your lane and having these two obvious codependent situationships amongst your coworkers and just go "if I don't acknowledge this things are gonna go more smoothly". Save them get them out of there. Just the occasional long suffering sigh and "Mickbell that's not right :/" and yes, your job here is done.

You really start seeing this pattern looking closer where their party are fraught with interpersonal drama. The will-they-won't-they casanova leader & his angry tsundere childhood friend and Mickbell and his "employee" he exploits and isolates from the wider world??????? Truth of their relationship aside as we've discussed, this is how people around them perceive their dynamics and the optics are insane (/negative hello). The true doom of Kabru's party is all this interpersonal drama going on??? The very thing Chilchuck fears about parties lol, HOW has this party not imploded on itself yet. And personally I think that's a good part of what they contrast with the main party about- Where Kabru's party failed, Laios' party succeeded because they talked their differences out, they challenged each other on topics they disagree on and argued, instead of always just brushing everything under the rug. The reason canon happens at all is becase under the emergency of the situation Laios decides to be vulnerable and come clean about his interest in monster cuisine after all, and yes judgement and racism is rampant at first, but they reach an understanding through open communication. Meanwile, Kabru's party doing social 8d chess.......... Just keep on making passive aggressive comments forever see where it gets you.

This party also has a running theme with unabalanced and onesided relationships, and emotional dependence/burdening. It feels weird for it to be so weirdly intricately developed and consistent even though it does nothing in the main story- except for strengthening the whole diverse living cast thing which is important to the lesson and theme of people coming together despite differences is good, and like, "you can't judge others' relationships and sitations without knowing them" you know, but. It's here man it's here and present and too loud for me to unsee. Rin is dependent on Kabru and there's an argument to be made about the reverse being true as well even if Kabru is emotionally unavailable, and then there's the codependent Mickbell & Kuro mess, and even Dia and her fiance are faced with some unbalanced relationship and emotional unavailability. So our lineup is kabrin, mickuro, Dia & fiance and Holm who has a barely breathing social life. I suppose the latter's not uncommn though, the same can be said with most of Laios' party including Namari and Toshiro.... But good lord. This combined with how Dia & Holm get along together the best does make the party dynamic really funny though in a vacuum, everyone's going razy with intense tea meanwhile Dia and Holm the quiet judgers who glance at each other like do you see this shit. You are the only one normal here. (One has researched illegal magic and the other grew up in a cult.)

To me it's also really interesting Kabru hiring Mickbell and Kuro especially. Kabru is someone who works off reputation a lot, he has his homegrown informant web called gossip buddies and whatnot, and we know that while he's willing to go to questionable lengths for his beliefs, he has a pretty strong sense of right and wrong where stealing from people who ripped you off and repeatedly led you to death was a no-no. With all the shit Mickbell is catching even now about his slave- ehem, business partner, I doubt Mickbell would have seemed anywhere squeaky clean. Kabru hired a pretty blatant morally loose person who has stolen and scammed- and I think that's very interesting. Was Kabru desperate for party members? Maybe with Dia and Holm, believing in his cause was important-? No no, it's more likely the other way around- only desperate adventurers (or the ones who specifically want Kabru as their party member) stick to being in his party, with all the failures it experiences. Mickbell and Kuro are the only on who don't express loyalty to Kabru, so maybe Kabru's party was the only party willing to hire him- especially if he and Kuro are a package deal where they both get paid. And there's how Mickbell isn't affiliated with the half-foot guild too! Which means no work protections for him but also no salary cut? But yes yes, especially with the way he treated the corpse retrievers you'd think he wouldn't want anyone shifty on his side, but there's also the side of Kabru that loves to help others out, both on a societal and an interpersonal level- and I like to think that despite Mickbell obviously being from a rougher crowd he not only saw the two of them for the skilled people they are but also just, saw they were in a tough spot and wanted to offer a chance y'know? I had a convo about that once where I asked my Kabru expert friend what they thought about Kabru's grasp on socioeconomics and helping out people who are in tough situations for circumstances beyond their control, because you'd think Kabru would be understanding but then with the corpse retrievers, who seem Not Well Off and are comprised by many mixed races individuals like a half-dwarf and a half-gnome........ Helki and Mickbell are alike in many ways and it's interesting to think that may have played a part... Kabru seeing this disheveled obviously sketchy down on his luck Mickbell and being reminded of the only father figure he's ever had in his life, another blonde smartass with a ponytail, an ex-convict from a rough criminal background… And wanting to hire him to help him have a chance to get out of that place lowkey... I'M JUST SPITBALLING!!!!

Anyways so getting back to the crux of the matter, this is how the party naturally divides up with each other, the same kind of way Laios & Senshi and Marcille & Chilchuck did especially early on.

But the interesting thing is that Kabru keeps everyone at a distance, Rin included, so how does it divide up when Kabru and Rin aren’t interacting? She stays alone? Nope, oddly enough she seems to gravitate towards Mickbell. And the reverse is true- which makes sense since his partner isn’t a good conversationalist. Mickbell doesn’t really see Kuro as an equal, Kuro is his beloved fool he's tricking on the daily in his mind after all, so he doesn't seek out Kuro for opinions, because unlike Rin Kuro isn't a peer. In the page on the right notice the second panel, everyone gives each other a silent glance and this summarizes the dynamics here really well. Kabru is telling his plan of keeping going and this is everyone's moment to agree or disagree. Holm and Dia look to each other, more neutral. Rin and Mickbell look to each other, seeming more displeased, and Kuro looks to Mickbell. In that second of gauging each other's feelings through a glance, their resolve and opinion gets steeled and everyone tells their feelings after, Mickbell and Rin more reluctant. On the left you can see who sits next to who, who walks next to who in the party formation- Rin is always right next to KAbru but Mickbell is at her side, with Holm following without attracting much attention to himself and Daya closing the group on the lookout for threats. Mickbell & Kuro and Rin & Kabru as actual friends impotant in each other's lives tend to duo up, meanwhile Dia & Holm and Mickbell & Rin are more like "each other's favorite coworker" than actual friends, so Holm and Dia don't even necessarily stick together, at the risk of being third wheels. In fact the christmas gift exchange is a good character writing moment with everyone, if you want to look at their gifts and reactions.

So yes this explains how I divided up the chart, the duos are Rin & Kabru bond, Mickbell & Kuro bond, Mickbell & Rin coworker besties, Dia & Holm coworker besties.

Rin & Kabru

I made a rather in depth post on their relationship recently, specifically trying to nail down whether or not Kabru could have/had romantic or ambiguous feelings for her beyond/instead of "big sister":

It's a good look at it that covers most of the matter and has much, much more pictures than I could otherwise put here, so I'm allowing myself to go over this section faster here and summarize things.

Their relationship is obviously very onesided and... Needy, for a lack of a better word, because Rin is clingy and Kabru is probably her one friend in her life currently- but it's always been that way anyways hasn't it, did she have anyone else at the elves' too, did she have any in the village she grew up in that hated her family so much they killed them? She's overbearing and hovers over his shoulder for mistakes when they're together, but her reason for doing so is out of worry for Kabru, that because of his ambitious and self-neglectful tendencies he'll get himself into trouble, and she's not wrong about that! Kabru holds himself on his own currently, but it's not hard to see a future where he slowly descends into neglecting himself more and more in his focus on his work, but no currently he's still able to endear his landlord into cleaning his room for him and to put himself to sleep with alcohol. The relationship is onesided because Rin's always the one pushing and Kabru never truly opens up, but their relationship does have push and pull too- Kabru does pull sometimes. It isn't like Kuro simply passively enabling Mickbell's issues and bad behaviors, but in many ways encouraging them. Kabru flirts with her. He jokes and he teases in ways that come dangerously close to acknowledging aloud she has feelings for it, and never turning her down despite it being clear to us he has no intent on ever reciprocating them- He leads her on, whatever his intent is. And I go into possibilities of how and why in the separate post a lot, but overall I'd say that it's because he does need her back in a way too. It's that repressed desire for connection that rears its head with Laios and even Mithrun too. Maybe they're an ill-fitting match, but it's what he has, the friend he's had for the longest- Like I like to say, seeing Rin as his best friend is so sad and tragic but it’s also not wrong. From what we see she’s the closest to him, which is sad to think about. How can a guy’s social life be so thriving yet down in the dumps truly. She completely relies on him for purpose in her state in canon and dumps her emotions and issues on him, but he does play with her back and avoids his emotions and needs through her too. He has the uer hand in their dynamic, was even the one to ask Rin to come along with him when they left the elven kingdom. She's a fixture in his life, she's a safety net, she's someone who'll love him unconditionally, who even if he mistreats her a bit he knows she'll stick with him. He sees her as a big sister, after all. He knows her tough love is love. Does he give her jokes to latch onto as his way to keep her in check, or to make sure she'll want to keep following him? He can't bear to bare himself to anyone, but if it's Rin, she knows infinitely well how Kabru isn't perfect, constantly reminds him of that, and where in every other relationship he tries to be or has people believing he is perfect, with her he can be a little rotten, a little inconsiderate- and idk idk man. I don't think there's really a conclusion we can get to with them, but a lot of their dynamic feels just very. Mutually unhealthy. Like self-harm almost.

And like, look at the picture of them dancing below! Just it alone implies a dynamic already. They balance each other out somewhat, because they're severe about different things, Kabru encourages her to let loose socially but Rin keeps him from getting too full of himself in his own corner, because she always keeps calling out to him specifically, to the Kabru she knows and that he knows she knows- though maybe doubts sometimes. They both keep each other from being too caught up in themselves- but both of them are also frowning here. They also enable each other in very bad ways imo and inadvertently push each other into their bad habits, nagging Kabru makes him retreat into his shell even more and approach their relationship calculatingly or even coldly knowing of her feelings for him, and getting all the attention from Kabru in a way she doesn't want- because she can tell he still has his walls up- makes her more frustrated and it's all just a bad cycle of feeding each other to continue just as the status quo is. Rin nags him so Kabru throws her a bone so Rin nags him etc. But they're also genuinely dear to each other, maybe more iut of memories than because of the present, so they can't really let go of each other. Fucking doom tango fr

My take on Rin being particularly severe on Kabru, beyond just being worried that any mistake has a dangerous cost for people like them, is that like. She knows Kabru, from way back, and she sees his persona, how he tries to be perfect for others and caters to everyone's needs except his own, how he keeps himself hidden like that. And she doesn't wang Kabru the persona, just Kabru the person, the man she loves- and he's trying to be perfect but it's futile, and it just makes him more cardboard cutout, he's being fake and it just makes her so angry how he keeps his distance with her, so at every turn she tells him when he's not perfect, at every turn she reminds him of his flaws, as if to say, "you can't be perfect, just stop". And every flirt he sends her way during the story makes her madder because again she knows it's just empty air to toy with her, so she scolds harder. Like I don't think she's a self-aware person in general, so I think she mostly just feels this as sadness completely masked with anger that drives her foward and makes her impulsively say things, and she thinks what she says is right and she's being righteous, but also there's just this gaping void in her at the state of things, there's frustration whenever she sees Kabru smile a plastic smile at others all the time, and she doesn't know why. And the only worse thing is to have that plastic smile targeted at her- but it makes whenever he offers her more genuine unprompted attention all the more precious, like in the comic about her smiling.

They kept in touch post-canon! But it seems inevitable to me that the change in their lives made them grow a bit more distant, not working together all the time anymore. Rin figures Kabru is being taken care of by now, being a part of the royal court, and goes to pursue her own ventures, but they're still friends and that shows with Kabru inviting her to the castle. Rin can't help herself but to visit him once in a while to see if he's still breathing I bet- I do think she has a bit of a "only I don't get fooled by you (especially when you say you're fine)" way to think about him and their rekationship, a big of why she'd say the "Don't think everyone's going to fall for you". Anyways, it is fun to theorize Rin might be a pharmacist often hired by the castle hehe, but yes yes that's all we get info wise. Here's to hoping she mellows out some

Mickbell & Kuro

So, their relationship is more messed up than Kabru and Rin's, but it's less up in the air/free grounds for interpretation, much more directly explained. Their character profiles & extra pages alone give a really good look at their relationship and both their perspectives of it: Kuro's family that Mickbell has to find ways to chain to himself or he feels insecure, Mickbell to Kuro is a vulnerable kid that he chooses to look after and go the extra mile of being mindful & considerate of said insecurities. I already talked about it a lot in the Mickbell & Kuro sections, and the post I linked above has a longer but more compact analysis of them- but yes yes I'll still cover the essential and the new here. I said it earlier but Mickbell needs Kuro more than Kuro needs Mickbell- Kuro is like the entirety of Mickbell's emotional regulation 'skills' lol, where Kuro needs Mickbell in a material sense where Kuro wouldn't be able to communicate well with others or go far without money and Mickbell, Mickbell needs Kuro because otherwise he'd be shattered- not to say that Kuro isn't also very useful to have around for his muscles. Both of them are very physically and mentally vunerable both, the pyramid of maslow is not being met on any level eesh. Kuro needs a compass and Mickbell needs an anchor, both of them needed a purpose in the day to day life of survival and both chose each other for that- protect Mickbell, and buy a house with Kuro. The human mind thrives off of goals, desires. Again this thing with compass & anchor is very reminiscent of Falin with Kuro, the way she centered her life around others, so much so that when she was a mentally compromised chimera she defaulted to that way of being with Thistle. But they're in that spot very similar to them where one is especially very mentally vulnerable and easy to control whereas the other is very physically vulnerable if the other were to decide they've had enough and go murder mode on him. It's the dog loving the chain on its collar.

How long have they known each other? Who knows, but I estimated it between 2 to 5 years, between when Kuro became an adult and when Kabru formed a party- but even those are just guesses. I also think he named Kuro, since Kuro's name is actually Yodan and "kuro" simply means "black" in japanese, with the language barrier Mickbell wouldhave just started nicknaming him by the color of his fur.

It’s important to remember how they started: Mickbell saving Kuro and Kuro saving Mickbell, Mickbell freeing Kuro out of spite which made Kuro follow him and then Kuro saving Mickbell by maiming the guy who had kept him in a cage and was threatening Mickbell, prompting Mickbell to suggest hiring him (while being broke) as a bodyguard, half out of fear half out of seizing opportunities? And we'll get to that but this is a good way to understand why they're both so "It's us vs the world", they both came from a similar situation surviving in the slums together but even before that they had the same man for enemy, Mick helped Kuro out and Kuro helped Mick out in turn, and they stuck together. So that’s the origins of Kuro being "his employee" that he’s working for peanuts, it’s less disingenuous and eager than we’d expect, the attachment Mickbell formed to Kuro was over time, eventually associating Kuro with both safety and companionship. Meanwhile Kuro seemed ride or die very early, being saved helped I’m sure, but remembering that Kuro thinks of Mickbell as a child to protect also helps frame why Kuro would be so ready to devote himself to guarding him- seeing a small vulnerable "kid" in all this danger, constantly surrounded by threats and famine. So in the end, a big factor for their relationship is that they can’t communicate for shit. For several reasons including language barrier, overly controlling and dehumanizing behavior/abuse tactics backfiring- and emotional constipation. They both have preconceived notions and they both just.... Don't really know each other. I don't think Mickbell even knows his name- Kuro thinks he's a kid! They don't know each other, but they also know each other in the way of familiarity, in the form of having spent years inseparable glued to each other. Mickbell doesn't know Kuro's name and Kuro doesn't know Kuro's age, they don't know the other have siblings they have cut contact with and they don't know each other's dreams, they've never had an actual conversation especially on equal grounds, but also they know each other's mannerisms. They know each other's favorite foods. They know the sound of each other laughing and crying and the feeling of each other's warmth. They know each other but they also don't know each other at all!!!!! Crazy crazyyyy dynamic.

The "it's us vs the world" is so so strong with them especially from Mickbell's end, and can you blame him? Can you blame him when he's been kicked down like a dog all his life and he sees that in Kuro too? And perhaps no one else can ever understand Mickbell and know and stay with him like Kuro does, even when they can't even have actual conversations. This is it for Mickbell, Kuro is all he'll ever get in his mind and he's intent on never letting go, he's all he'll ever get and us all he wants and he cannot, will not, ever, let him go.

And the whole snarling-growling thing is very interesting too, especially since that's contrasted with Kabru (scroll down here for pictures). Mickbell has little experience with kobolds beside Kuro but also his first impression of Kuro was seeing him bite and maim a man to death. Kabru has experience with kobolds from his homeland where they're seen as more serious threat than cute doggy people, where there was fighting and rumors and presumably contact too since Kabru learned some of kobold language and he was only 6, AND Kabru has trauma with monsters and beasts in general. When Kuro growls, Mickbell goes "hey I told you to stop growling that's scary :/", and Kabru goes "Kuro, what's wrong?". And this is sooo so fascinating to me. Part of this already is again the language barrier, Kabru can ask Kuro to comfortably explain the issue where Mick cannot (he could still try though since Kuro can still speak some albeit broken common), so with Mickbell Kuro only has body language that doesn't come naturally to non-kobolds to communicate with- but Mickbell dismisses it as regularly as he doesn't. Part of it for Mickbell is having been on the other side of Kuro when angry, having seen how scary he can be and afraid himself- but then why? Does Mickbell still get scared of Kuro when he snarls and acts like that, the way a lot of us flinch when someone gets mad and yells? Does Kuro feel more unpredictable then, and that's scary for many reasons? Or maybe it's because he's scared of the way others see Kuro, that others will dehumanize Kuro if he emotes in ways like this. From where they come living on the streets, looking wrong at the wrong guy can cost a lot, so Mickbell may have extra developed a sense of keeping your head down at the right times and not provoking when risky- and he can't fully control Kuro so when that choice is out of his hands things feel a lot more shaky. Of course though in any case, growling or no growling Mickbell sticks with Kuro, keeps holding onto him when he snarls, it never crosses his mind to step away from Kuro or leave him behind, consequences or uncertainty be damned. Just, the justified concern mixing with the unhealthy possessiveness and controlling, the genuine fear... It represents their wider relationship pretty well in just one example.

He fucking sticks with Kuro with the baths!! Many bathhouses don't accept kobolds but Mickbell tirelessly keeps looking for one who will, Mickbell and Kuro are a PACKAGE DEAL and it stays that way even when it's inconvenient for Mickbell. Mickbell washes Kuro and spends hours brushing him afterwards with immense care and patience, there's effort there on his end too there is consideration and love!! They are sooooo ride or die!!!! "Now you're the cleanest dog in the whole wild world, no one can look down on you"!!!!!!

They have incompatible dreams of the future, Mickbell wants to settle down in a house and Kuro wants to travel, both want to do it together. My thing with Mick & Kuro post-canon is the only ways I see it develop and go down is: 1) Kuro becomes able to easily converse with him and their relationship changes with a lot of rough bumps but slowly and surely towards something better and/or 2) Kuro leaves to travel here and there while Mick manages the house, they’re still in a life partnership but they’re ok being apart for a while now. Mickbell learns that leaving doesn’t mean there’s no coming back and to live beyond each other ykyk <3 But while Kabru himself is hopeful that when Kuro becomes fluent in common Mickbell and Kuro can "really become friends", their post-canon blurbs break our hopes for a near future resolution, specifying that Mickbell "still works Kuro hard". They open a variety store together! I like to call it Mick & Kuro's knick knacks <3 Does Mickbell still keep his prices and product descriptions dangerously close to being scammy? Possible! He's earned it though he has his own store brooo his own building his own business... I know that shit got him emotional We do see that Kuro gets him to be healthier slowly but surely though- in the last chapters we see him push Mickbell implicitly towards the half-foot guild! Kuro is protective but not possessive and he encourages Mickbell to get out of his shell, reflecting how he talks about Mickbell as someone needing support and gentle care & understanding- he was being real about noticing his issues and wanting him to become happier.

Once upon a time back in my early days of shipping mickrin I entertained the thought Mickbell's attachment to Mickbell may have a romantic nature mixed in as well, whether it'd be "genuine" or maladaptive's too complex for me to say- but what was funny is that even in that case to me nothing changed. I think that in a world where Mickbell likes Kuro romantically, he would neverrr ever make a move because he'd be too terrified Kuro would dislike it and leave- so instead it just gets lashed out in different ways and he vents & seeks that out in other people kinda hoping it'd be Kuro or whatever. Kuro's too precious to risk is the thing. "It's us vs the world" and if Kuro leaves then is when he would be truly alone- like I mention in the Mickbell & Kuro I linked I think Mickbell is very afraid of change. It's why I think the possible future of Kuro learning to talk common well would be rockier than we'd assume at first- and I think in that fear of change is the fear of changing the nature of their relationship and lowkey even the fear of deepening it- What if Kuro starts actually understanding what Mickbell always says and decides Mickbell is stupid and unlikable after all? What if Kuro starts talking and Mickbell doesn't like what he says? What would Mickbell do if Kuro started being more inquisitive, asking more questions and requesting more things? Mickbell is terrified of Kuro having agency and it's for a reason!! Mickbell lowkey dehumanizes Kuro as a possession sometimes because that's less scary, because Kuro being a full person with his own wants and thoughts detached from Mickbell is scary!!

Mickbell needs to be Kuro's whole world- because if Kuro got a taste of the rest of the world, everything else there is beside him- beyond him-, then how could Mickbell possibly compete with that? How could Kuro choose Mickbell over the world? And the irony of it all the thing that gets me choked up is that along it was never a competition, the world has always been Kuro's love, travelling is his main interest, and he wants to travel it with Mickbell- The world is wonderful and Mickbell's presence doesn't take away from it but enriches it, makes the world even more valuable and treasured and life more enjoyable and full and god. God!!!!!

So yes these are insane coworkers to have and this is the dynamic that has Dia and Holm side-eye Mickbell and ask him when he's planning to free his house elf. Imagine having a group project in school and these dudes are in your group.

Rin & Mickbell

The hater duo, no 1!!!! Dia & Holm is the second one but they can't hope to match these two's intensity and hater aura. This is our moment to breathe we're getting back into Kuro & Mickbell madnedd after

I compile their most relevant interactions here, and you can also see a small compilation of them combining their hater powers on Kabru here. There'S a lot of things that make them really fun to pair up, like how they're easily the top 2 most unpleasant bitter Kabru party members and how they like each other best anyways lol, or how they're both in a codependent situationship- and they both have similar defense mechanisms of most things getting filtered through anger, but what's especially interesting is how they're different in the worst way, in Rin's codependent relationship she's the one who gives and devotes herself, the self-sacrificial one, and in Mickbell's codependent relationship he's the one who takes and takes, the self-centered one.

That's already me getting lost in the sauce though because these two are just coworkers and that ends there- in fact with the tavern comic about Rin smiling we see that they get along much more at work than outside of it. I think why they get along is exactly that blunt and critical nature of theirs- Neither hesitate or bother with politeness or little games to say what they have on their mind and when something's a bad idea- it's why with even just a "you see this shit?" glance at each other they get steeled and soothed into reluctantly agreeing with Kabru, "Well, if Mickbell/Rin is okay going along with Kabru's plan, it must be fine after all... Not that we won't shoot him with laser beams with our eyes". Like I said earlier even though Mickbell can be manipulative, but he emotes very strongly and openly and is very blunt as a rule, he seems to value in others the same type of directness that he has with emoting and interacting, as seen with his distaste for Rin being a tsundere in the same tavern comic. You could reach and theorize his distaste in Rin acting all happy because Kabru complimented her, despite her still being very sour, is also from a feeling that she's being easily manipulated, which could be interesting... But yes yes, and similarly Rin is drawn towards someone who is similarly severe with high standards and who's very cautious with plans and money, and with her distaste for Kabru's own playing around and fake politeness it's interesting to think she'd find someone who's authentic to the point of being unabashedly unpleasant refreshing. So yes yes, they're united in haterism, and they look to each other for opinions, and they sit together, and when they meet Laios' party with Toshiro's Mickbell tugs on her (the only other who took a hard stance on wanting the "thieves" to pay) dress to go "hey you see these bastards?", and when Rin casts waterwalk on the party it feels very familiar- which shows still how much familiarity the party has developed together. They don't get together to have a laugh or have fun, but they seem to be each other's favorite coworker and be often on the same wavelength, easily understand each other's thoughts from even just a glance.

You can feasibly theorize Mickbell has a crush on Rin and is jealous of Kabru for it, considering he's always hanging around Rin when it isn't Kuro, how he hangs onto her on the regular, when he sighs seeing Rin and Kabru argue because Kabru flirted, when he's always on Kabru's case, when he's the only one who brings up Rin & Kabru's relationship, when he gets frustrated she doesn't laugh at his jokes and says she woud be much cuter and more charming if she smiled more- which we see Mickbell beam at. Misogynistic energy? Yes. No one said Mickbell hasn't some incel tendencies in him lol. I don't think that's the intent though and all these things can be easily explained by other stuff, but all of these together make it a coherent angle, if you so wish for it. Mickbell lashing out at those he likes because he's insecure when he doesn't have their full attention who'd have thunk! The mickrin manifesto is coming another dayyyy though I can't get more sidetracked

Kuro & Kabru

I already went into some things a bit like Kabru's reaction to Kuro growling despite his trauma wit hbeasts and experience with kobolds' nastier side, and I have a post where I let myself ramble about the two of them here- I'm sorryyyyy I'm sorry everything is so interconnected I can't not repeat myself and link stuff!! But once again I'll cover the bases here- In a non shippy light but also the original post is 90% parallels and analysis too

So their relationship is really interesting in many many ways. Kabru is teaching Kuro to speak and write common in secret, which shows many things already. In the party he's by far the most considerate and caring of Kuro, we see him listen to Kuro's worries about Izutsumi also. We see him ask Kuro about his opinions, for Kuro that's revolutionary, we see him take Kuro's concerns seriously and extensively talk about them and he accommodates with talking kobold as well. For being the one with monster & demihuman trauma, he's the one who humanizes Kuro the most- perhaps because it forces him to take Kuro seriously and keep in mind the whole of him, not only appearances or behavior, in an hypervigilance and "I know what you are" way, if that makes sense?? We see Kabru's urge to spend time to give a voice to the voiceless, to help this one dude, his coworker living in questionable circumstances. And all of this, again, despite his trauma, despite him saying it's best to assume communication with demihumans is impossible in the kobold extra!!! Do see the irony!! And many say that Kabru only said that because it was the Touden siblings and he wanted to say anything to make them think twice about blindly approaching the "cool cute desert dog people", but even if that's fully the case I still think it's interesting that he'd be willing to throw demihumans he spent his early childhood coexisting with under the bus like that- in a way.

He's giving Kuro knowledge... Teaching him like Milsiril once did- the thing he himself most grateful to her for. From one disempowered person to the other he's teaching societal survival skills. He's tutoring Kuro on his own best weapon: words. And he does this in secret, with no laurels and no reward, at night on the regular. I think their dynamic really goes to show just how much Kabru cares about others, how even though he sees Kuro as more "photorealistic" and less cartoony than the others, both because he knows the dangers of kobols and he takes them more seriously- and inadvertently emphasing on the beastly animal side taking away the endearing exaggerated features..... Even then, he's so so very considerate, and kind, and he cares, and how much he wants the world to be better and equal and for everyone to live well. And this shows in how the nightly sessions are also a way he gets to interact with Kuro away from Mickbell's eyes- This is where Kabru inquires about their relationship and learns about Kuro's vision of things. Whenever Mickbell steps in Kabru immediately folds, makes himself as non-threatening and unimposing to Mickbell as possible and steps away without resistance to ease his worries, but when he's away Kabru and Kuro can actually talk. And Kuro does open up to him, and hearing his thoughts Kabru learns about them andconcludes that both of them are overprotective over the other- He sees that the issue and the overattachment isn't oneway, and acts in kind. Kabru keeps an eye on them, as seen also with the end of the extra about Izutsumi's scent, helping in the ways he can, subtly through acts like helping Kuro learn common so one day he and Mickbell may talk.

Kabru is likely the closest thing to a friend Kuro has currently, beyond Mickbell. Which is crazy to think about!! But also man I want you to imagine them having their late night study sessions, talking about their home the western continent together for a bit. Kabru gets to talk about the desserts he couldn't talk about in the elven kingdom and Kuro recognizes them, in just talking about the weather they find so much commonplace, in traditions and myths and habits and ways to be- And maybe from where he's from Kuro's heard of the evil eye as well, knows that tallmen with blue eyes are rare and seen as bad omens, disowned and chased out of cities, but Kuro offers no judgement and so Kabru offers none in return. Like their arrows towards each other are "kobold" from Kabru to Kuro and "he speaks my language", and that's so crazy!!!! That's so little but that's so crazy!! And I truly cannot handle typing these thoughts again so just scroll down here but my god my god!! The heartwrenching isolation of them.

Ah yes- there's also something to say about how only he and Mickbell don't follow Kabru with any solid sense of loyalty! Everyone else praises Kabru's cause and says they're there for him to achieve it, but Mickbell stays quiet on that lol and almost walks out at one point- and then Kuro very straightforwardly says that he'll follow Mickbell whatever he decides- As much as Mickbell is Kuro's "employer" Mickbell is Kuro's leader, Kabru might be the team coordinator in his eyes and he does respect him, but the only cemented in loyalty he has is to Mickbell. Ironically, he's also the one who rates him as a party leader best! At a high 95% score. Which still shows just how much Kuro likes and respects Kabru... And also might show how low his standards are, since the party keeps dying under his lead- Kuro hasn't had great impressions of bosses and workers' rights after all- like with people's behaviors and living conditions and whatnot he has bare minimums standards, a very low bar, like him thinking of Kabru as "The guy who speaks my language!" something that should be so normal, being able to communicate with someone in a language you're comfortable and fluent in, has become something exceptional and precious.

Kabru & Mickbell

Okay this one is sooo interestingly layered. So there's a lot that goes into Mickbell's onesided beef with Kabru- I can try to summarize it as that Kabru seems effortlessly charismatic.

Part of it is as Mickbell puts it here and here, that he's afraid Kabru will steal Kuro away somehow (and that's without knowing about their study sessions). Kabru is so charismatic and likable, and kind something that as we se Mickbell tends to approach with suspicion- nothing in this world's free. Believing that Kuro only stays with Mickbell because he has to and that Mickbell successfully fools him, it's not hard to see him being afraid of Kabru "telling Kuro stuff" that'll convince Kuro or turn him against Mickbell, "he's a smooth talker, don't let him kidnap you"! It's again that belief that Kuro is easily fooled mixed with Mickbell's belief that no one could choose him over others if they had option- who wouldn't go for the cool and handsome charismatic witty tallman? Even his fave coworker who's just as severe as him is all wrapped up around his finger after all. And then there might be more general jealousy at work, about Kabru being an ideal with all these qualities and how well off he seems despite being broke too, Mickbell possesses so few qualities and his party leader that he finds incompetent on top of everything else just has "every quality given to him on a silver platter" or whatever resenting drivel Mickbell would think up. And then yes there's as I put it, the incompetence- Kabru and Mickbell think & operate in very different ways, Mickbell is very direct while Kabru is very indirect, Mickbell is very practical while Kabru is very guided by ideals- they have very different conceptions of "the end justifies the means", very different goals of self-serving vs greater good. They have different morals and views on retribution with the corpse retrievers, he's the one who pushes most against Kabru's plan of keeping going into the dungeon even after things go wrong and so he's the one who gets his concerns dismissed by Mickbell most, alongside Rin. Like with Rin he seems to see Kabu as reckless and as someone who takes things too lightly, which as someone who takes his job very seriously is frustrating, and like with Holm and Dia too he seems well aware of his flaws with people and his "fakeness", which doesn't endear him lol. Also someone stubborn- which from someone stubborn to another is always a sign of a great war incoming lmao.

And I do want to reiterate the beef is onesided!! Kabru is maybe even the most charitable and patient with Mickbell. As much as Holm let him and Kuro crash for a night, Kabru was the one to give him the money to go to a bathhouse. You can see his look of concern at stinky Mickbell in the first panel lol.

Again I'll share this comp of Mickbell and Rin being on his case, to see some examples! And my personal favorite:

And notice the Dia-Holm sideglance in the next-to-last panel. Is it a "he spitting some truth rn" or a "Ahh Kabru is on his corny shit again"? Wouldn't you like to know lmfao

Daya & Holm

You looove to be unbothered and uninvolved in the love square happening. The hate triangle if you will (Kuro isn't involved in that one he dgaf). You looove to just give professional opinions on the party's plans and that's it, you love keeping things to yourself and being a quiet pillar of the party rather than anything showy or flashy. I just love their side-eyes I just love making them quietly judge everyone especially togther, "you are my partner in sanity" fr.

Even together they don't have that strong a bond, like with Rin & Mickbell it starts and ends with their work dynamic pretty much. Still, consistently over and over again when the party divides itself into subgroups naturally, these two gravitate towards each other. As above a Daydream Hour shows them hanging out (off-work considering their outfits?) and points out that they're the party members "closest in age", 58 and 76 respectively, the oldest beside them is Rin at 24. Developmentally, with just proportionally comparing their lifespan to tallman's and calculating in kind Dia would be 23 while Holm is 30, so this thing about being closest in age seem to be about them both being longlived races, thus having a more similar sense of time and outlook on the world for it. They do seem to be all around the most mature and well adjusted of the group- although those appearances can for sure hide some deep flaws we just haven't been able to truly notice.

OTHERS?

These are the ones I felt were worth commenting on but they all have litle dynamics between each other, with Mickbell & Daya the least probably, for example if you want Holm & kabru thoughts I made a ship post about them and compiled most of their interactions. Like, I do like to summarize Holm @ kabru as "i won't talk about it but damn you live like this??". Holm @ most of the party actually lol. Holm has bigger fish to fry anyways, like Mickbell, who already outranks Kabru there and then crashes at his house on top of it. Holm and Rin often team up to talk about magic, when shopping or when Kabru asks something.

Daya and Holm have less strong & deep dynamics because they have less ties, simple as, they keep themselves less entangled in what's pretty much office life- yes they're willing to risk their lives to dungeon dive with th party, but that's as with any adventurer, as with everyone desperate and unstable enough to have it as their main job. Rin is tied to Kabru so that gives her importance, but Mickbell and Kuro have each other so it gives the party dynamic around them a lot of layers already, their personal lives are more shown during canon and extra because of it, meanwhile Holm and Daya both keep to themselves much more and their personal lives are only hinted at in extras, they don't have drama on the regular in front of the rest of the party the way the others do lmao.

Conclusion

Kabru’s party is in a bit of a weird spot in the main story- I think we can agree they’re characters that feel largely forgotten by the story after a point, and don’t matter all that much. I do think they have a narrative purpose, but. It's all about Kabru and setting his character up, similarly to how Namari was to give Marcille growth and Toshiro was to give Laios growth, it offers us an early Kabru to compare middle and late Kabru with when it comes to relationships and alliances, and with how much they fail and the few scenes they have where Kabru has his mask on and even coldly rebutts Rin I think we're supposed to see the flaws in his way to lead and work in team, where Kabru changing on that end would be for the better. They're a window into Kabru's shortcomings in teamwork and social life, his status quo at the startof the story. Laios' team was as successful in the main story because they truly came together, became friends who revealed their authentic selves to be stronger even when they worked together and were all very different from one another- but what Kabru does is try to hide and compensate for flaws, especially his own, and he hides things from his party and he keeps himself at a distance from it. Laios wasn't all that different with his party pre-canon, but where in the emergency of current events Laios shed pretenses at the risk of being disliked and rejected by others, in early manga Kabru instead tightens his grip on trying to control the party- why Kabru pushes his party members into his plans with less and less care for their opinions with his rebuttal of Rin as the peak of that- until he even lowkey isn't all that motivated by his party members being hostages lol. Like- am I making sense??

Analyzing labru vs kabumisu interpretations of Kabru is honestly very interesting because the two ships' fans seem to often have a completely different take on him. Kabumisu fans tend to emphase on Kabru's need for agency and empowerment and labru fans tend to emphase on Kabru's need to learn to compromise and not taking everything upon himself only, and see like, both are true both are good, and which of the two ships you like more depends a lot on these subconscious little differences in interpretation you naturally develop I think, because while I'm a double agent I myself prefer labru a bit and I naturally lean towards the "Kabru has lessons and change to do" angle, where with kabumisu often the focus is on not Laios gaining understanding from another but Kabru gaining understanding from another. For Kabru to grow vs to be validated, for him to finally feel safe and comfortable, and that to be achieved either through growth or through comfort, though both through understanding one another. It's about trust it's about understanding others on your own terms vs theirs it's about how being willing to open up and delve in relationships makes your understanding of people better, truer!! Understanding others, debatably the biggest theme in Dunmeshi!! Anyways don't tell the fandom I said that

In the wider meta narrative- Dunmeshi has a big theme of conforming and fitting into society, all its main character have that as a big theme- Laios being a misfit, Marcille being a half-elf, Chilchuck being a half-foot in a bigoted society, Senshi being an exiled hermit, Izutsumi being a beastkin… The experiences are varied but it’s an universal theme, everyone has things they're ostracized for somewhere or other. And I think all of Kabru’s party have a facet, variance of that that’s interesting, one that’s less about social acceptance and finding your place like Laios’ party but has a bigger focus on economical struggle, Kabru and Rin are to put it very short powerless child refugees, Mickbell and Kuro are dirt poor, Daya was threatened to fit into a strict mold and Holm was put in jail for academic studies. They have codependent relationships and emotional unavailability all around in different ways, there's isolation as a theme there too. That also is largely a Dunmeshi theme. Does no one have a fucking healthy good thriving social life? A good work-personal life balance? Being in touch with yourown needs and feelings perhaps? The triforce of things you can never have all at once in dunmeshi. But all these similar yet different hardships, all these people with hard to pin down exteriors- it's all about understanding too. How can you judge without first understanding, you know?

They're doubtlessly minor characters, but they're also part of that large tapestry of diverse people that's needed for Dunmeshi to do what it does, thematically and narratively. For that final battle to have so many different people come together to fight on the side of humanity, for all its habitants for all the facets of people in it, together. "If even one thing had been missing, we wouldn't have gotten here" as Kabru puts it himself in the next-to-last chapter. This is Dungeon Meshi, everything is interwoven, it's all a web because our environment shapes us as much as we shape it.

They get sidelined by the story. much like they were by Kabru- but he does have their loyalty, like how Laios' party stuck together through it all, even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, and when it's time for the final battle they're there to help and it matters, they matter. Relationships, trust, goes both ways, it shouldn't be onesided. If someone proves genuine why not try opening up? Kabru's party always trusts him and show up when it matters- Because to put full trust in another is terrifying and risky, but sometimes it'll pay off, and still always they take that step to trust their leader. Trust and love and care isn't a transaction, earned or not, and all you can do is try to appreciate it and repay it in care. In the end Kabru's party reminds us of those things, that despite everything we all need someone.

[shepcdr]

Assuming direct control ... of your balls. If I must tear you apart, Shepard, I will.

" ... "

" ...... "

" —— i should go. "

[chamerionwrites]

Because I am back on some very specific bullshit I am ofc also thinking about how Joseph Conrad and Roger Casement met (were very briefly roommates in fact) in the Congo, and seem to have really liked each other. Conrad wrote glowingly of Casement in his diary ("Made the acquaintance of Mr. Roger Casement, which I should consider as a great pleasure under any circumstances and now it becomes a positive piece of luck. Thinks, speaks well, most intelligent and very sympathetic"). Six years later Casement made a point of looking him up in London and they apparently talked until three in the morning.

And then two decades later Casement was hanged for treason because he tried to run guns from Germany to the Easter Rising, whereas Conrad prominently refused to sign the petition for clemency.

[daz4i]

guys i love hyacine..

[screampied]

‘ V!RGIN KILLA! 𝜗𝜚

𓉸ྀི sum. not only does he think he knows what he’s doing, he’s also a virgin. but there’s a first time for everything . . . right? choso, nanami, gojo, geto, ino, toji.

warnings. fem! reader, vīrgin men, unprotected, vīrginity loss, whiny needy men, some college themes, fratboy! toji, pússydrunk men, cōckwarming, cérvix kissin', cunnīlingus, dry humping, finishing quick, spıt, squīrting, bréeding, petnames, sukuna's part didn't save but i'll make it up </3

★ NANAMI KENTO aka the quick learner virgin?!

nanami drools the minute his tip disappears inside of your cunt. he can’t help it - at all.

the balmy warmth you provide him while you’re straddling his waist, basically cockwarming him sends him shivers. “god, ‘s good,” he groans, tugging at the bottom edge of his spot-patterned tie. nanami could feel the raised pointed tips of his ears burning as his eyes slowly flicker down toward your sopping wet pussy. oh, how it’s just profusely leaking with so much strings of your pretty slick. messily, it glosses a shine between your legs, gleaming with thick molasses—almost similar to a stream, and yet this stream was instead flowing down between your legs. “mmh.. ride me, s- show me how to feel good, my love.”

“hey. eyes on me, ‘ken,” you whisper, your fragile breaths growing shallow the moment he’s tightly snug balls deep in. with a ringing loud ‘pop!’ you feel him greedily ease his way past the slight loose ring of your entrance and you moan. he’s in so deep, and you can’t help but shimmy your hips against his lap. nanami told you how he had little to no experience—and yet, he wanted to try this out with you. having you ride him until he couldn’t think straight. whenever you ran your hands down his carved tone body, a roaring fire would ignite within him. your touch alone sent him chills and he only craved it more. tender fawn-colored eyes that almost resemble honey meet your gaze, and he leans into your touch the moment you cup your hands on his cheeks. slowly, you’re lustfully swaying against his lap back and forth and he groans. “that’s it, you’re doin’ good, kento. hold my hips.”

“like . . this?” he hoarsely asks, and hefty hands suddenly cling onto your waist. you moan, nodding as he gently holds them in place, trying to guide your movements. his cock stretched you out in each ‘n every way, curiously exploring through the gummy walls of every slick orifice. nanami’s starting to sweat already—and you smile, watching as he sneaks a fat thumb down between your pried open legs. “mngh. . you’re soakin’ all on me. is that normal?” he breathes, and you can see a bit of drool starting to seep down the cracked corners of his lips.

soaking, he could hear the sloppy sounds of your cunt slamming back against his tense thighs and it makes him throb. in zealous sync, you end up throbbing too, and he feels said throb right against the the narrow tip of his cock. “ah, y- yeah, ‘s normal, kento,” you inhale sharply, wrapping your arms around him. callused fingertips his drag a straight line down your skin as he starts to rock you faster into his needy pelvis.

the stretch makes you whimper - his dick’s so fat, and your pussy swallows all numerous inches every time. over ‘n over, your ass violently hits back against his lap as you continue to ride him, amorously tossing your swerving hips in a circle. you could see the blond’s eyes starting to grow hooded, and he’s never looked so in love. your cunt had him hungry for more. “like that, baby?”

“mhm, i like a-anything you do to me, sweetheart,” nanami hoarsely coos, pulling up the back of your hand for a loving kiss. you’re riding him well—watching as he slowly cocks his head back, exposing the oval-shaped adam’s apple in his throat. it’s a simple yet sexy detail that makes you pulsate nevertheless, and nanami groans. “f- fuck, i need you. i need more, ‘m not gonna last, honey if you hah.. keep ridin’ me like that.”

and within a few hasty strokes, nanami starts to get the hang of your rhythm. by the hang, he’s starting to fuck you against his cock now. vast, open hands of his cling onto your waist tight before he’s occasionally spanking your ass. “ngh, good girl. that’s my girl, ugh,” and as you’re whining, nanami pulls you into his neck. the pearly silver band of his flashy watch tickles down your back as he grabs at a nice chunk of your ass, spanking it. “r- ride it like it’s yours, sweetheart. ride it like i’m yours.”

he’s whispering filthy nothing in your ears—trying to drown out your cute sobbing whimpers and your even louder pussy. nanami’s cock was deranged - it was reaching through every sensitive spot of yours, wasting no time to introduce itself near the gummy ridges.

“fuck, fuck!” you’d squeal out, gasping once the swollen head of his cock tickles its way near your hidden g-spot. oh, that spot. you couldn’t help but get sheepish, a cock drunk smile twisting against your lips. he’s so snug, rearranging your insides while continuing to spank your ass. it’s almost as if he knew what he was doing, and nanami knew how to tame your aching cunt with just a few sloppy strokes. “ken, ‘m close. fuckin’ close.”

“i know, i know. give it t’ me,” he whispers, his voice pitching deeper ‘n deeper after each sloppy thrust. nanami’s pumping you full, swallowing thickly to ease the inside of his mouth that’s parched, akin to the sahara. nanami groans, gingerly making you slam your hips against him harder. “fuck, work those hips sweetheart. show me how messy my pretty girl can be, h- huh?”

you’re whimpering constantly, sounding like nothing more than a broken record as you’re gradually being led to your release. it’s a candied sweet taste in your mouth that never goes away, and once you finally came—you were hysterical.

nanami huffs heavily, holding you tight as your hips come to a sudden devastating stop. he’s still buried thick inches deep before he groans, caressing a palm against your tender rear. “hah, that’s m- my girl,” he coos, feeling you drench a portion of his cock with your slimy slick. it’s warm, and you’re still whining incoherent blurbs as you bury your face into his neck. “whew, we’ll have ‘ta try that again,” and once he plants a wet kiss near your temple, he strokes your chin with a thumb. “but another position though. if that’s alright.”

“w- what position?” you tiredly pant, bringing a hand toward your sticky-coated back.

nanami gives your ass its final playful spank before whispering lowly against your lips. “ever heard of doggy, my love?”

#GETO SUGURU aka the nasty virgin?!

geto’s a filthy nasty virgin, unashamed. insisting how he’s never experienced something like this before, smugly stating how he ‘did his research.’

“lie back, sweetheart,” geto huffed, flipping you right back over on your back. he’d just got done with fucking you round after round for the first time, and it seemed like the word ‘stamina’ didn’t exist in his vocabulary. one second inside and he already wanted more—he was greedy, and it was never enough. as you’re struggling to catch your breath that drags out of your full puffed lungs, you stare up at geto. right away, his dark eyes dart between your legs and the dripping dewy mess that streams between your puffed cunt. “what a pretty sight, look at thaaaat,” and geto inches his face between your thighs, staring at frosty-white wads of cum that pour straight out of your full swollen folds.

so much. . you were practically overflowing with ribbons of sticky hot cum ‘n many more strings of it before he sticks out his tongue. “hah, least i can do is clean my girl, hm?” and you whimper, feeling him spread your legs apart with two hands. “kinda saw this in a video once.”

“s- sugu!” you gasp, your words leisurely turning into moans the second he dives straight into your pussy - nose first.

right as the tip of his tongue creates a frenzied slurping trail that soaks straight your cunt, he gives you the most feral look. his pretty black lashes briefly flap shut as he’s devouring you wholly, jerking his head from side to side. choked, gargled moans continue to steal out from your strained vocal cords as a hand of yours fishes through his matted tresses. “fuck, f- fuck like that, clean it up, baby.”

“mhm,” he smears his entire chin against your cunt, feeling it get doused with your sweet slick almost right away. he’s nasty, lapping up his bittersweet cum that spills out from between your folds like it’s nothing. geto barely even bats an eye, and that’s when he groans the second you feel a bit of weight dip against the mattress. he’s now humping against the edge of the bed, rocking his slim hips over ‘n over. “goddamn, ‘m so horny still, sweetheart. ‘y have no idea,” he whimpers shakily, and he grumbles under his breath, shaking his head as a few thin strands of hair gets in the way of his view. “h- hey, be a doll ‘n tie my hair back for me, yeah?”

as you’re chasing your quick-steady breaths, you grab his ponytail holder from his wrist, neatly putting his raven locks into a messy bun. “good girl, take such good care of m—mmph.”

geto lowly chuckles against your pussy once you give him a soft push that makes his nose brush up against your clit. your folds were so cute ‘n runny, filthily oozing with velvety remnants of his warm, pasty cum. “mhh, suguru,” you’d whine, feeling your back continuously arch against the stained white sheets. geto’s got a few loose strands that continue to run down his face, past his brows—making him appear to be even more handsome whilst between your legs. each thoroughly slurp gets louder, and that’s when he starts to loll his tongue out inside of you.

one thing about suguru geto was that he had a long fuckin’ tongue..

it extends fully, and you give his hair a rough tug once the tip of his tongue playfully slithers its way near your twitching sensitive nub. at that moment, you feel a rapid chill race through you and you let off the most shrilling whimper. “ah! suguru, fuck, ‘m sensitive there, don’t s- stop,” and as you’re babbling from his lengthy tongue, he starts to purse his lips. they curl up, puckering fully before he’s drinking everything out of you.

it’s a long carnal suck that makes your eyes cross and you feel like your life’s flashing before your eyes. splotches of white were all that clouded your vision as your thighs shake—nearly suffocating him with your plush, warm legs. “o- oh, fuck,” you’d mewl, and you knew that incoming pressure from anywhere.

you were close.

geto grunts, savoring your taste entirely. you’re just so sweet that your flavor melts on his tongue and he’s teasingly thrusting his tongue in and out of your sobbing folds. seconds later, that’s when you shriek. “c’monnn, give it to me,” and he even brings a hand between your thighs, spanking your precious cunt. “make a mess on my tongue, wanna see what it’s like,” he groans, his rocking against the edge of the bed intensifying. geto’s famished for more, and his bare cock twitches against the rocky mattress frame as you’re squirming on his tongue. by now, he’s licked you clean, and in return, he’s left with a locked jaw and glimmering wet chin. geto eyes you intently, giving your pussy its final sloppy spank before whispering against your folds. “let go for me, baby.”

as if on cue, you gush out loudly, feeling every muscle within you snap ‘n stretch outward. it was as if a crushing weight was lifted from your shoulders—but in this case, your shoulders were your tummy. “fuuuck!” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut as your legs give out.

geto’s mouth was still glued to your sticky slippery cunt as his tongue’s slowed its licks down. you tasted even sweeter, and he’s slurping you right up - softly moaning against your cunt as he reaches to touch himself. geto’s tongue’s constant movements scratch such an itch in your brain, making you let off a cute gasp. “ughh, s- suguru,” you whimper, feeling your thighs still shiver.

your tummy heaves in and out repeatedly, and you glance down at geto who’s got the sleaziest grin. “t- thought you said you didn’t know what you were . . hah, doing.”

“oh, baby i don’t,” geto rasps, sitting up from between your legs. he closes the distance between you both, pressing a steamy hot kiss against your quivering plump lips. you moan, getting a brief taste of yourself on his hot tongue before he playfully bites near your bottom lip. “my research helped me a lot,” and you moan the second you feel him give your sloppy cunt a big squeeze with his palm. “but . . i didn’t know my girl was a squirter. think we’ll have to do that again,” geto licks underneath your chin. “y’know, for research purposes.”

#GOJO SATORU aka the loser virgin?!

“yeah, yeah,” satoru would stubbornly grumble, cutting you off mid-sentence and rolling his eyes. his leaky tip remains idle, aligning itself against your soddened entrance before he puffs. phew, you were so pretty up close—especially down there. satoru couldn’t help but stare, openly admiring just how slick ‘n soaked you were.

just weeping from both off folds, the entirety of your entrance being coated in nothing but perspiring wetness. satoru swears on his life he knows what he’s doing, but the second the globed head of his cock smears a line down the wet slope of your cunt - he folds.

with a shaky, needy breath, he whines. “god, why are you so fuckin’ wet, baby. ‘s this supposed to happen?”

“yes, ‘toru,” you reassure him, sprawling your legs out a bit more. satoru’s panting, watching as you bring two sets of fingers toward your pretty pussy. with a slightly wide ‘v’ shape, you’re spreading yourself apart and he’s gawking straight between your legs. fuck, you were so soaked that you were starting to drip near the inner crevices of your thighs. you were playing with yourself earlier before he told you how he wanted to try going inside for the first time. but now that he’s up close—satoru can’t help but be a bit flustered. “c’mere, don’t be shy,” and you nearly moan, trailing the print of your thumb down your syrupy-coated slit. “she doesn’t bite.”

satoru scoffs, but he inches closer. so wet, his cock that was being fisted in the palm of his hand was throbbing hard. pulse after fucking pulse, a lightning-shaped vein races down the center of his hand before he groans at how hard you’re making him. “ngh, baby,” and he nearly loses it the second he struggles to align himself. he feels so hot, fuzzy cotton stuffing in his ears once his tip slowly rubs itself in between your drooling flaps. satoru snaps out of it, clearing his throat before puffing out his chest in an attempt to maintain his known ego. “heh- i mean uh- let’s show ya how ‘the strongest’ fucks.”

and apparently, ‘the strongest’ didn’t really know what he was doing after all.

because he’s barely halfway in when he’s cumming - heavily.

emphasis on barely, and satoru lets out a sweet needy whine the second he’s shooting thin milky ropes into you. thick, stringy ribbons of cum envelope inside your pussy with warmth right away. “f- fuck, dammit,” he’d grunt, burying his face into the crook of your neck. satoru’s beefy body presses right up against yours, and he’s shivering at the feeling. it’s unlike any feeling he’s ever felt, and you giggle the second you hear him loudly sigh. “ugh, that wasn’t supposed ‘ta happen.”

“thought you knew what you were doin’, baby,” you cheekily reply, a few beads of sweat racing down the left side of your forehead. satoru sits up, leaning into your ginger embraces—your palm cupping his temple. he’s pouting, an unsatisfied pout extending across each side of his lips.

“i- i doo,” he whines, feeling his thighs starting to heat up near the undersides. satoru clenches his teeth, groaning once you gradually wrap your legs around his slim waist. he’s hot, and you’ve got him wrapped around your pretty ‘lil finger.

wide, crystal blue eyes meet your gaze before satoru exhales into your neck. “mnh, let me try again, baby,” and right as you rub your ankle down his tense back muscles, he gruffs. snowy flapping lashes of his shut tight before he wraps a hand around his lanky cock. “pleasee, c’mon baby. lemme prove myself. i’ll get it this time for real.”

a smile marinates its way against your features as you hum, rubbing a thumb down his sensitive undercut. for a second, you could have sworn you heard satoru purr as he leaned into your touch. you almost forgot how much of a tender spot that was for him. cute.

