#How To Keep Dry Ice Last Longer

[deunmiu-dessie]

a paralysis demon plays with you at night, this time you're finally awake to see it.

you're not sure how it started. just that one day it did.

you'd wake up with sticky inner thighs and ruined sheets; the familiar pulsing of your clit, begging for attention almost overwhelming, and your muscles ached as if you had run a marathon the day before. tentatively you'd dip your hand into your panties, nimble fingers finding the hood of your engorged clit, eyebrows pulling together at the almost painful feeling it brought; then they'd drift lower, immediately sinking into creamy, wetness that pooled from your entrance and smeared your labia.

this perverse ritual had become your waking nightmare, weeks upon weeks of waking up to ruined panties and an insatiable hunger that couldn't be sated alone. frustration and tears intertwine, as your lithe fingers desperately caress and coax your clit but to no avail. it'd leave you cranky most days and unapproachable the rest.

what the hell was happening? at first, you believed it to be mere wet dreams, lost in the recesses of your mind. but the inability to find release, even with your touch or the mechanical hum of a vibrator, defied all reason. your sanity teetered on the edge, the constant ache and unrelenting wetness between your thighs, the demands of university, and the grueling hours at the fast-paced coffee shop on campus only exacerbate your torment.

breathe; you had told yourself. you just needed a day to sleep, in order to get back into the groove of your usual hectic life. and so, you make the decision to abandon your responsibilities, forsaking work and classes, seeking solace within the confines of your bed.

but that day you saw it.

as the night grew later, you found yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, struggling to keep your eyes open, you clung to the last shreds of wakefulness, determined to finish the movie that had lured you in with its promises of thrills and chills. the laptop, perched on your chest, emitted a faint glow, casting eerie shadows across the room. but despite your best efforts, the battle was futile. with a heavy sigh, you surrendered, closing the laptop and setting it aside.

that should've been it, you should have gone to sleep and woken up the next morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, no longer raging and horny, stressed and tired— just your normal self. yet, as if possessed by an unseen force, your eyes snap open, jolting your mind from the peaceful slumber you had so eagerly embraced, but not your body.

the room was cloaked in darkness, save for the feeble glow of a night light by the door. the time couldn't have been later than two in the morning, leaving you with ample hours until you needed to start getting ready for the day…so why were you up?

grunting you attempt to reach across to your desk and grab your water bottle, your throat suddenly dry and scratchy. but you couldn't move. in fact, your whole body felt numb, as if you'd been submerged in an ice-cold lake. you could feel the hair on your arms standing on end, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage, desperate to escape from your chest and out the window just above your bed. frantic, your eyes darted around your room, flitting over the darkened corners and further on before subconsciously gazing upwards. it gazed back at you.

it was inky black, as if a void had materialized on your ceiling. barren of any discernible features, a foreboding presence emanated from it, sending chills down your spine. its limbs, neck, and torso twisted unnaturally, giving it a grotesque and elongated appearance. tears welled up in your eyes upon witnessing it, and you attempted to scream, only to find your mouth was sealed as if stitched with needle and thread.

the creature descended from above with erratic movements, settling above your figure and menacingly bringing its face closer to yours. this couldn't be happening, it must be a dream and in a desperate attempt to escape, you tightly shut your eyes and began counting backward from ten, gasping for air with each haggard breath.

however, a phantom graze on your thigh startles your eyes open. the creature was still there, its taloned, inky black hand slowly trailing along your clammy skin. even without a face, you could feel its gaze upon you, sinister and scheming. swallowing thickly, goosebumps follow in the wake of its touch, like tiny flames igniting your skin.

and almost as if accustomed to its advances, your body ignites with a dizzying heat, pussy weeping and your clit throbbing eagerly, readily despite your heart skipping and restarting all in one second with fear. its touch is tantalizing and deliberate, momentarily vanishing underneath your oversized night-shirt before returning to the heat of your thighs, talons pricking your flesh.

the creature's game finally comes to an end as it finds your fattened clit, which eagerly presses against the fabric of your panties, craving any form of touch. its assault is steady but firm and the touch immediately sets you off. your body, needy from weeks of being unable to orgasm, finally reaches its limit. you can feel the knot tightening in your tummy, a sharp, zinging pain in your lower abdomen, and the tensing of your thighs.

however, just as you approach your climax, the creature abruptly stops, shifting its touch to your slick inner thighs, face pressing closer to yours, leering and mocking. without the constant stimulation, your orgasm subsides, leaving you with a throbbing ache in your hips, cunt drooling with your arousal profusely.

your eyebrows cinch together, tears staining your cheeks before you're hit with a realization. the constant feeling of never being satisfied and not being able to cum, was because of this…creature.

its pitch-black visage suddenly splits into a sinister grin, revealing rows of serrated teeth gleaming with viscid, thick saliva. its voice is otherwordly deep, it's guttural, and raspy; fingers returning deftly to your clit to rub circles. "do you remember now?"

[gumified]

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better. 

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.” 

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him. 

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."  

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name." 

"Does that mean you'll help me?" 

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal." 

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured. 

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?" 

"And I'm willing to pay that price." 

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice. 

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you. 

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him. 

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept." 

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth. 

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you. 

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you. 

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants. 

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.” 

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting. 

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.” 

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit. 

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.” 

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.” 

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused. 

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks. 

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision. 

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” 

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive. 

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face. 

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag. 

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you. 

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.” 

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely. 

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure. 

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body. 

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive. 

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory. 

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

[writingunderneathawillow]

tequila's fault (bucky barnes x reader)

- a hangxiety episode during which bucky can barely meet your eye content warnings: hangover (+ implied drinking), emetophobia tw, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, painkillers mentioned  word count: 2k a/n: i saw on tiktok that ai tends to use “-“ a lot so i just wanna make sure to say that it’s actually my thing :( i just don’t want people to think that this is written with ai :(

Your throat was as dry as sandpaper when you woke up, your tongue heavy with dehydration and regret.  The light hurt before you even open your eyes, so you decided to keep them closed a little longer, keep the embarrassment at bay for as long as possible before having to let yourself be confronted with the consequences of alcohol induced ideas.

Fatigue crawled through your entire body despite the ten hours of sleep – which, as you suddenly realised, hadn’t been fully uninterrupted.  Two hours after Bucky had managed to get you into your bed, with soft whispers and promises that he’d stay until you fell asleep, you had woken up in a cold sweat, strands of hair sticking to your forehead.  Within seconds you had still managed to dart for the ensuite, only somewhat registering the warmth of a body in your bed, before your stomach contents – mostly liquid – ended up in the toilet.  You don’t remember how you made it back to the bed, but you do recall two hands. One cold as ice and the other warm as… Bucky.  Holding back your hair, rubbing soothing circles on your back, apparently not bothered by the sweat soaking your shirt. Well, his shirt. 

Within the softness of your duvet, you feel a spark of bravery, just a tiny flame of it, which encouraged you to reach out to the other side of the bed. There you found a cool blanket, folded and draped neatly over your mattress.  A heavy sigh escaped your lips, and you finally dared to open your eyes, dreading the disappointment that would surely crack your heart in hundreds of pieces once you took in the abandoned side of the bed. Bucky had never promised to be there when you woke up, but you had wished he would.  However, once your sight had adjusted to the brightness in your room, you had to come to terms with the fact that things rarely went the way you wanted. You didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Sure, you had a roof over your head, a stable job and a best friend that would die for you, even if you really didn’t want him to do any of the sorts. But your hunger for happiness wasn’t stilled. Best friend was not what you wanted to call him.  After a few more minutes of drowning in self-pity and misery, you found it within yourself to get up and at least fix yourself up a little. Before slipping out of bed, you registered the water bottle and a pack of painkillers resting on your nightstand, a post it note on it declaring: “drink up – b”. After following the simple instruction, you managed to rid yourself of your blanket and leave the sweet comfort of your bed.  Your bathroom window was opened and it smelt faintly of cleaning products – a theoretically lovely sentiment but it made you want to jump out of said window at the idea of Bucky cleaning up your mess.  For a few desperate seconds your fingers rested against the frame, wondering if you could escape through there instead of facing Bucky.  If he was even still there. Why were you so sure that he was?  You shook your head as if to get rid of the thoughts, regretting the movement instantly as it worsened your already pounding headache. Slowly, you grabbed your toothbrush, held it under water and then applied some toothpaste.  In your tiredness, you sat down on the edge of the bathtub and scrubbed your teeth until your gums hurt.  Only once you washed your face, you caught a proper glimpse of yourself and cringed a little. Deep undereye circles, ashy skin and a little bit of leftover makeup met you in the mirror, and to your surprise, one of your own shirts. Wrecking your brain to piece together the events of the last night in proper order, you distinctly remember Bucky pulling one of his shirts over your heated body before you went to bed (the first time). Then the bathroom incident. Then, a faint memory post throwing up, where Bucky – who had looked at you like a kicked puppy – exchanged your/his thoroughly sweated through shirt with a new one from your own supply. While nervously fumbling with its hem, you made your way into the kitchen. You heard him before you saw him. The soft shuffling of his feet over your floorboards, the squeak of your faucet and then the sound of him sinking into a chair. The smell of coffee made the world seem a little brighter, despite the lingering queasiness in your stomach, and you stepped in through the door.  “Morning.” Your voice was hoarse and came out quieter than you had intended but Bucky heard you nonetheless. You saw it in the way his shoulders tensed up and the slight cock of his head. Despite the motion, he didn’t look up at you as you passed him. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to his newspaper. “Morning,” he replied, intensely starring at the words in front of him. Your eyes lingered on him for a few seconds and a certain heaviness placed itself onto your chest. If there was one thing Bucky absolutely excelled in, it was eye contact. The lack of it put the fear of God in you, because now you were sure you must have truly upset him.  While figuring out a game plan to earn his forgiveness – whatever for, you weren’t sure – you brewed a cup of coffee and added a splash of milk. As you were attempting to come up with a way to break up the heavy quiet, Bucky cleared his throat and took the burden upon himself.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was different, thick with something you couldn’t quite place and weighed down as if talking to you was physically exhausting. The newspaper covered most of his face and you wished to rip it away from him. You looked at him, breathless despite doing nothing, before you caught yourself and replied: “Good.”

He hummed a noncommittal sound and moved on to the next page. The air was thick with things left unsaid, decisions regretted and you really wished you could remember whatever you had done to upset him. Your focus remained on Bucky, while you chewed on your lower lip in an attempt to soothe yourself.  After a few moments of silence, broken up by the occasional bristling of a page turning, you collected all the courage you had to offer and made your way to the breakfast table to sit opposite Bucky.

He didn’t look up but you still felt the way he tracked your movements, tension running through his shoulders as if he was on the battlefield and not in your kitchen.  The wood of your chair was cold against your bare legs as you sat down carefully, and you put down your cup. A quick glance betrayed Bucky’s attempt to not meet your eyes as he straightened up ever so slightly. He seemed like he was bracing himself, eyebrows furrowed, and fingers smashed against the paper.  “Buck?” You asked cautiously, letting his name glide from your tongue slowly.  Again, he replied with something less than an answer and more of a grunt. Your teeth found your lip again as you scraped together the last bit of bravery you had to offer to ask him the burning question.

“Why are you upset with me?”  If Bucky had been tense before, he was now seconds away from spontaneously combusting. You practically heard his teeth grind against each other and a soft sound tumbled from his throat before he could stop himself. “I’m- I’m not upset with you,” he murmured and you raised your eyebrows, even as he didn’t look up to take in your disbelieving expression.

“You seem upset,” you insisted and for a second you thought you heard Bucky wince. “I’m not upset with you,” he repeated, his voice strained and tight. “Then why won’t you look at me?” 

He lowered the newspaper and closed his eyes for a few seconds before meeting your gaze. Worry furrowed itself throughout his face, deepening the lines across his forehead as he regarded you nervously. “Doll, I’m sorry.” You didn’t know what to do with his apology, so you stared at him expressionlessly.  “What?”

The look on his face turned from pleading to desperate.  “I’m really sorry for last night,” he continued, “I didn’t mean to… well, um, to do what I did.” “What do you… what? What do you mean?” Your confusion seemed to increase his worry, and he ran a hand over his face. “God, I… I knew how drunk you were but… now you can’t even remember it and that is so much worse. I’m really, really sorry,” he began to ramble, seemingly sinking deeper into his panic. “Well, Bucky, I’ll forgive you if you tell me what for,” you said, trying to keep your tone as light as possible and you sent him a soft smile.  That was apparently the tipping point for him as he stood up, chest heaving and eyes erratically darting over your face. You followed him upwards and walked around the table to reach out for him. 

“It’s okay, Buck, whatever you did, it’s fine. The apartment’s still standing so it can’t be that bad,” you declared, attempting to get him to lighten up. There were another thirty seconds of complete silence as Bucky stood before you and seemingly searched for words.  “I kissed you back.” The world in your head went quiet. Bucky had just turned on a vacuum and sucked in all thoughts that had occupied your brain.  A dumb smile twitched on your lips and the only words that left them were: “What?” “I kissed you back. Last night. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Despite his refusal to meet your eyes, you saw the wetness on his waterline and the way shame burned a soft pink onto his cheeks.  He focused on the ground, fingers – both metal and flesh – nervously fumbling with the hem of his sweater.  He looked like a third grader after admitting to breaking his favourite toy, with his downturned gaze and flushed face, desperately looking for a way to turn back time in order to save what he held precious in his heart. “Oh, Bucky,” you murmured and took a step closer to him.  He recoiled, as if you had hit him and brought a few feet of distance between himself and you.  “I’m really, really sorry. I kissed you back and I shouldn’t have done that- I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that, it wasn-,” he rambled like a waterfall and shrunk into himself before your eyes. He wouldn’t have stopped talking, cursing himself out if you hadn’t walked over to him, leaving him no room to escape from you. “Bucky, listen,” you began, “It’s okay.”

Oh, it was more than okay to you.  “I might not remember it, to be honest I don’t even remember kissing you in the first place,” your words made him wince, but he finally looked up at you, “but it wasn’t a lapse of judgment or… a drunken mistake. I’ve wanted to kiss you for months.” His mouth was a little agape as he stood frozen in front of you, processing your words. Hoarsely, he replied: “You… what?” A small giggle broke forth from your lips as you reached out for him. “I’ve liked you for such a long time. But I wasn’t sure if you liked me back,” you elaborated and, finally, he reciprocated a small hopeful smile. “You… you did? Really?” Almost instantly, he relaxed as you nodded and placed your hands softly on his forearms. “Are you sure?” His question hung in the room and made you laugh.  “Yes, of course, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” “You threw up two hours after we kissed,” he murmured, cheeks even redder than before but a tiny smirk danced around his mouth. “Oh, Buck, I’m sorry. It was not because of that. That was the tequila’s fault, not yours.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[yueichihara]

"Shut up!" - LaDS reactions.

LaDS boys reacting to you screaming at them to shut up.

Summary: How hard can it be to ask for a little peace and quiet when you're finally having a little bit of time for yourself? But they dismiss your request and have the audacity to pester you even further.

These are short stories, about a tired MC who keeps being called out to work, and whenever they're free they go out with the boys and spend no time to chill at home to recharge. So they snap.

cw: fluff, mc being sick, caleb being a little oblivious but making it up to mc

Tags: @sxremmie

Xavier - pt. 1 - 637 words

Rafayel - pt. 2 - 944 words

Caleb - pt. 3 - 952 words

Zayne - pt. 4 - 1,090 words

Sylus - pt. 5 - 1,080 words

You'd woken up with a pulsating headache and a fever. Your whole body felt heavy and sticky with sweat. Even reaching for your phone was a difficult task.

Checking the time, you notice the string of notifications ranging from messages to calls from almost every social app. You remember you were supposed to meet with Caleb for a date today, the meeting time long passed now.

A throbbing pain slowly raises on your temple as you go over the messages, Caleb’s worry clearly growing with each of them being left unanswered and unread.

Once you get to the bottom, you send him a text, apologising for not showing up and telling him that you'll have to reschedule for next time.

He calls you straight away.

“Are you okay!?” He's basically shouting at the speaker, his concern and panic shining through, but the sound so loud it makes you flinch. There’s noise in the background, too.

You try to clear your throat, realising you have no water at hand. “Yeah.” Just this word sends you into a coughing spree. 

“It doesn't sound okay to me.” He's not shouting but his voice gets higher with every word.

After coughing, you throw yourself back into the bed, no longer being able to stay up. “Sorry, I think I have a cold. I'll make it up to you next time. I'm hanging up, I need to sleep.”

But before you do so, he speaks again. “What do you mean you have a cold? I knew you weren't okay if you stood me up with no previous notice, but I didn't think it was that bad. If you're not feeling that good, maybe we could have the date at home, you know? All cozy and warm. That way you can rest and we get to spend some time together.” 

He keeps talking but you can't get yourself to keep the words in your head, the sound of his voice through the speaker making you dizzy. 

“Shut up.” It comes up as barely a whisper, your voice groggy, your mouth dry. 

“What?” It's the last thing he says before you hang up without notice.

Turning off your phone, you turn over and close your eyes. You want water and some painkillers but it all feels too bothersome, it'll have to wait. You sleep soon after.

When you wake up, you look around the room, the lighting signaling it must be around 6pm.

You're feeling definitely better, hungry even. You raise your hand to touch your forehead and notice the clothes you're wearing aren't the same you had on before. There's a cool patch on your forehead and a glass of fresh water on your nightstand, the ice cubes have yet to melt.

“You were drenched in sweat.” You turn towards the door and see Caleb, tray in hand, steam coming off the rice porridge. It was a nostalgic aroma. He walks over and the smell makes your stomach growl. He continues: “I tried calling again and decided to come over when you wouldn’t answer anymore.”

He sits down next to you, placing the tray on the nightstand. He cups your cheek, his eyes full of concern and love, so tender it makes you tear up. His voice is low, almost a whisper. “I was so worried.” He leans in, touching your forehead with his, a long sigh escaping his lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were feeling this bad. I thought you had just slept in again and didn’t want to tell me.” You recall the few times you had actually done so, after coming back from long shifts of fighting wanderers.

“I’m sorry, too. For being untrustworthy and standing you up again.” 

“Don’t.” He rubs his thumb on your cheek and moves his face closer, his lips brushing over yours as he speaks. “It’s okay if you don’t feel like going out. At home dates are a choice, too, you know?” 

“Mhmm.” You say and he properly kisses you then, slow and tender, tilting his head to the side and pushing you back so your back is against the headrest. Only when you’re breathless and dizzy with lack of air, does he move away. He stares at you for a moment, a hint of smugness at being able to elicit this kind of reaction from you flickers on his gaze.

“Now,” He continues talking as you catch your breath “let me feed you. You only let me give you water before, you haven’t eaten anything the whole day.” 

You recall flashes from you dozing on and off sleep the whole day: Caleb coming in to take your temperature, him cleaning you up with a wet cloth, you refusing to drink your water so he took a sip and kissed you, not letting you part from it until you’ve swallowed. 

You feel your cheeks getting flushed. “What happened, are you feeling worse now?” He reaches to touch your forehead.

“Uhm, no. I- I’m fine.” He takes his time feeding you as he talks about his week, making you laugh now and then.

When you’re done, he takes the tray back to the kitchen but comes right back. He takes his shoes off and lays next to you, turning the TV on. “How about we watch something? You don’t need to stay up if you feel tired. Just lean on me and rest if you feel too sleepy.” You smile at him and take his offer, letting your head rest on his lap as he surfs through the options. He brushes your hair, his fingertips fluttering against your cheek now and then, his touch gentle and sweet. You drift to sleep once again, this time with a smile.

[kinda-indecisive]

ִ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ، ˖ ࣪ Cold Hands pt I་ ˖ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ʿ ִ 

The guys react to you (MC) surprising them by placing your freezing cold hands on their bare skin. Pure fluff lol

Part 1: The Zayne, Xavier, and Sylus Edition!

𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ 

Zayne

Having walked to the hospital after work to meet him, Zayne offers to drive you home. That plan changes suddenly when he casually mentions having a loaf of that special kind of sweetbread that you’d been craving for weeks at his house. Now you insist that it’d probably be best to stay the night at his place.

You ramble about your day in the car, Zayne interjecting every once in a while with his dry comments, when he suddenly receives an email on his dash that he swipes away with a sigh, his eyes not looking away from the road for a second. It isn’t a huge deal to you that he might have to work, but you knew that the sweetbread will have to wait a little longer.

“Have some without me. I’ll be finished soon,” he directs, sitting on the couch with his laptop. While he gets settled into work again, you quickly change into one of the more comfortable outfits you’d left at his place, then raid his tidy kitchen. Instead of doing as he said, you return to the couch with two plates, one of which he accepts from you between the clacking of keyboard keys.

After finishing your last bite, you look up from your phone screen to watch him as he sets his laptop and glasses aside, next to his empty plate. He looks tired, though not too exhausted, as he rubs his eyes, stands, and stretches.

Sometimes you find yourself enamored by the spectacle that is Dr. Zayne Li. The way his dark hair falls over his eyes when it’s been a while since his last trim. And, of course, the way his hands move as he intertwines his fingers to stretch his stiff shoulders.

And, sometimes, he catches you staring. Like right now.

“I’m going to change,” he explains as if that’s what you were wondering. You nod anyway, not about to admit what you were actually thinking, and you aren’t too surprised by the small smile that graces his lips as he turns and walks out. He sees right through you.

How can he blame you for staring when he’s as gorgeous as he is? It makes sense that you sometimes find yourself poking at him just to make sure he’s real. He’s gotten used to your pestering, usually responding sarcastically, trapping your hands in his to get you to stop bugging him.

But not bugging Zayne is so hard! He’s such a perfect target. And sometimes, deep down, you think he secretly loves it.

Well, maybe not so secretly. He’s all but admitted it with that small smile he tries to hide by shaking his head at you.

You discard your phone, thinking about your favorite hobby: Annoying Zayne. And the cogs in your brain are already whirring and turning to think up something good.

Hopping up onto your feet, you slip into the bedroom where he stands with his back to you, removing his watch and tie. He does so in a methodical manner as per usual, a comforting and familiar sight. His back still toward you, he loosens his collar and untucks his shirt, the slightly wrinkled white hem hanging free and suddenly giving you the perfect idea. 

One would think that a guy whose Evol is literal ice would run cool all the time, but Zayne is typically pretty warm. 

With all the stealth you’ve learned from hunting down Wanderers, you slip into the room and stand directly behind him.

If you thought Zayne’s posture couldn’t get any more straight, you are surprised to see how rigid he goes when your cold hands find the direct center of his bare back.

He reaches back, pinning your hands against him, his expression bewildered as he turns to look at you. Your face goes hot when you realize your hands are now pressed flat against his stomach.

“I almost thought that the house had a ghost who was trying to possess me with its frigid fingers,” he murmurs, shaking his head, still keeping your hands flat against him.

“What? I was just trying to warm my hands up a little,” you pout innocently.

“Of course you were,” he says, “I might have been annoyed if I weren’t concerned about your blood circulation. Have you been taking your medication on time lately? And the vitamins?”

“Yes!” you whine, attempting to slip your hands from underneath his, but he doesn’t release you yet.

“And those hand and wrist stretches we looked into last time? You’ve been doing them daily, right?”

You’re about to huff in annoyance at his pestering, but looking up at his face again you notice the slight gleam in his eye and immediately realize that he has got a reaction out of you. That soft smile instantly appears on his lips as those gorgeous eyes of his sparkle.

“Zayne!” you pout, burying your face in his chest when your cheeks burn with shame, “Using your doctor voice isn’t playing fair.”

He lets you slide your hands out of his grip as he chuckles.

“I apologize,” he says, barely concealing the humor in his voice, “I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to retaliate.”

If you liked teasing Zayne, he loved teasing you twice as much.

𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ 

Xavier

Using your key to enter his place, you call out a couple of times. Not receiving a reply, you let yourself in completely, closing the door behind you and shedding your winter clothes.

When you spoke to him over the phone earlier, he said he’d be home today. So you went straight to his place instead of stopping by yours to change. You figure he must have stepped out for a while, and you plan on making yourself comfy before he arrives.

Sending him a quick text to tell him you made it home safe, you have second thoughts and decide to call him instead. If he is walking home from the convenience store right now, that’s alright with you. But if he’s still there, he won’t mind doing a favor for you by picking up a couple things, right?

You are surprised, however, to hear his phone go off in the bedroom.

Instantly, you grow suspicious. Xavier has been known to pull a few pranks on you here  and there. And just last week, you had wandered into his room just for him to step out from behind the door wearing the most terrifying, low-quality Bun-Bun mask you’d ever seen in your entire life. So you’re admittedly a little wary of any more surprises from him.

“Xavier, you better not be messing around,” you grumble, loud enough for him to hear and rethink his life decisions, “I still have some of those wasabi-flavored candies and you promised you’d eat one as a punishment for scaring the life out of me last time. Don’t think I forgot about that.”

You still don’t get a response, so you decide to risk it. Stepping into his room, you prepare for a jumpscare…

Only to find him asleep atop the blankets, lying on his stomach with his arms folded under his head. He’s turned away from you as you approach and, still not sure he won’t suddenly hop up to startle you, you walk around the bed slowly.

Sure enough, he’s completely knocked out. His breathing is slow and steady and his brow is furrowed ever so slightly. But when you lie beside him and gently tap the space between his eyebrows with the tip of your finger, his expression softens and he slowly opens his eyes.

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead,” you coo, your heart nearly bursting with affection at the sight of his groggy face.

He frowns again, his sweet, low voice as rough as sand when he murmurs,  “Afternoon?”

“Yeah, I just got back. How long have you been asleep?”

He rolls onto his side, a thoughtful look gracing his expression as he reaches out and grabs his phone, “ Well, I was texting Jeremiah about the plants he’s renting out to the museum for the exhibition thing they're doing—since I’ll be watching the shop while he’s delivering them. So I’d say I fell asleep sometime during that conversation.”

He looks at his phone, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hmm… and I guess I fell asleep on my phone.”

He turns the phone to you and shows you the last message he sent to Jeremiah—a string of unintelligible keyboard smashing. Below it is a message from Jeremiah:

**Are you alright, Xavier? Are you in danger or did you fall asleep on your phone again?**

Then another:

**I’ll just go ahead and assume you fell asleep, then...**

You frown, “That message was four hours ago. You should text him back. You probably worried him sick.”

