#transformers chase x reader smut

[smallestapplin]

Headcanons for Boulder and Chase overstimulating their human s/o please?

(Blades does it on accident and Heatwave can’t stop being a menace lol)

Yeaaa!

Warnings : reader is gn! Everyone has a hole, cybertronians have both, Chase gets called a good boy.

Mdni you will be blocked! Adults only!

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Chase

* Chase is nothing short of obedient, he is a mech you can dom from the bottom with ease he never disobeys you and does what you ask with such leathal precision. He likes direction, he likes clear instructions, he likes being told what to do, especially if it makes you feel good as your pleasure is what he strives for, he wants you to tell him if he’s going good, if he’s making you melt, anything really!

* In truth he doesn’t mean to overstimulate you, but the heady smell of your sex, the taste of your juices coating his glossa, and the sound of your pretty moans and praise just gets his overheating, his processors screaming at him to keep going to give you more! He’s your good mech, your obedient pet, waiting to service you at any chance you ask.

* He gets so lost in it, you cum on this glossa, panting but still wanting more.

* “Such a good boy, you can give me another, right? Feels so fucking good…mm!”

* His engine revving at your words and his already delving back in. Chase can’t help himself he just wants to make you feel good! His modesty paneling pulled back letting his leaking valve and drooling spike free. Rutting his spike against the edge of his berth, each filthy word that falls from your lips telling him how hot he is on his knees for you, how well behaved he is, every word makes his engine purr.

* Until you’re hips are lifting off the bed bucking against his needy mouth, and nearly sobbing because he just won’t stop. You lost the ability to speak ages ago, only able to pathetically cry out a broken version of his name, cumming again and again. His transfluid coating the floor beneath him, overloading with you each time. His optics glow brightly though nearly roll into the back of his helm, he’s so sensitive, it’s too much but not enough he needs more, needs to be your good bot, must serve you, must-

* “Chaaase….fuck….stop, please..” you can barely whine out, but it’s enough for him to snap from his haze, pulling his intake off your sore sex and lean his helm against your thigh.

* You’re both out of it, his metal is overheating his processors are barely working right, and his whirls are loudly trying to cool him down, while you lay in a heap of your own sweat, juices, and his oral lubricant. Weakly you lift your head up to look at him, noting his optics had never strayed from you.

* “Did…did I do good?” Chase melts into your hand when you reach down to hold his cheek.

* “So fuckin’ good, my good boy looking so pretty between my legs for me.” You coo as he begins to tremble, his spike already throbbing again, please tell him more.

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Boulder

* Boulder is sweet and attentive, loving to lavish you in kisses little bites, servos gently squeezing your thighs and stomach, your chest will be covered in his oral lubricant and light marks by the time he moves on. He is ever the giving mech, but while he may not have the longest spike (at least for cybertronians) his cock is short and chubby, he knows he needs to prep your valve a lot before he is getting just the tip inside you.

* When he rubs his middle finger across your needy heat, gathering up your leaking juices making sure it’s thoroughly coated before slowly pressing it into your greedy hole, stretching and filling you out with every push. Pausing in his motions he coos at you, kissing you, muttering “You’re doing so good for me, shh, I know you want my spike but I got to prepare you first. There you go! You look so pretty taking my digit like this.”

* Absolutely talks you through it like he’s not panting and face plate flushed, he looks as wrecked as you do. His digit shallowly thrusting into you, as he holds you up in his free servo keeping you close to his face. His optics flickering between your filthy expressions and the way your body stretches around his finger, sucking him back in as if wanting to keep him there. His engines revs just imagining what you’re going to feel like on his spike.

* His glossa is a bit big but he can still use it and taste you with it, lapping at your leaking heat. Every cry and buck of your hips makes it hard for him to restrain himself, his spike is already achingly hard leaking so much pre-fluid but he holds off as he wants to save his load for when he’s inside you. When you cum the first time he can’t help but moan, just feeling your body clenching around him almost makes him overload.

* “Just one more, okay? I’ll give you my spike if you can just give me one more overload.”

* It’s truthfully to make sure you are relaxed enough for him, he wants you loosened up so you can handle his fat cock. Pushing a second digit in doesn’t help your sensitivity, and it certainly makes it hard for Boulder to not cum so soon.

* When you cum a second time he stays true to his word. Pulling his digits out to lick them clean, moaning over your addicting taste but he keeps moving, lowering you to his spike and grinding against your human valve and pushing in. Boulder is a mess, overloading inside you the second he’s pressed flush, but he does not slow or falter, hips bucking into you as if they have a mind of their own.

* He’s losing his brain module, his circuits are frying but he can’t find it in him to care, not when you’re clinging to him and squealing his name and praise. You’ll be cumming over and over and over again and again on his spike, your greedy hole simply begging for more of his transfluid, which he is more than happy to provide.

[moonlight-presence]

Pale, Pale Moon

Remmick X Female Reader

Summary: On a lonely, moonlit road, you walk toward town—aching, afraid, and utterly alone. But the night has other plans. From the shadows, Remmick appears, his voice honey-smooth and eyes glowing with something not quite human. He seems kind, even charming, until his gaze lingers too long on you, and his smile stretches a bit too wide. What begins as a quiet walk becomes a haunting transformation. With whispered promises and otherworldly hunger, Remmick sinks his fangs into your neck, not to harm, but to rebirth. Then... you take him under that pale, pale moon.

4,245 words

Notes:

🌙 chomh teann = so tight

🌙 Aon duine = nothing

🌙 foc = fuck

!SMUT CONTENT!

You should’ve known better than to trust a word of a man—no matter his sweet talking or his kind goddamn eyes when he offered you a ride home. You were so fucking naive, thinking he had no other intentions besides helping you get back to your folks who, by now, must be worried sick. You try not to think too much about that, focusing instead on the faint lights at the end of the road that lead into town. The moon, thankfully, was bright and full in the sky, judging by its size, giving you an additional source of light as you walked alone by the side of the road. 

 You looked down at your wrists and saw that the man’s fingers were bruised on your skin, reminding you of how you had kicked him in the crotch and opened the door of his car to sprint away from him. Thank God nothing more happened… and thank God he didn’t come chasing after you. You weren’t sure how far away you could’ve run until he eventually caught up to you. A shiver ran down your spine, and you adjusted your shawl. 

 You had been walking for a good twenty minutes now, and judging by how close the town was, you still had a good thirty minutes to go. 

 “You stupid idiot,” you murmured to yourself. 

 Then, amid your anger and frustration, you heard rattling, like a wild animal moving through the woods, from your right. You stopped dead in your tracks, slowly looking at the forest beside you and, obviously, seeing nothing but trees and the wind passing through them. 

 “Now, now, don’t be imagining things. Just get your ass back home and forget this ever happened,” you told yourself out loud, somehow needing to hear a voice amid the silence. 

 You continued walking, holding your shawl tighter around your body as the night grew a bit colder for the time of the year. Your thoughts wandered back to your parents and how worried they must be. They were quite old now, giving away their age in you, who was not as young as you had been. But those days of adolescence were gone, giving way to the responsibilities that came with adulthood. Time could be such a bitch sometimes.

 You were supposed to be married by now. That was the proper way of things, as folks often said around town… But you still hadn’t found a single man worth your time, and you, for sure, didn’t wanna marry just for the sake of it. So, alone in your youth, which often left a sting of pain in your chest, you continued with your walk. 

 More time passed, a couple of minutes at most, until you heard another noise that made the hairs on your body stand up. Something was definitely out there in those woods… and you hoped it would remain there. 

 You were now a bit scared, fingers shaking around your shawl, as your feet ached from the uncomfortable shoes your mother had made for you. Perhaps it was your exhaustion talking, too. You didn’t know at this point. 

 “Get a hold of yourself… Come on now,” you whispered, fastening your pace. 

 You tried to control your breathing until you figured out you couldn’t. So, instead of drowning in that sweet old fear, you did the one thing you knew calmed your nerves. 

 You sang.

Oh, pale moon rising over the pines, come

Lawd away until the sun does rise

Leave the day by the, by the door, I don't

Care if sun don't shine once more, that's what I said

Ooh, ooh

Oh, oh, oh

Huh

Mm-hm, mm-hm

You finished your humming softly, letting a breeze of wind brush through your face almost like a human hand caressing your skin. You have always hated nighttime, especially when you had barely any light around you and were all alone. 

 God knows what demons or creatures wandered those woods… 

 The rest of the song found you then, easing your nerves like a cup of warm milk with a teaspoon of honey. 

 This time, you sang a little louder, feeling bolder in the silence, and giving a proper performance to the night creatures. 

I'm gonna spend my money on somethin' sweet and strong

Gonna move my body through the whole night long

Gonna sweat the way I been longin' to, nobody gonna

Tell me nothin', that's what I'm gonna do, that's what I said

Woo

That's what I said

Mm-hm, mm-hm

Mm-hm, mm-hm

Mm-hm, mm-hm

Oh, oh, oh

A slight smile spread on your face as you walked in rhythm with the song, moving your body sideways and creating a dance with each step. Suddenly, the night felt less cold, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous you must look. No bother, there wasn’t anybody for miles to witness this. You were free to sing and dance as you pleased, not scared of being quieted by anybody. 

I wanna sing

Like I hear the crickets do

I wanna hoo, yeah

Like the owls do 

I wanna howl

To the moon 

Scream

You raised your voice at the last note, letting it linger for far too long. It felt sweet on your tongue, so you savored it as you looked up at the moon and smiled. It was pretty, you noticed, and you would have marvelled at it for longer if you didn’t hear footsteps… behind you. 

 The first thing you did was stop your walk, freezing in place until you were sure that those were, in fact, human footsteps. And they were, there was no mistaking the sound of shoes by an animal’s paws. 

 You swallowed dryly, dread filling your chest as you remembered so well what had almost happened to you that night. You had to run. If you did, you could maybe make it into town or just come close to any people. 

 You had to try, goddamnit, you had to. 

 Instead, the person behind you spoke, a few steps away from your back, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. 

 “Hey there. Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he said with a voice so sweet that it made your ears resonate with the sound. “I thought I heard some singin’ down the road… You wouldn’t happen to be that sweet voice I heard, would you, darlin’?” 

 You didn’t turn around, fear filling your chest and holding you hostage. 

 “You must have me mistaken, sir,” you replied, making your voice friendly just in case this man had a temper. 

 “Is that so?” he said, and you heard him walk around you. He appeared in front of you, and you raised your eyes to meet his for the first time. When you did, you almost swore for a second that they were red… But no, they were blue. 

 “Yes, sir,” you confirmed, tightening your shawl around your body. He tilted his head slightly, and you saw his teeth appear underneath his lips as he smiled. “I’m just on my way home. I don’t want any trouble, sir.”

 “Trouble, darlin’?” he asked, confused. “Who said I wanted any trouble? I was making my way to town too, ya know? I just heard your beautiful voice and decided to see who was singin’, nothing more.”

 His accent was like all the other folks you knew, but in some words, it seemed to slip into something else. You didn’t recognise it, but you were sure he wasn’t from around here. No matter how much he tried to seem like he was. 

 “That’s very kind of you, sir, but if you don’t mind…” You went to walk, but he didn’t step aside. Your heart picked up its pace. 

 “What happened to your wrists?” he asked, eyeing your bruises. 

 You immediately hid your wrists under your shawl and straightened your back, trying to act casual. 

 “Nothin’. Just fell.”

 “Is that so?” he said, obviously skeptical. “Alright, if you say so, darlin’...” He grinned at you before adding, “What’s your name? I’m Remmick.” 

 You hesitated but then told him your name. 

 “That’s a beautiful name. Pleasure to meet you.” He raised his hand, clearly wanting to either shake or kiss your hand. 

 You thought about rejecting his request, but the way he looked at you and spoke was too inviting to refuse. He had such a way about himself… And you didn’t quite know why. Maybe it was because he was handsome. 

 So, you gave him your hand, and he held it before lowering his lips to your skin. You thought he was gonna kiss it, but instead he pressed your skin to his mouth, and you felt him sniff the area. You frowned, pulling your hand away, but he held it and finally kissed it, releasing his hold after. 

 “You are too kind, sir, but my folks must be worried sick by now, and I must really get goin’.”

 Remmick smiled and nodded slowly. 

 “I’ll walk with you then.”

 “Sir, that’s really not necessary.”

 “Oh, but I insist. The nights can be so lonely, can’t they?” he said, and there was a hint of a joke under his voice. “We wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to you, would we, darlin’?”

 “I…” You thought of arguing further, but ended up giving up. “Very well.”

 You two resumed your walk in silence, and you didn’t sing anymore. It didn’t feel right any longer, especially with Remmick walking beside you and looking, from time to time, at you. You tried to tell yourself he meant no harm, but you couldn’t really shake off the feeling that something about him just wasn’t quite right. 

 However, you continued walking until the pain in your right foot turned too intense and you felt blood stain your ankle and shoe. Right about then, you stopped walking. 

 “What’s the matter, darlin?” Remmick asked, looking at your feet. You heard him sniff the air, and then his breath caught in his throat. “You are bleedin’.”

 “It’s nothin’, sir,” you said. “I just need to sit down for a bit.”

 “Let me see the blood,” Remmick said, guiding you towards a broken tree on the side of the road. You followed him and finally sat on the trunk. He kneeled in front of you, eyes fixed on your bloody ankle. “You poor thing. That looks like it must hurt.”

 “It’s fine, really-” But he was already taking off your shoe, making you wince. 

 Blood was dripping down your ankle, and you bit your bottom lip at the pain. 

 “It smells so sweet,” Remmick whispered in awe as he lifted your leg. You felt your cheeks heat up as your skirt got pushed further up.

 “Sir, if you please-”

 “I knew you were different, ya know?” Remmick said, cutting you off as he moved closer to your blood. You tried to release your leg, but his grip was too strong. “I could smell you from miles away, darlin’.” 

 “Let me go,” you said, panic clear in your voice. 

 “Ssshhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. He looked up at you then, and you gasped as droll fell from his lips, and his teeth were sharper than before. “It will all be better soon.”

 “What are you?” you asked between shaky breaths. You looked into his red eyes and saw something unnatural in them. Whatever this man was, it couldn’t be human. 

 Remmick grinned. “I’m your savior, darlin’.”

 That was all he said before he jumped at a supernatural speed on top of you, making you fall back to the grass. You screamed in horror as his teeth sank into your neck and pierced the skin. The pain was so unbearable that you screamed until your throat ached and your lungs gave out. 

 Then, your eyes fell shut and you floated into darkness… You were sure you were dying, and you felt yourself drifting away to meet your ancestors. You could almost see them on the horizon, looking at you with inviting hands and warmth. 

 But it was as if there was a wall in your path. One you couldn’t cross. You yelled their names, but it was in vain as they slowly disappeared into dust. 

 Then, you were reborn. 

 Your eyes snapped open, and you breathed blessed air. You gasped and coughed, putting your hand to your neck and feeling dried blood there. You were supposed to be dead… 

 “All better now, isn’t it?” Remmick said. You licked your dry lips, feeling them colder than usual, before looking at Remmick, who was kneeling next to you. His mouth was dripping with your blood. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m here.”

 His red eyes left you in a trance, making you giggle and reach for his hands. He held you to a sitting position, and you stretched your arms and cracked your neck. A smile stayed on your mouth. 

 You felt euphoric, like life didn’t mean anything before. You could feel the coldness of the night and how comforting it was. Every sound was sharper in your ears, and your reflexes seemed to be better, too. You felt unstoppable and… you remembered. Your life and his. 

 You knew who he was now. You felt his pain deep in your chest, like a crushing weight. 

 “Remmick…” you whispered, putting your hand to your chest. “I feel so different. So goddamn good.”

 “Yeah? Can you feel how sweet it is?” he asked, putting one hand over yours. “It’s all better now, isn’t it? Nobody can hurt us now.”

 “Nobody,” you repeated. “Aon duine.”

 Remmick’s grin deepened at your words, and you laughed loudly, pushing yourself towards him. 

 “Kiss me now,” you begged, wanting to feel him closer. “I wanna feel you. I need you, Remmick.”

 “I know… It’s alright. Come here,” he whispered. 

 Your lips met in a fiery kiss, and you groaned as you tasted your blood. Remmick wasn’t lying; it was truly sweet, like a nectar. 

 Your tongues danced with each other until you pulled back with the need for fresh air. Your chest heaved, and fire seemed to be inside your veins as the heat of arousal filled your body like a poison. But it was far from venomous… it was addictive and nonlethal. A combination not made possible until now. 

 “I know how you liked to be licked, darlin’,” Remmick whispered against your lips. “And I know what makes you drip.”

 You couldn’t say anything to his filthy words, so instead, you put your elbows behind you and spread your legs. His eyes were shining in the dark, and you saw them look between your thighs as you pulled your skirts up and revealed your dripping arousal. You weren’t wearing anything down there, only your dress and shawl, which was now long forgotten somewhere in the grass. 

 Remmick licked his bottom lip slowly, chuckling and crawling towards your spread thighs. You smirked at him as he moved and finally reached the middle of your legs. The pulse on your crotch was maddening, and you didn't remember ever feeling this aroused for anybody else. 

 “Look at that… Isn’t that just so perfect?” Remmick said, rubbing his hands from your ankles to your thighs. His skin was calloused but comforting. “Don’t mind if I steal a few kisses, do ya?”

 You brought your right hand to your folds, spreading them and coating your digits with your arousal, before bringing the glistening fingers towards his mouth. He didn’t need to be asked twice as he wrapped his lips around your fingers and swirled his tongue, tasting you. A deep moan left your mouth, and you saw him grab and squeeze his cock through his pants. 

 “Come taste me, baby,” you begged. 

 A string of saliva fell from the corner of his lips as he removed your fingers from his mouth. His white shirt was unbuttoned on the chest, revealing his chest hair and a necklace, and, as you stared at him, he grabbed your thighs with his two hands and pushed you towards him, making your back and head hit the grass. 

 You laughed, grabbing his hair as his head went between your legs. 

 “Oh fuck…” you whispered as he applied kisses around your vulva. He licked and nibbled at the flesh until you were whining for him. 

 Just when he thought you had enough of his teasing, did he wrap his lips on your clit. When he did, you arched your back and pulled his hair roughly, making his fangs grow a bit. You felt his lust in your mind and laughed again, until he licked your folds up and down, and made you moan instead. 

 “Remmick… Just like that… Fuck,” you said, breathless. 

 He groaned against you and moved his tongue on your clit, flickering it and creating a mind shattering rhythm. You looked down at him and saw that he was staring at you as well. Your eyes met and you kept eye contact, loving the way his hair was fisted in your hand and his mouth moved on your cunt. 

 “That’s it, baby,” you encouraged him as waves of pleasure ran through you. You pulled his hair roughly again, which made him grab your thighs harder. 

 Remmick continued with that same pace that was just so right until you felt that tight, familiar feeling on your stomach. It was tightening fast, ready to burst, and you dropped your head back on the grass, moaning loudly his name. 

 “I’m close, baby,” you warned him with a breathless voice. A whine escaped your lips as he sucked on your clit suddenly, making a spike of pleasure run through you. 

 “I… I’m gonna cum,” you managed to say. 

 Remmick moaned against you, and that was all it took before you arched your back and felt arousal pour from your entrance. Your walls pulsed and your clit throbbed against Remmick’s tongue as sweet pleasure made your mind go blank. You pushed your cunt towards his face, almost riding it as he held you down. 

 Just when you began feeling a bit overstimulated did he stopped his movements, pulling away from your clit. 

 “Hm, hm…” he said as he cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sound so damn pretty when you cum, baby.”

 You were breathing heavily as you looked at the night sky. Your skin was glistening and your cunt still trembled with the aftermath of your orgasm. 

 “I’m gonna need you to fuck me now, baby,” you said between breaths. You looked at him and were pleased to see him unbuckling his pants. 

 “Since you asked so nicely…” he teased you with a grin. He pulled his cock out and you looked at it. It was glistening with pre-cum and as hard as a rock. “How do you wanna get fucked, darlin’?”

 You closed your legs and got to your knees in front of him. Then, as he stroked himself slowly, you turned around and lifted your skirts to your waist, revealing your backside to him. Remmick didn’t say anything but a hand appeared on your ass cheek, grabbing it roughly. 

 “That’s a good girl,” he said in a thick Irish accent. He had dropped his southern accent shortly after you were bitten. 

 You bit your bottom lip, dropping to your elbows as you felt him run the head of his cock on your folds. He teased himself and you for a while, running his cock up and down and making you shiver and clench on nothing. 

  “Give a girl what she needs, would ya? Please, baby,” you said to him with a whiny voice. 

 Remmick chuckled, one hand on your ass and the other on his shaft. 

 “But you look so pretty all needy for me, darlin’,” Remmick said. 

 You bit your bottom lip again, and pushed your ass towards him. Remmick groaned, and you smiled in victory as he lined himself with your entrance. 

 “Now, now… Let me make it all better,” he said before thrusting inside all at once. 

 You gasped as he entered you, your head dropping between your shoulders. Remmick let out a deep groan as he stopped fully inside. 

 “Foc… Chomh teann,” he said, now holding your waist with both hands.

 He began fucking you slowly, pulling himself all the way out just to slam inside. You couldn’t do anything but fist the grass and moan his name as he set a good pace. His cock hit all the right places inside you, somehow. It was as if it was meant to fuck you all your life. 

 “Fuck. You are taking me so goddamn well,” he said with a laugh. You moaned his name again and clenched around him. 

 He grabbed your ass cheeks roughly until you felt his nails pierce your skin. You were sure he had drawn blood from your flesh, but you couldn’t care less as euphoria pumped inside your veins. Everything just felt so good. 

 “Harder,” you said to him. 

 Remmick obeyed, and you arched your back and moaned louder than ever as you felt his balls hit your skin with every thrust. The wet and slapping sounds you were making were like music to your ears, and you felt your fangs grow. You needed some blood after this. And soon. 

 “Take it… Come on, fucking take it,” Remmick moaned, pulling your hair. You hissed at the pain but laughed, feeling him hold your head slightly up. 

 You held your torso up with one arm and brought your other hand to your clit, rubbing it roughly and feeling your walls clenching on his shaft. You were getting close again. 

 “Remmick… Ah… Fuck…” you said, looking to him as he pulled your hair again. His neck and chin were still covered in your blood, and his lips parted as he let out ragged breaths. He had never looked more beautiful. 

 “You gonna cum?” Remmick asked you, bringing your face closer to his. He had more strength than you, so it was as easy as walking for him. “Tell me, baby.”

 “Yeah… I’m real close,” you replied, inches from his fangs. 

 “Then do it. Come on, darlin’, cum around my cock,” he whispered, licking your lips. 

 You grabbed the back of his neck, feeling his sweaty hair and skin, while the other hand rubbed circles on your clit. He gave you a particularly hard thrust that made your breasts jiggle. 

 Remmick must have noticed because soon his hands were on your breasts. He ripped open the dress from your chest like it was a tissue, and you gasped as he grabbed your boobs and squeezed them. 

 “Fuckin’ beautiful tits,” he moaned. 

 It was too much for you with the added stimulation, so your orgasm burst through you at long last. 

 You opened your mouth and let out high-pitched moans against his lips as your eyes fell shut. Remmick fucked you through it, feeling your walls clench and unclench around his shaft as you came. 

 “Fuck… Beautiful,” he whispered, voice strained. 

 He fucked you unevenely until he stilled his hips and hot strings of cum shoot inside you, making you groan. He whispered your name in your ear while he came, making you shiver. 

 Then, he put his lips to your neck and licked the two holes his fangs had left on your skin. It sting a bit but you didn’t paid it any mind as you stopped your fingers on your clit and started calming down. 

 “There we go. Feels good, baby?” he asked you. 

 “Yes… Real fucking good,” you replied, feeling your skin almost burn. 

 He held you for a bit more until you dropped to your hands, and he removed himself from inside of you. When he did, you felt his cum drip down your ass, making you shiver. Remmick saw it too as he collected it with his fingers. 

 “Want a taste, baby?” he asked as you turned around and sat on the floor. Your dress was ruined now, ripped open and covered in blood, sweat, and cum. 

 “Yeah. Let me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and putting his fingers inside your mouth. You tasted his salty cum and moaned, making Remmick smirk. 

 “You really are different, aren’t you, baby?” he said as you pulled back your mouth. 

 “You bet,” you replied, licking your lips.

 Remmick chuckled and put himself back in his pants, buttoning them up again and fixing his blouse. You tried to clean your dress until you saw it was pointless. 

 “That’s no problem, darlin’. There are plenty of dresses in town, I reckon. You may take as many as you want,” he said. 

 You giggled, breathing deeply as you got to your feet. He followed your lead. 

 “So… What’s next?” you asked him as you looked at the empty road. 

 “Well…” Remmick grabbed your waist from behind and put his chin on your shoulder. “I think the people in this town need our savin’, don’t ya think? I can feel how miserable they are, even from here. A goddamn shame, really.”

 You hummed with a grin, looking at the lights on the horizon. 

 “I think you right, Remmick. They need our savin’...And I happen to know just the place to visit first.”

 Remmick hummed and grabbed your hand as you two walked down the road. You could hear the drumming heartbeats of the folks in the town, leading you closer and closer to them. But they could wait… First, your parents needed some saving. 

 Then, everybody else would too.

[lovelyspring7]

Black Pearl (Pt. 3) | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook always got what he wanted. And he wanted you. Dangerous. Obsessive. You ran, but he was never going to let you stay gone. Because pearls aren’t born from perfection. They’re born from pain. A wound, buried deep, pressed and shaped until it becomes something rare. Precious. And you? You were his pearl. And this time, he won’t let you slip away so easily.

Word count: 17k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader.

Warnings: Yandere, smut (praise kink, soft dominance, oral, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mild breath play), stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour, self starvation, self inflicted injury.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Author's note: The final chapter of the Pearl series is here! It’s truly been a journey, what started as a simple one-shot has now transformed into a full three-part series lol. Can’t wait to know what you guys think of this long awaited chapter! Don’t be a silent reader, show some support and feedback!💜

Read Part 1 Here | Read Part 2 Here

Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

For the third night in a row, the bed felt too cold. Too empty.

The penthouse, with its towering windows and sprawling view of the city, offered no comfort. The soft hum of traffic below only amplified the silence pressing in, the void you’d left behind. The space where you used to sleep, beside him, against him, was untouched. Undisturbed.

The scent of you was already fading. That delicate trace of vanilla, once clinging to his pillows, was now nothing but a phantom he couldn't chase. And still, it haunted him.

His hand drifted across the sheets, fingers searching for a warmth that wasn’t there. How many nights had he held you close, pressing his lips to your hair as you slept, the steady rise and fall of your breath easing something sharp inside him?

Now, there was nothing.

All he had was silence.

He missed your laugh, that soft, breathless sound when he held you too long while watching late-night movies. The way you’d roll your eyes, teasing him for being too clingy.

You were his. Safe. Perfect. Until you weren’t.

And now, the pain in his chest twisted deeper with every hour you were gone.

He had been patient. He had given you space. Three days. Three days too long.

And all it had done was prove what he already knew.

You weren’t safe out there. Not without him.

And if you wouldn’t come back willingly? He’d bring you home himself.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he sat up. His black hair strands over his forehead, messy from restless tossing, the ends curling slightly against his temples. He dragged a hand through it, pushing it back in a slow, frustrated motion.

The pain of your absence wasn’t just a wound.

It was a void.

And he was done waiting.

The rain pounded against the thin windows of the dingy motel room, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The air smelled of damp carpet and stale cigarettes, the kind of place no one asked questions, a perfect hiding spot, for now.

You sat on the edge of the unmade bed, arms wrapped around your knees, your body trembling despite the layers of clothing you’d borrowed from Bora. The oversized hoodie swallowed your frame, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly as if it could somehow protect you from the icy grip of fear pressing against your chest.

The cash Bora had given you was already running low, the stack of bills feeling smaller each time you counted it. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow shifting outside the window made your pulse race.

He could be out there. He was out there. But you couldn’t think about that. Not yet. You have made it this far. You had escaped him, for now.

The cheap motel phone sat untouched on the nightstand. No messages. No calls. No way to reach out. You couldn't risk it. He had made you disappear once already, who's to say he couldn't erase you completely this time? But even as you tried to calm yourself, your mind whispered cruel truths.

He’s looking for you.

He never stopped.

And deep down, you knew that this wasn’t freedom. 

The shower sputtered weakly, lukewarm water cascading over your shoulders as you stood under the spray, hands tangled in your wet hair. The tension in your muscles hadn’t eased, it felt as though it were pressing into your bones. You had been running on fear for days. The motel’s water pressure barely did anything to wash the grime from your skin, but it was the first moment of quiet you’d allowed yourself. Alone. Hidden. At least, for now.

You tilted your head back, fingers massaging your scalp, when-

There.

A small bump.

You froze, fingertips brushing over the back of your neck again, right at the base of your hairline. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but unmistakable now that you’d felt it. Your pulse roared in your ears, the water no longer soothing but deafening.

No. No, no, no.

It couldn’t be.

A tracker.

The nausea hit fast, your stomach twisting as panic set in. You pressed both palms against the cool tiles, breaths shallow, the water blurring your vision as it ran down your face.

That son of a bitch. 

He had tagged you.

A shaky, horrified breath escaped your lips. You needed to get it out. Now.

Ripping the towel from the rack, you wrapped it around yourself and stumbled out of the bathroom, dripping water onto the worn motel carpet. The tiny blade you’d swiped from the first-aid kit sat on the nightstand.

Your hands shook as you dialed the front desk.

“Front desk. How can I help you?”

“I-" your voice cracked, but you forced it calm. "I need a first aid kit delivered to my room. Please, it’s urgent.”

“Of course, ma’am. Someone will be up shortly.”

You hung up, staring at your reflection in the dim motel mirror.

It’s fine. You could do this.

The first slice was brutal, the sharp sting making you wince as the blade nicked the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. Blood beaded instantly, but you pressed on, teeth gritted as you dug deeper, forcing yourself not to stop.

And then, there.

A hard bump.

It shifted beneath your fingers, foreign and wrong.

You had to get it out.

Pinching it, nails slick with blood, you yanked the tiny object free with a wet snap. The pain was instant, sharp, but the chip, barely the size of a grain of rice, sat trembling in your palm.

You stared at it, chest heaving. He had tracked every move you took. 

Rage burned hotter than fear. Without hesitating, you slammed the metal edge down on the chip, grinding it into the nightstand with all the force you could muster. The delicate material cracked under the pressure, shattering completely beneath the blade.

Gone.

You won.

A knock echoed through the room. The first aid kit. Relief flooded you so hard your knees almost buckled. Finally.

Without hesitation, you unlocked the door, the towel still clutched loosely around your chest, hair dripping down your back.

You swung the door open wide.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Dripping from the rain, black hair clinging to his forehead in damp strands. Soaked, but unmoving. Water streamed down his pale skin, tracing the lines of his jaw. 

The first aid kit you had asked for was clutched loosely in his hand.

His eyes, darker than you’d ever seen, seemed to pierce through the dim light, stormy and unreadable, yet fixed unrelentingly on yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. You couldn’t breathe. The towel slipped an inch lower on your shoulder, the sting at the back of your neck flaring as the open wound met cold air.

His gaze dropped.

Saw the blood.

You didn’t even get a chance to speak before his hand shot out.

Fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not choking. Not yet. Just holding. Firm enough to pin you against the doorframe as his other hand slid up the side of your neck- brushing over the cut, making you wince. Then he saw it. The torn skin. His thumb grazed the blood on your skin, his breathing ragged, his soaked shirt clinging to every tense muscle.

