#and i would’ve given it to him without knowing if i saw him and it wouldn’t have been like a cold for him

[ggukivrse]

THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.7k

warnings: swearing, they actually talk about their feelings :0, explicit sexual content, kissing, making out, hickeys, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (be smarter than them pls), a bit of banter, petnames (baby), they're really fucking cute in the end it makes me sick, let me know if i missed anything!

notes: idk if this counts as my first completed series buttt... i'm gonna act like it does. thank you so so much to all the love and support you guys have given me for the past two parts, i'm genuinely so beyond grateful for it all :<< hopefully, you guys enjoy this part too!!

ps. READ PART ONE HERE & PART TWO HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You open his chat window again like it’s muscle memory. Like your thumb don't know how to not betray you.

It’s not even about sending something. You’ve got no intention of doing that. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But the screen is always open, staring back at you with that last unread message you sent almost a week ago — a throwaway meme you found on your lunch break. No reply. Not even a reaction.

And it hadn’t felt like a big deal in the moment. You sent it like always, light and dumb and nothing. But then the nothing kept going. No little gray typing bubble. No 'lol.' No double text. No late night 'you up?' Just this wall of silence.

You would’ve rather gotten a dry reply. Hell, even a thumbs up. Anything to prove that he saw you.

But now it’s been long enough that sending something new would feel desperate. Like you’re chasing him. Like you’re asking for something you’re not even supposed to want.

You lock your phone and throw it face down on your bed.

Then pick it back up five seconds later.

Then toss it again, harder, as if that’ll prove something.

You wish you were mad. You think you are mad — at least a little. But it’s a tangled kind of anger. One that knots itself up with embarrassment and sharp, bitter shame. You want to scream at him, yeah. But also at yourself.

Why did you let this happen?

Why did you let him blur the lines and kiss you like that and touch you like he meant it?

You were supposed to be smarter than this.

You lie back across your bed with one arm flung over your eyes. It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. It was just sex. Just two nights. Two insanely good, dangerously close, way-too-connected nights. But still — technically just sex.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when he remembered your favourite sauce order without asking. Not when he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear while you ranted about work.

And especially not when he went cold the second things felt too good.

That’s what keeps twisting the knife. That shift in him. Like someone flipped a switch and rewrote the script. One minute, he was holding you like you mattered. The next, you were stepping out of his bathroom and into a stranger’s apartment.

You haven’t heard his voice since.

You bite the inside of your cheek and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push down that lump of feeling before it rises too high.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re overthinking it.

Maybe he’s just going through something. Maybe he didn’t mean to shut you out. Maybe he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward who got scared when the stakes changed.

But then, why didn’t you reach out?

Why didn’t you ask if he was okay, or tell him he was being weird, or demand an explanation like you’re owed one?

Because you’re afraid.

Because you don’t want the truth if the truth is that he regrets all of it.

Because deep down, you know this isn’t just a friendship anymore, and pretending it is would break you worse than silence.

Your phone buzzes once on the comforter beside you.

You freeze. Then sit up fast, breath catching halfway in your throat.

Your eyes are already scanning the screen before your brain can fully catch up.

Kook 🍜: hi

One word. Just hi. Like the last seven days didn’t happen. Like your stomach hasn’t been in knots trying to make sense of his silence. Like he didn’t vanish without warning after folding you into his sheets and leaving you to figure out what the hell it meant.

Your breath leaves you in one uneven exhale.

You blink at the message, your body locked in this strange stillness. Your thumb hovers, frozen. Part of you is tempted to stare at it until it disappears. Ignore it. Let him feel what it’s like to be the one left hanging. But your hands betray you again — just like they always do with him.

You: Radio silence for a week and all I get is a fucking hi? Wtf Jungkook

It’s not even what you really want to say, but it’s the closest thing you can manage that doesn’t sound like I missed you so much it made me sick or please don’t do this again.

Three dots appear.

Your heart squeezes like it’s caught in someone’s fist. And then the dots vanish.

Then come back.

Then vanish again.

You mutter, “Fucking say something,” to no one. It comes out too small, too desperate. You shut your eyes tight for a second like you can wring the feeling out of yourself by force.

A minute or so passes before his reply finally sends.

Kook 🍜: sorry. can i talk to you today?

You reread it so many times the text starts to lose meaning. Can I talk to you today?

You feel sick.

There’s no way you don’t know what this is. The phrasing. The tone. He wants to talk? What the fuck else could that mean, if not that he’s about to cut things off? That he’s going to hand you some polite little speech about how you’re great, but this can’t happen again. That he wants to stay friends and he doesn’t want to confuse things any more than he already has.

Or worse — he thinks you guys are better off cutting contact all together.

You bite down hard on your thumb, suddenly on the verge of tears and furious at yourself for it. You should’ve never let it get here. You should’ve drawn the line before the second time. Before the car. Before the party.

You should’ve been more careful with your heart.

But you’re here now. So far past the line you can’t even see it anymore.

You open your keyboard, then close it again. You want to ask what he wants to talk about. You want to demand answers over text so you don’t have to see his face when he says the words. But you know you won’t get anything that way.

You: Where?

Kook 🍜: i can come to yours

You sit there for a second, just breathing. You feel like you’re bracing for a crash that’s already midair.

You: What time?

Kook 🍜: i can be there in an hour?

You don’t answer. Not right away. You’re too busy staring at your reflection in the dark screen, wondering why your face looks so calm when your body feels like it’s trying to collapse in on itself.

You: Okay

You put the phone down carefully, like it might go off again, or explode, and turn your gaze to the ceiling. Every minute after this is going to stretch like it’s mocking you.

You don’t know if you’re getting closure or clarity. You don’t even know which one would hurt more.

But you know you won't cancel.

Because if this is going to end — if he’s going to say it — it has to be to your face. You need to see it.

You need to know for sure.

Jungkook is fucked.

Like, actually, cosmically, irreversibly fucked.

He stares at the elevator doors like they’re the gates to hell, and his own reflection in the brushed metal does him no favours. He looks tense. Jaw tight, shoulders hunched up high like he’s trying to fold himself into a more manageable version. Someone chill. Someone who isn’t about to shit himself over the thought of seeing you.

He rolls his shoulders back, shakes out his hands. Useless. He’s already sweating through his hoodie.

Every nerve in his body feels like it’s tuned an octave too high. Like if someone so much as breathes in his direction right now, he’ll either snap or confess something humiliating.

He wipes his palms on his jeans again. That’s the fourth time since the lobby.

The worst part is, he knows how he got here. He knows exactly when it happened, too — the moment the line moved.

It was your laugh. The tired kind, all cracked at the edges after that hellish Friday you had. You were curled up in his passenger seat, half out of it, feet tucked under you, and you’d looked over at him with that soft, worn-down smile.

And it just… hit him.

The weight of it. Of you.

He wanted to reach over and touch your face. Not to tease. Not to start something. Just to feel your skin under his fingers like it was allowed now.

And the second that thought formed — clear and blinding and way too tender — it was over. Game fucking over.

Because it wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

You’re his best friend. Have been for years. He knows how you take your coffee, how you organise your playlists by mood, how you chew on the inside of your cheek when you're anxious. You’re not just some girl he hooked up with at a party. You’re you.

And now, he’s standing in an elevator on the way to your apartment, trying not to think about how badly he messed it all up.

He hadn’t meant to ghost you. Not really. It was just — after that night, after the way you looked at him, all warm and trusting — he panicked. Full-body, brain-scrambling, total system failure. He couldn’t even look at you without feeling like he was seconds from saying something stupid like "Don’t sleep with anyone else, please," or "I think I’m in love with you."

So instead, he shut down. Did the one thing he always swore he wouldn’t do with you — he pulled away. Got weird. Avoided it. Avoided you.

And now you’re pissed.

Rightfully so.

He deserved that text you sent. Probably worse. You could’ve ignored him completely and he wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. You texted back and he’s clinging onto that like a lifeline. Because it means there’s still time. Still a chance to fix it — if he doesn’t blow it again.

He presses the heel of his hand to his chest like that might steady the erratic rhythm of his heart.

What the fuck is he even going to say?

Sorry for being an emotionally constipated idiot?

Sorry I ghosted you because I realised I’m in love with you and it short-circuited my whole fucking personality?

Sorry I thought I could fuck you and still keep pretending like you don’t mean more to me than anyone else?

The elevator dings.

Jungkook flinches like it slapped him, then scrubs a hand through his hair, lets out a tight breath, and steps through the doors before he can change his mind.

He’s here.

Fuck. He’s actually here.

Jungkook looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Hair messy, clothes a little wrinkled, eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second before they dart away again. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of what they’ll do if left unsupervised.

You tell yourself not to feel relieved. Not to let it show. He didn’t cancel. He showed up. That shouldn’t mean as much as it does. It really, really shouldn’t.

But still — there’s something in your chest that unclenches when you see him standing there, real and present. Even if he does look like he’s about to apologise for burning down your house or something.

“Hey,” he says, voice quiet.

You step back from the door to let him in. Dry. Wordless. The move is automatic, but your body feels stiff with it, like your own muscles are annoyed on your behalf.

He hesitates before stepping inside, like he thinks the floor might swallow him up. You don't offer a smile. Don't even look at him once the door’s closed behind him.

You cross your arms and lean back against the edge of the kitchen counter, watching him with a blank expression that’s only half-real. The other half is tightly coiled under your skin — anger, sure, but under that, all the feelings you’ve been pretending not to have.

He does a slow, uncertain glance around your apartment like something might’ve changed since the last time he was here. But it hasn’t. It’s still your place. Same plants, same overhead light humming softly, same faint scent of laundry detergent that clings to the air.

He stands there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his body.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Not around you. Jungkook’s always been comfortable here. The kind of comfortable that leaves shoes by the door without asking. The kind that opens your fridge like he owns a shelf. But right now, he looks like a stranger in someone else’s house.

You let the silence stretch out. You’re waiting for him to just speak, but he doesn’t

He doesn’t even try.

Eventually, your voice cuts through the air, a little too sharp. “Jungkook, you said you wanted to talk.”

His head snaps up like he forgot that was part of the deal. Like the fact that he came here at all already cost him everything he had in reserve.

“Yeah,” he says. His throat moves when he swallows. “I do.”

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

He opens his mouth like he’s about to start, then closes it again. Shifts his stance. Rubs the back of his neck with one hand. You catch the way his eyes flick to the floor, then back to you, then away again.

You narrow your eyes. “Well?”

He breathes out a weak, almost bitter laugh and runs both hands down his thighs, like he’s physically trying to ground himself. “I don’t know how to do this,” he mutters.

You frown, arms still crossed tight across your chest. “What? Talk?”

You hate being like this towards him — you feel like a bitch. But it’s the only way that you can stop yourself from just spilling all of your thoughts and feelings to him.

“No, I—” He breaks off, jaw flexing. “No. I mean… say the right thing. Say any of it without sounding like an idiot.”

You blink, unimpressed. “So you came here without knowing what you were gonna say.”

He looks at you then. Fully. And for the first time since he walked in, you see the real wreckage behind his eyes. There’s nothing cool or casual about it. He’s unravelling in slow motion. Everything about him is quiet desperation wrapped in someone trying really hard not to fall apart.

“I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t know what I wanted,” he says finally. “And then I figured it out, and that somehow made it worse.”

You stay silent.

He shifts closer, not by much — just a few inches. “I fucked up,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “I know I did. I know I disappeared. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care. I was just—” he stops, jaw tightening again. “I got scared.”

You scoff under your breath and look away.

“I’m serious,” he says, softer now. “It freaked me out. How fast it happened. How much it changed.”

You look back at him, jaw set. “What changed?”

He swallows again. Stiff. His voice cracks a little when he speaks next.

“You,” he says again. “How I feel about you. That changed.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t react, not visibly. You keep your face still, unreadable, even though your brain is suddenly scrambling. You’ve been yanked in too many directions this past week. You’re not going to lean into hope just because he finally decided to speak.

So you say nothing. You just hold his gaze and wait.

Jungkook takes a breath, his shoulders rising with it, then falling in a slow, deliberate exhale. The nervousness is still there — but it’s settled into something quieter now.

“I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t mean anything,” he says. “That it was just— whatever. Two friends, getting carried away. We were drunk the first time, right? It was easy to lie to myself about that. Easy to say it didn’t have to go anywhere.”

His voice is calm, but there's tension underneath it.

“But the second time?” He pauses, tongue running along the inside of his cheek, eyes still locked on yours. “That wasn’t drunk. That wasn’t casual. That was me driving us across town just to make you feel better, because I can’t stand it when you’re not okay.”

You flinch — barely — but he sees it. You know he does.

“And then it was me kissing you like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. You think I didn’t notice how different that felt? I’ve never kissed you like that before. And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you.

You’re still standing by the counter, arms crossed, but now your grip has loosened. You hate how much this is getting to you, how badly you want to give in, how your chest aches just hearing him say the things you’d only let yourself think when the lights were off and your phone screen was dark.

Jungkook takes another step toward you.

“When I brought you back to mine that night… when you came out of the shower, and I saw you just standing there in my space, looking at me like I was safe…” His voice catches, but not in a way that makes him crumble — just enough to show the truth of it. “I freaked the fuck out.”

You blink at him, finally speaking. “Yeah. I noticed.”

He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh, but not quite. “I didn’t mean to shut down. I didn’t even know what I was doing in the moment. I just— everything in me wanted to pull you close, and that’s when I realised I couldn’t keep doing this the way we were doing it. Not without losing my shit every time you left.”

Your throat feels tight, but you still ask, “So you decided to ghost me instead?”

That lands. His jaw flexes, and he nods once. “Yeah. I did. I thought if I gave it space, I could go back to being normal. Go back to just being your friend. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

“I don’t want to be just your friend anymore. Not because of the sex, not because it was good— which it was, but that’s not the point. It’s you. It’s always been you. I didn’t realise how much until I almost lost it completely.”

You swallow hard. Your arms are uncrossed now. Not folded in, not defensive — just hanging at your sides like you’re too stunned to remember what to do with them.

Jungkook steps in closer. Not touching you yet. But near enough that you can smell him — faint cologne, his laundry detergent, the scent you associate with your car windows fogging up.

“I missed you,” he says, and his voice turns softer. “Every day. And it scared the shit out of me, how badly I wanted to talk to you. Touch you. Just be around you. I wasn’t ready to admit it last week, and I was a coward for that. But I’m not running anymore.”

Silence again.

Except it doesn’t feel like the ones you’ve been drowning in for a week.

“I don’t know what you’re feeling,” he says, lower now, like the words might break if he’s too loud. “And I’m not assuming anything. But if you still want me around— really want me— just say the word. I’ll figure out the rest.”

You inhale slowly, try to even out your breathing, but your chest still feels like it’s barely holding together. Your heart’s doing that thing where it thuds too hard without speeding up.

You hate that you believe him. That you always would’ve. That no matter how angry you were, no matter how cold you tried to be when he walked in — you still wanted him to explain, to prove it wasn’t what your worst thoughts told you it was.

And now he has.

He’s standing in front of you with open hands, with the words you oh so desperately wanted to hear. And for a moment, you’re not sure what to do with that.

“I hate you,” you say quietly.

It’s not true. Not even close. But it’s the first thing that leaves your mouth.

Jungkook huffs out a dry laugh, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding. “I figured.”

You shake your head once. “No. I mean it. I fucking hate you for this. For—” You break off, because your voice is shaking now. “For making me feel like I was crazy. For not even saying goodnight after… after everything.”

His face tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You could’ve just told me,” you go on. “You could’ve said it was too much. That it got weird. That you needed time. Anything. But you disappeared. And I had to sit here wondering if I made it all up."

You pause, pressing your lips together.

“And I— I missed you too, you know,” you add, quieter this time.

His mouth opens like he might speak, but no sound comes out at first. Instead, he closes the space between you by half, slow and steady, like he’s afraid of pushing too far.

“God, you’re such an asshole,” you whisper, but your tone isn't mean. Not even close.

He laughs, soft and low. “Yeah. I know.

“You promise me you’re sure? Cause Jungkook, I will fucking cut off your dick if you pull this shit again.”

He smiles but doesn’t hesitate. “I promise. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You stare at him.

Long enough that the air between you stretches taut, thin as thread.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you but still doesn’t know if he’s allowed. His jaw flexes, his chest rising and falling in uneven swells. You can tell he’s waiting — for a sign, for a go-ahead, for you.

And even though part of you still wants to be mad, still wants to make him sweat just a little longer, the rest of you aches. For his mouth. For his hands. For the solid, grounding weight of him.

So you move.

You step into the last inch of space between you and grab the front of his hoodie. He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a year, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.

You kiss him.

Not out of impulse. Not for show. You kiss him because you need to. Because your chest feels like it’s going to split open if you don’t.

At first, it’s quiet. Just lips pressed to lips — careful, slow. There’s a pause between each pass of your mouth over his, like you’re both trying to remember how this started. How you even got here.

But then he sighs against you — not loud, not dramatic, just a sound full of relief — and it unravels something.

His hands lift, hesitating for only half a second before they settle on your waist, fingers curling tight. You press closer, and his lips part beneath yours. The angle shifts. Your nose bumps his cheek. It’s not perfect, but it’s real, and when your tongue brushes his, everything tilts.

The sweetness melts fast.

He makes a sound low in his throat and drags you in like the distance is unbearable. Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers threading through the strands at the base of his neck, and the way he reacts — the little shiver he tries to swallow — sends heat straight down your spine.

You kiss him harder.

His body crowds yours until your back meets the wall. Not rough, not rushed. Just firm. His chest presses to yours, and you can feel the way his heart races. How your own pulse kicks up to match it.

The kiss deepens, turns messy at the edges. His teeth catch your bottom lip and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull back. You tilt your chin, chasing more, and the next time he kisses you, it’s hungrier. One of his hands slips to the small of your back, palm dragging slow and warm beneath your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes your whole body twitch.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his hands tightening. His other arm slips around your waist completely, pulling you flush against him, and suddenly you’re not thinking anymore. You’re just feeling.

The tension that’s been bottling up between you two — the silence, the week of wondering, the ache of missing him so much it hurt — it all floods to the surface.

You fist your hands in his hoodie, yanking him impossibly closer. Your hips shift forward, just enough to brush him, and the sound he makes is sharp and involuntary, caught between a breath and a groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely pulling back. His forehead presses to yours, breath ragged. “You’re driving me insane.”

You huff, lips brushing his. “That’s fair.”

Then he kisses you again. Rougher this time. Desperate in a way that makes your knees go soft.

He doesn’t stay at your mouth for long. His lips trail down — your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. His breath is hot and uneven, and when he finds your neck, your whole body reacts. Your hands clutch at him, your back arches off the wall, and the soft sound that escapes your throat isn’t one you mean to make.

He feels it. Hears it. Answers it with a low, reverent sound that seems to vibrate straight through you.

His tongue traces the spot beneath your ear, slow and deliberate, and your eyes flutter shut.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, your breath catching sharp in your throat. You pull back for a second before lowering your mouth to his neck, right where the collar of his hoodie dips. He lets out a small sound, hands flexing on your waist, when your lips press there.

You start slow. You can feel his pulse under your tongue, the way his chest rises against yours, unsteady and warm. Then you part your lips and suck gently at the spot just below his jaw. His whole body stutters, hips jerking against yours before he can stop it.

Your fingers trail down his chest, tugging his hoodie collar aside for better access. His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted.

You do it again, this time with enough pressure to leave a mark, and the sound of your mouth working against his skin is lewd.

He groans. It’s low and rough and barely held back, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You feel him hardening now, undeniable through the fabric where he’s pressed against you.

“All mine?” you whisper, your lips brushing over the new mark you’ve left.

He doesn’t even hesitate. “All yours.”

His voice is breathless. Wrecked. And so damn certain it knocks something loose in your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him — really look. His pupils are blown, his lips swollen, a flush climbing high on his cheeks. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like he would if you let him.

“I missed that mouth,” he mutters, hands gliding under your shirt again, palms broad and warm. “Missed everything.”

You kiss his throat in reply and drag your teeth across it until he swears under his breath.

His hips grind against you again, harder this time. You both feel it — the friction, the heat building between your bodies.

His arms shift beneath you and he lifts you clean off the ground in one smooth motion, hands strong under your thighs. A startled sound escapes your throat as your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, gripping him tight.

“Fuck,” he mutters again, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I want you so bad it’s actually stupid.”

You smile, drunk on the feel of him.

“Bedroom?” you murmur, tracing your lips over the new mark blooming against his skin.

He hums lowly, and shifts his grip on your thighs.

He carries you through the hallway and your lips never leave his skin for more than a second.

When he reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He steps inside and drops you onto the mattress in one fluid movement.

You barely get your bearings before he’s crawling over you, slotting his body between your legs, His mouth finds yours again, and you moan into it before you can stop yourself when his knee presses between your legs.

Your hips twitch, grinding down against the pressure, and he groans in response, the sound vibrating through your chest as his mouth moves with yours. His hand slips under your shirt again, this time bolder, fingers spanning across your ribs and inching higher until his knuckles brush the curve of your breast.

You gasp softly, and he pulls back just enough to murmur, “Off.”

You sit up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one smooth pull, your hair mussed from the friction. He watches the fabric fall to the floor, then looks at you.

“You’re so fucking pretty," he breathes.

You roll your eyes automatically, even though your face is already burning. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he says, and his voice drops low. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His lips part and he kisses along your sternum — slow, wet presses of his mouth that trail up and then out, over the swell of one breast, then the other.

You inhale sharply when his mouth grazes the sensitive skin beside your nipple, and his eyes flick up at the sound, pupils blown. He kisses lower, then higher again, murmuring against your skin, “Can’t believe I went a week without this.”

The vibration of his voice right against your skin makes you arch, and he meets you halfway, grinding down slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what you’re chasing and wants to stretch it out just to watch you squirm.

Your hands curl into his shoulders, nails biting down just enough to make him grunt softly into your skin. He rolls his hips again, slow and heavy, and the pressure against your core has your breath catching in your throat.

“Koo,” you whine out.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, lips pink and wet, hair falling into his eyes. He grins, crooked and hot and deeply pleased with himself.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, and his voice is pure sin.

You glare, but your thighs shift open under him anyway.

“Please.”

He hums, satisfied, and starts working his way lower. Every kiss is wet and unhurried. Down your chest, across your stomach. His hands follow, smoothing over your ribs, down to your hips, dragging the waistband of your pants just slightly with them. His thumbs hook in the fabric, pausing right above your pelvis.

He looks up at you, smug and dark-eyed.

“Gonna let me take these off?”

He's so annoying you're gonna kill him. “Do I look like I’m stopping you?”

“No,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your navel, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You huff, fingers threading into his hair again. “Take them off, Kook.”

He eases them down slowly — too slowly — dragging the fabric down your legs while his mouth follows in a path of heat and pressure. He kisses your hipbone, your inner thigh, every patch of skin he uncovers like it’s something sacred. When your panties go next, he makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat — more reverent than smug this time.

You’re already wet, already aching, and from the way his eyes flicker as he takes you in, he fucking knows it.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked. You missed me that much?”

You exhale hard, cheeks hot. “Shut up and do something about it.”

He grins again, slower this time. “Anything you want.”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them further apart, and before you can say another word, his mouth is on you.

The first swipe of his tongue is long, and delibirate. You jerk at the contact, a broken sound slipping from your lips, and he groans like he’s the one falling apart. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you in place, and does it again.

Every movement of his tongue is practiced and precise. He starts slow, almost gentle, licking through your folds with a kind of focus that makes your head spin. Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he pushes them apart with ease, never breaking rhythm.

Your hands move to the back of his head, gripping tight. His tongue circles your clit once, then again, and the third time he sucks it between his lips. You try to stifle a moan, but it slips from your lips anyway.

He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your skin.

“Keep making those sounds, baby,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Wanna hear every fucking thing I do to you.”

He movements turn faster, his mouth messy and hot and relentless. You’re already close, the build-up sharp and climbing, and he can feel it. One of his hands slips lower, spreading you open further with his thumb, and his tongue drags in tighter circles.

You’re writhing, panting, toes curling into the sheets. Your fingers tug at his hair, your spine arching off the bed.

“Fuck— Kook—” you gasp, head thrown back.

He groans again, the sound vibrating straight through your pussy. He doubles down, mouth moving faster, and when your hips start to stutter, erratic and desperate, he presses his hand over your stomach, grounding you.

“You’re gonna come for me?” he murmurs against you, mouth slick with you. “Gonna let me taste it?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your whole body wound tight and ready to snap.

He presses his mouth against you again, lips sucking against your clit, and the feeling has you squirming with pleasure.

“Kook—” your voice breaks open as you come hard against his mouth.

He moans, but his movements don't stop.

Your body arches helplessly, heels digging into the bed, one hand fisted in the sheets, the other still tangled in his hair as you ride out the wave. You’re gasping, blinking hard, your heart trying to punch through your ribs.

Only when your legs start to tremble uncontrollably does he finally pull back.

His lips are slick and swollen, jaw damp, hair messy from where you’ve been gripping it. And he looks wrecked — eyes heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide, like just being between your thighs has undone something in him.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then drags his lips slowly up your inner thigh, leaving lazy kisses in his wake.

You’re still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like your soul just left your body, when he plants a final kiss on the inside of your knee and murmurs, “Yeah. I’m never ghosting you again.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too blissed out to be mad. “You better not.”

“After that?” he says, crawling back up your body, slow and unhurried. “I’d be clinically insane.”

He settles over you again, pressing a warm, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach, then another between your breasts, then finally your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and when he groans against your lips, it sends a fresh jolt of heat straight through you.

His body is flush against yours, his clothed cock thick and heavy where it presses against your thigh. You let your hands trail down his chest slowly to tug at the denim loops of his jeans.

"Want these off," you mumble against his lips.

He smiles and presses one last kiss to your mouth before he leans back onto his knees. His hands go to his belt, and you watch the way his fingers fumble for just a second.

He gets the buckle undone, then the zipper, the sound louder than it should be in your quiet bedroom. You watch as he shucks them down, boxers and all, and your breath catches slightly at the sight of him — flushed and hard and achingly ready.

“Better?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, breath shallow, and he’s already crawling back over you. The heat of him sinks into your skin as his body settles between your thighs, bare now.

Your legs part without hesitation.

His weight, the press of his chest to yours, the familiar scent of him wrapped in something raw and new — it all hits at once, and your whole body shivers.

He’s warm everywhere. The kind of warmth that soaks into your bones and makes you ache for more.

His hands slide along your arms until they find yours where they’re resting above your head. He threads his fingers through yours and presses them gently into the pillow, pinning you there. His eyes search yours, and you feel the first brush of him between your legs, just the tip, teasing the edge of you.

He doesn’t move yet. Just rests there, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice low and thick, like he’s hanging on by a thread.

You don’t answer — not with words. You just tilt your hips up, welcoming him in with nothing but a look.

He pushes in slow — painfully slow — each inch dragging fire across your nerves as your body stretches to take him. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, your fingers clenching around his. When he’s fully buried inside you, he stills completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel… unreal.”

You can’t speak — your body’s too full, too wrecked already — so you kiss him instead. Slow and sweet and a little desperate. Your hips rock up, seeking more.

He groans into your mouth, finally starting to move, and every thrust is so fucking deep. It’s not rushed or frantic. It’s him savouring you, like he wants to remember how this feels with every part of himself.

His hands stay tight around yours, anchoring you both to the bed, to each other.

The rhythm builds, a slow burn that spreads everywhere, and between kisses you catch the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing something he’s afraid to lose. Like there’s something he wants to say but can’t yet.

“You were supposed to beg,” you manage to murmur against his mouth, breathless. “Grovel a little.”

That crooked smile curls against your lips. “My bad, baby,” he murmurs. “You can make me beg next time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna regret that.”

He shifts his hips, thrusting deeper, and your breath leaves you in a ragged gasp.

“You promise?”

The challenge in his voice is smug, but his eyes are dark and glassy, his control hanging by a thread. You whimper in response, thighs tightening around his waist, and he dips his head to your throat, dragging his lips along your pulse like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He starts to move with more purpose now, making you feel every second of it. His cock grinds into that spot that makes your vision blur, and your whole body tenses, fingers squeezing his like a lifeline.

The moan you let out is shameless, high and wrecked, when he tilts his hips just right — again and again, like he’s carving his name into your body from the inside.

“Right there?” he murmurs, already knowing. His hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you — every reaction, every sound. “God, you’re so fucking wet. You always get like this for me?”

“Koo—” His name slips out broken, a warning and a plea wrapped in one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours. His thrusts get rougher now, faster, the rhythm losing polish but gaining intensity. “Let me have you, baby. Come again for me.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight to your core, your whole body winding tight. His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue tangling with yours, greedy and open and honest in all the ways his words still aren’t.

When he pulls back, he’s panting, “You feel like heaven, fuck.”

You can’t even process it — not now, not when his rhythm stutters and his hips slam harder, each thrust jolting a cry from your throat. Your legs are trembling, your grip bruising where it clings to him, and you can feel the knot in your stomach tighening.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Let go for me. Let me feel you.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, teeth catching on his skin as your orgasm crashes over you. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, and you cry out his name. His hand squeezes yours back, holding you through it.

Your walls grip him tight, and he groans loud against your skin, hips faltering. “Fuck— shit—”

He thrusts once more before spilling into you with a broken sound, voice rasping your name like a prayer.

His whole body shudders as he comes, arms locked tight around you like he needs you to stay exactly where you are — here, under him, around him, real. His forehead drops to your shoulder, damp curls brushing your skin as he exhales, long and shaky.

Neither of you move right away. The air between you is thick with heat and breath and a comforting silence.

Eventually though, he shifts just enough to press a kiss to your collarbone. Then another, softer.

His hand slides along your waist, fingertips brushing lazy patterns into your skin. You hum under your breath — not a word, just a sound — and he responds by kissing your shoulder again.

Your legs are still tangled together. His body still half-draped over yours. There’s a mess between your thighs and sweat clinging to your skin, and you should probably say something, anything — but there’s something sweet about the silence now. It’s soft. Unspoken. Peaceful, in a weirdly intimate way.

He shifts again, easing out of you with a quiet groan, and you wince a little at the loss.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, running a hand gently over your thigh like an apology.

“It’s fine,” you breathe, eyes closed, chest still rising and falling too fast.

He doesn’t go far. Just rolls to the side, still close enough that his leg stays pressed against yours, and reaches for the blanket to pull it up over you both. He tugs you into his chest like second nature, burying his nose in your hair, his hand stroking absently up and down your arm.

“You good?” he asks softly, lips brushing your temple.

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “You?”

He pauses. Then he nods against your skin. “Yeah. More than.”

You lay there like that for a while, heartbeats evening out. He’s still drawing shapes on your skin — fingertips slow, mindless — and you smile to yourself, warmth blooming low in your stomach.

“So,” you murmur eventually, voice still hoarse. “What now? We high-five and call it a night?”

He huffs a laugh into your hair. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a high-five.”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Cocky.”

“Confident,” he corrects, grinning. “But really—” He shifts a little so he can see your face, one hand reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If we’re doing this, I wanna do it right.”

