#chapters: answers to unexpected questions

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀opposites don’t attract, they destroy⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀pjm⠀⠀) chpt. O3

pairing: fuckboy!park jimin x proud & stubborn!reader, slow-burn potential with softboy!namjoon x reader

genre: college!au, smut, angst, slow-burn romance, love triangle, situationship mess, emotional repression, she fell first/he’s falling harder

warnings: explicit sexual content — protected sex (condom mentioned but still be safe irl), brat taming kink, fingering (public-ish space), oral sex (f receiving), use of toys, dom!jimin energy, light degradation, a little rough, slight overstimulation, consensual power play, possessiveness, jealousy, emotionally confusing hookups, mentions of casual sex outside the situationship. also: toxic patterns, emotional whiplash, unresolved tension, and rowan being the obsessed hookup™.

word count: 14.1k

summary: things spiral after an unexpected interruption. (y/n) starts questioning everything with jimin — what it is, what it isn’t. but just when she tries to pull away, he makes it nearly impossible — especially when he knows exactly how to pull her back in. still, a part of her wants more, or at least different, and when sora introduces her to someone who’s everything jimin isn’t… she starts to wonder if maybe she’s been settling for chaos all along.

lu's note: chapter 3 is finally hereeeee after a while!! these two need to get their shit together for real. anyway, this chapter is long bc i wanted to make up for the time i left y’all without an update — i seriously got way too deep into their dynamic and couldn’t stop writing. things are spiraling, there’s angst, there's heat, and a certain dimpled man may just start shifting the game 👀 enjoy!!

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⠀ ⠀ "he feels safe"

the next morning creeps in slowly, grey and uninvited, leaking through the blinds like a secret. (y/n) doesn’t get out of bed. not right away. she just lies there under her covers, eyes on the ceiling like it might offer her an answer she’s too tired to find herself. her phone buzzes somewhere on the nightstand. again.

she doesn’t look at it. she knows who it is.

jimin’s name has lit up her screen half a dozen times since last night—calls she didn’t answer, texts she left unread. she saw the last one pop up around two in the morning:

[park jimin 🐣]: are you okay?

like he had the right to ask.

and maybe he did. maybe she’s being dramatic. maybe it wasn’t what it looked like, some girl from his past showing up in the middle of their moment—but the thing is… there’s no their. there’s no us. there never was. she told herself that from the start.

so why does it sting so fucking much?

she rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek like it might keep her together. her throat feels tight. her stomach’s been turning since last night. she’d left without saying a word—no yelling, no scene. just grabbed her bag, shoved on her hoodie, and walked out of his apartment barefoot with her shoes in hand. she didn’t even slam the door.

maybe that’s what makes it worse. that she didn’t ask. didn’t demand an explanation. just left. because what would she have been fighting for, anyway?

she’s not his girlfriend. she’s not even someone he talks about out loud.

just a girl he calls over. a distraction. a routine. a body, warm and convenient and quiet.

and the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes—god, she’s been so dumb.

it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t some twisted, angsty, almost-love situation like she used to write stories about in high school. it was messy and addictive and full of every red flag she chose to ignore.

he flirted with other girls in front of her. he never looked at her like she was his. and she?

she kept acting like she didn’t care. laughing it off. letting it slide. climbing into his bed anyway.

was the sex good? yes. but sex doesn’t mean someone’s gonna hold your hand the next morning. it doesn’t mean they’ll choose you in front of other people. it doesn’t mean they’ll stop answering the door for old flames.

and she’s sick of pretending it does.

the phone buzzes again. she sighs. pulls the covers over her head like she’s sixteen again and wants the world to disappear.

maybe she romanticized it because she was lonely. maybe jimin made it easy. maybe she let herself want something more in all the empty spaces he wouldn’t fill.

and now she’s left with silence. and an ache in her chest she doesn’t know what to call. but she sure as hell isn’t calling him.

the door creaks open like it’s got something to say too, and (y/n) doesn’t even move.

“damn,” sora’s voice cuts through the fog of the room, bright and teasing, like usual. “somebody didn’t sleep well.”

(y/n) stays facedown on her pillow, groaning softly. “can you not.”

sora pauses by the door, toeing her sneakers off, and yeah—she knows. not the details, but enough. she’s been watching this slow-motion crash for a while now. best friends always do.

she sets a coffee down on the desk without asking if it’s wanted. “so. you wanna talk about it?”

there’s a beat. just the hum of the mini fridge and the click of sora’s rings against the plastic lid.

(y/n) doesn’t cry. not because it doesn’t hurt, but because she’s not even sure what she feels. it’s not heartbreak—it never got the chance to be that. it’s not betrayal, not technically. it’s more like… disappointment. in him. in herself. and a creeping kind of embarrassment that makes her want to peel off her skin and start fresh somewhere else.

she shifts slowly, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard, hoodie swallowing her frame. “yeah,” she finally says, voice rough. “yeah, I probably should.”

sora doesn’t push. she just pulls the desk chair around to face her, knees tucked up, eyes soft but steady.

and so (y/n) tells her. everything.

starting with the closet.

“it was two months ago,” she mutters, avoiding eye contact, eyes fixed on the swirling condensation of her coffee cup. “that day I was all pissed at him for messing around in class? I pulled him into the janitor’s room.”

sora blinks. “wait, you initiated?”

“don’t start,” she groans, but the smallest flicker of a smile curls at the edge of her mouth, already crumbling under the weight of her own choices. “I don’t even know what came over me. we were arguing and then I just… grabbed him. it spiraled after that.”

sora listens, quiet but alert, and (y/n) keeps going. the backseat. the texts. the way it became a routine, something unspoken, like a second language only they knew how to speak. how every time she tried to act unaffected, he’d crawl deeper under her skin—his stupid smirk, the way he touched her like she was his, even though he never said it out loud.

“it wasn’t just sex,” she admits softly. “i mean—it was, but it wasn’t. we had these… moments. you know? and I let it mean something. even though we both said it didn’t.”

sora sighs gently, shaking her head like she’s been waiting for this to come out.

“and then last night,” (y/n) swallows, “we were at his place, and it was like, actually good, soft almost. and then someone showed up.”

sora lifts a brow. “someone?”

“an ex-hookup. walked up to the door like she still had keys to his life.”

“ouch.”

“yeah,” she says, voice flat. “I didn’t ask questions. I just left.”

“and he’s been calling you?”

“nonstop.” she picks at her sleeve. “i haven’t answered. i don’t even know what I’d say. like… what do you even say when you realize you were just a filler between someone’s options?”

“you weren’t just that,” sora says firmly, but she doesn’t argue the facts. she knows (y/n) wouldn’t feel this way if jimin had made her feel chosen.and he never did.

“i think,” (y/n) says, quieter now, “i think I let myself believe we were something. and maybe i liked the idea of it more than what it really was.”

and that’s the part that hurts the most. not losing jimin. but losing the story she built around him in her head.

“so what now?” sora asks softly, the question sitting between them like a dare and a lifeline. she’s sipping her coffee, one leg crossed over the other, as if pretending this is just another morning. but they both know it’s not. it never is when it comes to jimin.

(y/n) exhales slowly through her nose, sinking further into the pillows behind her. “nothing,” she answers after a pause, voice even. maybe too even. “there’s nothing to do. he made it clear what this was from the beginning. and if that’s how he wants to keep playing it, then I’ll match his energy.”

she says it like it’s simple. like it doesn’t feel like peeling skin off bone to distance herself, even just a little. but she’s not going to let him have the satisfaction of thinking she’s spiraling. he might’ve gotten under her skin—fine. but she’s not about to let him know he stayed there.

“so you’re not gonna talk to him?” sora asks carefully, reading her like a book with the spine cracked wide open.

“no,” she replies, then amends, “well, not really.”

because she already has. already sent him one text—dry, short, boring as hell. sorry, was tired. fell asleep.a lie, of course. she’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling and the other half convincing herself not to cry about someone who never even promised her anything. but he didn’t need to know that.

she wants him to squirm a little. to overthink the silence. he’s used to girls crawling back. texting first. asking what they are. she won’t be that girl. even if it kills her, she’ll make him believe she’s over it. that she could drop him like a bad habit if she really wanted to.

“i’m not gonna be soft about this anymore,” she says, mostly to herself. “i was letting him in too much. giving him space he didn’t earn.”

sora hums. “you do have a pretty mean side. he’s not ready.”

“he doesn’t get nice girl me anymore,” she smirks without humor. “he gets bitchy, distant, unbothered me. if he wanted closeness, he should’ve acted like I was more than a convenience.”

it’s not a new game. she knows how to play cold. how to side-eye his flirting like it’s beneath her. how to brush past him in hallways like he’s just another warm body. it’s the version of her he fell for, ironically. now he gets it again—just with fewer orgasms and more emotional whiplash.

but beneath it all, there’s this tiny, gnawing truth: she still likes him. maybe more than she wants to admit. maybe more than she should. but she can’t tell him that. can’t give him the power to decide whether or not she’s worth more.

so instead, she tightens the grip on her own pride and puts her armor back on—lipgloss, smugness, silence.

she’ll make him miss her. not just her body, not just the mess they made together—but the way she laughed when she forgot to be guarded. the way she looked at him when she thought he might actually care. he’ll miss that softness once it’s gone.

and she’ll let him.

—----

monday’s breeze is too soft to matter, brushing through the quad like it’s trying not to disturb anyone. the campus is buzzing, students passing by with earbuds in and backpacks slung low, rushing toward lectures or dragging their feet toward midterms.

sora and (y/n) stroll somewhere in the middle of it all, iced coffees in hand, jackets barely zipped. the mood is easy—comfortable, even. sora’s talking about her boyfriend again, something about him nearly burning down his kitchen trying to “infuse” oil like some kind of youtube chef.

“i swear to god,” sora says, laughing, “he’s got the humor of a divorced forty-year-old and the culinary instincts of a frat bro.”

“and yet,” (y/n) teases, sipping her drink, “you’re still letting him reorganize your bookshelves and take you out for pasta.”

“listen, seokjin is hot and employed. those are rare resources in college ecosystems.”

(y/n) chuckles. she doesn’t hate hearing about them, honestly. they’re a weird pair on paper—sora’s chaotic brilliance and jin’s dry dad jokes—but they work. they’re affectionate without being clingy, stable without being boring. (y/n) has only had a handful of conversations with seokjin, but he’s always nice. warm. and most importantly, he shows up for sora without ever being asked.

she wonders, briefly, what that might feel like. to be wanted in the open.

but before she can spiral too deep into that question, a familiar voice slices through the crowd like a blade.

“hey…”

her spine stiffens.

jimin.

he appears out of nowhere, like he materialized out of her bad decisions, hoodie half-zipped, eyes locked on her and only her. he’s not even trying to look casual.

“um—can we talk?”

(y/n) blinks at him, eyebrows raised like he’s just said something in klingon. she glances at sora, then back at jimin, letting the silence drag for effect before deadpanning, “i was literally in the middle of a conversation.”

jimin doesn’t budge. “please. just for a second.”

he looks… off. like her coldness is finally hitting him somewhere he didn’t expect. good.

she steps closer, not in a flirty way—more like she’s examining something unfortunate she stepped on. she lifts her finger and presses it to his forehead, barely touching him.

“are you sick?”

he pulls back, brows furrowing. “what?”

“you’re acting weird.” she tilts her head, voice flat. “why would I want to talk to you?”

jimin looks genuinely confused now, caught between frustration and something softer he’s trying not to show. “because… we usually do.”

“do what?” she asks, tilting her head again, mock-sweet. “hook up? you can just say it, park.”

he flinches—just barely, but she sees it. and it’s satisfying in a low, petty way that she won’t apologize for.

“what do we even have to talk about?” she adds, stepping back beside sora, who’s sipping her drink like this is the best episode of a drama she didn’t know she was starring in. “seriously.”

“(y/n),” jimin starts, but there’s no follow-up. no smooth line. no apology. just her name sitting heavy in the air like maybe that’s supposed to mean something on its own.

but it doesn’t.

not anymore.

she gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and turns away. “have a good day, park.”

and she walks off with sora without looking back, her pulse ticking at her throat like a warning.

“okay but like,” sora says the moment they’re out of earshot, voice halfway between impressed and genuinely worried, “you didn’t just shut him down. you obliterated him. that was… art. i mean it. textbook.”

(y/n) just sips her coffee, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “he deserved it.”

“oh, totally. i’m just saying…” sora eyes her sideways, tone softening, “you okay?”

“yeah.”

“you sure?”

(y/n) shrugs. “I’m fine.”

sora hums. the kind of hum people make when they know you’re full of shit but they love you too much to call you on it directly. “because I know you,” she adds carefully, “and when you act like you don’t care, it usually means you care so much it’s physically painful.”

(y/n) stops walking just long enough to whip around and blink at her. “wow. did you take a psych elective this semester or something?”

“communication major, babe. i’ve been reading between your lines since freshman year.”

(y/n) rolls her eyes, and they start walking again, slower this time. she opens her mouth, probably to deflect again with some sarcastic retort about being totally unaffected by Park Fucking Jimin when she sees her.

across the hallway. shoulders squared. jaw set like she’s walking into a fight she’s been mentally rehearsing since last night.

rowan.

her heart drops somewhere behind her ribcage.

she looks just like she did standing in jimin’s doorway: annoyed, maybe a little defensive, like she has something to say and it’s only a matter of time before she finds the audience.

(y/n) falters mid-step, instinctively grabbing sora’s arm, leaning in close to whisper, “it’s her. the ex.”

sora’s eyes follow her line of sight, landing squarely on the girl striding past a bulletin board full of club flyers, hair tied up, expression tight.

“oh.” she straightens. “she looks… intense.”

“she showed up at his place last night. in the middle of everything.”

sora’s brows rise. “everything-everything?”

“everything.”

they both glance again. rowan hasn’t noticed them yet—or if she has, she’s pretending not to.

“think she’s gonna say something?”

“no clue,” (y/n) mutters, pulse ticking again. “but if she does, I’m not doing this. I’m not playing that game.”

“i believe you,” sora says, then gently adds, “even though you’re clearly losing your mind.”

(y/n) takes a deep breath through her nose, chin lifting. “not losing it. just momentarily misplacing it.”

but even as she says it, she can feel the crack forming in her façade.

because it’s one thing to pretend you’re over it when he’s the only one around to fool. it’s another thing entirely when the girl from his past is now walking the same halls, brushing past the same walls, maybe still carrying pieces of him that (y/n) thought she was starting to understand.

and it’s suddenly very, very clear: whatever this is between her and jimin— it’s nowhere near finished. but it might be about to unravel.

“ugh, i gotta run,” sora says, glancing at her phone with a sigh, the schedule app glowing with judgment. “ta’s gonna take attendance and i already used my fake sickness last week.”

“you and your tragic academic career,” (y/n) deadpans, pulling her hoodie sleeve over her hand and lightly smacking her arm. “go. be mediocre.”

sora smirks, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulder. “you sure you’re good?”

“i’m golden,” (y/n) lies with a smile.

sora doesn’t press further. just gives her a final look that says be careful, then jogs off into the slow-moving tide of students.

and then it’s just her. standing by herself under the wide-open quad sky. sipping her coffee. pretending she’s not emotionally bruised.

until she’s not alone anymore.

a presence sidles up beside her, calculated and cold like a shadow you don’t want to acknowledge. (y/n) doesn’t turn her head. not at first.

but the voice is unmistakable.

“so you’re the reason he’s been acting different.”

(y/n)’s lips curl before she even looks. slow, practiced, unbothered. she turns toward the voice, gaze gliding down and back up with pointed disinterest. rowan stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, like she’s already decided she’s got the moral high ground.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific,” (y/n) says calmly, eyebrow lifting. “a lot of people act weird around me.”

rowan doesn’t smile. “i’m talking about jimin.”

“oh.” she sips her drink, shrugs. “you could’ve just said that.”

“don’t play dumb with me. i know what’s going on between you two.”

“yeah?” (y/n) tilts her head, giving a once-over like she’s trying to decide whether she’s impressed or bored. “then you probably also know how it ended last night.”

that flickers something in rowan’s expression—tightens it, sharpens it.

“you really think this means something to him?” she snaps, taking a step closer.

(y/n) doesn’t flinch. if anything, she leans in a little, a cruel sort of softness in her voice now. “if it doesn’t, then why’d he ask you to leave?”

rowan opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

“look,” (y/n) continues, smiling now but it’s all teeth, “i don’t do the whole ‘mark your territory’ thing. if he’s yours, go ahead and claim him. tattoo your name on his forehead. but as long as he keeps calling me at night—well…” she steps past her, brushing her shoulder as she turns, “i’m just gonna keep having fun for a little longer.”

rowan stares after her, stunned into silence.

(y/n) doesn’t stop walking. doesn’t look back. her coffee’s almost empty, her heart’s pounding in her chest, but her face is unreadable.

and god, if she doesn’t love being the one who gets under everyone’s skin— even when she’s bleeding just beneath her own.

she makes it to class five minutes late, breath shallow from speed walking across campus, still slightly warm from her run-in with the ex. her hair’s a little messy, her coffee’s long gone, and her tolerance for bullshit is basically at zero.

and of course—of course—the only open seat is next to him.

park jimin sits there like he owns the row. sprawled out in that casual, cocky way of his, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one knee bouncing like he’s got too much energy and nowhere appropriate to put it.

she slides into the chair without a word, slams her bag down harder than necessary, and doesn’t even look at him.

but she feels him smirk the second she’s close.

“you’re late,” he whispers.

“and you’re still talking,” she shoots back.

he chuckles under his breath, leaning just a little closer. “you missed the part where the prof said our midterm is online. you’re welcome.”

“oh, so now you’re doing public service?”

his lips part like he’s about to come back with something smug, but she cuts in before he can:

“by the way,” she whispers, still facing forward, eyes on the projector, “you should really keep your girlfriend in check.”

his body stills beside her. “rowan’s not my girlfriend.”

his voice is too quick, too sharp. too defensive.

she lets it simmer for a beat before letting the smirk curl at her mouth.

“yeah, well,” she says, keeping her voice low and biting, “i don’t think she got the memo. she looked about two seconds away from keying my face.”

he groans quietly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “i didn’t ask her to come over. she just showed up.”

“so did I,” she mutters. “difference is you actually wanted me there.”

that earns her a glance. one of those slow, heavy looks from the corner of his eye that lingers longer than it should.

she doesn’t return it. she can’t. not when she’s still pissed at herself for wanting this at all.

but god, she wants it. even now—especially now.

the professor’s voice drones on, something about behavioral economics and social theory, but she leans in just enough for only him to hear.

“hey…” she whispers like she’s asking something innocent.

he hums in reply, still staring at the screen.

“do you wanna hang out later?” she asks, so casually it could be mistaken for small talk. “you still owe me something.”

his head snaps slightly in her direction, and this time she does meet his eyes. deadpan. unreadable. but her gaze is heated.

he swallows hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to react. trying not to smile.

she hates herself a little in that moment. for wanting him. for wanting to be wanted by him. for feeling it in the pit of her stomach already, the tension pulling tight again like a rubber band ready to snap.

but if she’s going to let herself spiral, she’s at least going to look good doing it.

—----

they don’t even bother heading to their next period.

the air’s still cool and quiet, campus only half-awake, and they’re walking fast without saying anything. (y/n)’s a solid two feet ahead of him, arms crossed, jaw set, sunglasses on even though it’s barely 9 a.m.

jimin follows like he’s tethered to her, fingers twitching at his sides. his hair’s still a little tousled from class, and his hoodie’s too loose on him—but the tension rolling off him is tight. he’s not speaking, because he knows her. knows silence pisses her off more than flirting ever could.

they hit the edge of the parking lot, gravel crunching underfoot, the weight of everything unsaid between them suddenly too much.

the second they reach his car, he snaps.

one hand slams the door shut behind her before she can open it, the other catches her waist, spinning her around and shoving her up against the passenger side with a thud. the sunroof glass rattles with the impact.

his mouth crashes onto hers, bruising and breathless, all tongue and teeth and rage barely hidden under lust.

she gasps against him but doesn’t resist—no, she leans in, arms looping loosely around his neck like she’s bored of the whole thing already.

“i know you’re mad at me,” he breathes into her mouth, eyes flicking between hers. “you don’t have to pretend.”

“i’m not pretending,” she mutters, dragging her nails up the back of his neck, “you’re just not that interesting.”

he laughs. low. dark. the sound of someone who loves getting slapped and kissed in the same breath.

his hands slide up her sides, under her top, palms burning against her ribs. “you want me to fuck the little attitude out of you?” he murmurs, nose brushing hers.

“you think you can?” she shoots back, tone dry as hell, lips barely brushing his. “please.”

that has him grinning—something unhinged and gleaming with teeth. “you are such a brat.”

“and you’re obsessed with it,” she replies coolly, but her body’s already betraying her. she shifts against him, hips brushing his. “you like when I give you a hard time.”

“i like when you shut up.”

“then make me.”

his hand moves down to grip her thigh, hoisting it up against his hip, grinding in just enough to make her inhale sharply. but her face? her face stays unimpressed. lips parted, eyes heavy, a smirk tugging at the corners like she knows she’s got him wrapped around her finger—even now.

he looks wrecked already, forehead pressing against hers.

“get in the car,” he growls. “before I fuck you against the window.”

she slides off him like silk, flicks her sunglasses up to rest on her head, and opens the door without saying another word—her smirk doing all the talking.

the car hums low beneath them, tires rolling steady down the road, early morning sun creeping higher as the rest of the city slowly wakes. but inside jimin’s car? it’s anything but quiet.

the music is low, bass thumping soft under the dashboard. one of those moody R&B playlists he pretends he doesn’t keep just for this kind of thing. the windows are cracked. the air’s warm. and his hand is on her thigh.

(y/n) sits pointedly still in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms crossed like she’s not burning from the inside out.

but his hand? his hand is deliberate. casual, almost. just resting there at first, fingertips lazily tapping along the bare skin just beneath the hem of her denim shorts. thumb brushing back and forth, light and slow.

he doesn’t look at her. doesn’t have to.

she shifts her weight a little, like she’s trying to create space without making it obvious.

he notices.

of course he does.

his hand slides up. just a little. inching higher with every red light. knuckles skimming higher on her inner thigh like he’s testing her patience—testing her restraint.

she breathes deep. doesn’t move. doesn’t react. not visibly anyway.

that’s when he grins. because she’s playing the game again.

he palms her. flat over her shorts. firm, deliberate pressure where he knows she’s starting to feel it. just enough friction to make her thighs twitch together. and god, the denim is making it worse—coarse and tight and hiding nothing.

“you’re quiet,” he says, glancing at her with that smug, slow-lidded look.

“you’re annoying,” she replies, voice thin, every syllable laced with tension.

his fingers shift, pressing down harder. his palm rolls slightly, a subtle grind right where she’s most reactive.

“mhm,” he hums, “but you’re wet.”

she turns her head slowly, jaw tight, eyes practically daring him to keep going.

“i will bite you, park.”

he laughs—soft and cocky, pulling up at a red light, letting the car idle as he turns slightly in his seat to face her more.

“promise?”

she swallows, blinking down at where his hand still rests between her thighs. then back at him.

cool. unaffected. absolutely lying.

“i’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

“baby, you already did.” he smirks. “like five minutes ago when you clenched your thighs.”

her lips part, but she has no comeback—just a soft little breath of indignation and the flush crawling up her neck.

she doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t spit out some clever one-liner or roll her eyes like usual. instead, she just slowly parts her legs—barely an inch. just enough.

enough to say: fine. try me.

his breath hitches, quiet and shallow.

his hand moves immediately, like muscle memory, sliding just under the edge of her shorts with practiced ease. she’s still facing the window, jaw clenched, brows tight like she’s bored with him—but he can feel the tension humming under her skin. she’s wired tight, her pulse racing just under her thigh, her breath carefully measured, like she’s fighting not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

his fingertips move slow. teasing. tracing up and down the soft skin of her inner thigh, skimming maddeningly close but never quite touching where she wants him. his fingers are warm and sure, featherlight, dragging slow little circles as if they’re not parked in broad daylight in front of a campus dorm.

“still annoying?” he murmurs, voice low, barely audible over the thrum of the engine.

she swallows hard. doesn’t look at him. “you’re a joke.”

he laughs under his breath. “yeah? you gonna keep pretending this doesn’t feel good?”

he dips his fingers higher, the pads of them brushing over the edge of her panties. his grin only grows when he finds the damp spot already soaking through the cotton, evidence of her undoing, even if she won’t give him a single word.

“fuck,” he whispers more to himself than her, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “you’re soaked.”

she exhales, slow and tight, her back pressing deeper into the seat like she’s trying to melt into it. her thighs twitch, hips subtly shifting toward him, betraying her every attempt at aloofness.

he leans in, voice like honey and fire all at once.

“say it,” he whispers, sliding a single finger over the wet fabric. slow. purposeful. “say you missed this.”

she doesn’t. won’t. can’t.

but she tilts her hips again.

and that’s all he needs.

his fingertip slips just beneath the damp fabric, barely grazing her, enough to make her knees tense and a soft breath escape her lips. not a moan, not even a gasp—just air, tight in her throat, caught between pride and want.

he moves again. slower this time. dragging his finger up and down the center of her, collecting slick and spreading it deliberately, like he has all the time in the world.

she grips the edge of her seat, knuckles pale.

he’s grinning like he’s won. like she’s his favorite game and this is the part he never gets tired of.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs, teasing now, daring her.

she turns, just enough to meet his eyes, her face impassive but her pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed.

“i’ll let you know when i feel something,” she says coolly, voice like smoke.

and that is when he slides a second finger against her—more pressure this time, more confidence, watching her mouth twitch just slightly, just enough to know it’s getting to her.

“yeah?” he murmurs with a grin. “you’ll feel it in two seconds. promise.”

she doesn't flinch when he slides his fingers in.

not outwardly, at least.

her legs stay relaxed, parted just enough. her hands stay in her lap, nails lightly pressing into the fabric of her shorts, knuckles taut—but her face? still unreadable. no fluttering lashes. no bitten lip. no dramatic sigh of surrender. just that same neutral expression as before, eyes fixed somewhere past the windshield like she’s thinking about class or lunch or literally anything but the two fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

but he feels it.

the way she clenches around him, tighter than before, like her body didn’t get the memo her mind’s trying to stick to. the tension in her thighs. the sharp, shaky breath she tries to hide by coughing into her sleeve.

his smile is cruel.

“you’re so full of shit,” he mutters, watching her face carefully, his thumb brushing the edge of her shorts where they’ve ridden up.

her only response is a soft scoff. not quite a laugh. not quite denial.

he curls his fingers just slightly, testing her, grazing that spot inside that always makes her suck in air like she’s drowning on dry land. and there it is—just the tiniest hitch in her breath, the subtle roll of her hips forward, so slight it could’ve been nothing… but he knows it wasn’t.

his voice drops, barely audible beneath the soft click of the turn signal as the car idles on the curb

“you gonna keep pretending?” he whispers, fingers moving slowly inside her, more deliberate now, dragging along every wet, pulsing inch.

still, she doesn’t give him much. just a long, quiet exhale through her nose, lips slightly parted now but her eyes don’t waver. don’t look at him. not yet.

“you’re shaking,” he adds, cocky and amused, pressing in a little deeper, his palm dragging against the curve of her thigh as he moves. “that little attitude’s slipping, baby.”

finally, finally, she turns to him—face flushed now, the tiniest sheen on her brow, but her mouth still curved in that stubborn little smirk he wants to ruin.

“drive,” she says lowly, lashes fluttering once like a warning.

he raises an eyebrow. “drive?”

“yeah,” she murmurs, voice thick and strained, “or i’ll make you fall apart next.”

and he swears under his breath, biting his lip because fuck, he’s obsessed with this girl. even now. especially now.

but he pulls his hand back anyway, slowly, dragging every second out like a punishment. and when his fingers slip out of her, glistening, he watches the way her thighs twitch from the loss.

he doesn’t say a word. just turns the key in the ignition.

and the ride the rest of the way?

silent. tense. electric.

every red light feels like a countdown to something neither of them are ready to admit they need.

the hallway is quiet when they get to her floor, just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional muffled door slam somewhere behind them. she walks ahead with her keys in hand, eyes fixed on the door to her dorm. doesn’t check if he’s following—she knows he is.

jimin’s just a step behind, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to keep them from doing something reckless. like sliding them under her shorts again. or yanking her flush against him right there in the stairwell.

but he waits.

waits until she unlocks the door, pushes it open, walks in without a word. he steps in after her, kicks the door closed behind him, and the second the latch clicks shut—

she peels off her hoodie.

not in a dramatic, attention-seeking way. not even trying to look sexy.

just—matter-of-fact. like she’s tossing off the weight of the morning. like she’s tired of pretending she’s not already aching from the ride over.

her tank top clings to her, a sliver of skin peeking out above the waistband of her shorts as she tosses the hoodie to the side. she still hasn’t looked at him. hasn’t said a single word since they left the car. but her body speaks for her: shoulders tense, movements sharp, hair falling loose over one shoulder as she reaches down to untie her shoes.

she’s done pretending. and they both know exactly what this is.

jimin’s eyes trail the line of her spine beneath her tank, the slight curve of her waist, the way her shorts barely cling to her hips. he licks his lips and swallows hard, staying by the door for half a second longer than necessary—like he’s bracing for something.

she tosses her shoes toward the corner, stands straight, finally looks over her shoulder at him.

just one look.

blank. unapologetic. devastating.

then she turns back and walks toward the bed, slowly sliding the strap of her tank off her shoulder like it’s just another thing in the way.

and that’s all the invitation he needs.

he’s moving before he knows it, already toeing off his sneakers, pulling his hoodie over his head, eyes locked on her like she’s gravity and he’s just something caught in orbit.

no words. not yet.

just clothes shedding to the floor, tension thick in the air, and the silent understanding between two people who are too far gone to stop.

she doesn’t say a word—just climbs up onto the bed, slow and unfazed, like she’s stretching, not seducing. her knees sink into the mattress first, then her elbows, chest folding down with a soft exhale as she settles near the edge. her hair spills over her shoulder, cascading messily down her back, catching on the soft glow of the lamp on her desk.

her shorts ride up just enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

and then she looks over her shoulder. face half-lit, brow arched in that way.

she doesn’t blink. doesn’t even tilt her head.

just stares at him with that expression like: are you going to do something or just stand there gawking?

jimin’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. his jaw tightens as he exhales through his nose—low, deep, amused. he’s already shirtless, belt undone, standing a few feet away like he’s trying to commit the view to memory.

“you always this bossy when you’re needy?” he mutters, voice low and warm, filled with quiet laughter.

she doesn’t answer. just shifts her hips back slightly, an unsubtle reminder that she’s waiting. that he’s the one wasting time now.

so he steps closer.

his hands come to her waist, one sliding around her hip, fingers splaying across her stomach while the other glides down to the curve of her ass. he squeezes lightly—like he’s testing, admiring, owning.

"you really think that little attitude makes you less obvious?” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth hovers near the shell of her ear. “you’re dripping through these shorts, baby.”

she rolls her eyes. “you talk too much.”

“and you never shut up until my hand’s over your mouth,” he counters, grinning into her skin, brushing his lips just beneath her ear. “but please, keep pretending I don’t have you exactly where you want to be.”

his hand slides under the waistband of her shorts, slow, almost lazy—like he has all day to take her apart.

and from her silence, her stillness, the faint hitch in her breath?

he knows she’ll let him.

but she’ll never admit it.

and fuck if that isn’t his favorite part.

he presses into her slowly, his chest brushing her back, hips pushing against the swell of her ass still wrapped tight in her shorts. they’re both still half dressed, but the friction feels criminal—the rough fabric of his jeans grinding against her in a way that makes her thighs tense, breath catching somewhere in her throat.

her hands fist in the sheets beneath her, jaw clenched, still pretending this doesn’t do anything to her. still trying to play the unbothered girl even with the weight of him bearing down on her.

but jimin knows better.

he slides one hand around her waist again, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband like he owns the space there. his other hand? the one on her ass—lingering, affectionate at first. his thumb traces a slow, lazy arc on her skin, dipping under the hem of her shorts.

and then—

crack.

his palm lands with a sharp sting against her ass, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

she jerks forward instinctively, her breath knocked short by the sudden slap. not hard enough to hurt—just enough to leave heat. a bloom of sensation that burns and tingles, the echo of it painting fire beneath her skin.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice smug and low and so satisfied.

she huffs out a breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. her face turns against the mattress, muffling the sound. still refusing to give him the reaction he wants.

but her body gives her away. it always does.

he feels the way she pushes back into him, subtly but certainly. the way her thighs spread just a little wider. the way her hips stay lifted, waiting.

“still annoyed?” he asks, rocking forward again, dragging his clothed length against the seam of her shorts. “or finally admitting you need me?”

she tilts her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. her lips are parted, cheeks flushed, a single strand of hair caught in her lashes.

“touch me again,” she says, voice dry, “and don’t waste time talking about it.”

and jimin? fuck, he loves her like this.

headstrong. infuriating. soaked.

he grins, already reaching for the button of her shorts, mouthing along her shoulder as he mutters—

“anything for you, baby girl.”

her shorts hit the floor in a rush of fabric, and still—still—she’s got that expression on her face. like she’s unimpressed. like she’s bored. like she’s not clenching around nothing and biting down on her own tongue to keep from whimpering the second his hand touched her.

and jimin notices. he sees all of it.

the fake eye roll. the smug smirk. the feigned indifference. she’s baiting him—again.

and this time? he’s taking it.

“oh?” he hums, dragging his hand up the back of her thigh again, warm palm skimming the curve of her now-bare ass. “you’re still gonna act like you’re not begging for it? really?”

she shrugs. shrugs. as if he isn’t kneeling behind her, half-hard and starving.

“it’s not that deep, park.”

oh, she wants to be punished.

he lets out a low laugh—one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “got it,” he says quietly, reaching for the bottom drawer of her nightstand like he knows exactly where everything is now. he finds what he needs in two seconds flat. the bottle of lube. a fresh condom. and just for good measure—her toy, the one she thought he didn’t know about.

her head snaps around. “what are you—”

he cuts her off with a sharp look, one hand already ghosting over the back of her neck, gently but firmly guiding her face back down into the mattress.

“don’t play dumb. you wanna be a brat?” his voice is calm now, cool and measured in a way that makes her pulse jump. “then you’re gonna learn what happens when you act like one.”

and she should say something snarky—she always does—but there’s something different in his tone. something dangerous. delicious.

she stays silent.

“good girl,” he murmurs, almost mockingly, letting the words drip over her like syrup as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down her spine. “see? already learning.”

he presses her thighs apart further, kneeling between them. she’s soaked already—of course she is. and now she’s quiet. breath shaky. head turned into the mattress. her hands curled into the sheets.

jimin leans in, whispering just beside her ear, his voice low and cruel and addicting.

“you’re not gonna come until i say so. and if you do? i’m gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

she shivers.

he grins.

and when he finally presses inside her, deep and slow and devastating—one hand gripping her hip, the other wrapping around the back of her neck—she doesn’t say a single word.

but god, she feels everything.

he pushes in deep—inch by inch, like he’s got nowhere to be. like the clock doesn’t exist. like the only thing that matters is dragging out the moment just long enough to make her beg.

and she hates that it’s working.

her body reacts before she can even try to stop it—hips twitching back to meet him, thighs tightening, her hands already white-knuckling the sheets beneath her. but he’s not picking up the pace. at all. if anything, he’s slowing down further, grinding into her with a slow, punishing rhythm that’s more pressure than thrust—just deep enough to leave her breathless, but not enough to tip her over the edge.

“mm,” he hums, voice almost playful, breath hitting the side of her neck as he leans in, so fucking composed. “what happened to that mouth, huh?”

she doesn't answer. she can’t—not with the way he’s moving, rolling his hips in slow circles, deliberately avoiding that perfect angle. not with the way her body is already trembling, so sensitive she could cry if he just moved a little faster.

“not so mouthy now,” he murmurs, smiling against her skin as he trails a kiss down her spine, his fingers pressing into her hips like they’re sculpting her into submission. “what, baby? all that attitude gone the second i touched you?”

still, she says nothing. won’t give him the satisfaction.

but her legs are shaking.

her back arches on instinct.

and when he pulls all the way out and doesn’t move for a full beat—just leaves her there, empty, clenching around nothing—her breath catches like a hiccup and her hips buck without her permission.

that’s when he laughs. low, dark, mean.

“yeah,” he whispers, dragging his fingers along the mess between her thighs. “you’re fuckin’ ruined for me.”

he pushes back in hard this time—not fast, just deep—pressing flush to the base, holding there, stretching her until she whimpers into the mattress.

“you wanna come?” he asks, casual. too casual.

she nods, but it’s barely a twitch. like even moving her head might set her off.

he tsks. “use your words.”

she forces them out through clenched teeth, her voice wrecked and hoarse. “yes. fuck, please.”

but he only pulls out again, slow as ever, and she nearly sobs at the loss.

“not yet,” he murmurs, dragging his lips across her shoulder, breath hot, smirk cruel. “you’re not sorry enough.”

and oh, he’s loving this. the tension. the way she’s twitching underneath him. the way she’s desperate now—no more smartass remarks, no more fake eye rolls. just panting. trembling. waiting.

and jimin?

he’s going to take his time. she wanted to be a brat?

now she gets to be his favorite toy.

her voice is thin, already frayed around the edges, dragged raw from holding everything back. but eventually, it breaks—shattering into the thick air between them like glass under pressure.

“jimin,” she gasps, voice barely audible, cheek pressed against the mattress. “please. please, i—I can’t…”

his grin is slow, predatory. he hums like he’s considering it, even though he always intended to make her beg. always wanted to hear it roll off her tongue like that—wrecked and reluctant.

“can’t what?” he asks, maddeningly calm, hips still moving in that same, slow grind. deep. aching. controlled. “can’t handle it? can’t admit you need me?”

she makes a noise in the back of her throat—something between a whimper and a curse, fingers clawing at the bedsheets like they can save her.

he finally gives her a little more—just a little. his pace picks up barely, enough to make the heat swirl tighter in her belly, enough to give her a flicker of hope.

and then he’s reaching for the bottle on the nightstand without stopping, popping the cap with one hand like he’s done this before—because he has. a hundred times in his head, every time she walked past him on campus, every time she rolled her eyes at something he said like he wasn’t the only one who could get her to come undone.

his other hand slides beneath her stomach, lifting her hips slightly, giving him a better angle as he shifts behind her. she whimpers again—almost instinctively now—and he leans forward to kiss between her shoulders.

“don’t worry,” he says, and there’s actual softness there, threaded beneath the smugness, barely-there but present. “not gonna hurt you.”

then she feels it—the cool slickness of the lube hitting his cock, dripping down where their bodies meet, mixing with the mess already between her thighs. his thrusts don’t stop—still deep, still slow—but the slide becomes smoother, easier, sending a ripple through her that makes her curse into the sheets.

her body jerks forward, her thighs trying to close around him—he stops that instantly, one hand pressing her knees apart.

“no, baby,” he says, low in her ear. “you asked for it. now you take it.”

and she does—biting her lip, panting, begging again under her breath because it’s still not enough, not yet. he’s making sure she’s comfortable, taken care of—and still fucking denying her at the same time.

it’s cruel.

it’s maddening.

and it’s making her obsessed.

he’s got her pinned—head turned to the side, one hand heavy at the back of her neck, not squeezing, just holding. Keeping. she’s got no choice but to look at him, her cheek flattened against the mattress, lashes wet, mouth parted as she gasps around every thrust.

he’s still moving slow, goddamn meticulous, hips rolling deep and deliberate like he's got something to prove. like he wants to fuck the shape of himself into her and take his time doing it.

but she’s trembling now, legs barely holding her up, her voice falling into these broken little sounds that aren’t words anymore. every time he pushes in, she lets out a soft, breathless moan—punctuated by frustration, desperation, need.

“jimin,” she pleads, again and again, tone dipping just enough to soften his name into a whimper. “please—”

he leans over her, mouth hovering next to her ear, his breath hot and smug and fucking infuriating.