When he spoke, it wasn’t loud. It was soft. Deceptively calm.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

You swallowed harshly, pulse hammering beneath his touch. His cold fingertips against your raw skin sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t from the pain. It was the look in his eyes, dark, calculating, unreadable.

“I asked you,” he repeated, softer this time, more dangerous, “what did you do?”

Your eyes flicked toward the crushed remains of the tracker, the fragments of it scattered across the nightstand. His eyes followed. And then something shifted behind those dark eyes. Understanding. Realization.

His fingers curled tighter around your neck, but it wasn’t the pressure that scared you most. It was the heartbreak you saw cracking through his rage. You swallowed hard, voice trapped somewhere between a sob and a whimper.

He studied the wound at the back of your neck. For a moment, his lips parted like he was about to speak, but instead, his hand dropped to your wrist, holding it firmly but without the earlier desperation.

You winced as he turned you slightly, his eyes narrowing at the crimson streaks staining your skin. The cut, still raw, an angry slash where you’d torn the tracker from your flesh. His jaw flexed, the tension visible in his shoulders as if the sight of you hurt was somehow a personal attack.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself,” he muttered under his breath, voice lower now, controlled. But his hand trembled slightly as he released your wrist, his fingers ghosting over the wound again, almost hesitant. Almost gentle.

You stayed frozen, heart hammering, the sharp pain pulsing with every beat. Without another word, Jungkook turned, reaching instead for the small first-aid kit you’d called down for. 

He unzipped it with a single sharp motion, tossing the contents onto the bed with practiced efficiency. Alcohol wipes, gauze, antiseptic, a small roll of medical tape. His hand hovered briefly over the disinfectant before grabbing it, his knuckles pale with restraint as he returned to you.

“Sit,” he ordered softly, nodding toward the bed.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

The flare in his eyes returned, but he didn’t force you. Not this time. He just stared, voice tight. “Please.”

Slowly, cautiously, you sank onto the edge of the bed, the towel still damp around your body as you watched him kneel before you, his damp hair curling over his forehead. His soaked clothes clung to him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. All his focus was on you.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, peeling the cap off some bootle with a soft pop.

You flinched when he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing the wound fully. The cold air made the cut throb, but it was nothing compared to the sharp sting of whatever he was using. You gasped, body jerking slightly as the pain flared.

“Easy,” he murmured, his free hand bracing your shoulder, thumb tracing soothing circles against your collarbone. “It’s almost done.” His voice was softer now, less like the man who had just cornered you and more like... something else. Something frighteningly tender.

He was quiet as he worked. His fingers were precise, methodical, but the way they lingered, soft brushes against your skin. When he secured the gauze with medical tape, he finally exhaled, his hands lingering at the sides of your neck for a heartbeat too long. His head dropped forward, his damp hair brushing your shoulder as he stayed there, breathing deeply, as though he was grounding himself in your presence, trying to steady the storm beneath his surface.

You could feel the tension in his body, as though he might shatter if you moved. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Because despite everything, despite the anger, the fear, this closeness felt dangerous in an entirely different way. His warmth, his tenderness, it whispered of something terrifying. And yet, when he spoke, the tenderness cracked.

His fingers ghosted over your jaw, so light you barely felt them. But the way his voice broke sent a chill through your veins. “You never stopped running. You never even looked back.”

“You thought you could just leave me,” he whispered, voice trembling with restrained fury. “That you could run, disappear, like I wouldn’t burn the whole world down looking for you?”

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them back, chest heaving. “You... you chipped me Jungkook. You didn’t give me a choice.”

His lips twisted, something bitter curling the edges of his mouth. “I gave you everything. I made sure you were safe, well taken care of. Protected, loved…”

You shook your head, struggling to speak as his grip lingered. “That’s not love, Jungkook. That’s control.”

For a moment, the storm in his eyes faltered. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The vulnerability was so brief, so fleeting, it almost felt like a trick. But you saw it, the cracks in his armor, the fracture behind his anger. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. His jaw clenched. 

“You’re coming home,” he said, voice resolute, as if there had never been another choice.

You shook your head, “No. You can’t-”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his breath warm against your face. “I told you before. I would never hurt you. But this? This? You’re hurting yourself. You’re lost without me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice was a low snarl now, but there was an ache beneath it. “You think this is freedom? Hiding out in a place like this? Looking over your shoulder every second, terrified? That’s not living, baby. That’s suffering.”

You tried to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. He was a wall, an immovable force caging you in.

“I was fine before you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His lips curled into a bitter smile, shaking his head. “No, you weren’t. You were lonely. You were scared. You let men watch you every night because you thought you had no other choice. But I” His hand brushing over your waist. “I gave you one. I took care of you. And you ran.”

Your entire body trembling as the weight of it crashed down. He was everything you feared. Who did he think he was? Twisting your choices, your pain, into something he could control.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

His eyes darkened, “no.”

And just like that, the storm returned. His grip shifted, rougher now as he cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ve had your freedom,” he hissed, the pain in his voice undeniable. “Three days. Three days without me, and look at you. Bleeding. Shaking. Scared.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t listening.

“I’ve been generous, haven’t I? But I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “And if I say no?”

The answer was already there in his eyes. The anger. The twisted devotion.

“Then I’ll give you what you want,” he said softly. “You want to be alone?”

His hand fell away from your face, his expression hardening, voice chilling.

“Then be alone.”

Your stomach twisted as the meaning sank in, but before you could process it fully, Jungkook moved, so quick, so controlled. His hand clamped around your wrist as he pulled you forward with terrifying ease.

“No!” you gasped, struggling, twisting against his grip, but it was like fighting against iron. “You don’t get to- Jungkook, let me go!”

He didn’t speak, didn’t react. His face was void of emotion now. When you twisted harder, thrashing, his grip only tightened, dragging you toward the door.

“Please,” your voice cracked, desperate. “You can’t do this!”

“I can,” he said darkly, yanking the door open. “And I will.”

The storm outside raged as he hauled you into the rain. You fought, kicking, clawing, nails digging into his wrist as the cold downpour soaked you both. But it didn’t matter. He barely faltered.

You caught glimpses of him through the rain, the sharp lines of his jaw, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he held you fast. His soaked shirt clung to him, but his expression remained blank. Detached.

Like he wasn’t even there.

“Stop! Jungkook, stop! You can’t make me stay with you!” you screamed, voice raw, trying to dig your heels into the wet pavement.

He said nothing.

The sleek black car waited just outside the motel. The door opened with a mechanical click as Jungkook shoved it open, dragging you inside despite your thrashing.

“Get off me!”

But the door slammed shut, trapping you.

The rain blurred against the glass, muted as the lock clicked softly into place. Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat, soaked to the bone, silent. His chest heaved, hair plastered to his forehead, but he refused to meet your eyes. The quiet inside the car was deafening.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Still, nothing. Just the sound of the rain and the steady hum of the engine as he pulled onto the street. The city lights bled past in streaks of white and orange, distorted through the water clinging to the windows.

The fight in you was waning, your body exhausted from struggling. Still, you refused to give up. Not yet.

You pressed yourself against the door, heart hammering. “Where are you taking me?”

A beat passed.

Then, finally, his voice broke through the quiet.

“Home.”

----------

The rain pounded harder against the windows as the black car sped through the city, the rhythmic drumming a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence inside. The leather seats were cool beneath your bare legs, the damp towel clinging to your skin, and every bump in the road made you acutely aware of how exposed you were.

Jungkook hadn't said a word since he said where he was taking you. His steady grip on the steering wheel was far too calm for someone who had just dragged you from a motel against your will.

You shifted uncomfortably, clutching the towel tighter around your chest, heart still racing. The streetlights flickered past, blurry through the rain, but your mind kept circling back to the same desperate thought. Someone could see you.

A girl in a towel, dripping wet, visibly distressed, someone might notice. Someone might help. The tension only thickened when Jungkook’s voice finally cut through the quiet, low and steady.

“Change into these.”

Your head snapped toward him just in time to see him reach toward the backseat, one hand still on the wheel. He tossed a bundle of clothing onto your lap, his sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a pair of flip-flops. The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled unmistakably like him. You stared down at the clothes like they might burn you.

“No.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Put them on."

You shook your head, pulse hammering harder now. “No.”

His gaze flicked toward you, dangerously calm. “You’re soaked. You're freezing. Put them on.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising in your chest. “I’m not changing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You gripped the towel tighter, not saying anything. The brake lights ahead glowed red, painting his face in shadows as he slowed for the stoplight. And then, he turned to you. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You think someone will save you?”

You stayed silent, too afraid to answer.

He didn’t blink. “Listen very carefully.” His voice was soft, “You will put those clothes on. Now. Or I will pull this car over and dress you myself.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the weight of his control in the way he said it, the promise behind those words leaving no room for argument. A car passed by in the opposite direction, headlights flashing across his face. The shadows in his eyes deepened, unrelenting.

“I’m being generous,” he whispered. “Don’t make me remind you what happens when you push me.”

The stoplight turned green. The car surged forward. And you knew, deep down, he wasn’t bluffing. With trembling hands, you reached for the hoodie.

The hoodie felt heavier than it should have, the fabric warm but stifling as you unfolded it with shaky fingers. Your heart pounded as you clutched the material, hesitating, half-expecting him to reach over and force it onto you himself. He didn’t. But his silence was far worse.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of rain against the windshield, the soft hum of the tires on wet pavement. Jungkook’s knuckles stayed pale against the steering wheel, his profile carved from stone, unreadable and cold.

You bit your lip, turning slightly in the seat, as much as the seatbelt allowed, and slowly, so slowly, peeled the towel away just enough to slip the hoodie over your head. The fabric swallowed you whole, the sleeves hanging past your hands, but at least it covered you.

The scent of him hit you instantly, familiar, overwhelming, like the last three days had never even happened. Your stomach twisted violently, teeth sinking deeper into your lip as you fought the sting behind your eyes.

You weren’t free. You’d never been free.

The sweatpants were next. The damp towel fell away entirely as you wiggled into them, struggling with the heavy fabric. They were far too big, bunching awkwardly at your ankles, the waistband nearly slipping down despite the drawstring tied tight. The flip-flops came last, the rubber cold against your still-damp feet.

You felt ridiculous. Humiliated. But most of all, trapped.

Jungkook hadn’t said a word. Just a few glances your way as you finish dressing. 

The city lights blurred outside the rain-streaked window, neon reflections rippling across the glass. The tension was unbearable, pressing in on all sides.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. Then, with agonizing slowness, his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. His gaze remained fixed on the road, but his voice, when it came, was devastatingly calm.

“Because you belong to me.”

Your breath caught. “No, I-”

“You do.” The words lashed through the air, sharp enough to cut. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking just beneath the surface. “And you’ve already proven you can’t be trusted on your own.”

You shook your head. “I was fine.”

“You were bleeding in a motel room. Alone.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s not fine. That’s you falling apart without me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the rain anymore. The car slowed. The entrance to his penthouse garage loomed ahead, the metal gate rising automatically as he approached.

Panic gripped you in full force, your hands curling into fists against the hoodie. “Jungkook, please, just- just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t.”

His head turned, his eyes met yours fully. The look in them shattered your words completely. Deadly. Devastating. And worst of all, aching.

“I already let you go,” he whispered. “Three days. I gave you three days. And all you did was run yourself into the ground.”

The car pulled into the garage with a soft hum, the doors locking the second it came to a stop. The rain had slowed, a dull patter echoing in the silence.

You were trapped. Completely.

And you could feel it in the air, the shift. The way his control tightened like an invisible leash. Jungkook exhaled, his hands finally leaving the wheel. For a long moment, he just stared ahead. Silent. Tense.

Then, without warning, he turned to you. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“Come inside.”

You shook your head violently. 

“Fine.”

The sound of the driver’s door opening made your stomach twist. He walked over and opened your door.

“Jungkook.”

His hands were gentle when they closed around your wrist. But firm. You fought, thrashing in the seat, but his grip only tightened, dragging you forward until your feet hit the garage floor. The damp flip-flops slapped weakly against the concrete, barely making a sound.

“Don’t,” you gasped, twisting. “Please!”

He didn’t respond. He just scooped you into his arms, your body going weightless as he carried you toward the elevator, holding you close like you were fragile, like he cared. But you knew the truth.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and your heart nearly stopped.

No.

Not here. Not again.

You fought harder, hands pushing at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His grip stayed, his face betraying nothing but calm control as he stepped inside. The doors slid shut.

And you knew.

You were back in his world. And no one was coming to save you.

----------

The penthouse loomed, all glass and cold marble, the rain blurring the city skyline beyond its massive windows. The space was as you remembered, pristine, expensive. But there was a weight now. A darkness you couldn’t shake.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you both with a soft chime, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Jungkook’s arms remained locked around you, holding you securely against his chest as he carried you through the silent halls. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

The only sound was the faint hum of the rain against the windows and the measured rhythm of his breathing, calm, controlled. But you could feel it, the tension tight beneath his skin, the restraint in every step he took.

“Jungkook, put me down” your voice cracked. He didn’t. Not until he stopped. In front of a door you didn’t recognize.

You stiffened, stomach twisting. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. The door swung open with a quiet click. The room inside stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t like the rest of the penthouse. No sharp, black marble. No cold steel fixtures. This was... warm.

The walls are painted in a soft colour, the exact shade you’d once offhandedly mentioned loving. Shelves filled with your favorite books and ones you've wanted to read. The bed, covered in rose-scented sheets you recognized instantly, and a cozy reading nook, complete with a folded blanket draped carefully over the cushion.

It smelled like you. It felt like... you.

Jungkook’s arms finally loosened. Gently, he lowered you onto the bed. The plush mattress sank beneath your weight, but the moment your feet touched the floor, you recoiled, heart slamming against your ribs.

“This, this isn’t…”

“Yours,” he finished, voice soft. He crouched before you, at the edges as he met your gaze. “This is yours. I made it for you.”

Your breath hitched, horror crawling up your spine. He had built this. Every detail. Every scent. This wasn’t care. It was a cage disguised as a gift.

You shook your head, throat tightening. “You can’t, you planned this. You can’t just lock me in here and expect me to follow though.”

His hands caught your face, cupping it so gently it almost felt like a lie. “I’m giving you a choice.” His voice trembled, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as his gaze bored into yours. “I’ve been patient. I let you run. I gave you time. And all you did was tear yourself apart. You were hurting.”

His voice broke. “And I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

You shook your head violently, but his grip only softened, his forehead pressing to yours, damp hair sticking to your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, “Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t force love, Jungkook.”

His face twisted, pained, but still, he didn’t let go. “I’m not forcing you,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m saving you.”

You tried to pull back. His grip didn’t budge.

“So what?” your voice shook. “You’re going to keep me locked here? Make me stay until I say the words you want to hear?”

The answer was already there. Written in his eyes. The ache. The obsession. The broken devotion. His hands dropped. And the softness was gone.

“Then be alone,” he said, voice hollow.

Before you could react, he stepped back.

The door clicked shut.

You lunged for it. 

Too late.

The lock engaged with a soft, damning click.

“Jungkook!” Your fists slammed against the door, voice breaking. “Don’t do this! Let me out!”

Silence.

No footsteps. No threats. Just you. Alone. In a room made for you.

It wasn’t love. It was a prison.

And Jungkook wasn’t going to let you go.

----------

Day 1

You screamed at the door. Pounded your fists until they ached, your throat hurting from calling his name over and over. No response. No one came. A small, square opening at the bottom of the door, just large enough for a tray, slid open on silent hinges. A meal. Gourmet. Expensive. The kind of meal you used to love. You didn’t touch it.

Day 2 

You stayed curled on the floor, refusing the bed. Refusing comfort. The room, so carefully crafted to mimic everything you loved, only made it worse. His presence clung to the sheets, to the perfectly chosen vanilla-scented candles on the nightstand. You couldn’t escape him here. But it wasn’t the comfort he wanted you to feel.It was control. And the silence pressed heavier with each passing hour.

Day 3 

Your stomach ached. The small panel slid open again. Another tray appeared. Steaming food, carefully arranged, as if he had personally chosen every dish. The scent lingered in the air longer this time, making your stomach twist painfully. But you stayed on the floor, glaring at the tray like it was poison. Until the hunger gnawed so deep it felt like your ribs might cave in. You gave in, just a little. Two bites. A few sips of water. It was enough to take the edge off. Barely. But you hated the way it felt like you had given up.

Day 4 

You spoke aloud, just to hear something. Your voice cracked, hoarse from dehydration. A whisper. 

The silence mocked you.

Day 5 

You ate half the meal. Not because you wanted to. But because you had to. You were trembling. Dizzy. And the tray slid open like clockwork. Silent. Unchanging.

Day 6 

You were counting the ticks of the clock.

Waiting.

Day 7 

You were trembling. Dizzy. Your stomach had dulled into something hollow, no longer sharp but lingering, a constant reminder of how weak you’d become. The tray slid open. Silent. Unchanging. A fresh meal. Water. Neatly arranged, as if this wasn’t a prison but a carefully curated illusion of care.

You stared at it for a long time. You didn’t touch it. Not yet.

The silence felt heavier today, pressing in on all sides. The ticking of the clock had become unbearable, a steady, relentless rhythm mocking the pulse hammering beneath your skin. The books on the shelf blurred together when you stared at them too long. The soft sheets felt like a trap rather than comfort. And the loneliness, the loneliness was suffocating.

You sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to your chest. The hunger gnawed, but it wasn’t the worst part anymore. It was the quiet. No voices. No sound beyond the clock and the faint hum of the ventilation system. You hadn’t heard him. Not once. Not his voice. Not his footsteps. Nothing. And somehow, that was worse than his presence. Because deep down, you knew he was watching.

You could feel it. That unbearable tension in the air, the invisible weight pressing down on your chest. You imagined him behind a screen somewhere, waiting. Studying. Calculating how long it would take for you to break completely.

And the most infuriating part was...

It was working.

You hadn’t eaten everything on the tray the last few days. But you’d eaten enough. And with every bite, shame curdled in your stomach, the bitter truth settling in. You were already losing.

And Jungkook knew it.

----------

Day 8

The door slot slid open at the same time it always did, another tray. But this time, something was different. Beside the untouched plate of food sat a cup of tea. Your favorite. Steaming. Fresh.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at it, the familiar scent filling the room, so gentle yet overwhelming. It wasn’t just tea. It was a message. A whisper through the silence.

I’m still watching you.

You clenched your jaw and shoved the tray back toward the door without taking a sip. 

Day 9

The hunger was unbearable now. You hated the way your body trembled when you stood, knees buckling. The pounding in your skull made everything blurry, the edges of the room tilting. 

When the tray arrived this time, you didn’t shove it back. Not right away. Your stomach had gnawed too deep, wearing down your defiance. You forced yourself to eat. Just a little. Enough to stop the dizziness. The tea was gone this time. The blanket you had ignored for days? You dragged it onto the bed that night, curling beneath it despite yourself. Pressing your face into the pillow, trying to block out the smell of him lingering faintly in the fabric.

You hated how much you missed the sound of his voice. 

Day 10

It was quiet.

You found yourself standing in front of the bookshelf, fingers trailing over the spines. The books were yours. The same worn covers, the same creases where you had folded pages. You pulled one down, a comfort read. Something you knew by heart. And a piece of paper fluttered from between the pages. A note.

Four words, written in the same sharp, elegant script you knew far too well: “Reading this again baby?”

You crushed the note in your fist, heart pounding so violently it hurt. You hated him. Hated the way he was always in your head. But hours later, you still found yourself reading the book. Turning the pages like they might somehow drown out the loneliness.

Day 11

You woke suddenly that night. Not because of a nightmare, but because of a sound. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate, right outside the door.

Him

You froze, breath caught in your chest, listening as the steps paused. He's here. He's right there. Your heart pounded louder. Waiting. He’s going to come in. He has to. But the door never opened.

The footsteps faded. You stared at the door for a long, long time after that.

Day 12

You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first. The words just spilled out, a broken whisper into the empty room. “Why are you doing this?” Silence. “Why won’t you face me? Say something! Anything. If you’re watching, just- just talk to me!” The only answer was the steady ticking of the clock. And somehow, it was worse than hearing his voice. 

Day 13

The tray arrived. This time, along with the untouched food, there was something else. A small music box. You hesitated, fingers trembling as you lifted it. Delicate. Fragile. When you twisted the key, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. The same song you’d hum when showering. He remembered. He always remembered. With a broken sob, you hurled the music box across the room. The melody cut off with a sharp, metallic crack. Shattered. Just like you. But later that night, as you sat curled in the corner, you found yourself picking up the broken pieces. 

Day 14

The silence was unbearable now. You were curled beneath the blanket, barely able to focus, when the static crackled softly through the ceiling. You jolted upright. His voice, smooth, calm, filled the room.

"You're not eating enough."

Your breath caught. Hands clenching into fists. “Stop it! Just leave me alone!”

The speaker remained quiet for a moment before his voice returned, quieter. Steadier.  

"You can keep fighting me... but I won't let you waste away."

Rage flared hot. “You’re trying to break me! You don’t care. You never cared.”

Silence.

You screamed, hurling the empty tea cup across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because deep down, you could feel it. The cracks forming in your defiance. And Jungkook knew you were breaking.

Day 15

It was the middle of the night when the speaker crackled again. You were half-asleep, curled on the bed with the blanket wrapped tightly around you. When his voice cut through the quiet, your eyes snapped open.

"Did you sleep better tonight?"

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. Your throat felt tight, sore from days of yelling that had long since stopped. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though no part of you felt fine.

There was a pause, a soft static hum lingering before he spoke again.

"I miss you."

You shut your eyes, fighting the tears burning at the corners.

Day 16

The next time the speaker turned on, his voice was softer.

"I only want to keep you safe. Look at you now... You're just hurting yourself. This isn't what I wanted."

You stayed silent, curled on the floor, facing away from the door. Your chest ached as you pressed your hands against your ears. But even then, you could still hear him. Gentle. Soothing. "You don’t have to be alone." You hated how badly you wanted to believe him.

Day 17

The next food tray wasn’t like the others. There was food, yes. But also, a single white rose. Beautiful. Your stomach twisted as you stared at it. The same flower he had given you when you first started to meet. A symbol. A reminder. You wanted to throw it away. Smash it. Instead, you set it carefully on the nightstand. 

Day 18 

You woke up shaking. A nightmare, dark and suffocating. The room felt smaller today, colder. Lonelier.

You sat by the door, knees drawn to your chest, speaking to the silence like it might answer back.

“Jungkook... please. Just talk to me.”

Silence.

You pressed your forehead against the wood, voice breaking. “Please...” But he didn’t answer. And somehow, that hurt more.

Day 19

The tea returned. This time, it wasn’t just tea. A slice of strawberry cake sat neatly beside it. The kind you used to share with him, back when he’d seemed... softer. Safer. You stared at the tray for hours. The sweetness felt too much like a trick. But eventually, you caved. The tea was warm, the cake sweet and rich on your tongue. Comforting in a way you hadn't felt in weeks. You hated that it made you feel better.

Day 20

You were pacing. The walls felt closer. The silence is heavier. The loneliness clawed deeper with every passing hour. You found yourself lingering at the door. Waiting. Listening for footsteps. For him. But no one came. You whispered into the empty air. “I hate you.” But it sounded so much weaker than before.

Day 21

The speaker crackled back to life just after you had finished eating. You didn’t even flinch this time. "I’m proud of you." His voice was low, soothing, so calm it made your chest ache. "You’re taking care of yourself again. That’s good. I told you I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself."

You stared at the untouched rose, wilting slightly in its glass. "I’ll be with you soon." And you didn’t know whether the fear twisting inside you... was still just fear. Or something worse.

Day 22

The speaker remained silent all day. No soft reassurances. No sweet words drifting through the room. Just silence. And it was louder than anything else. You found yourself pressing your ear against the door, straining for the sound of footsteps. Waiting. Hoping.

But there was nothing.

Day 23

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The weight of the quiet pressed too hard, suffocating every thought in your mind. So when the speaker finally crackled to life that evening, you spoke first.

"Jungkook?" Your voice was fragile, breaking with every syllable.

The silence lingered. Then, softly "Yes?" You closed your eyes, hating how much relief bloomed in your chest just from the sound of him.

"...Why won’t you come in?"

The pause that followed stretched too long. Then, his voice returned, softer. "You’re not ready yet."

You clenched your fists, trembling. "You don’t get to decide that!"

"I do."

And then the speaker cut off.

Day 24 

The next tray arrived with something new.

Resting beside the plate was the pearl necklace.

Untouched. Perfectly intact.

You stared at it, pulse rising, throat tightening as you remembered the weight of it against your skin, the way he’d fastened it himself the night he gave it to you.

There was no note. No message. Just the necklace. A silent reminder. You left it on the tray. But you didn’t push it away.

Day 25

The room felt utterly unbearable now.

No matter how you shifted, how you paced, there was no comfort. The books blurred together. The food was tasteless. The scent of the room. 

You wanted out.

Just... anything but this silence.

You whispered, voice broken, “Please... I’m sorry.”

But there was no answer.

Day 26

The tears came unexpectedly.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the sobs shook your chest, your body trembling as you curled into the bed.

It wasn’t just the loneliness anymore.

It was the pain of being ignored.

You had screamed his name a hundred times before.

But tonight, you whispered it like a prayer. "Jungkook... please."

And he still didn’t come.

Day 27

You heard it.

A soft click. The sound of the lock shifting.

You sat up so fast the room spun, heart racing as you stumbled toward the door, pressing both hands against it.

It didn’t open.

But it was unlocked.

For the first time.

Your pulse pounded louder than ever before. Was it a trick? A test?

You stood there for hours. Waiting. Listening.

But nothing else came.

Day 28

You didn’t move.

The isolation had settled deep in your bones by now, making you feel weightless and heavy all at once. You had stopped marking the days, though you knew it had been weeks. Your loneliness had shifted into something quieter, emptier. You had forgotten the sound of your own voice, the rhythm of real conversation.

So when the door creaked open and his figure appeared, the sight of him knocked the breath from your lungs.

Jungkook.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in black, as calm and unreadable as ever. But something was different. His eyes. They lingered longer, tracing over the fragile state he had left you in. The trembling of your hands as they rested limply in your lap. The way you curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed, too exhausted to even flinch.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t step closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was there. Watching.

“Why…” Your voice cracked, hoarse from disuse. “Why are you here?”

No answer.

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to the half-eaten tray of food from that morning. 

The silence stretched. He was giving you nothing, no hint of emotion. And somehow, it hurt. 

You hated him.

You missed him.

“Say something,” you whispered, voice breaking as you gripped the sheets beneath you. 

His lips parted. Just barely. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was gathering himself.

“You’ve proven you can live alone.”

Your breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping you, though there was no humor in it. “You call this living?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t change. But there was a softness. “No,” he said quietly. “This isn’t living. But you made your choice. You didn’t want me.”

Your pulse pounded so loud it drowned out the rest of the room. He was turning this on you. Making it your fault. And the worst part? It was working. The walls felt smaller. The air colder.

“I never wanted this. I wanted to be left alone, not be lonely” Your voice cracked, rising slightly. “You’re the one keeping me here. You.”

He stepped closer.

Not threatening.

Not towering.

But calm.

Dangerously calm.

“I gave you everything,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “And you ran. So I gave you what you wanted. Isolation. Freedom from me. And look what it’s done to you.”

You hated the way your body reacted to his presence. The way the sound of his voice filled the void you hadn’t even realized was so loud.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden. Weak. And when it fell, Jungkook’s expression shifted, just for a heartbeat. Regret.

“I won’t keep you in here forever,” he continued, quieter now, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I just need you to understand. I can make it better for you.”

The words hung heavy between you, poisoned with manipulation you were too tired to fight.

You shook your head, tears streaking faster. “You’re lying.”

His head tilted slightly, dark eyes searching yours with unnerving patience. “Am I? Look around you. Have I hurt you?”

No.

But the absence of pain didn’t make it right.

“I don’t want to feel like a prisoner,” you whispered.

“You’re not my prisoner. You’re here because I care. I want you safe. And you can have more than this. But you have to stop fighting me.”

He reached for you then. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a careful, gentle touch, fingertips brushing the damp tear from your cheek. You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not completely.

The weight of his hand was warm. Familiar. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like relief.

His voice was a whisper, coaxing. “Let me take care of you. Let me make this better.”

You hated him for it.

You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

And when his hand lingered, waiting for your answer, the worst part was how quiet the room felt when he finally stood, turned, and left.

The door locked behind him.

And you felt colder than ever.

----------

The lock clicked open.

This time, when the door swung open, he didn’t stand in the doorway like before.

The hall beyond was empty.

You blinked, heart pounding as you stared into the open space, pulse thrumming in your ears. He hadn’t spoken through the speaker today. No roses. No food tray.

Just the silence, and this.

You should have run. Should have bolted straight for the exit. But your legs didn’t move. Not out of fear. Out of something worse.

The endless days of nothing. The quiet that pressed so hard against your ribs you thought you might break under it.

And that was the moment you realized, this was intentional.

This was another test.

A crackling whisper brushed through the speakers, making you jump.

“You can come out now.” His voice. So calm. So controlled. “I’m not keeping you in there anymore.”

You hesitated, arms wrapping tighter around yourself.

Your steps were slow as you crossed the threshold, the numbness in your legs reminding you just how long it had been since you’d moved beyond those four walls.

The penthouse was silent.

Spacious. Beautiful. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the cloudy city below, so far away it felt like another world entirely.

You barely had time to process it before you saw him.

Jungkook sat in the oversized armchair near the windows, legs spread, forearms braced on his knees as he watched you. No threat. No chains.

But the weight of his presence was more suffocating than any lock.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

His lips pressed together. But he didn’t get up. Didn’t chase you. His voice softened, low and coaxing.

“You’ve been through a lot. I just want to talk.”

And then you noticed it.

The couch. A folded blanket. A steaming cup of tea on the coffee table, the scent wafting faintly. 

No.

He wasn’t trying to trap you.

He was making it look like comfort.

You shook your head. “I don’t want this.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair. “I know. But you need it.”

A pause. His dark eyes swept over you, scanning every tremble, every sign of weakness you couldn’t hide. “You need to rest. To heal. You’re… you’re hurting yourself more than you realize.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How convincing.

And you hated yourself more for wanting to believe it.

But you stayed frozen.

That was when he stood.

Slow. Unthreatening. His hair hung over his forehead, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos along his forearm.

And when he approached, he didn’t grab you.

He just… reached.

Fingers brushing your wrist, barely a touch. Just enough to let you feel the heat of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You know that?”

Your throat closed.

You didn’t fight when he guided you gently toward the couch. The blanket was warm as he tucked it around your shoulders, the tea, hot, fragrant, pressed into your trembling hands.

And then he knelt in front of you.

Not towering. Not intimidating.

Just watching.

You stared at the cup, trying to steady your breath.

It was too much. The silence. The quiet care.

This wasn’t control. This was… kindness.

Wasn’t it?

Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet. Softer now.

“You’re safe, baby. You don’t have to be scared.”

And for the first time since he took you

You felt like you were breaking.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly when you didn’t resist. His gaze stayed on you, lingering on the faint tremble in your hands.

He stayed silent, letting the tension breathe. Letting the quiet speak louder than words.

Until he reached out again.

Slow. Deliberate. His fingers brushed your cheek, so gentle it felt like a question.

You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not fully.

His eyes darkened. Something flashed behind the calm exterior, but he didn’t press. He just held his hand there, warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The words made you freeze.

Sorry?

His touch lingered, and for the first time, there was no trace of that quiet control. Only something vulnerable.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued, voice breaking just slightly. “I just…” His thumb pressed a fraction deeper, tilting your face to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

The worst part was, you could hear it. The sincerity beneath his words.

And you felt yourself softening.

No.

You clenched the cup tighter, forcing your voice to steady. “You didn’t really have me in the first place, Jungkook.”