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Do what right?”

He raises an eyebrow, like it should be obvious. “Us.”

There’s a pause. You look at him, and he looks at you, and it’s terrifying and sweet all at once.

“I really like you,” he says, quieter this time. “And I’m not just saying that because I just got laid.” He cracks a small smile. “Though, to be fair, that was mind-blowing.”

You snort. “So humble.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “I’ll take you out. I’ll plan dumb dates. I’ll be obnoxiously charming and show up with flowers. I’ll be— like— a gentleman, or whatever.”

You give him a look. “You should’ve done all that before you fucked me.”

His grin spreads. “Yeah, well. Guess I got the order wrong. You gonna hold that against me?”

“Maybe,” you say, lips twitching.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, fingers brushing your cheek. “You’ll see. I’ll be so romantic it’ll make you want to punch me.”

“I already want to punch you.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, pulling you closer, “you’re still in my bed.”

“This is my bed, dumbass.”

He pauses. “Okay, fair. But I am naked in it. With you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face won’t go away. His arm tightens around your waist, and you let yourself relax into it — into him. For once, it doesn’t feel like something to second-guess.

He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.

You tuck your face into his neck and sigh. “You better bring the good flowers. Like the ones that don’t die in two days.”

“Oh, so now you’re picky?”

“You said dates and flowers. I’m holding you to it.”

“Noted,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I’m gonna be so disgustingly good to you.”

You laugh softly into his skin.

And he just holds you tighter.

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

[harryshomebaby]

just tested positive for covid for the first time 🙃

[stellasdrafts]

Girl Dad Headcanons - Arthur Morgan

“[Mr. Gillis] treats his daughter like a possession to be mistreated and abused as he sees fit. Strange creatures, men. I don’t know.”   -RDR2, Chapter 4, Fatherhood and Other Dreams

Notes: I was playing RDR2 the other day and his journal entry (above) after seeing Mary for the second time stood out to me. I think his relationship with women and feminism in the story is worth writing about. afab reader. 1.1k words.

Thinking of Arthur Morgan’s reaction to you birthing his little girl. It’s a surprise, naturally, given the time period. He isn’t disappointed by any means – God, no. He considers himself a blessed man as long as the little one looks like you. He’s concerned. Terrified of the world his little girl will have to live in, of the hardships she will be forced to face.

It isn’t something he’s thought of in such depth before. Sure, he’s had conversations with the women at camp -  he’s not naïve. Prejudices never even made logical sense to him.

Arthur, who didn’t bat an eye when Mary Beth told him she wanted to be a writer. He got her that pen without thinking twice because why shouldn’t women be able to write? Ain’t they people just like everyone else?

Arthur, who didn’t question Tilly for a second when finding out she killed that Foreman. He was told the asshole deserved it and sided with her in a heartbeat, assuming she had acted in self-defense. He would speak to her like a friend, too. Not like she was some inferior woman.

Arthur, who considered marrying Abigail when John left, because no woman should be shunned for being an unwed mother when it’s a deadbeat man who left in the first place. He always thought John took her for granted.

Arthur, who was always in awe of Sadie’s raw courage and determination, and who didn’t question her lead when she asked him to come along on her escapades. A good idea is a good idea, and a good shot is a good shot, no matter whom it comes from. She was a better fighter than most of the men in the gang, anyway.

Arthur, who saw Karen’s femininity as a strength rather than a weakness. She was clever and ambitious. She knew how people perceived her and used that to pull off outrageous heists. Plus, she wasn’t half bad with a shotgun. He never thought anything about her was weak.

Arthur, who despite enjoying teasing her, noticed everything Susan did for the camp. It secretly irritated him when he heard the others whining at her when she asked them to do chores because he knew the place would’ve fallen apart within days if it weren’t for her leadership.

Arthur, who immediately discerned when Molly started acting off. He checked in on her even when the rest of the camp villainized her as this spoiled, ungrateful girl. Sure, she had made mistakes, but most of the men had done worse.

A wave of dread washes over him as he admires his daughter, her little fingers wrapping around his finger, and he feels sick. He shouldn’t feel like this. He should be overcome with joy. Well, he is, but his upbringing will never allow him to be immersed in a moment without thinking of the harsh realities surrounding it. He looks at you and the fragile baby bundled in your arms. His whole world sits in the bed before him. Everyone and everything he values most in this miserable world – are women. Women who have and who will inevitably be mistreated and underestimated, despite having the power to create literal life. Despite being ten times more rational, intelligent, and kinder than almost all the men he’s known even with the challenges thrown at them. He makes a vow to himself the minute his daughter is born. A vow that he’ll never let anything happen to her or you as he did Eliza and Isaac. He’s never known his purpose in life, but from that moment on, he knows exactly why he was put on this earth – to care for the two of you, his family.

Arthur, who overheard how Micah would speak to and of the women at camp, and never so much as entertained his delusions.

Arthur, who always offers a hand to help women off or on their horses and wagons.

Arthur, who excuses himself when he bumps into women, as opposed to telling off men when he does them.

Arthur, who rides around Rhodes some weeks after your daughter was born, searching for any women he might recognize from the suffrage protest he crashed with Beau all that time ago.

Arthur, who stops in his tracks when he hears the voice of the woman in Saint-Denis who pickets for her voting rights – the same voice he’s heard twenty times before, but it feels different now. He drops a few bills into her hat because he’s never been a particularly political man, but he’ll be damned if his daughter doesn’t get a say in the kind of world she’ll live in when the time comes.

And you can be sure he’ll teach her how to handle a firearm when she’s older. It brings back unpleasant memories, and he wishes for a better life for her than what he had, of course, but he knows the type of men there are out there. Hell, he used to run with them.

Arthur, who sees the two of you as his redemption.

He doesn’t know how he’s been handed such goodness. Surely, he was undeserving after everything he’s done? But every time he lays eyes on his precious baby girl, he grants himself a smidge of forgiveness. Something all bad couldn’t produce something so perfect, right?

He listens to her babbles and he can’t understand a thing. He thinks back on every good thing he’s ruined in his life – he’s a destructive man. He destroys everything he touches, but his baby reaches out to him with a sleepy smile and the utmost trust. When she looks at him, she sees her father, not a killer but rather safety, not the blood of every man he’s killed but a warm embrace. She’s his, not in the sense of Mr. Gillis treating Mary like his property, but in the sense that he now has the privilege of having the responsibility to love, protect, and care for this angel of a being.

He's scared shitless. His father hadn’t stuck around much, but he’s determined to be the best version of himself for his little girl. He would never leave like his dad did. He would never give up on her as Dutch did him. He would teach her to be clever and to think on her toes, like Hosea did – without all the deception, of course.

Arthur, who starts a second journal to write solely about his girl, just to have something to leave her when the time comes. Until then, she’ll never know how good of a writer her father was.

He would gladly be a soldier one last time. One last time to give you and his daughter the life you deserve.

[mycroftrh]

People do always love to be like “oh Anakin was so stupid, keeping secrets for no reason, he should’ve just told the Jedi about Padme and everything would’ve been fine, doesn't he know Ki-Adi-Mundi was given an exception for survival of the species to have wives in Legends”

And when rewatching RotS I was forcibly reminded: he wanted to. He wasn’t actually the problem there. It was Padme.

Padme: Wait, not here. Anakin: Yes, here. I’m tired of all this deception. I don’t care if they know we’re married. Padme: Anakin, don’t say things like that.

A few scenes later, it’s Padme, again, not Anakin, who says:

Padme: If the Council discovers you’re the father, you’ll be expelled.

And Anakin who’s like “don’t freak out about that now, just enjoy that we’re about to have a baby”.

Back in Attack of the Clones, it was technically Anakin who offered the idea of a secret relationship first, but it was in response to Padme being insistent that he would be expelled from the Order:

Padme: You listen. We live in the real world. You come back to it. You’re a Jedi Knight…. Jedi aren’t allowed to marry. You swore an oath, remember? You’d be expelled from the Order. I will not let you give up your responsibilities, your future, for me. … Anakin: It wouldn’t have to be that way. We could keep it a secret. Padme: …Could you live like that? Anakin: No.

And then it was Padme who first introduced the idea of lying to Obi-Wan:

Padme: Ani, I told you I wouldn’t let you give up your future for me… Anakin: What about Master Obi-Wan? Padme: I guess we won’t tell him, will we?

And also Anakin, rather importantly, as you may have noted in the conversation a bit above, actually believed that a secret relationship was a bad idea in the first place, to the point that he stopped making advances on Padme because of it, until suddenly she started making advances on him:

Anakin: You love me?! I thought we decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie.

And the thing is. Like. Anakin’s number one source of stress in Revenge of the Sith is that he does not want to be keeping secrets, and everyone around him is trying to force him to. From Obi-Wan to Palpatine to Mace and Yoda to, yes, very much Padme, as we saw in the very first quote above.

The Jedi are trying to make him keep secrets from Palpatine, which he very openly hates; Palpatine’s trying to make him keep secrets from the Jedi, which he also expresses extensive upset about and eventually refuses to do any longer; Padme’s making him keep their relationship secret when he explicitly doesn’t want to.

And he actually takes every possible opportunity to tell someone the truth about something, for the first three quarters of the movie!

He’s considering keeping the dreams secret from Padme for about three seconds before she’s like “Be honest with me” and he immediately tells her, honestly, without minimization or deflection. And then the very next scene, probably less than five minutes of screentime after the vision itself, is him telling Yoda, in as much detail as Padme’s rules will let him.

He doesn’t tell Palpatine about the Jedi Council’s plans because he’s trying so hard to be good and obedient towards everyone at the same time, but he’s so visibly upset about it that Palpatine deduces. (I firmly believe Palpatine had him put on the Council specifically so they would tell him to spy on Palpatine and thus break his trust in them, but that’s a side point.) Anakin dutifully ferries all information he’s given back to the Jedi Council without, as far as I can see, filtering it at all.

And the big one, of course - he learns Palpatine’s the Sith and immediately runs to tell Mace Windu.

(And Mace proceeds to only half-believe him, which, frankly, doesn’t make sense? He says “If what you told me is true, you will have gained my trust” but like. Mace’s primary concern about Anakin’s loyalties seems to be that he thinks Anakin’s loyal to Palpatine over the Jedi, in which case… what kind of next-level Machiavellian reverse-psychology triple-agent plan did he think Anakin had, that involved lying to Mace about Palpatine being MORE of a threat than they had believed and suggesting Mace go arrest and/or execute him, advising maximum force? It turns out Anakin is, in some ways, playing into Palpatine’s plans by doing this, but like… that’s because Anakin is telling the truth, and the truth is the problem here, and if he had been lying, things would’ve been fine for the Jedi. But that’s somewhat beside the point.)

Like. It’s been established since Phantom Menace that Mace and Yoda both tend to not be… friendly, let alone understanding, towards Anakin, and that continues to be the case in Revenge of the Sith, and yet still his first response is to run to them with any big truth he has, because they’re the Proper Authorities, and he hates secrecy, and he’s reaching out for any life-raft he can find.

Anakin is, in the end, the one who killed the younglings, yeah. But the secrecy? That was never his problem.

In conclusion - behold, Anakin’s synthesis:

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor (x reader, separately)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4 , Part 5

Main Masterlist

CW: Asmo's having a bit of a mental breakdown, Beel literally has a fever dream and there's a brief description of lesson 16 in Belphie's part

.

Asmodeus – He didn’t want to play favourites

There’s an endless line of demons and witches alike willing to kill and die for him.

He can’t live without their adoration, their desire and their support.

While he knows you are not like everybody else, he can’t help but compare you to the rest of his fans.

Where’s the difference between your love and theirs? Can you give more than what they’ve already given him?

He can’t help but feel honoured by your confession, being chosen by their beloved human, but the idea of accepting your advances makes him feel ungrateful to his loyal fans.

The rejection comes out easily, just like many times before, and your reaction makes him sigh and almost offer his shoulder to cry on.

That would’ve been too cruel, wouldn’t it?

The uniqueness of your feelings doesn’t stand out until time passes.

It’s not just your attention that he misses, but also the tenderness in your eyes and the shy hint of your smile whenever he looks at you.

It became apparent that you cared not only for what he showed but also for what he hid about himself.

He tried searching for that same shade of love in your expression, but it faded quickly as weeks passed.

It all reached an end where, in a turn of events that made him sweat in fear and disgust, you started to look instead for his eldest brother.

He starts to work, desperately thinking that, maybe, if he made himself more beautiful or popular, you would change your mind and return to trying to be with him.

However, judging by the way you looked at Lucifer, he knew his reciprocation came a little bit too late.

You woke up to the sounds of sobbing, an animalistic yearning for comfort that pulled you out of your slumber. Hands grabbed the blankets covering you and a voice kept bubbling nonsense, an entire monologue full of sorrow that you couldn’t understand. In the end, it was the familiarity of the demon in front of you what fully brought you to the living world.

Asmo, kneeling beside your bed, cried even louder when he saw you opening your eyes. By the desperate moves of his hands you knew he wanted to hug you and that, mixed with the despair in his expression, tugged your heartstrings with painful force and made you open your arms.

He threw himself at you, burying you both in the cocoon of bedsheets and blankets and wept as you smoothed his hair and murmured words of consolation in his ear.

Almost half an hour passed until he could breathe with ease, but he wouldn’t look at you. Not like you were counting on it.

“You love me, don’t you? Do you still love me? Please, tell me you do. I love you, I truly do. I’d never reject you…”

“Reject me…?”

“I love you, I love you…”

Asmo hid his face in the crook of your neck, rocking the both of you back and forth in search of calmness. He ignored your questions and shaking hands, although you quickly realised he wasn’t entirely conscious about it. He seemed completely lost, repeating the confessions of his affections for you until he finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

You laid under him for the remainder of the night, too scared and shaken to rest again and hoping with all your strength that whatever put him in this state would disappear forever.

Beelzebub – He didn’t feel the same

It is indifference. From the moment you stepped into the house, what he felt for you was nothing more than indifference.

His room is empty and his twin’s absence occupies his mind more than it should, but he can’t do anything about it besides dealing with the loneliness.

Living with his older brothers simply isn’t enough anymore.

His family isn’t complete and the presence of a human in their home isn’t going to change that.

The first time he truly interacts with you is in the kitchen, in the middle of the night, willing to murder you over custard. The only reason you aren’t harmed is his brother’s fondness for you.

As a consequence, his room is no longer empty and he finds that quite enjoyable. Without any reason to be rude or mean to you, your short time spent together passes too quickly for his liking and, afterwards, he finds himself visiting you whenever he has the chance.

Beel values your friendship and he believes the feeling is mutual, even when you blush, smile with excitement and stare with bright eyes whenever he enters the room.

He is incapable of seeing how unbalanced your affections compared to his are.

His heart doesn’t stutter at your existence and neither do his words. You are his friend, a dear one, but nothing more; that’s what he tells you in response to your confession.

He pities your heartbreak and assures you your platonic relationship will remain the same, but his promises fall on deaf ears. The friendship is left hollow and unnatural and he briefly wonders if accepting your pouring heart would’ve been the better option.

Would have he fallen for you over time? If that were the case, although initially forced, would the love blossom into something strong and worth fighting for?

He hopes he will, too, go back to normal as weeks pass and you painfully overcome your crush, but when you’re finally able to look at him with non-romantic warmth, half of his face is red, his eyes twitch in adoration at each one of your smiles and his throat hurts from self-caused frustration.

Now it’s his turn to suffer the heartbreak.

There was a deep pressure on his chest when he woke up and as bad as Beel wanted it to be the comforting weight of your body, he knew that couldn’t be true. He didn’t feel the top of your head under his chin or your quiet breath against his skin. Had you actually been there, he would’ve never let you go.

His eyes were tired, itchy under heavy eyelids, and a pounding headache begged him not to move an inch, although he wasn’t sure he would be able to anyway; his muscles were glued to the bedsheets with sweat.

Groaning in exhaustion, he slowly turned his head sideways, staring at his twin’s sleeping form with deep-rooted fondness. Belphie was frowning, probably feeling part of Beel’s discomfort, and was twitching in his sleep, murmuring words he couldn’t decipher and lashing the tuft of his tail with weak movements.

An empty chair was also there, slightly facing his direction.

Quietly, the door opened and the dim glow of the hallway’s candles briefly lighted the entry, distracting him from the ache. A figure stepped in, tip-toeing while closing the door again and making its way to his bed.

MC…?

Was he hallucinating?

“Did I wake you up?” you asked in worry, unfazed by his silence.

He watched as you ignored the chair and sat beside him at the edge of the mattress, unsure of what to say or do. He wanted to touch you, take your face in his hand and make sure you weren’t a manifestation of his desires, but he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. In addition to that, his head felt full of cotton and completely detached from the rest of his body; he didn’t want to strike you by accident.

“My DDD ran out of battery, but I didn’t know where your charger was and I didn’t want to make noise. I just came back from my room”

You lifted your hand and he gasped in expectation, sighing with relief when you pushed away his wet hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. If he could return the gesture, he would, but he was barely able to keep his eyes focused on you, let alone talk or move.

“You’re still too warm” you informed with a frown, preparing yourself to leave his side. “I’m going to get a wet tow-… Honey?”

Beel sighed again, this time shuddering, exhausted at the effort of grabbing your arm and pulling you back to him.

Honey.

Your lips turned down in a sad smile, still coming down to kiss him again for a little longer.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow, I promise”

Honey.

“…ve you…”

You hummed a question against his skin, unsure of what he’d said, but he suddenly felt too weak to repeat himself.

“Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here, Beel”

Honey.

Belphegor – He hated you

Your free will and your refusal to give up, going up the stairs despite Lucifer’s threats and helping the mysterious man imprisoned in the attic; stupidity and no sense of self-preservation trapped behind a weak shield of kindness and compassion.

Seeing you strive to help him is amusing; like a candle hoping to light the vastness of the night.

That you think he is a human is just an advantage to his plan, but how can you, such an insignificant creature, aid in his escape?

The mere sight of you sends bile to his mouth, but he can’t do anything besides entertain you whenever your human need of connection forces you to search for him.

You talk incessantly and he listens, albeit with no interest and borderline rude behaviour. He scoffs, shoots sarcastic remarks and brings you down whenever he has the chance, calling you stupid and naïve.

That’s why your feelings for him are so surprising.

You… like him? Do you like being lied to and degraded?

Okay.

He’s not going to complain.

It’s just another reason for you to help him without thinking twice.

And that you do.

A laugh blurts out of his throat when he finally closes his arms around your excited figure. You’re blushing and smiling like a fool and when you try to step away to ask if he’s okay, there’s nothing in your existence but pain.

Your desperate scratches are nothing for him and neither is the heartbreak of betrayal in your eyes. If anything, they make him want to hurt you even further, pushing your neck against the floor with inhumane strength and letting your body fall down the stairs like a child dropping a ragdoll would.

He comes to his senses no long after that; less than an hour. Your heritage is explained and his prejudices are proven to be incorrect, vanishing like dust at the prospect of sharing a friendship with you like his brothers do.

You were nice to him then, back when you didn’t know who he was, so why wouldn’t you be nice to him again now that there are no secrets between you? His actions were wrong, yes, but also justified.

Wouldn’t you agree, MC? He deserves the benefit of the doubt.

But why aren’t you looking at him anymore? Why do you hide? Don’t you trust him?

He said he was sorry! Isn’t that enough?

The door opened with a loud noise, then closed almost without notice. Something dragged across the floor until reaching your bed, a blanket, and if the soft hint of lavender didn’t let you know who just disturbed your sleep, then his words would make it obvious.

“You’re not in my bed” Belphie stated. You turned, confused at the abrupt interruption and the tone of his voice, which made it clear he was trying to hide something. His figure was indistinguishable amidst the dark, but his purple eyes stood out like stars. Before you could say anything, he talked again. “Why?”

He watched in silence as you looked around, trying to find a clue to understand what was happening. Still waiting for a response, he huffed as he climbed over you and settled on the other side of the bed.

“Like a cryptid, Belphie” you mustered in annoyance while letting him cling to your side. “You’re just like a cryptid”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re testing my patience”

“Why aren’t you in my bed?”

“I swear to God…”

You stared at him in disbelief, but something in his expression subdued your irritation. Now that he was closer you could see his glossy eyes, a frown twisting his whole face as his hands held on to you with more force than necessary. Although you had suspicions about what he wanted to hear, a sincere I love you, you still took the longer route and calmly answered his question.

“You kicked me out…”

“I never would” he quickly retaliated, sitting straight like a spring and hovering over you with determined and unblinking eyes.

“…because I had an accident in Solomon’s laboratory and my skin and clothes smelt like chemicals”

There was silence in the room for a few seconds and, after pushing him softly, Belphie finally laid down again, his features slowly relaxing until only a bitter expression remained. Your fingers carefully detangled his hair, but not even that seemed enough to fully calm him down.

“I’m sorry”, he said against your shoulder, delicately hugging your waist like you were made of porcelain.

“It’s okay, we can just go back to sleep…”

“I’m sorry, MC”

Your confusion was obvious, but he didn’t say anything and, by the time you gathered enough courage to ask, he was already deeply unconscious.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[star4daisy]

18/02 - husband - 1272 words - @rosekillermicrofic

“Where is he?” Barty asked desperately as soon as he entered the hospital. “Where the fuck is he?”

No one answered him. The place was a convoluted mess, with people running around, crying kids and wounded people in the waiting line. Barty barely avoided colliding with them as he ran to the front office.

The line was so big he considered stabbing himself to get admitted, that’s when he saw his salvation in the form of one Pandora Rosier. Barty skipped the line to where she was way ahead, ignoring all the protests around him. If anyone tried to stop him, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from getting physical.

“Do you know how he is?” he didn’t bother saying hi to her, he couldn’t make himself talk about anything other than Evan.

Pandora didn’t look nearly as distraught as Barty felt, but she had always been better at keeping her emotions in. It must run in the blood.

“Haven’t gotten any information yet, they said I needed to check here first.”

“Motherfuckers.” Barty cursed, ignoring the old lady in front of them who was sending him dirty looks.

It felt like an eternity before they were called, but Pandora only had two people in front of her in line. Barty let her do the talking, he wasn’t in the right headspace to be polite to anyone right now. Not when Evan was injured and Barty didn’t know how he was doing. Didn’t even know if he was alive. No. Barty couldn’t let himself go there or he’d lose his mind. Turn the entire hospital into ashes in his wake. Hell, he might let himself burn too so that he could meet Evan again.

“What’s your name, sir?” The lady finally turned to him after Pandora had already given all her information and Evan's.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.” Barty had no patience to entertain her.

“Document, please.”

Barty gave it to her as quickly as he could, almost dropping it in the process, he didn’t know why his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Okay, Mister Rosier just got out of surgery, he’s still at the ICU, so only family members and partners can go up.”

“Okay, I’m his partner.” Barty didn’t even blink, there was a time when it would’ve cost him everything to admit it, but now it came as easy as breathing.

“I meant legally,” she clarified with an apologetic look. “His sister can go in, but I’m afraid you're not on the allowed list.”

“Excuse me?” Barty’s voice went up without even meaning to. “I’ve been with him for years, we’ve known each other since we were eleven and you’re telling me I can’t fucking see him because we don’t have a stupid piece of paper saying we’re partners?”

“I’m sorry sir, but only spouses and family members are allowed, you’ll have to wait until he’s out of the ICU.”

“Wait my ass, I’m going in to see him.” Barty hit his fist on the glass separating them.

“I’m gonna need you to calm down, sir. Or you’ll be asked to leave.”

Barty’s laughter was brittle. “The only way I’m leaving here is if you're all on a casket if you don’t let me in.”

“Barty,” Pandora interrupted his tirade. “Evan is fine, he’s in the room now. He wouldn’t want you to end up in jail or worse when he’s okay.”

“Fuck off, easy for you to say when you can go in. I need to see he’s okay with my own eyes. I don’t believe this cunt or any of these useless motherfuckers.”

“Barty,” her tone was full of warning.

“I need to see him.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

“Yes, there is,” and then Barty turned around and started running.

He had no idea where he was going, barely avoiding hitting running nurses, he heard footsteps behind him but gave it no thought, he had a one-track mind when he was determined and nothing made him as focused as Evan.

Barty saw a sign with ICU written indicating that it was located on the seventh floor and ran to the elevators. He pressed the button five times before he saw security coming in his direction.

“Shit,” Barty checked around him for anywhere else he could go when he saw the sign for the stairs, without thinking twice he threw it open.

Barty was out of breath before he hit the third floor. He wanted to kill himself. Fuck him for never accepting Potter’s invitation to do cardio with him. They reached him before he got to the fifth floor. Barty was never smoking again, he was so out of breath he thought they might have to call a doctor for him too.

Maybe they would have if Barty hadn’t punched the first security guard to reach him, or if he hadn’t kicked the second one making him almost fall off the stairs. Unlucky for him he wasn’t in his prime anymore after all the running, Barty should've dealt with them before running, maybe he would've had a shot but as it was now he was taken kicking and screaming bloody murder.

Barty spat blood at the security guards' feet as soon as they threw him out through the emergency exit, he hadn't even felt it when they hit him. “I’m gonna kill all you motherfuckers.”

“You’re lucky we aren’t calling the cops on you,” They warned him.

Barty paid them no mind, even though one security remained outside to watch if he was gonna try to make a run for it again. Barty had never been so pissed in his entire life. How dare they not let him in just because he didn’t have a stupid piece of paper saying Evan was his forever?

It wasn’t like they hadn’t already been committed to each other for years, Barty had simply never believed in the concept of marriage. Not when all the examples he had were bloody awful. But now, after this, he was making Evan his husband as soon as he got out of the hospital.

Barty was pacing in front of the hospital when he had his most brilliant idea, he wasn't sure what gave him the idea, but he knew it was the only way he was being admitted to the hospital again after the stunt he had pulled. 

Barty turned to the guard with a shit-eating grin on his face — he couldn’t stop himself — he was a bloody genius. Barty took out the pocket knife he carried everywhere he went. He was getting in there even if he had to draw more blood.

“Don’t even try it,” the man warned him, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the knife in Barty’s hand. “Stay back,” he said as he reached for his walkie-talkie and called for reinforcement.

There was no need, Barty just needed him to see what was happening. As soon as the others stepped back outside, complaining that he was still there Barty turned the knife and stabbed himself on his side.

“Oh, shit.”

"Crazy motherfucker."

“Oh my fucking god, hold him.”

Barty was still smiling when they stopped him from hitting the floor and carried him inside the hospital. He laughed when they admitted him to the ICU and said he needed immediate surgery. 

“Barty?” Pandora asked with worry when she saw him passing in a litter. He didn’t even see when they put him there. “What the fuck did you do?”

Barty got one glimpse of Evan sitting down on his bed with a frown on his face before he passed out.

Evan was alive.

It was worth it.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 4 - Build

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Me again! We’re back. Sorry I know I keep adding new parts but I’ve broken up the final chapter into two as it just keep going and this is a huge bumper one (sorry). I promise there genuinely will only be one more looool. Thanks again for all of your reblogs/comments/love for this story, it means a lot!!

💔

Lou had welcomed you back with open arms, fixing you up with a waitress job at the diner. Of course he had. Lou was like the father you’d never had. His love was one of the few constants in your life.

Mercifully, he didn’t ask you much about Bucky, didn’t chastise you for making a bad choice and getting involved with a mob boss. That wasn’t what Lou was about. He knew that ‘I told you so’ served no purpose, he knew that you were a big girl and there was nothing he could tell you that you didn’t already know yourself. So why bother? All that mattered was that you were here, and you needed him. He would always catch you when you fell.

Going back to waitressing didn’t feel like you’d taken a step back or that you’d somehow failed, if anything it was quite nice to see this former version of your life once more. And you’d missed chatting with the regulars, helping Lou with the accounts, occasionally fighting small fires (both metaphorical and very occasionally, literal). With Bucky you didn’t need to work, which was nice in one way, but you’d missed the structure and purpose your old job had given you. You previously had no interest in daily gossipy lunches with the other mob wives, and there was only so much shopping you could do.

“How did we ever cope without you?” Lou had asked one morning after you’d successfully chased and caught a dine and dasher, and saved hundreds of dollars on the power bill after negotiating a new contract. All before 10am.

You grinned, “I feel the same way about this place”.

You had moved in with Wanda, she had insisted - despite your protests. She and her boyfriend, Vis, gave you the spare room and said you could stay until you got back on your feet. It was small and full of all the extra stuff they couldn’t fit elsewhere in their apartment, but you didn’t care. You would’ve been happy with the couch, or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Nat was equally helpful, sorting you out by buying new clothes and shoes in your size and giving you some of the toiletries and make-up she didn’t use. She even cut and restyled your hair (‘because hair holds memories’, she told you) and took on whichever role you needed. Sometimes that was nights on her couch crying as she held you, other times it was hitting up the bars and trying to forget. She did it all. She had come and got you that morning at the hotel, after you sent her a frantic message from the rickety computer explaining what had happened. She told you she’d be there in 30 minutes…but ended up doing the trip in 20.

One afternoon a week or so later, Bucky’s men radioed him to let them know that there was a redhead in a Mercedes at the front gates demanding to speak to him. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d sighed as he saw her familiar face on the security monitor and told them to let her in. He knew this day would come. He dismissed them, they didn’t need to be here for this.

Nat had parked up and casually exited the car, strolling across the patio as Bucky stood in the doorway and waited for the inevitable. She didn’t keep him waiting long, slugging him across the jaw with a sharp ‘thwack’ causing him to stagger back against the doorframe.

“Got it. Anything else to say?” he groaned.

She nodded and then kneed him hard in the groin, turning on her heel as she left him in a crumpled heap and ambled back to her car.

“I warned you this would happen if you hurt her”, she called out calmly without looking back.

“Always good to see you, Nat”, Bucky managed to eke out as she slammed the car door.

The generosity of them all was overwhelming, you knew how lucky you were. It’s often said that you don’t know who your true friends are until you fall on hard times, and your friends had proved themselves tenfold. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to repay their kindness.

💔

It had been about six weeks since the night at the hotel when he started coming to the diner. No goons or hangers-on, just him. Which was almost unheard of, given his position.

The first time was a Friday morning, around 9am. He sat in the corner booth, head buried in the menu.

“I can kick him out, hon’, I’m not scared of him”, Lou had snarled as he glared over at the man in the booth.

“It’s okay, Lou. I can handle him,” you told him gently, giving his arm a reassuring stroke.

You took a deep breath as you approached his table. You couldn’t see his face, just his hands, an eerie mirror of the first time you’d met.

“What can I get you?” you asked as you readied your pad and pen, your voice surprisingly even, in spite your stomach’s somersaults.

He lowered the menu slowly and you couldn’t deny it was good to see him again. His blue eyes shone, the former dusting of stubble over his chin and jawline now a fuller beard - just as tantalising as it had always been. A few strands of his hair had come away from the carefully styled gel, framing his face perfectly. Some of your former anger towards him bubbled away beneath the surface, but you couldn’t deny you had also missed him. You had loved him, after all.

The two of you shared a knowing smile.