“He’ll be fine,” he murmurs, shaking his head, and tossing the phone back on the bed, “You don’t need to worry about him.” 

You resist an eye roll as you scoot closer to him. 

“Anyway, I just got here. It’s cold out, so you’d better warm me up,” you say, causing a soft smile to form on his lips, “Especially my hands. I forgot to wear gloves.”

“You can put them on me to warm them up,” he offers, shifting over and making space for you to curl up beside him.

“Are you sure? They’re pretty cold,” you warn, but he insists. After a short hesitation, you slide into the space he made for you. Still not entirely sure what his plan of action was for you, you hesitate again before sliding your hands under his sweatshirt.

Though he doesn’t say anything, you feel the way his abdomen tightens up beneath your fingers. Honestly, you thought he’d been wearing a shirt under the sweatshirt, he usually does, but apparently not today. And now your face burns as you tilt your head back ever so slightly to look up at him.

His cheeks are bright pink from this angle and when he looks down at you and meets your eye, his ears darken as well. 

“Sorry!” you squeak, pulling your hands back. He shakes his head, his hair covering his eyes for a moment as he reassures.

“No, it’s okay. I just didn’t realize how cold your hands were,” he murmurs, grabbing them in his and lifting them to place on the sides of his face. You scoot upward on the bed to get into a more comfortable position and he smiles faintly, “From here on out, I’ll have to make sure to put a pair of mittens in every one of your jackets.”

𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ ་  ، ˖ ࣪  ་  ˖  ʿ𖥔 ִ 

Sylus

Plodding into the room, you pout down at Sylus who sits typing at the grand desk in his office with a bored expression, glasses halfway down his nose. Tapping your toe, you wait until he finishes typing and looks up at you.

“The twins are making a mess of the kitchen again,” you grimace, “They’ve scared the cook away and are talking about making dinner.”

He shifts slowly, then stretches with an almost feline fluidity.

“What are they planning on making?”

“Does it matter?” you whine, “Don’t you think it gives the wrong impression to have the leader of Onychinus throwing up his guts in-between meetings?”

He removes his glasses and sighs, “I’m sure I can handle whatever they throw at me. They’ve already tried killing me several times before and have yet to succeed, let them try once more.”

Squaring your shoulders, you continue to pout at your nonchalant boyfriend as he gets ready to turn back to his work.

“That’s not what you said after eating that bad shrimp they cooked that one time. We were supposed to take a trip that week and not only did we end up canceling, but we spent the entire week in two separate rooms because we needed the separate bathrooms. And I remember passing you in the hallway and thinking you looked a little green in the face.”

You watch with satisfaction as his brow furrows, knowing that you’ve dredged up some unpleasant memories. Sylus doesn’t get sick often and you know you’ve struck the right chord with him when he sighs and pushes out of the chair.

“Alright, Sweetie, point made,” he says, crossing the office with a few long strides, “How long ago did they chase the chef out?” 

“I dunno, the kitchen was already a mess by the time I got in there. I also managed to swipe the flambe torch from Luke,” you say as he glances down at you with a raised eyebrow and you explain, “They were trying to light the candles at the dinner table with it.”

When you reach the kitchen doors, Sylus steps inside for a second, only to return to you a second later.

“They’re gone. But their mess is still here,” he grimaces.

“They must have sensed you were coming and scattered,” you say, peering around his shoulder to examine the mess left behind, “I guess that means nobody eats. Unless we get takeout or something.”

He shrugs, “I’m already away from my desk. We might as well cook something. Unless you’d prefer takeout?”

You rarely find yourself saying no to cooking alongside Sylus, especially with how good he looks in his apron.

The majority of the mess you find to be superficial and the two of you manage to tidy most of it up naturally as you work on your meal. Meanwhile, Sylus plays his music over the speakers and your earlier, tense mood dissipates as the two of you hum and chat over the pots and pans.

Soon, the kitchen is nearly spotless and filled with such a delicious aroma you forget all about the twins. Sylus leaves you in the kitchen to dish out two well-portioned servings while he sets the table for two. Meeting him in the dining room, you admire the new set of candles he replaced the destroyed ones with.

Your chair is pulled out for you and before you can sit, you jump up suddenly.

“Oh, I forgot something!”

He watches you dash back to the kitchen with an amused sort of puzzlement. When you return, you excitedly present the bottle of red wine to him.

“I know it’s not as fancy as the ones you collect, but I thought it was tasty when I tried it and I thought of you. And I actually managed to get it in the fridge on time, so right now’s a good time to open it,” you explain. His eyes widen slightly and you feel the heat rush to your face, forcing the bottle into his hands and looking away, “Anyway, we don’t have to drink it tonight if you don’t want to.”

“Of course I’m happy to try it,” he says softly, his voice oozing affection and holding only a fraction of the teasing edge it usually does, “Especially since it’s a gift from you.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, continuing to avoid his eye. Wanting to change the subject, you suddenly reach up, “Come here.”

He raises an inquiring eyebrow, but does as you say. Having retrieved the bottle from the fridge, you now place your cold hands on the sides of his neck, grinning when you receive a small shiver from him that seems to roll through him from head to toe.

“Hmm… I should have known not to let my guard down around you, Sweetie,” he says, his voice a low, deep rumble and you know instantly that you’re in big trouble. Releasing him, you run away as you hear the bottle being set down on the table. Not even a second later, you feel his arms close around you, shrieking in laughter when his cold hands find the bare skin under your shirt just above your waistline. He chuckles, practically purring as he nuzzles his face against your neck, “Caught you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Previous Post ←(･ ᗜ ･)ﾉ ╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )➝ Next Post

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yay! Here's another scenario for y'all. I hope you enjoyed them :D

taglist❤: @fallthelong

MY LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

[anniebeemine]

father's day- s.r. x fem!reader

warnings: none

Spencer’s first Father’s Day is quiet, just how you imagined he’d want it. The morning light filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the living room where you sit with your daughter, Caitlin, nestled in your lap. At nine months, she’s a bundle of curiosity, babbling nonsensically as you carefully hold her wrist, painting her small, pudgy palm with blue paint. Her giggles fill the room, though she tugs at her wrist, trying to pull free.

“Hold on, baby girl,” you murmur softly, laughing at her determination. “Just a little longer.”

Caitlin whimpers, her brow furrowed in frustration, squirming against your gentle hold. You know that if you let go, the paint would be everywhere—on her, on you, and across the kitchen counter. So you hold her loosely, just enough to keep her in place as you press the card onto her palm, trying to capture a perfect little handprint for Spencer.

“Almost done, sweetheart,” you coo, but Caitlin has other plans. She pulls her hand back at the last second, smearing paint across the front of her onesie and leaving a streak of blue on the counter.

You sigh softly, glancing down at her messy, paint-covered onesie, but she’s happy now, babbling again and grinning up at you as if she hasn’t just created a tiny masterpiece of chaos. Her bright eyes are so full of joy that you can’t even be frustrated.

“Alright, alright,” you say with a smile, wiping her hand off with a damp cloth before she can do any more damage. Caitlin kicks her feet, satisfied with her little rebellion.

You look down at the card, a sweet, uneven print of Caitlin’s hand now perfectly stamped in blue. It’s not perfect, but it’s hers, and that’s all that matters. You gently seal the card, careful not to smudge the drying paint, and place it on the counter next to the small gift you’d picked out for Spencer.

As you scoop Caitlin up into your arms, pressing a kiss to her messy cheek, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. You know Spencer will love it, messy handprint and all. It’s the little things that make these moments special—the smudged onesie, the babbling baby, and the love that fills the house.

Spencer walks in to the scent of his favorite meal drifting through the house, immediately feeling the warmth of home after a long day. On the kitchen counter sits a decadent chocolate cake, one you’d baked from scratch, knowing it’s his weakness. He smiles, eyes scanning the room before he spots Caitlin sitting in her high chair, her chubby cheeks and tiny hands smeared with icing. She babbles happily, licking at the spoonful of frosting you’d given her to keep her entertained while you finished cleaning up.

"Looks like someone got into the cake before me," he teases, leaning down to kiss you softly. His lips linger, grateful for the effort you’ve put into making the day special.

You smile up at him. "Had to keep her busy somehow."

The three of you settle in for dinner. Caitlin, all cleaned up now, sits in Spencer’s lap as he alternates between feeding himself and offering her spoonfuls of baby food. He babbles to her about his day, telling her about a new case and the books he’s been reading. Caitlin listens attentively, her wide eyes fixed on him as if she understands every word.

He’s always been against baby talk, determined to help develop her vocabulary from a young age. And somehow, watching him communicate with her in that way, so casually, so naturally, makes your heart swell. You sit across the table, content to simply watch the two of them interact, the soft hum of their conversation filling the room with a sense of peace.

After dinner, it’s time for cake. You cut a small slice for yourself and Spencer, while Caitlin gets another spoonful of frosting—this time supervised. Her eyes light up with joy as she takes in the sweet taste.

When the cake is done and the kitchen is cleaned up, you hand Spencer a small card. "I didn’t have time to find you the perfect gift," you apologize, feeling a bit guilty.

He gives you a look, one of disbelief mixed with affection. "You already gave me Caitlin," he says, his voice soft and full of love. He nuzzles his face into her cheek, making her giggle in his lap before turning his attention to the card.

As he opens it, he chuckles at the cheesy tagline you’d picked out, reading it aloud with a smile. Then his eyes land on the tiny handprint, smudged but perfect in its imperfection.

"I tried to get her to sign her name," you explain, a soft laugh escaping as you point to the small clump of pen marks on the card where Caitlin had tried her best.

Spencer traces his finger over the marks, his eyes softening. "It’s perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He looks up at you, his gaze full of gratitude and love. "This is the best gift I could ever ask for."

You lean over, kissing his forehead as Caitlin babbles happily in his lap. In that moment, everything feels right—simple and full of love, with the three of you together. It’s a first Father’s Day he’ll never forget.

[misshoneyimhome]

What's up buttercups 💕

Lucky number thirteen is here—and it’s time for our Ice King, the Golden boy, to really prove what he's made of. If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to bring Auston Matthews home to meet your mother… well, this is my (very shameless) take on that fantasy 🙈 Not saying I’ve imagined this scene for years�� but also, not not saying that 😉

As always, I hope you enjoy every messy, steamy, awkward moment. Happy reading, babes—and sending you all the love ❤️

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, 18+ smut: semi-public dry-touching, oral sex (m receiving), orgasm denial/edging, slight sub/dom-act, fingering, unprotected vag sexual intercourse (no cum inside), oral sex (m receiving), cum swallowing

Word count: 6.8k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight ; Chapter nine; Chapter ten; Chapter eleven ; Chapter twelve

Some who might have interest: @hockeybabe87 @tonyspep @thesecretestblogever @delayed-delusions @kurlyteuvo

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter thirteen - A king can move one space at the time…*

::

“Dearest Toronto Readers,

The game continues. Last night, the Queen did not surrender. She rose—flushed, glorious, and kissed by fire—and the King, ever unpredictable, played a move no one saw coming. But if chess has taught us anything, it’s this: each piece has a purpose. And some, when pushed to their limit, become more dangerous than ever.

So, what now?

They’ve shared the battlefield. They’ve blurred the lines. And if last night’s performance was any indication, the Ice King is no longer playing to protect the crown—he’s playing to win her.

And yet, every kingdom has its knights.

Did anyone even recognise Lorentz or Knies on the ice? Each move made by our Queen and King is being watched—studied—by the court they keep.

But at what cost?

We move one space at a time, dear readers. And sometimes, the most powerful move is the one you don’t see coming.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

—

You woke up alone.

The November rain was steady against the windows, soft and relentless, painting streaks across the glass like the sky couldn’t make up its mind about being gentle or cruel. The light was grey and muted, seeping into the room in thin, silvery layers. Almost romantic if it weren’t so dull. If your chest didn’t feel like it had been pinned in place by something, you couldn’t quite name.

Auston was gone.

The sheets were still tangled around your legs, warm from where your bodies had been. You shifted slightly, the dull ache between your thighs blooming back to life with the movement. It was the kind of soreness that lingered, clinging to your skin like memory—tender hips, stiff neck, the faintest tremble in your limbs that told the full story of how he’d handled you. The inside of your elbows bore light pressure marks—imprints of where he’d held you down. You didn’t mind.

There was no trace of sunlight—only the soft hum of rain and the distant creak of old pipes in the walls. But the scent still lingered, curling around you like a second duvet. Auston. That familiar blend of cedar, fresh air, and the heat of skin against skin. Faint traces of your perfume, too. And the salt-sweet aftermath of everything he’d done to you. With you.

Your hand reached blindly for the other side of the bed, finding nothing but cool fabric and the ghost of his weight in the mattress.

He hadn’t even asked to stay.

And you’d let him.

There had been no cuddling. No whispered promises or tangled limbs. Just his presence, steady and firm beside you until sometime in the early hours. You remembered waking once—briefly—to the sensation of his back to you, the soft sound of his breath steady and slow. He hadn’t touched you. Just existed beside you. And somehow… that had been enough.

But now? Now he was gone, and you were left with your thoughts and the echo of last night.

You reached for your phone, half-buried in the tangle of covers, your fingers fumbling over the charger cord. The screen lit up immediately, a single message waiting for you:

Auston: See you later, boss. Just tell me when and where.

You stared at it for a long moment, your lips twitching in a quiet, disbelieving smile. It was classic him—short, cocky, a little smug—but it landed like a stone in your chest. Not because it hurt. But because it felt… certain. Like a promise.

He was still in this.

Whatever this was.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, rereading it once. Twice. Then again, like the words might shift or reveal something deeper if you looked hard enough. But they didn’t change.

And yet, they grounded you.

You sank back against the pillows, head tipping to the side, breathing in the scent of him one more time. Your skin still tingled in places—especially the ones he’d marked with his mouth, his teeth, his hands.

Last night had cracked you open.

Not just physically—though that had certainly been part of it. But emotionally. Viscerally.

You hadn’t expected to want what he gave you. You didn’t think you’d enjoy being touched like that, commanded like that. But God, the way he had looked at you—like you were made to be ruined by him, the way he’d coaxed every cry and curse out of you like it was a melody he’d memorised—he made you melt.

And the worst part?

You wanted more.

You wanted him to push further. Take more. Say the things he said with that voice that went dark and low just before he lost control. You wanted to know what else he could unlock inside you.

You weren’t scared of it anymore. You were curious.

Your phone buzzed again—this time with a message from your mother—and the real world came crashing back like a wave.

Right. Tonight.

You swung your legs out of bed, feet touching the cool floor, and tried to find your centre. To stay in control. But the second your eyes caught the soft pink bruises at your inner thigh as you passed the mirror, your stomach fluttered again.

He hadn’t just fucked you. He’d changed something in you.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, tying your robe around your waist with a sharp tug. “No spiralling. Just… dinner.”

Dinner with your family.

Dinner with Auston.

The sheer absurdity of it made you want to laugh. Or hide. Or crawl back into bed and pretend you didn’t just spend the night giving Auston Matthews control of your body in ways you never thought possible.

But you didn’t do any of those things.

You headed to the shower. Let the steam clear your head or try to. You washed him off your skin but not from your thoughts.

And you tried—really, truly tried—not to overthink.

It wouldn’t be easy. Not for you. And certainly not for him.

Meeting your family never was.

You’d grown up in a house where expectations were tucked beneath the placemats and poured into the wine glasses. Where your mother loved you loudly but judged you louder. Where your siblings always knew the right thing to say, and you were still learning how to speak without apology.

So, bringing Auston into that? Even fake Auston?

It felt like standing in front of a firing squad.

You towelled off and stared into the mirror again, this time really looking. At your still-slightly-swollen lips. At the faint love bite near your collarbone. At your eyes—wide, uncertain, and yet… excited?

You sighed.

“Get it together,” you muttered, reaching for your moisturiser. “It’s just one dinner. With your fake boyfriend. Who gave you two or three orgasms last night. No big deal.”

Totally normal.

Completely fine.

You weren’t spiralling at all.

But the nervous flutter in your chest? It didn’t lie.

Something had changed. And tonight, you’d find out just how much.

_

Auston had gone home to walk Felix. He needed the fresh air—the quiet grounding of early morning rain against concrete, the leash loose in his hand, the familiar click of claws on pavement. But more than anything, he just needed to breathe.

Your apartment still clung to him. Your scent. Your skin. The sounds you made. The softness in your voice when you said his name like it meant something real.

He hadn’t meant to stay last night. He really hadn’t. But after everything—after the game, the hallway, the car park—walking away had felt impossible. So he hadn’t. He’d stayed. Watched the curve of your back rise and fall with each breath beside him, his own heart hammering beneath ribs that had never felt so breakable.

No cuddling. No tangled limbs or whispered promises. Just presence. And yet it had felt louder than anything else.

Auston adjusted his grip on the leash as Felix paused to sniff at a streetlamp, tail wagging.

He’d crossed boundaries with you. Pushed you to your limits. And he’d loved every second of it. The way you melted beneath him, the way you begged without shame, the way your body gave in and gave back like it had always belonged to him. He’d learned something about you last night. Something about himself, too.

And he wanted more.

Not just more of your body—though fuck, that haunted him—but more of you. The you who teased and challenged and met him toe to toe. The you who looked at him like he wasn’t just the Ice King, but a man worth melting for.

His phone buzzed. A message lit up from a number he sort of recognised - Brunette #4 (or maybe it was #3, he didn’t really know):

“Hope you’ll be happy with her. Jk. You’re a dick. Hate u!”

Auston snorted under his breath. Swiped it away without replying. He didn’t care. Not anymore. Not about girls who knew his schedule better than they knew his laugh. Not about pretty distractions with perfect lips and no substance.

He pulled up your last message instead.

You: Dinner’s at 6. I’ll send the address. Be on time.

He smirked. His thumb hovered briefly before he typed:

Auston: Yes boss. I’ll be there. Game face on.

_

Back at your place, your nerves were fraying at the edges like the hem of a dress you hadn’t had time to mend. You sat cross-legged in front of your vanity, trying not to look like you were about to implode, while Jess hovered behind you like a glam squad with a grudge.

“Jess,” you snapped, batting her hand away as she reached for your face again, “if you touch my eyebrows one more time—”

“Oh my god, calm down,” Jess groaned, rolling her eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “I’m not carving them off with a butter knife. I’m literally brushing them. You act like I’m trying to steal your identity.”

“I’m meeting my mum,” you hissed, eyes wide in the mirror. “With Auston. For dinner. Do you have any idea how deeply not okay I am?”

Jess’s face softened, just slightly. “Okay, yeah. That’s fair. But, babe—look at you. You’re gorgeous. Like scary, don’t-make-eye-contact-on-the-subway gorgeous. She’s gonna take one look at you two and assume he’s already picked out a ring.”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to show how those words made your stomach twist. “Sure. Because nothing screams eternal love like emotionally repressed NHL captains and dinner with overbearing mothers.”

Jess gave you a look. “You joke, but seriously? What you said he said last night? To that girl - If that’s not real, then I need to see my therapist again.”

You froze. Just a little. Just enough for her to notice.

She plopped down beside you on the bed, lipstick in hand, legs crossed like she had all the time in the world. “Like, do we need to start brainstorming engagement hashtags? Because #MapleMatrimony kinda slaps.”

You laughed—too loud, too sharp. “Please stop. I can’t breathe in this blouse, let alone process a fictional wedding.”

Jess just grinned, unbothered. “I’m only half-joking. He looks at you like he’d move mountains. Or at least miss a morning skate, which for him? Basically the same thing.”

You didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, you focused on your eyeliner, smudging it just enough to look like you weren’t trying too hard. “He’s just good at playing the part,” you said, voice breezy. “We’ve had to… navigate a lot lately.”

Jess leaned in, peering at you. “Yeah, and most guys don’t navigate their way into your bed and your family dinner in the same weekend. Just saying.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and whacked her with it. She yelped, laughing.

“Okay, okay!” she said through giggles. “Fine, I’ll shut up. But I’m not blind, and neither is your mum. And I swear, if he pulls the whole ‘let me help with the dishes’ move after dinner? I’m starting a Pinterest board.”

You shook your head, but the smile tugging at your lips was reluctant. “You’re impossible.”

Jess shrugged. “And you’re in denial.”

There was a pause. Then, casually, she added, “Oh—and guess who asked about you again?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Ryan,” she sing-songed. “Mr. ‘Just One Date’ is now Mr. ‘Persistent Since Wednesday.’ He’s clearly not over it.”

You groaned, tossing the pillow at her again. “Don’t start.”

Jess caught it this time. “What? You’ve got options, babe. Even if one of them is currently playing doting boyfriend and giving your mum grandkid fever.”

You stared down at your phone. Fingers hovering. Thinking.

“I should text him what wine she likes,” you muttered.

Jess grinned, satisfied. “Oh yeah. Nothing to see here at all.”

You didn’t respond.

Because the truth? You weren’t sure where the performance ended anymore either.

_

“Our Queen has left the palace gates. Destination? Home turf. But family dinners are rarely just that, especially when love—or the illusion of it—is on the menu.

Tonight, the Ice King faces a far more dangerous opponent than any rival team: the Queen’s mother. A woman known to wield passive-aggression with the skill of a seasoned general. And while our King might be fluent in post-game interviews and press charm, is he ready for the battlefield of Sunday roasts and sibling shade?

One wrong answer and the royal illusion could come crashing down. - The Benchwarmer”

_

The drive to your mother’s house—just over an hour outside of Toronto—felt longer than usual, even with the November dusk softening the edges of the highway in moody streaks of grey and fading gold. The rain had stopped earlier, but the clouds still hung low, like they were waiting for an excuse to open up again.

Auston was behind the wheel, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other lazily tapping against the gearshift to the rhythm of a song you barely heard. He looked frustratingly relaxed, like he was driving to a pre-game skate and not straight into the lion’s den of your family dinner.

You, on the other hand, were wound so tight your fingers had gone numb from fidgeting with the seam of your skirt.

It wasn’t Auston you were nervous about.

It was everything else.

Your mother wasn’t cruel. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t throw tantrums or make scenes. But she could disarm a person with a single look, a question phrased too politely to be anything but loaded. Her wine glass was her weapon, her smile the misdirection. And Auston—cocky, confident Auston—wouldn’t see it coming until he was already bleeding out on the dining room floor.

You could practically hear her now:

“And what exactly is your long-term plan?” “Do you think professional hockey is a real career?” “What does a man with no stability offer my daughter?”

All delivered with silk-gloved precision while she passed the roasted vegetables and offered seconds like it was all completely civil.

Your older brothers weren’t much better. Two walking LinkedIn profiles with perfectly pressed collars and curated families, ready to pounce under the guise of protectiveness. They’d test Auston’s patience, push his buttons, try to make him squirm just enough to feel like they’d done their big-brotherly duty.

And the twins? Seventeen and already halfway viral on TikTok. They’d either flirt shamelessly or roast him within an inch of his life—maybe both. If they weren’t already drafting a group chat called Matthews Watch 2025, you’d be shocked.

You exhaled sharply and glanced over.

Auston was focused on the road, one hand casually adjusting the volume. His jaw was relaxed, his leg bouncing lightly to the beat. If he was nervous, he sure as hell didn’t show it.

“You good?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended.

He glanced your way and smirked. “Game face on.”

You let out a humourless laugh, nerves bubbling just beneath the surface. “This isn’t a game.”

Auston shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Isn’t it?”

You didn’t respond. You just turned your face back toward the window, watching as the city slipped away behind you and suburbia crept closer with every mile. Your heart pounded louder than the bass in the car, every street sign a countdown.

Tonight, you weren’t just pretending to be Auston’s girlfriend.

You were pretending that you could handle the weight of all this. The chaos. The closeness. The quiet questions clawing their way up your throat.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure if this was still about pretending anymore.

You pulled into the driveway a few minutes before six. The sun was already beginning to dip behind the neighbour’s maple trees, casting long shadows across the familiar brick path that led to the front door. Auston shifted beside you in the driver's seat, gaze fixed on the modest two-storey house that had been home for most of your life. It wasn’t extravagant, not like some of the places he knew, but it was warm, lived-in—paint slightly chipped around the doorframe, wind chimes clinking lazily near the porch light.

“This it?” he asked, a touch of amusement in his voice.

“This is it,” you replied, inhaling deeply. “The arena of maternal judgment.”

He smirked, one brow rising. “Can’t wait.”

Inside, it was everything you remembered—faintly scented with lemon polish and lavender, the hum of an old dishwasher in the background, the faint creak of floorboards under soft slippers. Your mother appeared in the hallway almost instantly, all smiles and carefully curated cheer.

“Auston, welcome,” she said with a tone that could only be described as formal hospitality laced with subtle suspicion. She extended her hand—her grip was firm, brief.

“Thank you, Mrs—”

“Oh, none of that. Call me Janice,” she interrupted. “We’re not so formal here.”

You exchanged a look with Auston. Oh yes, she was in performance mode.

The introductions followed in rapid succession. Your eldest brother, Daniel, shook Auston’s hand with a nod that barely concealed his “I’m watching you” energy. His wife, Samira, was sweet, if a little wide-eyed. Your second brother, Thomas, had his baby on one hip and didn’t even try to hide his smirk as he muttered, “So this is the guy,” before disappearing into the living room.

The twins—Chloe and Claire—barely looked up from their phones, though Chloe offered a distracted, “We’ve seen you on TikTok,” and Claire added with a smirk, “We liked you better without the moustache. Makes you look like a creep.”

Auston took it all in stride, unbothered and smiling just enough. He gave each person just the right amount of charm, nodded at the right moments, and even asked about the dog that no longer lived there.

Your mother ushered you both down the hallway like a tour guide, pointing out where the new wallpaper had gone up, how the fireplace had finally been repaired. And then, just before dinner, she opened the door to your old bedroom.

“This used to be hers,” she said with a fond glance at you. “Now it’s where the kids keep all their toys. Can’t let any space go to waste.”

You blinked at the bright foam alphabet tiles covering your once carefully curated posters and polaroids. Auston stepped inside, smiling faintly at the worn-out Beatrix Potter books and abandoned LEGO sets.

“So this is where the magic happened?” he teased under his breath, glancing at you.

