#man could’ve easily just stayed quiet

[chaotic-bells]

Dude is out there trying to sell out (ridiculously expensive) LATAM shows and alienating half of his fan base at the same time. Good luck, I guess?

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “get you there”.

| summary | haechan fucking you until you see stars and pass out. | cw | smut, oral (f), unprotected sex, squirt, passing out 😔, pet names. | a/n | i did this as a way to redeem myself for my accidental clickbait, FORGIVE ME YALL 🥺

To be honest, you had no idea how long you'd been there, lost in it.

It started off silly. Just a casual comment about your now very inactive sex life, shared with your friend, Haechan.

A small get-together had happened at your place earlier that night, but somehow, Haechan ended up staying way longer than planned. The conversation had drifted into the late hours, soft voices under dim lights, both of you relaxed in that quiet, familiar way that only years of friendship could create.

You talked about past relationships, about the weird things people did in bed, the good, the bad, the awkward. The air between you was even more comfortable than usual. Maybe that’s why things slipped out so easily. Things you never thought you’d admit. Things like the fact that you’ve never actually had an orgasm.

That—that caught his attention.

He looked at you a little differently after that, a spark lighting in his eyes as he leaned in just a bit and said, “I can make you get there, if you let me.”

Stupid man with stupid words. And you were just as stupid, because you really said yes.

Which brings you to the present—legs spread wide, back arching, and Haechan’s mouth glued to your cunt, his tongue working your soaked hole with shameless dedication.

How long had you been like this? You weren’t sure anymore.

Your legs were starting to ache from the position, trembling from the strain and the overstimulation. You’d long lost count of how many times he’d made you cum, even though he’d told you to keep track.

Your fingers were buried in his messy hair, tugging hard, not sure if you wanted to pull him closer or push him away. But he wasn’t giving you a choice, his tongue was relentless, thrusting into you with obscene precision, his mouth noisy, wet, ravenous.

His arms were hooked beneath your thighs, hands gripping them tightly as he anchored you in place, pulling you down even harder against his mouth.

He was devouring you, absolutely shameless, his nose brushing against your sensitive little bundle of nerves with every eager thrust of his tongue.

The room was filled with the slick, lewd sounds of wet sucking, your broken moans spilling freely, mixing with the soft, desperate hums coming from his throat, he was enjoying this. And you could feel it.

Not just in the way he moaned into you, but in the subtle grind of his hips against the mattress beneath him, chasing relief he was clearly denying himself in favor of feasting on you.

That familiar pressure began to build in your core once again, your body wound so tight it barely took anything now. And before you could even brace for it, you were cumming. Again.

Haechan groaned into you, loud and guttural, as his tongue welcomed your release like he’d been starving for it. He drank every last drop, licking you clean with long, purposeful strokes, your soft mewls only making his smile grow against your soaked, trembling cunt.

Honestly, you could’ve come again just from the sight of it.

He slowly hovered over you, capturing your lips in a messy, fevered kiss, his tongue coated with the taste of you, of both of you. It made your head spin.

You were so dazed, so far gone, that you didn’t even register the sound of his pants being pushed down, or the way he settled smoothly between your legs, hands caressing your thighs like they were something sacred.

Not until you felt him.

His cock, heavy and flushed, dragging through your folds, the tip brushing against your clit with maddening precision.

You gasped, overwhelmed, your hands flying to his arms as if to keep yourself ground, or stop him.

“Hyuck,” you whimpered, breathless and spent. “Gimme a break… please.”

He dragged his tongue slowly along your neck, warm and wet, just as his cock slid up and down your slick folds teasingly. The tip circled your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make your walls flutter around nothing.

“A break?” he murmured against your skin, lips curving into a smirk as he nibbled at your pulse. “After everything I gave you?” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his cock still resting right at your entrance, heat pulsing between you. “You’re so selfish, you know that?”

His hips rolled forward just enough for the head of his cock to catch on your entrance again, making you twitch. He didn’t push in, of course he didn’t. He just stayed there, smirking.

“All those pretty sounds you made,” he whispered, trailing his hand up your thigh, spreading you wider. “All those orgasms I handed to you…”

He nipped at your jaw, gentle but firm.

“And now you want to rest?” He chuckled, the sound vibrating through your skin. “After laying there, whining, taking everything like a needy little pillow princess?”

His fingers found your clit again, drawing slow, torturous circles, just light enough to make your whole body jolt, overstimulated and aching.

“You should say thank you, pretty,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours. “And let me take care of you, hm?”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as your hips gave a weak jerk toward his fingers, your body betraying any protest your lips might’ve formed. You were exhausted, wrecked, even, but the way he touched you, spoke to you, looked at you… there was no way you could say no.

Your fingers curled tightly around his biceps, bracing yourself. “T… Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible, thick with embarrassment.

He chuckled, a low, condescending sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “I didn’t know you were obedient like that,” he teased, voice dripping with mockery.

And before you could even fire back, before you could think, he drove into you with a sharp, hard thrust. Your breath caught in your throat, a startled gasp slipping out as your body clenched around him instantly, your walls molding to every inch, the sudden stretch stealing whatever witty comeback you had.

His moan was downright pornographic and it had you clenching around him nonstop. The way he throbbed inside you, thick and heavy, made it obvious he was in heaven, or at least somewhere damn close.

He started to move, slow at first, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that let you feel every single inch of him. And fuck, he was savoring it. Savoring the way your slick, gummy walls pulled him in greedily, clenching and fluttering like your body didn’t want to let him go.

But his slow, gentle thrusts didn’t last long, his hands clamped down on your hips, fingers digging in with an almost bruising grip as he picked up the pace. His thrusts turned rough, relentless, his hips slamming into yours with enough force to rock your body up the bed with each movement, as he pounded your already sensitive, abused pussy.

Slick, wet slaps echoed through the room, the sound of your cunt squelching obscene as he drove in deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot again and again like he knew it by heart.

“Fuck,” he moaned, voice ragged, breath catching as you clenched down on him tight. “Gimme one—fuck, baby, gimme one more.”

It wasn’t like he even needed to ask. At this point, you had no control over your body, especially not with the way he was pounding into you while his fingers pinched your clit, only to soothe it with a teasing, gentle rub right after.

Your entire body responded to him like a live wire, tension building faster than you could process. Then, without warning, a gush of wetness burst from you, soaking his lower abdomen and the sheets below as your body trembled violently, nerves on fire from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck—look at that,” he moaned, eyes wide in surprise, a slightly disbelieving smile curling on his lips. “So messy for me. So fucking good.”

You spasmed beneath him, body jerking as every muscle finally gave out, going limp all at once. He was so turned on by how completely he’d unraveled you, it took him a few seconds to even register it, until he stilled inside you, balls deep, as he spilled hot ropes of cum into your waiting cunt.

“Shit,” he hissed, breath ragged, brushing damp hair from your face and noticing how your eyes fluttered, your body still twitching softly. “You passed out?” he asked with a soft laugh as he leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Yeah… I’ll take that as a thank you.”

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[missdaddycool]

Joel miller x wife reader

Summary : Joel work everyday for creat the most perfect room for their baby

A/N : hi lovely people, i decided make part two of my last short story you can find on my masterlist if you want read the p.1 tell me what you think in comments and if I should make p.3 :)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆ ⋆｡‧˚

Jackson 📍

The first hammer strike came just after dawn.

The sky was still bruised with night, the kind of pale indigo that never quite turned blue anymore. The kind of morning where the silence pressed in. But Joel was already up, sleeves rolled, work gloves tight on his hands.

Y/N heard him moving around before the sun had fully risen. She turned in bed, hand slipping over the swell of her belly, and listened to the low mutter of tools being moved, wood scraping against stone. He’d started without breakfast. Again.

She pulled herself upright, every movement slow, careful. At seven months pregnant, her body wasn’t hers anymore—it was a house being lived in by someone else, and she was just the walls creaking. But she didn’t complain. Not much use for it. Joel had taken on all the worry in the room and then some.

Out in the main room of their house in Jackson, Joel was hunched over a spread of rough wood slats, measuring and marking, the furrow between his brows already carved deep. Sawdust floated in the shafts of light like falling ash. He was building a crib. From scratch.

“Morning,” she said softly.

He looked up, startled like she’d caught him doing something wrong. “Shit—did I wake you?”

“No louder than the kid kicking me in the ribs all night.”

He gave a tired smile, barely there, and wiped a hand down his jaw. “Almost done with the frame. Thought I’d get the sanding started today. Wanna make sure there ain’t no splinters.”

Y/N leaned against the doorframe, hand resting on the top of her belly. “You’ve been working on that thing like it’s gonna be inspected by the goddamn president.”

Joel didn’t laugh. His hands stilled. “Just want it right.”

She could see it then—underneath the worn denim, the rough hands, the permanent scowl—he was scared. Joel Miller wasn’t a man easily shaken. But this? This shook him. Not the building. The becoming.

“I know you do,” she said gently, crossing to him and laying a hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to do all this alone.”

Joel shook his head, eyes on the crib’s unfinished railings. “I do.”

And that was the truth of it. He needed to. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was love, but either way, it kept him up at night.

He hadn’t said it out loud, not once, but Y/N could feel it in every screw turned too tight, every piece of wood planed down to a shine. He remembered Sarah in everything he touched. And Ellie, too—somewhere in the ache behind his eyes. This time had to be different. He wasn’t gonna fuck it up again.

By midday, he’d moved on to painting. A soft sage green, hand-mixed. The color didn’t scream baby, but it was peaceful, quiet. Like he hoped their world could be—at least in one room.

Y/N brought him water, sandwiches, sat nearby in the rocking chair he’d dragged in the day before. She watched him work, watched the tension in his back, the way he squinted at every edge like he was afraid it might bite.

“You think the kid’ll sleep in it?” he asked finally, voice low, like the question might splinter the silence.

“Probably not right away,” she said with a smile. “But eventually, yeah. They’ll love it.”

He gave a grunt that could’ve meant anything.

“Joel,” she said, “they’re not gonna care if the crib’s perfect. They’re gonna care if you’re there.”

His shoulders tensed. Then dropped. “What if I ain’t enough?”

“ You are.” She said it without hesitation. “You’ve already done more than most would. You’re here. You stayed. That’s everything.”

He looked over at her, eyes shadowed with something old and worn but still open—still trying. “Don’t wanna let ’em down.”

“Then don’t. Be here. Change diapers. Lose sleep. Love them hard.”

He looked at the crib, now painted, drying in the corner like some kind of promise. Then he looked at her. And the smallest, realest smile touched his mouth.

“I can do that.”

She smiled back, reached for his hand. His fingers were calloused and rough with work, but he held her like she was the only soft thing left in the world.

Outside, the wind picked up. Snow would come soon. But inside, in that small nursery of wood and paint and sweat, there was warmth. Not safety—not in this world—but something like hope.

Joel squeezed her hand. “I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

And for once, they believed it.

[thedilfdiaries]

Love me like a loaded gun

fuckbuddy!jJavier Peña x f!reader // 1.3k

There's things I wanna say to you but I'll just let you live. Like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did.There's things I wanna talk about but better not to give.

summary: Javier Peña is a man who never stays, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, seeking solace in the only way he knows how.

-or-

my interpretation of Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey if it was a Javi fic

warnings: mdni, 18+, unprotected emotions, unprotected p in v, a lil fingering, a lot of angst

notes: this is the doings of this tiktok (which I suggest you watch the 23 seconds of it to get in your feels before reading) AND the song that was on the tiktok Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey and then I heard 2 Hands by Tate McRae and it was over for me. Thank you @milla-frenchy for doing what you did. Thank you @thundermartini my baby for reading this lil guy over for me and always hyping me up and cheerleading me with everything especially my moodboard crisis that seems to be never-ending.love you both so much 💖

masterlist

Javier Peña is a hard man to hold onto. He never stays in one place too long. Never lets anyone get too close. You’ve known that since the moment you met him. 

But that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door in the middle of the night, his knuckles rapping against the wood like he already knows you’ll let him in.  

You shouldn’t.  

But you do.  

Javi steps inside without a word, the familiar scent of cigarettes and whiskey clinging to him, sinking into the space between you. He looks like he had a long night—tie loosened, hair a mess, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on his shoulders.  

You cross your arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You could’ve called.”  

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it’s humorless. “Didn’t think I needed to.”  

He doesn’t. He never does. And that’s the problem.  

You watch him shrug off his jacket and take off his tie, tossing them over the back of the couch like he belongs here. Like this is just another night, another excuse, another way to forget whatever the hell’s been haunting him.  

Your stomach twists.  

“Mmm, guess not.” You say with a voice softer than you mean it to be.  

Javi looks at you—really looks. His dark eyes flicker with something unreadable, something caught between hunger and hesitation. He’s good at this game, at keeping his distance even when he’s got his hands all over you.  

You should tell him no. Should tell him that you’re done being the thing he comes to when he needs to bury the parts of himself he won’t face.  

But then he steps closer.  

“You want me to leave?” His voice is low, rough, but there’s something vulnerable under it, something he tries to hide.  

You could say yes. You should say yes.  

Instead, you reach for him.  

His lips crash against yours before you can even think, all teeth and desperation, almost angry, like he’s trying to take something from you—like he needs this more than he should. Your fingers slide into his hair, and he groans into your mouth, deep and ragged.  

Your fingers move down and twist into his shirt, holding on like you can stop him from slipping away. But he always does, in the end.

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the heat of him through his clothes, through yours. You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how familiar this all is, how much you want him even when you know he won’t stay.  

It’s always like this. Heated, frantic, like he’s running from something. Like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

You let him back you toward the bed, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders.

You break the kiss just enough to whisper, “Javi.”  

He breathes against your skin, his lips dragging along your jaw, down your throat. “Don’t,” he murmurs. “Don’t say my name like that.”  

Like you mean it. Like this means something.  

But it does.  

And you both know it.  

His hands slide under your shirt, rough fingertips against soft skin, and you shiver at the way he touches you—possessive, desperate, like he’s trying to brand himself into you. Like he wants to forget everything except the way you feel beneath him.  

Without a word, he grips the hem of your shirt and tugs it upward, his knuckles skimming along your sides as he peels it over your head. His eyes darken as he takes you in—bare skin, breathless anticipation, the way your chest rises and falls beneath his gaze.

His fingers find the clasp of your bra, unhooking it with a practiced ease. He pushes the straps from your shoulders, letting them slide down your arms before tossing it aside.

Javi’s hands are on you in an instant, palms rough against the softness of your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, teasing them into hardened peaks.

You let him pull you down onto the sheets, let him hold you the way he only does in the dark. His hands are reverent, his mouth sinful, his body pressing into yours like he can carve himself into your bones. And you let him, because you need this too.

And he doesn't hold back.

Javi is all over you, his hands skimming down your stomach, pushing your pants and underwear off with the kind of urgency that makes your breath catch. His fingers brush against the heat between your legs, and he exhales sharply, like the feel of you alone is enough to unravel him.

"Always so fuckin' wet for me," he mutters against your throat, his voice rough, almost angry. The way his fingers stroke over you is anything but. It's worship. It's desperation. He spreads you open, a slow, teasing drag of his fingers before he slides one inside you.

Your back arches. "Javi—”

He cuts you off with his mouth, swallowing your moan as he works another finger inside you, curling them just right, like he knows your body better than his own. Maybe he does. Maybe that's why he keeps coming back.

His free hand grips your thigh, spreading you wider, keeping you in place like he needs you to stay right there—needs this to last. But it never does.

You reach for him, tugging at his belt, desperate for more, and he lets you, pushing his jeans down just enough to free himself. He’s already hard, already aching, the tip dragging through the slick between your thighs before he presses in, slow and deep.

Your head falls back, a whimper catching in your throat as he stretches you open, as your body takes him the way it always does. Like he belongs there. Like you were made for this.

Javi groans, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

His hips start to move, slow at first, deep, like he wants to drag it out, like he wants to feel every inch of you. But then your fingers dig into his back, your nails biting into his skin, and something in him snaps.

He thrusts harder, deeper, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. You cling to him, gasping his name, and he hates it, hates the way it makes something crack open inside him, so he kisses you rough and messy, like he can make you forget what you just said.

You don’t.

And neither does he.

It’s fast and desperate, a little too rough, a little too much, like you’re both trying to take something from each other that neither of you can really give.

But right now, it’s enough.

For a moment, it feels like he’s yours.

For a moment, you can pretend.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit, dragging you closer to the edge, until you're falling, unraveling beneath him. You cry out, your body tightening around him, and Javi follows right after, a shuddering groan pressed into your skin as he spills inside you.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy breathing. The warmth of his body still pressed against yours.

Then, like always, the moment starts to slip away.

Javi pulls out too soon. Rolls onto his back. And when you glance at him, when you see the way he stares at the ceiling like he’s already somewhere else, the ache in your chest spreads like wildfire.

You don’t ask him to stay. You don’t ask what this is or what it could be.

And he doesn’t offer, doesn't pretend this is anything more. 

Because Javi loves like he fights—reckless, desperate, and always ready to leave before the dust settles.

And you let him.

Even when it breaks you.

[aemondsbabe]

Little Love

summary: aegon comes to your chambers crying and needing comfort, but what happens when your husband walks in?

pairing: aemond targaryen x reader x aegon ii targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, mommy kink!! i cannot stress that enough!! astronomical amounts of titty suckin', nipple/breast play, oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, piv, angst but happy ending, hand on throat but no choking, subby aegon, breeding kink, creampie, consensual threeway relationship, let me know if i missed any!

word count: 6k oops

a/n: header image is for aesthetics only & is not used to describe the reader! a huge huge thanks to my honorary wife & this fics adoptive mother @toms-cherry-trees 🩵 thank you for all your help with this one!!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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“Aww,” you coo softly, eyes filled with adoration as you study the man on your lap, “Are you mommy’s precious little baby? Hm?” You brush a silvery lock of hair off of his face, trailing your thumb over the light flush across his cheeks as your other hand rubs soothingly over one of his biceps. 

Aegon hummed and nodded as best he could around your pert nipple, bright eyes lazily blinking up at you. One of your thumbs gently sweeps away tears from the corners of his eyes while you gently rock him as best you can, gazing at him with a smile. You stay quiet for a while, taking pleasure in the way he clings to you so needily, the way he’s looking at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. 