“You know there are like…hundreds of other breakfast places in this city, right?” you teased, but half-serious.

“I do…but this is the only one that gets my eggs just right,” he grinned back.

“Mmm. I’ll pass your compliments onto the chef. You still want the usual?”

“Please”.

You scribbled down the familiar order onto the page. It felt strange to write it down again, it had been a long time since you’d done that for him.

“Are you going to behave?” you questioned, arms folded.

“Mostly”.

“You’d better. Lou will have your ass if you don’t” you scoffed.

“I don’t doubt it”.

“And Bucky, if you’re here to-” you began, your face betraying the pain that still lurked within you.

“I’m not”, he cut you off. “Just breakfast. I promise”.

You nodded, pressing your lips together with trepidation. The two of you watched the other for a few seconds.

“Well, okay, that’ll be right out”.

You turned and put his order into the kitchen. You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

“Here you go”.

You returned to the booth a little later, laying out the plates and re-filling his coffee, he thanked you and pulled a napkin from the dispenser.

“I like your new hair”, he said as he began to cut up his food, his eyes not leaving the table.

“Thanks. I like your new beard”.

“Thanks. Business going okay here?”

“Doing well. Yours?”

“Same old, same old…”

“And…Rumlow?” you asked, your throat catching a little as you said his name.

“Terminated” he replied coldly as he took a sip of coffee.

“Yes…I presumed so. HYDRA?”

“I finally cut off all of those heads”.

“I hope you mean metaphorically”.

“Mostly. The girls good? Vis?”

“All good. Steve? Sam?”

“Also good”.

“Good”.

“Good”.

“Well…good to catch up. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy”.

“Thanks”.

You waited for some big trick or reveal, but it never came. He ate his meal, drank another coffee refill, paid the bill, tipped, and left within the hour. Like any other customer. Lou was sceptical, and so were you – but there nothing to suggest it was anything else but breakfast…like he said.

And that’s how it was every Friday after that. He’d come in at 9am on the dot, sit in the same booth. Order the usual. You were always his waitress. Everything was the same, every week. The other regulars knew to avoid sitting at his table at that time. The other servers would barely bat an eyelid as he strolled in, taking for granted that you’d be along shortly to put his order in – even if he wasn’t in your section that morning. And it was…fine. He didn’t try and do anything more, didn’t ask you to meet anywhere or for a chance to talk. You initially thought it would be hard to see him again, but it was okay. Maybe a future where the two of you just pleasantly co-existed was possible.

The two of you would chat. Just small talk at first. Occasionally a joke. Even Lou would chat to him sometimes, he was still wary of Bucky but more open to him than he was previously. He certainly didn’t mind him spending money in his restaurant.

Weeks soon became months. Seasons changed. Still, he came in every week, rain or shine. Plates and plates of eggs eaten; endless coffee mugs refilled. He didn’t ever skip it, he was never sick, never seemed to take vacations. He showed up every time. Even if you weren’t there.

The small talk eventually evolved, so slowly you barely noticed it happen. You chatted more about the old times, memories started to feel fonder rather than sad reminders of what was lost. He told you anecdotes about Steve and Sam. You told him about Wanda and Vis, about Nat. You laughed uproariously one morning over the story of Sam’s disastrous vacation involving a mistaken suitcase and an overzealous TSA agent. It was nice to just sit and talk with him, just be with him. No expectations or obligations. You hadn’t forgiven him. You weren’t sure you ever could. But you had missed him. And seeing him for an hour every week, on your turf, just shooting the breeze – that was nice.

“So, you seeing anyone?” you asked one morning as you sat across from him in the booth and sipped your drink, your break coinciding with the end of his meal. You weren’t sure where it came from, but it popped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. The curiosity was eating you alive. You seemed to talk about everything apart from his love life.

He firmly shook his head, “nope”.

You frowned. “Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

“With you,” he replied in that no-nonsense tone of his.

You cocked your head, peering over at him in disbelief.

“But Bucky…”

“What? I’m not interested in anyone else”.

“But we’re not together. And it’s been months”.

“I know”, he replied stoically as he sipped his coffee. His eyes seemed to be studying you.

“And we’re not getting back together…”

“I know”.

“But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, but I-I don’t like this. It feels like a ploy, somehow. To push me into taking you back” you stammered, your finger dancing on the rim of your mug.

“It’s not. It’s just a fact. I didn’t even bring it up, you did”.

He was frustratingly calm and unperturbed, finishing his breakfast like this was just some casual conversation about the weather or a movie he’d seen.

“So…what, you’re never gonna date anyone again? Is that it?” you scowled.

He shrugged, “I never said that. It’s just not something I’m looking to do right now. Work is taking up most of my time. Plus, I’m in therapy, working through a few things. I’d rather be in a better place before I start dating again. Learn from my past mistakes”.

“Oh…” you responded in surprise, “well…that’s very mature of you. And is it…helpful?”

“Mmm, pretty eye opening,” he nodded as he took another sip of his coffee, “I’d recommend it to anyone,” he looked at you pointedly.

You felt the heat at your cheeks, perfectly aware that he was suggesting you do the same. And he was probably right. But you didn’t like the potential to appear vulnerable in front of him, so you merely shrugged and went back to rubbing your coffee cup. You were genuinely pleased for him…it was just unfortunate that your break-up was the catalyst. You felt a wave of grief roll through you.

You paused for just a beat, again unable to stop your word vomit.

“Are you gonna ask if I’m seeing anyone?”

“No”.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business. You can date whoever you want”, he shrugged, keeping his attention on his plate.

You frowned. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. I just want you to be happy, doll”.

“Bullshit!” you scoffed, “you once picked a man up by his ankles and dipped his head in the toilet because he grabbed my ass at that party…”

“Well, that was deserved. And I didn’t flush it on him, so he got off easy…”

You pointed an accusatory finger at him across the table. “Buck…I know you. What’s your game, here?”

He sighed heavily, taking a long sip of his coffee before he spoke. His eyes finally moved up from his plate to meet yours. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like being with you? In whatever form I can? That maybe I’m happy just getting this time with you every week, no matter what happens between us?”

“And that’s enough for you?” you asked incredulously.

He shifted in his seat, his tone suddenly very serious.

“Look, doll. I’m always going to love you. And I’m always going to be honest with you. If you turned around tomorrow and you told me you wanted to give things another shot – sure, I’d bite your hand off to accept. But I live in the real world. And I know you aren’t likely to forgive me for what I did, and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. I’m just happy to have you in my life in some way, even if that’s just talking to you every Friday while I have my breakfast”.

You blinked back at him, unsure whether to take him at his word or if this was some manipulation tactic. The word ‘love’ echoed in your ears, and you had to shake it off that he said he still felt that way about you. Maybe this was all some trick. You knew you couldn’t trust him anymore.

But as you looked into his eyes, for a moment his sentiment felt…genuine. Real. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“Fine”, you sighed as you took a sip from your cup, “I get paid to be here either way…”

💔

A few more months passed, it had been nearly a year since the break-up. Bucky remained a weekly customer but nothing else. You’d finally moved out of Wanda’s into your own place – a shitty, cramped studio apartment was the best you could do on a waitress wage and tips – but it was yours. It had been such a long time since you’d had your own space, you loved every meagre inch.

You'd also started therapy, to help get your head around your childhood and abandonment issues - to help understand why you were always ready to run and expect everything to collapse. Bucky was right, it was valuable - if not hard going. But you knew it was helping, even though nothing could be 'fixed' overnight.

You still visited Wanda and Vis regularly. In fact, you were over there laughing with Wanda and making an early dinner when you got the call that Friday evening. She knew something terrible had happened from the way your face fell, your eyes widening with shock as you listened to the voice on the other end telling you whatever horror story it was. Seconds later you were rushing out of the front door and trying to wrangle on your coat and grab your bag, as she called out to you in a panic just steps behind.

“It was a massive heart attack,” the doctor had said as she eyed the clipboard in front of her. “He was lucky that a passerby on the street called an ambulance, if he’d been alone…he may not have been able to call himself, and if it had been too late…”

You had not been at the hospital long, sweating and panting in your rush to get down there. Your head fuzzy, unable to fully take in what you’d been told. The doctor was still talking, her voice an unidentifiable drone in your ears as you concentrated all your efforts on staying upright. You tugged off your coat, suddenly far too hot. The hospital felt like a furnace, suffocating and stifling. You were dizzy, everything felt blurred.

A couple of chairs sat a few feet away along the sterile-looking hallway, you plopped down into one and put your head in your hands.

“Can she see him?” Wanda asked the doctor, her hands patting your shoulders supportively.

“He’s stable, but the team are just doing some observations on him. Plus, he needs to rest, and might be feeling groggy after the meds. He’ll be out for a good while. It might take some time to be conscious and lucid again, so-”

“I’ll wait,” you said defiantly, the first time you’d spoken since you got there. “However long it takes”.

“Yes, I understand. And you’re his…friend?”

“Daughter,” you corrected. “I’m Lou’s daughter. Well…good as. He doesn’t have any other family. Neither of us do…”

The doctor nodded kindly, pointing out the coffee machine across the hall and leaving you to it.

💔

Wanda waited with you for a while, but she had a work event that night. She insisted she’d stay but you waved her off, telling her you’d check in with her later. She’d been planning that event for months. Lou would be mad at her for missing it, let alone over him. And you meant it, you didn’t want her missing it because of you.

So, she left. Leaving you by yourself in the hard chair with the plastic cup of lukewarm motor oil masquerading as coffee. Nat was out in the Bahamas with some hottie for the week, and you didn’t really want to bother Vis, so you sat quietly alone. You kept sane by reminding yourself that Lou was stable, and his prognosis looked good. He would be okay. He would. He’s made of strong stuff.

Another hour went by, and you couldn’t help your tears from falling as you began to work yourself up worrying, exacerbated by the fact you hadn’t eaten and had nobody around to stop you from spiralling. Wanda had sent a few texts, but you knew she was busy and didn’t need you distracting her. You just wished you had someone to talk to. Or not even talk to, just be with. You squeezed your phone in your hands as if willing the idea that someone would suddenly call you out of the blue. A friend you’d forgotten, a long-lost family member. But there was nobody.

Well, almost nobody.

You pulled your purse onto your lap and dug through, retrieving your wallet at the bottom. You opened it up and checked each card holder until you found what you were searching for, slightly worn and torn tucked behind the library card you barely used, but the details still clear as day.

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

Director of 107 Inc.

You had scooped up the card after he left it in the hotel room. It was a bit of a split decision, you’d nearly tossed it in the trash but changed your mind at the last second and jammed it into your wallet, not really thinking about why. You hadn’t looked at it since, you’d never transferred his number into your phone, or even spoken to him outside of Fridays at the diner. But he had become something of a friend over the last few months, and you were surprised to find yourself looking forward to seeing him every week. It was as if you’d gotten to know each other again from scratch, a slow-burn friendship grown over time – the complete opposite of your initial whirlwind relationship, where heat had won out over foundations. But now, you felt you knew him differently. It was funny how you get to know somebody without the chemistry and physical attraction fogging up your brain.

Was this stupid? Were you asking for trouble? But…it would be nice to talk to someone. Just a phone call, nothing more. You took a deep breath and punched the numbers into the keypad before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Hello?” came his gruff voice in your year after two rings.

You sat upright, surprised he had even answered at all – let alone so fast. You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say.

“Hey, Buck, I…” you squeaked, unable to mask the emotion in your voice.

“Doll?” his voice immediately softened, “what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah…well, no, actually. I’m at Mount Sinai…uh…Lou-uh, Lou had a big heart attack and I’m at the hospital and hesreallysickandI-I…”

You sobbed, your words melting into one as the pain of saying them out loud hit home, “I’m sorry I…”

“Hey. It’s okay. Take a moment for me, alright? Take a deep breath doll…”

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling, blowing the air out of your lips like he said. You did it a few times, feeling slightly better afterwards,

“Good, that’s good,” Bucky told you. “Are you by yourself? Are Wanda and Nat there with you?”

“No…Wanda is working, Nat’s away. It’s fine…I just…”

“I’m so sorry about Lou, doll”, he said tenderly. “Do you want me to come down there?”

“No…no…it’s okay…I just. I just wanna talk,” you replied, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Yeah…yeah, we can do that. What shall we talk about?”

You sighed, “I don’t know. Anything. Anything that isn’t hospitals or heart attacks…or food. Because I haven’t eaten and I’m starving.”

“Alright. Hmm. Well…I had to break up a fight between Thor and Scott today, if that helps distract you…”

“What? But Thor is twice Scott’s size. That was mean of him…”

“No…Scott started it. Said Thor was mouthing off about something or other and it all blew up. Scott swung for him”.

“What?? Is he insane?” you practically shrieked, the beginnings of a giggle forming in your throat as you tried to imagine Scott trying to land a punch as Thor towered above him.

“I guess so. But they worked it out. Last time I saw them they were laughing, and Thor was swinging him from his shoulders”.

You laughed. A proper, deep belly laugh. It felt good. Cathartic. You could practically see some of the tension leave your body.

“Well, I’m glad they figured it out. What else did you do today, Buck?”

“Hm. Not a lot. Mostly work. I went to the park. Just to get some air. Went to that duck pond you like and sat on the bench for a while”.

You smiled, “I love that pond”.

“I know. Remember that time you nearly fell in trying to help that duckling trapped in the weeds?”

“I do. I remember that you had to catch me and I accidentally splashed pondwater on your suit as I stumbled…” you laughed fondly.

“Not the worst thing I’ve had my dry cleaner remove for me. And we got the duckling back to its mom, even if she was furious at us”.

“She tried to bite you…”

“She succeeded”.

You both chuckled for a moment as you reminisced, then it suddenly went quiet between you both. You held the phone tightly to your ear, unsure and a little lost for words. It felt odd to feel tongue-tied around Bucky, it had always been so easy to know what to say to him. Despite how easy it was to slip back into nostalgia just now, and your newfound friendship, there was still something of a gulf between the two of you. You had been apart for so long now.

“…thanks, Buck,” you whispered.

“Anytime, doll”.

💔

After you hung up with Bucky, a nurse came over and you shot up out of your chair with anticipation. She told you that Lou was doing well but was slowly coming around after a heavy sedative. He should be ready for visitors in another hour or so. You sighed heavily but nodded grimly, as long as Lou was alright – that was all that mattered.

You sank back into your faithful chair, pulling out your rapidly dying phone again and wishing you had the foresight to bring a charger when you left Wanda’s. Or some food, at least.

You continued your vigil in the unfeeling hospital hallway, a place that seemed to exist outside of time. But you had to admit, speaking to Bucky had raised your spirits a little. It reminded you of the old days, when he was an anchor in a storm, a calming presence when things were tough. Part of you had missed that.

You’d just closed your eyes a little while later when you heard someone call your name.

“Still hungry?”

Your eyes filled with tears as your head snapped to see who it was.

There stood Bucky dressed in his off-duty grey sweats, his unstyled hair flopping across his forehead. In his hand was a brown bag, you instantly recognised the brand of your favourite take-out place printed across the front. It smelled heavenly.

“Buck…?” you mumbled in shock, not quite believing he was there, “what…what are you doing here?”

He shrugged, “you said you were alone and hadn’t eaten. I know how you get when you’re anxious. Figured you could use this”.

It wasn’t clear if he meant the food or the company, but in that moment, you were grateful for both.

He sat in the chair next to yours and began to methodically remove the food tubs, placing them on your lap and opening the lids as he pulled out a fork and napkins.

“Hope you still like this one,” he said as he revealed your usual order.

“I do”, you replied, your voice small.

“Good. Dig in.”

You began to eat slowly, feeling strangely self-conscious about your audience. Fortunately, he pulled out a tub of his own which took the focus off you. The two of you sat side by side and ate in silence.

“Thanks for this, Bucky,” you mumbled between mouthfuls.

“Anytime. Any news on Lou?”

“Should be ready for visitors soon”.

“Well, that’s good. He’s a tough old bastard.”

You both finished your meals and Bucky got to work tidying up the empty containers and old napkins and depositing them in the trash. You thanked him as he sat back down.

“Hey…thanks again, that was really thoughtful - but really, you don’t have to stay,” you shrugged, “you probably have a busy night”.

He shook his head, “nope. I’m wide open”.

He stared straight ahead and leaned back, his bulk squeezing up against the armrests of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“What do you mean when you said, ‘I know how you get when you’re anxious?’” you asked him tentatively.

“Just…I know how you can spiral when you’re stressed. Figured you could use some company is all,” he casually as he moved his hair away from his face.

“T-thanks,” you responded, your throat dry, “I’m not really up to chatting much right now, though”.

He was nonchalant, “that’s fine”.

The two of you sat side by side, nothing said.

It was awkward at first, sharing this cold and sterile space with your ex, worries about Lou weighing you down. But then after some time…it was sort of…okay? He didn’t try to initiate any conversation; he didn’t show any signs of boredom – even though he must’ve been feeling it. Didn’t complain. Didn’t check his watch. He just sat and waited with you, his arms propped up casually on the armrests and his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. You were grateful that he’d heeded your request not to speak as you didn’t have the brain power to labour a conversation. You didn’t fully understand why, but him just physically being there was strangely comforting - as odd as that was to admit to yourself.

Eventually the nurse returned, her smile warm as she greeted you.

“Oh, you have a friend. Right on time, Lou is ready to see you now”.

You quickly got to your feet and dashed after her as she led you to Lou’s room. Bucky followed close behind.

Your heart sank when you finally saw him, covered in wires and tubes, his face suddenly much older than his years. You gasped, rushing over to his bedside.

“Hey, kiddo” he wheezed, a smile creeping over his face despite the obvious effort it required, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Oh God, Lou, I was so scared…I thought you’d…” you took his hand in yours, unable to say the words out loud as the tears started again.

You felt like you’d cave in on yourself from the anguish, but a steadying hand found its way to your shoulder from behind you. Bucky squeezed once, a small reminder of his presence, then pulled his hand away. It was grounding, helpful.

“Hey there hon, I’m doin’ okay”, Lou rasped as he weakly tried to grip your hand in return. “But I guess this is a good reminder to lay off the bacon, huh?” he chuckled before the effort caused him to wheeze.

You smiled faintly and patted his hand, careful to mind the IV by his fingers, “you gotta start taking better care of yourself, okay? No more greasy breakfasts at work…”

He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over to Bucky behind you, “you brought company…”

“Oh, yeah”, you turned to gesture to Bucky, “he sat with me and brought me dinner while I waited”.

Lou nodded, a flash of something in his eyes you couldn’t place. “You takin’ care of her?”

Bucky nodded in return, “of course”.

Lou inhaled deeply, “well…alright, I’m glad she’s not been by herself”, he begrudgingly offered. “I wouldn’t want her out in the cold…so to speak” he said pointedly, a clear reference to that awful night one year before.

“Rest assured…that would never happen,” Bucky responded coolly. “But I understand your concern”.

You watched as the two men stared at each other, something resembling an understanding seemed to lay between them.

💔

You sat with Lou for as long as you could before the doctor shooed you and Bucky out, explaining Lou needed to rest. You promised you’d be back tomorrow.

“Oh hon…no. Don’t waste your time on an old man like me,” he teased playfully.

“Oh, stop that. You know I’m going to be here with balloons and grapes, the whole shebang…” you grinned, putting your coat on.

“Good to see you, Lou” Bucky chimed in as he shook Lou’s hand, “you’ll be fighting fit in no time”.

Unbeknownst to you as you were busy with your bag and coat, Lou used a finger to beckon Bucky to move closer. Bucky obliged, leaning forward so that Lou could speak to him. His words were hushed but clear.

“Hurt her again and I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Bad ticker or not. And I don’t care how many of your goons you set on me…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his expression betrayed no emotion, “understood”.

You turned, smiling obliviously at Lou just as Bucky stood back up to full height and cleared his throat. They both smiled back.

“See you tomorrow, Lou”.

“See you, kiddo”.

You left the room with Bucky trailing behind. As a small sob escaped your throat, his hand pressed firmly against your back. A small reminder that he’d shown up for you. He was there.

💔

[grimmcheems]

Piltie Jinx💖🎀

I always thought it’d be interesting to see what would’ve happened if Powder had been left behind or caught at the scene when she triggered Jayce’s lab experiments, when I watched the show like a yr ago that was one of the thoughts that always lingered and I like to think she would’ve been more cut out for Piltover society than the undercity bc she was neglected so much there and I think she’d be more charming to Piltie citizens with her docile nature and intelligence.

No hate to the other characters or Vander but the girl clearly had problems and they all wanted to pretend like they didn’t see it so they could feel better about taking her in and looking after her. She was also weaker and more unexperienced than the rest but they all somehow expected her to pull her own weight in high stress situations.[This unintentionally overlapped with the trailer drop bc I was completely unaware they even released them when I was making this like two weeks ago.]

That’s a whole can of worms that I’d rather not open rn bc then it becomes a whole discussion on her trauma along with poverty and a bunch of other things having to do with the people that were around her. She is given the name Jinny bc they got tired of having to refer to her without a specific name, and becuase she begged Jayce to give her one and he blurted out the first thing he saw lmao.

Anyways. In this the kids and Vi basically leave her at the scene out of fear of getting caught and because they aren’t confident that she could have even survived the blast. They all think she’s dead and Powder experiences memory loss, so law enforcement dumps her on Jayce as a punishment and reminder of how dangerous his lab was and how lucky he is that she’s alive, but along the way Viktor sees her potential in becoming a scientific inventor of some sorts based on the items she had with her when she tried escaping along with the intelligence she displays and he adopts her and takes the load off of Jayce after his probation period form the academy. Her and Jayce have a sibling bond.

I need to draw more of this but her young self experiencing this and growing up in their thriving society and blending into their society. I added makeup on her to show how well she’s managed to integrate into Piltover society and because she indulges in the riches there so much that people even forgot she was originally form the undercity, she pretty much looks and acts like she was born there. The pinkish color she puts around her eyes is her remembering Vi and the purple comes into play later when Viktor’s sickness gets worse.

I originally only drew her as an enforcer bc I got inspired by an edited pin on Pinterest but also wanted her to be an academy student so it’s a bit of an awkward mix but I figured she probably picked up becoming an enforcer as a pastime and way to make money(idk if they make money lmao) bc she can’t rely on Viktor and Jayce to provide for her forever, and because Grayson sort of inspired her a bit (though she is subconsciously reminded of Vi when she’s around Grayson). She also has a funny dynamic with Marcus, with him already being a double crossing loser he tries to be this cool older guy around her and miserably fails every time but only because she’s still young and carefree and because he basically kept it under wraps that she was alive the whole time after finding out that she was Vander’s adoptive daughter. So I guess you could say he just has a fatherly instinct towards her but who knows.

Might draw more of this later and have better details but for now this is it oop.

[fangirlmermaid]

Teach him a lesson

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!reader

Summary: Quinn is acting like a brat

Warning: Mention of masturbation, cursing, light bondage, handjob, blow job, p in v, Sub!Quinn, RAW (next question), pet names: baby and pup, Puncuation and Grammar mistakes.

Little to no plot. I'm still new to writing smut. Quinn gives me brat vibes, but only if his partner isn't giving him attention.

Sorry that it's long!!

I'm sorry if this is bad. I've only ever written smut once.

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

Your job was taking all of your attention away from Quinn; a deadline for an important project was approaching. If you tried to spend time with your boyfriend Quinn, you would always fall asleep.

Of course, Quinn understood the importance of the project, but he missed spending time with you. He missed being close to you, telling you about his day, feeling your kisses on his skin, your fingers running through his hair, and hearing you tell the same stories repeatedly.   

The more you worked, the more Quinn started to misbehave. If you asked him to get you something, he would refuse, except if it was to get you a snack or a drink. Just because he’s mad doesn’t mean he won’t still take care of you. He’s also been talking back to you.

One day, when you returned to the apartment you shared with Quinn. You entered the bedroom to find Quinn touching himself without your permission. 

Your eyes darken towards Quinn, who is looking smug. You knew he did this on purpose to make you snap. If you weren’t so tired from finishing the project, you would’ve given him what he wanted, so instead, you decided to play the waiting game. Quinn looked like a deer in headlights; he was sure that would get you to break. You never reward bad behavior. 

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

You took the next few days off to relax, and it just so happens that Quinn is off the same days you are (what luck 😉). 

Quinn woke up before you and left you in bed alone because he had to watch some hockey recap. What made you break was that Quinn didn’t kiss your forehead before he left; he knew that was your favorite way to start the day.

You put on the dark blue contrast lace mesh slip and thong Quinn bought you. 

You entered the living room, where you found Quinn with his back to you, his eyes glued to the TV studying the previous hockey games. A smirk formed on your lips as you grabbed the pen from the table next to the couch and tossed it in front of the TV, knowing it would steal his attention. 

“Morning, sweet-” Quinn blushed when he saw you walk around the couch. You flashed him a smile, acting like everything was normal. “Don’t mind me. I just knocked over this pen,” you said. Quinn knew that you did it on purpose. Of course he did, but you wearing your lingerie put him in a trance.

You bend over to pick up the pen, you feel the slip rising exposing your ass exposing your thong. Quinn was an ass guy, so you knew that it would drive him crazy.

“Fuck, baby” Quinn hissed, you turned around to see him adjusting his buldge in his sweatpants. You bend your index finger, signaling him to come towards you. Without hesitation, Quinn stood up and took a step towards you; he thought he would be in control today. You placed your hand up, making him freeze in place. A mischievous grin grew on your lips when you saw a hint of fear in Quinn's eyes, probably thinking he ruined this “crawl, pup” you ordered, pointing at the floor. A shiver ran down Quinn’s spine.

Quinn got on all fours and crawled towards you. Looking down at Quinn, who was sitting on his knees in front of you, was a sight you could never get tired of. Quinn was staring at your mesh covered cunt licking his lips, you grabbed the hair on the back of his neck and forced him to look up at you Quinn gasped “Aww did I hurt you, pup?” you teased knowing that Quinn had worsed injuries on the ice. Quinn tried to shake his head, not trusting his voice. “Words,” you scolded, tugging his hair again. “N-No, nev-never,” Quinn whimpered.

 Quinn looked pathetic, his lip quivering, his eyes blown and begging you to do something. This side of him, the one where he’s completely at your mercy, always caused a jolt of pleasure to course through you. You removed your fingers from his hair, causing Quinn to whine “ah ah ah.” You mumbled, placing your fingers to his lips. Quinn stopped. You leaned down towards him, your lips meeting his ear. “I’m going to count to ten, and when I get into the room, you better be lying on the bed,” you muttered, seeing that your breath caused goosebumps to form on Quinn's skin.

You pulled back and started to count. Quinn scrambled onto his feet and ran into the bedroom. Now time to fuck the attitude right out of him.

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

You entered the bedroom to find Quinn lying in bed, waiting for further instructions. Your eyes connected. “Clothes off now,” you ordered before heading into your closet to grab something. 

You hid the item behind you as you straddled Quinn's stomach. Quinn knit his eyebrows, curious to what you have behind your back. You bite your lip as you present him the fuzzy pink handcuff. The only time either one of you takes out of the handcuff is if either one of you is in trouble. You cuffed Quinn's wrist to the metal bar on the headboard. Quinn looked up at you with pleading eyes. “Baby, please, no. I want to touch you! Please.” Quinn tugged on the handcuffs, hoping that he could break free. 

You gave Quinn a smug smile. 

“You should’ve thought about that before acting like a brat.”      

“Wanted your attention”

“You thought that was how to get it, pup?” 

You sat on your knees, admiring your boyfriend in front of you, helpless and at your mercy. The way he’s trying to squirm his way out of the handcuffs so he can touch you. Grabbing his hips to keep him still, “stop or I’ll leave you here,” You sassed. Quin shook his head as his body became still. You pressed soft kisses on his stomach, and when you looked up, you noticed the hint of lust in his eyes that showed you he wasn’t ready to surrender.

Your fingers wrapped around his cock, Quinn released a moan from his pretty lips. “Please, b-baby. Please,” Quinn whined more desperately than before. You spit on his cock and watch it slide down before moving your hand fast. “Fuck” Quinn panted throwing his head back into the pillows. 

You noticed his stomach was tensing up, meaning that he was close. You slowed your pace, still had to teach him a lesson. Quinn groaned, his hips bucking up into your hand, trying to relieve himself. “No, pup,” you grumbled, your other hand pinning his hip to the bed. You moved your hand in an agonizing, torturous pace. Quinn was on the verge of tears; he couldn’t take it anymore. “I want you to think about this next time you touch yourself without my permission,” You muttered. 

“I’m sorry, baby! ‘ll be good, I can be good. Promise. Just ‘lease fuck me” Quinn plead trying to break free from his restraints, you kept you slow pace “I don’t think you mean it” You teased. Quinn shook his head. “I am! I’m s- so fu-cking sorry! I can be good! Please, baby!” Quinn’s voice was rough, you saw some tears escaped from Quinn. Satisfied with that answer, you moved your hand faster.

Quinn came, your hand kept moving your hand, smearing his cum all over his cock. 

“Th-ank you, baby,” Quinn panted, flashing you a small smile. You smiled at him, happy that he remembered his manners.

You stuck out your tongue and licked off his cum right off him. You were nowhere near done with him yet. 

“You're lucking that I’m so forgiving,” you taunt. Quinn nodded. You gave kitten licks to his length. Quinn bit his lip to keep a moan in. You smack his ass not know why now he still chose to be a brat Quinn gasped his back arching off the bed “No” you warned softly rubbing the red mark you left.

You pulled your hair into a ponytail. “I ‘anna touch you. Please baby! I’m always get to touch you.” Quinn mumbled. You placed a gentle kiss on his tip before looking into his eyes. “No, pup. Now, all I want to hear are those sounds from your pretty lips.” You ordered. 

You wrap your lips around the head of cock sucking it, Quinn hissed. The grip your hands had on his hips were hard, definitely going to leave a bruise.

You took his whole length into your mouth, your nose leaving little Eskimo kisses against his skin. You began to suck his cock “F-fuck!” Quinn moaned, thrusting up, making him hit the back of your throat, you gagged. 

You swirled your tongue around his length “Yes, baby. ‘onna cum!” Quinn moaned, closing his eyes in ecstasy. You bobbed your head knowing it will make him cum faster.

You let some some of his cum be slide down your throat, the rest you once again smeared on his length. 

You gaze at Quinn panting, his eyes still closed. “You still with me, pup?” you wondered in the first gentle tone you’ve used with him, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his shaky thigh. Quinn nodded his head. A smirk grew on your lips. “Think you can give him one more?” you wonder. Quinn opened his sleepy eyes and gazed at you. “Yes,” he told you without hesitation. Normally, he has the stamina to go all night, but not today. 

You straddled his legs, tugging your mesh thong to the side before sinking down his length. You threw your head back in please, both of you released a moan. You sat there for a few seconds to adjust to him. “Pretty like this,” Quinn mumbled, you smiled, placing your hands on his stomach.

You slowly bounced; you noticed the glassy look in his eyes showing you his brain is turning moosh. Fucking Quinn till he’s dumb sparked pleasure within you. 