“okay, go ‘head,” and both of your thighs were practically sticking together. such amounts of his seed glue against your thighs—almost like it was some kind of clingy adhesive. satoru pulls out for a moment, eager to get a look at the sloppy mess and oh.. it was a lot - he came a lot, and satoru couldn’t help but stare at the luminous streams of cum that teared down your polished cunt.

it’s sloppy. satoru’s eyes widen once he feels his tip glide its way against your cervix. right near your g-spot - it’s fuckin’ bumpy, and he feels your legs eagerly twitch the minute his dick slides its way near a spongy area. you’re moaning, laid back before satoru starts to whine.

he can’t help but whimper, softly smacking his swollen tip on your entrance. satoru had no idea what to do next, but he just wanted to play with your pretty pussy some more. the loud echoey smacks from his dick onto your folds make his ears ring…pap after pap and he’s pronounced feral. but that’s right when you hear him sniffle, literally getting lost in your pussy the second he feels your cute pulse on his round, mushroomy tip.

as you wrap your arms around him, hearing him whine once you rub a thumb down his undercut, feeling him awkwardly trying to align himself again with a bashful needy grin.

“toru, are you cryin’?”

#CHOSO KAMO aka the virgin who barely lasts?!

“o- oh, fuckk,” he’d whine, twinkling eyes widening the second he’s watching your tummy cave in from behind. you’re so pretty like this, bent over, sprawled all out on all fours. choso’s stiffly still at first, and he’s very awkward with his hands. bulged, umber-colored eyes bore into your backside, gazing at your skin. stunning, choso grunts as he pistons his hips, glancing at the sunlight that radiates off a shiny part of your spine.

in choso’s eyes, you’re breathing pretty - art, and with the way your skin glimmers in the sun, you looked like a rare painting. “baby, you’re so warm inside.”

“mhm, don’t stop ‘cho,” you moan in response, feeling your loose jaw start to droop allll the way down. you nibble near the inside of your gummy cheek, gasping at just how big he is. his cock was huge, and it didn’t take him long at all to fit nice ‘n snug. its a semi-tight fit that makes your mouth start to water from the inside and you whine. “fuuck, ‘s okay, choso,” and he feels you wriggling your ass against him. choso’s eyes dart towards your bouncy rear and he huffs. “spank it.”

a shuddering breath leaves from choso’s pink parted lips before he lowly rasps. “yeah?” and you felt yourself throb, feeling him press himself all up against you. now, choso’s gently hovering his weight over your back whilst he’s still presenting you with passionate deep strokes. slowly but surely—he’s getting the hang of it, rummaging through your fleshy clingy insides with each punctuating hit. choso’s gruff heavy breaths fan down your neck before he moans, creeping a hand toward your ass. “i can spank you, baby?”

“mmh,” you whimper in response, hearing the salaciously wanton squelches of your cunt help out louder. saying that you were wet was a mere understatement, you were pouring all down his dick with your slick. choso could feel the wetted mess trail between your legs, coating the front of his thighs entirely with your viscid sap. he’s heard about intimacy but it was an entirely different thing to experience it firsthand. “spank me, choso. ‘s okay, you can be a ‘lil rough.”

“ ‘kay,” he huffs, and you let off a soft squeal the second his palm sharply swats against your ass. oh, he liked that. the way your rear recoiled, pretty skin bouncing quickly for a few seconds—all from a small whacking hit. the brief sting made your cunt pulse sporadically as he was still drilling into you. pump after pump, choso turns pussy drunk within seconds. “hah, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he whines, tracing a hand down the pretty curvature of your ass. his fingers dance down every juncture, and it’s almost heart-shaped. “baby, you’re makin’ me feel so—fuck.”

choso gets cut off from his words the moment he feels his dick throb between your soddened cunt. you’re wringing him dry, all while your head is cutely smushed up against your pillow. choso’s speed quickly starts to get relentless, and after a while, he’s starting to understand the human body just a bit more. “ah, choso. fuck me, fuck!” you’d whimper, a curling sensation arising within your toes right as he slams his way into your cervix.

it’s a direct hit, a k.o. as some would might say—and it’s almost as if you’ve got stars ‘n imaginary birds flying over your head like a cartoon because choso’s dick had you stupid.

“somethin’s c- comin’,” he moans, slightly lifting your leg to get a better view. it’s probably been a few minutes and choso’s already panting like a dog. he’s feral - softly planting a stripe of wet kisses down your neck as he’s buried balls deep. “ugh, baby. ‘m gonna cum, gonna cum, ngh.”

“inside, ‘cho. ‘s okay,” you whine, feeling his pace grow more relentless and sloppy. choso’s gripping your waist tightly, his bottom lip quivering as he’s feeling a sudden rush overtake his entire body. you’re perfect - he wanted to keep you like this forever, plug you full and keep you warm. you could hear his rough, heavy pants from behind you until he finally came.

whitish thick ribbons pour into you all at once, shooting deep into your womb.

it’s hot - physically and literally.

you’re arched over for him like a bridge and he’s whimpering, furrowing his darkened brows with a pout as choso slowly starts to flood your cunt. globs of sleek strings spray inside your gripping cunt as he gradually pulls out, openly watching as you’re moaning. the feeling of your walls wrapping around his cock had him feeling fuzzy. “m- mhm, choso,” you’d mewl out, hearing him cutely gasp once your cunt sloshes loudly, spitting out thin clumps of his cum. “ ‘m so full.”

“hah- ‘n you’re gonna get even fuller, baby,” he huffs, a pout still glossing over his slickly-wet lips as he stares at your pussy. it’s pretty like this, he thinks. from top to bottom—you’re stuffed full of his gooey hot cum, so much to where it’s shamelessly oozing out of your puffed slit, racing down your numb jittery thighs. you moan, feeling choso drag a thumb down your sobbing, slobbering slit before popping his thumb into his mouth, licking his mess right off his finger.

choso moans at the taste before pouting. “not done, one more round,” and as he glides his tongue across his digit, choso gives your cunt a soft spank before groaning, softly pushing your knees to your chest.

“ ‘m still hungry.”

#TOJI FUSHIGURO aka the virgin who gets humbled?!

“heh. do y’r worst, baby,” toji would snicker, bringing a spank to your ass as he leans back against the couch. lazily, he’s slouching with a half-filled can of cheap beer in his hand. he’s smug, and not only was he smug but he was also virgin - the cockiest.

it’s funny because toji didn’t know what the fuck he was doing…however, he was more than willing for you to ‘show him’ how to feel good.

of course—he’s haughty that you won’t be able to take him, but it’s much to be expected for a pompous fratboy. “mmh, goddamn,” he’d grunt, peering down at your glossed weeping pussy. it’s wet, and as you straddle him, toji squeezes the energy drink in his hand. “slow, baby s- slow.”

with a cooing whisper, you sprinkle a few kisses near the inside of his neck. “slower, toji? but you’re the one who kept rushin’ me,” you tease, and from your peripherals, you can see his jaw tensing. fuck, the moment your cunt starts to ease down on his length in a gradually paced manner, toji groans. it’s a low husky groan - the groan where he’s already tossing his head back.

“y’r bein’ a brat,” he snarls, sliding an arm around your waist. your pussy was hypnotic - and you wearing one of his oversized jade-colored frat hoodies only made things ten times worse. you looked so pretty, and he couldn’t help but trail his hooded eyes down your body, stopping at the hem of your waist and right near your ass. “fuck- slow, baby. ‘m damn sensitive,” and you watch the sly smirk that was once plastered on his scarred lips slowly starting to fade. toji’s getting more ‘n more pussy drunk, and he knows it too. “mhh, like that. fuck me good.”

“you talk too much,” you teasingly grip his chin, watching as his leafy verdant eyes gaze into yours. he’s hard - and not only is he hard but he’s insanely sensitive. toji scoffs, but that soon disappears the moment your hips start to move. “hnghh,” you suck in a brisk breath, eyes nearly widening once you start to feel the gaping, lewd stretch. his cock was long ‘n tall—merrily expanding through your cunt within each thick inch.

one thrust - just one fuckin’ thrust and that was all it took for you to nearly break. he’s huge, and you whimper the second you feel his plump swollen sack kiss near the undersides of your bare ass. “oh yeah? make me shut up then.”

famous last words.

because even though toji’s all talk, he gets humbled right away the minute you change him as a person entirely all from your sweet, mesmerizing cunt. toji leans back, groaning gruffly against your ear as faint gurgled whines depart from his throat. you’re riding him good, shutting him with your pussy—humbling him with your hips. oh, you’re just riding him into complete oblivion. toji was left speechless, and instead of you moaning his name, he was moaning yours.

“ngh, fuck. god, ‘s good don’t fuckin’ stop workin’ those hips, s- shit,” he’d huskily snarl, squeezing the plastic can within his palm, crushing its shape. toji’s cologne scent was loud, and it completely rubbed off against your skin as you moaned. you were grinding against him back ‘n forth, whining continuously before milliseconds passed by and you’re now starting to feel your stomach churn churn churn.

each eye rolling, toe-curling feeling that twists in the depths of your insides due to his cock makes you sob out moan after moan. you try to silence yourself by sneaking a few needy kisses near toji’s scarred lip. he grunts with a clenched jaw, returning the gesture with a hand glued to your ass.

it moves like water - toji was always an ass man, and now that he was finally living the dream, he spanked you again, and again, and again.

the jiggle against his palm makes his dick throb, and you feel it right inside of your cunt. “doin’ okay, toji?” you tease breathlessly, watching as a shiny string of saliva tears away from both lips. you felt him squeeze his way wholly inside of your fleshy entrance, ploddingly and sloppily thrusting in and out.

“tch. less talkin’ more ridin—oh fuck,” he’d gruff, his shoulders slackening as you sensually rutted your hips further into him. god, you were teasing him so much and your wet, filthy cunt was to blame. he wanted more, more more. the way you moved in such a relentless manner drove toji crazy and he was starting to think maybe the two of you were just more than roommates. your pussy had that kind of power, and it’s not even seconds later before toji’s about to cum.

but surprisingly, he ends up lifting you with burly arms, pulling out with a speed equivalent to the flash. he moans, staring at his leaking reddened tip that’s dribbling from the slit with sticky droplets of warm cum. he’s heaving, staring back at your sparkly-coated cunt before he makes you recline back against the couch.

“f- fuck, ‘s much. lie back, baby. l- lie back for me,” and once you do, he merely pounces on you. toji exhales out a deep, heavy sigh before aligning his swollen tip near your dripping cunt. “god, look at ‘er,” he grunts, and you could hear the tremor in his voice as he’s spraying his seed on the outer part of your wetted entrance. it’s long, striped stripes of ivory ropes that paint your bare tender clit and he licks his lips at the filthy sight. “hah, so fuckin’ hot. milkin’ me like that, f- fuck.”

“you came pretty quick, toji,” you jibe, spreading your sopping cunt lips apart so he could play between your legs some more. with a loud ‘thwack’, toji smacks his swollen tip against your pussy, smearing his blushing crownhead up ‘n down your stained crying slit. it’s so messy, and you watch as his tongue briefly sticks out between his ruby lips.

“let’s not talk ‘bout that,” toji grumps, and you moan the second he’s re-aligning himself. his fat girth was ready to introduce itself yet again to your swollen insides. toji’s still panting, and you can see how flustered he was because he’s visibly pouting. “f- fuck, i . . i need a minute,” and he pulls back out, slouching back against the couch. you crawl over toward him and within a split second he wraps an arm around you.

yeah, he’s obsessed.

“give me . . a minute,” he huffs, his chiseled abs flexing through his grey dingy tank. toji pulls you into his beefy hardened pecs before staring down at you, and your eyes widen once he kisses the top of your forehead. “next time, ‘m gonna last ten- no, thirteen rounds.”

“sureee thing, big guy.”

spoiler - he doesn’t.

#INO TAKUMA aka the virgin who…falls in love?!

ino who moans out a sweet gasping, “f- fuuck me,” the second he’s easing his way inside of you for the first time. his dick feels soft for a second, tenderly assuaging through your insides before he whimpers at the new feeling. ino’s heavily panting out short breaths, staring at your bare exposed body that prettily sits underneath him before he moans. “ ‘m not hurtin’ you, right, angel?”

“no, no. ‘m fine, ino,” you let off a soft sigh, the lower parts of your legs snaking around his waist. ino grunts, going as slow as he can. he’s barely even a few inches in and he’s already sweating profusely. “easyy, that’s it, baby,” you reassure him with labored breaths, staring into his droopy hooded eyes. ino’s beanie was on the verge of sliding off the side of his head before he sucks his teeth at your gripping warmth. “hold my hand, here,” and you could feel his body shudder the moment you intertwine your fingers against his.

he’s big, and he knows it. ino scrunches his dark brows into a furrow, trying his best to blindly navigate his way inside of your cunt. right away, you’re clenching around him tight, locking your unstable legs around his waist before hearing him let off a sweet whimper.

“ugh, you feel so good, so good,” and within each wet-sounding thrust, his words start to pitch. it gets lower ‘n lower, raspy and husky. ino’s skin starts to glue against you thanks to the splotches of sweat dampening against each other before he huffs. “tell me it's too much, ngh—fuck,” and his eyes soften the moment you cup his face. “s- sorryy, am i talkin’ too much?”

“ ‘s okay, ino,” you inhale, and his pace starts to get quicker. vast, thorough thrusts make you feel every inch. his frantic rhythm rocks into you steadily, causing the bed to constantly wail out pathetic whiney creaks. you brush a thumb across the side of his cheek before moaning, feeling his tip zigzag its way across your sensitive g-spot. “ah! right there, ino. there, baby t- thereee.”

“there, oh- okay,” he tries to take note, studying your body’s movements. into felt his cock twitch at your reaction. so cute. you’d clench around him tight before arching your back, dragging your nails down his soft skin. ino’s stretching you out to the very limit, plummeting his dick into you over and over until you’re seeing nothing but cloudy blobs of white. you hadn’t even realized your eyes were lulling near the back of your head before he cheekily pointed it out. “heh, you look kinda silly like this pretty girl.”

you shoot him a playful glare whilst he’s still driving himself into your mid-thrust and ino sheepishly snickers. “sorry, sorry,” and with a sticky smooch, he brings his lips up against yours. ino’s pace starts to pick up more and more, championing his chiseled askew hips into you. “ah, i think ‘m gonna cum though, shitshitshit,” and as he’s rambling, ino starts to feel his hips into you quicker. “hah, lovie- tell me what ‘ta do. where do i f- finish,” he’d huff breathlessly, sliding his scarred hands near the sides of your waist. “tell me, pretty.”

“inside, baby,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. ino’s eyes widen - darkening, and he groans. the way you talked to him so sweet in his ear, even licking against the outer lobe makes him shiver. you’re a tease, and he only wanted more. ino wanted more . . of you. “wan’ you inside.”

“say it again,” he shakily whines against your neck, nipping a few invisible kisses near the juncture of your exposed collarbone. you tasted sweet, and ino’s mind spun cogwheels throughout each second he’s spent buried inside of you. “talk ‘ta me in that pretty voice- wanna hear you again. p- please.”

with a sobbing mewl from the brief twinges that slowly form into pleasure—you repeat yourself in a desperate mewling cry of, “inside, ino. please, f- fuck me,” and oh- if you saw the look on his face. his heart’s pounding as he’s mercilessly driving his hips into you at full fuckin’ throttle.

ino’s groaning into your neck, feeling his body growing limp before a lengthy multitude of seconds goes by and he’s cumming, hard.

it’s a thin hefty load - runny, stringy ribbons of feverish hot cum that splatters deep inside of you.

ino melts like a puddle into your embrace as you wrap your arms around him. “fuuuck, i lo-” he pauses, getting silenced by a shattering breath. your pussy’s got him secured on a leash, and he’s groaning once he hears himself pour such slimy amounts way into your womb. it sprays everywhere, painting inside and out.

ino kisses his teeth sharply, pressing one more kiss near the tip of your nose before moaning. “h- heh, think i love you, angel,” and you moan, feeling him slowly raise your leg, tossing it over your shoulder.

a hand of his creeps between your gloss-coated, gooey legs that practically stuck together before he pulls out midway, smearing a palm against your stuffed pussy. “ ‘n i love her especially, s- so much.”

[daddyjackfrost]

Lost in The Wild ; B. Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!F!Reader

Synopsis: It was supposed to be an easy mission. In and out. But then communication went out. The intel became useless. The weather turned horrific. Bucky lost his gun. And then, you.

Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn, friends to lovers, horrible weather, blood, injuries, yearning, cursing, Ft. Sam, Steve, and Natasha, SMUT, p in v, oral (f rec.), kissing, praise, MDNI, unprotected sex, brief crying, they’re so in love your honor, down!bad bucky, lmk if I missed any! WC: 12.9k

A/N: First ever Bucky post! It’s been years since I’ve written on this account so have mercy on me. Thank you to all the wonderful writers on here that are so talented and inspiring. As for timeline… I don’t know. Canon? What canon? Comments & Reblogs are appreciated!

The rain had been coming down in sheets for hours. Not the kind that offered relief or clarity—no, this was brutal, heavy rain, the kind that blurred the edges of the world and made the earth itself hostile. It was the kind that soaked you to the bone, made every step a battle, and turned even the most solid ground into something slippery, a trap waiting to swallow you whole. 

The terrain had started off rocky, already a pain in the ass. Sharp crags jutted out from the hillsides like broken bones. Narrow passes that barely fit a single person had suddenly become rivers of slick mud and falling debris. Visibility was horrible and comms were patchy at best, and then they were gone entirely—just static and silence, the kind that settled into your chest and made it difficult to think straight. 

Bucky’s boots sank with every step, the mud sucking greedily at the soles, threatening to pull him under. His jaw was clenched tight, his vibranium arm flexing and twitching as adrenaline surged through him. He was briefly glad that he had cut his hair and didn’t have to worry about strands on his face. A small feat, but a significant one. The cold bit through his tactical gear, but he barely felt it. All he could focus on was the silence in his ear. 

Your voice, gone. 

One second, you were right behind him—mud on your face, grinning like an idiot, breathless and half-laughing about the total bullshit of intel you both had been fed. He had grunted and told you to stay close. 

Then, the world cracked open. 

A landslide tore through the ridge, and before he could grab you, before he could warn you—before he could even think–you were gone in a roar of earth and stone and rain.

He screamed your name. Loud, desperate. Absolutely no care as to who may have heard. He screamed once more, the rain slapping harshly against his skin. 

There had been nothing. No response. Just the sound of the storm ripping the world apart. 

Now, he was moving blind and completely alone. Mud covered his hands, smeared across his cheek, soaked into his skin and clothes. His rifle had been torn from him earlier and his sidearm was somewhere in a ravine miles back, lost in the chaos. All he had now was a combat knife and fear—chewing through his chest at an incomprehensible rate. 

In the distance, he could hear the screams of the Hydra agents. Some had been swept away when you had been and the others were trying to hold on, trying to find him and survive. He silently prayed that another landslide, something horrific, would wipe them out. 

He knew that the bunker had been emptied. He stumbled upon it when he began looking for you and had been tempted to go in, try and get some help. But he needed to find you, first. He had turned around and hadn’t looked back. 

He tripped over a root, hit the ground hard, and didn’t even flinch. Just pushed himself back up, spit blood, and kept moving. He had to find you. 

He had to find you. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and low, throat raw.

“Focus. Come on.” 

Every snapped twig, every distant sound—he turned to it like a live wire. He felt like an animal, something manic, as he listened for any sound of you. Hope and terror felt the same now as his heart beat too fast. He was distantly aware that his hands were shaking, and not from the cold. 

You were out there somewhere. For a split second, he let his mind wander. You could have been crushed—dead. 

No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He blinked once, harshly, before shoving all those horrible thoughts to the back of his mind, where he kept all the bad. 

You were smart. Deadly. He knew that. He knew you were better than most people–most soldiers–he’d ever worked with. But even the best had limits and you were human. Flesh, bleeding, breakable. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. You had looked so small as you disappeared into the landslide. He couldn’t get the picture out of his mind, of the way your eyes had briefly widened and your lips had parted. His tortuous mind wondered if you would have called out for him.

It didn’t matter, he decided. He hadn’t acted fast enough, hadn’t caught you. He didn’t even realize he was whispering your name again until it broke in his throat. 

“Where the fuck are you?” 

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the twisted trees and gnarled terrain. He whipped his head around, trying to look for anything, then, he caught the shimmer of something. He wasn’t sure if it was metal or blood but he moved fast. Slipped once, hard, landed on his knees again but didn’t stop. His hands clawed through the mud, his breathing loud and ragged. 

Then—there. In the shadow of a fallen tree, half-covered in mud and leaves and blood, was you.

Your body was twisted awkwardly, like you’d been thrown by the force of the slide. One arm cradled to your chest. Cuts littered your face, lips split, blood soaking into your torn-up gear. There was a deep gash along your side—too deep—and your eyes were half-lidded, fluttering like you were waiting to let go. 

Bucky tore through the mud, pulled and stretched his torn muscles and dropped beside you with a choked breath. His hands hovered over your body, not touching yet. Not sure where it was safe. Not sure if he could bear to feel how cold you were. 

His fingers twitched, and he bit down roughly on his bottom lip to prevent the wounded sound that almost left his throat at the sight of you. Your eyes fluttered once more before gently shutting. “Hey—hey, no,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Don’t you fucking dare. Open your eyes, doll.” 

His warm breath brushed against your cheek and your lips twitched, a shallow breath escaping. You willed your eyes to open, even if it was just for a moment.

“Barnes…”

He nearly collapsed from the sound of your voice. It was quiet, weaker than he’d ever heard it or wanted too, but it was there. 

Relief hit him like a truck and he moved closer to you, but it didn’t fix anything. You were still bleeding, still barely breathing. He could feel the tremble in your body as your fingers brushed against his sleeve like you were checking if he was real. He pressed his arm closer to you, finding brief comfort in the way you squeezed his skin. 

It was the first time he had felt warmth in the last three hours. 

“Alright, I got you,” he whispered, lips trembling from the cold. “I’ve got you now, okay?” His voice was low, rough, tight with something he couldn’t name. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/n. Just—just stay with me, yeah?’ 

You tried your best to nod but everything felt too heavy and you were too weak so you simply hummed and he almost choked at the sound. He pushed the tree off of you, murmuring softly when you groaned in pain.

“I know, I know, just a second, doll.” 

He breathed in deeply before he crouched down and scooped you up, carefully, like you’d shatter if he breathed wrong. His arms and body were solid beneath you like he hadn’t suffered similarly, like he wasn’t injured. You hissed in pain but your arms naturally curled weakly around his neck. At the moment, you trusted him more than anything. More than the pain, than your own body. 

Bucky held his breath and kept his eyes ahead, knowing that if he made eye contact with you like this, all broken and bleeding in his arms, he’d crumble. He tightened his grip on your body when your eyes shut and pressed his chin into your hair. 

“Open ‘em, doll,” he muttered. “Come on. Please.” 

You tried, but your head felt heavy so you dug your fingernails into his neck instead. His hold on you tightened even further as he ran, rain striking down, harshly and unforgiving. The temperature was dropping rapidly and he knew he had to get you somewhere dry, somewhere he could take a look at all your injuries. 

By some miracle, and he would later pray about it, he found shelter not far from the ridge–a cave. He remembered seeing it during the initial scope of the terrain, during the mission brief. You had joked about it, something stupid about him retreating into the cave for a nap. He laughed—or, he thinks he did. He wished he had. 

He’d kill a man to hear your laugh right now. 

The cave was barely more than a dent in the mountain—narrow and damp, carved into the rock like the earth itself had given up trying to stay solid. The wind howled outside, slicing through the trees and screaming through the cracks in the stone. Rain still battered the world, relentless in its fall. 

He had to crawl to get inside with you in his arms. 

The stone scraped his knees, his elbows. His back ached from how he curled around your body to shield you from the worst of it. He didn’t stop, barely felt it. All he saw was the blood soaking through your clothes. You were shivering, lips blue, breathing unevenly. A faint wheeze escaped with each breath, and even in sleep, your brows were pinched in pain.

Once he was deep enough, he laid you gently on the stone floor. Bucky knelt beside you, soaked through, hands shaking. His face was drawn tight, teeth clenched so hard his jaw clicked. Rain still dripped from the ends of his hair, trailing down his neck, his face, soaking into his torn shirt. His fingers were red and brown, a deep maroon that he had painted with before. 

He blinked down at your unmoving body and clenched his fists. He could barely think straight with his heart beating out of his chest so he breathed in deeply and flipped the switch, the one he hadn’t used in years. The one that turned him into a machine. That buried softness and kindness and everything he didn’t deserve to feel beneath layers of instinct and orders and purpose. 

He was a soldier. You needed a soldier. You needed him to be smart, tactful. 

He peeled his jacket off and wrung the water out, laying it beside you. He scooped your unconscious body gently and laid you down on his jacket. He cut away the arms with shaking fingers and wrapped them around your side, trying to stop the bleeding. 

He looked through his field kit, whatever was left of it, to find something, anything, that he could use to put some part of you back together. He used the wipes to clean the blood and dirt off your face, sanitized your cuts as best as he could before he plastered on the bandaids. His fingers pressed against your skin, once, twice, and then he pulled away like you had burned him. 

He pulled his belt free and used it to tighten the splint he’d carved for your arm out of his remaining gear. He moved with precision, detachment—like you were just another asset, but his hands trembled when they brushed your cheek and he hated it. Hated how you made him feel even when you were barely conscious, when he was trying inexplicably hard not too. 

“Come on, Y/n,” he breathed out. “Open your eyes.” He curled his hands into your body, trying to stop the tremors. He’s not sure he’d be reacting like this if it were anyone else. He doesn’t even want to entertain the thought, because the conclusion is one he can’t face. You’re his partner, his teammate. You laughed at his terrible jokes sometimes. Shared your food with him when he forgot to eat. You always waited until he got on the jet before calling it in, like you had to make sure he wouldn’t get left behind. 

You weren’t his, weren’t anything. He shouldn’t be shaking like this, blinking rapidly like if he focused real hard, this battered version of you would be replaced by the you he knew. But he knew your laugh. The sound of your footsteps. The way your eyes sometimes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking. You mattered to him, which was so much worse.

And now you were bleeding out in a cave that stank of moss and wet rot, and he couldn’t even fucking stop shaking. He didn’t have the right materials or any way to contact Steve or Sam. He felt useless, which is just another thing he hated about himself at the moment. 

He stood up slowly, recognizing the familiar aches in his body, already mapping the bruises and new scars he knew littered his body. He had to get a fire started, had to get you and himself warm, so he scanned the area for a completely dry place before he dropped to his knees, fumbling through his kit. The cotton lining of his gloves—dry enough. He tore it out with his teeth, rolling it into a crude nest with shaking hands. He shoved it beneath a wedge of dry bark he’d peeled from the heartwood of a split branch, praying the core was dry enough to catch.

The first strike of flint against steel sparked nothing. The second—nothing. He swore, then coughed, the sound raw. His hands were still trembling.

Third strike. A spark jumped.

It kissed the cotton and died.

He closed his eyes. Again.

Fourth strike. Fifth.

A breath. A tremble. A single ember caught—barely a glow, a flicker like a dying star. He hunkered over it, shielding it from the damp air with his body, and blew—gently, desperately, his breath ragged. The ember pulsed. It grew.

It flared.

Tiny flames licked the shredded cotton, then the bark.

Heat.

He nearly sagged with relief as the fire cracked to life, light dancing against the slick cave walls. His hands hovered over it, aching, blistered with cold. He gave himself a moment, a single moment to enjoy the heat before he crawled to you and gently pulled you closer to the fire, close, but not too close. He didn’t want to risk it. 

His fingers moved over your temple, gently checking the wound there. You flinched and Bucky almost sighed in pained relief. At least you weren’t unconscious. Just sleeping. He could deal with that. His fingers scraped gently against ripped skin and you flinched again, a broken sound leaving your throat. 

He froze before his thumb brushed your eyebrow. He blinked once at the action before he snapped at himself, standing up so fast he smacked his shoulder against the cave ceiling. Pain rippled through his back and he lurched forward, clutching his left arm. 

He fell to his knees, coughing. The sound echoed and for a moment, it truly felt like his own personal hell. He looked down and grimaced at the blood. He had yet to take a moment and analyze his own injuries, but he knew there was no point. Whatever it was, he’d survive, and you…you may not. He had to focus on you. 

He wiped his mouth and stripped off what was left of his shirt, wet and freezing, and crouched beside you again, lifting your body into his lap to wrap his arms around you. Your temperature was dropping and there had been pregnant pauses where you had stopped shivering. 

He didn’t like what that may mean. 

You were limp against him, your face tucked under his chin, breath fanning across his throat. He could feel every line of you—every bruise, every tremble. He murmured a soft apology when his arm accidentally grazed the gash in your side. The fire’s orange hues danced across your skin and he watched carefully, momentarily awed. 

You were alive, he had to remember that. He was rocking back and forth like he had forgotten. 

“I didn’t mean to lose you,” he whispered, barely audible over the raging storm outside. “I should have kept you in front of me. Watched your back, instead of you watching mine.” 

His hold on you tightened and he released a small breath when you pressed your nose into his throat. “I could have grabbed you, kept you from falling…” 

His voice cracked and he pressed his mouth to the top of your head, breathing you in like a man starved. All he could do now was wait, wait for your body temperature to rise, wait for you to wake up. 

He hated waiting. 

The cave was wet, and water dripped steadily from the ceiling into the puddles forming near the entrance. The air smelled like steel and earth and his knees ached from the cold rock floor, his back stiff from how tightly he held you.

All he could do was ignore all the feelings that threatened to crawl through his chest by thinking about next steps. When you were awake, able to move, he knew that getting in contact with Steve or Sam was going to be difficult, but it needed to be done. 

Briefly, his mind flashed to the bunker. Hydra had kept it a secret but SHIELD had found out, as it sometimes did. It should have been an easy mission, in-and-out, but as reachable as everything sometimes seemed, the weather had always been untameable, with a mind of its own. 

Still, while they had prepared for it, no one had expected it to get this bad. Even now, the storm raged wildly outside. The sound of it was both anxiety-inducing and welcomed, background noise he hadn’t asked for but didn’t mind. 

While your breathing slowly evened out, he pressed you closer to his body and angled you closer to the fire and shut his eyes.

You woke to the sound of breathing.

Not yours—his. Measured. Steady. Like he was forcing every inhale calmly, despite its aggression. 

Your head was on his shoulder. His hand was on your thigh, warm and still. The cave was still cold and dark but the fire offered welcome heat and glow. Everything inside you ached—bones and skin all stiff and frozen, some cracked and some bruised.

You stirred slightly, a soft movement of your chin. Bucky felt it, he had listened closely as your breathing changed and your muscles shifted. 

“Bucky…” Your throat was hoarse, lips dry. You were still pressed against him, his hands warm and solid, holding you together. 

He didn’t answer at first. Just a small movement of his shoulder. 

Then he exhaled hard. “We’re moving.” 

The softness from before—his trembling hands, the whisper of your name, that broken honesty in his words and body—was gone. Replaced by that rigid, sharp-jawed version of him you’d only seen in combat or when he was forced to engage with strangers. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring toward the mouth of the cave like the storm may break in at any second. 

You slowly nodded, your nose brushing against the skin of his throat. His throat bobbed before his hold on you loosened just a fraction. 

“I can walk,” you rasped, words muffled as you tried to sit up. 

Instantly, Bucky’s arms around you tightened. “No, you can’t.” 

You tried again, “I can—”

“You can’t.” His voice cut like a blade, a little throaty and gruff. “Your ribs are unstable. Your shoulder’s fucked, and the gash on your side will rip open any second. You’re not getting back up.” He exhaled. “I’m not risking it.” 

Instead of answering right away, you slowly wiggled your fingers and toes, trying to get feeling back in them. After a moment, you lifted your head off his shoulder and groaned in pain, wincing when your unused muscles moaned in pain. 

“Hey, fuck,” Bucky’s exterior slipped for a second and he looked panicked, one hand on your good shoulder and the other on your arm, trying to offer some support. “Be careful.” He helped you slip off his lap, hand on your back—warm, solid, pulsing. 

Once you were sitting up straight, Bucky leaned back on his heels, one hand subtly reached out towards you in case you needed him. 

You swallowed hard and blinked away the exhaustion in your eyes. “Where are we going?” 

“I’ve got a plan.” His tone was clipped, controlled. Every word chosen to shut you down before you could argue. You could tell by his stiff shoulders and the way he refused to look at you that he wasn't to be reasoned with right now. 

Still, you had to try. “Bucky, look at me.” 

He froze, kept his eyes on the floor. For a second, you thought he’d listen. You just needed to see him. Needed to hear everything his eyes had to say. Instead, he shook his head. 

Bucky stood, already pulling his remaining gear together—knives, makeshift medkit, the remnants of his utility belt. He moved like a machine, like he’d mapped the next twenty steps and was already living in them. 

You watched him carefully, watched his body and the stretch of his muscles. By his movements alone, you knew he had injured his leg a bit, perhaps a sprain. His ribs hurt, probably bruised. He hadn’t cleaned himself up, not like he had you. There was still mud and blood on his face but it did little to hide his exhaustion, the frustration that had etched into his skin. 

Remnants of his soft whispers, his delicate touch still danced across your skin and you locked them away, kept them close to your heart as you came to terms with this version of him. You wanted him to look at you. 

He rolled his shoulders once, picked up his jacket, now warm, and slipped it on before he knelt in front of you. 

“This is gonna hurt.” His arms slid under your knees and shoulders, lifting you like it was nothing. But you could see the strain on his muscles. “Try not to pass out.” He slowly maneuvered you until you were draped across his back, legs and arms locked around him to the best of your ability.

You gritted your teeth, breath catching as pain stabbed down your side and back. You didn’t fight him—couldn’t, because his body was warm and solid against yours, still slightly soaked through, even trembling slightly beneath the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. 

You wanted to thank him, wanted to tell him to take a moment for himself, knowing he must have spent hours just taking care of you, but you also knew better. Knew that you both had to get out of this storm. 

You pressed your face into his neck as he bent to crawl out the cave. His knees and hands scraped against the rough, cold floor and you winced for him. He said nothing as his hold on your waist tightened and he stepped out into the storm. 

The cold slapped you both in the face. The wind cut sideways through the trees. The rain had turned the world into a mess of slick rock and rotting leaves and ankle-deep mud. Bucky moved like he had done this a hundred times, like he had spent hours analyzing the terrain and perfected where to step. 

You didn’t speak as he carried you down the ridge, every muscle in his body tense with focus. He didn’t look at you once, even when you had hissed in pain. His jaw was locked, veins tight in his neck, eyes scanning every inch of his surroundings. The rain  and mixture of leaves slapped against his face. Instinctively, you wiped his cheek clean. 

You didn’t recognize the path he was taking. It wasn’t toward the evac point—not unless he’d circled back, which didn’t make sense in this terrain or weather. You stretched your neck, trying not to pay attention to the coldness that seeped into your bones. His fingers tightened under your thighs. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, lips brushing against his ear. 

He hesitated for just a second. “The bunker.” 

You lifted your head weakly, eyes wide. “The Hydra bunker?” 

“There’s a comms room. Secure line. I can tap into SHIELD frequencies. Get a ping out.” 

He really had thought about this. You frowned, the thought of Bucky holding you in that cave, his mind running rampant as he kept you alive, circled in your mind. 

“But it’s full of—” 

“It’s empty,” he said, with certainty that chilled you. “I already scoped it. Before I found you.” 

“You—” You blinked, once, twice, and then leaned your head over his shoulder, trying to understand him. “What?” 

“I saw it when I was looking for you. It was empty. I was going to go call and wait for help, but I turned around.”

You stared at him. Logically, you knew that made sense. If he had called for help, maybe neither of you would be in this situation. But, a small, twisted part of you frowned.

“You were going to leave me,” you whispered, even though you knew it wasn’t true. He had just said that he turned around and he did find you. But he could have taken longer, or not come to find you at all if he had been ordered not to. 

Bucky finally turned his head and met your eye. And, there it was—something breaking loose in his face, just for a second, like the very thought you just had, had been eating away at him. “I was going to get help. But I knew I had to find you. So, I did.” 

You looked away, chest tight, heart fluttering with something unexplainable.

He didn’t speak again. 

It took an hour to reach the edge of the treeline. An hour of silence, mud, and Bucky’s unyielding grip around your trembling body. Every step he took was a choice, to not panic, not spiral, not let himself fall into the noise that threatened to tear his mind and heart apart. 

He needed to stay sharp and diligent. You were depending on him. 

So, when he saw the crumbling silhouette of the Hydra compound through the trees—half-collapsed, rotting into the ground—he didn’t hesitate, just kept walking. 

“We’re close,” he muttered, and set you down gently behind a fallen log, hidden beneath wet pine boughs. His hand gripped your thigh and his finger curled under your chin, tilting your head so you could meet his eyes.

“Stay here. No matter what.” 

“Bucky—”

He dropped his hand and pulled his knife from his side holster, checking the edge. “One of them might still be in there. I’ll handle it.” He pointed the knife at the ground. “Do not try and help me.”

You sighed. “You don’t have to—” 

“I do.” His voice was rough now. Not angry, but final. An edge to it that resembled the very sharpness of the blade in his hand. “I’ll come back for you.” 

He looked at you one more time. Let his eyes meet yours for a moment before they travel the length of your body, pausing at your side. 

Then he was gone. 

The forest swallowed him whole. 

You waited, every breath sharp in your chest. You were drenched, hair sticking to skin. Rain pattered softly on the leaves above you. Your hands trembled in your lap. You hated the way your body felt like a prison—useless, aching, broken. Hated that you couldn’t follow him. 

You had been through worse, had survived so much worse. You could have helped him, could have stood on your own if you really had to. 

Bucky made it so you didn’t have to. You didn’t know how you felt about that, about him. 

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Or, so you guessed. 

Then, you heard it. A single, muffled thud. A body. There had been someone in there. 

But then came nothing else. Just silence. 

The underbrush shifted and he reappeared, soaked and stone-faced, blood drying on his knife and on his neck. You didn’t ask, didn’t have to. He was breathing more heavily, slowly, and you knew his injuries had worsened. 

He was a super soldier, but he wasn’t immortal. 

Bucky knelt beside you, eyes meeting yours briefly before scanning the sky through the trees. “I got through. Signal’s weak, but I managed to reach Steve. They’re getting the jet in the air.” 

You reached out, fingers grazing his wrist. He didn’t look at you and didn’t pull away either. Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife and you slowly pried it from his hands, tossing it beside you. 

“You’re going to be okay,” he said softly. It was so quiet, like you weren’t meant to hear it. 

He barely acknowledged what he said and you decided that he didn’t know he had said it, pretended like the words didn’t make you freeze, remind you of him in the cave, feeling and talking to you like he had already lost you. 

You sat shoulder-to-shoulder as you both waited for the quinjet. 

The warmth of your bodies pressed together reminded you strangely of home.

The extraction was supposed to feel like relief. 

But to Bucky, it felt like exposure—too loud, too bright, too late. 

The quinjet split the sky open with its roar, cutting through the clouds like a blade. Trees bent under the force of the rotors. Wind tore through the clearing. And all Bucky could do was hold onto you tighter, shielding your body from the chaos and branches like his own didn’t matter. 

Sam was the first down the ramp. Steve right behind him. Both armed, both scanning for threats. 

Bucky didn’t speak at first, just waited until Sam looked over at him, then stood up, his leg pressed against your back for stability. 

“She’s critical,” he yelled, voice flat. “Bruised ribs, busted shoulder, hypothermic, and infection risk.” You looked at him, eyes wide. “She’s lost too much blood.” 

Steve’s eyes flicked over both of you—your limp body, Bucky’s slashed and bloodied arm, the bruises blooming across both of your cheeks. He didn’t ask questions, just nodded. “Let’s move.” 

A medic stepped forward with a stretcher. Bucky stepped in front of them like a wall. “Be careful.” You almost smiled. The medic—young, wide-eyed—nodded quickly. You slipped your hand into his and fingers curled around your hand.

Bucky helped you onto the stretcher, murmured something soft when you winced in pain. He didn’t let go of your hand until they forced him to.

Sam and Steve watched closely as Bucky followed right beside the stretcher, matching their steps, never more than an inch away. His jaw was locked, eyes burning. You reached out for him again and he took your hand in his. 

You turned to the medic and pulled Bucky closer. “He’s injured,” you rushed out. “Badly. His leg, ribs, and arms.” Bucky tried cutting you off but you squeezed his hand. “Shut up, Barnes.” 

The medic stared at you both and you blinked slowly. “Treat him, okay? Don’t listen to him. Listen to me.” You smiled softly, trying to ease the tension between the poor, young medic’s shoulders. “Talk to Steve if he complains.” 

“Y/n,” Bucky muttered, “I’m fine.” 

The quinjet lifted, slicing up through the trees. 

You passed out again before they hit altitude. 

The world returned slowly. 

A dull ache in your side, your chest. The sterile scent of disinfectant. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor. 

And then, warmth.

A heavy hand around yours. Thumb brushing back and forth in a pattern you could feel in your bones, something soft and ingrained. 

You recognized the weight, the press of skin. You blinked, the ceiling fuzzy above you, mouth dry.

“Buck?”

His head snapped up from where it had been resting on his forearm. His eyes were bloodshot. His stubble had grown into something darker, rougher. His hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in centuries. 

You tried to smile, muscles groaning after minimal use.

“You look like shit.” 

For half a second, something cracked—his face shifted like he was going to laugh, maybe even cry. His eyes widened and his lips wobbled. But then he shut it down, wiped the emotion clear. 

Slid the mask back into place. 

He sat upright, hand still enclosed around yours. “You’re awake. Good.” He kept his voice smooth, monotone. It was killing him, pretending to be indifferent, but he couldn’t express the relief he was feeling. He hadn’t heard your voice in so long, hadn’t seen that smile. 

You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. It hurt a bit and you faintly recalled soft fingers brushing against your forehead. “Don’t do that,” you whispered, clearing your throat. 

Bucky blinked before he brought a paper cup filled with water to your lips. “I’m fine.”

Eagerly, you pulled the straw into your mouth and sucked, letting the water wash away the dryness. You finished all the water and wiped your chin. “I didn’t ask if you were fine.”

His jaw flexed. He looked away. Hand still around yours, thumb still tracing patterns into your skin. 

You tightened your grip on his hand and his eyes met yours briefly before he looked at the monitors as if he couldn’t describe your charts with his eyes closed. 

“Thank you,” you said, quietly, a small smile on your lips.

It was silent for a moment, something that could have stretched into something uncomfortable, but then he bowed his head and broke—his shoulders shaking just slightly, his hand gripping yours like he was trying to ground himself. 

He didn’t cry, not really. But you could feel it—the sheer weight of everything he hadn’t let himself feel, the weight of your life on him, the heaviness of his guilt. 

You stayed silent, held his hand tightly as your thumb drew circles on his skin. You had your own guilt; the weight of what you could have done, how you should have been more diligent, reached out for him, fought for yourself harder and made it to him, been less of a burden. 

But this wasn’t about you. This was about him, and how he tried his best, his very hardest to keep you alive. How you made him confront his feelings for the first time, with the threat of loss looming behind him. 

“I thought I lost you,” he admitted, hoarsely. “I—fuck. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I’ve never been that scared in my life. Not during Hydra, not even when I came back.” 

You stared at him, heart tight and eyes shiny. You weren’t usually an emotional person, but these were unusual circumstances. When you had been swept away, as you were thrown around and bruised, all you could think about was him; how he’s your best friend and you never told him, how all you wanted was for him to be more, someone you could love and hold. 

“I would never have made it,” he said, eyes bright, “If anything happened to you.” 

Your eyes stung and your heart beat faster, the monitor beeped in warning. Neither of you noticed. 

You breathed his name and he leaned closer, the heat of his body caressing yours. You brought your joined hands to your lips and kissed the back of his hand, slow and soft, eyes on him. 

His breath caught like you’d hit him with a bullet, his entire body stilling. His lips parted in wonder and his eyes widened slowly. 

“I’m okay,” you smiled. “Nothing happened. You made sure of that. I’m okay.” You needed him to know, needed him to understand that you wouldn’t have made it if anything happened to him, that you were grateful to him. 

Before he could answer, the door slid open and Dr. Bates stepped in, tablet in hand, coat wrinkled like she hadn’t taken it off for weeks. 

Her eyes fell on you, Bucky, then your joined hands. She smiled, just a little. “Sorry to interrupt.” Bucky straightened up but didn’t let go of your hand. You turned towards her. “I’m glad you’re awake, Y/n. It’s good to have you back.”

You smiled at her, glancing at the tablet in her hand.

“Thanks, Doc.” 

“You’ve been under for two weeks,” she started gently, coming to the edge of your bed. Your eyes widened in surprise and you glanced at Bucky, who stared at you, unblinking.

 “We had to keep you sedated—” she explained, “your body was in rough shape when you came in. Ribs deeply bruised, bordering on contusions. Your right shoulder was nearly dislocated, and you had early-stage sepsis. If you hadn’t been found when you were—” she paused, glancing at Bucky—“you wouldn’t have made it.” 

You turned your head slowly towards him, lips pulling into a frown. 

He looked away. 

“You’re lucky,” the doctor continued. “He kept you alive long enough for us to stabilize you. Field-treated half of your injuries himself. Not exactly regulation, but…” she smiled, gently, “it worked.” 

You gave Bucky’s hand the faintest squeeze. “So…Am I cleared to go?” 

Dr. Bates hesitated, then nodded. “As long as you don’t overdo it. No combat. No gym. No carrying anything heavier than a coffee cup. You’ll need regular check ups—especially to monitor your lungs and immune response. And, you shouldn’t be alone.”

Before you could speak, Bucky’s voice—clear, rough—cut in. 

“I’ll be with her.” 

The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, final, almost soft—settled something in your chest and made warmth swim through your body. 

Dr. Bates blinked, almost like she’d expected a fight. Then she nodded again. “Good. Then I’ll start the discharge paperwork.” 

She turned and left, and the door hissed closed behind her. 

Silence fell again, heavy, but not uncomfortable. 

You stayed quiet for a beat, still absorbing it all. The ache in your ribs had settled into something manageable, but another kind of ache twisted low in your chest, one you couldn’t ignore. 

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, eyes slowly growing heavier. “What about you?” 

Bucky looked up from where he was still gripping your hand, a blanket of something softer, something resembling relief had been draped over his shoulders.

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice soft. “Your leg…and your arm. Your ribs. You were limping when—when you carried me.” 

His brows pinched together like you’d just reminded him of something he’d forgotten and you briefly panicked. Bucky would refuse to get medical attention if it meant he had to leave you, you knew he would. It was just who he was. You loved him so much. 

Abruptly, you blinked—eyes wide for a second before you schooled them. You had never let yourself think it, much less admit it so openly. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, quickly, trying to brush it under the rug. 

You narrowed your eyes and swallowed the lump in your throat. “Don’t give me the bullshit brush-off, Bucky. What did they say?” 

Before he could dodge the question again, the door slid open and Dr. Bates reappeared, a different tablet in her hands. 

“Something wrong?” She asked, glancing between you. 

You nodded gently towards Bucky. “Can you tell me the truth? About him. Did he let you take a look?” 

Bucky gave a little sigh, leaning back in the chair. And yet, even then, he didn’t let go of your hand. You briefly wondered if he knew he was still holding it, but the weight of it, the way it felt like his lifeline, made you aware that he did. 

Dr. Bates didn’t even hesitate, like she had expected this sooner. “He came in with three fractured ribs, a torn ligament in his left leg, and deep lacerations on his arm. Didn’t want to be checked and told us to prioritize you.” She sounded almost fond. 

You blinked at him slowly and he looked away, mouth twisting into a hard line. He didn’t want you to know these things, didn’t think they were relevant. He had half a mind to remind the doctor of patient confidentiality, but then he lifted his eyes and the genuine concern on your face, in the tremble of your fingers, kept him quiet. 

She continued, tapping her screen. “The serum accelerated his healing, of course. Most of it was resolved within days. He’s been medically cleared since the first week.” She paused, then added, almost like an afterthought, “He also requested a bed next to yours. Just in case.” 

Your heart flipped and your ears felt warm. He was so obvious in his care, it dripped and leaked out of him no matter how hard he tried to keep it locked up and it was so beyond endearing, you almost burst into tears. 

Bucky still wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

“He said—” she glanced at him, a small curve in her lips “—and I quote, ‘I’ll only sleep if I can hear her breathing.” 

Heat bloomed in your cheeks and you blinked hard, trying not to let it show too much but your heart rate had picked up and it was obvious on the monitor. “Oh.” 

Dr. Bates softened, just a little. She leaned in, like she was about to tell you a secret. “He hasn’t left your side since the quinjet. If that tells you anything.” 

With that, she set the tablet down on the edge of your bed. “Just sign whenever you’re ready and press the red button. It’ll only take an hour or so to get you discharged.” She smiled at you and then turned and left again, door shutting gently behind her. 

Silence, familiar, settled between you, thick and humming. 

You finally looked at him, a smile on your lips. “You’re an idiot.” It’s all you could stay, your heart on fire and chest bubbling with affection and love. 

His mouth twitched and for a second, he looked younger. “Takes one to know one.” It was stupid, something he would have said to Sam, but your eyes were bright and his attention was divided. 

You reached up slowly, hand trembling, and brushed your fingers across his knuckles. He didn’t usually let you touch him this easily. It was riveting, freeing. “You should’ve told me.” 

“I didn’t want you worrying about me,” he muttered. “Not when you were fighting for your life.” 

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, softly, replied. “I’m not fighting anymore.”

He stared at you, deep blue eyes reminding you of the ocean, of the storm you both had survived. 

“I’m not fighting anymore so you can stop worrying.” You smiled at him, sweet and soft. “I know you think that it’s your fault but it isn’t. You found me, saved me.” 

Bucky cleared his throat and clenched his jaw. He didn’t need you telling him not to worry because it wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t change the fact that he stayed awake at night and hovered in the hallways, slipping into your room to make sure you were breathing, keeping an eye on your vitals. 

“Bucky,” you said, voice thicker and full of steel. He sighed and slowly nodded. He was many things, filled with guilt, but he wasn’t immune to you, to your wants and needs. And what you needed was him to be honest, to listen. 

“I hear you, doll,” he sighed, quietly. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He squeezed your hand once and almost pulled away but your grip tightened and you smiled. 

As if you knew what he meant, could see the depth of his care. Like he hadn’t folded and crushed the love he had for you and shoved it in the deepest parts of him, trying to keep it hidden. It was unravelling, fast and without permission. 

The door slid open quietly. 

Natasha stepped in first, concern in her eyes but a small grin tugging at her lips at the sight before her. 

Steve followed behind her. Sam too. They all looked tired, but relieved. The doctor had alerted them when you had woken up an hour ago, wanting to give you time to adjust. 

They looked at you and Bucky—still close, your hand in his, his chair pulled right up against your bed—sleeping. Your head rested on the pillow and Bucky’s on his arm.

They didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. While they had been in and out of your room, sending flowers and asking for updates, Bucky hadn’t moved. He had only complied with getting medical help because it had been your last demand before passing out. He had stayed by your side for two weeks, unwavering. 

Steve hadn’t seen him sleep. Bucky had refused any drugs that may have knocked him out and every time Steve came to check on him, he was up. Usually watching you. This was the first time either of them had seen him at peace, and it was with his hand around yours. 

“They’re sweet,” Natasha whispered, her smile growing. She had known, of course she did. She saw the way you both looked at each other when the other wasn’t looking. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “About time, too. I almost owed Clint $50.” 

Steve frowned, eyes drifting to Sam. “You bet on them?”

Sam shrugged and quietly laid down the flowers he had gotten you on the already full table. “It was Tony’s idea.” 

Dr. Bates entered last, holding a juice box. “Oh, visitors.”

“Sorry, Doc,” Steve apologized, moving to the side. 

“No worries, Mr. Rogers.” She set the juice box down on the table beside you. You needed the sugar before getting on your feet. 

Before Steve or anyone could respond, Bucky shifted and his eyes flew open. His spine snapped up and he blinked at the people in the room, a frown on his lips. He glanced at your sleeping face and momentarily, his eyes softened. 

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “She’s sleeping.” 

“Hey, you,” Sam cooed, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Before Bucky could growl in annoyance, you stretched your arms and yawned, your hand slipping out of his.

“I’m awake.” Then, “Don’t provoke him, Sam.” 

Natasha snorted and you opened your eyes, smiling at the people standing in front of you. Sam rolled his eyes before he moved closer and ruffled your hair, his eyes softening. 

“Hey, Y/n.” He picked up the juice box and poked the straw through it, handing it to you. “Glad you’re not dead. Don’t do that again.” 

You smiled in thanks and squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Sam. Don’t plan on it.” 

Steve and Natasha moved closer too, soft smiles and softer words. They asked you how you were feeling, if you needed anything. Bucky stayed beside you, his fingers twitching, now that your hand wasn’t in his. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and leaned back in his chair, head falling back. 

He hadn’t slept properly in days. Figures that he’d find a moment of peace beside you. 

As you spoke to Natasha, your hand searched for his. You were okay, the pain was dull and the trauma wasn’t at the forefront. But, you still needed his comfort—no, wanted it. 

Bucky felt your fingers brush against his and, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he captured your hand in his. His heart fluttered when you squeezed and he looked away. He was in deep. 

Dr. Bates cleared her throat and smiled sheepishly when the conversations died out. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re cleared to go.”

You sat up, eyes wide. “Really?” Steve’s lips quirked upwards at the excitement in your voice. Bucky felt his heart settle at the sound, at the way you had managed to light the room in a soft glow.

The doctor nodded. “All the paperwork is done. I’ve prescribed you some painkillers you can take, as well.”

You sighed in relief and turned to Bucky, eyes bright. You were glowing and he felt like a moth with the way he leaned in.

“Thank you, Dr. Bates. Truly.” 

She smiled at you before glancing at Bucky. “Of course, Agent. Take care. I hope I don’t see any of you soon.” With that, she turned and left. 