You can’t help the sigh that leaves your lips at the feel of his warm mouth around your nipple, his tongue flicking and teasing at the sensitive skin as he carefully suckles it in his mouth. “Shh,” you whisper, calming Aegon when you see another wave of tears threatening to spill from his violet eyes, “I promise there is nothing to worry yourself over, my little prince,” you tell him softly, trying to squeeze him somehow closer to you, “Just rumors, nothing more.”

You couldn’t help but feel protective of Aegon, your heart twisting as you remember the state he was in at the beginning of the evening when he had first loudly burst into your chamber. 

The fire in the hearth warmed your skin as you sat on the sofa in the small sitting area of yours and Aemond’s chambers, easily guiding the needle through the fabric of your embroidery as you hummed a song. With a sigh, you held the hoop up and tilted your head as you examined your work, nearly dropping it when you jumped at the sound of the heavy doors of your chambers crashing open. 

You jumped up, whirling around to see who could’ve possibly been disturbing you in such a manner, already glaring before you’d even turned your head. Your narrowed eyes widened however when you saw Aegon striding toward you, a pained look on his face.

“Is it true?” He had questioned, coming to a stop a little ways away from you, voice shaking even through the angry tone of his voice. 

“Is what true?” Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion as you clasped your hands in front of you. 

His frown had faltered for a second, eyes already sparkling with tears as his hands clenched at his sides. “The whispers in court,” he explained, gaze flitting from you to the stone floor, “The rumors about – about you and my brother.” 

Shaking your head, you had carefully walked toward him, “My love, I am sure they are untrue,” your voice had been gentle, “I cannot even imagine what they would be ab—“ 

“That you’re pregnant!” His voice was thick with unshed tears as he spit out the words, “That you must be!” This had left you dumbfounded, unable to do anything but gawk at him, which had only served to upset him further. He had sighed heavily and fixed you with a tearful gaze, bottom lip quivering, “So it’s true?” 

“No!” You rushed out, emphatically shaking your head as you hurried to him. “My love, my sweet baby,” your fingers carded through his hair when you reached him. You had gently pulled his gaze to yours before you had cupped his cheeks, your fingers already damp from the tears streaking them, “That is nothing more than court gossip, I promise you. I swear upon the Mother, you’ve nothing to worry about.” 

The dam had finally broken as he hiccuped out a sob, his shoulders sagging. “D-Do you mean it?” He’d asked meekly, voice so small you had felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

“Oh,” you had taken his hands in yours and led him to your bed, sitting him down at the edge as his body started shaking with sobs. Sitting next to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck, gently cupping the back of his head as he slumped against you and rested a wet cheek against your chest. “My little prince, I swear to you I do,” you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, rocking the two of you together, “You know Aemond and I would not do that to you.” 

His fingers had clung to your sides as he sobbed, hands bunching in the fabric of your gown. “They’re saying it’s been long enough,” he’d said mournfully, “Th-That it’s been three moons since the w-wedding and y-you must be by now.” 

You’d stroked his hair comfortingly and rested your chin on the top of his head, feeling his hot tears trail down your cleavage, “You know your brother and I would speak with you first, my love. We would not leave you out, you know how this arrangement works.”

The only answer you got was a small sniffle, his shoulders still trembling, although not nearly as badly. You had let him calm down for a moment more, rocking him against you while you hummed his favorite song. 

Eventually, he had calmed down, his shoulders steadying and his breath evening out. You had almost assumed he was asleep before you heard him whimper against your collarbone, pink lips mouthing needily at your skin. Your lips had quirked up in a smile as you had gently pulled him up, his small whine making you chuckle as you looked into his eyes.

“Do you need some time with mommy, my little love?”

Which is how you found yourself in your current position – reclined on the plush pillows of your bed with Aegon’s head in your lap, his lips eagerly suckling at your breast, not getting any real milk but the action calmed him still. You shiver slightly in the cool breeze that wafts in from the balcony, the air growing colder now that the sun has set. 

Aegon sighs contentedly, his warm breath fanning across your chest as small whimpers and whines slip past his lips. The small noises make you chuckle as you run a hand over his bare chest, “You’re my favorite little prince, do you know that?” You whisper, softly tickling his side enough to make him giggle and squirm. He smiles around your breast and nods happily, his nose digging into the fat of your breast as he presses himself more firmly against you. 

You stiffen a little at the sound of your chamber door opening once again, unable to see the entryway from the decorative screen you and your husband had placed in front of the bed. You make no move to disturb Aegon, though – bless the poor maids but there is not much they haven’t seen already. It is not a maid, however, that rounds the corner and you are instead met with the wide, surprised eye of your husband. 

After a second, the shock melts off of his face and he smirks at the sight of the two of you, his older brother still suckling away at your breast as if nothing were amiss. “My, my,” he tuts, stalking across the room to deposit the stack of books he carries onto the small breakfast table by the balcony before returning his attention to you once more, “I left my wife this morning dripping with my spend and already I return to a babe.”

“Aemond!” You hiss, frowning when you hear Aegon whimper at your chest, “Please, he is already in a state.”

“And in our chambers,” Aemond takes a seat at the table, unlacing his boots before setting them to the side, along with his leather tunic, “Normally you two reserve this… intimacy for his rooms.” His long fingers quickly untie his trousers, leaving them hanging from his slender waist as he moves about your chambers, poking the fire in the hearth back to life and tidying the papers on the writing desk. 

You soothe Aegon when he whimpers again, looking up at you with questioning, unsure eyes as a blush blooms on his cheeks. Even if his brother knows the details of your relationship with him, and even though he had walked in on him in this exact position before, he couldn’t help but feel so shy and vulnerable when he got this way. 

“Shh, my sweet,” you speak softly to the man at your breast, running your fingers through his pale hair, “Just relax, you’re okay.” Your words seem to settle him and his eyes grow droopy and half-lidded once more, a contented groan rumbling through his chest. 

“You should have seen him earlier,” you turn back to Aemond, eyes following him as he walks to your dressing table, “Poor thing came crying about court gossip.” You didn’t miss the small eye roll your husband gave at you calling his brother “poor thing” but you chose to ignore it for the time being; you didn’t love their endless taunts and teasing but they were still brothers, after all. 

“And what was the sweet babe weeping about this time?” Aemond asks, his voice dripping with derision as he takes a cloth from the small wash basin on the dressing table and quickly wipes at his neck and shoulders, droplets of water streaming down his defined frame and running into the lines and dips of the muscles on his chest, arms, and abdomen. 

Aegon growls at your chest, not missing the mockery in his brother’s tone. You try to calm him but it’s no use, he pulls off of your chest and throws Aemond a vicious look; you merely make yourself comfortable against the pillows and sigh tiredly. Gods be good, you thought, staring up at the stone ceiling as if the Seven would appear to offer their guidance; you love the two brothers more than anything else but you could do without their brotherly spats. 

“Well?” Aemond goads, his eye widening as he stares at his brother, a silent challenge.

“He feared I was pregnant,” you interject quickly, attempting to quell the coming squabble before it broke out, “Apparently the ladies of court have nothing better to do than monitor my condition.” You put an arm around Aegon as you speak, as if keeping him close to you would keep the two men from bickering. 

“You are my wife,” Aemond huffs out a sardonic laugh, a smirk playing at his lips as he wrings out the cloth and leaves it to dry on the side of the wash basin, “Why would it be of his concern if –”

Aegon growls against your breast again, letting your nipple fall from his pink lips as he fixes his brother with a glare, one that falters for half a second as you protectively tighten your hold on him. His dark eyes continue to glare at Aemond, following his every move as he comes to stand at the side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as he studies the two of you. 

“Hush, my love,” you pet at his head and shoulders in an attempt to soothe him once more, glaring at your husband in warning, “This is nothing we need worry ourselves with tonight.” 

Aemond comes to sit next to you on the bed, giving Aegon a quick glare before he leans down and places a tender kiss to the top of your head. “You’re right,” he says into your hair, one hand coming up to cup the side of your face, “We need not trouble ourselves with it tonight.” 

Aegon huffs against your chest once more and gives his brother a final warning glance before looking up at you with a questioning gaze, pouty lips parted in an unspoken question. 

“You need some more time with mommy?” You ask him softly, grinning when he shyly nods, still so skittish of his needs around his brother. You coo and give him a nod, unable to stop the sigh that leaves you at the feel of his mouth on you once more. His tongue delicately licks at your hardened nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, still teasing it as he suckles. 

You admire him for a moment, studying the way his long lashes fan out over his cheeks once his eyes slip closed, his arms wrapped protectively around your middle as he kneels at your side. 

Finally, you turn your head to Aemond, surprised to see his eye trained on his brother, watching as he nurses at your breast. “Husband?” You ask tentatively; your relationship with both brothers was not a secret, at least not between the three of you, but even still, you rarely had them at the same time. 

His eye finally meets yours and he smiles, cuddling you closer, which earns a small whine from Aegon as he’s forced to move a fraction of an inch with you. “You needn’t worry so much,” he keeps his voice soft as he speaks, trailing kisses down your temple and cheek, “I’m merely thinking.” 

“About?”

“Putting a babe in you,” he all but growls into your ear before kissing the delicate skin just below it. “Seeing you grow with my child,” he continues, one hand skimming up your arm before he cups your unoccupied breast, long fingers kneading it gently before they pinch at your nipple, “Watching as these swell with your sweet milk.”

A shiver rolls through you at the thought, and at the salacious groan that vibrates from Aegon’s mouth. Your husband smirks at your reaction, watching proudly as your eyes become cloudy and unfocused. 

“Do you like that?” Aemond asks against the column of your throat as his lips and teeth and tongue work against your skin, sucking marks into the flesh, “Like the thought of my seed filling you up, finally taking root?” 

You hardly register Aegon’s whine, eyes squeezed shut as you feel your husband pressing himself to you, lips pressing against any bit of your skin he can reach, chuckling softly at how easy it is to work his brother up. “Wouldn’t that be something, brother?” Aemond questions sarcastically, his eye glimmering mischievously, “Wouldn’t she be so beautiful with my babe in her?”

The older brother grumbles something against you before redoubling his efforts, making you gasp as he begins suckling at you harshly, nose twitching in annoyance. You calm him as best you can, a shaky hand coming up and carding delicately through his hair – Aemond’s ministrations making it hard to concentrate. 

“You’ll be such a good mother, sweetling,” Aemond says lowly, kissing his way down your stomach as he moves to kneel between your thighs, “So perfect and sweet and caring.” He continues, punctuating each word with a kiss against your abdomen, his long hair tickling the skin of your thighs. 

“Aemond,” you pant softly, back arching as Aegon’s teeth just barely graze against your sensitive nipple, “Please!” You beg, though whether it’s to get him to stop taunting his brother or carry on with you, you cannot say. 

“Shh,” he presses wet kisses against one of your thighs, lips trailing slowly up to where you want him most before he tilts his head and begins kissing up the other thigh as well, his pace torturously slow, “I always give you what you want, do I not?”

A loud, uncontained moan tears itself from your throat as Aemond presses a kiss against your folds, groaning into your heat as he tastes you. “Gods, you’re dripping,” he growls into your cunt, practically making out with your center as his hands come to rest on the tops of your thighs, holding you in place, “Did your babe not care for you at all?”

At this, Aegon pauses, whining against your breast as he lifts his head, thin tendrils of drool connecting his shining lips to your hardened nipple. The feeling of his mouth lifting off of you has you finally opening your eyes, only to be met with his wide, uncertain eyes.

“Mommy?” His voice is so small, so terribly worried at the thought that he may have disappointed you somehow. 

“Oh, sweet prince,” you whisper, voice catching in your throat as you gasp at the feel of Aemond sucking your aching pearl into his mouth, worrying the sensitive skin between his lips. Your brows furrow with concentration as your eyes meet Aegon’s, your hands gently cupping his cheeks, “Don’t worry yourself,” you have to pause again as a curse slips past your lips, “You’re my perfect little baby, you could never disappoint me.” 

You finally manage to pant out your reassurances, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head at the feel of Aemond’s hot tongue licking into your center, his nose pressed firmly against your bud as he fucks you on the long muscle, groaning into your slick folds as he savors your sweet taste. You stare desperately into Aegon’s dark eyes, back arching as your husband feasts on your cunt with practiced ease, the slick, squelching sounds of him licking into you and suckling at your pearl making you mewl and blush. 

“You’re so beautiful, mommy,” Aegon murmurs softly, violet eyes staring at you with rapture, as if he’s trying to absorb the pleasure radiating from you, “So pretty.” He breathes finally and leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips, whimpering when he feels your tongue press into his mouth. 

The men hold you like that for a moment, letting you lie back on the bed as they attend to you – Aemond murmuring dirty praises into your cunt as he licks at you wildly, flicking shapes and patterns against your pearl that have your head spinning; Aegon swallowing your wanton moans in his own mouth as he moves his lips against yours. 

You whine against the older brother’s mouth when you feel your husband’s fingers gently prodding your center, gathering wetness on them before carefully pushing two into your heat. “Seven, you’re tight,” his breath is warm against your glossy folds, “Always so tight, feels so good, sweetling.” He purrs before quickly wrapping his lips around your bud once more, gently sucking at the tender flesh but combined with the pressure of his fingers, it’s enough to send you into a tailspin. 

You pull away from Aegon with a gasp, back arching off the bed as you whine Aemond’s name, blushing as you hear the loud wet sounds emanating from where his fingers fuck into your cunt. Faintly, you hear Aegon whimpering next to you, his soft cries almost in time with yours as he presses soft kisses along your neck and shoulder. 

“Mommy, my mommy,” he whispers in reverence, leaning across your chest to get to the breast he’s neglected thus far, kissing softly across your supple skin and teasing your nipple with the tip of his tongue before finally suckling it into his mouth, closing his eyes with a soft groan as he nurses, getting lost in the feel of you beneath him, your skin on his. 

Aegon’s lips around your nipple has you breaking, every muscle in your body seeming to tense up as your high overtakes you. A strange mixture of their names leaves your lips in a rough moan as you squeeze your eyes shut, fire exploding through you. 

“That’s it,” Aemond groans, crooking up his fingers within you as he feels your walls pulsing around them, pressing them into that rough patch he has memorized in your heat, the one he knows prolongs your peak, “Gods, that felt like a big one, sweetling.” 

Somehow, you find it within yourself to nod tiredly, chest heaving as you catch your breath, slinging an arm over Aegon’s back as he sighs happily against your chest. 

“Made you feel good, mommy,” he chuckles proudly around your breast, nipping and licking at your nipple as he tilts his head to meet your gaze, earning an annoyed huff from Aemond as he presses calming kisses against your thighs and hips. 

He’s so proud of himself that you can’t help yourself from smiling and giggling, your fingers carding through his hair. “Oh, yes you did,” you coo, “You made me feel so good, my precious boy.” 

Below you, Aemond bites at your thigh as a warning, making you jump. “Keep it up and you’ll only give him a bigger ego,” he rolls his eyes and presses wet kisses in a trail up your stomach, stopping only when he reaches Aegon, still lying across you. The bed dips as Aemond crawls back up to lie next to you, kissing his way up your neck and jaw before finally slotting his lips against your own.

A whimper escapes your lips as he does, one of your hands reaching up to run your fingers through his long hair, the pale strands threading between your digits like silk. He sighs into the kiss, one of his hands coming up to gently cup your neck, not choking but merely staking a claim. The action makes you mewl and he uses it to his advantage, quickly sliding his tongue across your bottom lip before entwining it with your own as he licks into your mouth. You can feel your face heat up as you taste yourself on his lips, squirming in his hold as Aegon continues licking and suckling at your hardened nipple, sending shivers of pleasure up your spine and quickly reigniting the flames in your belly. 

Aemond smirks as your moans change in pitch, the familiar high-pitched, whiny cadence causing him to let out a low, vibrating growl himself. 

“Please, Aemond,” you whisper against his lips, whimpering as he trails his kisses down your jaw and neck.

Your husband groans softly against your shoulder, a shudder rolling through him at the breathy way you say his name, his favorite sound. “You need not beg me, sweetling,” he sighs, gently gripping your hips and nodding for you to roll onto your side, “I’ve got you.”

Aegon whines as Aemond moves you, struggling to keep his soft lips latched around your peaked nipple, which earns him another eye roll from your husband. Quickly, you settle onto your side, both arms immediately wrapping around Aegon to hold him close. His pale hair tickles your lips as you press a sweet kiss to the crown of his head, softly giggling as he desperately suckles your nipple back into his mouth; your sweet boy could be at your breast for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough for him. 

The bed dips on either side of you as the two men bracket you between them, Aemond behind you and Aegon in front. Your husband presses kisses against the back of your shoulder as he slots himself against you, the warmth of his chest pressing against your back sends a shiver down your spine and makes your already stiff nipples harden to the point of aching. 

“Iksā sīr gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond whispers against your shoulder as he trails a hand over your curves, humming appreciatively as he palms the swell of your arse, “Avy jorrāelan sīr olvie.” (You are so beautiful, my wife, I love you so much.)

You whimper at his words, your heart twisting happily in your chest as you recall their meaning from the lessons he had given you during your courtship. “Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha valzȳrys,” you manage to moan brokenly, “So much, Aemond!” You breathe, foggy brain unable to keep up with translations any longer. (I love you too, my husband.)

A gasp leaves you as Aemond presses himself against you tightly as you realize that he had managed to tug off his trousers at some point, his length slotting beautifully between your thighs as he ruts against you. 

“Gods!” Your slick folds part greedily as your husband rubs against your center, coating his cock in your juices, the tip rubbing deliciously against your pearl, “Oh, Aemond!”

“Shhh,” he breathes against your ear as one of his warm hands latches onto your thigh and pulls it up, giving him more room to guide his cock into your heat, “I’ve got you, sweetling, I have you.”

You nod, near delirious, practically sobbing as he finally guides himself into you, filling you perfectly. Your head lolls back, further into his embrace as he slowly presses into you, stretching you as he finally bottoms out, stones pressed firmly to your backside as a low, gravelly groan vibrates against your back. 

“You feel so good,” you moan breathily, your fingers scrambling through Aegon’s hair as you press his mouth against you, earning a whimper from the prince as he takes your breast further into his mouth, suckling at it greedily, spit leaking from the corners of his lips. 

“Feels perfect,” Aemond huffs, grunting as he begins moving his hips against yours, eye squeezing shut at the feel of your slick walls sucking him in as you quiver around his length, “You feel perfect, tight little cunt.” He mutters, more to himself than to you, hissing the words between clenched teeth.