“Please,” Quinn begged, lazily thrusting his hips up. You hummed in satisfaction. You leaned down, now being face to face with Quinn. “Since you said please.” You smiled before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. You pulled away. Quinn chased your lips.  

You bounced faster. Quinn kept moaning your name like a mantra. You dug your nails into his stomach, leaving angry red crescent moons. Quinn hissed, arching his back. “Feel so fucking good, pup” you pant moving rapidly, “‘m so close” Quinn moaned. You felt his body trembling beneath you. You fingers played with your clit.

Your hips began to slow down. “Let go for me, pup,” you moaned circling your clit faster.

His cum panted your walls “fuck” Quinn moaned, you felt his cock twitching inside you. Quinn’s shaking body under you; it was a sight you could never get tired of.   

A loud, violent moan was released from your lips as you reached your earth-shattering orgasm, leaving your body shuddering. 

You collapsed against your boyfriend. The both of you are trembling, trying to catch your breath.   

Once both of your breathings became steady, Quinn tugged on the handcuffs, reminding you that he was tied up. You lazily grabbed the key from your nightstand drawer and unlocked Quinn, who threw the handcuff onto the floor next to his clothes.  

You sat up about to get off of Quinn so you can clean the both of you up. Quinn grabbed you by the hips, keeping you where you are. “Stay… this…‘lease,” Quinn mumbled. “Of course, pup.” You smiled softly at him, happy that you fucked him so dumb that he wasn’t acting like a brat.

You both flipped over. You felt Quinn litter you chest with wet kisses. You strands of his hair off his sweaty forehead before placing a soft kiss “‘m sorry, baby” Quinn apologized finally, you were filled with glee “it’s alright pup. Just don’t do it again,” You mumbled into his hair. Quinn buried his face into your chest. “Won’t…promise,” Quinn murmured before falling asleep. You began to drift off as well, knowing that Quinn’s promise was total bullshit.  

[saintobio]

blue christmas

a sincerely yours christmas special. non-canon. angst. 900 wc. part of the sy side-stories.

It was quiet that night. 

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air while the warm glow of Christmas lights twinkled on the tree. Outside, snow drifted lazily to the ground, covering the surroundings of your home in a soft, pile of white. It felt peaceful—almost too peaceful—and you sat back on the couch, lounging after a nice Christmas dinner with your teenage son, Sachiro, who cradled a mug of cocoa in his hands beside you.

You smiled faintly, admiring how much he had grown, and how this quiet night seemed so far removed from the all the drama that had once filled your life. But the comfort of the moment didn’t last long before he spoke. His voice, deep like his father’s, broke the silence of your supposed peaceful night. 

“Mom,” he began, “Why didn’t you ever choose to remarry Dad?”

The question hit you harder than expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words. Really, what were the right words? You had never been good at talking about these things, and you didn’t expect that your son would put you on the hot seat like this. The past, especially those connected to Satoru—sometimes it felt easier to leave them untouched, forgotten. As it should be. 

You glanced at your son, unsure of how to explain the complicated web of emotions that tangled inside you. “I thought... it was for the best,” you said quietly, voice soft as you searched for something that sounded right. His question was too sudden to be given a decent answer. “You know your Dad and I just couldn’t make it work. And for you, for us, it was better this way.”

Sachiro nodded slowly as if he already knew the answer, yet his fingers tightened around the mug. You could see the way he was processing your words, as if he was hoping for better reasoning. He had never even known the sibling he had lost until recently, the gap that finally forced his father out of your lives. Sachiro only saw the quiet love that both his parents shared, but it wasn’t enough, not for either of you.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if my sibling were here?” he asked, clearly inciting. “If you kept her, mom. Would she be celebrating with us tonight?”

You felt the ache in your chest as the question landed. You knew Sachiro’s question came from a place of grudge, aiming really well at a spot that hurt the most. And it did good at bringing you a pang of grief from a memory you had tried to bury long ago. You weren’t numb. Of course the loss still stung, even all these years later.

“I think about it all the time,” you murmured, unable to hide the shame in your voice. “What she would’ve been like. How she would’ve looked like. But... I don’t want to remember, Sachiro. I’ve made peace with it.”

But he wasn’t done. “Then, why didn’t you try again?” His voice was so gentle, yet so curious. “Why didn’t you remarry anyone else? I mean... Dad’s married to someone else now. And they’re having another baby. Shouldn’t that be a sign?”

The words felt like a stab to your chest, your heart shattering with an emotion you couldn’t name. Satoru’s life had moved on without you, far far too long ago, yet every reminder of it still cut deep. 

“I’m happy for him,” you said softly, the words stuck in your throat. “But that doesn’t mean I want the same outcome for myself. It’s... complicated.”

Marrying someone else again was not in your books. 

You could feel the intensity of Sachiro’s gaze on you, as if waiting for more. But you didn’t have more to give. You didn’t know how to explain the parts of you that had been shattered, the pieces that had never fully healed. Even if your own son hated you for it. 

“I just want you to be happy, Mom,” Sachiro said, turning away from you, his gaze landing on the Christmas tree. “I want you to have what you deserve. When I have my own family someday, I don’t want you to be spending your Christmas all alone.”

You wanted to tell him everything. How much you loved him, how much you would do for him. How hard it was to move on, how hard it was to see his father moving on with someone else. But the words needn’t be said. At least, not for tonight. 

And then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it faded into a kaleidoscope of memories. The world around you shifted, and the warmth of the fire and the smell of Christmas began to dissolve. Suddenly, you were back in your bed, heart pounding recklessly in the darkness.

You woke up eyes wide in surprise, until the reality of your room finally made sense to you. You blinked, trying to steady yourself. It was a dream. It was all a dream. 

Sighing, you let your head fall into your hands. And just for a moment, you let yourself mourn the future you would never have. The family you would never see, the happiness you could never quite reach.

But as the soft glow of the Christmas lights flickered in the silent night, you slowly allowed yourself to breathe. Tomorrow would come. But tonight, you would let the dream linger just a little longer.

[initialchains]

would you? | luke castellan.

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: luke slowly starts to lose himself but that won’t stop you from reminding him of what truly matters.

wc: 2.6k

warnings: some manipulating and gaslighting if you squint and probably spoilers for the first book but they’re not explicitly mentioned.

a/n: HAPPY HOLIDAYS !! here’s luke as a gift <33 i’ve never written for luke before but he’s my favorite pjo character bc hes such an interesting and complex character aghh. sorry if this isnt as fluffy as you would all want, i promise i’m working on some real luke fluff.

The rays of the rising sun made the lake look far more beautiful than it always does. Sure, you were used to the warm tones that always engulfed Camp Half-Blood and it’s not like the weather ever really changed, at least not unless the gods willed it to, but the colors of the sun reflecting on the lake, the low hum of the wood nymphs singing, and the distant sounds of laughter coming from campers playing volleyball were strangely comforting. 

Well, as comforting as it can be when you’re trying to find some quiet in the neverending fight that was the demigod life. It gets tiring, it always does. The fighting, the studying, the adoration of gods who didn’t even bother to give their children a sign of them caring. It was all so exhausting. 

But there was peace in this small moment. You were sat in front of the lake, your legs crossed as you closed your eyes, trying to enjoy the tranquility of it all. The calm moment didn’t dare to stop your hand from finding a home in the clay beads of your camp necklace and twirling them around, a seemingly normal act to anyone who saw you, that actually was a sign of you being aware of your surroundings, a small sign of the fear you carried around, a fear that had you always prepared to draw your sword in any given moment. Not ever fully in peace. Not unless Luke was there. 

“So you decided to start your morning without me? Ouch,” You turned your head at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, “A knock on my cabin’s door would’ve been enough, you know?”.

“Yeah? And risk waking the million campers that sleep in there? No, thank you. I would like to stay alive for a few more years, please.” You replied with a small smile, looking up to meet Luke’s eyes, his scar being more prominent in the morning, a red color adorning the edges of it.  

He snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes before taking a seat next to you. He was silent for a moment until he muttered softly, “This is a nice view.”

“Oh, definitely. The lake always looks beautiful when the sun hits it the right way. I need to give the Apollo cabin their congratulations and some flowers for having a talented father.” You answered, your hand moving away from your necklace to hold Luke’s.

“Of course, you make my pick-up line about the gods. Can you give me a win over here? I’m trying my best.” He said with a smirk before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. It was a strange sort of thing he always did, even before you two started dating, he’d always find an excuse to hold your hand and give it a quick kiss. 

“I wasn’t going to let you get away with using a corny pick-up line on me, Castellan. At least be original with it.” A giggle escaped your lips, “Also, everything is about the gods, I thought you’d be used to it by this point.”

His face fell for a fleeting second, but he was quick to mask it with a small smile. “Right, everything always is about the gods.” Luke’s eyes moved away from your face, nervously glancing at the lake after his statement. 

You frowned when you heard the tone he used, he sounded almost.. bitter? You couldn’t even explain it. Luke had been acting weird ever since the camp came back from their annual visit to Mount Olympus on the winter solstice. At first, you thought it had something to do with Hermes being a total dick and ignoring him the entire night, not even bothering to give his son a pat on the back or a nod. But you’ve known Luke long enough to know he was past caring about what his father did, he was indifferent to what Hermes did–to what any of the gods did. 

The two of you were silent, sitting side by side in front of the lake in deep thought. He was thinking about gods know what, and you were busy trying to understand what was going on inside his mind. You decided to break the silence first, “You okay?”.

“I’m fine, baby. Don’t worry about it.” 

He was quick to answer. It was almost as if he had rehearsed it and had it scripted beforehand. It was almost as if someone else had told him what to answer. As if he was under someone else's guidance. Under someone else's control. 

“Are you sure? Because it feels like you’re.. I don't know, keeping something from me?” 

“I’m not keeping anything from you. I’m not keeping a single thing.”

“Right. Sorry for asking.”

Luke closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and took some deep breaths, his chest moving up and down in a nonexistent rhythm, it was urgent and angry. He took a few more breaths, trying to calm himself before finally meeting your eyes again. 

“I’ve told you countless times to never apologize to me if you haven’t done anything wrong,” He reminded you of the conversation you’ve had millions of times, “Don’t ever apologize to me if you haven’t physically hurt me or something, alright? You’re fine. We’re fine.” 

He continued, “I’d trust you with my life given the chance. I’m not keeping anything from you, angel. You have to trust me.” 

“I do.” 

You didn’t see your boyfriend at all the following days. He always brushed you off by being busy with training or helping Annabeth plan for this week’s capture the flag. You weren’t the only one to notice his slight change of temper and personality, some campers from the Hermes cabin noticed it too. 

He kept pushing harder on his siblings, always insisting on them doing better. He was more violent than usual during capture the flag, not thinking about it twice before proving why he is the most talented swordsman in the last 300 years.

There was also this one time he volunteered to spar with a new camper.. it didn’t go well. He kept doing new maneuvers and techniques most campers didn’t even recognize, refusing to go easy on the poor thirteen year old girl. When you asked him about it, confused at the way he went too hard on the newbie, he answered with a dry “Where’s the glory in that? She needs to be prepared for what’s about to come.” It sounded as if he knew some kind of danger was approaching. As if it was a matter of life and death for the camper to learn how to fight against him.

You decided it was enough when you saw him skipping his daily chat with Annabeth, deciding he would rather sit by himself on the steps of the Big House for a little while. 

The walk from your cabin to the Big House was filled with self-doubt and twirling the beads of your necklace, you were nervous to face your boyfriend, which was stupid because he was the last person you’d ever expect to feel nervous with. When you arrived to the steps of the Big House and saw him sitting there, your mind went completely blank. 

You sat next to him and asked the first thing that came to your mind, “Would you rather fight 3000 ant-sized chimeras or a chimera-sized ant?”. 

An amused laugh bubbled up from Luke’s chest before he turned his head to face you, a smile taking over his handsome face. “I’ll take the 3000 chimeras, no doubt.” 

You smiled back at him, ready to ask him the question you spent the last thirty minutes planning, but before you could open your mouth he said, “Would you rather not be able to consume ambrosia and nectar for the rest of your life or.. see Mr. D without a shirt?”

You threw your head back with laughter, your face going red thanks to the lack of air in your lungs due to the laughs coming out of you, “I’d rather bleed to death without ambrosia than see Mr. D with a shirt.”

“Ditto.”

You decided to indulge in this back-and-forth game, after all, you hadn’t been able to have a real conversation with your boyfriend in days... you’ll take what you can get, “Would you rather not be able to leave camp ever again or turn against the gods?” 

“It would be boring to spend the rest of my life capturing a flag and growing strawberries… so I guess my answer is pretty obvious.” He answered while fidgeting with his fingers.

“You’d choose to turn against the gods?”

“Yup.”

“Huh, I guess capture the flag would be pretty hard when you’re pushing 90.”

Luke was silent, running his eyes through your face before asking, “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

He took a deep breath before replying, “Turn against the gods.”

You were silent for a few seconds, biting your lip and staring into Luke’s eyes, wondering if there was a right answer to this metaphorical question. You decided to give him an answer he’d like but also an answer you meant, “I’d go wherever you go. It doesn’t matter if it is a farm in the middle of nowhere or to the pits of Tartarus. If you’re there... count me in.” 

Luke cleared his throat and a serious look took over his face, “Sure, but if the time to make a choice came… would you go against them?”.

His persistence to try and get you to answer his question was making you nervous. The more he asked you about it, the more it looked like he was genuinely considering it. 

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you nervously played with one of the beads on your camp necklace. He took notice of it. Of course he did, he knew more about you than anyone, probably even more than you know yourself. 

Luke stayed silent at that, a somber look taking over his features, you could tell there was a turmoil happening inside his head. It was almost as if he wanted to let you in on a secret, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I... um. Well, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon—at least not in our lifetime. But like I said, I’d go wherever you go, to Tartarus and back.” 

That brought a smile to Luke’s face, he looked into your eyes, probably looking for signs of you lying but finding none, and took your hand away from your necklace, lacing your fingers with his and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “To Tartarus and back, baby.” 

He brought your hands down before leaning in to kiss you on the lips. There was a sense of necessity to feel your lips against his, he kissed you like the feeling of your lips was his only shot at salvation. He raised his hand to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss, craving the heat he only got whenever he kissed you.

You stopped him before he could take the kiss any further, “Luke, we’re in the middle of camp. There are children around us, if you want to make out at least take me to our spot behind the stables. Holy shit.”

Luke took a second to steady his breathing, “Sorry, angel. I’ll make sure to keep your suggestion in mind for later, though.”

“Shut the hell up, Castellan.”

The two of you spent the rest of your day being busy working on your own stuff. Luke was still sparring with some campers who were brave enough to go against him, and you were hanging out with the Dionysus cabin while they helped grow more strawberries. 

 You found Chris sitting in the amphitheater and asked him if he had seen your boyfriend, he replied with an annoyed, “He’s probably in bed or something, I don’t know.” You decided to not ask Chris if he was okay and walked straight to the Hermes cabin.

A knock on the wooden door was enough to wake your boyfriend up, you were aware of it when you heard a muffled, “Come in”. You found Luke sitting on his bed, his sword in hand while he sharpened it.

So he wasn’t asleep at all, you thought.

“Careful with the sharp part of the blade.” He looked up from his sword when he heard your melodic voice, your words snapping him out of the trance he was in.

“Oh, hi.” Luke put the sword down next to his bunk and moved to lie down, leaving a space next to him for you to join him. He hummed when you laid down next to him, giving a kiss to his shoulder blade and wrapping your arms around his torso. 

He turned to face you, pressing his lips to your forehead with a soft sigh. His eyes closed at the sensation while his hands traveled to your back, looking for ways to hold you closer. His features relaxing when he finally touched your skin. 

You couldn’t keep this weird tension going on between you two, so you decided to bite first, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Once again, he replied in an almost scripted and mechanical way, “Talk about what?”

“The winter solstice visit, you’ve been acting.. different ever since we came back to camp.” 

Luke stiffened next to you, it made your heart drop. You’ve been dating him for a year now, and he had never been this cold—this uncomfortable around you. 

“I just... I think things are about to change.” He replied in a low murmur, his eyes closing again when you brought your hand up to caress his face, softly tracing his scar with your thumb in a delicate and loving way. Luke let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when he felt your fingers on his skin.

A smirk made its way to your face, “Change? yeah, in your dreams, Castellan. Campers will keep arriving and only 5 percent of them will get claimed, and the others will get thrown into your cabin.. like things always are and always will be. That’s not changing anytime soon.” 

Luke’s hand traced up and down your back in a soothing manner, “Yeah, maybe they won’t. Forget I even said that.” 

“Just because they won’t change, it doesn’t mean we have to accept it, you know?”Luke's eyes snapped up from your hands to meet your gaze, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re all on the same team here. Sure, the gods will never claim most of the campers and we will all probably die before we’re old enough to have children of our own... but is that really all that matters? We have each other. We don’t need them as long as we have the people we love with us.”

Luke tilted his head to the right to press a kiss to the palm of your hand that was caressing his cheek, “I don’t need the gods as long as I have you.” 

“Good to know we’re on the same page, Castellan.”

The two of you went out for a small walk by the lake and sat together in the dining pavilion at night. Your small conversation probably made Luke feel better because he was quick to go back to being himself, he kept greeting every camper he saw and holding your hand, not forgetting to kiss the back of it whenever he had the chance. 

Maybe it was you reassuring him about the love you had for him or maybe it was him being aware of you being willing to drop the gods at any time just to be with him, but he was completely normal during the following days, weeks, and months.

You were sure of it when you saw him walking around with the new arrival five months later, Luke seemed so excited to be showing him around. You greeted the new camper with a small smile when he introduced himself with a “Hi, I’m Percy Jackson.”

[cannedbananabread]

Nobody Does it Better- Bruno Bucciarati x Reader

Word Count: 12.1k - I need psychiatric help

CW: smut (of course), kinda rough sex, some violence, mafia treachery, religious symbolism (presented in the context of art)

Can also be read on ao3 (probably easier given how long this is)

A/N: From an ao3 request for capo Bruno paired with a fellow capo reader. Keep in mind that I have never been to Italy so any information about the setting comes from google and my brain lol. Also, while I'm pretty sure the design on Bruno's chest is supposed to be a lacy undershirt in the manga, it definitely looks like a tattoo in the anime and I think it's a bit more scandalous if it's a tattoo, so it's a tattoo here. Regardless, I hope you enjoy, I'm hoping to get through more requests sooooon!! Hopefully not quite so long as this one oops!

Rising to the rank of capo in Passione was no small feat, but you had done so in just a handful of years. Your home life had been one of dissonance and so it wasn’t any wonder that you had gone the unfortunate way of many of your peers, scrounging for survival in the streets.   Starving and alone, you were entirely out of options that night several years ago when a plucky little boy around your age had found you, sick and shivering in a filthy, damp alleyway.  

Delirious from fever, you were met with the impression that an angel had fallen to earth and rescued you from ruin, but reality had not been quite as kind.  The boy offered you solace in the dusky hotel where he resided and saw to it that you were fed and taken care of.  In the morning, with your lucidity having returned to you, it was quite apparent that the boy who had come to your rescue was a member of Passione and the very thought left you reproachful of even his most genuine assistance.  

The extent of the power Passione had over Italy could not be overestimated. You knew that the shadow of that treacherous organization extended far beyond the edges of the little city you called home. You had known better than to involve yourself with something so unsavory; however hard up you were, you were not going to trade your life away just to end up the beast of burden to a faceless, unknowable entity who viewed you more as a number than a human. 

The boy who had acted as your savior approached you with a stoic expression that made him appear far wiser than his meager years would’ve suggested but you only glared back at him with contempt burning in your eyes. You knew a debt to Passione was not one you could easily be free of, so before you even properly met the boy, you loathed him with all the fire in your soul.  He tentatively handed you a glass of water which you accepted, only to promptly splash in his face. “Puttana, what did you do that for?” 

“I know what you are,” you spat, rage bubbling in your chest until you reached your fatal boiling point, “goddamn mafioso, the world would be a better place without the likes of you in it.  Whatever you brought me here for, I won’t do it!”

“You would be dead in the gutter if I hadn’t helped you stronza!”

“Bruno…” a deep, almost metallic-sounding voice bellowed, reverberating off the walls of the hotel room, “what did I tell you about bringing another ruffian into my home?” 

“Polpo, sir, I—”

“Oh, a girl, Bruno, you dog you.” 

“It’s not like that!” The boy shouted in vehement protest before shrinking back in fear of impending punishment for having spoken out of turn, “and besides, she was just leaving.” 

You nodded silently to affirm his claim and made a quick, darting movement to escape. Polpo’s reputation preceded him; he was a cruel and cold capo who seized what he wanted through whatever means necessary and wherever he went, he was undoubtedly treated like a king but in practice, he was more akin to a tyrant.  In the far recesses of your heart, you felt a pang of guilt for the boy; a mafioso he may be, but he had still come to your rescue without the hope of selfish gain. You bowed humbly to show your gratitude for the sanctuary you had been provided the night before, hoping the gesture would be enough to placate some of the man’s ire towards his subordinate, then you made another hasty attempt to make your exit, but your arm was caught in the capo’s massive, swollen hand.  “And where is it that you are so eager to run off to, it’s clear that such a sickly thing has no home waiting for her, why not join me?  It’s a generous offer, you would have food, shelter, and above all else, my protection, all I ask is that you pass one simple test.” 

His booming voice struck something deeply within you, as though he had tapped into the very wiring of your brain and pulled something loose. Before him, you felt entirely powerless and it required all of your strength just to remain on your feet as he forced you to look into the black depths of his soulless eyes.  “A-and if I were to refuse?” You stuttered, unable to hide the irresolution that quaked your entire frame. 

“Hmm?  Well, in that case, I suppose you would be of no use to me,” he said, forcing aloofness as he glanced over his fingernails.  “Quite a shame too, I can’t say things tend to bode well for those who cross me.”

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as he uttered such a thinly veiled threat, you were foolish to even tenuously believe that he would let you walk free without the demand of some kind of restitution, in the face of him, you were left utterly bereft of words, so shaken that you couldn’t see beyond the immediate terror that drowned out any of your better senses.

“Think it over, someone like you could be quite an asset to this organization.” 

“S-someone like me?” You asked and a dim hope arose that he might look favorably upon you and that you might find your freedom yet.

“Yes, someone that no one would ever come looking for, someone with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Someone expendable.”

There it was, your worst fears laid out before you as if by the wave of a hand, you had been stripped of all your resolve, forced to relinquish the last vestiges of personhood you had clung to so fiercely. “What do I have to do?”

A wicked sneer crawled across the corpulent man’s face and though you could not see what happened next, the ominous aura caused every inch of your skin to prickle with goosebumps and the acute sensation that followed was enough to make your body go limp. After that, the next thing you were able to recall was waking up in a warm bed feeling rather worse for wear, but the pin on your bedside table let you know that your initiation into Passione had been a success.  

And so swore fealty to Passione, from then on your future was set in stone, you would not know any other life that wasn’t one of carnage and bloodshed. After a while, it became normal, more than that, you began to revel in it. What had once been stomach-churning acts of violence soon left you aglow with pride, you ruthlessly pursued anything you wanted, no sacrifice was too great, “all for the good of the organization,” you said as you rose effortlessly through the ranks, paying little heed to those you had stepped on to reach for higher and heights. Was it any wonder that you’d become a capo in only a few short years?  Certainly not, and you were as respected by your subordinates as you were feared and in truth, any of you considered even your darkest of deeds to be worth the price now that you lived a life of luxury.

As the years passed, any thoughts of the boy that had come to your rescue had receded to only a dim recollection your mind could only laboriously conjure up, though your connection to him was not one you could so easily forget and every time you heard his name in passing, you were catapulted back in time, struck by a vision of tan skin, dark hair, and deep blue sunken eyes that looked upon you with violent contempt.   

Bruno Bucciarati; you had not seen him in years and perhaps that was for the best, he had not been shy about his acrimonious feelings towards you and even though there was a part of you, deep in the reservoir of your cold, cold heart that still looked favorably upon him, you did not think the possibility of amends would be worth the risk of altercation.

But then, on a perfectly common day at the end of March, came the instructions for your latest assignment, direct from the hands of Percilo himself. You had been requested to undertake a special mission with the newly appointed capo with one clear goal in mind: eliminate the leader of the hitman team, Risotto Nero. So you were left with no other choice but to follow the orders that had been handed down to you, you could never violate a direct order from the Boss and live to tell about it. Armed with the knowledge that Bruno would be less than enthused by your presence, you arranged your travel plans and made a reservation under a false name at that little restaurant Bruno was so terribly fond of and planned to enter unannounced before he had a chance to deny you entry.

Seated at one of the quaint tables, you observed as a group of well-dressed civilians was led to their reserved table nearby which provided you with the perfect opportunity to ask the maitre-d’ if he could send for Bucciarati.  While he complied graciously and assured you that he was in, instead of Bucciarati, a trio of vibrantly dressed, obstreperous youths emerged from the back of the restaurant and crowded your table. 

“Are you the one who’s been asking for—” the blond dressed in a green suit asked before being interrupted by one of his friends.

“Who are you and why do you want to see Bucciarati?” 

“Narancia, cool it, that’s not the way you talk to a guest.  You gotta ask nicely and if they don’t comply, then, well, we have other means.” The third man said as he glanced at the purple handle of a pistol that stuck out of his waistband. 

“Are you threatening me?” You asked, feigning an affectation of coyness as you looked up innocently from your menu. 

“A threat?  No, no, I like to think of this as more of a suggestion if anything.” 

“And if I choose not to take your suggestion?” 

“Well, you don’t have to, but I can’t say I’d be so eager to throw my life away,” he said with a shrug, letting his fingers over just over the handle, baiting you to continue your defiance. 

“Aw, you think you could kill me? That’s adorable. Where did Bruno pick you up?” You simpered, folding your hands together in an offhand gesture to emphasize the meaninglessness of his threats.

“Listen, lady, just tell us what you want with Bucciarati, we’re not gonna fight you if we don’t have to,” he said at last, planting his hands firmly on the table, having given up any pretense towards a gunfight in the middle of the restaurant. 

“I will only talk to Bruno, not whatever help he’s pulled together.”

“And what makes you think we’ll let you?”

“Oh, you will,” you said, standing up with a crazed look in your eye, ready to fight if necessary, but you reined in your temper just enough to keep the upper hand, “after all, he and I are old friends.”

“Doubt it,” the blond cut in, matching his tone to yours, “Bucciarati told us about the kinds of friends he had before and none of them are welcome here.” 

“Well, that’s quite a shame then, because—” you began, but were cut off by a familiar voice slicing through the ensuing quarrel.

“What is going on out here? Mista, Narancia, Fugo, when I sent you to see who was asking for me, I explicitly told you to do so without disturbing the other guests!” Bucciarati shouted, a pair of other men flanking him as they entered the scene, the man to his left had silver hair and wore a long, dark coat, and to his right was a young blond with his hair tied back into a braid, dressed in a lurid pink suit.

“My, my, Bruno Bucciarati, as I live and breathe,” you said, a sly, coquettish titter to your voice as you collected yourself, he was certainly just as handsome as you remembered him, “can’t say I thought I’d ever see the day where they’d let you make capo, the Boss must really be desperate after what happened to ole Polpo.”

“You… I thought you knew better than to ever show your face around me again,” he sneered, several vulgar interjections from his colorful subordinates followed his declaration.  

“Now, now, is that any way to treat a lady?” You asked, abandoning the table entirely and sauntering over to where he stood with the letter in hand.  “And besides, I’m here because of my orders alone and these have been handed down from the top, if you care to have a look.”

He snatched the paper from your hand and read it over carefully. It was legit. Only a select few had ever been chosen directly by the Boss himself, but all were rewarded handsomely in both monetary compensation and under the banner of greater trust. As much Bruno did not want to tangle himself with any of the unsavory business you often dealt with, that added trust alone could prove essential to the long-term goals he and his newfound friend were aiming towards, “one last mission and then we go back to being strangers. I mean it, I don’t ever want to hear from you again, are we clear?”

“Crystal.” 

The details were dealt with accordingly and you returned to your hotel to bide your time until your departure the following day. Meanwhile, Bucciarati discussed the matter in depth with his team, though all the while, a flurry of unwelcome emotions stewed relentlessly through his mind, as vivid and intolerable as the last time he laid eyes on you.

“Bucciarati, I think you should seriously reconsider accepting this mission, something about it seems strange,” Giorno said as he looked over the fragment of the letter you left in their care.

“You can’t be serious, stronzo! Bucciarati can’t just ignore a direct order from the Boss!” Abbacchio exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table with such ferocity it caused the dishes to rattle in their places. 

“Listen, Giorno, I know you’re new here, but the Boss doesn’t hand out missions like this to just anyone,” Fugo said, more calmly than his cohort, but still in vehement opposition to anything that may create conflict between them and the Boss. And rightfully so, it would be a foolish endeavor to even think one stood a chance against such a fearsome adversary.  

“Yes, they’re right Giorno, disagreeable as they are, orders are orders and I am determined to see this through.” 

Giorno sighed and mulled over the arrangement before drawing his own conclusion and covertly hiding something in Bucciarati’s pocket. “Giorno, what is—”

“Take it for luck. It’s… insurance.” Bucciarati did not need to ask questions to understand where Giorno’s intentions lay, but he could not afford to disclose any further information and jeopardize the safety of his team.

“Come Bucciarati, the instructions say to meet at Napoli Centrale, I’ll drive you.” 

“That won’t be necessary Fugo, I promised my old friend that I would meet her at her hotel.” 

“Is it wise to disobey orders like that?” 

“Perhaps not wise, but I doubt any harm will come of it. The Boss must be well aware of our history or else he would not have specifically paired us to work together.” 

“Well, alright, you would know best, just promise that you’ll be safe… for all of us, we need you as our leader.”

“Thank you, Fugo, I will make it back from this, you have my word,” Bruno declared, his resolve was evident in the deep tone of his voice. One more mission, that’s all it would be. He would earn the Boss’s trust and then you would be out of his life for good.

It was early the next morning when there came three rapid knocks on the door of your hotel room and with all the swiftness of a cat, you glided to the door and pulled the chain through the lock so that you could open the door just enough to make sure your visitor had been invited.  “So you came after all, Bruno, but really, how could you stay away?” You purred as you undid the chain and bade him inside with far greater amiability than he was likely to offer you. 

“You know very well that I had no choice in the matter,” he spat, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with you… those damn eyes of yours, like sparkling jewels, they always hypnotized him. 

“Come now Bruno, that hurts my feelings, and after all the things we’ve been through together, it’s quite a shame, I remember when you used to be so terribly fond of me.” You purred, dragging your index finger tediously down his exposed chest. 

With an abruptness that startled you out of your cavalier disposition, he harshly gripped your wrist to stop the salacious pursuit of your hand. “You know very well that any fondness I once had for you died a long time ago.” 

“Are you quite certain about that? I saw the way you were looking at me at the restaurant, I think there’s a part of you that still wants me like you did all those years ago.” 

His brows furrowed together and, with the same suddenness with which he had grabbed your wrist, he pushed it away and took several steps away from you. 