His expression shifted.

Not anger.

Worse.

Disappointment.

He lowered his hand but didn’t move back. “I kept you safe. I made sure you were taken care of. And I gave you time. To think. To understand.”

You shook your head, pulse spiking. “You locked me away. That’s not care.”

“You were hurting yourself.” His voice sharpened. “Running around, starving yourself. Bleeding in some filthy motel room.” His jaw flexed, the calm mask cracking just slightly. “Tell me what part of that was freedom.”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one you could say out loud.

Because deep down, you knew.

You had been falling apart.

But that didn’t make this right.

Jungkook’s hand closed over yours where you still gripped the cup, his warmth sinking into your skin. His voice softened again, calmer. Dangerous.

“You’re not a prisoner.”

You swallowed hard.

The door was still locked. You both knew it.

And yet…

You didn’t fight when his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“You’re here because you belong with me,” he whispered. “And I know you can feel it. Even now.”

The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong.

Because after weeks of isolation, weeks of silence and aching loneliness…

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The way he made you feel.

Or the fact that, for the first time,

You didn’t want him to leave.

And he knew it.

Jungkook didn’t speak again. He didn’t have to. The quiet filled the space between you, heavier than before but softer too. Less suffocating. His presence lingered like the scent of him, clean, warm, familiar in a way you wanted so badly to resist.

But when he finally stood to leave.

“Wait,” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

He paused, fingers curling into his palm at his side.

But he didn’t turn around.

“I…” Your throat tightened painfully. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Betrayed, by yourself.

Jungkook turned back, his face unreadable, you hated how desperately you searched for softness in his eyes.

But it was there.

Beneath the control.

Beneath the satisfaction.

He stepped closer, moving so carefully, as if not to startle you. His hand rose, fingertips brushing along your jaw in a touch so delicate it sent a shiver through you.

“You don’t have to be,” he whispered.

His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, and you hated how your body melted into the contact, how your eyelids fluttered shut despite every part of your mind screaming at you to stop.

“But you have to let me take care of you,” he continued, voice lower now. “No more fighting. No more running.”

You nodded.

Barely.

And his breath caught like you’d just given him the one thing he’d been waiting for all along.

Jungkook’s thumb traced over your cheek, lingering just a moment longer before he finally spoke again, voice hushed, coaxing.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just let me in.”

The words felt like velvet, soothing you, wrapping around the emptiness he had left behind for so long. You hated how desperately you clung to the warmth of his hand against your skin.

You should have felt disgusted. Angry. But all you felt was… relief.

Jungkook’s hand fell away, just for a moment, and you nearly leaned into it, craving the contact you had sworn to resist. But instead of pulling back completely, he reached for you again, his fingers curling gently under your chin, guiding your face to meet his eyes.

No anger. No coldness.

Just patience.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he murmured, searching your face like he was memorizing every fragile piece of you. “You don’t have to hurt like this. I can make it better. But you have to trust me.”

You blinked, heart pounding.

“I… I don’t…”

The words wouldn’t come. Your mind felt too foggy, too heavy with exhaustion.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he shifted closer, slowly lowering himself to sit beside you. His presence was overwhelming, but not in the suffocating way you had feared.

Not yet.

You hated the warmth his nearness brought.

Hated that it felt good.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Vulnerable.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught, throat tightening painfully.

“I shouldn’t feel like this.” The confession escaped you before you could stop it, trembling and broken.

His head tilted, eyes narrowing just slightly, but not in anger. He looked almost… wounded.

“Like what?” he pressed gently.

You shook your head, biting your lip hard to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Like I need you.”

The words felt like betrayal. A surrender you hadn’t meant to give him.

But instead of pouncing on it, instead of twisting it into something cruel, Jungkook exhaled a slow, steady breath. His hand moved, not to restrain you, but to cup your face again, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“You do.”

You felt your pulse stutter.

“But that’s not weakness,” he added, his lips parting as his gaze softened further. “It means you’re finally being honest with yourself.”

You wanted to fight him. To tell him he was wrong.

But your body had stopped listening.

His touch felt too steady. Too comforting after so much silence.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded, barely.

Jungkook didn’t speak immediately. He stayed close, his hand lingering on your face, thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if grounding himself in your presence. 

“Let me help you, just for tonight.”

You hated how those words sank into your chest, how warm his touch felt after so many cold, empty days. But you were too weak to fight. Too lonely to push him away.

Jungkook guided you carefully to your feet, the weight of his hands steady but never harsh. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force. But you knew, somehow, that there was no choice. Not really.

The bed was as you remembered, too soft, too perfect, like it had been crafted to comfort you in ways he never should have known. He helped you sit, kneeling briefly to smooth the blanket over your lap. Every movement was precise. Practiced.

You should have felt caged.

Instead, you felt seen.

And you hated it.

He stayed by the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. His dark eyes traced the curve of your face, the trembling rise and fall of your chest, like he was memorizing every vulnerable piece of you all over again.

Then he shifted.

Slowly, he reached for your wrist, fingers brushing your pulse. Not restraining. Just… there.

His hand lingered, when the warmth of his palm closed gently over yours, anchoring you in that quiet, unbearable moment.

You didn’t pull away.

You didn’t want to.

“I missed you.”

You closed your eyes.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

And that was all it took.

Jungkook shifted, closing the space between you so carefully it felt inevitable. His hand cupped your face, his thumb catching the tear, wiping it away like it physically pained him to see it fall.

You flinched, but not from fear. It was the tenderness that hurt more.

"Don't cry," he whispered, so gentle it made you want to break apart completely. "Not because of me. Not anymore."

Your lips parted, breath shallow, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting. Not for permission, but for the final thread of resistance to snap completely.

You leaned into his touch. Barely. But it was enough.

Jungkook's eyes darkened, something unspoken lingering behind his gaze. His thumb traced your cheek one last time before his hand fell away, leaving your skin cold in its absence.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he spoke quietly, carefully, as if testing the fragility of the moment.

"No more silence, not when you’re with me."

You should have said no. Should have pushed him away and demanded your space back.

But you didn’t.

You nodded.

And when he shifted onto the bed beside you, when he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head against his chest as the warmth of his body bled into yours...

You let him.

----------

The next morning came softly.

Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold patterns across the walls. You blinked awake, the unfamiliar warmth pressing against your back making you still for a heartbeat before you remembered.

Jungkook.

His arm was still wrapped around you. Loose but present, his palm resting over your hip, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He was close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against the back of your neck, the steady weight of him on you in ways that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

And as much as you wanted to hate it, there was a part of you that had craved this, the safety of being held. The feeling of not being so completely... alone.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly, the tension breaking as Jungkook stirred behind you. His grip tightened, not harsh but possessive, and you felt him exhale slowly, his lips brushing just above your shoulder as he murmured, half-asleep.

“You’re still here.”

His voice was deeper, softer in the haze of waking. But there was something heavier beneath it. Relief.

“I... didn’t want to wake you.”

He stilled, fingers flexing slightly where they rested against your waist. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, he drew back just enough to press his forehead lightly against the curve of your neck, voice barely a whisper.

“You never have to wake up alone again.”

The words sank into you like a promise. One you weren’t sure how to feel about.

You nodded once, throat tight. But you didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

When you finally shifted, pushing yourself upright, Jungkook let you go without protest. His eyes followed your movements, dark but calm as he sat up as well, the sheets pooling around his waist.

You expected him to say something. Maybe a demand. Maybe a reminder that you were still his.

But instead, he only offered a quiet, “Are you hungry?”

It caught you off guard. The simple, human question. You blinked, unsure how to answer, until your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You nodded.

Jungkook didn’t move right away. He just watched you, gaze softening, lingering on your face as if he were committing this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he stood up and disappeared into the kitchen.

You stayed there, frozen, the sheets warm where he’d been. And for the first time, you felt something you couldn’t quite name.

Not freedom.

But not fear either.

The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen, warm and rich, grounding you in the present. You sat there, fingers curled loosely in the sheets, listening to the soft sounds of Jungkook moving, the quiet clink of plates.

Everything felt so... normal.

And that was the most dangerous part.

You should have felt restless. On edge. But instead, the tension had dulled, replaced by something you couldn’t explain. Your chest felt heavy, like something you had been bracing against was finally slipping. And it left you hollow.

When he returned, a tray balanced effortlessly in his hands, the sight struck you harder than it should have.

Two plates. A cup of tea. A cup of coffee.

Like you were just any other couple sharing a quiet morning together.

He placed the tray on the bed, careful, measured. The food was simple. Toast, eggs, a bowl of cut fruit. 

You hesitated, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the control.

But it didn’t come.

Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed, close but not touching, and for the first time, there was no expectation in his expression. No pressure. Just quiet observation, his gaze tracing the delicate way you curled your fingers around the teacup.

You took a sip, letting the warmth settle your nerves.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible.

Jungkook’s eyes softened, a flicker of something almost... hopeful.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, voice low, but so achingly tender it made your throat tighten again.

You lowered the cup, unsure why his words felt so heavy. So final.

The silence stretched as you picked at the food, the tension shifting into something unfamiliar. Not fear. Not anger. Just... quiet. Comforting. His presence filled the space without suffocating it, his gaze never leaving yours but no longer pressing in the way it once had.

And you hated how easy it felt. How his care felt so real.

You should have been angry. You should have resisted.

But all you could feel was the warmth lingering in your chest.

Jungkook finally broke the silence, “Are you... feeling better?”

You knew he wasn’t just asking about your physical state. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then, with quiet honesty you couldn’t explain.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched, so subtle you barely noticed. But you saw it. The way his fingers curled slightly against his thigh, like he was restraining himself from reaching for you.

The thought of him doing so didn’t feel bad? It felt... safe.

That moment lingered between you, the silence stretching just long enough to feel fragile. Like if either of you spoke, it would shatter whatever fragile peace this was.

Jungkook didn’t move, his gaze still soft but searching, as if he were waiting for something he wasn’t ready to name. His hand, so close on the bed beside you, flexed as though he was fighting the urge to touch you again.

You should say something. Set a boundary. Remind him that this, whatever this was, was not real.

But you didn’t.

Because for the first time in weeks, there was no fear twisting in your chest. No loneliness gnawing at the edges of your mind. Only warmth. Only him.

You felt it when his gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for just a heartbeat too long. The tension shifted, heavier but not threatening, intimate in a way that made your pulse race.

You were the first to look away, blinking down at your hands curled around the tea cup. The heat of it seeped into your palms, grounding you as you struggled to steady your breath. 

And still, he said nothing. 

Until.

“Can I hold you?” His voice quietly asked. 

You swallowed, heart hammering, the vulnerability in his words cracking something deeper inside you. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t forcing. He was asking.

And you hated that you didn’t know how to say no.

You nodded.

Barely.

But it was all he needed.

Jungkook moved carefully, cautiously, as though afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast. His hand lifted first, brushing your wrist, fingertips tracing the inside with a softness that made your breath hitch. And then, slowly, he shifted closer, drawing you into him.

The heat of his body pressed against yours, his arm curling around your waist as he tucked you into his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Calming. And when his chin rested lightly against the top of your head, a broken breath escaped you.

You should pull away.

You should hate him for making you feel this, this way.

But all you felt was your chest easing as you sank against him, as the tension melted away and left only the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

And when he whispered, “I missed you,” voice so low it barely reached your ears, you didn’t stop the way your fingers curled into his shirt. 

You didn’t stop yourself from believing him.

Because, in that moment, you missed him too.

----------

The minutes passed in quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier with each heartbeat. His arms stayed wrapped around you, steady but never tightening, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you both stayed like that, eating your breakfast.

And you hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. He smelled the same as always, clean, warm, familiar. The scent that had once felt suffocating now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

It made you wonder when you’d stopped fearing his touch.

You shifted slightly, just enough that your head rested more fully against his back. His fingers brushed your waist, light but grounding, and you felt the subtle way he reacted to your closeness, his breath catching, his hold instinctively tightening just the slightest bit.

You should speak. You should break whatever spell this was.

But instead, your voice betrayed you.

“I missed you too.”

The words barely left your lips, so soft you thought he might not hear. But he did.

Jungkook stilled beneath you. Completely. As if those words had stolen the breath from his lungs.

You felt it when he exhaled, shaky but measured, his face pressing closer, lips just above your hair. His hand shifted from your waist, fingertips tracing along your spine in slow, careful circles, like he was trying to soothe you but couldn't quite stop himself from savoring the moment.

“Say it again,” he whispered. His voice was not demanding. Just... desperate.

You hesitated, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The walls you’d tried so hard to build felt paper-thin now. Crumbling. You couldn't let yourself lie.

“I missed you,” you repeated, voice quieter but steadier this time.

Jungkook made a sound, low, pained, almost like a sigh of relief, and then his lips pressed softly against your temple. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just... there. The kind of touch meant to soothe. To comfort.

But it left your skin burning.

His voice, rougher now, broke the quiet again. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You should have argued. You should have reminded him that taking you, locking you away, controlling every piece of your life, was hurting you.

But in this moment, with his warmth around you, with your body pressed against his, the words caught in your throat.

But because his voice sounded too real. Too genuine.

And you were so, so tired of fighting.

So instead of speaking, you let your fingers curl just slightly tighter against his chest.

And when he pressed another kiss, so soft, so reverent, to your forehead, you didn’t stop him.

You let it happen. You didn’t want him to stop.

His lips lingered against your forehead, warm and gentle. His breath fanned softly against your skin, but he stayed still, holding you in that delicate silence where neither of you spoke, both too caught in the weight of the moment.

You felt the tension low in your stomach, the heat of his body so close, too close. And yet you didn’t move. Didn’t stop the way his fingertips brushed along your waist, tracing lazy circles like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You hated how badly you wanted more.

The way he made you feel so seen, so painfully aware of every inch of your body pressed against his. The steady strength of his arms. The soft way he held you, careful but possessive, like you were something he couldn’t bear to lose again.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as your heart pounded louder than the thoughts screaming in your mind.

Stop. Don’t do this.

But then his lips grazed your temple, slower this time, lingering longer. And when he whispered your name, just your name, like it meant everything, you felt your resolve slip further.

“I missed you, so fucking much,” he whispered again, voice rougher now, closer. “More than you could ever understand.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you tilted your head just slightly, just enough for his lips to go lower, brushing the curve of your cheek. His breath caught, so did yours.

His hand flexed at your waist, fingertips pressing a fraction deeper, grounding you both in that unbearable closeness. You could feel his pulse beneath his skin, the steady rhythm matching your own, too fast, too desperate.

“I’m right here,” you whispered back, the words slipping free before you could stop them.

Jungkook’s breath deppend. And then his lips were closer, brushing the corner of your mouth, lingering in that unbearable space just shy of a kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

The question shattered something inside you. The gentleness. After everything, after all the ways he had broken you down, he was asking.

You hated how much you wanted to say yes.

Your lips parted, trembling as you nodded once, the faintest movement. But it was enough.

Jungkook closed the space between you, his lips pressing against yours, soft but deliberate. The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, careful, his mouth moving against yours like he was memorizing every second, savoring the way you let him in.

You melted against him, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your hand slipped from his chest, fingers curling into his hair as the kiss deepened. His other hand slid up your back, pressing you closer, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. You hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

Jungkook’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, shallow, as he searched your face. The tension was unbearable, the heat crackling in the air between you, electric and undeniable. His hand, still cradling your jaw, shifted, thumb pressing lightly at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you open for him.

This wasn’t soft anymore. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, he barely contained as he fought not to lose himself in you.

“You don’t hate me,” he whispered, voice rough now, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Say it."

Your pulse pounded, your chest twisting, heat spreading low in your belly despite every voice in your mind telling you to stop. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered back.

And then he kissed you.

Harder this time. Deeper. His hand curled tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. The kiss was consuming, dizzying, his tongue parting your lips in a slow, deliberate slide that left you breathless.

You hated how much you wanted it.

The warmth of his body, the way his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, spreading heat along your bare skin, it felt too good, too real. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss until your body melted against his completely.

“Look at you,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re finally letting me in.”

You whimpered, torn between defiance and submission, but the way his body pressed into yours was relentless. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach twist with want. And you hated yourself for how badly you wanted for more.

“This is what you needed, wasn’t it?” His lips brushed along your jaw, “You needed me. You were always mine. And now... you're finally ready to admit it.”

“Jungkook,” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. Not anymore.

It was a plea.

He felt it. Heard it. And the darkness in his eyes only deepened.

“Say it.” His fingers trailed lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing, barely touching, but enough to have your breath catching. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

Your body betrayed you completely, hips arching into his touch, heart slamming in your chest. Every trace of resistance felt like it was slipping through your fingers, lost in the haze of him.

You whispered it.

“I want you.”

The words broke something in him.

His mouth crashed against yours again, hungrier this time, his grip bruising as he pulled you closer, pressing you back into the sheets. His body covered yours, the heat of his skin searing against you as he moved, lips tracing your neck, hands exploring every inch of you like he had finally won.

Because he had.

Jungkook’s breath shuddered against your skin, his forehead pressed to yours, the heat between your bodies smoldering, thick with tension. His grip stayed gentle, but you could feel the way he trembled, the way he fought every instinct pressing him to lose control. His hand brushed along your waist, fingertips tracing so lightly you barely felt it, but it was enough to make you shiver.

The darkness in his eyes wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance. It was hunger, desperate, consuming, and yet so carefully restrained.

He was holding himself back.

You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, the way his breathing stuttered when your lips parted, so close to his, yet not quite touching. His thumb along your cheek, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if this wasn’t enough, could never be enough.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough, thick with need. 

You didn’t answer with words. Your body spoke for you, arching just slightly, leaning into him instead of away. Your skin burning beneath the whisper of his touch. And he saw it. He felt it.

He kissed you again. His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to taste you the way he’d been holding back from for far too long.

A soft, helpless sound escaped you, muffled against his mouth. And that sound undid him.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, voice breaking as his lips grazed the sensitive spot below your ear. “You feel perfect.”

You gasped as his teeth caught gently, nipping just enough to make your pulse spike. And still, he was holding back. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his hands trembled as they mapped the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach.

But then his hand brushed lower.

And you froze.

He felt it instantly, the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, not in pleasure, but fear.

Jungkook pulled back, his face hovering inches from yours, brows furrowed with concern as his gaze searched yours. His voice was softer now, careful. “Baby... what’s wrong? Did I-?”

You shook your head quickly, shame burning your cheeks. “I...” The words caught, and you swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “It's just been a while since….”

Silence.

The tension shifted. But it wasn’t the kind you expected. Jungkook didn’t pull away. He didn’t look frustrated or disappointed. If anything, his gaze darkened, softer, but more intense, his thumb stroked along your cheek, reverent.

For a heartbeat, he was silent. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours, gentle this time, coaxing. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll take care of you. Just... let me.”

You nodded, but your pulse hammered so hard you thought he could feel it where his chest pressed against yours.

Jungkook’s touch shifted, his lips returning to your throat, his hands sliding lower, exploring. Slow. Unhurried. He kissed his way down your collarbone, lingering, tasting, savoring every inch of skin he could reach. His hands explored your sides, your waist, the curve of your hips, never pushing, never rushing, just admiring.

When his fingers brushed between your thighs, you gasped, body arching instinctively, and he froze again, watching your reaction with careful, deliberate patience.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, pressing a kiss just below your navel, waiting for your answer.

You nodded, breathless, the heat blooming under his touch so consuming you could barely think.

“Words, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower, his voice huskier now. 

You swallowed, voice trembling. “Yes. Please... don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and restraint. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding himself as he fought to maintain control.

His grip trembled slightly as his hand brushed beneath the hem of your shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His fingertips grazed the fabric, waiting. Giving you a chance to pull away. “Let me see you... please.”

You swallowed hard, heat blooming low in your stomach. The feeling was unbearable, spreading through you in a way that felt both terrifying and... so painfully good. Your hands curling into the sheets beneath you, heart pounding as he slowly began to lift your shirt.

Your body tensed. The vulnerability of it all, the way his dark eyes stayed fixed on yours, not even glancing lower yet, made your throat tighten.

“Jungkook...” your voice was barely a whisper, shaky and unsure.

A groan rumbled low in his chest. The shirt slipped higher. Over your ribs. Up to your collarbone. His gaze never faltered, never dropped, holding yours like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered.

You exhaled shakily, nodding, and with careful patience, he peeled the fabric over your head, letting it fall forgotten beside you. His eyes finally dipped lower, trailing over your bare skin, his lips parting just slightly like the sight had stolen the breath from his lungs.

“God, you're perfect.”

A flush burned beneath your skin, heat creeping all the way to your ears. Your hands instinctively moved to cover yourself, but Jungkook caught your wrists gently, stopping you before you could hide.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

His lips returned to your neck, pressing soft kisses along the delicate line of your throat, trailing lower as he shifted down the bed, his mouth exploring every inch of skin he bared. Slow. Reverent. His touch ignited something deeper.

When his hands found the waistband of your shorts, you stiffened again. His thumbs traced slow circles at your hips, and when he finally met your eyes again, his expression wasn’t demanding. It was patient. Tender.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmured, voice raspier now. “Will you let me?”

You nodded, chest heaving as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, inching it lower, pressing soft kisses to your stomach as he guided them off your legs. Your underwear followed, and you barely had time to process the sheer vulnerability of being so bare before he spread your thighs gently, pressing his palm to the inside of your knee, urging you open.

You tensed instinctively, thighs trying to close, but his grip was steady.

“Shhh,” he soothed, voice soft. “Let me take care of you, baby. Just relax.”

Your pulse hammered, the vulnerability making you feel lightheaded, dizzy, but the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, made it impossible to pull away.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh first, lingering there, lips soft and patient, before trailing higher. Your breath caught, your body trembling beneath his touch as his mouth moved closer.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice thick, his breath fanning against your bare skin, making you shiver. “So perfect.”

And when his tongue finally pressed against your core, soft but deliberate, you shattered.

A gasp broke from your lips, your back arching as the sensation flooded through you, overwhelming and unbearable all at once. Your hands flew to his hair, unsure whether you wanted to pull him closer or push him away, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate.

He held you steady, his hands gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him as he worked you apart with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue, learning your body, savoring every reaction.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, too consuming, and when his fingers joined, circling you in perfect rhythm, your entire body jolted beneath him, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke.

His response was a groan, the vibration against you making your stomach tighter, the pressure building unbearably fast. His hand slid higher, pressing gently against your stomach as if to hold you still, to keep you grounded as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Princess,” he whispered against you, his tongue circling that sensitive spot again, sending you spiraling. “Let me feel you come for me.”

And when you did, when your body finally gave in with a cry, shattering completely beneath him, he didn’t stop. He kept pressing soft kisses along your trembling thighs, easing you through the waves of pleasure until you were boneless beneath him, breathless.

Only then did he rise, his lips brushing yours, tasting you as he whispered softly.

“That’s my girl. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

He hovered above you, his body warm, solid, grounding you as you shook beneath him. His lips brushed along your jaw, slow and tender, whispering soft reassurances against your skin. “Shh I've got you, I’ve got you, baby.” he murmured, his voice a gentle hum, low and comforting. 

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxed, lips brushing your ear as he trailed his thumb along your trembling thigh. 

His hand slid lower, caressing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch gentle. You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the slow, insistent nudge that made you tense instinctively

He moved with infinite care, easing just the tip of himself inside you. Your body resisted, stretching around him in a way that made you gasp, your grip tightening on his arms.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, you’re doing so well for me.”

His hand dipped between your thighs then, circling that aching bundle of nerves with slow, deliberate motions, coaxing your body to relax, to surrender to the pleasure he was giving you. The tension ebbed, replaced by a deeper warmth, a slow ache that wasn’t pain but something else entirely.

“That’s it,” he praised softly, pressing just a little deeper, the fullness making you whimper. “You’re taking me so perfectly.”

His lips finding yours again in a kiss both sweet and desperate. “You feel so perfect,” he groaned, pressing deeper, stretching you inch by inch, the sensation so overwhelming yet so right.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with praise, his fingers still working you in time with his slow thrusts.

And when he was finally fully inside you, when your body clenched around him in a way that made his breath catch, he stilled, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering, “You did it. You’re mine now, baby. All mine. So perfect… so beautiful.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hips barely rocking forward, just enough for you to feel the movement, the way he filled you completely. “Tell me how it feels,” he coaxed. 

“It… feels good,” you whispered, breath hitching as he pressed just a little deeper, his body moving in perfect rhythm with his hand. 

A soft, trembling moan spilled from your lips, shaky and unrestrained.

“I know, baby,” he cooed, his breath warm against your ear. “I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?”

The pleasure swelled higher, overtaking everything else as his hips moved more fluidly, his thumb pressing just a little harder, matching the steady rhythm of his thrusts. The tension inside you coiled tighter, unbearable, and the way he watched you, like he was unraveling right along with you, was enough to send you spiraling.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke on a whimper, your body arching into his touch, trembling as the heat burst inside you, shattering everything.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his voice thick as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he buried himself deeper, holding you so close, so completely his. 

He felt you tighten around him, your muscles clenching instinctively. You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he kissed your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, soft and coaxing. “Such a good girl, taking me so well.”whispered, his tone laced with that condescending pout. 

His grip on your hips tightened just enough to hold you steady, his chest pressing flush against yours as he filled you completely, stretching you inch by inch. The burn of it was sharp, overwhelming, but he didn’t let you retreat. He kissed the corner of your mouth, his voice a low, soothing whisper against your lips.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay… I know it’s a lot,” he cooed, his breath warm as his lips trailed down your neck. 

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around him, the ache mingling with unbearable pleasure. He paused, barely moving, giving you time to adjust, but not without teasing. 

“Feel that, princess?” His voice was dark against your ear, praise dripping from every word. “Feel how deep I am? Stretching you open, taking me so perfectly. My good girl.”

Your walls fluttered around him at the praise, the fullness making you pulse with unbearable need. His hips shifted, deeper, faster, and the pressure made your breath stutter, a broken gasp leaving your lips.

“That’s it,” he groaned, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So tight- so fucking perfect for me..”

His fingers traced down your trembling body, circling lower. Teasing. Testing. Then pressing exactly where you needed him, a firm, slow stroke against your swollen clit. Your body jolted, hips bucking into his hand.

“Just like that,” he praised. “I want you to fall apart for me, princess.” His pace fast as he thrust deeper, harder, but still painfully controlled.

A strangled moan slipped from your lips, head tipping back against the pillows. Every inch, every pulse of his body against yours sent you spiraling closer.

"Say my name," he growled, voice thick with need, the demand pressing into your skin as his hips rolled deeper, dragging a gasp from your lips. 

“J-Jungkook-”

And with one final, punishing thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body clenched tight around him as the pleasure hit.

His body stayed flush against yours, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he buried himself completely inside you, holding you there, so deep, so full it made you whimper softly. His lips brushed along your temple, soothing yet possessive as he whispered, "Shh, baby... just stay like this for me."

His hand slid up your waist, fingers splayed wide, anchoring you beneath him as he kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and lingering. You clenched involuntarily around him.

He stayed buried inside you, stretching, filling, refusing to move. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, keeping you close

“You okay, baby?” He asked softly, a tenderness lingering in the words, but there was something deeper, almost hesitant, like he was holding something back.

You nodded, though your body felt heavy, boneless beneath him. He saw it, the tension behind your eyes, the worry you couldn’t quite voice.

He lingered inside you a beat longer, his hands cradling your waist, before he slowly, carefully eased out. You whimpered at the loss, body clenching around the emptiness, and he kissed your forehead as if to soothe the throb he’d left behind.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, slipping from the bed. His absence felt colder than it should have, and when he returned, the damp cloth in his hand, his expression was quiet, too quiet.

He cleaned you with such care, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, but his eyes lingered longer than usual, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

After he finished cleaning you up, he helped you into a fresh pair of clothes, carefully smoothing the fabric over your skin as if tending to something fragile. His own shirt hung loosely on his frame, his hair falling into his eyes as he pulled you close. His warmth surrounded you, steady, grounding. His hand traced those soothing circles along your back, lips grazing your hairline.

“I’ll take care of you… always,” he whispered, the words a vow more than reassurance.

Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you, until your voice broke it, hesitant but firm.

“Jungkook… I need the morning-after pill.”

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His hand paused, resting lightly against your hip as he exhaled, steadying himself.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured, voice soft but tighter than before, laced with something heavier. He kissed the crown of your head, holding you so close it almost hurt. “We’ll take care of it first thing, I promise.”

But when his lips pressed to your forehead again, lingering this time, you felt it. You knew he wanted something different. Something he knew you weren’t ready for yet.

----------

Late afternoon. Outside, the city moved on without you, cars honking, people living, oblivious to the silence pressing against your chest.

In here, the world was still. Controlled.

Jungkook sat across the room, seated on the edge of the grand sectional, reading through paperwork like it was any other day. Like you weren’t trapped here, your life rewritten by his hands.

But the pressure was unbearable now, pressing so tightly against your ribs it hurt.

He had stolen your freedom, hidden you from the world, branded you as his. You were supposed to despise him. Fear him. And yet... you couldn’t untangle the warmth from the pain anymore.

The sweater wrapped around your body, the one keeping you warm, smelled like him. The meals he cooked, the gifts he brought you, the way he was always there, hovering silently as if his presence alone could make up for the control, it made everything so confusing.

You hated him? You couldn’t stop craving him.

“Jungkook.”

His head snapped up instantly, the dark, unreadable gaze locking onto yours as if the mere sound of his name was all it took to demand his attention.

“Yes, Princess?”

The endearment made your throat tighten. It felt real when he said it. Like you were his world. But you weren’t his world, you were his prisoner.

And yet...

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding in your ears.

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

The papers fell forgotten. He was up instantly, crossing the space between you with that silent, predatory grace. Close but not touching. His presence was too much. Always too much.

“I’m listening.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. He couldn’t intimidate you into silence this time.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

Silence.

The tension in his face shifted just slightly, the smallest crack in that perfect, controlled mask. His lips parted, but no words came.

You continued.

“I know you care about me. I know you love me too much to let me go freely. But, Jungkook, I feel trapped. You control everything. My clothes. My food. My freedom. I miss some parts of my life. My classes. My friends. My family.”

His brows furrowed. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if forcing back words.

You took a breath.

“I can’t be yours if it means losing everything else. I can’t be your precious pearl if I’m just something you keep hidden away.”

His jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides as he turned away, pacing toward the window.

The reflection in the glass made him look even colder. Detached.

But you saw through it.

“You think I’ve taken your life away from you,” he said, voice tight.

“No- well yes,” you whispered, throat closing. “You have.”

The quiet was deafening. His back remained to you, shoulders tense, head bowed slightly as if weighing every word.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it.

“I had to protect you.”

The words sliced through the tension, rough, pained.

He exhaled, voice lower now.

“You were putting yourself in danger every night. Dancing for strangers. Letting men stare at you. Touch you. They didn’t deserve to see you like that.”

You stiffened. “It wasn’t like that-”

“Yes. It was.”

He turned then, eyes darker, filled with something too complicated to name.

“I watched. I saw the way they looked at you. They were never satisfied just watching. They wanted to consume you. Tear you apart. You would’ve let them if it wasn't for me!”

You flinched.

His voice dropped. “I couldn’t stand it. Seeing you let yourself be treated like you were nothing when you-” His voice broke, the rawness seeping through his control. “You’re everything. And you didn’t even see it.”

The anger drained from his face, replaced by something worse.

Vulnerability.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, chest tight.

He shook his head, turning back toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he rasped, voice broken now. “Because no one else ever stayed.”

The truth in his voice left you breathless.

You thought of the wealth he came from. The cold, distant parents. The hollow loneliness that shaped him long before you.

You finally understood.

Your hand brushed his sleeve.