Natasha grinned at you and Bucky before she stepped back. “I’ll get your clothes, Y/n.” 

You smiled at her gratefully as she slipped out of the room. Steve and Sam stood by your bed and you looked up at them. “So, what’d I miss?” 

Sam clapped his hands together, instantly filling you in on all of the drama you had missed. Steve laughed quietly at his antics and Bucky snorted, the tension in his shoulders slowly fading and a real, genuine ghost of a smile on his lips. 

The elevator ride to your floor was quiet. 

Not in a cold, distant kind of way—but in the way people are quiet when there’s too much to say and not enough breath to say it. You moved slowly, one foot in front of the other, careful of your ribs and side. Bucky walked beside you, close enough to feel the heat of him, one hand a steady weight at your lower back. 

The metal was cold against your thin sweater, but there was still something soft about it. The way he stayed beside you, rubbed his thumb up and down your skin, absentmindedly. 

You could feel him watching you. 

Not like before. Not scanning like a soldier. Just…watching. Like a man trying to memorize every detail before it’s gone. He was desperate, soaking in all your warmth and all the time he got with you. You could feel it, his earnesty. 

Your floor was dim when you entered—peaceful, untouched since the mission. But, not entirely untouched. A folded hoodie on the couch. Your plants watered. A fresh pair of pajamas neatly laid across your bed, one you couldn’t see but knew was there. 

You turned to look at him, brows raised and a hint of a knowing smile dancing on your lips. 

Bucky’s jaw ticked. For a second, he looked embarrassed, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I, uh, came by a few times. Brought you fresh stuff. Didn’t want your plants dying while you were—” He cleared his throat. “—while you were healing.”

Your insides felt all warm and gooey. He was making it so difficult to stay indifferent, to keep all your feelings and wants and needs hidden, like they weren’t about to bleed out of you.

You took a step closer to him. 

“Thank you.” 

His eyes flicked to yours, then away, like he couldn’t quite take the weight of your gratitude. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, a rare and endearing nervous habit, eyes scanning your space like it was unfamiliar now. Like he didn’t belong, even though he fit here so perfectly. 

You saw it clearly, the way he moved. The way his boots thudded soft against your rug. The way his broad body filled your kitchen doorway. He belonged here, in your space. With you. Not just for now, not suddenly. But always. 

You ached for it, for him.

Bucky hesitated near the door, shoulders stiff. 

“I’ll head out, let you settle in. Just…yell if you need anything. I’ll be around.”

You knew what that meant. It meant he would wander, hover. He’d be in the shadows, waiting and anxious. He had this habit, when he was worried. You first learned about it when Steve was injured on a mission they both went on. He never said it, but Bucky wanted to be there for Steven in case he wanted anything. 

You had run into Bucky late in the night. Steve had missed dinner so you were checking on him, making sure he was pushing fluids, when Bucky’s large frame obscured your path. 

Sometimes, and he’d never admit it, but when Bucky had nightmares about you, or anyone else on the team, he’d often seek them out at night. Just a moment, outside the door. All he needed was to hear you breathing, make sure you were okay. 

That the Winter Soldier had not gotten to you. 

“Stay,” you said softly. “Have a cup of coffee with me.” 

He blinked, his hands dropping. “I—yeah. Sure.”

You padded into the kitchen slowly, feeling him trail behind. He sat on the stool at the island while you made two cups. His eyes were heavy on you the whole time, tracing every moment. He watched you carefully as you brewed fresh coffee, getting both of your favourite cups from the cupboard. As you waited, you glanced back at him and to your surprise, he smiled at you; soft, crooked, and quick, but attractive and warm all the same. 

He loved you like this. In your space, as you carried yourself with no expectations. When he was new to the tower, years ago, he often found peace in just watching you to the most mundane tasks. It brought him a sense of calm, normalcy. How you moved with grace, carried yourself like you didn’t have skeletons in your closet. 

It made him have hope. Like he could one day be okay, or a semblance of it. 

When you turned to hand him the mug, his fingers brushed yours, a quiet jolt of warmth passing between you. 

“You okay?” 

He was quiet, eyes drifting across your face before he nodded. “Yeah. I am now.” 

You sat beside him on the stool, legs barely touching, cups between you on the counter. The coffee was simple—black for him, creamy for you—but it felt like a ritual. Something sacred. You couldn’t remember the last time you had shared a mug with anyone else. 

“Are you going on your run tomorrow?” Your voice was quiet, like you couldn’t dare to disturb the peace. 

Bucky hummed, drinking slowly. “Maybe. Why?” He raised an eyebrow at you, concern creeping in. “Do you need something? Tell me, I’ll get it.” 

You laughed, soft and breathy. “No, no. I was just wondering.”

His shoulders sagged and the edge of his lip curled up. “I’ll tell you if I go.” He paused. “I’ll run past that bookstore you like. Get you something so you won’t be bored.”

Your grip on your mug tightened and you lifted your gaze to meet his, warm and heavy. “You don’t have to.” He didn’t like small spaces and you weren’t even sure if he liked the bookstore, even though he always came with you, even when you didn’t ask. 

“I know,” he replied, meaning something else. He set the mug down. “That was good. Thanks.” 

You thought he might stay. That maybe, just maybe, he’d slide a little closer. 

Instead, he stood. 

“I should let you rest—”

“Bucky.” 

He stopped. In his tracks, and breathing. 

You stood too, slow and careful. You stepped towards him, giving him the chance to step back. He didn’t. Just stood still, frozen, like if he didn’t move, this dream might never turn to a nightmare. 

You said his name again, like a prayer. He was almost undone. He should have stepped back, should have done something, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He needed this, needed you. 

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him towards you. He stumbled slightly, caught off guard—but his hands went to your waist without hesitation. 

You kissed him. 

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was desperate, full of years of tension—your lips crashed onto his, hands fisting his Henley. He kissed you back just as hard, like he’d been starving. He swallowed your gasp of surprise and kissed you ferociously, pressing his chest against yours, hand cupping your cheek. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him messily, teeth against teeth. He pulled you unbelievably close, flush against him. He was wrapped around you, or you around him. He slipped his tongue into your mouth and you moaned, your hands sliding up his solid chest and into his hair. 

When you pulled back, your chest was heaving, lips plump and bruised, face flushed. Your eyes fluttered open and you almost whimpered at the sight of him, hair tousled, lips plump. He looked completely undone, absolutely perfect. 

“Stay,” you whispered, borderline begging. “Please, Buck. I want you. You belong here—with me.”

He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before the deep blue swept you away. His forehead dropped to yours, nose brushing against your cheek. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he rasped, breathless. 

“I do.” You pressed your forehead harder against his, kissed the edge of his mouth. “I do.” 

You kissed him again. This time, it was slower, sweeter. Your hands moved to cup his jaw, your lips soft against his. He melted into it, groaning low in his throat. HIs hands trembled against your waist. He pressed a sure, hard kiss to your jaw before he pulled away, breathing heavily, gasping. 

“Fuck, doll—fuck.” His arms pushed you into him further, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing the skin under your eye. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He glanced down at your side before lifting his eyes. “Are you breathing alright?” 

You exhaled through your nose, a quiet laugh. So caring, so obvious in his love. You don’t know how you never saw it before. How it wasn’t painfully obvious to you. He was filled with love, all you had to do was let him feel it. 

Gingerly, you moved the hand on your waist to your side, slid it up to your abdomen. Then, up to your heart. It was beating incredibly fast, you wondered if he could hear it. His breath hitched and his eyes flickered to yours. 

“I’ve never been better.” 

He looked like he was a second from losing his mind. His throat bobbed and he tilted his chin. 

“You sure?” 

You sighed and fisted his shirt again. Nothing but pure honesty and desire and love in your eyes. 

“Just kiss me, Bucky.” 

He pressed his thumb into your skin, his pulse in his fingertips. He looked at you again, really looked, trying to search for the answers. You couldn’t tell what he was looking for so you stood still, smiled at him widely. 

Whatever it was, he found it. 

Bucky surged forward and captured your lips again, his heart beating rapidly against your chest as his arms circled your waist. In a rush of confidence, Bucky slipped his tongue into your mouth, trached the crevices of your teeth and gums before sucking your tongue, guiding your hips into his. You clawed at his back, guiding him blindly through your apartment. His hands never stopped touching—your sides, your arms, your face, reverent and shaking. 

You barely made it to your bedroom. 

He laid you gently on the bed, like you were something fragile and breakable—but his body trembled with restraint. He hovered over you, breathing hard, his eyes almost black. 

“We don’t have to,” he whispered. “We don’t have to do anything. You’re still hurt.” 

“I want to,” you whispered back. “I need to feel you. All of you. You’ll take care of me, I know you will.” 

He kissed you again, tender and slow. Took his time exploring your mouth. Then, he kissed the edge of your lips, licked and kissed down your throat, nibbling and sucking. His hands brushed against your warm skin, your cheeks and neck and then slipped beneath your sweater. You lifted your arms carefully, letting him peel it off, revealing faintly bruised skin and healing ribs. 

He stared for a beat, his expression softening, endearing, filled with affection. You had never really cared about your appearance, but his attention, the heat of his eyes, made you feel wanted. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your scars. “You’re beautiful.” 

His lips immediately reattached to your neck, kissing down to your collarbone and your head fell back, trying to pry yourself open for him. “Beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, “So fucking pretty.”

You smiled, pulling his shirt up. He let you strip him bare. His chest was covered in scars, blemishes, burns, healing wounds. 

You traced them with your fingers, touch as light as a feather. The lamp beside your bedside cast a low amber glow across the room and painted his skin in warm gold. He looked godly, absolutely stunning above you. 

He had one forearm braced by your head, the other cradled your cheek. He watched you as you watched him, anxiety swimming in his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him this gently. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, begging. You smiled at him and tilted your chin up, kissing a scar on his shoulder. He kissed you softly and your hands found home in his hair, fingers sliding through the thick, soft strands, tugging gently just to feel him melt. He made a sound in his chest, low and aching, and deepened the kiss, tongue flicking gently against yours. 

His body—muscles, scars, and heat—pressed closely against yours. You could feel it, though, he was holding back. Whether it was because you were injured or he was afraid, you didn’t know. You wanted all of him, his strength and roughness. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he pulled back, eyes glassy and softer than you’d ever seen them. “This what you want?” His voice cracked a little. “Am I what you want?” 

You touched his cheek, feeling the rough edge of stubble and the quiet vulnerability just under his skin. “I want you, Bucky.” He held his breath. “I want the man who waters my plants and dusts my shelves. The man who carried me through a forest and saved my life. The man who learned how to play different card games for me, the one who learned how to make tea the way my mother used to.” 

He blinked, lips parting slightly. “Y/n…”

“I notice everything,” you said, voice trembling. “How you always walk on the outside of the sidewalk. How you breathe deeper when you’re trying to stay calm. How you always make sure you’re between me and danger. Regardless of what it is.” 

He let out a soft, stunned breath. His hand slid from your cheek, down to your shoulder, then your waist, clutching like he needed to anchor himself. 

“I didn’t realize…” His voice cracked and he bit his bottom lip. “Didn’t realize you watched me so closely.” He watched you closely, knew all of your habits and quirks. He hadn’t realized you were watching him just as closely. 

“I always have,” you murmured, as if you hadn’t just turned his world upside down. 

Something cracked open in him then. 

He kissed you hard—like the dam had broken, like every piece of love he’d locked away had finally burst free. His mouth moved with aching reverence across your lips, your jaw, your throat. He kissed down your collarbone, your shoulder. 

He pulled back only to help you undress completely. His hands were so gently—touching, peeling away fabric like it was sacred. He unhooked your bra and dropped it somewhere behind him, pausing when you were completely bare beneath him, worshipping. 

“You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, doll.”

You reached for him in return, pulled at the waistbands of his jeans. He let you, watched with a gaze so soft it made your chest ache. When he was finally bare, you ran your hands over his ribs, his thighs. He shivered under your touch, leaning into it. 

He kissed down your body, pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to the skin between your breasts, licking and sucking, swallowing the taste of your sweet sweat, memorizing it. You were a mess above him, head thrown back and eyes sewn shut, incoherent mumbles and whimpers leaving your lips as you pulled and scraped his hair and the nape of his neck. Your entire body felt like it was on fire. 

Under a trance, Bucky pressed a soft kiss on one of your breasts, his fingers brushed the nipple of the other. He kitten-licked your swollen, aching bud before he latched on, circling his tongue as if he could have convinced your body to submit to him completely. 

His other hand pinched and squeezed your other nipple, before he released your swollen and wet nipple with a pop, not even breathing as he latched onto the other one. All of your senses were going crazy, overwhelmed to the point of hysteria and tears. 

He pushed himself up, rested his forehead against yours as both of your chests heaved. You leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss to his swollen lips, licking his bottom lip. You both breathed in the other, bodies sweaty. 

“I’d kill for you,” Bucky admitted in a rush, hoarse. You blinked at him, trying to catch your breath. 

“What?” 

“I would,” he said. “For you. I think I have, already. But you have to know. I’d kill anyone for hurting you.” 

You heard what he was saying—really saying. It was a clear day. His devotion. He was panting, sweat collecting on his forehead. He pressed a soft kiss to your nose. 

“I know,” you answered. “I love you, Bucky.” 

His arm trembled but he caught himself. He stared down at you for a second before his entire face softened. He brushed his cheek against yours, lips and breath warm, tickling. “I love you, Y/n.” It was soft, like it was still a secret, but it took your breath away all the same. 

He went back to kissing you. 

Everywhere. 

He took his time, dragging his mouth across your stomach, your hips, your thighs, murmuring soft praises into your skin. He kissed along the edges of your scars like they were maps that led him home. 

When he finally kissed between your legs, it was with awe. 

“Let me taste you,” he begged, voice gravelly. 

You nodded, breath catching as he settled between your thighs. He shifted downwards and pressed his nose against your cunt, holding down your hips as your legs twitched. You cried out and pulled at his hair but he was adamant, ignoring the pain and pushed your legs further apart. 

You squirmed under him as he stared at your cunt before blowing warm air on it, finding your agony adorable. You knew though, that he’d notice if you were in pain before you did. 

He spread your legs even further before he kissed your pussy softly. “Fucking pretty pussy,” he praised. His tongue was slow, teasing, reverent—licking up through your folds, curling just right against your clit. His hands held your hips, thumbs stroking circles into your skin as he worshipped you like you were holy.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “Please.” 

“I know, doll,” he nodded, his nose brushed against your slick folds. You grinded your hips against him, trying to get some sort of relief. “You taste like heaven,” he groaned. He licked a harsh stripe of your core. Pressed his face closer to your cunt as his tongue pushed in and out of your sopping hole, licking and sucking as if you were his last meal.

He traced his name, his devotion, into your gummy walls, his nose pressed against your clit. You moaned out a broken, gagged version of his name and arched your back as his nose dug further into your clit, rubbed it until he’s sure you’re all he’ll smell for weeks. 

His hand pressed against your cheek and you clutched his hand, brought his metal fingers to your lips and sucked. He groaned into your cunt and the vibrations had you seeing stars. 

He curled the tip of his tongue upwards and you almost screamed, tears fell down your cheeks at the pleasure.

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, words muffled by his fingers. 

Lifting his eyes, Bucky hummed at the sight of your pleasure, the way tears prettily fell down your cheeks, and lifted his fingers from your tongue. Before he could bring his hand back towards him, you grabbed it and settled it on your chest. His wet, dripping fingers pinched your nipples, teasing the sensitive skin.

“Bucky,” you panted, hips arching. “I’m close, please, baby.” 

Despite everything inside him telling him to keep going, he pulled up, releasing your clit with a messy pop. He kissed your folds and cooed as you cried out, licking you clean. “I know, Y/n, I know.” He kissed your inner thigh. “But if you’re gonna cum, I want it to be around my cock, pretty girl.” 

You stopped breathing. “Bucky…Oh my gosh.” He kissed up your body, licking the wetness from his lips, grinned like he’d never truly lived before. He hovered above you again and you cupped his face. 

“You’re insane,” you laughed, giddy. 

“I really like you, doll.” Bucky was grinning, and although his eyes burned into yours, you couldn’t tell if he was speaking to you or your pussy. 

You laughed and curled your fingers around his dog tags, pulling him close. “I need you,” you whispered. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. He kissed you softly before pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised. “I’ll go slow.” He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifted your head. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation before he glanced down at your lips. 

Pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Bucky lifted your head, his gaze almost scoldering. He looked between your eyes, trying to find any hesitation, before he glanced down at your lips.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Bucky needed you to know that you were safe with him. “I’m serious, Y/n.” 

“I know, Bucky.” You traced one of his dog tags. “It won’t. I trust you.” 

He wrapped one of his hands around his hard, leaking cock and slid up and down once. “I’ll make it feel good, doll.” Your pussy fluttered at his words and he could feel it against his legs. He almost, almost, lost it right there and then, instead, he brushed the back of his hand against your cheek, looking as sinful as ever. 

Slowly, he pushed himself in. 

The satisfying tightening and burn of his veins against your gummy walls made you both moan in unison, your body lit up as he sunk in completely, the base of his cock hit your core. The stretch felt amazing, so good, and all you could do was tuck your face into the crook of his neck, biting back a sob. 

“Fuck,” he groaned out, knuckles white with how hard he gripped your skin. “Fuck, so fucking tight and warm.” You pressed a soft kiss to his neck and he jerked his hips upwards, filled you to the brim, his tip reached parts of you no one ever had. 

When you licked a long stripe of his neck, sucked his adam’s apple until it was red, he collapsed on top of you, his cock leaking in your pussy, veins pulsing. 

You welcomed the weight of his body. He felt so warm; so real, so yours, you could feel the weight of his muscles against yours, the weight crushed the lingering loneliness that had crept into your bones over the years. 

You wrapped your arms around his body, scratched his back and pulled at his hair as you littered his throat and jaw with kisses.

Desperation clawed at Bucky and his thrusts became erratic as he pushed your body flush against him, forcing your hips to match his bruising pace as more slick poured from your legs and onto the sheets, your needy moans mixed with his broken ones. 

“Close–I’m, oh,” you stuttered out, eyes closing when Bucky’s fingers grazed your clit, his own eyes shut for a second when your walls squeezed him impossibly tight as he pressed his fingers against your clit. He could feel it, the dizzying feeling of euphoria building in his chest, the way it was running through his veins. He could tell you felt it too by your breathing, the way your pussy wept for him. 

Stars danced around in your vision and he knew his own vision mirrored yours, the tightness in his core was almost unbearable and he tipped his head forward and pressed his lips against yours, smiling briefly when your hold on him tightened. “Go ahead, doll. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock,” his voice was sweet, borderline crazed. 

You fell limp in his arms when he thrusted into you once, twice, right against your cervix, and you had come undone for him, release washed over you, body weak as your legs shook under his. His hands were all over your body, caressed your skin to comfort you as your body convulsed for him. 

His lips littered soft kisses to any skin he could reach, and when your walls tightened completely, coating his cock in your cum, he softly cried out your name as warm ropes of his cum filled you to the brim. 

You could barely blink, senses still overwhelmed as he kept kissing you, kept cumming, filling you up so well, until you could almost taste him. Quiet praises filled with love and encouragement were whispered against your skin as he remained buried up to the hilt in you, his hips still pushing his cum into you, almost as if he had no control over himself. 

Your entire body was shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbed your back gently until your whimpers turned into heavy breathing, until all you could mumble was some variation of his name. He forced his hips to still, forced himself to breathe deeply. 

“I love you, Y/n,” he said, devout. “You mean so much to me. I’ll protect you, always.”

Bodies sticky and sweaty, he ran his hands up and down your back, nails grazed your skin to ground you. He was sure he was still cumming but if he could distract you, keep your attention on anything other than your overly stimulated, stuffed pussy, he’d do so. 

“That’s it, doll,” he cooed lovingly, kissed the shell of your ear. “I got you.” He smiled when he felt you nod in the crook of his neck. “Did so well for me, pretty girl.” You simply hummed in response, unable to form any sentences at the moment. Bucky rested his cheek against your head, fought the urge to grind his hips against yours. 

You breathed in Bucky’s scent slowly, head safely tucked in the crook of his neck. The way he held you now, so soft, so lovingly, had your heart settling. You could barely feel your legs, moaning lightly when his cock twitched inside you. Wrapped around his body, you pressed an open mouthed kiss to his neck, sucked softly when he tilted his head to give you more access. 

Your fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck and he shuddered. You could have fallen asleep right there and then, with his cock stuffed safely in your pussy, sticky wetness fusing your both together.

Slowly, Buckley lifted himself off your body and you both hissed. He brushed your hair out of your face. You stared at him and his legs wobbled at the look in your eyes. You brought a hand up to his face and traced the length of his eyebrow, brushed your fingers down his nose, and along his cheek. 

“Pretty,” you mumbled, and he leaned forward and kissed you softly. 

It was different, slower, more intimate as he cupped your cheek and tilted his head, lips plush against yours. You moaned into his mouth at the intimacy of it; the way his cock was still buried inside you, the way your mixed juices still leaked out of you, the gentle caress of his hand as he whispered loving praises into your mouth. 

Gently, Bucky pulled out of your sopping cunt, biting back a groan. He shifted his weight and maneuvered your body until you were laying in his arms, your back pressed against his chest. He knew he had much to clean up, but your eyes fluttered shut occasionally so he put it off, knowing you needed him more. 

He ran his hands along your arms and then your shoulders, pressing into your skin occasionally to remind you that he was right behind you. You snuggled into him, back pressed flush against his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“Let me run you a bath,” he whispered, pressed a kiss to your head. 

You shook your head and waved him off. “Maybe later. I can’t feel any part of my body.” 

Bucky laughed, but he lifted himself a bit, looked down at you. “Do you need anything? Medicine? Water? Does anything hurt?” 

You snorted and slowly shifted, chest pressed to his. You wedged your leg between his, ignored the stickiness that coated you. “Only you could fuck me like this and be this worried after. Just hold me, Buck.” 

He smiled at the fucked-out look on your face, pride bubbling in his chest before his eyes skirted to the scars on your skin. He kissed your cheek and slowly pulled himself away from you and out of bed. 

“I’m going to grab you a glass of water and clean you up. I’ll be right back, doll.” 

You hummed and squeezed his bicep. “Okay, baby.” 

By the time he came back, you had fallen asleep. He placed the glass of water on your side and sat beside your sleeping body. His hand hovered before he cupped your cheek. “I don’t think I could survive ever losing you, Y/n.” 

"I love you," he whispered, the words flowing out easily.

Maybe it had always been easy, with you.

[houseofaegon]

Ruined ✩ Bob Reynolds

Pairings: Dom!Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts Teammate!Reader

Warnings: +18 SMUT MINORS DNI. no use of y/n. secret hookups, armory sex, unprotected p in v, praise kink, power play, slight sub!bob energy but make it neeeedddyyyyy and feral, desperate!bob, dominant!reader, interrupted sex, yelena being yelena, begging, orgasm denial (sort of), overstimulation, dirty talk.

Summary: The Thunderbolt's press tour is a fucking disaster—Valentina's controlling, the team’s a mess, and Bob Reynolds looks at you like he’s one second away from losing his mind. When you catch him pacing the armory alone, you take what you want. But when you tell him to stay quiet and be good... Bob doesn’t stay quiet. And he definitely doesn’t stay good.

Word count: ~4k

Author's note: need bob reynolds to absolutely destroy me. can't even think or breathe cause he's taking up space in my mind. living in my head rent free and i am not complaining. I'm loooovvvinnnggg these two so much, might make more shots with them cause what the hell???? the dynamic thooooo!!! love me some dom and sub bob <3333333 he's so babygirl i can't take it anymore. if you want to be added to my tag list just comment! <3

masterlist.

"Quiet, Bob."

The words came out as a whisper, but the threat in them made Bob Reynolds shiver under your touch. His back hit the cold armory wall with a clang, head tilting back, mouth already parted on a moan. His shirt was god knows where—somewhere between the racks of rifles and dusty, outdated StarkTech. Your mouth was on his, tongue sliding deep, fingers fisting his curls like you needed an anchor. And Bob? He was already halfway gone.

It had been a long, brutal week.

Valentina had decided that the Thunderbolts—the shiny New Avengers—needed a rebranding for a more "palatable" public. And what better way than a grueling, nonstop, goddamn press tour?

You were paraded like collectibles. Forced smiles. Posed photos. Tactical suits are tailored to make you look sleek. Heroes for the modern age, like she'd said.

Like a fucking boy band.

You were all lined up and put on display like action figure dolls.

"Smile for the cameras," she'd coo, pacing in front of you like a general inspecting her soldiers. "We're selling salvation, not trauma. Wipe that frown off your face, Bucky."

Bucky didn’t even flinch. Just stared through her, arms crossed, his metal hand twitching like it wanted to be anywhere else. Or wrapped around her throat.

Valentina didn’t stop there.

“You,” she snapped at you during the third press op, finger jabbing the air like it might actually hit you. “Need to look grateful, sweetheart. Do you know what I’m paying to make you likable? Not that you aren’t—you’re a doll, really—but come on now, you have to stop glaring at the children like you want to throw them into traffic.”

It was all bullshit. She’d even made Bob do interviews. Bob, whose voice cracked anytime someone looked at him too long.

Yelena had muttered something in Russian that was definitely a curse and didn't even try to smile.

Alexei had laughed too loudly during a morning show segment that made the host flinch, and a lighting rig tripped over.

Ava vanished in the middle of a red carpet appearance—literally phased through the floor and didn’t return for hours.

Walker kept trying to one-up Bucky in interviews. "Sure, Barnes is a legend," he'd say, clapping his shoulder, "but some of us chose to be heroes."

Of course, you snorted a little bit too loud. Loud enough for the mic to catch it. Loud enough for Walker to glare at you and Bucky to smirk.

And Mel? Poor Mel had to endure Valentina's bickering, forcing all of you to pose for pictures while muttering apologies like there was no tomorrow.

You were the first one to be asked for solo shots in the new tactical gear.

"Just a few poses," Valentina said, flashing a big, bright PR smile. "You wear it so well. We want something sleek. Powerful. Sexy, but not, like, thirst trap sexy, you know?"

You didn't miss the way Bob watched. He didn't say a word; he barely moved. But his eyes? They devoured you. Dark, wide, hungry. Like he was seconds from losing it in front of everyone.

Later that day, you'd found him in the dark armory, pacing like a caged animal. Shoulder tense. Breathing shallow.

So you pushed him up against the wall. Fist in his hair. Mouth on his.

And now—

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled against your lips, teeth grazing. His hands were gripping your hips tightly, grinding against you, still half-covered by his pants but already leaking, already thick and throbbing for you. “The way you looked in that suit—I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

You rolled your hips against his, slow and punishing. “You could’ve said something.”

“I could’ve snapped.” He laughed, breathless, voice fraying. “I nearly did.”

He didn't even make it to the bench.

By the time you shoved him down, Bob was already panting, pupils blown, knees buckling. He hit the floor with a groan, legs spread, cock heavy and flushed. You were on him in seconds—knees framing his hips, hands pressing down on his chest, owning him.

You thanked God for wearing a dress.

He didn't even see your panties come off. Just blinked and they were gone, tossed somewhere on the floor. His pants already shoved down far enough, his cock already free.

He looked up at you like you were something holy. Divine. Dangerous. Like he'd beg to be burned if it meant you kept touching him like this.

Then you reached between you, lined him up, and sank down in one thrust. He filled you up completely.

Bob swore, loud and wrecked—“Fuckfuckfuck—” his head hit the floor, back arching, eyes wide and pleading.

“God, you feel so fucking good—tight—perfect—I can’t—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth.

“Quiet, Bob.”

He whimpered behind your palm. His hands were everywhere—your hips, your ass, your thighs—like he didn’t know what to hold onto first.

You started to move—fast and rough, giving neither of you time to adjust. You didn’t want slow. Didn’t want sweet. You wanted to feel it. The way he stretched you open, filled every inch, the way his cock hit deep, perfect with every thrust.

Bob moaned into your palm, loud and choked and shameless. His hips bucked up hard, matching your rhythm, chasing every thrust like he couldn’t help himself. His grip on your ass tightened, spreading you wider for him, pulling you down harder.

Your name spilled from his lips again and again, muffled and wrecked.

“You’re so—fuck,—you’re so perfect—need this for so fucking long. I can't even fucking think when you're on me like this—God, yesssss"

You leaned down, dragging your lips along his jaw.

“You like being under me like this?”

He nodded, feverish, muffled praise tumbling behind your hand.

“Mhm—yes—fuck, please—you don’t know what you do to me,” he breathed against your palm, words falling out between gasps. “Been thinking about this—every night—every time you walked past in that suit, I wanted to fall to my knees—wanted to ruin you or be ruined, didn’t even fucking care—just needed you.”

You grinned, filthy and pleased. “And now you’re ruined under me.”

He whined, hips snapping up with such force that it knocked a loud moan right out of you.

“You feel that?” you gasped, rolling your hips in a slow, dragging circle. “That’s how deep you are. You’re so deep, Bob. I can feel you so deep inside me. God—you feel so fucking good."

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moaned, eyes blown wide, hands gripping your thighs like a man drowning. “Such a good girl. God, you take me so fucking well—look at you—riding me like I belong to you—”

“You do,” you growled, dragging your nails down his chest. “You’re mine right now. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, fuck—yours—always—please god don’t fucking stop—”

You clapped your hand over his mouth again, smirking down at him.

“Quiet, Bob. Don't you dare fucking come until I tell you to."

He whimpered behind your palm, body trembling, trying so hard to behave, to stay still, to not fall apart completely under your touch. But you kept moving—fast, hard, relentless. Your thighs burned. His cock throbbed deep inside you with every stroke.

And just when he was seconds away from breaking—

Hiss. The door slid open.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Yelena’s voice hit like a bullet.

You froze. Bob’s eyes flew open, pure panic, still fully inside you.

Yelena stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide, hand flying to her face but only half-covering her view.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered. “The armory? Are you both deranged? This is where we keep weapons, not—whatever the hell this is.”

Bob let out a muffled moan under your hand, utterly betrayed by his body.

Yelena pointed without looking. “Oh my god, this can't be happening. You’re—on top of him. And he’s—Jesus Christ, Bob!”

“Yelena!” you snapped, glaring over your shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” She held up both hands, backing away. “I’ll leave you to your... deep reconnaissance.” She snorted. “Real in-depth work going on here.”

“Yelena! GET OUT!”

“Leaving! Leaving!” she laughed, ducking out as the door hissed shut again. “Just make sure no one ends up disarmed.”

Your heart was still pounding when the door slid shut again, sealing Yelena—and her mouth—on the other side. You didn’t move, still straddling Bob, still full of him, flushed and breathless.

“You okay?” you asked, teasing, one brow raised. “She didn’t scar you for life, did she?”

Bob’s chest was heaving beneath you. He blinked up at you. Something shifted in his eyes.

“No,” he said—low, steady. Then, with startling force, he sat up.

“Bob—?”

His hands gripped your waist, hard. The next second, you were on your back, sprawled across the cool floor, his body covering yours. He was still inside you. Still rock hard. Still throbbing.

“You tease me like that,” he growled, voice rough and frayed, “and expect me to behave?”

Your breath hitched.

“You told me to be quiet. Told me not to come.”

His mouth was at your throat now, kissing, biting, breathing heat against your skin.

“You think I’m gonna ask again?”

You clawed at his back, nails dragging over sweat-slick skin.

“Bob—”

“No,” he snapped, thrusting hard. You gasped, your back arching off the floor. “You don’t get to be in charge now.”

He fucked into you like a man possessed—deep, fast, relentless. All the praise from before was gone, replaced by low, hungry grunts and the sound of skin on skin.

“You wanted this,” he hissed against your ear. “Wanted me like this. Loud. Messy. Mine.”

You moaned, wrapping your legs around him, trying to pull him deeper, and he gave it to you—over and over again.

“You feel that?” he growled, pounding into you. “That’s not deep. This—this is deep.”

You couldn’t even form words. Just gasps. Moans. Scratches across his back.

And he loved it.

He didn’t stop until you were shaking, whimpering beneath him, your control shattered.

He leaned in, panting against your cheek, his voice a rough whisper.

“Now tell me who’s fucking ruined.”

taglist ⊱☆⊰ @notreallythatlost @mandoalorian @urfavfakeblonde @sunday-bug @ruexj283 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos

[truly-quirkless]

Type: Lore/History Timeline: A week after the U. S. J. Incident/The previous chapter. Location: Conference Hall.

[All Chapters]

They took in a small breath. Fin adjusted the black jacket they'd elected to wear to this live interview- internally wincing. Their fingers were nearly chunks of ice, their mind racing, their heart beating so fast they were sure they were about to collapse...but they had to do this. Thirteen and Aizawa wouldn't be able to- so they'd just have to do it. They resisted the urge to run a hand through their hair, feeling a large palm come to rest on their shoulder.

Hazel eyes flicked over to the towering figure beside them backstage. All Might, wearing a bright yellow suit once more- his smile in place, pearly whites nearly glowing even in the dark.

"Today, we've gathered the two faculty who are available to speak on the events that took place in the Unknown Simulation Joint a few days ago. Please welcome to the podiums, All Might and Finley Well!" The two began to walk- stepping out from behind the curtain, cameras flashing. Fin didn't bother to cover their face- attention snapping to the floor to see where they were supposed to walk. They walked, head held high- feeling as though their legs would give out from under them at any moment.

Act. They were an accomplished faculty member of U. A.- they were confident. They could handle this. They stepped up to their smaller podium- resisting a glance the Hero's way. Up here- even the smallest glance could cause problems.

"All Might, tell us! How were the villains able to get onto campus??"

"According to what we've uncovered, they had a warp villain with them. However, campus security has been beefed up dramatically since then, in no small part thanks to all the staff." He beamed- a smile so bright that the room's very atmosphere seemed to slowly shift- drifting. "And, of course, my fellow Heroes and I sent the villains packing- so they're sure to think twice before attempting to target U. A. again."

Murmurs filled the hall. Fin watched, silent as death. It was best to just be a smiling face beside the other- to not be noticed.

"And what measures are the school taking, in regards of security?" Well. Fuck. Fin could see the faintest twitch of a hand out of the corner of their eye. Their turn... They looked out into the sea of faces and cameras- feeling their chest squeeze. The air wasn't enough- it wasn't getting into their lungs. They nodded.

"That would fall under the jurisdiction of my team, which is under the command of Nezu, since my boss is currently recovering." Fin smiled lightly. "The school is going to be outfitted with higher-tech security- it was already a few years out of date, so this incident is a chance to upgrade to state-of-the-art, once more. On top of that, every 'emergency' system in the school area is receiving a total overhaul- including several redundancies just in case one fails. The villains that attacked had a specific signal-jamming Quirk among their ranks, so we're going to make it impossible for them to use that again."

A few cameras flashed. Fin's vision flashed in and out. They hadn't even been aware that they were speaking- they felt disconnected, drifting from their own body as another voice called above the others.

"All Might, what about the Warp villain?"

Yagi internally sighed. While he'd tried to give Fin a moment- it seemed the press was having none of it. He didn't let it show on his face- continuing to smile. The Symbol of Peace...of course they'd weigh his words more heavily than Fin's.

"The Warp villain escaped with the main target- but we've captured all of their accomplices, so I'm sure they'll be brought to justice, soon!" His voice was firm- broking no argument. At least he had the power of so many years of experience behind him- so many years of being trusted. Besides, if the blue-haired villain did try again, he'd probably be even worse off...All Might had no doubt that Nomu was the male's trump card.

Without that, what damage could he do? He'd still be careful, sure...but he doubted much would come of a young adult acting like a raging toddler.

"And even if they weren't, well- I will be there to make sure their plans are foiled!" And that declaration had the room nearly exploding. The energy had totally changed- no longer wary or concerned, instead full of beaming smiles and grins. That was better...seeing all the concern had been wearing on his heart. "On top of that, while Mx. Well here may be Quirkless,- I heard that they dropped a building onto a good chunk of those villains!"

And that turned every eye Fin's way. Hazel eyes remained steady- their vision had unfocused by now, unwilling to look at anyone directly.

"So it should come as no surprise that all the staff at U. A. are ready to take on any villain who knocks on our door- including the Quirkless Hero, here!" He gestured lightly. That should at least keep Fin from being a source of ridicule- and help up U. A.'s standing for when he wasn't around.

Fin, personally, internally screeched. That nickname- from All Might himself- would no doubt keep them from a good chunk of ridicule...but he'd also just broadcasted they were Quirkless, and tagged on the word 'Hero'. They could only imagine-

"Mx. Well! Are you really Quirkless?"

"Did you really drop a building on the attacking villains?"

"How did you do it-?"

They couldn't feel their fingers anymore. Question after question was being leveled. The air felt far too thin. They tried to steady themself, feeling like a barely-buoyant buoy amidst a storm.

All Might internally winced. He could sense the faint unease that was cloaking them- practically dripping off their frame after that announcement. But- he'd had to. Otherwise, villains might think U. A. was defenseless when he wasn't around. It might've been wiser to list out Thirteen and Aizawa, but since both of them were still recovering... He took in a small breath.

It'll be alright. He just had to hope.

"Yes, I'm Quirkless, and yes, I took out a chunk of the invading forces by dropping a building on them." Fin was pretty sure that statement alone would warrant them getting fired. They could only imagine the glare from Nezu over this... "As the leader of U. A.'s construction team, I had built a section of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint to be full of buildings that could collapse if force was applied in just the wrong area. None of the buildings were built to kill, merely to disarm and trap students who weren't smart enough to flee or stabilize the structures. The villains I dealt with are now all in police custody."

Their eyes narrowed slightly- the smile dropping off their face. They probably shouldn't have let it- but they needed to get the message across. The brunet's legs were stiff, ramrod. Their hands were barely there- voids of ice. Their heart was hammering in their chest. They wanted, in part, to run.

"I may not have a Quirk, but that won't prevent me from keeping U. A., its students, and my fellow faculty, safe. I just have to use other methods to achieve the same results." There was the faintest sound of a few pens scratching.- And then..

"All Might, are you planning to retire soon?" And it was back to him. They let out a breath. The Quirkless Hero? Just what was he trying to get at? They couldn't even shoot him an inquisitive glance- instead stuck with reforming their smile, gazing out into the endless sea of flashing lights and raised voices.

"What are your plans for Might Tower?"

"Is one of the other teachers at U. A. your secret lover?"

Fin internally twitched. WHAT.---

"Retirement may be in my mind, but it is far away! So long as the world needs me- I will be here! As for Might Tower, I plan to leave it in the capable hands of my personal assistant, though that is still a long time off!- And my only lover is JUSTICE!" Though the thought briefly crossed his mind. Could the two be considered...?-- Not quite. No, he supposed. It was a near-lie, but not totally. That was what kept it as the truth- kept him from telling some bold-faced nonsense to the public.

Like with many things, how they interpreted that was up to them. He'd flashed another winning smile- sensing the shift back to himself and away from the brunet beside him.

What was meant to be a live interview for the two about the U. S. J. Incident...was quickly devolving into another round of questions for the blond. He didn't mind too much- it took everyone's minds off of the events that had transpired quickly enough. So, he flashed his signature grin- a laugh or two rumbling through the hall as he settled into answering each and every bit of All Might trivia that the reporters were curious about.

At least everything would return to peace...

[]

Fin breathed out as they all but fell onto the faculty lounge couch. Thankfully, the reporters had ignored Fin for most of the interview- was it really an interview? It felt more like a conference...or a press release? They weren't sure what to label it as- but at some point, it had basically become 'the All Might show'. There was a quiet hiss- and then a delayed POOM as smoke exploded out from behind Fin. They didn't really have to look back to know that the other had transformed.

"On the bright side,...that should keep the media entertained for a while." While he wasn't the biggest fan of five million questions overlapping, of flashing lights and constant, invasive inquiries into his life...it was still easier on him than knowing the other had gotten panicked. Besides, that would be broadcast world-wide, he was sure..

Hopefully, 'The Quirkless Hero' would just be a title to keep Fin from harm- instead of inviting it. As for himself,...well. It was a way to get All Might into the news circulation again- not that that was hard.

"...I'm just glad it's over...how th'Hell you can handle all those fuckin' cameras,...I'll never know." They didn't even want to sit up from the couch. Just listening to the reporters all but knocking Yagi down with questions was enough to make their head spin. Years of practice undoubtedly swayed how easily he was able to brush each question he didn't want to answer off- and respond with that bright smile to those he did.

"Lots of practice, Hazelnut." He moved to sit- just barely resting on the edge of the couch, a hand sliding over to ruffle the other's hair. He noticed them shifting- pulling to one end of the couch so he could actually fully sit. "Ah- you didn't have to do that."

"...wanted to." There was a split-second splash of pink- their tongue poking out of their mouth as their eyes slid Yagi's way. He chuckled at that- shifting so he was more fully on the cushion, allowing his spine to relax- bending forward in a way that any chiropractor would probably suffer a conniption over. "Hey." They sat upright- poking Yagi's shoulder gently, causing him to glance over. Their hair was a little messed up from laying down, hazel eyes dull with exhaustion- about as much exhaustion as Yagi felt, if he was to be honest. "...y'wanna go get smoothies?....my treat."

He could feel it- the way each word was slowly dragging, getting further. He had interacted with a great number of fans over the years...and he could sense that Fin was about to shut down. Sky blues closed for a moment, his head shaking as he rested a hand on their shoulder.

"No,...I'll go get them. Any requests?" Fin smiled faintly, rolling their eyes.

"...strawberry-banana?" It was doubtful they could get him to back down- and honestly, they were tired... "...my place?" The question was tagged on, nearly like an afterthought. It'd be nicer to share there- the two wouldn't have to worry as much about any would-be interruptions, save Prism. But, that was a welcome interruption to the brunet.

"...sure." Yagi stood up- bending enough to offer a hand, sky-blues flashing for a moment as small fingers rested in his palm. He let himself grip them gently, his short soulmate sliding off the couch to stand beside him- hand falling from his grasp. Where the two had briefly touched tingled- gentle and light. He was the first to round the coffee table, watching Fin idly walk around the other side. Smoothies and hiding at their place...

After that interview, it sounded like the perfect way to relax. Retracing their steps through U. A., the common point of it all. The fact they'd both made their way back to campus, not a word passed between them...perhaps they were both just accustomed. Whatever the case- Yagi reached into a pocket, feeling the cold steel that made a shudder traverse up his arm. He pulled the keys out- catching the split-second of Fin reaching for their carbineer.

"Don't worry, I'll drive." A glance his way- a little tilt of their head. Their mouth hadn't moved, but he could see the way their eyebrow began to rise. "Really." Their hand relaxed- falling back to their side as the two walked to faculty parking. He guided them ever-so-slightly, letting his touch rest on their shoulder. They were led to a seemingly average black car, the license plate on the front...an All Might plate. He heard a small chuckle- vision shifting, catching the momentary uptick of a smile.

"....there you go..." A click, the locks popping- Yagi moved to pull a door open on the passenger side, waiting until Fin was inside before sliding it shut. His fingers lingered on the door for a moment, before he pulled away. It was a bright day, today...still cold, the wind still biting in each pass...but it was a pleasant afternoon.

He stepped around the vehicle and hopped in on his own side. Fin was already situated a little oddly- their head resting against the seat, the seatbelt clicked in place. Their eyes were barely open. Yagi turned the keys over- hearing the churn of the engine before it caught, rumbling to life...Fin didn't even flinch. He pulled his door shut.

"...smoothies, here we come." Or rather- it looked like he'd be doing the smoothies solo, but he didn't mind. He pulled out of the lot and onto the road. The traffic flowed lazily- several cars still carrying some of the reporters from the interview. Yagi couldn't stop smiling- his lips upturned in a way that was slowly starting to feel more natural in this form. A small glance over at a stoplight,...and he knew Fin was asleep.

A silent chuckle passed between his lips. He turned the radio on- a soft song echoing from the speakers as he continued on towards the smoothie shop.

[tokkiwrites]

Hi happy holidays! Can you please do a Sergei kravinoff smut x innocent female virgin reader “babe in the woods” trope. Sergei is immediately fixated on reader and wants her to be his grude & mother of his children. He immediately marries and later takes her virginity. He hopes to impregnate her from their first time together. Ty!

thank you for this request, anon! and sorry it took so long to post. I've had it written, but it just took a while for me to get the smut part going. i hope you like it!

Sergei Kravinoff × F!Reader ♰ themes of stalking, obsessive Sergei, kidnapping, Kraven is a weirdo and needs to be locked up, i would say innocent reader but more so an unbothered reader kind of, she is just confused, forced marriage, themes of Stockholm syndrome, loss of virginity, fingering (reader receiving), afab reader, unprotected p in v, Sergei wants to get the reader pregnant.

The woods were quiet, save for the whisper of wind threading through the branches above. You loved this time of day when the sun filtered gold and green through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the earth. It was your sanctuary, far from the clamor of town and the heavy, watchful eyes of others. Here, no one could accuse you of being strange, or sheltered, or too naive. You simply were.

The faint crack of a branch made you stop mid-step, your basket of wildflowers swinging lightly at your hip. “Hello?” You called, voice soft, hesitant. The forest had always been safe— or so it felt. until now, you had never had the need to question it.

He emerged from the shadows, and your breath caught. The man was massive. A towering figure, his broad shoulders draped in animal pelts and his chest bare save for the crisscrossing scars that marked him as something primal, dangerous. His face was angular, carved from stone, with piercing eyes that pinned you where you stood.

Sergei Kravinoff. The name would mean nothing to you, but to others, it struck fear—a hunter of men and beasts, a predator who bent the wilderness to his will. He did not speak at first. He only looked at you, as if you were some rare, delicate creature he had stumbled upon. The longer his eyes lingered, the hotter your cheeks burned.

“Who are you?” you asked, clutching the basket to your chest. His lips curved into a smile, though there was nothing warm in it. “I am Sergei,” he said, his voice low, thick with an accent you couldn’t place. “And you" he paused for a bit. " Should not wander alone in places like this. The world is not kind to lambs.” You blinked at him, confused. “Lambs?”

“You,” he clarified, taking a step closer. His sheer presence seemed to draw the air from your lungs. “Soft. Untouched. So trusting.” You took an instinctive step back, and his smile widened, as if he enjoyed your unease. “I—I’ve never seen you here before. Are you lost?”

“No,” he said simply, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. “But perhaps I have found something worth staying for.”

It reeked of dangerㅡ death. yet you still came back.

Over the next week, you saw him again and again. Always in the woods, always watching. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence. this strange man simply shared your love for the forest. But his presence became impossible to ignore. He never tried to speak much, yet his eyes seemed to devour you every time, as though he were committing every detail of your face to memory. You should have been afraid. You should have stopped going to the woods entirely. But something about him fascinated you. He was so unlike the boys in town, who stammered and avoided your gaze, intimidated by your quietness. Sergei was bold, unflinching. He seemed to look right through you, to the parts of yourself you didn’t even understand.

you little lamb.

“Why do you keep following me?” He tilted his head, his gaze softening though not entirely. “Because you are mine.” The bluntness of his words made your breath hitch. “I don’t even know you.”

“You will,” he said, stepping closer. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and though you should have flinched away, you didn’t. His touch was surprisingly gentle, reverent even, even if his rough fingers scratched your skin. “I have decided. You will be my bride.”

“Bride?” You echoed the word foreign and strange on your tongue. “But we’ve only just—” you laughed. surely it must be a joke. “You are meant for me, little lamb” he interrupted, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “I have hunted all my life, little one. I know when I have found my prize.” Suddenly, the world went dark.

maybe it was all just a bad and confusing dream. though his touch still lingered.

You woke in the morning to find yourself not in your small, familiar room. outside the window that overlooked the bed you were in, the forest. The air smelled of pine and smoke, and outside, the trees loomed tall and unyielding. Panic gripped you as you sat up, heart racing. “Where—” The door creaked open, and there he was, filling the frame with his imposing presence. “You are awake,” Sergei said, his tone calm, almost pleasedㅡ excited. He carried a tray with food: fresh berries, bread, and cheese. “Eat. Now."

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “Why did you—” He set the tray down, cutting you off with a look. “You are safe. That is all you need to know.”

“I am not! This isn’t right,” you said, tears pricking at your eyes. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” he said sharply, though his expression softened as he stepped closer. “I have waited long enough. You do not understand, but you will. I will take care of you. Protect you. You will want for nothing, my little one.”

You shook your head, backing away from him, but he caught your wrist with startling ease. His touch was firm, yet not cruel. “Do not fear me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost tender. “I would never hurt you. You are too precious.”

Sergei did not wait long to make you his.

The days in the cabin blurred together, each one steeped in an odd rhythm. Sergei’s presence was constant, protective, and overwhelming. He would watch you eat, his sharp eyes softening whenever you complied. He brought you small gifts: wildflowers, trinkets carved from wood, pelts to keep you warm. He never let you wander far, always ensuring you were within sight. And though he never forced his touch upon you, you could feel the tension thrumming beneath the surface, like a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.

In the evening, as the fire crackled and cast flickering shadows on the walls, Sergei sat across from you. He leaned forward, large hands resting on his knees. “It is time,” he said, his voice calm but unyielding. “Time?” you echoed, your throat dry. “For us to marry.” You stared at him, heart pounding. “I… I can’t. I don’t even know what you want from me. I—I never— You kidnapped me!”

“You were made for this,” he said, cutting you off. his eyes were setting you a-light, it made your skin prickle. “You think I do not see it? Your purity. Your innocence. You were meant to be a wife. My wife.” Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “But I’m not— I need to marry someone I love!"

“You are ready,” he insisted, his tone softening only slightly. “I have waited long enough. It will be done."

And it was.

The ceremony was simple, ritualistic. Sergei had prepared everything. rings made from woven silver, a bearskin cloak to drape over your shoulders as a symbol of protection. There was no priest, no people, only the two of you and the forest as your witness. He spoke vows in a language you did not understand, his voice deep and reverent, as though he were offering you up to some ancient force. When it was your turn, your voice faltered, but under his watchful gaze, you repeated the words he taught you.

“You are mine,” he said at the end, taking your face in his hands. His eyes burned with possessive fire. “And I am yours.”

but every wolf gets hungry eventually.

When night fell, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the bed, your hands clutching the thick wool blanket. Sergei entered the room, his movements slow and deliberate. He had shed his usual pelts, his bare chest glowing in the firelight.

“You are trembling,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. He knelt in front of you, his massive frame now not so intimidating. “Are you afraid of me?” You couldn’t meet his eyes. "I don’t know... what you expect from me? What you w-want...”

“I expect you to trust me,” he said simply, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are my wife now. It is my duty to show you what that means.” Your breath stopped as he leaned closer, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “I will not hurt you,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “But you are mine, little lamb. Every part of you.”

His lips met yours— soft at first, testing, as though he feared you might shatter like porcelain. But when you didn’t pull away, his kiss deepened, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His hands cradled your face, his touch reverent, almost worshipful.

“I have waited for this,” he said against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Waited to claim what is mine.” You didn’t resist as he laid you down, his hands tracing over your trembling form. He was patient, guiding you gently, his touch surprisingly tender for someone so fierce. But his intent was clear.

oh, little lamb.

rugged hands make their way up and around your hips as his bearded face stays flush against your tender neck. he was ready to devour you. Sergei looked up into your eyes and for the first time you've seen him smile. and as if all of the things you felt caused you fears melted away, so did you into his embrace.

his lips meet yours, and it all finally made sense. you could feel the hunger, the will in him to give his all right here, right now. you wrapped around him like vines on a tree, his low growl of approval making you clench around nothing. it all felt so new, yet familiar, as if somehow, this wasn't the first time. the forest outside sung as your quiet moans filled the cabin. Sergei discards all of your clothes with ease, leaving you in nothing as you stayed splayed on the bed. the fur coverings under, pooled around your body, the moonlight dripped on you like dew in spring and you looked like a precious painting.

with no time to wait, sergei quickly gets naked. it wasn't the first time you saw him like this, but it was the first time you saw it. to say all that fear bubbled up into your stomach was an understatement. you gulped down as your glossy eyes looked at him up and down. "Spread your legs for me." it wasn’t a request, it was an order. and you obey. spreading your legs you give him a full view of you dripping cunt, and sergei throws his head back with a low groan. you finally speak up. "IㅡI am a...a virgin." it all seemed so silly to say now. "I know." he smiles in the corner of his mouth. "Smelled it on you the first time we met." and you whimper. "I will get you ready now." somehow, you knew what it meant. He kneels in front of you on the bed, pulling you so that you thighs are right over his, your puffy lips on full display. two of his digits make their way up to your mouth. "Suck." you comply.

after that was done, his calloused fingers make their way between your folds, gathering up the juices you've been dripping. You whimpered softly and Sergei shushed you, rubbing small circles on your plushy thigh with his other hand. He pushes one of his fingers inside, and you can feel it. It didn’t hurt, not yet, it was just strange and new. the second finger comes quick after and he starts pumping them, swirling them around as his lips made contact with your swollen bud. Your eyes jot open as this feeling washes over you, and you can't help but let your legs shake uncontrollably. The fire wave envelopes you whole before it comes to an agonizing stop. You open your eyes again and above you is Sergei, his shaft in his hand as he aligns it with your asking entrance. "If it hurts...yell. Scream as much as you want. Hurt me back. I am here to teach you."

and teach you he does. he pushes in slowly and the stretch is agonizing, the pain making all of your muscles tense. "It's alright, I'm here, little girl." you let out a sigh, the tears slipping past your lids when you open your eyes. the moon engulfed Sergei in It's beautiful light, his silhouette looking as if it was carved out perfectly. a couple of inches, then some more, and some moreㅡ until he is fully inside. you bite down on your tongue, but Sergei preps soft kisses along your jaw and you seem to forget about the pain. "You're doing so, so good. So good for me." he hums, taking in a big breath of your smell before he snaps his hips slowly. In a few seconds, the burn turned into a delicious feeling you couldn’t quite describe. And though it felt so new, your body fell in place right into Sergei’s touch, as if it were meant to be.