“Don’t,” you warned, shooting him a look—but your lips twitched.

Your mother appeared behind you with a perfectly timed glass of white wine. “Here you go, sweetheart,” she said. “Now don’t drink it all at once.”

You accepted the glass gratefully, only for her to add with a slightly raised brow, “Though I do hope it’s not a nightly habit now that you’re dating a professional athlete.”

You didn’t answer. Just took a very long sip.

Auston bit back a grin.

Game on.

_

Dinner had started surprisingly well. Your brothers, of course, couldn’t resist giving Auston a hard time—sarcastic questions about his “hobby” turned career, jabs about his skating, jokes about his salary. But Auston, to your complete lack of surprise, took it all in stride. He handled them with the same cool detachment he gave reporters in scrums—smiling when appropriate, firing off one-liners that made even your stiffest sibling crack a grin.

And somehow, you were right there with him.

Trading barbs. Meeting teasing with sass. You weren’t just surviving the family dinner—tonight, you were thriving in it. For once, you felt calm, composed. Powerful, even. Like something about Auston’s presence grounded you, amplified you.

Or maybe it was the wine.

Or the fact that you still hadn’t fully shaken the memory of him last night—his mouth, his hands, the way he’d made you feel like the only woman in the world.

Your skin buzzed with that memory as you passed the potatoes and laughed at something Thomas said. But then—then—you felt it.

Auston’s hand.

Low and steady, it landed gently on your thigh beneath the table. His pinky brushed against the hem of your skirt. Innocent enough. Until it wasn’t.

His fingertips dragged upward, slow and deliberate, until they slipped under the fabric entirely. He didn’t go far—just grazed the edge of your inner thigh, barely there, before retreating and starting again. Lazy circles. Featherlight teasing.

Your fork paused mid-air. You didn’t even blink.

You pressed your legs together instinctively, but it only made it worse. Or better. You weren’t sure.

So you retaliated.

You mimicked his motions, letting your hand drop onto his knee under the table, soft and casual. His thigh was warm beneath your touch. Solid. You traced light patterns there, fingertips dancing higher and higher, until you reached the seam of his trousers. You gave the inside of his leg a slight squeeze.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t miss a beat as he answered Daniel’s question about locker room politics.

But you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth. The tight clench of his jaw.

Oh, so this was how he wanted to play it.

His hand moved again, bolder this time, sliding further up your thigh. Your breath hitched when his fingers pressed against the heat between your legs—just for a second. Just enough to remind you that he could ruin you with a single move. Then he pulled back like nothing had happened.

“Tell me, Auston,” your mother chimed in from across the table, setting her wine glass down with a faint clink. “Do you ever think about what comes after hockey? I mean, it’s not exactly… a sustainable lifestyle, is it?”

You rolled your eyes. Here we go.

Auston didn’t even blink. “That’s fair. I’ve started thinking about long-term investments, actually. Property. Some charity initiatives, too.”

“Oh?” your mother pressed, eyebrows raised. “And how do you plan to balance that with… family?”

And that’s when you did it.

Your palm slid slowly over his crotch under the table. He was slowly hardening beneath your touch.

You kept your expression neutral as you sipped your wine.

Auston coughed once. Covered it as a laugh. “I guess it comes down to good support systems. And priorities.”

You watched your mother nod, unimpressed. Your brothers had already lost interest and launched into some story about a neighbour’s divorce.

You turned toward Auston slightly, lips barely parted, voice just low enough to vibrate beneath the buzz of conversation. “You’re doing great.”

His eyes slid to yours. Dangerous. Hungry.

“You’re playing with fire, boss,” he murmured, leaning in like he was adjusting his chair. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You smiled sweetly, brushing your hand just a little firmer across him, enough to draw a subtle breath from his lips.

“Maybe I want to finish it,” you whispered back. Then, after a pause, “Maybe I want to finish you… with my mouth.”

He exhaled slowly. Closed his eyes for half a second.

You felt him swell fully against your hand. Felt the tension in his thigh. The deliberate stillness in his posture.

And you—well, you sat there like nothing was happening at all.

Just a woman. At dinner. With her mother and siblings.

And the man whose self-control you were absolutely annihilating under a perfectly ironed tablecloth.

The opportunity came when your eldest brother launched into his third monologue of the evening—something about a new executive title, a cross-border investment, or his firm’s sixth-figure quarterly bonus. You didn’t really catch the details. You just saw Auston’s gaze flick to yours, jaw tight, pulse visible in his neck, and you knew. It was time.

You leaned toward your mother with a polite excuse, murmuring something about needing the bathroom. And Auston followed less than a minute later, slipping away while the table erupted into a discussion about mortgage rates.

The hallway was narrow. Quiet. You led him toward the guest bathroom at the back of the house—furthest from the dining room, furthest from voices. And you barely managed to click the door shut before Auston’s mouth crashed into yours.

It was heat. Desperation. Tongues tangled. Teeth clashed. His hands found your hips and pushed you against the wall with a groan that vibrated through your spine.

“You think you can get away with that?” he rasped against your mouth. “Touching me like that while your mum talked about fatherhood?”

You didn’t answer. You just dropped to your knees instead.

And oh, the look on his face—shock melting into pure, ravenous hunger—burned itself into your memory.

You reached for his belt with shaking hands, unfastening it with a confidence you rarely felt. The second you freed him from the constraints of his trousers, he was already hard—So thick, flushed, desperate, it made your mouth water.

You wanted to taste him so badly. To show him you could unravel him just like he could you. 

You took him in, slow at first, your lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling in a soft, maddening tease. His groan cracked in his throat. One hand slapped to the door behind you. The other found your hair, fingers tightening just enough to remind you he wasn’t in the mood for slow and sweet.

You stroked him with one hand while your mouth worked the rest—hollowing your cheeks, flattening your tongue, bobbing your head in an unrelenting rhythm that had his knees locking.

“Fuck—” he hissed, biting down on the inside of his fist.

You glanced up at him through your lashes. He was flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as he stared down at you with something that looked dangerously close to reverence.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

But you did. For just a second. Just to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock and blow softly against the tip. The way he twitched in your hand made you smirk.

He groaned—louder this time—and you had to reach up with your free hand, press a finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” you whispered, licking a drop of precome off your bottom lip. “You want your ‘future mother-in-law’ to hear?”

“Jesus,” he growled, his hips bucking forward.

You took him deeper this time. All the way down. Gagged around him. Drooled messily down your chin as your throat tightened and your fingers dug into the meat of his thighs.

Auston’s head tipped back. His fingers fisted in your hair, dragging you closer, harder, until you could barely breathe. You didn’t care. You wanted to ruin him. You wanted him undone and breathless and at your mercy.

He was close. You could feel it in the tremble of his thighs. The twitch of his cock against your tongue. The broken sounds falling from his lips.

And then—

“Dessert, anyone?” your mother’s voice called out faintly from the kitchen.

You froze.

Auston’s breath hitched.

And then you pulled back. Slowly and gently. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“What the fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth. His hand was still braced against the door. His cock, swollen and red, was still slick with your spit. His jaw was clenched like he could crack a tooth.

You stood, adjusted your skirt with a wicked smirk, and leaned in close to whisper against his jaw, ”what? Dessert’s ready.”

And just like that you left him to himself. Hard and needy. Completely blue balled. 

You walked back into the dining room like you hadn’t just left Auston Matthews on the verge of orgasm in your childhood bathroom. Sat back in your chair, reached for your wine, and smiled at your sisters like nothing had happened at all.

But Auston?

He sat beside you moments later, composed only in appearance. His eyes were dark. His body was still wound tight with frustration. And you could feel the fury in the way he leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he murmured.

You sipped your wine. “Promises, promises.”

His hand slid beneath the table again, but this time it wasn’t playful.

It was a warning.

_

The silence in the car was thick.

Not the kind that begged to be broken, but the kind that said more than any words could. Auston hadn’t spoken since the moment your mother waved goodbye from the porch, a slice of pie in one hand and suspicion still stitched into her parting smile. You hadn’t expected warmth from her—not really—but the tension she brought to the table had taken its toll.

Still, it hadn’t been your mother’s scrutiny that turned Auston cold. You knew exactly what it was. The tease. The touch. The look on his face when your mother had called from the kitchen just before he could unravel completely in your mouth.

He was furious. You could feel it in every rigid turn of the steering wheel, every calculated blink in your direction that never quite landed. And you… well, you couldn’t decide if you were sorry or smug.

The highway stretched out in a blur of taillights and twilight. You sat with your hands folded neatly in your lap, trying not to squirm under the weight of his silence. Until, without warning, Auston took a sharp exit—one you didn’t recognise.

“Aus?” you said, voice hesitant.

He didn’t answer. Just kept driving—off the main road, down a gravel path that led to nowhere in particular. Trees lined the edge of the clearing, the sky above now dipped in deep navy, only the dashboard casting a faint glow between you.

The car slowed to a stop, and you turned to him, your heart already in your throat. “Where are we—?”

“I’m not done with you,” he said.

His voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous in the way it coiled around your spine.

“I had to sit through dinner with your entire family,” he continued, still not looking at you. “Had to smile while your mum called me irresponsible, while your brothers grilled me about my future, and your sisters tried to trip me up with questions like it was a game.”

You swallowed hard. “You handled it like a pro.”

His jaw ticked. “I always do.”

And then he turned to you, finally—his gaze like a live wire sparking against your skin.

“But what I can’t handle,” he said, leaning in just slightly, “is being left hanging with a hard-on the size of my ego and a mother asking me if I want whipped cream on my pie.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed.

His hand was on your jaw in an instant. Firm. Possessive. “You think that’s funny?”

“No,” you whispered, biting your lip.

“Because you’ve been playing games all night, boss. But I don’t think you really understand what it means to play with fire.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Until he said, “Back seat. Now.”

And something inside you snapped like a live wire—sharp, electric, alive. Not fear. Not hesitation. Just… heat. Thrumming low in your belly, rising like a tide you had no desire to stop.

Because the version of you that might’ve once laughed nervously, who would’ve deflected or joked her way out of something this intense? She was gone. Left behind somewhere between last night’s hallway, this morning’s sheets, and the exact moment Auston’s fingers slid up your thigh under your mother’s dinner table. In her place was someone braver. Bolder. Someone who wanted to see what happened when you let yourself burn.

You climbed over the centre console without a word, heart hammering, breath shallow. The seat was cool against the backs of your thighs, the leather creaking softly as you adjusted yourself, skirt riding high. Your legs spread, just slightly, as if inviting him. Daring him.

The passenger door clicked shut behind him, followed by the low sound of the lock sliding into place.

And then he was on you.

No warning. No sweet nothings. Just heat and hands and hunger.

Auston’s body crowded you instantly, the weight of him pressing you into the leather as if he needed to stake a claim. His mouth brushed the line of your jaw, not quite a kiss—more a threat, soft and searing. One hand palmed your hip, dragging your skirt higher until the cool air kissed the backs of your thighs. The other pressed to the seat beside your head, anchoring him above you, his breath skating across your lips.

“You don’t get to start something like that,” he growled, low and sharp, “and not finish it.”

You met his eyes—dark, wild, furious with want—and whispered, “Then finish it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth crashed to yours, and it wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was possession, full and messy and open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that swallowed sound and left nothing untouched. His tongue slid against yours with practiced intent, tasting you, claiming you.

Auston didn’t undress you, not fully. He didn’t need to. His fingers worked with fast, controlled precision—skirt pushed up, blouse tugged open at the buttons, bra shifted just enough for him to palm your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple like it was instinct.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound.

Every move he made was calculated. Every shift of his hips, every scrape of his fingers—deliberate and punishing. He had something to prove, and your body was the battleground.

You barely noticed your legs spreading wider to accommodate the press of his knee. All you could focus on was the press of his fingers between your thighs, dragging through your folds like he already knew exactly how wet you were. How ready. And he groaned when he found you—low and primal, the kind of sound that made your spine arch and your hands fist in his jacket.

He teased you first, because of course he did. Auston was many things, but merciful was not one of them—not when you’d left him hard and needy and furious in your mother’s bathroom.

His fingers slid through you with maddening control. Circles. Pressure. Just enough to make your hips lift off the seat. Just enough to make your lips part around a silent plea.

“Already soaked,” he murmured against your throat, voice thick. “Knew you’d be like this.”

You whimpered. He chuckled, dark and dangerous, before slipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right—making your eyes slam shut and your walls clench.

“You gonna beg now, boss?” he whispered, dragging his mouth to your collarbone. “Or you still think you’re in charge?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your mouth had gone slack, your body arching into his like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. And when he pulled his fingers away—leaving you empty, aching—you almost sobbed.

He made you wait. Just long enough to drive you mad.

And then, finally, he undid his trousers with one hand, shoved them low enough to free himself, and lined up without ceremony—just the heat of him pressing at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your folds like a warning.

When he finally thrust inside, it was with one, deep, devastating stroke.

You cried out—high and sharp, the sound muffled by the crook of his shoulder as your body split around him.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t soft.

It was punishment. And it was perfect.

His pace was relentless. The windows fogged instantly, your moans caught in the thick, humid air, your fingers scrabbling against the car door, the seatbelt strap, his shoulders—anything to ground yourself. But he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He just took. Again and again, until your mind blurred and your muscles locked and you couldn’t remember a world that didn’t have him inside you.

“You like pushing me?” he rasped, snapping his hips forward so hard your breath caught. “This what you wanted?”

You could barely nod, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

But he felt it. The way your body clenched around him, the way your legs wrapped tighter, your cries becoming desperate now.

And he rewarded you.

One hand snaked between you, pressing to your clit with just the right pressure, and your vision went white.

You came with a shudder, his name falling from your lips like a prayer and a curse all at once. But Auston didn’t stop. Not until your orgasm had rippled through every inch of your body. Not until you sagged beneath him, boneless and shaking.

Only then did he pull out.

And the way he looked at you—hair a mess, sweat at his temples, eyes blown wide with control and something almost… tender?

That was almost more intimate than anything else.

Almost.

Because he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

You were breathless, dazed, legs still wrapped loosely around his hips when he sat back, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

“Not done,” he said simply.

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He reached down, tugging gently at your chin until you were sitting upright, your body still humming. His other hand slipped into your hair.

“On your knees,” he murmured. “And finish what you started.”

And so, you did.

With no hesitation. No shame. Just pure lust.

You took him into your mouth slowly, deliberately, eyes locked with his as you teased the sensitive tip with your tongue. The moment he moaned—low and broken, fingers tangling in your hair—you gave him more. Let him feel the shift from control to surrender, inch by inch, until there was nothing left between you but want.

You gagged as he hit the back of your throat, drool dripping and your lips slick with spit, your jaw aching from the stretch. But you didn’t stop. You focused—breathing through your nose, relaxing your throat, working him with every ounce of skill you had.

And the sounds he made—deep, raw, shameless—only spurred you on. Each moan felt like a reward. Each choked whisper of your name a spark down your spine. You’d never known giving pleasure could feel like this. Like power. Like intimacy.

His thighs trembled beneath your hands, his body tightening as he fought the losing battle for composure. His grip in your hair was desperate.

And when he finally came, it was with your name torn from his lips and a full-body shudder that seemed to ripple all the way through his chest.

“Fuuuck….” 

Then silence returned, but it felt different now. Calmer and sated.

And slowly, Auston tucked himself back into his jeans and reached for your hand. “Back up front,” he said softly, a touch of humour finally returning to his voice. “Before we both end up sleeping in the parking lot.”

You couldn't help but laugh, breathless. “Not the worst night I’ve ever had.”

He smirked. “Yeah, me neither.”

_

“Dearest Toronto Readers,

There are games, and then there are matches. And make no mistake—what we witnessed tonight was no mere exhibition. It was war. It was seduction. It was strategy wrapped in silk sheets and served with a side of family dysfunction.

The Queen has led the King into her past—into the trenches of old bedrooms, relentless siblings, and mothers who wield judgement sharper than any hockey blade. But it was he who took the upper hand, responding not with charm alone, but with heat, with control, with a level of desire that could scorch through even the most carefully built walls.

And the Queen? She did not falter. She flirted with fire, then begged to be burned.

But readers… beware. Because the Ice King is melting, and if we’ve learned anything from the great chess masters of history, it’s this: when the most reserved piece begins to feel, the board is never the same.

One space at a time, remember?

But after tonight, we wonder—who’s really making the moves?

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

[synthetickitsune]

Jeonghan (SVT) | Wedding Cake fluff | 0.8k | gn!reader

You really won’t do it, right? You recall asking the question about a week ago, remember your teeth sinking into your lip and shaky breathing. You felt bad about asking then, and you feel the same shame now. There is no reason to ask, nor to doubt, afterall. Jeonghan would never hurt you intentionally. His teasing and pranks are all for entertainment, curated carefully to whoever is their victim, so no harm is caused, no damage done that can’t be fixed with a hug and his loving smile.

The same smile is deeper, fonder, all the more blinding now as Jeonghan looks at you from just a couple steps away. He looks so handsome in his suit, a tiny flower in his breast pocket. It doesn’t look as pretty as it did in the morning - no surprise there, you expected it’d become his emotional support item for the day. You caught him fidgeting with it a few times. But your eyes barely linger on the petals before you finally gather the courage to meet his eyes. Your husband’s eyes. 

Your heart beats just a little faster. The label is still so new and exciting. This is the man you chose to marry, to spend the rest of your life with. You trust him, you know he’d never hurt you. The gentle and loving look in his eyes makes you fall in love with him again. It usually soothes you in an instant, but your anxiety is fueled by the number of people in the room, by the atmosphere, and you know how quickly his gaze can turn from gentle to playful.

It’s time. You close the short distance between you and let him pull you closer by the waist, feel some nerves calm down when he kisses your cheek and smiles at you.

The cake in front of you is what you dreamed of. It’s beautiful and the decorations are cute, yet your stomach also twists slightly. Everything and everyone is in place. Jeonghan picks up the knife and you follow his lead, wrapping your hand around the handle too. You hear the camera shutter click a few times and get a little conscious of your expression. What face are you making? You’re not sure, but you think you’re smiling because your husband is holding you close and you can feel his heart beating fast where his chest presses a little against your shoulder.

The cake is cut, and suddenly your mouth feels dry. You watch in slow motion as Jeonghan’s hand moves towards the cake and you close your eyes, blink for just a second longer than you should. Thousand mortifying scenarios run through your head. Your clothes ruined, your hair dirty with cake, your face a mess. You keep your eyes closed for another second. There’s a little smudge of something cold and wet on your lips.

You open your eyes and try to look down, but there are gentle fingers on your chin and chuckling Jeonghan who pulls you into a sweet kiss. Sweet as in literally sweet. You can taste the icing from the cake. Laughing into the kiss, you pull your husband closer before pulling away. You touch your lips but there’s nothing of the icing left.

He’s smiling too, but you see the way he tilts his head to make sure you’re okay. You are. You hear your friends and family laughing, see their smiling faces from the corner of your eye. Their happiness cannot match yours, however.

“Did you really think I’d smash your face into the cake?” Jeonghan leans closer and whispers into your ear while the cake is being distributed around, his own piece waiting for him, the imprint of his fingers on full display. He sounds a little worried, so you squeeze his hand and give him a smile.

“I was worried for some reason, but it’s not like I thought you’d do it,” you admit and watch him sigh in relief before he pouts.

“Mingyu betted the guys that I would last week,” he whines to you, shooting the man in question a quick glare, “Sometimes I think he hates me.”

“He doesn’t, I think he was just upset about your prank back then,” you reassure him.

“How did you know I pranked him?” Jeonghan gasps, making you roll your eyes.

“I think I know my husband well enough to know,” you shrug. He pauses for a second before he bites his lips and grins. “What now?”

“You called me your husband,” he chuckles, “I like it. Call me that from now on.”

“I think I have no choice,” you laugh, giddiness slowly bubbling all through your body. 

Your husband. 

You’re not sure who makes the first move, who pulls the other into another short kiss, but you know it feels sweet like the cake.

[drurrito]

a/n: untitled beach fic; another shot at writing smut; 18+ only

pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Submissive!Reader

warnings: some degradation; light choking; cursing; dry(?) humping...

----------------

"You haven't looked at me the entire time we've been here, you know?"

The water is suddenly ice-cold and your muscles bunch up into one big knot. You turn to look at Natasha for the first time since you pulled up to the beach and the realization that she would be in nothing but a bikini for the entire day smacked you in the face like a stray frisbee.

"What?" You try to sound offended. Natasha holds your gaze. Your freshly sunscreened face begins to burn. You look back towards the shore where the rest of your friends are tanning, talking, and laughing. Steve chucks a football far enough to make Bucky sprint after it, but he trips over a kid's abandoned sandcastle head-first. You thought you could find reprieve in the water after a few minutes of just staring at your toes in the sand while Sam talked about bar-hopping last night. You watched Natasha follow you into the water the same way a bleeding seal watches a circling shark's fin.

"Haven't I?" You ask, your eyes briefly passing over Natasha's form. She watches you flounder in the water. You're wishing and hoping for a wave to swallow you whole right now.

"I wouldn't have said anything if that were true."

"Right," you run a shaky hand through your hair and collect yourself enough to look Natasha in the eyes once more. She's closer now, your eyes dive into the shrinking space between you and her.

"Did I do something to upset you?"

Your eyes resurface, landing on hers, "no, not at all!"

Natasha moves closer, you fight the urge to look away, you can't let her think you don't like her.

Because you do, you do like her. So much so that you can't focus on her in that bikini for more than mere seconds. Any longer and you just might faint, or melt into the sand, or both.

You're in a staring contest with her now, you're determined to count every speck of amber floating in her deep green eyes and--

Natasha is moving even closer now, this time she goes left--then right--then left again--your eyes track her perfectly, not once straying away from her pupils.

"Huh," she tilts her head in amusement as a small wave swells and rolls through you both before crashing onto shore. You still don't break eye contact, only letting your eyes bounce around the borderlands of her irises.

"You can't look at me, can you?" Natasha smirks and you flinch, finally blinking.

"I'm looking at you right now?"

"At my eyes, yes," another wave rolls by, a bit bigger than the last, "but only my eyes."

You swallow down a wad of nerves. Natasha is a riptide ready to pull you under. You’re thinking about how hard you need to push against the Earth below you to get out of the water as fast as humanly possible.

“I’m just—“

“Being respectful, I know baby,” Natasha cuts you off—you’re too stuck on how easily those words rolled off her tongue to notice that her bare torso is only a hair away from touching yours.

Another wave, even bigger this time, throws Natasha off balance, sending her right into you. Your arms quickly shoot out to catch her while her own arms hook around your neck to steady herself. You’re actually looking at her, scanning her body for anything that can tell you this is just a fluke. Your mind is screaming at you to let her go and bolt but your body betrays you by keeping her close.

By the time you both collided, the water had risen high enough to kiss the space right below your chests. To the rest of the beach, you both basically look floating heads. You admire Natasha’s profile as she looks out towards the beach for a few moments before turning her attention on you. You barely catch the stormy look in her eyes before you’re reminded of her arms around your neck when her nails graze the base of your skull.

“Do I make you nervous?” Her tone is dark now. Your body goes rigid while your mind fumbles around for an answer. You nod, no use in lying now, not when Natasha could probably feel your heart beating against your rib cage since she’s so close.

“Say it.”

“Yes, you make me nervous,” you do a piss-poor job of trying to keep your voice from trembling with want. Natasha’s lips curl into a smile and she chuckles. You start seeing stars.

“Don’t be,” Natasha starts to pull you impossibly closer and you meet her halfway. She only gives you a few seconds to process the fact that she’s kissing you before she slides her thigh between your legs. Your spine feels a chill under the hot sun.

“Do you wanna be good for me?”

You couldn’t look any dopier, nodding with your jaw hanging low.

“Words baby.”

“Yes,” you sound dumber than you look.

“Then start humping.”

You cough like you just swallowed a gallon of saltwater, “what?”

“I know you heard me.”

“Right…right now?” You sputter, frantically looking back towards the beach, “in front of everyone?”

Natasha roughly grabs you by the chin to pull your attention back to her.

“Start. Humping.”

Her hand lowers to clamp around your throat and that makes your knees buckle. Your arms tighten around her waist and your body dips down until you feel her thigh against your core. You let out a surprised grunt and Natasha smirks while she watches you begin to find a rhythm. It feels good, too good to stop. Your eyes flutter and threaten to roll back into your head, your body overwhelmed by how much you want this, how much you wanted to do this for a while.

“You look deliciously pathetic you know that right? Humping my leg for everyone to see,” Natasha mocks as your pace hastens. You rest your forehead on her shoulder to try and keep yourself afloat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding harder and faster against Natasha’s thigh. You’re not even going to chance a look to see if anyone is actually watching you both. The longer this goes on, the less you seem to care anyway. You litter the sun kissed window of her cleavage with sloppy, desperate, open-mouthed kisses. Your hands groping and grabbing at her waist, her thighs, her ass, anything that can help you get a better grip and bring you as close as you can get to her without having to jump into her skin.

“So needy—like you’ve been dreaming about this,” she teases, you blush. Her hand glides from the back of your head to the tip of your chin and lifts it, “look at me.”

You obey without a second thought, a small whimper escaping your lips when you do. 

“That’s it,” she patronizingly coos as her nails dig a little deeper into your jaw, it stings in the best way.

When you finally look around, you realize the water isn’t covering you as much as it was a bit ago.

“Shit, the tide—” your movements start to slow, but there’s no chance you’re stopping.

“Better hurry then,” Natasha’s hand on your jaw moves down to your throat to give it another squeeze, “you want to cum for me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, your whole body is buzzing.

“Then don’t keep me waiting, or else everyone will get to see what a pitiful fucking sight you are right now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” you don’t waste another second to quicken the movement of your hips.  Before you know it, your senses are electrified, the pressure against your cunt becomes borderline overwhelming.

“I’m—I’m close—" You stammer against her neck, your hips bucking erratically against her thigh. You feel her laugh rumbling through your lips when you open your eyes and—

“Fuck.”

“Whiny little mutt,” Natasha scoffs.

“No, there’s…there’s a wave coming right at us,” your eyes widen but you don’t stop, you’re too close to give up. You keep going, growing more frenzied as the wave swells to the biggest one you’ve seen since you been here.