“please what, baby? use your words,” he murmurs, a hand slipping between her legs for just a second, two fingers brushing where she needs it most—barely. “you want me to keep going? want me to fuck you like the needy little brat you are?”

she squeezes her eyes shut, too embarrassed, too ruined. but her body answers for her—hips pushing back, thighs twitching.

he lets out a low, rough chuckle.

“you love it when I make you beg, don’t you?” he presses, voice darker now, but still calm—too calm. “look at you. always pretending you don’t want this. but I’ve never seen you so wet. so fucking desperate.”

she chokes on a moan, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, mascara smudging under the strain.

“say it,” he demands, tone sharp now, that cocky edge turning into something that bites. “say you want it.”

and she finally breaks.

“i want it—i want you—fuck, please, jimin—just fuck me already!”

and that’s it.

he snaps.

the hand on her neck tightens just a little—not enough to scare her, just enough to ground her—as his hips pull back and slam into her hard, the sound obscene, skin meeting skin with a wet crack. she yelps, mouth falling open in a gasp that pitches too loud to be controlled.

“oh, now you’re ready?” he snarls, thrusting again, hard and fast this time, his body crashing into hers like a fucking wave. “you wanna be a brat, and then cry when you don’t get what you want? this is what you’ve been begging for?”

she can’t answer. there are no words. only sounds—breathless, frantic, ruined sounds as he fucks her into the mattress, rough and unrelenting, every snap of his hips making the headboard knock into the wall.

he’s not going slow anymore. he’s feral.

and her moans? they turn to cries.

not of pain.

of relief.

he’s panting now, but still relentless. sweat slicking his back, hair stuck to his forehead, his grip on her hips bruising as he drives into her with every ounce of control he has left. she’s shaking under him—crying out, trying to breathe, trying to hold herself together.

and then he slows just slightly, only to lean over her again and reach toward the nightstand, dragging open the drawer like he knows exactly where it is.

she doesn’t even register it at first. not until she hears the soft buzz—low and steady and unmistakable.

her head snaps up weakly, eyes wide as she watches him turn around with her toy in hand, smirking like the devil.

“thought you said this wasn’t a thing,” he murmurs, voice low, mocking, dark. “but you keep all the essentials ready for me, don’t you, baby?”

her lips part, but no words come out. she’s trembling now, thighs twitching from overstimulation, slick everywhere, muscles sore, her brain trying to catch up with her body.

and jimin? he’s enjoying every second.

he reaches out, takes her hand gently but firmly, and places the toy in her palm.

“go ahead,” he says softly, a breath against her ear. “hold it there for me.”

she looks back at him, breathless, still trying to figure out if he’s serious.

he just raises an eyebrow, cock still deep inside her, rolling his hips slow to make her feel it.

“what?” he taunts. “too much for you now, baby girl? thought you liked being a brat.”

her grip tightens around the toy, and slowly, trembling, she brings it between her thighs, pressing it right there—right where she needs it.

her whole body jolts.

“fuck—” she gasps, and immediately bites down on her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning too loud.

he grins.

“good girl. now keep it there.”

he starts moving again, steady and deep, every thrust pressing her harder against the toy, every movement making her legs twitch uncontrollably.

“but you don’t get to cum,” he adds, almost too casually. “not until i say. and if you do? i’ll make sure the next time you come is on my tongue, after hours of begging.”

her fingers tighten around the toy, and she sobs out something wordless. he’s not going easy. every thrust now is measured for torment. the sound of wet skin, the low buzz of the toy, her wrecked little whines—it all fills the room like a symphony of her downfall.

she’s close.

so close.

and he knows it.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he growls behind her, voice sharp, hips pounding. “you better hold it. i’ll know if you cum.”

and the worst part?

he would

her legs are shaking uncontrollably, the toy still buzzing in her hand, every nerve in her body screaming. she’s biting down on a moan so hard her jaw aches, fingers white-knuckling the sheets beneath her, desperate not to fall apart. because if she does—if she lets go without permission—she already knows what’s coming.

but she can’t take it anymore.

“please,” she gasps, voice cracked and wrecked, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “jimin—please, i can’t—i’m trying, i swear—”

and he’s still behind her, hips rolling into hers with that cruel, deep rhythm that keeps pressing her harder into the toy. she’s right there. dangling. one more thrust, one more second—

“i need to come—please—please, i can’t—”

and then her body betrays her.

she doesn’t even mean to do it—she’s not trying to disobey. but it hits her all at once, like her body just gives out, like her muscles snap and melt and twist all at once. she cries out, her voice shattering like glass, her thighs locking tight as she—

doesn’t.

not yet.

but jimin does.

with a sharp groan through gritted teeth, his pace stutters—finally losing it—burying himself deep one last time as he spills into the condom, his forehead pressing between her shoulder blades, hand gripping her hip like a vice. his groans are low, guttural, breathless—completely undone.

but it’s her broken sob that brings him back down.

he pulls out slowly, careful, still panting. the toy is slipping from her hand now, barely buzzing, and she’s collapsed onto the mattress, thighs twitching, body begging for release.

“baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as he kneels behind her. “i told you… if you came without asking…”

“i didn’t,” she whimpers, voice wrecked and trembling. “i didn’t. please—just—please—”

he pulls the toy from her weak hand, tosses it aside, and doesn’t say anything else. just spreads her thighs gently and leans in.

she gasps when his tongue makes contact.

a long, flat lick from the base of her folds all the way up to her clit, slow and mean, like he’s savoring her. and then he does it again. and again. until she’s crying—literal, choked sobs against the mattress, hips bucking, thighs locking around his head but he doesn’t stop.

he eats her out like he’s starving. like her pleasure is his revenge. his hands slide beneath her thighs to keep her in place, and he buries his face deeper, tongue flicking, sucking, moving in maddening circles.

her fingers claw at the mattress.

“jimin—fuck, please, i’m gonna—i can’t—”

and then he says it, voice muffled against her soaked skin:

“come for me.”

and she does.

like she’s never come before. her whole body arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around his head, a strangled, high-pitched cry ripping from her chest as she finally lets go—everything breaking at once. pleasure crashing through her in endless waves, tears slipping down her cheeks, her vision blurring as she rides it out, trembling violently under his mouth.

and he doesn’t stop.

not until she’s twitching too hard to handle it, not until she’s begging him to stop through hiccupped gasps and aftershocks, her body collapsing into the sheets—completely wrecked.

he finally pulls back, chin glossy, lips pink and swollen, looking up at her with a smug little smile and a rawness in his eyes that almost—almost—looks like something more.

“told you you’d be sorry,” he whispers, kissing the inside of her thigh.

the room is quiet now. heavy and thick with the remnants of everything they just did—sweat cooling on skin, the low hum of the AC in the corner, the rustle of her adjusting the sheets under her stomach like she can somehow make herself disappear into them.

he's sitting at the edge of her bed, trying to catch his breath, head bowed, hands braced on his knees. she hasn't looked at him since he licked her clean. not once. her back is turned, and her face is unreadable.

“you okay?” he asks after a beat. voice rough but low. soft, even.

she nods. too quick. too practiced.

“fine.”

he looks at her, sees how her mouth pulls tight like she’s trying to seal something in. like she’s already rebuilding that damn wall she always hides behind. and the worst part is—it stings. more than it should.

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration starting to bubble. “you’re not, though.”

(y/n) doesn’t answer. instead, she grabs her hoodie from the floor, slipping it on with her back still facing him. casual. distant. like they didn’t just share something that had her sobbing into the mattress.

he exhales sharply. “you always do this.”

“do what?” she mutters, tugging the zipper up.

“this whiplash shit,” he snaps, standing now, pacing a little like he can’t stay still. “one second you're climbing on top of me like you need me, and the next you're acting like i'm just some guy you tolerate because you're bored.”

she opens her mouth to respond but her phone rings—perfect timing. she glances at the screen and sighs, answering it with a tired voice.

“hey.”

it's sora.

“where the hell are you? you didn’t show for lunch, are you okay?”

(y/n)’s eyes flick toward jimin like she forgot he was still standing there. her voice switches to casual, cool, detached.

“yeah, i'm fine. just had a headache. i’m at the dorm. you coming?”

“yeah, i’ll be there in like ten. just checking in, babe.”

they hang up and the silence creeps back in. she turns to jimin, not even trying to sugarcoat it.

“you have to go.”

he blinks. “seriously?”

“sora’s on her way,” she says simply, tugging her hair into a messy bun. “you don’t need to be here anymore.”

and it hits him like a slap—how final she sounds. like he was a transaction, not a person. like he did his job and can clock out now.

he hesitates. there's something in his eyes—not casual, not cocky. just… confused. raw.

“when can I see you again?” he asks, and there’s a weight behind it. a tone that implies he doesn’t mean it like before. that maybe, for once, he’s not just asking to get laid.

but she hears what she wants.

she scoffs, already turned away from him again. “jesus, park. already thinking about round two?”

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. he just watches her for a second—searching. then nods.

“right.”

and as he reaches the door, she doesn’t stop him. doesn’t look at him. just drops back onto the bed like it’s already erased.

“i don’t know,” she mutters, voice muffled into her pillow. “i’ll text you.”

he leaves without another word.

and the second the door clicks shut behind him—she closes her eyes, jaw clenched tight like if she keeps her face neutral long enough, she won't cry.

(y/n) had barely cracked the window open, letting in the early afternoon air, stale and cold and not nearly strong enough to clear the weight in the room, when the door clicked open.

“a headache, huh?”

sora didn’t even drop her bag, arms crossed over her chest, a perfectly sculpted brow raised as she looked (y/n) over with that older-sister energy only best friends know how to master.

“yup,” (y/n) replied flatly, voice muffled from where she stood near the window like she was considering just jumping out of it and vanishing into a new identity.

sora hummed. “right, right…”

she kicked her sneakers off, took her sweet time walking in like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb, then glanced toward the window again.

“you wanna tell me what was park jimin doing leaving this building looking like he wanted to break every surface between here and the quad?”

(y/n) didn’t even flinch. she shrugged, eyes heavy-lidded and distant as she dropped onto her bed, pulling her hoodie over her head like it might hide the truth.

“i don’t know,” she mumbled. “he’s probably having sex with that blonde girl down the hallway. wouldn’t put it past him.”

sora paused.

then—chuckled.

not sweetly. not kindly. it was that you’re unbelievable but I love you anyway kind of laugh that only best friends can manage without it sounding mean.

“if you’re gonna lie,” sora said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone ready to be annoying, “at least try.”

she pointed, very pointedly, at the bottle of lube still sitting half-tucked behind the lamp on the desk and the unmistakable glint of a silver foil wrapper tossed into the corner of the trash can. the lube was still half uncapped. the wrapper hadn’t even been shoved all the way down. clearly, damage control was not (y/n)’s strong suit.

(y/n) groaned. long and loud.

and flopped face-first into her pillow, arms stretched out like she was about to be taken by the void.

sora waited.

and then, from under the pillow:

“i’m so stupid.”

it was quiet. muffled and slightly wet-sounding like her voice had cracked on the way out.

sora sat at the edge of the bed. didn’t touch her. didn’t crowd her. just breathed out softly.

“no, you’re not.”

silence.

“you’re just—” sora paused, searching for the right word. “emotionally constipated. and dating a walking hormone.”

“we’re not dating.”

“mhm. you’re just accidentally raw dogging and crying over him.”

“we’re not—crying—” (y/n)’s voice cracked again.

sora smiled to herself.

“look, you don’t have to say it. but you’re not fine. and i think you’re finally starting to realize that wanting him doesn’t mean you like how he makes you feel.”

(y/n) didn’t answer. not right away.

she just curled tighter into herself, fingers gripping the corner of her blanket, lips pressed shut like if she let anything else out, she might not be able to hold the rest in.

the silence that filled the room wasn’t uncomfortable. not really. just full. full of the weight (y/n) didn’t want to unpack and the affection sora didn’t quite know how to hand over without making her best friend flinch.

sora stared down at her hands, fiddling with the charm on her bracelet, debating.

and then—softly, almost hesitant:

“actually… i was wondering if you’d be down to meet someone.”

(y/n) didn’t move. didn’t even lift her face from the pillow.

“…what?” came her voice, muffled, dry with sarcasm. “are you playing cupid now? that desperate to get rid of me?”

“obviously,” sora quipped, but the smile in her voice was warm. teasing. “i already have the wedding planned. you’re going to wear that one dress you hate just to spite me.”

“cute. can’t wait to be emotionally destroyed by someone new.”

sora rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands.

“no, seriously. jin and i… we kind of—well. he has this friend.”

that made (y/n)’s ear twitch against the pillow. not enough to give away her interest, but sora caught it anyway.

“he’s, um… nice,” she said, like it was a confession. “and hot. but not like ‘jimin hot,’ you know? not, like, slutty hot. like… handsome.”

“wow, love that for me,” (y/n) muttered. “maybe i can trauma-dump over coffee and he can write a sad indie song about me.”

sora snorted. “honestly? he probably would. he’s kinda deep and stuff. he reads. like, actual books. not just quotes on tumblr.”

“does he own a tote bag and drink overpriced black coffee too?”

“probably. and he’d remember your birthday without having to check instagram.”

(y/n) finally turned her head, face half-squished by the pillow, one brow raised.

“this is sounding suspiciously like you’re describing your dream man and just trying to pass him off to me.”

“hey, i already have one golden retriever boyfriend. i don’t need two. jin’s enough work as it is.”

that made (y/n) crack a tiny smile. just barely. but it was there. fragile and fleeting and stitched together with exhaustion—but real.

“you don’t have to say yes,” sora added gently, nudging (y/n)’s foot with her own. “i just thought… maybe it wouldn’t hurt. talking to someone who’s not gonna fuck with your head.”

another pause.

then—

“what’s his name?” (y/n) asked, like she didn’t care. like it didn’t matter. like she wasn’t secretly trying to memorize it in case she decided to google him later.

sora smiled.

“namjoon.”

sora pulled her phone from her back pocket, tapping quickly through her gallery like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to break this out. (y/n) was still lying face-down on the mattress, now with her cheek smooshed against her pillow, eyes barely open and squinting in the sunlight slipping through the blinds.

“okay. you have to see this,” sora said, her voice laced with a mischievous kind of warmth.

“if it’s another video of jin falling off a couch, i’ve already seen it.”

“nope,” she grinned. “better.”

she leaned over, holding the screen out so (y/n) could see. and there he was—namjoon. laughing so hard he was practically doubled over, his face pink and scrunched, clearly tipsy, a half-empty beer in one hand and the other braced against seokjin’s shoulder. the older boy was mid-rant about something ridiculous—something to do with sock conspiracies and IKEA furniture—but namjoon wasn’t even listening anymore. he was just laughing, full and loud and unfiltered. the kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh, too.

(y/n) didn’t smile. not really. but something shifted in her chest.

“he already thinks you’re beautiful, by the way,” sora added, casual but not. like it was a secret she’d been sitting on and couldn’t hold in anymore.

“you showed him my insta?” (y/n) asked, but her voice wasn’t angry. more like tired curiosity.

sora shrugged. “he asked. i said you were out of his league, but that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting to meet you.”

(y/n) rolled onto her back, lips pursing as she stared up at the ceiling again. “doesn’t know me, then.”

“no,” sora said softly. “but he’s willing to. and that counts for something.”

she hesitated.

then: “we could totally arrange a double date that’s not really a double date, if you don’t want to be alone. it doesn’t even have to be dinner. we could just do coffee or a bookstore or something stupid. zero pressure. i promise.”

(y/n) was quiet for a long moment.

she didn’t say it aloud—didn’t even shift her expression much. but in the corner of her mind, something uncurled. a tiny flicker of vindication. of pettiness, even.

it’s fair, she told herself.

if jimin was still out here sleeping with whoever the hell he wanted—acting like what they had was just a routine, nothing serious—then what was stopping her from at least meeting someone who might actually give a shit?

she bit the inside of her cheek.

“he reads actual books?” she asked, almost like it was a joke.

sora smiled, sensing the change, the small fracture in her resistance.

“and he volunteers at the campus library on weekends. he knows the dewey decimal system.”

“wow,” (y/n) said dryly. “that’s hot.”

but there was a quiet sort of consideration in her voice now. something that wasn’t there before.

“fine,” (y/n) said, her voice soft. a little hoarse from everything, from him, from the morning. “i’ll go.”

sora blinked. froze for a second like she wasn’t sure she heard right.

“…wait—you’ll go?”

(y/n) nodded once, still flat on her back. “i mean, it’s not a date, right?”

“not a date,” sora agreed immediately, practically vibrating. “just four very attractive people grabbing coffee while two of them try to emotionally salvage their best friend’s love life—nothing suspicious at all.”

(y/n) let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh. barely. her eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, but a faint smile curled at the corners of her mouth before she pressed her phone to her chest.

“i have to tell jin,” sora squealed, grabbing her phone like it was a matter of national importance. “we’ve been waiting for this moment. you are not ready for namjoon’s quiet man rizz. he’s like… polite but intense. like he’s always three sentences ahead of the conversation and still listening to every word.”

“okay, calm down,” (y/n) muttered, rolling onto her side, eyes flicking to her own phone again.

still no messages.

not even a double text. not even a shitty meme.

she swallowed hard, thumb tapping aimlessly at her screen. locked it. unlocked it. then locked it again.

figures, she thought. maybe that was the whole point. maybe this was the moment she finally started playing the game the way he did—cool, distant, unreachable.

“coffee’s on wednesday,” sora said from across the room, already texting, cheeks flushed with the thrill of matchmaking. “just after class. no pressure. and i’ll be there the whole time.”

(y/n) nodded again, still curled under her blanket.

her phone buzzed once.

her heart jumped.

it wasn’t him.

and so she sank deeper into the mattress, wrapped in silence and resolve, whispering to herself in the quietest voice:

just coffee.

just coffee.

just a start.

—---

she had managed to avoid him like the plague for the past two days.

not that it was particularly difficult—jimin had apparently found new places to stick his tongue down rowan’s throat all over campus. the student center. the quad. even the hallway leading to the library, where anyone with a pulse could see them pressed against the lockers like a poorly scripted indie film.

(y/n) had simply kept walking. shoulders squared. expression blank. her heart? a mess. pounding. bruised. aching in the worst kind of private way.

today, she had a free period—one he used to know by memory. the one where they’d usually disappear into some forgotten corner of the campus: a storage closet, an empty lecture hall, the back seat of his car.

not today.

today, she locked herself inside the cleanest, quietest bathroom on the top floor of the liberal arts building. she stayed longer than necessary, pretending to check her makeup, her messages, her nonexistent emails. anything to kill the time. anything to not remember.

but the second she stepped outside—there he was.

leaning against the tiled wall like he belonged there. black hoodie half-zipped, head tilted like he wasn’t trying to look casual. hands in his pockets. smirk already cocked like a loaded gun.

her jaw tightened. she didn’t slow down.

“did you get bored of your girlfriend?” she asked, not even glancing at him as she walked past.

his smirk widened. the kind that made her want to slap it off and kiss it in the same breath.

“don’t act jealous now, princess.”

she scoffed. not even dignifying him with a full-body reaction.

“you wish.”

he pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. their shoulders close but not touching, his steps a half-beat too synced with hers.

“you said you’d text.”

“i lied,” she said simply. her voice light, sarcastic, but the bitterness beneath it hung heavy in the air.

he chuckled. low, smug, infuriating.

“what, you got separation anxiety, park?” she murmured, casting him a quick side glance, venom sweet on her tongue.

“only when you ghost me.”

her laugh was sharp, humorless. “you’re fine. you’ve got a perfectly capable tongue warmer already.”

he didn’t answer that.

not immediately.

just looked at her. really looked. and for a second she could feel it—like the way he used to stare at her when she was on top of him, hair sticking to her temples, lip caught between her teeth, like she was the only girl in the goddamn world.

“what are we even doing?” he asked under his breath.

her chest squeezed tight, but her face didn’t budge.

“nothing,” she said. “we’re doing nothing.”

and she didn’t let herself look back as she walked away.

he was still following her.

his footsteps weren’t loud, but they were steady. like he hadn’t gotten the very clear message that she wanted nothing to do with him. or maybe he had—and just didn’t care.

“hey, um…” his voice came low from behind her, casual, like the conversation from two minutes ago hadn’t been a punch to the gut. “wanna come over? around lunch?”

she didn’t stop walking. not for a second. the answer was already on her lips before he could even finish the question.

“can’t. i’m going on a date.”

that stopped him. completely.

she didn’t have to look back to know it. she felt the hesitation in his pace, the way his silence caught like a sudden storm break—his breath, audible in the way it halted, like she’d just sucked all the air out of his lungs with one clean swing. and god, it made something twist in her gut. vicious satisfaction. a petty kind of pride.

because finally, she’d managed to land a hit.

she kept walking. eyes straight ahead, hands tucked in her pockets, her expression unreadable even as her heart thundered in her chest. she didn’t want to admit how much it cost her to say that. to make it real. to push the words out like they didn’t mean anything when they meant everything.

a date.

not with jimin.

not with someone who used her like a stress relief valve between other girls and then pretended it didn’t matter. no—someone who might actually see her as more than a warm body and a bratty smirk. someone who might mean safety instead of destruction.

he caught up with her again a few seconds later, but his voice was different now. tighter. still trying to sound amused, but his ego had definitely just taken a hit.

“you?” he asked, that little scoff laced into the back of his throat. “a date?”

she didn’t look at him. didn’t blink. just nodded once.

“yup.”

it was almost cruel, how nonchalant she sounded. how she delivered it like the weather—just another fact, another shift in atmosphere.

he laughed then. forced. hollow. more confused than anything else.

“so… who’s the unlucky bastard?”

he meant it as a joke, but she heard the tension underneath. the need to know. the fact that he couldn’t handle the idea of her giving even a fraction of what she gave him to someone else.

and that?

that was enough to fuel her for days.

she glanced at him then. Just a flick of her eyes, like an afterthought.

“none of your goddamn business, park.”

he opened his mouth again, like he had something else to say, but she was already walking faster. already turning the corner. already gone.

and for the first time in weeks, she left him standing there speechless.

—---

she wasn’t expecting much, really.

namjoon was handsome, sure. tall, broad-shouldered, and the kind of naturally put-together that made him look good in a plain t-shirt and worn sneakers. his vibe—at least from what sora told her—was chill, maybe a little philosophical. smart, funny in a dry way, emotionally aware. the complete opposite of what she was used to.

the complete opposite of jimin.

so, she walked toward the coffee shop with her expectations set somewhere below hopeful. this wasn’t a real date anyway. just coffee. just a distraction. a lifeline, maybe, if she let herself think dramatically. which she always did. the air was warm, sun flickering through the trees lining the street. her shoes hit the pavement in slow, reluctant steps.

when she saw the terrace, she spotted them instantly—sora and jin already seated, their heads tilted in laughter, and across from them—

him.

namjoon.

he was leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table, listening intently to whatever jin was saying. his fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee cup, and there was this ease to him. like he fit in every room he walked into without trying. the kind of calm that settled into the space instead of rearranging it.

she was halfway through apologizing as she reached the table—something about running late, something about traffic—when he turned to look at her.

and smiled.

not wide. not flashy.

just a dimpled, polite, heart-achingly sweet smile that made her lose the rest of her sentence entirely.

her mouth stayed open for a beat too long. her chest tightened, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. and for the first time in a long time, she felt something soft unfold in her belly. not lust. not adrenaline. just... warmth.

“hi,” he said, quiet but clear. his voice deep, gentle. smooth like good coffee and rainy sunday mornings.

she blinked.

closed her mouth.

“hi,” she said back, quieter than she meant to.

sora shot her a knowing look, barely hiding her grin. jin covered his chuckle behind a sip of his drink.

(y/n) sat down slowly, the cushion cool beneath her. she tugged at the hem of her sleeves to hide how her palms had started to sweat. get it together, she told herself. this wasn’t anything. not really. but her mind was already whirling, catching on dimples and calm eyes and the way he hadn't even looked at her body—just her face.

she couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

namjoon offered her a soft "glad you could make it," and the way he said it? like he meant it. like it wasn't just something polite people said.

and just like that, something shifted.

she didn’t know if it would last, if it meant anything, if she’d let it mean anything.

but she knew one thing for sure.

this coffee was already different.

it started slow, like most things that turn out to matter.

small comments. shared glances. little pauses where their eyes lingered a second too long, just enough for someone paying attention to notice. sora and jin definitely noticed.

they’d all been talking for a while now, easy chatter over lattes and croissants on the coffee shop’s sun-drenched terrace. sora had her arm hooked casually around jin’s, legs crossed under the table as she tossed in commentary like a pro. jin had taken to teasing (y/n) mercilessly, half about her general attitude and half about things sora clearly told him in confidence—like how she refused to use dating apps because “if the universe wants me in love it’ll drop it in my lap, not on a screen.”

namjoon laughed when jin said that. not a mocking laugh, but a soft one. amused, kind of impressed.

“you really said that?” he asked, tilting his head at her.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, cheeks warm despite herself. “don’t believe everything sora says.”

“but i want to believe it,” namjoon replied, chin resting in his hand, eyes flickering over her face like he was trying to memorize it. “it’s very poetic. delusional, but poetic.”

sora snorted into her drink. jin pretended to fall off his chair. and just like that, the tension drained out of (y/n)’s shoulders. she was smiling before she realized it. something about namjoon just let her relax.

he wasn’t trying to impress her.

he wasn’t trying to seduce her.

he was just there. present. thoughtful. funny in a quiet way that made her want to lean in and ask questions just to hear how he’d answer.

and he did lean in.

more than once.

at first it was to joke about jin and sora, something low and quick and conspiratorial like: “are they always like this? because I’m both amazed and concerned.”

she laughed. loud enough for sora to glance over and raise an eyebrow.

then it happened again. namjoon leaning close, his voice low near her ear, his fingers brushing the table between them like he was trying not to move too much but couldn’t help it. she said something sarcastic and he deadpanned right back, his words clever and dry and so perfectly timed it made her laugh again.

a real laugh. unguarded.

and suddenly, for those small, glittering moments, it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

jin noticed first. he sipped his drink, quirking a brow at sora across the table.

“oh god,” he mouthed dramatically. “we created a monster.”

sora barely fought back her grin. “they’re cute,” she mouthed back.

(y/n) didn’t notice. neither did namjoon.

he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth focusing on. not in a possessive way. not in a you’re mine kind of way. just—genuine. curious. gentle.

she didn’t remember the last time she felt that seen.

the air was mellow, the sun beginning its lazy descent behind the campus rooftops, casting soft orange light across the quad as the four of them walked. sora and jin hung back, wrapped up in their own bubble of teasing laughter and inside jokes, while (y/n) and namjoon walked a few paces ahead. it felt natural—unforced—the way their strides matched without thinking, their conversation floating easily from music to professors to jin’s obnoxious collection of novelty mugs that sora had apparently been trying to “accidentally break” since they started dating.

she was laughing, genuinely. not the kind of laugh she gave at parties, polite and performative, but the kind that came from somewhere loose and unguarded in her chest. namjoon’s voice was easy to listen to, deep but soft around the edges, the kind of voice that made every observation feel like a secret. he was funny in a subtle way, clever without trying too hard, his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever she threw sarcasm back at him.

it felt... peaceful.

she liked the pace of it. how no one was trying to impress anyone. how she didn’t feel the need to armor herself in sharp edges and cold glances just to keep control.

until her phone buzzed.

she felt it before she looked. that familiar little twist of anticipation and irritation curling low in her stomach. she glanced down.

[jimin.] “so... how’s the date, princess?”

cocky. smug. he probably sent it leaning back in his chair, that stupid grin on his face, fingers loose around his phone like none of this meant anything to him.

her smile faltered just slightly. she didn’t stop walking, but she exhaled through her nose—sharp, annoyed—and locked the screen before namjoon could see what it said.

but he already had.

not the contents, but the name. she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. he didn’t react with surprise or judgment—just a calm, thoughtful blink.

“you and jimin, huh?” he asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity but nothing sharp. just genuine interest.

she gave him a dry laugh, pushing her hair back from her face. “it’s nothing but a headache, really.”

and he nodded. no need for more.

“wanna change the subject?”

she looked at him, smiled. “desperately.”

so they did.

they spent the next few minutes talking about a book he’d been meaning to finish and the worst professor she’d ever had. when they finally reached her dorm building, the sky had deepened to gold, and the air had that quiet kind of stillness reserved for the late afternoon—the in-between of day and night.

he slowed to a stop in front of the steps. she did too, her hand hovering near the strap of her bag.

“this was nice,” he said, and meant it. his voice had a different weight now—not heavy, but intentional.

she nodded, already tugging at her lip with her teeth before she could stop herself. “it was.”

there was a beat of silence, not awkward, but tentative. like they were both standing at the edge of something just slightly out of view.

“can I get your number?” he asked then, tone light. “no pressure or anything. just thought it might be cool to hang out again sometime.”

she hesitated—not because she didn’t want to—but because she did. and deep down, she wanted him to be enough to make her forget jimin. to stop wanting things that hurt.

but she didn’t say that.

instead, she smiled, reached for his phone when he offered it, and typed in her number.

“i’d like that,” she said, handing it back.

and she meant it.

even if jimin’s message still lingered in her pocket like a ghost.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove @rpwprpwprpwprw @annyeongbitch7 @namgimini @princesstiti14 @alextgef @pjmxxjmdipity @cherryminnie95

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✨ HOW TO ACTUALLY START A BOOK

(no ✨vibes✨, just structure, stakes, and first-sentence sweat)

hello writer friends 💌 so you opened a doc. you sat down. you cracked your knuckles. maybe you even made a playlist or moodboard. and then… you stared at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your entire bloodline.

here’s your intervention. this post is for when you want to write chapter one, but all you have is aesthetic, maybe a plot bunny, maybe a world idea, maybe nothing at all. here’s how to actually start a book, from structure to sentence one.

—

🌶️ STEP 1: THE SPICE BASE ~ “WHAT’S CHANGING?”

start with this question:

what changes in the protagonist’s life in the first 5–10 pages?

doesn’t have to be earth-shattering. they could get a letter, lose a job, run late, break a rule, wake up hungover in the wrong house. what matters is disruption. the opening of your book should mark a shift. if their day starts normal, it shouldn’t end that way.

🏁 opening chapters are about motion. forward movement. tension. momentum. if nothing is changing, your story isn’t starting, you’re just doing a prequel.

—

⚙️ STEP 2: THE CRUNCHY BITS - CHOOSE AN ENTRY POINT

there are 3 classic places to start a novel. each one works if you’re intentional:

The Day Everything Changes most popular. you drop us in right before or during the inciting incident. clean, fast, efficient.

pro: immediate stakes con: harder to sneak in worldbuilding or character grounding

The Calm Before the Storm starts slightly earlier. show the character’s “normal” life, then break it. useful if the change won’t make sense without context.

pro: space to introduce your character’s routine/flaws con: risky if it drags or feels like setup

The Aftermath drop us in after the big event and fill in gaps as we go. works well for thrillers, mysteries, or emotionally heavy plots.

pro: instant drama con: requires precision to avoid confusion

📝 pick one. commit. don’t blend them or you’ll write three intros at once and cry.

—

🧠 STEP 3: CHARACTER FIRST, ALWAYS

readers don’t care about your setting, your magic system, or your cool mafia politics unless they’re anchored in someone.

in the first scene, we need to know:

what this person wants

what’s bothering them (externally or internally)

one trait they lead with (bold, anxious, calculating, naive, etc.)

that’s it. just one want, one tension, one vibe. no bios. no monologues. no “they weren’t like other girls” essays. put them in a situation and show how they act.

—

⛓️ STEP 4: OPEN WITH FRICTION

first scenes should create questions, not answer them.

there should be tension between:

what the character wants vs. what they’re getting

what’s happening vs. what they expected

what’s being said vs. what’s being felt

you don’t need a gunshot or a car crash (unless you want one). you need conflict. tension = momentum = readers keep reading.

—

✏️ STEP 5: WRITE THE FIRST SENTENCE - THEN IGNORE IT

okay. now you write it.

no pressure. you’re not tattooing it on your soul. this isn’t the final line on the final page. you just need something.

tricks that work:

start in the middle of an action

start with a contradiction

start with something unexpected, funny, or sharp

start with a small lie or a weird detail

💬 examples:

���The body was exactly where she’d left it - rude.” “He was already two hours late to his own kidnapping.” “There was blood on the welcome mat. Again.” “They said don’t open the door. She opened it anyway.”

once you’ve got it? keep going. don’t revise yet. don’t edit. just build momentum.

you can come back and make it ✨iconic✨ later.

—

📦 BONUS: WHAT NOT TO DO IN YOUR OPENING

don’t start with a dream

don’t info-dump lore in paragraph one

don’t give me three pages of your OC making toast

don’t try to sound like a Victorian cryptid unless it’s on purpose

don’t introduce 7 named characters in one scene

don’t start with a quote unless you are 800% sure it slaps

be weird. be sharp. be specific. aim for interest, not perfection.

—

🏁 TL;DR (but make it ✨useful✨)

something in your MC’s life should change immediately

pick a structural entry point and stick to it

give us a person, not a setting

friction = good

first lines are disposable, just make them interesting

and if you needed a sign to just start the damn book, this is it.

💌 love, -rin t.

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[undertalethingems]

Unexpected Guests Chapter Ten, Act Two: Page 31

First / Previous / Next

Papyrus escapes answering any prying questions... for now. Maybe later, once they successfully troubleshoot the murderous scientist problem.

The next update comes April 17th!

[leviathanleva]

Caffè Crema

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!FemReader]

It was all fine and dandy between you two. You fed him and he helped you move heavy furniture. Then he comes to you with a question because you'd been unknowingly avoiding his advances.

"Is it the scars?"

And you're not really sure how to answer.

[5.2k words]

[Smut, MDNI]

Chapter 2 "Tea and Sugar Cubes"

By ‘come over for lunch sometime’ apparently, Simon understood showing up at your door exactly at twelve the next day. Of course, he hadn’t brought anything with him and you knew it wasn’t because he was stingy, but because he didn’t get invited randomly to nice events such as a lunch enough to know what to bring. He’d shown up in another ratty hoodie and worn-out jeans, his infamous skull facemask obscuring the lower part of his face, his disheveled blond locks tucked under a beany.

Despite the unexpected visit, you welcomed him with a warm smile and even warmer intentions.

He looked very much out of place once he set foot in your small apartment because it was a girl space, adorned with fuzzy couch cushions and color-coded Tupperware. Everything was in its place, everything was somehow delicate. Even your toilet had smelled nice when he’d entered it to take a piss. And of course, when he’d come to the kitchen to wash his hands, your soap was pink.

Simon felt transported into a whole other dimension as soon as he’d entered your humble home, he felt bad for leaving his muddy boots in your corridor as if they’d spread a disease through your sanctuary. He’d offered to leave them outside your door, but after much insisting on your part, he’d left them as they are – a stark contrast to the pretty little sneakers you most likely slipped on in haste to go to the store.

And sure, it was a bit unnerving to have a stranger lingering in your home as you prepared lunch for both of you, but your heart wouldn’t budge when you thought of gently escorting him out. He looked so tired, the discolored crescent moons under his eyes were prominent, the lines on his features looked deeper than they had been yesterday. He looked like he needed a good meal and a good nap after, a hot shower too.

You’d glance at him every so often, picking up the décor from the coffee table in the living room and inspecting it, tilting his head ever so lightly to the side, like a confused pup, before setting it back down and picking another. You’d left the kitchen door wide open to monitor him, but the more you looked, the sadder the picture of him became. You’d throw a comment his way, asking him about how his night had been, if he’d had any breakfast before coming, if he’d like to have a coffee, only to receive one-word responses.

Unfortunately, once you were slaving over the stove you couldn’t peek at him without looking suspicious so you just let him be. Surely, he hadn’t come to rob the place. He didn’t look like the type, seemed too polite in his rough and tough way.

Soon enough your mundane questions received no answers and despite knowing you might look like an anxious rat turning around, you did so anyway.

Only to find him asleep on your sofa.

He was curled up like a fetus, one arm tucked under his head with his face smushed in one of your pretty cushions. He was too big for the couch, that much was evident, he looked almost comical for napping on your girly sofa if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been so tired he’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s apartment. You took pity on him, of course, you did, and brought over a blanket from your bedroom to lay over him.

He didn’t even budge when you tucked him in, only murmuring a sleepy curse before his light snoring began again.

It broke your heart when his meal was finally ready and you woke him up with a gentle shake to his shoulder. The poor thing looked so disoriented that you had to bite into your cheek just to keep from giggling. He scarfed down the plate of food you’d prepared for him so fast that you worried he might choke. He didn’t though, he literally licked the plate clean, stood up, thanked you for the food, and headed for the corridor to put on his boots and leave.

Despite the weirdness, you didn’t want to seem desperate, chalking up his sudden departure as him being busy. You let him leave with a soft chirp for him to stop by any time because he looked like he needed it. You’d curled up on the couch after, your lunch forgotten, and breathed in his faint scent of cigarettes and musk as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Ghost just kept coming after that day, unannounced, like a stray who’d finally found a home. After the third or fourth time he’d showed up for you to basically feed, bathe and let him nap, you started to find him work around the apartment.

“Simon, can you move the fridge so I clean behind it?” you ask in a sugary voice, timidly standing at the entrance to the living room because you liked looking helpless in front of him. Something about male pride and all that.

He got up without a word and stalked to your kitchen before moving the fridge with ease.

“Good ‘nough?” He glanced up at you, still crouched with his hands gripping the underside of the fridge.

And maybe you were a bit of an ass for shaking your head, but you liked watching him doing everyday tasks and flexing his strength for you.

“Little more to the left, please.”

He did as he was told and much to his surprise, you were beaming.

“Thank you, Darling.” You coo and pat the rumpled tuft of hair on his crown before he stands up to his full height.

A shudder runs up his spine at your gentle gesture and soon enough he’s moving furniture and reaching the top shelves in your kitchen before you can even ask. Anything to get another dose of praise and a mellow, appreciative squeeze to his arm or pat on the head. And Simon wasn’t one to easily open up and speak of what he likes and doesn’t, and he’d be caught dead before he admitted to your soothing gestures causing his entire body to tingle, but the fact was that they did and he was addicted from day one.

He liked your cooking, loved your praise and smile, and that was enough to keep him coming. As his visits continued, he started bringing offerings – from a steaming mug of coffee from the café you’d first met at, to flowers.

“My mate said you might like these.” Were his words as he thrust the bouquet in your arms and headed towards your living room without another word.

You’d pressed those flowers in an old book lying around, memorializing them while he’d been curiously peeking over your shoulder, with one large hand resting absentmindedly on your hip.

Then there was that one night when you’d offered him a slice of cake for dessert after a filling dinner. Typical him had accepted the offer and wolfed down the treat within two bites. Meanwhile, you’d been doting silently on him from the other end of the table, snorting when he looked up at you with icing stuck to his upper lip. You’d reached over to wipe him clean only to have him lean into your touch, thinking you were trying to cup his cheek. He’d avoided your gaze like the plague when he’d realized what you were doing while you tried to keep your little heart from shattering at his touch-starved demeanor.

Touches became not only a show of praise, but a frequent display of affection after that incident. Whether you were watching a movie on your couch or you were cooking something up in the kitchen, you made sure there was always some sort of physical connection between you two and since Ghost hadn’t protested, you’d taken that as a sign to keep at it.

Soon enough, quiet dinners extended to watching movies together afterward, which would, in itself, end up with the old soldier snoozing on your lap, his nose buried in the plushness of your thighs as his large arms encircled your waist, locking you in place until he woke up. You didn’t have the guts to stir him awake considering you didn’t know if the last time he managed to get shuteye was two days ago on that very same sofa or the night before at his base. You’d just card your fingers through his hair and rake your nails over his scalp while he purred at you in his sleep.

He told you little about himself and his work, but from what you’d gathered, he came from a troubled home, dragged an awfully dark past with him, and had very few people he considered friends. Soap was one of them. You’d actually laughed when he’d first mentioned Johnny’s callsign, refusing to believe him until he’d pulled out his phone and called the bloke to confirm.