“You don’t have to keep me like this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m not leaving you. But you have to let me have some part of myself back. Let me go back to school. Let me see my family.”

His head shook instantly, jaw tightening. “No. I made sure of it. The world... they think you’re gone.”

“But you can undo it.”

He froze.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “You have power. You could make this disappear. Make them stop looking for me. I can live again, and I’ll...”

You hesitated, voice shaking.

“I’ll stay. Willingly.”

His eyes snapped to yours, searching, desperate.

“Willingly?”

You held his gaze, pulse unsteady, then gave a slow nod.

“I won’t leave you. I just... I can’t stay if you keep me like this. I need to feel like myself again.”

For a long, painful heartbeat, he said nothing.

And then his hand cupped your cheek. Tender. Devastating.

His thumb brushed your cheek. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

And then, brokenly,

“I can give you that. If it means you’ll stay with me... love me. I’ll undo some things. School. Your family. The reports. I can... I can make it all disappear.”

His forehead rested against yours. His voice barely a whisper.

“Just don’t leave me.”

And the worst part?

You whispered back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

But the tightness in your chest whispered the truth you weren’t ready to admit.

You were falling for him.

----------

A year had passed.

The world outside shifted, seasons blending into each other. The penthouse no longer felt like a cage. Not when you stayed every night by choice.

You stood now in front of the floor-length mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl necklace Jungkook had fastened around your neck just an hour earlier. His pearl. His perfect, untouchable treasure. But it didn’t feel like possession anymore. Not in the way it once had.

Not after everything you’d both endured.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his reflection across the room. He stood near the windows, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black suit, the city a blur of lights behind him. The sharp cut of his suit only emphasized the strength he carried so effortlessly, but his face was different now, softer, less guarded. 

Yet even with that quiet vulnerability, the way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, precious, hadn’t changed. His gaze followed every detail of you, lingering where the fabric of your dress hugged your waist, heat in his eyes, reverence in his stillness.

You still felt it. That ache. Not the old ache, the pain of being trapped. This was something deeper, heavier. An ache you couldn’t explain, except it felt like trust.

Like love.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, closing the space between you, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear. His hands slid to your waist, steady, grounding you against his chest. "You're going to make me lose my mind tonight."

A smile tugged at your lips despite the flutter in your chest. "You say that every time we go out."

"And every time, it’s true."

The feeling inside dulled, replaced by something warmer. Something you hadn't fought in a long time.

Jungkook had changed. Slowly. Carefully. The control was still there, woven into the very fabric of who he was, but not like before. No more locked doors. No more isolation disguised as protection.

You were finishing your final year of university now. Just weeks away from graduation. And he had kept his promise, your name cleared, your life restored, the whispers of your disappearance carefully erased like they had never existed.

And tonight, you were late for dinner with his mother.

The thought made your stomach twist. He felt it immediately, he always did.

“Hey.” His hands shifted to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. “You’re overthinking again.”

You swallowed hard. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She thinks I’m... I don’t know. A distraction. Or a gold digger or something.” You exhaled shakily. 

Something flickered in his eyes at that, pain, just barely contained. His fingers tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“She doesn’t know us. Of you.”

Your heart pounded as you nodded, leaning into his touch. His lips found yours, slow and deliberate, a kiss meant to soothe, to reassure. When he pulled back, it wasn’t enough. You were too close. You needed him close.

But he smiled, a hint of mischief softening the intensity in his eyes. “We’re already late. But first.” His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving a sleek black envelope with a silver wax seal. “I have something for you.”

Confused, you blinked. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

You carefully broke the seal, heart thudding as you unfolded the thick paper. The header was instantly familiar. Jeon Industries. But lower, Co-Chief Executive Officer. Official Offer of Partnership.

Your breath caught.

“Kook...”

His lips twitched, almost shy, a rare sight. “You’re graduating soon. You’ve worked so hard. And I…” His voice dropped, softer, vulnerable. “I want you with me. Not just here. But at my side. As my equal.”

You stared at the offer, words blurring as the weight of what he was offering sank in. Co-Chief Executive Officer. Power. Trust.

It wasn’t control.

It was faith.

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Your voice trembled, the words too small for what this meant. For how far you’d come together.

“Say you’ll think about it.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, gentle but possessive in that way he still couldn’t quite shake. “Say you’ll stay. With me. Always.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, and this time, you didn’t fight it. You reached for him, pressing your lips to his with a fierceness that startled even you, hands curling into the lapels of his jacket, needing him closer.

When you finally broke apart, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“Forever,” you whispered.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t playful this time. It was raw. Honest.

“Good. Because I was planning to keep you anyway.”

A laugh bubbled up, light, genuine, effortless. This is us now. Complicated. Imperfect. But whole.

He kissed your forehead once more before straightening, smoothing his tie as he murmured, “Now, let’s go. We’re already late, and my mom... she’s terrifying when she’s waiting.”

You rolled your eyes but let him lead you toward the door, his hand laced with yours, grounding. Reassuring.

This was your life now. A life you had chosen. A life where both of you were still healing, still learning, but together.

And neither of you was going anywhere.

----------

The pearl rested against your collarbone, cool, delicate.

A perfect thing. Untouched. Just like he wanted you to be.

But pearls weren’t born perfect. They were born from wounds.

A grain of sand, sharp, intrusive, buried so deep in the flesh it festered, twisted, until the ache became something beautiful.

"Love me. Stay with me. Try to love me."

You had said yes.

Not because he held you too tightly. Not because he asked.

But because, somehow, the ache had become him. Embedded too deep. Impossible to remove without breaking you open entirely. 

Not trapped. 

Not broken. 

Shaped into. 

His pearl.

[missadangel]

Two Wrongs, One Right

Joel Miller x Immune F! Reader

1 - The Man Who Saved You

Season 1 trailer series masterlist next chapter

Summary: Before the 2003 outbreak, the Cordyceps virus was a secret government project led by your father, a dedicated scientist. After realizing his mistake, he discovered your immunity following a bite at age 10. Desperate to make amends, he made deals with Fedra and later with the Fireflies, while you chose to escape instead of sacrificing yourself. Years of evading capture ended when you were eventually caught and taken to a hospital in Salt Lake with another immune girl. They thought two hosts would boost their vaccine chances, unaware that Joel was ready to take them all down. Unbeknownst to him, he had saved both you and Ellie. Now, you set out on your own, hoping to find your saviour again, leaving the rest of the Fireflies behind in your hospital scrubs. It wasn't long before you unexpectedly encountered him in Jackson, but he had no idea who you were or about your immunity. Chapter W.C. 10,5 k. It's an introductory chapter, so stay tuned for more about Joel in the next one! Warnings: guns, outbreak, Infection, post-apocalyptic theme, FUCKED UP SHITTY WORLD, language, profanity, cursing, attempted rape, blood, SLOW BURN, slow build, idiots in love, hate to love, arguments, cold behavior, selfishness, TOMMY, ABBY, ELLIE, DINA, WLF, FEDRA, FIREFLIES, sexual tension, abuse, trauma, nightmares, violence, injury, betrayal, murder, teasing, hate or love?, angst, maybe smut, fluff and romance stuff later not sure yet...age gap: Reader 30 Joel is 55 authors note: Each chapter will have its own music and warnings. Thank you all for your support, and have fun! my masterlist

Chapter Songs...

**Prologue.** 

You are her.

The girl that Fedra, Fireflies and the WLF chased endlessly but could never pin down. Somehow, you always managed to slip away. 

EVERY SINGLE TIME. 

That’s you.

You are among the first witnesses to see the world turned upside down with the arrival of this chaotic new reality, where everything familiar crumbled due to the cordyceps virus that transformed life as we know it. You stand out as a unique individual, an extraordinary person navigating this virus in a way that defies all expectations, possessing an incredible immunity that sets you apart from the rest.

That’s you. 

“Humanity's only hope, the sole potential source of a cure, the chance to develop a vaccine that may never be found again.” 

Yeah, those after you see it that way. As a thing, a lab rat, a test subject—disposable, without dreams or feelings... 

But honestly, you shouldn’t be surprised.

From the moment you came into the world, a profound sense of distance from others has surrounded you—something you never had a choice in. It all began when your mother was bitten by one of your father's test subjects while she was pregnant. That incident marked the onset of a global crisis—the day the virus escaped from the CDC and rapidly spread across the globe. Growing up in a laboratory, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of touch with what most people would consider home.

Your dad and his team dedicated years to creating something remarkable for humanity—yeah, they really believed in it—while dabbling in something perilously risky, only to realize they had made a grave mistake. They managed to keep it under wraps, but they could never quite eliminate the problem, always falling short.

From 2000 to 2003, your dad and his crew poured everything they had into combating a virus known only to a select few in the government. By August 2003, the number of test subjects had skyrocketed past a thousand, sparking outbreaks in Indonesia and other key grain-producing areas.

And that’s when the world went to hell. 

The sound of boots echoes on the floor as a figure strodes through the entrance of the building.

The man has “F.E.D.R.A.” emblazoned in large letters across his back, indicating he is likely a Fedra soldier or commander. Everyone in the room avert their gaze, casting guilty looks as if they had just been caught red-handed. Those sitting on the floor, some sporting visible injuries, quickly get up, heads bowed—not just out of respect, but from sheer shock and fear. They keenly aware that trouble is looming, for this man only appeared during significant events. He is one of Fedra's elite, irreplaceable in his role.

Major Gibson's furious, disappointed eyes scans the room, his anger swelling with each wounded soldier in sight.

One of the soldiers steppes forward, visibly nervous, and offeres a salute. “Sir.”

“What’s the situation, lieutenant?” Gibson inquires, his voice steady yet charged.

“Sir, we’ve managed to corner the target inside the building.”

Gibson narrow his eyes, disappointment dripping from his tone. “You’ve managed?” His gaze shift to the injured soldiers sprawles across the floor, some with bandages on their heads and limbs. “Is this what you call 'manage'?”

The lieutenant loweres his head but, despite his recent failures, a flicker of hope ignites in his eyes—tinged with a dash of determination. “The girl is wounded. She can't escape from the building. All entrances and exits are secured by my men.” She points to the building plan spread out before them, indicating the girl’s possible location.

Without looking up from the map, Gibson asks, “A girl. Is the one responsible for putting your men in this sorry state just a girl?"

Taking a deep breath, the lieutenant steadies herself and replies, “With all due respect, sir, you don’t know her yet. We have clear instructions to capture her alive. It's challenging since she’s exceptionally well-trained—"

“I may not know her, but I do know the orders. How old is this girl again?”

The lieutenant hesitates but answers carefully, “Twenty, sir.”

A grim smile spreads across Gibson's face, as if he expected this. He looks at the soldiers around him, counting them.

“Interesting,” Gibson says with angry smirk. “Twenty men can’t handle a twenty-year-old girl. How fuckin' ironic.” The soldiers bow their heads again. “Alright, listen up! We need to capture this girl before sundown. With the Fireflies closing in and everything going to shit, we can’t afford to let that girl get away. Get your fuckin' shit together! Let's do this!"

“As you command, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers echo, rallying around him as Gibson pulls out a red phosphorescent pen and starts marking the building plan. “We’re going to follow my plan for the capture,” he says, and the mood shifts, filled with a sense of purpose.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath as you press your hand against the bullet wound just above your knee. They’re definitely trying to cripple you without killing you, aimlessly targeting your legs, but some of them must not know what they’re doing. Trying to find first aid supplies in this building is like digging a well with a toothpick—practically impossible. Ignoring the pain, you stagger forward with your automatic rifle in hand, scanning every inch of the corridor for anything that might help. At the far end, the dark elevator shaft catches your eye. You can’t tell if the cabin is just stopped or stuck somewhere below, but your mind quickly races to plot your escape. The elevator doors are two-sided, and if you can exit from the other side, you might make it to another building. But with your leg like this, it’ll be painfully slow, and you know that once they figure out where you are, they’ll be right on your tail.

You’re certain of it.

Think, think, think. 

Your eyes dart around the crumbling, half-destroyed building, reeking of mold and decay, and then you spot the kitchen area. Just then, a strong, deep voice calls your name from outside. You don’t care; you know what’s coming next, so you head to the stove, checking the gas cylinders in the kitchen.

“Surrender immediately! I repeat, surrender immediately. I’ll count to three, and my team will enter. We know you’re wounded; there’s nowhere left to run. You’ll be the one who gets hurt.”

You snort, partly at his threat and partly at the thrill building up inside you as you realize the kitchen gas cylinder is still functional. Suddenly, a plan forms in your mind. “We’ll see about that, motherfucker,” you mutter, turning all six knobs and quickly tying a bandana around your neck to cover your mouth.

As the gas begins to fill the room, you can hear him counting down.

“You cocky show-off,” you whisper, pulling a lighter from your pocket. With the cigarette you snagged from the dead man's bag on the street last week, you light it up and take a long drag. The smoke is heavy, old, and scratchy, burning your lungs, but it carries a familiar comfort. You brace one of the doors closed, waiting for the gas to spread. This is a gamble you’ve never taken before—something that could very well backfire—but you don’t care. You’re smart enough to wrap a fire blanket around yourself. With the cigarette burning down, you hear the soldiers’ footsteps getting closer. Adrenaline surges through you, your heart pounding. You bite your lower lip, take a deep breath, and grip a piece of stone from the floor—probably debris from the wall blasted in an earlier explosion. You wrap the blanket around your entire body, feeling every heartbeat like a drum demanding action.

As you check your cigarette, watching it burn almost to the end, you spot the soldiers approaching. Counting them as they appear: one, two, three, and...

Now, it’s go time.

You prepare to toss the burning cigarette with a flick of your thumb and middle finger. With the stone in hand, you smash the glass of the door and step into the elevator shaft, ready to jump to the other side, both physically and mentally. The smell of gas rushes into your nostrils as you hurl the cigarette into the shaft, cover yourself with the blanket, and brace for impact.

Then all hell breaks loose.

It’s not the sharp explosion of a grenade you might expect—rather, it’s slow but utterly devastating. First, the flame from the cigarette ignites the gas fumes, and then pressure causes everything to explode outward with a haunting roar. A shard of glass grazes you, stopping you just short of your escape. In that heartbeat, you realize the mix of brilliance and recklessness in your move. Tossing the cigarette this close was a mistake, but the blanket shields you from the fire's fury, saving your skin. It all transpires in mere seconds, but the intensity is overwhelming.

With the noise pulsing in your ears, you gather your strength and take a few steps back to jump. Your rifle bumps against you, but the shock dulls the sensation. You sprint forward as fast as possible, launching yourself into the air. You land and roll to your feet, recovering swiftly while scanning your surroundings. Did something -infected- hear that blast? Did a soldier figure out your scheme? Nothing moves. A grin spreads across your face, despite the chaos—you’re a mess, but you’re unstoppable. Adrenaline floods your system. It’s as if your blood has transformed, energizing you as you soak in the thrill of your narrow escape.

This section of the building is calm and quiet, but it's unnervingly dark. Frustrated, you flick on your flashlight and move forward, visualizing your plan with every step, recalling the silhouette you spotted from outside. As you make your way down the stairs, you steer toward the likely location of the fire escape. Fortunately, the lower floors are bright, the walls have cracks that let in sunlight, and nature's touch is visible with overgrown grass surrounding you. The area around the fire escape door is unobstructed, and you’re nearly ready to make your escape. The soldiers' voices are now barely audible, a distant clamor filled with shouts and even some pleading. All of it because of what you've done. All because of you. Strangely, it doesn’t scare you like it once did, nor do you feel the same weight of guilt. Not anymore. You have your reasons, and they’re all too valid.

But this isn’t the time to dwell on the past. You are neither the hunted nor the hunter; you exist within a rigid philosophy. Kill or be killed. Eliminate anyone who stands in your way. That’s the new order—a law, a constitution, a moral code to live by. After all, who can hold you accountable? No one bears the blame; everyone is a victim except one. It’s all his fault: your father. And that’s exactly why you’re on the run, and why you must keep moving.

The destruction you’ve caused is staggering; most of the soldiers are likely dead, the rest wounded and spent. That’s a relief; they won’t be pursuing you for a while. At least until you find a vehicle and make your way out of Boston for good.

**Prologue ends.**

10 years earlier. 

September 26, 2003... 

It was too late. There was no corner of the Earth untouched by the virus. The CDC had gone quiet; its energy spent, its resources depleted, and a grave mistake had occurred.

At just ten years old, you suddenly became significant in your father's eyes—a girl who had once been seen as unimportant until you were bitten by one of his test subjects. Just like your mother.

When your father, a dedicated scientist specializing in infectious diseases, finally looked at you—really looked at you—you felt a rush of excitement. With the innocence of your ten-year-old mind, you might have thought his sadness stemmed from the fact that you were going to die soon, like your mother, your friends, his friends, coworkers and countless others struggling to survive out there.

But you were mistaken; they were mistaken.

You weren't infected.

You didn’t die.

You didn't change.

The bite mark remained—the wound became infected like any ordinary scratch, but eventually, it healed.

It passed.

This was incredible, impossible even, but it happened. That night, your father and his research team aimed all their efforts at studying you. Yes, you were the new test subject. But unlike the others, you were unique, challenging the very limits of reason and logic.

In a way that defied everything your 40-year-old father had seen, learned, taught, and discovered throughout his life, you were alive.

Your situation flew in the face of biology, science, and medicine. It felt like the final flicker of hope, a fleeting thought—a brief breeze.

You were, quite simply, an impossibility.

You were unreal.

You were a miracle.

Yes, "miracle" was the first word that came out of your father’s mouth when he finally smiled into your eyes. It was the only positive thing he had said, but it wasn’t a genuine compliment. It was just a reaction, the moment he realized you hadn't undergone a visible transformation due to the virus—that you were still human.

Miracle.

That single word would shatter whatever had already been broken.

You despised that word with every part of your being. Even now, it’s still a curse, an insult. Because from that moment on, the worst chapter of your life began.

Nothing would ever be the same again after you heard that word. Things were already bleak, and then they took a turn for the worse.

November 29, 2003.

The old world had vanished; everything was now under the army's control. Before the Cordyceps outbreak, it was just an ordinary emergency response unit, handling floods, earthquakes, and other crises. But when the Cordyceps brain infection spiraled out of control, transforming people into infected monsters, FEDRA seized complete control of civilian life. Despite your father being a scientist involved in top-secret projects, it wasn’t solely his influence that mattered. The world had become such a disaster that, regardless of who you were—celebrity, politician, millionaire, or even the president—you were all in the same sinking ship. Rank, fame, and reputation meant nothing; survival was all that counted. The only reason they took your father seriously, listened to him, and placed you—all the lab staff—in safe areas was because of your unique situation. Very few were aware of this, not even Fedra's top brass. Only one of their higher-ups had a clue, but that was just a facade, a distraction they could no longer afford to focus on. Proof was necessary, and it couldn’t be simply about showing your bite mark.

It required scientific data and hard evidence.

Yes, the procedures still continued in this chaotic world.

First, they needed to find a secure place to carry out laboratory activities, but Fedra didn’t prioritize that. It had only been a year since the outbreak started, and hospitals had become some of the most dangerous places around. Soon after, the Fireflies' uprising complicated matters even further. As people worldwide succumbed to the epidemic daily, transforming into lifeless creatures, discussions about a vaccine faded into mere chatter. This was largely due to the failed attempts at developing one. Fedra was reluctant to accept it, while your father was desperate to convince them—but there was simply no way to prove him right. All he had were your blood samples, X-ray results, photos of the bite mark, along with video and audio recordings.

Living in the quarantine zone meant you had to conceal your bite mark, located right on your calf, since there were no guarantees of special protection for you. Instead, they pushed you to take part in self-defense training.

To put it more accurately, your father forced you.

You hated him for it.

You had never been fond of him, but pushing you into intense military training was the final straw. His apparent happiness, as if someone else were to blame for the outbreak, only added to your frustration. Yet, only you, your father, and one other surviving team member were aware of the truth—William. Unlike your father, who never seemed to take the blame, William lamented the role he played in this global catastrophe. Their constant bickering drove you mad, especially when everything around you was already in disarray.

A few months later, the Pittsburgh quarantine zone, where you had been temporarily living, was attacked by a group known as hunters, forcing an urgent evacuation. Hospitals were also being targeted, smuggled by the hunters or raiders. Your father's hopes were dwindling, and the situation was growing more dire by the day.

October, 2009. 

Six years had come and gone since everything changed. First, the quarantine zone in Pittsburgh crumbled, falling into the hands of hunters. The remaining civilians in Pittsburgh joined their ranks, and those who dared to voice their opposition were swiftly silenced by the hunters' ruthless leader.   

The U.S. military pulled back their search efforts from all areas beyond ten miles of established quarantine zones, a decision clearly outlined in a letter from the U.S. Attorney General. Meanwhile, Boston had emerged as one of the most secure quarantine zones, successfully fending off firefly attacks. That’s where you were now—until Fedra's elite unit transferred you to a secret location. 

At last, what your father had been longing for had occurred: a fully equipped hospital had been discovered and cleared from infected, and you would soon be escorted there.

As time went on, the cordyceps continued to evolve. The first group infected in the second stage began transforming into the terrifying third stage known as clickers. This made survival outside the quarantine zones increasingly perilous; the only means of communication left were radios and announcements. 

When the convoy set off from Boston, transporting you to the hospital, they didn’t reveal the destination. Perhaps they kept it from you for your own good. Suddenly, an unexpected attack happens—fireflies, the rebel group you’d only heard about but never encountered. Your father and William urge you to stay in the vehicle for your safety as the sounds of fighting erupt outside. The Fedra military vehicle you were in offered some degree of protection, but as a teenager, you were still grappling with feelings of frustration and rebellion, dismissing everything around you. Your disdain for your father had reached new heights, and little did you know that these emotions would soon morph into something far more complex—raw rage.

The firefight intensified, and before you knew it, they’d eliminated all the Fedra soldiers. The door of your vehicle swung open, and a dark-skinned woman with curly hair stepped between two firefly soldiers, commanding you to exit. Your father and William nodded in approval, but hesitation gripped you. William gently pulled you to your feet, standing protectively by your side. You dropped down from the vehicle, shoving your hands deep into your hoodie pockets, embodying the angst of a teenager, looking like you were a million miles away from being the world's last hope.

You relished the sight of your father looking vulnerable, hands raised in surrender. You remained indifferent to the armed soldiers surrounding you—this was a scene you had grown all too familiar with. But your father’s face, etched with desperation, was a different matter entirely, and you couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“Please, we’re only doctors,” he begged, which only made you smile with a hint of cruelty.

"We know exactly who you are, Doctor Clouser," one of them says, carrying a tone of authority. It was the woman with curly hair who spoke up.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered sarcastically. William shoots you a disapproving glance, but you brush it off. 

The soldiers turned their attention back to your father, who seemed caught between fear and resignation. “You’re coming with us,” the woman asserted. Reluctantly, your father conceded. What other choice did he have anyway? If they intended to kill you, they would have done it already. 

As you walked toward their vehicle, you cast one last glance at the lifeless bodies of Fedra soldiers sprawled on the ground—an all too familiar sight in this grim reality. Your father went on about how Fedra would come looking for you, how they wouldn’t let you go easily, emphasizing your importance.

But no one seemed to pay him any mind. 

The journey felt endless, and by evening you arrived at the University of Eastern Colorado, one of the fireflies' bases. The woman leading the group introduced herself as Marlene. Your father was wary of her, and only you and William knew why. When they took you into a triage tent, leaving you alone with Marlene and her two men, you sensed that you were not the only one aware of the truth. 

"I wonder why Fedra is keeping you alive? After all, you’re to blame for everything, aren’t you, Dr. Clouser? Nobel Prize-winning scientist in molecular biology and genetics. And you, Dr. William Devane, microbiology expert, also an award-winning scientist. Two geniuses responsible for the outbreak that fucked everything up."

Your father and William tensed up as Marlene’s companions exchanged shocked glances. Marlene’s expression shifted from anger to an almost hopeful curiosity. “So tell me, why does Fedra help you? Is there a chance for a cure or a vaccine? Is that their goal?” 

A cure, a vaccine—those words you almost hear every fuckin' day. Turning your gaze to the side, you spotted a 9mm pistol on a table nearby. Grabbing it in a quick motion crossed your mind—thanks to those teenage hormones—but that was a dumb idea; there was no way you could take on all those soldiers outside. They had no clue about your immunity and wouldn't think twice about taking you out and you didn’t want to risk William’s life. Yeah, you cared about him more than you did for your father.

When your father and Marlene were inside the tent talking, you waited outside, aware that Marlene's men were eyeing you with obvious hostility. Who could blame them? Anyone would think the same way, knowing the truth: they were responsible for the world’s downfall and and the one in charge was your dad.

Soon, Marlene and your father emerged, and all eyes turned to them. The moment your father's gaze met yours, you instantly grasped what was being discussed.

What a surprise.

Marlene cast a meaningful glance at her men, called them back to her side, and you returned inside. Your father looked directly at you. “Show them, it’s okay.”

You shot him a glare. “I’m wearing freaking jeans.”

He glared back. “I told you to show them.”

William stepped in, using a gentle voice as he called your name and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Let me help you.” The bite mark was on the inside of your calf, which is why it made you tense. William positioned himself in front of you, creating a barrier as you unzipped your pants. “Okay, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes. “Like it would even matter if I said I wasn’t.” You pulled your hoodie down to keep your underwear hidden; luckily, it was long enough to cover your backside.

When William finally stepped aside, the bite mark came into view, looking like a tree branch etched into the skin. Marlene bent down, switched on her flashlight, and leaned in to inspect the mark closely. Remembering how you got this bite, the moment you got bit by an infected, you fought the urge to kick her while she gazed down at the mark. “When did this happen?”

She directed the question at you, but your father chimed in, as usual. “I’ll do the talking; you just stay quiet.” It was his go-to line.

“Six years,” he replied.

Marlene raised her eyebrows in surprise. Your father continued, “Yes, it coincided with the outbreak.”

“How come the vaccine hasn’t been produced until now?” she asked.

And just like that, your father launched into an explanation about the early days—how Fedra couldn’t get you to the hospital, the lack of facilities, and so on. As you pulled your pants back up, you muttered, "That’s enough staring, I guess."

“Salt Lake,” Marlene said firmly. “That’s where we’ll be taking all the supplies after the unsuccessful vaccination attempt by the Biologists we brought in from San Francisco. The hospital is large and has everything you might need, but it’s not exactly clean. Infections are widespread, and cordyceps has infested even the operating rooms. Cleaning it up will take some time. For now, you’ll stay here until I send you there. And remember, this stays between us.” Your father and William nodded, then she turned to her men, giving them a meaningful look without uttering a word.

“Don’t worry, Marlene,” they reassured her in unison.

Marlene locked eyes with you, cautioning you not to say anything about your situation and to behave, having caught on to your rebellious attitude. That look.

The same gaze that flickers in the eyes of everyone who learns your secret—the look of hope you despised. Thankfully, Marlene didn’t use that word; perhaps she was a realist and not a believer in miracles. That might be the only thing you liked about her.

The only damn thing.

February 2012.

Failure, every scientist’s worst nightmare, lingers like a shadow over your father. As promised, Marlene and her team clean the hospital and ensure you’re placed there. He and William have everything they need. It’s impressive that they’ve managed better than Fedra. Yet, failure stares them down once more, especially after the 186th attempt. Each failed experiment begins with the hope that maybe this time it will succeed. Everyone in the hospital is exhausted, sleepless, and on the brink of despair, but no one cares about you—except for William.

The number of blood samples taken from you has left you anemic, your body desperately fighting the threat of it. Your arms are mottled with purple marks; your complexion is pale and wan. But you persist through your training, benefitting from the special meals prepared for your health. They’re concerned about you, but it’s not out of pity; it’s for a larger purpose. Anemia would reduce the number of red blood cells in your blood, which directly impacts the vaccine’s efficacy, leading to more failures.

When your father scolds you for this, you realize you are no longer surprised. It doesn’t even sting anymore. Even the lieutenant trains you treats better than him—strong and tough but quick to applaud and congratulate you when you finally beat her in a spar. Your father doesn’t offer the same. You’ve been a failure in his eyes since birth, and the reality remains unchanged; only the direction has shifted.

For a fleeting moment, you wish he would successfully create the vaccine—not for humanity’s sake. In your eyes, humanity is a lost cause. You’re curious to see if his attitude toward you would change if he succeeded. Maybe he’d look at you with love or admiration. But let’s be honest: deep down, you know that wouldn’t happen.

You’ve spent so long in the hospital that you’re itching to get out. The day you finally break free feels exhilarating. You think about taking a brief detour to escape the suffocating confines; however, before you can get far, you encounter an infected individual. In your surprise, you realize too late that a network you’ve never seen before lies right at your feet, one that sends out vibrations to all nearby infected. Yes, your skills have improved over the years; you can handle various weapons, but when faced with a horde, those arms are useless.

A cacophony rises from the cracked asphalt roads blanketed by green grass—one voice, then two, three, five, eight, and more. Your blood runs cold as you see a horde rushing toward you. Being immune won’t protect you; they’re driven solely by their primal need for nutrition.

You are the prey.

You sprint back toward the hospital, even though you know it’s futile, cursing yourself for stepping outside. Just then, a group of fireflies arrives in military vehicles, opening fire on the infected. As one vehicle pulls up to you, it takes out a runner just behind you, but there are more closing in. Suddenly, another runner lunges at you.

You struggle beneath this dreadful creature that sounds horrifying and looks even worse. With all your might, you attempt to raise your gun, but it’s useless. That’s when you got your second bite, right below your shoulder. The pain is overwhelming, consuming your senses entirely. All you can focus on is the location of the bite—the crushing pressure, the excruciating pain. You scream until your lungs feel like they’re on fire, convinced for a moment that your flesh is being torn apart. The agony spreads through your veins, radiating throughout your entire body. Since the pain dominates your attention, you don’t even notice when the soldier who shot the infected lends a hand to pull you up; you simply let him.

But more are coming—hundreds—relentlessly charging. The soldiers around you cast you bewildered glances, clearly aware of what just happened.

Once you’re taken back to the hospital, soldiers guide you by the arm to a different room in the emergency wing, just to be safe. One even gets scolded by a commander for aiming at you; it’s a rare sight for them. None have seen someone bitten before who hasn’t turned into one of those monsters.

The wound appears serious, likely deeper than the first, meaning it will take longer to heal.

Yet, you remain human—what luck.

The next day, your father brings you to the lab for more blood tests. To your surprise, he seems almost pleased about your new bite, showing no rage for your reckless escape. But William is furious and incredibly worried about you.

It takes up to two weeks for the new bite's effects to show in your blood results, and you return to your monotonous daily routine.

Boring.

July 2012.

One morning, your father walks into your room in a surprisingly good mood, which usually signals trouble for you. He promptly calls William in for a private chat. You find yourself bored out of your mind with their vaccination chatter. Your only hope is that they’ll abandon the vaccine nonsense, leave you alone, and go back to living like normal people. You can’t help but envy the folks outside who are just trying to survive. It’s absurd to dream of living like them, but the truth is, at least they’re free. And when it comes time to die, you think you’ll finally be free too. This hospital feels like a prison. People treat you like a lab rat—they don’t even bother to make eye contact when they take your blood. They don’t ask how you’re doing, and it’s painfully boring.

As you’re sketching in your notebook late at night, William quietly slips into your room. You hold on to the hope that he’s brought something to lift your spirits—a fully charged Walkman or perhaps one of your favorite comic books. But when you see the troubled look on his face, you realize this isn’t going to be a light-hearted chat.

"Come with me."

It’s a good offer, and you can’t refuse it—not if it’s from him.