“Aw, Bruno, haven’t you realized that you shouldn't show your hand so early?” You snickered, drifting slowly over to him, your hips swaying with each purposeful step.

“Well, it’s not as though you ever made it a challenge.”  He snapped, unamused by your performance.

“If that’s the case, then how come you were never able to seal the deal? We both know how desperately you wanted to.” 

“It is very like you to think more highly of yourself than you deserve, but you must be misremembering.” 

“Oh, am I misremembering the compromising position that Polpo caught us in that Easter?”

“That was before Milan.” 

“Don’t tell me you aren’t even the least bit curious about what would have happened if Polpo hadn’t come back early,” you said, pressing your chin to his shoulder and whispering softly into his ear.

“Hmm,” he mused carefully, drawing back from you and finally securing a seat in one of the finely quilted chairs, “even back then you tasted like a liar.”  If looks could kill, you would have been dead, face down on the floor after the way he looked at you, full of hate, ire, and a deep desire for vengeance.  And yet even for all the malice in his stare, it tickled you to know you still affected him so strongly.  Had he truly cut you from his life with the same knife you had used to stab him in the back, he would not have been driven to such brutish, adolescent insults.  

You smoothed out the skirt of your dress and sat in the chair opposite from him, quickly, but not without a degree of ceremony, you unfolded the remaining pages of the letter and spread them out in order upon the coffee table, “I suppose we should get down to business then, shall we?”

He made no reply but began to sift through the separate papers to familiarize himself with the administered task.  A look of confusion sprung across his face when he reached the final sheet, “this can’t be all you were given.”

“For now, yeah, the rest of the mission will be waiting in an envelope behind The Birth of Venus then we just go from there.” 

“You act like it’s that simple, thousands of people go to the Uffizi Gallery every single day!”

“And we will be among them, just leave everything up to me, I have a plan.” 

“I will certainly not trust you with my life, not after last time, you will tell me exactly what you have devised and then we can decide what the best course of action is as a team.” 

“A team? Well, in that case, perhaps I can accept those conditions.” You simpered, crossing one leg over the other, knowing full well it offered him a titillating view of your upper thigh.  “Truth be told, Risotto and I were once… friends. I have some apprehensions about targeting him and his team, especially after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato.” 

“This is precisely why they tell you not to mix business with pleasure, though I was certain you’d learned that lesson a long time ago.” 

“Hm, I don’t recall you being the jealous type, Bruno, perhaps you have changed.” 

“And unfortunately for us both, it appears that you have not.”

That cut a bit deeper than his previous affronts and you felt a bit of your playfulness recede, “I’m merely saying that while Risotto was an irrevocable fool for believing he stood a chance against the Boss, I think his motives are understandable, after what happened to Sorbetto and Gelato, but they should have known better than to go poking around into the Boss’s identity.”

Bruno sat pensively as he considered the circumstances, “far be it from me to question the Boss’s absolute authority, but isn’t it a bit odd that he sent us to do a hitman’s job, that really isn’t either of our specialties.”

“Well, La Squadra was in charge of assassinations, I’m not sure he could get any one of them to defect from their leader. I suppose he trusts us more at any rate.” 

“I’m sure he has plenty of other skilled assassins that would be better suited for the job than us if this job is really so important.”

“Well, you can consider it your initiation.  Prove your loyalty now that you’re a capo.”

“Then why you?”

“Because of my relationship to Risotto of course.  Listen, I know you aren’t fond of me, at least not anymore, but you know there isn’t a better person you could have been paired with for this mission.  I know Risotto like the back of my hand, I’m wise to his tricks, I know how he thinks, and I’ve seen his Stand. I know all of his strengths and weaknesses, like it or not, you need me for this.”

“Fine then, but my previous request still stands, once this is over, you and I are strangers once again.” 

“I agreed before, didn’t I?” You asked, resting your head on your folded hand to eye his movements more keenly.  The stern, unwavering look on his face remained, as such you were forced to resort to far more efficacious means to restore the upper hand you so desired.  

Without a word, you moved across the room with the same rhythmic sway of your hips that always seemed to catch Bruno’s eye and situated yourself before the only mirror your hotel room offered. 

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, aghast as he watched your dress flutter to the ground and pool around your feet.

“Don’t act as though it’s something you haven’t seen before,” you groaned, rummaging through the mess of your suitcase for the necessary garment until, at last,  you found what you needed, an expensive sundress covered in a vibrant pattern of flowers and citrus fruits. 

“And your previous attire was unsuitable?” He asked, that unflappable aplomb had been utterly laid to waste once he got a glimpse of your body.

“Naturally, we will be going to Florence, what better way to blend in than as tourists? Every member of La Squadra is a thoroughly trained assassin, this way we can hide amongst the throngs of couples on holiday and they will be none the wiser,” you explained as you stepped into the dress. “Now then, zip me up?” 

“I never imagined you’d be capable of appearing so docile,” he mused, tugging the zipper up the length of your spine to where the hem of your dress sat between your shoulder blades. 

“Don’t look so smug, I brought something for you to wear as well,” you said and handed him a tidy garment bag.

“You can’t expect me to wear this…” he said, recoiling as he unzipped the bag and caught sight of its sickeningly pastel colored contents.

“I do indeed, and as sexy as that suit is on you, we are aiming to be as inconspicuous as possible, so get changed, I promise you’ll look just as dashing in this little costume I’ve picked for you. Now hop to it.” 

With disguises set and travel plans arranged, you boarded the train for Florence. The journey was long, several hours at least, but the journey across the Italian landscape was beautiful. Perhaps, had it not been for your addled mind, you would have been able to enjoy it more. Instead, you leaned your head against the window in your private car and watched as Bruno slept in the seat beside you. The tan suit and pale blue shirt suited him perfectly, in fact to any unknowing passerby, the two of you could have easily been mistaken for a young couple on a scenic ride through the countryside. 

Baring that thought in mind, you felt nothing but contempt for the dismal shell of a life you had been living. Briefly, you wondered what might have been if young Bruno had been your savior all those years ago, but you couldn’t see past the immediate severity of what you had been rescued from. Even so, you never wanted this, but for all your dangerous desires, all the money and power you had amassed in so young a life, you knew that you could never be anything else but what you had already become. You were a murderer and no matter how you tried to couch it in the insistence of necessity, that it was a matter of your life or theirs, that they were no better than you, but no matter how you dressed it up, a murderer you would always be. Even if by some stroke of luck you managed to escape the grasp of Passione, you could never escape all you had done. Years of miserable deeds and back alley deals; it would all have to be paid for in time.

You gazed upon Bruno’s gentle face, his soft features and the glow of his tan skin always seemed somehow angelic especially in the warm light of the late morning sun, even when you had been young you’d always been struck by his appearance, he was beautiful and even beyond on that, you found him admirable, he was loyal and disciplined and merciful, all of the things you were not and it drew you to him like a moth to a flame. You wondered if he ever felt the same, dissatisfied, downcast, and disillusioned. You could recall all the nights you’d spent looking into his eyes as though you’d been twins, cut from the same cloth and doomed to the same forsaken end, but now you were not so sure. In spite of your unfathomable success, Bruno had eclipsed you somewhere in the years between. He had built a life for himself, one surrounded by friends who truly cared for him, seeing that ragtag group he’d assembled at his restaurant, you knew that he had found something that you had never been able to and you were then rendered certain that you could never again be equals. It was an appalling realization to face while stuck within the cramped walls of a train car when all you could do was stew in your dismay. Whatever you were to become, you could never be all that you wanted.  

Florence, known as the birthplace of the Renaissance, has been home to many notable figures including authors Niccolo Machiavelli and Dante Alighieri as well as Renaissance masters such as Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and Sandro Botticelli. In part due to the extensive commissions made by the eminent Medici family, it has been a thriving centre for history, art, and culture ever since.  Many of the world’s seminal works of Italian art remain today in the many museums and chapels that line the streets, but none more recognizable than the great duomo of Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore, which prominently holds its place in the skyline, ever looming over the city like the crown marking a bygone dynasty. 

And still, the city teems with life, attracting tourists from all walks of life, and that is precisely how you found yourself when the train rolled into the station on that bright afternoon. 

Staying at one of the many charming little hotels, you unpacked your things and set up a makeshift base of operations where Bruno made you tediously go over the plans you had set ad nauseam; he wanted to hear every detail laid out for him in the exact order you intended for the umpteenth time, “again,” he said, the velvety timbre of his voice that you normally would have found dangerously alluring only grated on your nerves. 

“We are going to the Uffizi Gallery as tourists, we will arrive just after one, when it should be the most crowded that way we can blend in seamlessly, then we will nonchalantly peruse the museum for several minutes so we don’t raise suspicion, finally, on my mark, you are going to position yourself at The Birth of Venus while I go across the hall and trip the security system, once the guards have rushed over to me, you grab the envelope and use your stand to make a swift exit.  We reconvene here to figure out what needs to be done next, got it?” 

“I am still finding it rather difficult to believe that you would willingly put yourself in the position to get caught, that is not how I remember you operating,” he said, though his words had been unabashedly smug, his tone was thoughtful as if he were sincerely trying to piece together the path your life had taken since you parted ways.

“Well, I just know that you are far better suited to retrieve the envelope than I am, plus, as pretty as you are, I’m sure I can do a better job of seducing the guards if need be.” 

“And if the guard is a woman?” 

“Ha! You act as though that would make a difference.” 

“Your modesty has been dearly missed,” he said, rolling his eyes, though there was playfulness in his chides that had not been there the afternoon before.

“You know as well as anyone that my claims are not without merit.”

He let out a discontented sigh before he could manage a response, certainly, there was an inkling of truth, but did you always have to tout your wiles so audaciously? “ I was young and dumb then, I would not fall for your same tricks again.” 

“Who said my tricks are the same? I have refined my craft since last we met, you could be falling for me as we speak, you might not even know it.”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” He muttered before rising to his feet and tossing the sheets of paper containing your instructions onto the fire, “there, now that that’s done, we had better be off.” 

So you walked, arm I’m arm through the piazza and made your way up the steps of the gallery where you seamlessly wove into the colorful menagerie of attendees that dispersed through the halls. Falling into an old routine, you walked up to a painting across the room and looked up at it with a thoughtful expression, “The Annunciation by Leonardo da Vinci,” you said, leaning closer to trace the intricate details of the diaphanous veil with you eyes, “imagine being so skilled that you can paint something sheer and gauzy like that.” 

Bruno gave a little nod and followed the line of your gaze, “hm, I’ve never had the opportunity to see this one in person, quite impressive, far different from The Last Supper.”

“Now that’s one I’ve never seen in person.”

“That’s because you absconded Milan before we had the chance,” he said with that same grave intonation that he always summoned when he made reference to your duplicity. 

“Not here,” you whispered tersely, giving his upper arm an emphatic squeeze, “here we are civilians and it’s imperative that we remain so. Now, let’s go.” 

You left brusquely and escaped around the corner, forcing him to quicken his pace to follow after you.  You continued through the bustling halls of the museum in silence, a jarring difference from the myriad of conversations from the other patrons that echoed liltingly through your ears as you wandered into each of the different rooms, passing the target of your mission several times and taking careful stock of the artwork that lined the accompanying walls. 

“Don’t you think you’re taking your role as a tourist a bit too seriously?” He asked before glancing inconspicuously around the room.

“Hey, I paid for these tickets, I’m going to get my money’s worth and see the art!  Won’t you indulge me a little bit, it’s not often I get to do things like this.”

“Well—”

“And think of it this way, if we do a sweep of the entire place, we can be sure no one from La Squadra is lying in wait for us.” 

“Well, in that case, I suppose we can waste a few more minutes. Come along now,” he said, there was something suave about his voice as his strong hand found the small of your back as he effortlessly jockeyed you through the crowd. You felt your mind relinquish long-held apprehensions under the gentle force of his palm. So easy it was to let him take control, to let him handle you as though you were his own. Contentedly you accepted this subtle comfort as you soaked in the remaining minutes of quiet bliss.

“Hm, you know, I always preferred Primavera to The Birth of Venus.” You mused, staring up at the painting, your eyes flitted between the various allegorical figures 

“Oh, is that so?”

“Definitely, the colors, the dresses, the setting, there’s something very idyllic about it; pleasant and  dreamy, something that makes me feel like there’s still beauty in the world,” you quickly ceased your wistful longings, realizing you had spoken far too honestly than the moment called for, you quickly tried to divert the conversation elsewhere, “did you know the orange grove was meant to symbolize the Medici family?”

“That’s very interesting, I had no idea you were so well-versed in art.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know as much about me as you’d like to think you do.”

“Maybe so,” he murmured, twining his fingers with yours leading you to the stairs. 

And so you meandered through the various rooms, hand in hadn’t while you prattled on about art and for one brief moment, you felt as though your life was normal, you felt, through all the depths of your desperation, that maybe, if your mission went well, that you could take whatever funds you acquired and run as far away from Italy as you were able, start over and never look back. Build the life you wanted from the rubble yours had crumbled into.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that,” Bruno said as you both looked at Caravaggio’s The Sacrifice of Isaac.

“Abraham or Isaac?” 

The question went unanswered and you both stood in silence, staring at the scene brought to life by dramatically staged lighting that was so characteristic of Caravaggio’s works, feeling the moments tick away like grains of sand in an hourglass. “Now then, I believe it’s time for us to take our positions.” Bruno declared before taking his leave of you.  It was a curious feeling, the way that his hand slipped from yours, the way the touch of his fingers lingered in the moments after as you walked in the opposite direction, ultimately landing yourself face to face with another recognizable painting.  Judith Slaying Holofernes.  Gentileschi’s gruesome and dynamic depiction left you to ponder how deep your resolution ran. If it came to it, could you ever posit yourself as Judith? It concerned you even further to realize that you did not know if you could.

Without any other time to think, you made your way across the room where The Birth of Venus housed and with Bruno already in place, you positioned yourself far enough away from him so that when the alarms went off, he could secure the envelope unnoticed.  It was a simple task, some may say foolproof, all you had to do was reach across the threshold of the protective railing… all the world around you appeared to move in slow motion, all except for your racing heart, hammering hard against the walls of your chest.  It was such an easy task, you had done far worse and yet, you hesitated. Quaking in your resolve, you made a move to look back at Bruno but before you could turn your head, someone knocked into you and sent you careening past the protective bar. 

All at once, the alarm sounded, piercing the reticence of the serene gallery and then every guard in the vicinity was upon you.  A swarm of quick steps and terse exchanges could be heard throughout the whole room as civilians began to gather around you to catch a glimpse of the commotion. Out of the corner of your eye, as you were assisted to your feet and escorted away via museum security, you were certain you saw Bruno quickly disappearing beyond the farthest wall, from there, you were able to breathe easy. 

Bruno had made it back to the hotel with ease, your little spectacle had proved more than sufficient for him to make off with the next set of instructions unnoticed. So by the time you were released by security and made the journey back to the hotel, Bruno had already thoroughly read through the instructions and drawn several conclusions of his own.  As you sheepishly slinked through the door, you found him seated in one of the comfortable chairs with his elbows resting lackadaisically against his knees. 

“So it seems they let you go free without much trouble,” he drawled, straightening his posture and crossing one leg over the other. 

“I told you that I can be very persuasive, did I not?” You said, muster greater confidence than you actually felt. He looked back at you without speaking, as if he were trying to reduce the veracity of your claims hidden in your shaky inflection. “So… what’s the next step, I assume you’ve read it without me.” 

“I have and… here, see for yourself,” he shoved the folded sheets in your direction and watched keenly as you read through them.

“The duomo, huh?  Can’t say I expected the likes of Risotto to be holed up in an ancient Cathedral, but I guess I can give him points for style,” you said, trying to disregard any apprehensions with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. 

“That is precisely what I thought… a very peculiar location for a safe house.”

“Regardless, I suppose we should devise a plan, it’ll be dark soon.”

“Listen to me, you said yourself that Risotto is a skilled assassin, why would he choose to hide himself in the most recognizable building in the entire city?”

“As you said, he’s incredibly skilled, he doesn’t need to be discreet.”

“That sounds ridiculous, even by your standards!”

“Everything else worked out, didn’t it?  You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“I will not blindly trust you, I’m telling you that there is something wrong with this entire mission.”

“That isn’t for us to decide, we shut up and we do our jobs, that’s all!”

“No, you aren’t understanding, don’t you think it’s a little odd that we spent the entire afternoon in public and not a single member of La Squadra came after us?”

“Yes, but—”

“You feel it too, I know you do.  Just think for a moment, you have always been shrewd, you know that something here isn’t right!” He shouted, his hands grabbed harshly to your shoulders, holding you in place, so close to him that you could feel the heat radiating off of his impassioned frame. 

“No!  No, I won’t even consider it.  We have to do this, this is what we do, this is what we signed up for when we became mafiosi. We have to see the mission through, we don’t have a choice!” You screamed, violently breaking yourself free of his restraint.

“You’re wrong, we always have a choice, we can walk away from this.”

“You’re far too naive, Bruno, you can’t possibly believe that, if we don’t go through with this, the full wrath of Passione will be after us, we wouldn’t even make it out of Italy before they had us killed or worse...” 

“Why must you always be so damn stubborn?”

“Why must you always act like you know better than I do?”

“Because I do,” he said, a coolness to his voice that left you both standing frozen in place as if noncommittal in the face of what you both knew would follow.

Propelled by some invisible force far beyond the realm of your control, your lips crashed against each other, gnashing brutally in a battle for dominance that neither of you would concede so readily. 

With ease not suggested by his lithe figure, he lifted you off the ground and pinned you securely against the nearest wall with such force that it caused the decorative print to rattle against the plaster. As if on command, your legs wrapped around his slender waist to draw him closer. With sufficient stability acquired, his hands were able to roam up your thighs, enough to hike your dress up past your hips. Your skin prickled with goosebumps under the urgency of his touches and a breathy whine caught in your throat and came out as a feeble squeak which in turn, only heightened his desire and the thin lace of your panties did not help matters either, “look at you…” he murmured, his cool façade hardly concealed the ardor that had stirred his disposition. Pulling your panties to the side, his fingers were able to explore between your folds, “you’re so wet,” 

“What’re you gonna do about it?” You purred, back arching against the wall when you felt his fingers slipping into you. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said, pupils blown wide as saucers as he glared at you with a menacing, hungry look. Your plush walls clenched around his fingers, fuck, the way he looked at you, like he hated you, like he needed you, as if you were the only person in the world that could quell the raging fire within him— it was as though several years of unmet desires had unfolded right in front of you. 

Not a sound of protest was made towards his brazen declaration and it took no more than an instant for him to throw you onto the tiny hotel bed.  Before he could climb on top of you, you managed to shimmy out of your dress and toss the garishly colored fabric to the floor so that you were left in nothing but your lingerie as you lay back on the velvety comforter and watched as Bruno quickly undressed at the foot of the bed. Each discarded layer revealed more of his brilliant, tan skin, ever so lightly flushed from the ardent rush of your previous actions

Once his shirt had been cast away your eyes were able to trace the intricate line work of his tattoo down his chest to where it culminated in the outline of a heart just above his navel. The precarious position urged your eyes to wander lower as his hands moved pants to undo the button of his pants. The newfound freedom offered you an excellent view of his cock, which stood erect, firmly pressed to his abdomen. You sat up on your knees with hands folded between your legs and mouth slightly agape as you tried your best to comprehend the perfection that stood before you, there was something elegantly baroque in the man that stood before you, like a mixture of gold and marble, his statuesque frame, his svelte waist, the tantalizing taper of his long, curved cock.  You traced the fine slope until you reached the pinnacle of his flared, swollen head which eagerly dripped glossy pearls of precum as he held firmly to the base of his shaft. 

“On your back,” he commanded, then, before you even had a chance to comply, he climbed over you and pinned you flush against the mattress. You let out a shrill gasp of surprise when you felt his hard length rubbing against your aching sex, the thin, damp fabric of your panties was the only impedance between your two bodies. 

Harsh and indelicate, he lifted your back to unclasp your bra, without much care or effort the scanty garment was tossed away and Bruno seized the opportunity to quickly explore the newly exposed skin.  His teeth rasped against the swell of your breasts, leaving behind a pattern of oblong crimson marks. “Bruno,” you moaned, craning your neck back before hurriedly biting your lip to stop the indecent squeals as his lips close around your nipple, god, he hadn’t even fucked you yet, how could he have managed to unravel you so fast? 

Without warning, the sensation stopped and you were left panting nearly delirious from even such paltry stimulation. Through your heavy-lidded gaze, you watched as Bruno repositioned himself at the foot of the bed, from where you lay, you could easily guess his next play and that assurance was enough to restore a bit of your confidence, “How long have you been dreaming about this moment?” You taunted, doing your best to maintain a semblance of control as he fluidly pulled you to the edge of the bed by your ankle. 

“Were you not just moaning my name a minute ago?” He scolded, roughly pulling your legs apart and immediately hooking a finger under the lace band of your panties and rolling the sullied fabric down your legs. You gave a soft, approving mewl at the feeling of his warm breath against your cunt. In spite of your lewd appearance, there was something undeniably pretty about having you there in the position he had so many times imagined you in.

“Just fucking do it already!” You growled, teeth clenched to maintain an illusion of aplomb, but the frenzied look in your eyes betrayed you egregiously. 

“Typical. Something doesn’t go your way so you behave like a brat, is that how you expect to be rewarded?” He teased, his mouth hovering millimeters above your throbbing pussy, so tantalizingly close, but never close enough to give in to the pleasure you wanted. 

“For fuck’s sake, will you stop talking?”

“So demanding,” he purred, licking one long, arduous stripe along the entire length of your sex.

“Fuck,” you breathed, the meager sensation was enough to send a chill down your spine and leave you all but begging for more. He had intended to carry on teasing you for far longer, but the moment your honeyed taste filled his mouth, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to deny himself any longer. 

He abandoned the façade of bravado in one heedless action and began frantically lashing his tongue over your cunt, drinking in the heavenly juices that poured for you all too freely with each of his reckless ministrations. The wet sounds that emanated from you were nothing short of vulgar as his skilled tongue easily parted your folds and dipped into your dripping cunt just enough to make you squirm in place, but her certainly wasn’t done with you. Once he had thoroughly enjoyed your taste, he quickly turned all of his attention to your neglected clit. The sensitive bud was hot and tender with need and even a perfunctory flick of his tongue is enough to send a jolt of electricity surging through you that only intensified when he began fervently lapping at your clit, drawing hasty, swirling patterns that made your head spin and your vision bleary. Shit, you should not have been as sensitive as you were, not that soon, but if he continued like that, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. 

“Tell me Bruno, do I still taste like a liar?” You asked through a slew of uninhibited groans that certainly made the question feel less mordant than you had intended it to be.

“A horrid, filthy, little liar,” he sneered, his lips forming the words against your needy cunt, even for all the malice he spoke, it only served to arouse your further, causing your hips to roll listlessly into his face, “an awful little liar.” 

“Bruno… fuck!” You moaned, knitting your fingers into his silky black hair and tugging with such vehemence that you dislodged one of his hair clips.

He let out an inadvertent groan, either brought on by your taste alone or the strength of your grip on his hair, but that too only further drove you towards your inevitable peak.  His tongue continued its relentless pursuit, maintaining the same diligent rhythm that had already rendered you delirious and you were no longer able to stifle any of the sultry moans that spilled from you, “Bruno, I’m— fuck, so close!” 

Your hips sputter out, indecorously writhing to a hectic rhythm that made it difficult for him to maintain the consistent pace he had devised, but the sweet sounds of your pleasure were more than enough reinforcement for him to forge ahead. One hand spread across your pelvis in an attempt to quell your incessant thrashing.  The restraint only caused the pressure to build until it became unsustainable, heat rushed to your core and the sensation you’d only tenuously been staving off snapped within you, leaving you awash with the brilliant glow of orgasm. 

Satisfaction dripped off Bruno’s face as he cleaned your excess arousal off his lips, leering up at you, content to take in the vision of your panting form, only brought to such an agreeable state through his efforts. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so submissive,” he said as he pulled himself on top of you, the swollen top of his cock prodding shallowly into your entrance. 

“Sh-shut up,” you whimpered, damn near docile as he sunk into you.  Given how amply prepared you were, it only took one effortless glide for him to be fully buried within you. You let out a shaky whine against his neck when he bottomed out, a response he couldn’t help but feel was incongruously cute compared to your typically ruthless demeanor. 

It was not long before he had established a steady rhythm. He had not allowed you any time to recover from your previous release and the sensation of him savagely fucking you quickly thrust you into overstimulation. In such a state, all you could do was scream out his name between an array of curses, all of which only urged him to continue more brutally, the strength of his grip was nearly bruising as he held your hips in place to keep you from wildly bucking beneath him. He pounded into you with such ferocity that it caused the headboard to clatter against the plaster wall. Your back arched, meeting him mid-thrust to pull him back down, your tight walls sucking him in so luxuriously that he could help but let out a choky moan into the crook of your neck. Fucking you, claiming you, ruining you, reality had eclipsed anything he had ever imagined when he would violently fuck his hand to the thought of you. The silky mewls and shrill screams you made each time he drove into you rendered him certain that your neighbors and very likely every patron on the entire floor knew how much you were enjoying his cock. 

Overstimulated to the point of babbling, each thrust added a new sensation you were certain you could not handle. Lost in a haze of bliss, the line between pleasure and pain had blurred beyond comprehension and you were not sure if you couldn’t cum anymore or if you simply hadn’t stopped cumming. 

Your nails scratched viciously into his back, leaving behind jagged claw marks that would last more than just the evening and serve as a reminder of the amorous affair. Bruno let out a hiss and dug his teeth into the supple skin of your shoulder. 

In a quick, ungainly action, he pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness caused you to let out a dejected whine for want of further stimulation, but he only knelt above you, frantically stroking the tip of his cock until he’d decorated your abdomen with sticky ribbons of cum then collapsed on the bed beside you, both more fucked out than either of you could remember. 

The afterglow hung heavy in the air, lingering silently between you as reality flowed back in along with the unsettling feeling of irresolution. After you’d cleaned up the mess that had been left, You returned to the bed and covered your body with the blanket to placate the meekness that left you dithering over what needed to be said. From the window, you could see the outline of the great duomo, only faintly illuminated against the darkened sky, its imposing shadow loomed ominously over the streets, as though it were itself some great beast that would swallow you up if you dared tread further. 

But before you could voice any apprehension, Bruno had left the bed and begun dressing, “well then, shouldn’t you be getting ready?” Something in the way he spoke seemed to banish all doubt from your mind, or at least enough to restore your confidence. 

“Oh, I thought you were determined to abandon the mission?”

“I have my concerns, but you were right, we need to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you’ve finally admitted who’s really in charge here.” You simpered, padding over to him with a characteristically feline strut.

Bruno caught you mid-step and drew your body firmly against his chest so that he was able to whisper directly into your ear, “oh cara mia, we both know it certainly wasn’t you,” he said, drawing out his words far more seductively than you could handle at present and punctuating the sentiment by nipping along your earlobe, “now, don’t dawdle, we have business to attend to.”

It had been far easier to access the duomo than you would have thought, even so late into the night you would have imagined a perpetual presence of security to make sure ne’er do wells, such as yourselves, did not get up to any chicanery on the premises, but that was not the case. It merely required the picking of a cheap lock on one if the auxiliary entrances and you were in. 

The air hung every in the dark halls, but even so, there was something reverent about the hallowed halls of the imposing structure. A feeling of peril caused your stomach to churn violently, it wasn’t merely the sanctity of the space that filled you with an acute sense of danger, but the sudden realization that you were not alone in the darkened chamber.  You made a quick motion to turn and alert Bruno, but before you could make a sound, a large hand was clamped over your mouth and you felt your strength give out under whatever force had apprehended you 

When next you awoke, you found yourself in a windowless room, tied with your back to Bruno in metal chairs that had been affixed to the ground with heavy bolts to ensure no means of escape.  “Bruno…” you whispered meekly, hardly able to muster the resolve to speak in such a dismal position, “Bruno, are you alright?” 

“I believe so… but I’m afraid that… from the start… this whole mission was a setup.” 

“I know, I— fuck, I should’ve listened, I just didn’t want to believe that…”

“Oh, isn’t that precious, our little saboteurs are awake,” an unfamiliar voice broke through the emptiness of the room and an odd-looking man dressed in a long white coat with emerald green hair that appeared almost harlequin alongside his makeup emerged from the darkness, flanked by his even stranger looking companion who walked threateningly on all fours. 

“So, I take it the Boss sent you to get rid of us,” Bruno said, managing a far more assertive tone than you would have been able to muster.

“You could say that… you see, Passione is like a living organism, all the parts must function together to keep it alive, and much like our bodies have an immune system as a failsafe to fight off any unwanted pathogens, so must our little organization. You may consider me as such.” The green-haired man mused, partly to you, partly to his associate who looked upon him with awe as he spoke, as though his words contained some kind of sacred divination. “That’s why I’ve brought you here, to test a little invention of mine… you know, when here in Florence, I can’t help but recall Leonardo, he was more than just an artist, like me, he also dabbled in many inventions himself. I was always struck by his proclivity towards water, the water wheel, hydraulics… perhaps he would find some of my research… fascinating,” he gave another wicked grin, eyes dancing with delight at the thought of his malevolent intentions.

“What are you getting at?” Bruno demanded, breaking the man free from his wistful daydreams. 

“All in due time,” he said, never wavering from that malicious grin that made your heart go cold with fear.

“You know, they say drowning is one of the most painful ways to die, I must say, I’m very excited to see for myself,” he declared boldly and burst into an uncontrollable fit of cackles and anticipatory groans, “Secco! Is the camera set up yet?”

The man sat up on his hind legs and gave a series of garbled hoops and excited cries as he thrashed to and fro in wild, ungainly gestures.

“Good boy, Secco, good boy! Now how about a treat?” He groped for something in his pocket as his strange companion eagerly lashed his long, serpentine tongue around his mouth, then darted with expert precision after what had been tossed his way.  So nimble, he almost defied gravity as he snatched the sugar cubes out of the air and began to gnaw on them like a rabid animal. 

“You’re sick,” you spat, brows furrowed with disgust and indignation.

A dreadful, malignant smirk settled across the green-haired man’s face as he knelt down to your level.  A skilled hand dragged across your cheek, unexpectedly tender as he caressed your smooth skin, “is that what you think?” He asked, baring his teeth as he roughly grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, “on the contrary, dear girl, I am free. The same cannot be said for a weak little traitor such as yourself.”

You clamped your eyes shut, frantically shaking your head to dislodge his grip but to no avail, all of your efforts only earned you a forceful slap across your face that caused your cheek to burn, swollen and red from his violence. “You know, It’s useless to struggle, but then again, it’s so deliciously fun to watch you try!”

“Why not just use your Stand to kill us?”

“Oh you pretty little thing, that’s the best part! I don’t have to.” 

You swallowed thickly, unable to summon any kind of response, before a man as cruel and sadistic as he, you were utterly helpless. 