You only get moments to appreciate the high you worked so hard to chase before you have to throw yourself and Natasha under the so it doesn’t wipe you out.

You both come up laughing, Natasha pulls you in for a kiss, smiling against each other’s lips.

[wings-of-ink]

Kitty updates? With pictures? Maybe even a video?

If you've been following for a bit, you might now that me and my spouse adopted two kitties last New Year's Eve. If you're interested in how they're doing and in for some cute pics, see below!

Arlo, AKA "Father Arlo" (because of his little white patch that looks like a collar)

This is the most chill cat I have ever experienced. He is fearless and curious and so playful. But he's also SUPER cuddly (and too smart). He knows how doorknobs work (thank goodness he does not have thumbs), he knows how to unseal their food storage (we have to keep a large weight on top of it now), and he likes to knock over the treat box and watch his brother eat them (and get the blame - once - before we figured out it was a setup).

Arlo enjoys sleeping on my face or curling around my neck. He must be as close as possible at all times. If you so much as think about petting him, he purrs. His white patches are soooo much softer than the rest of him. His black fur is very silky, but the white is all floof and is a longer length. He LOVES tummy scritches!

Arlo is very intrigued with the dishwasher. He is less obsessed with the area behind the refrigerator now, though, he tries to get inside it now. He also loves chasing ice and gets terribly excited if he hears us getting any. He likes treats, but prefers to chase them.

Miles, full name "Timothy Gordon Miles," AKA "Gordy" and "Mr./Professor Miles" though sometimes I also call him "Melon Ball" lol

Miles has become a real ham. He is a shy guy, but still so affectionate, if a bit strange. He is one of the least graceful creatures I have ever known. When he wants my attention, he gently reaches up on my legs (without claws) and just paws at me.

He doesn't like surfaces that are "too soft" which is one of the weirdest thing I've seen in a cat. He likes woven or even scratchy fabrics (aside from my sweatpants). Whereas Arlo was curling up with us at bedtime within the first week, Miles took a couple months to decide he'd like to join. He particularly likes the foot of the bed or the crook of my spouse's knees, lol.

His favorite spots are the baskets on the cat trees. He likes to be held, but prefers to be on his back and cradled like the bebe he is.

Though Miles startles easier, he is about just as chill as his brother. His fur is incredibly soft! He also generates electricity. The air in the house was dry enough that static was an issue for a while and just by petting him, we would get little shocks, lol. It was like having a grey and white Pikachu.

Arlo is a machine about play. His favorite thing is the box-tunnel I made him. His brother doesn't really like it, but likes to wait on either end for Arlo to pop out.

These two are the best of buddies. They are so patient with each other. They never swat or hiss even when food or treats are involved, it is unreal. Though they each have a food bowl, they still prefer to eat together from the same one. They also LOVE my pants???

Arlo and Miles adore being in the bathtub (empty) and just playing in it. They just roll around and wrestle in it...Naturally, we also have a passion for boxes, paper bags, and tissue paper.

These two have been such a joy to love, even when they are up to no good - breaking mugs (Arlo) or STEALING A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER (Miles). ^_^

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Just in Time

Pairing: Chenle x reader (very partial Jisung x reader) Description: It had been almost four years since your contact with Chenle was forced to end. A part of you wondered how he was moving on…he made sure you didn’t have to guess. Seeing him again and it was like you just met, but the happy ending associated with those feelings was never yours for the taking, right? Content warnings: None, really; angst with a happy ending this time around; Jisung believes in soulmates if that’s your vibe Word count: 8,127 A/n: This is the sequel to Out of Time, which you can read here if you haven’t already. I heavily suggest reading that first because this one doesn’t stand well on its own unless you make up an entire backstory for it, yourself lmao. Please enjoy, but as always, who am I to tell you what to do? Any feedback is greatly appreciated. I love you!

Senior year of college and four years seemed to go by in an instant…though you always had a hard time saying that because you know four years would’ve felt like an eternity compared to the three months you had with Chenle; the three months which you had gotten better at convincing yourself you no longer think about everyday - sometimes you believed it, and sometimes the memory of Chenle would eat away at your insides and leave you a walking carcass to simply show up to class, take notes, and go home. That’s where you currently were, in the same dorm from freshman year, when there’s a knock on your door and you know it’s not from the one person who you’d expect it to be nowadays. You pause your TV, leaving your bedroom to walk through the living area and open the door, and that’s where your heart stops.

“Chenle, what are you doing here?!” You think your words come out in a yell, but you didn’t have the capacity to care about that - not when Chenle was standing in front of you…and looking about as drained as you’ve felt these past four years. 

“Y/n, where have I always dreamed of traveling to?” He asks frantically in return rather than answering your own question. Your eyebrows immediately furrow at the feeling of this being some joke that you weren’t in on. You knew the answer though, the only problem was the fact that it would reveal how horrible a job you’ve done at moving on…or how spectacular a job you had done at not forgetting him. Regardless, the more you looked at him, the more you realized that it was truly as though he needed the answer, as though he was the one who didn’t know. Your mouth goes dry, but you respond with sincerity.

“Iceland. You were always really intrigued by the fact that Iceland is all green and Greenland is all ice, so you wanted to travel there and see what that was all about.” You know he heard the answer, but none of it looked as though it registered in his brain, and you finally become too worried to keep calm. “Chenle, what is going on?” You ask in frustration, but at the sound of his name coming out of your mouth again, Chenle snaps back to the moment, and with that comes a scared look on his own face.

“Y/n, I forgot myself. Everything is so cookie-cutter there’s no room to be me. I have to fit the perfect mold, it’s been exhausting. I just finished all of the training courses and with that out of the way, they finally started talking about marriage. They said they were giving me the chance to take one last small trip on my own before I had to actually get serious and play my part for the company. I couldn’t remember anywhere I had wanted to go, so I just came back to you, because through all the pieces of my past that I’ve been forced to forget about, I always remembered you.” He finally takes his first breath since he started speaking. His eyes trace over you in the pause, and you watch the tension fall from his features as he continues with his point more softly. “The way you made me feel, how you always smelled like strawberries, your usual order of ice cream from our favorite spot…how you’d always win when we raced to see who could finish their milkshake the fastest and then you’d tease me for getting brain freezes. Y/n, I remember everything about you,” he says, his desperate, manic state not enough to cover over how sure he was of his words. “You’re my person.”

You’re not sure at which point in his spiel that your jaw dropped, but you know you were staring at him with your mouth gaping slightly now, fumbling for words but the only thing you could come up with was the comfort of his name. “Chenle…”

He shook his head rapidly as you drag off, his words much more frantic again in a desperate plea to convince you. “I don’t want to marry someone else. I want that summer back. Our summer.”

“Y/n, everything okay?” A low voice cuts through, freezing both you and Chenle in a stare as your boyfriend wraps you in a back hug and places a gentle kiss on your cheek…you figure the tone of the conversation you were having with Chenle was enough reason for him to want to move from your bedroom and check on you. Though, instead of taking it as a considerate gesture, all you can do is sigh heavily.

“Jisung-” You start, staring down at his hands now wrapped around your waist. You’re not sure how to continue, and instead, it’s Chenle’s hollow words that do.

“Oh, look,” he draws out slowly, and you whip your head up to face him, his gaze locked on everywhere Jisung was making contact with you - a kind of horror in his eyes being the last real emotion before even that faded to emptiness. “Reality’s caught up to me here, too.”

Your heart drops and you rush to bring some life back into him. “Chenle-” 

You don’t have time to string together any words that could’ve possibly helped with your objective, because Chenle cuts you off again with a small shake of his head. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry,” he says monotonously as he turns to walk away. You jump to grab his hand before he’s out of reach, and Chenle whips back around in your direction with pleading eyes wide enough to match your serious ones.

“No, I think we should talk,” you say firmly, taking a moment to step out of Jisung’s reach before turning around to face him and his confused expression. You can’t bring yourself to waste time giving him clarity right now, especially not in front of Chenle; instead, you just manage a grimace and a promise. “Jisung, I’ll be back.” 

He stutters out an ‘okay,’ and then without another moment’s hesitation, you lead Chenle out of the dorms, not sure where you were taking him, just out, you needed to get out. You look behind you a couple of times to make sure Chenle was still following you, as though you didn’t still have a makeshift sort of grasp on his hand. At some point in your trek towards a place to sit and talk, Chenle shifted your grips so that you were just actually holding hands instead. You immediately whip your head around to reprimand him, but his distant eyes are completely focused on your interlocked hands, the weakest of smiles playing on his lips as though just having your hand in his was enough for him to feel like he got that summer back, and you didn’t have the heart to take that away from him right now. 

You didn’t realize your feet were leading you to the campus’ outdoor basketball courts until you ended up at their bleachers, but you figure anything for a bit of comfort right now, both, for you and for Chenle. Once you sat down, you finally removed your hand from his, and instead of putting up any fight to keep them together, he just immediately spat out words. “If I told you to break up with him, would you?” There’s a detached sort of look in his eyes, but the question was serious, there was nothing half-there about it…no element of playfulness that you so desperately wished for. Instead, you’re left to be the voice of reason, because Chenle was dead set on his narrative and you had to keep reminding him that said story would never be written.

“Chenle, if I broke up with Jisung, nothing would change,” you begin calmly. “You still have to marry for advantage. That one daughter of one of your parents’ business partners.” The words get caught in your throat, making your continuation sound little more than pathetic. “What’s her name?”

Chenle shakes his head in immediate response. “I don’t know. I still haven’t cared to learn it.”

The answer was serious but you still let out a laugh, though all it could manage to manifest as was a heavy exhale. It didn’t help that the answer was so Chenle. He said he lost himself in training for the company, but here, in your presence at least, he was still just as you remembered him. It removed some weight from your shoulders, having the little kid you grew up with sitting next to you; everything was always lighter with Chenle around, that was the greatest truth of your childhood, and it still seemed to carry into today. Your next words come out more playful than you could’ve imagined, an easy jab at Chenle who was clearly not doing his job. “Well, you should probably find that out if you’re going to be married to her.”

Chenle can’t buy into the banter. Instead, his words are sharp and fueled with a rage that he tried his best to dial back, because you both knew it wasn’t aimed at you. Regardless, it neutralizes your own demeanor, your face finally falling because this topic was no small thing - it was your lives, your hearts. “There’s no reason I should be forced to marry someone just because my family owns a company. That doesn’t make any sense.”

You shake your head slightly, and your voice comes out as a plea for understanding - you weren’t sure how much longer you could take being the voice of reason if he was going to continuously fight back…not when your heart was clawing its way out of your chest to get to his beside you. “But it’s how things go, Chenle. Pretending the outcome could be different will only make it hurt more. We got tied up that one summer because we knew it was only going to last for those three months. We were both aware of the end date. It's come and gone.” You falter before your next words, not sure you actually ever admitted to this before…not knowing how it would feel on your tongue. “There’s no more time for an ‘us.’” 

You don’t know why you’re the one on the verge of tears right now when it was Chenle getting rejected, but the second he notices and realizes you may be closer to a breakthrough than he had originally thought, he rushes to reassure you. “We could make time. We could just run away…to Iceland,” he says thoughtfully, and a toothy smile finally graces his features for the smallest of moments before he continues in sincerity. “Avoid all the business politics. Try again.”

You take a heavy breath, your lips parted as they shuffle through all the words they could possibly form in this moment. Finally, you shake your head softly, turning to face Chenle as you land on what to say. “I’m with Jisung.” You try to make your words firm, final, and regardless of the fact that they were anything but, Chenle lets it drop. 

He gives a solemn nod of his head, standing up from the bleachers with a light grimace as he turns to face you front on. Your eye contact wasn’t without a similar glaze of tears in both your eyes, but Chenle wasn’t shocked by your words. You had the most loyal and caring heart in the world. You wouldn’t leave Jisung for this, just like how if circumstances were different, Chenle was sure you’d be his forever. He would have to settle with him just being yours forever, regardless of if it meant anything to you now at all.

You spend another twenty minutes sitting idly on the bleachers after Chenle had left. You didn’t want to put in any physical effort to move right away when you were already straining emotionally to keep all your tears at bay, and you definitely didn’t want to leave so close behind Chenle and chance running into him again on the walk back to your dorm - you’re not sure you would’ve been as strong the second encounter; you would’ve placed yourself right within his arms, messy confessions of the three words you were too scared to echo back to him four years ago finally manifesting in the space between your lips and his chest, breathing him in and remembering that you both spent too much time together for you to truly be able to pick up a scent off of him anymore, the same way his aunt’s house had no distinguishable scent from your own, it just smelled like home; everything about Chenle had ‘home’ written all over it. 

None of that happened though, because you waited twenty minutes to move from the bleachers, and Chenle was already long gone from your campus grounds by then. 

When you do finally creak open the door to your dorm, Jisung hops up from your couch in a second, pointing hesitantly behind you at the ghost of a Chenle who previously occupied your doorway over an hour earlier. “Who was that?” He asks in confusion. There was next to no force in his tone - that wasn’t really his thing, but you could understand why he’d be wanting answers so quickly in this circumstance, especially because for as long as he’s known you, there hasn’t ever been a single man in your life other than your dad. 

The thing about Jisung was, he had been helplessly pining after you since sophomore year, but you were in no place to date again at the time and you let him know so. He could tell there was hurt there, but he was also sure it wasn’t a hurt you wanted to revisit, just one that you wanted to get over. So, he toned down his pining (though it still seeped through some cracks) and instead started on his attempt to befriend you - another dynamic that emphasized the pit in your stomach. However, he got you to crack eventually, first in friendship, and then just recently in a romantic sense. You had no clue if Chenle had already gotten married at the time, but you knew that you needed to move on, too. So, when you finally felt sure that you wouldn’t be using Jisung as a pick-me-up, but instead were just actually in a place to date again, he was still waiting patiently for you to tell. So, now he’s been your boyfriend for the past four months, the two of you finally getting together during finals week of the winter semester. 

You’re pretty sure he’s the sweetest boy on campus, and the last thing you want to do is hurt him. As such, you’re quick to shake your head in response to his question now, hoping to dismiss his worries immediately. Though, everything about your nonverbals reveal how far away your mind currently was from the present, and the last thing your head shake comes across as is a firm dismissal. “An old friend,” you manage to reply, but your voice cracks at the added context and Jisung’s eyes go wide at your current state of being - maybe all your guards were still up without you knowing, because this was the most real emotion Jisung had ever seen from you.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, his head tilted slightly in confusion, no longer at Chenle’s identity, but at your behavior.

You manage to shake your head again, kicking yourself when this one comes out much more determined than that accompanying your previous answer. “Just hold me for a second,” you squeak out as the first tear slides down your cheek.

“Okay- yeah, okay,” Jisung fumbles out in shock before rushing to cross the room over to you and wrap his arms around your trembling figure.

You tried your best to feel at home in the embrace, something you’ve been able to trick yourself of before, but if his arms made up walls, it was of a home you and Chenle had picked out paint colors for. Your heart could find peace not because Jisung’s arms were around you, but because any arms encased you within walls that Chenle had already touched every part of - his messy handprints all over each flat surface; handprints that you had to then cover over with a rolling brush and a fond laugh…now you wish you painted around them, wished there was still so evidently pieces of Chenle intertwined with you, that he’d so obviously be a part of your life, where getting to know you meant getting to know Chenle; maybe it was jealousy that ruined your life and made your past so hard to talk about…you never wanted anyone to know Chenle like you did.

Over a week had gone by since Chenle had shown up in your life again, and your strides towards recovering from the entire situation had been minimal at best. If you thought there was a hollowness inside you before, it was nothing compared to what you were left with after having to truly send him away this time on your own accord. The timing couldn’t have been worse, either, with this being midterms week right before spring break, and your scatterbrain meant that any focus on the actual subject matter was nowhere to be found. It also meant you and Jisung had less time to see each other, almost all of it being taken up by studying…at least on his end - you tried your best. 

Thursday evening, however, saw to it that Jisung was walking in through your front door and causing an easy smile to finally grace your features again. Your schedule included no class on Fridays, and all of his Friday classes pushed midterms to the front of the week, so there was nothing for either of you to buckle down and study for anymore…and you both decided a nice dinner at home would be a good way to celebrate the academic weight off both of your shoulders. 

With a soft greeting, Jisung walked right over to where you were standing in the kitchen, just finishing up the last of the cooking. He placed a light kiss on your cheek before grabbing your shoulders and pushing you a few inches to the left so that he could take over cooking the side dish for you. You look up at him by your side with a fond smile, reaching out to gently turn his face towards you so that you could press on your tiptoes and kiss him for real. He breaks away with a warm laugh. “Okay, okay. You gotta let me go. I gotta stir - no way am I gonna come in here and take over your side dish just to burn it.” 

You let out a small laugh of your own, relenting after sneaking in one last distracting kiss to his cheek, which was now puffed out in a bashful smile as he threw a fond glance your way before turning his gaze back to the stovetop. Maybe Jisung balanced you out more than you ever knew, because just being able to reside in his presence again after the past week had everything feeling a little lighter, a little more normal. Jisung knew it, too - the familiar gleam in your eyes was finally back, though there was still that thought in the back of his mind that what was familiar for him wasn’t fully you. Regardless, standing in the kitchen with you smiling again was, in fact, a little lighter, a little more normal. 

As cooking concluded and you began plating, Jisung took the liberty of clearing off the dinner table for the two of you. The last thing to move was your go-to hoodie draped over the back of your chair, and Jisung mindlessly picked it up to move and place over the back of the couch instead. Though, as soon as he laid it down, a wave of clarity hit him and he froze. He was stuck staring at the hoodie, looking for what gave it away or if his head-spinning was self-sabotage, finally deciding there was no clue or tell except for a horrible gut feeling and the little background you did give him about Chenle after you got done crying in his arms last week. The soft clang of the plates being placed on the table was the only thing to bring him back out of his head, instead whipping over to face you and hesitantly sitting down in his usual spot at the table. 

You send him a smile as you sit down, yourself, and move to start digging in, but as Jisung picks up his chopsticks and opens his mouth for a first bite, words come flowing out instead. “It’s his hoodie, isn’t it?” He questions in a rush. In initial shock, you place everything back down and just furrow your brows at him in confusion, unable to follow his train of thought until you trace his gaze over your shoulder and to Chenle’s old hoodie he had just cleared from the table. Your shoulders sink as Jisung continues on, his eyes locked on the hoodie miserably. “The one you always wear even when it’s summer. The reason you never wanted any of mine.”

You turn to face him across from you at the table again but your gaze falls to your lap in shame. “Yeah…” You croak out, and Jisung finally moves his gaze away from the hoodie as well, instead scanning over your presence at the table and letting out a soft sigh, the tiniest of head nods accompanying it.

He swallows awkwardly for a moment, preparing himself for the words about to come out of his mouth. “Y/n, if your red string of fate is so obviously connected to Chenle, then mine isn’t connected to you.” His words have no edge to them, but they’re firm, stated with a resolve that had you whipping your head back up to face him in shock before immediately darting your gaze away again and pretending he was being ridiculous.

“Chenle and I are not connected by a red string of fate,” you scoff, but Jisung is quick enough to combat your denial that he’s practically cutting you off.

“Yes,” he rebuttals seriously, getting you to look in his eyes again just to see him soften once you do, continuing on with his point more steadily. “You are. When he laid eyes on you last week, it was like the weight of the world fell off his shoulders. He looked like how you do every time you wear his hoodie. He looked home. Like he was finally able to breathe.”

Tears fill your eyes and you move your gaze back down to try and make sure Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell. “I’m with you.” The statement comes weakly out of your mouth, your tears now revealing themselves in your fractured tone that you tried so hard to make whole and firm…just like you did when you relayed the same sentiment to Chenle on the bleachers.

Jisung exhales heavily, but his tone carries much less weight than yours did. “Well, right now you are. But I should probably go figure out who my red string is attached to, yeah?” He suggests more lightly. The entire notion leaves you feeling sick - you know how this goes.

“Ji, even if we weren’t dating, it doesn’t mean anything. Chenle has to marry for advantage. There’s no way for us to be together,” you claim gravely, but Jisung is finally able to crack a smile and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how there’s still a fondness coating his gaze.

“You’ll find a way. You always do,” he responds surely, his smile turning soft as he gives a contemplative nod of his head. “It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

“Jisung-” You begin, a horrible feeling of pity setting into your system, but Jisung cuts you off in an instant, his sure gaze dispelling any ask for pity that his words may be hinting at.

“We both deserve a fair chance at love,” he claims seriously, this time leaving you to be the one rushing to refute.

“I could get there with you,” you state with more confidence than even you knew you had.

Jisung lets out a small exhale of laughter, shaking his head with a knowing smile. “Why bother when you’re already there with someone else?” He replies, making sure the two of you were holding eye contact so you could tell he was serious as he continues. “Y/n, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll find my person. It isn’t gonna kill me if it isn’t you. What is gonna kill me is if we stay in a relationship and I have to be reminded every day of the fact that Chenle makes you glow in a way I never could.” There it was - words you couldn’t argue with at all. Instead, you sink back in defeat, chewing on your bottom lip before shaking your head apologetically.

“I’m sorry it took us so long to actually start dating just for it to end so soon.”

Jisung takes in your acceptance with a smirk, giving a matching shake of his head, though this one served to dispel the remorse in yours. “I’m not sorry,” he replies, getting you to look back up at him again as he continues with that same smirk painted across his lips. “I don’t regret a thing, not even its end. I’m actually pumped for it to end. I’m gonna go get a girlfriend who is so incredibly pretty and nice and wears my clothes-”

“What are you doing?” You cut him off with a laugh, and his smirk turns into a full-on smile at the fact that your tension had finally faded.

“Trying to make you feel a little less guilty about breaking this off. Is it working?” He asks hopefully.

“...a little,” you say with a sigh. Sure, his goal was somewhat achieved, but it brought on the fact that you had no clue how you ever deserved Jisung - if you ever did.

Jisung doesn’t give you time to ruminate on the thoughts he knew were going through your mind. “Go get Chenle back,” he directs seriously, sending his gaze off towards your open bedroom door, where your already-packed suitcase for spring break was waiting just inside the doorway. Then he pulls his gaze back to you, a reassuring type of confidence painting over every feature of his as he continues. “Don’t let him go this time.”

You roll your eyes, the concept of your future path finally hitting you. “Easier said than done when it’s me against his family,” you say with a heavy breath. 

Jisung just shakes his head, the smirk back on his lips. “I believe in you.”

His words were just reassuring enough to make you believe them, and with the faintest ‘okay’ escaping from your lips, you’re up off your chair and double-checking that you would have everything you needed for this break.

“Hey,” Jisung’s voice cuts through again, and you were so caught up in your own mind that you didn’t realize he had also gotten up to come lean against your doorway, and thus his voice when he speaks up nearly sends you through the ceiling. He gives a warm laugh at the sight but his wide grin soon falls softer again as he tilts his head at you in question. “Do you wanna still eat dinner, though? You should just- probably start your quest on a full stomach.”

You move your gaze past him and to the dinner table still adorned with your plates of food, and all you can muster is a defeated sigh, kicking yourself for being such a horrible girlfriend in your last few moments with the label. Your facial features scrunch as you do the job in getting mad at yourself for it, since you knew the last thing on Jisung’s mind was anger. Then you nod your head sincerely, catching his hand on the way out of your room and leading him back to the dinner table. There, you had your first dinner as friends again, which meant that when you moved to start washing the dishes afterwards, Jisung, now your number one hype man, shooed you away and out the door with your luggage, promising that he would take care of the dishes, lock up your dorm, and then stop by after spring break to hand back the key in return for an update on you and Chenle. Yeah, you were sure you never deserved him - his red string of fate was surely attached to someone much kinder than yourself…but that didn’t erase the fact that Chenle knew no greater kindness than you, and he wouldn’t ever claim to know better if he did. That’s how it goes when they’re the one for you, it seems.

So, you rushed home after dinner, arriving at the suburbs the same time as the stars. You parked in front of your own house, but hesitated to actually turn off the car and get out. You couldn’t believe you were doing this, and while you knew where to start, it was hard for you to actually get a move on in doing so. You had just turned him away and now you’d be on his doorstep begging for the same second chance that he risked everything for…where you gave him nothing in return but the feeling of his hand in yours for five minutes. Suddenly you weren’t even sure if you could face him now, but you had to, not for the girl who wants her boyfriend back, but for the even littler girl who needs her best friend back. 

You finally stop the car and get out, giving one glance towards your own house and knowing that if you reached your front door, you would find every excuse to never leave it. So, with a sigh, you immediately walk across the street to what might as well have been your second home. 

With Chenle’s aunt being the one to actually own the house, you’re not sure why you’re so surprised when she’s the one to answer the door to your knocks. Some part of you held onto the naive belief that Chenle would open the door so that you could immediately fall into his arms and everything would be fixed. That obviously wasn’t the case, and the bigger issue is that Chenle’s aunt looked just as surprised to see you. 

With an awkward swallow, you find your words. “Is Chenle here?” The question comes out in a rush, and you watch horror flash across her eyes in comprehension of the situation. The look quickly settles into pity as she shakes her head. 

“No, he- he came back home the other day and called his parents saying that he would proceed with the wedding as soon as possible if that’s what made them happy.” Every word sounded more hopeless than the last, and all you could do was stare wide-eyed as the small pit in your stomach turned into a huge void. 

“No.” The word could hardly get past your lips as it was, and being coated in despair didn’t make it any easier to pick up. 

You watch as his aunt shakes her head, a million different next steps running through her mind until she lands on her favorite. “If you wanna crash it, I can find out where it’s at for you.” Her tone is even as she speaks, as though nothing she said was crazy. It sends your eyebrows up immediately, though. 

“Find out? You weren’t invited?” You ask in shock, but she just rolls her eyes and stares back at you with a straight face, replying with something of a scoff. 

“You know how my sister feels about me ever since she married into high status.”

Then, the rest of her proposal finally catches up with you. “Wait, CRASH IT?!”

At this, his aunt is able to let out a laugh, though when she replies, it’s with complete sincerity. “Everyone who knows you and Chenle would rather it be you and Chenle.” You take in her words with an awkward swallow, but you know she isn’t lying. You indulge in the idea of it more than you probably should’ve, and as you run through all the ways this could go, you flash your eyebrows up with a newfound positive. 