You glance toward the door. Two soldiers standing guard, poised to thwart any attempt you might make to escape. You’re so crucial yet an absolute headache. William leads you out of the room, and as the soldiers start to follow, he raises a hand to stop them. “It’s alright,” he says.

“Where are we going?” you ask, confusion bubbling up. He doesn’t answer; he simply keeps walking. His arm wraps around you protectively, but you’re not sure why. You step into a room you’ve never seen before, filled with various supplies. William closes the door firmly behind you, grabs a large, dark backpack, and thrusts it into your hands.

“What’s going on, William?” You’re taken aback.

“Just take it,” he insists.

As you check the safety on the revolver he hands you and slip it into the back of your pants, you are even more bewildered. “What the hell is happening?”

“We don’t have time, and this might be our only chance,” he replies, urgency lacing his voice. He throws the bag over your shoulders. “It’s packed with supplies—enough for a few months.”

You nearly stumble under the weight. “Okay, I get that, but I don’t see the purpose yet.”

William’s eyes darken with concern and anger. “Your father has figured out how to produce vaccines.”

You’re stunned. “Isn’t that supposed to be good news?”

“To make that vaccine, you need... surgery. But there’s no way you’ll survive it.” His words hit you like a punch in the gut. You tremble as he wraps his arms around you, his voice quaking with emotion.

“I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him kill you. Damn humanity. Damn the vaccine. I won’t, babygirl. You’re like my real daughter. I won’t lose you.”

You stand frozen, numb, as your heart aches.

“He,” you breathe out, unable to say “dad.” “He’s chosen to sacrifice me, hasn’t he?”

William's continued sobs and silence say it all.

Of course, he has.

He cradles your face in his hands. “Promise me you’ll survive. As long as you’re alive, I can rest easy knowing you’re out there, just breathing.”

“Please come with me,” you plead. “I don’t even know where to go…”

“I need to distract them so you can escape. There’s a map in your bag. I’ve marked possible locations for the Fireflies and the FEDRA, and noted safe spots and soldier routes. When I find you again, we’ll join another group together. Never reveal your immunity, your identity, your name—not even mine. You’re someone else now, can you understand? Stay off the main roads and avoid open spaces. It will be hard, but I know you’ll make it. You are strong. You're 19 now.”

You nod, determination in your voice. “I promise I’ll make it, but you have to promise you’ll survive and come too.”

He tries to assure you with a confident look, but you can see it’s a façade. “I promise. Now you need to go. They’ll be here soon to take you for the surgery. I can't buy you any time if they realize you’re missing from your room.”

You fight back tears, a lump forming in your throat. “I need to know one last thing before I go.”

William takes a deep breath, preparing himself for your question.

“Is there really no other way to produce the vaccine?”

“There has to be a way—there's always a way. But your father…” He swallows hard. “That bastard is just—“

“Enough,” you interject, your voice shaky but steadier now. “I have my answer.”

April 2024.

Ten years have gone by. You’re still on the run, but now you’re more experienced—a young woman who’s tough to stop or defeat. For all this time, you’ve managed to survive alone, witnessing too much—haunting memories that invade your dreams, scars that linger on both your body and soul. You’ve been bitten three more times in this span. William never showed up where he promised. You waited for him for months, even years, placing a sign over to one of those wrecked cars at your meeting spot. The doll from your childhood—the one he gave you for your sixth birthday—remained untouched every time you returned. But still, he never showed up. Maybe something happened to him on the way. Maybe he gave up or maybe he never intended to come back.

Who knows?

And who cares? You certainly don’t anymore, not after what they did and what you had to do.

Now, casting a desperate glance at the map, you contemplate your next route. None of the places William marked as safe are safe anymore. The map has changed, you’ve changed, and so have your aspirations and goals.

In the meantime, you found a companion. 

You named him Taxi. 

A German Shepherd. 

You met him while scavenging for supplies, trapped next to a wrecked taxi—likely caught in a hunter’s snare. He’d lost a lot of blood from an injured leg, and if you hadn’t intervened, he would have died. At first, you felt indifferent; you couldn’t access emotions like before. But when you looked into his eyes and heard his whimpers of pain, you couldn’t ignore him. You helped lift him from his suffering, and since then, he’s never left your side.

From that moment on, that dog turned into your best buddy. He was an amazing pal, warmer than any human you knew, a loyal friend cared for you in ways no one else did and stood by your side, ever ready to protect you.

“What’s up with this Bella girl? Is she torn between Jacob and Edward or what? Is love really that complicated?” you ponder, glancing from the novel *Eclipse* in your hand to the taxi as you carefully walk along the cobblestone. Taxi barks twice. You laugh, “Are you saying I don’t get it because I haven’t read the first book?” Looking at the other novels on the back cover, you shrug. “Dude, the library was crawling with Clickers. It's all I could scrounge up.”

Moments later, Taxi growls, pulling you from your thoughts. You spot a runner nearby, his back turned but movements erratic—likely infected just days ago. You crouch behind a junked car, and Taxi stealthily lowers next to you. “Shh, it’s just one. I can take care of it,” you assure, pulling out your knife. You set the book on the ground and move quietly, letting the pages flutter with the wind, then dive at the runner just in time. You take him down with a swift stab to the throat, his loud, ominous growl echoing as he collapses. You wipe the knife on his ragged clothes and then on the fabric of your sleeve.

No one else is around; it's a relief.

Just then, you hear the rumble of tires approaching. Whistling to Taxi, you signal it to come closer. “Quick,” you say, darting behind the wheel of a nearby gasoline truck. You wait as two military vehicles pass by without stopping. As you recalled hearing on the walkie-talkie that the Fireflies were moving to Utah a few days ago, you couldn't help but wonder: who are they now?

You exhale in relief as they drive on. Just when you think it’s safe, the vehicle behind the other one halts, and you freeze. “Damn,” you mutter as someone opens the door and sees the runner you just took down. 

“Hey!” the driver calls, raising his hand to signal the vehicle in front to stop. 

The taxi growls low, and your nerves spike. You instinctively reach for your gun, loading bullets from your pocket into the chamber and flipping off the safety. Two people step out of the vehicle, examining the runner and muttering to each other. One gestures for the others, probably telling them to search the area. Soon, they all nod and scatter, weapons drawn, just as you had feared. 

Eight armed, trained individuals. They’re definitely looking for you; any other group would have kept driving after spotting an infected by the road. 

You glance at Taxi and point him the opposite direction. He leaves immediately—you’ve trained him well—but worry clings to you. Time is of the essence. You pick up a rock from the ground and throw it to the far side of the truck. As two of them turn, you take a steady aim and pull the trigger, hitting both in the head. 

Bull’s-eye. 

“What the hell?”

"She’s here—" Taxi lunges at the screaming womans throat and you take down the other one as he finish her off. Two people near the vehicle duck behind cover. The other one next to the woman who just got tackled raises a gun and fires at him, but you take him out too.

The remaining one, clearly of higher rank, shouts a warning to the others: "Don’t shoot her! Remember, we have orders to take her alive!" Another voice calls out, "Surrender! Now!"

“Come and get it, motherfucker!” you yell back, quickly pivoting toward the vehicle, aiming, and letting loose with your shots. Thankfully, they hesitate to return fire, giving you the chance to roll into the nearby grass. Taxi crouches down beside you. You signal him to hang tight behind a rock. "They can shoot at you, but they can’t hit me. Stay put.”

It takes a few tense moments to crawl through the grass until you reach the front of the enemy vehicle. You hear a shot ring out in the distance—just a scare tactic—and aim carefully before shooting at the tires of the vehicle behind you. As they scramble, you fling open the car door, dive into the driver's seat, and crank the engine.

“Hey!”

Ignoring their frantic shouts, you open the side door and holler as you take off, “Taxi! Come on!”

Taxi barks in response, sprinting toward the car, dodging gunfire, and leaps into the passenger seat.

“Good boy!” you laugh, giving his head a quick pat as you slam the door shut and hit the gas.

You flash them the middle finger through the window, taunting, “Suck it, fuckers!”

“Shoot the tires!” someone yells from behind.

"Don't let her get away!"

“No, no, no, don’t shoot the tires,” you grumble to yourself. It’s hard enough to steer in a straight line without swerving all over the road. Soon enough, they open fire, and you instinctively duck, while Taxi hangs out the window, barking.

“No, buddy, get down!” you scold him, swerving to the right in a desperate attempt to shield him. Suddenly, you feel a thud as one of the rear tires bursts, and the steering wheel slips from your control. “Damn it!”

Before you know it, the car flips over in a chaotic tumble. Without a seatbelt on, you are jolted violently, your head smacking against something hard. The last thing you hear is Taxi's cries of distress and the screeching of brakes as everything goes dark.

As you slowly open your eyes, a wave of excruciating pain surges through your head and radiates throughout your body. Realizing you’re lying down and catching a whiff of antiseptic, you attempt to sit up, only to find yourself strapped to a stretcher.

“Hey, take it easy,” you hear a voice cautioning you. It must be a medic, though dressed in civilian clothes.

"Where am I? Taxi... Where's my dog?" you manage to ask, panic creeping in.

“You've taken quite a blow to the head,” he replies. “You've got two fractured ribs as well. So how about you just stay still for now?”

“Where’s my dog?” you insist.

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t see any dog.”

“If anything happens to him, I swear—”

“What are you going to do?”

That voice—Marlene.

Damn it.

How long have you been gone?

When did she show up, and... where were you?

“You’d actually burn the hospital down just for a dog? That’s so you,” she says, stepping a bit closer. You notice the deep lines on her face that have only gotten stronger over the years. “After all that time running around by yourself, it's pretty impressive what you've been through. But here we are, years later, and all you care about is your dog. I’ve never met anyone quite like you, you know.”

You give her a sarcastic look. “The hospital... Another attempt for a cure? Marlene, you really don’t give up, do you?”

“Maybe we’re alike in that way. But not in others. What you did back there was selfish. I lost thirty good men because of you."

“Cut it out and get to the point. You planning to take my blood or what?”

“No, you’re not leading this time. You’re going to be... a substitute.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

“It means we’ve found another immune person.” You’re taken aback; that’s highly improbable. “Just like you, she adapted to the virus after being bitten. This time, we’re definitely producing that vaccine.” Her eyes sparkle with hope, reminiscent of your father’s once-hopeful gaze.

“Oh, congratulations. Looks like you should be up for a Nobel Prize, Queen Firefly.”

Marlene lets out a lazy chuckle at your joke, but a flicker of something deeper crosses her face—a trace of sadness, perhaps. "What we have endured all this time is finally going to mean something."

“Sounds more like a cover-up to me.”

This time, anger flares in her eyes as she meets your glare. “I wouldn’t feel too relaxed if I were you. If we successfully develop the vaccine thanks to Ellie, we won’t need you anymore—and there are plenty of men itching for revenge. You get that, right?”

You match her menacing stare, though deep down, fear coils within you.

“Now, I’ve got to go. She’s being prepped for surgery,” she says, standing up.

"You mentioned that her situation is similar to mine." Marlene pauses but doesn't look at you. Remembering the virus intertwining with the brain, you murmur, “You know she won’t survive this surgery.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “Yeah, I know," she answers coldly before turning her back and leaving the room.

You watch her go, noticing two armed soldiers waiting at the door. You find yourself wondering how many days have gone and how they found that girl, and you can't shake off your worry about Taxi.

However, at this moment, you should only be worried about yourself.

Hours drag on.

Marlene never comes back to the room where you’re confined. Luckily, they untie you, but you still trapped. When a nurse enters to help you put on your hospital gown, you realize why they released your bindings. “Did the girl’s surgery go well?” you ask her. You don’t know her, but a bond forms from your shared condition, and a wave of sadness washes over you.

“It hasn’t started yet, but it’s almost time. You’ll be next,” the nurse replies.

You tense up. “Hey, what? Marlene didn’t say anything like that, I…”

The nurse explains, "Dr. Anderson believes that having two hosts increases the likelihood of creating a vaccine. They’ll start with her first, and then it will be your turn.’”

“You're going to kill us both,” you grunted.

The nurse stares at you, blankly. “You’re doing this for humanity and—"

You grab her by the throat. “If you utter anything about a ‘miracle’ or the ‘greater purpose,’ I’ll break your jaw.”

Her eyes widen as she pushes your hand away and calls out in alarm, “Open the door, I’m coming out!”

The soldiers at the door swing it open, weapons drawn, until she steps outside. They close the door behind her and stand watch. Through the frosted glass, you see her greet someone in the corridor. You strain to catch snippets of their conversation about the surgery.

“The girl’s been anesthetized; she’s ready.”

“Alright, prep the other girl. The nurses will let you know when it’s time. Today is crucial for all of us, so keep an eye out. Don’t let anything go wrong.”

“Good luck, doctor.”

From the clatter of voices and footsteps, you can tell you’re being held very close to the operating room. Tension fills your body. You have to act, or the fate you’ve been dreading for years will finally catch up to you—you’ll die.

And for a world so wretched.

Additionally, William previously mentioned that there is no guarantee the vaccine will be effective.

The room is small; they’ve stripped away your weapons and belongings, and the soldiers haven’t budged from the door.

You need a plan.

But what can you do? As you scan the room, thoughts race through your mind. Perhaps you could fashion a weapon from the syringes, but then what? How would you handle the soldiers?

Then, chaos erupts with the sound of gunfire.

“Shots fired! Shots fired!” someone shouts.

The commotion from the lower floors sends alarms ringing through the upper levels, yet the soldiers at the door remain on high alert, conversing amongst themselves. The gunfire continues, echoing louder. Whoever is responsible for this—could it be Fedra?

Yes, that makes sense.

"It's him!"

“Kill him! Kill him now!”

Him?

Just one person?

The sounds grow increasingly frantic, the shots puncturing the space, thinning the ranks of your captors. As each bullet finds its target, the noise fades somewhat. You feel a mix of relief and anxiety; the soldiers abandon their posts, heading into the corridor. Moments later, the air fills with the sound of bodies crumpling. The clatter of bullet casings and reloading comes closer, making you instinctively crouch down. You don’t dare open the door. Whoever it is, they move like a relentless machine, eliminating everything in their path.

After a brief silence, you cautiously crack the door open. You hear slow, deliberate footsteps, and when you catch a glimpse of the figure, you freeze.

A man in his forties or fifties stands at a distance with his back to you. Suddenly, he swivels his head, revealing his face in profile. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he grips an automatic rifle tightly. He moves forward with a skill, focus and calmness that’s almost savage. In that moment, you realize his intention. Perhaps the girl about to undergo surgery is this man's daughter or someone he really cares about.

Who else would go to such lengths for someone?

Cold-bloodedly killing fireflies one by one.

As the gunfire finally subsides, you push the door open a bit more and step out of the cursed room. You head to the other space where they’ve stashed your belongings. Just then, another gunshot rings out, followed by screams—woman’s screams, one of which sounds like the nurse came to your room earlier. You quickly grab your things and dart down the corridor. There's no time to change; you just need to escape the hospital as fast as you can. Though the backup team is supposed to be waiting, the silence is deafening. Bodies lie strewn across the floor, drenched in blood, as you navigate your way through the carnage.

You might have felt a twinge of sorrow for them if they hadn’t intended to kill you. But now, looking at them, there's no pity left in you. All you can focus on is escaping this place alive and finding your dog.

A short while later, you hear the voices of the team you were waiting for echoing through the hallways. As you descend to the lower floors, you start to map out your escape route. But just then, the sounds of running feet and shouting reach your ears from above, accompanied by a frantic radio transmission. “Crap! The doctor shot!” 

“Sir, the smuggler took one of the cars and got away with the girl!” 

“Damn! The other girl escaped too!” 

“Move to the lower floor immediately! Secure all exits!” 

“Find them! Hurry, hurry!”

Knowing you’re already on the lower floors, you sprint to the garage, praying to find a car there. If they managed to escape that way, maybe it could be your ticket out as well.

As luck would have it, there’s indeed a reliable car waiting for you. However, your peripheral vision catches something on the floor—a body. Damn it… it’s Marlene, shot multiple times with a pool of blood forming around her.

Once, this scene would have evoked pity for her, but not anymore. The trauma from your father has eroded any empathy you once had, leaving behind a hollow shell—a girl who is no longer innocent or naive.

Now, it’s time for you to do what you do best: running away.

Thanks to that man, you are alive and were able to escape.

June 2024. 

You're on the road again, running away once more. The car you "borrowed" from the fireflies barely lasted a month before you ran out of gas. Luckily, you stumbled upon your trusty dog Taxi near the hospital. He must have been waiting for you there, your only true companion in this harsh existence. The top part of one of his ears is torn, perhaps from the accident or maybe even a bullet. Regardless, he’s in decent shape, which is more than you can say for yourself.

About a week ago, raiders attacked, aiming to steal your supplies and worse. With your military training and the help of Taxi, you fought them off before they could succeed. You had a bullet lodged in your stomach that you managed to remove yourself. Even though you stitched the wound up, it’s become infected and is festering. You have no clue how much longer you can hold out without proper medical care or antibiotics. As the pain and fever drag you down, you stumble and hit the ground. Taxi licks your face, trying to nudge you back to your feet. “Don’t worry, old friend. I’m not ready to give up yet,” you gasp, struggling to breathe.

The heat is parching your throat, and there’s barely any water left. All that’s left in your bag is one last can of dog food you’ve been saving for Taxi. For three days now, you haven't eaten anything other than a meager portion of dried meat—so small it barely fits in your palm.

It’s the last you have. 

You've never encountered a situation this desperate, yet you refuse to throw in the towel. You press on, but worry about your condition creeps in. There must be something close by; you need to seek help or things will only spiral downward. Taking a moment, you pause to examine the map. While sipping the last of your water, you contemplate your next move. Heading straight north from SLC (Salt Lake City) seemed logical once then, but now you’re filled with doubt. This decision wasn’t only yours; William had marked an area around Wyoming on the map, but he never noted what it was. It’s not a safe zone or a Quarantine Zone, so what lies there? The marked region extends into Idaho and encapsulates Yellowstone Park. You find yourself at the edge of that circle right now. You have no idea what awaits you there, but you’re out of options. You’ve seen too much already—or so you hope.

What could be worse than this?

As you push forward, you spot a sign, half-destroyed, reading “Etna Village Estates” at the top. The rest of it is illegible, but you can barely make out the phrase “Single Family Home Sites.” Ironically, the word ‘Family’ is almost obliterated, leaving just the letter “y.”

As you venture down the road, you glimpse a few lodge-like houses and some wooden structures. A market sign catches your eye, and the horses tied up nearby bring you to a halt. Taxi starts growling; someone must be inside. You scan the area, but no one appears to be around. When you decide to sneak around back, a scream pierces the air, followed by a gunshot and more screams.

“They must be fighting off infected,” you mutter as Taxi barks anxiously. You look at him, remembering the hard lesson learned over the years: never help anyone. Every time you tried, you ended up hurt, regretting your choices. As you approach the horses, they grow restless; their owners are surely trapped inside—most likely in danger. Your first instinct is to take one of the horses and make a run for it. After all, one of them has a saddlebag filled with supplies; you could survive a little longer. But your conscience pulls at you.

“Damn it.”

You pull your revolver from your side and peer through a broken window of the market, glancing back at Taxi. “Let’s do this.” Taxi hops inside, clearly more eager than you are. “One day, my fuckin' conscience get us both killed,” you murmur as you enter. Gunshots fire from ahead, though not in a steady stream. Instead, voices spill out, and you inch closer, careful to assess who’s inside and their condition first.

“Where did it go?” 

“Damn it! What kind of infected are these?” 

“Behind you, behind you!” 

“Shoot! Shoot!”

Between the shelves, you spot two men, two women, and a little child. One of the women is pregnant, her belly noticeably protruding.

Shit.

These are the bastards you fear the most, more than the clickers themselves. You must come up with a plan immediately; you know you have to save these people since they stand no chance against them.

“Taxi,” you whisper, and he meets your gaze. You gesture, indicating to approach from behind. One of the stalkers stands right in front of you, his focus diverted to the others—it might be your only chance. Taxi growls softly in agreement and stealthily moves forward while you take the right side. There are more damn stalkers than you realized, prompting you to adjust your strategy. You decide to stalk them from behind, switching to your long-barreled rifle and attaching the scope you found last week for this critical moment. Climbing to a higher vantage point, you feel a sharp pain from the wound in your stomach, but you don’t care—you’ll deal with that later.

From atop the shelves, you take stock of the situation, knowing this drill well. You count five stalkers; the others have surrounded them, poised to attack.

Good.

You settle your rifle on your shoulder, positioning a cloth behind the butt to cushion the recoil, and focus on Taxi. You whistle to get him to pounce, and as he barks, leaping at one of the nearby stalkers, you take a deep breath, steady yourself, and aim. You take out one to the right of the pregnant woman and another behind the child. A third stalker flees between the shelves, but that’s fine—you’ll get it later. As one stalker approaches, you shoot before it can scramble up, dropping it instantly. That’s three down. You quickly dispatch the one struggling with Taxi, making it four.

It’s time to head down.

As people stare at you in disbelief, you grab the shotgun and notice another stalker closing in from behind. “Move!” you shout, aiming and firing.

The stalker goes down—five in total.

“Ugly bastard,” you mutter, eyeing the stalker’s shattered face as it crumples to the ground. The pregnant woman looks at you, a mix of nerves and caution flickering in her eyes as you lower your shotgun.

The others remain frozen in shock, their mouths hanging open.

“Who are you?” the pregnant woman asks.

“The one who just saved your asses.”

They exchange glances, weary and anxious, but a sense of relief washes over them.

“Thank you,” she says sincerely, glancing at the dog beside you.

Taxi growls softly; you shoot him a reassuring look. “Shh, calm down, buddy,” you say, gesturing for him to sit. He obeys right away, tongue lolling out.

“Smart dog,” the woman remarks looking at Taxi, then turning back to the group. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes,” responds one, his voice shaky.

“Thanks to her,” adds another, nodding in your direction.

“Thank you,” another chimes in, eyes filled with gratitude.

You nod, but the ache in your stomach deepens, and you wince as you sense a stitch might have come undone.

“I’m Maria,” the pregnant woman says, extending her hand. “Our town is nearby. Come with us; we have a doctor who can take care of your wound. We owe you.”

Out of habit, you shake your head, trying to refuse. “No, I...”

Maria sizes you up. “You need help. Let us repay our debt. Thanks to you, these people can see their families again,” her hands resting protectively over her pregnant belly.

She’s right.

You need help—a shower, food, water. You couldn’t survive out here like this for even a day. Looking at Taxi, who seems to understand and barks, you can’t help but smile.

Finally, you turn back to Maria and nod. “Alright.”

“Welcome to our town—Jackson,” Maria says, glancing back at you from her horse. You are behind her, captivated by the towering, endless walls made of solid lumber and trees. You can't tear your gaze away. Taxi barks up at you from below, sharing your astonishment and you respond him with a smile. As you draw near, the gigantic doors swing open, and a chorus of voices erupts from inside the town.

“It's Maria!”

“She’s back!”

“Tommy! She’s here!”

“Maria’s back!”

The moment the doors part, you spot a crowd gathering, and a tall man with curly black hair rushes toward your horse. He’s focused on Maria, helping her dismount before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her tenderly. Placing his hands on her stomach, he gazes at her, tension evident in his face. "Ya wanna do me in, don't ya? How in tarnation could ya just up and leave like that?"

“Sorry,” she replies.

You watch as the others rush toward their families, worry etched on their faces, all bombarding them with questions. From your perch on the horse, you take in the scene—their expressions reflecting both joy and concern. You wonder if this is what family feels like; the warmth of being cared for is a foreign concept to you. It feels surreal, almost like a stark contrast to your own shitty life.

As everyone turns to regard you with curious eyes, a wave of dizziness hits. Pressing your hand to your stomach, you suddenly feel something warm spreading across your palm—blood. You groan. The chatter morphs into a buzzing background noise until one word cuts through it all.

“Joel! Help her!”

Despite your struggle to keep your head clear, the moment you lock eyes with him, everything around you blurs.

Damn.

It’s him.

Your fuckin' savior.

You’ve seen his profile before while dealing with fireflies at the hospital, but now his full face is before you. For a man his age, he’s surprisingly handsome—his features clean, but his brow still furrowed, and the look in his eyes is far from friendly, echoing that day.

You draw his face more times than you can count in your notebook, always hoping for the chance to meet him again.

Before you know it, you’re sliding off the horse. Maria is saying something, Tommy is yelling at Joel, and someone's arms catches you just before you hit the ground.

As consciousness fades, you gaze up at the person holding you.

It’s him.

He is hurriedly carrying you effortlessly in his arms. You don’t care where he’s taking you.

It’s strange. 

You feel safe in his arms.

You've never felt safe with anyone before, even with William.

In that moment, you experienced a sensation you never knew existed.

A warmth, but in a strange sort of way.

Or could it be the sensation of blood pouring from your wound?

Perhaps these are the last moments of your life, and your brain is not braining.

You can’t quite discern whether it’s the warmth of dying or the warmth you feel for this man.

But part of you thinks it would be nice to see such a face before you fade away.

But then something shifts, bringing you back to reality.

You’re alive—not dead, at least not yet.

As he notices you looking at him, Joel’s expression changes; a subtle frown appears on his face while he carries you.

You can't help but smile at his reaction. “I can’t die without meeting you, Joel,” you think to yourself, holding onto that smile.

Since it was the first episode, it mostly focused on introducing things. Sorry there wasn’t much Joel this time, but don’t worry—he’ll be all over the next ones!

taglist : @kluvspedro @balhoneysweetstuff @lailathepedritofan @mirandablue1 @mariiearty @soupiemeowmeow @lamartell @berriesarepunk @demuresfangirlblog @rh1nestonecowg1rl @catofash @shinsegismylove @damnedcinderella @ultra-nina-bella @orcasoul @kaliispunk @sunfairyy @lovesbysblog @faith-alons26 @mellymbee @brittmb115 @anothergojostan @tpwk9740 @daydream-believer19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @pedroslut4eva @queenofodds @blackborndue @jisungandpedrolover @giulia1989ts @missladym1981 @a-girl-who-thinks-too-much @madnessofadaydreamer @marauvderss @mystickittytaco @bueschibaby @theanxietyqueen17 @smvtwitchmiller @picketniffler @iveofficiallylostmymarbles @subconsciouscollapse @poppysplayground @fedeffy @madmelz @ithinkimaslutforharry @spookychaossuit @bitchyfestnight @johnssherlock221 @indiegirlunited @marauvderss @hc-geralt-23

[harringtons-cupid]

After Dark

Pairing: Coworker! Steve Harrington x fem!reader:

Warnings: Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, nicknames, praising, semi-public sex, mentions of smoking, getting high. Swearing, touching. Cum eating, fingering, pussy eating. Making out. Minors do not!!!

W.C: [4k]

Summary: Your shift at the Family Video store with Steve Harrington, results in more than just a passing glance when your boss introduces a 24-hour trial.

Author's note: This is just horny posting, alot of smut or intentions of smut is mentioned in this! I want to thank @stevesxyellowxsweater for helping me write this.

Please reblog to support me! TYSM🤍

⤷ NEXT┊

There has always been flirting between you and Steve, maybe a cheeky attempt at a pass. But you always got interrupted, whether it be in the break room or as you were opening up.

You and Steve had never really hung out after work, wanting to keep it a strictly work related relationship.

This proved to be difficult when it was clear that you both wanted each other.

It resulted in ass pinches as you served customers, his fingers grazing your clit in the stockroom. You always found each other in the hidden parts of the store, just on the blind spot of particular cameras. And the cameras weren’t programmed to load up until 8:50am. Giving you just enough time for a sneaky kiss or touch.

Your favourite thing that he had done, was begin to eat you out before you were rudely interrupted by a customer banging on the glass doors. You were both hidden behind large display cases of videos, Steve popped his head up with an annoyed look. Not able to continue for the next few days.

The summer holidays were the worst, you and Steve had worked together for 3 days and it was always the period where you spent less time together.

There was less physical interaction, more hand grazing and his semi erect cock pushing against your ass as he leant to help you with a customer.

The heat didn’t help either of you, it meant that you were always in a range of different skirts with your family video uniform on the top. The shortest ones were simply to tease Steve, you knew that he jerked off to the thought of you bending over the counter.

You always wore the smallest of underwear, your favourite dress was blue with thin white stockings and a white thong.

When you had a movement alone, you’d be pushed up against the wall with his hand around your throat. Until the sound of movement appeared outside, he’d transform into a fake smiley Steve.

Not one with a fat throbbing cock.

This summer it was different, it was the middle of June 1986 in Hawkins and you found yourself lusting over someone from outside of work.

Of course, Steve hated this.

“What about us? He hissed behind you as you added a new video onto the shelves.

“Steve, it’s not like I’m with him?” You rolled your eyes, turning to look at him.

“But, babe. We said there was no one else” he followed you like a lost puppy.

You shook your head, hiding your smile behind more videos. He was getting annoyed now, twisting your body around so your back was pushed against the display cage. All the video tapes in your hands dropped to the floor.

He was towering over you now, his hand pressed firmly above your head. The tension was heavy as he stared into your eyes, his lips wet and plump.

You had never slept with him, it was always just playful touches and many almosts. Everyone used to talk about how good in bed Steve was but you enjoyed the chase and the tease.

This jealous version of Steve was turning you on, you wanted him to take you there and then but unfortunately, your boss was in today.

The jingle of the bell startled you both, quickly bending down to pick up the videos. Steve traced his finger across your neck before walking to meet the boss.

You heard them chatting from a distance as you continued your job, your clit was throbbing between your legs.

He drove you crazy and he knew it, so lying about having someone else made him want you more.

You moved onto a different shelf when you looked up from the videos, watching as your boss walked into the back offices. Your eyes flicked onto Steve who shot you a wink before turning his attention onto the customer at the counter.

Shying, you ached to be near him so you attempted to finish your task as quickly as you could. Your boss never stayed long so you knew that you and Steve would have some alone time at least today.

Robin usually closed Family Video but she wasn’t on the schedule which you thought was odd. After finishing the tedious task of replacing videos on the shelves, you wander over to Steve.

“So, what was he talking about?” You said, referring to the boss.

“He is trialing the shop to be open 24 hours, starting tonight” Steve spoke with slight annoyance.

All the blood in your drained, this was something both you and Steve dreaded. Neither of you really enjoyed the shifts at this place, they were long and tedious. You only turned up because of Steve.

“So, what we gonna do?” You asked, pouting at him slightly.

“He’s going to come out with a bit more information later” he shrugged, turning to face the entrance.

Steve was really close to you, his hand was by your side. Brushing your skin as he smiled and spoke in an animated way.

Everything about this day felt off, all you wanted to be back with the usual day to day routine with Steve.

You both worked until 12pm before your boss dismissed you both for a few hours, “a break” he called it.

Both of you felt a bit lost, he invited you to sit in his car. It was awkward at first, neither of you knew what to say. You had never sat in his car before, you examined the interior as he rolled.

“I didn’t know you smoked?” You asked breaking the deafening silence.

“Oh baby, there is a lot about me you don’t know” he grinned, his eyes twinkling in the light .

Tonight would be the night that you were to find that out.

It was only small, you watched as he stuffed tobacco into the paper before rolling it up.

“So, is it just me and you all night?” You asked nervously.

You watched as a few customer entered and left the shop, it was getting later as you passed it between you two.

“Is there a different question under there?” He whispered seductively.

“No, I’m just stressed about this new shift idea.” You said firmly, looking at him sternly.

“It’s alright babe, I’ll get the boss to lay it all out for us” he grinned at you, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head.

You forced a smile on your face and exited the car behind him, you weren’t particularly nervous about doing a longer shift with him. You both often worked long into the evening but Steve had never seen you with your guard down and least of all, without makeup.