You let yourself get lost for a moment, a light sheen of sweat blanketing your skin from the heat of the two men around you. You make no attempt to stop soft, satisfied moans from slipping out of your lips, breathing your pleasure against Aegon’s forehead as Aemond rocks into you, thrusting his hips in a well-practiced pattern as he fills you again and again. Your husband’s grip tightens on your thigh, making your eyes roll back deliciously as Aegon flicks his tongue against your nipple before greedily sucking it back into his mouth. 

A few moments later, you’re brought out of your reverie by a slick feeling at the front of your thigh, small whimpers and whines from the man at your breast finally managing to trickle their way into your consciousness. 

You finally open your eyes, letting out a soft moan as you take in the sight before you – Aegon suckling desperately at your sensitive breast, his dark eyes looking up at you pleadingly, already shimmering with unshed tears, as he ruts his hard length against your thigh, already leaking glossy trails onto your skin with every movement.

“Ohh,” you coo softly, pressing a kiss to his sweat-damp forehead as you wrap your hand around his length, feeling it immediately twitch in your grasp, “You need mommy to take care of you?” You ask breathily.

“P-Please,” Aegon whimpers brokenly, flicking his tongue over your nipple as he nods his head, “Hurts!” He whines, voice thick as tears leak from the corners of his eyes. 

You press another comforting kiss to his forehead, gasping in time with Aemond’s hard thrusts as you begin slowly teasing the prince’s hard length, cooing again as you feel him pulsing in your grasp. “What a good boy,” you whine, swirling your thumb against his leaking tip, “Getting so hard from hearing mommy get fucked, hm?”

You feel him shudder against you, a low groan sounding against your breast as his hips fuck up into your hold. He whines as you let go of his cock for a second, quickly running your fingers around where Aemond spears into you. Your husband grunts behind you at the sensation as you quickly gather some of your juices on your fingers, moaning brokenly as you flick them around your pearl for a second before returning your attention to Aegon. 

Your face heats as you suddenly get a dirty idea and you take a second to spread some of your juices across your unoccupied breast, chuckling breathily as Aegon immediately abandons the one he’s currently suckling on, a loud moan snaking past his lips when you wrap your slick fingers around his cock once again, easing his thrusts into your fists. 

“Greedy babe,” Aemond grunts from over your shoulder, watching as Aegon frantically licks around your breast, humming excitedly at your sweet taste before latching onto your nipple once more, “Suckling at any part of my sweet wife he can reach.”

A fire lights in your belly at Aemond’s words as you’re surprised he’s addressing Aegon at all, his teasing lilt only adding to the heat within you. The prince whines within your grasp, his face flushing to a deeper shade of pink than it already is and his violet eyes shoot daggers in his brother’s general direction, not caring that he can’t see them. 

Suddenly, Aemond lets go of your thigh, leaving you to sling it over one of Aegon’s pale hips as he continues thrusting his cock into you, deep and slow. His hand instead settles on one breast and he lovingly palms at it, humming with satisfaction at its weighty feel in his hand. 

A loud whine leaves you as his fingers pinch around your overly-sensitive bud, tweaking and tugging at the swollen skin. Your back arches, loud whimpers tumbling past your lips as his touch borders on pain. Aegon growls at your sounds of discomfort, letting your nipple fall from his lips as he sits up just enough to throw him a malicious glare over your shoulder.

“Ngh!” Your little prince grunts, smacking Aemond’s hand away from you before wrapping an arm around your waist protectively and pressing soft kisses to your abused breast, “Mommy?” He questions softly, teary eyes searching yours, desperately wanting to make sure you’re alright. 

“Shh, shh,” you soothe sweetly, carding your fingers through his hair as he lays his head on your pillow once more, “Mommy’s okay, my sweet, thank you.” Your words are breathy, feeling halfway forced out of you as Aemond’s thrusts speed up, your mind growing fuzzy as the head of his cock moves against the sensitive spot within you perfectly, making you clench around him. Aegon continues thrusting into your grasp, his hands frantically grabbing onto any parts of you he can reach. 

“Pathetic,” Aemond huffs at his brother, biting into the sensitive skin of your neck, “So whiny, fuck, so whiny under your muña’s touch you can’t even speak.” (Mother’s)

Aegon whines again, a high, pitiful sound against your beast as he latches onto you once more, low groans ripping through him as the leaking head of his cock rubs against your soft thigh. 

“Hush,” you admonish, one arm hugging possessively around the prince, “Mommy’s taking good care of her sweet little boy, isn’t she?” 

“Y-Yes,” Aegon breathes brokenly around a soft moan, his cock twitching desperately in your hand, “Yes, yes, yes!” He chants around your breast, soft little words in time with each stroke of your hand. 

You can see him start to lose himself — watching as his eyes grow ever more glossy, tears welling up in the corners while throaty sobs and sighs warm your breast, his length seeming to get somehow thicker in your grasp as the head of his cock positively weeps against you. 

“What a good boy,” you sigh encouragingly, smiling proudly, glowing with the knowledge that you can reduce him to such a state, “Are you close, my sweet?” 

He nods desperately, soft grunts accompanying the thrusts of his hips up into your grasp. You keep your pace steady, your own head swimming as your release builds within you. 

After another few seconds, Aegon begins shaking helplessly in your grasp, his chest heaving as sobs are wrenched from his throat. “That’s it,” you murmur softly, feeling your cunt clench around Aemond’s length at the sight of the prince coming undone before you, making the other man groan loudly behind you, “Come on, I know you’re so close, show mommy how good she makes you feel, my love.” 

As always, your soft approval is what unravels him. You moan loudly, watching him fall apart in your arms, relishing the soft moans and sighs of your name as they fall from his pouty lips, the way his hips stutter in your hold. You gasp softly at the feel of his cock twitching between the two of you, his spend coating his belly and chest in pearlescent streaks.

Before he’s even had the chance to recover, your sweet boy finds it within himself to bring one hand down, greedily seeking out your bud. He sighs happily when you cry out his name, his fingers circling your aching pearl perfectly, just in the way you’d taught him, his chest still heaving with his own release. 

“Oh, Gods!” You gasp, your own hips rutting back and forth between the two men, “So c-close, fuck!” You whine, the fire in your belly threatening to consume you. 

“That’s a good girl,” Aemond grunts, hips thrusting into you at a maddening pace, “Do you want me to breed a baby into your wet little cunt, sweetling?”

You and Aegon whine at the same instant, yours in pleasure and his in annoyance. Your walls clench desperately at your husband's thick length, making him chuckle breathlessly behind you. 

“Find your pleasure, sweet girl,” he groans, his thrusts somehow perfectly timed to the swirls of Aegon’s fingers against your bud, “Peak and I’ll put a little babe in your belly, my love.” 

Aemond’s promise, Aegon’s soft whine, and the feel of their touches mingling on your slick heat finally pushes you over the edge once more. Your cunt pulses around Aemond as you slip over the edge, your pearl buzzing and twitching under Aegon’s fingers as flames of pleasure lick up your spine, sparks exploding behind your eyelids as you cry out against Aegon’s neck. 

Your release claws Aemond’s out of him as well, the feeling of his seed emptying into you spurring your peak on further. You whimper, mouthing at the pale skin of your prince’s throat as you feel warmth bloom within you, your husband’s harsh strokes finally slowing to a stop. 

The three of you lay silent for a while, the only sounds in your chambers being soft pants and sighs. Finally, Aemond carefully pulls his length from you, soothing you gently when you whine. 

“Seven,” he groans softly, watching his seed slip slowly from your spent center, “Perhaps this time we should let it take.” He muses as he gets up from the bed, retrieving a fresh cloth from your dressing table and quickly cleaning your center and thighs.

“But,” Aegon whimpers softly, drawing your attention back to him as he looks at you with wide, worried eyes, “What…what about me?” The meekness in his voice makes your heart ache as you hurriedly hush him, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes with your thumbs. 

“You don’t worry about a thing, my little love,” you reassure him, pulling him into your arms and rocking him slowly against you, “No matter what the future holds, you will always be my precious little prince. I swear it.” You promise, pressing soft kisses to each of his cheeks, one of your hands tickling at his side until he squirms and giggles against you, burying his head in your neck with a tired sigh.

Aemond huffs again, setting his eyepatch on the table by your bed before he assumes his spot next to you once more, slinging an arm over your waist as he makes himself comfortable. 

On your other side, Aegon shuffles down the bed once more, making you giggle softly as he presses feather light kisses to your breast, sighing happily at the mere feel of your supple skin against his lips as he cozies himself against you. 

“Maybe we should hold off on the moon tea this time,” Aemond ponders, mumbling against your shoulder as his fingers trace soothing patterns into the soft skin of your hip, “Surely an actual babe could be no more difficult than the one we already seem to have.” 

Aegon whines, Aemond chuckles, and you tiredly groan.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @hopelesswritergall @phantombitch @fan-goddess @aemshaircare @cuddlejeongin @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[fushiguruuzzzz]

wc ~800. req by @chlosology for 700 event. not proofread.

nights in with suna were, to put it simply, the highlight of your week.

it was nothing special, really. the two of you would nestle up in your dorm — never his, it reeked of testosterone and atsumu’s unwashed socks — with a ridiculously packed bag from the convenience store and your pyjamas that were probably his. it may not have been the picture of extravagance, but it was a moment of simmering calm in the midst of bleeding ink and late nights, and that was far more than you would ever even ask for. a night in with your friend was enough, enough to keep your neurotic mind sane for the time being.

legs thrown over his lap, the heat of his palm pressed firmly into your calf as the flash from the television casted colourful glows over his face. he looked good, face soft and relaxed in the moment but features sharp all the same. his narrowed eyes flicked away from the screen before him momentarily, only allowing himself to catch a brief glimpse of your gaze before pulling himself back together.

your hangouts were friendly. always friendly, always casual and chill and quiet. but the truth? it was making rintaro fall apart at the seams. by no means was he an easily flustered man, but somehow every shift of your body against his, no matter how subtle, had his throat drying and instead being invaded by a thick, affection shaped lump. he hated it, to be frank. who were you, to step into his life with annoyingly kind eyes and gentle hands, to break down his laidback exterior without even trying? he was mildly convinced that you’d bewitched him. nothing else explained it. nothing. not that it was love or anything, that was crazy. the world would turn to ash before rintaro suna was head over heels, crumble beneath his fingertips, and he was bound to fade away knowing he kept his dignity until the very end. but he didn’t; you were beside him and you were beautiful, and he wanted to leap out of his skin.

“I don’t like that guy,” you cut in, followed by a crunch as you popped a chip in your mouth. he stared for a second too long, stuck on how casual you were about all of it. when had the roles reversed, when had he become the mess? what exactly was the point that he became the puddle at your feet, and you the heat the caused him to meet the ground?

he responded with a halfhearted hum, head turning to you sluggishly as if it had not been that way for half of the movie already. “why not?”

you gave a shrug, chewing away at your salty snack for a beat longer. you figured the answer would not matter much even if you did have one, seeing as suna was only half paying attention anyway. “I jus’ don’t, I dunno.”

he sniggered softly, lips pulling up into a barely perceptible smirk. “don’t talk with your mouth full. what are you, four?”

your brows furrowed in an exaggerated sort of irritation, but he did not miss the way your face pulled up in embarrassment. “forgive me for answering your question, jeez.”

“I could’ve easily waited. i’m a patient man, you know.”

the scoff that tumbled from your lips said enough, but he was sure you would add a snarky remark, too. suna was calm, every move commenced with a sluggish precision that was nearly disturbing. he did not care for academics, but always tried just enough to get a passing grade. he talked just enough to maintain stable relationships with his friends (though you were an exception, but that’s not related at the moment), spent just enough money to stay comfortable with his savings. he was lazy, but he had an ability to keep balance in this prejudiced world, and that was an admirable trait in itself. he did just enough.

and he loved you just enough. he loved you from the corner of the room, from the foot of the bed as he gazed at you with keen eyes and wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was something he deemed worth the effort. he wondered that if he gave you the chance, you would spend your days curled up watching half-boring sitcoms and horror movies, letting him be lazy for everything but you. like the moon, ever avoidant, but reflecting the light of the sun in every waking moment. that sort of dedication was foreign to rintaro, but as you tossed another snack into your mouth and met his gaze with a amused fondness that made his chest clench, he figured everything found something to be devoted to at some point.

“thinking you’re too cool to push for answers doesn’t mean patience, rin.”

nevermind.

a/n: this event is making me write for more people waowwww!!! sorry i’ve been so slow with them, im getting to it!! <3

[almostempty]

because of you (dave york x f!reader)

wc: 7k | other fics | rating: 18+ dddne | read on ao3 |

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

note: as per usual i took a prompt that could’ve been simple.. ‘never have i ever cried during sex’ x dave york .. and i thought.. how can i make him worse? so…here’s some dark!dave and no worries if any of the tags are a nope, i’ll be back with more threesomes soon

tags/warnings: explicit, dead dove do not eat, non con, unreliable narrator, delusional dave, infidelity, just a little bit of knife play 🔪 (no blood), pussy slap(s), face slap(s), a few uses of whore and slut, raw non-con piv and creampie (duh), bi reader has a wife!, crying during sex, little bit of ass play (whoa, who did that), obsessive behavior/ruminating, no york kids, no y/n, able bodied afab reader, ooc dave but also he’s a loving husband okay

thanks to: @auteurdelabre @gothcsz @syd-djarin @slimybeth69 @hoelaris @miss-oranje-disco-dancer @yxtkiwiyxt (…i think the gang’s all here lmao <3) it takes a village and thanks to y’all for support at different stages of this idea and over the darkest days of the year. i think this is the first thing i’ve been able to finish since December, so like we’re so back! (i hope) And to kiwi <3 i was so flattered you would trust me with a prompt for your man and, uh, i hope you would again after this lmao! 

"Oh! Marina, do you still have that game?"

Heads swivel, all focus shifting to you–bouncing on the balls of your feet and sporting a sheepish grin as you realize you’ve interrupted your party host. Your neighbor is unfazed and parts easily from the other neighbors she was entertaining, finding the game for you as the party-goers voices resume buzzing.

The light in your eyes brightens, your whole face awash with excitement. Dave watches as you find a seat for yourself, cross-legged on the floor in front of your spouse, reaching for the box the hostess grabs from the shelf.

“I loved playing this in college!” You look like a kid on Christmas as you open up the box. 

Autumn, your wife, shakes her head as she laughs. “You just loved using this game to make your move in college.”

Dave exhales a quiet chuckle, though something darker hums beneath it. He turns his wedding band between his fingers, but his eyes haven’t left you.

“Yeah, well it worked on you,” you jest over your shoulder as she passes your wine glass to you, in sync. 

You’re too expressive—your reactions are instant, unguarded. Loud laughter, teasing quips, a warmth that feels too good to be real. He’s spent most of the night cataloging them, the faces you make, the sound of your voice, and the curve of your lips. 

He wonders what your eyes would do if he wrapped his hand around your throat. Would they sparkle with the same joy? Would you be willing and eager for him? 

That thought slithers in and settles in the front of his mind.

He can’t make out what it is about you that draws him in. But he keeps watching. Waiting.

And now, in a room full of people, you have his rapt attention. He’s glued to everything you do. 

“What was your move?” Carol asks before Dave can. 

Autumn starts to tell the story for you. In college, you were always that person who stayed up the latest. The one that was still in the kitchen at three in the morning, having a heart-to-heart with a friend or a stranger. How you’d convince anyone to watch the sunrise with you. 

And that you had this habit of asking everyone their middle name before you’d finish your second drink.

You nod along as she describes the college version of you. Dave can picture it all clearly. He thinks you’d still stay up to watch the sunrise if anyone else at this party was willing. There’s something different about you–an energy that the rest of the run of the mill neighbors have had beaten out of them with HOA meetings and shitty bosses. 

“But her real trick,” Autumn continues warmly, with just a hint of teasing, “she’d lure you in with her magnetic personality—” 

“Is that what you’re calling my tits now?” The two of you laugh, ignorant to some of the uncomfortable husbands and wives shifting their weight as their eyes dart away from your chest. 

“No. They know what I mean!” Autumn addresses the room again, “She’d take you by the hand and pull you somewhere secluded…” 

“Not, like, immediately! I like to actually play the game too,” you edit before taking a sip from your glass, mesmerizing Dave with a behavior as simple as swallowing.

“I think you just liked trying to set up your friends before you’d run off with whoever you’d picked to get lucky.” 

“I’m good at matchmaking.” You shrug. 

“Is that what you wanna call it?” your wife teases. 

“Mmm, what about..” you roll your head around like it’s heavy, “I’m good at reading when two people wanna fuck. And giving them a little push.” You squish two invisible people together between your hands with a satisfied grin, and when your eyes flick to match Dave’s he feels the world start to narrow. 

“Right.” Autumn agrees, reluctantly. “So picture this,” she goes on addressing the whole party. “It’s late, you’ve been drinking, and now she’s got you with this look that says, ‘I wanna know everything about you.’” 

“I do like getting to know people,” you mouth quietly, aware you’ve been interrupting. Your eyes are still on Dave and he lets the meaning of your attention sink in.   

Until Autumn squeezes your shoulder, a silent I know, and you tip your head against her hand affectionately as she continues. 

“But the thing is, you see, she’s still got your full name in here,” she taps your temple gently. “She’d play everyone right into her hand with ‘Never have I ever’ rounds that would make you blush.”

“So, now she’s got you all starry-eyed, right? All worked up and flirty, spilling your secrets... And that’s when she pulls out her move—” She cuts herself off with a smirk, looking across the room. “Dave, what’s Carol’s middle name?” 

“Marie.” 

“Show her,” Autumn murmurs in your ear. With a wave of your hand Dave shifts on the sofa, so you can squeeze in next to his wife. He lets you in, but stays unnecessarily snug. 

Pressing your knee into Carol’s, you give her your undivided attention, gleaming eyes locked on hers.

“Never have I ever…” you tap your lip in thought, a hint of a smirk curling, “kissed a woman named Carol Marie.” 

Neither of you move. 

Dave’s skin heats up watching you hit on his wife—even if it’s just a demonstration—the chemistry is palpable. You hold his wife’s gaze for a long pause, letting the charge fill the whole room. 

“You think you could help me change that?” you ask, putting on an innocent voice, and tucking Carol’s hair behind her ear like a hallmark romance movie. 

For a second, Dave swears you start to lean in, but his wife breaks the spell. 

“Well, I can see how you’d seal a deal with that move.” Carol laughs, a little breathy, shaking you off. You skip back across the room like you just won something, or stole it. 