When he finally started to move faster, his groan was one of triumph, a sound that you know will echo in your ears long after. “You will give me childrenㅡ" he said, voice low and ragged as he moved inside of you. “Strong sons and daughters. Our legacy will begin tonight.”

your legs quiver around him, but he leaves no room for mercy. Above you, he looked just as a predator ready to swallow his pray whole. you weren't one to fight back, and you really didn't want to. you back stayed arched against the coverings of the bed, fingers clawing at his broad shoulders as he pumped into you. your tummy was churning, and your head was dizzyㅡ you were far gone, too drunk on the way he perfectly hit that spot with each thrust. "You were made for me, made to take meㅡ fuck, you are so beautiful." you whimper, feeling that fire wave starting to take over again. your velvet walls squeeze around him, causing him to growl. Sergei leans forward, propping one of your legs above his shoulder, the angle making you gasp for air. you look up at him, eyes glossy with tears. An animal. His eyes grew darker, lips crooked in a smile before he delivered his final blow.

you come undone right under his fingertips, writhing and shaking as small pleads fall from your lips. You can feel his seed deep within you, threatening to slip out around his cock that was still inside of you, pulsing. "Good girl."

he prays it sticks.

Sergei’s obsession with you only deepened—he barely let you out of his sight, his touch lingering whenever he could. Yet there was a softness in him, a desire to make you happy, even as he bent you to his will.

He began teaching you small things. how to tend the fire, how to skin an animal, how to defend yourself should a predator come. But you were never allowed to go far. “Why can’t I leave?” you asked one afternoon, your frustration bubbling over. Sergei turned to you, his eyes darkening. “Because the world is cruel, little one. It will devour you. You are too soft, too trusting. Here, you are safe.”

“Safe,” you repeated bitterly. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he cupped your face in his hands, his gaze softening. “I would rather you hate me than lose you.” you were beginning to see the truth of it. his love for you was consumin and obsessive, but it was real. He worshipped you, protected you, but at the cost of your freedom. And yet, part of you began to adapt. To find comfort in his arms, in the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps you were.

[bluetimeombre]

☽｡⋆ If you need my love ｡⋆☽

. You were growing up in a house with little love, but luckily Joel Miller was living across the road and he was always there to pick up the pieces.

this is a long one, 8k but i had so much fun writing it, might do a part two. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: smut, fluff, angst. neglectful parents, obsessed Joel, needy Joel, no outbreak au, oral (f! receiving) older joel, younger reader, drinking, p in v sex (unprotected) language

When Joel opened the door to you one cold evening, your arms wrapped around yourself, you drenched in rain, he only sighed.

"Oh honey," he shook his head.

Your teeth were practically chattering. "Nobody's home and I-I don't have a k-key."

A crack of thunder sounded behind you.

Joel looked over his shoulder at your house that was cloaked in darkness. It did look deserted, like nobody had touched it in years. "C'mon in, hun." He held the door open and stirred you inside.

Even if you'd been in the house more times that you could count you still shuffled inside, as if you didn't know where his living room was.

It was a small town in Texas, everyone knew everyone. Everyone knew Joel Miller and his daughter Sarah. Joel knew everyone too. He knew Jimmy a twenty minute drive away, his farm where anyone nice enough could get the best fresh eggs.

There was Bess who ran the bakery. You could get the best fresh bread and every year Joel always got Sarah her birthday cake from her.

There was Dave, coach of Sarah's soccer team. There was Louis next door who always had a issue with his hose leaking all over his garden- even in the drought.

Then, there was you.

You lived across his street with your parents. You who'd moved in ten years ago. A few years Sarah's senior, she'd been over the moon to have another girl to hang out with.

Apparently just hanging out with her dad was becoming a lost trend.

But even though you were a few years older, probably had your own teenage things to be getting on with, you treated Sarah like a best friend.

"You don't have to you know," Joel remembered saying years ago after you'd stayed up late with her, watching movies, only for her to fall asleep with her head on your lap- trapping you.

"It's no bother."

Even Joel had offered to pay you, acting as if you were a babysitter for his kid. You'd denied, almost offended.

You'd insisted you enjoyed it, that his house was nicer than yours.

Joel didn't get it. He was always behind on laundry, hardly had any healthy food- only takeout in the fridge- and dead plants on the windows, compete to your own house.

He'd seen the way you tenderly cared after anything and everyone, it didn't make sense. He assumed you were just sweet, or too shy to say anything different.

He remembered the day he discovered just why you liked his house.

Joel had only gone over with Sarah to talk to you about a sleepover. His brother, Tommy, was taking him out of town, insisting that he needed a 'guys weekend' and that Sarah at fourteen was fine to be left alone. Joel disagreed and he'd only meant to ask if you were around, would be willing to just hang out like you had hundreds of times before.

At the door he lingered, shouts and the shattering of glass sounding behind the door.

"Dad?" Sarah looked up to him un-sure.

Joel was already pushing her down the porch. "Go back to the house."

"What is that?"

"Not our concern."

But it was. It was his concern.

The shouting dulled but there was still a harshness hidden out of sight.

Sarah made her way down the porch, back to the Miller residence and Joel was following on un-sure feet when he heard the door swing open and shut.

Joel looked just as you hurried down the porch steps, keys swinging in your hand. "Woah hey-hey."

You looked aghast, stopping in your tracks when you spot Joel in front of you, hands out and reaching for your forearms.

"Is everythin' alright?" he asked, nodding back to the house.

In the afternoon sun your cheeks turned pink, the colour creeping up to your ears and down your neck. "Yeah, yeah everything's fine." You grinned but it was like a crack in an otherwise well structured wall.

Times like that started to happen more often.

Joel would always find you leaving the house in a hurry, getting in your car and driving off like escaping a crime. Or you'd be on the porch, sitting with a cup of coffee if it was early in the morning or tea late at night. He'd watch from his bedroom window that conveniently over looked your front porch.

Some nights he'd join you, pretending he didn't know why you were hiding out, pretending he didn't hear the shouting.

He'd make up some excuse.

"Neighbourhood watch, you never know who's out here..."

"Was gonna go for a drive, fill the tank if you wanna join..."

"My coffee pots bust, spare a sip?"

It was obvious what he was doing.

Yet you always entertained him.

You were standing like a statue in Joel Miller's living room. Granted- a chattering statue. You'd started shaking sometime an hour ago and you'd yet to stop.

The living room- the entire Miller house- was bathed in a warm orange glow. The tv was on mute, some film that was Joel's favourite Sarah had told you once. Curtis and Viper.

Joel had gone up stairs shortly after he told you to 'make yourself comfortable' but you didn't want to make his couch wet. You were already dripping on his carpet.

Had you woken him? God, what if you had?

What if he'd gone to bed and just assumed you'd wait until your parents get back? If they did.

You wouldn't have knocked and asked if you weren't desperate. But you'd only gone to go grocery shopping, you'd been hardly an hour and neither your mom or dad had mentioned leaving.

You wouldn't be surprised if they'd booked a last minute trip to try to salvage whatever was left of their failing marriage. Or if one had gone to the bar and the other to the arms of another.

Either way, you left the grocery's on the step and your key inside.

You'd called and got nothing from either of them.

You would never have annoyed Joel by knocking as night drew in if you weren't desperate.

Perhaps you could huddle on the porch, eat that chocolate you'd gotten.

You were just forming a plan in your head when Joel Miller practically tripped with how quick he came down the stairs.

"Here-" there was a small pile of clothes in his arms, what looked to be black jogging bottoms and a checked shirt. "I'd offer you some of Sarah's but she's already growing out of everything." He rubbed the back of his neck as you took the clothes.

"You don't have to," you said though you held the clothes close. "I'm sure someone will be home soon."

You really weren't certain anyone would be back for the weekend approaching.

Joel looked at you sternly, his hand on yours that was cold and trembling. "Change."

His eyes raked down the clothes that stuck to you.

He must have thought you looked a mess.

"Shower. You'll probably wanna get warm, c'mon." Joel led you up the stairs, this time slow. His arm was out, ghosting your back as he showed you into his room.

The one room that you'd forbidden yourself into entering.

Joel opened the door like it was just another room of his house, not his room where he spent quiet nights, where he slept among other things.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he chuckled dryly, kicking away a pile of clothes that looked a lot like trousers and boxers. "Here, my bathroom."

It was cleaner than his room objectively. One or two cheap colognes and a good one littered the counter. A bar of soap and a watch that you remember Sarah showing you she'd got him for his birthday.

"Let me-" Joel slowly peeled the clothes from your arms and nodded down at you. "I'll put these to heat up, you get yourself warm hun. I'll be just down stairs if you need anythin' else."

You nodded and gulped down all your objections to his kindness. "Thank you, Joel. I won't be long."

He smiled at you, a gentle smile. It was the kind you'd never seen before. "Take all the time you need, darlin'. And then some. I imagine it's been quite the night."

You scoffed and averted your gaze.

"I'll be downstairs."

You took your time in the shower. Not because he'd told you to but because you were frozen from cold and from trying to keep every small detail in your mind.

It was not right to think about Joel in his bathroom, bowing his head under the steady warm shower, naked. No matter the circumstance it wasn't right for your mind to wander what Joel looked like naked with droplets of water running down his chest, his sternum and lower.

You blamed it on the lack of sleep.

But you knew as soon as you could get back into your room you'd be dreaming about him again.

By the time you were done with the shower, condensation had covered the mirror and made the walls slick. You wrapped a fuzzy towel around you and tried not to think about other parts of Joel it had touched.

You sat yourself down on the edge of his bed, ignoring the way it dipped. You tried to calm yourself, your nerves and think of a solution. You could hop the fence, break down the back door.

Maybe you could even book a hotel for the night?

You had no doubt Joel would be gracious enough to offer you the sofa, but you didn't want to take over his kindness. You were already there as much as possible with Sarah.

You liked the kid of course, but you also liked the smiles that were always around the house, accompanied by the peace.

A gentle rattle of knuckles on the door broke you from your search of solutions.

"Hey."

Joel slowly opened the door and paused when he spotted you. On the edge of his bed, draped in his towel.

You realised, as you were drying, your hair was dripping. You were getting his bed wet. "Sorry." You got to your feet.

Joel held up his hands. "I jus' wanted to check you were alright. Needed anythin'."

"I'm good, thank you, for all this," you said, clutching your hands in front of you.

"You don't have to thank me, at all," he said, leaning on the door frame. "You saved me from a boring evening alone."

"Sarah?"

"Gone for the weekend. Tommy took her on a fishin' trip."

Your lips tilt up. "You're not a fisher?"

"No," he chuckled. "I'm afraid all that talent went to Tommy."

"Well I'm sure you're good for other things." You hadn't meant the words to hide some sort of hidden comment but as soon as you'd said it all you could think about was his 'other' talents.

Maybe Joel could tell you were being filthy, taking his hospitality for granted. He looked down and grabbed the handle. "Change. I'll be waitin'."

When the door clicked shut behind him you dropped back onto his bed, hiding your face in your hands and groaning.

What were you doing?

By the time you'd peeled the towel from yourself and folded it up, changed into what you assumed were Joel's old clothes (you'd had to roll the waistband of the joggers over several times and roll up the sleeves to) and made your way down stairs the credits were rolling on the movie.

The sofa was hidden under cushions and blankets.

Joel was leant over it, punching the pillows till they seemed fluffy enough. "C'mon, damn you."

You cleared your throat.

Joel whipped around. His lips parted, ready to speak but instead he got an eyeful of you. You in his clothes.

For a second you were delusional enough- and exhausted enough- to believe that he liked seeing you like that. Draped in him. But he was probably realising he liked that shirt and wanted it back immediately.

"You didn't have to do this, really," you said, gesturing to the makeshift bed he was making. "I don't want to put you out."

"You're doin' no such thing, I already told you. I was havin' a borin' evening."

"Well I'm glad me getting locked out and soaked amused you," you teased.

Joel's jaw ticked, his tongue running slowly over his bottom lip as his gaze fell lower. "Yeah," he hummed.

It seemed like an excruciatingly long moment that you let him stare.

Joel realised and cleared his throat. "You must be hungry," he walked by you, leaning away to avoid your touch. "Can't say I've got anythin' much good. Some pizza, maybe."

"I'm ok, thank you though."

Joel glanced back at you. "You've eaten?"

"I had lunch, i'm good."

Joel frowned at you, confused. "Lunch? It's dinner time, we'll order somethin."

"You've done too much-" you protest but Joel was already reaching for the phone and pulling at the draw of take out menu's.

"You like it plain, right?" he asked, already dialling the number and wedging the phone.

You walk to him. "At least let me pay-"

Joel held up his hand. "No, stay," his voice was low and gruff, eyes watching you darkly as you paused in place. "Good girl- hello, Jo? Yeah, it's Joel you son of a bitch."

Joel had sat down with you on the sofa and re-played Curtis and Viper while you ate pizza. He'd insisted you had to watch when you said you'd never seen it before. He'd mumbled something about not living till you had seen it, he wasn't even sure what he'd said to get you to sit and watch it with him.

It had worked.

He should have sent you to his bed, told you to rest because you were giving him challenges after challenges and you moved like you didn't even know it.

When you'd told him to come in when you were only in a towel, sitting on the edge of his bed like you didn't know what to do with the space. Wearing his clothes like you weren't giving him images that he'd keep locked up somewhere deep and dark in his mind for weeks to come.

You'd eaten pizza, asked him about every scene and slowly come out of you cold.

You'd become warm again next to him and it was driving Joel into a hot mess.

When the credits started to roll for the second time that evening Joel could tell you were struggling to keep your eyes open.

"You wanna sleep?" he asked. His arm had stretched out along the sofa, conciously to get closer to you.

You shook off your sleep. "Sorry."

"You needa stop apologising, you know," he teased, finger prodding at your shoulder.

You stretched. "Is it bad if I say sorry?"

Joel chuckled, spreading his legs out. "Right, you take my bed. Sofa's mine."

You woke up at that, all sleep gone from you. "What?"

Joel looked at you again in confusion. "Can't have you takin' the sofa after the day you've had."

You scoffed. "And I can't kick you out of your own bed."

"You ain't kicken me outta anythin', i'm tellin' you."

Joel would never be this kind to anyone else except his own kid. If any other neighbour of his found themselves in this situation he'd never have offered them his own clothes, wouldn't have sat down and watched a movie he'd seen a dozen times before.

But it was you. Joel was good at saying no to you cause you were always unfair to yourself mostly.

You were gorgeous, intelligent, kind and self-dependant. A treat dangled in front of Joel, constantly nibbiling and never taking. If he took he'd never be able to spit you back out your system.

Either you knew what you were doing with your coy smiles, gentle shuffles into him and sweet words and wanted to torture him or you didn't know and that was worse.

He couldn't pretend the idea of you in his bed wasn't driving him mad but he also could see the droop on your eyes and the slug in your body. You needed rest. You needed someone to look out for you.

Joel would kill to be that man.

"Joel, I can't," you protest.

"I'm not takin ' no for an answer, sweetheart," he said.

"The couch is more than fine- the floor even."

Joel shook his head. "C'mon, it's gettin' late. Head up."

He stretched further out, his foot now against yours.

You were watching him, brows pulled together and eyes focusing on him. "No."

Joel's brows rose. He'd perfected the stern look of a father but it didn't seem to be workin' on you. "No?"

"No, I want the sofa."

In a move he didn't anticipate, you threw yourself down, your hair fanning out on the pillow and you pulled the blanket up to your chin, kicking out your legs till they were draped over Joel's lap.

For a moment all he did was stare, his lips parted and a soft breath falling from him. You closed your eyes like you were already drifting off, un-aware the effect your cat-like stretch was having on him. His nerves had been shattering since he saw you wrapped in his towel.

You were giving his patience a good try.

Joel chucked under his breath, calling your name.

Your sly smirk did things to him, especially as you ignored him.

Joel's hand fell upon your shin, trailing up slowly as his body slowly leaned over. He'd never known anyone to have an effect on him like this. Never been so allured and so ... needy like he was a damn teenager again.

All he wanted was to press his body into yours, to kiss your hair and assure you he would look after you, no matter what, no matter where.

Your body stilled as his, heavier and larger, caged you on the sofa.

His arm stretched over your head and your eyes opened, flickering to find his gaze.

"Jus' get comfortable," he'd reached over and flicked the lamp off.

But he didn't move. No, Joel was stubborn.

Once the soft glow of the lamp had gone and he'd turned the tv off the living room was put into darkness.

Joel wedged himself in, his chest to your back, arms wrapped around himself to stop him from teasing with a touch.

"Joel what are you-"

"Shh, i'm tryin to sleep," he grumbled. He tried to push himself into the back of his couch that was falling under both your weights, rolling you into him.

He tucked his head in and closed his eyes as he felt you turn, questioning him. Heck, he was questioning himself. He'd promised some easy down time while Tommy took Sarah out, not this. Not his own battle of temptation.

"If you ain't takin' the bed then i'm not neither," he grumbled.

Your body pulled back and Joel thought he'd done in, over stepped. That the walking in on you in a towel, wearing his clothes, an arm too close around you while the film played had been too much.

Instead he felt a warmth brush over him and your body close to him.

You'd shared his blanket that was too small for the both of you.

In all of Joel's wants to take care of you, perhaps there was a bit of you that wanted to take care of him.

They weren't back.

It was the Saturday and there was still no stirring in the house, no cars outside. Not even a damn text.

You were still draped in Joel's too big clothes for you, staring at the house that was still.

The sun had risen long ago but Joel still slept on the sofa.

Where you'd both slept. You woke with his arm around you, strong and un-yielding as he held you into his chest. It had taken you a near ten minutes to free yourself from his warmth but you'd finally gotten free and his little snores continued.

Only for two minutes did you stare at him, smiling to yourself before realising it was wrong. Wrong to want him so much and wrong to wonder why he'd insisted he share the sofa.

Either he was the most stubborn man you'd ever met.

Or he wanted to be close.

You couldn't decide which was worse.

But now you were faced with small other options.

What did you do now? You couldn't stay with Joel for another day, heck you still only had your clothes that were still damp on a chair in Joel's room.

Maybe you'd go out of town yourself.

Call a friend?

There was a stirring on the sofa.

Joel woke in confusion. Not at the sleeping on the sofa. His fist was clenching at the empty space in front of him and his gaze still blurry with sleep looked for you.

When he spotted you at the window his body visibly relaxed.

And it set your body taunt.

"Morning'." His voice was hoarse, lower register than you'd ever heard.

"Hey," your arms fold over your chest.

Joel was still watching you, throwing an arm behind his head. The blanket slowly fell and his shirt rode up. "You sleep alright? Didn't snore, did I? Sarah says I do sometimes."

You smile and shake your head.

Joel huffed as he sat himself up. You still weren't moving, body his but mind elsewhere. "Everythin' alright?"

You sighed, looking down at your feet that just about peeked over the joggers. "My parents, they still aren't back."

You couldn't meet Joel's gaze as he huffed in annoyance.

"I'm sorry," you apologised. "I'll be out of your hair as soon as I can. I'll drive around, meet a friend or somethin'. I won't trouble you anymore."

"You ain't troublin' me, honey, not in the damn slightest," he grumbled.

It did nothing to settle your nerves.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth.

Joel must've noticed your hesitation, your worry that you were too much. He was moving across the room before you could register it. "Stay."

"I shouldn't, you've done so much and you were supposed to have a break this weekend. I'm already ruining it," you ramble.

Joel's hands are steady as they settle on your forearms, thumbs soothing you. "Stay."

You eyes flickered up to him. It always shocked you how stern his face could be, the wrinkles dawning at his forehead and the creases when his mouth moved, but his eyes were soft, always calm like warm coffee. "Joel-"

"Whatta do I gotta say to make you stay, huh?" he asked, smirking. "Promise of more shitty movies and even worse food? My sorry-ass company?"

You chuckled. "It wasn't a shitty film," you said. "And your company is the best i've had in months. Sarah exculded."

There was a glimmer of pure joy in Joel's eyes as he laughed. His hands squeezed your arms once before he walked to the kitchen, leaving you to look at your house once more time before following.

"So what do you say I get some coffee goin' and then we can see what groccery's of yours we can salvage?" he said.

You nodded to whatever he said because leaning on the doorway, watching his shirt ride up every time he stretched, you weren't sure you could ever listen to anything he was saying.

Tommy: So, you resting up?

Was he? Was Joel using his weekend to rest.

No, he was using his weekend like a test.

When he woke without you in his arms he was close enough to whining. Whining! It took his body seconds to grow cold without your warmth and for him to wake.

And then it took every ounce of himself not to smile when he heard your parents still weren't back.

First he wanted to yell, wanted to beg your parents home so he could give them a peace of his mind. But he quickly thought about what was presented. You. You and him for a whole un-interrupted day.

Joel thought about the things he could do. Keep you next to him, cook you breakfast- whatever you wanted even if it meant he'd have to break speeding laws to get to the shops.

You in his house, wearing more of his clothes.

After coffee he'd dismissed himself to the bathroom quickly to get filthy thoughts out of his head before they could manifest lower. You in his house, all to himself, desperate for warmth and love. Everything he could give you.

Joel had called Sarah just to distract himself.

No, Joel was not resting up.

You'd spent the day with him cleaning his kitchen, insisting you needed to do something for him.

There was plenty he thought you could do.

Then Joel showered, it was already mid day. He'd stepped out the shower and pushed his face into his towel to dry off when he inhaled and smelt you.

He groaned into the towel, diving in again, almost slobbering at the smell of you on his towel.

It drove him mad.

And it drove him back into a very cold shower.

By the time evening had dawned you insisted to leave the house. Not because his company was boring, but because you wanted to take Joel somewhere.

"I could always break in through a window to get some clothes," you suggested as you gestured to the attire you were still in. "You're in that building way of work. You can repair a window?"

"Can't glue glass back together," he said, leaning over the counter. "I'll see what Sarah's got." Maybe yesterday he'd lied just a bit about her clothes and growing out of. He'd just seen an opportunity to have you draped in him and took it.

He found some of Sarah's things, a bag of clothes that were supposed to be donated last year and left you with them.

When you came back down the stairs Joel's pulse shot.

You'd put those jeans you had on yesterday back on, but they'd been cleaned and dried and now they were snug on your hips and backside. The top you'd picked was from one of Sarah's old favourite band but it was too small on you, tight on the sleeves and showing a healthy slither of your skin.

Fuck.

Suddenly Joel regretted giving you that bag, hated that he'd promised you a night out of his house. He hated everything in him that wanted you.

How could your parents leave you? How could anyone not want to be in your company always.

"Is it ok?" you asked.

Was it ok? Everything was far from ok?

"Let's go, darlin'."

The two of you went in his truck, going to a simple bar for some cheap and good enough burgers and drinks. You were over twenty-one, just, but you'd assured Joel you were a regular at the bar. That it was the hottest place for everyone to go to.

When he walked in and the two of you got a booth, Joel wasn't so happy with the old guys staring at you. Or the younger ones too. As if he wasn't ogling you when you got the chance.

He just liked that you hardly noticed any of them, eyes only on Joel.

You'd gotten burgers and beer, talking about anything and nothing.

Joel did not broach the subject of your parents.

He watched you talk about anything you wanted, watched the way your lips moved with words he could just about make out.

"You staring at me," you laughed, nursing another beer. The burgers were half eaten, fries gone. Your body was turned into Joel's as he curled into you.

"Starin'?" he repeated with cheek. "Am I?"

"You are."

Joel hummed and let himself stare a little longer. You'd already caught him, what was the harm of anymore.

You shied under his gaze, looking away. "I don't have to stay tonight, Joel," you said. "I could get a hotel, easily. We're in town anyway."

He was already shaking his head. "Not happin'."

"You don't have to do this just to be nice."

"Who's to say i'm not gettin' anything out of this?" he said.

Your brows rose as you lifted the bottle to your lips. "Are you?"

The teasing was laid out bare on the table like a meal.

"Maybe," he said, taking a swig of his own. "You're good company."

You smiled, a small pink to your cheeks coming again.

Joel wondered what else could have you blushing like that. If he was to dip his head low and trace whispers in the skin of your neck, would he be graced by your bashful look. Or would you crane your head back for more?

His eyes drifted at the skin of your neck at the thought.

You shuffled, leaning back in your seat, edging him on.

If you knew his thoughts would you take the reigns?

"Gotta take a leak." Joel did not have to piss, he needed to give himself a stern talking to in the mirror, splash some cold water on himself and move on, shake off his want.

You had come to him for solace, not to be the victim of his pervy thoughts.

"Get it together, Joel." One weekend without his brother and kid supervision and he was reverting back to a horny teen.

By the time he'd shook himself out of it and was walking back to the booth, his seat had already been taken by a man probably his age. John. The scoundrel.

"You're very pretty mind," Joel heard him mumble, saw you look down but not smile or thank him for the compliment.

Joel's hand was clapping down on his shoulder. "Everythin' alright here, buddy?"

"Joel, man," John greeted with a grin as if he wasn't taking his seat and his girl. "Where've you been hidin this young little thing? You know, sharin' is carin'."

"Excuse me?" your voice sounded, startled and disgusted.

That was enough for Joel to pull John out the booth.

"We don't care for your business here," said Joel, standing tall on guard over the booth.

"Oh come on-" John tried.

"Out!" he yelled, gaining looks from the people around.

John scoffed, a glare in his dark and cold eyes as he still took time to scan you.

Joel was watching him go, counting his steps and assessing anyone else in the room that might want to speak to you. He'd tell them to beat it to.

It wasn't until he felt your hand on his bicep that he looked at you.

"Hey," he could hear his own voice softer than the growl he'd used with John. His arms rose, hand holding yours. "I'm sorry."

"No don't be, don't be," you said. Your eyes drifted around the bar as his were still down on you. "Can we go back to yours?"

It had been ruined. The night you'd wanted so bad crumbled. Still, Joel couldn't find it in himself to deny he didn't hate hearing you ask to go back to his.

"Course, of course, darlin'. Come on." He led you out the bar, throwing dollars on the table and leaving your half eaten food and half drunk beers.

The night air ran shivers over your skin as he escorted you to his truck, opening the passenger door for you.

You stood there, hair brushed back in the wind and arms crossed over your chest. "Thank you, for back there."

Joel rested his arm over the opened door. "Don't thank me for that. Guy like that shouldn't have been talkin' to you like that."

You nod and gulp. You took a step closer to him as Joel watched. "You've done so much for me, Joel," your voice was low, with no need to speak up. "What can I do for you, please?"

Joel's breath stuttered as he saw you come closer, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss and grab and hold and- he cleared his throat and looked past your head. It was not a step to take tonight. Maybe ever. "Get in the truck."

The night hadn't gone as planned. Granted, none of the weekend had gone as planned.

Joel's truck pulled up in front of his house slow enough for you to catch the lights on in your house, the car back at front. Someone was home and suddenly that made your weekend all the worse.

You and Joel both got out the truck silently and walked up to his porch but both of you were looking at your house, alive.

"Someone's home."

Joel sighed heavily next to you. "Yeah."

So the weekend would be done. You'd go back to whatever new and tense atmosphere was created. There goes your time with Joel that you hadn't realised could do so much for you.

"Well," you started. "I'll get Sarah's shirt washed and dried for you and get it back. Thanks so much for putting up with me and-"

"Don't go," said Joel.

Your head rose. From the silent way he drove you both back and the way he'd been in the bar, you thought he'd push you back to your house.

Joel's tender gaze shone under the dim porch light. "I know you have shit goin on in that house and I can't stand the thought of that. Can't stand to think you're upset. I want you to stay. For tonight. For always. Just-"

You kissed Joel.

You surged up on your toes, held his cheeks and kissed him.

And his lips felt better than ever imagined. They parted under you and you got your first taste of the man you'd dreamt about. Beer on his tongue, desire on his lips and a thousand wants in the back of his throat.

Joel's arms were strong and urgent as they scooped you up and into his chest, moving until he had you pinned against the wall and his body. He surged you up, feeling into your mouth deeper, pressing his body against yours.

He pulled back, lips kissing under your jaw and trailing down your neck. "Oh baby," he cooed, peppering kisses along the skin.

"Joel," you whined, hands grasping at his shirt and pulling.

He nipped at the skin at the base of your neck and licked over the red he'd created. "Fuck. Say my name again," he muttered. He pulled his head back enough to look at you. "Say it."

"Joel."

He kissed you hard, mouth open and tongue discovering your every angle. His hands wasted no time in falling into your hair.

"Stay tonight," he mumbled against your lips as if he couldn't take himself any further away from you. "Please. Let me show you love. Let me... let me take care of you, baby."

His eyes looked at yours, his head nodding like he could coax that same nod from you. He was still mumbling under his breath, a series of please.

There was nothing in the world that could take you from that moment.

"Yes."

Joel kissed you again, face in yours, tongue finding easy triumph over yours. He kept you into his chest with one arm, the other blindly reaching out to unlock his door.

He threw it open and it banged against the wall.

Joel carried you through the threshold, arms secure around your waist. One hand cupped your ass, dragging over your thigh and encouraging you to wrap a leg around him.

He groaned when he felt the warmth of you on him.

He kicked the door close behind him and was still kissing you, was still stealing your breath when he got to the stairs.

It was slobbery, it was wet. You could only hear the ticking of a clock and the sound of your lips as Joel set you on the stairs.

"Need you," he mumbled, kissing down your neck. "Needed you so long now, you have no idea."

"I do," you moan, throwing your head back, eyes squeezed shut to focus on the heat between your two bodies. "Dreamt about this."

Joel looked up at you. "Yeah? When? When you were in my shower?" his hand dragged down your neck, watching it go. "When you were wrapped in my towel? Wearing my clothes." His hand disappeared under your shirt.

Your breath caught as you felt his rough hands drag up and cup your breast. "Joel," you gasp.

"Wanted to have you so bad, baby," he said, speaking to himself as he tugged up the top. "Smelt you on my towel and had to fist myself thinkin' 'bout you."

You mewl at his words, a needy and pathetic noise.

Joel pulled the top off you and threw it somewhere behind. Your breasts were spilling out of your bra, begging. "Shit."

There was no time for you to speak, to gage yourself as Joel hid himself in your breasts, un-clasping your bra and throwing it aside.

It was needy.

Your hands were in his hair, tugging at the roots. You could feel Joel everywhere, his lips dragging against each boob, jumping between the two as if he couldn't decide where to start. His hands were running all over you, down your hips, between your thighs, desperate to feel it all.

Your breathing was erratic, your mind foggy with only one thing. Joel, Joel, Joel.

"Don't- don't stop," you beg.

"Never, never wanna," his voice was muffled as he cupped your breasts, squeezing them together. His tongue darted out and dragged over the skin, hands squeezing.

Your leg wrapped around his hips again and pushed him into the heat between your legs.

Joel groaned.

He pulled back enough to look at you. His hand cupped your cheek, brushing your hair back. "Please... wanna treat you so good.... want you to feel."

"I do," you nod, empty without his lips.

Joel could tell, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek. At odds with the hardness that he unconsciously thrust between your legs. "Wanna treat you so good.... gonna be so good for you. Wanna show you love... let me take care of you."

You couldn't make words. The promises in mumbles was driving you mad.

Joel's hand was gentle on your neck but there enough to stir your gaze to his. "Say yes, baby. Say yes."

"Yes, Joel, yes," you weren't even sure what he was asking for. To use you, to fuck you, to take care of you? It was all a yes.

"Let me... let me do everything to show you love," said Joel. He pecked your lips. "Let me eat your pretty pussy. Let me make you tremble on my fingers. Want it. Need it."

You gasp at his words as his hands fall to your jeans, popping the button and pulling them down. "Joel, we're- we're on the stairs." Was this about to happen, your parents over the road? Was Joel gonna take you however he wanted on the stairs leading to his bedroom?

"Yeah we are baby," he said, "need you. Can't wait. Fuck, might die if I don't get your pussy on my face."

You moan aloud at the words.

Joel looked up at you, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Stand up for me, baby."

How you got onto your feet, you had no idea. But you stood steps ahead of him, wearing nothing but soaked panties and a breathless expression.

Joel knelt before you, jeans tight and strained at the front but he moved like it wasn't there. Like his own need wasn't driving him mad as his hands cupped the back of your thighs.

His eyes weren't warm coffee but a dark night as he kept his eyes on you, tongue darting out to lick a strip over your panties.

He hummed. "You're wet. You're so wet. Been needing me? Been needing attention?"

"Ye-yes," you gasp, eyes closing.

"God what a pretty sight, coulda had this, honey," said Joel. His finger followed the path his tongue created. He prodded your panties, watching the material dampen under his touch. Joel pushed it and watched your pussy take it.

"Joel!" your hands flayed, unsure were to put them.

Joel kissed over your bundle of nerves hidden from him once more. "Can you take them down for me? Please?"

You nodded and realised he'd asked you to do something.

Quickly, you slid them down your legs, exposing yourself without a second thought while Joel tore his shirt off.

Before you could throw them with the rest of your discarded clothes but Joel was quick to take them from you.

The material bunched in his fist first before he brought it up to his face. You watched in wonder, noting the quick rise and fall of your own chest, as Joel's tongue darted out and got a taste of you on your panties.

It was obscene and almost had you kneeling over.

Joel's gaze flickered back up to you, dropping your panties when he noticed your pussy weeping. His hands pulled at your thighs, groping the skin until he had you spread on his stairs. "Gonna eat you out now, ok, honey? Gonna have you trembling. Need you on my face, all over me... fuck."

Joel went in like a man starved. He practically sat himself under you legs, holding your thighs apart and spreading you open.

Your moan beat in your own ears as you braced yourself on the wall and banister.

His tongue was sloppy as he went up and down your folds, gathering your juice and swallowing it. He moaned into your pussy.

"Gonna-" he kissed over your folds, wet. "Eat you up, yeah?" he was talking to himself, or your pussy.

The pleasure was all yours as it escalated up your body, leaving you in moans and pathetic whines.

Joel took no notice of anything else but his face in between your legs. "Eat you out till you forget your name. Till you only know pleasure and want," his tongue flattened against you and slurped, drinking everything you had for him. He whined into you, lost in need. "Fuck, baby, this so good."

Your breathing was un-stable, loud. "Joel, you're-you're-"

One of his hands fell to his crotch, squeezing the thick indent of himself. "Don't try and speak baby, know you can't. Just feel. Just feel me and cum when you want. Want you to cum on my face, all over me. Know you can... Want..." his voice was lost in moans and making out with your core.

If he went anywhere to your nerves... If he so much as looked at your clit you feared you might make his wishes come true.

Like he knew your thoughts, Joel's large palm sprawled out on your sternum, thumb circling your clit as his tongue fucked up, dipping in and out of your juice.

"Joel- Joel!" you yelled, gripping the banister like it was the only thing tying you to the earth.

Joel groaned, thumb applying pressure. He knew every part of you already, knew buttons to press to get you a squirming mess. "Come, god baby, please come all over my mouth. Let me... need it," he begged.

He pushed his face flush into you, nose nudging your clit even more as he moaned into you.

You were screaming out as you finished, thighs shaking so hard Joel had to hold them as he took what you gave him, all of it, licking up the mess and cleaning your thighs only to smear more of it over his face.

"So good..."

"Baby, your pussy the best thing I ever had..."

"Feel good, honey, I feel so good. So damn happy right now..."

He was still talking to himself by the time your eyes had opened.

You found his hand down his own trousers, the tip of his cock flush and pink and weeping. You leaned over him, desperate for your own touch.

"No, baby, no." Joel grabbed your wrist and stirred your wanting fingers into his mouth.

He sucked on them (just how you wanted to on his cock) he took them like it was his own favourite treat. He was still moaning, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat he'd created from his own need.

"Wanna.... want your cock, Joel," you whined.

Joel looked up to you, taking your fingers from his mouth with a trail of saliva. "I know baby, he wants you too. God, does he want your mouth."

Joel got to his feet, tugging your still shaking body into his. He kissed you, open-mouthed, tongue licking in. "But I wanna take care of you more than anythin'."

It took a while to get to his room. He carried you up, had your body on his and he couldn't have his lips without yours for more than a second before he was chasing after you for more.

It was like being a teen all over again. It was like tasting the first forbidden fruit, it was like a drug that you never wanted to quit.

It was enough to kill you, but have you living in bliss.

Joel flicked his light on in his room and closed the door behind him. "Gonna fuck you now, ok baby?"

His hand cupped your cheek, coaxing you to look at him.

You nodded, head brushing his.

"I'll be gentle, I will, but I need you open, I need you ready," he kissed you. "Need to fuck you into my bed. Want your body indented there. Want to smell you on my sheets for weeks in case."

In case he never got it again.

You cupped his cheek, fingers ablaze from the feel of stubble. You implored him to look at you. "Won't be the last time."

"No?" his eyes lit up like a boy on Christmas.

Your tongue darted out, flicking his lips. "Gonna need you, always."

"Always," Joel repeated.

While distracted, you slid to your knees, dropping down with a thud.

You didn't even bother freeing Joel from his trousers and boxers, you just wet him over it with your mouth. You dragged it up, tasting the denim but feeling the twitch of satisfaction he gave you.

Joel groaned, hands hovering in the air around you as you made quick work. "Baby, no, what did I... fuck... what did I say?"

You moan against the denim, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "But want you, Joel, want to feel you."

"Arg- you will baby," he grunted, jaw clenching. "Go on then, play a bit."

You smiled and pulled down his jeans and boxers in one. His cock sprang out, beads of pre-cum already trailing down.

He had length but it was the thickness that had you swallowing. The veins that had you reaching out with spit on your hand to work him up and down.

You tried to go slow, you really did, quickly you picked up the pace as Joel moaned.

You kissed his tip and then around it before your tongue licked around him, collecting his pre-cum and savouring the taste. It was so him.

"Oh baby, enough to bring a man to his knees."

You sensed you didn't have much time, darting your head low to engulf his balls in your mouth- or at least one of them. It was heavy on your tongue, warm with him.

As suspected, Joel groaned loudly before dragging you up.

He tossed you down on the bed, stepping out of his pants.

You expected to feel his cock trace your entrance, to be prepared for the burning and passion inside of you.

Joel had gone in with his tongue again fist. He really was on his knees, holding your thighs open and licking up and down, getting your taste again like he'd forgotten it in the time it took to get to his room.

Your hand flew to his hair, tugging at the roots. "Joel!"

"Whatever you want, baby," he mumbled, kissing at your thigh.

"Fuck me! Fuck me, please!"

His tongue left you alone and you felt the bed dip as he crawled over you. Your legs fell flat and wide, accommodating him. He hovered over you enough so you wouldn't feel him. "You want it?"

"I do," your eyes stung, you were close enough to tears.

"Want all of me splitting you open?" he asked, "once you have me baby, that's it. You can't have anyone else."

"Don't want anyone else, just please."

Joel tested himself on top of you, head in the crook of your neck, nipping and licking. "Gonna fill you up, make you feel.... so good!" He broke off in a groan as he led his cock into you. "Shit! You're so ... so tight."

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slowly inched himself in more and more. "Joel..."

He brushed your hair out the way, still over you. "This ok? You feelin' me? Feelin' all of me."

Your eyes screwed shut at the initial burn but your own need pulsed and had you begging for more.

"Don't wanna hurt you, my pretty girl," he mumbled.

You shook your head. "Won't. Just move!"

Joel could never say no to you.

His hips rocked slowly, until all of him was sunk in. He was still a moment longer, panting above you.

"Joel, move, please," you begged, holding onto him.

"Baby if I move now i'm coming inside of you and i'm spent," he chuckled. "Trying to make it good. Trying to make it last."

There was earnest in his voice. A true desire that went beyond touching, that went beyond proving he could love you and take care of you.

He wanted you. All of you. Forever.

Your hand cupped him, thumb tracing over his bottom lip as his eyes opened to yours. "It's perfect."

Neither of you blinked. Neither of you dared look away to where he slowly sank in and out of you. You looked at each others eyes, watched every wince and flicker of pleasure. Watched the darkest of desires and the purest of desires flicker with every twitch and move of him.

It grew to more.

Joel's hands went from your neck to your hips to rock you into him, to guide each thrust. Every time he slowly left you he entered you with force, needing to stabilise you.

He wasn't just talking when he said he'd fuck you into the bed.

Soon enough he was bottoming out in you with every thrust and you could only hear the slapping of skin and the words tumbling out his mouth.

"Made for me. My god, where you made for me..."

"Pussy feels just as good as it tastes... can't believe it...."

"Gonna finish inside of you, and you're gonna finish on my cock. This is it. It's us now, ain't nobody ever takin you from me..."

"Yours," you moan, nails scratching down his skin. "Oh, i'm all yours."

"Prove it to me," he all but growled as his thrusts became quick and hard. "Come on my cock and show him how good it feels. He needs it, he wants it. Needs.... wants..."

"Joel I- mmh- want you to come."

"So kind baby," he chuckled. "But I will, god will I. But only once you've come. My cock needs it now, baby, now!"

You didn't think it could get better, that his thrusts could get harder and stir you into a craze but he proved you wrong.

As you mouth hung open in a moan, Joel held your jaw open and had his fingers in there, gathering your saliva before he moved those fingers down your body and onto your clit.

The deftness of his fingers and the quick thrusts had you finishing and pulsing on his cock, screaming his name until the whole damn street could hear.

Your walls were wet, your pussy clenching around Joel until his hips were stuttering with his groans.

"Oh i'm gonna cum.... oh, i'm gonna... fuck- fuck!" his words trailed away into groans from hell as he hit one last thrust, balls against you.

You were still riding your high when you felt his warmth inside you, marking you, becoming you. Both of you climaxed and moaned, every twitch and touch sending trembles through you.

Every little pulse had more of Joel spluttering inside of you until he had nothing left.

He fell on top of you, cock twitching. He kissed your skin, licked away the sweat rolling down your temples until he could find it to move out of you.

Joel rolled onto his side, pulling the covers over you as you both caught your breath.

Once you had enough air in your lungs, you turned to Joel. He was already scanning you like he was ready for round two.

"Thank you," you didn't know why you said it. All you knew was you'd never felt so cared and loved before.

Joel smiled. "You're so welcome, baby. But don't think i'm done takin care of you yet."

[tojicide]

OBSESSED. ☆ SYLUS.

📰 extra, extra! why is your bodyguard so obsessed with you? girl, you wanna know...

warnings. fem!reader, popstar!reader, bodyguard!sylus, established romantic history ( very brief ), pet names, semi-public, fingering, oral ( fem. receiving ), cowgirl, unprotected p in v. wc. 4.6k.

an. reused the header and a bit of the plot from an aaron hotchner fanfic i wrote on wattpad in like… 2021??? tweaked most of the details obvs but ig i was born as a bodyguard au lover

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Your bodyguard was such a buzzkill.

Dragging you out of every party you make an appearance at, replacing your shots with water once he believes you’ve had one too many, watching you like a hawk no matter where you are or who you’re with...

You despise those who have an inability to have fun, so as far as you’re concerned, Sylus is the devil reincarnated. You aren’t exactly shy about your opinion of him either, and perhaps in hindsight, that is exactly why he was currently pacing through the party you’re in attendance of to try and ruin your night yet again.

(Ruin your night or… do his job? Hell if you care about the logistics of it all. Two sides of the same coin, you think.)

His protective instinct only grew more intense ever since the two of you shared a kiss before a concert of yours that left your lipstick smeared over your face like there was no tomorrow…

And what did that asshole do? Nothing. It was in his nature to make your life miserable after all. Sylus let you walk out in front of your thousands of fans, makeup messy and appearance disheveled all from his mouth on yours alone.

And boy, did the tabloids have a time with that one… Who was the culprit? A new fling of yours? Fiancé? Possible baby daddy? Each and every news outlet had some uniquely wrong to say. Can’t a girl have a makeout session with her bodyguard in peace?

Unfortunately for you, the paparazzi have been hounding you ever since that day, itching to get the 4-1-1 on your love life.

And ever since, you haven’t given many people the time of day—including Sylus. Tonight, you’ve managed to stay two steps ahead of your dear bodyguard and evade eventual capture for just a bit longer. You’re currently surrounded by a few of your friends, socialites and actors alike.

Your lips seem to flap freely when you have a few drinks in you, but tonight, you’re sober but even more talkative than ever. Your chosen topic of conversation? Your overbearing and stupidly handsome bodyguard, of course.

Too lost in your story, waving your arms around to your theatrical pleasure, you hardly noticed the way your friends’ faces paled to a ghostly shade of white, their eyes nearly bulging out of their heads and their lips parted as if they had something to say but… couldn’t.

All the while, you were too busy blowing off the  steam that you’d acquired from your last encounter with the forsaken bodyguard. “…And I was like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

As fate would have it, you hear a throat clear behind you followed by an annoyed sigh that you’ve grown to know like the back of your hand. You spin around, already wearing a scowl.

“Obsessed with you, hm?” Sylus says, his voice low and seemingly dangerous, though your utter distaste for the man rids him of his intimidation. “You’re quite self important. I could never live in a world where I’d fall at the feet of an egotistical popstar.”

You roll your eyes at that. Who does he think he is? Everyone loves you—all except for the disgustingly handsome man standing in front of you.

“Mm… well, you can always die an untimely death and never have to work for me again,” you reply, giving him the most passive aggressive smile known to man. “Hopefully that gives you an ounce of hope.”

“It does,” he replies, returning the same expression that you gave him.

It’s borderline infuriating how undisturbed Sylus was. No, it is infuriating. No matter how many insults you chucked his way, he never cracked. (And the one time he did, it led to the two of you playing tonsil tennis in your dressing room...)

You shake your head, huffing in utter annoyance. You then hold your wrists up for display, cocking your head to the side as you give him a mock puppy dog expression. “Sooo… are you here to take me away, Officer Buzzkill?”

Sylus merely blinks in response to your taunting, taking a firm grasp on one of your wrists before he tugs you through the sea of partygoers. He laces your fingers together, squeezing tight as to not lose hold of you.

“Must you always make things so difficult?” he asks, keeping his eyes ahead.

You shrug your shoulders. “More or less.”

“More or less?” he echoes, glancing over his shoulder to properly look at you. “I suggest you try a different style of communication, sweetness. Your clipped attitude will get you nowhere.”

“Oh? But it’s gotten me so far already…” you trail off, glancing at his lips for a few agonizingly long seconds before a smirk tugs on the corner of your mouth. “In fact, I think it can get me even further.”

Sylus’s jaw tenses, his eyes slipping shut as he tears his gaze away from you. He can’t handle the way you’re looking at him—so unbelievably beautiful with those siren eyes of yours, the mere sight of you already stirring something unwanted within him.

He turns around to continue leading you through the crowd without a reply. You begin to glance around yourself, attempting to plot your brilliant escape.

“Don’t,” he flatly states, his iron grip tightening on your hand.

“Why not?” you ask, your voice holding a strong tone of defiance.

Sylus gives your hand one solid tug before you’re standing in front of him, his free hand pressing onto the small of your back as he keeps you pressed to his chest. “If you haven’t noticed, you brat, I will always chase you. I’ll find you just the same.”

You almost deflate under his intense gaze, his deep red eyes piercing through your own. It wasn’t often that Sylus manhandled you, but when he did, it made you feel… different. Intrigued, maybe.

“How touching,” you deadpan, “but you still get on my nerves.”

Sylus clicks his tongue. “Tch. Oh, I’m sorry… when have I ever cared about what you think?”

“Never,” you say with a dramatic sigh. “You know… if you hate me so much, you should just quit on me.”

Sylus rolls his eyes, his red irises drawing you in like no other. “I don’t… hate you. You should be rather thankful that I don’t, because I’m doubtful that anyone else would want this job of mine—you’re quite the handful.”

“Mm, I’m only saying,” you murmur with a shrug, giving his hand a harsh squeeze as if the roughness of your grasp would make him let go, but he, of course, does not. “You don’t need this job, and yet, here you are.”

He raises a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

You smile, the same shit-eating grin that he has grown to be all too familiar with. “Give me your wallet.”

Sylus huffs, his broad shoulders deflating as he fishes his black leather wallet from his back pocket and hands it over to you. You take it with ease, taking your hand from his as you crack it open.

You slip his Black Card from the sleeve, proving that he truly didn’t need the job for any monetary gain. And then, a triumphant smile graces your lips as you pull out none other than a Polaroid photo taken of you—backstage at your concert just before the kiss you two shared.

“Ooh… what’s this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

Sylus reaches forward to try and snatch the tiny photo from you, but you are far too quick. “What are you revealing exactly? That you were secretly snooping in my wallet prior to now?”

“Yes,” you admit without hesitation, “and that you’re secretly rich and in love with me. Does that make us even?”

His jaw sets, his piercing gaze set on yours. He works to snatch the photo from you, tucking his belongings back into his wallet before he slips it into his pocket. “No. Maybe if you were less of a pain, we could be even.”

You wiggle your eyebrows in suggestion. “You’re not denying being in love with me, dear bodyguard of mine.”

Sylus gives you a deadpan expression. “Must you always be so self righteous? God forbid I am proud of you and your success.”

The genuine nature of his words set you back a step, your brows knitting together and your lips parting. If Sylus noticed the shift of your expression, he didn’t mention it. Thankfully. His cold fingers lace with yours once more, continuing the stride towards the exit of the party.

“Rather than putting on this show of yours, you truly should be thanking me for saving your reputation,” he quietly adds, his hand now curled around your waist as you approach the exit. “There is a swarm of paparazzi outside who are desperate to get their grimy hands on a picture of their beloved popstar doing something remotely scandalous.”

(And if Sylus knows anything about you, it’s that you love scandals. According to you, they ‘make life worth living’. Tch. Diva.)

You chuckle. “Aww, you care!”

“Do I care, or is it my job to look after you?” he asks, plucking his sunglasses from his pocket to place them on your face, shielding your eyes from the rapid camera flashes of the paparazzi. “Public intoxication numerous times a week is not a very good look for you, sweetie. Incredibly frowned upon.”

Your jaw sets as you listen to his words. While they are undeniably true, you don’t have any plans for admitting that—not now or in the near future.

“Making out with my bodyguard is frowned upon as well, but you didn’t seem to be complaining about that bit,” you say under your breath.

Your voice was low enough that your weighted words were almost drowned out by the booming music of the party and by the chatter of the photographers you’re about to be engulfed in. Almost. 

Sylus flashes you a glare. “You shouldn’t mumble. I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“You heard me,” you state.

He did hear you, that was exactly the problem. It was no coincidence that the two of you haven’t spoken much since your very intense lip lock. You’ve been avoiding each other, evading the invisible string that connects the two of you like both an electric current and a noose.

The tension between the two of you was tangible, palpable even—you could practically taste it just as well as you could still taste his lips on your own. It was intoxicating, imprinting, searing.

It managed to distract you from the flashing lights of the cameramen who were swarming you, capturing flick after flick of you being led through the crowd.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “You know, you can help me out with all of this,” you murmur, gesturing towards the paparazzi. “My publicist came up with an idea that will get them off my back for a while. Give them the answers they need and… whatnot.”

“Is that right?” he asks, glancing your way. “Do tell.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, tuning out all of the chattering paparazzi who are currently surrounding you. “Be my impromptu mystery man for the cameras. I’ll give you anything you want in return, I swear it.”

Sylus hums, the sound omitting a deep rumble into the air. “Anything I want? My, my, sweets, you’ve made me an offer I cannot refuse.”

You huff, grasping onto the collar of his jacket as you pull him into you. “Just go with it.”

“Just go with wh— mmph!” Sylus’s words were muffled by your lips slotting against his in a searing kiss, his hands instinctively finding their home on the curve of your hips.

The kiss was… tame. It was supposed to be, after all. It was merely for the cameras, a way for you to put an answer to the questions that have been flooding your inbox and left your name circulating in the news for days on end.

But when Sylus’s tongue brushes against your bottom lip, you slightly pull away, muttering a faint, “Sylus, what’re you…” before he pulls you right back in, his large hand now resting on your cheek.

“If you’re going to use me like a whore at your disposal, I’d suggest you let me enjoy myself and taste you properly,” he sporadically says into your mouth, his hand shifting to tangle in your hair as he tilts you to his liking, your tongues meeting in with gentle swipes. “See? I knew you could do better than that.”

True to his suggestion, you kissed him like there was no tomorrow, your hands fisting his shirt in your palms as your lips moved in tandem with his. Lipstick and paparazzi long forgotten, you find yourself getting lost in the moment, a soft whimper leaving your mouth as his hands give your hips a firm squeeze.

The moment he hears that sweet, impossibly faint sound of your pleasure, he knows that he’s in for it now. That’ll do it for him.

He abruptly pulls away, clasping his hand onto yours as he continues pulling you through the now stunned crowd of paparazzi. Sporting an erection and your lipstick smeared on his lips makes no difference to Sylus—if anything, he enjoys the world knowing that he has the hots for the woman who he has sworn to protect.

Sylus helps you into the passenger seat of your black SUV, closing the door behind you before making his way to the driver’s seat. He peels off, driving with intention through the streets of the city.

It was now evident to you that he was driving the SUV in pursuit of his favorite lookout spot, one that overlooks the bustling city from a distance. Sylus had taken you there once before as per your request to ‘stay out a bit later’. Nothing happened then, but you have an inclination that your luck has changed.

“I know what I want from you,” he states, placing a hand on your thigh.

How did he already manage to figure out what he wants in return for helping you? A raise? A car? The blood of his enemies? You’re intrigued, raising a brow. “You do?”

“I do,” he confirms without missing a beat. “Get into the backseat.”

A gasp leaves your kiss swollen lips as you mull over the utter implications of his words. It didn’t take a genius to understand them, but you were… surprised to say the least. “I think you’re overstepping your boundaries, Mr. Qin.”

In a literal sense, sure he was. But if the two of you were going to judge based on what you two want, he absolutely wasn’t—you both knew that.

He chuckles, the sound low yet infuriatingly sexy. His hand slips beneath your skirt, his middle finger brushing along the damp spot of your panties. “Your body seems to disagree with you, ma’am.”

And if you weren’t already wet before, hearing him call you ma’am was more than enough to do it for you. “Shut up,” you grumble.

“You can make me,” he suggests, setting the vehicle into park before giving your thigh a few pats. He nods his head towards the backseat. “Go on.”