Steve seeing you naked made you nervous, you could easily put on a mask when you were at work but this was different.

You always ended a bit giggly and soft at night, the relationship you had both built was the opposite of that.

The boss stood in front of you both, overly perfumed from your “break”. You listened to his talk about his intentions, your nerves were overflowing as Steve’s hand found yours behind your back.

A few hours later, you and Steve were sat on the floor behind the counter. Playing strip poker hiding from the cameras, there had been no business for over an hour.

You were both bored, sneaking out for smoke breaks every 30 minutes. You were both giggling as you slipped your uniform off your shoulders.

The top of the shirt pressed against your breasts constricting it even more, Steve struggled to focus on his next playing hand.

You bit your lip, pretending to look down at your cards but in the corner of your eye. You noticed his cock moving between the fabric of his tight black trousers and his thin boxers.

The game continued until you were both as naked as you could be for on shift antics, cheeks flushed red as your winning cards were splayed face up.

You grinned, your fingers pressing on the small buttons of your chest. You were very close to exposing yourself to Steve before his sudden movements changed that.

He had pinned you into the floor, your heads pressed up to the wall as his body heavy against yours. His throbbing cock was hard on your pussy.

Time went slow as he lowered himself down to your lips, you were both glad that the camera just about missed you. The heat that was rising from your pressed bodies was insufferable.

Steve’s eyes darted from you towards the noise from outside, your eyes widened as you both jumped up to changed as quickly and inconspicuously.

Hiding your laughter through amused smiles and looks, your fingers slipped on the buttons from the adrenaline.

The customers were louder than most, which meant that you could follow their voices. Allowing you more time to tidy yourselves up, so that when they walked towards the counter.

Steve’s face drained at the sight of them, he knew them.

“Eyyy, the King himself!” One of them jeered, it was obvious they had been drinking.

You slipped away from the counter, pretending to busy yourself as his awkward interactions filled the space.

After a few painful back and forth comments, they disappeared into the dark of the night and you felt Steve relax.

Strip poker wasn’t continued after that interruption, he kept his distance. Collecting the loose videos and replacing the spaces, as you stood at the counter.

You were unsure what created the distance but it felt like you had been ripped apart. This was different than any other relationship, you were so in your head because you both had to hide the touches and steal the glances.

This trial had meant that you and Steve spend more time together than you did during a shift. Both of you were acting differently than usual, instead of soft touches. It was rough and daring interactions.

Needing a few moments of fresh air, you disappeared out the back. There was a cool breeze as you rested your back onto the brick, the stars twinkling in the sky when the door opened behind you.

His shoulders touched yours, his fingers pinched and twirled an old roll hidden in his pocket. The amber glow of him lighting the smoke, his head tipped and eyes tight shut.

You examined him in the glow, he was stupidly beautiful. The imperfections in his cheeks were nonexistent, as you pulled his face closer to yours.

Kissing him aggressively, the amber glow flickered as his hand dropped away his face. He let it go out between his fingers, drunk on your kiss.

His body sliding closer to yours as your hand cupped his face, practically eating him but you didn’t care. It was dark and you were both alone for the first time ever.

No customers, no condescending bosses, no cameras and no teasing coworkers.

It was another slow hour, meaning that you and Steve could slip into the storeroom to properly kiss until the sound of a customer broke you apart.

You were slightly enjoying it, stealing smoke breaks before he pushed against the wall and his hand slipped your the inside of your thigh.

“Let’s go to our spot” he breathed against your lips.

“In the store?” You pulled away alarmingly.

He shrugged with a wide grin on his face,

“I’ll put a sign up” he said, making out that he was compromising.

But you weren’t sure if you wanted to have sex in the middle of the store, you walked with him though.

There were two television broadcasting the latest films into the store, a new way of promoting films. It wasn’t as annoying as you thought, you picked the next film.

Steve rolled his eyes, a romantic film. Though secretly he loved it.

You were leaning against him as the film played, the store was empty for next couple of hours. Steve had placed a blanket underneath for you both to lie on, his body was on yours as you kissed.

His hand resumed its position from earlier, teasing your thigh but never edging further.

For some reason, he didn’t want to do anything more than kissing.

“Do you want to go further?” You asked panting against his lips.

Without saying a word, he lifted you up with the blanket and led you into the breakroom. You were only there together when your shift was starting or ending.

So when he led you onto the sofa that neither of you sat at, you felt more at ease. Relaxing into the leather as his hands pinched at your skin, it was desperate.

Within seconds, he was kissing down your body. Tugging at your skirt, shuddering as his lips kissed your inner thighs.

This was the most he had ever done, you were always distracted by your jobs.

But tonight, there was no one.

So he continued, pulling down your skirt and underwear. There was a deep lust in his kiss.

“Fuck, your pussy is so pretty baby” he breathing, simply staring at it.

Giving your clit one spank as he continued to look, his eyes clouded with mischief. His fingers began to play with your clit, teasing it.

Watching as you became worked up underneath him, his lips reached your nipples and sucked them hard.

“I have wanted you for so long Steve” you panted as his fingers rubbed your clit more aggressively.

“You have, haven’t you?” He cooed at you, his eyes boring into you as his nail grazed your clit.

You moaned loudly, your head fallen onto the cushion behind you. Your legs spreading, giving him more room to fit.

This is what you had wanted for so long, just his fingers and energy were making you so wet.

It was pooling in your lower stomach as his finger slipped inside you, hitting your soft spot. Making you dig into his skin at the pressure he was hitting.

Rocking your hips back and forth, practically begging him for more than one finger. So he slipped more than 2 inside you, completely stretching you out.

You loved it. Fucking yourself on his fingers as his tongue came into contact with your throbbing clit.

The sensation overwhelming, his moans vibrating against your pussy. The quiet sounds of the videos playing distantly in the background, just as you were on the cusp of cumming.

Steve pulled his fingers and mouth away from you, making you whine and buck your hips in desperation.

''Shush now baby, you'll get the attention back'' he cooed, you tried to reach for him but he pushed you back.

Watching helplessly as his cock fell out of his boxers, your jaw practically gaping open at the sight of it. You had heard the whispers from girls in the shop but you didn't believe it.

His fingers were tight around his shaft as he slowly warmed himself up, not that he needed it. You could see the precum glistening in the dim light, feeling mischeivious you began to touch yourself at the sight of him.

''Oh you really are in for it.'' he said huskily, the groan was caught in his throat as he lined his tip up with your entrance.

He didn't stop you from playing with yourself, rather encouraging it as he slid his cock deeper inside you. Filling up around your walls, the sound he made was heavenly.

Starting by bending his body forward, his pelivs against yours lifting your legs up in front of him and thrusting. It made you quiver as you grew wetter and wetter by the second.

He continued fucking you until you were a shaking mess underneath him, getting you to the same point before he stopped. Suddenly feeling worried about that, you opened your mouth to speak but he took his hand away from your legs to shut you up.

His muscles flexed as he held onto both of your ankles with one hand, as the other was firmly on your lips.

''That's it baby, you are taking it so well'' he groaned, quickening his pace as he slowly removed his hand.

Placing both hands on your ankles as he spread them, shuddering as your pelvic muscles strained at the sudden movement change.

He was struggling to talk to you as his eyes fluttered, mumbling the words 'fuck, fuck, fuck' under his breath as you began to fuck yourself on his cock.

''Please, Steve. I really need it'' you whined, choking on your own words now.

You loved that he had taken control, lying there like his toy to fuck. The desire for him pulsated through you as the familar bubble began to stir in your stomach.

Unable to say anything because of the sheer overstimulation, you rested your head further into the pillow and looked at him. Your eyes began to roll back as your body released your orgasm.

''That's it. Let it all out babygirl'' he groaned, his fingertips were pressing hard into your skin.

He fucked you in the same position as you came hard, feeling your cum drip down his cock. He waited a second before moving your legs onto his shoulders.

Thrusting his cock deeper into your pussy, you were shaking at this point. On the same sofa in your work breakroom, your hands were scratching at his back as the sensation was increased.

He was close, you could sense that with how his body and cock had begun twitching.

''Cum for me Steve. Be a good boy.'' you whispered, taunting him as you rocked back and forth.

Your words sent him over the edge, pushing your legs from around his body. His cock was forced out of you as his cum spurted out of you onto your stomach.

Wanting to tease him further, you stroked his shaft and tip. Making him groan and shudder at the touch of you. Finally deciding not to overstimulate him even more, he stopped. He reached for a piece of useless paper to his side and began trying to wipe the cum off.

Rolling your eyes in amusement, you pulled him forward onto your chest. Feeling the squelch of the cum between you both.

“I think, we only have five minutes left before Robin comes in” you said, grinning at him.

He kisses you, sweat beads cling to his hair as your fingers flow through it. You let him kiss you for a moment longer, wanting saviour it until you would both have to leave.

You quietly changed in the hot break room, his eyes constantly switching between you and the door.

It was as empty as you left it, combing your fingers through your hair as you walked towards the counter.

You hoped that it wasn’t the end of your relationship now he had fucked you. As he pulled two of the stools up to the counter, the closest television was facing you both.

His hands were resting on your thighs, squeezing them as you tried focus on the screen.

The bell tinkled above the door and a group of teenagers entered, they were talking amongst themselves when Steve leant closer,

“You know that we aren’t over right?” His breath was hot against your cheek.

Your eyes following the voices of the group, cheeks flushed red. Relief filled your body as telepathically he was thinking the same thing.

The group appeared in front of you both at the counter, Steve let go of your thigh to input the sale into the till and saying thank you.

“Coffee?” he said, kissing your cheek firmly.

You hmm’d in response and watched him disappear into the back of the store, listening for his movement. The faint sound of the coffee machine as he was obviously tidying the breakroom for Robins imminent shift start.

A few moments later, he came back out with two steaming hot mugs of coffee. Yours was filled with milk, just how you liked it.

This was how it was during those long winter months when you didn’t wear sundresses, the tease and chase was still there but it wasn’t as hot.

As he placed the mugs down on the counter, he scanned the store for any sign of life before pushing your lips onto his and kissing you.

You felt on fire as his mouth deepened onto yours, your cheeks flushed red at the boldness of his decision.

Pulling away from him, you looked at him. He was looking at you with a dazed expression, your heart was racing. You took a sip of your coffee to try and ground yourself but burning your tongue in the process.

“Jesus, Steve. Don’t do it in the middle of the store” you snapped at him after taking a scolding sip.

His eyes changed, suddenly appearing at your outburst. Taking a seat away next to you, he turned his attention to the tv. Ignoring you completely, realisation crept in and you tried to place a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry—“ you leant forward with a smile—“I just like all the sneaking, it makes me so wet” you whispered in his ear.

A smirk appeared on his face, his hand slipped down to your skirt. Teasing you with his fingers on your underwear, as you both drank your coffees.

The heat was rising as his fingers reached your clit with your backs to the camera and the counter covering your lower bodies.

With very little view of each of you, he could very easily get you off and you could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter by the second.

Hiding your moans and any movement as his thumb moved quicker and quicker on your throbbing clit. As you rested your head on his shoulder, a soft gasp escaped your mouth.

A noise was heard from the staff entrance but he didn’t stop until you stifled a moan into his shoulder. Catching your breath as you came in your pants, the slick sound of his thumb was heard at the same time as footsteps.

Steve didn’t remove his hand from your underwear until the creak from the break room moved away from the side door. Scooping parts of your cum between his finger, putting one finger into his own mouth before placing it in yours.

Forcing you to taste yourself on his fingers, kissing the top of your head and rubbing your shoulders before he slowly moved away from you.

“You both out there?” Robin’s voice echoed in the left of the store.

Your eyes studied Steve, finishing your coffee as you pretended to focus on the remainder of the film playing.

Robin finally entered the store, wearing her store uniform. Studying you both before walking closer,

“So, had a good shift?” She eyed you, appearing suspicious about something.

She got closer to you both, standing between you. Looking from you to Steve, you smiled at her before she stood back.

“It’s stinks of weed” she whispered with a grin on her face.

You relaxed, Steve met your eye as she turned her back for a second. He winked at you before turning to face Robin and finally speaking.

“Wanna share one before your shift?” He asked, leaning closer to you.

She nodded, walking ahead and leaving you both alone again.

His fingers twirled on your nipples, sending a shock through your body.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be forgotten about” he said with a smirk.

You watched him disappear out the back with a small pre rolled joint in his back pocket. Hiding your smile as you walked over to replace the tape in the television, not hearing Steve rush back in.

He had forgotten his lighter but like he always did, he didn’t want to leave you without a touch or a glance.

His hand found your ass and pinched it hard, making you jump before Steve pulled you closer.

“Careful baby, the camera might see” he smirked as you leant over to swap the tape.

At that moment, a few customers walked in through the door. You looked at Steve with his pleased expression and slipped from under.

“I’m going to serve the customers, see you later. Babe” you winked at him.

Knowing that he was watching you walk back to the counter, leaning over as the film began to play. Your eyes followed him as he left and you were excited for the next few hours.

Hiding from Robin was a different story, but you both enjoyed the rush. If anything, sleeping with Steve has made him want you more.

© harringtons-cupid 2014-2025

[hoshifighting]

Racer!Reader x Racer!Mingyu 一 Rivals to Lovers

Synospsis: Racer!Mingyu, the new kid, is determined to beat you in the college underground race. Does he have the guts to defeat you, his senior, the reigning queen of the racing scene? Before the race starts, a photo of your boyfriend cheating on you is spread to the students. When you look up from your phone, there's Mingyu with his piercing eyes. [...]

“Hmm, all upset, just the way I wanted,” Mingyu teased, leaning against the doorframe.

WC: 8k

Warnings: Cheating, illegal racing, rumors, smut, angst, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), squirt, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, body fluids (cum), kinda of rage make out?, chocking, spanking, dirty talk, sex pic and etc.

Mingyu. A name that had once been just a murmur in the shadows of the racing world is now on everyone's lips. This new kid, this prodigy, decided to go against the grain, to take on the best and make a name for himself. 

And somehow, you're the one he's set his sights on. The competition is obvious, like the electricity in the air before a storm, and the entire college is buzzed with bets. It's impossible to ignore the excitement at the thought of the race tonight. It's been too long since you've felt this alive.

The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline is already in your nose, a scent that brings back a flood of memories. The first time you felt the wind rush past you on two wheels, the rush of adrenaline when you crossed the finish line ahead of the pack. 

The races had been your escape, your way to prove to the world that you were more than just another face in the crowd. 

And now, as you lace up your boots and slip into your worn-in leather jacket, you know that this race will be different. It's not just about the thrill anymore. It's about pride, about maintaining your title, about showing Mingyu that he's bitten off more than he can chew.

The stakes are higher than ever before. You can feel it in the way Mark's eyes darken every time he looks at you, in the way he clenches his fists when Mingyu's name is mentioned.

As you swing your leg over your bike and rev the engine, you push those thoughts aside. Tonight, there's only one thing that matters: the race, the roar of the engines, and the taste of victory.

Mingyu's eyes sparkle inside his helmet, the gleaming visor reflecting the neon lights of the college parking lot that's been transformed into a makeshift race track. He's young, fearless, and he's got something to prove. 

You've watched him from afar, studied his technique, his daring moves that have earned him the title of 'the rookie to watch'. He's good, really good, but he's never raced against someone like you. You're the old war-horse in this game, a veteran who's seen it all and done it all. 

And now, the moment has arrived.

The girl in the quadriculed flag raises it high, her arm muscles taut with excitement. You and Mingyu lock eyes for a brief second, a silent promise of a fierce battle to come. And then, with a nod from her, you both speed off into the night. Your bike responds to your touch like a well-trained steed, the engine purring as you lean into the first turn.

But this is your turf, and you're not about to let some newcomer take your crown without a fight.

As the race extends, the wind whips through your hair, and the roar of the engines fills your ears. The world around you is a blur of lights and shadows, the only thing clear being the track ahead and the figure of Mingyu on your tail. 

You push harder, feeling the bike protest under your command, but she holds steady. You're the lead, with Mingyu playing the role of the eager suitor, eager to overtake. You can't help but smile beneath your helmet. It's been so long since someone's made you feel this alive. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating, and you're going to enjoy every second of it.

As you cross the finish line, you pull a dramatic wheelie, the tires screeching and smoking against the asphalt. You circle around, revving the engine, feeling the power beneath you, and as you come to a stop, Mingyu pulls up beside you. 

You both remove your helmets, and the chilly night air kisses your sweat-drenched skin. His eyes are on you, focused and intense, drinking in the sight of you. Your hair is a wild mess around your face, the wind from the race playing with it like it's alive.

You swing your leg over the bike, the leather of your pants hugging your thighs tightly. You stand there, arms crossed over your chest, looking at him. He's tall, with a muscular build that's clear even through his bulky racing gear. His face is a mask of determination, and there's something about the way he carries himself that makes you want to knock him down a peg.

"So, what's your name, kid?" you ask, your voice carrying over the din of the engines.

Mingyu's face cracks into a smirk, and he extends his hand towards you. "Mingyu. Kim Mingyu," he says, his voice deep and sure. But you don't take the bait. You keep your arms crossed, your eyes locked on his.

His smirk falters a little when you ignore his outstretched hand, and he slowly lowers it. 

The crowd around you goes quiet, watching this silent exchange like it's a scene from a movie. They know the history, the tension, and the unspoken challenge that's just been laid down.

"Well, you must know me," you say, the leather jacket creaks as you tighten your grip. 

"I know of you," he says, his language tinged with a hint of an accent. "But I'm not here to bow down to reputations. I'm here to make my own." You can't help but respect that.

The crowd around you is hushed, waiting for the next move. Mark is there, his eyes on you, a silent question in his gaze. You give him a nod, reassuring him that you're okay, that you're in control.

 The rivalry between you and Mingyu has only just started, and it's going to be one hell of a race.

Mark storms over, eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell are you two talking about for so long?" His voice cuts through the cheers of the crowd, drawing their attention. You feel the tension between him and Mingyu, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

Mingyu just watches him with that sly grin, clearly enjoying the show. His gaze flickers over you, lingering on your leather pants, and you feel a shiver of annoyance and something else you can't quite name.

"Hey, Mark," you say, trying to keep your tone light, but there's an edge to it. "Calm down. We were just talking."

"Talking? That's what you're calling it?" Mark's voice is loud, drawing even more eyes to your little drama. He turns to Mingyu, his face red. "And what are you looking at?"

You roll your eyes, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Mark, walk."

He stares at you, eyes wide in disbelief. "What?"

"Yeah, walk," you repeat, your voice firm. "Just go cool off."

For a moment, it looks like he might argue, but then he glances at Mingyu, who’s still smirking, clearly enjoying the spectacle. With a huff, Mark turns on his heel and stalks off, the crowd parting to let him through.

Mingyu chuckles, a low sound that only you can hear. "What an obedient boyfriend you have."

You shoot him a look, half warning, half curiosity. "Don't push your luck, Mingyu."

He raises his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. "Just calling it like I see it. But seriously," his tone shifts, becoming more sincere, "you were amazing out there."

"Thanks," you say, the word coming out more curt than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from Mark's outburst. "So, why did you want to race me, really?"

Mingyu’s expression becomes thoughtful, the cocky façade slipping just a little. "Because I wanted to see if the rumors were true. And now, I know they are."

You can't help but smile at that, feeling a rush of pride. "Well, you gave me a good run for my money."

"Next time," he says, his voice low and filled with promise, "I'll be the one crossing the finish line first."

"We'll see about that," you reply, walking out with your motorcycle by your side, glancing at him over your shoulder. 

[...]

Mingyu, the new kid, had something different, something that pushed your limits in a way no other rival had before. It was exhilarating, but also stressful. And your boyfriend’s incessant comments about Mingyu didn’t help.

Every time he brought up how Mingyu looked at you, how rude he was, how he thought he was the most incredible thing, you rolled your eyes. Mark’s jealousy was nothing new, but you’d never seen him so uncomfortable around someone before.

For the past month, you’d heard from other students that Mingyu had been spreading rumors about how he was going to win this race, no matter what. It was irritating, but also a challenge you couldn’t ignore.

As you were heading to your P.E. class, you saw Mingyu and his friend walking down the hallway. He spotted you immediately, a grin spreading across his face.

"Look who's here, Y/N... without the leather jacket?" His eyes roved over your tight gymnastic clothing, clearly enjoying the sight.

You smiled around the scrunchie you held between your teeth as you tidied up your hair, then pulled it free to tie it up. "Look who’s here, Mingyu... still talking big?" you teased back, not missing a beat.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed down the hall. "Only because I’ve got the skills to back it up."

"Oh, really?" you said, raising an eyebrow. "All I’ve seen so far is a lot of talk."

"Maybe you just haven’t been paying close enough attention," he replied, leaning casually against the lockers. "I’ll make sure to give you a front-row seat next time."

You finished tying your hair and gave him a mock look of concern. "I’d hate to see you disappoint all those fans you’ve been bragging to."

He smirked, undeterred. "Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. You might want to start thinking about a new title because that crown is coming my way."

"Big words for someone who hasn't beaten me yet," you shot back, stepping closer, your confidence unwavering.

"We'll see about that," he said, his voice low and filled with promise. His eyes held yours for a moment longer, the air between you crackling with tension.

Mingyu doesn't look the least bit afraid of you, of your reputation, of what you can do on this track. He's bold, maybe even a little cocky, and you can't decide if you like it or if it just makes you want to wipe that smug look off his face. 

You've always been the one everyone looks up to, the one they whisper about in the halls. But now, there's someone new, someone who doesn't seem to know his place. And that's what makes him so intriguing.

You know Mingyu will be back, and he'll be better next time. And you can tell your boyfriend, Mark, is not happy about this new rivalry一about the way Mingyu makes you feel alive again.

"You've got to get your head out of the clouds, Y/N," Mark says as you look to the ceiling, "This isn't just a game anymore."

You pull back, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Mingyu," he says, his voice tight with anger, "he's different. He's not like the others."

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off. "He's just a freshman with a fast bike," you say.

"He's been watching you," Mark says, his eyes searching yours, "studying you. He's got a vendetta, and I don't like it."

You swallow hard, pushing the thought away. You can't let Mingyu get under your skin like this. "I've got this," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

But Mark's not convinced. He's noticed the way your mind has been elsewhere, the way you've been pushing him away. The way you've been turning down his advances, lost in thought about the new kid on the block. He's been frustrated for a few weeks, trying to get you to focus on anything other than the race. 

As the days pass, the tension between you and Mark grows thicker. He tries to initiate sex, but your mind is always elsewhere, replaying the race, thinking about Mingyu's next move. You know you're hurting him, but you can't seem to stop.

 The thought of Mingyu, of the way he looked at you, of the way he talked about winning, it's like a drug. And you're hooked.

The next day, you're in the garage, wrench in hand, making some final adjustments to your bike. You've always been meticulous, but with Mingyu on your mind, you're even more so. You can't have anything going wrong on your bike when you face him again.

The door to the garage opens, and you look up, expecting it to be Mark, but instead, it's Mingyu. He struts in, his leather jacket and bike helmet hanging casually from his hand.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I see you're still playing with your toy."

You roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your annoyance. "What do you want?" you ask, not looking up from your work.

"Just thought I'd come by and say congrats," he says, leaning against the workbench. "You put on a good show last night."

You raced a senior from your class last night. You won despite the slippery concrete caused by the rain. Again.

You slam the wrench down, the sound echoing in the empty garage. "Thanks, but I'm not looking for your approval," you reply, your voice icy.

Mingyu laughs, a sound that grates on your nerves. "You don't have to be so defensive," he says, his eyes scanning the garage, "I just wanted to talk shop, maybe pick up some tips from the queen herself."

You stand up, wiping your hands on your greasy rag. "What makes you think I'd share anything with you?"

He shrugs, his smile never wavering. "Call it a peace offering," he says, holding out his hand. "Truce?"

You stare at his hand for a moment, weighing your options. You know you need to keep your enemies closer, especially one as talented as Mingyu. You take his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Fine," you say, "but don't get any ideas."

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief, "but I'll save them for the track."

You can't help but laugh, despite yourself. He's got nerve, you'll give him that. You spend the next hour talking bikes and racing strategies, and for the first time since the race, you feel like you're not just a competitor but a fellow enthusiast. It's strange.

As Mingyu leaves, you can't help but feel a blend of emotions. There's the excitement of the challenge he represents, the thrill of the rivalry that's been ignited. But there's also a nagging doubt, a fear that maybe Mark is right. 

Maybe Mingyu isn't just a racer looking to make a name for himself. Maybe he's got something more planned, something that could threaten not just your title but your relationship. 

You shake the thought off, telling yourself you're just being paranoid. After all, it's just a race, right?

[...]

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow over the makeshift circuit that’s been built for tonight's race. You take a long sip of your Gatorade, savoring the cool taste as you mentally prepare yourself for the competition. The grandstand is buzzing with energy, students excitedly chattering about the upcoming event.

As you sit there, focusing on your breathing, Mingyu appears and casually sits down next to you. You chuckle, unable to help yourself. "Are you following me, kid?"

He rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture by now. "I’m not a kid."

"But I’m your senior," you counter, grinning at the way his face sours. He’s always so easy to tease. "What did you plan?"

"Huh?" He seems genuinely confused, his attention now fully on you.

You smirk, leaning back a bit. "What do you have up your sleeve, Mingyu? Some oil on the floor, a pin in my tire...?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "I don’t need tricks to beat you."

"Good," you say, your voice dropping slightly, more serious now. "Because neither do I."

Before the conversation can go any further, your boyfriend, Mark, appears. "What’s he doing here?" he asks, his tone accusatory.

"Just talking," you reply, trying to keep your cool.

"Talking, huh?" Mark scoffs. "Seems like he’s always around, doesn’t it? You’d think he’s got nothing better to do."

"I think you’re overreacting." You breath tired. 

Mark's eyes narrow. "Just remember who’s waiting for you at the finish line."

Mingyu’s jaw tightens at this, his posture stiffening. He looks like he’s holding back something, a secret or a truth he’s not ready to share.

You glance at Mingyu, noticing the shift in his conduct. "What’s that look for?" you ask him, curious despite yourself.

He shakes his head, the tension in his body evident. "Nothing. Just focus on the race."

You button your jacket, feeling the familiar weight of the leather settle around your shoulders. Checking your shoelaces, you make sure they’re tight, ready for the race ahead. The buzz of your phone breaks the moment, a single notification lighting up the screen. You glance around, noticing other students doing the same, pulling their phones from their pockets.

It’s odd, almost synchronized.

The feeling in your gut is like a rock, weighing you down, making it harder to breathe. You glance around, noticing the smirks and knowing looks from the other racers, the whispers that seem to carry on the wind. 

You click on it, and your heart sinks like a stone. It's a picture of Mark, your Mark, kissing a girl. A girl with auburn hair and a laugh that's nothing like yours. And he's wearing the shirt you gave him just this week, the one with the funny racing pun on the back. The same shirt he wore to bed last night, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

You stand there, frozen, as the world carries on around you. The cheers of the crowd, the roar of the bikes—it’s all just background noise now. You look up and see everyone watching you, their expressions a combination of pity and shock. They all know now. They've all seen it.

And as your eyes meet Mingyu's, you realize that he knows too. There's something in his gaze, a glint of satisfaction that makes your blood boil. Did he do this? Did he send this to you? The thought is like a knife twisting in your gut, but you can’t be sure.

With trembling hands, you slip the phone back into your pocket, trying to compose yourself. You don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. But as you button your jacket and tighten the laces of your boots, you can’t help but feel like you’re tying up the loose ends of your life. 

Everything’s changed in the span of a single message. Your heart is racing, but it’s not from the thrill of the chase anymore. It stems from the agony of disloyalty and the rage at being played for a fool.

And as you turn to face Mark, who’s pushing his way through the crowd, his eyes searching for yours, you know that the real race has only just begun.

Your breath comes in shudders as you hop on your bike, putting on your helmet. You’ve give all the signs that you are going to race tonight. The crowd is abuzz with anticipation, their eyes locked on you. 

You roll the bike's accelerator, the roar calling for attention so the race can start. The flag girl gulps, her nervousness evident, and you look over your shoulder to see Mingyu approaching.

The girl stretches the flag, and you brace yourself. The lights go out, and suddenly, you're off, the wind in your hair, the roar of the engines filling your ears. Mingyu is right beside you. You can feel the bike responding to your every move, the tires gripping the asphalt like a vice. 

Inside your helmet, your breathing is loud and ragged, a stark reminder of the adrenaline and anger coursing through you.

As you race, your thoughts race too. Mingyu planned everything. He sat by your side to watch you unravel from Mark's jealous crisis, and then those messages minutes before the race start—meant to destabilize you. It’s like a puzzle clicking into place, each piece revealing the depth of his strategy.

The bike protests but holds steady as you apply more pressure. The track is a blur, but your focus is razor-sharp. Mingyu is still there, matching your speed, but you’re not going to let him win.

You replay the moment when you first saw the message, the image of Mark kissing another girl. It stings, but it also sets you aflame. How dare he think he can break you? How dare he underestimate you? You’re not just racing against Mingyu; you’re racing against the doubts and whispers.

Mingyu pulls ahead slightly, his bike edging past yours. You grit your teeth, leaning forward to reduce drag, pushing your bike to its limits. The sound of the engines is loud, the wind whipping past you. 

You glance at Mingyu. He thinks he won, that his plan worked. But he doesn’t know you. 

You see the final stretch approaching, the finish line within sight. You dig deep, finding that last reserve of strength. You and Mingyu are neck and neck, the crowd’s cheers blending into a single roar. The world narrows to just this moment, just this race.

As you cross the finish line, you throw all your weight into one last burst of speed. You cross the line a split second before Mingyu, the crowd exploding into cheers.

You slow down, the realization of your win sinking in. You did it. Despite everything, you did it. But still, there is no taste of victory in your mouth.

The cheers fade as you lean forward, gripping the handlebars, and ride your bike away from the circuit, leaving a cloud of dust behind you. The streets blur past you, seeking an escape from everything. Your dorm or campus are the last place you want to be tonight.

After what feels like hours, you spot a cheap motel by the roadside. Its flickering neon sign is a welcome sight, a promise of anonymity, and a place to rest. You pull in, park your bike and walk to the reception. The clerk barely looks up as you hand over cash for the night. Key in hand, you head to your room.

The room is small and poorly illuminated, but it’s a refuge from the chaos of the night. You lay on the bed, the springs creaking under you, and pull out your phone. The screen is still lit with notifications, but you don’t want to see any of them. Whether it was Mingyu or someone else who shared those photos, you don’t care. Not tonight.

[...]

The weekend drags by, each minute feeling like an eternity. You don’t go to class, don’t leave your dorm except to grab food from the vending machine, because, you can’t face the pity in your friends’ eyes.

You clean obsessively, organizing your bookshelf, scrubbing the floors, folding clothes into neat piles. It’s a futile attempt to regain some semblance of order in your life. It feels like you’re erasing him from your life, one item at a time.

The notifications on your phone keep popping up, your friends and classmates checking in, asking if you’re okay. You manage to reply with short, curt responses. "Yeah," you type, "Just need some space." The lie feels heavy on your fingertips, but it’s easier than explaining the tornado of emotions inside you.

As the day stretches on, you start to feel a little more in control. You’re not going to let this beat you. You’re not going to let Mark or Mingyu ruin what you’ve built. 

So you sit there, in the quiet of your room, and you start to plan. You’re going to show up to class, to the next race, with your head held high. You’re going to leave the drama behind and focus on what you do best—race.

On Thursday, you walk into class, a box in your arms. The whispers start as soon as you enter the room, the eyes are on you like a spotlight. You find Mark’s usual seat and drop the box in front of it, the thud echoing in the stunned silence.

The box, with his things.