In a way, you pitied him. Whatever he’d gone through was unimaginable to you, you could see it resurface in his eyes sometimes when you left him by himself to tend to chores or to return to work on your laptop. You tried to help, anchor him back as soon as his mind started drifting, and for the most part, you succeeded. But some days were tougher than others and besides being a silent, warm, physical manifestation of comfort for him, with arms draped over his neck and cheek pressed into his crown as he had his face buried in your sternum, there was nothing more to do.

He had to ride out the nightmares alone in his mind.

Despite PTSD constantly nipping at his heels, Simon looked better. The dark bags under his eyes began to subside the more he stopped by, the defeated slope of his shoulders evolved into a relaxed slump. The best part was that he’d put on weight under your constant pestering to eat more. You could tell, especially when he was clad in nothing but an old tanktop while helping you around the apartment, there was a thin layer of fat splayed over the hard plates on his stomach. His chest had grown, the biceps on his arms weren’t just two balls of muscle stuffed under his battle-scarred skin, there was more meat there now.

And maybe it was because he’d figured out that you didn’t expect anything in return for your kindness, or maybe your cooking tasted that good on his tongue, or maybe he really liked the feeling of your soft curves pressed into him whenever you were curled up on the sofa. But he’d shown up sporting a duffle bag in one hand one day. He’d set it down by his feet while you’d eyed him curiously, returned your gaze with one of evenness and calm, as if his actions made so much sense, and then he’d walked past you to go wash his hands.

He just…didn’t leave after that.

Still, ever the gentleman of few words, he’d taken it upon himself to sleep on the couch. As generous as you were, the bed was something you weren’t willing to give up, and thankfully he’d understood that fact without you having to voice it.

You’d not heard a single complaint from him for anything – not when you’d burned the lasagna that one time, or when you’d asked him to practically rearrange your whole kitchen because you didn’t have the strength to do so by yourself. It was a blessing.

What wasn’t a blessing was how blind you were to Ghost’s attempts at seducing you. When he’d practically picked you up and laid you on his lap during movie night, you’d chalked it up to him needing physical contact because he was having a bad episode. When he’d passed you in the kitchen with the intent to get to the fridge, he’d made sure your bum got the full package of his dick glide past it. He probably hadn’t had enough space to pass, so you’d moved closer to the counter, completely missing his intention. When he’d come out fresh from the shower, covered in droplets of water that just accentuated his mouthwatering physique and with skin steaming and glinting with cleanliness, he’d stood before you in nothing but a towel around his hips. His excuse was that he needed a towel for his hair as well and despite that he was puffed up and showing off like a peacock, you’d missed it. You’d gotten up in a hurry, worrying that he’d get chilly and catch a cold if he stood as such any longer. You’d rushed to find him something for his hair, unintentionally stomping over his plan of mesmerizing you with his provocative state.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing wrong. Everything he’d tried on you had worked on other birds in the past. So why were you not falling for it? Were you just not interested? Was he mixing up the signals?

Ghost was at a loss.

So much so that he’d finally had enough of your ignorant nature and simply brought it up.

“Think I’m ugly, Bird?”

You pause halfway into scrolling on your phone, thumb hovering over the screen, frozen. Your eyes lift and roll to the left and you look at Simon with the most dumbfounded expression you could muster.

You’d just finished lunch, now both lounging in your living room as you tapped away on your phone while he silently watched a random documentary on the telly, sprawled over the sofa with you, curled up at his feet, knees to your chest and squishing a pillow under your chin.

“What?” You blurt out and shift in your spot, being mindful not to crush his toes even though he’d tucked them under your bum to keep warm. You shake your head, blink at him a few times as if he’d just thrown the most inappropriate comment your way, and repeat: “I’m sorry, what?”

Still as a rock, while propped up one elbow, he doesn’t say anything more, patiently waiting for a proper reply. You ogle him, left partly speechless by his sudden inquiry, and silently set down your phone on the coffee table before puffing out an awkward breath and crossing your fingers in your lap.

“No, of course, not. What?” You let out an uneasy snort, thumbs dancing over each other to ease the embarrassment forming in your gut. “Why would you ask me that?”

There’s a moment of nothingness that passes, with only the TV buzzing in your ear as you stare at each other. As always he’s as relaxed as can be when under your roof, slack against the cushions while you’re coiled like a violin string, waiting for him to clarify.

He picks up the remote to lower the volume, maybe buying himself time before continuing the tense conversation.

“Don’ wanna sleep with me is all.”

“I – Excuse – ” You lean closer as if you’d not heard the words that had tumbled out of his mouth so casually.

“ – Is it the scars?”

You nearly pounce at his assumption, ready to smother him in tender kisses and gentle caresses until he forgets what he was even talking about. But you don’t because you worry how he’ll react to sudden movements, you don’t want to trigger him into military mode. So instead, you slowly scoot over and reach for his hand, curling yours in his calloused palm and locking your fingers together before giving them a squeeze.

“Simon…no.” A mournful smile speckles onto your lips as you speak, a certain melancholy to your usually warm eyes. Your answer gives no room for protests or objections, as simple as it is, it carries enough weight to snuff out the demons of uncertainty that have been plaguing him. “Not gonna lie, it’s insulting you’d even think that.”

“What’s the problem then?” He asks, voice hoarse and rough, the usual combo that sends pleasant chills down your spine and butterflies fluttering through your stomach. He sits up, hand still locked with yours as he comes to loom over you.

“There isn’t any!” You all but whine in barely sustained aggravation and grip his shoulder, shaking it gently, emphasizing your words with each weak tug and push. “I just…didn’t think. I mean… I’m happy to just have you here, Simon. I didn’t think you wanted to…” The words get caught in your throat as your pulse picks up pace. You rip your eyes away from his chocolate browns and sigh something defeated.

How was this even a problem at the moment? How hadn’t you picked up on his hints?

Thinking back, you saw the signs, the not-so-subtle gestures he displayed to show his attraction for you, that he wanted more. You’d been too worked up in trying to get him to have enough rest and feed him, offer a pleasant home for him. In your mind, he’d registered more as a beaten stray dog than a human with feelings and desires.

He was literally a grown man with a dick and you’d been treating him like a child.

It was embarrassing, hard to swallow the more your memories pile up your head.

“You think a bloke’s just gonna move in with a pre’y bird like you and not wanna shag?”

He pushes you back with his mass then, eases you back into the cushions with one arm gripping onto the armrest of the sofa to steady himself, making sure he doesn’t crush you under his weight.

“I just didn’t give it much thought.” You force out a murmur, yielding to him until you’re stuffed into the sofa, fidgeting beneath his bulk with your knees protectively lifted over your chest and ankles crossed over your sex. “I didn’t want to push in case you just wanted comfort.”

Your attention turns to the TV screen and you focus on the fleeting pictures there, still refusing to face him properly as both your bashfulness and embarrassment flare inside your chest. It’s too much, there’s just not enough space for your pounding heart, hyperventilating lungs, and emotions under your ribcage, you feel like bursting any moment now. But it doesn’t happen, instead, you're trapped beneath a man you barely know who’s made your home his as well.

It all comes flooding the more you’re left to explore the logical side of your brain.

You knew barely anything about him, hadn’t seen his face fully bared once, hadn’t known him for more than a month or two. He was just a random bloke you’d bumped into at the coffee shop and now, fast forward, he was living with you. Yet your heart lurches with excitement and heat begins to gather between your trembling thighs at his actions.

“Piss off with that shite.” He grumbles bitterly before sliding one hand under your calf and pulling your legs apart only to settle comfortably between them, trapping you beneath him. “Wanted to bend ya ove’ the counter moment I saw you fussin’ ‘round in the kitchen cuz of me.”

One large palm comes to knead at the supple flesh of your breast. He hisses in delight at your lack of a bra and dips his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent with delight. Of course, you weren’t wearing a bra, you were home. He was the intruder here, or was.

Intruder no more with his toothbrush in your bathroom and his clothes in your closet. A toothy smirk tugged on his thin lips at the realization.

Should have never been nice to him in the first place. Shouldn’t have let him inside your home.

Now you were stuck with him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You mewl beneath him, words muffled into his shoulder as you tentatively wrap your legs around his waist, hands coming to rest on his back and toying with the idea of pulling off his sweater.

He picks up on your tugs all too quickly and is more than willing, pulling away from you enough to discard the article before squishing you under his bare chest. It takes him to run his clothed mouth over the column of your neck once before you’re purring against him, clutching at the vast expanse of his marred flesh, nails catching ever so gently on the swells of his scars and making him bite back grunts of approval.

“Thought I’d be a gentleman and wait till you came t’ me.” He’s rasping softly in the shell of your ear as his rough, needy paw travels down to your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your loose top and greedily mapping out the skin beneath. The fabric bunches up under his exploration and soon enough he’s pulling it over your head and you’re too lost in the heat of him to protest. “Didn’t expect you to be this bloody daft though.”

He presses the growing tent in his sweats against your pulsing heat, earns a choked-out moan in return that ripples through his body and awakens his skin with goosebumps. You jolt in his arms at the sudden feeling, only to be stilled in place by muscular arms.

He’s scarfing down your scent like a man nearly drowned and, having pulled his mask up, lapping at your neck with fervor, crooked nose pressing into your pulse point.

“Pre’y bird…too busy takin’ care o’ me to take care o’ yerself.”

Your back arches up, breasts squishing against his chest, skin on skin, the contact making his mouth water as he continues to slowly grind against you.

And you’re so drunk on him that you’re a hair’s breadth away from tugging your shorts down and pushing his head between your thighs. But a part of you refuses to relent, the same part that keeps screaming in the back of your head that you know nothing about him except his name and occupation, which is your God damned home.

You’ve had flings before, one-night stands, but none of the men you’d been with were anything like him. He was intimidating, a giant of a man that could overpower you so easily it was laughable. He was fucking dangerous, he was lethal, and he was currently grinding against you like he’d not seen a woman before in his life.

“You alright?” Simon halts his hungry nipping on your skin and leans back enough to look you in the eye. A hand goes up to steady your trembling arm that you’d no idea was trembling in the first place. “You’re shaking…”

You offer him a wry smile, spitting a soft half-truth between chattering teeth. Technically you are cold, but it wasn’t the reason for your trembling. He was. His presence.

“Just cold…”

He snorts at your lie, but still tugs the discarded blanket on the backrest of the couch over his shoulders, cocooning you completely as he settles back above you, pressing you down into the cushions.

“Don’ worry, pre’y girl.” His nose brushes against yours as he slowly lowers himself, mouth and stubbly chin brushing over your sensitive skin. “I’ll keep you warm.”

While one arm stays glued to his back you let the other one wander, settling on his cheek, fingers dipping under his mask and making him swallow back a grunt as he shudders.

Despite your mind hollering and red light blaring in your mind, you’re the one that seals your mouths together, pressing your lips against his and flicking your tongue over the scar running down to his jaw. He snarls in your mouth, tongue darting out to fetch yours when his fingers dip beyond the hem of your shorts only to find you already dripping for him.

When he starts rubbing gentle circles into your swollen clit, you see stars in the back of your eyelids. Instinctively, you try to close your thighs around his hand, ending up only squeezing him closer by the waist. A heady moan makes you break the kiss, lips swollen and glistening with saliva, heavy-lidded eyes looking up at him in a haze of need and something Ghost refuses to acknowledge as trust. But your pouty expression and quacking thighs are enough to push him past the little patience he’d been clinging to.

He hooks his sopping fingers on the waistband of your bottoms before tugging them down your legs, a satisfied grumble vibrating deep in his chest as you wiggle along to hasten the process. Dark orbs peek from under blond lashes as he takes the sight of you, with only a thin slip covering your leaking sex. His canines slip from under his upper lip as he watches you cover your chest and mumble out that you’re cold again, face turned away from him as your cheeks heat up.

“ ‘S okay, luv.” He coos and dives back in, surging with satisfaction when you cling to him the moment he was in reach. “ ‘M here. Got you.”

He doesn’t even bother to take off your panties, just moves the soaked strip aside before shrugging his sweatpants down enough for his pulsing hardness to spring free. And you’re a curious creature, your eyes slip down to look at him ready and waiting, hovering over your pretty cunt, tip swollen and leaking already.

“I’m not safe.” I stammer out while swallowing back a copious amount of saliva at the sight of him. “You gotta – ”

“ – I’ll pull out.” He reassures you hurriedly before he’s already sheathing himself into your welcoming heat.

Ghost’s jaw clenches with forced-back moans as he sinks into your fluttering pussy. Remnants of you slick dampen the thick dark hairs at his base when he finally manages to bottom out inside you, forced to bully his cock through your tight walls until the tip kisses your cervix and makes your toes curl.

His hands found their way under your ass, cupping both firm globes of flesh and pulling you flush against him. You come face to face with his chest, the difference in size making your coupling a bit awkward in this position, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In all honestly, the ghost of a smile on his lips told you that he likes hovering over you like this while you took whatever it was he gave you.

And you want to scold yourself for taking him so willingly, for your body betraying you so quickly when he’d technically not given you anything besides a few tiny gifts that hadn’t even been his idea. But you can’t help but whine up at him instead, greedy little sounds of protest because he’s waiting for you to adjust to being split open on his cock instead of just fucking into you and giving you what you need.

You’re wrapped around him like a snake, muscles contorting and fingers clutching at the slope of his spine as he starts to gently rock his hips, balls slapping against your flesh and making you pant in anticipation of how full they were.

“Si – ”

He kisses you with a desperation that knocks the air out of you, curling in on himself and propping you up enough to silence you before his name slips past your lips. He readily swallows your moans, letting you sob on his tongue as he works you open with thrusts far too tender for your liking.

It’s a death sentence, hearing his name honeyed by your sweet voice, especially now. He wouldn’t be able to take it, would crumble in your arms and slip past your fingers like sand.

Despite his rush earlier, his restrain told you more than you wanted to know. That he’s not just fucking you dumb into your cute little sofa, that there’s more there, an intimacy you’d been too kind to bring up to him in exchange for the efforts you’d poured into him because that’s what you’d wanted from the start. The knowledge turns your legs to pudding and you find yourself struggling to keep hold of him as he rocks into you.

With a teary-eyed expression and a cry from a particularly angled thrust, you free his back from the onslaught of your nails and reach between your bodies to press down on your neglected clit, seeking relief from the tension building up painfully in your belly.

He smacks your hand away with a grunt, dips his fingers between your folds instead and glares down at you as if you’d just made a grave mistake.

It was his job to make you come. He was to have your toes curling, you shouldn’t have to do anything, and the fact that you’d tried to get yourself off while he was right there was insulting. The rough pads on his fingers circle your sensitive flesh and you’re clawing at him in pleasure, blubbering out loving incoherences that make his ears tingle.

He’s not fast enough to lock his mouth over yours and swallow the broken calls of his name when your climax washes over you. You’re too slippery beneath him, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat as your cunt locks around him like a vice and refuses to let him pull out the whole way. Writhing as you are, he barely manages to lock you securely beneath him as he speeds up, spurred on to near madness by your breathless, throaty call, his name on your tongue turned on loop and the precious words of encouragements dusted in between.

It’s too intimate, his real name being moaned in such a way, hits too close to home, does something deep in his gut and makes his legs weak. His tempo becomes uneven, hips sputtering, slapping against yours as he drives himself in until his tip is pressing against your core. It feels surreal, everything around him does – your touches, ever gentle even when you claw at him, your heat, willing and slick just for him, your voice ringing so potently in his ears it makes his teeth chatter.

It’s all too much, your existence overwhelms him, all of his sense and soon enough he’s forgotten that he has to keep you safe, has to pull out of your addictive heat. Instead, he’s rutting against you viciously, fangs bared and eyes closed as he drowns in your pleas for more and the weak fists that are thumping against his chest.

You’re in no better state, urging him on and coiling around him with a promise that you’ll take a pill first thing in the morning. Your high-pitched howling shatters into gaspy sobs when he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder and snarls as he jerks his hips. His spent floods your welcoming womb, his balls sucked dry by your convulsing cunt. He’d nearly fucked you off the couch with how selfishly brutal he’d gotten in the end.

Spurts of cum seeped out of you when he begrudgingly pulled out, a whine clawing its way up your throat when you feel his shaky fingers gathering up the leaking fluid before pushing it back inside you. He clambers down next to you, rolls on his side and crushes you against his chest and you know better than to protest even though you’d love to take a nice hot shower right about now.

He eyes you with something akin to tenderness before tucking you under his chin and pressing his nose into your dampened hair.

It’s fine.

You’d take a pill tomorrow.

<<< Chapter 1

Chapter 3 >>>

Masterlist

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Series [Masterlist]

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?.

Type: Drabble Series

Summary: 

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"  

Alternatively, 

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: extreme angst, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of depression, so much pining, unrequited love au, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: here is the masterlist. the story is gonna to back to the past and then come back to the present. hence, I have classified it. Hope it makes things easy to understand. also, this is gonna be very fragmented. I will not go into detailing much - as in the details of their jobs, family and stuff like that. this story will mainly revolve around Yoongi and reader's feelings towards each other and their bad decisions. That's all. AND please tell me if I have missed anyone's name in the taglist despite being requested. thanks <3

Taglist requests are closed for now

One time for the present ~

1. Slide - The Beginning

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

2. Slide - The Ultimate Decision

Worst decisions are always driven by anger and alcohol; but sometimes those are also driven by Love.

3. Slide - The Other Side

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

4. Slide - The Consequence

You are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time.

5. Slide - The Dream

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

6. Slide - The Regret

For the first time in his 31 years of life - Min Yoongi is regretting.  And the reason behind his regret circles around you.

7. Slide - The Trial

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

8. Slide - The Vacation

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

9. Slide - The Realization

Yoongi dreams of you... dreams of a family with you.

10. Slide - The Reconciliation

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.”

11. Slide - The Finale

Tonight when he kisses you, it’s not a goodbye, rather it’s a promise of forever.

Two times for the past ~

1. Slide - The Prequel

You would never think twice before picking Yoongi up from streets even if it means losing your own sanity in return.

2. Slide - That Night

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Special Chapters ~

1. Slide - The Christmas Gift [Meant for Patreon only]

The third Christmas with Yoongi turns out to be something unexpected.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @purpleanchorcrown @armystay89

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga @marihoneywk @yoongisoftface @sugaslittlekookies @joonwater @geminiml95 @ramicherie @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @avawants2havefun @artemisdoe @jimintaemin @cuntessaiii

[carmenlikeme]

COWBOY LIKE ME: PROLOGUE

pairing: Jack Abbot x rescuer!reader

summary: After an unexpected storm hits Pittsburgh, the entire city stops. Floodings and destruction everywhere. Jack ends up trapped for two days at PTMC. When he's finally allowed to be outside, he ends up at the frontlines of the disaster, back to his MASH unit days. Abbot works right next to the rescuers, helping them stabilize patients before they reach the hospital. He meets an interesting person amongst the rescuers, and the magnetic pull is too hard to ignore. Will he give in?

OR

Where Jack Abbot meets an eccentric doctor in the middle of a catastrophe, and finds light in one of the darkest places imaginable.

genre: romance, slowburn (on paper, speedrun irl), hurt/comfort, breakup, happy ending (?), sprinkled comedy, idk what else, highly medically inaccurate, heavy dialogue for the first chapters.

wc: 2.3K

warnings: age gap, (reader is in her late 20's, jack late 40's) major natural disaster, medical trauma, PTSD, mentions of war and violent situations, graphic depiction of injuries, mentions of COVID and death. Will edit as I write more.

a/n: hiii!! this is the prologue of my story, it's mostly a set up of characters and storyline, I hope you enjoy it! I'll be posting chapter one in the next few days hehe

you can find the masterlist HERE!

"How are we doing?"

Gloria asked as she walked into the never welcoming Emergency Room. Robby stood in the middle of the nurse station, his eyes glued to the board as his mind raced to gather his thoughts and course of action. 

He barely registered Gloria’s voice until she stood next to him. He was sure she’d asked something more; her piercing gaze made it obvious. She blinked repeatedly, a silent question, and only then did he snap out of his world and sigh, as if he could handle her right now. As if he could handle anything else right now. 

"So far, so good, but we have a lot of people coming in just seeking shelter. Power is out almost everywhere in Pittsburgh, and according to Abbot, there are already entire neighborhoods that got wiped off the map."

Gloria didn't respond; the only answer between them was lightning and thunder outside the ED. The rain was heavy and unrelenting, but the real problem was the number of traumas they weren’t getting; just a few, something they could handle in a couple of hours. 

That meant people couldn't reach them, and God knows how many would come once the rain stopped.

It also meant that his adrenaline junkies; or as others called them, students, were fidgety, which was never good.

Shit, it even made him fidgety. He didn’t know that looking at all of those empty rooms would make him feel like that.

"Yeah, I heard it's bad. I'm trying to get you as many supplies and food as soon as possible, but all roads are blocked. How's everyone?"

He stopped blinking.

"Skittish, suicidal, damn; I'm sure they're about to jump out of the building at any moment. I would too."

She stayed quiet once again.

"Yeah, I can't reach my family either."

Robby finally looked away from the board, he sighed once more. Gloria didn’t seem to move, she was oddly calm for a situation like that. It wasn’t foreign to her, in all their years working together, she never flinched. Not even at the peak of the COVID crisis, even then, she was counting patient satisfaction scores.

“I’m sorry. I’ll ask Kiara if she can reach them.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in my office if you need something. I heard it’s all hands on deck.”

Just like that, she left before anyone could ask her anything.

Abbot joined the conversation just as Gloria left. He looked a little bit tired, but he was as sharp as ever. On the other side, Robby felt like something horrible was about to happen and he didn't have any form to stop it. Abbot was the complete opposite, a good man in the storm, —no pun intended—, the clear and calm mind in the middle of chaos. Robby would lie if he said he wasn't a little jealous of him sometimes.

Jack didn't ask about Gloria, despite his shameless eavesdropping from behind. Instead, he looked at the board along with Robby. It wasn’t time to activate full emergency protocols, but he knew it was close. Still, that wasn't the intention of his impromptu visit to the nurse station.

"Did you hear? They declared state of emergency, and they're getting rescue teams down here to help us."

It had been a bad couple of days. The rain came out of nowhere, and it only got worse, slow, relentless, and destructive. Before anyone realized, people couldn't leave their houses and some of them were already compromised by the heavy rain. It was still somewhat salvageable but less than 12 hours ago it got worse, with high speed winds that threatened to make everything worse, the city was on pause. Still in the middle of chaos.

Worse part? Immediate response was already at max capacity, and they had barely touched the surface of the catastrophe. 

"Well, I now thank my old concrete apartment complex, at least I know it won't fall apart."

Jack scoffed, his hands going to his face in early defeat. If it weren't for the hospital being in a relatively safe zone, and their emergency protocols in place, he was sure they would be underwater too. But at the moment, it felt like they floating on a bubble under the ocean.

And it could burst at any second.

"Is it true?"

Princess walked towards the two men, her phone in hand, showing them a video. Robby had to put on his glasses to see, but even then, they still weren't sure what they were looking at.

"They say a rescue team from Mexico is coming due to the disaster."

Princess flipped the phone slightly towards her to speed up the video, where now a dozen people with orange jumpsuits could be seen getting ready to board a plane.

Abbot was immediately interested. He’d heard about those rescue groups and knew a bit about them, was never able to see their work up close to thank them for their labor. The wicked part inside of his brain sparked at the idea of seeing that in action.

"They're called topos." Princess’s Filipino accent slipped on the last word.

“Topo? As in mole? Like the animal? That’s Tagalog.” 

“And Spanish.”

Perlah joined the conversation and pulled out her own phone to show them more pictures of the team. She knew a little about them too, but it was also mostly a mystery to her.

"Oh, yeah, I know them. They're like rescue nomads.” Abbot said, finding a granola bar in his pocket and opening it as he spoke. Robby took a piece without asking. Princess and Perlah followed suit, which forced him to find another one for himself.

“What does rescue nomad even mean?” McKay asked, sneaking next to Abbot.

Robby bit the inside of his mouth and took a look at the oddly clean board. No one wanted to say anything, they feared the minute they would mention it, patients would fall from the sky into their ED. Something about everyone gathering there started to bother him. Those were the moments when he needed Shen to crack a joke and hope for the best, maybe even throwing the Q word, and just end their misery altogether. 

“They’re specialized lightweight first responders, any type of disaster you can think of, these guys can be there by yesterday and help you solve it. Last I heard, they were helping people in Spain due to their flooding. They even have K9s they train themselves, but they’re not your standard government issue rescue, they’re all volunteers.”

“Specialized in floodings?” McKay asked as she peeked beside Robby, trying to catch a better glimpse of the people they were talking about.

“Specialized in everything. Flooding, earthquakes, hurricanes, explosions, fires, you name it.”

“Damn, so they’re pretty badass.”

“Oh, so they’re those people who get under the rubble to pull people out?” Perlah scrolled, looking for more videos and pictures. By that moment, Dana was coming back to the nurse station, which immediately made Robby walk away in silence as he knew what was coming.

“Yeah, that’s why they’re called moles.”

“Wait, how do you guys have wi-fi and I can’t even get—?”

“Looking for anything here, folks?” Dana asked, which made Perlah and Princess scatter immediately. McKay tried to be more subtle, turning back slowly as if she’d just been there to grab a chart. Abbot disappeared before anyone even noticed.

“You’re scary.” Robby whispered, taking one of the coffees Dana offered him. She laughed, taking a sip of her own as she settled beside him. “Is your family okay?”

The hospital was safe, it seemed as the only place like that, for now. The worst of the heavy rain started right in the middle of the shift change, so they were working in a forced on-call rotation. Right now, most of the night shift was sleeping, at least the ones who could. 

“Yeah, they left for Florida to visit the grandparents before all of this. At least I know they’re okay. What about you, is Jake okay?”

Jake. A whole unexplored topic for Dana to poke until he caved. Robby looked to the side before laughing to himself.

“He’s good. He’s talking to me now, which is way more than I expected. He and his mom are in a safe zone.”

“Well, yeah. I’m sure he’s feeling guilty about how he talked to you. It’s been almost a year.”

Dana didn’t push further. She didn’t have to. Instead, she stood next to Robby. He knew she was trying to comfort him, but at the same time, Dana would never escape the chance to try and pull him out of the gutter, no matter how much he grumbled about it.

“Stop looking at the board, it’s bad juju,” Samira whispered as she passed by. She had that same energetic bounce as the PittFest mass casualty hit.

“You believe in that stuff?” Robby asked, glancing one more time before walking away.

“You don’t?”.

Sixteen hours and at least two gallons of coffee later, Abbot and Robby started to despise the once beloved cafeteria sandwiches they were eating. Food supplies were still running low, so they were working with what they had and stretching it out as much as possible. But in all honesty, as their once-endless stack of coffee dwindled, things started to get very worrisome.

Doctors could live without food. They’d die within the hour without coffee.

It was noon when the rain stopped, or at least eased enough not to drown anytime you tried to come out. There was still an eerie silence as people mopped the entrance of the ED, but it seemed as if catastrophe was just creeping behind them. The TVs came back on, power was restored all over the hospital but they were told it could disappear again at any second. Gloria still made sure to come back and demand not to use any type of non-essential device, so everyone made sure to charge their phones somewhere she wouldn’t check.

Patients trickled in quietly. The cafeteria, waiting room, and other parts of the first floor turned into a shelter for those who couldn’t get to their home in time, or for the unfortunate unhoused who arrived at the shelters too late. By 2 o’clock, the ED was partially full.

“Hey, Robby,” Dana called from her spot. He walked over, giving Mel a few instructions for an incoming patient. Dana tapped her pen against the desk with a quiet sense of urgency, something she only did when facing a difficult choice. She allowed him to continue speaking even as he stood next to her. 

“Command is asking for backup: emergency, surgery, and a nurse. Oh, and anyone else you can spare. Seems like the rescue guys are working overtime. ETA for transport is ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah…” Robby looked around, scanning the ED before grabbing one of the phones to call surgery. “Can you call Abbot? He might be sleeping, but I need someone up front when I’m gone.”

“I’ll go wake him up myself. Do you want Jesse or Mateo in the field?”

“Either is good, ask them if— hello?” 

Robby turned around right as Dana headed towards the call rooms, waving goodbye. 

“Yes, Dr. Stevens, command just called. They need at least one from surgery on the field, plus anyone you can spare.” 

He paused, the always unfortunate Whitaker walked by, just close enough for Robby to motion him over. “Garcia? Yes, she’ll be great. We leave in ten. Whitaker! Get a jacket, we’re leaving.”

“A jacket?” Whitaker whispered to himself and walked towards the locker rooms with more urgency than expected.

In the meantime, Robby took a final walk around the ED before heading out, but just as Jack walked next to Dana, go-bag in hand, he knew that wouldn’t be necessary. Jack would tackle him before missing the chance of running point at the triage zone. 

“Get any good sleep?” 

Robby didn’t stop walking, falling in step with Abbot as they reached the ambulance bay. 

“I never miss the feeling of sleeping on the floor, but I’ll manage.”

“You can always steal one of those plastic chairs from the cafeteria.”

“And risk hurting my back again? No, thank you.”

They were the last ones to join the group.

Garcia snapped out of her phone but didn't say anything. Abbot dropped the bag on the ground. Rain needled the pavement, the faint wail of sirens layering over the already high tensions in the air.

“Got everything you need?”

Everyone nodded. Abbot stood in the middle of his newfound team and Robby. Silence filled the cracks. His mind raced to find some reassuring words, but he came out empty. He sucked at it. Finally, the transport unit showed up.

“Any words of encouragement, chief?” Abbot inquired once everyone was settled inside. 

Robby’s gaze hit him, exasperated. 

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

Finally, something broke the silence.

“Uhm, where are we going?”

Garcia, barely spared Whitaker a look, pressed lips into a line. Her fingers squeezed the backpack.

“Triage on site. They need someone to stabilize patients before they reach the hospital.”

Robby held onto the door, Abbot still urged him to say something. But maybe nothing was better.

“The van will take you as close to the disaster zone as possible,” he mumbled. “But there’s about a five-minute walk to reach the rescue teams.”

He paused.

“Good luck.”

Robby stopped himself from closing the door.

“Wait, I forgot.”

He smiled widely, unapologetic. 

“We’re out of coffee, try to bring some back, or else.”

“Coffee?” Garcia snarked back, deadpan. “Even the Waffle House back in Washington is closed. Best I can give you is mud with stevia.” 

“Damn” Mateo muttered. “Not even a limited menu? We’re in deep shit.” 

“I know a Chinese place that’s still open, but they don’t do takeout today. Marco is out.”

Robby sighed in true defeat.

“Then just get the coffee. Organic.”

“Gravel is up to your taste?” Garcia suggested before Robby closed the van’s door for good.

Any sparkle of joy died almost instantly.

The silence was immediately replaced by the rattle of the van. No one said anything, or rather, no one knew what to say. They feared they were getting into something bigger than themselves.

And oh, how true that was. 

© CARMENLIKEME 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[kyri45]

Kyri!!

I am fucking vibrating!

In my FanFic serious The Westward Sun.

(Still a WIP so it's not posted)

MK finds out he's Macaque and Wukong's son by, and lets run through the list here:

1: accidentally manipulating his shadow, 2: finding a second pair of ears while washing dust out of his mane after training his monkey form, and 3: realising that practically speed running through the training that THE Sun Wukong spent literal years learning isn't really possible if you don't already possess the magic.

So he confronts Nüwa.

(Haven't figured out how, again, still a WIP)

And, after quite literally screaming at her for answers, she goes on to explain the nature of Order and Chaos.

(Because he definitely needs a culture/ history lesson whilst in the middle of an existential crisis.)

One can not exist without the other.

To have true Chaos, you must maintain a semblance Order. To have true Order, you must maintain a semblance of Chaos.

There must be a Method to the Madness and a sense of Madness within the Method.

It's the Balance of the Universe, so to speak.

So, to create a true Harbinger of Chaos. She'd have to combine the two elements of that balance.

The nature of Order and Chaos is:

Energetic and Calm.

Impulsive and Rational.

Open and Reserved.

Bold and Soft.

Careless and Cautious.

Optimistic and Pessimistic.

Abrasive and Gentle.

Like the Sun and the Moon

Now, after that explaination, MK points out that, since she doesn't need exsisting life to make new life, she easily could've done all of that combining the elements thing without actually using the energies of two monkey men with the biggest "divorced couple" vibe in the Universe.

So why?

(Actual exerpt from the chapter below)

~~~

She hummed at the question, raising a hand and tapping at her chin, just under her bottom lip, with her index knuckle as a thoughtful expression graced her face. Her eyes, curious and gentle, examined the little monkey before her, studying him in a way that, for some fucking reason entirely unbeknownst to him, could only be described as sympathetic.

After what seemed like years, her eyebrows flew to the nonexistent ceiling above them, as if she had reqched an unexpected epiphany. Eventually, a chuckle left her, followed by another, then another, and more until Nüwa's voice had disolved into pleasant laughter. It was warm and sweet, wafting through the empty air like the scent of fresh bread.

MK felt his shoulders relax, feeling at ease with the sudden change in atmosphere as the Goddess' laughter increased, every giggle and snort bouncing against the nonexistent walls surrounding them.

"You know-" She paused, allowing a bubble of laughter to pass her lips "-it's the funniest thing!" Another giggle.

She placed a hand on her chest, smiling at him.

"I... I don't really know myself!" She didn't even try to bite back the giggle escaping her, eyes once again studying him, this time with care.

"It just felt right."

Mk went to respond, mouth opening and closing in confusion, like a fish.

Only to find himself back in his room in the blink of an eye.

Literally.

"Holy shit... Mei's gonna flip."

~~~

I've been working on The Westward Sun ever since S3 came out and did a whole lot of rewriting after S4 & 5, so I was super proud of that idea.

And then I got distracted, and a little overwhelmed, and worried that it might've been a bit of a stretch.

You have no fucking idea how excited I got when reading this and the previous chapter! I was vibrating!

Like:

"Yes! I'm not the only one who had this idea! It's not as far-fetched as I was worrying it was! I'm so fucking excited!"

And now here I am.

Also, just reading the comic has helped me improve my drawing skills. Do you have any idea how easy it is to draw clothing wrinkles now? I used to have so much trouble getting wrinkles to look nice, and failing because they ended looking too detailed, then I experimented with the way you draw them (which I assume is roughly inspired by Studio Ghibli films)

And it's fucking easy now!?

You're a beautiful human being.

Have a nice day.

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

This is an absolutely beautiful explaination on how Chaos can work!! I wanna steal that (joking, I wont of course) but I'll definetely tag you and link this post if anyone ask me how chaos magic work because you describe it beautifully!

[cherryblossom-heart]

I hate you (9.5/?)

modern!Sukuna x Reader

Things get clearer for Sukuna

Content Warning: Fluff, Enemies to lovers, Sukuna being nice? (if you can call it that) Sukuna is his own warning, mention of sexual content, slut shaming (both sides). Sukuna battling his feelings. This is a +18 series so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If I catch any minor or ageless blog interacting with this series I will block you.

W.C. 2.6.K

A/N: Hi besties! I am so sorry for the delay on this chapter, memi messed up my convos for other series and this one too so I was just busy re doing everything again. Hope you guys like it! Oh btw I listened Mitskis' My Love Mine All Mine on repeat while writing this in case you want to give it a try haha

<Previous Chapter. Next Chapter>

7:17 P.M.

“Finally.” Sukuna rolled his eyes as you walked to him. “Taking forever, for what?”

“Oh, shut up. Like you don’t like what you see.” You winked at him.

A faint wave of heat rushed to his face and he wanted to ride away. Even if he had gotten used to this unexpected reaction, they didn’t make them any less annoying. He wasn’t about to admit he knew that even if you were wearing a garbage bag as a dress, his heart would still race any time you came through that door.

He remembered his cousin laughing once he told him he would take you to that stupid bands concert and asked him if he would cover your shift.

“So you’re telling me you’re taking her to a concert, of a band you don’t even like, just because?” Choso’s words were strained as he fought to get air back to his lungs.

Sukunas patience was running thin, not that it was hard to get it to that level to begin with, but the more Choso’s words bounced around his head, the more he questioned what the point of this was.

Why was he even taking you? He couldn’t even stand their music.

“You’re covering her shift or not?” Sukuna barked, which typically was enough to make people around him quiet. Unluckily for him, Choso didn’t hold the same fear for him as others, it didn’t help him, and Sukuna knew each other since they were in diapers.

“Oh, I’ll definitely take it. But you just have to answer one question.” His voice was full of amusement as he hung an arm around Sukuna. “How long has she had you this whipped?”

“Fuck you.” He shook off his arm of his shoulders.

Whatever, taking you wasn’t worth this hassle.

Or any hassle at all.

Maybe he could talk to Toji. Cash in a favor.

“Hey, don’t get me wrong. If anyone was going to be able to tame you, it definitely would be her.” Choso laughed.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’ve seen her right? Girls got a little crazy in her. Remember that time she beat up that Yorozu chick for saying all that fucked up shit about Uraume?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow “What?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you were too busy to go to school. I’m surprised you even graduated.” Choso rolled his eyes, pulling out a cigarette from the carton he kept in his pocket, a habit he displayed whenever he talked for too long with his cousin. “After their mom died, Yorozu began the rumor Uraume fucked people to get money to pay the rent, that’s why they were never in school.”

That cunt.

Sukunas memories traveled back to his teenage years, he remembered a day where he had found you in the living room, your messy hair and a busted lip catching his attention. He had made the mistake of leaving you alone, thinking he didn’t care enough to ask.

And you didn’t like him enough to answer.

“Then one day your girl comes in, walks to Yorozu and sucker punches her right in the jaw. No warning, nothing. By the time the teachers were able to pull her off Yorozu, she already had a broken nose and her whole face was turning purple. I’ve never seen anything like that, I really thought she was going to kill her.” Choso shook his head. “Maybe you finally found your match”

His cousins’ words tormented his thoughts ever since.

God, he was right, wasn’t he? He was completely and utterly whipped. He didn’t remember the last time he had fucked someone else without you popping in his head every five seconds. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last day he had gone through without thinking of you at least once.

“What’s that?” You asked as you reached him, looking back to the hand he has behind his back.

Fuck.

“Here.” Sukuna pulled out a bouquet of deep red roses, almost slamming them against you. “Jin said I should bring this.” He scoffed, as if he wasn’t the one that decided to buy them.

“Aww.” You coo at them as you smell them. Sukuna’s eyes diverted from you, not wanting that brewing warm sensation you brought him to pop up, this was already hard enough as it was. “I love them. Maybe I should’ve gone out with Jin instead.” You teased him with that cocky little smirk that made his blood boil.

“I’m taking you out on a stupid date and you can’t stop being a slut for five minutes?” Sukuna rolled his eyes.

He expected to get a snarky remark, perhaps a slap in the arm or head but you had the annoying tendency to surprise him. You leaned over to him, placing a tender kiss on his cheek before walking backwards to your house.

His heart began racing. The drumming of his pulse echoed on his ears so loudly he thought you might’ve heard it.

“Don’t be an ass, you know I have more fun with you.” You winked at him before turning around.

“Where you going?” Were the only words he managed to say.

“To put them in a vase. Don’t want them dying on me, this might be the only proof of you ever being nice.”

Darkened eyes followed your every step, each one giving Sukuna a clear answer.

He was losing his mind, and it was all your fault.

8:21 P.M.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked as you hopped of his bike, pulling down on the now inconvenient black skirt you had decided to wear.

“Piss me off enough and I might.”

“Whatever.” You glared at him, kicking a rock in the ground. “If you’re not going to kill me then what are we doing in the middle of the woods?”

“What? You scared, brat?”

You laughed. “As if. I’m more scared of an animal eating us. If a bear attacks us, I’m leaving your ass.”

Sukuna made his way through the path he had grown accustomed to, the sound of your heels scraping against the unstable ground the woods offered following close behind. He could hear you cursing under your breath, your annoyance growing the more you kept tripping.

“You could’ve told me we were going to the fucking woods.”

“Not my fault you dress like a cheap prostitute whenever you’re going out.”

“First of all, fuck you.” You caught up to him, slapping him in the back of the head. “Second, if I was a prostitute, you could never afford me.”

Sukuna held you by the arm, spinning you in front of him. His chest pressed against your back; his grip tight on your hips. He leaned over you, lips almost brushing against your ear.