“All in good faith,” you claim with a wink, and everything comes into focus for Dave. You wanted him to watch, to get the front row seat. To feel the warmth of your body next to his. You were planting a seed, making a show of toying with Carol. 

You’re good. He smirks to himself, before sliding back to his wife, a possessive hand resting on her thigh. “Thought you were going to whisk this one away from me for a second there,” he says, eyes locked on you. 

“It’s powerful, right?” Autumn shares with pride, clasping her hands on your shoulders as you lean back against her knees. 

“I did alright with it,” you add on. “College boys were almost too easy, though. Some strong eye contact and they’d fold without even getting into the game!” Your quip lightens the room, the charge between you and Carol fading away. But Dave knows it was a coded message. He’ll play your game. 

Your story inspired some other college tales from the other neighbors. Marina’s husband brings out some more snacks and the conversations carry easily as the night wears on. 

The room is softly lit and the drinks flow. Eventually couples file out and soon the party has dwindled just to you and your wife, the hosts, and Carol and Dave. 

You convince the remaining couples to play the game for real, rifling through the cards and frowning at a few of the pre-written statements before shuffling them up. “After dark my ass,” you chide reading the marketing claim on the box. “Some of these are more like icebreakers for a corporate team building event but I saw some good ones in here too.” 

There’s some kind of point keeping system written in the box that you immediately decide to ignore in favor of just ‘getting to know each other’s secrets’. 

And, you’re right, of course. Some of the cards are more tame like, ‘never have I ever been in a hot tub’ or, ‘never have I ever shoplifted,’ though, you do end up revealing your sticky fingers as a youth to the room. 

You laugh it off, claiming you were just a dumb kid that should’ve been caught. But Dave sees beneath it. You’re a thrill chaser. Too smart to get caught, even as a teen. Or maybe if you were caught, you’d talk your way right out of it. 

Some of the cards are a little racier, revealing some intimate details Dave didn’t expect to learn about his neighbors, along with some “scandalous” stories he finds boring. Strip club stories, faking orgasms, a story about role playing in the bedroom that had Marina’s husband shrinking in his seat before she cut herself off. 

Your answers are consistently on the adventurous side, he doesn’t see any shame in your face. Even when you surprise your wife with some answers.  

Dave knows you watch him, he can feel you studying his reactions and keeping track of every answer. He feels you when he’s not looking, feels the connection between you tugging at him. 

You hide it well, such a smart girl. Nobody besides him would be able to decode your silent communications. It makes the entire game more interesting to Dave. 

You find yourselves locking eyes again as your lips meet your glass. The gleam in your eyes shoots straight down to the base of his spine, but he keeps cool. The game keeps unfolding as you take turns drawing cards and swapping stories. 

Dave doesn’t volunteer any stories, more content with listening. He doesn’t balk when Carol shares anything, if anything it only adds to the buzz already present in his veins from the liquor, and strokes his ego. He decides your wife seems open, not embarrassed by much. 

Marina giggles again. Dave clenches his jaw. If this game got really dark, she’d be the first to pass out. He bets she’d faint before he even reached for his drink.

‘Never have I ever stabbed someone and watched the light fade from their eyes,’ he swirls his tumbler imagining the thud of Marina hitting the floor. She’d definitely pass out if he drank to that. But, you? You wouldn’t. He can tell. 

Turns out none of the cards have any prompts about murder or espionage. Just more first date types of questions or kinky ideas for housewives. 

But, there is one. One unassuming card that does something sinister to Dave. It sinks sharp little claws into Dave’s mind and latches on tight. 

It’s not the most sexually depraved card. It doesn’t uncover some shocking truth about you. It’s not something he would’ve thought twice about before tonight. 

But then, you read it out loud. In your too sultry voice for present company. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” 

Your brow furrows in thought. Everyone, including Marina’s husband, takes a sip of their drink admitting they’ve shed coital tears. 

But you’re still. Head tilted, staring into space like you’re trying to run calculations. 

“This is what stumps you?” your wife jokes as you continue sorting through memories. “You saying I’ve never fucked you to tears?” 

That gets a smile out of you. “No, things definitely get wet. Maybe some tears, but not, like–really crying? I don’t think so.” 

“Not even messy makeup sex? After a fight?”

You shake your head. Marina frowns. 

“Makes it more intense,” Carol floats. “Physically…emotionally.” 

Dave glances at his wife with a smirk. He can feel the weight of everyone’s attention shifting between him and his wife. Whatever they’re picturing probably isn’t far from the truth. 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with something before you nod your head. You draw a card for your wife to read, clearly hoping to move on. But you don’t. 

“Never have I ever…had sex in a car.” Autumn reads out. The whole room drinks to that one, and you raise your glass, jokingly toasting the room for the shared debauchery. But Dave sees the curiosity still brewing inside of you. He sees it the rest of the night. Between rounds and as conversations fizzle. 

You never move on from the thought of really crying during sex. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing. The emotional release. 

He knows you’re still thinking of it. 

He’s still thinking of it. What you’d sound like. The way your entire body would jerk beneath him with every sob. 

It’s late and Dave can tell Carol’s nearly ready to call it a night. She gives him a nod and they’re up and saying their goodnights. You and Autumn take the cue to leave as well, gathering your things and heading for the door at the same time. 

You head out into the clear night, walking together for a block before waving Dave and Carol off and turning into the cul-de-sac. Dave can still hear your warm voice in the air as he opens the front door for his wife. 

It echoes in his head the rest of the night. 

He can still hear it when he wakes up. 

When he closes his eyes he sees yours glinting back at him. Your smile and the long line of your neck when you toss your head back with laughter. 

He can still smell the perfume you wore. The one that wrapped around his mind and lodged itself in his memory bank. 

He can still feel the warmth of your body from when you sat next to him to put your move to work on his wife.  

But, above all else one moment rings loudly–so salient he can touch it and taste it. It’s the wrinkle between your worried brows. The faraway look he aches to correct. The dreamlike yearning behind your eyes for a fantasy yet to be fulfilled. A fantasy he will fulfill. An idea. 

An idea he cannot stop picturing. …a plan.

It haunts his waking consciousness and fills his dreams at night. Visions of you with tears streaming from your eyes, lips parted with his name rolling off your tongue. Between gasps you’re pleading, choking his name out between sobs, eyes wide, begging for mercy. It stirs something he can’t ignore, and it burns like embers, day and night. 

At first, Dave indulges. 

When he wakes with a throbbing erection and the ghost, the dream version of you against heating his skin, it’s simple. He transfers his passion to his wife, finding some relief as he spills hot and desperate inside of her. 

If they don’t have time in the morning, he makes time in the shower, tugging earnestly at his cock until it pulses in his fist as your name haunts his mouth. He goes on like this for days, waiting for the intensity to pass. To ease. 

But over time, Dave becomes irritated. 

He can’t get you out of his fucking head. At work, at home, in bed, in the middle of the night, before he wakes up. Unprompted, unprovoked. You’re in his skin, in his blood, in his subconscious. 

Your roots grow deeper. No matter how he twists it, the same image plays on repeat. Over and over. You, fixed in his mind.

Dave decides to start getting up even earlier. He goes for long runs in the morning, trying to reprogram his own body. Soldiering through this affliction. The exertion should be enough of a distraction, some other kind of physical outlet has to help. But as well intended as it is, the plan backfires horrendously. 

Because of you. 

You’re also an early morning person. Of course. 

Dave passes you on the sidewalk, on the walking trail, in another neighborhood entirely. No matter which direction he starts in, he can’t escape your path. And worst of all you’re just as chipper before the sun is up as you are after it sets. 

You wave and say good morning or hello or maybe you’re calling him an asshole he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t stop. He can’t. 

Dave only nods, muttering a good morning as he passes you. His feet pound against the sidewalk as loud as his heart pounds in his ears. 

He can’t stop. He won’t stop. 

When he stops you’re thrilled, a wide grin spreads on your face as you confess you’ve been hoping to catch him on a cool down. That you’ve been delighted to see another person taking advantage of the calm before the world wakes up. You chat away softly as his mind races and he responds with appropriately timed grunts and nods. 

Sweat cools on his back and his shirt sticks to his skin between his shoulder blades, a discomfort that pales in comparison to the twisted scream in his gut before it all goes quiet. Calm. 

Dave walks back through the neighborhood with you mirroring the same glowing smile you wear.

He can allow this. Walking together. It's a coincidence really, it wasn’t something he planned. 

And it’s easy. 

Because of you. 

You’re talkative and reliable. In the same place at the same time. Full of stories and jokes, and with an exceptional memory for details—at least for anything he shares about himself. 

You don’t have the same strength as him—not cardio wise—but to resist. To abstain from the pull that connects you. The fated path that draws you together like gravity. 

You brace a hand on his bicep when you laugh, you hold his gaze longer than necessary when you share something personal, and you only cement yourself deeper into his soul day by day. His walls stay up, he’ll hold the boundaries for you both. 

He won’t break them. He can’t. 

Danger is unpredictable and lurks in the most insidious places. A neighborhood barbecue. The draw between you is overpowering and with every glass of wine, you’re closer to asking a question he won’t be able to resist. 

The night pulls in closer, wrapping around just the two of you. You want this. He can see it. Feel it in the way your body leans toward his and the whispers in your smile. When you sit next to him on Marina’s back porch he can taste the trouble rolling off of your tongue. 

You ask for his middle name with what he swears is a wink, and you lean against him shoulder to shoulder, sighing so deeply he feels it in his bones. Like you were meant to hold each other up, to ease the weight of the universe. 

Before you say anything else, Autumn saunters through the yard. She takes your hand and walks you home and Dave finds his own wife and does the same. Leading Carol just past the entryway of their home before he’s tearing off her clothes and sinking his cock deep inside her. It dulls the ache, but doesn’t fully soothe the pain. Nothing will. 

Because of you. 

You’re a splitting headache demanding his attention, pulsing beneath his skull and racing down his spine. Relentless and insatiable. 

After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires. 

He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you. 

He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them. 

But it’s never enough. 

It grows stronger. 

To obsession. 

Inky and dark it slips through his morality calling to the part he keeps locked up. The part that lets him take a life and twelve hours later be a husband. The part that lets him distort casualties to unfortunate consequences of the work. The part that perverts complexities into black and white decisions. 

Simplified. 

Dave blinks again. 

When he opens his eyes he stares at his dark ceiling listening to the sound of Carol’s breathing. And when he closes his eyes he sees you. He hears you begging for him. He can taste the salt on your skin and feel your nails digging into his shoulders. And it’s clear. 

Because of you. 

Clarity is a drug. You aren’t a distraction—you’re his path. This is what he was made for. Missions, execution. Giving you what you’ve been asking for? Child’s play.

He already has most of the information he needs. It’s a game of waiting and watching. 

Learning. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out the details. The challenge is that you and Autumn are rarely apart. You both work from home, leaving such small windows of time where you’re reliably separate. It’s not hard to get the intel he needs, he has all the connections he needs to find out about the companies you work for. 

He knows every meeting on your schedule. Every professional development conference on Autumn’s company calendar. 

From here, it’s effortless. 

Dave walks up your steps, checking Autumn’s schedule once more on his phone before slipping it into his pocket and knocking on the door. You answer with surprise before inviting him in, apologizing that your wife is on a work call upstairs. He assures you it’s fine, he just wanted to give something to you. 

Cookies. 

Dave brings cookies that Carol made. A neighborly gesture. No ulterior motive. Aside from taking the opportunity to snoop around the house, scoping out everything he needs to know while you’re none the wiser and your wife never even sees him. 

You’re gracious, of course, offering coffee or something stronger. And then your voice lowers and you’re closer without even moving your feet. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I know.” 

It’s in your eyes again, that look he knows how to fix. “Thank you,” you speak deliberately, slowly. “Thank you for being more than a neighbor. For being…a friend.” 

But you don’t mean friend. Not the way you tilt your head and the dopey smile you flash. No, he knows exactly what you mean. You don’t have to say it out loud. 

He smirks to himself, satisfied not just with the intel he collected, but with how smitten you are with him in your kitchen. How bad you must need him—he can practically smell it on you. His fingers twitch, idly at his side. 

He knows exactly how many minutes are left before Autumn’s meeting ends. The daylight and open windows don’t deter him. He could have you wrecked and put back together, presentably, in the minutes he has to work with. But he’s greedy. When he gets you to himself he’s not going to stop until presentable is no longer an option. 

Days pass, routine and bland. He doesn’t see you for a few days. Then you’re back to your morning run. But it doesn’t matter. He’s consumed by the details of the next step. He channels everything into it. He’s been given purpose. 

And when it’s finally here, the night he intends to execute his plan, he’s calm. His heart beats slowly, rhythmically, and he moves with steady, premeditated motions.   

Carol is out of town, that was easy to arrange. Autumn is out of town. That required some coordination, pulling strings and cashing in on a favor. He organized an invite to an elite seminar in another state, confirming her arrival and attendance earlier this evening. 

Everything is aligned as he designed it to be. He almost wishes his team was here, just because they work so seamlessly together and he gets off on the rush—but you’re going to be his and his alone tonight. 

He slinks inside, avoiding the front door camera, disabling the alarm. Straight to your bedroom. As planned. You’re sleeping soundly for him.

You’re perfect. 

The strap of your thin top is askew over your shoulder, the rest of you hidden beneath your covers. He could watch you longer, but that would be a disservice to you. You’ve been waiting so long. 

You need this. You need him. 

He pulls the cover off of you, pausing for the briefest moment to take in the smooth skin of your thighs, the dips and curves of your entire body, the serenity in your resting form. 

He crawls over you slowly, his weight sinking into the mattress and pinning you down. He soaks in your sleep-warmed body beneath him, your scent coiling around his spine and your deep breaths. Your chest expands as your lungs fill with air, but it’s his blood that is oxygenated by your body. 

The reality creeps into Dave’s mind. Here he is with you completely unconscious on your back underneath him. It’s a miracle you’ve both waited so long—or maybe it’s been purgatory. 

Either way, you’re no longer a vision. You’re flesh and blood and he’s desperate to fulfill your fantasy. To make your dream and his a tangible experience. 

He covers your mouth with one hand–you’re alone, but you still have neighbors, and he worries you might be disoriented at first. 

Thankfully, Dave waited long enough that his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom, because he’d never have forgiven himself if he’d missed the expressions that flash across your face as you wake up. 

Holding a finger to his lips, he conveys his request for quiet. With only the moonlight pouring into the room your eyes shine as they widen. Dave is struck by your beauty and the overwhelming closeness. 

Your voice is muffled under his palm, but he can’t let you talk yet. The heat between your bodies keeps building and he lowers more of his weight against you. It’s intoxicating, just the shape of your body against his. 

“It’s okay,” he coos, “I’m here now.” 

You push and shove at his chest, then claw at his arms, it only makes him chuckle dismissively. You ease up eventually, just waiting beneath him for what happens next. Good. 

The blanket shifts. It’s almost gentle—like a slow Sunday morning—until he adjusts. And then Dave grinds against you, expression darkening and a smile splitting across his face when you squirm and whine. “So sensitive, I know. Must be just aching already.” 

You fight him again—hands pressing, nails biting into his arms, little jerks of your body beneath him. But Dave just watches. He lets you get it out of your system. And then, just as he knew you would, you go still. A little more acceptance settling in this time.

You still flinch and arch as he keeps one hand on your mouth, straddles your waist, and cups the swell of your breasts with his free hand. 

Tears start to well and one rolls down the side of your face. Dave leans down and presses a kiss to the wet corner of your eye. 

“Crying for me?” His voice is thick, drenched in lust and awe. “So pretty like that.” He pulls out a knife and you go rigid beneath him, head straining uselessly under his large hand. 

The sound of metal sliding free makes your breath stutter. Then cold and sharp against your chest. You freeze. Heart hammering, every muscle tense.

"Oh, you like this?" he murmurs, almost amused.

He presses the flat of the blade against your sternum, dragging it up—just enough for you to feel it, for panic to crawl up your throat. Then he shifts it lower, skimming between your ribs, unhurried. 

Teasing.

"Bet you’d let me cut these off," he muses, toying with the thin straps of your top. He could just rip them. But he wants to draw it out. 

You don’t move. Can’t. Your breath is short, chest rising in shallow gasps beneath the steel.

You suck in a breath, but he’s already tilting your chin up, smirking down at you. "Smart girl," he purrs, tracing the blade’s blunt edge down your stomach, inch by inch.

Fear locks up your joints. He mutters to himself about how you’re better than he imagined. Going to be so perfect for him. Not good—because you’re not a good girl—but perfect. For Dave. 

Tears roll freely now, your body trembling beneath him, making Dave groan. He kisses your cheek, savoring the way you shake for him. You’re wired tight and he’s flooded with everything he wants to do with you all at once. Your chest racks with sobs, pulling him to the present. The sounds are muffled beneath his hand, but Dave hears the way your breath hitches—you’re so tense. You need a release. Of course you do, that’s why he’s here. Ready to be what you need. And incredibly turned on. 

Because of you.  

“Fuck–” he hisses, grinding you deeper into the mattress with his pelvis pinned to yours. 

You squirm, hips bucking, but it only makes his cock pulse with heat. 

“You feel that?” His voice is dripping with pride. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your crying gets wilder. Louder. “The more you sob, the harder it makes me.” 

He doesn’t need to hear you to know. Your muscles respond to his lewd statement, quivering for him. 

Impatient. 

The corner of his mouth quirks. A subdued portrayal of his excitement. He drinks in the moment, the heat blazing between you and the glow of your dewy skin. 

Your muted voice is amplified by the stillness of the night. The calm cover of dark. Dave was built to be nocturnal–like a wild cat, and he’s patient. Precise with his prey. 

But that’s not what you are to him. You’re an equal. A creature of the night, just the same. 

So as bad as he wants it and as vulnerable as you are right now–he waits. Swallowing down groans as a fierce need courses through his veins. His weight holds you in place, but he still feels all of the tension rolling within you. 

He knows you can’t ask for this, that he has to give it to you. But, fuck, when you resist it makes him want you even more. Has him practically buzzing. Using the last of his patience. 

Until you’re ready. 

Surrender sinks in, deep, softening your limbs as you melt. He can feel the swell of emotions crescendo and dissipate as you transform with grace, becoming pliable and moldable.

And when you open your eyes, he knows. You’re offering yourself wordlessly, to him. Now. 