Without hesitation, you kick your heels off and crawl into the back of the vehicle, thumping down on the seat with a sharp sigh. Sylus follows you within the blink of an eye, his knees settling on the spacious floor of the car.

“What’re you…” you ask, though your eyebrows raise as the pieces of the puzzle click together in your mind. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” he repeats, his warm hands rubbing your knees as he spreads your legs apart, his lips finding the tender skin of your inner thigh. “You know… you truly should be resting for your show tomorrow evening.”

“Should I?” You bite on your bottom lip as he leans forward, nosing at your clothed pussy with a muffled moan of his own. He inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal driving him to the brink of insanity.

“You should,” he answers, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your cunt through the fabric of your panties. “You should stop talking too. You need to rest your voice just as much.”

You swallow hard, whimpering ever so softly as his fingers hook beneath the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs to give himself access to your glistening core.

His eyes are set on your heat, his cool hands hiking your thighs over his shoulders. He rests his cheek on the warmth of your inner thigh, glancing up at you. “Because believe me, sweetie, the things that I want to do to you will not be in favor of that beautiful voice of yours.”

“Oh?” you ask, titling your head. “What will they be in favor of?”

He grins, wicked and devilishly handsome. “I’m glad you asked, because there’s someone else I’ve been wanting to hear from.”

Before you have the chance to reply, he’s already got his face delving deep between your legs, the filthy sounds of squelches and slurping filling the otherwise silent car.

“Oh, I— mmh, you didn’t answer my… my question,” you stammer out between breathy moans, your head tilting back on the headrest as your eyes flutter shut.

Sylus smiles into your pussy, pointing his tongue to accentuate the squelching noises that your heat was making, entirely wet and dripping for him.

“Can you not hear her?”

Never in your life did you think that having a man on his knees talking to your cunt would be this arousing, but… you’re fucking soaked.

“I-I can,” you gasp, cracking your eyes open to look down at him. “Fuck, you can talk to her in fifty languages for all I care, holy shit.”

He quietly chuckles, the sound sending a spark of vibrations onto your already sensitive clit. Your thighs tense, aching to close on him, but he keeps them spread with his strong hands on your thighs.

Your lips part as a string of breathy sounds leave you, beautiful moans and needy whimpers alike—all of which play as music to Sylus’s ears. It was nice to know that your mouth was good for more than just singing and bickering at him…

Teeth nibbling into your bottom lip, you glance down at him, only to be met with the most crazed eyes known to mankind. So disheveled, your slick leaking down his chin while his tongue delves into your heat like a man starved. He looks like he’s in his own pussy drunk heaven.

When you feel his pointed tongue begin to curve and lick in ways it hadn’t before, you do your best to follow his movements.

S-Y-L-U-S he spells on your puffy cunt with his writing tool of choice—none other than his stupidly talented tongue.

“You’re so—”

“Shh,” he cuts you off, his voice more like a husky whisper now. His pupils were dilated to the size of saucers, sucking on your clit before releasing it with a harsh pop.

Filthy sounds fill the air, your own breathy moans spilling from your swollen lips in tandem with the messy sucks of Sylus’s lips on your cunt. Not to mention, your girl truly was loud.

“Singing so beautifully for me,” he rasps, his eyes flitting up to watch your blissful expression. Lidded eyes, parted lips, flushed skin—an absolute wet dream of his come to life.

You bite your lip, hardly focused on the words coming out of his mouth. “Mmh, what…?”

“Quiet, sweets,” he repeats, hooking his hands even tighter around your thighs as he gives your heat a few more harsh licks. “I told you I was talking to her, didn’t I?”

It doesn’t take much longer for your legs to begin to tremble, your body writhing in his grasp as he sets you any way but loose. Your hips buck up, your core grinding against his wet muscle as you chase your release.

Sylus was more than eager to give it to you, redoubling his efforts while locking his hands over your legs to keep you steady enough for him to pleasure you effectively. The warmth pooling in your belly was far too much, far more intense than anything you had ever experienced before.

“Mmh, I… I’m coming,” you warn through an airy whine.

And when you do, Sylus swoops in even more greedily than before, his flat tongue lapping at your honeyed release. There was no way he would ever be able to go without tasting you like this now that he has. Fuck, he’s such a goner.

As you come down from your high, you grin with a few pants. “Look at you, falling at the feet of your ‘egotistical popstar’—mmph!”

Sylus plunges two fingers into your mouth to shut you up, rising to plant himself onto the seat beside you. “That’s hardly an insult to me anymore, my dear. I know what I am.”

He pulls his spit slick fingers from your mouth, bringing them to your pussy as he gently circles your sensitive clit. His free hand guides you through the motion of straddling his lap. With a simple nod of his head, he gestures for you to lift your shirt up, and you do.

“And what’s that?” you ask, watching as he leans forward to mouth at your breasts through the fabric of your bra.

“I’ve already told you,” he murmurs, bringing his free hand to his belt to free his cock from the confines of his pants. “A whore at your disposal.”

“I knew it,” you chuckle, though the sweet sound is interrupted by a breathy moan that he coaxes out of you once he slides his fat cockhead along your folds.

He clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side. “Are you not going to reciprocate my affection?” he teases, grasping tightly onto your hips. “Or do I have to work a bit harder for it, ma’am?”

Your knees would have certainly buckled if they weren’t firmly planted on the leather seats of the SUV. Who would have thought that you had a thing for white-haired bodyguards who call you ‘ma’am’?

Sylus raises a brow, a cocky smirk tugging on his lips. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

You feel your face heating up more and more the longer you look him in the eyes, shifting your hips so that the tip of his cock finally meets your entrance. “Just… shut up and put it in.”

“How demanding,” he hums, smirking ever so slightly as he uses his grasp on you to make one sharp snap of his hips, burying balls deep inside of your heat. “But as you wish, pretty.”

You cry out immediately, the burn of the stretch fading into unfolding pleasure. Eyes locked on each other’s, breaths mingling with ease, skin slicked with sweat, it was…

“Perfect,” he whispers, smoothing his hands along your hips before one reaches up to cup your cheek. He pulls you into a deep, searing kiss. “So, so perfect.”

Your movements are timid at first, you were merely testing the waters that had yet to be explored. His cock stuffed you full, his tip kissing your deepest points with ease, earning a muffled whimper from your mouth that his lips swallowed up eagerly.

Sylus begins to help you move a bit quicker, rocking your hips forward in smooth rolls, earning moans from the both of you that seemed to come straight from your guts.

“Give it to me how you like it, baby,” he encourages, both of his hands planting firmly on your waist. “Use my cock however you need it, sweets, it’s yours.”

His words have your clit pulsating around his thick shaft, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you begin to work up a pace of your own that has your heart beating wildly.

“I always… fuck—I always knew you were obsessed with me,” you jest, your grin stretching wide.

Sylus hums, the sound low and deep, his iron grip on your hips helping you maintain the intensity of your movements whenever your muscles beg for a break. “Yeah? Needed me to be buried inside of you to have that bit of confirmation?”

You nod with a smile, hands wrapping around his neck as you plant your forehead against his. He smiles too, a breathy moan leaving his mouth as you circle your hips in a way that has him seeing stars.

“Fuck yeah, I’m obsessed with you,” he admits without a semblance of shame, tilting his head back on the headrest.

Already feeling your second orgasm approaching, you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and sweat that made a musk that was so beautifully Sylus. His hands smooth over your backside, giving your ass a squeeze.

“Tch, let me see that pretty face,” he demands, nudging you with his shoulder so that you were sitting up once more. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You struggle to form a sentence, bouncing unabashedly on his cock, skin slapping together in an erratic pattern that spurred you even further. A string of whimpers and whines leave your puffy lips. Though your reply lacked words, it perfectly communicated what you wanted to say.

“Oh, I know it, baby,” he rasps, tilting his head back again as his eyes slip shut. “Pussy’s addictive—shit, I’m obsessed with her too.”

You begin to lose yourself all together, reduced to nothing more than a blissed out woman riding her bodyguard’s cock. “Sylus, I… mmh, I’m gonna cum.”

He nods in understanding, smoothing his hand through your hair as he brings you in for another kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue, messy and drooling in the most beautiful way possible.

“Gonna come inside you if you keep riding me like this, baby,” he warns, pulling back to look you in the eyes.

You feel his cock twitch inside of you, as if it were confirming his words. You don’t do this often, contrary to popular belief, but you are on the pill. Luckily. “Please do.”

Sylus pants through a smile, licking his lips as he guides you through a few more fleshed out grinds on his lap. “Huh… you really are something special.”

A deep groan leaves his mouth as he dips his head, grip tightening on your waist as you ride him through your shared orgasm. You aren’t sure where yours ended and his began, or if you had gotten the order wrong entirely. All you know is that in that moment, the two of you became one.

Panting, your hand plants on the fogged up window of the vehicle, leaving your handprint in its wake. Sylus lets out a breathy chuckle, raising his own shaking hand to the window.

You watch through lidded eyes as he draws a tiny heart, writing his and your first initials inside of it with a little + in the middle. How cute.

Sylus then turns to face you again, bringing his hand to your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm, placing a kiss on his skin. “I have something to admit.”

He nods his head a single time, beckoning you to continue. “What is it?”

You give him a wry smile. “My publicist never gave me the idea for that publicity stunt.”

“…I figured that much, sweetie.”

note. bodyguard!sylus, my glorious king… ok i lowkey hate this but it holds no purpose saving up space in my drafts so :D pls interact if you enjoyed, rbs are greatly appreciated <3 thank you for readingggg !!!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[thepencilnerd]

seeing double

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader x michael "robby" robinavitch summary: A night out with two of your closest colleagues turns into something you never expected—or did you? Between cocktails, dancing, and old tension, the line between friendship and something more finally blurs. warnings/content: nsfw | 18+ MDNI, porn with a whisper of plot, pining, threesome (m/f/m), p in v + oral sex (m&f receiving), jack and robby are both soft/pleasure doms, protective/possessive/jealous tendencies, praise kink, no condoms but IUD use, domestic fluff, banter wc: 10k a/n: wine drunk alone on a friday night + one very rare instance of dreaming = this monstrosity, excuse any mistakes, not religious but i will pray for forgiveness for i have sinned because jfc—

It started like any other post-shift outing: exhausted, half-delirious, desperate for something that didn't smell like ammonia.

Robby had slung his arm around your shoulders the second you walked out of the ER, pulling you toward Jack with a bright grin. "First round's on me. Hell, second round too if you both promise not to ditch me for charting."

Jack had just smirked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We'll see how intolerable you get after two shots."

It wasn't always like this—the three of you tangled together like gravity and inevitability. When you first joined day shift, it was Robby you bonded with. Quick jokes in the trauma bay, quiet coffee runs between codes, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from surviving the same battlefield night after night. His touches had started out friendly—a pat on your shoulder after a long shift, a gentle squeeze on the same shoulder when you nailed a tricky procedure—but over time, the air between you shifted.

Every glance lingered longer. Every touch sparked hotter.

Robby's hand on your lower back when you squeezed past him in the supply room, the way he’d always seem to find reasons to stand just a little too close, his thumb brushing yours when you handed him charts—it all built slowly, unbearably. You’d catch him staring sometimes, his round, dark-rimmed frames lingering a second too long on your mouth or the curve of your neck before he’d grin and deflect with a joke.

There was the night after a particularly brutal trauma when Robby had tugged you into a half-hug outside the ambulance bay, squeezing you so tightly you had to laugh. "You're a badass, you know that?" he'd said against your hair, voice rough. And for a second—just a second—he hadn't let go.

When you switched to night shift for extra trauma training, you met Jack. At first, he was just your attending—brilliant, relentless, intimidating. He kept a careful distance, crisp in his authority. But slowly, cracks showed.

One night, after a rough code, you’d slumped against the nurses’ station with blood-streaked gloves still on. Jack appeared beside you, two coffees in hand, sliding one toward you without a word. You’d blinked at him, fingers brushing his when you took it, and for a moment he didn't move.

"Thanks," you’d muttered, voice rough.

He’d just shrugged, but there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "You’re welcome, hotshot."

You caught him smirking more often after that—at your dry jokes, your quick comebacks—offering gruff praise when you pulled off a save. Once, when you fumbled a suturing kit in a rare moment of exhaustion, Jack crouched beside you and murmured low, "Hey, breathe. You've got this."

His hand brushed your back—brief, grounding, unbearably warm—and your heart stuttered so hard it was a wonder he didn’t hear it.

Jack was slower to open up. The late-night rooftop coffees, both of you leaning back against the ledge, city lights blinking below as you traded quiet stories about worst patients, favorite saves, tiny admissions about sleeplessness and fear. The stolen glances across the nurses' station, like magnets catching without meaning to.

There were nights the ER would blur around you—patients screaming, monitors wailing—and Jack's voice would cut through the noise, steady and sure: "You with me?" 

And you’d always nod. Always.

Once, you'd both reached for the same suture kit and your hands had collided, his fingers wrapping around yours instinctively. Neither of you pulled away immediately. His thumb brushed your knuckles before he let go, the moment stretched tight enough to snap like a stale rubberband.

By the time you'd rotated back onto a blended shift with Robby and Jack, you were caught in the pull of both of them. Two different kinds of push and pull. 

If working with the both of them had taught you anything, it was that Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot were combustible—two sparks waiting for a reason to ignite, especially when it came to you.

They both had a tendency to be overprotective, possessive, and if they were honest, being around each other's orbit didn't help. When you’d come in for night shift and bid Robby goodbye as he ended his day, Jack would eye the way you laughed with Robby, the way Robby’s hand lingered at your elbow or lower back. More than once, Jack had swooped in, pretending to need you for a case, cutting the conversation short with a clipped, "You ready, Dr. L/N?"

Robby noticed. His wide grin supersaturated with disbelief, like he knew exactly what Jack was doing, clapping him on the shoulder harder than necessary as he left.

Likewise, when you clocked out in the morning and Robby was coming in to start his shift, it was Jack’s turn to be on the receiving end. You’d be talking with Jack at the nurses' station—usually laughing softly, leaning in closer than strictly necessary—and Robby would stroll up, insert himself easily into the conversation, his arm bumping yours as he reached for a chart.

Jack would tense, jaw ticking, shooting Robby a look that practically screamed, "We'll talk about this later," even if the words never came.

And when it came to the new interns—the accident magnets they were—their protective instincts bordered on alien.

Santos once knocked over a cart dangerously close to you and before you could even flinch, Jack had caught the edge of it with lightning-fast reflexes, his body shielding yours. He turned to Santos after, shooting him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood—the kind of glare that promised slow, premeditated murder if she didn't start paying more attention. Santos paled visibly, stammering an apology that Jack didn't even acknowledge.

Another time, Whitaker had nearly swung a door into you during a code and Robby had yanked you back by your waist, muttering a sharp, "Watch it," without even looking. A few minutes later, Robby—with all the casual malice in the world—assigned Whitaker to shadow Myrna for the rest of his shift as punishment. The look on Whitaker's face had been priceless; the vindictive smirk on Robby's face afterward, even better.

Javadi once sent a gurney skidding wild around a corner and you barely sidestepped—only for both Jack and Robby to step in front of you at once. Both of them looked ready to grill Javadi, who froze like she'd been caught committing arson. Before either could open their mouths, you clicked your tongue at them in warning, stepping around them to calm the sleep-deprived child genius, "Are you okay, honey? Let's get you some coffee."

You shot Robby and Jack a narrow glare over your shoulder—a silent command to stand down—and, grudgingly, they obeyed. But not without Jack muttering something about "rookies" under his breath. You, for the most part, played innocent—but you weren’t completely blind. You saw the way they watched you, the way they bristled and circled, each trying not to cross some invisible line neither had the nerve to define.

Once, you’d even caught them at the end of the hallway near the staff lockers, deep in a heated whisper-yelling argument. You were too far away to hear it all, but you caught pieces as you slowed your steps.

"...not yours to stake out," Robby hissed, shoulders tense.

Jack’s jaw flexed. "Maybe I’m what she needs," he snapped, voice rough with something almost broken.

Robby stepped closer, the space between them charged. "You don't get to decide that."

You’d ducked away before they could notice you, heart pounding, pretending you hadn't heard a single thing. You hadn't known then—not really. But you'd be lying if you said you hadn't had an idea.

In the weeks that followed, you noticed the air between them eased—less tense, less brittle. They started joking again, nudged shoulders in passing, teased you in tandem during transitional shifts. It almost felt normal again. Almost. But underneath it, something still lingered—a crackling undercurrent that neither of them could quite hide. Not from each other. And certainly not from you.

Little did you know that tonight would be the night where things completely shifted.

The bar was loud and too warm, the floor sticky, the music a little too old to be considered vintage and a little too new to be classic. It didn’t matter. It was freedom.

Robby bought whiskey for himself, beer for Jack, and whatever alcohol-masked cocktail you pointed at on the menu.

"To surviving," Robby toasted, clinking glasses.

"To making it out without a lawsuit," Jack amended dryly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes, and drank deep.

It was easier than it should have been to relax. To let the haze of alcohol smooth the sharp edges of exhaustion. You grabbed Robby's hand and tugged him toward the makeshift dance floor, singing, "Come on, old man, dance with me!"

He hesitated, shaking his head and smiling to himself—then grinned and let you pull him. Robby spun you first instead, taking you by surprise, his laughter warm and easy against your ear. You laughed as he caught you against him again, both of you breathless and loose with happiness.

Jack leaned against the nearby wall, watching with that steady gaze of his, beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.

"C'mon, Jack," Robby called over the music. "Get your ass over here."

Jack held up a hand from where he leaned against the wall, a silent 'I'm good,' his mouth quirking in a reluctant smile. But you weren't having it. You weaved your way through the crowd toward him, leaning up on your toes to whisper something warm against his ear.

"Dance with me, Jack," you whispered through the noise, your voice low and warm, meant only for him. Jack stiffened for a second, breath catching, and when you pulled back, his eyes were dark, hungry. He pushed off the wall without another word and followed you to the floor, his beer forgotten.

Robby spun you again, and when you stumbled laughing into Jack, he caught you with hands that lingered a little too long on your waist. His palms were warm, steady, the faint smell of his cologne—clean soap and cedar—curling around you. Robby pressed back into your other side, the scent of whiskey and his usual lazy citrus aftershave filling your senses.

Their touches blended together—Jack’s firmer grip at your hips, Robby’s looser, teasing sways—and yet you could still tell exactly who was who. Jack's breath was slow and deliberate against your temple; Robby’s laughter rumbled against your back, a low vibration that soaked into your bones. For a moment, you were suspended between them, the music, the warmth, the want—utterly theirs.

You were on cloud nine, swaying to and fro like you were caught between the ocean and the moon—their touches the tide, pulling you back and forth, holding you steady.

Jack’s fingers flexed, and for a moment, the world tightened down to just the three of you—the heat, the gravity pulling you closer.

Robby pressed in behind you, his hands finding your hips, swaying you to the beat. Jack didn't step back. He stepped closer.

The music pulsed around you. Your head tipped back against Robby's shoulder, your eyes locking with Jack's.

Jack’s hand brushed your cheek, feather-light, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Robby's breath ghosted your ear. "God, you’re beautiful."

Jack's thumb traced your jawline. "You drive us crazy, you know that?"

Your pulse thundered. Your body ached in ways that had nothing to do with fatigue.

You leaned in close, hovering near Jack's lips, but didn't kiss him—not yet. Jack froze, his hands tightening just slightly at your waist, pulling back just enough to make the boundary clear. You could see it written all over him—the hesitation, the unspoken rule he lived by: he wouldn't kiss you or anyone without explicit consent, either given or received.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw. "I'm sober enough to give consent," you assured, breathless but certain.

Then you turned to Robby too, catching his eye as your fingers brushed his cheek, your voice low but sure. "To both of you." His fingers tangled with yours easily, his grin soft and a little stunned as he let you loop him into your orbit—exactly where he’d always wanted to be.

Facing Jack again, you saw relief flash across his face—followed almost immediately by want. Jack leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your lips, his nose brushing yours. He hovered there, still hesitant, giving you one last chance to pull away. When you didn't—when you leaned into him instead—he surrendered. His mouth claimed yours unapologetically, slow and aching, like he had all the time in the world and no intention of ever letting you go.

Robby kissed your neck at the same time, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse point, one hand splaying over your stomach, pulling you closer. His beard scraped roughly against your skin, a delicious, rasping contrast to Jack's lighter stubble as Jack’s mouth moved against yours—a difference you felt everywhere they touched you. Robby's touch was warmer, softer, always teasing; Jack's was firmer, anchoring, a bundle of hot coals beneath your skin. Different, but the same in the way they both made your nerves light up, made you feel like you were being pulled apart only to be put back together better, more whole, by the both of them.

You whimpered into Jack’s mouth, dizzy from the dual sensation, from the way they bracketed you, claimed you without a single word. Jack's hands shifted, strong and sure, spinning you gently—a slow, deliberate turn—until you faced Robby. For a moment, you stood suspended between them again, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Robby met you with a grin that was all heat and mischief, and then he kissed you—hotter, deeper, needier. Jack's mouth found your pulse point, sucking and nipping, while Robby's tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing you open.

You gasped into Robby's mouth, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as Jack’s teeth grazed your throat, a low growl rumbling against your skin. Every nerve ending sparked, overwhelmed by the heat, the dizzying contrast, the way their hands and mouths knew your body like a song they'd always known by heart.

You couldn't tell how long the three of you had been standing there, tangled up, swaying in the sticky heat of the bar, the music thudding faintly around you. It could’ve been minutes or hours—time had stopped mattering somewhere between Jack’s lips and Robby’s hands.

Jack dipped his head, his breath skating warm against your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

"Do you want to get out of here, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice low and rough, a rasp of barely leashed need.

You nodded immediately, the word tumbling from your lips like a prayer. "Yes," you breathed—needy, desperate. The delicious ache between your legs had built to a throbbing pulse you couldn't ignore anymore, and feeling their firm bodies sandwiching yours, pressing into you from both sides, did absolutely nothing to help your self-control.

Robby chuckled, low and rough. "My place?"

"Fuck, yes—anywhere," you breathed, a laugh bubbling out of you, unable to stop the grin pulling at your lips. Jack grabbed your hand. Robby wrapped an arm around your waist.

Together, you stumbled out into the night—drunk on each other—laughing, touching, wanting.

Robby’s apartment wasn’t far—just a few blocks—and the fresh air hit your overheated skin like a balm.

The three of you walked fast, heads down, hands brushing and grabbing. Jack’s hand found the small of your back, steady and grounding. Robby kept an arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you close enough that you stumbled a few steps, giggling breathlessly against his chest.

The streets were mostly empty, just the faint hum of distant traffic and the sharp sound of your shoes hitting pavement. Every so often, Jack would glance over at you, his gaze dark, searing through the haze of streetlight. Robby would squeeze your side, lean in to murmur something low and wicked that made your cheeks burn and your thighs clench.

By the time you reached Robby’s building, you were buzzing with need, clinging to both of them without even thinking.

Jack opened the door for you, hand lingering low on your back. Robby herded you inside, already crowding close, already reaching for you like he couldn't wait a second longer.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, and before you could even blink, their hands were on you again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

It was dizzying, overwhelming, intoxicating.

But somewhere between Jack's mouth brushing your neck and Robby's fingers slipping under your shirt, clarity cracked through the haze. You shifted slightly, placing a hand on each of their chests, feeling their hearts hammering under your palms.

"Wait," you breathed.

Immediately, they froze—Jack pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, Robby's hands pausing where they'd met your hips.

You took a shaky breath, sobering a little more with every heartbeat. "I just… I need to ask… what's going on between us?" you said, voice rough with nerves. "I want this—I want both of you—but are you two okay with that? With… us?"

You glanced between them, heart hammering, terrified of the answer but needing it all the same.

Robby's grin softened into something gentler, thumb brushing the bare skin of your waist. "Been wanting this longer than I should probably admit."

Jack's hand found your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, gaze burning into yours. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, seeming to gather himself. Then, with a gentle but firm touch, he guided you to sit on the couch behind you.

"Come here," he said softly. "Let's talk."

Robby, reading the mood immediately, peeled away toward the kitchen. "I'll make some tea," he said over his shoulder—giving you space, but also clearly knowing this conversation might take a minute, and that sobering up a little more wouldn't hurt any of you.

Jack sat down on your left, still close but not crowding, his thumb brushing lightly over your knee. "Talk to us, sweetheart," he murmured. "Whatever's in your head—we want to hear it."

You fiddled with the hem of your top, nervous energy humming under your skin. "I... how did we even get here?" you asked. "You, Robby—this thing between the three of us... Are you two really okay with it? With… sharing me? Sharing each other?"

Jack's lips twitched like he almost smiled but held it back, something more serious glinting in his eyes instead. Robby set down mugs on the table and dropped onto the arm of the couch on your right.

"Yeah," Robby said, voice softer now. "More than okay."

Jack reached up, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. "Been a long time coming, if you ask me," he said quietly. "And if we weren’t good with it, sweetheart, you’d know already."

Robby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, flashing you a crooked grin. "If it's any consolation," he said, voice teasing, "I liked you first."

You scoffed, the tension easing a little, even as your cheeks heated. Jack snorted under his breath, giving Robby a sideways look. "Congratulations. You had a head start and still fumbled it."

"Hey!" Robby protested. "Some of us play the long game."

You shook your head, warmth blooming in your chest, feeling the old familiar dynamic between them—sniping, nudging, teasing—but now all focused on you.

"So," you said, biting your lip. "Was that what you two were arguing about that day by the lockers? A few weeks ago?"

Jack sighed through his nose, and Robby grinned like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah," Robby admitted. "You caught the tail end of it."

Jack's hand slid down your arm, squeezing gently. "We were... figuring it out."

"Mostly... arguing over who was gonna make the first move," Robby added, winking.

You laughed, soft and breathless, the last of the nerves bleeding out of you. Robby bumped your shoulder gently with his, his eyes crinkling with affection.

"Old school here wanted to make some grand gesture," Jack said, jerking his thumb at Robby. "I was ready to just tackle you and confess."

Robby shook his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And you wonder why I didn't trust you to lead."

You let out a giggle you couldn't quite suppress, heart squeezing at how easy this felt—how they both looked at you like you were something precious. Jack shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, while Robby draped his arm casually across the back of the couch behind you.

"Whatever pace you want, sweetheart," Jack murmured. "Whatever you need. If you want this—us—we're in."

"We're not going anywhere," Robby affirmed. "Only if you want us too."

Cradling the warm mug between your hands, you smiled to yourself, giddy and a little dazed. Surrounded by them—their warmth, their steadiness, their absolute certainty—you felt a slow, overwhelming peace settle into your bones.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined either of them liking you—let alone, outside any professional context—but this? This was beyond anything you dared hope for. A dream you hadn't even let yourself dream.

Still, nerves prickled under your skin. Nerves hummed just beneath your skin. "I’m nervous," you admitted, voice soft but steady. "I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m not enough? What if I disappoint you? I don’t know if I’m built for relationships—let alone something this delicate. I’m scared I won’t be able to give each of you what you need."

Robby immediately set his mug down and reached for you, his hand settling warmly on your thigh, squeezing gently. "Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re already enough. You, exactly as you are."

Jack leaned in too, his fingers brushing the back of your neck, grounding you with each slow stroke. "We’re not asking for perfect," he murmured. "We just want you."

Their certainty cracked something open inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding shut—and slowly, steadily, the fear loosened its grip.

You set your mug down, heart hammering, and looked between them, searching their faces one more time. Robby gave you an encouraging tilt of his head; Jack’s hand never left your skin, tracing slow, grounding patterns.

You cleared your throat. "So how does..." you gestured vaguely between the three of you, "this work? Sharing me, I mean."

Robby chuckled. "Well, we'd figure it out together," he said easily. His fingers traced lazy circles over your knee, comforting, teasing. "It’s not about splitting you up or taking turns like it’s a damn schedule. It’s about both of us making sure you feel wanted. Taken care of. Every second."

As he spoke, Jack leaned in, lips brushing just below your ear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin. 

Robby's voice dropped, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head toward Jack. "Though he’s better at explaining the rules."

Jack's hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "No rules, not really," he murmured, mouth dragging along your neck. "Just tell us what you need. When you need it. And we—" he pressed a lingering kiss just below your jawline, "promise to give it to you."

You exhaled shakily, caught between the heat of Jack’s mouth and the warm weight of Robby's hand sliding higher along your thigh, the both of them slowly, steadily, setting you aflame.

Jack leaned in first—not demanding, not pushing, just giving you space to meet him halfway. You did, pressing your mouth to his, a sigh escaping against his lips. His kiss was slow at first, savoring, a promise.

When you broke apart, Robby was already there, catching your chin between his fingers and drawing you into him. His kiss was hotter, rougher, all pent-up hunger and laughter and want. You gasped softly into his mouth, fingers curling in his shirt.

Hands roamed—Jack’s warm and patient, stroking slow, steady paths along your inner thigh, while Robby’s fingers flirted shamelessly with the hem of your shirt, tugging it higher inch by inch. The pace between them built naturally—Jack’s touch grounding and possessive, Robby’s teasing and featherlight, like a promise he was aching to keep.

Jack’s hand slipped under the fabric of your top first, palm splaying flat over your bare stomach, the heat of him searing straight through you. Robby followed a breath later, fingers brushing just beneath your ribs, making you arch into them, helpless and wanting. Jack’s mouth was back on your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse, while Robby pressed kisses along your jaw, slow and coaxing, both of them winding you tighter with every breath.

The duality of it—the steadiness of Jack’s hands anchoring you, the playful, maddening tease of Robby’s touch—left you trembling, gasping, caught between them, aching. They didn’t just touch you—they learned you, charting every gasp, every shiver, every breathless plea with reverent, greedy hands. And you gave yourself over to it completely, trusting them to catch you as you fell.

Jack's hand slid higher, fingertips brushing just beneath the band of your bra, while Robby nudged your shirt up over your ribs, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses along your exposed skin. They worked in tandem, peeling your shirt away with practiced ease, leaving you shivering and bare between them.

Jack kissed along your collarbone, featherlight, while Robby's hands coasted down your sides, making you arch and sigh into their touch. You felt dizzy with it, lost in the contrast—Jack's slow, claiming heat, Robby's teasing, daring warmth. Every nerve in your body sang for them, thrumming with the need to be touched, devoured, loved.

Jack's mouth returned to yours in a slow, bruising kiss while Robby leaned in, hands slipping beneath the band of your bra, rough thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sparking through you like lightning, hips shifting restlessly against the couch cushions.

Robby grinned against your shoulder, murmuring low against your skin, "Sensitive, huh?"

Jack chuckled into your mouth, his hands steadying your waist. "Good to know..."

You whimpered, nodding, surrendering completely to their slow, relentless worship—your body already unraveling under their hands and mouths, and they were just getting started.

"Too many clothes... off," you gasped breathlessly, tugging at the hem of your own top and glancing meaningfully between the two of them.

Robby grinned, wicked and eager. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jack hummed low in his throat, his hands already sliding up your sides, helping to peel the rest of your clothes away with deliberate slowness—as if unwrapping something precious they both intended to indulge in to the fullest extent.

They stripped you bare first, taking their time, every inch of skin revealed under their hungry, adoring gazes. After, you leaned back against the couch, heart hammering, feeling their eyes rake over you with something between adoration and possession. Then they undressed themselves—shirts pulled off in swift, unceremonious movements, revealing solid, muscular frames. Jack's arms flexed as he tossed his shirt aside, lean but powerful, while Robby's broader chest gleamed under the low light, his biceps straining deliciously as he shucked off his own layers.

You couldn't help it—you toyed with the hem of your underwear absentmindedly, admiring them, drinking them in. The dips of their hips, the strength built over years of unrelenting shifts and physical work. The noticeable bulges pressing against their briefs made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, seeking relief from the growing, delicious ache.

Both of them noticed. Jack prowled closer first, his eyes dark, focused, reverent, like he was already memorizing every inch of you. Robby followed, his grin dropping into something hungrier, need coiling thick between the three of you.

Jack knelt between your legs, his hands trailing slowly up your calves, your knees, coaxing them apart as Robby lowered himself onto the couch behind you, sliding you down lower, pulling your back flush against his chest. His arms bracketed you securely, anchoring you against the firm heat of his body, while you melted between him and Jack, breath catching at the feeling of being completely surrounded.

You felt their heat everywhere—Jack's breath fanning against your inner thighs, Robby's heartbeat hammering steady against your spine. Jack's hands were firm on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Behind you, Robby's hands roamed shamelessly, toying with your stomach, skimming higher to tease the sensitive peaks of your breasts, brushing and rolling your nipples until you gasped and arched into their touch, caught helplessly between them.

Jack glanced up at you through his lashes, a slow, devastating smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let us take care of you."

Robby murmured into your ear, his lips brushing your temple. "Just lean back. Let us show you how good this can be."

You whimpered softly, head falling back against Robby's shoulder, fully surrendering to them. Jack's hands squeezed your thighs, steadying you, while Robby's fingers skimmed higher, teasing circles around your nipples until you were trembling with need.

Jack pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, working his way slowly, deliberately up your inner thigh, each one hotter, wetter, more possessive than the last. Robby kept you anchored, his free hand brushing your hair back from your face, murmuring low praise against your skin, grounding you even as you unraveled.

Every brush of Jack's stubble against your sensitive thighs sent shivers skating down your spine. You barely managed to pant out, "Please," before Jack's mouth hovered dangerously close to where you needed him most, the heat of his breath making you writhe against Robby's chest, desperate and burning and so beautifully undone.

Jack hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down with agonizing slowness. Once it was off, he balled the fabric in his hand for a moment—then tossed it up toward Robby without a word. Robby caught it without missing a beat. He lifted it to his face, inhaled deeply, and groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his grip tightening around your waist.

And then—finally—Jack's mouth found you. One slow, deliberate lick that made you cry out, made your whole body tense and shudder against Robby's.

Jack groaned into you, hands digging into your thighs like he could hold you open forever. He ate you out like a man possessed, like he'd been starved for the taste of you and was finally allowed to feast. Messy, desperate, utterly pussy-drunk. He mouthed and sucked and licked you like worship, dragging obscene sounds from your throat with every flick of his tongue. The wet, filthy sounds of it filled the room, each lap of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

You were soaked—shamelessly, beautifully wet for him—and Jack reveled in it, letting out a low, wrecked groan every time you bucked against his mouth. His face was drenched in you, slick and shining under the dim lights, the evidence of your pleasure painting his jaw and chin as he worked you over with single-minded devotion. Robby pressed kisses along your temple, whispering praises into your ear, but it was Jack who owned you in that moment—Jack who wouldn't stop, couldn't stop until you shattered for him, drunk on nothing but the sound and taste and feel of you, desperate for everything you would give him.

Jack slid one thick finger inside you, curling it expertly, pulling another whimper from your throat. He didn't give you time to adjust before slipping in a second, stretching you so sweetly, working you open with slow, devastating precision. Robby's fingers trailed down your stomach, teasing lazy, featherlight patterns until they found your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Jack held your right thigh open with one firm hand, while Robby used his left leg to nudge your other knee wider, keeping you perfectly spread for them—completely, gloriously exposed. The contrast of their steady pressure, their control, only heightened the burning pleasure already coiling low in your belly. 

Overwhelming was an understatement to describe the state of your sensory cortex—Jack's tongue and fingers working deep inside you, Robby's slow, relentless pressure on your clit. You felt your soul begin to slip from your body, floating somewhere above, untethered by the sheer, unbearable pleasure. Everything was too much—the wet, filthy sound of Jack feasting on you, the breathy filth Robby was murmuring in your ear, the way they both knew exactly how to break you apart.

It hit you like a flashfire—white-hot and consuming—and you exploded with a choked cry, body arching helplessly between them as the orgasm ripped through you, shattering you into a thousand glittering pieces in their hands.

Jack didn't stop—not at first. He licked you through it, groaning into your core like a man possessed, savoring every trembling aftershock you gave him. Robby held you tighter, grounding you while your vision blurred and your body spasmed with the force of it.

You whimpered, boneless and wrecked, hips twitching as Jack finally eased off with a final kiss to your sensitive clit. When he pulled back, his face was a mess—slick with your release, shining under the dim lights, utterly wrecked and utterly in love with the taste of you.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth—completely unashamed—and smirked, voice rough and low. "You taste even better than I dreamed, sweetheart."

He lifted his hand—your essence webbed slick between his middle and ring fingers—and held it up toward Robby. Robby caught his wrist without hesitation, wrapped his lips around Jack's fingers, and sucked them clean, slow and deliberate. The sight—Robby moaning low around Jack’s fingers, Jack staring down at you like he wanted to devour you all over again—nearly made you die and ascend straight to heaven on the spot.

Robby licked his lips, eyes molten. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke. "Which one of us do you want first?" 

You could barely breathe, still half-falling from your last orgasm. Your body was limp, floating, buzzing with overstimulation—but the way they looked at you—hungry, waiting—set a fresh ache rolling through your gut. 

You bit your lip, gaze flickering between them. Robby—broad and steady behind you, heat radiating from his bare chest now damp with sweat. Jack—still kneeling between your spread thighs, resting his head lightly against your thigh like it was a pillow, his face slick with you, shining under the dim lights. He stared up at you with a look so raw, so utterly reverent, it made your breath catch—like you were something holy, something he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch.

You opened your mouth to answer—but all that came out was a wrecked, breathy little giggle.

Jack chuckled, low and wrecked. "Yeah," he rasped, thumb brushing your thigh possessively. "We might've broken her a little."

Robby grinned wickedly against your shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to your neck. "We haven't even started yet, baby."

You found the strength to lift your head, heart still hammering against your ribs. Jack and Robby seemed to feel it too—the need to slow, just for a second, to gather you back into yourself.Jack kissed your thigh softly while Robby stroked lazy, grounding patterns along your ribs and stomach, whispering, "Breathe. We've got you."

Their touches soothed the wild, frantic buzz in your veins. You melted between them, savoring that brief, perfect moment of care—before the tension, the heat, the hunger started sparking again.

You leaned forward, pulling Jack up onto the couch, crashing your mouth against his in a heated, desperate kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, slick and filthy and devastating—and it only made you kiss him harder, grinding your hips against Robby in wordless, frantic need.

Robby groaned, feeling you start to move against him, and his hands slid possessively down your sides to anchor you. Jack pulled back just enough for you to gasp a shaky breath, eyes dark and blown wide, before you started moving, trading places—Robby got up with a low groan, adjusting himself slightly as he moved aside. You slid off Robby's lap, allowing Jack to fall back onto the couch cushions, legs spread, inviting. Kneeling between Jack’s thighs, your fingers fumbled at his waistband. He hissed softly when you freed him, the heavy, flushed weight of him slapping against his stomach.

Robby kneeled down behind you—his hands tracing down the delicate arch of your back, then slipping lower to spread you open. You shuddered as he leaned in, pressing a soft, teasing lick along your folds, tasting you again before standing up behind you, lining himself up.

Jack held his hand up toward Robby and paused for a beat, gaze searching yours. "Do you want us to use condoms?" he asked, voice quiet but serious.

You shook your head instantly, breathless but certain. "I want to feel you. Please, I need you like this..."

That was all the permission they needed.

Before he could push in, you turned your head slightly, your hands reaching back. You found Robby's cock in one hand and Jack's in the other, stroking them both slowly, deliberately, savoring the way each man shuddered under your touch. You gave yourself a moment to take in their differences: Robby was longer, while Jack was thicker. Robby had a dark, full bush of hair at his base, while Jack was trimmed short, neat but not bare. Both of them were perfect—different textures, different shapes—but each exactly the right length and girth to fulfill your every need. Your mouth watered just thinking about it, your thighs instinctively pressing together in anticipation.

Robby leaned down, kissed the curve of your shoulder, and then pointed toward Jack with a tilt of his chin, a silent handoff. "It's okay, baby," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need. "We've got you."

With that, he gripped your hips, steadying you, and with one slow, devastating push, he slid inside—filling you completely, making your knees tremble.

"Fuck." You couldn't tell which one of you said it but all of you understood. 

Sandwiched between them, your mouth found Jack’s cock, wrapping your lips around him as Robby filled you from behind, and you thought—half-delirious—that heaven had nothing on this.

"I'm considering getting it taken out," you admitted to Samira one sluggish morning, slumped at the nurses' station after a brutal overnight shift. "I haven't had sex in forever. And honestly? After that disaster of a 'date' last month—if you can even call it that—I’m swearing off men altogether."

Samira snorted into her coffee. "Babe. It's an IUD, not a vow of celibacy. Just leave it. Who knows? One day you’ll trip and fall onto someone worthwhile."

You laughed weakly, swirling your pen between your fingers. "Yeah. The odds of my toys and I having a long, happy life together are becoming more and more likely."

Neither of you noticed Jack and Robby just around the corner of the nurses' station, both frozen in place, pretending to sift through charts as they listened intently—Jack’s jaw clenched tight, Robby’s fingers twitching like he wanted to strangle something. Robby cleared his throat a little too aggressively.

Samira sipped her coffee, then grinned over the rim of the mug. "Please. The perfect man could walk in, naked, with a six-pack and a stethoscope and you’d still roll your eyes."

You snorted. "Exactly. Unless he’s got magic hands and a brain with emotional intelligence to match, I’m not interested. And even then…" You shrugged. "Battery-powered and drama-free is winning right now."

Jack's pen snapped clean in two, the sharp crack making you and Samira both glance up. He didn't even flinch, just grabbed another pen—handed to him silently by Robby, like nothing had happened—and kept moving. You and Samira shared a puzzled look before continuing your conversation.

"I'm just saying," Samira continued breezily, unaware of the storm brewing behind the divider, "maybe keep it. Future you might thank you."

Jack’s voice floated in a second later—low, rough, a little too casual. "Keep it."

You blinked. "Uh… thanks for the unsolicited medical advice, Dr. Abbot?" you teased lightly.

Jack just shrugged, gaze unreadable. "Saw a teen pregnancy case come through last night," he said, voice low and rough.

Samira let out a soft exhale. "Shit."

You winced, the image settling heavy in your chest. "That’s awful."

Jack tipped his chin down. "Reminded me how fast things can change. Better to be protected. Even if you think you won’t need it."

You nodded slowly, assuming he meant it like any good physician would—just another reminder in a world of unpredictable chaos. At the time, you didn't know that when he said "keep it," he wasn’t thinking about some random case or an oath of ethics.

He was thinking about you, and Robby, and the secret, filthy hope that someday soon, it wouldn’t just be hypothetical anymore.

The thing about Jack and Robby was this—they both prided themselves on being brilliant doctors, but even more so on remembering the little things.

Especially when it came to you.

A particularly deep thrust snapped you out of your mind wandering. Robby set a brutal pace almost immediately, hips slamming into yours with deep, relentless thrusts that made your entire body jolt forward. You moaned around Jack's cock, drool slipping from the corners of your lips, your throat vibrating with every desperate, broken sound you made.

Jack hissed, his hand tangling in your hair, the vibrations from your moans sending sharp waves of pleasure up his spine. "Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, head falling back against the couch. "You're perfect like this."

You could barely think, overwhelmed and soaked, the rhythm of Robby pounding into you from behind driving you forward with every thrust—until your lips slid further down Jack's length, gagging slightly as you fought to keep your composure.

"That's it," Robby growled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up your spine. "Look at you… taking him so well while I wreck you."

Jack moaned low in his throat, eyes dark and glassy as he watched your mouth stretch around him. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, his voice rough and reverent. "You're gonna make me lose it."

Robby laughed softly behind you, breath hot against your shoulder as he drove into you with another sharp, delicious thrust. "She loves it. Don't you, baby?"

You could only let out a faint, muffled whimper, your mouth still stuffed full of Jack. Jack leaned forward, his hand curling into your hair and giving a firm tug at the roots—just enough to sting, just enough to make your eyes roll back with the delicious ache.

"He asked you a question, sweetheart..." he cooed, his voice dark silk in your ear.

He pulled you off his cock slowly, strings of spit still connecting your lips to him, a line trailing messily down your chin. You turned your head to look back at Robby, dazed and trembling, lips swollen, your chin slick, eyes red-rimmed and glassy with the threat of a tear, and a blissed-out, filthy smile curving your mouth.

"I love it," you managed, voice hoarse, breath catching between words. "I love everything you're doing to me. Please... don't stop."

Robby’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. His eyes darkened, hands tightening on your hips. "Fuck," he rasped, stunned and awed. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

Jack leaned in, brushing your hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand, his other palm cradling your cheek. "You’re doing so well," he murmured, voice a smooth, deep rasp that curled low in your belly. "So fucking perfect like this. Look at you, taking him so well. Can you feel how much he loves being inside you?"

You whimpered, nodding as Jack’s fingers trailed down your jaw, tilting your chin up so he could look into your eyes. "That’s it," he whispered. 

Jack brushed your cheek with his knuckles, tugging you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, his hips slowing just enough to keep you balanced right on the precipice. You moaned against him, the sound helpless, raw—your body trembling with need. Robby's smirk brushed your skin where he pressed kisses to your shoulder, still moving inside you with slow, devastating thrusts. He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper as the high you were balancing on ripped cruelly from your grasp. You barely had time to recover before Jack's hand wrapped around your throat, firm but careful, beckoning you to follow his lead.

"On the couch," he ordered, voice rough silk.

Dazed but obedient, you moved quickly, positioning yourself laterally across the couch and head perched on the raised armrest. Robby stood directly above your head, cock glistening and heavy, while Jack moved below you, one hand stroking your chest possessively before gripping your thighs.

You braced your elbows on the cushions, breath catching as Jack lined himself up. With one strong, devastating push, he filled you—thicker, stretching you even more, making your mouth fall open in a ragged moan. Robby guided your face toward him, his hand gentle on your cheek, his cock brushing your lips. You blinked up at him, wrecked, lips parted around a gasp as Jack pounded into you, driving you up with every punishing thrust. Robby watched you with hooded eyes, stroking himself lazily, the sight of you completely wrecked making his cock twitch in his hand.

"Come on, baby," he said softly, thumbing the center of your lip. "Open up for me."

"Look at you," Jack rasped. "You're fucking perfect. Made for us."

Both of them were drinking in the sight of you—your hair damp and stuck to your forehead, lips swollen and slick. Your moans were breathy and ragged, a near-constant stream of gasps and incorrigible cries. Robby's gaze was half-lidded, jaw tight. Jack’s hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, his eyes devouring every inch of you like a man deprived of oxygen. The raw awe in their stares made your stomach twist with heat.

It was too much. The stretch of Jack's thick cock filling you, Robby's taste still lingering on your tongue. Surrounded by their heat, their sounds mixing with your own, the pressure finally crested. Your pleasure broke like a supernova, sharp and wild, tearing through you. You came again with a single, desperate cry, your entire body convulsing between them, walls fluttering and gripping Jack so tightly it dragged a guttural, broken groan from his throat.

That did it for Robby.

He thrust into your mouth with a sharp snap of his hips, then again, and again—desperate, ragged, chasing his own high. You could barely keep up, still shuddering from your orgasm as he fucked your throat, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other in your hair.

"Jesus fuck—" he gasped, voice unraveling. "Just like that..."

With a final, wrecked moan, Robby came, hips stuttering. Hot release spilled across your tongue as he groaned through clenched teeth, fingers flexing in your hair as he slowly stilled, trembling with aftershocks.

You swallowed greedily, drinking him down without hesitation, eager for every drop. His taste sent another flicker of arousal through your spent frame. The hunger in your body didn’t fade—it only simmered lower, deeper, tethered to the way Robby was still trembling, cock pulsing with the last aftershocks of his release. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, cheeks flushed, a dazed but satisfied smile curling at the corners of his lips as he memorized you—every wrecked, glistening inch of you. Jack, still hard and deep inside you, kept his hands on your hips, his eyes fixed on your face like he was watching something holy.

Jack slowed his thrusts, then gestured silently for Robby to join him.

Robby leaned down and gave you a deep, claiming kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan before making his way down your body. Jack shifted, lifting you with surprising care, settling onto the couch with you pulled onto his lap—back to his chest. You were straddling him in reverse, legs spread open across the cushions.

"Just relax," Jack murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin. "Let us take care of you." 

Robby knelt down between your legs, his breath ghosting over your plump folds before his mouth latched on, tongue teasing and devouring in practiced rhythm. He licked long and deep, groaning into you, tasting both your slick and Jack's—heady, intoxicating. He held your knees wide open, anchoring you in place with firm hands, occasionally slipping one beneath your thighs to lift you slightly—helping Jack thrust up harder, deeper, driving his cock into you at an angle that made your vision blur.

Jack's hands returned to your breasts, massaging, kneading, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you whimpered. One hand slid up to your throat again, pressing just enough to make your breath catch, before traveling back down over your chest, across your belly.

If God was real, you had no doubt that this was the Biblical version of heaven. Jack filling you from behind, grinding up into your sweet spot with precision, while Robby sucked at your clit, tongue flicking and curling.

Robby pulled back for a moment with a breathless groan, his mouth slick, beard glistening, and eyes dark with awe. "So fucking beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your trembling inner thigh.

Jack's voice followed, low and wrecked against your ear.

"One more for us," he rasped. "Come for us again. Give it to us."

The word—us—shattered something inside you. The way he said it, raw and desperate, made your body clench again in anticipation, your breath hitching helplessly as the overwhelming pressure began to build all over again.

Your vision went white. The combined rhythm of Jack's thrusts and Robby's relentless mouth on your clit sent you spiraling. You shattered with a choked cry, body trembling uncontrollably, and everything dropped away for a second—blacking out from the intensity of it.

Jack groaned when he felt your walls clamp down hard around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm milking him with every flutter. He growled into your shoulder and buried himself deep, spilling into you with a rough, broken curse, clutching you tightly as he came, hips twitching with each wave of release.

You collapsed back against his chest, boneless and dazed, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it thrum through your fingertips. Jack wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, pressing lazy, reverent kisses to your shoulder as he caught his breath.

Robby made his way up the couch and slid in beside you, tucking your loose hair behind your ear before pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. "You are an absolute vision," he murmured against your skin, voice low. Jack found your hand, intertwining your fingers, rubbing soothing circles into the knuckle of your index finger. The steady rhythm of his thumb was the only thing anchoring you to the now, holding you steady in the soft, humming aftermath.

They took their time with you after that—gentle hands roaming your skin, tender kisses mapping your body. Jack shifted you carefully off his lap, murmuring soft praises as he rubbed soothing circles over the places where his grip had been a little too rough, thumbs ghosting over faint red imprints along your hips and thighs. He pressed warm, apologetic kisses to your shoulder, to the curve of your neck, anywhere his hands had left their mark. Robby, meanwhile, grabbed a warm cloth and helped clean you up with quiet, focused tenderness, his fingers brushing your skin like you were made of glass, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee when he finished.

You smiled through the haze of bliss, wriggling free once you felt a little more solid. "Be right back," you muttered, voice scratchy and small.

You tried to stand—and immediately wobbled, your knees buckling.

Jack and Robby, splayed out lazily on the couch, reacted instantly. Their hands came up instinctively to support your back and arms, steadying you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. When you managed to stay upright, they let their hands linger a beat longer.

They watched you sway with twin smirks tugging at their lips, too spent to do much else but chuckle under their breath.

"Careful," Jack drawled, his voice rough but warm. "You look like you just got hit by a truck."

Robby grinned, resting his head against the back of the couch. "Hell of a good one, though."

You managed to wobble to the bathroom, limbs heavy and bliss-drunk, but halfway there, you turned around briefly—gave them both a playful glare, narrowing your eyes, and held up a finger in mock warning.

The living room echoed with bellied laughter, eyes bright despite the exhaustion, the sound warm and full of affection.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, your body felt like a jar of honey under summer sun, the post-sex haze still curling like smoke under your skin. You flopped gracelessly back onto the couch, a sigh of contentment escaping your lips. Jack and Robby had disappeared briefly into the bathroom themselves. You heard the sound of running water, a few low murmurs exchanged, and then footsteps returning.

When they stepped back into the room, you were curled into the couch cushions, fast asleep, a soft smile curving your lips—blissed out and peaceful. Jack stopped in his tracks, heart thudding at the sight. Robby stilled beside him, eyes soft.

"Out like a light," Robby said quietly, but fondly.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. She earned it."

With a quiet grunt, Robby bent and scooped you up gently, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly, your arms looping behind his neck, head nuzzling into his collarbone. Jack padded behind, turning off the lights as they went.

The bedroom was dim and quiet. Robby laid you down carefully, brushing the hair from your face as Jack pulled the covers up over you. You shifted sleepily, instinctively reaching for them.

They climbed in on either side of you—Robby wrapping an arm around your waist, Jack curling close behind. Sandwiched between them, you let out a little contented hum as Jack pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, and Robby to your shoulder.

And in that soft, sleepy silence, you drifted off again—safe, wrapped in warmth, held by the two men who had finally let themselves love you, together.

—

Morning came slowly, the golden haze of sunlight warming the sheets. You stirred first, blinking your eyes open and stretching slightly—only to wince at the delicious soreness that radiated from places you hadn’t known could be sore. You smiled into your pillow as flashes from the night before flared back into focus: the heat of their bodies, the sound of their voices, the way your name had spilled from their mouths.

You tip-toed to the bathroom first, brushing your teeth with the spare toothbrush Robby kept under the sink and washing your face. The cool water anchored you back in your body. When you looked up, the mirror offered you a sight to behold—patches of hickeys forming on your neck, some darker than others, scattered like constellations across your collarbone and throat. Something flashed in your core, a low ache waking up with a pulse of memory. Your smile curled with equal parts embarrassment and pride.

Voices drifted from the kitchen. You pulled on a random shirt hung on the edge of the laundry hamper and padded toward the sound, feet silent on the hardwood.

Jack and Robby stood by the stove—well, more accurately, bickered at the stove. Robby held a spatula mid-air while Jack pointed at something on the counter.

"You can’t add garlic to pancakes," Jack muttered, exasperated.

Robby rolled his eyes. "I wasn’t adding it to the pancakes. I was sautéing it for the eggs—Jesus, keep your scrubs on."