“Why would I pay you when I already have you for free.”

“For now.” You turned around. “Piss me off enough and I might just change boytoys.”

You placed a kiss on his cheek before moving along and Sukuna never wished more to fuck you and strangle you at the same time.

8:29 P.M.

“Over here.”

“I swear if you brought me all the way over here for nothing I will cut your balls– “

“Hey.”

Jin’s voice cut through the emptiness of the forest making you jump. You turned to the direction of his voice, racing to Sukunas twin brother. It never ceased to amaze you how similar they were physically, but as soon as your eyes connected with Jin’s the softness in them almost made you chuckle.

“Jin!” You raced to him, engulfing him in a suffocating hug. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been busy with Yuji.”

Jin’s eyes met his brothers as he debated where to settle his hands. Sukunas burning gaze gave him the answer he needed.

“What are you doing here? Please tell me you’re my date instead of your idiot of a brother.” You teased him, causing a slight blush on his face. “You’re already much better than him. The flowers were a nice touch.”

“Flowers? I didn’t… oh. Oh! Yeah, no problem.”

Sukuna was about to turn Yuji into an orphan.

“I was just helping him set this up.” Jin pointed behind himself,

Your eyes grew wide as you took in what your date would be. In the middle of the field laid a lightweight red blanket, a couple of lanterns on each side made it visible. Laid out in the middle there were a few containers with what you assumed were food, steam covering the inside.

You smiled at Sukuna, and he could’ve sworn his world stopped for a second.

“It was his idea.” He grunted, hoping his brother would take the hint.

“Yeah, I thought you would like it.”

You stared back at Sukuna for a second longer, a playful glint on your eyes, before you turned around and hugged Jin again.

“You’re so sweet, thank you.” You placed a small kiss on his cheek, your lipstick tainting his skin. “Maybe you should stay, and we’ll ditch your brother.”

“I– “

“He’s leaving. Now.”

“Bye, Jin!”

Sukuna dragged his brother, pulling him to the main road that led back to the parking lot. He took out his keys, throwing them to Jin before snatching away his brother’s car keys.

“If there’s a scratch on her I’ll fucking kill you, you understand?” Sukuna warned his brother.

“Yeah.” His brother cleared his throat, making sure they were at a safe distance from you. “You know, it’s not the worst thing in the world if you do like her. She’s always been nice.”

Nice wouldn’t be the word that Sukuna would use to describe you.

“Whatever, just don’t crash my fucking bike.”

“I won’t.” Before turning away Jin called for your attention, his arm waving in the air. “You’re coming to Yuji’s birthday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

After one last menacing look from his older brother, Jin finally left. Sukuna had made a mental note of reminding Jin who the older brother was, even if it was just for a few minutes of difference.

“So, a picnic huh?” You teased and Sukuna wanted the earth to collapse right there and then.

“Jin’s idea.” He shrugged, grabbing a can of beer from the ground.

You sat down, crossing your legs in front of you as you settled down. “Oh yeah, it was his idea? Just like the flowers you got me?”

“Shut up.”

Why did he agree to this in the first place?

9:23 P.M

“... then all of the sudden Uraume bolts in the room and grabs me from the back of the neck, tossing me to the floor and I’m thinking ‘this is it, my life is about to end at thirteen all because I wanted to use a stupid pair of boots that stink and aren’t even that great’. Before they could even put a hand on me, I hooked my feet in the back of their leg and Uraume just straight up just collapses.”

“No fucking way you got them like that.” Sukuna half scoffed, half laughed, shaking his head at the thought of you overpowering Uraume.

As if.

You shoved him playfully. “I swear on my life, I don’t know why but that’s their Achilles point. Well, more like knee but you know what I mean.”

“So, you’re telling me you did the same thing to get them to back off my dick?”

“Pretty much.” You shrug. “I got on top of them, coughed up some phlegm and threatened them to get it on their face if they didn’t stop.”

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Sukuna laughed, his stomach hurting from the laughter the mental image of Uraume being defenseless brought to him. “No wonder they didn’t fucking told me what you did.”

“Let’s keep it a secret between us, pretty boy.”

“Fuck off, I told you not to call me that.”

You turned to him, eyelids half open as the alcohol relaxed your body. “But you are my pretty boy.”

That damn smirk made him want to choke you.

And kiss you.

“Tell me something.” You took another sip of your beer, a small drop falling from the corner of your lips. “Why are you doing all this?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

The question of the year. Why do all this? Why put any effort behind this? Why did the thought of another man touching brought an anger in him he couldn’t explain? Why did he care about you? Why did the thought of spending time with you made his heart race? Why did your touch bring a tenderness in him he wasn’t aware of its existence before?

He had no idea, yet he craved you with everything in him.

“I don’t know. Just trying to see what happens.” He grunted, his nonchalance being his refuge when he couldn’t even explain it to himself.

“Uh huh.” Unconvinced by his words, you moved closer to him, your arm almost touching his. “Wanna know what I think.”

“Not really.”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

Sukuna scoffed

“You wish.”

“And I think you want to date me.”

“Shut the fuck off.”

“And you want to know the worst part about it?”

You laid down on the floor, your eyes focused on the starts above you.

“What?”

You sighed. “I think I might want to date you too.”

Sukunas head snapped to you.

“I know, crazy.” You let out a small laugh, as if you were just now coming to that realization. “You’re violent, obnoxious, immature, selfish, a sociopath at times, a bigger slut than I am, you have a terrible way of dealing with things, at times I really wish I could strangle you so I would never have to see you again. And yet… I still like you. Enough to try at least.”

I still like you.

The words bounced around his brain as he tried to make sense of them. He knew what he was supposed to do, he should push back. Deny every crazy allegation, go deeper into the reasons why he would never like you, tell you about every logical point on why he could never date you. Your fear of relationship, your extensive list of sexual partners, the fact that you drove him insane and the fact that only you could enact so much rage off him with just a couple of looks.

He hated you.

He hated the way you made him feel.

He hated the space you had taken over in his thoughts.

He hated the space you had carved in his heart.

He hated everything about you but lately he couldn’t remember why he had started to hate you in the first place.

“God, I fucking hate you.” He said as he laid down with you, the toughness of the ground aligning his back.

You chuckled. “Ditto.”

Your hand found his, fingers entwining with his.

Sukunas eyes stayed on you, watching you admire the night sky. He could see every movement you made, the way your eyes focused on following the chain of stars, trying to find sense in the constellations up in the sky.

And right there and then, with the moonlight hitting your skin, Sukuna thought he never saw anything more beautiful.

His hands moved faster than he could control them, pulling your face to look at him. Your eyes widened in surprise, and he wondered if you could feel the same warmth he felt whenever he touched you. Judging the way your eyes softened, he thought you did.

His hand traveled to your neck, his fingertips barely connecting with your skin. Your eyes darkened, traveling back and forth from his lips back to his irises and Sukuna knew he was screwed.

He truly did like you.

Fuck, he might even…

No, he could only deal with one catastrophic realization a day. That could wait.

At least until tomorrow, when his mind and soul were stronger to fight of the truth.

<Previous Chapter. Next Chapter>

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[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 9

Summary: Secrets are revealed on New Years Eve.

CW: Alcohol consumption, sexual references, mention of cigarettes, swearing, lots of drama.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

--

"YOU SLEPT WITH SIRIUS?!"

"Shh! Mary keep your voice down," you uttered, looking around to see how many of your coworker's heads had swivelled towards you in response to Mary's loud exclamation.

"Sorry," she grimaced. "I'm just.. I'm in shock."

You sighed and leaned back where you were perched on the corner of her desk. "I think I am a bit as well."

There was a pause.

"Well, was it good?"

"Mary! Oh my god!" you groaned and threw a hand over your face to hide your mortification.

"What? I'm just asking. I can't say that I haven't imagined it once or twice myself-"

You slapped her gently across the shoulder with the back of your hand. "You're distrubed. You know that?"

She smirked. "You know you love me."

You rolled your eyes affectionately at your friend. "Anyway, we'd been drinking and it was Christmas and we were having such a wonderful time. I think we just got swept up in it all and now I don't know what to do. Things have been kind of... weird between us."

"Well have you guys talked about it?" Mary inquired.

"That's the thing. Afterwards he just kind of moved on like it never happened. I don't know if he thinks it was a mistake or something but it's stressing me out."

"Hmm," a thoughtful look crossed Mary's face as she took everything in. "Well how are you feeling about it? Do you think it was a mistake?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "No? I-I don't think so. I dont know."

A look of realisation washed over Mary's face. "Do you like him??"

"I mean, of course I like him. I'm just not sure I like like him."

Your friend sighed exasperatedly. "Oh my god! We're not in Primary School, just answer the damn question!"

"Fine! I guess the answer is... yes?" you sighed. "But whatever! Does it even make a difference? He's made it exceptionally clear that he doesn't feel the same way."

"Look," Mary huffed, her expression growing sincere. "Sirius is great. He's fun and friendly and a total flirt but he's also been known to be a little emotionally constipated. Just be honest with him. Talk to him about it. He's not going to be able to pick up on any signals you're trying to send him."

You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a breath throught your nose. "Ugh fine."

"Good girl," Mary smiled. "Now go away. I actually have some work to get done today."

"Oh fine. I suppose I know when I'm not wanted," you teased, getting up and walking back towards your desk.

"Love you!" Mary called lightheartedly as you walked away.

"Yeah, yeah," you joked in response.

As you arrived back at your desk and slumped down in your chair, prepared to get back to work, a head peaked down at you over the cubical.

"Oh, you're back, I see."

You jumped slightly at the unexpected voice and looked up to see its perpertrator.

"Yes, Glenn. Hi. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Glenn was a new employee in your office and he sat in the cubical opposite yours. He was only a few years older than you and he was tall and fit with short blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. In the few weeks you'd known him for, he'd been particularly friendly towards you and recently you'd been getting the idea that he had taken a liking to you.

You weren't interested of course. He was an attractive guy but not really your type. And with everything going on with Sirius over the last week, you'd been making a effort to put some distance between you. You definitely weren't looking for anything of that nature right now and you didn't want to give him the wrong impression. However, Glenn was nothing if not persistant.

"Actually, I was just wondering if you had any plans for new years tonight? A few of my mates are throwing a party and you're welcome to join us if you're interested."

You sent him you're most empathetic smile. "That sounds lovely but unfortunately I already have some plans with my friends."

He sighed, flashing you a grin that looked suspiciously rehearsed. "Oh well. No problem. It was worth a shot. You have fun tonight."

"You too, Glenn."

As the man dissapeared back over the divider, you let out a heafty sigh. Tonight was surely going to be interesting.

--

The view was impeccable from the bar where your friends had gathered to spend New Years. In fact, seated beside a huge floor to ceiling window, you suspected you'd have a clear view of the New Years fireworks.

It was a classy joint, one that Dorcas had managed to get you access to through one of her fancy lawyer contacts.

Everyone was assembled on stools around a table, looking out over the London skyline. It was about four hours until midnight and the group was chatting excitedly in the lead up.

"I've got shots!" Mary called out and everyone cheered as she returned to the table with a tray.

She passed the drinks around and then took her seat beside you.

"Well, I suggest a toast!" James called out, grabbing the attention of the group. "To a wonderful year ahead, and many more memories with old, and new, friends!"

He emphasised the last line with a pointed look in your direction and you felt your cheeks growing hot.

"Cheers!" Marlene shouted enthusiastically and the others echoed her sentiments, clinking glasses and swallowing their drinks.

The burning of the liquor was welcomed as the drink ran down your throat. You'd been thinking a lot about what Mary had said to you in regards to your situation with Sirius. And as he sat beside you, laughing animatedly at one of Peter's stories, it only confirmed your worst fears. Maybe you were starting to develop feelings for your roommate. You grimaced at the thought. Things were bound to get messy in situations like this.

"So guys," Sybil piped up from across the table. "Let's all go around and say our New Years resolutions."

"Oh, I'll go first!" James volunteered. "I hope my team continues to play a great season annnddd... I want to work out more."

There was a collective groan.

"Come on, James. That's not a real one!" Mary complained.

Sirius chuckled, taking a pointed sip of his drink. "Yeah! You already work out like 7 times a day!"

"Ugh, okay fine!" James responded with groan. He thought for a moment. "How about this one. I'd like to fall in love this year."

You didn't miss the way his eyes flickered across the table towards Lily and you felt your heart sink. Lily seemed to take notice a well as she averted her eyes, taking a heafty gulp of the drink in her hand.

"Aww, James. Always the romantic, aren't you?" Marlene chuckled.

"Shut up." James rolled his eyes playfully. "Your turn then, Marls."

"Okay," She took a deep breath. "My goal this year is to become super rich and famous and sucessful."

"I second that!" Mary called across the table and you giggled as they clinked their glasses.

"Y/n. Your turn," Dorcas announced.

"Oh okay, um..." you thought for a moment, your gaze flashing to James and Remus across the table, then over to Sirius, who was watching you expectanly, a playlful glimmer in his stormy eyes.

You then looked back towards the rest of the group. "This year, I'd like to spend some more time with you lovely people."

A round of cooing echoed across the table and Mary threw her arms around you.

"Well aren't you just the sweetest!"

"Oh, and I'd like to work more on my novel," you added.

"Alright, alright. Sirius, you're up!" Marlene chimed.

The boy beside you pursed his lips, looking off into the distance as if deep in thought. Then, after a long moment, he turned back to all of you with a mischievous smirk on his lips.

"This year, I want to have lots of amazing sex!"

"Ew. Sirius, you're so foul," Lily exclaimed, followed by a symphany of similar sentiments from the other members of the group.

While everyone else was distracted, grumbling and groaning about Sirius' bluntness, the man leaned down towards you.

"You look great tonight, by the way." He whispered into your hair.

You gulped thickly, not quite sure what to do with yourself. You opted for downing the remainder of your Vodka, Lime and Soda.

--

As the evening drew on, you found yourself growing more anxious in Sirius' presence. You weren't quite sure what his game was, whether it was the alcohol or he was just feeling extra bold tonight, but he'd been suspiciously flirtatious.

You didn't know how to respond. Part of you wanted to let him. To let him woo you and go crawling back for more of what you'd had together on Christmas Night. However, the other, more logical part of you, told you that was a terrible idea. He was your roommate afterall. The last thing you wanted was to start some complicated friends-with-benefits situation with a guy you lived with, especially one that you had sort of, maybe, possibly had caught feelings for.

You downed another drink, feeling the alcohol grip you and hoped it would help to ease the nerves ever so slightly. You realised then, that you were staring.

Sirius had gone to the bar to order another round of drinks and you'd been watching with bated breath as he sent his signature smile to a girl wearing an explicitly tight black dress. You noticed the way she leaned forward, pressing her cleavage up against the bar as she spoke to him. God, could she be anymore obvious?

"Calm the hell down, y/n!" You thought to yourself. "It's not like you guys are together. He can flirt with whoever he wants."

"Hey, are you okay?" you raked your eyes away from the scene as a voice came from beside you.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," You muttered absently, too distracted to notice that it was Remus who asked the question.

"Okay, never have I ever... made out with more than one person on the same night!" Mary's voice rang out and you forced your attention back to the group.

You weren't sure when this game had begun but you suspected it was suggested by one of the girls (likely Mary or Marlene) as a way to pass the final hour until midnight. You hadn't participated in this game since probably highschool, but you were all a few drinks in at this point so you figured, what the hell?

You watched as Marlene, James and Dorcas all took a sip. Then Lily sent Mary a pointed look.

"Come on, Mary. That's not how the game works. You have to say something you haven't done."

"I haven't!" Mary responded. Then she paused. "Oh wait, yeah I definitely have."

Everyone chuckled as she took a drink.

"Alright! Dorcas! Your turn." Mary nudged the girl in the side.

Dorcas rolled her eyes. "For the record, I just want to say, I think this game is stupid."

"Come on babe. Don't be a party pooper!" Marlene exclaimed, leaning in towards her girlfriend. "How else are we supposed to learn everyone's deepest darkest secrets."

Dorcas sighed and shook her head but there was a hint of a smile on her face. She really could never say no to Marlene.

"Ugh, fine. Never have I ever stolen something."

"Well that's a hard one," Mary muttered. "What do we count as stealing? Because I've stolen stuff from James a ton of times."

"Oi!" James shouted, looking positively affronted. Mary sent him an apologetic smile.

"No, not like that," Dorcas clarified. "It had to have been from an actual shop."

You all sat up straight for a moment, curiously looking around the group to see if anyone had. Hesitantly, Peter lifted his glass to his lips.

"Pete! What the hell!" James exclaimed.

"I don't know, I went through a phase in highschool!"

"What sort of stuff did you take?" Marlene pressed.

Peter shrugged. "Chocolate and ciggarettes, mostly."

There was an eruption of laughter that rippled across the table at Peter's revelation.

"Wow, I didn't know there was a degenerate among us," Lily teased, watching Peter's face flush bright red.

"Okay, okay. My turn!" Marlene said, once the laughter died down. "Never have I ever... gotten really sloshed and fallen down the stairs at my 18th birthday party"

"Hey! That's not fair!" James moaned, taking a sip of his beer. "You can't do targeted ones!"

Marlene just shrugged. "Sorry, but I don't think that was established in the rules."

James smirked. "Fine then! Never have I ever had sex with someone at this table."

Your blood ran cold for a moment as you glanced back towards the bar. You sighed in relief when you saw that Sirius was still over there. In that case, you technically hadn't slept with anyone at the table. You were off the hook for now.

Marlene rolled her eyes at James and took a drink, as well as Dorcas, Peter and Sybil, however, you watched James' eyes widen as Mary also took a long sip.

"Mary!" Lily hissed across the table. Your heart plummeted.

"What?" Mary shrugged, the alcohol clearly having gone to her head. "We have to! It's the rules."

"Wait! Hold on," Marlene murmered, her eyes drifting between the two girls. "Did you guys..."

There was a heavy anticipatory silence that hung over the table as you all awaited Lily's response. The girl grimaced, as she tried to muster some kind of explanation.

It was then that her eyes drifted up to meet James' pleading ones.

"Lily?" the boy asked softly. Your heart broke for him.

"So I guess the cat's out of the bag huh?" the girl sighed. "Mary and I have sort of been seeing each other. Romantically."

"Holy shit!" Marlene shouted, candid and straight to the point as she usually was in these situations.

"How long has this been going on?" Dorcas questioned.

"It's still really new," Lily explained.

"We were just trying to figure out the right time to tell you guys," Mary added.

"So you're the one Mary has been seeing?" James murmered.

"Yes," Lily responded. "I'm sorry James but you had to know it was never going to work out between us."

The boy sighed, running a hand through his unruly curls. "Yeah, I know."

Then he started to stand. "I think I just need some air for a minute."

"James, wait-" Remus reached out to grab his arm but James shook him off.

"I just need minute," he repeated, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and hurrying towards the exit. Part of you wanted to go after him but the other part recognised that he probably needed some space to process things.

"Sorry, everyone. I didn't mean to ruin the night," Mary murmered folornly.

"No hun! you didn't ruin anything," you comforted.

"Yeah, we're really happy for you two," Dorcas added.

"Really?"

Everyone nodded.

"Absolutely. You both deserve to be happy," Remus confirmed.

Wide smiles crossed over the girls' faces.

--

It was two minutes until midnight and Sirius was nowhere to be seen. Despite your better judgement, you couldn't help but feel slightly disapointed. You supposed that there was some small aspect of your mind that hoped Sirius would be your New Years kiss.

You knew it was wishful thinking, especially when you hadn't even spoken about what happened between you, but with how he'd been acting towards you throughout the night, you'd allowed yourself to nurture that flicker of hope.

As people crowded around the window and the countdown began, you found your eyes searching the room for the dark haired man, wondering if just maybe, he'd make a last minute appearance.

"Five, four, three, two..."

You scanned the space one last time.

"One!"

You're last flicker of hope died out as your eyes finally landed on his form.

"Happy New Year!"

The shouts and cheers faded into the background as you watched Sirius press his lips to those of the boob-y blonde you'd seen him flirting with before.

The moment seemed to go in slow motion. You watched from afar as he tangled his hand in her hair, just as he'd done in yours only a week prior.

"Of course," you thought. "Typical"

It was Sirius Black you were talking about. You were stupid to think you meant anything more to him than a casual night of fun.

In an instant, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door, the sounds of the party fading into the background. You decided, instead of bumming around waiting for Sirius to notice you, you'd go look for James, just as you should've done much earlier.

The cold hit you like a block of cement as you stepped outside onto the street. It didn't take you long to find him.

He was sitting on the curb, outside of he bar, arms resting on his knees as he looked up towards the sky. Another explosion sounded and a flash of colour filled the air. In the distance, you could hear the cheers of excited people all around as they celebrated.

"Happy New Year, James."

He turned to look at you and in the flash of light, as another firework flickered across the sky, you were able to notice the faint tear tracks that lined his cheeks.

"Oh hey." he sniffled, rubbing a hand beneath his glasses and trying to regain a semblance of composure.

BANG!

You flopped unceremoniously onto the ground beside him as another flash filled the sky. You gave him a sympathetic smile. Funnily enough, in that moment, you knew exactly how he felt.

"Are you okay?" You asked him gently.

He let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. I will be."

BANG!

"Good."

You both turned your gazes back to the display, taking in the beautiful array of colours filling the air. It wasn't quite the view you'd expected for the night, but somehow, that didn't seem to matter.

As you continued to watch the fireworks, you felt the gentle touch of a hand wrapping around your own. You smiled slightly as your fingers intertwined.

BANG!

Slowly, you shuffled closer and leaned into him, gently resting your head on James broad shoulder.

You stayed like that a while, just taking in the show, and each other's company.

--

Taglist:

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[buryhny]

One Night Stand ; 43 ⋆.

➥ rundown ; as if the unexpected twist of a one-night stand turning out to be your CEO boss wasn't surreal enough, the situation takes a more challenging turn when both of you discover that you're expecting his child.

→ genre ; enemies to lovers | CEO au | pregnancy trope | slowburn

☆ jungkook x y/n ☆ contains smut, fluff and angst ☆ chapter forty three ; wc | 5.4k

primarily on Wattpad

index ⇢ next chapter

Jungkook is quiet, hasn't said a word, not even a hum, and it's seriously bothering you. He is seated right next to you in the lounge, the silence is unsettling and worrying. This isn't like him, and it frightens you. Turning to him, you ask for what feels like the hundredth time, 

"Hey, please tell me what's wrong." he gives you the same answer, "I'm fine y/n, it's nothing." His sudden behavior change is worrying. He was so happy and excited when you two were about to leave for the airport, but something must've happened to make him leave the house with such a gloomy look like something was bothering him. 

In Jungkook's mind, there's a storm of thoughts eating away at him. Why would your mom say something like that to him? And even if she did, why did it have to be so hateful? He just can't wrap his head around why she pretended to care about him while feeling so low about him all along. he keeps thinking about what she said and he can't help but feel afraid of everything now. he's hurt, hurt that he thought he could find a mother figure in his life and she ended up pretending? 

Jungkook keeps thinking about it over and over again and it only makes him furious. You've explained everything to your parents, what your relationship status is too and even though your mother is aware of all the ups and downs and how you both are starting slow, she spoke to him so rudely? His frown gets even deeper, and it makes you so uneasy you can't even figure out why he might be upset. You don't want to bother him with a bunch of questions, so you just stay quiet and wait for him to talk when he's ready. 

When you both board the flight and take your seats, Jungkook helps you adjust your seatbelt without saying a word. Then, he puts out his hand for you to hold as the plane takes off. That small gesture is a relief—it's obvious he's not mad at you, at least. Now and then, you peek over to look at him, only to find him asleep. A few times, he caught you staring and asked if you needed anything or had to rush to the bathroom again, 

but you just shook your head to reassure him. when you think about it, the reason he must be upset could be that his birthday is coming soon, in just 3 days. after all, he's told you the whole tale of his life and what a nightmare it had been with his ex-girlfriend, on the day of his birthday. You're uncertain, but even the small chance of it being the reason makes your heart. You have already been planning something special for his birthday and now, 

you want to make it the best day of this year. this brings you some hope and a smile on your face when you think about all the little surprises you've made, you can't wait to get back home and prepare for it. secretly. the flight was long and Jungkook peeped many times to look over at you, to check if you were doing okay, feeling cold or hungry but you didn't care to ask the air hostess for food. you'll notice him looking so you would remove one side of the headphones and raise your eyebrows to which he shakes his head. 

"you okay?" you ask, he nods at you and passes the chocolate he received from the staff to you. he doesn't eat sweets so whatever they offer him, he gives it to you so you can enjoy doubling the treats. "hey..." you murmur when he tries to rest back. "yeah?" he'll come forward. "you want mo-" "i', fine..." you interrupt him from questioning about food again. "I just want you to know that you can tell me anything." you whisper to which he deeply exhales. Jungkook doesn't know how to put this into words. 

He doesn't want you to agree with your mother, but he also doesn't want you to resent her. After all, she's not entirely wrong. As a mother—and the mother of her only daughter—she has every right to worry about your future, especially given your traditional background. Her concerns aren't unfounded, no matter how much they might sting. 

he gives you a tight smile and puts his hand over so you can hold it. and when you do, he leans in and kisses the back of your palm, leaving butterflies inside your stomach. The baby has been unusually active the past few days, and it fills you with a kind of warmth you can't describe. Every kick, every flutter—

it's like a secret language shared just between the two of you. You want Jungkook to feel it too, not just with his hand on your bump, but with every fiber of his being. You want him to truly connect, to let it sink into his heart and soul, the way it does for you. You know he'll agree when you ask, without hesitation, and his touch will be gentle, reverent even.

But you hope that after his birthday surprises, when he sees all the love and effort you've poured into making him feel special, he'll fully embrace this new chapter. You're certain that in those moments, he'll step into the role of the loving father he's always dreamed of being—the one he's never let himself believe he could be.

;

The ride back home was at 4;30 am and was heavy with silence, the kind that settled deep into your chest. But no matter how much you tried to hold it in, you couldn't resist the sudden urge to stay close to him or to at least feel his warmth so you placed your head on his shoulder. Jungkook flinched slightly but immediately relaxed, he caressed your hair and that made you smile. 

You can't wait to be back home and to cuddle the man as you both share the same bed. "Bammie" you call out for the dog as soon as the doors open, you've missed the boy so much, even though it had been just a weekend getaway. Bam comes running to you both, jumping to greet you. "oh my god, he's getting the zoomies!!" 

you exclaim and bend slightly to hold his paws. "oh my Bammie, come to mama!!" you walk to the couch so you can pet him because you can't bend down as you did before. His tail wags and his whines get loud as you walk beside him, Jungkook looks at the two of you and chuckles. He can't stay mad when you both look so cute, he wants to frame this moment so bad. 

"my bam-bam, come here." he jumps on the couch and begins to lick you, making you a giggling mess. Jungkook places the luggage inside removes his coat and throws it away. He interrupts you two and straight walks into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and juice for you. "Bammie, Bammie, Bammie!!" you murmur his name a couple of times, placing kisses all around his body like Jungkook does. 

"you're the sweetest boy ever, aren't you? You're the cutest, right? Of course, you are!!" Jungkook didn't realize how much you missed bam and even though his mood was completely off, he still smiled at the sight of you two. "go to appa!" you push him to go to Jungkook while you remove your coats. the dog rushes to his owner and jumps near him, so Jungkook grabs his paws and kneels. "bam-ah" 

he mutters and giggles at the ticklish licks the dog gives him. "go back to y/n." he gets on his feet and walks towards you. "y/n have this juice." he hands you a bottle of fresh strawberry juice. "thanks.." You glance at him and can't help but notice how exhausted he looks. You're tired too, but Jungkook's tension seems to weigh heavier, making the dark circles under his eyes far more prominent. You want to ease his burden somehow, 

but you have no idea what's troubling him, and asking isn't an option since he doesn't respond. The two of you head upstairs to his room—or rather, the room you now share. You feel the need for a warm shower, imagining how much better it would make you feel. But then you see Jungkook pulling a suit from his closet, and that's when you're completely at a loss. 

"hey? Where are you going?" you ask him in confusion, he glances over his shoulder and huffs. "work y/n. It's a Monday.." 'yeah of course you know it's a fucking Monday!!' "but you need some rest, you- you can go back to work freshly tomorrow." you tell him, you hear him exhale as he pauses his selection of tie for a minute before resuming. "I don't need rest, I'm fine." 

his response says everything, he isn't speaking gently, he isn't looking at you, he isn't touching you and fuck, he doesn't call you by nicknames! "please take some rest, it was a long flight. You're not gonna be well." you murmur out of concern, you don't want him to overwork and he needs sleep, he barely closed his eyes the entire flight, you know he didn't sleep. 

"I'm fine y/n! I am." this time his words were slightly louder than he usually is and you know, he's got some issue so you don't say anything anymore. If he is stubborn, then be it. "fine." you leave his room and lock yourself in the shower of your previous washroom. You're kinda frustrated and the way he responds isn't making things better. 

You care for him but if he doesn't care for himself then it's not something you can help. You focus on pampering yourself so you walk into the shower and set a nice bubble bath. Until then you look for cake designs so you can plan something special for his birthday. You also have another surprise in mind that you can't do by yourself, so you text Hobi for some help.

y/n; Hey Hoba, how's everything? All well?

You strip your clothes and get comfortable inside the bathtub. Moans leave your lips at how perfectly warm the water is. It's exactly what you need after a 13-hour long flight. "Baby, you need to stop kicking me now. Let Mama relax," you mumble and giggle at the sight of the movement you can see, with your belly popping out of the bubbles.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is utterly frustrated with himself for speaking to you that way. It wasn't your fault for being worried about him. He can't stop replaying everything your mother said in his mind. The rude tone of her words no longer stings—it's what they imply that troubles him now. Does marriage even cross your mind? 

He realizes there are still parts of you he doesn't fully understand. He knows you well, but not completely. The two of you haven't discussed the nature of your relationship yet, leaving him uncertain about where you stand. What gnaws at him most is the possibility that you might be feeling conflicted but choose not to tell him, all because he's intent on taking things slow. 

He doesn't want to upset you but he also can't change his mood and feelings so fast. It is almost 6;30 am after he showered and took some rest, he decided to go to work and check everything since he left his staff to handle everything while he was away, he plans to come home early and sort things out by then. Jungkook adjusts his tie and walks out of the room, he peeps into your room and sees you freshly dressed in a crop top. 

You are sleeping under the blanket and Bam sleeps beside you with his head on your neck. Jungkook knows that you're tired so he didn't want to disturb you, so he left for work after taking a long look at you and informed Maya to take care of you while he was away.

;

You woke up to the delicious smell of Korean food. It's about 1 pm, you had a good sleep since you were fucking tired. Your muscles feel so relaxed and the stretching was mm-hmm. you were about to step out of your room when you felt a striking pain in your back and feet. "fuck.." you slowly walked back inside the room and took a seat on the couch, applying some pressure to the areas that hurt. "dear..." 

Maya enters your room with a knock and soon places the food on the glass table. "are you fine?"  She asks, and you shake your head. "I'm fine—just some aches here and there." She nods in understanding, lifting your foot onto her lap and gently massaging it, bringing soothing relief to your cramps. "Here, have your lunch," 

she says, handing you a dish of bibimbap and kimchi, her smile warm and knowing. She's aware of how much you adore her cooking—it's always met with your praises. "Mmm, Maya... you're truly a gift from above!" you groan, your mouth full of rice and veggies, head falling back against the couch in bliss. It's not just the delicious food; the soft, comforting massage on your feet makes the moment pure perfection. 

The plate sits on your bump, truly useful now that it's all big and round, it can hold much stuff! "how was the trip, dear?" she questions curiously. "oh it was messy, to begin with, but Then it was lovely, my parents were accepting- though it took them some time.." you say, recalling how nervous you both were at the doorstep, just how crazy it was the whole day, you wouldn't ever want to experience that in your life ever again. 

it was horrific, way worse than the day you found out you were pregnant. It has to be the pressure and the worry of acceptance. Your parents are kind and open-minded, but also... are they that open-minded to accept your child for a mistake? That was the haunting question but anyway, it all ended pretty well so you're glad that it was all a 2-day thing. 

Maya and you engage in a conversation about baby clothing and the other items that will be useful for the future, which you're supposed to shop for now. Your screen lights up with a response from Hobi.

Hoba;  hey y/n!!! I'm good.

How are you and the little one?

y/n; all good, the little one is being very naughty.

Anyway hoseok, I want your help...

Hoba; say right away

You needed his help to surprise Jungkook, only a trustworthy friend could help and of course, it was him. so you shared the plan with him by text and told him all the details that you had.

Hoba; omfg i'm so down!!!!Just wait for it cheesecake, I'm gonna make this plan 100 times better.

You giggle at his response, he's a sweetheart and you're so glad you found a true friend here in Seoul. You plan the rest of the stuff that's needed for Jungkook's birthday because it's just 2 days away and there's quite a bit to do. You also need the staff's help so you tell Maya about what needs to be done and without any doubt she was already getting the items according to your color and taste. You want to do this for him. 

Jungkook deserves so much, and if you can do something—just one little thing—that changes how he feels about birthdays, it'll be worth it. His hatred for them comes from so much pain, but love heals everything, right? 

And you're going to show him that love wins every time. You'll give him all the love, care, and support to turn this one day into the best one he's had all year. It's not just you in on this, either. It's the two of you now. Your little one is part of the plan, too. This baby is going to change his life, no question, and you'll make sure it's for the better. Together, you're going to make this day unforgettable.

;

You spent the day like usual—binging TV series and playing with Bam. But what surprised you was when the doorbell rang. Glancing down from upstairs, you saw the staff answering it, and soon after, a couple of workers entered the house. Confusion set in as they started decorating the room you were staying in and moving your belongings to another one. 

Maya caught your deepening frown and chuckled before explaining, "Sir wants to turn this room into a nursery! for the little one." That's when everything clicked. Of course, it made sense now. Your belongings were being moved to Jungkook's room, while the room you'd been staying in was being transformed into a nursery. 

After all, it's the closest room to his—and now, yours too. You could not hold back the large smile that grew on your face. There's no way Jungkook was doing this. A nursery?!! So what- is everything set? Are you gonna be living with him? The baby too? You could not contain the happiness you felt, you could vomit sparkles, sprinkles and glitter. "Ma'am, we were told to ask your preferences for the decoration—the colors you'd like." 

You didn't even think about it at first, your brain kind of lagging for a second. "Uh..." You're not the type to stick to the typical pink-for-girls, blue-for-boys thing. It doesn't make sense to you. You want your kid to love any color they want, no matter what. "Purple would be nice... I like purple." the workers had come to clear the area up so you can decide on which items go where and do the painting according to the colors you want. 

Your stuff was arranged in the closet. It had been divided between Jungkook and you and honestly, that makes your stomach clench at how crazy that is. You're now sharing a room with him, entirely. Not just the bed but his closet and everything else. 

It's becoming your room as much as it is his. Your plushies sleep on the bed because you didn't want them to be seated on the frame, plushies are meant to sleep with you and you can't sleep without your avocado. You wanted to be helpful too but Maya wouldn't allow you to take a step so you had to watch her arrange them with the other maids. 

The closet seems full now and it's so lovely to see it becoming yours. Even though Jungkook had unknowingly brightened your day, a lingering worry still gnawed at you. He hadn't texted you all day, and that's just so not like him. You can't help but feel uneasy, but you try to push those thoughts aside. Instead, you focus on the nursery. 

You're determined to make it lively, full of energy, and as colorful as possible. You start brainstorming, imagining bright shades of every color filling the space. But at the heart of it all, purple will take the lead. It's your favorite color, and it's soothing and comforting—something about it just calms you. 

You picture soft purple walls and Jungkook and you stand beside the cot, cradling the little one to sleep while you two watch your newborn. It sounds like a dream, like a movie's ending and you can't wait for that day to come. Your hands caress your bump as you imagine lovely beginnings.

;

The night comes by and Jungkook returns home in exhaustion. He's drained out mentally and physically. he wants to talk to you about what your mother said to him but when he sees you walking fast towards him with utmost difficulty with that big bump of yours, he can't help but smile at that sight. "Jungkook!!! oh my god."

you hug his waist while he is removing his coat, and he giggles at your excitement, he knows exactly why you are all giddy and excited. "calm down, calm down there." "How can I?!! I forgot about a nursery until they knocked on the door. I- am so excited. so I think we; 're gonna do this with purple but I'll also like a splash of the other colors but- we make it pastel and-" 

You keep on and on and Jungkook can't help but raise his eyebrows at the speed you talking. You're so excited, he sees it all over your face, your glowing and beaming and he loves this so much, he loves the look of happiness and excitement in you. it's crazy how his thoughts and anxiety just vanished into thin air when you ran towards him and hugged him. 

he couldn't find the words to describe you but then he knew... you're light to his darkness, the energy to his lifeless body and heart and he can't tell how much you mean to him. he keeps looking at you go on and on about something he doesn't even know. what were you talking about again? Was it food? oh no no, you were talking about some colored pasta? 

"shhh y/n...hey... take a breath." he says with a chuckle and you laugh too, taking some breaths because that was a train speed of talk. "we can talk about everything later... i- I need to freshen up." he murmurs and you nod. "yes- yes, please. god, you need to rest- did you have dinner? I think maybe ha-" "I'm okay... I'm okay....did you have dinner?" 

he asks and you look around the room. "I was hungry-" "That's okay, I'm glad you had early dinner." he says with a smile. "I'll shower and then we can talk." you nod as you watch him walk upstairs while you grab yourself some water. you feel relieved that Jungkook came home with a smile and was also speaking much better than he was before. 

you get some water for him too and walk upstairs after giving Bam some good night kisses and pats. "Jungkook I got you a glass of wa-" You enter the room to be met with a sleepy Jungkook.  There he was, sprawled across the bed in exhaustion, One arm dangled off the edge of the mattress, while the other rested limply over his stomach. 

The sheets were barely covering him, bunched up and crumpled around his legs as if he had tossed them aside in his sleep and the faint scent of his shampoo lingered in the air, still fresh from his shower. you melt at the sight of him, he was tired and in need of sleep. you have no idea why he was so grumpy and quiet but you think he might be better tomorrow once he'd gotten his hours of sleep. you place the glass on the bedside table, 

remove the towel from his hand place it inside the washroom bar and turn off the main light. gently without disturbing him, you pulled the sheets from his feet to drape them over his body. Switching on the lamp, the room filled with a soft, warm glow. You slipped onto the bed beside him, careful not to disturb the peaceful rhythm of his breathing. 

He looked so beautiful like this, lost in sleep. His lips were slightly parted, his face relaxed, and his hair, now free from the gel was an untamed mess, damp strands curling naturally against his skin. You couldn't help but reach out, letting your fingers gently brush his forehead. You smoothed his hair back, feeling the soft texture beneath your fingertips as you combed through the damp locks. 

He stirred just slightly, leaning into your touch like it was second nature, but didn't wake. your fingers continue to caress his hair while you admire him, Jungkook stirred, shifting to his side, his movements slow and hazy, like his body wasn't entirely his yet. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and unfocused, blinking a few times as if testing the waking world. 

He smacked his lips softly, the faint taste of sleep lingering on his tongue before his eyelids drooped again. you chuckle at that before turning to your opposite side so you can drift to sleep too. Jungkook shifts closer, nuzzling into your neck as his arm drapes over your waist in a lazy, possessive hold. A soft, contented sound escapes his lips, almost a moan, as he melts into the faint warmth your body offers. 

You've always been the cooler half; his perfect contrast. Even with the air conditioner making your skin cold, your neck somehow retains a subtle warmth that he craves. He doesn't like warmth meeting warmth; as the naturally warmer one, he seeks the chill that balances him out.

 Your body does it effortlessly, the coolness soothing him, grounding him, making him press closer like he's found the perfect spot in a restless world. Jungkook relaxes as he drifts to sleep immediately.