“And I could piss off his parents for you,” you add before returning to the old habit of chewing on your bottom lip as some kind of grounding. In front of you, her smile widens before landing in a smirk.

“You’d be pissing off his parents for a lot of us.” Her reply is colored in mischief, and the sheer excitement she carried with the idea left hardly any room for being unconvinced.

“Is this crazy?” You find half the mind to ask. She gives a light nod back your way as her eyes widen to emphasize the genuinity behind them.

“I think right now, crazy is okay.”

It doesn’t even take a second of meeting her sure gaze before the confidence builds inside you enough for your next words to come out firm against a smirk of your own. “Find out where it’s at.”

She promised to have all the information for you by tomorrow, leaving you nothing to do but go back to your own home and wait. Your parents were surprised to see you home already, knowing your plans had been to wait through the end of the school week with Jisung before leaving for break; they were even more surprised to learn the reason for the change of plans, or more so, what your actual plans were now. However, that didn’t mean they had anything to say against it, and instead, you had two more people encouraging you to crash this wedding…and you couldn’t take the time to evaluate the immaturity of the adult figures in your life because you shared their same thoughts. 

You wake up on Friday to see a text from Chenle’s aunt saying the wedding was tomorrow, and a chill shoots down your spine at how close you were cutting it. That day saw you, your parents, and his aunt all crowded around a laptop on your kitchen table as you booked a hotel, one plane ticket arriving in Shanghai and two departing from there, mapping out how you would get to the venue, and then running through every possibility of how this could go once you did finally arrive at the wedding. You all danced around the possibility of everything going wrong - being sure to mention any one mishap that may set things off course, but never touching the topic of absolutely nothing going as expected. That is, until you realized that outcome was probably the most important one to be ready for, and suddenly it was what you were spending the most time talking about, an equal feeling of nausea in the stomachs of everyone involved.

You could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning, throwing all the covers off of you just to get cold again and pull them right back up; it was the worst night you remember having since the day before Chenle went back to China the first time. The nice thing was, you had a morning flight, so it was only four hours of tossing and turning before your alarm went off to save you from the torture anyways. At 6:00am, you boarded your flight for Shanghai, and there was really no going back now. 

You checked into your hotel with two hours left for getting ready before the ceremony. The nauseous feeling had yet to go away, meaning you were very thankful for the fact that there was no easy way to back out now. You were not going to come all this way and not see Chenle; regardless of if you could pry him from this arranged marriage or not, you were going to be there for him, and you were going to make sure he knew that turning him away a few weeks ago was the worst thing you’ve ever done, and the last time you’d ever do it.

You laugh as you open your suitcase to start getting ready and see what’s packed on top of everything else. You had your parents help you figure out what dress to wear for the wedding, and your mom found the most humor in a white dress of yours. It was eventually ruled out because your dad’s kind heart, or more likely his guilty conscience, couldn’t justify it, but your mom was always the one to give in more easily to the devil on her shoulder, and now you’re realizing she must have slipped it in your luggage when neither you nor your dad were looking. You put that dress aside with a sigh as you dig for the one all three of you had actually decided on. You figure it was too cruel anyways - you couldn’t show up wearing white to a Zhong family wedding without your mom also being there to see the look on Mrs. Zhong’s face.  

Two hours later and your nerves were eating you up inside. Stepping into the cab to the venue, you couldn’t tell if all of this was happening too fast or not fast enough. Regardless, you thank the driver a million times as you step out of the vehicle, and turning around to see the venue momentarily halts your breathing. Suddenly you knew your answer, this isn't happening fast enough. There was no one around the outside, they were all in the church…the ceremony had already begun. It wasn’t like you were late, there was no way you missed your chance, but now you really had to work up the nerve to crash this wedding and crash it now. 

Your phone dings as you get a text from your mom saying it’s go time with the biggest smile an emoticon could convey, and you figure that would have to be enough to build up your courage. Without another thought, you throw open the doors of the venue. “Chenle!” You yell out as soon as you step foot on the aisle. Chenle and his betrothed were both at the altar already, but his head snaps towards you in an instant once he heard your voice; you couldn’t pay him any attention, though, because you were too preoccupied with about two hundred other pairs of eyes glaring in your direction, four security guards stepping out from your peripheral and into actual view. 

You swallow awkwardly as you shrink back by a step, overwhelmed with the number of authority figures in the building that looked ready to kill you. “Oh, oh I like- really shouldn’t be here,” you say, enough fear coating your voice to clue the others in that you really meant it - this was not your place at all and you were crazy for thinking anything could be as easy as you were hoping. However, without any more movement from you, the guards, among countless infuriated guests, started crowding you to try and force you to leave the venue. 

In the midst of all the commotion, it was Chenle’s loud yells being thrown out to bring everything to a pause. “Everyone stop!” He demands, and at once, the crowd breaks to give you a direct view of him again. His eyes soften as they land on your figure. “You came.” His tone was a mix of grateful and confused, not even he truly knew what you were doing there, but he did know that being able to lay eyes on you was still the most comforting thing in the world. 

You dare begin to take a few steps towards him, a small nod of your head as you try to speak through a weak laugh and unconvincing smile, but you’re sure that your fear clothed you more fully than your dress. “Yeah, well you know. I figured there’s nothing your parents would hate more than a girl from the suburbs crashing your wedding. Figured it’d be something you can look back on and laugh like a dolphin about and the world would finally be right again, so…here I am,” you reply, and Chenle drops his gaze to the floor to try and hide the blush now covering his cheeks at your words. 

His mom is having none of it. While you and Chenle were too engrossed in your own conversation to realize what was happening, she was making her way out from the front row and speeding down the aisle towards you. She’s only stopped by a hand on her wrist, pulling her into a different row on the opposite side. She whips her gaze towards the contact, about ready to smack the owner of the hand with her free one, but he speaks up before she can do so. “Just- hold on,” he pleads, his eyes moving from Chenle down to where you stood in the aisle. “They’re having a moment.”

Mrs. Zhong’s eyes widen impossibly. “He’s supposed to be having a moment with. your. daughter.” her stern tone replies. The father of the bride just shakes his head. 

“Yeah, but him and my daughter are nowhere near as cute as him and whoever that girl is. Just- let them be, at least for a moment.” His soft-spoken instruction leaves Mrs. Zhong speechless, and when he lets go of his grip on her wrist, she doesn’t make any further move to lunge towards you.

In the time it takes for Chenle to pick his head back up to face you, it seems he grounded himself. The blush was off his face and instead, he asked a question in the same manner that an outsider in your life would have. “How’s Jisung?”

You’re finally able to let the slightest trace of a smirk flash across your lips as you stare back at him. “Oh, you know - searching for a girlfriend who’s pretty and nice and would want to wear his hoodie.”

Chenle nods before fully processing the information, but then he’s immediately furrowing his brows, a tilt of confusion to his head as he eyes you now. “And how are you?” He asks, bits of puzzlement not able to fully cover over the newfound hope in his tone.

“Currently?” You shoot back, looking around the room at everyone else now staring at you with a wide variety of emotions behind their eyes. “Terrified, but-” you move your gaze back to him and can’t help it when a fond smile paints its way onto your lips in response, “in love with you.”

At once, a chorus of “awwws” erupts from around you, and the glares you had faced up until now melted into something more gracious.

A wide smile breaks out across Chenle’s face as he scans the room before settling his gaze decidedly back on you. “Y/n, I think you just became a crowd favorite,” he says confidently.

You try not to smile too greatly at that. You could win over the crowd, but they weren’t whose approval you needed. “I’ll never have enough money for your parents,” you begin evenly. For a second, everything is quiet as your statement settled uneasily in the air. With a heavy defeated exhale, you shake your head in continuance. “Being with me will provide no advantage.”

“Yes, it will,” Chenle replied in a rush to cut you off. You snap your gaze to his face in confusion, just to see his toothy grin and a gleam in his eyes as he stared back at you. “It’ll make me happy.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and with a weak laugh, you move a hand up to wipe them away. This was so close to working, there was just one more thing you needed to bring to light. “I have two tickets to Iceland,” you begin, and Chenle’s eyes widen as you continue surely, echoing back his words from a few weeks ago, “if you want to run away, avoid all the business politics…try again.”

Chenle’s huge smile slips into a sweet grin, nodding his head as he tries not to let his own tears make an appearance. “I would like that.”

The nauseous feeling finally settles within you, and it leaves you smirking back up at Chenle, paying no mind to the rest of the audience because the world was about to just be you and your best friend again. “How quickly can you change out of a suit?” You ask genuinely, but Chenle’s reflected smirk back to you has mischief written all over it, and he narrows his eyes at you in a tease.

“Weird, asking questions you already know the answer to.”

Just like that, you were incredibly aware of the crowd around you again as your face goes red. In the corner of your eye, you see Mrs. Zhong jump up in horror, and that’s precisely when you start walking backwards out of the venue. “And with that, I’m gonna head out before I actually get killed,” you reply with a laugh. Chenle nods his head, his own gaze now keeping track of his mom before shooting one more fond look your way.

“I’ll meet you there,” he promises, and then you were back outside by the cab doors in an instant. 

Before Chenle can take his first step off the altar, his ex-bride-to-be shoots a genuinely curious question his way. “How fast can you change out of a suit?” She asks, and Chenle whips back around to face her with a cheesy grin. His eyes move towards the doors you just walked out of and back again, a fond shake of his head as he replies in like genuinity.

“For her? Within seconds.” With his answer, he has no more business left on the altar, and his movements take form accordingly. “I gotta go,” he says, “Sorry. Not really. But sorry.” Then he’s gone.

“So, no wedding?” The priest asks in complete confusion. The bride shakes her head, eyes and voice distant as she responds.

“No, not a chance. Not until I find what they have.”

At this, the priest laughs, taking a scan of the state of the guests and just catching Chenle as he runs out to meet you, now sporting a plain white tee and pajama pants. “Guts,” he replies with a hint of awe. “Some serious guts.”

Chenle appears rushing towards you, and as soon as he reaches you standing by the back door of the cab, his hands immediately find your cheeks and he kisses you strangely softly for the amount of emotions embedded within it. When he pulls away, you see the first tears slip down his cheeks. His gaze traced you up and down in disbelief until he finally just wraps you in the tightest hug in the world. You bite on your lip to try and stop your own tears, rubbing a hand up and down his back as he cried into your shoulder. Though, you soon get the gut feeling that the two of you couldn’t stand there for much longer. You squeeze him slightly tighter for a moment before speaking up gently. “Lele, we gotta get going before anyone can stop us.” 

He nods his head against you, unraveling his arms from your body and opening the car door so you can get in. “Thank you for being here,” he finally says, sliding in the seat next to you. You reach out and slip your hand into his, staring back at him seriously. 

“I wouldn’t dare be anywhere else,” you reply, and the corners of Chenle’s mouth are just barely able to perk up in a smile. As the driver takes off towards Chenle’s house so he can pack his stuff, you address the actual plans. “Now, I am still in school,” you begin with something of a scoff - that statement seemed so unserious considering what you had just done. Regardless, you continue with a smile. “You’re lucky this ended up being planned right as our spring break was starting. But, that means we only have a week in Iceland. We’re not exactly running away and starting a new life right now.”

Chenle shakes his head, eyes still tracing your outline as he takes in your presence. “That’s okay,” he responds surely, and his grip on your hand goes slightly tighter. “A week is good enough now that I have forever with you.”

Taglist: @fullsunstrawberry @neocitytime127 @calssunflower @miamoreeee

[spr1ngpvrinbwunnie]

💼 Leith Pierre x Reader (Personal Assistant) - Headcanons

Note: Crazy... very crazy bc I don't see much fanfic of this man x reader, where is yall at damn?? 😭🙏

★ Art credit: @clearfitz on tiktok ★

Let’s say you are his personal assistant at Playtime Co.—a job that comes with high risk, higher expectations, and possibly higher emotional stakes than you bargained for.

🧠 First Impressions / First Meeting:

You weren’t supposed to meet Leith Pierre on your first day.

Your assignment was clear: get oriented, fill out endless NDAs, and begin work under his secretary. But he walks in. Personally. Mid-argument with a head engineer, coat billowing, voice laced with sarcasm and frustration.

“If I wanted mediocrity, I’d have hired a vending machine. Now, unless you're planning to automate your own replacement, fix it.”

And then—he sees you. He pauses. Just long enough to make it clear that he’s clocked you.

“...You’re not one of the interns, are you? Too calm for that. Good. You must be the assistant they sent me. Let’s hope you’re better than the last one.”

His tone isn’t cruel. Just clinical. Dry. Sharp-edged, like he’s testing your reaction for cracks. When you don’t flinch, don’t smile too hard, don’t try to impress him, just nod and introduce yourself like a professional—he notices.

“Hm. Straightforward. Useful. Follow me.”

No warm welcome. No “nice to meet you.” He talks as he walks, barely looking back.

But he lets you walk next to him. Not behind.

🧠 First Few Weeks: The Ice-Cold Fire

From day one, there’s an energy.

Not romantic. Not exactly. More like... gravitational. He doesn’t smile at you. But he looks at you longer than necessary sometimes. And when you speak in meetings, he listens. You’re one of the only people he doesn't interrupt.

You don’t flirt with him either—he'd eat that alive—but the way you carry yourself? Calm. Efficient. Never needing his validation, but always making his work smoother? That earns a different kind of respect.

The mutual impression early on:

Leith’s impression of you: Useful. Impressive composure. Surprising intuition. Dangerous if underestimated.

Your impression of Leith: Demanding. Brilliant. Arrogant... yes but calculated, in a way that draws you in. He sees everything. And yet... he watches you differently.

🔧 Month 2–3: The Shift in Language

At some point, the way he talks to you changes.

“Have the files ready.” → “Can I trust you to keep this between us?”

“I need the report by noon.” → “You’re the only one I trust not to butcher this."

“You again.” → “You’re still here. Hm. Good."

The shift is so subtle, no one else would notice.

He’s still Leith: sharp, analytical, borderline insufferable when stressed. But he doesn’t raise his voice around you. He checks in after a particularly chaotic day in the lab.

He starts bringing you a second coffee or whatever the drink you like when he goes to get his own—never mentions it.

You begin to sync.

You finish his sentences. He starts anticipating your notes during meetings. You argue, sometimes, when you’re brave enough to push back—but he likes it. He never shuts you down. He challenges you like an equal.

That’s when the feelings start to bloom. Quietly. Privately. Deeply.

🧪 How It Evolves:

Over time, the working relationship turns from curt commands to subtle trust. He starts giving you access to confidential projects. Letting you sit in on meetings he doesn’t let anyone else attend. Maybe even slipping up and calling you by a nickname—though he’d never admit it.

He never praises directly, but:

He gets irritated when others waste your time.

He asks for your opinion more than he does anyone else’s.

He defends your work like it’s his own. Crazy isn't it?

And when you bring him coffee without asking—but made exactly how he likes it?

“If you’re trying to earn points, it’s working. Not that I keep score.”

✨ The Vibe Between You Two:

Tension—not hostile, but always charged.

Unspoken understanding—you often know what he needs before he says it.

Banter—dry, clever, never too emotional, but there’s heat under the words.

💥 The Moment He Feels Something for You

It’s late.

You're both staying after hours—again. You’re typing something up; he’s pacing in front of a chalkboard, shirt sleeves rolled up, mumbling formulas.

At some point, he says something out loud—not to you, just to the air:

“This isn’t working. Nothing’s working. Useless.”

You speak up without looking at him:

“You're exhausted. Take a breath. You’ll see it clearer in the morning.”

He goes silent. You look up.

And his expression? For once, it’s not composed. Not guarded. He’s just... looking at you. Like he sees something new. Like it just hit him that you’re not just competent. You’re comfort.

He doesn’t say anything. But he sits down beside you for the first time, close, shoulder brushing yours.

“You always talk to me like I’m not a monster,” he mutters.

You smirk, eyes on the screen. “If you were, I’d still schedule your meetings.”

And he actually laughs. Quiet, almost surprised.

🌡️ The Moment You Feel Something for Him

It might be something painfully human.

You bring him tea instead of coffee one day because you know his stomach’s been off. He says nothing at first, just looks at it. Then at you.

“...You remembered.”

Not shocked. Not grateful in a grand way. Just... soft.

That’s the moment you realize: under the cold control, there’s someone lonely. Not pitiful, but starved for connection he doesn’t know how to ask for.

And you’re the only one he ever lets close enough to see that.

🔥 Slow Burn, Unspoken Tension

Neither of you say it.

You don’t flirt. He doesn’t confess. But the glances linger longer. The silences become comfortable. He starts calling you by your name more than your title. You catch him watching you when you laugh.

At one point, he tells a higher-up, flatly:

“No one touches my assistant’s schedule but me. If you need time, you go through me.”

You find out through someone else. He never mentions it.

But you hear him say your name over the intercom late one night when he thinks you're gone. Like he's checking if you're still there.

[bellesaisonn]

i'm sweet for you

alex helps you cool down

chapter two | series masterlist

contents: smut, dad!alex, age gap, voyeurism (but not really), male masturbation, oral (f receiving), and ice. just ice.

word count: 3.6k

The days stretch on, one blending into the next. You wake up. Eat breakfast. Drift down to the pool.

He's not there.

You hit the court. Racket in hand, serve after serve. The ball smacks the net. The wall. The ground. Your rhythm is off. Everything is off.

Still, he doesn't show.

At night, Sophie takes you to a pub. You drink something too sweet. Meet a few guys. Laugh at things you don't really find funny.

None of them are him.

You wish they were.

After the piano incident—as you’ve started calling it in your head—he vanished.

Sometimes you wonder if you imagined it. But you remember too much. The feel of him in your mouth, the weight of him on your tongue. The taste of him, warm and dizzying, lingering in your throat.

You remember your eyes growing heavy. You didn’t want to sleep. You wanted to keep him with you, just a little longer.

But when you woke up, you were in your own bed, fully dressed, tucked in. Alone.

At breakfast, he wasn't there.

-

Alex had to leave.

He let himself slip up. He wasn't supposed to cross the line. The moment your lips wrapped around him, he knew he'd gone too far.

So he left. Fled to the London house, pretending it was for clarity.

But all he could see was you. Your laugh, your lips, the way your mouth opened so easily for him.

He thought of you on your knees, again and again. He jerked off to the memory more times than he'd admit.

Five days.

That's how long he lasted.

He couldn't stay away forever. So he came back.

Now he walks the hallway slowly, pretending to pass by. He tells himself he’s not looking for you. Not really. But he ends up at your door anyway.

There's a crack. Just wide enough for him to look.

And there you are. Lying on your stomach, legs bent, feet swaying in the air, a book open in front of you. You're wearing a loose robe, untied, clinging to nothing.

His cock stirs, thickening in his pants almost instantly.

He looks away. Tells himself to go. Doesn't. The sheets rustle. The bed creaks. It pulls at him. His body moves before he lets it.

You're getting up now. Robe falling. Shoulders bare. Waist, hips, thighs, all of you in that soft gold afternoon light. He drinks you in. Memorizes the curve, the shadows, the color of your nipples, the way your spine dips like something he wants to trace with his mouth.

And fuck—

You are more than memory. You are better. Real. Warm. Right there.

He's hard already. Of course he is. It's been weeks of this, of you. Of wanting and not having.

You move through the room calm and unrushed, seemingly unaware of his eyes on you. He stays still, barely breathing, hidden in the shadows just beyond the doorframe. You cross to the dresser, open a drawer, and pull out a swimsuit. You hold it up in the light, turning it in your hands, deciding.

His mouth goes dry. He remembers this pair. The way it hugs you, the way it clings when it's wet, the way it barely fucking covers anything.

And now, it's sliding up your legs.

He groans, a sound he doesn't mean to make. Barely muffles it behind gritted teeth. His hand slips beneath the waistband of his pants and wraps around the hard heat of his cock, and he strokes. Just once. Just to stop himself from losing his mind.

Then again. And again.

He's leaking already. He can feel it, the heat and dampness at the tip. He presses on it enough to hurt.

You're tying the top now, arms behind your back. Your fingers falter for a moment on the knot, and he has to grip the frame of the door to stop himself from stepping in, from offering help, from touching you.

He wants to push you forward over the dresser, let your arms brace against the edge while he slides his hand between your legs.

See if you're already wet.

He hopes you are.

But he doesn't move. Just watches.

You bend slightly to slide on your sandals, and the way your ass lifts has him gripping himself harder, biting down on the edge of his knuckle to keep quiet.

Then you straighten. Stretch. Arms high above your head, back arched. Your breasts lift with the movement, nipples pressing faintly against the thin bikini fabric.

He groans quietly into his hand.

And just when he thinks he can't take another second—

You reach for your book, grab a towel and throw it over your shoulder. You glance at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting a strap, smoothing your hair, and then you turn toward the door.

He freezes.

If you open it, he's done for.

If you step out, he'll be caught, hand still on his cock, heart slamming against his ribs.

He steps back, pressing himself against the wall.

You open the door and walk past him without even looking back.

And he’s left standing there, jaw clenched, breath shallow.

His cock aches. Still hard, still pulsing, still damp from the few strokes he never should've allowed.

He doesn't finish. Can't.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes like it might wipe the image of you from behind them.

Did you know?

Fuck, maybe you did. Maybe that was the point. Or maybe you really didn't care at all.

That thought cuts deeper than he wants to admit.

He drags himself down the hallway, locks the door behind him, and leans there for a long time, just breathing.

He tells himself he should leave. Again. He tries to believe it.

But he doesn't pack. Doesn't call for a car. He just paces. Shirt stuck to his back with sweat, hand still trembling with the memory.

The guilt gnaws at him. It does. But it's not enough to keep him away from you. It never is.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, he feels like he's failing. That he's betraying something. Himself? You? The fragile boundary that should've stayed intact?

Fuck if he knows.

But he can't walk away. Not now.

-

Sophie's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "I told you," she says, holding out her phone.

"Huh?" you ask, your mind slow to catch up.

"It's the hottest day of the year," she says, pointing to the headline: Heatwave Peaks Across the Country.

You nod, absently licking your popsicle. "Thank God for these."

Sophie hums in agreement, stretching lazily from her pool chair to fish a lemonade from the cooler.

You shift in your chair, stretching your legs out, letting the sun kiss your skin. The cherry popsicle is already soft in your hand, bending slightly as it melts faster than you can keep up.

Across the pool, Alex moves slow, skimming the surface with a net. You can't see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but you feel them locked on you.

You run your tongue along the melting edge of the popsicle. A drip slides down. You catch it before it reaches your wrist.

He tells himself to focus. On the pool. The net. The slow drag of leaves across the surface. But it's useless. Every time he glances up, there you are.

Flashes from earlier fill his head. There's you in your room. There's you now. The images blur into one. Your body, bare. Your lips, pliant. Your tongue, teasing. His mind fills in the gaps and the result leaves him feeling like a madman.

You tilt your head just slightly, and he swears—you know what you're doing.

Sophie doesn't notice. She leans back, popping her can open with a hiss, eyes closed as she takes a sip.

But behind his sunglasses, his eyes don't move. You can feel it. His pulse has kicked up, heart ticking in his chest. He swallows, throat working as he watches you pull the popsicle slowly from your mouth, teeth grazing just slightly.

He doesn't even realize he's gripping the pole too hard until his knuckles ache.

You bring the popsicle to your lips again, this time letting the tip brush softly against them before you suck, slow, dragging the cold across the heat of your mouth. You take your time, rolling your tongue around the melting ice, feeling the stick slip between your fingers as it drips onto your palm.

You don't wipe it away. You let it stain.

He twitches. You see it. Just a flicker in the way he shifts his weight, the way his hand tightens on the pole.

Another drop escapes and lands on your chest, just above your bikini top. Cold, sharp. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

With slow fingers, you smear the drop away, dragging it across your skin in a lazy line.

Alex's cock twitches in his trunks, starting to push against the fabric in a way that's impossible to ignore. He bends forward slightly, adjusting himself, trying to play it off like he's fixing the net, but it's no use.

Another drip slides down, catching the inside of your wrist. You let it stay for a beat too long before you chase it with your tongue.

He's hard now. Fully. Painfully. His cock straining against the wet mesh of his trunks, every movement dragging across the sensitive head.

You tilt your head, letting your lips close around what's left of the popsicle. You suck slow, tongue flicking against the last bit of ice before you let it slip from your mouth with a soft pop.

He adjusts again, rough this time, jaw tight, teeth clenched behind the pretense of calm. He falters, just slightly. The pole dips into the water with a splash.

Sophie cracks an eye open beside you. "You good, Dad?"

His voice is too quick, tight. "Yeah."

She frowns. "You should sit or something. You look overheated."

He nods, pauses a beat like he's gathering himself, then walks toward you.

He stops at your chair. Leans in, arm brushing yours, chest bare and glistening in the sun, the chain around his neck swinging, catching the light.

He grabs a beer from the cooler. You look up at the same time he looks down. His swim trunks shift, heavy. Your eyes drop. You see the bulge. Full. Pressed tight against wet fabric.

Your breath catches.

"Maybe this'll help with the heat," he says, nodding toward the beer.

He sinks into the lounge chair beside you. He shifts, crosses his legs, throws a towel across his lap and wills his dick to behave. It throbs defiantly.

You shift too, legs part just enough, bikini riding up like it wants him to stare. He does. Can't help it.

He wants to rip that tiny thing off you, wants to get his mouth between your legs, tongue you until you cry out. Wants to fuck you from behind, hard, fast, right here in the sun with your cheek pressed to the cushion and your ass bouncing against him.

You smile. Slow. Like you know every filthy thought running through his mind.

Then you reach into the cooler.

Your hand disappears into ice water. It burns, numbing, but you don't flinch. You pull out a single cube.

"God, it's so hot," you murmur, pressing the cube to your forehead.

His dick twitches. He looks away. Tries to breathe.

You trail the melting ice down your neck, gasping quietly at the cold, making a show of it.

This makes his head turn. He takes off his sunglasses.

You drag the cube across your collarbone, letting beads of water slide down the slope of your chest. He watches.

Your hand moves. Lower.

His gaze drops to your chest. Following the trail of the ice into the valley between your breasts. Sweat and melted ice mix, pooling at the top of your bikini.

He wants to lick every drop.

You rub it in lazy circles, letting the cold water slide beneath your bikini top. Your nipples harden. Your breath hitches.