“And Bucciarati, I can see the gears turning in that head if yours, ‘once they leave, I’ll use my Stand to get us out of this,’ and while I admit that your Stand in particular is a bit of a nuisance, I would strongly advise against taking such a measure, you see, even with whatever evasive maneuvers you may attempt, we have ways assuring you do not get far.” 

The quadrupedal man let out a series of gleeful howls as if to affirm his companion’s threats. 

“Now, what will happen?  Hmm, decisions, decisions. Will you lie down and die like the good dogs you are? Ah, or maybe perhaps you will pull one another down like crabs in a bucket.  Or maybe one of the lovers will make a desperate attempt to save the other.  Hmm… which will it be? I can’t endeavor to say.”

“Have you been watching us…?” 

“Oh, my dear girl, our eyes haven’t left you since you departed from Napoli, any secrets you might’ve thought you had… well, rest assured that I have them very well kept,” he said, falling into a menacing laugh as he patted the handheld camera. 

“Fucking sicko,” you snapped, indignantly writhing in your bindings in a futile attempt to free yourself. 

“Aw, poor little puppy, all bark and no bite,” Cioccolata sneered, eyes darting for you over to Bruno, “She’s in love with you, you know?”

Violently, you bit your lip, how could you even begin to formulate a response? “Oh, by the looks of it I guess you didn’t know, well, it’s no matter.” He said, crossing the room and pulling a heavy lever. The loud, mechanical noise of machinery engaging could be heard through the ancient stone, “I look forward to the show, please do remember to smile for the camera.”

With that, both he and his companion took their leave through the only exit, a heavily barred metal door that you knew you wouldn’t have a chance of breaking through. And then you heard it, faint at first, but the distinct sound of running water caught your attention, open pipes on either side of the room flowed freely, splashing violently against the floor, faster and faster with each second that passed and only then did you fully understand the meaning of your captor’s threats. There were no exits, no windows, no vents, nothing to let the water out, you were trapped and the flow of the water only seemed to quicken as the flood reached your feet.

“Is this really how it all ends?” You asked, a vehement lamentation to no one in particular as you struggled restlessly in your bindings. 

“It should be a few hours before it’s over our heads, maybe we can think of something in that time.” 

“No, don’t you see that it’s hopeless, they must’ve had this planned for weeks, the only way out is through that door and they’re on the other side.  They’re going to kill us one way or another… we lost.” You sank into silence and let the sound of the water drown out your other senses. It was sick indeed to force you to sit and contemplate your death for hours before it arrived, even sicker to derive some twisted satisfaction from it all. You were bested and there was nothing for you to do but wait for death to come and hope for your sake that it would come swiftly. 

“He called you a traitor… what did you do?” Bruno asked, breaking the silence as the water crept up past your knees. 

“How should I know, he’s obviously fucking crazy, he called you one too and I know for a fact that Bruno Bucciarati, Polpo’s finest little soldier, would never betray the big bad Boss.”

Bruno sat silent for a long time, he hadn’t planned on telling you the extent of his perfidy, but if you both were going to die anyway, it would be almost an act of confession. “He wasn’t lying…”

“Bruno… you didn’t…”

“Not me, Giorno.”

“ That little blond with the baby face? No, I can’t believe that.”

“I don’t know how he did it, but he did.  He went to see Polpo in prison and the next I heard, the man was dead.  I believe he intended to use my newfound privileges as capo to help me unmask the Boss, I guess it is all for nought now.” 

“Why Bruno, you knew that would be a death sentence… why?”

“Because I’m sick and tired of seeing people… of seeing kids end up on the street, addicted to drugs… the same goddamn drugs the Boss sells, the same goddamn drugs my father was killed for and for what? Money, power? As if the Boss doesn’t already have more than enough of either.  Those are people, good people, my people and they’re suffering and they’re dying and it’s my fault because I answer to the same power that signs their death warrants. I have to do something, I have to make things better, it’s my responsibility.”

“Bruno, you know that’s a damn pipe dream, you know you can’t take on the Boss!”

“I knew the risk when I took it, but I believe in Giorno, if there’s anyone out there that can usurp the Boss, it’s Giorno Giovanna!”

“How can you have such faith in someone you just met?” 

“Because I have seen what he’s capable of, I’ve witnessed his brilliant determination, I believe that he will accomplish all he sets out to do, with or without me.”

You pondered his words carefully, had the sentiment not been so foolish, it would have been touching, but regardless, you felt it was too late for secrets as you felt the water rise past your abdomen. 

“I’m the one who told Sorbetto and Gelato where they could find information about the Boss’s identity, I’m the reason they were killed.”

“That’s rich after all waxing on about the folly it would be to take him on. Tell me, how did you even come by such privileged information?”

“Last summer, I met a man on the French Riviera who told me that he knew the Boss’s identity, somehow he fought him and survived and… he wanted me to help him take out the Boss, I turned him down, told him no one could withstand the full force of Passione’s wrath. I guess I was right.”

“But you had no problem selling that information to Sorbetto and Gelato,” he said callously, adding insult to injury.

“Listen, what they do is their business, not mine, I have to look out for myself above anyone else.”

“Just as you always have,” he spat, vitriol spilling off his tongue with each pointed word, like a poisoned dagger to the heart.

“I… I didn’t want it to end like this… I thought… I thought if there was anyone who stood a chance against Diavolo, it would have been La Squadra. I only told them how they could get in contact with my informant, that was all.  I thought they’d concoct a better plan, I thought maybe Risotto…”

“Diavolo… so that’s his name, huh? I guess it doesn’t matter now, poetic really, that I finally learn his identity, but I’m going to die before it can be of any use.” 

Conversation ceased as you both fell silent, the soft hiss of the water filling the room was the only sound that could be heard, endlessly jeering at your helplessness.  You glanced around the room in the hope that you could locate some weak point that could serve as an exit, but your search proved fruitless, and with the water already up to your chest, there seemed no other possibility than to accept your dismal defeat, certain that from wherever he watched, your captor took sadistic satisfaction in your inevitable surrender. 

“Bruno…” you said, at last breaking the silence, though your voice was stifled and words had been muddled by your tears, “Bruno, it was my fault… in Milan, it was all my fault.  It was a stupid risk to take and I almost got us both killed and then… and then I left you with the mess.  I— Bruno, I’m so sorry, it was such a selfish thing to do, do you think you could ever forgive me?” 

“If we make it out of here alive, you may consider yourself forgiven.” 

You mustered a feeble sound of thanks through your sobs but any intelligent words had been long abandoned. 

The water had risen to your neck, it would not take much longer for you to be swallowed up, perhaps Bruno could last a few extra minutes but what did it matter in the end?  Your thoughts grew fuzzy from the great strain it was to keep your head above water. It wouldn’t be long, only a minute more and your head would be underwater.

It was then, at the moment when you were sure all hope had been dashed, when you had resigned yourself to the inevitability of your death, that a muffled clamor rose beyond the thick stone walls of your would-be tomb. 

“How’s it going Narancia, we have to find Bucciarati and fast!”

“W-what’s going on?” You mumbled, struggling to make sense of the noises in your listless state.

“Got it! There should be two people in the next room!” 

“Giorno! He must’ve been tracking us this whole time.” The thought had not occurred to Bucciarati until just then, but he had wisely held onto Giorno’s parting gift throughout the entire mission.  It seemed like it had brought good luck after all. 

“Stand aside, leave the rest to me,” the sound of crumbling masonry echoed loud across the receding water and the light that filtered in when the wall had been breached seemed almost blinding to your eyes.  There, standing framed in a golden mandorla of new dawn light, was Giorno Giovanna, regal and determined as the dust settled around him, “Bucciarati, are you alright?”

What happened next was a blur, but someone pulled you from the water as Giorno gave Bruno a complete rundown of the situation, how Giorno had been able to track your location with the ladybug his Stand had imbued with life, how they had managed to kill the two men that held you captive, and their tentative plan to proceed now that they had fully defied the Boss.  Of course, Bruno was all too eager to inform Giorno of all you had told him, the Boss’s identity, your secret informant, the inevitable defection of La Squadra. With everything looked at together, it was as though each piece of the puzzle had fallen perfectly into place and Giorno rejoiced in the miracle of timing. 

It did not take long for a plan to be devised and with the added strength of La Squadra and the help of one eager Frenchman, it was only a matter of time before Diavolo was defeated and Giorno assumed his rightful position as the head of Passione. 

“Tell me,” he said one average day only a few months after all had been said and done, “what is it that you truly want?”

“I want out of this life for good,” you answered readily, it was the truth after all.

“Is that all?” He asked, the drawl of his voice as sweet and commanding as it always was. 

“Well, I suppose… I’d like to go to Milan,” you said, a curious diffidence had arisen in your voice as you stated your request.

“Then so it shall be,” he said with the gentlest of smiles that made him appear more like an angel than any man you’d ever seen before. 

And as he ordained it, so it was. 

“Well, is it everything you thought it would be?” Bruno asked, his hand in yours as you stood before The Last Supper.

“No— I mean yes… it’s marvelous, it’s incomprehensible… thank you for taking me.” 

He gave a salacious purr as he kissed the back of your hand, “I couldn’t think of anyone better to accompany me.” 

“It’s a little nostalgic being back here, don’t you think?”

“Well amore mio, for what it’s worth,” he began, moving his arm around your waist as you exited the church and began the walk back to that little hotel you stayed in what felt like a lifetime ago, “I have always loved Milan.” 

[written-in-flowers]

The Places Between Us: The Orc Warchief: (OT8 X Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Choi Jongho x Fem!Reader | Side pairings: Hongjoong x Fem!Reader, Ateez x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff | AU: fantasy!au

Word Count: 11k

Summary: Finding herself in Breakbone Pass, YN is introduced to the Orc Warchief, Jongho, and his family. Her final stop in this chaotic journey, YN learns that there is more to come.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Overall tags: dub-con, mind control, enslavement, kidnapping, forced breeding, monster fucking, sex work, mentions/implications of abuse, mentions/implications of SA, stockholm syndrome, public sex, exhibitionism, humiliation, degradation, breeding kink, bigdick!Seonghwa, bigdick!Yunho, DoubleDick!Yunh, monster fucking, face fucking, throat fucking, undead sex, sex w/ undead, belly bulge, anal sex, anal fingering, vaginal sex, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, squirting/vaginal ejaculation, slight size kink (height wise), overstimulation, facials, cum swallowing, choking, dom!ateez, sub!reader, tit fucking, sex toys, bondage, multiple partners, threesome (m/m/f), orc!jongho, naga!seonghwa, demon!hongjoong, dragon!yunho, undead!mingi, goblin!yeosang, lycan!san, lycan!wooyoung.

Taglist: @binniesbabe @stay-tiny-things @oiminho @babymbbatinygirl @sopematesxx @pirana10 @juicyjaxxy @corgilover20 @kinkymaminicole @londonbridges10 @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @cpg2020 @raralxyne

Part 5: The Goblin Merchant < | > Finale: The Devoted Lover

****

“Woah, woah, hey, hey! Come on, Kim. We can talk about this! We can talk about-AHHH!”

Yeosang flew across his living room like a rag doll. The small, spindly goblin scrambled from the marble floors quickly, running from the dark figure walking behind him. The warm temperature plummeted into a deep cold that turned hot breath into smoke. The crackling of ice could be heard in each footstep. 

“I didn’t know, I swear!” Yeosang cried, tripping on his own feet and shrieking when Hongjoong lifted him from the floor. 

“You’re telling me that at YOUR height, you didn’t see the big hand brand on her back?” Hongjoong seethed, holding him by the throat. “You’re telling me all the times you ripped off her clothes, saw her get a train run on her by your men, watched her hump anybody she could, you didn’t see it? I find that hard to believe.”

Yeosang struggled in his hand, feet dangling several feet from the ground. Hongjoong could snap his neck with a single flick of his wrist. He could freeze his vocal chords. He could break him, and he wanted to. God, he wanted to. All the stress of his travels, and once again having you slip away was beginning to annoy him. 

“I didn’t!” he croaked, hitting Hongjoong’s arm. “I…I didn’t.”

“Bullshit, you little cretin,” he hissed, squeezing a bit more. “You saw it, and thought it’d be good fun to play with what’s mine. You’re not a dumb man, Yeosang, even if you pretend differently. You don’t become a Merchant Prince without having a brain.”

Hongjoong released his throat just enough to let him talk. “Okay, okay, so I knew-”

“-You little mother-”

“-But, but I didn’t know you actually cared about her!” He winced, “I mean, she was brought in by these two-bit, no-name traffickers. I thought someone else branded her to get a bit more coin. I never thought you felt anything for her. You know me, Kim. You know I would’ve-Gak!-I would’ve given her the celebrity treatment while she was here! Nice room, slew of servants, top-notch food and drinks, heavy security and gave her a tour of the city! She would’ve been royalty!”

“My lord,” Sels spoke gently from behind him, “We really had no idea she was your girl. Those guys found her wandering around in the woods near a lycan camp, so they thought she’d gotten away. I told Yeo to keep her until you came, but you know him, he’s a knuckle-head.”

“Am not!”

Hongjoong then dropped him, letting Yeosang be a heap on the floor. He turned to Sels, “Jongho was here. When did he leave?”

“This morning, but you knew that, didn’t ya?” 

Garnet would have gotten to Jongho by now. Hongjoong exhaled deeply, pushing hair from his face and walking away from the pair. He’d missed you again, as he knew he would. It was why he used Byungho’s cauldron to make the potion that would hold off the curse, and wrote the letter to Jongho personally. If anyone will respect you, it’ll be Jongho. Alright, you’ll likely screw him, but he wouldn’t enslave or abuse you. 

“If you hurry, you can catch her,” she said. “They took the spice road back to the mountain pass. We’ll loan you the Turbo. It’s the fastest car on the market.” 

“Not my Turbo…” Yeosang whined roughly. 

“Shut it!” She hissed back at him. 

“No, thanks. I have a ride already.”

He left Yeosang and Sels in the mansion. There was no time to waste. He needed to see you before fate decided to intervene again. Walking through into the city, he pulled up his hood to hide his face. Visions of you on all fours, dazed and tongue sticking out as yet another goblin took you from behind swam to him. You’ll have no control over yourself in a few more days. You might be holding onto some shred of yourself still, but you’ll lose that if he didn’t find you soon. Garnet would find Jongho without a problem. His old friend had not let him down. 

“Heya, pal,” an old goblin outside the auction house stopped his path, “Looking for goods at bargain prices? Stop on in-”

“-Cut the pitch, Rambo,” Hongjoong said coldly, “And tell me what the word on the street is.”

Rambo looked up into Hongjoong’s hood, then his eyes widened. He stiffened up slightly, stubbing out his cigar butt. “Word on the street is that Yeo’s wedding bash was a bust, and the guy’s popularity is plummeting as we speak. Nobody respects a man who can’t keep his lady.”

“What about his factories?”

“His gem mines are expanding, and his whiskey business is thriving.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Where can a guy find a fast ride around here?”

“For cheap? Go to Nero. For speed? Go to Pex.”

He fished out a gold coin to toss Rambo’s way, “Thanks, Rambo. See you around.”

“My lord,” he gave a sweeping bow, then began talking to another bypasser. 

Yeosang’s secret crop was far outside of town. He walked down two more streets before finding Pex’s Hot Rod Car Dealership. Pex, a stout goblin, was more than happy to service Lord Kim. He offered Hongjoong a sleek black model that could go double the speed of the average ride. Hongjoong took it without another thought. 

He couldn’t let Yeosang get off so easily. He’d known about you, and still decided to claim you. Hongjoong might not see you as a pet or a toy, but you were his girl. Driving down the crowded streets, he used backroads and side-streets to get out of the town and up into the hills. Yeosang’s crops were deep in them, nestled between the tallest ones where he sectioned it off with a fence and guards. 

It didn’t take much to get past the gate. The goblins posted in the watchtowers weren’t prepared for the frost he shot their way, knocking them out one at a time. The iron bars were nothing to him. Cold hard ice froze them, and then his fist broke them apart. Since Yeosang likely deemed his wedding a national holiday, none of the usual workers were present. Passing offices and employee barracks and tents, Hongjoong blew past the second gate to the meadow. 

Dark blue flowers stretched from the gate to another one several acres away. Hongjoong plucked one from the ground and examined it. Four large petals curving outwards with a bright yellow center, Royal Bloom was a very rare flower. It only grew in the hills near Tin City, which nobody knew until Yeosang discovered it. Naturally, he kept it to himself and bribed and intimidated people to secrecy. Hongjoong knew he grinded up the flower and used it to line his whiskey barrels. It was how the whiskey got its spiced, woodsy notes, which made it famous. He also knew this flower took several months to regrow and did not thrive in freezing climates. Putting the flower in his pocket-Royal Bloom was a handy potion ingredient-he bent down to the crop. Fingers sliding into the tilled soil, he closed his eyes and let the constant chill flow from his bones to the ground. Soon, he heard the crackling, breaking sounds of frost covering a surface. When he opened his eyes, the flourishing meadow had turned into fields of withered, frozen flowers. Useless. Any fragrance or use it might have to Yeosang was gone. He would have to scrap all of it and regrow the crop, if he could. 

He drove back to the mountain peak where Aerion stayed nesting with her young. 

“Aerion,” he called to her, causing her to lift her head, “We’re going to Blackstone.” 

You felt warm. Too warm. A layer of sweat stuck to your skin, only worsened by the animal skin blankets underneath you. Suddenly, the clothes on your body were too hot. The mesh top didn’t absorb any of the sweat, and the tank top underneath felt tight and wet. Sweat dampened your thighs, and in the crevices of your body. You didn’t remember the last place being this warm. Where was the last place? It had been an island. No, a town. No, a city. There had been water though, maybe. A small marina with ships coming in and out. Boats. No, ships, which are bigger than boats. Were they? Possibly. The confusion brought on a headache that pulsed in your temples. Reaching to your sides, you felt the veins there pumping from the frustration. You let out a low groan, rolling onto your side for some kind of relief. 

“Morning,” a gruff male’s voice said. The bed sunk heavily at the curve of your body. Strange hands roamed up the backs of your thighs, "Forgive me. You've been dripping in your sleep and you smell so sweet."

A very large finger traced up the middle of your thighs, pressing into the thin fabric of your shorts. With no underwear, the seam down the center was more apparent. The finger pushed it side to side and you let out a small moan. So good. So euphoric. You stayed in place as two big hands started groping your thighs. They spread them further, causing your thin shorts to sink between your ass cheeks slightly. The man gave a low groan and cupped the bottom curves. 

“Very nice,” he huffed, “So small and tight. Lord Kim is lucky to have such a beautiful wife.” 

You had no idea what he meant, and didn’t care. Rolling back into the hand, you wondered if it was a hand. It was big enough to be separate digits, but didn’t feel like it. The fingers-finger?-covered your entire sex as he felt back and forth. You whimpered when he pulled the shorts up to stick between your buttocks and pussy. 

“That goblin put you in such small, tight clothing,” he commented, “With no undergarments. I suppose he wanted easier access to you. I don't blame him. I would want access to this body too if you were mine.”

You squirmed when the tip of the finger reached your clit through your thighs. The shorts tight against it, this new pressure added to the frustrating boiling. You no longer felt your mark burn. It became a part of you. You and the curse slowly melted together, the one thing you feared might happen. Like a fog, it gradually crept over you until it encompassed your entire body. 

When a wide tongue licked between your cheeks, you gripped the blankets underneath you. Your intruder gave another low rumbling groan at your reaction, pulling them apart for better access to your hole. You could feel his warm, wet tongue grazing over your clenched ass hole, swirling in slow circles before flicking it. This position occasionally put his tongue over your cunt as well, which only made you moan more. When two hands tore the shorts apart, leaving a large hole in the middle, you ached for him to do more to you.

“He said you would be easily aroused by now, but I didn't believe him,” he said, licking both holes. “He gave me permission to pleasure you if you wished for it. I believe you do.”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, eyes still closed as you savored the tightness building. “Please.”

“I have no intention of stopping,” he replied, “Only if you asked me to.”

This honestly surprised you a moment. But then, you lifted one leg for him to slide his tongue over your soaked lips. Something hard grazed both sides as he repositioned himself to focus there. They were small, curved and added more teasing. Teeth? Tusks? Bones? The strange feeling made you moan. His hands kept kneading your ass, spreading and rubbing them while he sucked your wetness. 

It was incredible. The bliss blossomed in your belly and grew through your veins. No goblin could match up to the massive hands and tongue working your lower half. Having something big enough was more than satisfying. You could stay like this all day, content to be his plaything forever. This was reinforced when he stuck his tongue inside you. It was like having a full dick. You started grinding against his face as he pushed a thumb into your ass, acting like one of Yeosang’s plugs rather than a finger. The tongue and finger worked together, and you started trembling in his firm grasp. His approving hums told you that you had permission to ride his tongue. He rolled onto his back so you straddled his head, and you didn’t hesitate to start sliding up and down. This new position had him using one of his longer fingers in your ass, which caused a tense stretch that added to your pleasure. Soon enough, you were grabbing onto the large, muscled arms around your thighs and crying out into the air. He sensed your orgasm drawing near and urged you to bounce on his face, so you obeyed. Anything for him. Anything for the sweet release.

Your orgasm came when the tip of his tongue reached your g-spot, pounding it over and over. You swore it radiated from that very spot, causing you to stay still as his tongue worked you.

“So tasty,” he growled, removing his tongue to lick your folds, “Better than anything I’ve had before. Let me see these now. They’re nice in your clothes, butI bet they're better without them.”

Two green, four-fingered hands easily ripped the mesh top and shirt in two. He only tore it enough to expose your bare breasts, which he then grabbed. They appeared smaller in his hands, only just filling his palm. Rough fingers teased your nipples while he went back to your throbbing clit. You finally realized who you were in bed with: an Orc. A broad-shouldered, muscled orc with golden skin and dark brown eyes. They stared up at you, full of lust, as his mouth latched to your clit for a gentle suck. You jolted around at the tongue still licking you, feeling the sharpness of your stimulation, but still grinded into his mouth. .

The Orc had no problem maneuvering you on his own. Effortlessly, he grabbed your hips and settled you on the bulge growing in his leather shorts. You saw the rest of him then: black tattoos painted his muscles, depicting scenes of battle or encounters with wild animals; a thin animal bone pierced his nose, and decorated the strings around his neck and wrists. Hongjoong told you Orcs marked their victories on their bodies; those with the heaviest amount could be Warchief. You ran your hands over the paw prints on his chest, feeling his muscles flex as you brushed his nipples. The hardness poking your sex, you couldn’t help grinding against it while you felt up and down his torso. So big. So strong. You imagined him being able to withstand any foe and lift up things twice his size. It aroused you. Taking up one of his hands, you stuck a finger in your mouth so he’d see you suck on it. 

“I want you to suck my dick just like this,” he ordered, shoving the finger further into your mouth. “Take it out for me, and pleasure me how I want.”

You nodded, and reached down his body to the strings of his shorts. He’d obviously shed off some clothes before joining you. The idea that he couldn’t wait until you woke up turned you on more. Straddling his legs, you bent down to pull his pants to his thighs. He was huge. Dark with a pink tip rising up, you drooled. Your pussy pulsed, and you mounted one of his thick legs. Grinding into the smooth flesh, you used one hand to stroke his cock in unison. The Orc didn’t mind this, as he allowed you to pleasure yourself while you pleasured him. You couldn’t stop yourself from picturing how much cum those heavy balls carried. Stroking him slowly, you kept it lifted as you took one of them in your mouth. You rolled it around with your tongue, gingerly tracing the curves and cradling it on the tip for a moment. His content rumbles told you he was enjoying himself highly. You did the same to the second ball, softly moaning to give the vibrating feeling all men loved. Your hand languidly rubbing his tip, and your mouth teasing his balls, the Orc became a groaning mess under you. Your clit brushing his leg, you languidly dragged it across the hard muscle and whimpered. Having his balls in your mouth gave you so many ideas. 

Soon, he grabbed the back of your head to put your mouth on his leaking tip. Readily, you accepted it between your lips and sucked softly. He kept a hold on your hair, and pushed you down. Because you no longer felt pain, having half his cock filling your mouth did not hurt at all. Instead, you started grinding on him faster. Like a dog in heat, you couldn’t stop. You bobbed your head up and down while using your free hand to stroke the rest of him in unison.

“Little whore,” he moaned, watching you eagerly suck his cock. “I have a feeling I know why the goblin was so eager to be rid of you.” He held your head in place as he started bucking upwards, using your mouth like a toy. “He couldn’t handle your appetite. Puny little men aren’t blessed with the same strength,” he let out a moan as you sucked him harder and grinded faster, “The gods do not favor men who-who scheme and cheat. They-Th-They favor strength and power. I have both, little human, and you’re going to find that out soon. Get on my cock with your back to me. Now.”

You did as he said, eager to see this ‘strength’ of his. It became clear very quickly. This Orc had no problem handling you on his own. Hands gripping your waist, he lifted you easily over his erection and slowly sunk you down onto him. Even though it was nothing but pleasurable, your new master didn’t seem to care if it did or not. He guided you down to the base, where his tip stayed right in the very middle of your body. You could feel a slight bulge in your belly when he leaned you forward. The Orc grunted a laugh when you immediately started lifting and lowering your hips. Ass cheeks rippling in each move, he gave each side hard smacks that brought out small yelps of enjoyment. You felt him tear your shorts apart to see more of your ass bouncing on his hips. You nearly came again when he pushed a finger into it.

“Do you enjoy having both filled, little whore?” he asked, amused by your reaction.

“Ye-yes!”

“Then I will make use of both,” he said, and started fingering it faster.

It didn’t take much longer for another climax to make an appearance. However, this time he didn’t let you. He instantly pulled you off him right as it reached the end. You are meant to make him cum, not the other way around. He forced you on your hands and knees, and cleanly removed your tattered bottoms. You heard him spit, then rub it over your fluttering ass hole.

“Make me cum,” he ordered, smacking your ass right as he sunk into it. The pressure snuck up on you, and you arched with your eyes widening. “Use this tight body to make me finish inside you.”

He held your legs up to his hips, and you leaned on your elbows to push into him. You swore the man reached right into your guts in this position. Clenching your cheeks, you did your best to milk his cum out. You wanted nothing more. Soon, the Orc lifted you by your breasts and started swinging you onto his length easily. Suspended over the bed, you couldn’t do anything except hold onto the hands grabbing your tits. As expected, the Orc’s grunts became louder and more strained as his cock shuddered within you.

“Yes, yes,” you huffed, tightening your ass as much as possible, “Please, give me your cum. That's all I ask for, please. I promise I will be a good fuck slave. I promise, I promise, oh god, I promise!”

He obliged you without another word. It was hot, heavy, and so good. He groaned and grunted as he continued his pace, his cum spilling out in each push. This delightful sensation brought on your own orgasm again, and you shuddered and screamed when he kept you flushed against him. Pushing you onto the bed, he kept a hand on your back while he positioned your hips upwards. Into your throbbing cunt he went, not slowing down or showing any tenderness. His heavy balls smacking into your clit, his cock nearly split your pussy in two again. Your eyes rolled back from the barrage of sensations hitting you. It was so good. How could you try fighting this off? Why did you?

“Be a good slut,” he wrapped you in his arms, mouth on your ear, “And take my seed in your tight hole. Your ass looks so sweet leaking with it. Your cunt will look just as nice.”

“God, let me have it,” you said in a strained moan. Teeth clenching tight, you held onto the bed as he fucked you into it fast and hard. “Make me take every drop.”

He pushed your head into the bed, using it as leverage. The restraint left you helpless to stop him even if you wanted to. Like he’d commanded, you used your tightness to squeeze his massive cock. You noticed he hadn’t gotten soft at all. He stayed fully hard even after his orgasm. Perfect. A cock that doesn’t get soft easily. It’s exactly what you wanted.

He forced you onto your back right as he climaxed. Hand around your throat, the other groping your breast, he kept himself right to the hilt once his dick started twitching. With his fingers squeezing your throat, your moans came out in small gurgles. He knew you were about to cum again. The world turned into black spots by the time you shuddered and tensed on his bed. The restriction in your windpipe combined with the orgasm suffocated you further, adding to the pleasure. Only when you stopped shaking did he release you. Your legs remained open while you took large gulps of air, each breath refilling your lungs. You then reached out to his chest. 

“Another round?” He asked, bending to suckle your teat.

“May I?”

“Mm, yes.”

The Orc hadn’t lied. He could certainly handle the curse’s appetite. It took multiple orgasms, and positions before he finally grew soft in your hands. Streams of translucent and white cum covered your body and dripped from your holes. For the final time, you kept your mouth open as he stroked himself over you. Yet, despite the tiredness and heaviness of your body, you ached for more of him.

“Sweet pet,” he chuckled, using a cloth to wipe your face for you, “It seems your curse isn't to be taken lightly.” 

“You know about it?” 

“I do. His Lordship told me in his letter,” he stood up and walked to a trunk nearby. “His bird came a few days ago. He was aware of my deal with Kang, and said to get you in the bargain somehow. He warned me that you might be losing yourself, and to give you this when I finish you.”

He came back to you with a small clear bottle. You took it gingerly, examining the thin liquid inside. It felt cold. Very cold. So cold you thought it might be ice. Thin smoke took up the rest of the space, swirling around above the elixir. When you uncorked it, the smoke came out smelling like peppermint and chamomile. Hongjoong brewed you a similar concoction when you caught a fever once. 

“What is it?” 

“A fever tonic,” he said. “I'd drink it quickly before the smoke disappears.”

Without caution, you downed the sweet drink. It brought a cooling, refreshing sensation over your body. The heat coming from your brand doused out like a roaring fire. When you gulped the last of it, the fogginess drowning your senses lifted. You blinked back weariness to see the spacious tent around you. The sweltering heat sapping away from you made the cabin’s cold chill even more noticable. Snow blew in from underneath the wooden cabin door and lined the window ledges. Small bits of steam came off from your arms like a hot pan under cold water. 

“The curse burns you from the inside,” he said. “You should stay without clothes until you start to feel the chill.”

He lifted you from the floor and carried you to a large tub. Clearly meant for him, you had ample space inside when he lowered you into it. The cold water refreshed you, and the faint smell of marigold oil came from the surface. The Orc gently wiped you clean with a soft cloth, taking care to get the messiest parts.

“I’m Jongho,” he said, putting the cool cloth on your warm face. “Chief of the Bonebreak Orcs.”

“I’m YN,” you replied, desperate to move into the hand cleaning you.

“Lord Kim holds you very dearly to him. He never gives his cursed pets relief.” He then asks with real concern, “Are you not aching? I noticed you didn't even bleed.”

“You aren’t the first big one I’ve had,” you said.

“Then Yeosang must havs been disappointing,” he smirked. “His tiny cock wouldn’t be able to fully pleasure you like I could.”

“You really don’t like him, huh?”

“I am not fond of his race, no,” he replied. “Goblins are weak, scheming, lying creatures who will do anything to get rich. They have no shame or honor. I only tolerate them because they have helped my people advance in our weaponry, and because Lord Kim has united our races.”

“How?”

“Through trade deals, treaties, territories and marriages.”

“Marriages?” An Orc and goblin marriage sounded ridiculous.