He drags the back of his knife down your chest languidly, before dropping the tease and slicing your top and panties with finesse. You protest into his palm but he doesn’t stop exploring, he’s sure you have other sleep clothes or he’ll replace these. 

He traces your body with the weapon, mapping different paths he’d like to trace with his lips instead. Dream versions of you feel like an insult, he confesses in murmurs–nearly imperceptible. 

Your heart beats loudly for him, increasing as he toys with pressure and misdirection. He touches you everywhere except for where you expect. A mastermind. You don’t know when he’s going to touch you. 

Time is an exquisite luxury tonight and he meditates with a clear mind as he breathes with you. Dave could stay like this for hours. But you start to twitch and flinch and toss your head. He laughs, amused with your show of discomfort. 

He’s in control. Like you wanted. The longer the tension builds, the more your tears flow, wet, warm, and constant. 

He drops his hand from your mouth, knowing you won’t scream now. 

“Please,” you whisper into the dark. “Dave, please.” He’s darkly devoted to you, obsessed with how your body tells him everything. Your chest heaves, nipples strained and taut without being touched. Just at the prospect of it. And then there’s your glistening pussy, crying so pretty for him, just like you. He’s so entranced he almost doesn’t hear you. 

“Please,” your voice cracks as another violent sob steals your breath. 

“I know,” he purrs above you. “I’m here.” 

Your words slur into garbled wails as he leans in close, pressing kisses to your wet temple, down your jaw and neck. He can taste the salt on your skin and it’s immediately addictive, but he stays focused. 

“Let me take care of you.” His voice dips, velvety and gentle. The blade in his hand tells a different story, teasing a direct path down your stomach.

"She’s so swollen, poor thing,” he murmurs, tapping the flat of the knife against your cunt, making you jerk. "You need this. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”

His fingers replace the cold metal, stroking you, rubbing over your clit—slow at first, then cruel, faster and faster. You twist, struggling to get away, but it only makes him laugh under his breath.

“Relax.” He dips two fingers inside you, curling them and teasing. 

“That’s good,” his breath is hot against your ear and he works quickly to free his drooling cock and guide it up and down your wet lips. You jolt, bumping against him at the raw heat and the pressure. 

“She’s meant for this,” he murmurs drunkenly, “made for me.” 

“Dave,” you cry weakly. He grins, pleased that you’re already so wrecked you can barely speak up. 

"Say it louder."

You shake your head, biting your lip. Refusing. 

He hums, low and disapproving. His cock slides against you, teasing—pressing, not quite giving in. Until he realizes you’re serious about arguing. Then, he pulls back and with a quiet, steady voice tries again. 

"Say my name."

When you don’t, his palm comes down against your clit—sharp, shocking, and disorienting. You gasp, writhing, but he only looks pleased.

"Oh, she liked that," he purrs, doing it again. Another slap. A roll of his thumb, a wicked, relentless rhythm that makes your body push against him, reaching for more. He watches the pain and pleasure on your face meld. 

"Say. My. Name."

You choke on it, barely more than a whisper—“Dave.”

“Mmm. Again.”

You hesitate. Another slap. Harder. 

“Louder.”

You sob his name. 

“Good.”

He knew he’d win, but he decides you deserve a reward for that. He doubles down, using his hands and keen observations to work you closer and closer, catching every tremble of your muscles and tensing of your hips until he feels your cunt clenching pathetically around his fingers. 

“There you go.” 

You gawk openly as he coats his cock with the arousal shining on his fingers, before he’s sliding it along your seam once more. Then, he starts to sink inside of you, forcing himself to take it slow. Savoring the tight stretch, the resistance, when you yelp— “Wait!” 

"No," he growls, pressing your hips down. “No more waiting.” Then he buries himself inside you with one hard stroke. "Oh, fuck—"

It’s slow at first. He saws into you with long, drawn out strokes. Unhurried and mesmerized by the tight grip of your cunt and your hands. You dig your nails into his shoulders like his dreams predicted, but he never could’ve imagined how soft and wet you’d be for him. 

He thrusts in deeper and deeper as you clench firmly around him. “You feel so fucking good,” he rasps, losing himself to the perfect fit of your bodies. He rocks into you, steadily building up speed, and his groans cut off his words. 

He fucks you like you’re the love of his life. Giving you all of this part of him. Determined to prove that he’s been listening this whole time. 

The way you sob—it’s different than he imagined. More raw. But the way you arch under him? That’s real. That’s instinct. You don’t even realize the way you’re sucking him in.

"Yeah,” he groans. “So fucking pretty when you cry for me."

His lips brush softly over your temple, so gentle it feels mocking. Then, in the same breath—

"My perfect little whore. Look at you—a mess. So needy.”

He pounds into you, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

“Listen,” he orders and you stifle your gasps and pleas. The only sounds are the slick, slapping noises where you’re joined and the grunts he tries to muffle when he meets the end of you. 

“Taking it so well, just like that. So good for me.” 

You wince when he praises you. He notices. He laughs.

"Oh, but good girls don’t drip all over my cock like this, do they?"

You don’t say anything. Letting your head loll as he keeps up the same pace. 

“That’s it,” he encourages. Praising you for existing. The moment stretches and shrinks from forever to fleeting. 

His words dissolve into grunts. He folds your knee to your chest, fucking you harder—brutal now.

Quiet whimpers escape your lips as your body bounces from the force of him. The sweet sound incites a primal fire inside of Dave, drawing all of his focus. 

“You like it rough, don’t you?”

Your answer is just a choked, broken sound. It’s not enough.

“Say it.”

You slam your eyes shut, refusing. He’s not playing this game again. The slap is instant. A sharp crack across your cheek that stuns you.

“Say. It.”

Your voice shakes. “I like it rough.”

“My filthy fucking slut,” he groans, fucking you deeper. Your hips shift, proving his point.

“Of course my perfect girl likes it rough. Wants it harder too.”

His voice drops lower, rougher. “Now say thank you.”

You whimper, shaking your head. The slap is instant. Sharp. Blistering.

“Say it.”

“Thank you.” You spit the words out quickly. 

“Mmm, that’s better. So polite.”

He manhandles you onto your stomach, pinning you ass up. His weight crushes you into the mattress—and then he slams back inside, deep.

The angle knocks the air right out of your lungs, choking gasping breaths fill the room and he curses behind you. 

“Look at you. Clenching down on me like you don’t want me to leave.”

He watches as he sinks inside you again and again, and you cry louder, unable to quiet yourself. Not when he’s giving you what you’ve been begging for all this time. 

Your whines are stuttered by his hips snapping into you and muffled by the mattress you’re pressed into. If you had anything to say he wouldn’t be able to listen now. But it doesn’t matter anyway.

You rock against him, not coordinated in your timing, but more urgent, primal. The tight, wet squeeze of your cunt pulling him deeper is close to divinity—debaucherous maybe, but still heavenly. Engulfed by your warmth, deep as he can reach, your muscles contract pulsing around him dangerously. But he catches on. 

“Trying to milk my cock, already?” He huffs the question, memorizing the way you mewl with disappointment as he slows down. 

“No. You’re not done yet.”

You sway, relying on him for support. He steadies you easily with a firm hold, fingers digging into your waist, gliding his other hand up your spine. It’s a soothing touch, just resting along the curve of your ass, until he starts to knead and spread your cheeks wider for a better view. 

He grins as you twitch under his gaze, before he spits on your other hole. He groans, a deep rumbling sound that comes from his chest as he spreads his saliva with his thumb. 

As if compelled by a voice from within, Dave resumes his pace. He fucks you hard and fast now, watching your plush flesh ripple as you bounce against him. He keeps hitting it just right, adding pressure at the perfect angle to make you cry out his name. 

He knows you’re getting close, the tension in your core pulls tighter even despite your exhaustion. You almost let go before he makes it a guarantee, working his thumb into your ass until he hears it. The moment you stop thinking. You’re too fucking full to think, to speak, to feel any shame. 

“Come for me.” 

Honest, ragged sounds pour out of you. 

“Of course, my needy whore isn���t happy with only one hole filled.” 

Everything is unfiltered as your muscles contract and you writhe against him. The strength builds from somewhere deep, beyond your control. Your body all but gives out, jerking faintly as you take everything he gives you. 

The sounds you make go straight to Dave’s head. You’ve gone dumb for him, empty-headed, out of tears. The satisfaction gives him a heady rush, and he surges into you with renewed vigor. His grunts and curses punctuate the obscene sounds coming from between your bodies as everything starts to blur. 

In one swift show of strength, he lifts your upper body, holding you against his chest. He kisses your cheek, wet and sticky from your tears—then he’s gasping, low and raspy as he fucks his come into you as deep as he can manage. 

“Fuck.” 

Your intermingled breathing is louder than any other sounds you’ve made tonight. 

“Easy,” he husks, “let me stay.”

He lowers you with care, ultimately pinning you under his weight. His cock is still buried inside you, thick and leaking, making sure every drop stays where he put it.

“Stay just like this. I want you to feel me dripping out of you all night.” You’re still collapsed in a heap when he gets up, and still stuck to the sheets when he returns. You barely stir when he sets a glass of water on your nightstand, or when he peels the torn scraps of fabrics you’d worn earlier from beneath you and drapes the covers back over your body. 

But, when he leans toward your face you flinch away, turning your head. He doesn’t like that. 

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. His thumb strokes over your bruised cheek, mocking softness. 

Then, a kiss—pressed against your damp temple. His breath lingers, warm. You shudder.

Overwhelmed. 

He sees the fatigue clouding your eyes and his pride swells knowing you’re as sated as he is.

“Because of you,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t wait for you to reply, leaving as quietly as he entered. 

A few months later it’s game night at Marina’s again. The Never have I ever box is open on the table. 

The prompts spark laughter and more stories of mildly adventurous escapades and college memories. 

They’re a few rounds into the game when Dave pulls another card. He stops himself from rolling his eyes at the prompt. It reads like an idea pitched by a 21 year old corporate intern. Instead, he pretends to read from the card using his own idea. 

“Never have I ever…cried during sex.” A crooked smile spreads on Dave’s face. You sip your drink this time, holding eye contact without blinking.

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[hottestvirgin]

hi can you do rough sex with jake at the back stage after concert? and you try your best to stay quiet so that no one will know what’s going on with you two as he fucks you from behind 🤭

ohgkhmhg i got so horny writing this

warnings. idol!jake, sub!reader, smut, sexual intercourse, swearing, backshawts, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, dumbification

you were jake’s lucky charm. someone he looked forward to seeing everyday. you were just his stylist. but after a while, the sexual tension grew. and you found yourself getting fucked by the idol after every concert.

jake dashes backstage, sweat dripping down his forehead and he looks breathtaking, as always. you’re quick to accompany him, using a cold towel to dab away the sweat.

the idol stares at you, never breaking away from your avoided gaze and he grazes your arm. you give him a slight nudge.

“stop. they might be recording.” you whisper, clearing your throat and turning your head to snake sure no one saw him. you knew how knetz were.

“i need to see you.” he simply says.

there was a secluded area backstage that only you and jake knew about.

so you meet him in the spot and he’s quick to bend you over, rutting his throbbing bulge against your clothed ass with a low, quiet groan.

“gon’ let me fuck this pussy here, hm?” he asks, yanking your pants down and exposing your damp panties.

“y-yes.. but be quick..” you bite back your bottom lip to quiet your desperate whines.

lifting his shirt and pulling his own pants down along his boxers, his hard cock slaps against his stomach and he pulls the center of your panties to the side, pushing his tip into your dripping entrance.

“fuck, i missed you.” jake murmurs while sliding inside you. your knees buckle at the stretch.

“f..fuck!” you squeal, and jake quickly covers your mouth with his veiny hand.

each thrust forges wet, sloppy sounds that could’ve easily gotten you two caught. but you can’t help it. you’re just so horny and wet for your man.

jake’s free hand squeezes your ass and he groans when you clench around him.

“shiiit, feels so good.” jake lifts and holds your leg, then pounds into you relentlessly. you don’t know what to do with yourself or how to stay quiet when he’s absolutely destroying your swollen cunt.

“there, there, puh-lease..” when he angles his hips to fill you completely you feel your lips trembling to let out a loud, throaty scream.

“cmere, baby.” jake coos and lifts your upper body by your neck and pulls your back towards his chest. you swore you were seeing stars.

his cock fills you completely, pressing firmly against every inch of your throbbing walls. he holds still for a moment to savor the filling of being inside you.

“j-jake,” you wince, jolting when he tightens the hand on your throat.

jake’s freehand roams across your body, exploring every inch of your skin. he’s so intoxicated with how you feel, how you smell. you’re perfect.

“you like that, ma?” he questions, bending you back over and he spreads your cheeks apart to watch how your hole struggles to take him completely.

his cock slides thick and heavy in and out of your dripping cunt. he hoists your leg up again. now you were really seeing fucking stars.

“yes, ydsyesurs, jake i’m.. so close, love ylur cock do mych.” you slur.

“takin’ me so good. bout’ to cum? go ahead, babygirl. cream my cock like a good girl.” he whispers in your ear.

and then you’re clenching tightly around him, body trembling as you cum hard. his hand immediately works to cover your mouth.

the head of his cock kisses your cervix and he releases inside your womb, painting your fluttering walls with his cum.

“fuuuk..” his body jerks as he rides out his own orgasm, moving his hand away from your mouth and pulling out of you.

you fall to your knees with a groan, the hot feeling of his cum dripping out of your abused cunt sends shivers down your spine.

“cmon, pretty. let’s get cleaned up.” jake grabs your arm. but what you both didn’t know was that heeseung had been there and watching the whole time, mouth agape.

[acmeangel]

I’ll say it with my full chest: Bertholdt is equally as complex—if not more—as any other character in AoT and people only see him as ‘boring’ or ‘just there’ because he is quiet.

In a show full of natural born leaders, those who act without hesitation, who speak their minds loudly and impassioned, it’s easy for a quiet character to be seen as unimportant. But this couldn’t be further from the truth.

Bertholdt’s quiet demeanor is not to be mistaken with simplicity—to me, he is a textbook overthinker, riddled with conflicting thoughts, growing fears, and guilt that remains firmly planted in his mind, taking root there and growing out of control.

As someone who is quiet and meek by nature, it’s not surprising that Bertholdt grows into this nervous, indecisive person—he’s been a warrior since he was a child, an immense weight placed on his shoulders, the burden of being someone able to cause mass destruction with ease.

He’s been used as a weapon, constantly told what to do by others; he can master any skill better than most others, but lacks the power to do anything with those skills until he’s told.

He knows that if he is obedient, if he does what he is told is right, that he will be able to save his sick father, become an honorary Marleyan, and have some semblance of peace and safety. To him, at this point, he can be someone who defeats evil if he stays on the right path.

But, this becomes less simple as Bertholdt becomes wracked with guilt as he grows more and more aware of the truths of the world and the war he’s been forced to fight in; one that is not against evil, but driven by fear and hate.

We see it from one of his first ever interactions—when he uses the hanged man’s story as his own cover story when he speaks to Eren and Armin for the first time. Sure, he was trying to blend in, but he could’ve just as easily made something up.

That story had actually been weighing heavily on him, when he reveals that he’d been having recurring nightmares about it and asks Reiner in private why that man would bother telling that story just to later hang himself.

The thought is brushed aside rather quickly, but this gives us a look into Bertholdt’s mind and personality; someone battling inner turmoil, someone who contemplates what it means to have agency over life and death, someone who grapples with guilt.

He likely believed that the man wanted to be judged for his actions, to feel the weight of his guilt, before taking his own life; just as Bertholdt already felt the guilt of his actions in destroying Shiganshina and subconsciously was likely seeking out judgment and consequence. His sleeping position even matches The Hanged Man tarot card.

Later, we see Bertholdt’s guilt, emotions, and inactions reach a boiling point that compromises the warriors’ mission. He lets Armin use his feelings toward Annie as leverage to distract him, and he has a breakdown as he confesses to his friends in the Scouts that he hates what he’s done, that he genuinely does consider them friends, and that he wants to pay for what he’s done.

He knows that it was because of him that Eren ended up getting away, that he’d be the reason that Reiner and Annie would continue being in danger in Paradis, their mission now prolonged—his guilt only continues to build.

Moments before the return to Shiganshina, Zeke and Reiner had both told him that he needs to begin acting on his own, Reiner even going so far as to call him unreliable.

As someone who relies on the people he cares about and seeks direction from them, hearing that his own friends and comrades actually doubt his abilities and reliability would shake him to his core.

This interaction surely made him steel himself, made him push down his emotions, made him act. It made him put on a mask of apathy toward the Scouts, his friends, and nihilism toward the world around him, and play a role.

(Not to mention, Bertholdt has now seen Reiner—this person who was seen as weak, who was never even meant to be a warrior in the first place—grow into an actionable leader, and I can only imagine that would make his own self-doubts grow.)

I think when he transformed into the Colossal, part of him also genuinely did want it all to end, there, no matter the consequences. Reiner was too injured at that point to be the leader; it was his one, final chance to prove himself, to show that he is capable of doing something.

And I believe, too, that he was a terrified kid who just wanted the fighting to end—knowing that if it didn’t happen there, it would happen eventually, after more and more death and destruction.

He knows these people, his so-called enemies aren’t devils, aren’t evil, and don’t deserve death simply for being born on the opposite side of a war, but they have to die to prevent further bloodshed and catastrophe.

He knows the world is a cruel place, and there’s no changing it. He’s one of the first people to acknowledge that both sides are just doing what they think is the right thing, and if that’s the case, then the “right thing” ceases to exist. There are no devils; there are simply two sides and the hatred that fuels them.

There was no other way out this time—he couldn’t crumble under the weight of his guilt and risk compromising their mission again, for the sake of Reiner, for the sake of Annie, for the sake of his father, for the sake of everyone. He’d already done that before, and he couldn’t do it again—his true nature, to him, was nothing but a weakness.

He’d been fighting for his whole life, had seen and done unimaginable things that tormented him, had learned truths about the world that shattered what he’d been taught since childhood, and he knew that one way or another, things were going to play out in a horrific, gruesome way.

And at that moment, he accepted it because he had no other choice.

You could see his behavior in his last moments as true apathy—but I don’t. I see it as a terrified, exhausted, guilt-riddled kid living in a painfully cruel world, wanting to make it all stop and knowing that a peaceful outcome was never going to happen, that the cycles of hatred never cease.

I see it as him putting on a metaphorical armor to push past his own fears, guilts, and powerlessness.