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t need to. You turn and walk out, leaving the whispers and the weight of his backstabbing behind.

At lunch, you sit with your friends, the same table you’ve shared since freshman year. They all look at you, their eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" one of them asks, tentatively.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. "Yeah," you say, your voice stronger than you feel, "I just needed some time to sort things out."

They all nod, understanding without needing the details. They know the score, they know what happened at the race. They know about the picture, the rumors, the cheating.

"You've cried enough," your best friend says, her voice firm but gentle, "It's like that bruise on your knee from when you were seven. It hurt like hell, but it's healing now."

You manage a small smile at the memory. It’s true. You’ve shed enough tears over Mark to fill an ocean. But here you are, breathing, standing, moving forward.

"Let’s talk about something else," you say, changing the subject. "What's new with all of you?"

They exchange glances, clearly surprised by your sudden shift in tone, but they follow your lead. They talk about their classes, their weekends, their plans for spring break. You listen, really listen, letting their words wash over you like a balm to your soul.

"Oh, and apparently none of Mark’s friends want to talk to him," someone says, almost as an afterthought. "They had no idea."

"Good," you say. "He’s not worth their time either."

Your friends nod, respecting your wishes to not delve into the drama further. You don’t need their pity or their empathy. You just need them to be there, to be the rock that grounds you.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and you all stand up, collecting your trash. "Thanks, guys," you say, your voice genuine.

"For what?" one of them asks.

"For not treating me like I’m made of glass." you reply, smiling.

They laugh, you know they’re worried, but you also know they trust you to handle this. You’re the same person you were before the race. You’re strong.

The sadness has morphed into something else, anger simmers just under the surface, a slow burn that’s been building since that message. You’re not just mad at Mark, but at Mingyu too. You don’t know his role in this, but you can feel his influence, the way he’s been poking and prodding, trying to get under your skin.

And now, it’s like a game of chess, and you’re the pawn in the middle of the board. You can’t help but wonder if he’s been playing you from the start. If all those smirks and smug looks were just part of his plan to take you down.

The bell rings, and you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. As you turn to leave, you feel a hand wrap around your arm. You turn, ready to snap, and find yourself face-to-face with Mingyu. You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Come on, don’t be grumpy. Running away from me, princess?” he says, a sulky look on his face.

You remember avoiding both Mingyu and Mark all day, doing everything to keep your distance. You start to leave, but he holds onto your arm again, making you huff in frustration.

“You should thank me, don’t you think?” he says, his tone teasing.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu smirks. “First, I let you win last Saturday,” he says, lying through his teeth. You remember how he was right on your tail during the race, clearly giving it his all.

“And I got you rid of that asshole,” he adds.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “So, you’re admitting you orchestrated this whole thing, huh?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, I warned him it would happen.”

“He knew?” you ask, your voice rising in disbelief.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly, like he’s stating the obvious. “Of course he knew. Y/N, he was cheating on you for a whole semester. At the first freshman party I went to, I saw him with Sayla. She’s from my class.”

“What?” you nearly shout, drawing the attention of nearby students. Mingyu gives you an exasperated look, like it’s common knowledge.

You grab his arm and drag him around campus, heading for the grandstand where you can talk in private. Once there, you turn to him, your eyes blazing with anger.

“I saw the photo, and I know it’s real. But Mingyu, if you’re lying about this, I swear I will fucking kill you.”

He shakes his head, his expression serious. “Why would I lie to you? If I need to tell you something, I’ll say it to your face.”

“Tell me from the beginning,” you demand, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes but starts talking. “Well, it was my first party here, a freshman party. I needed to go to the bathroom, and there they were, making out.”

You make a disgusted face, which seems to amuse him. “But in the photo, they weren’t in a bathroom,” you point out.

“Yeah, it happened plenty of times. When I found out he was your boyfriend, I went to a frat party and took that photo,” Mingyu explains.

“That one?” you ask, referring to the incriminating photo.

Mingyu nods. “Yeah, that one. He saw the photo and came to have it out with me. I might have told him that if he didn’t tell you, I would, and that I would love to take care of his girlfriend.”

You scoff. “So that’s why he was so sick-jealous of me?”

Mingyu closes his eyes and nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You curse under your breath, feeling the weight of betrayal all over again. “This motherf—”

You stop, looking at Mingyu, who’s watching you with a confused expression. “What do you mean by ‘take care of his girlfriend’?”

Mingyu smirks. “I was interested in you. But when I found out you were dating, I backed off. When I saw your boyfriend slacking, I needed to make it clear to Mark that I was going to reach out to you somehow.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the audacity of it all making your blood boil. “So, you’ve been planning this from the start?”

“Not exactly,” Mingyu says, shrugging. “But I saw an opportunity and took it. Your boyfriend was a dick, and you deserve better.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “And you think you’re better?”

Mingyu’s is smug. “I know I am.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in you?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Mingyu steps closer, his gaze intense. “You’re fierce, competitive, and you don’t take shit from anyone. You’re exactly the kind of challenge I like.”

You roll your eyes, though a small part of you is flattered? “You’re still an asshole.”

He grins. “Maybe, but at least I’m honest about it. Can’t say the same for Mark.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process everything. "Mingyu, just stay out of my way. I don’t need any more complications.”

“What can I say? I know what I want.” He shrugs before leaving, again, with that stupid smirk on his face. 

[...]

You were dragged by your friends to every party on campus, parties you didn’t even know existed, every day a new one. According to them, you needed to enjoy your new ‘single’ life. And with all the guys on campus now aware that you were single, your DMs were flooded. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Everyone saw you parking your motorcycle in front of the frat house, the rumble announcing your arrival. You danced with your friends, met new people, but your happiness didn’t last long.

You caught a glimpse of Mark and Sayla. Sayla was wearing one of his baseball jackets, his arm draped over her shoulder. Everyone stared at them, the ‘new’ couple making a fool of themselves. 

You didn’t expect Mark to be so bald-faced about it. Your blood boiled, your head felt like it was on fire, and you wanted to leave the party. But if you did, you’d look weak. So you stayed, trying to enjoy the party with your friends, but it was impossible. When Mark kissed Sayla, one eye open in your direction to gauge your reaction, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You grabbed your helmet and stormed out of the party, your friends calling after you, warning you not to do anything stupid because you were hot-headed. 

And you were, for real. 

Arriving back on campus, you pulled out your phone, fingers fumbling as you dialed a number. Your steps echoed, the dress you’d chosen for the party riding up with each step, making you pull it down in frustration.

The phone rang, and rang, until finally, a voice answered, “You calling me? Y/N, what a—”

“Where are you?” you cut him off, voice trembling with rage.

“Damn, what happened to ‘hello, how are you?’” The voice was playful, but you weren’t in the mood.

“Where. Are. You.”

“Hell, I’m at my dorm, wassup?”

“Open the door,” you demanded.

“What?”

“Open the fucking door,” you said before hanging up.

Moments later, the dorm door opened, revealing Mingyu with the phone still in his hand, wearing only black shorts that showed a peek of his white underwear. He looked confused, but when he saw you—eyes almost black with rage, in your little dress—he swore it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Hmm, all upset, just the way I wanted,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You pushed him inside, slamming the door shut behind you and tossing your cell phone on the table. You kissed him, rough and urgent, your fingers tangling in his hair. Mingyu moaned between kisses, the realization that you were kissing him sinking in. His hands found your waist, one hand sliding up to your neck, choking you slightly, making you gasp.

A smirk played on his lips, between breaths. “About time you admitted it.”

“Shut up,” you muttered before kissing him again, harder this time.

Mingyu's grip tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re so damn hot when you’re mad,” he murmured against your lips.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you demanded, your fingers tugging at his hair.

He obliged, kissing you with a fervor that matched your own. His hand slid down your back, gripping your ass and pulling you against him. You could feel his bulge pressing against you, a reminder of how much he wanted you. You broke the kiss, breathlessly, your eyes locking onto his.

“What’s your plan, Y/N?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

You smirked, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “To make sure I don’t think about Mark ever again.”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened with craving. “I can help with that.”

“Good,” you said, pulling him back into a kiss, your hands exploring his body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, fingers fumbling from his big chest, to the defined lines of his abs.

Your hand slides from his lower belly to his cock, squeezing his clothed erection slightly. You feel him twitch in your hand, a broken sob leaving his lips.

“Fuck, you got hard so fast,” you murmur against his mouth.

He moans, his breath hot and heavy. “Can’t help it when it’s you.”

You grin wickedly, turning around to show him the long zipper at the back of your dress. “Help me,” you say, your voice low and inviting.

Mingyu nods, his eyes dark with desire. He bites his lip, trying to stifle a moan as he catches the zipper and slides it down, his happiness akin to opening a Christmas gift. The dress falls away, and you hold your breasts in your hands, turning to face him, your fingers playing with your hardened nipples, watching his eyebrows furrow.

His hot hand covers yours, and you let him take over, feeling the heat of his touch. He pushes you toward the bed, his lips trailing kisses down your neck before biting gently, his notorious fangs grazing your sensitive skin. 

You moan, the sound going straight to his cock. His hands move desperately to your panties, fingers fumbling with the lace until they’re off your legs. He opens your legs with his hands, giving your wet folds a not-so-discreet look.

Mingyu licks his fingers, meeting your eyes before sliding them inside you. You scream at the sudden stretch, feeling his big fingers filling you. He looks at you, to see if it hurts, but then he feels you getting wetter and wetter, your pants filling the room. His hand stills, and you roll your clit against his palm.

His fingers start to slide in and out, the wet noises are sinful as he finds your g'spot. You gasp, your body arching from his bedsheets, your both hands finding his forearm, stilling his fingers curled in this position. 

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise at your reaction, and he repeats the motion, pressing against your sweet spot again, making your eyes fill with tears. 

''R-right here! Please!" 

“Did your boyfriend never find this spot?” he asks, his voice serious.

You shake your head negatively, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. 

Mingyu's expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “That asshole didn’t know how to please you,” he mutters, then his voice softens as he coos at you. 

You sob, his fingers curling repeatedly on the spongy spot. “Aw… don’t worry, my love. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

He continues to stimulate you, watching your every reaction, your pleasure nourishing his own. His fingers work you expertly, and you start to get embarrassed by how wet you are getting.

But you can't stop your hips from rubbing against his hands, you can't stop yourself from constantly moaning his name, and you can't help but wonder how you survived without feeling the pleasure Mingyu was giving you.  

Your body tenses so much, you're afraid of getting injured, and the pleasure builds, making your vision blurry, catching only Mingyu's silhouette. “Mingyu…,” you gasp, your voice shaking.

He's in love with your sensitive form. He slides his fingers out, brushing against your clit, making you moan, wanting the stimulation again, but then he munches on your pussy, making a throaty moan leave your mouth, tears wetting your cheeks. You don't even know if you're sobbing or moaning. You can only focus on his warm mouth sucking everything it can. 

Mingyu moans against you, like he's getting stimulated too, and when you manage to squeak out, “Gonna' cum,” he moans even more, the vibrations going to your clit as you arch your back, squeezing your tits. 

He opens your legs—quivering pathetically around his head—with the strength of his arms. He only stops when he feels your clit throbbing incessantly inside his mouth, all sensitive.

You don't know how long it took before you were in your mind again, but you can feel Mingyu kissing your whole body. For him, it was a maxim to calm you down, but mainly to appreciate every bit of your skin. When you open your eyes, he's kissing your hand, his thumb gently caressing it. You don't look much, or you will blush. For him, it could finish like this: you cummed, satisfied, and he gets satisfied. But then you mumble, eyes lidded, “Fuck me, please.”

His eyes almost fall from his skull. He watches your legs spread, and you slap weakly at your pussy, inviting him. Mingyu almost falls back with your tease. His hands, lowering his shorts and underwear in one go, desperate to go over you.

"Wait." 

He stills, and you smile at his obedience. You turn around, on all fours, wiggling your ass at him, and you hear a suffered moan behind you, making you scoff. 

He squeezes your ass between his hands tightly, then slaps your meat, making you hiss. Then another one, making you moan. Then another one, making you drip a line of your cum on the sheets.

Mingyu feels like a crazy creature. He pumps his veiny cock before sliding on your wet folds to spread your cum. And then slides inside. You were so tight, so tight that his blood pressure almost falls down. 

“I need to thank your boyfriend for keeping it tight.” He groans after bottoming out.

You widen your eyes at the comment, he sounded so sincere. And you laugh, your hand covering your face, and he chuckles too, seeing that he can't hold his tongue around you.

He can feel you clenching around him every time you laugh, making him moan synchronized with you. He starts to move and your laughs turn into moans, laughed-moans.

“Shit, you’re so tight, you are squeezing me,” he cries, his thrusts slow and deep.

“Didn’t think you’d be this talkative,” you manage between gasps, your body responding to every move he makes.

“Can’t help it,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. 

His pace quickens, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. You grip the sheets, your back arching as he hits just the right spot. “Right there, Mingyu. Fuck, right there.”

He obeys, his thrusts becoming more precise, each one sending thrills through your body. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. “So fucking good.”

"Seriously, Mingyu," continue betwee moans, "you have no filter."

He grins, thrusting harder. "You're too much."

"Too much for you?" you tease, pushing back against him.

"Never," he mooans, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "I could do this forever."

You moan at his words, that feeling on your stomach tightening. "God, Mingyu..."

He leans over, his breath hot against your ear. "You like it when I talk, hm? When I say, how good you feel?"

You nod frantically, your mind a blur, you were cock-drunk, moaning his name like it was the only word you ever knew.

He chuckles darkly, thrusting deeper. "Good, because I’m not stopping until you can’t even say his name."

He stops his hips inside you, balls deep, and you can feel his tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips to make you feel it deep. Your arms quiver, making you fall with your chest on the bed, face on the sheets. You've never felt someone this deep before. Your hand reaches the bulge Mingyu makes on your belly, and you writhe.

He dirty talks, "You like to feel me here?"

You answer with a throaty moan. He closes his eyes to your rough moan and says, "Fuck, I need to see your pretty face moaning my name."

He turns you to lay on the bed again, one of your legs on his shoulder, and the other stretched by his hand. Since when were you this flexible? you think. When he slams inside you again, your messy cunt clings to him for dear life.

You moan all sly, and Mingyu is inches from your face now, and he teases you, "Look who's all sensitive right now. Where's that grumpy girl from the race? Hm? You just needed a good cock fucking you right to get you relaxed? Right, babe?"

You want to clap a hand on his mouth to keep his cocky talk out of it, but your pussy betrays you, clenching around him the moment his dirty words start to fall from his lips. Instead, you give some wet kisses on his lips. He reciprocates every one of them.

You ask him to touch you, and he looks in your eyes, asking, "Where?"

You guide one of his hands to your clit. He collects some of the lubrication that formed a ring at the base of his cock and starts to massage the swollen bud, circling it. Your nails scratch his back, and he hisses, eyes closing. He ruts desperately into you, your pussy casting a spell on him, all wet and good for him. 

You glance around the space, the warm illuminated lamp, the scent of his cologne everywhere, his tanned body sweating to give you pleasure, his muscles clenching as he holds you, his hand on your clit, his cock filling you, his eyes focused on every one of your expressions, his moans every time you clench.

You prepare for every detail when your eyes suddenly blur. You feel it coming... fuck. You're cumming, but something else is coming too. 

The realization hits you, and you say, "No, no, no, shit!"

You hold his bicep, your head thrown back, the veins on your neck popping. You try to stop, but you can't. You squirt all over him and his bed.

Mingyu stops inside you, mouth open. Now he gets desperate, taking his cock from you and cumming on your belly, so far that it hits your tits too. He lets your legs rest on the bed, and you cover your mouth.

"M-Mingyu, your bed! I'm sorry, let me put this to wash and—" You start to get up, feeling a rush of embarrassment and responsibility for the mess.

Mingyu, still catching his breath, quickly moves to stop you, his hand firm but gentle on your shoulder. He gives you a little push, making you lay back on the bed again. "Hey, relax," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's just a bed. We can clean it up later."

You look at him, your cheeks flushed. "But it's such a mess," you protest weakly.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I like it messy," he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "Besides, I think I like you better like this."

"But seriously, Mingyu, your bed—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a tender, lingering embrace. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "The bed can wait," he murmurs. "Right now, I want to focus on you."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your pulse quicken. "Mingyu," you whisper, feeling the heat rise in your body again.

He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says softly. "Especially when you're all flustered and breathless like this."

Mingyu's eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Then why don't we make a little more mess before we clean up?" he suggests, his voice a seductive whisper.

[...]

Your ex's message lights up your cellphone on the table beside the bed: "Where are you?" Mark asks. You can't help but scoff at the audacity. The nerve of him to ask after everything he's done. A surge of defiance washes over you, fueled by the memory of him flaunting Sayla around like some trophy.

Mingyu's rhythm doesn't falter as he thrusts into you from behind, his hand gripping your hair, pulling just enough to make you feel the pain on your scalp, but loving the pleasure that comes with it too. You reach for your phone, you know exactly how to answer Mark's question.

With a quick swipe, you open the camera, positioning it just right. The screen captures the sinful scene—Mingyu's defined body behind you, your flushed shoulder peeking into view, and your hair being pulled by Mingyu. 

You snap the photo and attach it to the message as a single view photo. 

Letting the image speak for itself.

"Here's your answer," you mutter under your breath, hitting send.

Mingyu's grip tightens, his pace quickening as he senses the shift in your mood. "What did you just do?" he asks, laughing.

You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, a wicked smile playing on your lips. "Just answered a question," you reply, your voice breathless.

Mingyu's eyes darken with approval. "Good girl," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck, his thrusts growing more forceful. "Let's give him something to really be jealous about."

The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with the chorus of moans and gasps that fill the room. As Mingyu's hand slips down to tease your clit, your phone buzzes again, another message from Mark. 

But you don't bother to check it. 

[hh0320]

𓄹 ⊹   ᳝🪐 ࣪⠀.  vanilla baby 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ( i am only as good as you want me to be )

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫. chris x fem! reader x changbin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞. mechanic! brothers au, love triangle, small town, age gap, first love! chris, love at first sight, angst, smut 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. smoking, profanity, use of pet names, explicit sexual content, dirty talk, brief violence, jealousy, possessiveness, flawed characters 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 4k | 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑾𝑶, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑺𝑰𝑿 ->

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. “i know what you want. i know what you want and i can’t give it to you, baby girl.”

Then.

The first thing you’d noticed about him—his hands.

Strong, capable hands with long fingers and veins that protruded at the knuckles, up his forearms and disappearing underneath the sleeves of his shirt. Experienced hands, colored by the long hours in the sun with your father, full of calluses, rough, tougher than sandpaper. 

When they’d brushed against yours at the dinner table that one glorious time, he’d pulled them back immediately, almost embarrassed, refusing to touch something as soft as you, to graze, to taint in any way. You passed him the bread despite his withdrawal, stubborn for connection, any reason to build a memory for your brain to obsess over in the privacy of your bedroom later, under the covers, eyes closed and legs wide open, exploring, imagining.

Freshly nineteen then, what had started as a silly crush had transformed into a blossoming madness, a rush of red painting you entire everytime he was near, perhaps even love—your first love, your only love—nevertheless how futile, how empty your advances left you, how little he seemed to notice or care for the matter.

Chris. Christopher. You grew up under him, under his honey brown eyes and full mouth that spoke only of kindness and a protectiveness so endearing, primitive almost, like you called to him, something of his skin, his kin. Four years older than you no matter what you did, and your father’s right hand every summer.

That same summer you’d decided to confess. If, at the very least, he told you to wait, you would. Forever, if you had to. And if, by some miracle, he happened to feel the same, if he’d harbored the same unexplainable thing as you, you’d jump in his arms and never let go, not a chance. That had been the plan all senior year, the only real thought in your mind, your purpose for existing at that point in time, it seemed. You had to get it out, you had to share it, it’d become so heavy, eating away at your heart, taking over everything, missed appetite and sleepless nights.

You loved him. You loved him. There was no way to refuse it. No way to hide it anymore. It wasn’t a crime, not in your eyes.

So, you did. You told him. After dinner, your dad sat by the TV with his other male guests, your friends’ father’s (everyone knew everyone in this town, no way around it) and your mom was washing dishes. Chris had announced his departure early, and after the polite goodbye’s and the see-you-tomorrow’s, he’d let himself out, climbing the porch stairs down to his car. That was your chance, your only shot at releasing your heart before it swallowed you entire. 

Before college.

At the sound of his name, he’d turned, hand on the handle. Unassuming. Smiling softly down at you and the way you ran after him, like how you used to when you were kids. Not that much older, but old enough. It was always there, that looming cloud. Sometimes, you couldn’t see past it. Nevertheless.

“What did I forget?” He called out humorously. He was known for that. Too many inside jokes and instances to count.

“Nothing,” you pant, trying to catch your breath in your excitement, and the way you’d just taken all four steps seemingly at once, forgetting how to properly walk, how to not chase, how to not appear clingy or childish. “Nothing at all.”

Chris frowned momentarily, his back resting against the vintage convertible he’d inherited from his grandfather. In the heat of summer, with the loud crickets and flow of the nearby river, you were so absolutely certain the rush of your blood could be heard all the way from where he stood. It rang in your ears, made you dizzy. He had to see the sway of your movements, the hand on your chest. Other things, too, if he so wished, if he only asked . . .

“Then why are you out here, darling? It’s too hot for you. Better go inside.”

You had to do it. You had to do it now.

“Chris, I—” you took a deep breath. You tried to calm your racing heart. You looked into his eyes, deep and dark and drowning. Beautiful. “I don’t know how to say it,” you admit regretfully, ashamed. “I thought it’d be easier than this.”

He’s only being as he is, you remind yourself, as he nears your panicked figure, jeans fitting him perfectly, sleeves rolled deliciously over toned arm muscle, shirt revealing a strong, masculine chest, and a neck you’d like to feel under your tongue. These have been forbidden thoughts, thoughts you keep for your bed, at night, with your door locked. Having him in front of you, like this—tousled hair, earrings you’d gifted him for his birthday in full display—it messed with the strings of your very being. You were short-circuiting, words getting stuck in your throat, unable to escape.

He’s only being as he is, as he reaches out, fingers tangling in your hair, pushing them over your shoulder, studying you as if you’re sick, as if looking for signs of hurt, of injury. Thumb over your cheek, index grabbing ahold of your chin, touch gentle but fingers rough, always rough, and you lean into, against, you wait, you see what he’ll do next, you hope for it, anything, anything at all so you won’t have to say it, but—

“I know what you want,” softly, barely above a whisper. You close your eyes shut, bracing for impact, sensing the rejection. You try not to cry, you do. This will hurt you. It will break your heart. You brace, and you brace. His touch remains the same, his voice steady, albeit a bit sad. “I know what you want, and I can’t give it to you, baby girl.”

Your heart beats, raging against the cage of you. So, he knew. He knew and ignored it. He knew and pretended it wasn’t. Your heart, your heart, your poor heart… Mere kindness. All it was. All it will ever be.

You speak despite your cottonmouth. You refuse to cry. You refuse. “Why? I’m going away, it doesn’t matter. Why?”

His lips on your ear, a promised lover’s gesture. You shudder. You think, this is the only thing he’ll ever give me, this secret. You crave it, you’ve dreamt about it. You’re ready. If not for anything else, for this. His words. His hands in your hair. Him him him on you, on you, in any way.

“Because it matters,” he says. “Because if I get my hands on you, I will ruin you. You’re our golden girl, the one I’m not supposed to touch.”

He’s off you before you can blink, before you can reach out. Like it never happened. A midsummer’s daydream. You open your eyes to see him getting in his car, your mom now calling out your name. You answer to the one that said nothing. You go to him. You crawl, in your mind. Through a desert, through dirt and mud and a rainforest. There’s nothing like the heartbreak of a first love, nothing like it at all. Salt on the most painful wound and it never heals.

“Ruin me, then,” you say, a little too loudly and a little too stubbornly, and your voice is cracking. “I don’t care! I’m yours to do what you like. I’ve been yours since the moment I saw you.”

Chris smiles again, and his kindness poisons something deep inside you. To him, you’re a girl from the city that visits in the summers. A girl that always leaves. To you, he’s a dream. An unattainable fantasy. In his car, at the end of July, he almost looks like he’ll miss you. It’s everything even if it’s nothing.

“If you’re mine, you’ll go inside,” stealthy, severe, always doing the right thing. “You won’t cause any trouble, and you’ll forget about me. I’m not worth your time, darling.”

You don’t understand, you don’t want to. You cling onto his door, his words and his eyes. Your mom calls again. The engine roars, coming to life. You shake your head, you don’t want this to end, you don’t want him to leave.

He didn’t say no, he didn’t turn you away. 

But he didn’t say yes.

“You’ll never see me again,” you plead, you threaten. “I’ll never come back!” Perhaps you say this to punish him. You’re petty, and you’re aching all over and he’s driving away.

You loved him. You loved him and he took your face in his hands and told you how he won’t have you. You think you hate him now a little as well.

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart, yeah?” is the last thing he leaves you with. “Get some sleep.”

A lot. Your heart has frozen solid. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him—it beats all over, a new drum. You hate him because he didn’t give you a clear end. You hate him because you can’t love him.

You wondered if maybe he hates you too, because of the same reason. If it kept him up at night. If he touched himself with the thought of almost having you.

That summer, you went back to the city with the excuse of getting an early start with moving into your new dorm. Your mother complained, your father said nothing. Almost as if he knew.

It’d be four years before you saw Christopher again.

Now.

Two days.

Before you drove back to your family’s summer house, you’d given yourself forty-eight hours worth of a head start to not do something completely fucking stupid. The last thing had been that degrading blowjob you’d given your last boyfriend off the highway, before you two parted ways outside a Kmart, and you began your drive to the little town you’d grown up in.

You did this to yourself, you really did. Reducing into body parts for men, convincing yourself it was better this way, at least you still had the most important thing, the thing you kept for him, the only thing you wouldn’t let anyone else take. And did it even fucking matter? He was probably married and not in the least concerned with the memory of you. He’d probably already have a kid or two, a dog and a white picket fence. Life over there went by differently than in the city.

You had the diploma, at long last, but he was the one with the family. He was the one with the sense of belonging. Probably. Most likely. You kept telling yourself this as you passed by mountains and gas station after gas station, big stretches of nothing at all with the occasional property if you squint hard enough. He didn’t matter, not anymore, not when you could have anyone you wanted, not when you did, and you were certainly not coming back for him.

You’d been a teenager, then. You knew nothing except for what was shown to you. You know better now. You know more. And, anyway, your cousin was getting married. Your entire family was in celebration, already down there and preparing the estate for the extravagant event. You had no time to think about him and his words and his stupid mouth and how good it had felt pressed against you. The ghost of that particular memory haunted you a little too much, but you were working on it.

Many men had whispered over him. Many had touched your hair and your face, many had called you baby and darling and fucking incredible. You avoid how none had ever spoken of the golden girl he’d seen, or the sweet sound of darling, a pet name reserved, apparently, not to be used by anyone else in case it got tarnished. Frustrating as it was, a part of you had been glad. For what, you weren’t sure.

You cling onto the vapors of your hate and you drive into town, breath bated.

The house sits proud a few feet away from the river as it always did, time seeming to have missed it, though the wear appears in the cracks, tiny clues of use and years long gone. The windows are all open, and there are cars parked in the small driveway. Your gaze doesn’t linger to the spot you’d begged for love nor to the tree with the wooden swing. Certainly there’s bound to be a place with no memories, no triggers. 

This would be a lot easier if he never existed so loudly next to you. If your childhood hadn’t been intertwined with his. Alas.

Your mother greets you first, a kiss on your cheek and a warm hug. She smells of peaches and powdered sugar. You mention to her your luggage and she yells for your uncle. Your father is busy with the garden, she informs you.

“Hasn’t left the damn place alone,” she scorns, but she’s smiling and you know she doesn’t mind one bit, not really.

A blurry haze of arms and niceties later, you’re up in your old room, everything as it was. The sheets are clean and the closets empty, but besides that, you can almost pretend you never skipped a summer, like nothing had changed.

Of course, everything had changed. You felt dirty after every shower, mouthwash wasn’t enough to clean the evidence of semen off of you, and like a thorn on your side—him, pressing against the restrictions of your brain, threatening to spill in, to spill out.

He hadn’t kissed your mouth. He’d been so close, you’d felt his intention, you’d felt so much more than he’d said, and yet—no matter. He hadn’t kissed your mouth so you polluted it in hopes that he never dares try. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Your father had retired the fields, all sold and out of his hands. Out of your life. It was only natural that he was, too. For good. Like you wanted.

Yes.

Dinner was a chaotic affair, with extended family and children running around the table, refusing to eat and complaining about dessert. Your mother laughed and used her ways to scare them, the same ways she’d once used on you and the rest of the children in her household, the ones you were raised with, until they finally submitted and forked a couple bites of the casserole she’d served.

Admitted into adulthood already, the wine ran plenty in your glass, so much so, you were working your way towards well past tipsy by the time pie came out. Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, and even after you silenced it, the screen lighting up with messages gave you a headache. Hook-ups. Insignificant men that tried to contact you after graduation and still didn’t seem to get the hint.

You’d dug yourself a hole. Completely fucking stupid.

Air. You needed air.

“Be right back,” you announce, as you hurry out of the house in a fashion reminiscent of your childhood days.

Outside is humid and chilly, but it’s not inside, and your phone is a safe distance away, where it can’t hurt you, and suddenly you feel like walking, so you do.

The fresh smell of grass hits you, and you indulge in the fact that you’ve missed this place. You’ve missed its familiarity, the way it curves and stretches around you. Nothing can truly harm you here. Even the things that did—they don’t seem so big in the middle of a night like this. Eternal summer.

You walk, and you walk.

Minutes or hours later, hard to tell when there’s nothing around to act as a landmark, you reach the crossroads, a place that could either lead to very unstable patches of land and water or the local market, if you went far enough. From where you stood, though, the neon sign of the only bar in town stared back at you, flashing purples and greens, surely a desperate attempt to be seen from miles away in hopes of attracting customers. Of any sort.

The familiar thrumming of your blood, the one that signaled nothing but trouble and misery—it was the only thing you could hear. As sure and as loud as anything. Your own body betraying what your heart knows not to engage. Your brain spoke once—do not go, there’s nothing good for you there, and the terrible ache in you answered—if I go, I get to drown.

If I go, I forget. Then, I can go back.

The interior was simple enough, speakers playing something aged and fast, the electric guitar blasting over everything else, every single one of your thoughts, whatever doubts you still held. You looked around only once—a pool table, bike riders drinking by it, tall tables and more men, men older than you, bigger than you, men that could take you to the back and show you exactly what you’re doing in a place like this, at a time like this, when you could be having pie with your cousins in the comfort of your home.

It wasn’t normal. You weren’t normal. And you could leave, easy as that.

But you didn’t. You ordered a gin and coke and you took a seat at the bar. Your gaze lingered once, and it’d been enough. The bartender was a woman—a woman that knew what you were doing, because she’d seen it all before. Perhaps she’d been you, a long time ago. Perhaps it didn’t matter, then, because she’s here, which means she didn’t learn, because this is only a place that you can end up in, and not something you could possibly want for yourself.

Except you did and you have, and look what it’s cost you.

You should probably call home, let them know you’ll be a while. You don’t have to, but it’s the right thing to do after you ran out like that. Facing the weakness of you, though, the claustrophobia of your own life—you couldn’t do it, not then, not there. You’d set out to do a different thing, a pretend thing.

You’d see it through.

The bait had caught. You felt the figure sit next to you, real leather jacket, roughed up and heavy, the boots worn in, black and haphazardly laced. From the corner of your eye, dark hair, curly, falling over even darker brows. Full lips.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he spoke. Voice raspy, chain smoker inspired.