Jack gestured broadly with a mixing bowl. "They’re in the same pan, Robby. They’re going to taste like garlic pancakes."

You leaned against the doorway, grinning as you watched them. Both of them were shirtless, wearing sweatpants. His curls were still mussed from sleep, and Robby wore his sweats low on his hips. They looked like a married couple arguing over brunch logistics—and you loved it more than you could say.

"You need to flip that now or it's going to burn," Jack warned, eyeing the skillet like it had personally offended him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Robby shot back, jabbing at the eggs with the spatula, "Did you suddenly become head chef? You're not even on omelette duty."

Jack crossed his arms and tipped his chin up. "I was until you hijacked the burner and tried to infuse everything with garlic."

"As someone who survived off of expired MREs and basically drinks hot sauce as your only condiment, you are the last person who should be judging my culinary decisions."

You couldn’t hold back your amused scoff. You cleared your throat loudly.

They both froze and turned like synchronized swimmers. Two sets of eyes locked onto you—Jack’s going slightly wide, Robby’s mouth parting like he was about to offer an excuse.

"Morning," you said, deadpan, then broke into a smile.

Their expressions melted, sheepish grins appearing in tandem.

Jack stepped forward first, slipping a hand around your waist and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was soft, warm, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter.

Robby started to move toward you too, clearly intending to follow suit, but Jack smirked and turned slightly. "Can’t let the eggs burn, can we?"

Robby glared at him but stayed put, grumbling under his breath as he gave the eggs a stir.

With a quiet laugh, you stepped over to him and tiptoed to press a kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, chef."

His grumble softened into a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into your kiss.

Behind you, Jack busied himself at the counter. "Coffee?"

You nodded. "Please. God, yes."

He smiled without turning around, already reaching for a mug. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast, coffee, and something much softer—something like home.

He handed you the cup a moment later, and your fingers brushed as you took it. Jack gave you a smile that was still sleep-soft and just a little shy, like he couldn't quite believe this was real.

Robby passed you a plate stacked high with eggs and a slightly lopsided pancake, and kissed your temple as you sat down. "Hope you’re hungry. I tried." Jack pinched his side lightly at the remark, smirking. Robby swatted his hand away with a glare, but he was smiling too.

"It looks delicious," you murmured, cheeks warm.

You ate shoulder to shoulder, trading quiet smiles and bites off each other's plates, content in the hush of morning. Jack poured more coffee without being asked. Robby reached over occasionally to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was nothing—and everything.

When the meal was done, you sat in the warmth of it all, sipping slowly from your mug.

Jack stretched behind you, his voice low. "We should do this again."

You looked up at him. "Breakfast?"

He smiled. "All of it."

Robby leaned back in his chair and reached for your hand. "Yeah. Us."

And for once, the thought didn’t scare you. It settled in your chest like something inevitable. Like something already yours. "I'd like that... very much..."

Jack kissed your temple again, his lips lingering a second longer, and Robby gave your hand a small squeeze. No fanfare. No big declarations. Just warmth, safety, and quiet promises in the soft morning light.

Robby nudged your plate closer. "You want the last pancake?"

You shook your head with a sleepy grin. "Only if we split it."

Jack rolled his eyes fondly and reached for a fork. "God help us, we’ve become that couple."

"Correction," Robby said, stealing a bite anyway. "That throuple."

You laughed, heart full to the brim. And as they bickered softly over syrup and coffee refills, you leaned back in your chair, wrapped in the calm after the storm—content, adored, and exactly where you belonged.

[hatethysinner]

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇᴀʀʏ ʙʟᴜᴇꜱ

ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʙᴏᴏᴋꜱᴇʟʟᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: The bell over your bookshop door rings at midnight, and a stranger steps through. Tired eyes, old voice, and a hunger he tries to hide. He says little, but lingers like he's waiting for permission to need you. You should send him away, but something in you wants to see what he'll do if you don't.

ᴡᴄ: 12.8k

ᴀ/ᴄ: firstly, thank you so much to everyone who enjoyed and interacted with let the wrong one in! i am so proud and so disappointed to be posting this because it's so shameless. if the fbi showed up to my door i'd let them take me to whatever white padded room they had waiting. i was up past midnight multiple times writing this out and it shows. just a completely unhinged self-indulgent mess. do not read without a rose toy (/j). as always, white girls i promise you can have your fun with this too! i don't do taglists personally, so just follow me if you want to be updated when i post c:

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SLOWburn, remmick is truly a fucking loser (pathetic!remmick supremacy), remmick will not leave the reader alone, reader is a know-it-all manipulative ass thought daughter, she's lowkey evil actually, don't read unless you support womens rights and wrongs, mutual yearning and obsession, vampirism, dacryphillia, overstimulation, blink-and-you'll-miss-it exhibitionism, sub!remmick, dom!reader, cunnilingus, p in v, ride 'em cowgirl, spit kink, praise kink, matching each other's freak, offscreen but confirmed stalking, excessive divider usage, probable excessive usage of "ain't" because i got worried about my accent skills, amateur knowledge of 1930s literature and bookstores, religious undertones if you squint, i think y'all know what to expect i'm not writing out everything

fanart!

You were one of the lucky ones.

That’s what folks said when they stepped through the little wood-framed door, brushing snow from their shoulders or sweat from their brows, depending on the season. They always paused in the entryway. Like the air was thicker inside. Warmer, gentler, laced with something that asked them to hush their voices and unshoulder their weariness. Most folks did. They’d glance around slow, wide-eyed and awestruck, like they’d just wandered into a place stitched together by warmth and paper. Because they had.

Your daddy built it like that.

He opened the shop before you were tall enough to reach the counter, when your shoes still lit up when you walked and your teeth were missing in the front. A modest space, more narrow than wide, with walls that sometimes whispered when the wind pressed in. It was tucked between a shoe repair, where the scent of leather and oil clung to the brick, and a bakery that changed hands too often to name. But the bookstore never changed. It stayed.

He fought for it with every drop of charm he had and a stubborn streak the size of a mule. The bank didn’t make it easy. Nor the city. Nor the neighbors. But he didn’t flinch. Just smiled, signed the lease, and started sanding old shelves he bought for cheap from a shut-down place across town.

It wasn’t grand, but it had room to breathe.

The shelves didn’t match. The floors creaked. The ceiling had water stains shaped like cloud spirits. But the space had rhythm. Light pooled in through the front windows in the early afternoon, catching the golden flecks in the pine wood counter he carved by hand. You watched him do it over the course of a summer. His shirt clinging to his back with sweat, sawdust settling in his hair like snow. That counter had curves in it, places smoothed by a thousand passing fingers, elbows leaned, coins slid, mugs thunked down in thought. It remembered everyone who ever stood there.

The aisles were just wide enough for two people to pass without brushing shoulders, if one of them turned slightly. In winter, the windows fogged from the warmth of breath and the hiss of the radiator under the front table. In summer, he cracked the front door and the back one just right so the breeze cut clean through, carrying with it the scent of magnolia and newsprint. When the light hit right, the dust in the air sparkled, like it was carrying secrets you could almost read if you squinted hard enough.

He dreamed of it since he was a boy, back when books came secondhand and beat-up, passed along like contraband. Borrowed if you were lucky. Bought if you were white. His eyes always got faraway when he talked about those days, like he was watching some other version of himself hiding from the world with a paperback gripped tight like a life vest.

“There’s magic,” he always said, tapping your chest lightly with one thick finger, “in knowin’ a story nobody else does.”

So he painted the sign himself and hung it crooked on purpose, because he said perfection made folks nervous. He sold trinkets and newspapers and penny candy at first, just to keep the lights on. He let local kids read in the back for hours so long as they didn’t dog-ear the pages. And when folks started to drift in off the street, curious, then charmed, he opened the door wider.

People noticed.

Not all approved.

But he smiled at the right times, kept his voice low when he had to, and stayed on his side of town like they told him to.

But inside those walls?

He was king.

You took it over after he passed.

Not because you wanted to. You hadn’t planned for that. You thought you’d leave, travel, study something big with a title hard to pronounce. But when he died, sudden, quiet, the way only the kindest men seem to go, it was like the shop exhaled. And no one was there to breathe it back in.

So you stayed.

Not because you had his gift for conversation. You didn’t. Your voice didn’t carry like his. You didn’t know how to make strangers feel like they’d known you all their lives. But you had his steadiness. His eyes. His love of ink.

And the shop had raised you.

You’d spent your childhood curled between the shelves with your knees pulled tight to your chest, the pages of books flaring open like wings in your lap. You used to fall asleep in the window nook under stacks of fairy tales, the glow of the streetlamp outside pooling on your shoulders. You learned to read by tracing the letters with your fingertip, mouthing the words like spells.

You grew up there. Quiet, clever, a little too serious for your age, and always full of questions. The kind of questions books were made for. You learned the world in chapters, one page at a time, growing taller alongside the stacks.

Even now, the shop holds you like a memory refusing to fade.

The floorboards creak the same way when you step heavy by the register. The bell above the door still dings off-key. There’s a worn spot in the paint where the heels of his boots used to rest, and you never painted over it. The walls know your heartbeat. The ceiling hums with it.

The place smells of paper, cedar, and something floral you still can’t place. Not perfume. Not fresh. More like dried petals tucked in a forgotten book. There are candles flickering low behind the counter, their flames soft and steady, casting halos of gold on the spines of the hardbacks lining the shelves.

Outside, the windows are tinted now. Reflective. You can see yourself in the glass, wrapped in lamplight like a ghost caught in the pane.

It’s not strange for you to be up this late.

You have a habit of rereading old favorites until the pages feel like skin. You like the quiet. The familiar shuffle of turning pages. The low creak of the chair under your legs. The steady tick of the clock in the corner, marking time nobody’s watching.

The radio went quiet an hour ago, the static fading to silence when the last gospel track drifted away. Now there’s only the sound of night outside. The rustle of trees, the distant hum of a train slicing through the dark, far beyond the city line.

But tonight, something feels off.

You don’t know why. Not yet.

But your candle’s flame flutters suddenly, like it’s caught a breath. Not a wind. A breath.

You look toward the door.

There’s no bell. No sound.

But the air feels... thick. Like it’s waiting.

You don’t move right away. You sit there with your thumb hovering over the page, caught between the lines of a sentence and the prickle on the back of your neck.

You don’t want to turn it.

Not yet.

Then the door creaked.

A sound so small it barely pulled your eyes from the page. Your heart didn’t jump. Not right away. It didn’t need to.

The bell rang just after. Clear, bright, and true. Same one you fixed the summer it snapped off in a storm so thick the trees bowed like they were praying.

So that bell was yours. It knew what time it was. It didn’t ring wrong.

That’s what made the sound feel off now. Just a shade too sharp, too clean, like a voice cutting into a dream you didn’t know you were having.

The sign still said “Come In.” Your fault. You’d meant to flip it hours ago but got lost in the pages, lulled by the rhythm of ink and stillness. Still, no one ever actually came this late. Not really. Not unless they were meant to be here.

You closed the book. Not slammed. Just firm. A quiet full stop.

And there he stood.

Tall. Pale.

A white man.

Out of place in every way that mattered.

He filled the doorway like he didn’t know whether he wanted to be let in or turned away. Light from the streetlamps slanted behind him, casting his face in half-shadow, like the world couldn’t decide how much of him to reveal.

You didn’t move.

Your fingers curled around the spine of the book, thumb against the front cover, the weight of it grounding. The silence stretched between you.

He just stood there, breathing slow like he didn’t want to startle anything. His eyes swept the room, not lazily, but searching. Hungry. And when they landed on you, they stayed.

His voice came quiet. Almost careful. “Evenin’.”

You stared.

“We’re closed.”

Your tone was even. Flat. Not rude. Not kind, either.

Still, he didn’t leave.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move at all, not really. Just shifted the weight of his stare, like he was trying to remember a script. Like he’d played this scene in his head a dozen ways and still didn’t know which one this was. His smile was a flicker. Half-done. It twitched and died on his lips before it could mean anything. But under it, something desperate. Thin and frayed, like he was holding on to a thread he couldn’t name.

“Apologies,” he said with a shaky drawl, dipping his head toward the window, where the sign still swung faintly in the breeze. The porchlight caught the paint in the glass. “Saw the sign.”

You didn’t believe that for a second.

Nobody came here by accident. Not after midnight. Not across town lines like these. Everyone knew where they were supposed to be. Supposed to go.

He was tall, yes, but not in a way that meant anything. His frame was lean, his movements all hesitation and nerves. His coat didn’t fit right, like it had belonged to someone stronger once, someone he was still pretending to be.

You stood slowly.

The book stayed on the chair. Your skirt brushed the floor as you crossed barefoot to the counter, each step deliberate. No rush. No fear. Just weight.

You weren’t afraid of the man. You were afraid of what kind of story this was turning into.

He watched the whole way, his eyes flicking between your face and your hands, trying to read the space between your breaths. Like he expected you to call for someone. To yell. To throw something. To raise your voice.

You didn’t.

You let the silence answer.

“What can I do for you.”

No question mark. A line drawn in the sand.

He flinched, barely, but you saw it. Like a thread pulled too tight.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to cause any trouble,” he said, voice thinning out at the edges. “Just… seemed like a place a man might find a bit of quiet.”

You raised a brow, not moved.

“You always find quiet in closed shops?”

He scratched the back of his neck. A nervous tic, maybe. Or maybe it was just something to do with his hands, which kept twitching like they missed holding something heavier than a coat hem.

“Only the ones still lit up inside.”

He tried for a smile again. It trembled. Didn’t hold.

“Then I’d suggest you pass through quick,” you said. “I need to lock up.”

“Right,” he said, nodding too fast. “Of course. Sorry. I just-”

But he didn’t leave.

He stepped forward, just an inch, like something was pulling him. Then stopped himself and stalled in place, weight shifting foot to foot like the floor might open up if he stood still too long.

“I… don’t suppose you’ve got anything by Hughes?” he asked suddenly. Then, without pause, “Or Hurston?” His voice cracked a little on Hurston, like the name had caught on something inside his throat.

You blinked.

That was new.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just studied him.

A white man. Midnight. The wrong side of town. Asking for Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston.

It didn’t make sense.

It didn’t fit.

Men like him didn’t read voices like theirs. Not unless they had something to prove. Or something to steal.

He met your stare but his hands betrayed him, fidgeting at his sides again, tugging at the seams of his coat like he could pull himself together if he just gripped hard enough.

“You from around here?”

He laughed. Short, sharp, like he didn’t mean it. “Not anymore.”

Then quieter, “Ain’t got much left to be from.”

That silence stretched again. Wider this time. You didn’t try to fill it. You let it grow heavy.

He looked down at the floor like it might offer him a script.

You should’ve told him again to leave. Should’ve flicked the light off and locked the door and gone back to your chair and the soft, safe pages waiting there.

But you didn’t.

You said, “Hughes is second shelf, left of the register. Zora’s in the back, top shelf”

You paused. Watched him.

“And they ain’t alphabetical. You’ll have to look.”

He blinked.

Lit up like you’d handed him something holy.

“Right. Thank you. I- thank you.”

He stepped into the shop like the floor might vanish beneath him. Light. Careful. Fingertips trailing along the spines of the books nearest him, like the wood might spark or whisper if he touched it wrong.

And you watched him the whole way.

You didn’t trust him. Not even a little.

But something about the way he stood there, asking for voices not his, trying not to tremble. Something about his need made you pause.

It intrigued you.

You tried not to listen.

Tried to stay still behind the counter, eyes fixed on the book you’d set aside, though your finger hadn’t moved past the corner of the page. You heard the soft drag of his coat brushing the shelves, the sound of someone trying to move quietly without knowing how. The occasional squeak of a shoe sole. The low shuffle of indecision.

Then his voice floated back.

“Sorry to bother, miss. You said left of the register?”

You closed your eyes.

He’d been in the aisle all of sixty seconds.

“Second shelf,” you called, sharper than you meant it. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

A pause.

“It’s just, uh… the labels are all faded.”

You exhaled through your nose. Not quite a sigh. Not quite not one.

You pushed off the counter and stepped out from behind it, your skirt catching the air as you moved. He was standing a little too close to the shelf, squinting at the bindings like the titles might blink first. His coat hung open now, revealing a loose button-down tucked half-heartedly into worn slacks, belt twisted like he’d dressed in a hurry. His hair was still damp at the edges from the relentless humidity outside. It made you wonder why he was wearing something so warm in the first place.

He looked up when he heard you.

Not just looked. Jumped.

Shoulders startled up an inch, like you’d crept up behind him with a switchblade instead of bare feet and a mild expression. His eyes flicked to your hands again. You noticed that. Clocked it.

“Ain't mean to pull ya from your reading,” he said quickly. “Just didn’t wanna grab the wrong thing.”

You said nothing.

You crouched low instead, running your fingers along the lower shelf until they stopped on the slim spine of The Weary Blues. You tugged it free, checked the inside cover, and stood.

Then you crossed past him, just enough to brush by the nervous way he lingered too close to the wood. At the back shelf, your hand found the worn copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God with the creased corners and sun-faded cover. You held both out to him.

He hesitated.

Not out of disrespect. Out of something else. Like touching them would make it real.

When his hand reached for them, it touched yours first.

Only for a second. Less than. But it landed like heat.

You watched his fingers twitch at the contact. Watched him pull back slightly, then steady himself like a man who’d stepped into unexpected water. His skin was cold, lonely. Like someone who hadn’t had cause to brush against kindness in a while.

You gave him the books anyway.

He took them with both hands, careful not to touch you again. His eyes met yours briefly. Then dropped.

That should’ve been it.

But something in the way he flinched, not in fear, but in startled awareness, left a strange twist in your stomach. Not danger. Not quite.

You narrowed your eyes at him. Watched how he shifted. How he clutched the books like they were lifelines. How still he got under your gaze.

And maybe you should’ve gone back to the counter. Maybe you should’ve left it there.

But you didn’t.

You leaned just slightly closer, voice low. Baiting.

“You always get jumpy when someone tries to help you?”

He looked up again, tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was about to speak, then thought better of it. Instead, he nodded, too fast, like agreeing might save him from saying the wrong thing.

And that, that, made you want to keep going.

Just to see what else he’d do.

You led him back to the front in silence.

He didn’t try to fill it this time. Just followed, books clutched against his chest like they might steady his breath. You could feel his gaze brush the curve of your shoulder, your hands, the soft glow of the lamps pooling on the floorboards.

You stepped behind the counter, but didn't fill the space.

You stayed close. Leaning forward in a way that was probably too obvious.

The register clicked open with a metallic sigh. Your fingers moved slow over the worn buttons, each press deliberate. He laid the books down gently, almost mechanically, their spines aligning like he'd meant to do it. Like he’d practiced.

The light caught his face now, full on.

He looked younger in the shadows. But here, beneath the gold of your lamp, he was something else entirely.

His face was long and wide, covered in stubble that somehow looked neat and unkempt at the same time. Hollowed cheeks. A narrow nose that sloped like it had been broken once and never quite healed right. His mouth was set in a line that kept trying not to tremble. But his eyes...

They were wrong.

Not in a way you could name, not in any way you’d heard told, but wrong just the same. Too dark, too deep. And old. Old. You didn’t know how you knew it, but it pulled at the back of your neck. Some instinct deeper than language whispering that those weren’t eyes meant for a man that looked barely thirty.

Then there were his teeth.

You saw them when he smiled, faint and soft, like he didn’t mean for it to happen. A little too sharp. Animalistic, almost. Pointed just enough to make you question how close you wanted to stand.

And still, you didn’t move away.

“That’ll be four even,” you said, and held out your hand.

He blinked. Fumbled in his pockets. Fingers pulling out a crumpled bill like he hadn’t checked how much he had. When he offered it, your hand met his again, and this time you didn’t let go too quick.

Your touch lingered.

Not an accident.

Your fingers brushed his palm, smooth and dry and colder than before. You watched his throat shift like he’d swallowed something wrong. The money crinkled between you, forgotten.

You dropped it in the drawer without looking down.

Counted back the change slow. One coin at a time. Let your fingertips ghost over his as you pressed each one into his hand, watched how he tried not to flinch, not to twitch, not to breathe too fast.

There was something in his mouth now. A hitch. A tension.

You tilted your head.

His accent. It hadn’t struck you before. Too quiet. But now, with him this close, you could hear the undercurrents. Southern, yes. That lazy hush to his vowels, that slant that curled around the ends of his words like smoke. But buried beneath it was something else.

Not from here.

A roll that didn’t come from any county near yours. A roundness to the vowels that didn’t quite match the cadence of Mississippi. It had weight to it. History. Like old hills and cold winters. European, maybe. English, Scottish, Irish? Or something older still.

But the twang was real, too. Earnest. Like he’d worn it long enough to convince even himself.

You watched him shift under your gaze, trying to shrink inside that too-big coat.

“What’s your name?” you asked.

Simple.

But your voice dropped half a note, low and steady like it was loaded.

His eyes flicked up again. Held yours.

“Remmick, miss.”

Just that. No last name. With an unusual politeness in tow.

You didn’t smile. Nor did you give your name. You wanted him to work for that.

“Right,” you said. “Remmick.”

He shifted the books under one arm, his free hand ghosting over the edge of the counter like he wanted to say more, ask more, be more, but didn’t dare.

“Well… good evenin' to ya,” he said softly. The words caught at the edges, like they didn’t quite belong in his mouth.

You didn’t answer at first. Just watched him take a step back, then another, boots creaking against the old wood floor.

Then, finally, you raised your hand.

Not a wave, exactly. Just a slow lift of your fingers in something halfway between farewell and warning.

He seemed to understand.

The bell over the door chimed once as he slipped through, swallowed by the dark.

You didn’t move.

Not until the sound of his footsteps vanished completely.

The next night came heavy with quiet. Midnight again. And you were sitting in the same chair, same blanket folded over your knees, same book splayed in your lap. Different pages, but you hadn’t turned one in ten minutes.

The lamp cast its familiar pool of amber over the counter, the window, the shelves. Everything was still. Too still.

You hadn’t flipped the sign.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was habit, that your mind had simply been elsewhere. The story had you hooked, maybe. Maybe you were chasing some lost line between chapters, maybe that’s why you kept glancing at the door without realizing it.

The “Come In” flickered faintly in the glass, reversed in the dark like a whisper only the street could read.

You licked your thumb, turned the page. Tried to focus on the words. You didn’t remember them, even though you read them yesterday. Or maybe it was last week. Or maybe it didn’t matter at all.

It wasn’t like you were waiting.

You just hadn’t gone to bed yet.

You shifted. Crossed your legs under the blanket. Then uncrossed them. Stared at the “Come In” again. Just a sign. Just a little slanted piece of painted wood that always tilted left because the hinge was loose and you never bothered to fix it.

The wind slipped through a crack in the front window. Barely there, just enough to nudge the edge of the lace curtain and carry in a scent from the dark. Not smoke, not rain, something earthbound. Loamy. Cold.

You turned another page. Didn’t read a word.

Your candle’s flame danced sharp again, almost gleeful. You rubbed your thumb over your palm without thinking, the way you did when something was close. Some old habit from childhood, back when your parents told you to trust your instincts, even when they made no sense.

The bell rang.

Not loud. Not rushed. Just a single chime, clear as a knock to the chest.

He stepped through like he’d been summoned.

No coat this time. His shirt was pressed, collar sharp. Sleeves rolled just past the wrists in that careful way that said he’d redone them three, maybe four times. His hair was a little less wild, tamed with pomade and willpower. His boots were clean. Like he’d stood outside brushing dust from them just to make a better second impression.

And yet, nothing about him looked natural. Not the tidiness. Not the polish. He wore it like a child wore Sunday shoes. Tight across the toes, heavy on the ankles, stiff enough to slow him down.

His eyes, still dark, still glinting, scanned the room like he already knew you’d be there. They landed on you. Lingered. Not just in greeting, not just in recognition, but in reverence. Like he was taking inventory of you. The slope of your nose, the fullness of your lips, the tight, coiled crown of your hair haloed in the light. Like he was memorizing every feature he'd never had the right to admire this openly before.

And when they did, he smiled. A small, practiced thing. One that almost reached his eyes.

Like he was proud of himself for coming back.

And like some shameful, stubborn part of you was glad he had.

“Evenin’.”

Same greeting, but not quite the same voice. Still quiet, still that drawl sugar-coated in something older, something foreign, but this time with the faintest edge of self-assurance. Like he’d practiced it on the way over. Maybe even out loud. Like he hoped it’d sound natural if he said it just right.

You didn’t answer.

Not with words.

You rose instead, slow and smooth, letting the silence stretch as you crossed the shop in bare feet. Your skirt brushed the floor again, soft as a whisper, trailing you like smoke.

He stood straighter when you neared. Or tried to. You watched the twitch in his shoulder when your fingers reached toward him, the way his breath caught behind his ribs. The little gold chain around his neck winked against his shirtfront, barely there, nearly hidden beneath the buttons.

You reached for it without asking.

“It’s crooked,” you murmured.

It wasn’t.

Your thumb grazed the thin line of metal, adjusting it ever so slightly, letting your knuckles drift down the hollow of his chest. Just enough to feel the warmth beneath the cloth. Just enough to make sure he noticed.

He noticed.

Froze like someone struck dumb. Not like he didn’t want the touch. No, not that. Definitely not that. But like he didn’t know what to do with it. His lips parted on a soundless breath, his eyes locked somewhere over your shoulder like he was staring down a spectre only he could see.

The pulse under your fingers thudded once. Hard. Then again, faster.

You watched it.

You leaned in, just slightly, letting your hand linger longer than it needed to. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. But you could feel the tension ripple through him. Tight. Brittle. Wired.

When you finally let go, he exhaled like he’d been holding air since last night.

“There,” you said softly. “Better.”

He didn’t answer right away. His throat moved as he swallowed, mouth opening like he might say something, then closing again when nothing came. His eyes met yours, flicked down to your mouth, then jerked back up with a flicker of something like guilt.

It was a touch.

That’s all it was.

But the way he looked at you now...

It had unmade him.

You let the silence sit for a beat longer, watching how he stood there like he didn’t dare take a full breath without permission. Then you spoke, softly, like an idea you hadn’t quite finished shaping.

“I’ve got a thought,” you said, turning back toward the shelves. “Wait here.”

But you didn’t mean that.

Because you paused, half-turned, eyes sliding back to him, that little hook in your voice coiled just so, and added, “Actually… no. Come with me.”

He obeyed without hesitation.

No question, no protest. Just a nod, and then his steps fell in behind yours like they were always meant to. You didn’t look back to see if he was following. You already knew he was.

You smirked before you even realized you were doing it.

He’s learning.

The rows of shelves narrowed the deeper you went, books stacked tall and mismatched. Some still had penciled notes in the margins. Others bore names and stamps from a dozen different hands. You moved with practiced ease, fingers gliding along the spines, then stopped sharp in front of a little patch of well-loved paperbacks with sun-faded covers and creased corners.

You didn’t say a word. Just stepped aside and gestured.

His brow knit faintly. Then he reached out, tentative at first, letting his fingertips hover above the titles before settling on one with a cracked pink spine and a watercolor couple leaning too close beneath an umbrella.

You raised your brows but didn’t speak.

Interesting.

He held it up like he was asking permission.

You nodded. “Good. Take that. Go sit by the window.”

Again, no hesitation.

He moved, soft steps, book clutched in his hand like it might disappear if he wasn’t careful. He didn’t glance back once as he settled into the reading nook. A curved wooden bench carved into the front window’s alcove, piled with cushions in muted tones, threadbare but clean.

The light from the lamp behind the counter cast the glass in warm gold, bouncing off his hair and skin in a way that made him look more real than he had last night. Less ghost. More man.

You watched him a moment longer, then followed.

Your feet made no sound on the floorboards. You crossed the space and sank onto the bench beside him. Not too close, but not far. Not far at all. The cushions dipped with your weight, the fabric between you folding with tension that hadn’t been there seconds ago.

He sat stiffly, book unopened in his lap, hands folded atop it. Like he didn’t quite know what to do now that he was here. Like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

You.

Your gaze lingered on the side of his face.

The light revealed the fine things. His lashes, full and surprisingly long. The faint lines around his mouth that didn’t come from smiling, but from pressing his lips together too tight for too many years. His skin was fair in a way that didn’t come from the sun but from time, the kind of pallor that hinted at long shadows and colder places. Places you couldn’t name.

His hair had been combed, too. Not just finger-swept like last time, but deliberately styled, though it curled stubborn at the ends like it wanted to fight back. That little gold chain still gleamed at his throat, straighter this time. Not crooked, like you convinced yourself it was.

Still, he hadn’t changed enough to fool you.

Not with those eyes.

Ancient, heavy, and out of place in a face that didn’t look old enough to carry them. They flicked toward you briefly, then darted back to the book in his lap, as if afraid to hold your gaze too long.

“You gonna read it?” you asked, tone soft but edged with amusement.

He blinked like he’d forgotten that was the point.

“Right,” he said quickly. “Yes ma'am.”

You watched him flip it open with care, thumbs brushing the pages like they might bruise. The moment hung quiet, thick with unsaid things and the scent of paper and dusk. His breath was steady but shallow, as if he were still adjusting to the shape of this closeness.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t speak.

You just leaned back into the cushions, eyes on him, letting him pretend he was focused on the words.

When both of you knew damn well he wasn’t.

It was the way he held the book that told you first. Not the usual adulation you got from the diehards who lived and breathed these novels. No, this was different. His hands didn’t cradle it like treasure. They held it like a bomb. Like one wrong shift in pressure might set the whole thing off and scatter the pieces between you.

His thumbs rested too gently on the pages, barely pressing enough to keep them open. Like he was worried his fingerprints might offend the paper. As if the book itself might recognize him as an intruder. He wasn’t turning pages so much as he was coaxing them along, seemingly afraid they’d snap if he asked too much.

He read strangely.

Slow.

Stilted.

Each word passed through his lips like it needed permission. Like it carried weight. His lips parted with the occasional word, mouthed in silence, and then closed again just as quickly, like he hadn’t meant to let them slip. There was something priestly about it. Ritualistic. A prayer offered in secret.

His eyes, those impossibly ancient eyes, scanned line after line not with hunger but with hesitation. A wary sort of awe. Like he hadn’t held a romance novel in centuries. As if the softness written into the pages was a dialect he’d nearly forgotten how to understand.

And every time you moved, even just a flicker of a shift, a breath caught a second longer than usual, he looked up.

Not startled. Not afraid.

Attentive.

You scratched your cheek, his head lifted.

You smoothed your skirt, his eyes snapped upward.

You uncrossed your legs, then crossed them again, he swallowed, too loudly.

At first, you thought he was just skittish. Just someone not used to sitting this close. But then the rhythm set in.

He matched you.

Without realizing it.

Without even trying.

You leaned back in your seat, slowly. Felt the cushion press against your spine.

A second later, he leaned back. One beat behind you, stiff at first, then settling.

You tilted your head, absently, the way you always did when thinking.

He mirrored it. Not perfectly, but close enough to notice.

You shifted your breathing, let it slow. Long inhale through your nose. Shorter exhale.

So did he.

So precisely that it didn’t feel like coincidence.

It felt like mimicry.

Like you were the song, and he was trying to follow along without missing a note.

You frowned slightly, gaze narrowing. Maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you were reading too much into the silence, into the soft rhythm shared between bodies in the same room.

So you changed it.

Inhaled twice quick, then held the third.

Exhaled through pursed lips like you were cooling tea.

He matched it. Exactly. No hesitation. No thought.

Your pulse gave a slow thump. Not fear. Not quite delight.

You did it again, even stranger this time. Shallow breaths, uneven tempo, a stutter at the end.

He copied it like he’d been waiting for instruction.

Not a second too soon, not a second too late.

Not even pretending he wasn’t. As if he couldn't fake it if he tried.

It was eerie.

Unnerving.

You’d had admirers before. You’d had men try to get close. Men with charm and swagger, who leaned too close too fast, who spoke in low voices like they were offering you a secret. Men who wanted something.

But Remmick didn’t want.

He ached.

He ached to stay.

To keep.

To not mess it up.

It wasn’t that he feared you.

It was that he feared what being with you might require of him.

He feared being found unworthy.

And something in you, something cold and clever and mean, maybe, was curious enough to let it keep going.

You watched his knuckles flex where they held the spine. Watched his breath stutter when you shifted forward ever so slightly. Watched his gaze flick to your lips before darting away, embarrassed.

There was devotion in the way he sat.

There was hunger too, yes, but buried under layers of control so tight they might as well have been prison bars.

He wasn’t scared of you.

He was scared of doing anything that might make you not want him here anymore.

He was scared of disappointing you. Of offending you. Of being sent away.

Like he’d never had the chance to be with a woman like this. Not just someone beautiful, Not just someone sharp, but someone who saw him and hadn’t yet told him to go.

Someone who let him sit.

Let him read.

Let him exist.

You leaned back, let your fingers curl loosely around the edges of the cushions. Not looking at him this time. Just listening.

His breathing matched yours again.

You heard it.

Felt it.

Let it echo in your ribcage like a second heartbeat.

He hadn’t read more than five pages. Probably hadn’t retained a single one. But he was trying. Oh, he was trying.

Trying not to ruin the moment.

Trying not to ruin you.

Trying not to ruin himself.

And you watched it all. Watched him struggle to be small, to be quiet, to be acceptable, and something in your chest twisted. Not out of pity. Not even out of care.

Just fascination.

You wanted to see how far this would go.

How far he’d go.

And more than anything, you wanted to see if he could keep it up.

He hadn’t turned a page in three minutes.

You timed it without meaning to. Just sat there, letting your own gaze blur against the shape of his fingers still resting on the edge of the paper, and noted how still they’d gone. How he stared not at the next sentence, but straight through it. Breathing shallow. Body gone tense in the shoulders, like he was bracing.

Then he blinked. Once. Twice.

“Ya always light the window candles,” he said softly, not looking up.

The words were nothing at first. Just air. Noise.

But your stomach still curled.

You didn’t respond right away. Didn’t move. Just let the silence soak it in.

“Every night,” he added, quieter now. “Right ‘round eleven. Even if ya ain’t got customers.”

Still, you said nothing.

He turned another page, finally, but you watched his eyes. They didn’t scan. They didn’t read.

“You notice that just now?” you asked calmly.

He hesitated.

You leaned forward, hands steepled under your chin. “Or’ve you been noticin’ for a while?”

His lips parted. Closed. He looked over at you now. The air between you suddenly sharper.

“I-” he started, then tried to smile. “It’s just… somethin’ I seen. That’s all.”

You cocked your head. “From where?”

He faltered.

“That little inn down the road don’t got a view of this side.”

He tried to laugh, but it came out cracked. “I walk at night. Helps me think.”

“Does it?”

He nodded too fast. “Y-yeah. Sometimes I pass by. That’s all.”

You didn’t blink. Didn’t smile.

“Funny. You said yesterday you just stumbled in here.”

His jaw twitched.

A beat passed. You let it stretch like taffy, long and slow, until it thinned to almost nothing.

“I... did,” he said eventually, voice paper-thin. “Didn’t plan to come in that night. But I-I'd seen the place before. So I guess it felt familiar.”

“Familiar.”

“Mhm.”

“You been watchin’ me?”

His whole frame stiffened. A flicker of shame, or panic, or both, ghosted across his face. But it wasn’t the embarrassment of being caught in a lie. It was older than that. Worn. Like being cornered in a truth he thought he could keep buried.

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

You shifted in your seat, leaned in just slightly.

He didn’t move away.

“You been starin’ at my windows from across the street, Remmick?” you asked softly. “That it?”

He flinched. Not from your tone, which stayed silky smooth, but from the shape of your words. The accuracy of them.

“I ain’t mean no harm,” he whispered. “It weren’t… like that.”

You gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Then tell me how it was.”

His eyes dropped to his hands. You could see the effort it took not to wring them.

“I just… I saw ya. Few nights in a row. Sometimes through the window, sometimes outside closin’ up. You’d have your book in one hand, your keys in the other. Didn’t even know your name. Just-”

His throat moved as he swallowed.

“Ya looked steady,” he said. “A place that don’t change. Like you’d always be here if I needed to come back.”

That should’ve sounded sweet.

But it didn’t.

It sounded like a confession. A possession waiting to take root.

And for reasons you weren’t yet ready to name, you didn’t shut it down.

Didn’t throw him out.

Didn’t call it wrong.

Instead, you asked, poised and deliberate...

“How long you been watchin’, Remmick?”

He looked like you’d just asked him to open his ribs and let you see inside.

But you didn’t repeat the question.

You didn’t need to.

The pause spoke louder than anything he could’ve said.

Then, finally, his lips parted. “Few months.”

Your brow twitched, just slightly. Enough for him to see it.

“I-I ain't mean to,” he said quickly, eyes wide, hands lifted like he was surrendering. “I just- I saw you one night and then… it was easy to keep passin’ by.”

You leaned back slow, fingers dragging along the wood between you.

“You been lurkin’ outside my shop for months?”

His face crumpled like the word hurt. Lurkin’.

“I wasn’t-” He stopped. Started again. “I wasn’t tryna frighten you. Weren’t like that. I ain't know how to come in. Ain't think I should. Thought maybe if I stayed far enough back, you wouldn’t see me.”

“I didn’t.”

He winced.

You could’ve pushed. Could’ve watched him stammer his way deeper into the hole he’d already dug with his own too-honest mouth.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

You tilted your head, voice softer now. “So why now?”

His mouth opened. No sound came. Then...

“I got tired of bein’ scared.”

You stilled.

He didn’t look up. Just stared at the woodgrain of the table, like it might open up and swallow him if he wished hard enough.

“I been scared so long, I don’t know how not to be. But I kept watchin’, and you kept bein’ here. Kept leavin’ that light on. And I thought… maybe that meant somethin’.”

He finally looked at you.

And the way he looked at you, like you were the last fire in a dead city, made your breath catch.

He wasn’t lying.

And that was the strangest part.

You were used to men who talked. Who wrapped their hunger in charm, or cleverness, or teeth. But Remmick… he was bare. He didn’t even try to be anything else.

“You think I leave that light on for you?”

“No.” He shook his head, fast. “I- no. I ain't mean that. Just that… I hoped it meant I was allowed to come in.”

That did something to your chest you didn’t expect.

And suddenly, you didn’t want him to look at the table.

You wanted him to keep looking at you.

Only at you.

You leaned forward again, chin resting in your palm. “Well. You’re in now.”

He blinked. Almost like he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t mess it up,” you added, slow and sweet.

And Lord help you, he nodded like it was a commandment.

You watched his eyes. Watched how they clung to you like a lifeline, like the mere sight of your face was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. You could see it, plain as anything. The panic winding tighter beneath his skin, the quiet horror that he’d said too much. And maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t said enough.

And then you smiled.

Not warm. Not cruel. Just knowing.

“Well,” you said, slow as molasses, “that still makes you a liar, don’t it?”

His shoulders tensed.

“I ain’t-”

You raised a hand.

He stopped.

“Watchin’ me for months and pretendin' you just stumbled in? That’s dishonesty, Remmick.”

His mouth opened again, then shut.

He looked like he wanted to explain. Wanted to pour out the right words, dig his way out of the pit he’d slipped into. But the silence between you left no room for excuses. And you didn’t fill it for him. You just stood, smooth and sure, brushing imaginary dust from your skirt like you were done with the whole performance.

The way his breath hitched…

You almost felt bad.

Almost.

His voice cracked, desperate before he could tuck it down. “I ain't mean no harm. I swear it.”

You walked to the door.

Unlatched it.

The bell above gave a soft jingle as you pushed it wide, letting the warm night air curl inside like smoke. The light spilled out into the dark, carving a golden archway he didn’t dare cross.

“You can go now.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“I- what?” He stood too fast, nearly knocked himself over. “I ain't mean nothin’ bad. I just- don’t send me off like that. Please.”

You turned, hand still on the doorknob, gaze calm.

His breath was coming faster now, eyes darting like he was trying to find the version of you that wouldn’t be doing this. “I’ll sit quiet, won’t say a word. You won’t even know I’m here. Just don’t make me go.”

He took a step forward.

You didn’t move.

“Please,” he said again, voice ragged now. “Please don’t make me leave you.”

Leave you.

Not the shop. You.

And wasn’t that just the most pathetic thing you’d ever heard.

You tilted your head, quiet.

“I said you could go,” you repeated, soft this time.

That made him stumble.

But not back.

Forward.

Toward you.

But not close enough to touch.

Just close enough to be seen.

And you let him sit in it. That want. That begging.

The humiliation of it.

You could see how tightly his hands were balled at his sides. How his throat bobbed with every failed swallow. How badly he wanted to collapse to his knees and sob at your feet.

“You can come back tomorrow,” you said lightly. “If you behave.”

He swallowed so hard you heard it. Loud in the hush of the room.

Then he nodded.

Not like a man, but like a child handed a punishment he knew he deserved.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t move.

You gave him time.

Let him make the choice.

And when he did, it was with slow, aching reluctance. Every step backward like a string snapping off of him one by one.

“Evenin’, Remmick,” you said, voice sugar-sweet now, hand still resting on the open door.

He stood there a moment longer. Still. Wrung out.

Then, quietly: “G’night, ma’am.”

You didn’t answer.

You just watched him go.

Watched the dark swallow him.

And made no move to close the door until long after his shadow disappeared.

You knew he’d come back.

There was no need to check the sign. No reason to glance toward the door, or listen for the bell. You didn’t need to do anything at all. The air had already shifted, thickened with the weight of what was inevitable.

You were curled into your chair like you’d been there all night, though you hadn’t been able to concentrate for more than five minutes at a time. You told yourself it was the book. It was always the book. But your eyes traced the same paragraph for the third time, and your fingers tightened just slightly at the edges of the page.

Still, you didn’t look up.

You wouldn’t.

The clock ticked. Somewhere, a train whistled. The candlelight wavered once, then stilled.

And then you heard it.

The bell.

Soft. Perfect. Like a cue whispered by the world itself. The clock chimed midnight.

You didn’t lift your gaze, but you heard him. Felt him. The uneven shuffle of his steps. The small hitch in his breath.

He was back.

You turned the page.

The scent hit you first. Not bad. Just weary. Tired. Like sleep had refused him all night, and he’d wandered instead. Rain-damp clothes. Paper. Something earthy, mineral-like, maybe even metallic. Like he hadn’t meant to be anywhere but had found himself out in the wild with only his thoughts for warmth.

He didn’t speak at first. Didn’t dare.

The sound of the door shut behind him.

“I been good,” he blurted out.

Your lips twitched before you could stop them.

Still, your eyes didn’t leave the book.

“Real good,” he continued, voice cracking slightly with the rush of words. “Ain’t even come near the shop. Walked past it, but that don’t count. That’s just the sidewalk, right? Just pavement. I didn’t linger. Ain’t even look in the window. Well, I peeked, but only ‘cause I missed the smell of it. Missed you.”

That earned a slow blink from you.

He stepped further inside. His boots dragged slightly on the floor like they were too heavy to lift. Like his shame lived in his heels.

“I sat still all morning,” he said. “Didn’t wander, didn’t do nothin’. I thought ‘bout what you said. Over and over. Thought about why it was wrong. What I did. Even wrote it out. I did. Wrote it out.”

You closed the book softly.

Still, you didn’t rise.

Remmick stood in front of you now.

And good Lord, he looked a mess.

His shirt was wrinkled at the collar, sleeves rolled and uneven. His hair had a wild, raked-through look like he’d been dragging his fingers through it for hours. The shadow beneath his eyes was sharp, and the line of his jaw was clenched in barely-held desperation. Not even his chain looked presentable. He didn’t smell unclean, but there was a wildness to him now. Like if you stood too close, you’d hear the hum of his blood vibrating beneath his skin, frantic and restless.

“I didn’t lie, not really,” he said. “Just… held it. In. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna scare you off. Ain’t had someone like you before. Not in a long time. Maybe not ever.”

His accent pulled at the words, thinner now, stretched tight with pleading. That strange, syrupy Southern lilt gave way to something raw beneath. Sharper, guttural, not quite human in the way it frayed at the ends. It slipped, like his mask was crumbling, revealing a voice that hadn’t begged in centuries. Not just a borrowed twang anymore, but a whisper of whatever place had taught him that hunger in the first place.

You finally looked up.

He froze.

Then, slowly, like the world trembled beneath him, he knelt.

He didn’t say another word. Just lowered himself to the floor like it was natural. Like the hardwood was the only place he deserved to be.

Your legs were crossed, the hem of your skirt brushing his boots. He didn’t touch you, not yet. Just sat with his hands in his lap, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.

You studied him.

He tried not to move under your gaze. Failed.

You tilted your head slightly.

He flinched.

“I ain’t sleep,” he admitted. “Couldn’t. Just kept seein’ your face. Thinkin’ of how soft your hands were. How still your voice is. You’re not like other folk. You look right through me, and it-”

He broke off, jaw flexing.

“I want to do right,” he said, softer. “Tell me how. Please. I’ll listen. I’m yours.”

You leaned forward.

He didn’t dare meet your eyes, not at first. Not until your fingers brushed the side of his face.

His head snapped up slightly.

You cradled his cheek in your palm, watching as he leaned into the touch. Like the heat of your skin might be the first kindness he’d felt in years.

He was trembling.

Not from fear.

From want.

His eyes closed, lashes fluttering like moth wings. You stroked your thumb along his cheekbone. Cooler than expected, but not cold. Never cold. Not with you.

His hands rose without thinking, resting on your legs. Then his shoulders followed, and soon, most of his weight was against you, folding like a supplicant at an altar.

You didn’t stop him.

Didn’t move.

Let him rest there.

Let him need.

Because that’s what this was. Not desire, not lust.

Need.

He was breathing in sync with you again, like your rhythm had become his only truth.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

His mouth moved against your knee.

Not in a kiss.

Not yet.

Just a whisper.

A plea.

You cupped the other side of his face, anchoring him.

He let out a sound. Quiet, fractured, grateful.

And stayed right there.

The weight of him on your legs wasn’t light. But it wasn’t heavy, either. It felt like gravity doing what it was always meant to. Like he had been built to collapse right here, in the hollows of your thighs, the shape of him fitted to the shape of your waiting.

You ran your thumb along the corner of his mouth, picking up a string of saliva along the way. Drool, thick and abundant. His lips parted. A breath spilled out.

He didn’t dare look up.

So you said it.

“Kiss me.”

Not a whisper.

Not a barked command.

It landed like a fact. Like dusk falling, like snow melting into earth. A truth that didn’t ask to be believed. It just was.

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

He lifted his head like a man surfacing from deep water. His eyes, those beautiful, imperiled, bloodshot eyes, searched your face for any sign that you might take it back. That it might be a test.

It wasn’t.

You didn’t flinch.

And that was all it took.

He surged forward, and his mouth met yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you read about in the first chapter of a romance novel. It was the kind that belonged in the final act. The kind that felt like something was ending just as something else began.

His hands fumbled for your waist, your back, your shoulders. Any part of you he could grab to prove you were real. He held you like he was scared you’d vanish between blinks. Like you were smoke and he’d never had lungs strong enough to keep you in.

He moaned into your mouth. Low and wounded and starved. Not loud. Not filthy.

Desperate.

And grateful.

Like this was more than he thought he’d ever be allowed to have.

You clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling tight in the rumpled linen, and he gasped against your lips like the pressure burned. He kissed like someone who hadn’t touched another soul in a hundred years. Thousands, maybe. Not properly. Not intimately.

Like every part of this might be the last.

He pulled you closer, though there was nowhere left to pull. His teeth caught against your bottom lip, breaking skin. Not intentional. Just too much, too fast, too hungry.

He pulled back immediately, breath hitching in horror.

“I’m-” he started, but your hand curled in his collar and you kissed him again, harder this time, and it unraveled something in him so completely that he made a noise against your mouth, something guttural and ruined.

Your hand tangled in his hair.

His arms caged you in, trembling with restraint, with fervor, with some old broken thing inside him that was only now waking up.

You pulled back just enough to breathe. His mouth chased yours, like instinct, like starvation.

He was panting.

You were panting.

And his forehead dropped to yours.

“I didn’t mean to-” he started again, but you shook your head. Barely a gesture.

He was still gripping your waist like the floor was about to give out.

He pressed his lips to your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your mouth again. Softer now, but still with the same unbearable urgency.

“I dreamt of this,” he whispered, voice all but crumbling. “Every night. Since I saw ya.”

You believed him.

How could you not?

He kissed like this moment was the dream. And he was scared of waking.

His breath shuddered against your cheek as he pulled back, just enough to look at you. His eyes were wide, dark, feral. Stripped down to the fundamentals of human existence.

“Please,” he begged. “I need to- can I-”

His hands were already moving, slow and reverent, like he was scared you'd vanish beneath his touch. They skimmed the sides of your waist, your ribs, the curve of your spine. Like he was learning you through touch alone.

He swallowed hard, throat working. “I wanna see ya. All of ya. Been dreamin’ ‘bout it. Wakin’ up in a sweat, reaching for something that ain’t there.”

His fingers found the hem of your shirt, toying with it. Not lifting. Not yet.

“Please,” he said again, softer. “Lemme see ya. Lemme-”

He cut off with a sharp inhale, like the words hurt coming out. Like they'd been buried in some deep, untouchable place inside him.

“I won't touch,” he sounded so earnest. So wrecked. “Not ‘less you want me to. But I swear, if you lemme, I'll worship every inch. I'll-”

He broke off again, jaw flexing. His eyes were pleading, desperate, broken.

“I'll do anything,” he breathed. “Just... please. Lemme look at ya.”

Your heart was beating too hard, too fast. Like it was trying to reach for him through your ribs.

“Yes,” you whispered. “You can look.”

And that was all it took. The floodgates opened. He surged forward, hands suddenly urgent, suddenly everywhere. He was mapping your skin like it was the only geography he'd ever need. Like you were the only country left to explore.

He peeled off your shirt, slow and cautious, like he expected you to change your mind. Like he expected you to pull the rug from under his feet, again.

But he didn't linger. Didn't stop. Shaking but determined, tugging at fabric, pulling at buttons, dragging clothing aside until there was nothing left between his gaze and your skin.

And then he just froze. Stared. Took you in like a dying man taking his last breath.

“God,” he whispered, voice sapped. “You're...”

He didn't finish the thought. Couldn't. Just looked at you like you were the answer to a question he'd been asking all his life. The beginning and end of every prayer he'd ever whispered.

And you smiled, being looked at like that. Like a God. A deity that commanded his unwavering, exclusive devotion. And like any God, you demanded more.

“Undress for me,” you said softly.

It wasn't a question.

His breath shuddered out unevenly, and he nodded. Not a hesitation in sight.

He stood slowly, like his body was weighed down by the gravity of what was happening. Like he could feel the significance of this moment in every bone.

His hands went to the buttons of his shirt first, trembling just slightly. He fumbled once, twice, then let out a soft, frustrated noise and just tore the fabric open. Buttons scattered.

You didn't flinch.

He shrugged the ruined shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His undershirt followed, tugged over his head in one fluid motion.

And then he just stood there, chest bare, skin seeming to tighten under your gaze. Like your eyes were a physical touch.

His boots were next, kicked off with barely a thought. Then he went to his belt.

He paused for just a second, looking to you for confirmation.

You nodded.

He exhaled shakily and fumbled with the buckle. It came undone easily, the leather sliding out of the loops with a soft hiss.

He toed off his socks, then shoved his pants and underwear down in one motion, kicking them aside.

And then he was bare. Completely. Not just in body. In everything.

He stood before you, chest heaving.

His cock was hard, achingly so. Thick veins wound up the shaft, pulsing with each shudder of his heart. The head was swollen and pink. Glistening. A bead of precum pooled at the tip before spilling over, tracing a slow path down his length. He twitched, but made no move to touch himself. As if he didn't consider it a possibility until you allowed him to.

And you wouldn't. You had him exactly how you wanted him.

Slowly, he lowered himself back to his knees, hands resting lightly on your thighs, his touch gentle yet possessive. He looked up at you, his eyes laced with desire and something more profound. Veneration is the word that came to your mind.

“Please,” he pressed, as if trying to convince himself that he deserved it more than convincing you to relent. “Lemme taste ya. Just a taste. I swear I'll make it good for ya.”

His lips brushed against your thigh. A soft, tentative kiss that sent shivers down your spine. He lingered there, his breath hot against your skin. He squeezed your thighs gently, urging them to part.

You could feel his desperation, his need for your permission. He was squirming, his body aching for more, but he held back, waiting for your consent.

“Please,” he begged again, sounding tortured. “Need to taste ya. Need to feel ya on my tongue. Need to-”

You cut him off with a nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yes. You can taste me.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before he was moving, hands urgent and eager as he pushed your thighs apart, his body leaning in, his mouth already seeking your core.

He started at your knees, kissing his way up your inner thighs, his lips soft but his touch urgent. He was a man possessed. Gripping your thighs. Worshipping your skin. You could feel his hunger, his need, his desperation to please you.

When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused for a moment, his breath hot against your most intimate place. Then, with a slow, deliberate lick, he tasted you. His tongue slid through your folds, a long, slow lick that made you gasp, your back arching off the surface beneath you.

And then he dove in, his hunger relentless. His tongue explored every inch of you, hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as he feasted. He sucked and licked and nibbled, his movements desperate and urgent, like a man starved and finally given a meal.

His groans of pleasure vibrated against your sensitive flesh, sending waves of sensation through your body. You could feel his enjoyment, his pleasure in pleasing you, and it only served to heighten your own.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and feral, mouth glistening with your wetness. “Ya taste like heaven,” he growled against your skin. “Even better than my fuckin' dreams.”

And with that, he redoubled his efforts, his tongue delving deeper, his sucks more insistent, his fingers digging into your flesh, holding you to him as he devoured you.

Remmick didn't slow, didn't pause, didn't come up for air. His tongue was a relentless force, moving from your folds to your clit and back again at a breakneck pace. Each flick, each suck, each lick was a testament to his insatiable hunger for you.

You could feel the tension building in your body, a coiled spring ready to snap. Your hips bucked against his mouth, meeting his movements with your own desperate rhythm. Your hands found his hair, gripping tightly, holding him to you as if he might try to escape the torrent of pleasure he was creating.