And in his death, you see him return to his true self, his true nature—a timid, scared, lost and lonely boy, reaching out for the help of his friends…

[hazelira]

part 2 of butterfly blue

The last thing Jake remembered about loving you wasn't your laugh—though he missed that too. It wasn’t how your head tilted when you were trying not to cry or how you hummed when you cooked barefoot and off-key.

It was the silence.

Not the angry kind. Not the screaming, shattering kind you see in movies. No.

It was the silence after you hung up. The clean, surgical slice of a call ended too easily.

He stared at the screen long after it went black. Long after, your voice stopped echoing in his head. The silence bled into his chest and stayed there. It wasn’t loud. It was just… final.

He told you he didn’t love you anymore.

And maybe, for a moment, he believed it.

Not because it was true—but because he wanted it to be. Because it was easier than admitting he didn’t know how to hold something so bright without dimming it. Without breaking it.

He said the words like they were simple. Measured. Precise.

But when you didn’t cry, didn’t beg—when you just went quiet and ended the call—something inside him cracked so quietly, he didn’t hear it until much later, until it was too late.

You looked happy.

That day on the street with jasmine in the air and your shoulders straighter than he’d ever seen them. You were wearing your laugh again like armour, like defiance. Like freedom.

He almost didn’t recognize you.

Until he did.

He saw the butterfly necklace and felt something sharp twist beneath his ribs.

“You look happy,” he’d said because it was the only thing he could say without unravelling.

"I have to be," you replied. And just like that, you became a mirror of everything he wasn’t brave enough to be.

He never told you that he waited after that. He stayed on that street for another hour, breathing in ghosts and watching the sky bruise into the evening. He never told you that he whispered your name into the wind and hated how it no longer belonged to him.

He dated. He smiled. He fucked. But everything felt like drinking water when you’re drowning—useless. cold. desperate.

They didn’t laugh like you. They didn’t challenge him. They didn’t see him like you did—the good, the cruel, the boy still trying to be a man.

You had loved every piece of him. Even the ones he tried to hide. Especially those.

And he repaid you by making you smaller.

You stopped calling. I never reached out. He thought maybe you’d text on his birthday, the way you always used to—sending some dumb inside joke or a picture of a sky you said looked like a painting.

But the silence held.

And he learned that silence is a kind of answer, too.

It was a Tuesday, three months later, when he saw the butterflies.

Monarchs. Bold, unapologetic. They filled the sky above a field near your favourite bookstore, the one you’d once dragged him to on your birthday because you liked the smell of pages more than cake.

He stood in the middle of the street, watching orange wings slice the sky—and he remembered.

How you used to chase beauty like it was a religion.

How he’d forgotten to worship with you.

He dreams of you sometimes.

In those dreams, you sit across from him at a kitchen table that doesn’t belong to anyone. The air is warm. You're older. Wiser. Your eyes still carry that sad kind of kindness that forgives but never forgets.

“I never stopped loving you,” he tells you in those dreams.

And every time, you say the same thing:

“Maybe in another life.”

Then you smile.

And he wakes up gasping.

He doesn’t miss you like a song.

He misses you like a phantom limb.

Like the sound of his name spoken with reverence. Like the version of himself who could have stayed. Who could’ve loved you without needing to dim you down to keep you close?

He thinks maybe that version of him only existed in your eyes.

And when you looked away—when you left—so did he.

Some nights, he writes you letters he never sends. He keeps them in a box with a photo of you laughing, mid-spin, hair wild and unbothered.

You used to say you didn’t occupy space—you became it.

He remembers that now.

God, he remembers everything now.

He saw a girl in a bookstore once wearing a butterfly necklace.

He almost called your name.

But he didn’t.

Because some things aren’t meant to be chased.

Some things are meant to be mourned.

And some loves—the loudest, the brightest, the most alive—are only meant to break you open so you can finally begin again.

In another life, maybe he would’ve stayed.

But in this one?

He watches the sky bleed, butterfly blue, alone.

And he whispers to the wind:

“Maybe in another life, I was the kind of man who knew how to love her right. But this is the one where I learned too late.”

And maybe… that’s his punishment.

To remember.

To ache.

To grieve the sun, he made set.

Alone. Always.

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[hunkadorusrex]

Darry had just sat down with the evening paper when the front door slammed open like the wind had caught it. He barely had time to register the blur of movement before his youngest brother was on him, arms locking tight around his middle, face pressing into his chest like he was a little kid again.

For a second, Darry froze. Ponyboy never came to him first. If the kid was upset, he always went straight for Soda, the way he always had, the way Darry had long since accepted. But Soda was still standing in the doorway, eyes wide before his expression melted into something fond. He shot Darry a look, a little grin like 'would you look at that.?', and started making frantic little hug-him-back gestures with his hands.

Darry’s hands hovered for a beat before finally coming down to rest against Ponyboy’s back. Okay. Okay, yeah, this is happening.

Ponyboy didn’t say anything right away. Just stayed pressed against him like he needed to convince himself Darry was real, solid, alive.

Darry cleared his throat, because hell, what else was he supposed to do? “This better not be your way’a trying to get out of something, kiddo.”

Ponyboy shook his head against his chest.

“Curly almost died today.”

Darry’s stomach clenched. “What kinda shit were you two gettin’ into?” he demanded, already picturing every stupid, reckless, goddamn dangerous thing those two could’ve pulled—drag racing, a bad fight, running their damn mouths at the wrong people.

Pony’s breath hitched, face barely scrunching up before Soda swooped in, voice all gentle and smoothing things over. “Just start at the beginning, honey.”

He gave Darry another Look. Jesus, man.

Darry pressed his lips together, forced himself to ease up, even though every instinct in him was coiled tight, ready to snap. Pony never came to him first.

Ponyboy pulled back just enough to talk, but not enough to let go, fingers still curled into Darry’s shirt. “Angela got a new goat,” he started, and Darry blinked because what the hell kind of beginning is that, but he let Pony keep talking.

Ponyboy walked them through the whole afternoon, voice slow, like he was still processing it as he spoke. The fence-building. The bickering. Susan the Goat, who was about to pop with babies any day now. The laughter. The second everything went to hell.

“I thought he was dead,” Pony said, voice going quiet. “One second he was laughing and the next—he wasn’t breathing.”

Darry could picture it, all too easily. Curly Shepard, big mouth, bad attitude, too much energy for his own good—lying there lifeless.

Pony’s breath hitched again. “I just kept begging him not to die. I—I didn’t know what else to do.”

And then it hit him.

Ponyboy had known exactly what to do. Darry had made damn sure of that.

Darry had been the one to teach all his brothers CPR. Had drilled it into them like he did everything else, because he never wanted to be caught not knowing how to save someone again.

And now Pony had used it. And saved someone’s life.

Pony looked up at him, something raw in his expression. “I just—I wanted to say thank you,” he said, like it was something he wasn’t used to saying out loud. “I don’t—I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost someone else.”

Darry exhaled sharply, something catching in his throat. He squeezed Pony’s shoulder, pulled him back into the hug just a little tighter. “You did good, kid.” His voice came out rougher than he meant it to, but Pony didn’t seem to mind.

Soda was still watching, still grinning, but his eyes were a little softer now, like he understood something Darry hadn’t even figured out yet.

Ponyboy never came to him first.

But today, he had.

[n6ptunova]

gamer boy • chris sturniolo

a/n: can’t stop thinking abt gamer chris someone sedate me.

summary: giving chris head while he streams fortnite and tries to keep quiet.

warnings: idk if this counts as smut but suggestive content, blowjob, mentions of sex, not proofread

og fortnite dropped recently which meant your boyfriend has been more occupied than usual. it was seriously an addiction for this man, he stayed up for hours, forgot to eat, and worst of all- in your opinion- he barely paid any attention to you nowadays. you’ve had enough tho, so tonight you’re changing things up.

you sat on one side of chris’ bed, out of frame, since him and his brothers decided to stream today. you were mindlessly scrolling through your phone waiting for them to finish but it was taking too long. you looked over at chris and he’s never looked more fine, his hair was messy underneath the headset, his eyes serious and focused on the screen, his mouth parted- occasionally licking or biting his lips- you wanted him, you missed having chris all over you, his lips on yours, his dick inside you, you needed him. bad.

fuck it. you thought to yourself getting down on the floor and crawling quietly towards chris’ desk without being seen or heard. he briefly glanced down at you, not thinking much of your position, you’re probably just looking for something.

you put your hand on his knee slowly pushing his chair back so you could get underneath the desk fully. once you sat down on your knees you pulled him back so his crotch was right in front of your face. now he was confused. he couldn’t say anything since he was livestreaming with his brothers so he resorted to furrowing his eyebrows and giving you a quick questioning look- immediately looking back at the screen so he doesn’t look suspicious- or lose.

you put your pointer finger on your lips indicating for him to be quiet and started to slide both your hands up his thighs reaching for the waistband of his shorts. he was caught off guard by this causing him to lose the game, “NO FUCK- bro one second i need to use the bathroom.”

he turned off his camera and muted his mic, “what the fuck are you doing?” he didn’t sound annoyed or angry just confused.

“i miss you, chris. you haven’t been paying any attention to me lately,” you pouted.

“i’m so sorry babe but can it wait? i promise you’ll have my full attention when i’m done.”

“no.”

“no?”

“no chris. i’ve ran out of patience so you’re gonna play your stupid game with your dick in my throat. don’t make a sound so no one catches on ok?”

“i- ” he hesitated for a moment, stunned, before deciding he liked the risk, “yes ma’am.”

he stood up allowing you to pull his pants down to his ankles and as he sat back down he made sure his lower half was out of frame before unmuting and opening the camera, “i’m back guys.”

as they started another round, you wrapped your fingers around his dick causing him to suck in his breath, and very very slowly you started to pump him, hands sliding up and down. he let a faint moan slip out and quickly closed his mouth shut. this was going to be hard.

you brought your face closer and licked a stripe going up his dick, your tongue flat against it. “ooohhh my god,” he groaned trying his best to disguise this as frustration from the game but truth is, he was losing his mind over the sight of you on your knees about to suck him off in front of thousands of viewers.

you repeated the same motion, tongue gliding up but this time once you reached the top you took him whole in your mouth, the tip briefly nudging your throat, coming back up you swirl your tongue in circles on his tip.

“oh fuck,” he almost rolls his eyes and head back, trying to control his breathing but he’s running out of breath, twitching and breathing heavier everytime his tip touched the back of your throat. you started getting sloppier with it and you could tell he was close.

“chris bro fucking focus that guy was right in front of you! you could’ve easily killed him!” matt yells at chris after losing again. chris can barely keep his grip on the controller- let alone play properly.

“ughhh i c-can’t with this stupid game, i need a drink brb.” he uses this as an excuse to turn off the mic and camera again.

the moment he did, he slumped far back into his chair, his head and eyes rolled backwards as he let out a sigh mixed with a moan. he bucked his hips upwards and tangled his hand into your hair.

“fuckfuckfuck please don’t stop,” he begs as you continue doing what you’re doing, enjoying the heavenly sounds coming out of his mouth until he finally releases his load into your mouth, whining and whimpering at how good it feels. you swallow whole and stick your tongue out to show him.

“you’re fucking insane. i love you.” he cups your face with both of his hands and leans down to give you the most passionate kiss wasting no time to deepen it with his tongue in your mouth as you sit yourself on his lap, running your hands through his hair. you pull back to catch your breath and you’re loving how fucked he looks right now.

“i love you too,” you giggle, “now get a win with your brothers already so we can finish this in your bed, you owe me.”

“anything for you ma.” he gives a quick kiss before you get up and go back to your original place on his bed, thinking about riding him next time he games with his friends with the camera off. this is gonna be fun.

[mochie85]

Truth Or Dare

These Wicked Games Collection Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: The first contact you and Loki had made in weeks, since the falling out that fateful morning. A game of Truth or Dare makes you both confront your feelings. Suggested Song: "Do I Wanna Know" by The Arctic Monkeys Word Count: 2.9K Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Smut adjacent/Mature, a game of truth or dare, a kiss between Reader and Steve Rogers. 😏

Pent-up days bled into lonely nights. You retreated into your room, save for mission briefings and assignments that Fury would send you too.

Your interactions with Loki had been civil. Not a word was spoken between you two that didn’t involve other people or the task at hand. And when you found yourself in each other’s company, alone, you would just leave the room.

What you didn’t see were the glances and the stares in your direction. Not Loki’s, but the team’s.

“They must’ve fucked,” Bucky whispered.

“Absolutely, they did,” Natasha confirmed.

“How do you know?” Steve asked. “You can’t know that.” The three of them were watching through the glass wall of the conference room. You were showing the new recruit, Wanda, around the common areas and Loki was watching you through side glances and narrowed eyes.

“Do you remember how he acted during poker night?” Bucky asked.

“Ya, he was a real piece of work. I thought we were gonna have to call HR or something the way he was coming on to her,” Steve spurned.

“Ya, and now…that stopped. He got over his infatuation.” Bucky observed.

“Or he wasn’t enough to satisfy her.” Natasha counteroffered. Both men looked at her quizzically. “I mean come on. Not once had she looked in his direction. She’s over him. But he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off her!” Natasha said proudly of you. Neither Steve nor Bucky could argue with her assessment.

You had just walked into your room when a loud knock came on your door. “Come in” you yelled across your apartment.

“Hey,” Nat said, walking in and sitting on your duvet. She eyed you up and down looking at your blouse and pencil skirt. “Did you just have a meeting?”

“Ya, with Fury.” You said, mid unbutton.

“Don’t get undressed yet. The rest of the team is on a mission again tonight. So, we thought we’d have a little movie night to welcome Wanda.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I think she would love that. I’m down,” you said excitedly.

“Great! Same crew as poker night.” Nat said getting up to leave.

“On second thought…”

“What?! What is it?” Nat asked running through a list of possible scenarios and conclusions in her head. “Oh my God, is it because of Laufeyson?”

“WHAT?! No! Why would you say that? Pfft…of course not!” You laughed. “Laufeyson? Why would I care? I don’t- I don’t care,” you prattled.

“You guys slept together, didn’t you?” She smirked, wanting confirmation of her earlier theory. You stayed quiet. Just staring at her, not knowing how to answer her question. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of it. It was just that it ended on a very sour note. “Your face says it all. Tell me everything!”

You sat there, telling her about the amazing night you had weeks ago. How you brazenly went to his room that night of the poker game and had your own game. But then you also told her about the following morning and how neither of you have really talked about it since.

“You like him, don’t you?” she asked with a Cheshire grin. “You really like him!” You groaned and flopped yourself on the bed, hiding underneath your pillows. “I honestly don’t see the problem. The man was packed! And if you’ve managed to ride it and leave it. More power to you.”

“Natasha!”

“What?! I remember the poker game. I remember him stripping!” she laughed as you rolled your eyes.

“How could I forget? He made a show about it in front of me when he could’ve easily just magicked his clothes off!”

“Look. Just come. Prove to him that you don’t care what he said to you. That it was a game for you too and nothing more. Right?”

“Right…” you agreed hesitantly.

You followed Nat down the hallway, praying to any powers-that-be that Loki wouldn’t show up. Wanda bound up to the two of you and she blocked your view of the common area. She was very excited about the movie, thanking Steve for letting her choose it. When she moved to sit, was when your eyes landed on the recliner across from you. Decked out in a fitted white shirt and loose black denim, sat Loki, with his arms crossed and legs open as if in invitation.

You sat on the couch to the other side of him, facing the other direction, pretending to be interested in the projector Bucky was trying to work out. Bucky smacked it a few times till the light flickered momentarily and then went black again.

“Why is this not working?!” Bucky raised his arm to hit it again before you and Vision stopped him.

“You know, I think we should play a little game to take our mind off things while those two try to fix the monitor,” suggested Natasha. “A little game of Truth or Dare, perhaps?” The game got your attention and you looked directly at the redhead, affixing your death stare to her pouty lips.

What are you up to? You mouthed to her. She ignored you completely and turned around. “Ooh, can I go first? I love this game!” Wanda asked bouncing excitedly. “I’ll start with Steve!”

“Awe why do you have to start with me?” He asked petulantly.

“Cuz you’re our fearless leader. So lead!” Natasha pushed. Steve only rolled his eyes.

“Truth or dare?” Wanda asked.

Steve lowered his head down in defeat, smiling, trying to be a good sport. “Dare,” he said to the resounding oohs and aahs from the group.

“I dare you to demonstrate the best kiss you’ve ever had.” Wanda smiled innocently at the heckles and jabs thrown in Steve’s direction. Although, you got the feeling that she was hiding more than she was letting on.

“What? Like in the air?” Steve proceeds to pucker his lips and kiss an imaginary person in front of him.

“No! OK, that’s… kind of gross!” Everyone laughed.

“How ‘bout on her!” Nat interrupted, pointing to you as she sat back and smiled, watching the whole thing play out.

Heat ran down your back as you looked at Steve. He gave you a boyish, heartwarming smile that almost took your breath away. You watched as he got up and made his way over to you. Did everything just go in slow motion? He lifted your chin to face him. “May I?” he asked so sweetly, and you nodded in response. With bright blue eyes shut, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft at first. He gently sucked on your upper lip and splayed his hands open, cupping your cheek. You had missed this. The closeness. The intimacy.

You missed him!

You started thinking about Loki and the few erotically charged moments you spent with him. You moaned at Steve’s touch, imagining it was Loki you were kissing. Steve took that as a sign to tilt his head and his tongue dove in further. It slid across yours, sending a tingling sensation down to your core.

Natasha watched Loki. As Loki watched you. The scowl on his face getting deeper and deeper as you clung to Steve tighter and tighter. Steve pulled away slowly, as he breathed out. You didn’t realize you were holding tight to his lapels, on your tippy toes, keeping him close to you.

“Ok. My turn!” Steve smiled and turned around abruptly as if he hadn’t given you one memorable kiss. You stood there stunned into place, slowly turning to face away from Loki. Steve looked at Natasha to exact his revenge. “Natasha. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” She answered confidently.

“Have you ever fantasized about anyone in this room, intimately?”

“Yes.” She answered and Bucky’s ears picked up, looking at the deadly assassin through his side eyes.

“Who?!” Steve asked aloud.

“Fixed!” Bucky yelled as the monitor came to life.

“One more before the movie starts.” Nat turned to you and asked you with wild eyes and a mischievous grin. “Truth or dare?”

You took a deep breath and sighed, “Dare.” Nat’s grin got even wider as she walked up to you and whispered her dare in your ear.