The cube reaches your stomach, hips shifting just enough to make the wet fabric of your bikini bottoms press tighter. His mind blanks. Every drop follows the line he wants his tongue to trace.

You feel him watching. His breath has gone shallow. He shifts, subtly, trying to hide the obvious. The strain of his cock against his swim trunks. The way his whole body leans toward yours.

Then—

"Oh my God!" Sophie's voice cuts through the air.

You both startle.

"He's calling! He's calling!" She's up, pacing, beaming. "What do I do?"

"Answer," you say, trying to catch your breath.

"Yeah. Yeah, good idea." She spins toward the house, already talking. "Hey, babe-"

She's gone.

You exhale, long and shaky.

Alex speaks first. "What was that all about?"

"Just some guy she met while we were... out."

"Out, huh?"

You hold his gaze. "Yeah. We had to find ways to keep busy while you were gone."

His jaw tenses. The image of you at a pub, laughing at someone else's jokes, letting them touch you. He hates it.

The ice in your hand stings now. It's too cold.

You hiss softly.

"You'll burn yourself," he says. Then, after a pause: "Let me."

He reaches over, takes the ice cube from your hand, replaces it with his own. Cold fingers. Hot gaze. His thumb strokes across your knuckles once, slow.

Then he brings the ice to the hollow of your throat.

Your breath catches. Your pulse jumps.

"You can tell me to stop," he says.

You don't.

Instead, you tilt your head back slightly, giving him more.

He takes it as permission.

He presses the ice cube to the top swell of your breast, right above the line of your bikini. He holds it there until the cold stings, then glides it over the soft curve.

You whimper, barely a sound, but he hears it.

"Still okay?" he asks, his voice rough now, barely contained.

You nod. You can't speak.

The cube slips lower. He presses it along the edge of your top, just above where he'd need to pull the fabric aside. His free hand comes up, steadying you by the hip, fingers spread wide over your skin.

And then he pauses.

He looks up at you, waiting.

You meet his gaze, heat flooding through you, and you nod again.

That's all he needs.

With maddening slowness, he pushes the triangle of your bikini top aside.

The cold touches your bare skin.

You inhale sharply.

He draws the cube around your nipple, and your whole body jolts. Your hips shift on the lounge chair, thighs clenching, heart pounding.

"You're driving me crazy," he says softly.

You part your thighs slightly. Heart hammering.

"And are you gonna do something about it," you whisper, voice tight, "or just keep creeping on me through the crack of my door?"

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He slides his hand down, pressing the melting ice against your clit through the fabric. A firm, slow pressure. The cold hits hard, then gives way to heat, an ache that spirals outward.

You bite your lip, barely holding back a moan.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, eyes fixed on your reaction.

Your fingers clutch the edge of the lounge chair, knuckles white. Your thighs are trembling now, stomach tight, breath stuttering. You're panting like the heat's gotten to you, but it's not the sun. It's him. All of him. His voice. His hands.

The cold is blistering. Your body tries to pull away, but his hand is firm, steady, holding you in place as he moves the cube in slow, tight circles over your swollen center.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric. Find your clit. Press the ice there.

You moan as what's left of the ice cube melts away.

His fingers slide inside you. Just barely.

"More," you sound too needy to your own ears.

"More what, love? Show me what you want," he says, sliding his fingers out of where you're aching.

You whimper at the loss, your body desperately clenching around nothing.

Alex chuckles, low and dark.

His smile falters when your fingers move to your bikini bottoms. Slide them aside, slow and trembling.

His breath catches audibly. "Fuck, look at you..."

You spread your legs for him, shameless, giving him the view he's been dying for. Your fingers glide between your folds, gathering slick, dragging it up to your clit. You circle it once, twice, watching him watch you.

His shorts are soaked with pre-cum. He's biting his lip, nearly shaking. One more look and he's gonna come without even touching himself.

You dip two fingers inside yourself, arching with a soft moan as they slide in easily. Your walls clench tight, fluttering.

"Please," you whisper, voice shaking. "I need you."

He doesn't tease this time. His mouth is on you, tongue parting your folds, licking deep and slow.

You cry out, fingers flying to his hair, hips lifting into his mouth.

He groans against your cunt, the sound vibrating through your clit as he sucks it between his lips, tongue flicking hard and fast.

"Alex-" You're panting, thighs twitching around his ears, body on fire.

You arch against him, breath hitching when his fingers find your clit again, sensitive and throbbing from the cold. He circles slowly, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

You moan. His free hand clamps over your mouth, his body pressing closer, his breath hot in your ear.

He grinds down into the chair once, twice, chasing friction he can't have.

He curls his fingers just right and you gasp into his hand. Your hips lift, chasing it, clenching around him as he finds the spot that makes your whole body tighten.

"You're close," he breathes. "Aren't you?"

You nod helplessly, moaning again into his palm.

He keeps his rhythm steady, fingers fucking into you slow and sure, his eyes locked on your face, watching you fall apart.

Your thighs clamp around his head. He lets them. Moans into you, tongue pressing harder. The vibrations make your vision blur.

You're close. Too close.

But he doesn't stop. His hand slides down from your mouth, finds your nipple and pinches just enough to make you cry out.

Your body arches. The orgasm crashes through you and you grind into his mouth, hands tangled in his hair, riding it out, breathless and shaking.

You don't know how long it lasts.

Just that when you finally open your eyes again, Alex is kissing up your thighs, your stomach, your chest, leaving little trails of ice water and open-mouthed warmth in his wake.

You're still panting, body trembling where he touched you. Where he still touches you. His fingers slide free, glistening. He watches the way your breath hitches as he brings them to his mouth.

He sucks them clean.

His eyes flutter closed, a low groan breaking free from his throat. "Sweetest fuckin' thing I've ever tasted," he says, voice raw.

Alex leans beside the lounger, still catching his breath, and lets you see what you already felt— his cock, hard and thick, straining against his swim trunks. The fabric is wet, clinging, the outline almost obscene.

He sees you looking.

He palms himself once, slow. The head of his cock presses tight against the fabric as his hand closes around it, thumb grazing the tip.

"You gonna do something about this," he asks, voice low and rasping, "or just keep teasing me?"

His words make your whole body tremble.

And you're just about to reach for him when—

The sliding door slams open with a sudden force, the sound slicing through the air like glass shattering on tile.

Sophie’s voice follows, loud and frantic. "Okay—don’t freak out—"

Alex jerks back, scrambling for his chair. You sit up too quickly, bikini top barely in place, legs clamping together like you can trap the moment before it slips away. Your chest is heaving. Your skin is flushed.

He grabs the towel, throws it over his lap. You swipe a hand across your mouth, heart pounding in your throat.

Sophie steps outside, sunglasses perched on her head, phone in hand, completely unaware of the storm she’s just walked in on.

"What'd I miss?" she asks, looking between the two of you.

Alex raises the beer to his lips, his face a perfect mask of calm, but there’s an edge to his movements, his voice too controlled. "Just staying cool."

You force a shaky smile, nodding as you reach for your book, anything to distract yourself, anything to stop the heat rising again.

"Anyways..." Sophie drags the word out, her eyes narrowing slightly, the hint of suspicion creeping into her tone. "I have a date."

You bite your lip, trying to sound casual. "Oh, that’s nice."

Alex clears his throat, trying to regain composure, but his voice comes out strained. "Want me to play the concerned dad, or is that outdated now?"

She doesn't seem to notice, her attention drifting between you two without suspicion.

"No, I don’t think it suits you," she says playfully, flashing a grin. "And you," she points at you, "are coming with me to help me get ready."

Before you can protest, her hand is already tugging you from the chair. Your legs feel weak under you, the sudden movement making your head spin, but somehow, you manage to stay upright.

She’s talking about lipstick now. Something about heels. You barely hear her.

Because you look back.

Alex is watching. Not smiling. Just looking. His jaw’s tight, his eyes darker now, unreadable.

The weight of what almost happened sits heavy in the space between you.

If Sophie’s heading out... the house is his. And yours.

Just the two of you. Alone.

A slow grin pulls at the corner of your mouth.

Alex catches it. A quiet, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

The door clicks shut behind you.

This night just got a whole lot more interesting.

-

a/n: sorry for all the cockblocking. do you guys still love me?

the first chapter was more of a blurb, so i tried something different this time, wrote some more detailed scenes since it felt more fun (and a little hotter). let me know if you'd rather i go back to the shorter style or stick with this. thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

also shoutout to @roxabellas for giving me the mental image of alex wielding a pool net twice his size. absolutely had to include it in the fic <333

[angelicyoongie]

The Obsidian Pearl (II)

— pairing: mermaid seokjin x (f) reader — word count: 8.1k — warnings: yandere, descriptions of death/blood/violence, explicit sexual content! dub-con touching/oral sex (f. receiving) - the smut is marked with * if you want to skip it — summary: Sailing through The Dead Man’s Passage is a death sentence and the whole crew knows it. But with the ship’s stocks dwindling fast, your captain is left with no other choice. When a haunting melody makes the crew jump ship one by one, you find yourself alone with the demon lurking in the murky red water. As the creature beckons you to jump into the icy ocean – “come to me, pet” – you find that you can’t do anything but obey.

Part 01 - 02

It's almost night when the siren, Seokjin, visits you again.

Enough time has passed for the air to turn chilly, carrying small gusts of wind that pass right through your clothes. The sunshine that warmed you only hours ago feels like it might never return, not when your surroundings are so terribly dark. You can feel the chill deep in your bones, fear nipping at your skin, clinging to you like frost on a dark winter night. 

You're huddled as deep in the cave as you can go, hugging your knees to your chest. You're exhausted, eyes as dry as sand, but you know you can't rest. Call it instinct after being on the sea for so many years – of constantly being trapped on a vessel with people who might turn on you at any second – you tend to develop a hunch of when bad things are going to happen. 

You can feel it in your body now, the low buzz that keeps you alert, reminding you that you are not safe no matter how tired you may be. 

The reason for it comes only a few minutes later, a terrible scraping sound reverberating through the silence as something heavy is pushed up on the ledge of the stone dock. You free your stiff limbs, wincing as you whip around to face the source of it. It looks to be some sort of chest, the short distance and the faint moonlight not doing much for your vision. 

As the item is pushed forward with another forceful shove, your heart jumps to your throat. You've seen this chest before –  the iron insignia on the top is all too familiar to you. It belongs, no, belonged, to your captain. You don't dare to move closer though, not when there's only one creature who could've brought it to you. 

Seokjin emerges from the water just seconds later, heaving himself up on the rock. He looks like something out of your worst nightmare, long hair covering his face as he claws his way forward. The shadows make him look all the more terrifying, the dark night blending together with his tail and hair like the perfect camouflage. If it wasn't for his strikingly pale skin, you never would've been able to make him out at all. 

He settles back against the same rock as he did before, parting his hair to expose his face. Shivers run down your spine as Seokjin's black eyes find yours through the darkness. They strike just as much fear into you as they did last night, this morning, the emptiness just another reminder of how unearthly he really is. 

It was foolish perhaps, but you had found yourself hoping that Seokjin had forgotten about you. That he had come across another ship to terrorize and another human to keep for his little experiments. You wouldn't have minded rotting away in the cave alone if it meant you never had to look upon him again. 

The siren clicks his tongue. "I bring you a gift and you dare to look disappointed? This won't do. Come closer, little human." 

You don't move, self-preservation rooting you to the ground. 

"You humans freeze to death if you get too cold, do you not? Your skin is quite thin, fragile." Seokjin delivers his point by parting his mouth more than necessary, those horrible teeth coming to view behind his plush lips. "Your brain might be too small to remember but the water I dragged you out of was ice cold, pet. The air will only grow colder the longer you wait."  

Seokjin doesn't have to use his thrall to make you understand that you have no choice in the matter. If you don't come forward willingly, he'll will either drag you there himself or let the elements do you in. The part of your brain that fears the unknown more than the creature in front of you, urges you to move.

You don't even have it in you to feel humiliated as you crawl forward, terror and cold stiff limbs making it impossible to walk. Seokjin's stare hangs over you like a heavy cloud, slowing you down even further. 

He's close, way too close, as you kneel in front of the chest. You would be able to touch his stomach, feel where his skin transforms into scales if you just stretch your arm out.

Seokjin huffs as you linger, the sound making you jump as he impatiently says, "Go on." 

You reach for the iron key that's miraculously still in the lock, your busted shoulder aching with pain as you have to twist it with more force than usual. A small stream of water is forced out, running down the side of the chest as you slowly open the lid with shaking hands. You've never held much gratitude for your captain, but for once, you can't be more thankful for his arrogance. He always left the key in the lock and never worried about a greedy crew, because, as he would always say; who in their right mind would dare to steal from a Captain? 

You release a shuddering breath as you push it open, the iron hinges voicing their displeasure with a long squeak as the contents are revealed to you. The fur-lined coat your captain bought in the East lays on top of an array of shirts and pants, the fabric hardly even damp as you pick it up. You had assumed everything to be drenched, but it seems the carpenter your captain had been boasting about was the real deal after all. 

You pull the coat into your lap, warmth immediately swaddling your legs. 

A gift, Seokjin had called it, but you doubt the siren is simply that generous. 

"How did you get this?" You quietly ask, voice trembling.

You know the stories of how the ships make it out unscathed, of how it's only the crews that go missing. But unless Seokjin can sprout legs, there's no way he was able to grab it on his own. The siren has a tail and a heavy one at that. As unearthly as he is, you doubt he's strong enough to drag himself all the way up the ship and into your captain's quarters. Never mind that he would do all of that for a chest he didn't even know existed. 

"I sank the ship," Seokjin sounds like he's rolling his eyes, although you're not too sure he's even capable of doing so. "It took you too long to wake from your slumber and I was bored. I have not explored a wooden vessel in many moons and this chest looked interesting. I was foolishly hoping for treasure, not silly human clothes." 

The siren smacks his tail against the water, irritated. 

Even though the chances of getting out of here were slim, you were holding out hope that if you only got to the other side of the mountain, you might be able to use the ship to get away. It would be near impossible to do with only one person and not the whole crew it actually needs, but when something as ludicrous as a siren exists, manning one ship by yourself doesn't sound all that far-fetched in comparison. 

You release a shuddering breath, blinking away the tears that gather. With that escape route gone, the ship now resting on the bottom of the sea with the remains of your crewmates, you are truly helpless. 

Trapped. 

You hope the darkness hides the way your face crumples. Lip wobbling, you try to focus on the chest in front of you, not wanting to give into panic with Seokjin so close. You have to save the freakout and the despair for when you're alone. It wouldn't surprise you if the siren can smell your fear. 

Leaning forward, you notice what looks like a thick scarf, the material soft enough that it might serve as a decent pillow. You're not sure if Seokjin is planning on leaving the chest or taking it with him, so this might be your only chance at grabbing items you'll need to survive. 

Just as your fingers close around the scarf, picking it up, you feel something sharp poke into your cheek. 

Your whole body goes rigid at the touch, your muscles locking up as you realize that one of Seokjin's claws is currently digging into your skin. You hold your breath as he slowly trails it down your throat, the sharp nail leaving a sting in its wake. You don't have to touch it to know that it's a deep scratch, blood rushing to the surface to clot the damage. 

"Look at me." 

You don't. You can't. You don't want to know what will happen when you do. 

"Look at me," Seokjin repeats, more force in his voice. 

It makes something in the back of your mind tickle.

You clutch the coat in your lap tighter, focusing on the soft fur between your fingers as the siren's voice grows in annoyance.

You're not sure how many times he repeats his command but between one blink and the next, you suddenly find yourself staring right at him. Your mind feels hazy like it's been stuffed with cotton and shaken around, turning everything upside down.

The hard set of Seokjin's mouth disappears as you finally meet his gaze. The siren hums under his breath as he moves his hand to your face, cupping your jaw. It's like being a spectator in your own body, your eyes refusing to waver no matter how much you want them to. You can feel the ghost of his claws on your skin, not quite digging in but present enough that you know it's a threat. That he can mess you up beyond repair if he feels like it. 

Seokjin leans in, watching you curiously as your throat bobs, lips struggling to part. 

Your tongue feels like lead, awkward and too heavy, but you use all of your willpower to open your mouth, slurring as you ask, "What did you do?" 

Seokjin breaks into a grin, a forked tongue peeking out to lick his terrible teeth. You can feel his breath wash over your face as he speaks, the stench of decay and death making your stomach roll. "You're quite the strong one, pet, I'm glad I brought you here. I think you'll prove to be very entertaining."

The siren gives you one last look, his cold fingers leaving your face as he leans back. You feel some of the thrall leave you as Seokjin turns and slowly sinks back down into the dark water, the small distance making it a little easier to think. You still can't look away from him, eyes tracking his movements even as he submerges himself completely under the surface. He's only gone for a moment before he returns, one of his pale hands coming into view above the water just before something wet splatters at your feet.

"Eat." 

Seokjin doesn't wait for an answer. The thrall snaps the moment he's gone, his strong fin carrying him away in seconds. 

You gasp, hand shooting up to feel your throat. The scratch he left behind aches and your head is beginning to throb from whatever he did to it. You tear your eyes away from the lake, glancing down at the thing that Seokjin left you with. 

The moment you manage to make out what it is, you flinch back, jerking your body away from the mangled fish at your feet. The blood pooling beneath it has already soaked the hem of your trousers, staining it dark. 

The sight disgusts you but you can't ignore the hunger gnawing at your stomach. The water in the lake felt fresh enough to drink, but it's been almost two days without any food and you're starving.

There's not a bone in your body that trusts Seokjin but you can't turn away a free meal. You have no guarantee that he'll bring you something again and you'll have no chance of escaping if you're too weak to move. 

You poke at the fish, shuddering as its half-torn body twitches. 

If only you still had your knife. At least then one of you could be shown some mercy.

You wake with a gasp, chest heaving with panicked breaths as the fog lifts. It's like someone snaps their finger right next to your ear, violently jerking you out of a slumber you weren't even aware you had fallen into. Your awareness always comes back to your first, keeping your mind awake and trapped while the rest of your body slowly shakes off the thrall you've been under.

You're near the edge of the dock again, kneeling in front of Seokjin. The siren has his head tucked against your neck, his long tongue dragging over your skin, licking off the sweat that rolls down your throat. Every part of you feels sticky and damp, the top of your head burning from the blazing sun. You have no way of knowing how long you've been sitting here but judging by the way your brain is practically mush from the prolonged exposure, it must've been a while. 

You shudder at the next flick of his tongue, nausea swirling in your stomach. The days have been passing much in the same manner, every new turn of the moon leading you closer and closer to Seokjin. This isn't the first time you've felt his cold skin against yours, you've woken up to your hands and face being touched many times, but it's never been this intimate before. Never this dangerous, with his sharp teeth so close to your delicate skin. 

Seokjin pauses, his tongue pulling away from your skin as he muses, "That lasted shorter than expected, little human."  

There's no emotion in the siren's voice, nothing that gives you an indication of whether he's happy or angry. He's simply just... observing. Treating you like the experiment he's decided you are. The siren seems fascinated with your ability to somewhat resist his thrall and he has made it his mission to test out how well your resilience works. That seems to be the only reason he's keeping you here.

You can't quite tell how long he's been at it, though. Time feels wonky when you don't know how much of it has passed. The only thing you can be certain of is that it's already been well over a week, maybe even two since Seokjin trapped you here. 

"Please stop," You whimper, voice shaking as you feel his hot breath against your throat, teeth skimming lightly over your skin. 

To your surprise, Seokjin listens. The siren pulls back, the corner of his lip curled into a displeased snarl. He looks nothing short of irked that his fun was cut short, a series of clicking noises gurgling in his throat as he gives your shoulder a shove, breaking the last of his thrall. 

You scramble backward the second your limbs feel like they're once again attached to your body, dragging yourself into the safety and shade of the cave. Nothing is stopping Seokjin from following after you, he's strong enough to pull himself into your makeshift shelter, but he seems content to stay on the edge of the stone dock - always resting against the same flat rock. 

You sprawl out on the ground, panting from the heat. The cool stone seeps slowly through your clothes, bringing your temperature down to something that feels less like you're boiling alive in your own skin. But even as the heat begins to recede, you still feel terrible. The thrall always leaves you nauseous and the shock of snapping out of it in such close proximity to a dangerous predator doesn't exactly help. You're constantly on edge, heart locked in such a rapid beat that you're worried it's shaving years off your life. 

Biting back a groan, you sit up, using your captain's chest for support. It wasn't easy moving it into the cave, not with a shoulder that ached with every push. The fear that Seokjin might take it back if you left it was the only thing that kept you going, the clothes inside were far too precious for you to take that risk. 

The siren hasn't mentioned the chest since the night he left it but it's impossible to tell if your actions bothered him. He's too good at masking his emotions, his face a blank canvas. Some nights, you do admit that you wonder if he even has them – if he can feel the same things that you do.

You're not quite sure which answer scares you the most. 

One thing you do know though, is that you need to learn more about him. You're not one to be a sitting duck and this is driving you insane. Seokjin must have some weakness, something you can use against him or that might aid you in your escape. Perhaps he hibernates in the colder months or he needs to swim for a set amount of hours for his body to function. You refuse to believe he's invincible.

"So," You swallow thickly as Seokjin turns his lifeless eyes to you, "You mentioned that you have brothers?" 

Your voice is barely audible enough to carry over to Seokjin but it sounds much too loud within the walls of the cave. You ball your hands in your lap, hoping your expression doesn't show just how terrified you are of willingly calling upon his attention. 

"Indeed, pet." 

"How many do you have?"

The siren raises one hand to the sky, inspecting his sharp claws. "Enough." 

He obviously doesn't want to answer that topic – move on.

"Y-you said something about a sea witch. How did you find them?" 

"Now why would you want to find a sea witch, little human? Unless you want to get turned into a fish, they are of no use to you." 

"Right, o-of course," You exhale, biting back the urge to throw some colourful language his way.

You try a few more, but there are only so many meaningless questions you can ask before you give up, tired of the aloof answers you get in return. It's like he knows exactly what you're trying to do. Considering Seokjin isn't willing to disclose any type of information, even knowledge that is worthless to you, it's pretty clear that you can't bait him into revealing anything useful. 

He's too smart. 

Seokjin stretches his arms above his head, showing off his lean muscles as his back pops. The crunches sound terribly loud, like he's trying to crack open every vertebra in his spine. 

He lets out a satisfied sound, head tipped back to soak up the sun as he says, "Now that I have answered all of your questions, little human, you should give me something in return. Tell me something interesting about yourself, pet, something that you deem worthy of a meal. It is horribly tiresome to fetch your food at the time." 

You suppose it was absurd to think that the siren would continue to feed you without demanding something in return. Perhaps he's already starting to tire of his little experiments.

You pick at your nails, the splintered edges uncomfortable and raw. 

There's only one story a creature like him will find interesting – one you swore you would never tell anyone that wasn't there to witness it when it happened. But, as twisted as it is, the siren might be the only one who won't judge you. 

The faded scar on your throat burns as you swallow, the phantom pain of a knife digging into your skin flaring up as you say, "I killed someone." 

Glancing up, you find Seokjin staring straight at you, his dark eyes glittering under the sun. His tail does a small wiggle, fin smacking the water in what you can only assume to be intrigue. 

"Tell me more, pet." 

"He was sick," Your hand flies to cover your mouth as your lips move without your permission. You didn't even feel the thrall this time, no push or tug to indicate that Seokjin was in your head. There's only a small tickle at the back of your brain, like you need to scratch your scalp.

Seokjin has never used the thrall on you twice in one day before now. It must be that you're already tired from earlier that he can affect you so easily, that he can slither his way back in without you even noticing he's trying.

Seokjin grins, lips stretched into a terrible smile as he says, "Go on." 

"W-we had been out on the sea for many months, five full moons, and we still had a few to go before we would reach the nearest port," You say, taking a measured breath.

"One of our cooks starting acting strangely – he was suddenly anxious and angry, exploding at any minor inconvenience. He started picking fights with the crew, causing too much tension. It was cabin fever, we all had it, but for him, it was worse. It made him sick." 

You let your hands fall to your side, fingers uselessly grasping for the knife that isn't there anymore. 

"He attacked one of the cabin boys in the kitchen, sliced two of his fingers clean off as he delivered him a freshly caught fish. He followed the poor lad up on deck when he ran, waving his knife around and screaming at anyone that tried to calm him down. The sea... she can be brutal, too big. Staring at the same unchanging horizon every day had chipped away at his sanity, left him with nothing but fear and anger at being trapped by the same water day in and day out." 

Seokjin says nothing, his black eyes staring you down as he waits for you to continue. 

"He tackled me to the ground before I even knew what was going on. When I looked him in the eyes, I knew he wasn't there anymore. There was no recognition, no emotion. Just survival. He managed to give me this while I was trying to fight him off," You lightly touch the scar on your neck, tracing it from the bottom of your jaw down to your collarbone.

"The others couldn't pull him away either, he was like a beast. I am, was, vice-captain of the ship. It was my duty to protect my crew. I couldn't let him hurt anyone else," Your voice falters as you stare at the monster in front of you, at the creature you couldn't protect your crew from. The cook was a weak mouse in comparison. 

"So, I... I killed him. He wouldn't have made it even if we had locked him up, he was simply too far gone. It was more merciful to let him die." 

The siren is silent for a beat, his eyes roaming over your face before he tips his head forward and laughs. At least, that's what you think he does, the series of weird clicking noises that gurgle in his throat sounding oddly joyful despite how grating the sound is. 

"You truly are fascinating, pet. I made a good choice letting you live." 

The hand by your hip clenches, your heart beating painfully in your chest. You wish you still had your knife, that you had something you could drive into Seokjin's throat to hear him choke on his last breaths. You weren't expecting sympathy, but you also didn't think he would find your story entertaining – funny, even. He truly is terrible.

You say nothing in return, your anger making it hard to think; to feel anything but the hatred stirring in your heart.

Seokjin, seemingly pleased with what he heard and not at all bothered by your silence, does what he always does and leaves the moment he gets what he wants.

You stare at the empty spot he left, the wet imprint of his long body the only thing left behind. 

You're not sure how long you sit there, caught up in old memories and emotions you've tried to ignore for so long, but the sun has started its descent by the time the siren makes his presence known again. 