His groans vibrated against your sensitive flesh, sending shockwaves of sensation through your body. He was as lost in this as you were, his actions fueled by a primal need to satisfy, to please, to devour.

“Remmick,” you gasped, pleading. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

As if to answer, his tongue moved faster, his sucks more insistent. He pulled your hips tighter against his mouth, gripping your waist, holding you to him as he feasted.

You could feel yourself falling apart, your body tightening, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The world around you narrowed to the point of his tongue, the suck of his mouth, the grip of fingers

And then, with a cry that tore from your throat, you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. Your body convulsed, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth as he rode out the storm with you, his tongue never ceasing its relentless assault.

But Remmick didn't stop. Even as your body began to relax, he continued, his pace slowing but his hunger undiminished. You were overwhelmed, your nerves on fire, every touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation was almost too much to bear, your skin hypersensitive, your mind a blur of ecstasy. He looked up at you, his eyes wild, mouth soaked, a sinful smile giving you another look at his predatory canines.

“Again,” he was near unintelligible, now. “I wanna feel ya come again.”

“No,” you whispered, hoarse from your cries of pleasure. “Remmick, no more.”

He froze, his body tensing, his eyes widening in alarm. The fog of lust cleared from his eyes. Replaced by a look of concern and uncertainty. “Did I hurt ya? Did I do somethin’ wrong?” That tone of genuine, unabashed fear returned. As if he was standing in front of that open door again, begging you not to send him away.

You smiled gingerly, your hand still cupping his cheek. “You were perfect, Remmick,” you assured him, gentle yet firm. “Now, I want you to move to the reading nook. I want to see you there.”

He nodded immediately, a mix of relief and eagerness in his eyes. He stood up hastily, his body still glowing with a sheen of sweat and desire. But before you could even think about moving, he was there, offering his hand to help you up. You took it, appreciating the strength and support he provided as you stood on legs that felt like liquid.

He didn't just lead you to the nook. He made sure you were steady on your feet the entire way. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he guided you to the cozy corner by the window. The nook where he read to you. Mimicked you. Begged you.

His body was still tense with anticipation, his breath slowly returning to normal. You could see the mix of emotions in his gaze. Desire, fear, hope. Something deeper, too.

“Remmick,” you said softly, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “I'm not goin' anywhere. Not tonight.”

He let out a shaky breath, a deeply insecure smile playing on his lips. “I wanna make sure you're happy. That I'm doin' this right.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You are. Now, just relax and enjoy this. Enjoy us.”

He nodded, a small, content smile playing on his lips as he leaned back, though not fully. You followed, straddling his hips as you positioned yourself above him.

“Lay down,” you commanded softly, and he complied without hesitation, his body molding to the contours of the nook as he stretched out beneath you. Those prismarine eyes bore into you, filled with nothing but adoration.

You could feel the length of him, hard and ready, pressing against your entrance. You took a moment to admire the sight of him, his chest heaving with each ragged breath, his muscles taut and defined.

“Hold my hips,” you instructed, and his large hands immediately gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, holding you with a possessive, desperate strength.

You began to lower yourself onto him, inch by slow, agonizing inch. You could feel every vein, every ridge, as he filled you completely. His eyes rolled back, a guttural, incoherent moan escaping his lips, a sound so primal and raw it sent shivers down your spine.

You bottomed out, your body flush against his, your breasts pressing into his chest. He let out a shaky breath, body trembling beneath you. “Please, move, please,” he begged, hoarse with need. “I need to feel you move.”

You smiled, a slow, sensual curve of your lips, and began to ride him. You started slow, a gentle rocking of your hips, feeling him slide in and out of you, the friction building with each movement. But it wasn't enough. Not for either of you.

You picked up the pace, your hips slamming down onto his, taking him deeper, harder, faster. Each impact sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your nerves alight with sensation. You could feel his hands on your hips, guiding you, urging you on. His fingers digging into your flesh, leaving marks that would fade but never be forgotten.

He chanted in an old language you weren't familiar with, likely the mother tongue of the faraway place you guessed he came from. His head thrashed from side to side, eyes squeezed shut,

You leaned down, your lips capturing his in a fierce, hungry kiss, your tongues dueling as your bodies moved in sync. You could taste his desperation, his need, his sheer, unadulterated ecstasy. You pulled back, looking down at him, his face a portrait of pure bliss and agony.

“Open your mouth,” you commanded, and he complied without question, his lips parting, tongue resting heavily in his mouth. You spit, a slow, deliberate stream of saliva that dribbled down his tongue, pooling at the back of his throat. He swallowed reflexively, his Adam's apple bobbing, his eyes never leaving yours.

You could feel his body coiling tight, his muscles tensing, his breath hitching. You changed the angle, your body leaning back slightly, giving him a new depth to explore. He let out a low, guttural groan, his body quaking beneath you as he found his release, his hot seed spilling into you, filling you completely.

But you didn't stop. You kept moving, your hips slamming down onto his, riding out his orgasm, drawing it out, milking every last drop of pleasure from his body. His cries turned to whimpers, body shaking and trembling beneath you, hands gripping your hips with a desperate, almost painful strength.

And then, the tears came. Silent, shuddering sobs that wracked his body, tears streaming down his temples, disappearing into his hair. You leaned down, your lips pressing soft, gentle kisses to his cheeks, tasting the salt of his tears.

“Shh, it's okay,” you cooed, almost taunting. “Let it out, baby. I've got you.”

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with unshed tears, body still shaking with sobs. “You're so f-fuckin' beautiful,” he managed to choke out, completely spent. “So fuckin' p-perfect. I can't… I can't even…”

You smiled, merely shushing his whines. You had never seen anything so beautiful, so raw, so real.

You could feel your own orgasm building, nerves on fire as your muscles instinctively clenched. You changed the pace again, your hips moving in a slow, deliberate grind, feeling every inch of him, the way he filled you, the way he completed you.

“I'm close, Remmick,” you gasped, raggedly so. A far cry from the steely demeanor you always carried.

He looked up at you, his eyes wide and intense, body still trembling with exertion. “I know, darlin’. I-I can feel it. You're somethin’ else when you're like this,”

His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh, holding you to him as you moved, as you chased your release. He was still hard, still pulsing inside you, but you could feel the tension, the strain, the sheer effort it was taking for him to hold on. To be there for you in this moment.

“You're doin’ so good,” he encouraged. “Just let it go. I'm right here with you. Ain't goin’ nowhere.”

And with that, you shattered. Your orgasm crashed over you, body trembling, hips bucking, nails digging into his chest. He let out a low, guttural cry. A sound of pure, selfless pleasure. His body tensed as he rode out your orgasm with you, hips moving in sync with yours, giving you everything he had left to give.

The world outside the window was still black.

Not the kind of black that came with sleep or stillness, but that deep, oceanic kind that pressed against the glass like it might swallow the shop whole. A cold wind tapped once, then again, against the panes, but the sound was too soft to pull your focus. The only thing you could hear was Remmick’s breathing. Still ragged, still uneven, like he hadn’t quite landed back in his body yet.

Your own chest was rising slower now.

The adrenaline had drained out of your limbs, leaving only warmth behind. Thick and heavy and strange. The cushions beneath you were slightly askew, the throw blanket hanging off one edge like it had tried and failed to cover something uncontainable. The air still smelled like him.

You weren’t sure you could breathe without pulling him deeper into your lungs.

Your hand rested low on his abdomen, where the tremors hadn’t stopped yet. He was flushed, head tilted back, mouth parted slightly as if waiting for something. Maybe breath, maybe words. The slick between you had cooled slightly in the open air, but neither of you moved.

The moment didn’t ask for motion.

Outside, the wind howled once. Higher this time, almost mournful. But no lights flickered. No car passed. No one knocked.

You were still alone.

Still unseen.

Still safe.

There was a thrill in that. Not just privacy, but secrecy. The knowledge that the two of you had made something here, something raw and holy and utterly indecent in a world that would never, ever be able to comprehend it. No one would guess. No one would imagine it.

You leaned forward slowly.

His eyes fluttered open. Glazed, desperate. Still begging, but quieter now. Not for forgiveness. Just for the chance to stay.

You kissed him.

Gently, firmly, like sealing a letter before sending it somewhere far away. He melted into it. Helpless again, the way he always was with you. And you tasted the salt at the edge of his mouth, not knowing if it was his tears or your sweat, and not caring either way.

When you pulled back, he followed instinctively, chasing the kiss without knowing he was doing it.

His breath hitched.

“I…” he started, but couldn’t finish.

You rested your forehead against his.

He let out something between a sigh and a sob.

“I wanna be better,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I wanna deserve this.”

“You don’t.”

He froze. Just for a moment. Then his throat worked, and his whole body shuddered.

But you weren’t cruel about it.

You reached up, brushed your fingers through his hair, and let your voice drop to a hush. “You don’t need to earn me, Remmick. That’s not how this works.”

He blinked at you like that didn’t make sense.

But he didn’t argue.

Didn’t say another word.

You let him stay there. Small and grateful and unraveling against you. One hand resting at your hip, the other fisted weakly in the blanket like he might drift off if he didn’t anchor himself to something.

You stared past him, at the darkness beyond the window.

There was no morning yet. No birdsong. No hint of light. The world hadn’t returned.

And you liked it that way.

His breathing was steadier now. Shallower. Slower.

His lips moved once, not quite forming a word. He was trying to stay awake. You could tell. Trying not to miss anything.

“Hey,” you said softly, pulling his attention back.

His eyes opened again.

You traced a slow line across his jaw, following the path of stubble like it meant something. He watched you like it did.

Then, finally, you said your name.

Quiet.

Careful.

Deliberate.

Just that.

Just your name.

His eyes went wide, and then impossibly soft. His mouth parted in disbelief.

You’d never told him before.

You weren’t sure why. It had always seemed too personal, too final. Like once he had it, he’d have a piece of you no one else did. But now that you’d said it, now that it was in the air between you.

You didn’t regret it.

He mouthed it back to you.

Once. Twice.

Then again, this time with sound. Reverent. Fragile. Yours.

You smiled.

Not the kind you gave to strangers or ghosts.

The real one.

And in that tiny, echoing silence, while the window fogged from the heat of your bodies, and the shadows stayed long and untouched, and the world outside forgot to turn, Remmick finally let himself exhale. Finally let himself rest.

You held him through it.

And didn’t let go.

[chososcutie]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME .ᐟ

summary. when a vampire and a werewolf in rut on a full moon find you, a lost hiker stranded in the woods one stormy night, you find yourself in the midst of the eiffel tower of a century, pun intended.

featuring. werewolf!gojo x fem!reader x vampire!geto

word count. 3k

content. mdni fem!reader, werewolf!gojo, vampire!geto, dubcon, slight fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, petnames, degrading, bloodsucking, biting, oral (m!receiving), hickeys, doggy style, threesome, knotting, possessiveness, spitting, big dicks, grinding, cursing

author's note. this is all pure horny, disgusting smut i wrote in between breaks for my new fic coming out!

an owl hoots overhead, the sound low and foreboding, twigs cracking under your every step.

you glance at the black night sky, and the rumble of thunder moving in quickly, rain already hitting your warm skin in fat droplets that threaten a hard downpour soon to come.

shit.

how had it gotten to this point again?

oh right, your stupid idea of a hike through one of the most deserted places on earth had delved from a light-hearted afternoon walk into a nightmare when you found yourself going in circles, dazed and lost as a stormy night crept closer.

you had tried to call a number that would alert any nearby park rangers or the police, but your phone, battery dead and useless proved to be no help whatsoever.

and now, with a full moon beaming down on you and the rustling of bushes near you, you were out of ideas.

you come to a stop, your back hitting a tree trunk with a loud thump! as you slide down it in defeat.

the only chance of survival you had was to wait it out until morning when people came out to the trails again, and the storm passed, and just as you’re pondering where you could find shelter, a low growl far too close to you as well as heavy-sounding footsteps sound beside you.

“h-hello?” you call uncertainly, your head whipping left and right in the hopes of spotting whatever it was. “is anyone there?”

in response, something snarls, louder than any of the other noises you had been hearing tonight, its hot breath practically fanning across your neck in its closeness.

you turn your head in horror just in time to come face-to-face with a huge white werewolf, its frosty azure eyes big and unblinking, maw slack with lascivious drool pouring down, and sharp fangs glinting ominously.

crash!

thunder, loud and booming, shakes the ground and it’s then that you bolt, with no sense of direction only cold fear to guide you, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you run from the monster-like being, his footsteps hard on your trail.

he's snapping at your heels and growling ferociously as rain begins to pour down, absolutely drenching you with your shirt clinging to your figure like a second skin and your hair plastered across your forehead.

you gasp and pant, and just as you're starting to lose hope, bumbling blindly through the sheets of icy rain coming down hard and chilling you to the bone, you see it.

a cave, with not much to look at other than a slight overhang above it, all gray slated rock and darkness on the inside.

normally, you would be suspicious of such a cave, opting to investigate it a little further before heading in, but all rational parts of your brain disappear as you dart into the mouth of it, your clothes dripping wet and your breathing harsh.

it's only when you collapse onto the floor in a tired, soaked heap, breathing heavily and trying to calm yourself down, thinking that the entrance of the cave would be too small for the bulk of the monster outside to fit through, that you realize you're not alone.

because hanging upside down in the darkness that the cave provides, a blinking eyed bat stares back at you, slowly transforming right in front of your eyes into a tall, looming man, one with fangs jutting out below his lip and lazy, monolidded eyes that flick up and down your figure absently.

"who dares rouse me from my eternal slumber?" he crosses his arms across his chest with a scowl, all ashy pale skin and sunken undereyes.

"who are you?" you try to scramble backwards away from him, but he's quicker, dropping to his knees and pulling you into him by your legs.

he smirks at the small gasp you let out, and the involuntary shudder at the feel of his ice cold fingers dancing lightly along your thighs. "i believe i asked you a question first, love."

you stare back at him, breathless for a moment, your lips trembling as you manage to stutter out a response. "i-i got lost in the woods, and something was chasing me. i'm sorry, i didn't know this was your cave, i'll leave."

and just as you begin to stand up, he pulls you right back, his fangs creeping out. "ah ah, not so fast."

your breath catches, fear making your heart thump painfully in your chest as you try to force yourself to think.

what should you do?

his grip on you is tight and as he leans in closer, soft breath ghosting over the sensitive skin on your neck, you feel your skin prickle, managing to choke out a weak, "what are you doing?"

he smiles against your skin, allowing you to feel the sharpness of his fangs as they press against you, not quite biting yet but just there. "why, you're mine now, pet. my prey. my victim. thy fate is sealed."

he slowly opens his mouth, his hot, wet tongue coming to sweep across your pulse point and just as he's about to sink in, a loud howl is heard, followed by quick, skittering footsteps, or rather paw steps.

the same werewolf from before, with pure white fur and a lashing tail skids to a stop in front of you and the man, panting furiously, his cerulean blue eyes heated as he eyes you.

"she's mine, you bloodthirsty bastard! get off her!" he comes to separate you two, though not without the black-haired man's low curse as he rises once more to his full height, eyeing the wolf with a look of contempt.

"goddamnit gojo, you filthy mutt! what are you doing?"

gojo snarls in reply, coming to press against you from behind, staring at geto with a hint of a challenge in his frosty eyes. "i found her first. why do you think she came running in here?"

you can only swallow as your eyes rove between the two, wondering what was going to happen to you.

the fear had begun to wear off though, replaced with a low curling heat in the bottom of your tummy. they were both unfairly attractive men, and it was no surprise your eye was drawn to the chubbed bulge straining in geto's leathery pants or the way you felt gojo's swollen, hefty cock right up against your back.

"yeah? and why is it that you need her so desperately?"

and it's then that you feel the way gojo is pushing his hips forward, humping you ever so slightly as if he can't control himself, his breathing soft and whimpery as he suddenly bucks into you, desperate.

this doesn't go unnoticed by geto, whose eyes slowly follow the drag of his hot, weeping cock up and down your back, his raven eyes snapping back up to gojo with a snort. "you're in heat."

he says it like a statement, not a question, and at this, gojo's head falls onto your shoulder with a drawn-out groan, his breaths puffing feverishly out against you as any restraint he had snaps, furiously rutting against you and pushing your body slightly forward with every grind.

"yes! fuck, m'in heat!" he grits out. "now, can ya help me out here?"

geto, after flicking a strand of his long, black hair out of his face, pauses, his lips curving up just for a second as if something had crossed his mind.

"i think i have a way we can both get what we want." he practically purrs as he comes to a crouch in front of you, tilting your chin up to meet the burning intensity of his gaze. "but it's going to require you to be a good little pet for us, hm? can you do that?"

you find yourself nodding along eagerly, biting your lip as geto's cool hands curl around your thighs, spreading them open wide for gojo, who eagerly shifts, ripping your drenched panties aside with a rrrrip! of fabric.

you're facing gojo, and laying back on geto, with your head on his shoulder, his fingers beginning to work their way up your neck, pausing every now and then to feel your pulse points.

he chuckles darkly. "your pulse is jumping, sweet thing. ya excited to feel satoru's big cock stretching you?"

you nod weakly, slumped back on his chest, your breaths heaving as satoru begins to smear your gushing slick around your entrance with the reddened, veiny head of his cock, his tip bumping your puffy clit as he grinds in between your folds slightly.

your breath catches in a soft moan and suguru hums against your neck in approval, tongue laving hot, wet trails of saliva to drip down generously.

your plush thighs, sprawled apart and waiting, twitch slightly as experimentally, satoru pushes a couple thickened inches inside your hot, clamping walls.

the stretch is almost too much as you squeeze your eyes shut, gojo grunting above you as he tries to slowly fit himself all the way into your spasming cunt.

geto hushes you softly, cooing praises as one hand comes down to toy with your pulsing clit, rubbing tight little circles as his mouth busies itself on your sensitive neck, sucking purpleish hickeys across the expanse of it.

and when satoru finally bottoms out inside you with a whine, he's immediately rocking into you with fervor as his cock seems to only swell, his knot inflating and bumping your twitchy nub with every small movement— while you squirm and let out little cries of pleasure, suguru cradling you closer as his sucking turns more intense.

it's then that you feel the first graze of his teeth, featherlight but there, just barely a nibble across your flesh.

“hah.. fuck!” you reach up, tangling your fingers in geto’s long hair, pressing his head down harder against your neck as you moan breathily from the added sensation of his fangs scraping across you coupled with satoru’s almost frantic thrusts.

“slow down satoru,” geto murmurs hazily from your neck, almost as if whispering it to himself. “our pet is fragile.”

he lets out a desperate grunt in response, the hefty weight of his balls smacking against your ass as he angles himself to hit deep inside you to your cushy, sweet spot, the one that never fails to make you see stars.

your eyes roll back and it’s then that you feel suguru’s fangs bury themselves deep into your neck, the sharp prick fading to a pleasurable sting as he breathes in your scent with a satisfied groan rumbling deep into his chest.

satoru’s fat cock, with its bumpy veins and girth was edging you closer and closer to release with every sharp piston of his slim hips in and out of you, and now as it bumped your cervix repeatedly with sappy precum flooding out of the head, your mouth hung open with drool beginning to pour out with every shocking smack!

you weren't going to last much longer, and with a cry of, "satoru!" his thrusting turns more intense, his fluffy ears twitching frantically above his head as his dick throbs deep inside you.

and then, you feel it.

nothing more than a bump at first, his achingly swollen knot, just barely brushing your sappy folds.

but then more, as his fat, rotund knot begins to swivel n' push its way inside, shoving all of it past your tight, drooling heat with a drawn-out groan.

it pulsates weakly, halfway in and stretching your pussy lips obscenely around its sheer girth, and you tip your head back further onto suguru's shoulder with a keen, where he's still buried into your neck, simply just breathing you in.

"wan' it, 'toru!" you moan mindlessly, spreading your legs further as your whole body trembles and squirms. "want your knot!"

satoru's whole body jerks in response, his hips stuttering and more sloshes of hot, oozing precum gushing out of his furiously red blushing cock, zigzagging veins massaging your plush walls with every calculated stroke of his.

your skin was sizzling with heat, and your stomach had begun to curl into tight little knots, tears pricking at your lash line from how close you were to tipping over the edge and you mewl, clawing at gojo's toned hips in an effort to draw him impossibly closer.

your release is so close you can practically taste it, your every muscle tensed and coiled while you find yourself bucking back into gojo's sloppy thrusts, drool beginning to pour down your chin— and it's at that exact moment that geto rears his head back and bites hard, fangs sucking filthily upon your neck as if it were a lifeline, that you find yourself cumming.

your jaw falls slack in a silent cry, your orgasm exploding through you so intensely you can't even react other than the jolting of your hips up as you clench and milk satoru's thick cock whilst spraying your gushing release all along his abdominals.

you were squirting— so much of it that it was just flooding out of you, soaking satoru entirely in your honeyed essence.

his white tufted happy trail was dragging along your pussy back n' forth as he huffs feverishly before the raw, lewd plop! of his hot n' heavy knot being bullied into you seems to resound, the filthy wet squelches your cunt was making in response making you wriggle helplessly.

and then he's throwing his head back and cumming, the sight so utterly sinful as creamy wads of ivory sap are spurting deep inside your walls, ribbons n' ribbons of it until it's too much, and even then he can't stop, halfheartedly rutting into you as endless amounts steadily pulse into you.

geto groans, the sound low and reverberating through you as he continues taking pull after pull of your thick, warm blood, the feeling almost orgasmic as he draws it out of you slow, your eyes rolling back with the pleasurable ache.

but soon enough, you find yourself feeling lightheaded and with a weak protest from geto, manage to pull him off, his eyes half-cracked open and hazy with pleasure, crimson droplets dribbling down the corners of his lips which he quickly licks off.

gojo's still cumming, pink sheened lips dropped open and cerulean eyes clouded with lust, and you watch geto's head laze in a downward angle to bring your attention to the massive, rock hard bulge in his pants, twitching for any ounce of attention you were willing to give.

"you gonna help me out too, doll?" he drawls, amusement in his gaze as your breath catches at the sheer size of him when he slooowly drags his pants down his hips to let his cock slap against his stomach, curved and pierced at the frenulum.

he was.. pierced?

he stands up, pants half unzipped and turns your body toward him, gojo's large palms sliding over your hips to flip you onto your hands and knees, knot still firmly planted in place as he starts slowly dragging his cock in little rocking thrusts.

geto tilts your chin upward, smirking and tucks a bit of your hair behind your ears. his hand gently strokes your cheek, and as you gaze up at him with a whimper, growls out a, "open your mouth for me, pet."

you do obediently, and watch as he leans over you, letting a thick, silvery wad of spit sultrily drip down onto your tongue, your mouth instantly closing to swallow.

as you do, he shifts, one big hand wrapping around the thickened base of himself to drag his weepy cock along your lips, salty precum already streaking down your chin.

you slightly part your lips, only for geto to push just the fat, bulbous tip of his cock in between, groaning as your warm, wet mouth engulfs him.

gojo pants from behind, his big hands coming to rest on the curve of your waist, his breathing ragged as he furiously humps into you as much as he can with his swollen knot stretching your pussy lips wide, his seed dribbling out occasionally.

geto groans, a hand coming to tangle itself in your hair and pulling you down hard until his plump, globed tip is bruising the back of your throat, making you choke around him with a small moan, drool trickling down the corners of your lips.

he taps your cheek gently, as if to check on you, and you nod slightly, your eyes glassy with tears from all the stimulation as gojo's veined girth swats around your insides, absolutely pouring helpings of precum into you to add on to his mess from earlier.

and what happens next is something you can't prepare yourself for— satoru's big hand raises itself above the curve of your ass and then comes down in a harsh smack!

geto chuckles, pulling you further down on his cock with a tug on your hair until tears are streaming down your face and you're gagging on the length of him.

smack!

again, and again he spanks your plump, jiggling ass, mouth watering as he watches you, feeling the way your walls clench and spasm around him in preparation.

then suguru starts up a brutal pace, fucking into your mouth with abandon, his head thrown back and baring his adam's apple as it bobs in a swallow, muttering curses as you bob your head slightly to take more, your tongue working in quick flicks below his sensitive head and running along the cool metal of his piercing.

meanwhile, satoru's hips are snapping ruthlessly behind you, causing you to ping-pong between them as they both use you to chase their pleasure, your back arching as you shudder, pussy clenching down hard as your stomach tenses up.

you were close to cumming for the second time tonight, and satoru seemed to take notice, because this time when he raises his hand again, it's positioned directly over your puffy, throbbing clit, coming down in a wet thwack! that has you seeing stars and cumming so hard you think you black out for a second.

your thighs tremble and drench themselves in your own syrupy slick while you squirm desperately, your muffled moans and cries sending vibrations straight to suguru's dick.

and then you feel it. the musky tang of his cum filling up your mouth while he makes a noise caught between a moan and a whine, spurting so messily until it dribbles down your chin, his cock twitching with every webbed, ivory wad of seed he spills out.

and then with one last drag of his hot, bulging shaft, gojo also cums, loudly and messily with pools n' pools of white spilling down your thighs in rivulets and a moan that echoes throughout the empty cave, bouncing off the walls until it's all you can hear, your body trembling and spent.

your eyes shutter closed briefly, and distantly, you feel hands moving you, almost reverently, like you were their new shiny toy and they didn't want to break you— yet.

a hot, eager tongue laps at your thighs, cleaning up the mess streaking down between them, tender gentle strokes that focus on precision rather than overstimulating you further.

and when you're all cleaned up, you find yourself laid out flat, propped up against gojo whose ears twitch, his tail curling around your waist as he nuzzles into you, and geto who lies between your legs, his head on your thigh almost lazily.

you sigh, your eyes beginning to droop, tired, but before you can succumb to slumber, you hear geto's voice speaking to you in a murmur.

"you know you're going to be staying with us now, right?"

"why's that?" you say sleepily.

his mouth curves into a sadistic little smirk. "because you're our beloved little pet now. ours, and only ours."

©CHOSOSCUTIE. please do not plagiarize or repost my works!

a/n: this is kinda bad and a little rushed but i had to get something out

[minkieater]

when another member walks in on you ateez ot8 x fem!reader

silly little thing i wrote between clients today

smut below the cut! mdni ↓ dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism, oral sex, p in v lol, lmk if i missed anything !!

hongjoong ☄️

“shut up slut, they’ll hear you. i bet you want that, don’t you?” he had your face buried in your mattress, drool slipping from your mouth, your ass up in the air where he was relentlessly drilling  into you. 

you moaned, you had stopped caring about your volume long ago, they would hear hongjoong’s thrusts before your moans anyhow. you clenched around him, only making him hiss out and reach over to push your head impossibly farther into the mattress. 

you pissed him off— you got a little too close to wooyoung, talked for a little too long and hongjoong was livid. 

“you want him to hear you, don’t you? want him to hear all the pretty sounds you make? showing off, huh? attention whore,” his words were venom, his lips inches from your ear with how he bent over you, foot planted on the mattress beside your shoulder. 

“are you guys oka— oh shit, i’m so sorry,” hongjoong lets go of your head only for the two of you to snap your faces up to the intruder, hongjoong stilling inside of you.

“what the fuck?” was all hongjoong could get out, a stunned wooyoung in the doorway, his jaw on the floor at the sight in front of him. “wooyoung! get out!” 

“it didn’t sound like you were fucking! i got scared,” you heard wooyoung yell as he closed the door behind him, leaving hongjoong to pick right back up where he left off. 

“don’t think i missed how you clenched around me, whore.”

seonghwa 🫧

seonghwa had you on your knees while he sat on the bed, leaned back on one arm with the other around your ponytail, guiding you up and down his length. 

in a black tank top and gray sweatpants he looked so fucking sexy in the living room, you couldn’t help but pull him into his bedroom for a minute alone — you needed to taste him, show him how much he affected you. 

“fuck, you’re so good at that,” his words were quiet, a low rasp to his voice as he tugged on your hair a little harder. your mouth slipped off of him with a pop, batting your eyelashes up at him with a knowingly coy smile.

he groaned, a little louder this time, his head falling back. “don’t look at me like that or your throat’s getting fucked.” 

you giggled, mouth attaching to him again, bobbing your head up and down a little faster now. he bucked his hips up little by little, using more force with each stroke and you took him proudly, small gags and noises of nasty wetness leaving your lips.

the door opened without either of you noticing, only catching a head of brown hair leaving seonghwa’s bedroom with a shriek of surprise. this wasn’t the first time yeosang had walked in on you, but it still made you laugh every damn time.

you looked up to seonghwa with a giggle on your lips after popping off him again, seonghwa wearing a smile himself.

“how many times do you think we’ll scar him before he stops coming in here?” seonghwa asks, letting go of your ponytail.

“if he was going to catch on, he would’ve by now,” you readjusted yourself on your knees during the pause, shaking your head before bringing your focus back on his delicious length before you. “you said something about fucking my throat right?”

yunho 🧍🏻‍♂️

you and yunho had been waiting for a day alone for weeks. for too long had you been silenced in the hours from one to three, his fingers clamped over your lips or stuffed between them in an attempt to keep you quiet. comeback season was busy, and when there was time off everyone lazed around the dorms and didn’t fucking leave. 

now, on your third consecutive day off, the dorms were empty and yunho took advantage. he had your hands pinned under your back with a belt he had just taken off, hips snapping into you so hard the sound was sure to be heard outside. 

“sloppy little cunt sucking me right the fuck in,” he hissed, hips cracking into your thighs, his fingers keeping you still.

you were wailing at this point, tears streaming down your face, begging for reprieve while also thinking if he stopped you’d die. 

“don’t stop,” you repeated, a mantra on your tongue, from your hips being slanted upward his cock was hitting that spongy spot in your walls that drove you fucking insane. 

you were so close, mere thrusts away from hitting your peak, and the door busted open, an out of breath mingi stood at the door.

“the rest of the guys are walking in right behind me,” mingi’s words were panicked in a warning, but yunho didn’t stop. he ignored his friend, knowing you were so close, wanting your high to crash over you so he could follow. 

you screamed — mingi couldn’t move. yunho fucked you through it, thrusts only quickening to meet his own end, until he doubled on top of you with two large hands landing right beside your head. 

yunho turned to look at mingi, a smirk playing on his lips with heaving breaths, “enjoyed the show?” 

yeosang 👥

everyday yeosang woke you up the same way: his fingers or his head between your thighs until you were creaming around him, then he replaced it with his cock. it wasn’t a good morning until you had at least one, if not two orgasms. 

this morning he was greedy— it seemed he didn’t want to let you go. you came on his face once, his fingers a second time, and he was working you up to a third on his lap. if yeosang could do anything it was last, his stamina was like no other, he could go for hours if you let him. 

you had your knees planted on the mattress beside his hips, his cock hitting your cervix continuously as you grind your hips back and forth against him, your nails clawing at his shoulders. his head was leaning against the headboard, leaving his throat open to you, where you licked and sucked pretty little bruises across the base of his neck, little whines leaving his throat.

“yes, baby, ‘m so close,” he croaked out, his voice raspy and deep, his abs clenching with every grind of your hips. 

“cum for me then yeo, fill me up,” your hand moved from his shoulder to wrap your fingers around his neck, pulling him towards you to connect your chest to his.

your mornings weren’t usually so filthy, never downright nasty, bringing your skin to touch his brought a sense of intimacy back to your morning. 

his head fell onto your shoulder with a groan, filling you up just as you told him to, thighs twitching beneath you. you moaned at the feeling, letting your head rest atop his, bringing your hands to tangle in his hair. 

“you guys awake yet?” seonghwa popped into your room, making you twist your body around to look at him, eyes wide.

“definitely awake,” he pulled his lips into a line, bidding you a singular nod before closing the door again. a huff of amusement left your lips as you looked back down to the boy laying on your shoulder, patting his head, giving him a moment to come back before you’d take your morning shower together.

san 🚪

san couldn’t wait. you were at your favorite club, both tipsy and horny, dancing to the beat of the song before san’s fingers dipped below your dress. you looked up to him with wide eyes, met with a filthy smirk and a pair of dimples that ushered you towards the men’s bathroom. 

“san, anyone could walk in,” you were uneasy, san was never so impatient that he needed you then and there. he’d never portrayed signs of exhibitionism before today, your sex life had always been private — you liked it that way, yet the hunger in his eyes and the spark left in the wake of his fingers on your skin made you excited. 

“let them see how good i fuck you then,” he hummed, fingers flipping up your dress, plunging into your core that was so wet he slipped in. the squelch of his fingers was deafening, you thanked god the bathroom was empty. 

he stuffed you into a stall, fingers still curling into you before he slipped your panties to the side, replacing his fingers with his cock. the pace he set was brutal, your hands bracing the wall above the toilet as he fucked into you from behind, hips slapping into your ass. 

you fought to keep your moans inside, pointless as the sound of skin slapping would overpower them anyway. san groaned, “knew you’d be wet, naughty girl. you were basically begging me to fuck you on the dance floor for everyone to see.” 

a whine escaped you, nails clawing against the tile of the wall. he slipped a hand around your hips, coming between your legs, rubbing your clit at a pace he knew would have you coming in seconds 

“fuck, san, harder please,” you breathed out, head dipping below your arms, hanging between them. 

he listened, quickening his pace, fucking you somehow harder than he was before. his fingers worked in a quick rhythm, making the pit in your stomach grow until you were overflowing on his dick.

“yeah, that’s it, baby. cum all over my cock,” he was drunk off your pussy, words slurring together, keeping his pace on your clit to ride you through it. 

when you were twitching from overstimulation he emptied himself inside you, head falling to the center of your spine. there was nothing but the sound of heavy breaths in the public restroom, you and san catching your breath and your sanity before he flipped your dress back down and zippered himself back up.

when you left the stall, jongho was washing his hands at the sink, barely giving you a glance as you stepped into view. 

“how long have you been in here?” san asked, a pink rising to his cheeks, looking like a completely different person than he had moments ago.

“unfortunately, long enough. broke the seal so i had no choice,” jongho shrugs as he grabs paper towels, drying off his palms. “make sure you two wash your hands.” 

mingi 🫶

the say my name stage always fucked you up, it never failed. being on stage period always fucked mingi up, that never failed either. it was safe to say that your post-show routine was always fucking backstage, it happened every stop, every show, you lost count of how many dressing rooms in foreign countries you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life in.

what was abnormal was mingi not waiting until the show was over. always professional, mingi waited until everyone was no longer sprinting around backstage with mini-fans and makeup brushes to touch up the eight boys before they had to head back out onstage. 

as he came off the stage, his walk was fast paced, precise. it would’ve scared you if you didn’t know what it meant. his fingers hooked around your arm, dragged you further backstage, and had you in a random closet in a stadium completely foreign to you. 

he was quick to split you open, granted say my name was within their first set so you were already dripping by the time he made it between your legs. 

“always so ready for me,” he mumbled out, zeroed in on your center but eyes still not fully clear. in his post performance haze he was always rougher, selfish, not a care in the world for you. it was your favorite. 

“put it in,” you barked out, hips bucking toward him and he was sheathed within seconds. giving you no time to get used to the stretch you wheezed, head lolling onto his shoulder, and he let loose. 

he fucked you stupid, you joined him in whatever haze his brain was under as he pounded into you, hips clapping into the silence of the dark storage room. you heard footsteps outside but mingi made no moves to halt his thrusts, only focused on one thing, getting the two of you off before he had to go back onstage. 

“are you fucking?” yunho’s voice wasn’t clear until he had the door open, light cascading into the storage room, yours and mingi’s necks snapping to look at the intruder.

he was smirking — he knew what he was walking into yet he did it anyway. you and mingi both smiled cheshire grins as yunho stepped inside the storage room, quickly slamming the door shut behind him. 

“why didn’t you invite me?”

wooyoung 🐈‍⬛

wooyoung had you splayed out on the bed, legs bent up with his head between them. eating you out was adjacent to your meditation time, as he calls it, it's his favorite way to wind down. after a long day, after a short day, during his day, it didn’t matter when. wooyoung was always down to eat you out, eager even — he is a man not above begging. 

your chin was shot back, eyes screwed tight, wooyoung had made you cum on his tongue twice so far and he was nowhere near finished. 

after eating you through your second orgasm his licks had slowed down, easing up his pressure, making his tongue soft and pliable instead of hard and pointed. 

soft moans left your lips, he knew by now how to work you through overstimulation, lazily licking at your clit until your moans turned to whines once more.

“taste so fucking good, could eat this pussy all night,” his eyes were fully closed, he was in a dream. between your legs was his happy place, he’d die there a happy man, he’d admitted it more than once. more than ten times, at least. 

when he noticed your breaths getting shorter and your moans shifting to a higher pitch he was sharp with his movements, picking up his pace, licking up your folds and sucking on your clit with swollen lips. 

hongjoong bounced through the door, “hey wooyo, you- jesus fucking christ!” 

your legs snapped shut, closing over wooyoung’s head and he pried himself out of your cage with painted fingertips, jumping up to face hongjoong at the door.

“what?” wooyoung asked, palm swiping at his chin.

“i’m scarred,” hongjoong muttered, voice horrified with hands covering his eyes. your hands fled for the blankets, pulling them over your body with a speed you weren’t expecting to have to use. 

“what do you want, joong?” wooyoung asked, rushed yet still casual, sitting on his knees. his abdomen was clenched, muscles on display as he twisted backward, you didn’t even care that hongjoong was in the room. 

“i was going to ask if you had a spare pair of headphones,” his voice was barely above a squeak, hands still covering his eyes.

“oh, yeah i do, here, they’re my sony 1000MX—”

“i don’t give a fuck wooyoung, give them to me so i can leave.”

jongho 🧸

you were hanging out with jongho in the dance practice room as he practiced the same routine again, the fifth time tonight.

he groaned in frustration after missing a step again, the same step he’s missed the past four times he’s gone through the routine. his hands cover his face, dragging down his cheeks.

you get up from your spot on the floor, making your way in front of him, grabbing his hands to hold in yours.

“why don’t you stop for the night?” you tilt your head, nothing but warmth in your eyes as you stare into his, cold and irritated. 

“i need to get this fucking right,” his lips are pursed, his eyebrows are knit together as he barks, “i need to clear my head.” 

within minutes he had you on your hands and knees atop the hardwood floor, bodies facing the mirror that spread across the wall, forcing you to watch yourself as he fucked you stupid. 

“see that?” he smirked at you through the mirror, fingers tight on your hips, “nothing but a cocksleeve whenever i want it, so willing for me.” 

his words were cool and calm, almost a threat on his lips as he abused your core. your eyebrows were tangled and your mouth hung open, knees and palms burning from the pressure against the harsh wood. 

“yes, just for you,” you manage to choke out between thrusts, body jolting forward with each thrust. 

“that’s right baby,” he nods, his smile turning villainous, only fucking into you harder as he spits, “such a fucking whore, letting me fuck you in public like this.” 

you nod, eyes screwed shut, “d-don’t fucking stop.” 

his chuckle is deep, his thrusts losing their rhythm, “you want it? want me to fill this filthy pussy up?” 

the door to the practice room opens, san strolls inside with a smile on his face before he sees the two of you — he shrieked. “what the fuck!?” 

jongho stilled, laying himself atop your body, trying to cover you as best he could. his words come out nervous, “get the fuck out!”

san slips back out of the door, then peeks his head back in, “wait, when are you gonna be done? i want to practice.” 

“san!” 

masterlist

[nastyzombii]

How Often Do You Feel Lonely? (Remmick x F!Reader)

summary: you live alone in the middle of the woods, just how you like it. at least that’s what you tell yourself. your peaceful night in is interrupted by a knock at the door. a man, pleading to be let inside just to catch his breath… but of course, that’s not all he’s after.

wc: 14.5k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit depictions of sexual acts! little plot mostly smut, vampire sex, p in v, oral (both giving and receiving), lots of drooling, spit drinking, face fucking, mutual masturbation, creampie(s), face down ass up, hair pulling, claws and teeth drawing blood/leaving marks, blood tasting (he’s a vampire… duh), fingering, multiple orgasms, threats of violence, manipulation, mentions of voyeurism, abandonment and death.

A/N: special thanks to @eternalstrigoii for beta reading, @spikedfearn for inspiring me to get back into writing smut, and of course everyone in the remmick discord for cheering me on and filling my head with wonderful filthy ideas <3 love u guys | translations for gaeilge provided at the end.

The sun had finally set, nestling itself amidst the spiraling, twisted trees. The sky shifted from a crisp orange to a comforting blanket of dark purple, the stars winking from a distance. Clouds hung lazily, dotting the starlit night with blots of grey. The moon, half-full, occupied the sun’s empty throne. 

Although the sun drifted to its nightly embrace, the air still hangs heavy with the humid summer heat. You kept the windows open, though it wasn’t much help. Even keeping the door open a crack didn’t aid in letting air into the stuffy house. 

The dark, empty house - lit only by the soft moonlight and a few candles scattered on the mantle and other various surfaces - creaked. Not unusual for the old place you call home. You live alone, but the creaks and groans didn’t bother you much. Not anymore, at least. You’ve grown used to it, the sounds kept you company, especially at night. A delightful symphony in comparison to the deafening silence that surrounded you most days. 

Sometimes that’s all you need. The familiar creaking of the house, the serene night sky, a good book, a myriad of flickering candles, and some refreshing tea - iced or hot, depending on the weather and your mood. Tonight it was iced, on account of the sticky summer heat. 

Despite having what you need for a peaceful night, you knew deep down in your heart that something was missing. It troubled you to ponder what exactly left you so empty inside, but you regularly stifle that feeling. 

No use thinking about that. No use at all.

You grab your freshly brewed tea, take a sip and set it down on the nearby coaster. You snatch the most recent book you’ve started digging into from the shelf and sit in your typical spot by the window. It was the perfect spot. You could see the moon and stars coalescing in the clouds, their soothing light shining just bright enough through the window for you to read peacefully. Your chair was wooden, but the throw pillow on the seat made it perfectly comfortable.

You curl open the book, a classic Bram Stoker novel, right where you left off. You slide the bookmark from its place and set it down on the table in front of you. Taking another hearty sip from your glass, you begin reading to yourself: 

“I pray to you, be seated and sup how you please. You will, I trust, excuse me that I do not join you; but I have dined already, and I do not sup.”

A shadow, swift and sudden, passes by the window. You barely spot it out of the corner of your eye. You twist your head to catch a better glimpse, but the presence went as fast as it came. 

It was probably just an animal. A wolf or a vulture, maybe even a bear. It’s hard to say. Plenty of animals congregate around your humble abode. Living in the middle of nowhere meant that any movement outside was normally a woodland creature just drifting through on their way back to their family or catching their prey… or running from a predator. Nothing more. Except for the occasional birds flocking to your outdoor feeder, they stick around longer than most animals - longer than any guest you’ve ever had, really. 

However you couldn’t shake the feeling that the passing shadow might have been something different. A stillness sets in, yet the candles continue to dance in the darkness, the blazing waltz reflecting in your eyes.

You inhale a sharp breath and try to perish the thought. The loneliness is really getting to you tonight. You shift your eyes back onto the page but a sound startles you before you can begin reading again. 

Your ajar front door creaked. A different creak than you’re used to. There was no wind, not tonight, yet something caused the door to sway and moan. Something was lurking out in the woods. Or worse, someone.

An unfamiliar chill runs down your spine. An animal… that’s all it is. A hungry animal. A scared animal. Reluctantly, you leave your perch once more to shut the door, setting the book page down in your chair. You were determined to not let these noises get under your skin. Not while you’re trying to enjoy a quiet night of reading. You could do without the willies tonight. 

You press one hand on the rustic wooden door frame, the other on the knob. Your eyes travel to the crack, peering out into the darkness. Nobody was there. Nothing was there. Just your overactive imagination getting the best of you. A wave of relief washes over you. 

The door shuts with a groan. Finally… back to peace. You take a step to the side, primed to dive into your reading and enjoy a relaxing night without distraction. Without issue. Peace and quiet, just how you like it.  

Right as you’re about to settle in your chair, you hear a loud knock.

KNOCK KNOCK

Your heart thuds in your chest - it was an unusual sound for you. Nobody comes to visit, not very often. Certainly not at this hour. Fear ripples in your throat as you take in a gulp of air. You just checked outside with no sight or feeling of a presence on your doorstep. How is that possible?

The moisture from the summer heat mingles with the nervous sweat on your forehead. Your heart thrums faster as the rapping on the door continues.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Hello? Hey, is-is anyone home?” The choked voice of a man breaks through the barrier of your door. A southern twang riddled the man’s gravelly inflection. It didn’t sound natural though, more like someone mimicking an accent they’d heard once before. “Hello? Please, I need some help.”

The begging stranger continues knocking at the door, his pleas growing louder. His pounding grows more urgent. You didn’t want to answer. Anxiety claws at your chest. A man? Here? At this hour? I didn’t see him when I peeked outside. I was sure there was no one there.  

“Please, p-please,” The man’s voice is desperate, calling to you like a siren. Your breath trembles as he cries out. “I know you’re in there. I can see your shadow movin’ around.”

You inhale a deep, staggered breath and inch closer to the door, the heavy wood shifting with the man’s incessant knocking. Your hands shake as you slowly open the door - just a hair, to get a look at the man at your doorstep. 

His eyes, a soft but wild blue, meet yours. He wasn’t as imposing as you imagined. Far from it, actually. 

Dark hair sits messy on his sweat-slicked head. He sports a sleeveless, collarless white shirt that clings to his broad shoulders - drenched in what looks like perspiration and god knows what else. A golden chain drapes around his thick neck. His dirty, torn work pants are accentuated by undone suspenders that hang loosely around his sides, as well as a worn out leather belt with a metal buckle - suspenders and a belt? Strange fashion sense, you think to yourself. 

A pungent odor wafted from him - you aren’t able to make out what the exact scent is. A mix of body odor, singed flesh, old blood and pure death. Unpleasant, to put it lightly. 

“Oh, miss. I am terribly sorry to bother you this time of night but I-I’ve been runnin’ for what feels like hours,” he speaks, his voice a low rumble, cracking between every word. Running for hours… that would explain the copious amount of sweat beading on his forehead… and the smell. “I didn’t mean to frighten ya. I-I saw your house in the distance and thought you might be able to help me out of a pinch.” 

“Why were you running?” You ask. A man running in the woods, in the dark, didn’t bode well. Something about this stranger strikes you as suspicious. His stammering and disheveled appearance didn’t help much. ”Mighty strange for a man to be running around the woods at night.”

“I was bein’ chased,” he huffs. “I-I was hopin’… well I was hopin’ I might be able to catch my breath at this quaint little house here.”

“Chased? By who?” Your curiosity piqued. 

“That don’t really matter,” his voice a hushed rasp. His eyes focus on yours, their blue sheen flickers with the dancing candlelight on your mantle. “M-may I come in? Only for a moment. I just. I need a second to breathe, maybe somethin’ to drink, and I’ll be on my way. I swear it.”

“It’s not very smart to let strangers in, you know,” your eyebrows furrow, concern scribbled on your face. Not just any stranger, but a man. Not only a bad decision but potentially a dangerous one. Surely he’d understand your hesitation. “Especially at night.”

“I know, miss,” he whimpers, his eyes glistening with despair. He seems desperate to get inside. Whoever, or whatever, he was running from must have really shaken him. “I-I know. I know, and I empathize. Letting a stranger in… never a good idea, no ma’am. I know. I don’t mean to be a burden, but I just… oh, I just need a quick respite. Please, I’m beggin’ ya.”

“Why should I?” You hiss, your hand faltering on the door knob. He notices the way your body is shaking, the door trembling with you. A pout forms on his plush, pink lips. He falls to his knees with a hopeless sigh. The shredded holes of his pants force his bare legs to scrape against the hard wood of your porch. You almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“Oh… I know you don’t got a reason to let a strange man like me in, but I will do anything,” he puts his veined, calloused hands together in a weak prayer. “Anything at all.”

You didn’t respond. You watch his lips quiver as he bows his head - you could see how soaked his unkempt hair was with sweat. Little strands of his dark locks spiked out towards the back of his neck. You feel a bizarre sense of power watching a man crumble like this at your doorstep. You were used to men making you crumble. 

“I-I can give you money,” he falters, scrambling his hand down into his front pocket. He pulls out two sparkling coins - from what you could tell, they didn’t look like any sort of money you were used to seeing. They looked like solid gold. Ancient. The coins shake in his palm, clinking together. ”It’s not much but it’s all I got. You can have it. I don’t want nothin’ from you other than a place to stay for just a moment… somethin’ to drink. Then I’ll get outta your hair. I swear to you that’s all I ask. Please.”

He shuffles near the crack in the door, his hand rattling the coins for you to get a closer look. They were definitely real and you weren’t the type to deny money. Not like you needed it that much beyond grocery trips and occasional house repairs. Still, you can’t help but find yourself enticed by the shining currency and the man’s choked pleas. He’s easy on the eyes too - an added bonus. 

“You sure that’s all you want?” You ask, still suspicious of the strange man kneeling before you. Out of everything you’ve learned in life - men only ever want is one thing - has rang true the most. 

“I promise,” he croaks. His body trembles on the floorboards of the porch, the old wood squeaking beneath his weight. He looks up at you, his gaze wet with distress and yearning. You’d never seen a man look so… pathetic. Weak. His promise feels sincere - he didn’t seem so dangerous to you anymore. 

You sigh and open the door all the way, pulling the ample wood inward and fully revealing yourself to the stranger. He looks you over, darting eyes studying you up and down. A pleasant expression washes over his angular features, almost like he was amazed that you accepted his offer… and all it took was a bribe and some begging for you to fold. His smile is as soft as his eyes, with imperfect teeth lining his gums. His canines glint in the candlelight as his grin widens at the sight of you. 

Something about him charms you. Maybe it was his blue-eyed gaze filled with wonder and a touch of sorrow or maybe that cute, crooked smile. The way his voice cracks desperately while he pleads. The way his body trembles and prays at your doorstep as if you were a goddess made flesh. The way the candlelight dances around his handsome face. Maybe it was the money… no, no… there was something else. Something more carnal. It’s not entirely clear to you, but whatever it is, he charmed his way inside your house. 

“Alright, you can come in,” you exhale, beckoning the stranger into your home. What am I thinking? What am I DOING? Oh god, oh GOD… Your mind races as you watch the man lift himself off the porch. His heavy boots carefully take a step forward through the entryway, hesitant to fully stride in. 

“Oh, oh thank you. Thank you, miss. Thank you,” he repeats his gratitude over and over again, nodding his head continuously like an overzealous puppy. His hands snap back into a prayer position to further emphasize his appreciation. He takes another step, broad shoulders pushing past the threshold of your home. His awestruck eyes never leave you. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” you smirk, shutting the door behind him. It’s too late to turn back now. “You have a name, stranger?“

“You can call me Remmick,” he murmurs, setting the two gold coins in your open palm as he continues his voyage into your personal space. His hand is drenched with sweat. You recoil as the moisture coating the coins kisses your skin. The coins are heavy, definitely real gold. You place them down on a nearby console table by the door and wipe your hand on your pants while his back is turned. 

Definitely an unusual currency for someone to be carrying along with them. The name Remmick… also unusual. You’ve never heard a name like that before. It was different, but you like the ring of it. Remmick. 

“Alright, uh. Remmick,” you nod. “Take a seat, I’ll get you somethin’ to drink. Water or iced tea?”

“Thank you, again, miss,” Remmick’s grin hadn’t faded. If anything, it grows wider as he continues to speak with you. “Water’s fine. I ain’t too picky.” 

“Comin’ right up,” you smile back at him. The stranger takes a seat in your reading spot after moving your book onto the table. He gives you a friendly nod. Great. He’s gonna stank up my favorite chair. You try to shake the thought of your peace being disrupted as you stride to the kitchen. It’s only for a moment, then he’ll be on his way. 

You reach into the cupboard and snatch the closest glass. Did I make the right decision letting this guy in? You can’t help but ponder the outcome of your choice as you let water fill the cup. What if he IS dangerous? What if he just tricked me by acting helpless and scared? Am I going to regret this? What am I thinking…? Why did I let him in?

Water overflowed onto your hand while you were musing. Maybe you’re just overthinking things. Not all men are bad, surely. Maybe he is just passing by. Maybe he was getting chased by something in the woods. What are the odds that a good man just randomly shows up on your doorstep…? Give him a chance. You dry your hand off and try to clear your head. A chance… Everyone deserves a chance. Even smelly weirdos carrying gold coins.

As you make your way back into the living room, you see Remmick holding your book, his eyes scanning the sentences. He hears the creak of your footsteps and turns his attention to you. He’s sitting lax in your chair, making himself right at home. His legs are crossed and propped up on the nearby table. The candlelight accentuates the veins in his hands and the furrow of his brow. A sly smirk creeps across his face.

“Dracula, huh?” He scoffs, flicking his wrist so that the cover of the book faces you. He lets out a little chuckle and cocks an eyebrow as he reads a passage out loud. “Listen to them - the children of the night. What music they make!”

“What’s the problem?” You bark, unamused by his seemingly mocking tone. He quickly reels back.

“Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” he pauses. “I just hear it’s… a little scary, is all. You ain’t scared?”

“Hard to be scared of somethin’ that’s not real,” you sneer, inching closer to the strange man in your chair. You hand him the glass of water. Instead of taking a swig like you’d expect a parched man to do, he places it down next to your iced tea - the collected condensation dripping onto the wooden coaster. “Besides, I like a good monster story. I recently read through Frankenstein and it was a hoot!”

“Oh?” Remmick grins, tilting his head to the side. “What makes you think monsters ain’t real?”

“The only monster I know is men,” you snap back. “Vampires, werewolves, stitched together abominations - they’re just fairy tales. Fiction.”

Remmick contemplates for a moment, his fingers still curled around the book’s spine. He looks back at you, his eyes gleaming in the light. They almost looked like they were shining a different color - crimson. But it was nothing more than a trick of the light. 

“Hey now, fairy tales ain’t always fiction. Always a little truth to ‘em,” he teases. He sets the book down pages first on the table, making sure you didn’t lose your place. “‘sides, if you ever met a real monster… oh, I guarantee you wouldn’t be leavin’ your door open or your windows cracked. I wager the heat is safer than the possibility of somethin’ evil creepin’ down the hall.”