“Oh come on! We all want to hear it!” Wanda said. Your eyes turned wide and the expression on your face dropped when Natasha pulled away.

“Go on. You have to do it! You chose dare.” She goaded you. You narrowed your eyes at her as you started making your way over to Loki on his lone recliner. His arms were still folded, and his legs were still open.

The confusion on his face was telling. It got even more concerned when you turned around and sat directly on his lap. Loki held his arms in the air, unsure of what to do or where to put them. “Excuse me?!” he finally said.

The room looked at both of you, chuckling and awe-faced. Nat looked like she had won a match that you were unwittingly a player in.

“Just go with it, okay?” you whispered to Loki.

“Go with what? Why are you sitting on my lap?” Loki bellowed.

“Shh! The movie is starting,” Natasha scolded the both of you, turning around with a self-satisfying grin. The audacity! The fucking nerve of this woman! You were going to pay her back somehow. You didn’t know where or how, but one day! Best friend be damned! Maybe you’ll reveal who she’s been having fantasies about. Maybe you’ll hide all her guns. Yeah! And her stun bracers too!

Loki placed his hands on the armrest. He was euphoric at the turn of events. But highly confused as to what the dare was to make you sit on his lap. How long will he have? Are you going to sit here for the entire movie? Can he touch you? Norns how he longed to touch you! It’s been weeks since that awful morning. And every time he tried to talk to you, you would leave the room. Or there were more pressing matters at hand.

His pride and confidence left him the morning you left his bed. He thought he made it very clear how in love with you he was. But you either didn’t believe him or you were just playing a game with him.

He didn’t know how to approach you anymore. But one thing is for certain, if you keep moving the way you were, he would have to excuse himself immediately.

“Stop moving!” he ordered.

“I can’t help it. You’re not exactly comfortable to sit on.” You whisper-growled back at him.

“That’s not what it looked like a couple weeks back. I seem to recall you enjoyed sitting on my lap.” Without warning, Loki grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to his frame. Seating you right in between his open legs. Right on the cushion of the seat. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said begrudgingly. “Thank you.”

“Always a pleasure, darling.”

The first half hour of the movie was hard to follow. Every breath Loki would take, any small movement he would make, you felt it right behind you. You sat perfectly stiff. Your back, like a ruler, not wanting to give in to his warmth and comfort.

As the movie progressed, you tried to make the best of your awkward situation. The team had settled and forgotten about the two of you in the back of the room. You yourself got lost in the dramatic plot of the movie. All too soon, your arms grew tired. You relaxed them onto the armrest, forgetting that they were already occupied by Loki’s. You tried to relax them to your sides but were met with his thighs on either side of you.

Loki didn’t seem fazed by any of it. His breathing was even. His heartbeat was steady as a drum, albeit thumping loudly and hard behind you. The only tell he gave away was the movement of his head next to yours. His quick inhale of breath as he surreptitiously smelled the perfume of your hair.

How long has it been? Days? Weeks? A lifetime, since you’ve felt his touch. And here you are now, sitting on his lap, hoping that the growing hardness you felt behind you is what you think it is and not just his belt buckle.

“Truth or dare, darling?” Loki whispered in your ear, breaking his resolve.

“Loki, I’m tired of these games. I don’t-”

“Truth? Or dare?” he insisted. You gave out a big sigh and rolled your eyes, knowing he could see your expression. You looked around at your team, engrossed in the movie.

“They can’t hear us as long as you whisper,” Loki said answering your unspoken question.

“Truth.” You answered him.

“Really?” he asked surprised.

“Well, a dare got me into this mess,” you reasoned.

“What was Natasha’s dare?” Of all the things he could’ve asked you. You didn’t think he would be too curious, but it was also the one answer that would leave you too vulnerable.

“She dared me to-”

“Sit on my lap?”

“No!” A beat was taken before you had the courage to say what you needed to.

“What did she say, verbatim?”

“Her exact words were…to sit with the person I had feelings for…for the entire movie,” you whispered.

Heat crawled up your spine. You can feel your embarrassment radiate through your clothes and add to the heat that Loki was giving off. You felt so flushed and nervous that you started rambling. “And you had taken up the entire space with your long legs. Clearly, there was nowhere else for me to sit but your lap. I mean honestly. It was almost as if you didn’t want anyone sitting next to you. What’s the point in coming to these group exercises if you don’t intend to be amiable? I-”

“Shh,” Loki said putting his finger to your lips. “Keep your voice down, darling. Or else my enchantment will fail.” You looked around at your teammates who were still engrossed in the movie.

He pulled you closer to the chair, flushed against his firm chest. His large hand cradled your stomach while his other fingers continued to explore your lips. They tickled you as he ran them gingerly, tracing your cupid’s bow down to the soft pout of your bottom lip. He kept his stare at your mouth, lost in thought.

“Dare me, darling.” He whispered.

“That’s not how the game works, Loki,” you smiled.

“Dare me to kiss you. Please.” His plea took you by surprise. Desire wrapped around the two of you. Squeezing the air from both your lungs, leaving you wanting.

Breathlessly you said, “I dare you to kiss me Lo-” You hadn’t finished your sentence before his lips hungrily descended on yours. His hand cupped your cheek and kept your head to his. Your hands intertwined with his and he held on to you tighter.

Loki’s kiss was deep and demanding. There was a sense of urgency to it as if he was running out of time and he had yet to get his fill of you. He pulled away briefly to breathe but his appetite only grew. He needed to kiss you. He needed to touch you. Everywhere.

With his eyes closed, his lips found your neck and artfully marked your skin. His hands flew to the buttons of your shirt, opening them one by one as you laid your head back onto his shoulders.  You gave in to him. Into his touch. His hands reached inside and cupped your breast, making you moan.

A well-timed explosion happened in the movie that you and Loki had already disregarded. It pulled your attention away from his yearning, giving you logic long enough to remember where you were.

“Loki…” you whimpered. He ignored your cries and was lost in his own spiral. “Loki I…I need you. But not here. Not in front of everyone.”

“Why not in front of everyone? That way Rogers knows what a proper kiss looks like,” he growled. His jealousy made you titter. “Let me wipe that moment out of your memories. Let me replace it with my lips.” He grabbed your chin and kissed you again with no regard for keeping it quiet. His entire body shook with emotion. Longing, jealousy, dominance.

“I was thinking of you,” you admitted panting onto his lips. “I was imagining I was kissing you.”

Loki stared into your eyes as he let that information swirl in his thoughts. His growing smile sent shivers throughout your body. You felt carnal pleasure in knowing you had pleased him somehow.

His voice changed. His eyes had grown darker. He inhaled through his teeth as he praised you, “That’s my girl,” he snarled. His hands continued to roam underneath your blouse. His fingers pinched your aching nipples through the lace of your bra, sending you jolts of pleasure down to your already heated sex. “Are you going to continue being a good girl for me?”  

You nodded devotedly. “Good,” Loki growled, fighting to keep his desire at bay. “I want you to go to my room and wait for me on my bed. Can you do that for me, pet?”

You moaned when he nipped your jaw gently waiting for you to answer. You slowly got up, feeling the rush of your excitement pool down into your panties. You walked slowly, trying not to get the attention of the others, as you snuck behind the chair where Loki was sitting.

“Oh and pet…” he whispered grabbing your hand gently. “…Don’t think of running away to make me chase you like last time. Unless,” spreader bar “You’d like to be cuffed and barred again.” He smiled, daring you.

⬅️20 Questions | House of Card➡️

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958@salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10

[kendallroydefender]

Cowboy Take Me Away - Chapter 7 (Kayce Dutton x Roy!Reader)

Summary: You’re Y/n Roy the youngest daughter of one of the richest men in America but all that money can’t make you happy and you decide to move to Montana for a while. But what happens when you meet the youngest son of another influential man? (This is mainly a Yellowstone fic you don’t have to watch succession to follow it)

By the time breakfast had been over and the ranch was falling into its usual rhythm Your nerves felt tight in your stomach. You were still trying to steady them when Kayce stepped beside you on the porch.

“You ready?” he asked gently, his eyes scanning your face.

You nodded, though you didn’t quite feel it yet. “I think so.”

Kayce led you toward the barn, where John was talking with Rip. He spotted you both coming and stepped out into the sunlight with a squint.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, reading the shift in your posture before you even spoke.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” you started. Your voice was steadier than you expected, but your palms still felt damp. “About who I am.”

John’s gaze flicked briefly to Kayce, who stood quiet at your side, then back to you. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

You took a breath.

"My name's Y/N Roy." You paused. ”Logan Roy is my father.“

You saw the flicker in John’s eyes a flash of recognition.

"The Roys," he muttered under his breath, then louder

"ATN. That's your family?"

You nodded.

"Jesus."

There was a pause. You watched John, he didn’t move, didn’t speak right away, but just looked at you.

“And you didn’t lead with that because…?”

“Because I didn’t want that to be the first thing you saw when you looked at me,” you said.

"I wanted to," you said honestly. "But I didn't want to lead with it. I've been trying to build something different out here. Something that's mine, not my father's."

John's eyes flicked to Kayce.

"You knew?"

"She told me last night." He said voice calm.

John was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"Well, now I know." His tone was flat but not cold. "That explains why the Becks think they can use you."

"They can't," you said. "They won't."

That made him crack a faint smirk.

"You're not the first person to come out here running from a name. Just happens yours might bring more heat than most."

John’s eyes stayed on you. Measuring. He wasn’t someone who wasted words or gave trust easily.

“You came clean,” he said finally. “Could’ve kept that to yourself. Could’ve played it a different way.”

“I didn’t want to lie to you. Not when you’ve let me stay here. When you’ve trusted me.”

John gave a small nod, thoughtful.

“You’ve still got a lot to prove,” he said, not unkindly. “But so does everyone around here.”

Relief bloomed in your chest.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

John looked at Kayce, then back at you. “We’ll deal with whatever fallout comes from this. But I don’t want secrets. Not from anyone under this roof.”

“Understood,” you nodded.

He gave one final nod, then turned back toward the barn, calling for Rip like nothing had happened.

Kayce let out a slow breath beside you. “That went better than I thought.”

You glanced up at him. “You sure?”

He grinned faintly. “If he had a problem we would know it.”

It was later that afternoon when Kayce was outside by the stables, checking one of the horses, the tension from the day still hanging heavy in his shoulders. He barely noticed Beth approaching until he heard the crunch of gravel behind him.

"There you are," Beth said sharply.

He turned, instantly wary of her tone.

"What's going on?"

"What the hell are you thinking, Kayce? A Roy?" Beth started.

His jaw clenched. "She's not her family."

"No, but her name is still on the front of the goddamn building that owns half the media in this country. That family? They're poison. Powerhungry, cutthroat monsters who'd eat their own if it meant climbing higher. You want to drag that mess here? Into our lives?"

Kayce didn't flinch.

"She didn't choose that life. She walked away from it. She's trying to start over." Beth scoffed. "They don't start over, Kayce. They reinvent. They manipulate. You think you're special to her? You're just a wild Montana fantasy."

His eyes flashed, voice harder now. "You don't know her."

"No," Beth said. "But I know people like her.“

Something in his jaw feathered and a knowing look briefly crossed Beth’s features.

”You care about her.“ she stated simply.

”Yeah,“ Kayce answered without any doubt in his voice ”I do.“

Beth took a drag of her cigarette, studying her brother for a long moment.

"Look, I get it. She's gorgeous, she makes you happy. But if she turns on us, it won't be a fair fight, Kayce. The Duttons play dirty, but the Roys? They own the whole goddamn field."

Kayce exhaled.

”I know you’re concerned but trust me with this. She won’t hurt us.“

"Alright but if she breaks your heart don’t expect me to hold back." Beth said, flicking her cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath her boot.

Kayce ran a hand over his jaw watching his sister walk off.

Beth could be right. Maybe this would come back to bite him. Maybe the Roy name would stir up more trouble than he could predict. But you wouldn’t be the reason for it, just your name. And you weren’t just the name, you were more. You had risked enough being here, trying to build something that you wanted. And that was something he could relate to. And whatever it was that was happening between you was real, he could feel that. His instincts were good and he could feel that you weren’t pretending. And he couldn’t see what he or his family could have that the Roy’s could want to use. As far as he knew your family was not liking your move anyway.

Kayce was still on officer duty when dinner time came around.

You don’t know exactly how it had happened but suddenly Beth and Jamie were fighting. Screaming at each other across the table.

Beth stormed off first, her glass still half full. Jamie followed not long after, muttering something. The room fell quiet in their absence.

John let out a long breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry for that.”

You shook your head, half smiling.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He looked over at you, raising an eyebrow.

You stopped for a second before adding

”My siblings fight like that too,” you said, settling back in your chair. “Less shouting, more… psychological warfare. Dinner with the Roys was never about enjoying a meal. It was about strategy. Who had the upper hand. Who was the favorite that day.“

John huffed a short laugh.

“Good God.”

He took a swig off his drink before asking

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Four. Three older brothers and a sister.”

“So you’re the youngest.” He nodded slightly, something softening in his expression. “Like Kayce.”

You returned the nod.

”Your fathers company, do you want to take it over someday?“

You let out a short breath.

“No. I don’t want that. Not that he’d ever choose me anyway.”

John’s gaze didn’t waver. “He wouldn’t?”

You gave a dry smile.

“No. Never even considered me. It’s always been Kendall. And to be honest… that job is perfect for him. But it’s not what I want.”

John was quiet again, listening.

“That’s why I came here. I realized I was living a life that wasn’t mine, in a job that felt hollow.”

“What do you do?” he asked.

“PR and marketing,” you said. “I didn’t hate the work, just what I was doing with it in New York.”

“Well,” he said after a beat, “you can do that kind of thing out here, too. And leave all that noise behind.”

”Yeah, I’m starting to think this place is good for me.“

It went quiet for a moment before you spoke up again.

“I hope I’m not disrupting anything by being here,” you added, your voice a little softer. “Beth doesn’t seem thrilled.”

”You’re important to Kayce,“ he said, voice gruff ”So she’ll bark but she won’t bite.“

Your heart made a little jump. John casted a look at you again before saying goodnight as he retreated.

It was later that evening and you were back in your bedroom when your phone buzzed against the nightstand.

Kayce: You up?

You smiled a little. Of course it was him.

You: Couldn’t sleep.

A few seconds passed.

Kayce: Me neither. Come out.

You grabbed a sweatshirt, slipping out of your room in the main house as quietly as possible. The floorboards creaked in the hall but no one stirred. Outside the air was cool and still. The gravel crunched under your boots as you made your way across the field toward the cabin. Kayce was already out there, sitting on the lawn, his elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t say anything when you approached, just looked over with a small smile and patted the spot beside him.

You sat down without a word, your arm brushing his just barely. The silence was easy. Comfortable.

You just sat for a while.

“Do you know any constellations?” you asked after a moment, glancing up at the sky.

“A few,” he said.

He raised his hand, pointing skyward.

“Look, that��s the Big Dipper and that’s- uh- the Night Wolf.”

Your eyes followed his finger, squinting. “The what?”

“And that one over there,” he continued, “is the Big Buffalo.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait a second… Are you making these up?”

He turned his head toward you, a guilty grin already forming. Then he laughed, low, easy, and unguarded.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m making ‘em up.”

“You ass!” you laughed, shoving him lightly with your shoulder.

He leaned into the nudge, grinning wider. “You looked so serious. I had to.”

You shook your head, still smiling.

“I was trying to have a moment.”

A beat passed before he spoke again.

“We’re having one,” he said quietly.

You looked at him then, and for a second neither of you said a thing. The night air was cool but he was warm next to you.

You turned your face back up to the stars, a soft smile still on your lips. “Big Buffalo, huh?”

“Mhm,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Real rare one. Only shows up in Montana”

It was good to see him like this, laughing, lighter.

”Well, good that I’m here then.“

He hummed low.

You still smiled when you rested your head onto his shoulder. Seconds later his arm wrapped around your shoulder pulling you closer just slightly. Your hand resting on his knee, softly. It was nice, the night air mixing with his warmth close to you.

Just the two of you under the stars.

Your hand shifted slightly on his knee, and his thumb brushed over your shoulder absentmindedly. Neither of you spoke.

You turned your face, just slightly, looking up at him.

He was already looking at you. Warmth in his eyes.

Neither of you moved at first. The moment hovered there. But something shifted in his gaze, softer now, gentler and slowly, like he was giving you time to pull away, he leaned in.

Your lips met his, warm, slow, tentative at first, like you were both testing the shape of it. His hand tightened lightly on your arm, and yours curled gently against the fabric of his jeans. It wasn’t urgent. It was just quiet. And real. It was the first time you kissed without it turning into more. Not the start of having sex, just you and him and the night sky and this moment between you.

When the kiss broke, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other for a second, before you rested your head back against his shoulder like nothing had changed. But it had. Just a little.

Eventually the cold air caught up with you and you felt yourself getting tired.

”I should probably let you get some sleep, Mr. livestock agent.“ You said.

”Don’t start with that.“

”That bad?“ you asked.

”No,“ he replied ”Just- another thing I have to do.“

You sat for a few more minutes before he let out a sigh and got to stand, he held his hand out to you and pulled you up.

“I’ll walk you up,” he said simply, and you didn’t protest.

You turned to him. “Thanks for… just sitting with me.”

His mouth quirked slightly. “Anytime.”

There was a moment where neither of you moved. The air stretched between you, full of something unspoken. Then Kayce took a slow step back.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kayce.”

You both lingered a little longer before he gave you another nod and started to walk across the lawn.

You stood there watching him for a few more seconds before you slipped back into the main house.

The next morning you woke up early. Just in time to see the beginning of the sunrise. You took the sweatshirt from last night and made your way to the porch. You stopped by the kitchen, Gator was already setting out the food for breakfast.

”Morning.“ you smiled.

”Mornin‘“ he said back.

You grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee.

You stepped out onto the porch, cradling your coffee close. The air was cold enough to nip at your skin, but you liked the stillness of the early hours. Before the day started.

Someone appearing in your peripheral vision caught your attention. Kayce.

”You always up this early?“ he asked, the ghost of a smile on his face.

”Sometimes it’s worth it.“ you shrugged.

You offered your mug. He took it, sipping once, then twice, then handed it back, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary when they brushed yours.

You both looked out over the pasture, saying nothing for a while. There was no rush. He stepped closer, barely touching, and you tilted your head to the side, eyes flicking toward him.