“My cousin wasn’t fond of the idea either,” he snorted. “But, we are marching into perilous times, and the north must stand together if it does not wish to fall.”

“I can think of something that stands with me,” you said, sitting up to show him your breasts.

Leaning over, you wrapped an arm around to kiss him. He let you have a few soft, slow kisses before he pushed you away gently. He stood to remove the rest of his clothes, his cock exposed once he pulled down his shorts. You licked your lips when you saw it inches from you, flaccid but still considerable in size. He pushed you forward to sit down behind you. Nestled in his embrace, Jongho used his bare hands to massage you under the water.

“The goblins have their uses,” he continued, rolling his thumbs over your thighs. “They may not be warriors, but they have their sharp minds and quick wit. That cannot be said of some other Orc tribes.” Placing soft kisses on your neck, he parted your legs to touch between them. You held onto his forearms for something to grab. “Kim urged me to strengthen our alliance with them. Our war galleys with their air ships will do considerable damage to our enemies if we go to war. Their trade routes will be safer going through our lands rather than the Southern ones.” He made lazy zig-zag patterns on your clit, and you wriggled around to it. “Kim is a strong, capable warrior who has the respect of all Orc tribes. It is because of him that we all united under one flag. My grandfather told me stories of his hard work to bring peace between us all. We used to fight amongst ourselves for land and resources; we killed each other off. He’d told my grandfather the Orcs might as well be doing the humans’ work for them. He’d said if we did not stand together as one, we would fall apart. Some of my greatest friends and allies come from former rival tribes.”

“He sounds like an-an honorable guy.”

“He is. He even convinced the Naga and Dragonites to work together, and those races have lots of bad blood between them.”

“I noticed.”

You gave a small cry when his fingertip pushed to your entrance. “You should give the gods an offering for your good fortune. Lord Kim does not take slaves, yet he has chosen you to be his.”

“Yes, I'm so fortunate,” you rolled your eyes. 

“You are,” he insisted. “He has gone to great lengths to reach you, and given you aid against your brand. He could allow you to suffer, yet it seems your suffering does not please him.”

“Is it supposed to?”

“It should.” He pushed in the second knuckle. “This new war may destroy everything the north has built. That boy king sits on his throne and declares our land as his; he says his ancestors discovered it and therefore it belongs to him. Ha, we shall show him. The Orcs do not bow to any man or boy, crown or no crown. If he thinks he and his little tin men can come onto our lands, he is mistaken.” He pushed his finger to the last knuckle, bringing on a new wave. “I will paint our mountains with their blood. I will tear down their forts, destroy their ships and break their bones. But first,” he kissed your ear, fully fingering you now, “I’m going to fuck as many of their women as I can.”

Lifting your legs over the sides of the tub, he started fingering you again. You barely comprehend anything he’d said with his hands on you. It took only a few pumps and his thumb on your clit to make you cum again. Touching you didn’t appear to make him hard, which upset you somewhat. He laughed when he spotted your disappointment.

“I have plans to make,” he said. “Your master will be arriving soon.”

He gave you a soft kiss, his small tusks brushing the sides of your mouth, and lifted you from the tub. This time, you dried yourself off. A young female Orc with long braided hair appeared through the door wearing layers and layers of wool and leather. She held a bundle in her hands with a pair of boots. Her tusks growing past her top lip, she gave you a kind smile as you finished drying yourself. 

“You must be YN,” she said, putting down the clothes. “I am Talia, Jongho's sister.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Kim told us you would be arriving with my brother,” she said, “So I had a special cabin made for you. It has everything you need for now.”

“That's kind of you.”

“Us Orcs aren't complete beasts,” she replied with a smile. “I also brought you some clothes for when your heat dies out. Trust me, you'll need it.”

“This might sound dumb but, where exactly are we? I was sort of out of it on the way here.”

“Blackstone Canyon,” she said, adding coal to a nearby brazier. “We're up in the mountains, so it's cold here year round.”

“That must suck,” you said, “Being cold all the time.” 

“Oh, we're used to it.” Jongho came back, fixing a wolfskin cloak over his shoulders. “You southerners know nothing of the real north. Many humans died in our canyons because they couldn't handle it.”

“Which means I should be bundled up,” you said, walking to the clothes on the bed. 

“And you can start with this.”

Jongho picked up the first article of clothing, and presented it to you. A shawl made of grey and white went across his arms, and you noticed four small rabbit feet hanging from the corners. 

“It is customary for a Warchief and a guest to exchange gifts,” he explained. “Lord Kim already gave me mine, so I am giving you yours.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, taking the rabbit fur. “You, um, hunted it?” 

“Hunted, skinned and fashioned it,” he confirmed proudly. “Rabbits are fast, clever creatures. This will bring you luck in trials to come.”

“Thank you. What did Kim give you?” You dreaded the answer, knowing it must have been you. 

“An axe,” he went to a corner where he picked up a double sided axe, “Enchanted with ice.” He rolled it in one hand and the runes along the sharp edges turned bright blue. “An Orc never has too many weapons.”

“My brother is an armor and weapon fanatic,” Talia told you as she helped you into a wool shirt. “For future reference, he loves axes and spears the most. They are his preferred weapons.” 

“Good to know.”

Talia helped you lace up the other pieces of clothing, and then you felt fully warm again. Fixing a hat with side flaps on your head, Talia gave you the last piece. 

“I believe this is yours.” 

She held up a necklace and you gasped. In her hand was a moonstone necklace. Your necklace. You walked over to her, taking it with a shaking hand. Right away, you felt him close to you. You felt him right in your chest, chasing away the cold. 

“Thank you,” you sniffed. “I thought I had lost it forever.”

“Kim knew you'd lost yours and made you a new one. This one, he says, is a lot stronger and will keep you safe from all curses and spells.” She noticed your teary eyes, seeing you bring it to your lips, “You must be very special to him. He made this especially for you, he said. You two have known each other a long time.”

“We have.” You smiled, feeling the smooth stone encased in silver. “I can't believe I didn't see it before,” you said, tears spilling on your cold cheeks. “I've been so blind this entire time. I should have known when he first started talking to me. All the cryptic stuff he'd say just went right over my head.”

Hongjoong. Your Hongjoong. The only reason you kept on going. He had been right behind you the entire time. 

“He's very eager to get here,” Jongho said. “He is even riding Aerion again. He hasn't ridden her in decades.” 

“Aerion?”

“His Wyvern. Huge beast. Unable to be bested in battle.”

“Only Kim has ever beaten and bonded with her. She is terrifying to enemies but sweet to her friends,” Talia said. Before she could say anything else, a delighted giggle came through the tent. 

Two small Orcs came rushing into the cabim. The taller of the two, a boy with short twisted braids, hurried to Jongho’s side so quickly he bumped right into his side. Behind him ran a girl, long locs held back with a small flap cap, beaming excitedly at Talia.

“Papa, Papa!” The boy called Jongho, “I saw Aerion! I really saw her!”

“Where?”

“We were scouting with Uncle Taeyong on Frost Point,” he said excitedly, “And we looked through his binoculars-”

“-And we saw her from far away!” the girl cheered. “She's even bigger than before. She's like this big,” she stretched her arms out wide, “And with a really long tail!”

“Uncle Taeyong says she has babies with her!” said the boy. “Can we pet them when she comes? I've never seen a wyvern baby before!”

“I want to ride Aerion! Do you think Uncle Kim will let me, Auntie Talia? You can ask if it can be our gift.”

“That isn't how gifting works, blossom,” Talia giggled, fixing her skewed hat. “Aerion is a deadly beast, not a pet.”

“But Uncle Kim is her friend so he can ask her for me.”

“We'll see,” Jongho said, petting her head. “YN, these are my children: Willow and Sunghoon. Children, this is YN. She is Uncle Kim’s wife.”

“Um, hello.”

The pair stared at you for a second, then rushed you. “Auntie!”

You giggled in surprise as they both hugged you. “Auntie?” You looked at Jongho. 

“You're Kim’s mate,” Jongho explained. “He's an uncle to them, an older male. You're an older female and his mate, so you're an Auntie now.”

“Papa said you would be here,” said Willow. “Can I braid your hair? I've been practicing and I'm getting really good at it.”

“Do you want to see my sword?” Sunghoon asked, already withdrawing a wooden sword. “I made it myself. Pretty neat, huh?”

“Very,” you said, being ushered to sit by little Willow. 

“Papa is training me,” he said, already swinging and slashing his sword at invisible foes. “I'm going to be a Warchief just like him when I grow up!”

“No you're not, because I'm going to be Warchieftess,” said Willow, parting your hair. 

“There are no Warchieftesses.”

“Yes there are!”

“Name one!”

“Masala from the Moonstone tribe, and Takasha of the Jade Sun.”

“They're dead. They don't count…”

As the siblings bickered, Jongho sharpened his new axe and Talia began throwing meat onto the hot coal fire. You basked in their normalcy. You hadn't felt this kind of peace in a while. The curse completely dormant, your head clear, you held onto the moment. 

You traveled the kingdom in a way you wouldn't have chosen, meeting people who only wanted to use you, and receiving nothing but abuse. Hongjoong would not have let this happen, and if it did, he'd make those responsible pay for it. You held onto your necklace, your thumb running over the rough stone,  and imagined his deft hands working the rock himself. You saw him muttering in the same rough language Mingi had, enchanting your necklace with protective spells. It must have killed him being so close but still far from you. Fate put so much in between the both of you. Was it some kind of crazy test? It certainly felt like a ���trial”. Several of them. 

Hongioong. He had been with you the entire time, doing his best to reach you while fate kept pulling you from him. You should have known sooner. You wondered why he never told you. Was he ashamed of it? You didn't see why he would be. You would've loved bragging about sleeping with a real demon. 

Deeming your braids perfect, Willow and Sunghoon dragged you to the training yard. The Orcs kept their homes on stilts above the ground, and a large fire burned in the middle of the circle. The bright orange and yellow flames danced despite the soft winds, and you guessed it must be some kind of magical fire. The snow thinly covered the ground, but it still crunched underneath your boots and you definitely felt the freezing winds. Even with their appearance, the Orcs did not show malice or distaste; nobody smirked knowingly or licked their lips. They didn’t notice you at all. Out of habit, you searched for a collared slave or a designated area for them, but you didn’t find anyone like that. 

“There aren’t any slaves here,” you said, refreshed by the idea. 

“Orcs do not use slaves,” Talia replied. “We work the land ourselves. Only the weak use slave labor. Everyone does their share and contributes to the tribe. Even those who serve the old Warchief are chosen and given the choice to serve or not. Now, most of them do since serving a Warchief in his old age is considered an honor.”

“That’s refreshing to see. Everywhere I’ve gone in the place, I’ve been put in chains and told I’m a slave.”

“That is because the other lords are weak,” you heard the disdain in her voice. “They kidnap and enslave people to make themselves feel more powerful and strong. The Orcs believe one finds their strength through battle, not how many slaves serve them.” She looked over at you as you reached a sectioned area. “You are safe here, YN. Nobody will clamp chains on you. I’m sure Kim will kill anyone who does.”

“Yeah, he would.”

You stood by as Orc warriors clashed swords, wearing heavy armor and wielding large weapons. Everyone stopped when Jongho appeared, stopping to bow to their Warchief before continuing. You marveled at the agility and speed of them. Their size should work against them, but it actually worked for them. You wondered what Hongjoong did to the men who’d taken you hostage. Did he kill them? Torture them? Make them pay in a way that twists their soul? Watching two Orcs spar, you knew he didn’t kill them. One didn’t have to be a politician to know killing an ally would result in less help or possible retaliation. But, he wouldn’t let them get away scott-free. 

“Have you ever held a sword before?” Jongho asked out of curiosity, picking up one of the smaller swords from a rack. 

“Never,” you shook your head. One Orc slammed his club across his opponent’s face hard, causing teeth to be knocked onto the floor. You winced watching him spit up blood into the snow. “A knife a few times, but never anything super dangerous.”

“Then allow me to be your tutor.”

“Oh, don't, I-”

“-I insist.”

“Go on,” Talia encouraged, lightly bumping your shoulder. “It's not everyday you get a lesson from a Warchief.”

You took the sword. Strange in your hand, the hard leather in the pummel felt rough on your palms and it weighed in your hand. A practice sword for children, you suspected. Jongho stood behind you, and guided one foot in front of the other. His touch wasn’t sensual, but the firmness still sparked goosebumps. 

“You’re small compared to most Orcs,” he noted, making it more obvious by nearly encompassing you, “But size doesn’t equate strength. You’ll be faster, and harder to hit.”

“Which is a good thing?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Your sword is light, so it can be held with one hand while the other can hold another weapon or a shield.”

He picked up a small bronze shield, and helped you slide it over your arm. “I tell all my clan that learning to fight is essential in life. If you’d known how to at least properly defend yourself, you might’ve gotten through your trials easier.”

“I didn’t really need to know how to swing a sword where I’m from,” you said. “It was only when I left home that it might’ve been useful.” You recalled Seonghwa’s captain, who easily disarmed and subdued you in chains. The little letter opener you’d held could’ve been useful if you had known what to do. 

“Where are you from?” He asked, low voice rumbling in your ear as he helped with hand placement. 

“Gold Rush. It’s a farming town a little south of the border,” you said, taking a deep breath to beat back the reaction. While your mark didn’t burn, you still found Jongho’s touch comforting. “It’s not exactly a booming town, so nothing special or dangerous happens there.”

“Is that where you met Kim?”

“Yes,” you smiled. 

The memory came back to you as Jongho took his position in front of you. It had been a regular night at the Rooster’s Nest. The drinks flowed freely, the dancers entertained the patrons, and everyone was having a good time. You’d come onto the scene right in the middle of it all. In a sheer lavender dress, accented with gold, you’d been on stage when you noticed him. A stranger in a black hooded cloak came walking into the brothel, a pipe hanging from his mouth. He’d immediately caught your interest. He didn’t seem like the rest of the men in the place. You watched him talk to Namjoon, the two exchanging words before Namjoon slid him a pint of ale. He leaned on the bar, drinking, and removed his hood. He was handsome, you remembered. Handsome in a way you’d never seen before. Youthful with thick black hair, he carried a certain mischievous charm that other men did not have. The attraction was instantaneous. You continued dancing, hoping it might grab his attention, but he seemed caught up in his own world. 

“Good,” Jongho said after your swords met a few times, “You’re a quick learner, and light on your feet.”

“I was a dancer back home.”

Eventually, he did notice you and that was when you felt it. From across a sea of drunk patrons, you and him instantly became one piece. His eyes, round and dark, scanned over your as you whirled your hips. You remembered the goosebumps he created when you saw him coming your way. He stopped right at the edge of your stage, taking an empty seat and sipping quietly. It was only you and him. You suddenly wanted to impress this man. You wanted his attention on you all night. That never happened before. Men always bore you. They were such simple creatures. Yet, this stranger didn’t appear simple or boring. He proved that when you finally finished and walked up to him. 

“Dancing and fighting are no different,” Jongho replied, blocking your feeble movements. “Hit harder,” he instructed, “You have to put feeling behind your attacks.”

“Looking for a friend, handsome?” You’d asked him, smirking down at him. 

“If that friend is you, then I’ve been searching all my life.” 

You swung the sword at Jongho a few more times, and yelped when you blocked his harder ones. Never did you think you’d be sparring with an Orc. Hongjoong told you a similar story that night, with you on his lap and a beer in his hand. You hadn’t believed him. A lot of men told you outrageous stories to try and impress you, but Hongjoong proved it. You’d gasped when he showed you the thick, horrendous scar going from his shoulder to his chest. He’d said he’d gotten into a fight with an Orc he met on the road, and they’d slammed their hatchet across his shoulder. You then asked if you could see the rest of his scars. 

“Did you ever fight Kim?” you asked Jongho, breathing heavily to catch your breath. 

“Me? Once,” he said, “But it was a friendly spar, nothing serious.”

“He has this scar on his shoulder,” you stood upright, body slightly worn from the work. “He said he got it from fighting an Orc.”

Jongho smiled, “Yes, he did. He’d gotten into an argument with a Jade Sun Orc, and us Orcs only settle disagreements one way. Kim fought them using only his martial skills, no magic. An Orc spar ends when one of the combatants gets three cuts. Kim got two, his opponent got four. I’ve seen very few humans survive against an Orc.”

“He’s pretty special,” you grinned proudly, “I’m not surprised.”

That first night together was beyond words. The both of you poured copious amounts of passion into the moment. You’d slept with plenty of men before but it’d been shallow and meaningless. With Hongjoong, you thought you’d finally met your match. He did things to you that most clients wouldn’t. He made you his priority. Your pleasure and satisfaction meant more to him than his own. You’d never given a man a free session before, but you had for him. The orgasms were payment enough. Letting him lay in your bed afterwards, sweaty and breathless, became your favorite moment. Hongjoong’s aura was protective and caring. If he’d been there the night Haeyoung cursed you, she wouldn’t have swung from the tree.

She’d be laying in little pieces.

The sword and shield weighed down on you after a while, but you fought through the pain. Even if he wasn’t there, you wanted to make Hongjoong proud of you. You didn’t want his friends thinking he’d picked a weak mate. Jongho complimented your footwork, noting how easily you moved around and towards him. Talia gave pointers from the sidelines, which helped you get a cut or two in.

“You fight well, Auntie,” Sunghoon said, coming up to you and Jongho when you took a break. “Have you really never fought anyone before?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re a natural,” Talia grinned, bringing over two cups of water. “Kim will be proud of you.”

“Maybe if we both get good enough,” Willow appeared from behind her, “We can both be Warchieftesses and have our own tribe.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to that,” you smiled down at her then gulped the water. 

It was then you noticed men lifting up long sharpened planks of wood over their shoulders. You watched them pass by towards the entrance to the village where you saw more men hammering a fence. 

“A barricade,” Jongho explained when you looked at him. “Our enemy can come to our door any day now, and we must be prepared. It’s mostly maintenance and reinforcement to keep them from knocking it down.” 

“The humans you talked about earlier?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Hopefully, Kim shows up before they do. We need all the warriors we can find.” 

“What’s the deal though? The South doesn’t typically care about the North from what I’ve always understood.”

“It used to be that way,” he twirled his sword around idly, “But things changed when the southern king died.”

“When did he die?” 

“A month ago, then his son took over the throne. I don’t know if you know anything about Jeffery, but he’s a spoiled, entitled, hot-headed, impulsive bastard. We’d hoped his sister, Ophelia, might take over her father’s throne as his first born, but the council favored Jeffery simply because he is a man,” he snorted. “Humans have always put gender above rights. Orcs do not change power by birth, but strength.”

“He wants to take over the North, I’m guessing?”

“He believes it belongs to him. Kim isn’t our king, but he has earned our collective respect as a leader. He is leader of our council. Princess Ophelia told her brother it was unwise to cross any of the northern lords, but Lord Kim tops us all.”

“And you’re going to fight?”

“With everything we have,” he nodded. “Kim was meant to be bringing all the allied powers together, but I suppose his preoccupation with you has derailed those negotiations. He’ll have to make up for lost time once he’s come for you.”

“Explains why Seonghwa thought I was a gift to butter him up.”

“I’m sure Kim didn’t intend for that to happen,” Jongho said, getting back into a defensive stance. You copied his movement, and exhaled deeply. “You have been a slippery one from what he says.”

He advanced, and you blocked his first blow despite the force it took. The both of you danced around with your swords. You were knocked on your back when he pushed at your shield. “Fate hasn’t been very kind to either of us.”

“My mother used to say,” he offered his hand to help you stand, “That the gods put us through trials to test us. Perhaps you were meant to carry a curse that would lead you far from home, where you’d learn the ways of the world.”

“I already knew the ‘ways of the world’,” you said, dusting dirt from your jacket. You made the first move this time, making sure to counter and block with your shield. 

“Not of our world,” he pointed out when your swords met, “Your mate’s world.” He beat you back with light slashes that ached your arms, but you kept your sword in place with shaky hands. The blows eventually broke your strength and you lowered your arms to ease the ache. This left you open, and Jongho knocked you back again. “The gods may have put you on this path to change history. They might have put you on it to test you, strengthen you, or prepare you for trials to come. We don’t know what they have in store for us. We can only trust and keep our faith.”

“I wish they’d sent a letter instead of giving me a curse,” you sighed, still on the ground to muster up energy to stand. “This journey has been one shit show after another.”

“It isn’t a trial if it isn’t difficult,” he held out his hand to bring you to your feet again. “Kim went through similar tests. I believe it changed him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, especially during the war.”

“How long ago was this war?” you asked, shaking off the soreness growing in your body. 

“About fifty years ago?”

“Fifty?” Hongjoong looked so much younger than that. “Are demons, like, super old?”

“They’re immortal,” he said. “Kim is the only demon I’ve ever met, so I’m not entirely sure.”

You didn’t know why Hongjoong never mentioned this to you. He said he could tell you anything; that he shared pieces of himself with you that he hadn’t with anyone else. That didn’t sound very true if everyone knew his identity but you. Did he not fully trust you? It hurt to think about. Swinging swords with Jongho, his children cheered whenever you managed to stay on your feet longer than two minutes. You used the burning pain to ignore the flashes of his charming smile and shut your eyes whenever you thought of the things he whispered to you. 

“You should try a bow!” said Willow, who took your hand right when you left the sectioned yard. “Papa says it’s useful to know how to use a bow and arrow, because then you can fight but also get your own food.”

She took you to an archery range with Jongho and Talia trailing behind. Jongho handed you a small bow with a sheath of arrows. He stood behind you once more to show you the proper placement. 

“You might do better as an archer,” he commented, “But it requires just as much strength to use than a sword.”

“This would have been helpful when I was in the woods,” you said. “Then I could have fought off those damn goblins, maybe the lycans too, or escaped the Dragonites or Naga.”

“Goblins, yes, but the rest? Unlikely.” He put his hand on your waist, giving it a gentle squeeze, “If you had been with someone mighty and strong, they could have protected you.”

“Like who? Kim?”

He brushed his lips to your ear, “Me. If Kim had sent you to me first, I would have protected you from the entire world.”

“A bold statement to make to a woman you only just met,” you said, letting him help you pull the string to your cheek. 

“The gods brought us together for a reason, YN,” he said. “Like with Kim, you were meant to be here at this moment.”

“And we’ll have no idea why?”

“We can speculate,” he said, the sensuality running through his tone, “Later on in your cabin, if you’d like. Kim won’t object. You still have your curse on you.” 

Goosebumps formed underneath your clothes remembering that morning. “I don’t know,” you smirked, aiming right at the bullseye a few yards away. “I’m sure Kim’s left a trail of bodies behind him because they touched me without his permission. I’d hate for that to happen to you, Warchief.”

“The only permission I need is yours.” 

You let go of the arrow, and it completely missed the target. “Crap,” you hissed in disappointment. 

“You have more arrows,” he said, giving you another. 

It took a couple of shots before you started landing on the actual target. Several arrows stuck around the outer rim of the red circles, which you supposed might be a good thing. Your shoulder and arm ached from the constant pulling and loosening of the arrow. When you took your break, Jongho lifted you off the ground. 

“You seem tired,” he said, but you heard the suggestion in his tone, “Let me take you to your tent.”

“You’re the boss around here.”

Jongho carried you back to your cabin, and your mark gave the slightest tingle. It focused on his large hands cupping your bottom, which occasionally gave small squeezes. The grip you kept on his shoulders could be interpreted as you holding onto him, but he knew better. When he brought you into the small cabin, he laid you on a soft bed of furs and blankets where he hovered over you. Kissing him felt odd at first, since his small tusks brushed the sides of your lips, but you adjusted quickly. The heat radiating off his muscled form kept you from the chill entering your cabin, which came in handy once he started undressing you. 

“You’re divine,” he groaned, kissing down your neck and chest to your tits. “A true gift from the gods.”

Your hands slipped into his short, dark hair, rubbing to the back of his neck and shoulders. Not a single ounce of fat was on him, only muscle. His shoulders flexed when you felt them, and you traced their definition. When his tongue started circling one nipple, you began grinding into his midsection. You whined at the tusk he brushed over the hard center, feeling his groans vibrate on the skin, and grinded more. He easily undid your trousers, moving to slide them off along with your underwear. Fully naked, your desire finally took over and you began tugging off his own clothes. Little by little, his taut body revealed itself. You peppered kisses on his neck, giving soft bites to the tough skin as you pulled down his pants at last. The cock that so easily pleasured you flopped out of the leather fabric, and onto your stomach. Jongho did not stop you from reaching for it, moaning when you wrapped your hand around the tip. 

His hand pushing your thighs further apart, Jongho’s fingers grazed the dampening folds. His lips found yours again as he gently circled it. He didn’t stop you from meeting his hand, encouraging it with shallow pushes to your entrance. His dick throbbing in every short stroke, you couldn’t help imagining it deep inside you again. Your arousal kept you from finding sense in the act. You body yearned to have him. If there was a dick you enjoyed as much as Hongjoong’s, it was Jongho’s thick length. 

“Fuck my hand,” he groaned, pushing the tip of his finger inside you. 

You didn’t object. You sunk your hips down to the large digit, whirling them around to feel him curl against the tight walls. Jongho’s low grunt sounded against your breasts, where he tenderly sucked. One hand holding onto his broad shoulder, the other kept feather-light strokes that drove the Warchief wild. Soon, warm precum spilled onto your fingers and it became easier to stroke him. You cried out when his finger finally found your g-spot, pushing up against it in every push. 

Jongho then laid down on the bed with you kneeling next to him. You didn’t hesitate to put his tip in your mouth, sucking up the clear, thin streams on the underside. He pushed a finger back inside you, this time his thumb working your clit as you gradually rode it. This caused your moans to massage his cock along with your firm lips. You laid there sideways, hands around the base of his cock as you sucked him, simply enjoying his size and taste. Tongue tracing the pulsing veins of his shaft, your free hand worked the heavy balls underneath. You imagined the copious amounts of cum sitting inside them, picturing it like water in a bottle. You wanted to drain every drop wherever he wished to put it this time. You glided your head up and down when he withdrew to finger you from behind, palm pressed to your ass. 

“You love this, don’t you?” he breathed, watching you work his dick with your mouth and hands. 

“Yes,” you gasped before sinking him further into your mouth. It hits the back of your throat in no time, stretching it slightly. Jongho held you there for a few seconds, listening to your gagging before letting you up again. “So much,” you added, going back down to do it again. 

“I could tell,” he started fingering you faster, “You’re so wet already.”

“I want your cum, Warchief,” you whined, moving into his hand. “Please, give it all to me.”

“I promise you every drop. Why don’t you get on top now, hm? You can ride it however you wish.”

You straddled his waist right away, propping yourself up with your hands on his chest. He was so much bigger than you, like San in his lycan form. You weighed almost nothing to him, a feather in his strong grip. He guided you over his tip, then gingerly lowered you onto it. Feet on either side of him, hands holding onto his knees from behind, you bounced on him right away. This position gave him a perfect view of his dick stretching your hole. Jongho only rubbed the clit with his thumb, sliding it up and down in time with your movements. 

“You’re so small,” he groaned, “And light…Fucking you is no trouble at all to someone as strong and large as me.”

“It feels so good,” you replied, keeping his hand on your clit while you fucked him. “Does it feel as good for you?”

“Yes,” he said, rubbing it side to side, “And so pretty too. I never knew human women fucked like this. Look how well you’re fucking my cock,” he pushed up into you a few times, causing you to moan louder. 

“I can-can’t hel-help it. Your dick feels amazing!”

It was when he pulled you forward that Jongho began bucking his hips to yours. You laid on top of him, head on his chest as your fists curled into the bed under him. He landed heavy smacks on both cheeks, smirking when he heard you squeal from the pleasure it brought. 

“Do it again,” you moaned, eyes squeezed shut as his cock angled deeper inside and hit your very center. “Do that again.”

Jongho kept on slapping each cheek as he fucked into you from underneath. The few times you rode him back, he grabbed and squeezed them to guide you. You could feel him starting to twitch within you, and you chased down his orgasm. This was when he rolled you onto your back, putting your ankles behind your head and charging to your hips. Grabbing your head, Jongho forced you to watch his dick pound you. It looked divine. His thickness pushing and pulling, your soaked pussy made it glisten with your juices. Your clit throbbed, and you felt tempted to rub it but in this position, you couldn’t reach it well. You could only lay there as Jongho’s cock sent you into another world. 

The both of you with your legs bent towards each other, arms keeping you supporting from behind, you rocked into one another slowly. Nestled between his spread thighs, you soon started meeting him faster. It drove him into a new angle that exploded stars behind your eyelids. Soon enough, you started trembling and clawing at the bed. Jongho encouraged the orgasm with quick brushes to your clit, and you came instantly. Toes curling, body sweating, and muscles quaking, you couldn’t control your volume as he raised himself further up and almost curled you into a c-shape. His own climax came right after, withdrawing his cock to start stroking over you. You opened your mouth to catch the strays shooting to your face, but equally enjoyed those landing on your stomach and breasts. 

As expected, Jongho kept going even after his first orgasm. He didn’t soften at all, which you loved. In a kneeling position, Jongho sat and watched you take control over. On your feet, you stayed firm on the balls of your feet, holding onto his shoulders as you rode him again. You stayed in this position until you began shuddering again. Jongho held onto you to keep you from tipping over, and you tightened your grip on him. This time, he waited until you finished to force you off him and onto the floor. On your knees, you opened wide as he pushed your head down to his base. You didn’t waste time in stroking and sucking him, savoring the juices mixed all over him. When you saw him gripping the bed, you buried him in your throat. His hot cum shot right down your gullet, hardly giving you a chance to swallow and nearly suffocating you. When he pulled away, strings of white kept you connected before you licked them up. 

He then took you standing up in the middle of the cabin. Neither of you could stop. You didn’t object to him bending you over a table, slamming himself into you as he kept you inches off the ground. He kept one leg raised when he held you against a wall, and then both of them when he had you in a chair. Each orgasm outdid the last one. You each became feral animals, acting on primal instinct and desire. His hand around your throat, he gave tender squeezes when he laid you sideways on the bed, while his other hand toyed with your oversensitive clitoris. You bit and scratched at one another. Your kisses became hard, nearly bruising each other in the heat of the moment. It only passed when you both saw rays of sunlight coming through the glass windows. 

“You may tire from battle,” Jongho exhaled, limp and still on the bed, “But you don’t tire from me.”

“I would have if it weren’t for this mark on my back,” you replied, unable to move an inch towards him. Even if you felt no pain, the exhaustion remained. You did not feel the desire to continue, only to sleep. 

That was a good sign, right?

****

‘She is safe with us, my lord. Your YN will find no shackles or chains here.’

Talia’s letter comforted him. If any race despised slavery, it was the Orcs. Hongjoong reread the small scroll as Aerion and her young drank from a lake. He knew you’d be safe with them. He thanked the gods that the both of you found a bit of luck at last. No doubt, Jongho will be tempted to bed you, but you’d have a clear head whether to accept or decline it. Remembering his own times with the young Warchief, he wouldn’t be surprised if he found you in the large cabin. 