;

Jungkook was already gone to work by the time you woke up, he did leave you a message that having a couple of meets would keep him busy the entire day so you wished him luck on that and chose to keep yourself busy too with the birthday preparations. 

as you give it s thought you kind of feel like Jungkook is intentionally keeping himself busy, could be because it's his birthday or another reason which you aren't aware of. Whatever it is, you hope he comes back home early. Or even if he does come late, you hope he won't sleep like he did yesterday, that would ruin all your plans that you've saved for midnight to surprise him on his 30th birthday.

Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn't even realize what day it is. He's completely unaware that tomorrow's September 1st, his birthday. He's too caught up in work, using it as a way to keep busy and avoid thinking about anything relationship-related. 

Honestly, he's not ready to talk about that yet. He knows there's stuff to discuss, but he's still trying to wrap his head around it all. But even with everything going on, he can't help but look forward to the weekend. He wants to get through all the work so he can spend the days with you, doing something he's never done before, baby shopping. 

He wants to shop for baby clothing, the cot, the toys and so much more, he doesn't even know what he's supposed to get but he wants to get it all. He also wants to discuss the whole nursery situation with you, the detailing and colors. There's just about a month left and there's so much to do. He wants to be in every step now, so he doesn't miss out on the last few weeks of your first pregnancy and his first fatherhood experience.

;

It's about 7 pm when the doorbell rings with your phone's ringtone at the same time. It hooks and you rush downstairs carefully to take the items from him and of course to see the man himself. "Hey Hoba!!" oh my goodness, y/n!" 

he walks inside fast and places the cake and other bags inside the room that you told him to and then he jumps on you and gives you the biggest- yet mist gentle hug he could ever manage. "I'm so so so excited for you!!! Congratulations!!" you giggle at his words as he continues to give you one of the longest hugs he has given anyone in a long time. 

"thanks hoba, thanks for everything-" "Oh shut up!! I'm so fucking happy you chose me to do all this arrangement for you." he pulls away and holds your hands. has got the brightest smile on his face, beaming with joy and happiness which radiates to you and makes you happy too. "and I'm forever grateful, no one could do all this except you. Thank you so much Hoseok!!" 

you say and he nods at your words, his eyes lighting up but with so much love that you fail to see. "please call me in the morning!" "Oh I will!!!" you both laugh. "Mr. Jeon's house is beautiful, I mean what else can you expect from the CEO of jeon industries, I'm so not surprised." he mutters as his eyes look around the details and effort of the mansion his CEO built with his own money. "and- to have you. Jackpot." "Stop it." 

you hit his arm, cracking in laughter again but a hue on your cheeks as a sign of blushing. "I think whatever Jungkook has now, he deserves it so much. I'm not talking about me, because to be deserving of him, I have to work harder-" "You don't have to," Hoseok murmurs, his voice softer than usual. You glance at his face and catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, sadness, maybe? You don't know why, but it's there, hidden behind a fleeting expression. 

Then, he smiles, the warmth returning to his face as he looks at you. "He loves you for a reason," he continues, his words steady now, "and that's because you are you." He pauses, almost like he's reassuring himself too, before adding, "He deserves you, and you deserve him. That's all I know." His eyes shift to your belly, and his smile widens.

 "And this little one? The luckiest baby in the world." You can feel the sincerity in his words, and you both smile at his words as you get to the kitchen to offer him some juice. "oh no no, I'm fine y/n please don't trouble yourself-" "just one juice-" "I need to leave y/n, I must go, I've got some work on the way." he insists so you nod and hug him bye at the doorstep. 

Here you are, all alone in this massive mansion, feeling so pumped about everything you've got in the works. Jungkook texted to say he'll be late, and honestly, you're kind of glad. It means you don't have to rush or stress about hiding the surprise just yet. The orders are here, the deco is done and you're ready too. The enthusiasm everyone showed for Jungkook's birthday celebrations really highlights how much they all care about him. 

They were so eager to help in any way they could and managed to make you feel even more excited about everything. It's a testament to how Jungkook treats them, they may be staff, but they truly admire and respect him as their boss. Their genuine love for him is evident in their words, actions, and the respect they show. 

the genuine support and care they show you, proves that they don't just work here, they've built a wonderful relationship with you and the baby too. they're ever so excited to know the gender and you cant wait for the big reveal tonight and the morning when everyone is present. 

you keep looking at the time, the clock strikes 9pm and its still ticking but there's no sign of Jungkook. you're well aware that he's busy but he should've been home way earlier. you try not to worry about it and look at the deco all over again, just in case there's any mistake even though you've already checked it for the 15th time of the hour. 

The entire scene playing out in your mind feels so magical—him walking home after a long day, and you casually forcing him to shower downstairs because apparently something's wrong with the washroom you both share now. 

He doesn't question it, changes into his casuals, and spends time with you like it's any ordinary evening, unaware of what you've planned. When the clock strikes midnight, you excitedly cover his eyes, wish him a heartfelt happy birthday, and guide him upstairs to the room you both share, where everything you've prepared is waiting. 

The thought of his reaction and the little details of the moment make you giggle just thinking about it. And then, right on cue, you hear the main door open—and he walks in, just as you imagined. or maybe not....

next chapter ⇢

hope you enjoyed this chap, let me know how you feel about this chap in the comments!

[troublesh00terfaery]

BELOW 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. THIS WORK IS NSFW! KEEP OUT! [THIS WORK IS PURELY FICTION] | Pinned Navigation | Chapter one of CREDENCE | [Alhaitham x AFAB! Reader] Synopsis: In the heart of Sumeru, thrives the peaceful and unique kingdom to which governed by the monarchy. A young prince experiences a strange succession of dreams to which a mysterious woman comforts him. Wouldn't it be delightful to make this dreams into a reality? Words: 5.4k (NOT BETA READ)

Tags: AFAB! Reader, slight teasing, Prince! Alhaitham x Goddess Reader. Pronouns for AFAB reader are she/her. Alhaitham slightly obsessed with you. Alhaitham raging thoughts about you (look at what you did to this poor man!) So far, this will be main tags, more will be added on the following chapters. A/N: OKAY, I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE FOR NOT BEING ABLE TO UPDATE FOR MONTHS. I know I should've posted this around August but I was so busy and experienced writers block so I went to travel and did girly stuff just to get back on track so I sincerely apologize for the very late upload. I'm currently working on the third part since I planned on making this having four chapters. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this and upcoming chapters! - xoxo Circe𝜗𝜚 [Credits to this beautiful artist for the Alhaitham fanart, this was one of my inspos for this work!]

TAGLIST: @ayumneedsleep @zetianzz @surfacecigarettes @flwerie @yxnnu (If you want to be tagged for the upcoming chapters, comment to do so!)

This was rather unexpected, you thought to yourself. He was different and that bothered you. Was he not satisfied to see the literal woman of his dreams come to life? The thought itself made you furrow your brows as you tagged along him and his pet.

Upon reaching his study, the motif itself was very much like the monarchy and himself. Cabinets filled with scrolls and another separate cabinet that are yet to be filled with scrolls of whatever he is working on. His study was open and wide, the heart of his study was his huge table decorated with weighing scales and papers piled up and two papyrus papers were scattered open in the middle that somehow looked like a map that is yet to be filled up.

"Have a seat," Alhaitham spoke, instructing Jihad to sit down to which the feline responded with a chuff before settling himself down and yawning.

You stood there by the door that was just closed and watched him unfold in his usual setting. I guess Alhaitham would call this his own man cave. He gazed at you and heaved a sigh. "I meant you, of course. Have a seat, don't mind Jihad."

In return, you only replied with a small nod and found a seat just beside the cabinets. You decided not to sit and to stand and observe the scrolls piled up. Your eyes are busy with the tags and labels of each scroll. Alhaitham on the other hand kept sitting by his table and crossed his arms.

The probing has begun, he asked numerous questions to which you replied. He didn't ask where you came from, he was objective, thus only questioning matters regarding the further regions of the sands. From hidden mausoleums to locations to mark, he continued to seek the pursuit of knowledge for the expansion project. It was quite strange, here you thought that he would be asking you rather personal questions. It did bother you but of course, it would not let you falter.

"Your highness..." one of his servants came inside after knocking. "...it is dinner. The young lady is invited to eat as well, said your father."

Alhaitham replied with a nod before the servant left. He then gazed back at you before he stood up and spoke.

"You heard him."

Oh the knock of this guy. You thought.

Dinner was quite fine, the sorts of foods that would satisfy one's appetite. Alhaitham exchanged a few words with his father and his father to you. At some point, the question directed towards you was answered by Alhaitham.

"Please eat, I will answer my father's questions." He whispered to which you only replied with a slow nod as you took a spoonful of the desert.

The following days were the same, this time it was different. You were actually helping him out with the mapping. You could see how delicate and neat he works with the maps. Not only that, he was detail oriented as well. Asking you questions about what was within that small area or what notable features did it possess. He was indeed more than just a prince with a face, he possessed an aristocratic and wise quality.

It was because during mapping sessions, guards and scribes would randomly enter his study chambers and update him with the ongoing plans and treaties that he, of course, would indulge himself and the queries.

"If you'll excuse me, I will return in a short while." He left his markers and tools used for outlining the maps scattered at the table. You replied with a small nod and watched him leave the chambers whilst talking to one of the scribes.

This day, the mapping was almost finished but he was summoned by his father. Leaving you alone in his chamber. It was afternoon and the chamber was filled with rays of the sun that beamed, highlighting small spaces within his study. Come to think of it, no matter how busy this man is, his study was undeniably neat. Not a single scroll was misplaced nor scattered around the floor. You would expect that this man had no time to organize yet his room differs from your expectations.

His study was a wide room with an open space in the middle with a long and rectangle shaped table. Beside it was a red sofa filled with plush pillows on each end. You took the liking of comfortably sitting and observing the space he usually works on a daily basis. A whiff of the incense laced your nose, inhaling the comforting scent. A little while later, Jihad entered the study with a big yawn as he slowly walked towards the sofa.

He was a big feline but such a baby when his prince was near him, demanding for rubs. As you stayed in the palace for quite some time, Jihad has grown fond of you. He would greet you with his successions of chuff or nudge his head against your knees, a cue to pet him to which you spoil him. Surprisingly, Jihad took the big pillow he usually sleeps in by dragging it with his teeth and placing it near your feet and comfortably laying himself for a short nap.

"You know what, Jihad..." you spoke, stretching your arms and back before you took one of the pillows and patted each side. "...a nap doesn't sound bad after all."

And just like that, you lie down and slumber visits you. On the other hand, Alhaitham was discussing with his father. The usual one, expedition and mapping. Not until his father mentioned how you were.

"What do you mean?" Alhaitham asked, not looking at his father as his eyes were too fixated from the pieces of figures in his father's embossed maps.

"Do you even know her name?" The king paused from placing a few more pieces.

"That's rather a strange query, your grace." He took one of the pieces, a triangular shaped piece, and placed it near two smaller pieces with the identical shape.

Of course, he didn't know your name. It didn't cross his mind to know or ask what was your name. Not that it didn't curious him, he simply just didn't feel it. Now the thought of what your name was, he recalled addressing you as 'hey' or 'woman' a couple of days ago. Strange and certainly infuriating.

"Do you know her name then, father?"

"My, of course, son."

"Good for you."

The king only sighed at his rather indifferent attitude. Truth be told, he was genuinely curious about you. Everything about you was a mystery that is yet to be revealed. In an outward perspective, he did not care. To which you and probably the king, finds strange.

He was quite aware of how you and his woman of dreams looked alike and how similar your voices were. On top of that, the little fluid and elegant manners you had as you carried yourself in helping the young prince further expanded his curiosity. He found you rather strange but in his mind, you and that woman of dreams of his were different and he rejected the idea that it was you personified.

"She's quite a pretty woman herself, don't you think?"

"Hm, she is, I suppose?"

The talk about you went on for hours, only for Alhaitham to reply in such a stingy way.  After a few more talks, the prince decided to go back to his study to check the scrolls.

It was the same routine everyday, to the point that it seemed like a loop that never ended. At this point, your plan seemed like a written reminder that you somehow never did.

"The expedition begins in two days, I suggest you get your best sleep since we're heading to the sands." Alhaitham spoke, without looking at you, afterall, he was a busy man with a scroll on his right hand and a pen on his other hand.

"I'm coming?" You stopped petting the feline.

"I will accompany you with a few of my chosen travelers and men."

"Oh..."

"Your ladies have also prepared your tent and things, do you wish to bring anything else?"

"Uh...I-I suppose I'll be thinking about it."

"Hm, tell me what you'll be bringing so I will get them to prepare it. Understood?"

"Yes," you replied, looking at him as Jihad nudged his head gently against your cheeks and chuffled. "Thank you."

Come to think of it, your world revolved a bit of eating savory meals, having to experience luxurious baths almost everyday, a free stroll around the extravagant palace, watch people do stuff for you, dressed up with the finest silk offered by the palace, and of course, having a premium closeness to the prince by being his aid. Suitable just for a goddess like you. But alas, do they even try to know what you truly are? Does HE know or even try to know you? Shame that you will never know.

It was no doubt that the prince had a charming face and a mysterious personality that entices a few faces from different kingdoms. Princesses and high ranking courtesans seemingly throwing themselves to the young prince's feet, offering themselves to him as an act.of devotion. To which of course, he politely declines. These ministrations and how he reacts to it somehow made you curious over the past few days that you couldn't help but want to ask. However, you decided to ask a different and a more serious query.

"Alhai- I mean, your highness, is it okay if I ask something?"

The young prince stopped what he was doing and slowly turned and tilted his head, enough for you to see the side of his face.

"Call me 'Alhaitham', we're in my chambers." He spoke. "I'd like you to call me by my name, so refrain from addressing me formally."

"Why so?"

"Is that what you're initially asking then?"

"No."

"Hm, then I'll only answer you if you do as I say." A small smile formed on his lips.

Truth be told, Alhaitham wasn't fond of questions. It was like a meticulous task for him and it tired him out. However, there are such exemptions to these matters especially when it comes to you. Of course, he could only think of it as a way to return his favour because you had assisted him for almost a month on his ongoing expedition. Think of it as him being a gentleman.

You slowly nodded with his instructions and slowly said his name. It was new, you were so used to calling him with his honorary titles, but the prince himself granted you permissions to casually call him his name. Oh, what a beautiful name, you thought to yourself.

"Alhaitham."

"Hm? What is it?" He slowly shifted his body, dropped his pen and scroll to his table, and faced his body to you. Now he was welcomed with this... rather innocent view of yours. You were sitting by his carpet while his dear feline rested its big head on your lap. Your sincere eyes meeting his hawk-like gaze, plump lips, and such beauty.

Alhaitham wouldn't deny it but your beauty would be considered as the realm's delight. Such beauty you behold, he wonders what kind of alchemy create such ethereal beauty like you. And then he realized something, your beauty alone had a choke hold on him and he realized it late.

"I have come to notice that you have suitors, women coming from different regions." You started slow but with an obvious topic to which you already prepared the rejection of answering your curious query. "Why do you not entertain them?"

You asked, seemingly patting the head of Jihad yet you never really looked at him.

Alhaitham paused for a moment, and pondered, what the real answer is to that question. Was it an academic curiosity that urged him to convince his father to explore the desert that genuinely kept the young prince  in a hectic place? Perhaps the idea that marriage was far from his perspective as of the moment, considering he never was in a position to rush matters that revolved around tying bonds with anyone? Does he even see himself falling for someone? Of course, but when will he start to do so? Was there really a remarkable person that could persuade the heir to the throne?

He only stared at your petting to his Jihad as he sighed, he wasn't really sure what to tell you. Although this question wasn't new to him considering the king has nagged him about it ever since he was of age, he somehow had a peculiar feeling. He silently commended you on how you questioned him about serious matters, but as an outsider to his personal life, you really had the guts to ask him.

Maybe answering you wasn't much of a hassle, after all he had the time in the world to either reject your query or keep your growing curiosity company.

"I suppose if I tell you, then you will keep it a secret?"

The answer he gave you made you look up to him, never in beat would you think Alhaitham would set aside his usual work for a question that can be answered with a word or two. You slowly gave him a small nod, signaling that you had your senses focused on him. Alhaitham picked up your nod and took his chair, gently dragged it, and placed it just in front of you. He sat and slowly lowered his upper torso to level your face. The proximity between you and him now closer, finding yourself having a close up view of him and the very details of his astonishing beauty.

"How about this," he whispered, he was serious but there was a hint of playfulness in it. You couldn't tell if he was either serious or not, he was, after all, unpredictable. Something he had naturally. "I'll give you three statements, two of which are lies and one is the right answer."

"...and?"

"Of course, you have to guess the right one. In return, you will be doing the same." He crossed his arms and rested against the comfortable seat of the chair. Laid back and composed as ever. "If either of us had the wrong guess, a dare will compensate for it."

"I never expected the young prince to be playful, might as well amuse me by playing truth or dare?" you let out a low chuckle and caressed the feline's cheek with your thumb. Alhaitham replied with a soft scuff, since when did you start to get that kind of sarcasm?

"I'm keeping your curiosity company, might as well leave you and Jihad alone so I can work peacefully."

Never in a millennium had a man genuinely amuse you in such humor. Come to think of it, he was always serious and never replied much nor replied. You have to conclude that he was like a living machine, so to witness him in such proximity in this situation was never on your plate.

"Alright, young prince," you cleared your throat and now looking at him, your attention undivided. "Entertain me, if you please." a soft reply, you spoke.

Upon your response, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile before he shifted his position. Alhaitham started, positioning himself by leveling you. He leaned once more, whilst he rested both his  arms at each thigh, arms supporting his weight and legs partly spread.

"The kingdom of Sumeru is vast and yet to be discovered. Despite our lineage being at the throne for years, some parts itself is yet to be uncovered." he started off. Each word leaving his mouth made you gently nod, absorbing the words he said.

He continued his story coming from his past royal lineage being unsuccessful of searching through the vast sands due to the lack of equipment and knowledge of what lies ahead. Among the few of his ancestors have passed because of unexpected circumstances of their expedition during their reign. Fortunately, through the sacrifices of his kin, the present throne is able to push through the expedition and further survey of the area.

"The sands fascinated my curiosity since I was a young scholar." he crossed his arm yet he kept his gaze focused at you, never breaking it. As if he really had no intention of keeping his eyes off you, not that you'll escape. "I have no intention of taking the crown to begin with, I intend to spend my time as a man who seeks knowledge and the grain of wonders of the dunes of Sumeru."

You replied with a hum, that somehow adds to your hypothesis regarding him finding you and how this curiosity and ongoing questions somehow simply align themselves to give you answers. You weren't in a rush nor had the realization you had initial questions about how he was determined to expand his knowledge and the past aspirations of his kin to broaden their expansion.

"That leads me to saying that I do not wish to marry." Alhaitham's tone was relaxed and monotone, leaning by the soft backrest of the chair he sat.

Shifting, he rested his right hand by the arm rest and his left hand supporting his head as he paused. He looked at you, observing your curious face as he took a pause. Surprisingly, he somehow found himself pleased with this view. Not that he felt that he was superior looking down on you, it was more of how you looked. How effortlessly you made him look at you in awe with your beauty. Those curious and innocent looking eyes you had, spoke for you. It felt like you didn't even have to utter a word for him to digest what you're thinking. Perhaps it is true what they say: the eyes never lie.

"Why?" you gazed at him.

"I am not in a rush nor has it ever crossed my mind," he replied.

"I doubt."

"Who are you to doubt me?"

You let out a soft chuckle with his question.

"I don't doubt you, my prince." you replied. "I doubt how it never crossed your mind."

Alhaitham, interested with your answer, slowly let his curiosity tiptoe. Perhaps it was the perfect time to open your subject to him. The reason why you are here, the reason why you're infront of him, and why he even has the opportunity to speak to you. Of course, you didn't want to surprise him with everything. You had other plans, after all, who doesn't like the chase?

"Perhaps not marriage."

"Then?"

"Perhaps you had someone in mind." you lowered your voice but sure enough that Alhaitham heard of it, he never recalled anyone being so pesky in his mind. He was after all a busy man, he was.

"How can you confirm this suspicion then?"

"I think that leads us to me answering your little game, your highness."

Delightful but terribly annoying on how you seem to know or even assume he gave out the wrong statement but alas, he would never know your true potential if he did not give you the chance to speak. He never belittles anyone's academic and intellectual capability, it was just that he never truly had to try hard to prove anything. But here you are, it seems like someone like you knows how to bite.

"Go on."

"Based on the structure of your statements, I concluded that you were telling the truth regarding the matters of your family's lineage dating back and your history with the dunes." you started, confident but sure. You sat upright but never forgot to pet the asleep feline by your thighs.

"This also leads me to sum up that you do not have plans nor initial plans with the crown, I can recall a certain interaction with the king. He mentioned, nonverbatim, that 'the prince truly amuses me for he is the only heir of this dying lineage of kings, yet he spares no time to reckon keeping up this dynasty of honorable kings.'" With a smile, you looked at Alhaitham.

Perhaps the young prince looked down on such a peculiar woman like you. He often had the perception that you were just an odd woman looking for trouble near the site. He wasn't new to women performing such an act just to get his attention. That in case he was presumably correct, he paid no attention at all. Truly, you were more than just a delight to his study chambers, you intrigue the young prince.

Your assertion kept the young prince amused. In a way he could never comprehend with simple words. Something ignited inside him that his chest felt heavy, in a sense that it also wanted to break free. He could hear the hitch of his inhale and heavy yet silent exhale. 

There was something about you that kept Alhaitham's feelings exalted at the present. For such an ethereal looking woman with a peculiar habit of surprising anyone, you did so much aside stir up feelings from him that he could not comprehend what it was. It was warm yet a chill would run his spine. 

“Perhaps you can say that marriage itself has never been in the status as convenient to you but to say that you had no person to think of intrigues me a lot, sir.”

“You're doubting me?

“I distress your majesty, perhaps let us put it in this way…” you sat up and fixed your posture. Surely, this would sound ridiculous but oh well, better have said it then regret it afterwards. 

“You’re assuming then?” Alhaitham argued, keeping up his neutral expression while internally being entertained with her little show. 

“No-” you said. 

“Suggesting?” 

“Your highness-”

“Are you a matchmaker then?”

With his rapid interruption, you heaved a heavy sigh, admitting defeat as his interruption unfortunately got through your nerves. You didn’t wish to be annoyed at the young prince, it was pretty much obvious that he was doing it on purpose. Alhaitham somehow finds it rather…amusing. 

“Your highness, I think we should call it a night.” you closed your eyes, trying to compose yourself. “You have errands tomorrow.” 

Alhaitham let out a low chuckle, seemingly enjoying his small victory of trying to get into your nerves. 

“Ah, and they say escape is defeat.” Alhaitham shifted his seat and made himself comfortable by leaning onto the back cushion of the seat. His eyes gazing at your defeated look, eyes looking away and your plump lips pouting. He was never the type to exasperate anyone just because he wanted to lest he never experience the annoyance from someone who does it randomly. 

But here you are, looking incredibly annoyed yet delicately beautiful without any effort. He must admit that he never came across any woman with such sharpness and wit, still blessed with her beauty and grace. 

“Apologies, I must have you at wits end.” He spoke as he stood up from his seat.

He walked towards the center of his chambers. At the center of his chamber lies a square pool filled with varieties of fresh flowers and lotuses that float the pristine water. He took one nilotpala lotus and a single zaytun peach and sat back at his chair just near you. 

You watched him closely come back to his seat. He placed the zaytun peach just at his table for he kept both of his palms busy with the lotus. 

“I do not think this is an appropriate gift for making amends with you but…” he looked at the damp and freshly bloomed lotus in his palm before he gazed at you. “...allow me to offer this lotus to you, they say it only blooms at night to reveal its beauty.”

He gently took the flower and handed it over to you. Taking the flower, you placed it and carefully cupped the delicate lotus. You never had the opportunity to see it bloom, thus this was a sight to see to you. 

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham came to know that you had taken a liking to these delicate lotuses. He observed you sit by the pool of the garden, looking at your reflection and the lotuses that are yet to bloom. He knew you would sit hours just for it to bloom but to no avail, you eventually wasted your afternoon just for it to bloom. 

“This is a nilotpala lotus.” you spoke, observing the intricate parts of the flower up close. You had a waft of its floral and sweet scent. “I’ve always wanted to see them bloom but I do not get the opportunity to see them fully bloom.” You looked up to him with bliss and with a smile.

“Is that so?” He knew, of course. He wouldn’t say it. Perhaps this would be his reward and somehow, he felt a sense of contentment seeing you in such bliss. He took the peach, effortlessly tore it in half, and gazed at you

“Truth is, your answers are all correct.” he admitted defeat with a sigh, he slowly took a bite from the other half of the peach, his eyes never leaving you. Upon hearing him, a little smile formed your lips. 

“So, you have someone on your mind?”

He then propped himself by sitting at the red carpet, just in front of you

“Indeed,” he answered.

You were surprised by the prince’s offering. He was acting unusual in a way that intrigued you. He was the busiest person inside the kingdom and never did he spare time for such trivial matters that would slow him down. And now, he’s eating a peach in front of you. You could only watch him savour the sweet peach, another bite and the juice of the fruit ran down to his chin. 

Instinctively, you wiped the juice from his chin with your thumb. He caught your wrist, guided it near his lips, and pressed your thumb gently to his lips. Upon your thumb making contact with his lips, he briefly closed his eyes before he bore and gazed back at you. Alhaitham’s eyes were half lidded and seemingly focused on you, never did it cross his mind to let your thumb break from his lips.

You were dumbfounded by the sudden action, as much as you wanted to break free from the contact, you found yourself unable to do so. As if you turned into a statue, unable to react nor say a word. For a few moments, the both of you stayed still as if trying to savor every second of the moment. 

He took the opportunity to study your face. There was no doubt that you looked exactly just like the woman in his dreams. There was no flaw, no inadequacy, no spot for him to point out and convince himself that you are not her. You are her, he’s starting to believe. For days, he never had any particular dreams about that woman again. Could it be that the dreams were no longer needed because you are here? The mysterious woman in his dreams was in front of him, thus the dreams were no longer active, he theorized. 

“My prince,” a soft and hushed voice called his attention back and it was you, flustered and heart racing from such sudden intimacy the prince showed. 

He only let out a small chuckle, pressing a small kiss by your thumb before he looked at you. “Who are you, really?” 

He gazed at you with such curious and longing eyes, as if trying to decipher and unravel the hidden divinity of you. He then kissed the knuckles of your hand, to the back of your palm, his lips touching and leaving kisses through your arms, now reaching to your shoulders and leaving a small peck to your shoulder. He then drew his lips closer to your ear, inhaling, before he spoke. 

“Tell me, please.” he rested his forehead to your shoulder, his ministrations leaving you breathless and speechless. Your body started to heat up from the proximity between you and Alhaitham. He left a single kiss by your neck before he cupped your cheek and gazed at you with such intensity. 

He gazed at you, expecting that your eyes might at least give him answers he is looking for.  You could only return the gaze with your doe like eyes scanning his face with visible frustration etched in his face. There was so much intensity between the proximity between the two of you. No words uttered from thereon, only deep breaths and fervent exchange of gaze. 

Your faces were inches away, almost like the space between the two of you was edging the both of you. Alhaitham was the kind of man who knows what he wants, he had no business with being indecisive nor mingling with people being indecisive even at the most little matters. But at this very moment, this proximity had him questioning his ability to recognize and decide. Seems like his logic and to rationalize was slowly slipping away from his mind.

“Won’t you?” he whispered, his cheek against your cheek. This was completely different from the dreams he had with you. This was the closest thing for a dream to come true. You could feel your cheeks and nape heat up. Goosebumps running through your skin, his delicate touch seemingly adding more fuel to the fire. 

And when he couldn’t resist you anymore, Alhaitham left a soft and long kiss against your plush lips. This was beyond comprehension, everything was happening all at once. A while ago you were anticipating a plausible argument and now, the esteemed and sought after prince of Sumeru is at your level and kissed a goddess who hindered herself from the growing world. 

Just before Alhaitham could deepen his kiss, a presence of two women entered his huge chambers. Just by the hallway, stood two ladies-in-waiting. They didn’t dare to interrupt nor get closer to the rather peculiar situation between the prince and you. They couldn’t comprehend what it was since Alhaitham’s back was facing them, and the kiss was angled in a rather hidden manner. As curious as they may seem, they dare not to probe their majesty.

“Your highness, we apologize for interrupting,” one of the ladies spoke, her head hung low.

Alhaitham slowly broke the kiss, his eyes half lidded. You couldn’t deny it; this man was attractive– no, he is a beautiful man. To say that he is simply attractive is an understatement, what more when the prince himself yearns more kisses from you. Upon hearing one of your ladies-in-waiting speak, you quickly hid your face by his side, as if wanting to disintegrate yourself from the embarrassment. 

“Hm,” Alhaitham hushed. “What is it?”

“We came here to escort our lady back to her chambers. It is late and she was supposed to sleep an hour ago.” she spoke, softly. 

Hearing this, Alhaitham let out a ghostly smile. “Yes, your lady here has fallen asleep on my carpet.” 

Your brows furrowed from his answer but you knew it was a better reason than telling them what had actually happened.

Alhaitham looked at the ladies, instructing them with his usual tone as if nothing happened. “Prepare her bed, I will be carrying her to her room.” 

To which they nodded and left his study chambers

And just like that, Alhaitham picked up a soft white linen from his bed and carefully covered your body so that it would not be exposed by the cold breeze of the evening. He carried you in a bridal style and still you never spoke nor looked at him again. Everything was fresh and surreal, you kept thinking about it and you never noticed that you were already being laid by him at your bed. 

You quickly hid your face upon reaching the bed and covering yourself with the blanket. 

Alhaitham only looked at you, but deep inside, he knew what you felt. He could’ve done so much if he wasn’t interrupted but he also knew it was better that things do not escalate as he wanted to know more about you and what you truly are. 

One of the ladies escorted him out of your room when he spoke.

“Be sure to fill her vase with fresh padisarah flowers by the morning.” he stopped his track as he reached outside her room. “See to it that you get a big jar and place nilotpala lotuses to it, let her tend to it once it arrives.” 

The lady nodded in response. 

“Dress her tomorrow, we will be having a stroll by the royal garden and city.” 

A/N: See ya guys on the next chapter. If you wanna be tagged, comment! | Pinned Navigation | Chapter one of CREDENCE |

[quickestgold]

Goodbye, My Lover | Part 2 | The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Chapter 2: Please Forgive Me

Synopsis: When Robby and Jack find you, old wounds reopen, as guilt and regret threaten to tear apart what’s left of your fractured relationships. As your hearts reconnect in an unexpected moment of closeness, long-buried feelings begin to resurface and the possibility of forgiveness feels closer than ever.

Warnings: Age gap is around 18 years. This series will deal with some heavy themes around a physical attack, death, grief, ptsd, panic attacks, s*icidal tendencies, heartbreak >>> comfort at the end, I promise

Word count: 1463

A/n: How are you even supposed to choose between these two, like hello? Anyway, we'll find out soon won't we... Next chapter is heavyyy

Previous Chapter (1): I Love You | Next Chapter (3): I Forgive You

Robby and Jack find you slumped in an alley, unmoving, propped against the cold building facade.

Jack is instantly by your side, rubbing your sternum forcefully, desperate for a response, anything.

Robby's fingers press against the side of your neck, terrified of what he might find, or not. "Y/N?" He opens your eyelids, blinding you with a penlight.

You groan, barely audible “Stop.”

“Y/N, you with us?” Jack huffs, ridden with anxiety.

“I’m fine.” You say louder, pushing their hands away.

Relief washes over them, but it doesn't last long.

“Did you take something?” Robby scans the ground for anything that might explain this.

“What? No”, you plead, offended by the suggestion.

“What happened?” Jack's voice is softer now.

You blink, taking in your surroundings, not really sure yourself. “I must’ve passed out.”

Neither of the men speak, unsure whether to confess how badly they were spiralling when they couldn’t find you. Was it even their place to worry?

“I’m just so done”, you interrupt their thoughts.

“With what?” Robby inquires too quickly.

“Everything. This job. This hospital. Maybe this city.”

“This life?” Jack states flatly.

The bluntness shocks you. Robby as well, but he wonders too.

“N- No. You know I wouldn’t.” You stare into Jack's eyes, pleading for something unknown. Not after everything you’d gone through. You really wouldn’t. Does he believe you?

Jack turns his gaze away from you, as to somehow escape the conversation that had been building between you for a long time. Waiting to break. His mouth twists downwards. A tear gathers in his eye, the pain of losing you creeping in. There were a couple of close calls on the tours you spent together, but the day he nearly lost you, broke him.

Robby knows some of the details of your relationship, but the depth of the pain and unresolved sadness between you leaves him speechless.

The tension is palpable. It’s only now, in this moment, that you all realize how much you’ve hurt each other without even meaning to.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Both of you”, your eyes flicker to Robby’s.

The moment lingers in heavy silence.

“Why did you come back here?” Robby asks.

You wonder whose idea it was to search for you here. Probably Jack, right? His ability to keep a clear head and to stay calm in the most impossible situations always shocked you. But equally, his stoic demeanor drove you crazy, especially when it came to letting you in and dealing with your past together.

Maybe it was Robby. Robby would panic, but then analyse the situation at hand and find a solution. Always.

Now you needed to know.

“How did you find me?” You ask, disregarding their earlier question.

“Dana”, they answer in perfect unison.

You give a soft smile and though the situation is heavy, it’s enough to make Robby and Jack’s hearts melt. The warmth in your eyes brings an unexpected tenderness, like a comforting embrace for the soul and before they can help it, both of them smile too.

You sit in the peaceful silence, the weight of everything feeling just a little bit lighter, as though the past has softened its grip on you all.

But all too soon, reality creeps back in.

“I didn’t know you come back here often", Jack's face grows serious again. "It seems… painful."

“Sometimes", you admit. "When I need to convince myself that an alley is just an alley...”

Talking about it hurts, but pretending it didn't happen is just as difficult. For them too.

You feel your hands tremble again, instinctively pulling them closer to your chest. But Robby notices, closing the distance between you and offering his shoulder. It’s the same comfort he always gave you, like second nature.

When he walked away, the void he left was unbearable.

But now he’s here.

You sink your forehead into the crook of his neck, taking slow, cleansing breaths. His familiar scent floods you, a quiet reminder of all the unexpressed love.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you”, Robby whispers, as you melt deeper into him, your heartbeat syncing with his.

Slowly, the panic subsides.

Jack watches you both, eyes hard, fighting his own memories.

It's an unusually quiet shift. The eerie kind where everyone's on edge, waiting for something to break.

You and Jack work a couple of cases together, like you usually do.

You were always a great team. Made each other better in ways few people understood. But Robby did. He always respected your deep bond, even when you and Robby were dating. It's the kind that runs deeper than friendship, deeper than love, it's survival. Maybe it's because Robby and Jack share their own connection, a brotherhood built on mutual trust and support.

Your breakup with Jack was mutual, the weight of your shared history and trauma made it inevitable. You both walked away, at different points, caught in your own separate battles. You saved lives together, but you also lost them. And in the process, you lost parts of yourselves too. You both gave so much to everyone else, there was nothing left to give each other. It wasn't anyone's fault.

Still, you can’t help but feel like it was yours. Like you destroyed something great. Not just with Jack, but with Robby too.

The breakup with Robby really tested everything. Words were said, hearts broken and neither of you knew how to navigate this new reality. Somehow, Jack found himself in the middle and all of you blamed yourselves.

You weren’t the one who left this time, but maybe you pushed Robby too hard, pressured him to open up when he wasn’t ready.

So you accepted Robby's decision and watched him leave.

You wonder if he expected you to fight for him, to not let him go so easily.

That day in the ER, Robby snaps at you. In front of everyone. In front of Jack.

Jack’s breath hitches, trying hard not to intervene. To say something. Why wouldn't he? It's you. But he doesn't. And for that he'd never forgive himself.

It's not rational. But later, when you're lying in that hospital bed, machines and monitors beeping in a faint rhythm, their minds force them to dissect every little detail that led up to what happened. As if that could somehow undo it.

“I am your attending. You are a resident. When I tell you to do something, you do it", Robby barks. "If you can't respect that, then maybe this hospital isn’t for you.”

You just look at him, incredulous. But he continues, louder.

“You’re acting like a fucking child!” Regret washes over him as soon as the words leave his mouth.

You rip off your gloves with a snap, glancing at Jack, daring - no - willing him to speak up. But part of you is glad he doesn't. This is between you and Robby. Deep down you know it isn’t personal, but it still hurts, so you decide to give both of you space.

“Dr. Robinavitch”, you say before walking out, unaware how that split decision would lead to you almost losing your life.

All three of you now lean against the building facade, a comforting familiarity between you.

Your breathing has steadied, but your eyes are still glazed. You look up at Robby. For a moment, you are back to being his. And he yours. He gives you a soft smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and your heart nearly bursts, memories rushing back.

You remember kissing every freckle on his forehead, tracing the lines of his skin. He always thought they made him look old. You agreed, which made him laugh. But you also thought they made him look kind. How fitting.

A shaky gasp cuts through your thoughts. Jack drops his head, one hand pressing against his eyes, desperate to hide the pain that tears through him.

“Jack?” You whisper, reaching for him.

Jack lets out a quiet sob, fighting every urge not to fall apart in front of you. He can't.

You grab both of his wrists, grounding him with your presence as you pull him into your chest. His head rests gently against your heart, a silent promise that he will always be part of it.

“Hey", you tilt your head, searching for his eyes. "I'm here."

Maybe you love him differently now, but the ache in your chest tells you that some bonds can't be broken.

“Please forgive me,” he begs, his voice breaking, as the weight of his pain truly hits you.

Thanks for reading part 2!! Oh boi, this was a sad one… and it’s only getting worse before it gets better is all I’m gonna say hehe. Pls share your thoughts, I love reading your comments!!

PS: Lmk if you want to be added to the taglist: ♡

@queenslandlover-93 @sp00kylesley @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sqrlgrl22 @imonmykneessir @gabsgabsvaz

[vunblr]

Tangled (#11)

Pairing: Cecaelia! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Teratophilia.

Summary: Between fear and fascination, a solitary creature struggles to protect his hidden world -and himself- after an unexpected encounter with a curious human woman makes him question everything he thought he knew about trust, danger, and boundaries.

Word Count: 8.8k

Note: And we have reached the end. A big thank you to the readers who accompanied me on this journey. As I always say, this may be the story with fewer 'notes' on my masterlist, but the quality of the interaction has been overwhelming -in the best way- asking, drawing, commenting, reblogging, I am so grateful I got to experience that, truly, thank you❤️

Previous Chapter Masterlist

Making the alcove habitable wasn’t so bad.

Bucky had shifted to his human form to help her carry the essentials: an air mattress, blankets, a few rechargeable lights for the pitch-black space, snacks, and water. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but it would do.

Shifting during mating season, however, had taken a toll. His body, busy channeling energy toward more primal needs, had little left to spare. By the end of the day, he was sluggish, aching, and quietly grumpy, made worse, she suspected, because she’d witnessed a side of him he didn’t particularly like showing.

“You okay?” she asked, stepping close with a gentle smile. “You seem a little… indisposed.”

He didn’t respond right away, just blinked slowly, then reached out with his limbs to draw her in until her body was pressed against his chest.

“Changing forms during mating season is not... wise,” he muttered.

“Why?”

“Because the body craves only one thing, and its energy is focused on that. We don’t do other things. We barely eat. We just-”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

“Oh,” she murmured, brushing a hand along his cheek. “You shouldn’t have shifted, then. I could’ve brought everything down myself, and you could’ve just set it all up.”

That struck a nerve. He stiffened, frowning. “I won’t let my mate exert herself physically when I am perfectly capable-”

She cut him off with a quick kiss. “I know you’re capable, but I could’ve made three trips. You wouldn’t be feeling like this now.”

After a while, she asked softly, “You said your kind don’t do other things during mating season. Just mating.”

He made a small, tired noise in response.

“Do you feel frustrated because we- I mean, it’s just once or twice a day, but then I…” she trailed off, cheeks warm, voice muffled as she buried her face into the curve of his neck. She didn’t need to end the sentence. Usually, she ended up sore, and he refused to take her again, even if it killed him.

“No.”

The answer came quickly, firmly, but she didn’t miss the way his arms clenched around her.