This time, you watch as Seokjin leaves you not one, but five fish, all half mangled and twitching as the life drains out of them. He flings a few pieces of driftwood up on the dock, staring at your curled-up form for a minute before he swims away. 

It's only when your stomach starts to rumble that you force yourself to rise to your feet, walking slowly over to the haul the siren brought you. The wood is wet and soggy, but a few days out in the sun should hopefully dry it enough that it might be used to start a fire. 

You let out a humorless chuckle as you drag your hands across your face. You truly are little more than a mutt, waiting for your master to reward you when you do something he finds amusing. How embarrassing. How weak. 

No matter how rabid you feel, you know that biting the hand that feeds you will do you no good here. If you want to survive, to live, perhaps it's time to roll over and accept your fate. 

You're not sure if you're getting better at resisting the thrall or if Seokjin just isn't bothering to use it at full force anymore, but you no longer blackout when he comes to visit you. It feels like you're in a dream, vision spotty as you watch yourself move forward on unsteady feet, falling right into Seokjin's waiting arms. The siren holds you close to his chest, arms squeezing you so hard the pain registers even through the haze. 

Weeks have passed since the day you told Seokjin your story, since you slowly began to surrender to your situation. The siren still follows the same routine but he seems to have sensed your compliance – your defeat. Your mind is still blocked off, barred from taking control of your body, but now you're able to feel everything that was only a dull memory before. Perhaps the darkness, the blissful ignorance, was a small mercy compared to this. 

Seokjin lets out a guttural sound as he pushes his face into your neck, his sharp claws slicing through your shirt. His tongue drags over your skin with a desperation you haven't felt before, teeth nicking your skin.

As terrible as it is, you've grown used to Seokjin's touches, his presence. On lonely nights, you find that you almost wish to see him, just so that you don't have to face the darkness all alone.

You have come to know what to expect from Seokjin but this is new, dangerous, a far cry from the stoic and in-control creature you've been around for the past months.

The siren's hold on you is crushing, your bones aching under the strong pressure. He skims his nose along your skin, huffing as he breathes in your scent. There's a pause, a stretch of heavy silence, and then blinding pain as sharp teeth sink into your already injured shoulder.

Your vision whites out, ears ringing as the thrall suddenly snaps and everything comes rushing in at once. Your shoulder is spasming, muscles jerking with agony as Seokjin digs his teeth in deeper, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat as he draws blood. 

It hurts. Gods, it hurts.

A wounded scream rips from your throat as you attempt to claw at his face, desperate to get his teeth out of your shoulder. Seokjin growls as you deliver a deep scratch on his cheek, pulling back just a smidge to create the sound. Seeing an opening, you tangle your hand in his long hair, jerking it back with all your might. You're lucky Seokjin doesn't tear a chunk of your shoulder out as his head snaps back, surprise making his tight grip around you lessen. It's just enough for you to fight your way out of his embrace, body shaking with fear and adrenaline as you roll onto the stone. 

Grabbing your shoulder, you try to scoot backward on the slick ground, your own blood making it hard to get enough friction.

Your legs falter as Seokjin turns in your direction, the siren looking like he crawled right out of hell. His expression is crazed, hungry, blood dripping from his unhinged jaw. You can see straight down his throat from how open his mouth is, his stained teeth and black eyes creating the perfect picture of a demon. 

Seokjin hisses as you attempt to move, a horrible sound that makes every strand of hair on your body stand straight. He digs his claws into the rock in front of him, using his strong arms to drag himself forward. 

"Come here, pet," Seokjin gurgles, his voice hardly even human.

"No no, please don't," You whimper, a newfound urgency propelling you back.

Something in the siren's expression flickers at your broken pleading, like he can't decide if his hunger or entertainment is more important. The confusion, the small sliver of hope it gives you, only lasts for a few seconds before he shakes himself out of it, Seokjin's clawed hand reaching out for your ankle. 

Just as he's about to wrap his hand around your foot, your feeble kicks doing little to deter him, you both hear the distant sound of people. 

It must be another crew daring to brave the mountains, their rambunctious singing and laughter so terribly out of place. They're either obvious to the stories haunting the pass or trying to compensate for the oppressive silence they no doubt felt the moment the ship entered it. Your heart flutters with longing at the sound of humans singing and laughing, your chest constricting with a yearning you thought died weeks ago. They sound happy and lively – everything the siren is not. 

You watch as the same realization hits Seokjin, as he registers the sound of food entering his territory. The siren's jaw pops back to normal as he licks his lips, his empty eyes flickering up to the darkening sun as he says, "The ocean appears to be smiling kindly on you tonight, little human." 

Frozen to the spot, you feel your heart drop to your stomach as the siren twists around and dives back into the water with an urgency you haven't seen from him before.

The moment he's out of sight you let out an ugly sob, hope draining out of you alongside the blood that runs down your arm. You tear at the sliced fabric that's barely holding on to your body, wrapping it around your wound with shaking fingers. It's a poor excuse for a bandage, the material soaked through in seconds, but you still tighten it as much as you can, hoping it'll be enough to stop the bleeding. Only left with your undershirt, you can feel the shivers begin to set in, your adrenaline crashing. 

You had given up hope on being rescued a long time ago but to have it this close, just on the other side of the mountain, is torture. You can't even alert the unsuspecting crew of what's coming, of the deadly creature that's lurking below their ship. 

Scream, scare them off.

Just as the futile thought strikes you, you hear it – him. The gentle hums that cause a hush to fall over the ship.

You cover your ears, not wanting to hear what comes next. You don't know if Seokjin's thrall can still affect you here but you'd rather not take the chance and risk waking up at the bottom of the lake. Closing your eyes, you try to pretend that none of this is real, that all of this is just a terrible, terrible dream.

You let out a weak sob as the first scream pierces the air. Their terrified yells echo between the mountains as they're forced to jump one by one, their final moments brutal and panicked. There's no gentleness in Seokjin's song this time, only urgency as he compels them to their deaths. 

He was starving.

For some unfathomable reason, the siren must have been starving himself to the point of breaking, trying to withhold from killing you. It all adds up to why he was acting so out of character over the past few days, his behavior more erratic than normal. He had been trying to fight off the urge to eat you. 

If the ship hadn't arrived when it did, if it had only been one second too late, you would've been dead by now. 

You curl up into a small ball, body cold and numb to the pain as your shield your ears, wrapping your arms securely around your head. "Thank you," You whisper to the faint moon, guilt twisting your stomach into knots. 

Tears drip down your face as the screams continue to reverberate into the night, choked apologies passing through your lips until you feel them going slack. You don't fight the darkness that pulls you under, your soul begging for rest, for a place the screams of Seokjin's massacre can't reach you. 

You jolt as a cold hand wraps around your shin. 

Eyes flying open, you manage to push yourself up on your elbows before your shoulder gives out, the movement sending a sharp pain all the way down to your fingers. You grit your teeth, breathing through your nose to steady yourself as you glance up at Seokjin.

The siren wraps his hand tighter around your leg, using it for leverage as he drags himself up on the rock. You were close to the mouth of the cave when you passed out but now you're almost at the edge of the dock, feet only a few steps away from the still water below. Seokjin's thrall must've been too strong, urging you to come closer even when you were unconscious. 

Perhaps you have truly lost your mind or maybe the night is playing tricks on you, but for once, there's actual emotion on Seokjin's face. The siren grins, his black eyes ablaze with something as he pushes forward. He tugs your legs apart, fitting his body between them. His hands rest on either side of your ribcage, his face so close that you can practically taste the stench of death that washes over your lips with every breath. The water cascading from his skin makes you shiver as it hits your own, the droplets soaking through your undershirt in seconds. 

"Pet," Seokjin purrs, inching his face closer.

You hold your breath, limbs frozen with fear, as the small distance between you disappears. 

You can only watch and you're horrified to find that the first thought that strikes you is how mesmerizing the siren looks. The moon shines brightly behind him, giving the scales climbing up his stomach and the small patches on his arms an iridescent shine. It's no wonder sirens have been described as beautiful creatures, not with how Seokjin's pale skin is illuminated, practically glowing, under the night sky.

You see his head tilt down, his dark eyes roaming over your bandaged shoulder. The wound only seems to ache more under the pressure of his gaze.

"Good work, little human," Seokjin comments, pleased, "You patched yourself up just to stay with me longer. I am not cruel, I will reward you for this." 

What a good dog you are, licking your wounds for your master just so that he can tear them open again.

Your legs twitch on each side of Seokjin's body, resisting the urge to kick at his tail. Angering him will do you no good and you're ashamed to admit that the spark of excitement in his features leaves you curious – makes you want to know just what a siren considers a reward. 

Seokjin ducks his head lower, pressing his nose right against your throat. The sharp bite you're expecting never comes – instead, there's only the soft press of his lips roaming over your skin, hurried kisses scattered across your neck. He lowers himself to get more access, nudging your head back as he settles more of his weight on your body. It leaves your hips completely immobile, your arms trembling with the effort it takes to keep yourself raised off the ground. 

You hold your breath, scared to move as much as a muscle. 

The siren's tongue flicks out to taste your skin with every kiss, leaving a trail of saliva covering your neck. The cold air only heightens the contrast between his warm lips and the slick skin he leaves behind. You're caught off guard when he suddenly attaches his lips to the underside of your jaw and sucks, pulling the sensitive skin there between his lips.

You let out a startled gasp at the sensation, small shudders traveling down your spine as your reaction only seems to spur Seokjin on, the siren quickly finding more spots to mark up. 

Your whimper, surprised, as he uses a claw to slice through the bottom of your undershirt, exposing your waist and stomach. His cold hand finds the exposed area immediately, rubbing and squeezing at your skin as he drags his hand up and down your waist. He somehow manages to keep his claws off your skin, only digging them in faintly whenever you grow too quiet. He seems to enjoy the involuntary sounds you make, his actions only growing more and more frenzied as he tries to pull more of them from you. 

"Touch me," Seokjin growls against your throat, his voice half strangled as he pushes you down to lie flat on the ground.

Mindful of your aching shoulder, you raise a tentative, shaking hand up towards his arm, grasping his toned bicep. You can feel the power thrumming under his skin, how strong he is from that simple touch alone.

Seokjin is quiet as you slowly glide your fingers up his arm and over his shoulder, feeling how the texture keeps switching between soft skin and hard scales whenever you encounter a small gathering of them. It's a curious feeling, one your brain struggles to fully comprehend.

You continue your touch down his back, careful to steer clear of the fin that protrudes along his spine. He lets out a harsh breath, low clicks gurgling in his throat as you let your hand fall away, not daring to go further than his waist.

You glance up as he pulls back, breath stuttering in your chest as you take in how wild he looks. Seokjin's expression is hungry, but it's nothing like the empty, ravenous stare you saw before he tried to take a chunk out of your shoulder. No, this one is pure desire – lust. 

Your stomach flips with disgust as you realize that the hunt, that killing that innocent crew, actually turned him on. 

Seokjin pushes himself back, emerging his lower body in the lake before he wraps his arms around your knees and pulls. You slide across the rock, thighs meeting Seokjin's torso as your legs fall over the edge of the dock, the water hitting just above your ankles. 

You cry out from the harsh yank, pain flaring up in your shoulder as the still-open wounds are dragged across the uneven surface. The bandage does little to lessen the burn of it, your vision growing spotty as you struggle to breathe. 

"You humans are so weak," Seokjin scoffs, his voice swimming in your ears. *

The siren tugs at your trousers, annoyed at how the fabric doesn't budge. He uses his claws, meeting no resistance as he slices right through them the moment it takes a little too long to get them off.

You jerk as Seokjin settles his hands on your exposed thighs, mapping out your skin.

Your vision begins to clear as you get your breathing under control, heat creeping up the back of your neck as you register just what the siren is looking at. Seokjin's torso is blocking you from closing your legs, exposing everything to him. 

His dark eyes never waver from your cunt, in fact, you're not so sure he even blinks as he watches you squirm. 

"Be still, pet," Seokjin says, the points of his claws pricking into your delicate flesh to get his warning across. He squeezes your thighs, his forked tongue swiping across his lips, "I was right. Your thighs do look delectable." 

Horrified, you feel your hole pulse with arousal at Seokjin's words, wetness slicking up your folds. 

The siren makes a curious sound at the sight, one hand drifting closer to your cunt as he lowers his head. You tense up, muscles locked tight, as Seokjin runs his finger over your clit. A choked moan makes it past your lips as he begins to rub at it, eyes bright as he lightly pinches your nub.

Receiving pleasure from the creature that has trapped and hurt you is the last thing that you want, but it's been so long since you've been intimate with someone like this. Your body gives in easier than your mind, eager to feel any touch as long as it'll make you feel good.

It's a reward, just take it. Who knows if you'll ever get to feel like this again.

"You're so wet, little human," Seokjin comments as he drags a finger up and down your folds, spreading your arousal around. 

"You can't– no, no claws," You hurriedly say as you feel his knuckle graze your hole, stopping Seokjin in his tracks. "We-we're fragile, remember?" 

The siren purses his lips, contemplating the information as he moves his hand back to your thigh. Arms curl under your knees before you can even breathe a sigh of relief, the air being punched right out of you as Seokjin dips his head down to lick a stripe between your folds. 

"Oh Gods," You gasp, fingers clawing at the stone below you as the siren's forked tongue flicks over your clit with every pass, making your clenching hole gush with slickness.

You let out a broken moan as Seokjin prods his tongue at your entrance, black eyes flickering up to meet yours just as he pushes it inside. 

Seokjin has lowered his body even more into the water, leaving him at the perfect height to feast on your cunt. His tongue worms his way into your hole, the wet muscle reaching deeper than what should be possible. Your veins feel like they're on fire, your body burning up with arousal as Seokjin licks and sucks at your folds, nose bumping against your clit. You can't stop yourself from grinding against his face, hips twitching with the little leeway he gives you. 

"Seok-seokjin," Your hand flies down to his head at a particularly harsh suck, his teeth skimming over your delicate heat. The mixture of fear and pleasure leaves you lightheaded, your heart beating erratically in your chest. 

The siren growls as your fingers curl into his long hair, the sound vibrating against your skin as you tug at his locks. You can't tell if you're trying to pull him away or press him closer, but either way, Seokjin doesn't listen. 

You keen as his movements only seem to grow more frenzied, the siren drunk on your taste as he continues to lap up your slick. His grip around your legs is bruising, locking you in place to let him use you as he pleases. You continue to whimper out his name, your little cries only spurring him on further.

The white-hot pleasure in your stomach only continues to build the longer Seokjin eats you out, the pleasure mounting so quickly you don't know what to do with yourself. 

You don't want this but you also do – and those conflicting emotions only intensify every suck and lick from Seokjin.

"Good pet," The siren groans, his warm breath fanning across your folds. 

You finally erupt as he attaches his lips to your clit and sucks, your orgasm ripping through you so violently you almost feel like you're going to pass out. Your back bows off the ground as you let out a loud moan, your knuckles white from the tight grip you have on Seokjin's hair. You ride out the waves of pleasure that seem to hit you over and over, the siren lapping up your essence like a starving man – like he's never tasted anything as good before.

Your legs are trembling with oversensitivity once you come back to yourself, your cunt clenching helplessly around Seokjin's tongue as he keeps trying to lick up more of your slick. You hastily remove your fingers from his hair, weakly pushing at his head to make him back away. 

"Stop, it's too much," You whimper.

Seokjin makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat, tongue dragging through your folds one last time before he pulls back. There's something in the siren's gaze that looks even more predatory than it's ever done before, his plush lips slick with your wetness. *

"You did well, little human. It was about time you gave yourself to me," Seokjin says as he brings his hands to your hips, the corner of his mouth quirked. 

"What do you mean?" You say, voice faltering, "You told me to touch you, you made me touch you – made me enjoy this." 

The siren tsks, shaking his head as he pushes you down on the stone dock, fingers gliding over your stomach. "Did you feel me using my thrall, little human? You touched me because you wanted to, you gave in because you wanted to feel good. This was all you, pet." 

"No, that's not..." You trail off, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn't feel the ticklish sensation that usually comes with Seokjin's thrall when he asked you to touch him. You don't feel sick now, not like you always do whenever you snap out of it.

You... You did all of this on your own volition. 

Seokjin sees as the realization dawns on your face, the blooming devastation making his fin hit the surface with excitement. 

"That's right," He murmurs silkily, "Accept the fate that the sea has bestowed on you, pet. You were made to be my little plaything." 

You feel Seokjin move away as you stare mindlessly up at the twinkling stars. You pull your aching legs together the moment he's gone, bringing them up to your chest. Without the siren's body shielding you from the frigid night air, you just feel cold. So awfully cold. 

Just accept your fate.

You hear the water move as the siren ducks under the surface. The lake ripples as he swims, only a few flaps of his tail bringing him up on the side of the dock, where your head has turned. His dark eyes burn holes into your face as he drops something on the stone in front of you, the metal clinking as it bounces off the surface. 

Heart stuttering in your chest, you reach out and snatch up your old knife, your shoulder burning as you put pressure on it. Your eyes grow wet as you turn it around in your hand, the familiar weight and polished grain of the wooden handle the closest thing you have to anything that feels like home.

You thought you had lost your knife forever when you jumped off the ship, that it was sacrificed to the sea together with your crew and vessel.

The siren's face is unreadable as you glance up at him, expression flat as always. One thing is for sure though – there's no part of Seokjin that views you as a threat, that's concerned you'll use your knife against him. 

It breaks your heart to know that he's right. Even if you kill him, you have no way to get out of here.

Seokjin's pale hand emerges from the water to place something delicately on the edge of the dock. You let out a small gasp as he removes his fingers, the round sphere beautiful as it reflects the stars shining above. It looks to be a massive pearl made out of obsidian, the surface glossy and smooth. 

You lay your knife down, meeting Seokjin's burning stare as you bring your trembling fingers forward to pick it up. The pearl is heavy in your palm, your hand barely even managing to close around the size of it.

The moment you pick it up, Seokjin lets out a pleased chitter, his mouth showing off that terrible smile again as he says, "You've proven to be a fascinating pet, I don't think I'll tire of you just yet."

"You're mine now, little human." 

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed the final chapter of TOP! writing mer!seokjin was a nice break from my usual stories and it was fun to revisit the tcs-universe. i would love to hear what you think about the chapter – comments and reblogs make my day!! 🥺💖

if you enjoyed the story and would like to support me, you can do so here! 💖

[kilojulietsierra]

Thinking about Jack and Night Shift:

- Bridget is Jacks work wife/mother hen of the night shift. She has known Sam and Jack since forever and when they were new to Pitt she invited them over for family dinners. She’s a mom of boys so she’s never phased by the night crowd

- like how the day shift had bets in the ambulance, the Night Shift has a running tab of how many objects are found or inserted throughout the week.

- Sam came in one night with a ruptured appendix and needing surgery. Emery found out and she threatened the resident saying do not kill my best friend. Jack will kill you first I will revive you and I will kill you again.

Bridget is Jacks work wife/mother hen of the night shift. She has known Sam and Jack since forever and when they were new to Pitt she invited them over for family dinners. She’s a mom of boys so she’s never phased by the night crowd

- Sam had been nervous at first. Her and Jack weren’t really “peopley people” but she knew getting this job had been huge for Jack. So they went when Bridget invited them to dinner.

- She’s glad they did.

- Back when they were still new to town and living in an apartment with facebook marketplace furniture going to dinner at Bridget’s was sort of a treat.

- She was a good cook. Her husband had been a Pittsburgh firefighter for nearly 30 years, working his way up to battalion chief, and their three boys were a riot.

- It didn’t take long to figure out why nothing phased Bridget.

- It also didn’t take long for her to figure Jack out. Keep him busy, step in and save him from the crying parents and spouses, let him work, throw the kids in the deep end and let them sink or swim. She also figure out quick what his good days and bad days looked like.

- Bridget liked being on his shifts, they got shit done. The longer he worked at PTMC the more he loosened up and they enjoyed each other’s dry sense of humor and sarcasm.

- Bridget liked Sam, saw right away she was exactly who Jack needed and vice versa.

- She was proud of the two of them for everything they’ve been through.

- It was bridge had suggested that Sam try to get hired in the Pitt, but she was a sure thing for the VA job. Sam did let Bridge convince to come on as a PRN.

- Jack and Sam needed the money and the Pitt needed good nurses.

- Bridget and Dana both encouraged Sam to go for the charge nurse opening at the VA. They’d both been listed as references on her resume.

like how the day shift had bets in the ambulance, the Night Shift has a running tab of how many objects are found or inserted throughout the week.

- personal note: I worked an ER front desk in my early 20s and can 100% confirm that we played bingo on event weekends and other shenanigans.

- Shen had started the virtual bingo cards in his intern year.

- When Jack found out and cornered him in a triage room Shen quite literally thought he was about to die. Jack stared him down for a long hard minute and then with a straight face pulled out his phone. “What’s the buy in?”

- It’s a game that’s gone on for years.

- It’s $20/card. The round lasts a month or until someone gets a bingo. Whichever comes first. Winner takes the pot.

- For an extra $20 you can also buy into the “blackout round”. It’s only ever been one once. Since the game started. It was Parker her first year on night shift.

- What are some of the squares you ask? The basics like a runway dildo or vibrator, lost condoms. 3D printing and DIY silicone molds certainly…. added a level of… creativity. The more usual suspects: remotes, phallic shaped fruits and vegetables, electric toothbrush handles, etc. it gets worse from there. Lightbulb, action figure, balloon (inflated/deflated), Bluetooth speaker, non phallic shaped fruits/veggies, hotdog, mannequin parts, panties, shampoo bottles, crystals, beer bottle, harmonica, ice cream scoop, dog toy, a gear shift (bonus points for fire department involvement), anything with a hobby lobby sticker.

- The longer the game goes the more absolutely batshit it gets.

- Myrna is allowed to play.

- She threatened Shen to get in on the action, he went to Jack for help and his attending just chuckled, said “Work the problem.” And walked away.

- She won once and Parker is convinced Myrna rigged it. Somehow…

- It’s rumored that nightshift keeps a storage tote of the “treasures” but nobody has ever located it and night shifters do not snitch.

- Gloria caught wind of the game once and brought it up to Jack at the next attendings meeting. His response; a scowl and “you really think I’d let stupid shit like that happen on my shift?”

- Was he at that time in possession of a bingo card one remote away from $380? Maybe. Maybe not.

Sam came in one night with a ruptured appendix and needing surgery. Emery found out and she threatened the resident saying do not kill my best friend. Jack will kill you first I will revive you and I will kill you again.

- she called Jacks cell first but he didn’t answer. Not a big deal. She called the desk phone and was grateful it was Bridge that picked up. “Hey it’s Sam. Can I talk to Jack real quick?”

- “What’s wrong?” His voice is calm but he knows that something is wrong. They have that rule. No calls at work unless it’s an emergency. Sam gets right to the point, “think it’s my appendix. Still don’t feel good, now I have an elevated temp, sweating, lower right quadrant is painful” “ruptured?” She’s quiet, Jack can picture her mentally assessing herself again, “maybe, I’m not a doctor how should I know” Jack sighs, “babe” he hears her chuckle and then wince. “Can you make it in or do I need to send a rig?” He says it like he had any say in how FD ran their ambulances. But he knew people.

- Sam parks in visitor parking and walks in through the ambulance bay. She’s wearing a pair of sweats and one of jacks hoodies, she’s drenched in sweat and bent over in pain. When Jack sees her she smiles, “hey baby, guess what?” He quick steps to her and grabs her, “it went didn’t it?” “Yep, pretty sure” she groans as he picks her up “think I’m gonna be sick” “bridge? The nurse calls back “eights open, page surgery?” “Yep”

- Jack does the exam, Shen appearing out of nowhere “what do you need boss?” He says it to Sam, not Jack.

- Walsh is one of the surgeons on call when Sam comes in, but she’s in surgery. How she found out what room she was in is a mystery to this day but she made one of the techs call down “how long can she wait?” Is the first thing she says. Jack doesn’t seem phased, “she’s next in line” “who’s cutting?”

- The OR doors swing open because yes Walsh scrubs in just for this moment. “Walsh, what the fuck are you doing?” She ignores the other surgeon and circles the table, eyes locked on Sam’s vitals “you’re letting an intern cut on my best friend. The fuck do you think I’m doing here?” “It’s an appy Walsh, he’s perfectly capable. You did plenty of them your first year” Walsh ignore her former attending to make eye contact with the intern “do you know who Dr Jack Abbot is?” He nods “well this is his wife, and if anything, any-thing, goes wrong. He will kill you.” “Walsh!” “Then I’ll ask him to bring you back, because he can, and he will if I ask, and then I’ll kill you myself.” “Walsh!” “Slowly. Painfully.” “Walsh!” Em made eye contact with the intern “and I’ll enjoy it” “Walsh! I will remove you from this fucking OR” her eyes swing to the attending just as hard “would you like to try that idea out?”

- Emery is in the recovery suite when Sam came out of anesthesia. “Oh god, I always knew you’d try to steal my organs one day” Walsh smirked “I left you the important ones, quit complaining” “how’d it go?” Jack appeared through the door. Walsh begrudgingly admitted, “they did a good job i guess” Sam grinned, still groggy “don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get to cut me open one of these days” Jack walks to the other side of the bed, kisses his wife on the forehead and smooths her hair back “don’t encourage her baby”

[and-claudia]

Bound by Winter (Spencer Agnew x fem! Reader) Part 3

Word Count: 5800+

Warnings: Language, slow burn, there are also switches from first person to third person point of views to give a glimpse of what happening in Spencer's head some

Taglist Sign Up (Read Carefully)

Bound by Winter Masterlist

Please leave comments and like!! I love reading y'all's comments!!

header made by yours truly

Snow blanketed the ledges of Caerwatch Keep in thick folds, muting the sound of boots on stone. Inside the war hall, the hearth blazed high, but the air remained taut—sharp with steel and strategy.

It had been a week since the wedding. A week of being the new Lady Agnew. 

Spencer and I had not yet shared a bed. He continued to sleep in the same chair that first night. Truth be told, I don’t think either of us were ready to address it. Luckily, though he silences between us were no longer icy, just... tentative. Like a truce that hadn’t quite become trust.