Something about the way Remmick spoke of monsters troubles you. His eyelids drooped halfway, hiding his intentions under their shadow. He stares at you, his gaze never wandering from your trembling body, burning into your core and twisting your stomach in knots. Your eyes drift to his left finger - the light of the candles drawing attention to a ring. A wedding ring?

“You married?” You change the subject as quickly as possible, the less talk about monsters the better. His eyelids perk back up. He looks directly at his ring, almost as if it’s the first time he’s noticed it’s there for quite some time.

“Once,” he murmurs quietly. A somber expression plastered on his face, his eyes shying away from you. He didn’t seem to want to talk about it further. “You?”

“Once,” you reply. You lied. You were never married. You were engaged once - but the man you once considered your life. Your soul. Your very home. He has long since abandoned you. All alone in this empty house. Remmick didn’t prod.

“Do you live alone, miss?” Remmick inquires. His tongue licks his front teeth before he shuts his mouth. He still hadn’t taken a sip from his glass of water. You weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want this stranger to know that you did, in fact, live alone. Better make something up. 

“No, but… I am alone for the night,” you continue to lie. You weren’t always the best liar, and you were almost positive Remmick could tell, but you carry on. “My sister is out in town with her fiancé. They won’t be back for a few hours.”

Remmick nods, sinking into your chair with a hearty sigh. He looks over at you, studying you once again. His eyes pierced through your skin, as if he was looking directly at your soul. Even from a distance his gaze gives you goosebumps.

“But you ain’t alone right now, are ya darlin’?” his eyes soften as he speaks. The polite southern cadence sung through his charming smile. He swapped his gracious honorific for an informal term of endearment. You feel your gut clench when this stranger refers to you by a pet name, followed by a fluttering sensation in your chest. It’s been awhile since someone spoke to you like that. “How often do you feel lonely?”

What a strange question, but one you think about more than you’d care to admit. It’s like he was digging into your brain with a venom-encrusted shovel, asking just the right things to make you squirm.

“Not too often. I don’t mind being by my lonesome. I think I’m good company,” you laugh awkwardly. “Why do you ask?”

Remmick pauses for a moment. You couldn’t pinpoint the expression on his face, but you could see him turn to the window. He stared at it longingly, still silent, still thinking. You could slice the silence in the room with a knife. 

He begins to sift in the chair, uncrossing his legs and setting his boots down on the floor with a heavy thud. Remmick’s head swivels back towards you. 

“I ask because,” he starts, standing up. His shadow flickers on the floor with the dancing candlelight, enveloping you in shifting darkness. “Well… I sure don’t like bein’ lonely.”

Remmick’s voice falters, his words stricken with a hint of sorrow. Your brows knit together. Concern and fear pool in the pit of your stomach as he slowly approaches you.

“And I been lonely for a very, very long time,” his voice cracks slightly. A low growl rumbling deep in his throat. “It’s hard to find good company for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Your eyebrow cocks upward, concern simmering into curiosity. Be careful. Curiosity never fails to kill the cat. 

“A monster,” Remmick exhales. He marches forward, his head bowed down to the floor. The air grew heavier the closer he lurched. You wanted to back up, but something was stopping you. An invisible force holds you in place as this stranger continues his pace forward. This stranger, that you let in, stomps closer and closer. Your entire body tenses with every step he takes. “And I ain’t good enough company for myself. Never have been.”

By the time his feet meet yours, you could feel a yelp blossoming beneath your breath. You stifle it the best you can, gulping it down with a hard swallow. Your heart hammers in your chest and your hands grow clammy. He lifts his head, ever so slightly - a droplet of sweat dribbles from his glistening forehead. His eyes flicker maniacally in the candlelight. 

“I’ve seen so much death. War. Famine. Lost so many loved ones. My wife… killed right in front of me,” he rasps. “I can still hear her screams in the silence… echoin’ in my head.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. How COULD you respond to that? This stranger who went from imposing, to pathetic, to sincere, right back to imposing - unloading his trauma on you completely indiscriminately, completely out of nowhere. What was he expecting from you? What exactly does he want?

You remain silent. Silent enough that you could hear the candle wicks crackle. This seems to agitate Remmick, the corner of his upper lip twitching. 

He looks deep into your eyes, his pupils dilating like a wild animal. His eyes shift violently between blue and crimson. You weren’t so sure if it was a trick of the light anymore or if his eyes were literally changing. Either way, it was unnerving. 

He reels himself back a bit, a sharp inhale filling his nose as he lifts his head up to meet your eyes. Your body shudders with anticipation for whatever comes next. 

“I’m so sorry, darlin’. I’m bein’ a real wet blanket, ain’t I?” He chuckles a little, realizing his emotional outburst might have been a bit too intense. “Forgive me. I just uh. I get a little emotional when I take in the sight of a pretty thing like you. You… you remind me of her, is all.”

He gently reaches a hand out and cups your cheek. The sudden touch, chilling and coarse, makes a tingle twist down your spine. He caresses your face softly. The rough pad of his thumb traces circles on your lips. He stares deeply into your eyes again, honing in on the emptiness in your heart - something the two of you seem to share.

Your eyes twinkle in the candlelight as you gaze back at him. You could sense a deep pain buried underneath his rough and tumble exterior. You weren’t entirely sure how to feel in this moment… on one hand, you missed the touch of another human on your skin. On the other, your sneaking suspicion was starting to rear its ugly head. This guy might be dangerous, or worse - he might want something more than he let on. 

Something in your mind pleaded with you to let it happen, begging for the attention you’ve denied yourself. The need for connection. The need for embrace. 

You decide to welcome Remmick’s touch. You raise a hand and plant it firmly over his. A smile forms on his roguish face, those crooked teeth baring themselves. His hand was unnaturally cold, but the feel of it against your face brings you a sense of comfort you’ve long since missed. 

His intense eyes burned into your very being, hypnotically enticing you to stare back. That odor you whiffed before letting him in washed away with his touch, now all you could smell was the burning wicks of the candles and the night air rolling in from the open window.

“Her eyes sparkled exactly like yours in the right light,” he speaks tenderly, musing on his lost love while delicately stroking your face. “Her lips pursed in a way I’d never forget, either.”

He leans in close, his hand never leaving your face. You could feel his hot breath on your skin, his lips nearly brushing yours. 

“May I kiss you?” He whispers, polite as ever. He hovered close enough to your lips that he could lay one on you if he really wanted to. He at least had the courtesy to ask permission. You pull away briefly, contemplating whether or not allowing yourself the embrace would be worth it. But nothing was worse than the fear — what happens if I DON’T? 

You nod, but before you can open your mouth to say anything, his lips crash into yours. His warm mouth covers yours with a searing sweetness. You could feel the stubble on his chin rub against you.

A flurry of emotions caught in your chest. The cold caress of his palm on your face coupled with the warmth of his lips coalesced into a strange sensation, but you weren’t complaining. 

He lets out a soft purr as you purse your lips to return the same fervor, matching his passion. Your eyelids flutter closed as you lean deeper into the kiss. His other hand reaches behind you, splaying ever so gently on the curve of your back. His fingers languidly stroke your back. Without warning, you feel his tongue slither between your lips. You exclaim softly, feeling Remmick’s lips twist into a satisfied smirk as he delves his long, flat tongue deep into your mouth. 

It flicks at the back of your teeth, as if he were tasting your last meal. You let out a breathy, unprovoked moan as his tongue completely wraps around yours in a wet, slimy embrace. He chuckles, thrilled that you’re enjoying this, even a little bit. His hand that cupped your face shifts up into your hair. He takes hold of you gently, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. His fingers knot into your hair as he continues his relentless exploration of your mouth.

A tight, swelling warmth pools in your stomach. This man, this stranger - kissing you with a passion you hadn’t felt in so long, if ever. You were right about one thing. Men only want one thing, but maybe… just maybe, you did too. You allow your tongue to coil with his, melding together in a glorious harmony.

“Santaíonn mé thú…” Remmick whispers into your mouth in a language you’ve never heard before. His tongue hadn’t ceased moving along yours, saliva mixing together with a furious momentum. The hand caressing your back slides further down, nearly grazing your rear.

Your senses begin to come back to you, causing you to pull away - a strand of spit still connecting your lips. He looks at you, eyelids half shut, lips still pursed together.

“My sister and her husband will be home soon,” you say with a hush. He shoots you a look, his hands still gripping you. His lips curve into a devilish sneer.

“Thought you said your sister had a fiancé?” His grasp tightens in your hair. He gives a wicked chuckle that bellows deep from the confines of his throat. “‘sides, I ain’t worried. Your sister don’t live with ya. And she ain’t comin’, not tonight.”

A chill shivers down your spine. You were right again, Remmick could tell you were lying. 

He leans in close, his burning gaze paralyzing you.

“I’ve been watchin’ you for a while now, darlin’,” he growls. “You ain’t ever felt these eyes on you? Heard noises at night outside your window? That was me. Keepin’ ya company when no one else would.”

Panic swirls in your mind. You’d never felt his gaze before today. Not that you could recall. Was he just messing with you? Or was he actually watching you… waiting for the perfect moment to strike… when the loneliness of this empty house had finally caught up to you? 

“Don’t you worry, sweet thing,” he coos, his gaze and his grip softening. His hand trails back up and massages small circles on your back to put you at ease. “Ain’t gonna hurt ya. Don’t wanna hurt ya. I sensed how alone you were. Could sense the hurt in your soul. Thought maybe you needed someone. Needed me.”

His lips peck your cheek, planting a soft kiss. His lips travel further, kissing down to your slender neck. 

He remains there, perfectly still. You could feel him deeply inhale, breathing in your scent like a beast teasing its prey before the kill. Before you could react, his tongue juts out, licking your neck. You shudder as the slimy appendage leaves a trail of spit on your exposed neck. He sighs at the taste of your skin. 

“You know, I wanna thank you,” he mutters. His hot breath weighs heavy on your throat. “I want to thank you for letting me in. Thank you for indulgin’ me. Quenchin’ me.”

“Quenching you?” Your eyes dart to his full glass of water, the condensation nearly soaking the table it sat on. “B-but you didn’t even drink the water I gave you.”

He let out a dark, foreboding laugh. He met his eyes to yours, the blue color you recognized had been completely usurped by a reflective crimson. Your heart thuds ferociously beneath your breast as his grin grows wide, damn near ear to ear - but it was different this time. 

Instead of crooked, imperfect human teeth was a row of pointed, twisted canines. Fangs. 

His fangs glint in the candlelight, sharp and horrific. Saliva began forming from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down to his scruffy chin. Thick and viscous like a snake’s venom. 

“Aw, you sweet girl,” he takes a breath in, the clamp of his fingers in your hair and on your back growing tighter again. Constricting you and forcing you close against his body. So close you could feel something thick and warm twitching against your groin. Close enough to feel the faint, slow beat of his heart. “I don’t got a need for water, as kind as it was for you to bring it to me. My tastes are more refined. I can lie too darlin’, I am picky and I wasn’t runnin’ from anythin’… I was runnin’ to you.”

His lips meet your throat, fangs grazing delicately along your sensitive skin. You could feel his tongue slither down your neck like a mindless slug. You couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear. 

“I wanna taste you. Just a taste. I ain’t gonna bite too hard… not yet,” he mumbles into your flesh. A sharp prick digs into you before you even have a chance to protest or process what was happening. It doesn’t hurt, but it definitely stings. A warm drop of blood drizzles down your neck. Remmick’s tongue is quick to lap up your essence as it trickles out of your fresh puncture wound. He moans into your throat, hands still gripping onto you as if you’d vanish the second he lets go. “Mmm, like heaven.”

His face journeys upward, his nose sniffing you deeply as he kisses you. Tiny little pecks peppered up your neck, to your cheek, and all the way back home. His lips meet yours once again, the coppery taste of your own blood bitter on his tongue. 

Your mind races. Afraid, aroused - all at once.

He lied to you, he lied to get inside, betrayed your already fragile trust… and yet, the thrill is utterly insatiable. You were petrified but you didn’t want him to stop. The conflicting emotions subdue you, giving into the sweet surrender this monster, this man, was lulling you into. You couldn’t speak, could barely think straight. 

“God… you taste… exquisite,” Remmick licks his lips after leaving yours. He sniffs at the air, his nose working overtime as if tracking the scent of something stronger. Something even more delicious. His hand slides from your back and slides its way to your stomach leaving goosebumps in their wake. It splays wide, the length of his fingers enveloping your womb. “Mm. I wanna taste all of ya.”

With a sudden movement, Remmick scoops you up into his arms, cradling you tight against his chest. He picked you up as if you were weightless. His chin nuzzles your head as you sink into his arms. You don’t try to fight it. It’s not like you had much choice. 

This man that you let into your home was dangerous, you were right to be suspicious. Your intuition rarely fails you. You let your guard down and now you’re being whisked away, carried like a sack of potatoes in your own home. 

The worst part is… you didn’t hate it. In fact, you like it. 

“Which way to the bedroom, darlin’?” His voice a low, husky rasp. You knew exactly what he wanted, and if you didn’t give in, it’s likely something horrible was going to happen to you. A part of you wanted it too… desperately. 

You bite your lip, your body shuddering in his strong arms as you point in the direction of your bedroom. Right down the hall. The loneliest, darkest room in the house.

He strides towards it, not skipping a beat as he kicks the door open, no longer in need of an invitation. The musty smell of old furniture fills your nostrils as he places you gently on the bed. His red eyes shine faintly in the dark. Still hungry. Starved, even. 

“Stay put,” he says, exiting the room for a moment. Remmick’s brief moment of absence, this little moment of peace, left you feeling that empty pit in your stomach again. Perhaps you really were more lonely than you thought. More empty, more longing. It was a feeling you shoved deep down, in hopes that keeping to yourself and enjoying your own company was enough for you. 

But in reality, it wasn’t. 

You see two orbs of orange light bob down the hallway. Remmick, carrying two of the candles from the living room, makes his way back through the door. He sets one candle down on the left night stand, the other on the right. 

“I want you to see me,” he croons, kneeling down onto the bed. His lean, muscular frame canvases you as you decline further into the bed. His broad shoulders cast a mountainous shadow. The light of the candles prance around his features - his soft, wicked smile a ballet across his face. The light bounces off of the gold chain dangling helplessly from his neck. “I want you to see all of me. Every emotion on my face. Every drop of ya on my lips.” 

Your heart fluttered at the last sentence. He lowers his face down to you, mapping kisses along your cheeks, down to your neck where the puncture wound was still fresh. He kisses your wound delicately. 

His cold hand creeps underneath your blouse, navigating up to your sensitive breastd. You let out a surprised breath as his hand caresses the supple mound. His other hand lifts your shirt upward and over your head, revealing your naked torso. He inhales sharply as he soaks you in. 

“Faith and begorrah…” he mutters under his breath, his southern cadence cracking into something more foreign. Brogueish, if you had to guess. His hand is still clutching desperately at your breast, fingers kneading it gently. Drool trickles from his open mouth, his hand picking up the pace. He catches your rigid nipple between his fingers, pulling it forward. 

You let out a whimper, a pleasurable little sound, as he continues to play with your breast. The heat of the summer and the heat of your pleasure started to swelter, sweat causing your hair to stick to your forehead and your breath to develop into a pant. 

Remmick shoves his lips onto yours, his hand rhythmically circling the sensitive skin around your nipple. His other hand raises to your neck, gently wrapping around it to deepen the kiss. His tongue matches the beat of his hand, swirling around yours in a duet of pure bliss.

He inhales deeply again, his nose twitching. He smelled something on you. Something sweet. Something intoxicating. Something delicious. His lips leave yours, his hand not far behind. The strand of spit connecting your coupling breaks apart as he opens his mouth to speak. 

“You smell that?” he asks, his nose huffing the air like a hungry dog. His face travels down your body before finally reaching the apex of your thighs. He takes a mighty whiff again before letting out a sharp whine. “Ohhh, darlin’ you smell divine. You smell like nectar. Warm, exquisite nectar. A sweet honey the bees could only dream of producin’.”

Remmick’s fingers curl around the hem of your pants, pulling them down in one swift succession. His hand finds your panties - a pool of warmth already seeping through the thin layer of cotton. You feel a sense of shame thinking about how much you were enjoying this. His eyes widen as he traces a finger along the lines of your folds through the sopping fabric. 

“Mm. I knew I smelled somethin’ sweet,” he giggles, bringing his dampened finger to his mouth. His tongue wraps around the length of his digit, swirling around the coat of fluids. He moans, the taste of you washing a current of ecstasy over his face. “Ohhh. Wow. Even better than blood, baby. Heavens above, I need more. May I? May I taste you?”

You nod, your body quaking underneath him. Was this really happening? You could feel your cheeks burn hot with anticipation. 

His veined hand tears your panties away in one hurried motion. You let out a wince of surprise as he exposes your sex to the open air. He quickly lowers himself, his face eye-level with your lower half, eager to plunge himself into you. 

“I want you to look at me,” he demands. His hands possessively grip the outside of your thighs. His eyes blazing wildly in the light as he stares up at you. “Watch me, like I’ve watched you, sweet thing.”

When your eyes draw to him, his grin widens as he licks his lips. With no more hesitation, his mouth encloses around your cunt. A jolt of electricity hits your body as the warmth of his mouth encases you. His nose sat comfortably on your clit while his tongue playfully twists at your folds. You could hear him moan into you, tasting every inch of your tender entrance. His tongue pushes forward through the threshold, lapping up all of the juices that flowed from you. 

You shudder. No man has ever done this for you. No man has ever tried to make you feel this way before. It wasn’t a feeling you were used to but, by god, could you get used to it. You let out a moan of your own as he pushes onward, letting yourself fully succumb to the pleasure. 

Remmick’s grip on your thighs tighten, his nails digging red crescent shapes into your skin. His tongue dove as deep as possible into you, circling your walls with an intense dedication. His fangs tease the curve of your cunt, not enough to hurt but you could feel the sharpness graze you. 

You look at him, as he wished. His eyes were shut, mouth working over time solely to please you. You take the reins, reaching down to grab onto his messy dark hair. The greasy strands tangle around your fingers as you pull his face deeper into your heat, anchoring yourself to him. The two of you moan in tandem as you hold on for dear life. He shifts beneath you, digging his hips into the bed as he ground his sopping face against you, licking with all of the power he could muster. 

One hand slips from your thigh and onto your sensitive clit, rubbing delicate circles as he continues his feast. His tongue snaking faster into your walls, keeping up the pace of his thumb on your little bundle of nerves.

You could feel an intense, broiling heat swell deep in your groin. The pace of his thumb and his tongue rapidly increase along with the grind of his hips. The old bed creaks beneath the two of you. You could feel the warmth of his breath as he pants heavily against your entrance. 

“That’s it, baby,” he groans inside you, the tips of his fangs poking at your flesh as he speaks, his voice a low growl. He could feel your release coming, the way your walls fluttered against his tongue. “Sing for me.”

As if spurred on by his words, you feel the tension of your climax overwhelm you. An explosion of pleasure unleashes from you, your body spasming from the intensity. You scream as your walls clamp and contract around Remmick’s tongue. 

He lets out a triumphant grumble as his tongue wiggles furiously inside you, lapping up every drop of your essence as if it was his sustenance. The fuel for his undying fire. 

As your climax ebbs out, Remmick lifts his head, fixating his sights on you. His mouth, wet with your slick, hangs open. Your juices and his saliva dribble down his chin, licking his lips to savor the flavor. He slides two of his long fingers into your dripping, sensitive cunt. He brings his face up close to yours. 

“I want you to taste yourself,” he says, his fingers sliding in and out of you with a similar pace to his tongue. Your body ripples with delight, still recovering from your overwhelming climax. “Taste this delicacy.” 

He crashes his slathered face into yours, his tongue finding itself back home inside the pillowy warmth of your mouth. You have trouble describing the taste, but it was uniquely yours. You’ve never felt anything quite like that, not from any of your partners. No one else has made you feel like that. Remmick was different, really different. Eager to please.

Your heart pounds in your chest - but not from fear anymore. From pure, unmitigated pleasure.

The pace of his fingers falters before he fully removes them, the sloppy sound echoing in the room. You felt something heavier grinding at your groin. Remmick, still fully clothed but baked in sweat, grinds his hips against your quivering cunt. You could feel his pants grow tight against his body, constricting his throbbing girth. His pants are swiftly soaked with you as he continues to rub on you, slowly and meticulously. 

“Mm… feel that?” he moans into your mouth. “Do ya feel what you’re doing to me?”

He snatches your hand and cups it on his clothed length. You could feel it writhe in your grasp. It was big, bigger than you’re used to. You squeeze it, causing Remmick to let out a breathy groan. 

“Oh… le do thoil… let me free,” he rasps, his southern drawl once again breached by a melodic lilt, the heavy brogueish accent riddling his growling voice. You like how it rang in your ears, how desperate he sounded. You oblige him, his needy and wistful eyes piercing into yours as he watches you undo his belt with a metal CLICK.

In a rush to release his throbbing arousal from its clothed prison, he unzips himself. He pulls his pants down past his ankles and onto the floor, slipping his boots off in the process. He wasn’t wearing any undergarments. 

You could see it amidst the dark and unruly pubic hair - his weeping, twitching cock springing free, bobbing up and down. Thick, blue veins bulged on his thick shaft. The slit on his crown leaks, excited to meet you. Your mouth starts to salivate as you gawk at the massive girth before you.

He swiftly removes his shirt, only opting to keep the chain around his collarbone. His chest was bare, not a single hair or scar to be found other than a large cross tattoo etched into his left side. Ironic, you think to yourself. A sinning saint. 

He leans into you, his body looming on top of yours. His crimson eyes, glowing with desire, lock onto you. His mouth dangles open, sharp teeth peeking out. A thick strand of pearlescent drool trickles from the corner of his mouth. The sweat on his skin glistens in the candlelight. 

He maneuvers the head of his cock to your entrance. It twitches and leaks as it sits gently between your folds. He teases it against you, using your combined slick to rub it up and down, kissing your sensitive clit with every stroke. He bends his head down, his slimy drool dribbling carelessly onto your lips. 

In the heat of the moment, you stick your tongue out and lick the viscous slobber pooling onto your lips. Remmick lets out a surprised gasp. 

“God damn,” he mutters, a dumbstruck smile worming across his face. “Shit darlin’, you want some more?” 

With your eyelids half-lidded, gazing at him seductively, you open your mouth wide. He’s taken aback by this, but more than happy to fulfill your twisted desire. He puckers his lips and allows a controlled stream of saliva to cascade from his maw. The slow, painfully slow, drip of his thick spittle eventually finds its way onto your tongue. 

You swirl it around as it flows into your mouth. The taste is oddly sweet, combined with the taste of your own juices and a slight hint of coppery blood still lingering. It was warm, syrupy, and you hate to admit it, but you fucking loved it. 

He lets the last drops of his drool hang from his chin before wiping it off, only for you to grab his hand and lick the excess smear from his palm. You utter a soft moan, making sure you swallow every last morsel. He smiles a wide, sinful grin. His cock twitching even more violently against you.

“Christ,” he laughs, elated by your lewd gesture. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Ohhh I knew I liked you.”

He leans in for another open-mouthed kiss, mixing more of his saliva deep down your throat. His cock still nipping at your entrance, but not pushing forward. As if an invisible barrier stopped him from penetrating you.  

“Tell me I’m allowed in,” he whimpers into the kiss, sweat sprinkling onto you as the sticking heat of his forehead touches yours. “Invite me into you, baby. I need to hear you say it. You gotta let me in.”

This plea gives you the same sense of power you felt the first time he begged at your door. He wasn’t allowed to fuck you until you gave him the power to do so. He had permission to walk inside your house, permission to kiss and devour you, but fucking you was an entirely different boundary he needed access to. 

You let him linger there, staring up at him with doe-like eyes as he shudders and shakes. He breathes a heavy pant as he sits there idly, cock leaking on your folds. You feel it throb and writhe. He wanted this more than anything.

You remain silent. The silence was agonizing for him. Desperation painted on his face. Just waiting for you to give the word. He balls his fists and grips onto the sheets, anchoring himself to the bed. 

“Please baby, please don’t leave me hangin’ like this,” he whines, the despondent cry of his voice choked from his lips. His eyes began to water, starved by desire and longing. “You want me to beg again? You want me on my knees, prayin’ to the heavens? Prayin’ to you?  ’Cause I’ll do anything, sugar. Anything you want.”

He bites himself with his fangs, a trickle of his blood beginning to flow from his lower lip. He lets out tiny whimpers as he trembles above you, his cock impatiently yearning to claim you. His brows knit and his lips shape into a pout.

“Please, please, please,” he begs, his cock driving onto your clit, nowhere else for it to go. He rocks back and forth. His engorged head smooches your little bundle of nerves over and over as he incessantly repeats his begging, sounding more desperate by the syllable. He glides on your slick folds errantly. “Please, ohhh please. Please, please please. Please. Please. Pleeeeaaaase.”

His pathetic, needy whines awakened something in you. The thought of bringing a man to this state of desperation spurred on your own desire. His whines and whimpers, pleading just for you. The thrum of his cock against your sensitive nub marching onward. His damp crimson eyes flutter open and closed, tears starting to form on his eyelashes. You could feel both of your fluids mingling together as he leaks helplessly against your folds. You love every second of it.

Finally, you say it.

“Come on in.” 

Those three little words were all Remmick needed. He wipes away the desperate tears and looks down at you, smile growing wide enough that you could see the gleam of his mouthful of fangs in the warm candlelight. A fiery, emboldened glint flickers in his crimson eyes.  

He got exactly what he wanted, and now? He could enter you as many times as he pleased. There was no going back. And you were more than okay with that. 

With no further delay, he guides the head of his cock into your entrance. A quiet, staggered breath escapes your lips as the crown stretches you open. The gripping, wet heat welcomes him inside.

“Fuuuck,” Remmick moans, his voice a low grumble. His eyes roll back into his head as he slowly begins to drag his girth deeper. He stops for a moment once his cock is shallow in you - halfway inserted and yet the stretch of him was beyond your usual capacity. It twitches eagerly between the tight cushiony enclosure. Every vein and ripple caressing your insides. “You feel like home.”

He sheaths the rest of his arousal into your warmth with a single, powerful thrust. A hoarse cry escapes his throat once he completely buried himself to the hilt. Your soft, slick walls squeeze and flutter around him as you let out a squeal of your own. His girth fills you completely. Fills that emptiness in your core. It feels good. Real good. 

He remains still, taking in the heat of you around him. Taking in every inch of your body. The curve of your hips, the shape of your breasts. The way your eyes flirt with the candlelight. The sounds of pleasure squeaking from your lips. He commits it all to memory. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers. One hand taut around your thigh, the other reaching out to touch your face. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed and lips pursed. He pulls back ever so slightly only to smother his cock in you again. He splays his hand across your womb so you could see the bump of his cock buried deep inside you. “Ya see that? See how deep I am?”

The obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoes in the room when he begins to pick up his pace. His thrusts slamming waves of pleasure into you, the friction driving you further into a blissful abyss. 

Remmick drags his cock out to get a look at the fruits of his labor, his tip still hitched in your entrance. The shine of your juices coat his shaft. He grunts, almost inhuman, before snapping his hips back into you. 

A guttural noise escapes your throat. With every roll of his hips, brutal thrust after brutal thrust, you could feel the tension begin to spin deep within your body. Your steady moans in sync with his ceaseless rhythm. 

He pants heavily, tongue drooping from his mouth like a ravenous mutt. Drool continues to cascade from him. He lets it fall onto his pistoning cock, lubricating it even more as it continues plowing into you. You could see the immense pleasure plastered on his face - eyelids fluttering, jaw hung open, lips curved into an expression of pure, unbridled ecstasy. 

He lifts up your leg to push himself as deep as he could possibly go, this new position allowing him to plunge into that perfect hidden place inside you. The swollen head of his cock kisses your sweet spot with every swing of his hips, bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

Your chest tightens, heart rabbiting in your ribs. Your insides stretched and pulled. A burning, boiling heat brewing deep in your chest, rippling throughout your entire body. It coils in your groin, every nerve ending set alight and ready to burst. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Remmick hears you and slams into you harder. Faster. The intensity of him hitting your sweet spot, more and more, over and over, was unbearable. Your fingers clench onto the bedsheets. The headboard of the bed rocking into the wall with each roll of his hips. 

“Don’t fight it, sweet thing,” he coos, the relentless drag of his cock pushing you further and further over the edge. He circles his hips, making sure he hits every nook and cranny within you. “I wanna feel you squeezin’ ‘round me. I wanna feel you close in. Your body seizin’. Ohhh, I can feel it comin’. Come on, baby. Come on and come for me.”

In an instant, a rush of ecstasy flows through you. You let out a loud, gasping sob as your climax crashes into you like a tsunami. Your hips buck and wince. Your walls clamp around Remmick’s cock. He sits idle, his eyes watching your body seize around him, convulsing like a live wire. A devilish, satisfied sneer spreads across his face. He was loving this, but he wasn’t done with you yet. Not even a little bit. 

As your climax starts to dwindle, your body still involuntarily jerking, Remmick continues to drive his hips forward. The sounds were messy. Filthy. The wet, sloppy sounds of his skin slapping against yours, indulging in the mess you made, filled the air. 

His breath grows ragged, his chest heaving. He was close. You could feel it. 

“So warm… so wet… tá tú chomh tais… fuck,” he moans through gritted teeth, brogue accent and foreign words slipping out of his lips. His eyes roll back into his head again, his pace otherworldly fast, growing erratic and uncontrolled. Hitting your perfect spot hard enough to spur on another mini-climax of your own. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”

With a final, brutal thrust - he buries himself entirely, howling louder than a wolf, as he forces himself deep enough to reach your cervix. You feel an overwhelming heat flooding deep inside you. His cock pulsates and his hips buck, filling you to the brim with the molten flood of his passion. 

His body tremors, folding over you like origami. His head rests between your breasts. You could feel the wetness of his mouth as he moaned on your skin. Cock still sheathed, still pumping its thick essence into you. It leaks down your ass crack onto the sheets. It seemed endless. His cock continues pushing, instinctually prodding his seed even deeper. 

A sharp pain in your thighs causes you to wince. You peer down to see Remmick’s fingernails - once human and crescent-shaped, were now sharp. Ferocious. Monstrous. Digging deep enough to make you bleed. He gripped you tight, holding you in place to make sure not a single drop of him was wasted. 

“God… damn,” he murmurs, his face still planted in your chest, his breath heavy on your skin. “Holy shit, that was… god damn.”

He kisses your chest before lifting himself off of you. He noticed how deep his claws were digging into you. A look of surprise washes over his sweat-bleached face. He removes his claws - his fingers had grown long and gnarled, dripping with fresh blood. He sticks his bloody fingers in his mouth, tasting your divine essence, quietly moaning as he licks himself clean.

“I’m so sorry darlin’, didn’t realize what I was doin’ to ya. Got carried away. You’re just so… mm. Intoxicatin’,” he sighs, mouth still red with blood and moist with saliva. 

You hear the wet sound of his still-erect girth slithering out of you with a squelching snap. You could feel the excess releases seep out of you, warm against your skin. 

He climbs his way closer to you on all fours until he straddles your chest with his chiseled thighs. His aching, dripping cock twitching over your naked body, leaving a trail of your combined fluids in its wake. 

”Open wide for me, sweet thing.” He nudges the drenched tip of his cock to your lips. The salty mess smears a thin, slimy layer on your mouth. His slender claws tangle in your hair. “Go on and clean me up now.”

Delirious, you follow his directions and open your mouth, your tongue laying flat on the tip. He bares a toothy grin, slowly pushing himself into the warmth of your mouth. He lets out a soft moan as he feels the wet embrace of your tongue wrap around him.

“I’d say watch the teeth, but… well, that’d make me a hypocrite wouldn’t it?” he chuckles, shoving himself deeper until you could feel him teasing the back end of your tongue, a drawn out rasp ripping through his throat. He holds you in place, sharp tendons clawing at your scalp. 

You taste the bitter, savory flavor of your combined excretions as he ruts his cock back and forth on your tongue, slathering it deeper. His cock continues to twitch and throb with each thrust. You could feel every ripple, vein and texture of his skin on your tongue as it glided itself in and out of you effortlessly. 

“Mm. Fuck. I wanna feel my cock in your throat,” he growls, his pace increasing and the grip on your hair tightening, animalistic urges overtaking him. His voice became harsh and cruel, like gravel underneath a steel-toed boot. You look up at him with watering eyes, streams of saliva dribbling down your chin. His red eyes sear back into you with a needy and insatiable glow. “I wanna feel your pretty little throat constrictin‘ me.”

With a sudden movement, he thrust himself deep down your throat. You gag the moment the crown of his cock hammers into the back of your esophagus. A surplus of spit leaks out of the corners of your stretched mouth, coating his balls with a frothy sheen. All you could do is breathe out of your nose and wait for it to end.

He stalls there briefly. Completely still besides his quivering cock. It trembles wildly against your tongue. His claws tighten in your hair, keeping you trapped close to him - your nose squashed against his pelvis. His girth damn near choking you to death.

“Ohhh, fuck, you fit me like a glove. My sweet, filthy girl,” Remmick croaks. He begins to rock his hips slowly at first, each thrust touching the very depths of your throat.  “It’s like you were made for me.”

Your mind starts to blur, the intensity of his strokes making you dizzy with lust and lack of proper oxygen. The corners of your vision grow dark as you swallow him whole.

“Just like that,” he snarls, losing himself with every deep stroke of his cock. Your throat expands and massages him as he smothers himself in you. Your mouth wrapped taut around his length, breath coming in hot, quick puffs against his skin. “Juuust like that, sweetheart.”

His hips continue to rock, a little bit faster with every roll, your moans and muffled sounds reverberating along his shaft. Puddles of your saliva pool onto your skin and down to your breasts. His sounds of pure euphoria were all you could hear amidst the wet sounds of his cock slamming into you and his balls smacking your chin with every stroke.

“We taste good together, don’t we?” He moans. You feel his cock twitch and squirm on your tongue, the swollen crown leaking salty precum down your throat, ready to explode at any moment. His claws tighten their grip in your hair, keeping you steady against his gyrating groin. 

With a thunderous, beastial roar, he heaves himself deep into your mouth one final time - the pulsing head of his cock spewing thick, hot waves of his desire down your throat. His body shudders as he holds you close against his hips. You feel the never-ending eruption pulsating and painting your throat a shade of white. 

As if nature itself told you to, you swallow down his release, swirling your tongue around him as he continues pumping his essence into you. He lets out a squealing moan as you work your magic, cupping and massaging his balls with your hand, coaxing every last drop out of him. Frothy saliva oozing out of your mouth - snot bubbling from your nose as you struggle to breathe through it. You feel the thrashing of his cock slow down, his own breath steadying.

His grip on you finally loosens. He slowly pulls himself out of you, inch by excruciating inch, until the swollen head of his cock escapes your lips with a loud pop. You cough and gasp for air before one last weak spurt of his pearly white passion pumps onto your face. The warm, salty taste of it coats your lips. 

“Oops,” he chuckles, clawed fingers pressed to his mouth, a playful smile hiding behind it. He bends down until his face is eye level with yours, one hand still clutching your hair - much more softly now. 

His tongue presses flat on your lips, lapping up the light layer of his own release, moaning as it glides between them. He weasels his way back into the warmth of your mouth, pushing and swirling his remaining spillage onto your tongue and down your raw throat. 

You could feel the twisted fingers of his free hand reach back down to your dripping heat, cupping it gently. One finger presses onto the swollen nub of your clit, rubbing small circles until a familiar jolt of electricity surges through your body. The claws retract so they wouldn’t scrape you too harshly. 

“Mmm, darlin’,” he mumbles into your mouth, his finger still tracing sensual rings on your devil’s doorbell. He pulls his face away from you, a strand of spit still connected on your bottom lip.

His hand frees your hair from its grasp before slowly and intimately grabbing hold of your hand. He keeps it there for a moment, interlocking your fingers together. His hand is large, even larger with the gangly claws. He sighs longingly. A sweet, soothing sound after the chaos he just put you through. 

“Darlin’… oh, you sweet, sweet girl,” he coos, his eyes meeting yours. The harsh red tint glowing in the candlelight, searing deep into your soul. He looked like he wanted to kiss you again. Instead, he places your hand on his still-throbbing length. It’s still hard, still aching for your touch. “I know how bad you been wantin’ this. Almost as bad as me.”

One hand wraps around yours, guiding you up and down his length. It dribbles more precum, allowing your entangled hands to slide smoothly around the throbbing shaft. The other hand continuously presses your button, two fingers slipping in and out of your slick entrance. Your body tingles from the dual sensations.

“I know how you been hurt," he whispers, his grip around your hand tightening as he jerks himself with your palm. “I know how many sleepless, lonely nights you been dreamin’ of someone there with ya. Nights where you pleasure yourself, all by your lonesome. But you weren’t alone - not really. I was there, outside, waitin’. Waitin’ for the perfect night.”

Your hips buck in tandem, waves of pleasure uniting the two of you. His cock twitches in your grip, the friction from your movements causing his breath to catch in his throat. The rubbing on your clit and fingers in your depths picking up speed. His words are a blur as your focus narrows onto the way you’re feeling in the moment. The feeling of pure, unmatched ecstasy - the heights of which you’ve never climbed before.

“Waitin’ for the perfect night where your loneliness was at its worst,” he groans, feeling his climax building with every stroke of your hand on him. “Ohhh, I been waitin’ ever so patiently for you. I’ve dreamt of ya. I could sense your achin’ heart, sweet thing. Your achin’ cunt. I know you were dreamin’ of me too.”

Drool drips from the corner of his lips as he speaks. Your mind in a haze of lust, the unbearable intensity of pleasure consuming your every thought. Maybe you have dreamt this stranger before. His glowing, red eyes lurking in the shadows of your brain. His sharp, hungry smile just itching to sink into your memories. Haunting you from the inside-out. Deadly desire that woke you up, soaking and aching. Aching for him. 

Maybe he was always there in the back of your mind, and now? He’s here with you. In your bed, by your side. His cock in your hand. You always knew, deep down, that you wanted something like this, but never allowed yourself to let it in. Until now. 

“Achin’ for someone like me,” Remmick continues, his breath faltering. He releases his hand from yours, allowing you to tug on him at your own pace. His tongue lolls from his mouth, the coupled pleasure at the mercy of each other’s hands bringing you both to the brink of another release. “I’m here now, darlin’. I’m here to give you the lovin’ you deserve. Make ya feel whole. Make ya feel complete. Loved.”

With one last buck of his hips, another round of hot release spills onto you. It pumps into your hand. Warm, sticky seed drenching your fingers and your breasts, splattering on them like paint on a blank canvas. He plunges his fingers deep into you, adding a third and hitting that sweet spot hard enough to make you surge upward. Your own climax sweeps over you. You writhe and convulse on his spindly digits, feeling the gush of your fluids careening onto the sheets. Both of your mouths gape open, synchronized moans flooding the room. His fingers slip out of you as both of your orgasms fizzle out. 

The room reeked like sweat, sex, and the faint earthy scent of the burning candles. His hand cups your cheek, lightly petting you with his thumb. He twists your head to the side, showing him your slender neck - open, tantalizing, irresistible. Blood pumping through your veins with the thud of your heart. 

“Grá mo chroí… love of my heart,” he purrs, voice low and sultry. “You ain’t my long lost love, no, but… oh, you make me feel the same way. Make me feel things I ain’t felt since I was human.”

“What… are you, exactly?” you weakly pant, your glazed-over eyes gazing desperately into his. Your body trembles a bit. You already know the answer but you want to hear him say it.

“I told ya, sweet thing,” he laughs, baring his fangs at you. The candlelight only serves to make them look sharper, even more dangerous. And yet? You weren’t scared of him. Not entirely. “I’m a fuckin’ monster, baby. A creature of the night. A creature of desire, a cold-blooded killer. Blood-hungry beast. That book you were readin’? Well, consider it research.”

In a single, swift movement, he flips you onto your hands and knees. He shoves your head down into the pillow, arching your back and presenting your ass like a freshly cooked meal. The surprise of the sudden shift startles you, causing you to stumble - but he catches you. His hands wrap around your stomach, holding you close to him. 

You could feel his hips pressing up against you. His still-hard, still-weeping cock twitching against the meat of your flushed backside. The ridges of his girth rolled against you, smearing his leaking head all over your ass. 

“The things you do to me, darlin’,” he whispers, sweet words pouring into your ears like honey. “Never felt a cunt so perfect in my life.”

He maneuvers the head of his cock towards your glistening folds. It nudged insistently - prodding you, begging to be welcomed back and embraced into your gripping heat. His other hand sits firmly on your ass, the claws digging into your flesh as he teases you - gliding his engorged crown across your glistening folds with ease and precision. 

“I don’t need an invite anymore,” he rumbles, his voice low and coarse. You feel him pumping his cock with his hand - it brushes against your entrance with every movement of his fist. The slick head helplessly sobbing. “I can come in… anytime I want. Your home, your mind, your mouth, your perfect cunt. You’re mine now, sugar. All of ya. And I don’t think you mind one bit, do ya?”

His hips buck, plunging the head of his cock into you. You let out a gasp as he slides the rest of him as deep as possible, sheathing himself to the hilt. Your body adapted so easily to his size. It molded itself to him, gripping him like a vice that didn’t want to let go. Holding onto him like he was always meant to be there.

“Aw, look at ya,” he jeers, pulling himself all the way out of you. “Look at her. I leave her for one second and she’s already quiverin’ for more.” 

Was he… talking about your pussy? Your hazy mind thought for a moment, only to be overtaken by a searing pleasure when he slams himself back into you with a wicked snap of his hips. A guttural noise escapes your throat as he continues this teasing motion.

All the way out. All the way in.

Out.

In.

The rhythmic rolling of his hips punctuated by obscene smacking sounds. His claws grip onto your ass, pulling you into him with every deep thrust. You didn’t mind the pain anymore - the pleasure was all-consuming, encompassing your entire being with electric energy.

You were under his spell. 

“Mm, that's a good girl,” he coos. Drool continues to drip from his mouth, falling carelessly onto your bare cheeks. He wipes it off and smears it onto his cock for additional lubricant, not like he needed it. His praise and his drool only amplifies the pleasure he was already pumping you with. You couldn’t remember the last time someone praised you. “Takin’ me so good. Takin’ me so deep.”

One hand detaches from your reddened ass and tangles itself in your hair. He pulls your head from the pillows, arching your back even further. A choked groan escapes from your lips as his thrusts only grow more rapid, slamming deeper into you. You could feel the head of his cock kissing your cervix, nearly deep enough to break through the sensitive barrier and into your womb. 

The tension in your loins begins building again. Sweat pouring from both of your pores as he relentlessly fucks into you, the smack of his balls on your clit only ramping up the heat broiling in your core. Moans and filthy sounds of coupling flesh flooded the room. 

“Say my name, baby,” he leans into you, his voice a gentle whisper. He flicks his tongue out, licking the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Scream it to the heavens when you come undone. I know it’ll sound real pretty comin’ outta yer lips.” 

“R-Remmick,” you whimper. He thrusts into you - HARD. The sudden, powerful motion makes you hiss out of clenched teeth.

“Pretty, but you can do better,”  he demands, the grip on your hair and ass tightening. “Louder.” 

“Remmick,” you moan, almost teasingly. Another brutal thrust. 

“I said louder,” his voice shifting to a hoarse growl. He puts his mouth to your neck, his fangs making contact with your skin. If you don’t scream his name, he was going to rip your fucking throat out. “Louder or I’m gonna shred this pretty little neck of yours to pieces. Gonna drink my fill of you. Drain ya dry. Make ya scream my name one way or another.”

The pressure rose to unparalleled heights. He continues relentlessly pounding into you as hard as he could without completely splitting you apart. His fangs poke at your neck, raking against you as he moves. His hot, broken breath puffing onto your skin. Tongue pressing flat against you. 

You could feel his mouth start to close in, sharp teeth ready to rip you open. Shivers spark down your spine. There was a chance he was bluffing, teasing you into submission, but you weren’t willing to take that risk. 

Your body tenses, tingling with that familiar sensation. You feel your walls close in, squeezing his cock as it rams into you with no sign of stopping. He unclaws his hand from your ass and slides it down to your clit. His gnarled finger twirling rigorously around your swollen nub.

The pain of his claws poking at your sensitive nerves and his fangs fixed at your throat paired deliciously with the pleasure of the drawn out circles being drawn on your clit and his cock furiously driving deeper and deeper into your sweet spot. It’s unbearable. It’s searing. It’s fucking bliss.

In the heat of the moment, when the tension swells to its highest possible peak, your floodgate bursts open.

“REMMICK!” 

A mischievous smile stretches across his face against your throat at the cry of his name out of your lips. Bursts of color and light flash in your eyes as your entire body convulses on him. A powerful gush of arousal rushes out of you, coating Remmick and the already soaked sheets below in a glossy, sopping wave of relief.

“Ohhhh, fuck yes, sweet thing,” he rasps, leaning back from your neck, holding himself steady inside you. He watches as your release completely unravels you, taking in the beauty of the rapture he unleashed. He absolutely loved watching you wriggle and writhe underneath him. He slowly pulls his cock out just enough to see how drenched you left him. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Like music to my ears, baby.”

He hilts himself back into your spasming warmth, the sloppy squelch as he reimmersed himself tears a breathless moan from his heaving chest. Both of his hands mindlessly slide back to your hips, pulling you tight against his pelvis. The swollen head of his cock twitches against your battered cervix, as if begging to push past it. 

“You’re mine, now, sugar,” he rumbles, punctuating his words with every deep, passionate roll of his hips. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you go. Gonna visit you every time you’re feelin’ lonely. Every time you’re scared. Gonna keep you close to me, darlin’. Ain’t—ever—gonna—let—you—go.”

The movement of his hips grows erratic, uncontrollably plunging into your still-fluttering depths with animalistic abandon. The sound of his rasping moans mingle with the wet, obscene sounds of his thrusts. 

You’re still dizzy from the throes of your multiple climaxes. Your face flops back into the pillows, eyes glazed-over and drool all over your face. Usually, the only person who could do that to you was yourself. Your own hands, your own tools. Rarely ever has a man been gracious enough to send you into such a euphoric state of bliss - let alone more than once in a single night. 

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, ya know that?” He says through ragged breaths, his own climax gearing up. His voice shifts back and forth between that southern drawl and melodic lilt. “Perfect. Perfect body. Perfect face. Perfect… so perfect. Tá tú ar foirfe. Perfect.”

He pulls out of you almost entirely before hilting his entire length into you one last time. He lets out a deep, bellowing roar of pleasure as his cock throbs violently within your core. His entire body shakes and shudders above you. His claws hook deep into your skin. 

You were enraptured, captivated by the way his body tremors against you. The way his moans fill your ears like a symphony, a song meant to serenade only you. The way the scalding splatter of his release floods every ridge, every crook of your depths. His cock pumps endlessly, stirring his seed as deep as he could with every weak jerk of his hips. You feel as if your belly is swelling with how much of his thick essence spills into you. 

When the aftershocks of his climax finally begin to fade, he collapses onto you. He releases his grip on your flushed ass and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you down onto the sheets with him, laying you down on your side. His softening cock still buried in you, plugging you up so none of his pearly white proof of passion would dare to escape.

He nuzzles into the nape of your neck. His sweat-soaked forehead rubbing gently on the back of your head. Soft purrs of satisfaction slip through his closed, smiling mouth. 

He starts leaving gentle trails of kisses along your neck, stopping at the knicks he left with his fangs. He kisses them even softer, apologizing for the damage he inflicted on you. 

“I could get used to this,” he sighs. His arms caressing your naked body as the two of you lie side by side, still conjoined at the groin. His hot breath brushes against your shoulders.

“Me too,” you hum. You turn your neck to face him, gazing longingly into his crimson eyes. This sets his undead heart aflutter. You feel it beat gently beneath his chest. Your own heart thuds wildly against your rib cage.

The quiet was palpable for a moment. The chaos of your coupling had finally settled. The candles continue their dance around the room, illuminating the curves of your entwined bodies.  

“You mean it?” He murmurs. A soft smile melts onto his face, eyes twinkling with awe. He sounds stunned by your words. Surprised that you’d reciprocate. “You really mean it, darlin’?”

“Remmick,” you start, fully twisting your body to face him, careful not to let his softened cock slip out of you. His arms are still wrapped around you in a warm embrace, eagerly waiting to hear what you were going to say. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. I’ll be honest… you terrified me at first. You terrified me every time you had your fangs in my throat. But I don’t know... it… it thrilled me. I liked the danger. I’ve spent so long cooped up alone to protect my peace that I started to miss spending time with another person... thank you.”

He looks at you, a shimmer of what you could only describe as longing glistening in his eyes. His wide, crooked smile radiates a sense of comfort. Despite the danger, the fear he caused you, you feel safe in his arms.

“Oh, sugar,” he whispers, one hand freeing itself from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb lovingly brushes over your lips as he stares deep into your eyes. “How sweet of ya. I do apologize for frightenin’ ya. It’s in my nature, y’know. But… oh, it warms my cold dead heart to hear that comin’ from you. Thank you.” 

He captures your lips in a searing, passionate kiss before reluctantly sliding himself out of you. You feel his absence instantly, already missing the way his rigid girth perfectly squeezes into your walls. The remains of his essence drip down onto the drenched sheets. 

“I should get goin’, the sun’ll be up in a few ticks,” Remmick sighs with a hint of uncertainty. He didn’t seem to want to leave your side, but he starts to unhook himself from your waist in an effort to get up. You grab his retreating arm before he can completely let go.

“Stay. Please,” you beg. You caress his arm, soft hands kneading small circles across his skin. He studies your face with wistful, misty eyes. He didn’t want to leave, even if he felt like some kind of invisible force was pressuring him to. As if nature itself called for him to scurry off into the night and hide from the dawning sun. “I have a cellar you can stay in. No windows, so light won’t touch you. There’s even a little cot in there for you to sleep on… big enough for two.” 

Silence permeates the room between you. That emptiness you felt, the lonely feeling you tried so hard to shove deep down, vanishes with his touch. It disappears with him by your side. 

You didn’t care that he was a monster. You saw past that. He brought you back from the depths of isolation, and you knew, in your heart, you did the same for him. 

“Ohh, darlin’, I’d love to, I really would, b-but,” he stammers, desperately trying to fight against nature pulling him away from you. “I still gotta feed before the sun comes up, can’t go to bed on an empty stomach. I’ll be back tomorrow night, I promise. I promise you I will. Cross my heart and hope to die. No more lyin’.”

You gaze at Remmick as he slowly lifts himself from the bed. He picks his clothes up from the floor and starts to dress himself, his eyes refusing to leave you, as if he wanted to commit every ridge of your face to memory in case he’d never see you again. As if your body was a beautiful, one-of-a-kind painting that he wanted to soak in for hours.

He ties up his boots and zips his pants back up, fully prepared to head back out into the fray of the night. Before he finishes fixing his suspenders, you climb to the foot of the bed and reach for his hand.

You interlock your fingers with his. The gentle thrum of your heartbeat pulsing underneath your ribs. You slowly tilt your head, presenting your neck to him. His eyes widen with surprise and his mouth starts to salivate. He quietly descends, kneeling down to face you. He presses his lips against your supple flesh. Instead of sinking his fangs into you, he simply peppers your throat with delicate little kisses.

“No,” Remmick whispers into the crook of your neck. “Not tonight, sweet thing. When I drink from you, I wanna make it special. I don’t wanna turn ya on our first meetin’ like this, as much as I’d love to. It just don’t feel right.”

Despite saying he wouldn’t bite you, he takes your finger to his mouth and pricks it on his fangs ever so slightly. He puts your finger between his lips, suckling on the tiny droplets of blood that trickle from the small puncture. He lets out a broken moan from the flavor of your sweet scarlet nectar before releasing your finger, wet with his saliva. His eyes glow a blazing red, the fires of his feral hunger stoked from the mere taste of you. 

“Exquisite, simply exquisite,” he gently strokes your face with his calloused hand. “I swear to you, darlin’, I’ll be back tomorrow. And even though I don’t need it anymore, I’ll still beg for ya to let me in. I’ll beg like it’s the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on a beauty like you.”

With that, Remmick plants one long, tender kiss on your lips. He holds your head in both of his hands, pushing his mouth closer into the intimate embrace. He pulls away slowly, his eyes burning into yours. A touch of sorrow gleams in his crimson gaze. His hand takes yours to guide you out of the room with him.

The two of you make your way down the dark hallway. The darkness starts to embrace you, knowing that once he walks out that door, its over-encompassing reach will consume you as it always does. Your heart sinks to your stomach at the thought. 

Remmick stands at the door, his free hand twisting the knob. You take a good look around your living room. Your private little space, your personal sanctuary. Your tea and his untouched glass of water completely soaked your coasters with their condensation. Your book sitting idle in the same position Remmick left it. The candles had burnt nearly down to the holster, the dying flames petering out, their dance coming to an end. 

The night air is still humid, but a crisp breeze wafts through the opening door. Remmick stands still for a moment. His clammy hand is still firmly, possessively gripping onto yours, afraid to let go. 

He turns to you, hungry eyes gazing into yours. His hand slowly starts to release from your grasp, pulling your heart along with it. The stars twinkle dimly in the sky behind him. The crickets chirp, the nocturnal animals chitter and howl, and your old house… your old, soon-to-be-empty house creaks and groans as it always has. As it always will. 

“Until tomorrow?” 

“Until tomorrow.”

Remmick walks back out into the night, his body fully enveloped by the darkness. He leaves you, for now. But he left with a promise, something no man has ever followed through with. You were confident that this time, this man - this vampire - would come back. Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow. You’ll see him again tomorrow. 

translations provided by both google and @fuckoffbard ------------------------------- Santaíonn mé thú - I want you Faith and begorrah - by god / expression of surprise le do thoil - please / "with your will" tá tú chomh tais - you're so wet for me Grá mo chroí - love of my heart Tá tú ar foirfe - you are perfect