“But it’s not the same,” she mumbled. “And clearly, you want more.”

He stared up at the rocky ceiling, ticking his jaw as he searched for the right words. “I spent decades doing this alone. So you… being here with me is enough.”

“Better than nothing, huh?” she teased, nudging him gently.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice came out stiff, almost panicked, words tumbling over each other. Damn his poor way with human expressions. He could hunt, fight, track movement through currents, but explaining feelings without tangling them up? Nearly impossible.

She smiled against his skin. “I know what you meant.”

“Besides,” he added after a pause, “even if your body can’t have me inside all the time, you still…” He trailed off, clearly wrestling with the wording. His cheeks tinted pink. “Service me.”

She snorted softly, biting her bottom lip to hide her grin. “That sounds so old-fashioned, and kind of dirty.”

He looked genuinely confused. “What would you call it then? You do things with your hands, your mouth… only for my pleasure.”

She reached up to brush a damp lock of hair from his brow. “I don’t know,” she murmured, still smiling. “Let’s just say I take care of you.”

He hummed at that. Maybe he didn’t fully grasp the nuance of the phrasing, but he understood her tone, her softness. She was choosing to stay. Choosing him, even when he couldn’t give her the most comfortable version of himself.

After a silent moment, she stopped brushing her fingers through the damp ends of his hair.

“Do you want some fruit?” she asked softly, reaching toward the bag by the mattress.

Didn’t get an answer.

When she leaned back to look at him, she found his eyes closed, lips parted slightly, with the kind of peace he rarely allowed himself. He’d fallen asleep mid-conversation, curled around her, completely spent.

Smiling to herself, she shifted back down into the cradle of his limbs, letting the slow pulse of the tide outside lull her into sleep. Wrapped in his embrace, she closed her eyes too, deciding that maybe a nap wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

----

Days came and went, and the pull of mating season finally began to loosen its hold on him. The fevered need that once gripped his body -the aching hunger to touch, to scent, to stay wound around her- eased gradually, like the tide drawing back from the shore. He still wanted her, always would, but the urgency had dulled into something manageable.

With that came a mutual decision: she would return to her home to sleep, to the comfort of her proper bed and familiar things. He didn’t argue, not much anyway, especially after she reminded him he was always welcome there.

She started spending her mornings in town again. A conversation with the old woman who ran the craft shop turned out to be a surprising opportunity, the chance to give beginner crochet lessons twice a week. Just a couple of hours, enough to earn a little extra and maybe help the shop sell more materials.

She hadn’t been sure at first. Teaching felt… official. But she liked the idea of sharing something useful, something she loved. And really, she had nothing to lose.

She printed a few modest posters and pinned them around town, at the bakery, the library, and the community board near the ferry docks. Just a soft-colored flyer with her name, the schedule, and the promise of beginner-friendly crochet. She didn’t expect much.

But the very next day, three people signed up.

Emma, the elderly owner of the bookshop, had always meant to learn. When she found out her granddaughter Harriet wanted to attend, motivated by a deep desire to make amigurumis, she decided it was finally time. And then there was Chris, one of the clerks at the general store, who admitted in a shy, mumbled tone that he was hoping crocheting might help with his nerves. Dealing with people every day, even in a small town, was wearing on him. He needed something quiet to focus on.

It was an odd little trio, but a good one.

----

She dipped her toes into the foamy edge of the tide, wrapped her arms loosely around her knees. Bucky stayed just within reach, half-submerged in the water, with his elbows propped on a rock as he watched her.

“I got three students already,” she said, smiling. “Isn’t that wild? I just put up the flyers yesterday.”

His ears perked faintly. “Three?”

“Mhm. Emma from the bookstore, her granddaughter Harriet, and Chris. You know, from the general store.”

His expression didn’t shift much, except for the slight furrow between his brows and the narrowing in his eyes. “Chris… isn’t it a male name?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning. “Yes.”

He pushed up a little straighter. “But… that’s a secret craft.”

“A secret craft?”

“Only females do it. It’s private.”

She chuckled, moving beside him and reaching over to tuck a stray lock of damp hair behind his ear. “Maybe in the past it was a woman's thing. But not anymore. Plenty of men crochet now.”

His frown deepened. “Why is he doing it?”

“Anxiety,” she said, smiling. “He says it helps with that. I think it’s great.”

The point of his limbs curled and swayed, a sign she was beginning to recognize as disapproval. “He must want something else.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, brushing sand off her calves. “Like what?”

“You.”

She turned toward him, surprised at his bluntness, but the stern, almost sulky set of his mouth made it hard not to laugh. “You think he signed up just to get close to me?”

Bucky didn’t answer, but the look he gave her said exactly that.

She laughed then, swatting gently at his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He didn’t laugh. He just blinked at her, completely serious. “Males don’t do manual, trifling things like that without purpose.”

That was not the best choice of words, as he’ll discover.

“Well, that trifling thing had put a roof over my head and fed me for years, and luckily for me, there are those who find it valuable.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The water stirred faintly around him.

She straightened her back, brushing the last of the sand from her skirt, not looking at him this time. “You might not get it, but that doesn’t make it worthless.”

He watched her walk a few paces down the shore. “I didn’t mean-” he tried.

“Maybe next time, think a little before calling my work trifling.” And with that, she turned and started toward the path.

In a flash of black and blue, two of his tendrils snapped forward, one curling gently around her wrist, the other at her waist. Not harshly. Just holding. Just asking her to stay.

“Wait,” he said.

She didn’t fight him, but didn’t speak either. Her gaze stayed ahead.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” he stated in a low voice. His eyes flicked to the side, like the words were hiding somewhere in the tide. “What I meant was… it’s work for women-”

She turned back sharply, narrowing her gaze. “Oh, so it’s trifling because only women do it?”

“No!” he sighed, frustrated but not at her. “I meant… it’s not a physical trait. Not something a provider would normally do.”

He looked genuinely troubled, his brows drawn and lips parted like he was still sorting through the right phrasing.

She softened slightly, folding her arms. “Bucky… we’re not in the stone age anymore. There aren’t roles like that- not here. Maybe in some outdated societies, sure, but that’s not how things work.”

He opened his mouth again, as his stubborn instinct was brewing, but she held up a hand.

“I’ll give you this: yes, crocheting and knitting are still mostly seen as women’s hobbies. But there are men doing it. And good ones, too.”

“You’re proving me right, then,” he said.

She blinked. “How so?”

“That few males perform such activities. So it’s likely that this Chris wants to be close to you. Some kind of subterfuge-”

“Bucky,” she cut in, already exasperated. “I promise you, not every man who talks to me wants to get into my panties. I’m not exactly Sabrina Carpenter.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he muttered. “But I know you’re not this... whoever.”

“That’s not the point,” she said firmly, crossing her arms. “The point is, we’ve talked about this before. You know how things work here, men and women can be friends. They can work together, share hobbies, without any ulterior motives. And that is what happens most of the time.”

She took a step closer, calmer. “I’m going to teach this guy. If you’re that insecure, you’re welcome to come sit in on the classes.”

That seemed to give him pause. The thought of keeping an eye on things clearly appeased something territorial in him.

She lifted a finger before he could get too pleased. “Which is not a free ticket to intimidate him. Or harass him. Or loom in a corner like a judgmental gargoyle.”

“What is a gargoyle?”

----

None of the students had any experience with crochet, so they were starting from square one: how to hold the hook, how to tension the yarn, how to make a slip knot that didn’t unravel immediately.

Emma and Harriet picked things up quickly. The older woman had a natural talent, it seemed, and picked up the instructions quickly, and Harriet seemed determined to master the basic chain stitch with youthful stubbornness. Chris, on the other hand, struggled a little more. His yarn slipped too often, his fingers cramped, and he held the hook like a screwdriver. He needed extra attention, which she was happy to give, crouching beside his chair now and then to guide his hands.

They were about half an hour in when the front door creaked open.

Bucky stepped inside. Tall and broad-shouldered, wearing black jeans and a blue shirt that stretched a little over his chest. His hair was still wet, combed back pretty neatly, for being styled using his hands.

He stood silently for a moment, sweeping his blue eyes over the scene at the dining table.

She caught his gaze and gave a small nod, subtly signaling him to say something.

“Hello,” he said flatly.

Then, without another word, he made his way to the couch and sat down, resting his hands on his knees like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he’d declared his presence.

Three pairs of curious eyes followed his movements. Harriet leaned toward Emma and whispered something behind her hand. The older woman gave her a gentle nudge and a sharp look. Chris squinted subtly, then tilted his head.

“Oh,” he said, as if just connecting the dots. “This is your friend from the city. It’s been a while since we saw him around town.”

Bucky scowled without blinking. “I’m her mat-”

“Boyfriend,” she cut in smoothly, not even glancing at Bucky as she reached to correct Chris’s chain tension again.

The three reactions came in their own little time: Emma gave a satisfied nod, like she’d seen this coming all along. Harriet made a face of teenage disappointment, barely masking it with a sip of juice. And Chris… well, his was harder to read. For her, anyway.

Bucky, however, watched him closely. The second the word left her mouth, he saw the exact thought crossing the man’s mind, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Nice to meet you,” they all said, nearly in unison.

“Oh,” Chris added, still half-focused on his lopsided chain. “Wouldn’t have guessed. You’re one of those couples with zero PDA, then?”

“What is that?” Bucky asked before she could intervene.

Chris grinned a little, maybe not expecting him to ask. “You know. PDA, public displays of affection. When a couple acts like they’re together. Holding hands, cuddling, kissing in public. That kinda stuff.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. “That’s expected?”

“Not expected,” she said quickly, giving Chris a short look. “Just... common.”

He seemed to mull it over, nodding slowly with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for treaties or battle plans.

“I see.”

And then, just to top it all off, he reached over from the couch, hooked a finger in the edge of her shirt, and gave a gentle tug.

When she looked over, he was watching her, not quite sulking, but clearly filing this PDA business into the things to think about later category.

She reached over and grabbed Bucky’s hand, curling her fingers around his reassuringly.

“Well, if you must know,” she said, “we haven’t been a couple until recently. We were just friends during the other times he came into town over the winter. That is why we didn’t erm- seem lovey dovey.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but the tightness in his shoulders eased a little.

“Anyway,” she went on, lifting her voice just slightly to return everyone’s focus, “now that you’ve all met the mysterious newcomer, let’s get back to it, we’ve got twenty minutes left.”

“Oh, Hermann and I started as friends too,” Emma offered, smiling softly. “Been married fifty now.”

“Wow, Emma,” Chris laughed. “Don’t scare the guy. They just started going out.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked to him sharply, but he didn’t say a word.

The minutes passed without major disruptions. Harriet caught on quickly, needing only a few corrections. Emma took her time, her hands were slow, but she didn’t need help. Chris… still struggled. He kept missing stitches, his tension was inconsistent, and more than once, he asked her to come over and count with him, tilting his head and giving a sheepish little smile.

Bucky didn’t miss it. He didn’t miss anything.

From his place on the couch, he might as well have been carved from stone, silent, unmoving, sharp-eyed.

And when Chris caught him watching, he had the gall to smile. A little smug thing. Not overt, not enough to make a scene, but Bucky saw it. Knew exactly what it was.

She didn’t seem to notice.

But he did.

And the only thing that kept him from dragging him out of the house, and made sure he never breathed near her again, was the promise he’d made: to behave. To prove he could live in her world without wrecking it.

Still, she could feel his stare, like storm clouds building behind her.

So when Chris finally seemed to grasp the rhythm of the stitch and stopped calling her over every few minutes, she took the chance to wander slowly toward the couch, pretending to examine a basket of spare yarn nearby. Her fingers brushed Bucky’s shoulder in passing, just a brief squeeze.

He looked up at her.

There was thunder in his eyes. And something else, something almost young, uncertain, raw. She bent down and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a soft embrace.

Bucky exhaled against her neck, hiding his face in its curve. He inhaled slowly and deep, greedily, like he needed her scent to calm himself.

When he opened his eyes again, Chris was watching.

Subtle. Curious.

Until Bucky looked back.

Something in the way he saw him -ancient and cold- made the hairs on Chris’s neck stand up. It didn’t make sense. The guy was sitting politely, with his arms around his girlfriend. But the weight of that look felt like being alone on a dark street and realizing you were being followed.

Hunted.

He blinked and looked away, back to his project. It was probably just his imagination.

Probably.

----

Chris didn’t ask for help again. Not once.

Harriet, on the other hand, lit up near the end, asking if she could try making a little Pokémon. “Something easy,” she said, “like Jigglypuff maybe?” She promised to bring some colorful yarn next time.

When the hour wrapped, everyone gathered their belongings. Emma kissed her cheek goodbye and Harriet gave a little wave. Chris on the other hand didn’t leave right away.

He lingered in the yard, standing awkwardly near the front gate, holding something in his hand.

“Um,” he started, when she stepped out to check. “I actually signed up for this class as sort of a trial.” He extended a folded bill, just the amount for the hour they’d spent. “Uh… I reckon it’s not for me. And when I take over the afternoon shifts at the store, I won’t be able to come anyway. So…”

He trailed off, like he was waiting for her to say something, maybe expecting her to ask him to stay.

She didn’t.

Behind her, the door creaked faintly as Bucky leaned against it, watching without blinking.

Chris noticed.

He hesitated a beat longer, then gave her a faint smile. “Thanks, though. You’re a good teacher.”

Then he nodded once and turned, walking down the path without looking back.

----

The second she clicked the door shut, Bucky's body crowded her against it, suddenly and overwhelmingly. He rested his forearms flat to the wood, bracketing her head and pressing his chest flush to her back.

She barely had time to exhale before he clicked his teeth near her neck, a sharp little sound, half warning, half claim.

“I told you,” he said, low and gravelly.

“Bucky-”

“I told you.” His voice didn’t rise, but she could feel the restraint vibrating against her. “But I behaved.”

“Yeah, you did.” She tilted her head slightly, trying to look at him. “Thank you.”

“You don’t know…” His lips brushed the curve of her neck. Not a kiss, something rougher, hungrier. “…how hard it was not to-”

He bit back the rest with effort. Tear him apart. That’s what he wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“-hurt him. For defying me. For pretending to steal my mate.”

Her breath hitched as he dragged his nose on the shape of her throat.

"Well," she managed to breathe, "I'm not a thing to steal. I have a mind of my own. And I wouldn't-"

He growled, low and rough, deep in his chest. “Don’t twist my words, mate,” he murmured. “I’m talking about his intentions. There’s a reason he fled, and you know it. He came with a purpose and was informed you were taken.”

She shifted slowly until she could turn around and face him. His arms still caged her, but she maintained his gaze with something firm in hers.

“And do you think I’d just indulge him if he tried anything?”

“No,” he said, voice suddenly lower, darker. “But he wouldn’t even be able to try.”

His expression was lethal with certainty. Not rage, but possession. The kind forged from instinct, not ego. And yet, behind that hard glint, there was a flicker of something else.

“Is that why you came today?” she asked quietly. “To make sure he saw you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then: “He needed to understand. They needed to understand.”

She studied his face for a long, quiet second. There was no bluff in his attitude, just the rigid, primal edge of someone who’d grown up in a world where claiming something meant defending it with tooth and claws. Where lines were drawn in sand and blood, not conversation.

Her hand lifted slowly to his chest, resting just over his heart. “I know,” she said gently. “I know you come from something… older than all this. Something wilder. I don’t expect you to see the world like I do.”

His eyes searched hers, still stormy but no longer threatening.

“I know what it means to you. To protect. To claim. I’m not mocking that.” Her thumb brushed his shirt soothingly. “But in my world, it’s enough that I choose you. That I stand beside you, not behind.”

His brows twitched faintly. She tiptoed and pressed her forehead to his.

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, warm and shaky, and nudged his face along hers, nuzzling slowly like a creature trying to soothe himself.

“Still hated how he looked at you,” he mumbled, half-pouting, half-exhausted.

“I know,” she smiled. “But you were good. You kept your promise.”

She reached up and cupped his jaw, brushing the edge of his cheek.

“I understand,” she said softly, “I know your instincts are different. I know this is all... learned behavior for you.”

His eyes flicked over her face, searching, hungry, wild, restrained by the thinnest thread of discipline. His hands pressed at her waist, and for a moment, he didn’t speak, just breathed against her cheek.

“I hate not feeling you,” he muttered. “Not the way I should.”

“You’re here,” she murmured, dragging her fingers down the front of his shirt, feeling the heat of his body beneath it. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” he snapped, not cruel but desperate. “I need more of you.”

And before she could answer, he pressed her back harder against the door, finding the line of her throat with his mouth, trailing it with sharp kisses that teetered too close to biting. His hips pinned her in place, and his breath came fast, as his hands slid up to fist her hair.

“I don’t want to pretend I’m like them,” he growled into her skin. “I’m not. You know I’m not.”

“I don’t want you to pretend,” she stated. “I want you. However you come.”

His grip became tighter, and he kissed her like it hurt, like the human shape could barely contain the hunger that lived beneath it. But as her hands slid under his shirt, as her body arched into him, as she pulled him into her bedroom for the first time -not as a creature of sea and storm, but as a man- he began to discover something else:

She didn’t just feel different under human hands. She felt new.

And new could be dangerously good.

He didn’t wait for the bed.

His hands were already under her thighs, lifting her like she weighed nothing, softly tugging her back against the hallway wall. She gasped, gripping his shoulders, locking her legs around his waist without a second thought.

“Still strong,” she whispered, awed.

“Not even close to how strong,” he growled, mouthing at her collarbone, dragging his lips over the line of her neck, then lower. “But here, I don’t have to hold back the same way. I don’t have to think every time I touch you.”

His palms gripped her hips, tightly, almost bruising, like he was testing what he could take. What she could take. She moaned, shifting in his hold, and he felt it in his bones. Her need, her surrender.

“I could throw you over my shoulder,” he muttered against her chest, his breath hot through the fabric, “spread you open on that bed and not worry about your ribs snapping, or your hips dislocating.”

His words made her ache. She arched into him, dragging her hands through the messy ends of his hair.

“So do it.”

That earned her a sharp sound, deep in his throat. His fingers fumbled at her clothes, impatiently, not bothering with finesse. He wanted skin. Now.

She barely registered crossing the threshold of the bedroom before her back hit the mattress, and his weight followed, pressing her into the bed. Her clothes were half-off, half-wrung around her limbs, and he didn’t care. He peeled the rest away with single-minded focus.

His hands roamed through her body like he was learning her all over again. He gripped where he wanted, pushed and pulled where he pleased, not restrained like in the cave, no bracing or shifting weight around sensitive places. Just him. Human and hungry.

“I don’t have to measure how deep I go,” he rasped, nosing the edge of her shirt as his fingers tugged it up and over her chest. “Don’t have to think about your skin splitting when I grip you. Can go as far as I need to.”

“You’re still holding back,” she said, as his mouth trailed lower.

His gaze shot up to meet hers, with something feral simmering behind it.

“Not for long.”

He peeled her shirt the rest of the way off, dragging it over her head in one swift pull, then paused, and just stared.

His eyes dropped to her chest, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

It hit him harder than expected, that swell of hunger in his gut. Maybe it was the way she always kept her breasts covered here, wrapped in soft fabrics and loose sweaters. Maybe it was the contrast, the novelty of unveiling something she guarded in daylight.

His kind didn’t think twice about nudity. Breasts were just another part of the body. But hers…

Hers were warm and heated from his touch, and he couldn’t stop staring at the way they lifted with each breath. Full and soft and real beneath his hands. Something she showed only to him.

He sank lower, bracing one hand on her waist while the other cupped the weight of her breast, slowly dragging the thumb across the peak until it stiffened. He bent then, wrapping his hot mouth around her nipple, and groaned as she arched beneath him.

His hand slid to her other breast, kneading it gently, grazing it back and forth with his thumb until both were stiff and aching under his attention. He flicked his tongue, slow and deliberate, drawing another one of those sounds from her, breathy and sweet and just for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, gently grazing his teeth before soothing the spot with his tongue.

She shivered when his mouth released her with a soft, wet sound. His breath was hot against her skin, his hands still roaming, still greedy. But she pressed her palm to his chest and pushed just slightly, enough to make him pause, confused.

"Take it off," she said, huskily. “Not fair, I’m the only one naked here.”

Bucky blinked, then growled low in his throat. "You want me naked, mate?" His smirk was all teeth.

She raised an eyebrow and started tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You’re in my house. Strip.”

He let her pull it over his head, lifting his arms to help as the soft cotton slid up his torso and his muscles flexed under her touch. She brushed her hands down his stomach and watched the way his breath caught when her fingertips ghosted past his waistband.

He worked on the button of his jeans, growling when her hand slipped inside before he could push them down. Her palm found him, hot and straining, and she cupped him fully, feeling him twitch against her skin.

Her eyes flicked up to his, and in that moment, he felt it. The flicker of surprise. The subtle widening of her gaze, like she’d just realized this part of him was still big.

His chest puffed just slightly, and pride flickered behind the hunger in his eyes.

“Surprised, little mate?” he rasped, and his voice tightened as she gave a slow stroke. “Even like this, I can still ruin you.”

And God, he wanted to.

“Lie down,” he muttered with intent. She obeyed, trailing her eyes over his body as he shoved the jeans down, revealing himself, broad, thick, and every inch of him tensed and aching.

He crawled between her legs, pushing her thighs open with a hungry sound in the back of his throat. No teasing smile, no patience in his gaze.

“I want to know what it feels like… like this,” he murmured, ghosting his fingers up her inner thighs. “Want to taste you without the sea on my tongue, without other senses.”

She shifted, but he pressed one large hand to her lower belly, firmly but not harshly. “Be still,” he said, voice low and trembling with control. “Let me learn you this way.”

Then he dipped his head and parted her with his tongue.

His mouth was greedy from the first stroke, his wide tongue dragged through her folds with a growl that vibrated deep into her pussy. He gripped her thighs tightly, pulling her closer, still pressing her belly down with his hand when she tried to arch. “Still,” he reminded, voice half-lost against her skin.

He licked slowly at first, savoring the difference, then faster, sloppier. The flat of his tongue worked her clit, again and again, and when he felt her twitch, he groaned and pushed two fingers inside her, slow but firm.

She gasped, and he felt that. No claws, no careful restraint this time. He could curl and stretch and press into her as deep as he wanted.

His jaw flexed as he fucked her with his fingers, tongue never leaving her. Every moan escaping her lips made his own hips buck down into the mattress, chasing friction like he couldn’t help himself. The rough fabric of the afghan grew damp beneath him, smeared with the thick mess he kept leaking, desperate.

When her thighs trembled and she sobbed his name, he pushed his fingers deeper, held her down firmer, and sucked harder around her clit. She came with a cry, clenching tight, and he groaned against her like it hurt him to feel it: his mouth, his fingers, his cock all aching for her.

But he didn’t move.

He stayed there between her legs, licking up every drop, dazed and possessive in the aftermath. He then rose onto his knees, chest heaving, his face still wet with her pleasure. His eyes -dark, glassy, starving- fixed on her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Mine,” he rasped.

She barely caught her breath before he pushed her thighs open again and reached for his jeans, shoving them down the rest of the way. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed, slick already from how he’d rutted into the afghan. He grunted as he gripped the base, angling it toward her, dragging the head through her folds with a deep, shaking breath.

“You know I understand,” he said low, almost a growl. “I do. I try. But he came here to have you, and you welcomed him in.”

Her hands cupped his face, soft but firmly. “I welcomed him to learn, but I yielded to you.”

That was all it took.

He moved forward, driving into her in one thick, claiming push. She gasped as her body stretched around him, and he dropped his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

“So tight,” he gritted. “So wet for me.”

He started to move with deep thrusts that rocked her under him, gripping her hips with his strong hands, pulling her onto him as much as he pushed forward. His restraint frayed with every sound she made, every flutter of her walls around him. He wasn’t rough yet, but the need gauged at his body with every thrust.

“You were made for me,” he whispered. “Me. No one else. Say it.”

Her palm slid up to his cheek, brushing her thumb just under his eye. “No one else’s,” she whispered, her voice thick with pleasure. “Yours.”

A snarl tore from his throat as he pushed forward, wrapping his arms beneath her knees and pressing her thighs up toward her chest. She gasped, but didn’t pull back, and he felt it, that yielding in her body, that aching stretch as he pushed in again.

Deeper now. She was hot and tight and utterly his.

He folded her beneath him, slamming his hips into the cradle of her body, sheating his cock again and again with a ferocity he’d never dared to unleash in his true form. But now, this body could take her without holding back, could give without fear. The wet slap of skin filled the room, raw and primal, and her cries were swallowed by his mouth when he dipped down to kiss her, panting into her lips between thrusts.

She moaned against him, and he answered with a low, hoarse growl.

He shifted his angle, grinding deeply, and a sharp cry escaped her lips. That sound spurred him on, and he rammed in again, rougher, harder, relentless. His grip bruised her thighs as he kept them pinned, opening her wide to every inch of his cock.

The wet slide, the stretch, the heat, it all blurred into sensation. His jaw clenched tight, veins standing out on his neck, as his muscles trembled with the force he poured into her body.

“Say it again,” he panted, voice dark, nearly broken. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Bucky,” she breathed again, wrecked and barely coherent.

That was all it took.

He cursed, snapping his hips forward so brutally that it knocked the air from her lungs. Over and over, he thrust into her, shaking the mattress, shaking her, and all she could do was take it, moaning, trembling, completely at his mercy.

Her body welcomed it, wet and swollen, clenching greedily around him like it knew who he was. What he was.

His mate.

“You were made for me,” he snarled into her throat. “No one else -no one- will ever take you like this.”

He pushed her knees higher, angling deeper, folding her tighther beneath him. She sobbed his name, as her legs trembled in his grip, and her hands scrabbled for purchase across his back, his shoulders, anywhere she could hold on while he took her.

Every muscle in his body was straining, and sweat slicked his skin. He was so close. His hips stuttered for a beat, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not with her looking like that, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth open, hair fanned out wild on the sheets.

Her walls fluttered around him again, and he groaned, raw and desperate. “You gonna come again for me, mate? Let me feel it?”

She nodded -whimpered- and that was enough.

He slammed in, rougher and faster, grunting with each punishing thrust, grinding his pelvic bone against her swollen clit until she broke with a cry, digging her nails into his back, spasming around him. That was it. That was it.

He hissed and growled against her neck as he came, hips jerking out of rhythm, buried so deep he swore he could feel her heartbeat around him. Hot pulses of pleasure wracked his body, thick and heavy as he emptied himself inside her, claiming her all over again.

For a moment, all he could do was breathe -harsh, ragged- and hold her close, with their bodies still tangled, slick and messy and utterly spent.

She was his. Marked and filled and ruined for anyone else.

And he’d never let her forget it.

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, with his chest blanketing her folded body, breathing hotly and unevenly against her skin. Her body was still trembling -tight, spent, and slick beneath him- and he liked it. Liked how full she was. Liked the lazy drip of his seed where they were still connected, sliding warm and slow from where he’d emptied himself into her.

It made something primal in him snarl in satisfaction.

He leaned back just slightly, grasping her hips with his hands to keep her in place, and gazed down at the mess he’d made. Her thighs were marked with faint crescent moons where his fingers had gripped too tightly, and he smoothed over them possessively. Her sex glistened with his spent.

His.

Bucky lowered his mouth and gently sank his teeth into her inner thigh's softness. Not to hurt, just to brand. Just to taste. Her muscles jumped, and her hips gave a little involuntary twitch beneath his weight.

When she squirmed again, shifting like she meant to slide down or straighten out, he just pressed his pelvis more firmly against her, groaning softly as the movement coaxed a lazy twitch from his spent cock still nestled inside her.

No. Not yet. He liked this.

Liked her folded beneath him, open, yielding. Her skin heated and damp, her scent thick in the air, her breathing shallow. She felt so his like this. So utterly owned. He could do it again. Could flip her, press her into the mattress from behind, and take her like he’d seen some of the inland animals rut, gripping her hips and-

“I’m starting to not feel my legs, darling,” she murmured, hoarsely but teasing, her chuckle was a warm flutter against his throat.

It broke the trance.

He let out a huff of laughter, gruff and sheepish, then kissed the bite mark he’d left on her thigh. One last gentle nip for good measure before he finally -finally-eased out of her, careful even if he didn’t want to be. Not really.

He didn’t go far. Just enough to let her stretch out again, to rub the feeling back into her calves with his big hands while murmuring something low, half-feral, half-affectionate, against her skin.

But even then, his body was ready again.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

He should’ve been sated. By all logic -by how hard he came, how thoroughly he took her- his body should’ve been spent.

But it wasn’t.

He looked at her, splayed and soft, dreamy with satisfaction and leaking his seed down the swell of her thighs… and he throbbed with need all over again.

In his true form, it would take time. Her body would be too sore, too stretched. He’d need to soothe her, let her rest, cool the fever in his blood with a swim or a hunt beside her ministrations.

But this form… this dull, dry, two-legged skin… it was weak in many ways. Yet here he was, already hardening again, marveling at how her body didn’t seem to resist him.

Didn’t ache. Didn’t tremble too much. Just lay there, warm and willing.

Bucky leaned close, mouthing kisses between her breasts, then coaxed her with large, careful hands. A gentle tap to her hip. A nudge.

“Turn for me,” he murmured.

She gave a lazy, breathless chuckle, not opening her eyes. “What are you doing?”

He clicked his teeth right beside her ear and growled, “What does it seem I’m doing, mate?”

She let him guide her languidly, as he helped her roll onto her belly. He kissed down the curve of her back, dragging her hips up into place, then sat back on his knees to take in the sight.

Gods.

Her rear was high, thighs parted, and his seed a slow, glistening thread on her skin. His jaw flexed, a hunger flaring hot through his core. This view… this view would have killed him in the sea.

He shifted closer, guiding the head of his cock against her entrance, notching himself into place. The angle was different. New. Promising. He gripped her hips tighter.

And pushed in. Slow, savoring the slick resistance, the tight draw of her walls as she gasped and braced her hands against the mattress. The angle let him sink deeper -fuller- and he growled at the sensation, at how perfectly her body received him again.

Her thighs quivered. Her back arched.

“Fuck, Bucky-”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out partway and slammed back in, snapping his hips forward with a wet slap. Her cry turned into a moan, as she clawed at the covers with her hands.

“This-” she gasped, barely able to get her breath between the hard rhythm he set. “Ah- where did you learn-”

“Dogs,” he grunted, leaning over her back, biting lightly at her shoulder. “In the summer.”

She let out something between a laugh and a whimper, as her body jolted forward when he thrusted particularly hard.

“This is -oh my god- mortifying.”

“You don’t seem mortified,” he growled, slapping into her again, making the mattress groan beneath them.

He was relentless now, driving into her, dragging her back with his hands into every thrust, mouth open against her spine, her nape, the curve of her shoulder. The scent of her arousal, his seed, her sweat, clung to their skin and flooded his senses. And she was dripping for him, making a mess of her thighs, the bedding, his cock.

“Mine,” he snarled into her skin, losing himself all over again in her warmth, her submission, the fact that she let him have her like this. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” she choked out, her breath catching as he rutted into her harder, rougher, almost punishing. “No one else’s. Yours.”

He buried himself to the hilt, growling loud enough that it vibrated against her back. “That’s right. Mine. My mate.”

He bent over her, flattening her to the mattress, heaving his chest against her back as he rolled his hips in tight, relentless thrusts, grinding his pelvis into her ass at the end of every push. Her thighs trembled. Her hands fisted the sheets.

The slick slap of skin against skin echoed between them, his heavy balls smacking against her clit with every drag and surge of his cock. She was soaked, dripping down her thighs, down his length, and every time he bottomed out, his seed leaked around the base of his cock and made a filthy, wet mess of them both.

She whimpered something that might’ve been his name. Or maybe just a sound, raw and mindless.

He bit her shoulder again. Not hard, not breaking skin. Just enough to state a claim.

“You feel this?” he snarled into her ear, rutting deeper, as if he could crawl into her body and stay inside her. “You feel how full you are with me, mate? This is what happens when another man thinks he can come near you. You get bred.”

She sobbed out a noise, clenching around him like her body couldn’t help it, and he lost it again.

His rhythm faltered, thrusts turning erratic. Her body milked him, needy and greedy, and he pushed in one last time with a guttural moan as he came in hot pulses, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades, and his knuckles turning white while he gripped her hips.

He stayed there, panting hard against her sweat-damp skin, unmoving. Then, slowly, he let out a small groan and nuzzled her back, still buried to the root. Still thick and throbbing inside her.

She gave a tiny, dazed laugh. “Starting to not feel my legs again.”

He grunted. Didn’t move.

His hips gave the smallest twitch, already tempted again.

----

She lay sprawled over his chest, with her limbs draped boneless across his body like she’d melted there. Bucky was flat on his back, looking at the ceiling, as the rise and fall of his chest finally slowed.

"So- um," she began, her voice a little raspy from all the moaning and whining. "I take it you enjoyed doing it as a human?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, pulling her even closer, as if he still didn’t want to let her go. Then he let out a long, slow breath and closed his eyes.

“It’s different,” he admitted. “It’s not- I can’t feel the same. Not like when I can taste you with my limbs. And the movements are limited.”

She tipped her head to look up at him, already smiling when he cracked one eye open to meet her gaze.

“But,” he went on, voice rough and low, “I don’t have to restrain myself like this. I don’t have to worry if I’ll break you. Or hurt you. I can be freer with what I want to do.”

“Well, look at that,” she murmured, with a teasing grin. “A positive thing you found for this form.”

“Also,” he added, giving her ass a firm squeeze, “I can finally do it all the times I want.”

She laughed against his chest, drawing idle patterns along the ridged scars scattered on his skin. “Speaking of that…”

Her finger stilled.

“You, um- don’t have a refractory period as a human?”

He frowned instantly, wrinkling his nose, clearly not liking the lack of something in the sexual department. “What is that?”

“Usually once you, erm, come… generally men have a period when they can’t get hard again. Could be minutes, could be hours.”

He made a thoughtful little grunt and turned his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t know. Never done this in this form before.”

But the smile that pulled at his mouth was anything but uncertain. It was smug. Lazy. Entirely satisfied. “Doesn’t seem like I need to worry about my aptitude, though.”

She groaned and hid her face in his chest.

He chuckled low and rough, clearly far too pleased with himself.

“It's not that bad,” he muttered, waving one hand in the air to gesture at the room. “This.”

She lifted her head just enough to watch his face.

“Still feels… weird. Incomplete.” His voice dropped as he exhaled. “But not like it did before.”

Her smile was soft, a little crooked. “You’re saying that because you got to have a lot of sex.”

He scowled. “I’m a healthy male with a mate. Of course I’ll have urges.”

“Hey,” she chuckled, “don’t pout. I was messing with you. I wasn’t criticizing.”

She brought her hand to his cheek, trailing the scruff along his jaw. “I’m glad you told me that. Makes me happy… that you don’t hate my world. That you’re more comfortable in it now.”

His expression softened slowly under her touch. His brow unfurrowed, though his mouth still held the hint of a sulk.

“I don’t hate it,” he said. “Did. For a long time.”

He looked around her room again. The pale morning was creeping in under the curtains. Her yarn stash, the quiet tick of the old wall clock in the living room. The calm.

“But not anymore,” he finished, his voice quieter now. “It’s still strange. But it’s where you are. That makes it… tolerable.”

She gave a soft laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “High praise.”

“It is,” he insisted, though his tone was gentler now.

Then, after a beat, he added: “And the sex helps.”

That earned him a smack on the chest, and her laughter muffled against his skin.

She shifted a little, still tracing lazy circles near one of the older scars. The silence had turned warm and sleepy, interrupted only by the occasional creak of the old house.

“So, now that Chris won’t be coming to class anymore, I assume you lost the reason to check in or see how things are going.” She didn’t expect him to answer, not right away.

“What if I wanted to learn?”

That made her lift her head, arching her brows. “Wait. You? Crochet?”

He avoided her gaze, fixing his eyes on the ceiling with seriousness. “Seems interesting,” he muttered. “To create instead of destroying.”

That sobered her smile just a little.

“So it’s not so trifling, then?”

He turned his head to squint at her. “I already apologized about that.”

“I know. I’m sorry for bringing it up again,” she said gently, brushing her fingers through his hair at the temple. “Old habit. I’ll stop poking at you.”

He gave a grunt that meant he’d let it slide.

Then she added, softer, “I can teach you, if you want.”

He didn’t answer with words, just let his hand drift across her back in silent agreement. When he finally spoke, it was almost shy, which startled her more than any growl or sharp retort.

“Wouldn’t mind making something that’s only mine. That stays mine.”

“Right,” she murmured, her cheek still resting against his chest. “You told me your kind doesn’t really do possessions.”

He shifted a little under her, like he was debating whether to speak. Finally, he murmured, “I... I have some.”

That made her lift her head again with curiosity. “Really? What is it?”

He didn’t meet her eyes, slipping his gaze sideways toward the wall. “The… things you crafted me.”

Her heart nearly flipped in her chest. “Oh, Bucky. I thought you’d thrown them away,” she said softly. “Or that maybe they were ruined by the salt water.”

He shook his head once, firmly. “Hung them. In one of the cave’s alcoves. High up where they won’t get wet.”

A beat passed, and her smile widened. “That’s so romantic.”

He grunted. “Didn’t do it to be romantic.”

“I know,” she teased, leaning to kiss his cheek. “That’s what makes it romantic.”

He grumbled under his breath, but his arm curled tighter around her.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, absentmindedly. “I have to do some errands before the stores close,” she said. “Do you wanna come, or are you returning to the shore?”

That soured his expression immediately. His gaze narrowed slightly, and his mouth twisted as he pulled back just enough to look at her properly. Before he could speak, she added quickly, “Or you can wait here while I do them.”

“There is another option,” he muttered.

She arched a brow. “The things I need don’t do delivery,” she said, cutting him off before he could scheme.

“Don’t know what that is, and don’t care,” he grumbled.

His hand was already cupping her breast, circling her nipple with a slow, deliberate pressure of his thumb. “What if I make sure you’re so tired you can’t even walk out the door? Then you’ll stay here. With me. In your nest.”

“Bucky!” she laughed, trying and failing to sound indignant.

“Are those errands essential?” he asked, voice low near her ear. “Is it food you lack? Medicine?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then they can wait,” he said, far too pleased with himself.

She gave him a look. One that was supposed to be firm, unamused. But her breath caught when his mouth brushed softly down her neck, and his thumb flicked over her nipple just a little harder this time.

“Bucky,” she tried again, more of a sigh now than a protest. “I have things to do…”

“Mhm.” His lips trailed lower, leaving a wet, warm path across her chest. “Like staying in bed. Resting. Letting me take care of you.” His tongue circled her nipple now, slowly and reverent, then sucked it gently into his mouth.

She gasped, “I mean it.”

“You say that,” he murmured against her skin, “but you’re not stopping me.”

She huffed a soft laugh, arching into his mouth. “I was trying to.”

“Try harder, mate,” he challenged, grinning against her breast. Then he switched sides, giving the other the same attention, greedy, focused, as though he’d missed them terribly in the short span since he last worshipped her.

She could feel him hard again, pressing against her thigh. Her legs shifted slightly, just enough to part for him, to welcome him without a single word.

He caught the motion, and his eyes darkened as a crooked smirk tugged at his lips.

“Thought so,” he murmured.

And as his mouth found hers again, slow and claiming, the rest of the world -the errands, the daylight, the clock ticking somewhere in the distance- ceased to matter. Nothing mattered but the warmth of the sheets tangled around their legs and the thrum of her heart syncing to the rhythm he wove between their bodies.

FIN

Taglist: @civilbucky @thatesqcrush @lonelyghosts-stuff @x-press-it @the-voice-beckons-below @angelilacsworld @dollface-xoxo @mcira @lazyneonrabbitt @vxllys @namjoohnie @sebastians-love @misspendragonsworld @thewriters64 @escapefromrealitylol @hi172826 @wintrsoldrluvr @reddesires @ruexj283 @buckvoidsyy @littlesuniee @kimberly-stocks @pandaxnienke @ladypncl @homiesexuallaj @kulteule @awesompawsum @killerwendigo @princessgriffin1998 @helen-2003 @nynxtea @alagalaska @maryevm @kittieboo @otterlycanadian @queergalpal97 @gentlelimerence @moogles93 @tentacle-priestess @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @lemonylover

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - PART SIX

Summary: “Y/N goes to a self defense class filled with unexpected confrontations, confessions, and an undeniably beneficial deal…”

Tropes: innocent!reader x boxer!harry

Wc: 3.8k

Warnings: sexual tensioooonnn, and a tiny bit of angst

A/N: Heeyyy…. How y’all doing….