It was quiet when he leaned in, no dramatic buildup, no sudden tension. Just a knowing look on your faces, and then his lips on yours.

You kissed him back just as softly. Heart jumping in your chest. This was the perfect moment. The sunrise, the kiss, the man kissing you.

His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. Your hands gripped his hoodie. Neither of you pulled away right away.

Until the door creaked open behind you.

You jumped a little, pulling back just in time. Kayce took half a step away from you, casual, like nothing had happened but still close, his hand brushed yours.

Beth stepped out onto the porch, lighting a cigarette.

She didn’t look at either of you.

“Morning,” she muttered, exhaling smoke.

“Morning,” Kayce replied evenly.

“Morning.” You said a little flustered.

She gave you both a sideways glance but said nothing.

You bumped your shoulder lightly into his. He bumped back. A smile on his face as he grabbed the mug from your hands again, taking another sip before handing it back.

”Come on, let’s get you your own cup.“ you grinned and you both set in motion to head to the breakfast table.

Kayce was out so you walked around the ranch alone.

The ranch hands were down by the corral keeping the horses moving. You watched them ride for a moment.

“Hey, New York,” Jimmy called when he spotted you, wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You get bored of the big house already?”

You laughed a bit ”Yeah, something like that.“

”I won a rodeo last night, you should come to one.“ he added.

“She’s a number too big for you, kid,” Lloyd cut in, half laughing.

“Hey!”

You just laughed again.

“Appreciate the offer.”

Lloyd called out again, “Don’t let him rope you into anything dumb. You already got your cowboy.” A knowing look on the older cowboys face.

A soft smile spread on your face. Yeah, you did. Even if it was not really something between you yet, it was also not nothing. And there was no doubt in your mind that you wanted this. You had never felt like this with anyone, this was more real.

It was late at night when you heard a faint knock on your door. You were already half asleep.

Opening the door you saw Kayce standing in the dark hallway. His hat in one hand, the other braced on the doorframe. He looked exhausted, something heavy in his stance and eyes.

”Hey.“ you said softly.

”Hey.“ he said voice low.

You stepped into the room, Kayce following you.

He sat on the edge of your bed, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor. You waited, not pushing, just quietly walking over and sitting beside him.

“Everything okay?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head once, slowly. “They hurt Beth,” he said after a moment. ”The Becks.“

Your stomach twisted.

”Oh god, is she okay?“ you asked.

”She will be. But it was bad.“

You watched the way his jaw clenched, how his hands flexed just slightly in his lap. He looked like he was holding in more than he could carry.

”Rip’s hurt too and… Beth’s assistant‘s dead.“

Your breath hitched. Feeling the whole weight of how dangerous these men really were.

“I had to send a message,” he said quietly. Not explaining what kind of message but you had a slight idea what kind of thing he meant. ”But it’s not over. And- it could’ve been you.“ he shook his head like he was trying to get the thought out of his head.

”I kept thinking about that night they came after you. And what could have happened.“

You didn’t say anything just leaned forward and reached for his hand. He let you take it. You tugged gently, guiding him back toward the bed.

“Come on,” you said. “Just lay down for a bit.”

He didn’t argue. Just toed off his boots and slid in beside you. You laid on your sides, facing each other, and he reached for you. His arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close until your head rested against his chest. You could feel the tension in his muscles.

You just held him, one hand brushing gently up and down his back. He pressed a soft kiss to your hair, holding you against him.

Neither of you had moved much during the night. His arm was still draped across your waist, your legs tangled. He blinked slowly, eyes still heavy with sleep, and looked down at you.

You gave him a soft smile. “Morning.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just brushed your hair back gently from your face, his fingers lingering. His touch was still a little heavy, like the weight from last night hadn’t left him entirely but there was something soft in his eyes.

You shifted slightly so you could look at him.

”You okay?“ you asked

He let out a breath, low and slow. “Yeah,” he said finally,

“Stay a little longer?” you asked softly.

He hesitated but then he nodded and settled back under the blanket. He wrapped his arms around you again, pulling you into his chest. You traced idle patterns onto his arm. The silence between you soft and safe.

He sighed, sitting up slowly. Putting on his jeans that he had took off at one point in the night, shoes and grabbing his jacket and hat. Before he left he leaned down and kissed you once.

”See you at breakfast?“ he asked and you nodded.

”Yeah, I’ll be there.“

Then the door clicked shut behind him.

He stepped out into the hallway and nearly walked straight into John.

For a second neither of them said a word. Kayce stood a little straighter like a kid who’d just gotten caught. John just looked at him, one brow raised but he did not seemed surprised.

He gave a small nod, more to himself than anything, and kept walking past. “Breakfast’s in 20,” was all he said.

Kayce exhaled through his nose and shook his head with a faint smile. Then he headed down the stairs, the faintest spring in his step.

You had been out with Kayce and Tate and his new horse Lucky the whole afternoon. Watching Kayce train like you did in the early days. Spending some time with Tate who was staying the weekend.

Afterwards Kayce had to go somewhere with a few of the bunk house guys, you weren’t sure where but it didn’t matter.

So after Dinner you said good night to the others and took a hot shower, relaxing your muscles before settling down in bed with a book.

It was a while later when a knock on your door caught your attention. Thinking maybe it’d be Kayce at first, but it was too early for them to be back.

Opening the door you were met with John. His face was serious.

”Y/n, is Tate with you?“

”No, he’s not here. I haven’t seen him since I went up.“

John nodded, a hand running down his jaw.

”He wanted to feed the horse.“

You understood what he was saying. Maybe he was just at the bunkhouse or still with Lucky but there were wolves outside and also the Becks had targeted the Ranch for weeks.

You quickly took your jacket

”I’ll help.“

Taglist: @ganana @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @samiwashere @danadinosaur3 @bellarkeselection

[abbotjack]

WTF. Just Passing Through. Okay. This was fantastic, im absolutely gutted and regret reading this at work because. Holy shit this felt so real. I'm spiraling. Like the absolute struggle that Jack and Reader are going through like they're both trying to carve out a peice of themselves to make room for this newer version of the other and its like a weird puzzle piece that doesnt quite fit like it should. The quiet heartbreak of it all. Also Reader found Jack's note pretty quick..Did Jack fully intend on her finding the note that easily? Or was that totally incidental and fully expected her to find the note days after he left? Gaaaah I'm going to have to read this again when I'm home and can fully process. Just wanted to let you know this was superb writing in the most agonizing way.

Oh my god—first of all, thank you. That entire comment feels like it understood the heart of this fic better than I could’ve explained it myself. The way you described Jack and Reader as trying to carve out space for these “newer versions” of each other? Yes. That’s exactly it—this jagged attempt at coexistence, where nothing quite fits but both of them are too emotionally wrecked to say it out loud. It’s not just a misalignment—it’s grief for what could’ve fit if they’d met at a different point. If he hadn’t already taught himself to leave.

And your question—did Jack mean for her to find the note?

No.

He absolutely didn’t.

That’s what makes it so brutal.

Jack never leaves things out carelessly. He’s precise by habit—military trained, emotionally bottled, practiced at packing everything down tight. The note wasn’t left on the counter or beside the bed. It was folded. Twice. Legal pad. Soft at the edges. Tucked in his drawer. The one she never really touches. Not shoved. Not tossed. Tucked.

Because he needed to write it down. Not to communicate—but to survive the next twenty-four hours with her. He wrote that letter to bleed some of the weight out. To get the words down somewhere that wasn’t her face. Because if he looked at her and said any of it out loud, he wouldn’t be able to go.

And he already knows he’s going.

He already decided.

That’s why the note opens the way it does. “This isn’t a note. I’m not leaving a note.” He’s convincing himself that this doesn’t count. That if she never sees it, it won’t hurt her. That if he writes it and hides it, it’s not a betrayal—just a coping mechanism.

But the drawer is messy. And he’s tired. And grief makes people sloppy. Jack’s the kind of man who could hold his guts in with one hand on the battlefield, but who falls apart quietly in kitchens and bathrooms and folded laundry. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s on autopilot. He tucks the note between a scratch-off and a receipt and tells himself it’ll stay there, out of sight, for days. Maybe forever.

Because what he’s really doing is this: trying to leave without anyone knowing he meant it. He wants her to believe it just happened. That he slipped out clean. That it was just the clock running out. Day six. Boots by the door. Just passing through.

But Jack can’t disappear neatly. Not from her. He’s too full of ghosts, too wrecked by the sound of her humming when she’s trying not to cry. He notices too much. Feels too much, even when he pretends otherwise. He says, “She asked if I’d stay, and the worst part is—I wanted to say yes. But I knew I wouldn’t.”

That line? That’s the crack in him. The split down the middle. He’s telling himself he’s being noble by leaving. But it’s cowardice too. Not the kind anyone would fault him for—but the kind he’ll carry for years.

And she finds the note early. Not because he meant for her to—but because some part of him left it where she could. Subconsciously. Unconsciously. Maybe he wanted her to know, deep down. Maybe he needed her to see it without having to say it aloud. Because saying it would make it real. Saying it would make him the man who breaks her heart to her face.

Instead, he hides in the shaving. In the silence. In the pretend-normal of one more night.

So no—he didn’t leave it out on purpose.

But he didn’t hide it well, either.

Because Jack doesn’t know how to leave without leaving a part of himself behind.

And she finds that part folded in legal pad paper.

In his drawer.

[floralhuqzz]

Mine, Not Yours (Joe Goldberg x reader(fem)

(Chapter 13- Between Desire and Duty)

MASTERLIST

author’s note: this chapter contains slight sfw

⸻

The metal of the cage is cool behind my back as I sit inside with her. It’s quiet—only the sound of her fingers brushing softly through the ends of her hair and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. The lantern light flickers low between us, casting our shadows in wild shapes on the wooden walls.

She’s sitting close. Closer than she ever used to. Cross-legged, shoulders relaxed, the kind of comfort that shouldn’t exist in a place like this.

And yet—it does.

“You okay?” she asks, voice soft. “You’ve been zoning out a lot.”

I look at her. Blink. Nod. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

About the man lying cold in the next room. About the blood on the floorboards. Still waiting.

A ticking bomb wrapped in skin.

She tilts her head slightly, studying me. Then—

“I thought I heard something earlier,” she says, “outside. Like a… noise, like a thump?”

My eyes snap to hers. “When?”

“I don’t know. Earlier. When you got here. It was fast.” She gives a soft, nervous laugh. “Could’ve been a raccoon or something.”

I nod slowly, keeping my voice even. “Yeah, probably was. Nothing to worry about.”

A lie.

But it slips off my tongue too easily. She believes me.

Of course she does.

Because she trusts me.

Because she doesn’t know there’s a dead body in the other room.

Because I made sure she didn’t see it.

I reach out without thinking and brush my knuckles gently over her hand. “You’re safe here.”

She looks at me, her expression softening in the silence.

“I know.”

God, what did I do to deserve that look?

I shift, leaning slightly against the bars. I want to stay here. With her. Just like this.

But I can’t.

The man in the other room is rotting.

I have to clean it up. Get rid of the evidence. Before anything—anyone—else comes near.

Still… I stay a little longer.

Because her hand is warm against mine.

Because for a moment… the silence feels right.

She hasn’t moved her hand from mine.

The warmth is there. Her fingers—soft, delicate—wrapped loosely around mine like she doesn’t even realize it. Like it’s natural. Like she wants to be close.

And maybe she does.

Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and that’s when it hits me again—this pull I can’t fight. It’s not just desire. It’s gravity. She is gravity.

“So,” she says quietly, “you’re really not gonna tell me what’s on your mind?”

I smirk, just a little. “Not everything’s safe to say out loud.”

She shifts closer, barely an inch—but I feel it like a hit to the chest.

Her lips part, and something about the way she looks at me in that moment—curious, confident, inviting—burns through my self-control.

I can’t resist her. I don’t want to. Not anymore.

In one breathless second, I move.

My hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks, and I crash my mouth against hers. It’s not gentle. It’s not planned. It’s desperate, hungry, real. Her breath catches, and for half a second, I wonder if she’ll pull away—but she doesn’t.

She kisses me back like she’s been waiting for this. Like she’s wanted it as badly as I have.

My hands slip to her waist, gripping tight, and she leans into me, her body pressed against mine, her fingers sliding up into my hair. Her lips part, and I groan into her mouth as the kiss deepens, messier, more frantic.

God, I’ve imagined this—too many times.

But this? This is better than any fantasy. Because this is real.

Because she wants me.

And I’m completely lost in her.

I pull away, just for a second, breathing hard, our foreheads touching.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I don’t know why. Maybe because I know I shouldn’t have. Maybe because I know I’ll do it again.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at me.

And then—

She leans back in and kisses me again.

Her lips meet mine again—this time slower, more deliberate, but just as intense. She’s not pulling away. She’s pulling me in.

The soft gasp she lets out when I press her back against the wall of the cage nearly undoes me. My hand finds her waist, then slides up her side, feeling every inch of her through the thin fabric of her shirt. Her fingers tighten in my hair, tugging slightly, and I groan against her mouth.

It’s like we’ve both been holding back for so long that now… there’s no stopping. No thinking. Just feeling.

She whispers my name—barely audible, but it’s there, and it shatters every last shred of restraint I had.

I kiss down her jaw, to the soft curve of her neck. Her breath hitches when my teeth graze her skin, and she arches into me. Every reaction she gives feels like a green light, like she wants this. Wants me.

My hands find the hem of her shirt, and I pause just long enough to meet her eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur, voice low, hoarse. “If you want me to stop, say it now.”

She doesn’t.

Instead, she reaches for my hand and guides it under her shirt.

And that’s all I need.

I lift her shirt, exposing her skin to the low, golden light of the cabin, and I kiss her like I’m starving. Like I’ve needed this to breathe.

She moans softly, pulling me closer, her legs brushing against mine, and suddenly the cage isn’t cold or cruel—it’s the only place in the world that matters. Right here. Right now. Her.

My hands are on her, my mouth against her neck, her collarbone, her chest. She clutches at me like she can’t get close enough, and I feel her body tremble under mine.

It’s overwhelming.

It was perfect.

The way her hands roamed my back like she’d done it a thousand times in her mind. The way her lips parted with every kiss I gave her, every place I touched. The way she whispered my name like it meant something—like I meant something.

And for once, I let myself believe it.

Her fingers curl around the back of my neck, pulling me closer, until there’s no space between us. Every shift of her body beneath mine, every sigh, every tremble—it pulls me deeper into her. Into this. Into the fantasy I’ve fought so hard to keep hidden.

She tastes like heat and want and everything I should’ve stayed away from. But I can’t. I won’t.

I grip her thighs, lift her slightly, pressing her back against the wall of the cage. She gasps, legs instinctively wrapping around me, pulling me tighter against her, like she needs this just as much as I do.

“Joe…” she breathes, her voice like velvet, like a drug, and I swear I’ll never get enough.

I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the feel of her mouth against mine, of her body arching into me with each pass of my hands over her skin. She’s burning under my touch. Or maybe I am. Maybe we both are.

I pull her shirt over her head, tossing it aside, and I don’t hesitate—my lips find her shoulder, her collarbone, the soft curve of her chest. She whimpers, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

Her nails drag lightly down my arms, and I know—she wants this too.

Nothing else matters.

Not the world outside.

Not the lies.

Not even Love.

Just her.

Right now.

Right here.

And maybe—maybe this is what it means to truly lose yourself in someone.

———-

Her breathing is still uneven, mingling with mine in the thick silence of the cabin. The only sound left is the soft rustle of skin against fabric as we both slowly settle back into reality.

She’s lying on the blanket now, her chest rising and falling beneath the thin sheet I threw over us. The dim light filtering in from the tiny, barred window above casts lines of shadow across her bare skin—like something out of a painting. Her eyes are half-lidded, glowing soft and hazy, lips slightly parted and flushed. Hair tangled. Skin warm.

God, she looks beautiful.

And I feel…

Destroyed. Rebuilt.

Everything and nothing at once.

She turns her head, slowly, eyes locking with mine, and there’s a flicker of something unspoken in her gaze. Not regret. Not fear.

Just… softness.

We don’t say anything at first. Words would only ruin it.

But her hand slides across the space between us, fingers brushing mine like a secret. I take it. I have to.

I run my thumb gently across her knuckles. She doesn’t pull away.

“You okay?” I ask, voice low and hoarse.

She nods, biting back a quiet smile. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

She looks up at the ceiling. Her cheeks are still pink. Her voice has that post-laughter gentleness, like she’s caught somewhere between calm and overwhelmed. “That was…”

“I know,” I say.

Because I do.

It wasn’t just sex. It was something else. Something dangerous. Something neither of us can take back now.

She lets out a slow breath and turns toward me again, pressing her forehead lightly to mine.

And for a moment, everything else is gone. No Love. No cabin. No cage.

Just us.

She’s still lying there, curled in the messy blanket, hair spilling around her like waves of ink. Her skin glows softly in the morning light creeping through the narrow window. For a moment, I almost forget there’s a body in the next room—lifeless, cold, waiting for me to deal with it. Almost.

I shift, carefully sitting up. My shirt is somewhere nearby, but I don’t bother just yet. I turn to look at her again, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You should take a shower,” I say quietly. “You probably want one.”

She nods slowly, eyes flicking to mine. “Yeah… I do.”

I help her sit up, brushing a kiss over her shoulder before standing.

“You can go alone,” I add. “I trust you.”

Her eyes widen just slightly. I can see the way that word—trust—lingers on her. It’s dangerous, but it’s also the truth.

She holds the sheet to her chest as she stands, a hint of a shy smile playing on her lips. “Thanks.”

I grab my shirt off the floor and start buttoning it up, trying to keep my voice calm. “I have to step out for a bit. Just something I need to take care of outside. I won’t be long.”

Her brow furrows. “What is it?”

I kiss her forehead. “Just something with the generator. It’s acting weird again.”

Lie. Smooth. Quick. She believes it—at least for now.

“Okay,” she says, starting toward the little hallway that leads to the bathroom. She pauses in the doorway, turning her head. “Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t take too long.”

I nod, watching as she disappears behind the door.

As soon as I hear the water running, I exhale and grab the gloves from the small cabinet by the back exit. The man’s body is still lying in the other room—where I dragged it hours ago after the struggle. He’s stiff now. Pale. Eyes still open.

I have to fix this. Fast. Before it ruins everything.

Because I meant what I said.

I trust her.

But I don’t trust the world around her.

Not anymore.

⸻