My days were filled with the dull routines of acclimating to northern customs: bitter root soups, bone-chilling baths, and silent corridors. But the lull didn’t last. By the seventh morning, horns had sounded.

War had arrived at the doorstep.

Soon, I found myself sat at a long oaken table beside Spencer—unusual for a lady, and doubly so for a southern one. Still, no one had asked me to leave.

Across the table stood Ian Hecox, Lord Commander of the Northern Watch—grim-eyed, solid as a fortress. He’d come down from the Frostmark Barracks with a hundred men and two thousand more at his back. His tone was clipped, cold.

Thankfully, before the meeting, Spencer had done me the courtesy of giving me a rundown of who would be in attendance at this meeting. 

“We cannot hold the Breakspire Pass if we split forces. We need one direct push north of the River Graves.”

“And leave the village of Timbermere exposed?” Lady Courtney Miller leaned in, golden hair braided back in thick rows, her eyes sharp. “If we lose Timbermere, we lose the grain lines. Then we’re marching on empty bellies.”

“Then we bleed them dry now,” Ian said. “We lure the southern forces into the ice fields before they’re ready.”

The room argued—force against caution, honor against advantage.

I listened quietly until a map was rolled out, inked with trade routes and terrain lines. My gaze flicked to the forest roads behind Caerwatch. How had no one mentioned them yet?

“What about using the Hollow Creek path?” I said suddenly, voice clear over the low rumble of men’s voices. “It’s narrow, but if we reinforce it and draw the enemy west—away from Timbermere—we can strike from two sides.”

The room fell into stunned silence. All eyes turned to me.

Spencer stared too, mouth slightly open. Even Ian's brow quirked in surprise.

Lady Courtney stepped forward, curious. “That’s a clever strategy. Hollow Creek’s a beast to maneuver—but if we can trap them in the bend…”

Ian looked toward Spencer. “Your wife’s clever. Why didn’t you mention she was trained in tactics?”

Spencer blinked. “She… wasn’t.”

I tried to hide the slight smile that threatened to show at surprising the men in the room.

The rest of the meeting went as smoothly as a war preparation meeting could go. Details of which men would and wouldn’t go. When they would leave. Would it be better to travel by foot or horseback? And lastly, who would lead the attack? That is when my ears perked back up. 

“I will lead my men, myself, thank you,” Spencer said the Ian, who simply nodded. 

It was odd. The way my heart clenched upon hearing those words. Sure, he was my husband, but that word felt more like just another title for him. There was no love behind it. Just the title. Sure, the two of us had grown somewhat closer. Not lovers, or even friends, but there was something there… I think. 

The meeting concluded, and it was just about time for dinner. Spencer had extended an invitation for the others to join, which they obviously accepted. 

“May I?” Spencer asked, offering me his arm, clearly a formality in front of our guest. 

Before I was able to answer or take his arm, Lady Courtney stepped between us. 

“Actually, I am going to escort your wife to dinner, I have much to discuss with her.” She said, linking my arm with hers. 

“Sure, go right ahead, steal my wife,” Spencer said, watching us walk away. 

“Already did!” Courtney shot over her shoulder before we slipped out the door. 

“Have you known Lord Agnew long?” I asked, curious about their banter. 

“We’ve worked on a handful of battle strategies before… But I assure it’s nothing more than a friendship between us two. I have… eyes for another, let's just say.” She explained, and I nodded, feeling a small weight lifted off my shoulders. 

“Anyways, I wanted to know if you’ve ever been in battle before? You clearly know a thing or two about war strategy.” She asked. 

“Oh, I’m afraid that is where my war experience ends. I’ve never fought in battle or even traveled with an army before. Back during the last war, my father always left me home with my Septa. I’ve never even actually held a sword. Closest I’ve gotten is when my Uncle Link gave me a dagger for my 14th namesday. But I’ve never even used that for anything besides display.” I explained, slightly embarrassed, seeing as I was talking to a woman who clearly has fighting experience. 

“I figured. I wanted to offer to spar and train with you, should you ever want to. The north is known for its warriors, but they’re all men. And boy, do they love tradition up here. A woman? Fighting? Forget it. Us women have to help ourselves usually. No man here will train with you…not even your husband… so if you want to learn to swing a sword, come to me.” She said with a kind smile. 

“Thank you. I will definitely keep that in mind.” I said, returning the smile. 

Dinner went well. I knew how these things went, having attended hundreds of post-meeting dinners with my father. Everyone shifts and pretends like the meeting never happened. Even just for a little bit. It was just easier. 

Luckily, I had figured out which dishes were… decent… to eat and tried to stick to those during the meal as I sat beside Spencer. Everyone stayed for another round of ale after everyone had finished eating before retiring to their respective chambers. This time, Spencer had waited for everyone to leave before us, and when we left, he didn’t offer me his arm. Simply turned and headed towards our chambers. 

Once we got there, Spencer went about his normal routine of removing his cloak, putting it on the chair before preparing for bed. I beat him to the washroom first, however, and changed into my night gown. When I came out, I found him sitting at the edge of the bed, still tugging the ties from his boots. I said nothing as I walked past him and sat down at the vanity. I began brushing out my hair for bed, and I could feel his gaze flicking towards me in the mirror ever so often. 

“Hollow Creek,” he said. “That was impressive.”

I smirked faintly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“You stunned Ian Hecox. That man hasn’t blinked since the last frost.” The faintest hint of impression in his tone. 

I set the brush down and turned in the chair to look at him. “When I was small, my father used to bring me to all his war councils. He thought I wasn’t paying attention—let me sit on his lap, eating honeyed nuts while men planned sieges.”

Spencer tilted his head, curiosity sparking. “You were listening?”

I nodded. “Every single word.”

Spencer grinned softly, almost amused. “Your father’s going to regret letting you go.”

You looked over your shoulder at him. “He already does… I know inviting me to the meeting today was just common courtesy, but I know the southerners. I know my father's and uncle’s tactics and war strategies. I also know what the other armies are like. They were my father's former allies. They have told me their secrets, and they don’t even know it. I think I could be a real asset to future plans.” I said, suddenly not wanting to meet his. 

The moment stretched. He didn’t quip back. Just looked at me—like he was seeing something new, something unfolding. And finally, he nodded. 

“I definitely won’t be the one to bar you from returning.” He said, getting up and heading over to the chair as he had every single night since our wedding night. 

I finished brushing my hair and went over to the bed, but I hesitated. My eyes glanced over at Spencer as he blew out the last candle besides mine, and turned towards the chair. 

“That thing can’t be comfortable.” I said. 

He shrugged, “I’ve slept on worse. Had to share a cave floor with Damien once. That was rough, but I guess it beat freezing to death.” 

“You can sleep in the bed,” I said quietly as if it were a sin that must be kept a secret. 

He wavered in his decision for a moment. I swear I could see the silent debate going on in his mind. 

“It’s alright. I don’t want to intrude. The chair is just fine. Better than being forced to cuddle up to Damien.” He tried joking again, but I was beginning to see through his shield of humor and sarcasm, not fully, but pinholes were appearing, and I was looking right into one right now. 

“You’re about to ride into battle in a few days. It’ll be hard to lead your men if you have a sore back. I’ve noticed you stretching it in the mornings. Please. We’re married. Married people share a bed… I will be fine.” I said. 

He hesitated but slowly approached the other side of the bed. His movements were quiet and calculated, almost as if he moved too fast, I’d get spooked and retract the offer. 

I slowly pulled back the furs and climbed in, sticking to my respective side of the bed as he did the same. Both of us lay there with our backs to one another. I can’t speak for him, but I was trying to convince myself that he wasn’t there. That I wasn’t sharing a bed with a man. But I found it hard as the heat radiated off of him. 

Third Person PoV

Spencer woke earlier than usual. The sun had just risen, but he decided to go ahead and get up. We had a war to prepare for. The first of many battles would be fought in less than a week. There was much to do. 

He carefully got out of the now shared bed where his wife still lay asleep. The pair had drifted closer in the night. Spencer even had his hand resting gently on her hip when he had awoken, but he decided not to dwell on it too much as he gently retracted it. Instead, he got up and prepared for the day. Once he was dressed, he slipped out of their chambers, but not without stealing one last glance at his wife as she stirred slightly and began waking up. 

First Person PoV 

When my eyes opened, Spencer was no longer here. However, the residual heat he left in the bed was. I noticed that I was now practically on his side of the bed, and began to worry that I had moved that close while he was still hear. However, as I got up and made my way to the washroom, I convinced myself I moved over after he got up, searching for the heat he left behind. That had to be it. 

Today felt like it would be my first day of really being Lady Agnew. I was being escorted into one of the small mountain villages to recruit women for bandage-making. I knew we all hoped we wouldn’t need them, but once the men returned, we would. 

Ser Damien was escorting me, along with a couple of House Agnew soldiers. It was odd. I used to walk around Seastar Hold alone. But then again, I was only the daughter of a Lord then, now I was the Lady of House Agnew. I had a duty to uphold… eventually… so I needed to have some form of protection. 

The women of the village weren’t rude; they weren’t particularly kind either. They all agreed to begin, or continue, making bandages and having them brought to the keep, where first aid would be provided for any wounded fighters. On our way back, I decided to ask Ser Damien about his views on their attitude towards me. 

“Do you think they hated me?” I asked him as he walked beside me, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword casually. 

“No… I just think they’re weary of you still. They know they are to respect you, you’re their Lady after all, but they don’t know you. You’re not from here, so they haven’t gotten a good grasp on who you are. But they’ll come around soon. Perhaps they’ll even warm up to you before your husband does.” He teased, making me laugh slightly. 

“Wouldn’t that be something?” I said. 

When we arrived back at the keep, there was a guard waiting for us as soon as we entered. 

“Lady Yn, Ser Damien, there is a war council meeting. Your presence is requested.” He said. 

I nodded, “Thank you, I will be there shortly.” I said, dismissing the guard. 

“Well, duty calls.” Ser Damien said before we both turned and began heading to the meeting. 

When I entered, the now-familiar smell of pine smoke filled my nose. A few heads turned to me as I walked further in. There were more men here than there were at the previous meeting, and I didn’t recognize most of them. The table now held multiple maps, pinned down by goblets of wine and riding gloves that were still damp from snow, meaning most of these men had just arrived. 

I walked past them and took a seat next to Spencer. 

“As I was saying,” a grizzly-looking northern man began, “We’ll lose men trying to cross the east river bend. That gully floods like a bastard come thaw.” 

Ser Damien, who had taken another seat at the other end of the table, was quick to respond, “Better than your idea, Lord Todd, of charging head-on through Hollow Creek itself and hoping the gods give us wings.” 

Spencer said nothing and just let the two men bicker back and forth for a moment as he watched with his arms crossed. Once I figured he was definitely not going to say anything, I decided to. 

“What if we bait them into thinking we’ll go through Hollow Creek—then collapse the ridge above the riverbend instead?” I asked, keeping my voice level. 

Lord Todd scoffed at my question, “Oh? The lady’s read a map or two and thinks she’s a general now?”

I didn’t falter at his insult. Instead, I stood from my chair and walked over to a map that clearly showed the bend in question. I tapped the area I was talking about with my finger. 

“Two barrels of pitch. Light them atop the ridge. The snow melts, the mud slides, the ridge collapses. Their cavalry has nowhere to go. You don’t have to like it—but you can’t pretend it wouldn’t work, Lord Todd.” I said, looking directly at the man. 

The room fell silent. The only sound was coming from the cracking of the fire in the hearth. I could feel everyone's eyes on me. 

“Well, I’d ride behind her. She’s got sharper eyes than half the commanders in this room.” Lady Courtney’s voice broke through the silence. 

“She’s got a better grasp on northern mudslides than Todd, that’s certain,” Spencer added. 

Laughter erupted through the room, save for Lord Todd, who muttered something while sipping wine from his goblet. I looked back down the table to Spencer. He wasn’t smiling with impression, his face was neutral. He did give me a single nod, though, as if to say “I respect you.” And that was good enough for me. 

The meeting continued, and I stayed quiet until the topic of the preparation of the keep was addressed. 

“How are preparations for here going?” Spencer asked. 

“Good. Food supply is more than enough for the time being, though they will need to be replenished in the coming month or so. I have also recruited the smallfolk women of the villages to prepare bandages for the wounded. I planned on meeting with the maester tomorrow to check his medicine supply as well.” I said. 

Spencer nodded, “Good. That is all for tonight. Everyone should get some rest, eat something warm. Enjoy it while we have it.” 

I waited with Spencer as everyone else filed out. Once they were gone, he turned to me.

“The maester needs your help with something.” 

I nodded for him to continue. 

“Your father and uncle have written to us about their plans. Only issue is, we don’t understand a damn thing the letters say. Your father’s letter is mostly deciphered, and only a few key parts are missing. Your uncle’s, however… I am starting to wonder if he won all his battles by writing to the enemy about his plans and attacked while they were trying to read what it said. His handwriting is horrible.” He explained. 

I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“His is pretty bad… I can help read them. I have been doing it for years.” I said. 

“Good, no use having allies if you can’t understand them.” He said as he stood. 

I stood as well and followed him out. We ate dinner together, just the two of us. 

“How did the villagefolk treat you?” He finally asked, after setting down his mug of ale. 

“About like you do. I don’t think they hated me, but they weren’t welcoming me with warm hugs and affection.” I said. 

He nodded, “Are there bets in place? I would like in on it if there are.” 

“Not that I am aware of. Check with Ser Damien, if anyone had bets, it’d be him.” 

He didn’t quite laugh, but he did exhale in amusement and tried to hide his smirk behind his mug of ale. Once dinner was finished, we both returned to our chambers and went about our own nightly routines. However, this time there was no discussion on where he was going to sleep. He simply went to his side and climbed in, being sure to leave a large gap between the two of us. 

The day before the troops were set to move out was filled with last-minute preparations of the keep. None of us expected the southern enemies to make it this far north, but still, preparations had to be made. One such preparation was ensuring that the walls were all secured, which included going out and observing it yourself. This task was usually left to the Lord of the keep, but Spencer had extended an invitation for me to join him. 

I met him in the stables, dressed to ride. Which surely surprised him. I was not in a dress like I had always been around him. Instead, I had a pair of dark brown riding pants. They were tailored perfectly to my figure, very uncommon for a Lady to wear, but far more practical for riding, especially up north. I tucked the ends of them into a pair of riding boots I had brought with me. Up top, I was wearing a simple cream colored tunic underneath a dark pine green wool coat. The coat was a gift from Angela, and it fit me beautifully. It was cut just past the hips and cinched at the waist with a braided leather belt, and lined with silver fox fur along the collar and cuffs. Lastly, I had on the light cloak that Spencer had gifted me. 

He glanced up.

Paused.

Then tilted his head.

“Well. That’s one way to scandalize half the northern court.” He smirked, clearly impressed, “Didn’t think they made trousers that sharp south of the river.”

I shrugged, mounting with ease, “They don’t. These were made here, actually. You Northerners may lack manners, but your tailors are miracle workers.”

His grin widened.

“Careful, wife. Say a few more things like that, and I might start to enjoy your company.”

I smiled to myself slightly as I followed him out of the keep and down the snow-lined road. The walls of the Hold itself had already been inspected and were ready; we were going out to the walls that surrounded the handful of small villages near the Hold. When we got to the gate of the outer wall, Spencer gave a single nod, and they were opened for us. 

A memory of hearing tales of Spencer’s past… companions crossed my mind as my horse walked through the gate. Rumors of them disappearing in the thick pine woods had spread across Virelia more than once. 

“This isn’t the part where you lead me to the forest and leave me for dead, is it?” I asked teasingly, but I would be lying if there wasn’t a small part of me that was a little scared. 

“Why would you say that?” He asked, a slight knowing tone edging his voice. 

“I’ve heard rumors…” I said I wasn't sure if I should specify the rumor or not. 

“Ah, yes. My last lover, who disappeared into the frost, not a trace was left. Is that the rumor you’re referring to?” He asked. 

I said nothing. 

“Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t call her a lover. She was a whore. A whore I never even touched. Ser Damien thought it would be a fun surprise to send a whore to my chambers for my names day a few years ago… truth be told I prefer to select my whores myself. I prefer the ones who don’t know who I am, that I was heir to the longest-lasting keep in all of Virelia, that I carried an ancient and powerful name. And she clearly did, seeing as he had sent her to my chambers… I didn’t want to embarrass her, so I waited until it was dark, escorted her out here, and sent her back to where she had come from. She was sent with warm clothes, food, and a horse. She was not abandoned.” He explained. 

“Oh… why didn’t you tell people that?” I asked curiously. 

He shrugged, “Sometimes it's just better to let others believe whatever they want to believe.” 

I only nodded. 

“What about the rumors I’ve heard about you?” He asked after a moment. 

“There are rumors about me? All the way up here?” I asked, slightly shocked. 

“There are rumors about everyone, everywhere. You’re no different. In fact, I’ve heard that you have a few nicknames… I’ve heard some whispers about The Bastard of Brightmere… does that ring a bell?” He asked, eyeing from where he rode beside me. 

“Many, I am afraid… I am sure you’re aware that I am a legitimized bastard. My father had a long relationship with a whore… he told me stories of their times together, he truly loved her and wanted to marry her but he knew he couldn’t. She got pregnant with me, and he promised to be there for the child and support both of them. By this point, he was being forced to search for a bride and had entered a courtship. He had to leave to meet with the father of his intended; my mother was still a couple moons from being due, so he wasn’t too worried about her. But she began to have labor pains the day after he left. I was born the following day, and she passed. When he arrived, he went to see my mother, to check on her, only to find that she had had the baby early and didn’t make it. He took me with him to the keep and wrote two letters. One to king to legitimize me as his rightful daughter and heir. The second to call off his engagement.” I explained, trying to keep my tone even. 

Spencer halted his horse beside me, causing me to do the same. 

“It wasn’t a diplomatic move?” He asked. 

I shook my head, “He loved my mother. And he had promised to support her and the child they were having. He wasn’t able to support her, so he’d be damned if he didn’t support his daughter. Until the threat of war began, I was told I would be able to marry whenever and whoever I wanted… that’s one of the few things my father ever backed out of on me.” 

“I am assuming I wasn’t what you had in mind?” He quipped, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Oh no, I always dreamed of being wed to a brooding northern lord who was late to our wedding.” I shot back, trying to sound serious but failing slightly. 

“Well,l I am glad to be your knight in shining armor.” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

We continued to ride, inspecting any loose parts of the wall and taking note of where they were to send men out to fix them. It didn’t take long, and we were soon on our way back.

The wind bit at my cheeks, but I didn’t mind. The snow had lightened, drifting like sifted flour over the ever-white road back to Caerwatch. The sound of hoofbeats echoed through the pines, muffled by the snow underfoot. Spencer rode just ahead, his breath visible in the cold, his silhouette framed by the distant, brooding towers of the keep.

We hadn’t spoken much after inspecting the damaged east wall, but the silence had grown… companionable. Not quite warm, but no longer sharp-edged either.

Then I noticed it — his horse eased into a quicker trot, deliberate, measured. A glance over his shoulder, that familiar flicker of sarcasm dancing in his eyes.

“You know, you southerners ride as slow as you talk,” he called over his shoulder.

I narrowed my eyes, “We just don’t need to prove ourselves every time we mount a horse.”

“Mm. Sounds like something someone losing would say.”

He nudged his mare again — not quite a gallop, but just enough to pull ahead. The challenge was subtle. Infuriatingly smug.

I nudged my own steed, matching pace easily.

He heard me gain on him and didn’t look back. Just pressed forward, smug bastard.

I grinned, heart quickening. Fine.

I leaned forward, whispered encouragement to my horse, and let her go.

The cold air knifed past my ears as we surged forward. Snow kicked up behind me. I heard Spencer curse, then laugh — really laugh — and chase after me, his voice echoing through the trees. 

“You’re cheating!” I heard him holler, and I swear I could hear the smile in his voice. 

“You’re just slow!” I shot over my shoulder at him. 

We thundered over the ridge, hooves hammering frozen earth. For a moment, it felt like I could fly, cloak snapping behind me, cheeks flushed with speed and something dangerously close to joy.

I reached the outer gates first, breathing hard, laughing as I pulled the reins to slow.

Spencer arrived seconds later, panting, curls wind-tossed and eyes alight.

“You are unreasonable,” he said between breaths.

“You’re just bitter.” I teased. 

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head. For once, he didn’t have a retort. Just that rare, crooked half-smile I’d come to recognize — the one that meant I’d surprised him.

And for once… it felt good. 

“I suggest you change out of those clothes soon.” He finally said after we brought our horses back to the stables. 

“Why? Are you afraid of the wondering eyes of northern men eyeing your wife?” I teased, still riding the high of winning. 

“No, I don’t want to have to explain to those northern men that my wife died of hypothermia from the snow melting from her clothes.” He shot back. 

I cursed under my breath because he had a good point, and I had no retort to fire back. 

“Fine, and what about the snow on your clothes, Lord Agnew?” I asked. 

“I will be staying out in the snow, training, and I will be fine for now. I will change before I meet you for dinner this evening. I’d hate to leave the whole north in the hands of someone rumored to have had a love affair with one of her father’s knights.” He said before turning swiftly and walking towards the training yard. 

I was left stunned… how had he heard about that? 

I made a mental note to ask him about that later and turned to head inside. Once I made it to my chambers, Angela was already there waiting for me to arrive to help me change out of the clothes I was wearing. And though I hate to admit it, Spencer was right. Once I came inside, the warmth was melting the snow that was caked to my riding pants, and it was already making me quite cold. 

The second I walked in and Angela saw the caked-on snow melting, she whistled lowly. 

“Well, well. You went riding — and came back looking like you won something. Which means you either outran Lord Agnew or finally saw him smile.”

I rolled my eyes, kicking off my boots by the door.

“He started it.”

“Oh gods, that definitely means you won.”

She flounced over with a smug look on her face, arms crossed. “Tell me everything. Did you two race like proper nobles or did you just tear across the snow like unhinged children?”

“Children,” I muttered, taking off my cloak. “Definitely unhinged.” 

Angela laughed, then squinted at me.

“And you’re smiling. That’s new.” She said, taking the cloak from me as I began to take off the coat. 

I looked down, pretending to focus deeply on the buttons of the coat.

“It was just a race. He said I was slow. I proved him wrong.”

“A duel of horses and pride. How terribly romantic,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Tell me, did he stare after you with wind in his hair and regret in his soul?”

“He cursed. A lot.”

“Same thing.” She smirked. 

Third Person PoV

Out in the training yard, Spencer was tending to his sword in quiet focus when Ser Damien strolled up, smug as ever. The swordsman leaned against the post with his arms crossed. 

“So…” Damien drawled. “Word around the stables is you were left in a white blur of snow and shame today.”

Spencer didn't look up. “That blur had legs half the length of mine. Don’t know how it happened.”

Damien chuckled. “Ah, yes, the great Northern excuse: ‘She cheated.’ Sounds better than admitting your wife outrode you in front of half the guard.”

Spencer smirked faintly. “She has something to prove. I let her have it.”

“Of course you did,” Damien said, deadpan. “Nothing screams confidence like eating snow on the ride home.”

Spencer glanced at him, eyes sharp but mouth twitching.

“She needed the win more than I did.”

“And you didn’t mind seeing her flushed and laughing like that, did you?”

Spencer paused. Just long enough for Damien’s grin to widen.

“I hate you, you know that,” Spencer muttered.

“You love me,” Damien said, turning away with a wink. “Almost as much as you're starting to like her.”

First Person PoV

When I walked into the hall for dinner with Spencer, I had one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t his departure with the troops tomorrow. No. I was going to figure out how he had heard that rumor about me and that stupid knight. 

As soon as the first course was placed in front of us, I wasted no time. 

“Who told you about that knight?” I asked. 

“What?” 

“You told me about a rumor about a ‘love affair’ I had with one of my father’s knights. Who told you about this?” I asked. 

“Hhmm… I’d hate to turn you against your favorite handmaiden.” He said, smirking into his mug of ale. 

I gasped, “That bitch! What did she tell you?” 

I wasn’t really angry, just shocked she would tell him about this, and leave out key details. 

“Well, she didn’t tell me anything. I overheard her talking with the other handmaidens the other morning. So tell me, how do I compare to the Mystic Knight?” He asked. 

“Well, if you must know, you’ve at least gotten further than he ever did, you’ve shared a bed with me… all he ever got was a chaste kiss under the Moonfire Tree in the gardens of Brightmere Keep. It was a stupid game, and I was dared by Angela to do it.” I explained. 

“Oh, well, lucky me. Who’s a better kisser?” 

“I beg your pardon?” I asked, nearly spitting out the wine I was sipping. 

“Who was the better kisser? Me? Or him?” He asked so casually you’d think he was completely disinterested in the entire conversation, but the light behind his eyes said otherwise. 

“Considering the only time I’ve kissed you was at our wedding, and it felt like kissing a cold stone wall, I’d say he was… How does it feel to lose twice in a single day, Lord Agnew?” I asked smuggly. 

“The day’s not over, I could still change the outcome of one of my losses.” He said. 

I felt my cheeks heating up, but didn’t waver. 

“I’d like to see you try.” I shot back. 

Then, without a word, he stood from his chair and began walking towards me. When he was next to me, he pulled my chair out and turned it to face him. He placed one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the armrest, effectively trapping me in the chair. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, and I am sure if it wasn’t for the crackling of the fire, Spencer would have heard it too.

He leaned forward, crowding my personal space, but oddly, I didn’t find myself minding it all to much. My breath caught in my throat for a second. Then he gently grabbed my hand closest to his that was on the armrest and slowly brought it up to his mouth. Without breaking eye contact with me, he softly pressed his lips against the knuckles of my hand. He pulled it away and set it gently back into my lap. 

“You know, you’re quite cute when you're flustered… makes me want to do it more often.” He whispered before straightening back up and turning to walk back to his chair. 

He sat down and continued his meal as if nothing had just happened. Meanwhile, I was sitting there, head spinning with replays of his actions and words. 

Taglist Sign Up (Read Carefully)

Taglist: @fan-g0rl, @spennininomenon @mazzyowl @burrowedinnature77 @apollothegod22 @scratch-and-sniff-ghost33 @areyoutheregoditsmecelia @cloverrwritess @readerihardlyknowher @lovergurl4life @goblynnrockz @ahhhiscute