I got tagged bc someone was trying to look for this series and it made me realize I had this chapter sitting in my drafts and I just kind of missed writing on here so here y’all go🫶

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N stood at the front doors of the gym, her breath fogging the window as she watched the people inside.

She felt like a proper creep staring into the building like this, but her social anxiety was getting the best of her. It was a form of stalling, and Y/N was aware that she it was a bit ridiculous, but she stayed put nonetheless. So far, she could only make out the receptionist and a couple of janitors.

"Who are we watching?"

A shriek fell from Y/N's lips as she jumped in shock at the sudden whispering voice in her right ear. She turned around and slapped Harry on his arm as soon as she saw the smug grin on his face. He had his hands behind his back, feigning innocence as he cackled at her misery.

"You prick!" She tried to sound mad, but the chuckle in her voice betrayed her. Her heart was beating faster and the hairs on her arms were still standing up, but she'd felt the calmest she had all day. Harry was good at that; making her comfortable.

He only laughed, holding open the door for her. Still squinting at him, she walked through the door and entered the gym. Scanning her membership card, she passed through the little gates and made her way to the room where their lessons always took place.

"Why were you lurking outside?" Harry asked playfully, shutting the door behind him while Y/N puts down her bag. She grabbed her water bottle and turned around.

"I wasn't lurking." She corrected him. "I was just checking if you were inside already."

He only let out a skeptical hum, walking over to the box and plugging his phone into the aux. Immediately, a great song came on, and Y/N smiles as the melody sounded through the speakers in the room.

"How do you always have this perfect music mix ready?" She smiled, strolling toward where he was standing. "Do you have a playlist or something?"

She hadn't expected him to even answer that question. But when he shrugged, she realized it wasn't just an empty theory meant as a joke; it was true.

"Can I see it?" She pleaded, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Please?"

That was enough to have the phone handed over to her, unlocked and ready to see what kind of playlist he had found.

Only, she came across a self-made playlist. It had all the songs Y/N had ever mentioned, and other ones she enjoyed, all neatly packed into one list. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted the title of the playlist: an angel wings emoji.

Y/N swore she felt her heart malfunctioning as she scrolled through the list, every last one of them being one she liked. Most of these, she hadn't even mentioned. How did he know she liked them so much?

It took her great strength keeping the tears in her eyes from flowing over as she stared at Harry's cellphone screen. Handing the phone back to him, Y/N mustered a light, grateful smile. His lips quirked up in return, but when his eyes grazed over her hand as he took back the device, his entire face expression fell. Y/N frowned, glancing down at her hand.

A blush painted her cheeks as she observed her bruised hand. Her knuckles hadn't yet healed from punching Oscar in the face, and her wrist was still marked from his painfully tight grip. It would have been a lie to say that her right hand didn't still hurt like hell and had become a constant reminder of what had happened Friday night, but she hadn't wanted to think about it too much anymore. Instead, Y/N had been trying to focus on the temporary bliss that Harry had graced her with.

But the look on Harry's face told her that she wouldn't be able to escape the topic of Oscar anytime soon.

"How much does it hurt?" Harry's voice was soft, and the tinge of sadness that accompanied it caused a quick lie to fall from Y/N's lips.

"It doesn't."

Harry frowned. "Don't lie to me. I know these kinds of bruises, they fucking hurt."

Y/N let out a breath, shrugging her shoulders. Mindlessly, she went to pull her hand back, but was stopped by Harry's hands wrapping themselves around hers. Stroking her knuckles with his fingers, he looked up at her.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable," Harry started, and Y/N's heart rose to her throat. "but if that asshole— if he did something to you without your consent, I need to know."

"Why?" Y/N scanned his eyes; they were filled with a simmering rage that echoed in the hidden growl behind his otherwise stoic tone.

"Because I'll fucking kill him, that's why." He said it like it was an obvious thing, as if she should have seen this reaction coming. But she hadn't, and her eyes widened at his words, though she couldn't deny she had the slight urge to smile at his protectiveness. It felt nice, people caring about her feelings.

Silence filled the room as Harry waited on Y/N's answer. She could see on his face that he was hoping she'd say no, that she'd tell him not to worry because he never touched her like that. But Oscar had touched her like that, and threatened her afterwards, and it was fucking humiliating. Y/N's heart ached as she felt the bitterness spread across her mouth, but she couldn't get the words past her lips. The lingering fear of trouble, a possible escalation, stopping her from telling Harry the full truth. Instead, she opted for something different.

"Where would you hide the body?" She joked, hoping it would distract Harry from noticing she couldn't answer his question truthfully. Nerves swirled when Harry's brows lowered, and before Y/N knew it, he turned around and began walking towards the door.

"Harry!" She called out, hurrying after him. He wasn't listening to her at all, proudly marching over to the exit of the gym. "Where the hell are you going?!"

Y/N only caught his hands when he was outside, at the parking lot. She let out a quiet gasp upon seeing the look on his face. The anger on his face was downright scary. He breathed out through his nose, looking to his left; any other way than into her eyes.

"I told you I'm going to fucking kill him." He said— or rather growled as he frowned into the distance. Y/N clenched her jaw, desperately trying to catch Harry's eyes. With a sigh, she grabbed his chin and spun it towards her so he was forced to look at her. The second Harry's eyes took in hers, that fiery rage of his melted into sorrow.

"Harry—"

"He hurt you." He interrupted Y/N, and she was quite sure she felt her heart cracked at the words. He looked so devastated... for her.

"I know." Y/N breathed. "But I need you to let it go."

His mouth fell open. "What? No! I'm not going to let him get away with—"

"I meant for now." She was quick to put a stop to his rant. Harry still looked confused. "Technically, I work for him, Harry. Besides, he's way more important at the firm. I need to figure out the best way to deal with this without ruining my own career in the process."

Harry's gaze travelled to the ground, the corners of his mouth tilted downwards. After mulling over her answer for a second or two, he reluctantly began to nod. It didn't take long before his green eyes found hers again, filled with more calm and certainty this time.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to jeopardize anything. It's just—" He sighed, defeated. "He's an asshole, and I would just like to physically remind him of that all the way to the nearest hospital."

Y/N couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her mouth at Harry's vague and aggressive muttering. She hummed in agreement, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the gym again. She kept her eyes on him as she walked backwards.

"Maybe if you teach me that left hook I've been trying to perfect, we can give him that reminder together." She said, and her belly fluttered when she saw a smile slowly appear on Harry's face.

"Yeah?" He asked, letting her guide him back inside. She nodded.

"Call it team building." Y/N shrugged as she pushed the door open, not noticing how Harry's eyes lit up at her joke. There seemed to be no one inside anymore, the last staff probably gathering their things at the lockers. Still, Harry swept a quick glance of his surroundings before grabbing Y/N's waist and turning her around. Not expecting the sudden turn, she stumbled into him, hand on his chest to keep herself from falling over. She peered up at him like a deer in headlights. He thought it was adorable.

"We're a team, then?" Harry gave her a little nod that nearly sent her knees near buckling. Y/N swallowed—hoping it wasn't too obvious—and smiled awkwardly at him.

"Uh— I mean, I guess— I was just—"

Harry could only smirk at her, tongue running over his teeth. "I like the sound of it."

The nerves settled in her stomach and arose again all at once. He looked so good in this light and his jawline seemed even more prominent than it did before. Y/N could've sworn he was shaped by the hands of a divine extraterrestrial being; it would be the only logical explanation for his face.

The distant sound of footsteps snapped Y/N out of her analysis of Harry's impossibly handsome face, and she felt as red as a tomato as she writhed out of his grip and hurried over to hide in their training room as the rest of the staff said goodnight to their boss. She heard his casual response, and when the front door closed, he came stalking into the room.

"You're nervous around me." He stated, not even looking at her as he said it. Y/N frowned, head whipping towards him.

"What?" She scrambled to find cohesive words but Harry already began talking to her again.

"Is it because of what happened last week?" He asked, squinting his eyes at her. He had been quite anxious about what happened on Friday. He could imagine how much it must've afffected her, and he didn't want to do anything that might make her feel uneasy. He liked her— scratch that, he thought she was an angel sent to earth. But he wouldn't want to pursue her if that was not what she needed, especially regarding the circumstances.

"I'm not nervous—"

"You are, I can tell." He argued, gesturing towards her. "Listen, if I made you uncomfortable in any way—"

Y/N frowned. "You didn't! I swear, you didn't. I just—"

Harry raised his brow, signaling her to go on. She let out a heavy sigh.

"I was worried they'd see." Y/N confessed, anxiety lodged up her throat as the words reluctantly leave her mouth. She didn't want to offend Harry, and by the way his face expression didn't change one bit, she couldn't tell if she did or not.

"Who? My employees?" He tried to clarify. When she nodded, a hum fell from his lips. "Why?"

"Because it's unprofessional! I don't want them to think I'm like... a slut."

Harry couldn't fight the corner of his mouth tugging up ever so slightly at the way she whispered the last word. Though, the genuine look of distress on her face made him get back to business as quickly as possible.

"First of all, you're not a slut. Second of all, I don't think my employees care enough about my love life to be invested in who I'm sharing a bed with."

Not only the allusion to sex, but the insinuation that Y/N was a part of Harry's love life caused her ears to burn. She was quick to look down, and when in a curious moment she glanced up, Harry's head was tilted.

"There's something else you're not telling me." He said with a determination that had Y/N stomach twist. How could he read her so well? Or was she just being that obvious?

"W— what do you mean?" She stuttered, any hope of coming across nonchalant ruined by her nervousness. She scratched the back of her head, taking a step back. Harry took a step forward.

"Something else is holding you back, and it has nothing to do with other people's opinions. I just can't figure out what it is."

Y/N's heart was racing so hard by now, she felt like it was going to fall right of her chest. How did he make nausea feel so good? "Harry..."

"Do you think I'm attractive?"

Her eyes widened, the question catching her completely off guard. "Uhm, I—"

"Answer the question, angel. Do you?" Harry repeated, building even more proximity between them as he took some steps forward. Y/N took a deep breath, summoning all the courage she had to look him in the eye without appearing like a deer in headlights. She wasn't sure if she was succeeding.

"Yes."

He hummed, eyes flicking down to her lips, before staring back at her again. "Okay, do you want me to kiss you?"

A deep sigh. "Yes."

Y/N swallowed at the grin that spread across Harry's face. It was hard to steady her breathing with him looking at her like that. Leaning forward, he opened his mouth again.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

The question felt like a car crash.

Too flustered to actually speak, Y/N lowered her gaze away from Harry's observing eyes as she nodded timidly. The soft touch of his fingers under her chin had her weak in the knees, and when he nudged Y/N's head up, the expectant look on his face was demanding enough to verbalize her answer.

"Y—yes." She responded, and the twinkle in his eyes told her what he wasn't saying out loud. Good girl.

Bending over even more, Harry brought his face nearer and nearer to Y/N's, his eyes softly closing for a second when he was close enough to take in her scent. It was as if she was floating a cloud; that's what being near to Harry felt like.

"Then what's holding you back?"

The whispered question made her take a physical step back. Harry didn't look offended, only curious as he awaited an answer from Y/N. She crossed her arms.

"It's stupid..." She scoffed. "and embarrassing."

"Is this about what you told me yesterday? About not being 'experienced' as you put it." Harry asked, and took it as a yes when she didn't immediately respond. "Angel, you know that doesn't matter to me. Like, at all."

She sighed. "It's just— the experiences that I've had—with the exception of yesterday of course—haven't really been great, and I don't want to like... disappoint or something."

"So now, I— I tend to backtrack when things get too intimate." She confessed, crossing her arms. Her ears were burning from the vulnerability of her words and the proximity to Harry. He still hadn't stepped away. "It just doesn't feel comfortable for me."

She looked at Harry, who looked like he was thinking it over for a bit. It almost felt intrusive, the way he stared at her, as if she was a capturing painting in a museum. She could tell he was trying to make sense of it— of her. She just hoped he'd interpret her the right way.

"You felt comfortable yesterday, right?" He asked.

"I think I did." Y/N answered, and by the way Harry's face pulled she immediately regretted the answer. "I mean, I just wanted... it— you... really bad so I wasn't really focused on anything else."

That made Harry smile. He was allowed to, Y/N thought, he did a good job with those fingers of his. "Well then, what's the problem?"

"I just... I know the pressure is probably going to get the best of me. It's gonna make me close up and screw up." She half-smiled, but her heart broke. This was it, she was basically rejecting Harry and now he was going to back of like the gentleman he was, and Y/N would have to spend the rest of her life fantasizing about what he could've felt like.

"What pressure?" He wondered. Y/N shrugged.

"I think... the pressure of 'dating' or 'hooking up' I guess. Labels freak me out. Feels like so many expectations hang from them." She tried to articulate how her body had failed her romantic life for years now, hoping there was some part of Harry that would understand her. But he was quite silent, and with each second that passed, Y/N's faith in that sunk further and further down. Until Harry finally spoke.

"Then we won't date."

"What?" Y/N blinked, this answer being the last one she expected. Harry only shrugged.

"You don't want the expectations? Then we won't date. Won't give anyone anything to talk about either."

She frowned; that confused her. "So... you want to go back to how it was before?"

Y/N's impending stomach ache was miraculously lifted when Harry shook his head. "No... I was thinking, I could— assist you."

She tilted her head. "Assist me?"

Harry's mouth quirked up slightly as he hummed. "Find out what you like or don't like, explore a little bit. Y'know... take some of that pressure off."

With her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, there were one too many things flying through Y/N's head. So many, in fact, that the only comprehensible response was one word and one word only.

"Oh."

Harry sniffed a laugh and out his hands behind his back. "We don't have to of course, if you don't feel comfortable—"

"No! I do." She said quickly, a bit more desperate than to her own liking. "I mean— I feel comfortable."

Y/N's skin felt like it was on fire when Harry reached for her face and tilted her chin upwards with his fingers. She looked at him expectantly as he analyzed her face again. He was looking for traces of doubt, but Y/N thought he best be looking forever because there wasn't any on her part. She'd been attracted to Harry since the day that they met. And he was right, the knowledge that there would be no prying eyes suddenly incited a certain... craving in her.

"Okay, let's do that." Y/N said, her tone a bit more confident this time. She could tell he was equal parts surprised as amused by it.

"Yeah? You gonna let me help you out?" He was teasing her, his fingers spreading a little bit, almost as if his hand was going to wrap around her neck. A sensitive ache started growing in Y/N's lower stomach. She was in a for a rollercoaster and she liked it.

"Technically, you're already helping me." She just had to point it out. Her awkward laugh caused Harry to let out a genuine one, and her belly swirled at the sight of his tongue grazing his teeth.

"I am, aren't I?" He said, a bit softer. His eyes radiated it too, the fondness he seemed to hold for her. She had no idea why, she felt like she was the human embodiment of a baby deer that was figuring out how to walk. Somewhat endearing, yes, but mostly awkward and after a while, annoying. For some reason, the light in which Harry saw Y/N didn't paint her that way. Lucky her, she guessed.

"You're sure about this?" He asked again, and Y/N felt the need to roll her eyes. She didn't feel like she could be much clearer.

"Yes." She answered hurriedly. Harry quirked up a brow and caught Y/N off guard when his hand suddenly did wrap itself around her neck. She looked up at the man in front of her, heat pooling between her legs.

"Still sure?" He asked. When she hummed, his hand trailed down her body. Y/N felt her body tense up as his finger traced down her stomach and stopped right at the waistline of her leggings. Maintaining eye contact, Harry hooked two of his fingers into the legging, pushing it down just an inch.

Y/N felt the fabric of her panties getting wet with each second that his fingers were touching her skin. She was downright throbbing down there, which made her feel a little bit hazy because she hadn't felt that for someone in— ever, she thought.

"And now?" Harry asked, his fingers dipping into her leggings and lowering down towards her underwear. Y/N shut her eyes, nodding aggressively. She figured a non-verbal answer probably was inadmissible on his part, and decided to speak up.

"Yes." The word came out as a gasp for air, which it basically was, because as soon as his hands disappeared in those leggings it knocked the wind out of her.

But then he was gone.

Suddenly, Harry slipped his hand out of her legging and by the time Y/N opened her eyes he had already taken a step back. It was almost as if she dreamed it, with the ache between her legs and his devilish smirk being the only proof of what just occurred.

Y/N just stared at him, confusion—give or take a profanity—written all over her face. She saw the pride he took in it— her wanting him. If only he knew how attracted she was to him, his ego would never recover.

"Let's start working on that left hook, yeah?"

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east@mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @kierramcduffie @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove@bitchidontpost @lomlolivia @harringtonhundreds @fruit-harry

[ceyanabbiolo]

CONTRACT // C.S [14]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: smut. (fingering, blowjob, humping, making out). slight angst. crying.

wc: 5883

Chapter 14: We Can Meddle About

Chris and I had spent five unforgettable days in Greece. Tomorrow morning at 10 AM, we’ll be flying back.

New Year’s Eve was something out of a dream—we spent the countdown in Fira, the capital, surrounded by lights and music in the town square. Everything shimmered with celebration, but all I remembered was holding his hand as fireworks burst in the sky above us.

New Year’s Day was quieter. We stayed at the villa, curled up on the couch, watching movies, trading lazy kisses, and simply existing in each other’s warmth. I hadn’t felt that kind of peace in a long time. Not with everything going on.

For our final night, Chris had brought us to Lycabettus Restaurant. We sat on the open-air terrace, the Aegean Sea stretching into darkness just beyond the cliffs. The restaurant's golden lights cast a warm glow around us, and the soft sound of waves below filled the silence between bites.

I glanced across the table at him, that familiar, relaxed look on his face. “I don’t want to leave yet,” I admitted softly, resting my chin in my palm. “This trip felt like hitting pause on everything else.”

Chris let out a low chuckle from across the table. “As much as I hate to disappoint you, ma, I think it’s time we have to head back.”

“I know,” I sighed, offering a mock pout. “Real life’s waiting to punch us in the face.”

“Maybe…” I started, tracing the rim of my glass. “Maybe we can come back. Again. Just us.”

Chris’s fingers brushed mine again, slower this time. “Maybe… after the wedding,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

I blinked, looking up at him. “After the wedding?”

He held my gaze. “Yeah. Maybe we can come back then. No pressure”

“Chris,” I said, tilting my head at him. “That’s five months away.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? So?” He leaned back, fingers still lightly tracing mine. “It’ll go by fast. You’ve got your show coming up, then school wraps up... and then it’s us.”

There was a strange comfort in how he said it—like everything that felt so uncertain could still fall into place. I let out a breath. “Five months isn’t that long when you say it like that.”

I wasn’t going to lie, I was everywhere in my mind. The reality of this trip was that it was only a momentary escape. 

I looked back up at Chris, a certain question floating in my mind—one I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to.

“Can I ask you something?” I said quietly.

He met my eyes, his expression softening. “Of course.”

I hesitated, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “I know we like each other now. I mean… we’re close, and it’s real, but—” I paused, searching his face. “Do you actually think this is going to work? Like… in the long run?”

His brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

I looked away, letting out a soft breath. “I mean, if this were a regular relationship-no, no contract, no engagement deal—would we even be this far in? We'd probably still be in the early stages. Figuring things out. Instead, we're getting married in five months. Sometimes I wonder if we skipped the part where people actually decide if they’re right for each other.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering over me like he was trying to read between every word I’d just said.

“So… what are you saying?” he asked finally, voice low. “That you’re not happy? Do you want out?”

My heart sank a little. “No—no, Chris. That’s not what I’m saying.”

I reached across the table, my fingers brushing his. “I’m not saying I want out. I’m just being honest. I care about you. A lot. But sometimes I think about how fast all of this is moving. And how much of it was decided before we even had the chance to just… be. Us.” 

Chris leaned forward, his voice suddenly hard. “Aurora, I need you to get something straight.”

His tone made me sit up a little.

“I don’t give a damn how this started,” he said, eyes sharp. “You think I’m here playing fiancé because of a contract? No. I don’t waste my time like that.”

I opened my mouth, but he didn’t let me.

“Maybe at first, sure. It was nothing, but now? I’m in it, and I’m not the type to half-ass something once I’m in. So, no—I don’t sit around wondering if this is gonna work. I’ve already decided it will.”

He paused, jaw tight. “You don’t have to feel the same. But don’t question where I stand.”

I could see his whole demeanour change, and it made me suddenly regret my question, and I felt uncomfortable. 

“I didn’t say I don’t feel the same way…” I mumbled, eyes fixed on my lap.

Chris didn’t respond.

I heard him call the waiter over and quietly ask for the bill. A few moments later, he stood up and told me we were leaving.

Earlier, I’d thought about suggesting we walk back to the villa—just to soak in our last night here. But now, I kept that to myself. All I wanted was to get back and disappear into a dark room somewhere.

I didn’t fully understand why he got so worked up. But deep down, I knew—Chris hated having his loyalty questioned, especially by people he cared about.

The car ride was quiet. I kept my eyes out the window while he stayed on his phone. At one point, I peeked over and saw he was texting one of his brothers—probably Matt, judging by the name at the top of the screen.

My fingers were fiddling with the edge of my dress, heart heavier than I wanted to admit. I wasn’t trying to upset him. I just wanted to know where we stood—for real. 

When we got back to the villa, Chris paused near the entrance, turning to me briefly. His expression was unreadable.

“I’m heading to bed,” he said flatly. “Make sure you’ve got everything packed for tomorrow.”

Before I could respond, he was already walking away, disappearing down the hall to his room. No goodnight. No glance back. Just silence and distance.

I stood there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me before dragging myself to my room. I peeled off my dress and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water roll over me, hoping it would wash away the tight knot in my chest. It didn’t.

Afterward, I slipped into a thin silk nightgown and towel-dried my hair before settling into bed. I picked up the book I’d brought for the trip—a romance novel I’d been looking forward to for weeks—but the words blurred together, refusing to hold my attention.

Every few seconds, my eyes flicked to the door. Waiting. Wondering.

Was he still mad? Would he even come talk to me tonight? Was I overthinking everything? Fuck. 

I had half-expected him to come into my room tonight, like he had for the past three nights, but the villa was too quiet now, too vast and empty. It felt cold in a way that the warm Greek air outside couldn't touch. I set the book down on the nightstand, my mind far too restless to focus on anything.

I tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, trying to push thoughts of Chris out of my head. But the more I tried, the more they lingered. Eventually, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore—I needed to see him.

I threw the covers off and stood up, walking down the hall to his room. My heart was pounding, and I hesitated just outside his door. After a few moments of uncertainty, I knocked softly.

"Chris?" I called quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

There was no answer.

I knocked again, louder this time.

"Chris?" I repeated.

Still nothing.

I stood there for a moment, defeated, my hand lingering on the doorknob. What had I expected? That he would be waiting for me on the other side, ready to pick up where we left off? I sighed, turning to walk back down the hall.

But just as I took a few steps, I heard it—my name.

"Aurora."

I turned, startled by the sound of his voice. Chris stood in the doorway, wearing a grey sweater over a plain black tee, his hair still damp from a recent shower. He looked tired, but something about his eyes told me he hadn’t been sleeping much either.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze drifting over me, searching. “Do you need something?”

I shifted on my feet, suddenly unsure of why I’d even come. “No. I’m fine,” I mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, my voice quieter than I intended.

He raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like it.”

I looked down, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. “I just couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”

A beat passed between us, heavy but not tense. I could feel his eyes still on me.

“Come here,” he said quietly, gesturing with a tilt of his head.

I walked over slowly, stopping just a few inches from the wall, unsure of what to expect.

After a beat, I finally asked, “Are you mad at me?”

Chris looked at me—looked—and I caught the slight flare in his nostrils before he exhaled through his nose.

“No, ma,” he said, voice firm. “I’m not mad.”

“Really? You seemed pretty upset earlier,” I added, trying to get him to open up.

“Yeah,” he said bluntly. “I was.”

I waited, but he didn’t leave it there this time.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “Why is it you are always having second thoughts?”

My brows pulled together. “It’s not—Chris, I’m not having second thoughts.”

“Yes, you are,” he snapped, not angrily, but with a kind of heat that made me straighten.

“You said it yourself—‘Do you actually think this is going to work?’ That’s not nothing, Aurora. That’s you doubting us. Again.”

I opened my mouth, but he didn’t give me time.

“You always act like I’m the one who kept pulling away, who was unsure—but now that I’ve made up my damn mind, now that I’m actually here, it’s like you’re the one constantly questioning everything. Me, this engagement, if we’re real.”

His jaw tightened, chest rising and falling heavier now.

“I don’t get it,” he said again, quieter this time, but with more weight. “You wanted me to care. You wanted me to choose you. I did. But the second I do, you start pulling back.”

“I’m not pulling back, Chris…I just wanted to know,” I said, my voice quieter than before, hands slightly shaking at my sides.

He stared at me, unmoving. The space between us felt dense, like even the air was holding its breath.

“Know what?” he asked, his voice low but sharp. “That I’m not gonna leave? That I’m not faking this? That I’m not just in this because someone told me to be?”

I swallowed hard, unable to answer fast enough.

“Because if you don’t know that by now, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.”

My chest tightened. “That’s not what I meant,” I murmured.

His eyes were colder now, less soft, less patient. “Then what did you mean?”

I looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor, trying to find the right words.

“I just—I’ve never had something like this,” I said. “Not something that feels like it could actually matter, and it scares me that maybe I’m the one who’ll ruin it.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that I felt the heat off him.

“You’re not the one ruining it,” he said, voice low and tense. “But you questioning me like that? It makes me feel like I’m the only one all in.”

I looked up at him finally, eyes meeting his.

“You’re not,” I whispered, barely getting the words out as the weight of everything crashed into me. My chest tightened, and before I could stop them, the tears started slipping down my cheeks—slow, quiet, stubborn.

Chris noticed instantly. His expression shifted, the tension in his jaw easing as he reached out and gently cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear, his eyes fixed on mine with a quiet intensity, no longer guarded—just open.

“What do you want, Aurora?” he asked, voice low but firm. “Do you want to be with me?”

I looked up at him through glassy eyes, my breath caught in my throat. My lips trembled as I tried to respond, but all I could do was shake my head at first—not in denial, but in disbelief at how much I did. Then the words finally broke free.

“Yes,” I said, my voice breaking. “I do.”

Chris’s grip on my face tightened just slightly—not in anger, but to anchor me there, to make sure I didn’t look away.

“Okay then,” he said quietly, wiping away the remaining tears with his thumb. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek, “Be with me,” he murmured against my cheek.

I nodded, barely, my breath hitching. I looked at him, really looked at his steady gaze, the tension still resting in his shoulders, the way he was holding back.

Chris leaned in, kissing me slowly—softly, and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I felt every second of it. His lips moved against mine with a kind of patience that made my chest ache, as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t with words.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, our breaths mixing in the stillness between us.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, voice low but serious.

I looked up at him, surprised by the question. His eyes searched mine, steady and intense, like he needed the truth more than anything else.

“I do,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I really do.”

He nodded once, his hand still resting at the back of my neck. “Then stop fighting me,” he said. “Stop pulling away every time.”

I blinked slowly, the sting of his words lingering, but not in a cruel way. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was asking me to meet him where he was, to stop hesitating.

“I’m not trying to fight you,” I said.

His lips found mine again—firmer this time. No hesitation. Just him and me, like the weight of everything had finally been shaken off, even if only for tonight. I kissed him back, letting myself fall into it. Into him. 

His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer, while his other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me firm against him.

I melted into it, my fingers gripping the front of his sweater. His kiss deepened, rougher around the edges now, like he couldn’t get enough. His mouth trailed down to my jaw, slow and hot, then to the curve of my neck, leaving a trail of heat behind.

“Chris…” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper.

He paused for half a second, his mouth hovering near my skin, chest rising and falling fast. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, voice hoarse, lips brushing against my collarbone.

I shook my head, the words catching in my throat. “Don’t.”

That was all it took.

He pulled away for a moment, his breathing still heavy, then took my hand firmly in his.

Without a word, he led me out of the hallway and down the stairs, his grip never loosening. The villa was dim, quiet—only the soft hum of the waves outside filled the silence.

“Where are we going?” I asked, glancing at him as we stepped into the living room.

“My bed’s a mess,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smirk. “I was packing.”

Before I could react, he guided me toward the large lounge chair facing the glass doors that looked out at the sea. With one gentle push, I landed against the cushions, big enough for both of us. The cool fabric contrasts with the heat rushing up my neck.

He hovered above me, eyes darker now, jaw tight.

“Here’s better,” he muttered, before leaning down again—this time, slower. More deliberate.

He leaned over, hands on either side of me, “You’re driving me insane, you know that?”

His gaze dropped, lingering for a moment where the hem of my nightgown had ridden up, just high enough to reveal the curve of my thighs and the soft lace of my underwear.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “So you don’t wear anything under these little gowns,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

He leaned in, his hand grazing the bare skin just above my knee. “I always wondered. You walking around the house like that—had me guessing since the first night you moved in.”

His words sent a heat rushing up my spine, especially when his fingers traced along the edge of the fabric.

“And I like it,” he muttered, brushing his lips against mine again. 

My body was starting to get this needy feeling, the same one I felt a week ago, the first time Chris went down on me.

He sat up slightly, his eyes trailing down the length of me. He took his shirt off, probably for more comfort. Gosh…he was hot. 

“Take it off,” he said, voice low.

I looked up at him, caught off guard. “What?” A slow, lazy grin pulled at his lips. “Your gown. Take it off.”

“I–” my cheeks turned red. I didn’t have anything on other than my underwear. I don't wear a bra to sleep. 

“I’ve already seen most of you, beautiful,” he said, lifting the hem of my gown slightly. “No need to be shy.”

I shifted, tucking my feet beneath me as I slowly rose to my knees. My eyes stayed on his while his gaze stayed locked on mine. I lifted the gown over my body, pulling it off in one motion. Now bare, my chest exposed, I watched as his eyes finally dropped. 

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” I asked, instinctively covering myself, a sudden wave of insecurity washing over me.

Chris immediately reached for my wrists, gently pulling my hands back down. 

“Don’t ever hide yourself from me, Aurora,” he said, his voice firm but low.

He leaned in, kissing along my collarbone, then lower, his lips lingering just above my chest.

“May I?” he asked, eyes flicking up to meet mine—asking for permission.

I gave a small nod, breath caught in my throat, and the moment his mouth met my tits, a quiet moan escaped me.

A stray thought crossed my mind—God, this would feel amazing during my period.

Chris leaned down, placing a final kiss on each of my tits. Next, he removed my underwear and put it to the side. My wetness on display for him–my inner thighs sleek with arousal. 

Chris suddenly pulled back slightly, his hand still wrapped around mine. I looked up at him, confused. He held my gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Touch yourself”, he said, his voice low but steady. “Show me what feels good to you.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his request. “Chris,” I said with a nervous laugh, unsure if he was serious.

But his expression didn’t change—there was no teasing in his eyes, only quiet patience. “Show me what you do when you’re alone,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. “At night, when it’s just you.”

A flush crept up my cheeks. I looked down, then back up at him. He placed my hand on my chest, slowly dragging it down my lying body. His gaze never leaves mine. 

He guided our joined hands down slowly, stopping just at the center of me. My breath hitched when he pressed my palm gently against myself. The warmth of my touch startled me—and yet, his steady presence beside me grounded the moment.

Chris didn’t say anything, but the way he was watching me—attentive, calm—gave me a quiet confidence. I didn’t feel embarrassed. I didn’t feel pressured. I felt…understood.

So I didn’t pull away. I let myself keep going. 

I felt the pressure buildup in me. My eyes started to shut on their own, but from the slight opening I was able to see Chris looking down at my hands moving. 

My legs started trembling, a familiar sensation down from my stomach. I needed something more. 

“C–Chris…” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper as my hand slowed, finally stopping. “I–I need you.”

He looked up at me then, eyes dark but focused entirely on my face.

“You need me, ma?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he gently took my fingers and brought them to his mouth, tasting the traces of me with a quiet kind of reverence that sent a shiver down my spine.

He placed his hands on me, finally. I let out a soft moan of pleasure when his slightly rough hands moved down to my aching clit. He slowly rubbed his thumb in circles. 

“o-oh my gosh…Chris,” I let out a whimper, my back arching off the lounge chair. 

He stopped rubbing but instead took his index finger and put the tip of it into me, “This good?” he asked. I nodded, and he shoved the whole thing into me. 

I let out a cry of pleasure, his finger inside my walls feels amazing. 

His fingers started to pump in and out of me, stretching my walls out perfectly–hitting all the right spots.   “Feel good, princess?” He asked, his free hand caressing the side of my thighs. 

I couldn’t speak, I just started to nod frantically, whispering to him to go faster. 

I felt the knot start to form in my stomach. 

“G-gonna cum..” I managed to speak despite the pleasure. My back arched against the lounge chair, and I felt the knot in my stomach feel like it was about to burst.

Chris’s fingers moved with unrelenting precision, and the moment he murmured, “Let go for me, baby,” I shattered beneath his touch. 

My orgasm came crashing. The feeling is making me stutter. 

I let a minute go by, letting the feeling subside. I felt amazing. His touch was amazing. 

“You okay princess?” he asked me, his voice caring. I nodded, feeling the comfort and warmth of his embrace.

I nodded, my eyes drifting from his face down to the outline beneath his pants.

Chris started to move off me, but I gently caught his hand.

“You’re forgetting something,” I murmured, glancing downward.

His eyes followed mine, and a gentle smile tugged at his lips. “I didn’t forget anything.”

“Then let me,” I said, my voice soft but steady as a wave of confidence rolled over me. I reached for the hem of his sweats, pulling him gently back toward me.

Chris caught my hand, stopping me with a quiet firmness. “You don’t have to, Aurora.”

“I want to,” I replied, gently moving his hand away.

He exhaled, his resistance faltering. “Aurora…” he said again, but this time it came out more like a breath than a warning—like he was trying to convince himself.

I pulled his pants and reassured him, “It's okay”. 

 He nodded slowly, his breathing deepening, the tension between us thick in the air.

“Okay then,” he murmured, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Stand up.”

I rose to my feet, facing him, our eyes locked for a moment until he sank back into the chair.

His hand rested gently on my shoulder, guiding me downward with quiet intent until I was kneeling in front of him, heart racing.

He slowly lowered his boxers, and when he was fully exposed, my breath caught in my throat. Oh my…he was well, bigger than I expected. Like big, big. His pre-cum was evident at the top. When I looked up, he was already smirking, clearly amused by my reaction. That tease. “Go on, baby,” he said, stroking himself a few times before letting his hand fall away. “Show me how you want to help me.”

My fingers tremble slightly as I touch him, my hands wrap around him, fingers struggling with his skin to properly hold his girth. I was slightly unsure what to do, still being new to this all. 

Chris groans sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Here,” he rasps, his voice strained “move your hands up and down for me”. 

I did as he said. 

His head falls back slightly, his thighs flexing, and his hands struggling to hold onto the lounge chair.

“Fuck….y-yes that’s it, ma.”

I watched him curiously. I’ve never seen Chris like this before. In a way, him being in this flushed state made him even more handsome. 

Chris groans again, his head tilting back further, his body tensing beneath my touch. 

“Go a bit…faster,” he muttered, his voice low and uneven. I hesitated, my thoughts suddenly catching up with me. My hands paused, unsure.

Chris looked down at me, his brows furrowing in concern. “Hey… everything okay?” he asked. “Do you want to stop? Because that’s fine–”

I cut him off and quickly shook my head. “No, it’s not that”. 

Hesitated, then looked up at him, nervous but honest. “I just… wanted to ask if you wanted me to…You know, use my mouth?”

His gaze flicked up to meet mine, surprise flashing in his eyes, but it quickly turned into a smirk. 

“Are you asking to blow me off, sweetheart?”

I nodded twice, shyly. 

“Only if you want to, ma.”

I swallow, heat curling into my stomach. Chris looked wrecked and desperate. 

I looked up at him.

“Tell me how to do it,” I said, shyly leaning down to press a few gentle kisses on his tip, his thighs clenched. 

“Fuck.”

I parted my lips and inserted him slightly into my mouth. His skin pre-cum hits my tongue. 

“Good, beautiful,” he murmurs. “Now, hollow your cheeks for me, and go down a bit more.”

I do as he says, taking him a little deeper, my tongue swirled around, trying to experiment. Chris’s hips jerked forward instantly at that, a hiss escaped his lips.

We began to find a rhythm, and with every passing second, I felt myself growing more comfortable. That heat, that familiar ache, started to stir in me again. Without thinking, I shifted slightly, subtly grinding against the back of my heel for some relief.

Chris noticed instantly. His hand reached out, gently but firmly tugging at my nipple, drawing a gasp from me. “Don’t do that, baby,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Right now, I want you focused here.”

I nod and he lets out a low chuckle, his thumb tracing my lower part of my breast, before letting you continue.

I started to move my hands and my mouth against him now. 

“Fuckk, sweetheart- ”

His lips parted, his fingers tilting my chin up slightly, a deep, strangled groan slipped past Chris’s lips as he watched me swallow him. 

“My beautiful fiance…you were–urgh–made for me.” 

He says, suddenly thrusting himself slowly into my mouth, while I was still working on him as well. 

His fingers flex on my jaw, his chest panting. “I’m-I’m gonna cum, ma…f-fuck.” 

“Take your mouth off–Aurora…I’m gonna cum into y-you”. 

I didn’t though, I kept my mouth on him, and sucked harder, just like how he’d go faster on me when I said I was close. 

It worked because with a sharp whimper, he came hard into my mouth. His cum released into my mouth and I swallowed what I could, the rest dripped down the side of my mouth. 

Chris took his hand and wiped it, shoving it back into my mouth. 

“My perfect girl,” he said, watching me, while he was still subsided from his orgasm. 

His striking blue eyes flicked between my face and the way I was still kneeling. For a moment, we just stayed there, the air thick with tension. I shifted slightly, and Chris noticed again.

“Come here, baby,” he said softly, his voice firm but gentle.

He leaned back into the lounge chair, eyes still on me as he waited. Slowly, he reached for my hand.

“Get up,” he said, pulling me gently.

I rose to my feet, and he guided me to sit with him, pulling me into his lap. I was straddling him, his hands steady on my waist, his gaze searching mine.  

“You still need me, huh?” he asked teasingly. I nodded immediately. 

I saw him take him still hard dick, and bent it onto his chest and looked up at me. 

“Sit on it,” he said, nudging me forward. I did just that. 

“Now move, back and forth, baby.”

I slowly started to grind my pussy onto his dick. The sensation immediately hit me, and it seemed to hit Chris too. His legs jerk a bit. He put his hands on my hips, moving me himself. 

One hand came up to gently cradle my jaw. “My beautiful fiancée,” he murmured.

The words settled into my chest, heavier than I expected—warm and intimate. A knot twisted low in my stomach, not just from the way our bodies were pressed so closely, but from the weight of those words alone. 

I looked down at him, and a quiet wave of admiration began to rise in me. There was something in the way he held me—steady, patient, unwavering—that made me feel safe. With Chris, I never felt judged or rushed. When we weren’t fighting, he was my calm, my grounding force. That moment, I realized how deeply grateful I was that he always let me move at my own pace.

“I’m gonna cum a-again Chris” I started to move faster and he started to jutt me against him faster. 

“Come with me sweetheart”, he said, his voice just as wrecked. 

In a few moments, we both unraveled together, our moans tangled in the quiet air between us. My hands pressed gently against his chest as I tried to steady my breathing, heart still racing. Chris’s release squirted onto his chest. 

A minute passed in silence, our bodies slowly coming down from the high. He reached over to the small table beside the lounge chair, grabbing a tissue and wiping himself clean. 