A rumble from nearby told him his mount was ready to fly again. He knew the traveling weighed on the old wyvern, and she was eager to finish this journey as well. 

“Only one more stop,” Hongjoong promised her, tucking the scroll into his pocket. “Then you can fly home.”

One more stop until he was with you again. 

****

A/N: Looks like luck is finally favoring these two at last! I really liked writing this chapter and I hoped it helped clear up some things for you guys. Thanks for reading <3 Our final chapter is just around the corner!!

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of violence, mention of putting down / death, etc. words -> 4.2K

abstract -> "Lets make it up to eachother!"

y/n's perspective

“She’s awake! Get the doctor!” I heard and my vision was doubled while my head was throbbing. Where was I? The last thing I remember was…

“Then why don’t you run?”

Did he actually run? Was he finally free like he wanted? How does a hybrid escape without pretending to be human? Oh yeah… the black market. 

If he did... I hope it was successful and not all for nothing.

“y/n? How are you feeling?” I heard and I looked to my side. “Jeno… how’s school been?” I offered him a smile and didn’t have to see his face to know he was concerned for me. “Good, I've been focusing on this internship and well I try my best to not lose sleep,” he said and I smiled. “Haechan should learn from you,” I said and I heard his soft laughter. 

“How… are they?” I asked and he sighed. “Let’s get you checked out first. I’ll let Taeyong-hyung explain,” he said and I knew it was probably bad. 

“Y/n the doctor is gonna come in and do some tests, you’ll be given pain medication and you currently have stitches so this will scar. We’ll set up future appointments” I heard as I saw Johnny enter the room. 

I wonder if they're okay. 

seonghwa’s perspective

Last week we were finally let out. That would mean she's dead or alive to have them do action. I don't know what they did to San or Hongjoong yet. But I was in observation to see if I should be considered for a breeding farm. 

I heard them talk… I had no chance of adoption. My only option was a hybrid farm where their only purpose is to reproduce. It also gave me little hope that she was alive. 

I know she’s scared of me… but she would’ve tried to convince them otherwise. I also did hear that Yeosang and Wooyoung were code greens ready for adoption but Wooyoung has been in the medical wing. 

“If I could, those tigers would be shipped off. Hongjoong is excessively violent, he killed her. What am I supposed to tell San? Or Wooyoung? Those hybrids are far too dependent on her. If they knew, San would become a bigger threat to himself and Wooyoung would join him” I heard. She was dead…?

I may have not had a lot of hope but a part of me hoped she was alive. Oh, Hongjoong… we caused a mess.

“Seonghwa, you have a check” I heard as they opened my curtain. I saw the employee now opening the glass door. “I’m sorry,” I said… and he looked at me confused. 

“If… if I didn’t help her she’d still be alive. Even then I could’ve stopped–" "Seonghwa none of this is your fault, I'm sorry your future isn’t looking too bright,” he said and I felt the tears run down my face. 

“My future was never meant to bright”

yeosang's perspective

She was alive. I knew she had to be… there's no way she'd die. 

I was in isolation. My records unfortunately were publicly known when I was in here. The accident at a popular apartment complex where politicians, CEOs, and even idols lived took pictures of what happened. They warned me… she called in asking if I was gonna be put up for adoption. If… she was dead. I would get a horrible punishment for defying her… maybe even move the country? 

“Yeosang, are you ready for some air?” I heard one of the employees. I remember him being called… Jaemin? He was a friend of hers. “Any news?” I asked and he sighed. 

“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine” he said and I nodded. “Do you believe that?” I asked and it caught him off guard. He was supposed to make me feel better. I know he’s not allowed to say anything…

“Look… she’s the strongest person I know. The last time I saw her, Johnny promised to make sure she was alright and my friend worked with him. She’s in a stable condition”

liar. He was lying… 

“You don’t believe me do you?” he asked and I shook my head. 

“She’s… not in stable condition. In fact, they're trying their best to monitor her at all times–” “What’s wrong with her?” I asked and he sighed. We started walking outside as he looked to think about what he’d say. 

“Hongjoong when he clawed her jaw hit a vein connected to her heart. The week before when Kun was there, she flatlined but I  know she’s stable now we just need her to wake up. If not she might be in a coma for longer than we’d hope” he explained and I could only feel hatred for those tigers and myself… I pushed her, and I misinterpreted her feelings. She was scared of them… and even us. 

“Is there hope?” I asked and his smile said everything. It was forced and I could see the glassy look in his eyes. “There's always hope” 

Liar. 

wooyoung’s perspective

“Wooyoung you need to eat, we don’t want to put you up with the purple code hybrids. She’s not gonna be happy when–” “How can she feel anything? She’s not here… she’s dead isn't she?” I cut him off. The doctor sighed and shook his head. 

“No, she's not dead,” he said and I didn’t believe him. 

“Do it for her… don’t you think she’ll be distraught to see you in a worse state than before? When she saw you she said she was heartbroken. To know that you were a depressed hybrid… that those who promised her to take care of you weren’t–" "She’s not here!” I yelled. 

“Let me mourn her… she isn’t coming back,” I said and I was fully convinced. She would’ve been here already, she’s gone. I should’ve been there.

“Wooyoung you need to take care of yourself, your weight is dropping and you’ll start to get sick..” I turned him out. I didn’t feel hungry… not when I used to live a fantasy almost two weeks ago now. I was hopeful at first…

but then she never came back. 

san’s perspective

The world… stopped. 

My world stopped… code purple. For hybrids who are dangerous to themselves, mainly ones who experience such stress, or depression they harm themselves. 

Would it be so bad to be with her again? Constrained and isolated… How was Wooyoung doing? Was he like me? 

I missed the feeling of that collar on my neck, the feeling of her warmth, I miss her. Where is she? How long has it been since I've been here?

Surely only a few hours… I wonder when she’ll be here. Maybe in a few hours? 

“San, how are you feeling?” I heard and I finally saw someone after they put me here. “I’m… tired,” I said, I was tired, my mind felt like I was spinning and I felt sick. 

“Do you remember what I told you last time?” he asked me. “What?” I asked and he sighed. “San, I've been here three times a day for two weeks now,” he said and I was confused. I laughed, “It's only been a few hours…” I said and he shook his head. 

“I’ll remind you later, today we thought it would be good to take you outside” he said and I shook my head. “San, do you remember when you arrived here after the fight? You lost any sense of time and thought you lived the same day over and over again. You improved so much afterwards… she would want you to improve and get adopted again” he said and I shook my head. 

“I am adopted, she’s my mate” I said and he sighed almost like he was tired. 

“San, we’ve been having the same conversation for the past two weeks, almost three times a day” 

hongjoong’s perspective

My hands felt dirty… They didn’t let me go to the cells anymore. 

I need to get rid of her blood. I didn't mean to kill her. I… where was Seonghwa? Was he okay? Did he get adopted already? Maybe she’s alive and she took them… but not me.

I don’t deserve it… besides living with humans?  I hate them… I hate her… but I want to apologize. I hope she’s okay. I want her to be okay. But is she? Why would they send me away if that's the case, they were preparing to send me off. 

I was slowly accepting what I was destined for… I was gonna die. Born into a circus, I was always gonna die. 

“You’re scheduled to leave in three days” I heard. It was the main doctor… “Dr. Doyoung will take you in to check your wounds,” he said and I was unchained from the ground to be led to the medical wing. 

He knocked on the door when it revealed another employee… and Wooyoung? He looked… starved. His eyes looked lifeless and dark circles prominent. 

He looked up at me to not even react. They led him away, speaking to him in a cheerful voice as if wanting to cheer him up. “You ruined the lives of four hybrids,” the behaviorist said to me. 

“What's wrong with him?” I asked and he scoffed. 

“The healthiest right now is probably Seonghwa and Yeosang. Yeosang though is still clinging to her being alive, while Wooyoung has refused to be cooperative with this severe depressive episode, even San has lost all sense of time and is worse. All humans aren't evil, but you let that control you and even ruined your own chance to actually live” he said as I went inside the room to see the doctor. 

I… I'm sorry…

y/n’s perspective

“Two weeks?” I asked and they nodded. “Johnny and Jeno tried their best to take care of you… but you were asleep for two weeks and they thought for a minute your body was in shock, especially after your flatline last week. 

“I… what?” I was confused with everything. Two weeks I was out… What happened to them? “You’re okay physically, the tests they've done should help and it looks like they helped you gain some strength to walk despite being comatose for two weeks” he explained and I nodded. 

“Curious about anything?” Taeyong asked and I wanted to ask but I was scared. “I’m curious. Curious as to why you were suddenly scared of your hybrids. Kun told me that your hybrids said you started to be detached and started avoiding them and it was clarified that you were scared” he said and I nodded. 

“When I did the interviews… Hongjoong mentioned that hybrids do anything to survive even if they pretend to like their owners” I said and he laughed at me. “You’ve clearly forgotten how those three looked at you. Wooyoung used to– actually has been obsessed with you for years, Yeosang is the most overprotective hybrid i've ever seen and San? He loves you… he was your first hybrid and he… he’s a code purple right now” he said and i stopped. I felt frozen… 

“A… a code purple?” I said hoping I heard wrong and he nodded.

“He’s lost track of time… he thinks it's been hours. His mind is scattered in events, sometimes he’ll think he’s there because he attacked you and become depressed, or he’ll think the attack was minutes before and scream that he’ll kill that tiger. The worst of it is, right now… he’s waiting for you to show up in front of him. He thinks it's been hours and you’ll recover soon, for him it hasn't been two weeks”' he explained and he wiped my cheek.

“He… he’s no, you're messing with me. San… I need to see him!” I declared and he grabbed my elbow. “You shouldn't be so rash. No one knows you’ve recovered… Kun thinks you're as good as dead. He was there when you flatlined and thought there's no hope” he said and everything was overwhelming.

“I need to see him,” I pleaded and he smiled. “And we will, just let me go to the station first. We’ll go later today, I want to take you back home–" "No” I refused and he sighed.

“The blood is clean… Wonyoung had people clean your apartment–" "It won’t feel right with them not there” I argued and he sighed. 

“Give me a few hours then, I'll call Yuta and Shotaro, they'll take care of you,” he said and I sighed. “I’m a grown woman I don’t need to be taken care of” I argued and he nodded. 

“Okay… but they’ll meet with you to make sure you're okay, '' he said and I nodded. “I can walk–” “I need time alone… I know where they work” I said and he nodded. “Be careful, you just–” “Taeyong please” I pleaded and he nodded as he left. 

I couldn't stop the tears flowing down. I was an idiot… I doubted them and I failed Hongjoong… I need to talk to him–

“Why are you crying again?” I heard as I noticed a man in front of me. It was the man that helped me before. “It's been a long day” I answered and he nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but please don’t cry, surely whatever it is it can be fixed?” he said with a  cheerful smile. “Have you ever owned a hybrid?” I asked and his eyes widened. “Only one,” he said and I nodded. “How do you know their feelings are genuine and they actually love you?” I asked and he chuckled. 

“That's an interesting question… Well, hybrids are known for faking they care but that's a rare few. If you treat them with love and care I can assure you they will be the same” he said and I nod. 

“What if they fake it though, even if you love them to the best of your ability?” I asked and he hummed. “Well, a hybrid can fake words, but the things they do have meaning. Where– I mean hybrids are like animals by the end of the day. They have animal habits they follow, like uhm bunnies circle around their owners, fox hybrids are dependent on owners and usually bond to one person for the rest of their life–" "What about canines and panthers?” I asked and he chuckled. 

“That's a weird pair?” he laughed and I smiled. 

“Well, panther hybrids only really expose themselves to their owners when they fully trust them so sleeping is a big one. Uhm… panthers are actually known to cook or feed their mates as an act of love? –” San often would feed me off his own plate and make me eat more… and he would always say how he preferred sleeping in my room.

He was showing he trusted me… 

“– Dog hybrids however, are known to scent their mates and groom them? So dog hybrids will often fix their owners hair or males would often scent their owner to tell others to back off” he explained and suddenly Yeosang made much more sense to me. 

“I can tell you're a good hybrid owner… any hybrid would be lucky for someone to care about them like you do” he said and I smiled. 

“Thank you…?” I didn't know his name. “Oh? Uhm my name! My name is… Yunho” he said and I smiled. “Thank you, Yunho! My name is y/n” I said and he smiled. 

“It was my pleasure, ah! I think you dropped this?” 

Yuta and Shotaro were spamming my phone. 

I was now in front of the infamous building… The Seoul Hybrid Rehabilitation Center. 

I entered and I was immediately greeted by a shocked Haechan. I smiled at the boy who couldn’t even produce a sentence. “YOU'RE OKAY!” he yelled and I laughed as he hugged me tight. “We were convinced you weren’t gonna wake up” he muttered and I ruffled his hair. “Where's Kun?” I asked and he sighed. “Kun cares about you a lot… so does Doyoung but Kun sees you like his little sister–”

“Haechan, what's going on with him?” I asked and he sighed

“He’s planning on sending Wooyoung and San to Jeju’s Rehabilitation Center, as for Yeosang… There's a threat of legal action with his previous owner, Seonghwa is going to be moved to a breeding farm, and Hongjoong is being sent out of Korea '' he explained and I was speechless. 

“W-What?” I asked and he nodded. “Kun right now is out but he’ll be back soon–” “Take me to San,” I said and he shook his head. “Only Kun and Doyoung have the key to get in there… and you're not supposed to be allowed without them knowing,” he said and I smiled. 

“Please, let me see one of them?” I asked and he nodded. “I can take you to Yeosang,” he said and I nodded. He talks to have someone come get me and lead me to Yeosang.

“y/n?” I heard and saw Renjun. I smiled softly and offered a hug. “I'm so glad you're okay! When did you get discharged” he asked and I sighed. “Maybe two hours ago?” I said and he scoffed. “You should be resting–” “I need to see if they're okay” I cut him off and he nodded. 

He leads me around the green code hybrids seeking adoption until we go towards the ones who have not been cleared for adoption. 

“He’s missed you a lot,” he said and I smiled. He opened the curtain and I saw he was asleep. “Jaemin has been trying his best to cheer up him and Wooyoung but it's been hard for them,” he said and I nodded. “I’m only doing this cause I know he won’t hurt you and he is still your hybrid,” he said as he opened the kennel and waited for me to enter. 

I nod and go in to kneel close to his bed. I pet his ears softly as he whined and opened his eyes slightly. “Hello, sleeping beauty,” I said and his ears flattened on his head. 

“Are you real?” he asks as he grabs my hand, tightening it as if I'd disappear. “I’m real, Yeosang,” I said and he sat up looking at me for what felt like a few minutes before he started crying. 

“Please, be real! I…  I miss you” he said as he hugged me tightly. I rubbed it back as he sobbed. “I’m here, I promise,” I said and he pulled away to look at me. I wanted to cry too… so many times I got into my head that he faked everything to hide away from his owner when I should’ve known better. 

His hand cupped my jaw to where my bandages lay. “Does it hurt?” he asked and I smiled. “I’ll heal,” I said and he nodded. 

“I’m sorry for making you adopt them–” “It's not your fault… I got in my own head. Hongjoong is rough around the edges–” “You shouldn’t defend him” he said angrily and I smiled. 

“Yeosang…. He was wronged. I should’ve voiced my thoughts sooner, but he deserves a second chance. What you suggested was sweet… he’s lived tormented by humans so he deserves to feel loved even if he doesn't know how to accept it” I said and his eyes widened. He nods…

“You’re too good to be real. I still don’t believe you're actually here… maybe you're a true angel visiting me in my dreams'' he said and I chuckled. “I don’t have wings or a halo,” I said and he chuckled. 

“Doesn’t mean you aren't an angel to me” he said and I smiled. 

“y/n?” I heard and I looked behind me to see Doyoung. “Did Haechan tell you?” I asked and he nodded. “I-I’m, why didn’t they tell us you were awake?!” he asked and I smiled while looking at Yeosang. “Well, I did wake up two hours ago,” I said and Yeosang laughed. “You should be resting,” he said and I smiled. 

“I know… Doyoung. Can I see San?” I asked and he sighed. “I don’t have the key… Kun has taken charge of seeing Hongjoong and San, I only see them to check up on them” he said and I nodded.

“And… Wooyoung?” I asked and he sighed almost nervously.

“He’s… he needs to see you”

Yeosang was gonna be checked one last time by Doyoung while he led me in front of Wooyoung’s kennel. “Be careful with him… he’s been worse than I've ever seen him” he said and Yeosang didn’t want to let go of my hand. 

“I’ll be here when you're out, I promise,” I said and he didn’t look convinced. “When have I ever lied to you? Or broken a promise?” I asked and he nodded. 

They leave me alone with Wooyoung’s key. I knock before opening the door… It's to tell the hybrid I'm going in. I open it and see that he’s already staring at the door. His eyes widened. 

“y/n?” he said and I noticed how hoarse his voice was. How skinny he was… how tired he looked. “Hello, Woo,” I said, trying my best to offer a happy smile as I felt my vision blur. “You're… alive?” he said, confused and not moving. 

“Missed me?” I said and I sat down on the floor to sit at eye level with him. “I…” he was speechless. I smiled as I hugged him… his tears and sobs broke my heart. The way he tightened his grip on my body and let out cries was the only thing I could focus on. 

He struggled with words as he sobbed. 

“I... I lost- any hope that you were alive!” he let out and I felt a serious ache in my heart. “I’m sorry,” I said and he shook his head as he let go and ghosted his hand on my jaw. “It's not your fault,” he said and I knew what he suggested. 

“It's not his fault either… I should’ve talked about what I was feeling "I said and he said nothing but hugged me. We sat there on the floor with him hugging me in silence.

“Wooyoung '' I heard as I saw Yeosang in his regular clothes and his collar. “Yeosang?” he said as he lifted his head without letting me go to see his friend. “The doctor wants to see you so he can discharge you,” he said and he tightened his grip on me.

“I’ll still be here… you get to be in comfortable clothes and your collar again,” I said and he nodded letting go but did move to leave.

“She’ll still be here,” Yeosang said and Wooyoung nodded. “Can… Can we get food from that street food market?” he asked and I smiled. “Anything you want,” I said and he nodded. He leaves but not without looking at me one last time and giving me a slight smile.

Progress…

“Are you gonna take in those tigers again?” Yeosang asked and I sighed. “I hate how I… I want to give them a second chance. A better chance without me being scared of them… I took them in because they wanted a better life and I didn’t even try like I did with you, Wooyoung, and San” I explain and nod. 

“I don’t trust them” he said and I smiled. “And you have every right to,” I said. 

“y/n?” I heard and I saw Jaemin who looked at me with the biggest smile. “How are you doing?” I said and he chuckled. “You see Yeosang, she’s okay,” he said and Yeosang nodded. “Jaemin? Can you take me to Seonghwa?” I asked and he sighed. “The tigers are gonna be transferred–” “Kun can’t do that, I'm still their owner,” I said and he chuckled. 

“You're the same as ever. Let me take you there then, I'd rather not be sued and in debt even more than I am” he said and I chuckled.

“Yeosang, stay here for Wooyoung,” I said and he shook his head getting ready to argue– “He needs someone here, and I’ll be back,” I said and he nodded reluctantly. 

I followed Jaemin when I noticed he was also a code green hybrid. “Seonghwa, you have a visitor,” Jaemin said as he opened the curtain first. 

He looked at me shocked. 

“You're… I’m sorry! I should’ve stopped Hongjoong, please I-I’m so–” “Seonghwa it isn't your fault '' I said while giving him a smile and he looked at me with wide eyes. 

“I’m sorry for not offering you what I did to my hybrids' ' I said and he looked confused. “You deserve a second chance… so does Hongjoong. Let me make it up to you” I said and he shook his head. 

“I… I should be asking that of you!” he said desperately and I smiled. 

“Let's make it up to each other then!” I said and he was frozen… “I… why do you still want me?” he asked and I shrugged. “You’re a sweet hybrid… a farm doesn’t suit you at all,” I said and I could see tears forming in his eyes.

“I… I really am sorry I wasn't–” “It's not your fault, you… were the sweetest. You tried so hard to earn a place with me and I know you deserve it. So I'm sorry for letting Hongjoong’s words get into my head, I really do think you deserve better Seonghwa '' I said and he was silent. 

“Do you accept me?” I asked and he smiled softly. 

“If you’ll take me” 

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[ovrour]

───〃★ I MISS YOU

୨୧⋆ SYNOPSIS─── TikTok’s Chris would post you to after you pass away.

୨୧⋆ PAIRING─── Chris sturniolo x deceased!gf reader

୨୧⋆ WARNINGS─── mentions of a lost loved one.

୨୧⋆ NOW PLAYING…─── (whatever you’d like too. Don’t have a song in mind.)

୨୧⋆ anyone else but you

Before you passed away, Your favorite movie to watch with Chris was ‘Juno’. Every night you would come home from work, asking to watch Juno. And every night you did. Chris didn’t care that it was the only movie you would ever watch. It was his favorite thing to do. Wait for his girl to come, eat snacks, watch Juno, and fall asleep in each other arms.

Chris wouldn’t have given that up for anyone or anything. It was the one thing he would look forward to every night.

Now, Chris doesn’t look forward to it at all. He can’t, not without his favorite girl being gone. Chris watched Juno every night, eating snacks and falling asleep. Alone. With his girl gone, nothing felt normal without you being there. He missed you more than anything.

Chris missed hearing you laugh when you were making snacks together, or when you would fall asleep on his chest, hearing your quiet snores. He missed it all.

So, when he saw the ‘Juno’ trend on TikTok. He had to make a little booklet and post it. It was your favorite movie how could he not? It made him think of you any time he saw it.

Chris took his time making the booklet making sure it looked beautiful. Just like you did. His most precious thing, his prized possession.

He posted the video, not knowing how much attention it would bring to you. Most people didn’t even know about your death, it was floating around the internet of course. But, it wasn’t very known.

When he went to look at the video and saw the amount of love you got even though you weren’t there to experience it anymore. He was happy that everyone saw you for the sweet girl you were. He didn’t want to change that for anything.

Chris walked over to your memorial table he had made for you a few months ago. He grabbed your picture frame, “You’re still remembered like the sweet girl you were, baby. I’m gonna keep it that way for you.”

୨୧⋆ I need to treat you better

When Chris first saw this trend, he knew he had to post you to it. You deserved all the recognition and more.

you were his baby, his lover, his best friend. He wanted to post you to anything he could. Show you off anyway he could. Chris wished he would’ve spent more time with you instead of cancelling so many dates for his stupid YouTube career. It took away the time you two had together.

now, he couldn’t plan dates with you, couldn’t ask to go on late night drives, couldn’t surprise you. He couldn’t do anything with his baby gone anymore.

He wished he could’ve atleast tried to make time, but he didn’t. His mind was always focused on YouTube. Every day and night. It never left his mind and now, he wished it did most of the time.

If he could, he would’ve changed anything and every choice he made without realizing how much it hurt you.

When Chris posted the video he captioned it, ‘I miss you sweet girl. You will always be remembered.’ Having it get tons and tons of views.

Chris wished he could spend more time with you.

୨୧⋆ I saw sparks.

Chris knew he had to post his beautiful girl to this trend. He had so many pictures of you smiling, you would think that's the only thing he had in his camera roll.

He missed you a lot. Life without you was different. He had to learn how to live without you for months. It took a toll on him a lot, without his beautiful girl life was boring. No more late night face times, or cooking. It just wasn't the same, and he hated it.

He posted you to let people see how happy you truly were as a person in such a cruel, cruel world. No matter what, you were always smiling or laughing. It's what he liked about you most.

He wanted everyone to know that even with his girl gone, he would never stop posting or talking about you. Ever. That was something he would never do.

He hated life without you.

He just wanted his beautiful girl back.

© OVROUR

A/n: I'm so sorry I haven't wrote in such a long time. I've genuinely been so exhausted, and I've been bed rotting heavy. But, I finally wrote a little something, which I loved writing ittt!! I would love love love to do a part 2 if you guys want me too!

lots of love, alondra🪷

taglist!! @bernardsbendystraws @flouvela @sturniolosarethebest @soupuurr @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @042502 @luvs4matt @missmimii @conspiracy-ash (if you'd like to be added pls lmk!)

[jals-stuff]

Some Rayne brainrot...

this is some stupid (and a bit horny??? no? yes? i don't know) stuff that went through my mind last night

MDNI PLEASE! this spawned in my head, no context

warnings: female reader, rayne is ooc and pervy, he is staring, dubcon (bit steamy at the end), bit of swearing, bit of horniness, mentions of boobies and peen...

i am very sorry, i wrote this with 0 hours of sleep. barely proofread. enjoy

Rayne Ames. The Divine Visionary, the Sword Cane.

If you watch animal documentaries, you are probably aware that cheetahs can stay in the same position for up to sixteen hours without moving at all…

Well, it so happens that Rayne’s facial expression is like a cheetah. He somehow always looks like you’ve told him a really bad pun, and he’s judging you for it (not funny, did not laugh). He probably even has this face on while he sleeps, eats, showers, and probably even while he decides to please himself. 

And yet, despite looking annoyed every second of the day, despite looking like the unfriendliest guy in the whole Academy, he looks absolutely stunning. Anyone would agree that Rayne Ames is a feast on the eyes. And you, as his seatmate in class, aren’t one to deny this.

.....................................................................

It was your last class hour for today and you couldn’t wait to go back to your dorm room and rot in bed like the absolute lazybone you were. Changing out of your uniform was now an emergency, as the shirt you had picked today was somehow way too tight for you.

Being clueless with basic things such as laundry had its pros and cons. Sure, your clothes were smaller now and you could barely fit; but it made you look incredibly sexy! …or so you kept telling yourself. Maybe you were just trying to cope with the fact that you were incredibly bad at basic human tasks.

You made your way to the classroom and got your notebook out. 

Today’s subject was pure theory, and you would’ve fallen asleep if you didn’t have the most scrumptious distraction sitting right next to you. You spent the hour doodling, taking notes whenever you paid enough attention to do so, and mostly throwing quick glances at your seatmate, Rayne, who was way too focused on the soporific theoretical experiments your elderly professor was passionately explaining, to pay attention to you.

When the old man turned around to write something on the blackboard, Rayne finally turned a fraction of his attention towards you. Of course, this happened during the minuscule amount of time you weren’t looking at him, and he took notice of a few things.

First of all, your notes were an absolute mess. Instead of trying to keep them consistent, you had picked a few words the teacher said, and chose to throw them into an adventure with other words, picked at different moments during class, resulting in an abomination that wouldn’t make sense, even to you. But you wouldn’t know, of course, since you never read your notes anyway. 

He would give you bonus points for the adorable little bunnies you had been doodling for the majority of your time in class, though.

Secondly, you seemed like you were about to sleep, but given the way you were taking notes, everything sort of made sense. Not your notes though, only the fact that you weren’t invested enough to stay awake.

Third of all, your shirt. He wished his eyes hadn’t lingered for such a long time on it. Why was it so tight? “Is she so dumb she can’t even do laundry?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that the button that kept your shirt closed around the chest area had the strength of a thousand lions. 

His eyes moved back to your face, and at this very moment, you chose to look at him. Your eyes met, and his expression was, as always, unreadable. Was he bored? Upset? Annoyed? At this point you were pretty sure he didn’t know any better. But it seemed a bit different this time, you could’ve sworn you saw his lower lid twitching slightly. 

You decided to turn your attention back to the teacher— or at least pretend to, for a while, and it lasted for a whopping fifty seconds. Efforts had been made! You deemed yourself deserving of a little treat, and an attempt was made to look at Rayne once again.

His eyes were still on you. Now it really felt like he was upset. You were used to his icy glare but it was getting a little uncomfortable, and so, as one does, you had a great shitty idea. You decided that stretching your back could maybe help you release some of this discomfort, and your button, may it rest in peace, gave up on its sole task of keeping your shirt closed. 

You couldn’t tell where it went at all. In fact, you didn’t even notice, but you did feel a little more comfortable now that your chest area was no longer being compressed, except it was in a literal meaning now, and not just figuratively speaking. You could still feel Rayne’s eyes on you, and decided that you wouldn’t look at him for the rest of this oh so boring class.

What you hadn’t noticed was that his eyes were no longer on your face, but rather on the missing button’s previous spot. “Is she so dumb she can’t take care of her clothing?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that he could now clearly see your bra. 

He could see that one mesmerising spot where your breasts were pushing in a wondrous effort to get out of their insufferable lace prison. In fact, pretty much anyone could’ve seen it if they had turned around, but it seemed this professor was either hypnotic or soporific because everyone was staring in his direction. 

You were then blissfully unaware of the fact that Rayne was now leading an internal battle. He had to get his eyes off of your cleavage, for your breasts were not the only things screaming for freedom anymore. Ah, perhaps Rayne was also bad at laundry, because his pants felt increasingly tight the longer he stared at you.

Divine Visionary or not, he was but a man, and what power does a man hold when presented with sweet bosoms? None. That’s right. He tried to think about anything else. Rabbits? His little brother, Finn? The concerning relationship Lance had with his little sister? The way alcoholism thrived amongst the ranks of the State police? No matter what went through his head, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He had to do something about it, and you were probably not escaping this one.

.....................................................................

As soon as the bell rang, he closed his coat as much as he could, and grabbed your arm before you could leave, and this time you could tell he was pretty upset. Why? How could you know? You didn’t know anything. Had your head not been attached to your shoulders, you would’ve probably lost it already. 

Instead of giving you any sort of explanation, he immediately dragged you with him. Your life felt like a movie that was playing in front of your eyes. My time has come, you thought, but… not quite.

You found yourself in Rayne’s dorm room, locked in with him. His roommate wasn’t there, and it was clear this crime would leave no witnesses. 

It took him half a second to remove his coat and— oh. You were suddenly in Egypt.

Everything was there: the stone hard pyramid, the Sphinx (that seemed ready to pounce on you), and the heat. Oh boy, the heat. As a very refined lady (yes you are), you brought your hand to your chest in indignation, and oh, how distraught you felt when you realised that your beloved chest button was nowhere to be seen. It was all starting to make sense.

Without a word, he pushed you against the wall and his lips met yours in a rough, steamy kiss. Your whole body felt like it was on fire; his toned chest was pressing against yours and breaking your buttons further, his clothed erection was slightly rubbing against your clit through your panties and his hands roamed your body hungrily while his tongue left no corner of your mouth unexplored.

It was all a lot to take in but it felt so intoxicating, the way his large hands held onto your hips to keep you from squirming too much underneath his passionate touch, and how his teeth were grazing against your lips while a mixture of both your salivas dripped from the corner of your mouth. 

His body was grinding against yours like waves on the beach, and both your breathings were becoming increasingly noisy. Only after long, delicious minutes of this make-out session did he break the kiss, panting for air, as he looked into your eyes with a lustful gaze you were now used to seeing.

It wasn't your first time pushing his buttons like this, and it certainly wasn't your last.

“You did it on purpose, admit it.”

Whaaat, you? Pfffft, never! But… let’s just say you’re not usually that bad at doing your laundry.

.....................................................................

smol reminder that i am very bored and i also take requests for mashle, hsr, genshin, jjk, elsword, tower of fantasy...

xoxo