Then, without a word, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me gently into his chest, cradling me against him. His hand traced slow circles along my back, and I let myself melt into the safety of his hold.

Chris’s fingers moved gently through my hair, his other arm still wrapped around my waist. I could hear the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, grounding me.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing my temple.

I nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the soft thrum of his voice vibrate beneath my cheek. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He smiled, I could feel it more than see it. “You wore me out too, ma,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “But I got you.”

Neither of us said anything for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was warm. Full. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my cheek, grounding me in a way nothing else could.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

I smiled against his chest. “I like it like this.”

“Yeah?” His hand paused, then resumed its slow path across my back. “Me too.”

I felt him rub slow circles onto my back. My breathing started to be normal again. 

“You okay, pretty girl?” he murmured, “Did I hurt you at all?”

I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

Chris shifted slightly beneath me, his fingers gently brushing my back. “Come on, baby,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I hummed sleepily in protest, not wanting to leave the comfort of his chest just yet.

He smiled softly, then reached over the side of the couch and grabbed the thick throw blanket draped there. Without a word, he sat up and carefully wrapped it around me, tucking it snugly under my arms, covering me. 

I looked up at him, my heart squeezing at how gentle he was. He held out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he added with a small smirk, “before we fall asleep like this and wake up glued to each other.”

I let out a quiet laugh and took his hand, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. He led me toward the bathroom in his room. His other hand on my back the entire way—protective, warm, and steady. He wasn’t wrong when he said his bed was messy earlier. 

Inside the shower, the warmth was immediate. Chris stayed close, his touch slow and gentle. He helped rinse soap through my hair, fingers massaging my scalp with so much care it nearly made my knees weak. When I closed my eyes, he pressed a kiss to my temple, and I leaned into him instinctively. 

“This is my second shower of the night,” I giggled. 

He smiled down at me, “Mine too”. 

I felt… safe. Not just because of how tender he was being, but because I knew, deep down, that I could be fully myself with him.

When we stepped out, he wrapped me in one of the soft towels like I might break. Then he took another and began drying my hair, his hands still so gentle. No teasing. No rush. Just this quiet comfort I never knew I needed so badly.

Chris tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I was already dressed in one of his black t-shirts, it hung loose and comfortable on me, smelling like him.

We made our way to my room quietly. I grabbed a pair of underwear from my luggage and slipped into bed, pulling the covers over myself. Chris followed right behind, wearing just his boxers, and slid in beside me.

He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his chest. His warmth surrounded me, and I sighed, feeling instantly at ease.

“You’re not done packing,” I murmured sleepily, my voice muffled against his shoulder.

He gave a tired little hum. “I’ll finish in the morning,” he said, already sounding half-asleep.

A thought popped into my head, and I lifted my face a little. “My nightgown and some of your clothes are still in the living room.”

He chuckled softly and kissed the top of my head. “Guess the living room’s seen enough tonight,” he teased. “I’ll grab them later.”

“Mmhm,” I said, nestling closer. “You better.”

Chris just smiled against my hair, holding me tighter. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered, letting my eyes close with his arms still wrapped around me.

This was a trip well spent, with not much meddling.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: Who gets the song lyric in the title? If you do your special. Next chapter, soon. Sort of busy this week, but I'm aiming to get stuff out quick. Like, comment, and reblog. mwah] –Ceyana

tags: @loser41ifee @bluestriips @mattsfrenchtoast @slvtf0rchr1s @courta13 @emeraldsturns

(I want to add a lot of people to this tag list, so comment! Don't be shy. kisses <3)

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (8/20)

I'm woke up in the middle of the night I thought: "why not?"

So, here we are...

The chapter is large, so, you're welcome and sorry for the cliffhanger Lmao 💕😂

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy and cliffhanger

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem reader

Summary: Agatha has strange ways of apologizing

Gambit

noun

1. an opening in which a player makes a sacrifice, typically of a pawn, for the sake of some compensating advantage.

You peeked through the peephole and your heart stopped for a full second.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

Agatha Harkness.

Wearing informal clothes. No makeup, with that unreadable look as always in her eyes.

You opened the door.

“What are you doing here?”

She looked at you for a moment that lasted too long, as if the question didn’t matter.

Or as if the answer would set you on fire.

“I need to talk to you.”

She said it without really looking at you, and you were sure that if she could, she’d be wearing sunglasses to hide behind.

“Does it have to be now? It’s really late and—”

“It has to be now.”

She emphasized the last word like someone crossing a line they shouldn’t. 

You held your breath for a second.

Agatha Harkness. At your door. At night. Wearing a white shirt and sweatpants, with something about her off. Like the emotional zipper had split open somewhere and she hadn’t noticed yet.

You couldn’t stop staring at her eyes. That green-blue that always seemed to calculate everything with surgical precision—but now, they hesitated.

They trembled.

Searching for something even she didn’t know how to name.

“Okay…” you said, opening the door a little wider. “Let’s go outside then.”

She nodded and turned around, her steps slower than usual.

You closed the door behind you, the silence in the hallway hanging like an electric wire.

Carol was inside, waiting and you just wanted to get this over with before she showed up and made a scene.

“It’s polite to let a guest into your home.” She said, arms crossed, looking totally grumpy.

Oh, God.

Agatha Harkness was a fucking drama queen.

And while that was more adorable than you’d ever admit, you sighed, too tired for this.

“What do you want, Agatha? It’s almost midnight and… I had a long day.”

She looked at you for a moment. A long, long moment. Silence reigned, and all that was left between you was the howl of cold air in the hallway.

“I… I came to apologize.” She finally said after a few more seconds.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Not because she was wrong, but because Agatha Harkness didn’t do apologies like this. You knew that. She was flawless, precise, surgically composed in everything she said.

Except now.

She looked small under the dead hallway light. Shrinking into herself, like she didn’t know what to do with her arms, or her eyes, or the weight of being here.

“Wow,” you whispered, genuinely. “That is… unexpected.”

She scoffed quietly. “I didn’t… I don’t know why I said those things. I mean, I do, but… not like that. Not that way.”

“You dumped a thousand demands on me with an insane deadline,” you pointed at her. “That’s abusive, you know.”

“I know, fuck.” She snapped.

You looked at her for a second, and the vulnerability in her was almost absurd.

She, who swallowed men alive with half a sentence. She, who made investors compete for five minutes of her time.

And now here she was… battling her own pride, trying to get back control of something she clearly didn’t understand anymore.

She shrank a little more, like she was trying to fit into the space between her own collapsing certainties.

You smiled. Just a small smile, but real. “You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.” Agatha said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight.

“You are.”

Her jaw tightened, clenched hard, like she was trying to hold onto a rehearsed speech that had already vanished.

Too bad for her, you were too stubborn for your own good and too good at reading what people tried to hide.

“You didn’t have to come here, you know?” You continued, voice gentler now. “You could’ve just sent an email, or ignored me completely, like you usually do.”

“I tried,” she admitted, her gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “But… I couldn’t sleep.”

You tilted your head. “You came here because you couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” she replied way too fast. Then she exhaled. “Yes. I don’t know. I… I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

The confession landed between you like a crystal glass shattering on the floor.

You had never seen Agatha admit she didn’t know something. It was like watching a mountain tremble. Like watching fire hesitate before it burned.

She ran a hand over her face, breathing deep, trying to clear her head.

“It’s just… This is all so wrong.”

And it kind of was.

Your relationship had never been fully professional.

If first impressions were what stuck, then yours would be… Agatha kissing you. Agatha taking your fingers inside her very well. Agatha sending you away.

It started wrong.

But it felt so good.

You chose to ignore the growing pulse between your legs.

“I know.” You said, letting your shoulders drop in understanding.

“And this can’t happen again.” She said more to herself than to you.

“I know.” You agreed, even though your heart ached.

Agatha went silent. Not an empty silence, but one full of everything you weren’t allowed to say.

She shifted slightly, body leaning forward then pulling back, like she was fighting the urge to come closer. A small gesture, but desperately human.

“I’m not this person,” she said suddenly, her voice low but full of anguish. “I’m not someone who loses control.”

Your throat tightened.

“I know that too.” You whispered, with a half smile.

Her eyes met yours and for that moment, nothing else existed in the world but that look.

As if time had frozen in that cold corridor. As if every breath was measured, and every heartbeat was a choice.

She didn’t say a word.

But you saw it.

In the way she looked at you. In the way her eyes dropped to your lips and flicked back up with guilt. In the way her hands clenched into fists, trying to hold back something that had already broken free.

And for that moment, you forgot about Carol and the impossible expectations.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, your voice warm, like melted butter.

Maybe if you were inside, in private… she’d finally do something, maybe she’d kiss you…

She hesitated, looking at the sliver of light from the door. 

An invitation.

“You’re not alone in there.” She murmured, avoiding your gaze.

Oh. Right. Carol. You’d completely forgotten.

“She’s just… my roommate.”

Agatha didn’t reply, but her expression was an open book written in wounded pride.

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “I came here to say that… this… This can’t happen again. What happened. That—”

She couldn’t even name it.

“That was real, Agatha,” you said gently. “Even if it was wrong.”

She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, there was pain. Confusion and desire.

“You’re a fucking distraction.” She said. But her voice sounded more like a confession than an accusation.

“And a problem,” you smiled, bittersweet. “You’ve said that before.”

She took a deep breath. Her chest rising and falling sharply. She wanted you—you knew it. She came here for you. Because she couldn’t sleep, probably thinking about that night at the bar.

Then, without another word, she reached into a bag you hadn’t even noticed she was carrying and pulled out a small white box.

“Open it.” She said, handing it over like it meant nothing.

You took it.

A brand new iPhone. Still sealed.

You looked up, surprised. “Agatha… this is—”

“—perfectly appropriate,” she cut in. “If we’re going to be working together, I need you to be reachable. All the time.”

She talked like a boss.

But her eyes… they weren’t boss-like at all.

"Why not just give me your number like a normal person?" You asked with a crooked smile, suspicious. "Instead of showing up at my door at midnight with a new phone?"

She hesitated. For a moment, she almost seemed to be asking herself the same thing.

Then she looked away.

"Because it’s appropriate." She said without looking at you, making you smirk.

"Appropriate. Appropriate. Appropriate. You love saying that when everything you do is the complete opposite."

You teased, and watched as Agatha’s eyes burned with something as they locked onto yours, like they could devour you. Like she was speechless or worse—realizing what you meant just now.

She didn’t answer. In fact, silence fell between you again, heavy like a blanket neither of you dared to pull off.

Agatha gripped her purse strap tighter than necessary. Her fingers tense, nearly white.

Deciding to break the silence that was already getting under your skin and her intense gaze that gave you chills, you turned the new iPhone in your hands, the plastic wrap still intact.

"This number is just between us, then?"

She nodded, eyes back on you.

"Yes. Exclusive."

You gave a half-smile.

"Ugh. How intimidating, Governor."

"I’d call it practical."

"And I’d call it personal."

She didn’t reply.

You took a step back, your hand brushing the doorknob like your body needed the support not to slip on everything this night was turning into.

"Agatha…" you said her name like it was a question, a prayer, a dare.

You swallowed hard. Your tongue heavy in your mouth with the weight of the things you wanted to say. Maybe a “stay.” Maybe a “do you really wouldn’t like to come in?” Or maybe words were just bullshit and you should send it all to hell and kiss her already.

Fuck.

She was here just for you.

 But all you said was a: “Good night.”

And once again, she looked like she had to convince herself to leave.

She turned slowly. Took three steps down the hallway, her hand nearly touching the railing, then stopped.

“Text me once you set up the phone.”

You stared at her back for a moment, heart pounding. Honestly, you weren’t even sure how it was still beating.

“Will do, Governor.”

She froze for a second. Maybe she’d say something, maybe she’d ask to stay… But she kept walking without another word.

Back inside, Carol was on the couch watching some questionable MTV reality show, as usual.

“Your boss is a tyrant,” she said, unprompted. “First she gives you homework to take home, and now she shows up at your house?”

“I know, right?” you murmured, trying to hide the box from her view. “I… I’m going to bed, Carol.”

“Hmm. Yeah. After tonight, I think you really should.”

“Good night.” You ran to your room.

You shut the door behind you, resting your forehead against the wood for a second like you could unload all your feelings or the ones you weren’t supposed to feel—right there.

With trembling hands and a heart pounding too loud, you unwrapped the new phone.It was black. Sleek and intimidating, like everything that came from her.

You turned it on.

The screen lit up like the beginning of a new era.

Set up. Connect. Activate.

A new number. Clean, like a well-kept secret.

And then it appears—the only saved contact.

Agatha Harkness

Private number. Exclusive.

You bit your lip.

Sat on the bed, legs twitching with nervous energy.

Should you text her now? Wouldn't it be better to wait until morning?

Fuck.

Typed. Deleted. Typed again.

Sighed.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your heart was beating too hard. You closed your eyes and, with a nearly desperate gesture, hit send.

"Phone successfully set up. Ready to be available… all the time ;)”

Your thumb hovered over the power button, but you didn’t have the courage. Your stomach turned, and suddenly the Chinese food you thought you needed felt like a mistake.

Two seconds later, the three little dots appeared.

She was typing.

Then they stopped.

You held your breath.

The dots came back.

One more second…

And the reply came.

"Good night, girl."

That was it.

No emojis. No added pleasantries.

Just a short sentence.

And somehow, it was so Agatha.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Girl. The way she always said it… like a warning. A reminder, a line she wasn’t supposed to cross.

You held the phone a moment longer, feeling heat rise in your chest. Your mind already spinning with images you shouldn’t be remembering.You two had agreed on the terms.

But the throbbing between your legs made it clear the emotional overload she left in you was very real.

You didn’t text back. Just wrapped yourself deeper in the blankets, like that could somehow quiet the storm inside.

A dumb little smile on your face.

Not because of the reply, but because of what wasn’t said.

On the screen, her name remained.

Agatha Harkness.

As if you were each other’s secret.

And in many ways, you were.

[...]

The morning sun filtered lazily through the auditorium windows, lighting up scribbled notebooks, half-washed coffee cups, and students half-dead after the second lecture on bodies and sexuality.

You were there. Physically. But your mind floated somewhere between socio-political theory and a certain governor with sly, sideways eyes.

Billy was doodling in the corner of his page with a purple pen, when you felt it.

The vibration.

Your other phone. The new one.

Still in your backpack.

It was instant. Your body reacted before your mind could. A jolt in your stomach. Trembling fingers. A heartbeat picking up like it knew who it was, no need to look.

You tried to play it cool, because it was just a message.

But holy shit—Agatha was texting you.

The Agatha Harkness.

You pulled your bag into your lap and discreetly unlocked the screen.

There it was.

Good morning.

Friday is the investor dinner at the Fairmont Hotel.

High-profile guests will be present. Wear something appropriate.

Dry, direct, cold and Completely inappropriate for how she made you feel, just like she’d touched you with those words.

You read it again.

And again.

Appropriate.

You rolled your eyes so hard. That word was starting to get on your nerves.

But the fact that she could’ve just emailed it or told someone from the team to pass it along, made you smile.

She wanted to text you herself. From the phone she bought just for you. She wanted to say it, already picturing the dinner.

You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head like she could see you—sitting among a sea of bored students, about to flirt with the future governor of the state.

You typed slowly, savoring the audacity.

Good morning to you, Governor.

Is “appropriate” the word of the week?

You stared at the screen, waiting for the dots.

But nothing.

Maybe she was busy. Reading reports. Or trying not to think about last night—the way her long fingers trembled when she handed you the box with your secret phone.

You licked your lips, waiting.

Appropriate is the minimum expected at public events.

You know that.

Oh. Her sense of humor was as cold as her ice-blue eyes.

You smiled, putting the phone down for a moment. Pretended to pay attention to how young women have married early in a conservative culture and all statistics datas for that while your classmates mumbled something about what Freud would say about that.

But your mind was elsewhere.

The phone buzzed again.

But if you're unsure about what to wear, I can suggest something.

Or go with you.

You stopped breathing for a moment. Read the message over and over again—and still didn’t believe it. 

The first part sounded like her. The last? Not at all. 

You swallowed hard, heat crawling up your neck, your cheeks. Your heart pounding like crazy. Your legs fidgeting under the desk.

Go with her? You couldn’t even picture that happening. 

If this was a game... she had just moved a dangerous piece.

Will you come with me to the store? Your schedule must be far too busy for that, Governor.

Three dots.

Maybe I want to make sure you look appropriate.

Class ended without you hearing a word from the professor or anyone else, really. All you could focus on were the signals your body was sending.

You didn’t reply. You locked the phone the moment you saw Billy approaching, eyes full of curiosity.

“Okay,” he said, arms crossed, one brow raised. “Whose phone is that?” 

You tried to act casual, shoving the device into your backpack like it was a stolen cookie. “I bought it. It's a... a work phone.”

Billy let out a low whistle, overly suspicious. “Uh-huh. A brand new iPhone? You could have bought a second-hand one, but instead, you let some MILF take care of that, didn’t you?”

 “Billy!

He laughed, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Babe, you know I support all your life choices. Including being the sugar baby of a high-powered political Mommy.”

He winked, teasing.

And you froze.

This… this wasn’t really happening. But you weren’t being that obvious, were you?

Sugar Mommy.

The word lingered, hovered and echoed inside your head with a sinful taste.

First it was the perfume. Now the phone. Her constant presence. The subtle commands. Her voice, low and demanding appropriate behavior from you.

Mommy…

You shivered. Not from cold, but from something deeper—a recognition you didn’t want to have.

Billy was already walking down the hallway, distracted by his own phone, but you stood there one second longer, feeling the word echo inside you like an uncomfortable secret.

The kind you try to hide even from yourself.

[...]

You walked into the store with discomfort dripping down your spine.

The racks full of expensive dresses stared back at you, like they knew you didn’t have a cent to your name—and yet, here you were.

Because Agatha Harkness had told you to.

And when Agatha says something... you obey.

Mostly.

The saleswoman guided you with a trained smile and a quick glance up and down. You just smiled back, like someone who knew exactly what they were doing, even if you didn’t.

The dress was silk, ivory-colored. A soft V-neck, cinched waist, hem just below the knees.

Minimalist.

But if you turned around and bent just slightly, the curve of your lower back appeared in a way that was… delightfully strategic.

Simple, yet tempting.

You adjusted the mirror camera carefully. A little tilted. Perfect lighting. One arm raised, playing with your hair like a distraction, exposing the bare skin along your side.

A casually rehearsed pose.

Appropriate enough?

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself and stood there. Alone in the fitting room, heart pounding in your throat, heat between your thighs, and the echo of a single word.

Appropriate.

Then finally, finally—three dots and a reply.

Looks cheap.

You swallowed hard. That wasn’t what you were expecting. But of course—it was Agatha. A woman of taste. Of status. She’d know cheap fabric from a mile away.

You typed:

It’s what I can afford.

Simple and honest.

And the reply came quickly.

Pick something. I’ll cover it.

Oh God.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head against the fitting room wall.

Billy had joked. But now, his words echoed with a bitter truth:

'Sugar mommy vibes.'

You didn’t want this.

This wasn’t about money at all. But... there was something about being taken care of by her. Something that messed with your gut, that throbbed between your legs.

The perfume.

The phone.

Now the dress.

Mommy.

The word sounded like a whisper against the padded walls of the fitting room.

And you didn’t respond.

You just stared at your reflection and, for the first time, wondered what exactly was happening between the two of you.

Is this really necessary? 

Your whole body reacted. A shiver ran from your neck to the base of your spine.

Her words hit you like a hot breath against your ear. You bit your lip, legs clenching together, as if that could contain whatever was blooming inside you.

You stared at the screen, jaw tight.

Pick.

Like it was that simple.

Your thumb hovered.

Then stopped.

You took a deep breath.

Was this what she wanted? For you to depend on her? To become just another one of the many orbiting her world, grateful for golden crumbs?

You know I can’t accept that. I don’t take charity.

Three dots appeared almost instantly and stayed there, like she was picking each word with silver tweezers.

Don’t be foolish, girl. I’m not offering charity. I’m making sure you represent my name well.

Your stomach flipped.

She actually meant it… wanted you to accept. Wanted to see you in something beautiful. As if this wasn’t even about you, but about her.

And that’s where it got complicated.

You gripped the phone harder than necessary, like it was a tightrope strung between you both.

I’ll choose, but I’ll pay you back every cent, Agatha.

No justifications. No verbal surrender.

Just the weight of your pride, wrapped in future promises.

You expected a dry response. Maybe a "we’ll see."

But what came was a:

As long as it’s appropriate. 

You closed your eyes, biting your lip to keep from smiling. She’d been a smartass this whole time, and she was driving you insane on purpose.

The anger, the attraction, the challenge—they all burned the same now.

Appropriate.

You didn’t even know what that word meant in her mouth anymore.

You walked through the store with feline steps, eyeing the dresses differently now.

Armani. Versace. Elie Saab. Every rack seemed to glow under the boutique’s diffused lighting.

Perfect.

If Agatha wanted expensive, you’d give her expensive. She wanted representation? Fine! You’d make damn sure to be unforgettable.

The third dress you tried on felt like it had been molded onto your skin. A deep wine red, almost black, with heavy silk fabric and a neckline that was more a promise than a cut.

The thigh-high slit climbed like a bold whisper.

The fitting room mirror couldn’t hide the way your whole body reacted to the moment—especially with the cold air brushing your nipples, teasing the thin fabric with no shame.

You bit your lip, gave yourself one last look.

Armani. Appropriate enough, Governor?

The photo went. And you stood there, still in the dress, heart hammering, waiting for a sign.

Waiting for her to criticize the price, to scold you for extravagance.

But it didn’t come.

You checked your phone like a maniac.

No reply. 

And time stretched.

Your heart pounded with pure anxiety.

And then…

Three dots appeared.

They lingered.

Like she was holding back.

Reading. Watching. Feeling.

Your throat went dry. 

The dots vanished and you cursed under your breath, biting your lip too hard.

She deleted.

Rewrote.

Then it came, short, sharp.

And so very Agatha.

More than enough. I like it. Take it.

You laughed loudly. This woman was unbelievable. You bit your lip again to keep from grinning like a complete idiot at your phone.

You don’t reply.

You decide you deserve a moment to breathe—after all, she made you suffer through those minutes of waiting.

Sitting on the bench inside the fitting room, the dress still clinging to your body, the soft light highlighting your exposed skin, you felt everything at once—anger, desire, pride, confusion.

And worse, the unbearable urge to say yes to all of it.

[...]

Friday arrived in the blink of an eye. The driver opened the car door, and Seattle’s cold air embraced you like an elegant sigh.

The Fairmont Hotel looked like a palace that night. Illuminated facades, red carpets, discreet flashes.

You took a deep breath. Your heels tapped against the marble like part of a soundtrack.

Inside, it was a spectacle.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling like artificial constellations. A castle made entirely of champagne flutes rose at the center, gleaming under golden light like a monument to luxury.

You’d seen things like this in movies. Never in real life, for sure. 

Your fingers nervously slid over the silk of your dress. You moved carefully, aware of every curve, every glance.

The feel of that expensive fabric against your skin was a constant reminder of where you were and who had put you there.

From across the room, you saw Jennifer.

Surrounded by campaign directors and key investors. She smiled with the ease of someone who knew she was in complete control.

But when her eyes landed on you, her gaze stuck.

She raised an eyebrow. The smile was widened and surprised.

“Armani?” She asked, looking you up and down through perfectly curled lashes.

You just smiled—a small, elegant smile.

“The Governor demands excellence, doesn’t she?” you replied lightly, tilting your head just a little.

Oh God.

And how she did.

You were wearing the dress she bought. You smelled of white leather and vanilla—Cuir Béluga, the scent Agatha had insisted on.

And it made you feel so… deliciously owned.

That was it.

It wasn’t just a dress, a perfume, or a stupid phone.

It was the bitter, sweet taste of belonging to someone—without her ever having said it aloud. Every detail about you had passed the scrutiny of her cold, exacting gaze.

In some sick, twisted way, that turned you on and made you feel all gross down there.

You were being seen by her.

Woven for her.

And there was something deeply fucked up about it.

The dress cost more than you had in your bank account. The perfume was a luxury you hadn’t even heard of a week ago. But you wore both like a second skin—like silk and vanilla instructions. 

As if daring Agatha to look again and to want more you, to control more you.

You wanted her attention.

All of it.

Exclusively.

You wanted her to see you as something no one else was allowed to touch. 

A private piece of art.

And that feeling…

It was twisted.

Obsessive.

Pure fascination.

You wanted to be the most beautiful object in the room—the most dangerous, too.

And you wanted Agatha to know it to suffer for it. Because if you couldn’t happen, then let her burn wanting it.

Jennifer let out a low laugh. “Well, darling… looks like you understood the briefing better than most people here.”

You noticed the glances starting to turn your way. You were being watched, but for the first time, not like some invisible intern.

You were a mystery.

A woman who smelled like leather, dressed in luxury, with something in her eyes no one there could quite decode.

Jennifer showed you off.

Paraded you from table to table as her “latest secret weapon.” You smiled as you should—polished, poised.

But inside, everything in you was pulsing. 

Burning.

With each new introduction, you scanned the room with sharp eyes.

You spotted Steve Rogers with his blonde wife and kids, looking like an ad for family values. Bruce Banner was deep in debate with a pharmaceutical executive.

White, rich and straight men. 

Too secure in their roles, too trapped in their egos to notice the fire you were barely containing.

But then...

You saw her.

Agatha.

The world slowed down for a second, like in those stupid romance films you used to mock.

Now here you were, wearing an expression that probably made you look like some obsessed lunatic.

Which, well, you were when it came to her.

She walked through the ballroom like she owned it. Like the chandeliers, the Persian rug, the crystal flutes had been placed there solely to reflect her presence.

Dressed to kill.

All in black. A perfectly tailored suit hugged her waist with surgical precision. A deep V neckline called your name. Heels sharp and high, striking the marble like threats.

God.

You were salivating.  

How could you not?

She looked like a damn panther entering the room. Cold, dangerous, fully in control and yet hers were the hungriest eyes of the night.

For a second, you forgot where you were.

Forgot who you were.

You wanted to cross the room like a bomb made of desire and tear off that suit with your teeth.

Fall to your knees right there. But you held yourself back.

Of course you did.

Because you were nothing.

But the strange thing was... you didn’t seem like nothing to her.

To her, you looked like a problem.

A mystery.

A secret made to be unraveled, layer by layer, by the right hands.

And there was only one person in that entire room with hands capable of undressing you without touching you.

Your eyes met for just one second.

And she stopped walking.

The only thing the two of you did was look.

But it was enough to set the ground between you on fire.

She smiled.

Barely.

Only with her lips.

Just for you.

You smiled back.

And the world started spinning again.

Slower.

Hotter.

You didn’t know if she wanted to punish you for being this beautiful… Or if she wanted to reward you.

But you knew one thing: She was coming.

And you were no longer in control of your body.

Your legs trembled in those heels, barely holding you up. Your clit throbbed with a growing pulse that made you moan softly, pressing your thighs together.

Alcohol.

You needed something strong.

Agatha drew nearer, like a gravitational force. Greeting everyone in her path with that voice that always sounded like she knew more than anyone else.

You felt the air disappear from your lungs. The whole time, people spoke to her.

She smiled. Nodded.

But her eyes—that impossible blue-green—stayed on you. Rubbing over every inch of your exposed skin with a gaze only she possessed.

You tried to keep your smile, trying not to bite your lip. But the heat inside you was so intense, you were sure you were sweating in a refrigerated ballroom.

And then, the spell broke.

Tony Stark appeared. Of course he did. One of the major investors. The mayor of Seattle. A whirlwind of energy and charm with a stupidly perfect quiff.

Bourbon in one hand, arrogance in the other.

“There she is! Our future governor!” He announced, like she was an old friend or a fucking trophy.

Before you could blink, he had already grabbed her arm, pulling her away, speaking too loud, laughing too loud. Effortlessly placing himself between her and you.

Agatha hesitated, for a split second. A single misstep in her heel.

And looked back.

At you.

You met her eyes, clearly hating this.

But fuck…

Who were you to feel anything toward her?

A nothing. Right?

And yet… Something in her eyes said she didn’t want to go.

But it was.

Because she too was a prisoner of her own name, her own image. 

And you? A forbidden distraction.

You turned, still trembling, and walked to the bar like someone fleeing a fire.

“A Black Rose.” You said to the bartender, who nodded.

The glass was placed in front of you with a soft, elegant clink. A faint aroma of bourbon and cognac into the air before you even took the first sip.

You were just about to bring the drink to your lips when a soft voice, low and absurdly self-assured, appeared at your side:

“A rose for a rose.”

You turned.

Rio Vidal, President of the Chamber.

Fuck.

She was stunning.

Beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Like those carnivorous flowers that lure you in with scent and kill with a touch.

Her skin looked like polished gold and satiny.

Her eyes were large, brown, lined in sharp black that accentuated both her cutting intelligence and the elegant boredom of someone who’d seen too much to be impressed by anything here.

But there was curiosity in them.

Directed at you.

Rio looked at you like she was trying to figure out what exactly Jennifer Barkley had dug up. Or maybe… what Agatha Harkness had chosen.

You tried to hold your posture. Held the glass delicately, like nothing was out of place inside you. 

But it was, everything was.

She leaned in, wearing a red two-piece suit that looked straight out of Vogue. Young, powerful, connected and, apparently, very interested.

“So you’re Barkley’s newest secret weapon,” she said, not smiling, but her voice was laced with an irony that flirted with charm. “I confess I expected something a bit more… institutional. Less Armani, more H&M.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I expected the top seats in office to be less… cinematic.”

She laughed. A short laugh, but real. And she stayed there… watching you, for a long moment.

You felt the heat rise up your neck. Her gaze wasn’t like Agatha’s. There was no restraint, no judgment. It was ravenous. Rio was deciding whether she wanted to play with you.

And all signs pointed to yes.

But before she could toss another quip, a short woman with her hair in a low bun approached and whispered something in her ear, and Rio nodded.

“It’s good to see young women like you claiming your space,” she said. “Welcome, darling. Enjoy the party.”

She picked up her drink, raised it slightly in parting, and walked away.

My god…

Do all these women really have to be so hot and powerful?

You downed the rest of the Black Rose in one gulp. The flavor burned your throat. A burn that didn’t match what was happening inside you.

You were dizzy, but not just from the alcohol.

It was something deeper.

More dangerous.

A volatile mix of desire, resentment, and fear of drowning in this world of perfect women—rich, confident, high-ranking, full of secrets and sharp teeth behind charming smiles.

The music softened. The lights shifted. Movement on stage, a mic being tapped.

The host stepped up, began speaking, listing names, parties, polite thank-yous.

You didn’t hear any of it.

You were too busy staring into the bottom of your empty glass, feeling your lipstick wear off your lips.

Another drink appeared and you didn't needed asked for this one this time. Some men started giving speeches—the usual kind.

Talks of progress and family, national pride and moral duty, all the crap you’d heard your whole life in a hundred different tailored-suit variations.

Steve Rogers stepped up. A monument to outdated masculinity. He was applauded, loudly.

You didn’t clap, of course.

You were too busy trying not to think. Trying not to look.

Banner came next. Softer, more measured. Still cut from the same cloth. You were halfway through your second drink, and your legs were starting to tingle.

And then…

Agatha Harkness was announced.

And the world seemed to hold its breath.

You couldn’t describe it, not even drunk. Because alcohol strips the filters away and leaves only truth, raw and glittering—like the subtle, dangerous stones on her necklace.

She walked onstage like someone stepping into her own empire. Steady, deliberate steps.

The room fell completely silent. Every eye turned to her and she looked at no one. She simply walked to the center, as if she were the center.

Someone adjusted the mic, and when she spoke… oh God...

“We live in a state that likes to pretend it’s progressive. That boasts its indie coffee shops, electric bikes, its eco friendly façade. But the truth… the real truth… is that our young people are still dying from lack of perspective. Single mothers are still choosing between diapers and rent, and our elected officials…”

A brief, lethal pause.

“…still treat people like statistics.”

A heavy silence followed, but she held it.

Because Agatha knew: silence is also oratory.

“I don’t want to be just another photograph on the governor’s wall. I want to be the woman who pushed until the broken structure finally gave way. I want to build new pillars where the people who hold up the foundation: women, immigrants, the youth, are heard and respected.”

Agatha wasn’t just being heard, she was being listened to. Every comma that left her lips had the room spellbound. Lips you desperately wanted to taste again.

“I’m not here to maintain old deals. I’m here to break obsolete contracts.”

Her hands gripped the sides of the podium. Her eyes glinted, and it wasn’t just the lights.

It was real emotion. Righteous anger. A beauty born of fire within, not the outline without.

It felt like she was speaking to you, like each word was being sewn beneath your skin. Each sentence, a tug between your thighs.

A shiver in your chest, your throat dry. You gripped your glass like it was the only thing keeping you from imploding.

She was brilliant.

And fuck, how you hated her for it.

For making you feel this way. Small, turned on, useless and completely undone.

“They’ll say I’m radical, dangerous and maybe I am. But only to those who’ve profited from the suffering of others. To them, I am a real threat.”

Applause.

Not polite. Not obligatory. It was real. It started slow, then swelled. People rose to their feet, clapping like their hearts were in their hands.

You didn’t clap.

You were trembling.

Because in that packed ballroom, on your second drink—maybe third, in your expensive dress and that suffocating perfume that she’d probably chosen with you in mind… there was one feeling stronger than all the rest.

Lust.

Lust for her.

For that woman who spoke from the gut and still managed to be impossibly elegant.

Who called you foolish over text and now had a room full of grown adults drooling in admiration. Who could destroy a government—or destroy you.

You wanted to kneel.

But instead, you drank. Again. Until the ice hit the bottom.

How dare she?

How dare she be so smart, so beautiful, so right? And still so fucking untouchable and admirable.

You were wrong.

Agatha Harkness is a big deal.

The music was absurdly refined soft strings, a melancholy oboe. The kind of thing that sticks in your ears like perfume on a designer shirt collar.

You rolled your eyes.

Rich people parties suck, the phrase echoed like a mantra, trying to mask what you really felt.

You turned your gaze toward the dance floor and your heart twisted.

Agatha.

Dancing.

With Tony Stark.

His hands were on her hips. Too low to be respectful, too natural to be accidental.

The way he laughed near her ear, like he knew every secret hidden behind that dark lipstick. The way she smiled back—subtle, professional, almost automatic… and yet, she smiled.

Something caught in your throat, a lump that wasn’t physical.

It was wounded pride.

It was jealousy.

It was a sharp sting of rage that didn’t have a name.

You tried to focus on your drink, but you couldn’t. Your eyes kept drifting back, always to her.

And her?

She was spinning.

Black suit, deep neckline, hair streaked with light that framed her face, as strong and unreadable as the self-control she pretended to have.

You knew Agatha well enough from a handful of messages, from a few searing seconds…

You knew she wasn’t comfortable.

Not with Stark.

But she was good at pretending. Too good. Like a woman who could smile through her own funeral.

And that only made you want her more.

You imagined being in his place. Your hands on her hips. Your voice, low and filthy, in her ear, making her lose control.

Your clit throbbed again.

Fuck.

You downed your drink in one go, the alcohol burning your throat reminding at your place—a nothing. But a nothing with a body, with a fucking need.

But you refused.

Slamming the glass on the table, you stood too quickly, feeling the alcohol rush through your veins.

You needed air.

From this. From everything. From her.

You shoved the glass door open too hard, nearly stumbling on your heels as you stepped outside.

The cool air slapped you across the face, but it wasn’t enough.

Not the wind, not the silence, not even the solitude of the small terrace wrapped in warm lights could rip Agatha out of you.

You leaned on the railing, hands trembling.

You had promised.

Promised it would mean nothing. Promised to keep your distance. To stay professional. To keep your dignity.

And yet, here you were.

Drunk on whiskey, on jealousy, on want.

Your mind spinning with images of her dancing with that fucking Stark. His hands, her smile, that look... What the hell kind of look was that?

You bit your lower lip until it almost bled and you hated yourself for feeling so much.

For not being cold like her.

For needing her to see you.

Then you heard it—footsteps. Slow and steady.

She stopped a few paces behind you. The sound of heels ceased, but you didn’t turn.

“Enjoying the view?” Her voice sliced the air like silk wrapped around a blade.

You closed your eyes for a second, feeling the breeze. “I thought you were busy.”

“I was,” she replied, light, almost cynical. “But you vanished. You looked so unsteady.”

You laughed, dry and humorless.

Silence.

She took another step, but you still didn’t look.

The woman was behind you now, close enough that her body heat seeped through the fabric of your dress into your skin.

“How observant,” you replied, still facing away. “But don’t worry, Governor. I’m not your problem. Never was.”

The silence between you turned heavy, thick with everything unsaid.

You turned slightly, finally facing her. She looked perfect, as always.

Rebellious hair, tailored suit that fit like a weapon. But her eyes—her eyes were hard.

Furious.

“Don’t play the martyr with me,” she said, voice low and measured. “You’re my responsibility now. Whether you like it or not.”

You let out a short, sarcastic laugh and stepped closer.

“Oh yeah?” You spat the words like venom. “Your responsibility? Tell me, Agatha! Is that how you take care of what’s yours? Twirling around with some billionaire like a desperate debutante?”

Her jaw clenched.

You hit a nerve.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it?” You pushed further, your blood boiling. “Because it sure as hell feels like it. Like everything between us is a goddamn minefield.”

She narrowed her eyes, like she was barely holding herself together.

“You think this is easy for me?” she whispered, voice taut with tension. “You think I don’t see it? That I don’t feel it?”

You felt it too, and it was overwhelming.

“Then why the fuck do you run?” You snapped, voice cracking, eyes glossing.

Agatha didn’t move.

The warm light of the terrace bathed her face as if the universe had paused, waiting for her answer.

She blinked. Just once, but it was enough.

You saw it.

The wall, that one built with steel and silence—had cracked.

“Because I have to,” she said and her voice wasn’t cold anymore. It was flesh. It was soul. “Because if I don’t pull back... this will become a real problem. And then I’ll ruin us. I’ll ruin you.”

How could you tell her that was exactly what you wanted?

To be hers.

You scoffed under your breath, eyes darting away.

“You can dance with him, but not with me.” Your voice came out wounded, bitter.

Agatha rolled her eyes, exhaustion and nerves painting every line of her face. 

“God... you’re drunk. Completely unhinged.”

Maybe you were. Maybe not.

But right now, you didn’t care.

Ignoring the warning, you stepped forward.

And again.

Until you were so close, the air between you turned electric.

Without asking you wrapped your arms around her neck, pressing yourself into her with reckless need.

“Don’t you think I’m pretty anymore, Governor?” You rubbed against her like a bitch in heat.

Desperate.

Not sure if it was lust or liquor driving you.

“Step away,” Agatha said. But she didn’t move. Her voice came out low, hoarse, like every word burned her throat.“You promised.”

It was almost a plea. 

Almost a warning.

You rested your forehead on her shoulder, lips brushing the heat of her neck. 

“I did promise,” you whispered, voice shaky. “But you were so good up there…”

Your lips grazed her skin again, and both of you shivered.

“You deserve it, Governor,” you kissed her neck, begging. “Just for tonight…”

And that’s when she broke.

Agatha growled like a wounded animal, like she was fighting something bigger than herself.

Suddenly, she grabbed your arm and started walking. You barely kept up, heels catching as you stumbled after her, unsure if you were about to fight or sin.

The elevator felt like a forbidden shrine when the doors closed behind you.

Inside, you kept going.

You pressed into her, needy, ravenous—mouth chasing any patch of skin—while her fingers dug into your hips.

“Behave.” She growled through gritted teeth, trying to hold herself together.

But you could feel it, she was melting.

Then, the ding of the elevator.

The room.

The door barely closed.

Agatha pinned you against it with her whole body. Her scent was a spell. Her heat, a fever.

You panted, unsure where fear ended and relief began. She gripped the back of your neck, holding you still, her eyes burning.

“Just tonight.” She said against your mouth.

And then she took you.

Like someone claiming a secret.

Like someone kissing ruin and tasting salvation.

~*~

Welcome to the Hypocritical World of Agatha Harkness! And I'm sorry... Please, Saturday is right there 🙂

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