You smile. Pie may be familiar, but this is what you know truly. In its essence.

“Probably,” you reply, and it’s bullshit. “Will you give me a ride later?”

The stranger chuckles, humming low. In approval. You still don’t turn your head to look at him. Any one of them will do. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.

“Later, huh?” There’s mirth in how he says it. “You got plans now?”

You nod, humoring along. You take a sip out of the drink served to you, and it burns, but it burns good. It burns real. It warns you.

“Maybe. It depends, I think.”

“On what, pretty girl?” He was intrigued, bless him.

This is a worked recipe, a play on its fifth season. The lines have been rehearsed a thousand times over, the actors established in their parts. He’s nothing, he’s there and you’re here, it’ll be quick and it’ll be insignificant, unexceptional like all the times before it, and you’ll hate every moment of it because it’s not him, it will never be, because he doesn’t want you, he never has, never has, never will.

“On if you’ll take me for a little walk in the back,” this joke is only funny to you.

You do sneak a glance this time, just to seal the deal.

“I don’t take walks, sweetheart, never have. Not wise to go around offering that.”

Your face drops.

You know this man. And he knows you.

He used to work on your dad’s car. Still does. Has lived here his whole life.

You can fix this, you can fix this. “You don’t have to take me up on it.”

There’s that chuckle again, hoarse and mocking. A glitch in the perfectly curated system.

You should’ve known nothing would go your way in this godforsaken town.

“How can I refuse?” You hated the stupid smirk in his voice. “Not everyday a hot piece of ass is offering blowjobs for nothing.”

Okay, that was it. The illusion had shattered.

“Fuck you, Changbin.”

The man in the leather jacket adjusted in his seat, laughing soundlessly. “Was it too much? I thought the vulgarity would be a turn on.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Because I didn’t play your game.”

“No,” you got up, throwing a bill on the bar and sneaking a last taste of the hard liquor. “You didn’t.”

He follows you. Out the door, and into the summer night. Combat boots to your own sandals. Changbin exists so much louder than you, it can only seem like you’re the bark to his bite.

He’s figured you out already. How did he and how could he?

Is he still around. Is he married. Does he talk about you. Things you couldn’t ask.

“So, what now?” He asks, and the silence breaks in such an ugly way. “I say no and you run away?”

You try to ignore him. You walk. You try to walk back. Something tells you he’s not going to let you go that easy. Something inside you wants him not to. The honey brown eyes burn behind your eyelids.

Changbin has dark eyes, and a scar. It stretches down his neck, white and painful looking, like someone had tried carving into him. Changbin is gruff; he’s older than Chris and wider in the same way a bulldozer would be. He looks capable of tearing down buildings and lifting heavy rock with his bare hands.

You don’t trust him.

You especially don’t trust the way he cares.

“You say no and I go find someone else.”

“Not very smart, is that.”

“I don’t care.”

You’re abruptly stopped, grabbed by the arm and turned around. You look into the semi stranger's eyes for a long time, trying to see if he’d cave first and release you. Granted, he didn’t look the type. Granted, you weren’t the type, either.

He clicked his tongue. The lights over his head flickered.  “What’s wrong with you?” He demands, gaze searching.

A practiced answer. A practiced smirk, the curve of your lip. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“This is not a bit of fun. You don’t belong here.”

You pull against his hold. He doesn’t budge. If anything he pulls closer, holds tighter. 

“How do you know where I belong?”

“You’re lost,” he continues, ignoring you. “You need to go home.”

Why does everyone keep telling me that? And then, another question, a deeper one. Where is home? How do I get there?

“Oh, no. Will you tell on me?” It was meant to be sarcastic.

“Should I?” He challenges, brow raising. “Is this a pattern of yours?”

“They wouldn’t know.”

His face opens, indescribable, and then just as suddenly, he nods once to himself, assessing. Then, “Go home, little girl.”

Screw him. Your blood boiled upon hearing the words strung together. It’s been this way your whole life, how it mattered; naive, innocent girl, unaware of the ways of the world, how it bends for everyone else but you, how no one seemed to care about what you want, because you’re young and female and those things together have meant nothing and everything for so long. All your life.

“ I am not a little girl,” you spit the degrading words out like poison. It disgusts you—how much that night still affects you. How you were made to feel.

The mechanic didn’t budge. If he saw, if he understood, he didn’t say, didn’t show. “You’re acting like one,” it came out matter-of-factly, deadpanned. “I’m calling your father.”

He did not seem eager to cater to your demands and fantasies. He had his own way of dealing with creatures like you. This isn’t what you needed tonight, nor what you came out here seeking. It was supposed to be one of the same—he was supposed to be one of the same.

Not like Chris. Anything other than Chris.

You panic. Of course you do.

“Let me go.”

He does. He also makes the call.

You hate Changbin too, you decide. You hate him almost as much as you hate his brother.

[peaceqi]

miguel o'hara breeding kink smut cause i'm ovulating rn

pairing: miguel o'hara x female reader

tags: established relationship, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, little bit of dumbification, little bit of orgasm denial, p in v, unprotected sex, female reader, afab anatomy, dom!miguel, oneshot

SO NSFW. minors dni!

spanish to english translations are at the bottom :)

word count: 992

he has you lying down with your ass up, pillow under your hips, and a firm grip on your hips. he whispers sweet nothings into your ear and about how much he wants to fuck you.

miguel slides his thick, hard cock in between your folds, soaking in your wetness, before lining himself up at your entrance. he slowly pushes into your tight cunt.

"fuuuck, i missed this," miguel groans, holding back the urge to plunge deep inside you. you bury your face into the sheets as you feel the mild ache of being stretched out. he continues to slide in until he reaches the hilt, his tip pushing against your cervix.

he pauses to give you a moment to adjust to his girth. you feel so full, you can barely breathe. "go slow miguel, you're too big," you whine.

he chuckles, "lo estás haciendo muy bien, cariño." he starts to pump into you, straining to keep a slow pace. your heavy breaths and soft moans fill the room.

as he slowly thrusts his dick into your tight cunt, the previous sting of being stretched transforms into a throbbing pleasure.

you feel a coil start to form in your lower abdomen and your moans start to get louder, his gentle pace no longer being enough for you. "mm, fuck me harder, miguel," you plead.

"anything for you, my princesa." he tightens his grip on your hips as he drags his dick out until his tip is just slightly kissing your entrance. he then slams his hips against you, driving his cock so deep inside you, you swore you felt it in your stomach.

you weren't prepared for the sheer power that this man is fucking you with. he thrusts into you at a dizzying pace and you can barely choke out his name.

"te sientes tan bien." he slaps your ass, delivering a sharp sting that makes you inhale sharply, "fuck you're so tight." he grabs your asscheek, groaning at the site of himself sliding in and out of you.

you moan in response, barely comprehending what he was saying. you were so fucked out of your mind and could only focus on the orgasm that you were so close to having.

just as you feel yourself almost reach your peak, miguel pulls out, leaving you empty. your poor walls clench around nothing. "miguel!" you whine in protest, "put it back in!"

he grabs your hips and flips you onto your back, settling himself in between your legs. "i want to see your pretty face when you cum." he separates your folds with his cock, rubbing against your sensitive clit. you wrap your arms and legs around him and he buries his head into the crook of your neck, before plugging you back up again.

all you can do is mumble his name over and over again as he continuously rams into you. every pump delivering mind-numbing pleasure. the orgasm you were robbed of had crept back, and once again you felt a tightness in your stomach.

"i'm gonna fill you up, fuck a baby into you," he groaned in between the sound of his heavy balls slapping against your soft flesh.

his words drive you crazy. the thought of being stuffed full of miguel's hot, thick cum brought you closer to the edge. he knows you're close, so he pounds into you faster and harder, chasing your release.

pressure builds until you feel the tension wound in your stomach burst. you cry out his name as your walls contract and you cream around his cock. he groans at the feeling of the added slick and your pussy squeezing around his dick.

he doesn't stop after you come down from your high. "you did so good, mami," he whispers in your ear, "ahora es mi turno." he holds you in place by your hips and fucks his dick into you, driven by a primal desire to fill you with his seed.

you're overstimulated and fucked out, your body limp and your eyes rolled back. all you could think about was how badly you wanted to be bred by miguel. "m-miguel," you stutter, "breed me. p-please."

"te voy a llenar con mi semen, te voy a follar hasta que estés embarazada. you're gonna make such a pretty mommy. f-fuck—" his thrusts get more erratic as he inches closer to his peak. he groans out your name before slamming your hips down onto his dick. he shutters as he releases thick ropes of cum into your desperate cunt, flooding your velvety walls. all you manage to do is let out some strained moans. nothing mattered more in that moment than you taking his seed. he makes sure to stuff his cum deep inside you, his tip jamming the entrance to your fertile womb. he pauses for second to catch his breath, before slowly rolling his hips, just to make sure he gave you every last drop.

he stops thrusting and collapses on top of you, but keeps you plugged up with his dick. his excess seed starts to dribble out of you. you're both panting, sweaty, and exhausted. he moves the hair out of your face and meets your lips with his for a gentle kiss. "look what you do to me. me vuelves loco, cariño,"

you let out a weak giggle, "you want my babies?" you ask playfully. you tangle your fingers in his hair, lazily combing through his messy locks.

"yeah," he returns a chuckle, "you're too pretty to not breed." he starts peppering your face and neck with pecks. "eres mi bonita esposa."

"i think you'd make a great father," you smile warmly and interlock your fingers with his. "you know...usually it takes a few tries before it takes."

"oh?" he asks amusingly, "well, i guess i'll have to fill you up again."

you feel his dick start to harden again inside of you. you brace yourself for another round.

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

translations: ("lo estás haciendo muy bien, cariño" -> "you're doing so good, sweetheart") ("te sientes tan bien" -> "you feel so good") ("ahora es mi turno" -> "it's my turn now") ("te voy a llenar con mi semen, te voy a follar hasta que estés embarazada" -> "i'm gonna fill you up with my cum, fuck you till you're pregnant") ("me vuelves loco, cariño" -> "you drive me crazy, sweetheart") ("eres mi bonita esposa" -> you're my pretty wife")

hope you enjoy!!! >:0 btw this is my first time writing a fic that included dialogue in spanish, so idk if things are all well-written or gramatically correct. i tried to take some tips from spanish-speaking miguel o'hara enjoyers, but if anyone wants to correct anything or give me tips, i'm super super open to it!

[raindotdrop]

🔞 vergil x reader | whole new breed

‧₊˚♡ summary: you were turned into a devil to save your life after a fatal attack. adapting to this new form has been okay⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯until you experience your first heat.

‧₊˚♡ word count: 2.2k

‧₊˚♡ content & warnings: smut | fem reader | piv | heat cycles | fluffy, they're in love | first time writing smut after reading so many hahahah hii

The transformation you underwent from human to devil, it was never meant to happen. You didn't know it could happen.

You were meant to die months ago, but your lover didn't allow that.

It was a brutal mission. While your fellow hunters were panicking, already grieving you⎯it took Vergil minutes to recite an ancient ritual. The man sacrificed his own flesh like it was nothing, then watched you rise from your bloody spot on the ground, ready to rejoin the fight.

He reduced fate to a joke that day, spitting into death's embrace for trying to claim you. Claiming you is his job.

Your devilish transition has been relatively easy. You look the same, sound the same, act the same. Really, the only difference is your strength. Nothing feels heavy or tiring to you anymore, nothing hurts.


Except for one thing.

Does it hurt? You aren't sure. It's... distracting, if you had to describe it. Day by day, you've been feeling more feverish. Needy, lonely, grumpy, dripping. You've forgotten the names of everyone else in your life because Vergil is dominating your foggy thoughts.

He's been working for days straight now, leaving you to worsen in your shared bed. Normally, he answers your every demon-related question and tends to you, but he's gone.

Without him present, the mere thought of him leaves you humping whatever smells like him the most. His pillow is drenched in your fluids, his clothes held up to your nose as you orgasm.

An obscene amount of slick pours from between your legs at all times, to the point where you've ditched bottoms. Your nipples are too sensitive to be covered, too. If it's fabric and not your fingers then it hurts.

Something is definitely wrong, but you don't care about all that human side versus demon side junk. You want Vergil. You don't want this frenzy to end on its own, you want him to come home and fuck it out of you.

On his side of the bed, everything is soaked. You're pathetically attempting to finger yourself at different angles and speeds because you're praying you can replicate the way he does it. Laying flat on the sheets is how you've chased your past few highs, any other position is too much of a chore.

His scent is growing stronger, your fingers pump in and out as you're buried face down in a pair of his boxers. The musk is so powerful all of a sudden, it's as if he's there. You're cumming from the intensified smell alone, shaking harder than you have in hours. Nobody warned you about the sensitivity your senses would develop.

Before you even lift your head from the bed, you're blindly reaching out for another piece of clothing to destroy. Someone grabs your wrist before you can.

With a jolt, you look up, and none other than Vergil is looking down at you. He seems to be studying you moreso than anything else.

"So I was off. I predicted your cycle would strike next week, not now..." he muses aloud, but you barely understand him. Despite Vergil being the one to grab your wrist, you've turned the tides so you're clinging onto him instead, both hands gripping him. Almost in disbelief, as if letting go means he'll vanish.

You roll onto your back using his arm as an anchor, revealing your glistening breasts to him. You're trying to tug him down onto you to no avail, whining rather than greeting him. You blink up at him, as he observes the way you leak like a waterfall from his proximity.

"Beautiful," that word kills you inside. You keep yanking at his arm, animalistically, your demonic side obscures every single word you've learned. "I would have relieved you days ago, had I known. Well, I⎯⎯"

"Vergil!" you cry out in frustration, the only word on your tongue.

Pity flashes on his features when he sees how much discomfort you must be in. Vergil had taken up extra work so he could free up his schedule during your first heat. It pains him to see his incorrect calculations lead to this.

Of course, it makes his pants feel tight and fills him with almost as much desire as you (if that's possible), but he wishes he could have guided you through every single step with care, not be invisible while your heat worsened. You must have been so confused...

"Vergil, please!" you snap him from his thoughts. Propped up on your elbows now, your eyes are watering. Sobbing, almost, and you're sucking on his fingers.

Every cell in your body craves him so much, it feels like you're going to explode. The confusion you felt from your heat's onslaught is long gone, replaced with a 'this is so right' feeling the moment Vergil entered the room.

His wet fingers pop from your mouth and stroke your cheek, coating you in your saliva. The affection in that gesture is your saving grace, you know he's going to please you from that touch alone.

"Alright. I won't keep you waiting." he says, his tone is more gravelly now that he's fully realized what he's going to do. This was unexpected, but he isn't objecting whatsoever.

Your body is so sensitive from the amount of climaxes you've inflicted on yourself, that when Vergil begins to shrug his coat off, you can't tell if you actually just orgasmed from the sight or not. The pulses around your body intensify as he reveals his bare arms to you. Do you want to watch him strip, or are you so impatient you want him to just fucking take you already with his clothes barely hanging on? It's unclear. You begin to paw at his thighs, trying to shred the fabric off.

"Eager little thing..." he coos, swatting your hands away so he can undress with no obstacles. He's stripping faster than ever before, but to you, it feels like he's moving in slow motion. Every second that he's not inside of you feels like a thousand years of emptiness. "I'm here now, don't worry." Despite his reassurances, he's the one who's worried, hoping you aren't in any pain.

Once his cock springs out, leaking precum from the feral sight enticing him, you lunge at it. Instantly, the whole length is wrapped around your lips. You're too distracted to properly suck him off, shaky hands touching him with no rhyme or reason.

Vergil chuckles. "Now, this isn't about me," he says, knotting his fingers in your hair so he can pull your mouth off. You put up quite a fight, common sense clouded by desire. Your mouth isn't the hole that's begging for him, it's just the nearest one, so it reaches in without thinking.

"We have time for that another day." The force he had to apply, it has you tumble backwards on the bed. Gasping on your back, you're already kicking at the air, aching to be close again. Drool stains your chin because you just tasted him after imagining it for so long and your body is screaming for seconds.

You see him sitting at the foot of the bed, fully bare. The sheets beneath him are coated in your release. His precum joins the mix as he rakes over your figure, mind racing with thoughts of how he can tame you when you're like this. It's a challenge that leaves his cock straining in the air.

He sternly says your name right before you try crawling back, and you freeze.

"Lay back."

The authority in his tone gets through to you, so you rest your back on the damp pillows. It takes every ounce of self control not to clamber over to him, but you know he's a man who should be listened to.

"Good girl." You twitch. He notices. "I'll fix this. Allow me,"

Relaxing in this state is impossible, but as you lean backward, the shaking in your body eases up. He kneels in front of your quivering form, still searching for any signs of pain, knowing how long your heat was left unchecked.

Your devil side is shrieking at you to touch him, but your human side finally triumphs over it, laying back so he can ravage you. Stilling yourself, breaths steadying...

An experimental hand of Vergil's rubs at your folds and all that progress is undone. You arch into the mass of pillows behind you, whimpering out, "Vergil.. please, more..!"

"I have to see if you're ready." his stern tone remains, guiding you through this the way he always intended to.

He gathers up slick, feeling you up. Obviously, you're wet enough for him to fold you over and pound you right there, but he still has to confirm for himself. Your comfort matters so much to him, even like this. Once he realizes the extent of your wetness, the fact your pussy has been getting stuffed all day, something primal ignites within him.

"I am... please, I'm so.." your begging doesn't even make sense, but the sweet sound of it nearly has Vergil trip over his words, betraying the composed way he presents himself.

"Yes, you're ready. The things you must have done before I arrived..." he trails off, having to stop himself because that imagery is dangerous territory. "You'll have to show me, next cycle."

His toned arms position themselves near your neck, a snug embrace that you nuzzle into. He wants to hold you if he's going to ruthlessly breed you, never letting you forget how much he loves you.

If only he knew that every moment you're alive is a personal reminder of his devotion, whether he's there or not. His ritual, his sacrifice, his refusal to let you die is why you're here. His love for you transcends biology and reality itself. Human or devil, you're his.

His tip smacks at your entrance and it sends you spiralling. His eyes are fixed on your face, so it takes some positioning to find your hole. He's a demon too⎯the way your face is coated in tears, slick, plus a mixture of his spit and yours, drives him absolutely wild and he has to inhale your scent just like you did with his boxers.

"So beautiful," he echoes his previous words as he buries himself to the hilt, your walls all but absorbing him. The tears of joy that stream down your cheeks are kissed away by his busy lips. You begin to utter out a 'please', which he swallows right up. "No need to beg, I'll give you everything."

He kisses you like a man starved, fucking you hard into the mattress. His upper and lower halves work in tandem to make up for lost time, whispering praises and consuming you.

He doesn't have to hold back anymore with your newfound demonic endurance. To say he's drilling you is an understatement. Everything feels shaky but so right. The sensitivity of your heat-riddled body already has you clenching and cumming around him. Less than a minute in, and you're not ashamed. You're already trying to embrace the next one.

"Let it out," he grunts into your jaw, peppering kisses to it to mask his own sounds. He wants to focus on you, not him. Vergil tells himself you'll receive five climaxes minimum before he comes close to his, but you're making it difficult for him. "Let it all out, that's it... let me care for you, my vixen."

One arm holds you close, but the other has a more important role down at your clit. It rubs circles into the nub, and you're fluttering around his cock again. You feel his length twitch uncontrollably in response, on the verge of emptying himself inside you.

Vergil knows he can't actually impregnate you unless in his devil trigger form. He spent time researching how this moment will unfold for you.

"You'll be safe," is how he expresses this to you, unable to hold back any longer.

You're breathless when your walls are splattered with his seed. He spurts and spurts with no sign of stopping⎯your heat absolutely impacts the one you mate with, you discover.

As you're filled, he pulls himself out so the stream of cum can reach your torso as well. Your stomach leading up to your breasts is coated, then your expressive face. If a body part exists, it's marked by him. Vergil's grunts grow louder than your lustful cries for one singular second before he bites your neck to muffle them.

The fire inside of you feels quenched for a few seconds, like you can finally resume your daily life, before it snaps right back to being unbearable.

You rub yourself against Vergil's weeping cock, silently begging for another round. It's not enough. Will anything be enough? You don't see an ending to this rut, just an urgent dream of Vergil stuffing you again. His cum trickling out isn't a finality, it's lubrication for the rest of the night.

Picking up on your unrest, he repositions his hips with ease. "You and I will be here a while," there's another nip to your neck to accompany the rocking of his hips, "best to get comfortable."

[ro-is-struggling]

The Chase || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon: "reader constantly calling geralt the white wolf or just wolf during sexy time and him breeding his pups in her bcs of it???"

Summary: Geralt always tried to keep the wolf inside him caged in order to control his animalistic impulses, but with you that didn't seem to be required at all. 

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI! Porn without plot, public sex (technically since they’re in the woods), rough sex, penetrative sex, fear play? (not really, but Geralt does chase the reader through the woods so maybe? adding it just in case!), scent play, size kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, biting (like there’s so much it’s a warning in this fic), fingering, possessiveness, a little fluff at the end, fem!reader

English is not my first language

Word count: 3300

Notes: This is definitely NOT inspired on THAT scene from beauty and the beast that has been going around twitter all week, nope, not at all

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Geralt was used to being called 'wolf' or 'white wolf'. It was a nickname he'd had for most of his life and was constantly used by Vesemir and the other witchers. He never thought much about it, just like his own name, he had it so internalized that he automatically responded when someone called him by those nicknames.

That changed, however, when you came into his life. There was something in the way you pronounced those words that awakened a primal feeling in him. It was in the way you looked at him, eyes defiant and playful, waiting to spark a reaction from him. It was in the way your lips moved, always ending in a mischievous smile, and in the sound of your voice, sweet and seductive, inducing him to madness, pushing him to his limit. 

Everything about you awakened in him an urge to possess you, to mark you as his so that everyone who saw you would know you belonged to him. He had to make an effort to stop his needy hands to caress your skin, and contain the desperation of his lips to kiss your neck and mark it with his teeth. He didn't care if there were people around him, they all ceased to exist when you called him wolf. 

It didn't help his situation that you always played dumb, pretending not to understand the power you had over him. But Geralt knew it was all an act. He knew that you were well aware of the effect that the utterance of that nickname had on him. And you used it as a weapon, a way to get a response from him when you wanted to play. And today you were in a very playful mood.

"What is it? Is the wolf scared of losing?" you teased him, trying to persuade him to take the bet. It was a simple race through the woods, just get from point A to point B as fast as possible to win. Only you had no intention of winning. All you were looking for was the thrill of the chase.

Geralt gave you an unamused look, taking a deep breath to calm the revolt that your use of that nickname had awakened in him. But then, he sensed your perfume in the air, mixed with the intoxicating scent of your arousal. His look completely transformed, frown relaxing into a firm, intimidating expression. The game was on.

"Oh you don't want to play that game, bunny." He warned you, giving you one last chance to change your mind. Once the race started, he wasn't sure he would be able to stop. He could already feel his insides vibrating with anticipation, the chained wolf fighting to break free. He had been locked up for too long, his needs ignored and repressed, so when he let go there would be no turning back. He was hungry and you were offering yourself to him without hesitation. How could he refuse?

You approached him, taking the sword he was sharpening out of his hand and bending down so you could look him in the eye. Your movements were slow, sensual, captivating your lover's gaze. Geralt's eyes got lost in your cleavage for a moment, admiring the exposed skin of your neck and the valley of your breasts as he suddenly began to salivate with need. His pupils widened, staring at you with yellow eyes turned almost completely black with desire. He could barely contain himself and that only increased your arousal.

"I'm not afraid of you." you said, and Geralt held back the urge to tell you that you should be. "Are you, wolf?"

He stood up and suddenly his imposing figure towered over yours, forcing you to tilt your head up so you could look at him. He was so much bigger than you, so much more agile, that it was ridiculous to even imagine you could beat him in a race. But, again, that's not what the game was about.

Geralt leaned in towards you, his lips brushing your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. "When you lose and you're on the ground begging for mercy, I just want you to remember that you asked for this." he whispered, defiantly, sending a shiver down your spine.

He looked at you and you knew it was time to run. He gave you a head start, knowing he could catch you without even trying —not only because he was faster than you, but also because you had no real intention of winning that bet. He watched you run through the trees, admiring the way your hair moved in the wind. Only when you disappeared over the horizon did he start to move. He walked at a slow pace at first, sharpening his hearing to follow the sound of your footsteps. But when he caught the scent of your arousal, he couldn't help but pick up his pace. It was like a drug to him, an intoxicating scent that messed with the hormones of the big, bad wolf he had set free.

Geralt let the scent of your floral perfume mixed with the sweet nectar hidden between your legs guide him towards you, an invisible force drawing him closer and closer to his prey. When he reached you, he found you hiding behind a tree, taking advantage of the moment to catch your breath. He heard you gasp as soon as you sensed his presence, holding your breath to avoid making your position known. Geralt smiled to himself, finding your small efforts to remain hidden adorable.

"You can't hide from me, bunny." He spoke, approaching you slowly. "I can hear the sound of your quickened breathing from miles away... smell the scent of your arousal... you want this, so why don't you come out and get this over with."

Geralt was offering you a truce, a chance for things not to escalate any further than they already had. Any sane person in your place would have taken it, it was the reasonable thing to do after taunting the wolf like that. But you were not just anyone. You wanted to face the consequences of your actions. You wanted to face the white wolf that Geralt tried so hard to keep in line. You wanted him to do whatever he wanted with you, that was the point of the game in the first place.

You came out of hiding with your hands up in a feigned sign of surrender. Geralt walked a few steps towards you, eyeing you with suspicion. You held his gaze, trying to hide your true intentions. But in the end the smile on your lips betrayed you, letting him know that you didn't plan to give up easily before you had a chance to run.

You barely made it a couple of steps before you felt the warmth of his body against yours, his arms wrapped tightly around you to keep you from escaping. You squirmed in his grip, trying to free your arms from his strong hold, but it was pointless. Geralt was much bigger and stronger than you, so you weren't going anywhere if he didn't want you to. He pressed you against him, pinning your back to his chest as his hands intertwined over your stomach, effectively imprisoning you against his body. You felt his nose against your neck, sniffing your scent with animalistic desperation. It made you tremble, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your heart pounded with anticipation. You pressed the curve of your ass against the bulge growing in his pants in response and you felt Geralt’s chest vibrate with a repressed moan.

"I got you." he growled against your skin before sinking his teeth into the sensitive area of your neck. "You're mine, bunny. Mine."

"I'm yours," you moaned, relaxing into his arms, tilting your head more so he could have better access to your neck. You wanted him to mark you. You wanted him to claim you as his own. "Please, take me." you begged. It was an airy whisper, but Geralt heard it with perfect clarity. And your consent was all he needed.

In a matter of seconds, your back was pressed against the grass as Geralt hovered over you. His hands were all over your body, lifting your skirt and unbuttoning the ties of your top to expose your breasts. His lips kissed every inch of exposed skin, but there was nothing romantic or sensual about it. It was rough, desperate, Geralt sucked your skin with the intention of leaving marks, sinking his teeth into your flesh as he growled that you belonged to him. It was too much and yet not enough. The pleasure coursing through your body was almost unbearable, but you needed more, you needed to feel all of him.

"You knew exactly what you were doing... calling me that name, making me chase you around." Geralt inserted a finger inside you without warning, earning a moan from you. You were so aroused, so desperate for his touch, that he had no trouble at all pushing deep into your core, moving his digit with ease and reaching up to brush against that sensitive part inside you that turned you into a moaning mess. "This is what you wanted, didn't you bunny? You wanted your big, bad wolf to chase you around and pin you down right in the middle of the woods, huh?"

"Y-yes, f-fuck." you managed to blurt out between moans and quickened breaths. Geralt inserted a second finger inside you and the air got stuck in your throat as the pleasure overwhelmed you. He increased the pace of his movements, showing you no mercy as his fingers moved in and out of you in desperate, almost aggressive movements. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening, ready to snap at any moment.

"You awakened the wolf on purpose. This is exactly what you wanted, didn't you?" he growled in your ear, playfully biting your ear lobe. You could only reply with an incoherent moan, closing your eyes to focus on the pleasure coursing through your body. But that wasn't enough for him, Geralt wanted to hear you say it. "Answer me!" he demanded and you were forced to open your eyes just by the authority in his voice.

"Yes! I-I wanted this, I-I wanted the wolf to fuck me. Please..." Geralt smiled showing his teeth and you couldn't help but think how much he resembled a real wolf when he looked at you like that. His lips were slightly swollen and covered with saliva after working on marking your skin, his pupils blown wide with arousal. He was looking at you like a wolf looked at its prey, desperate to jump at you and devour his meal.

"Beg for it." He said through gritted teeth. He removed his fingers from inside you, leaving you empty and unsatisfied. It took your pleasure-clouded mind a few seconds to process his words, too focused on the high you'd lost to let out anything more than whimpers of frustration. But that was exactly what Geralt wanted. He wanted to see you completely desperate, surrendered under his body, begging for his touch.

"Please, wolf, I need you... I need to feel you inside me, please." You begged him, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He took his fingers covered with your sweet nectar into his mouth, sucking them clean as he moaned around them. It was the hottest image you had ever seen. He was so focused on the taste of your arousal touching his tongue that for a moment you feared he might not be able to hear your pleas for attention.

“I’m yours to take… please, wolf. I need you.”

The pathetic desperation in your voice was enough for Geralt. He wasted no time, freeing his cock from its confinement and thrusting it into you in one swift movement that left you breathless. He was big and even though your arousal was seeping down your thighs, it always took you a moment to get used to the way he stretched you. He showed you some mercy, giving you a few seconds to adjust while he enjoyed the way your walls closed around his cock. Nothing compared to the warm feeling of your walls wrapped around his cock, pulling him inside you, inviting him to stay. It was the closest he had ever been to heaven, if there was such a thing.

Geralt let out a grunt as you began to move your hips against him, urging him to move. He placed his hands on either side of your head, effectively imprisoning you under his large, imposing figure. Then he gave you a sloppy, wet kiss, biting your lower lip before moving closer to your ear. "Just remember you asked for this." He whispered, sealing your fate.

The rhythm he set was fast and rough, his hips moving against yours desperately. The sheer force of his thrusts was such that you had to cling to his body to keep from sliding upward each time he entered you. It hurt a little, but in the most delicious way. He hit that special place inside you with every thrust of his hips, turning you into an incoherent moaning mess that could do nothing but dig your nails into his back in a desperate attempt to keep you grounded. Pure pleasure coursed through your veins as you felt Geralt pressing deep inside you, filling you and claiming you as his. Your sweat covered skin was on fire, only finding relief when the witcher's cold medallion that dangled over your face made contact with your body.

"Scream! I want to hear you, bunny. I want to know how good I'm making you feel." Geralt demanded and your body instantly obeyed, as if he was the true owner of your mind. "That's it, don't hold back. No one is going to find us here, you can scream all you want. It's just me and you."

The forest filled with your moans and Geralt's animalistic grunts. He couldn't contain himself, seeing you underneath him with your tangled hair full of dry leaves and your watery eyes full of pleasure was too much for him. He couldn't stop the fast rhythm of his hips even if he wanted to. The wolf inside him wanted to ruin you completely, to mark you as his and make sure you were never satisfied with any other man but him. You belonged to him, now and forever. 

"You wanted this, you craved it... my little bunny, desperate to get fucked like a bitch in heat." He growled against the skin of your neck, sinking his teeth into the sensitive area below your ear.

"Yes! F-fuck, please... I'm so close." You begged him, feeling the familiar tingle spreading in your stomach as your toes curled. His fingers traveled to the little bundle of nerves pulsing between your legs, stroking it with rapid circular motions that increased your level of desperation. You were so close to your relief it was almost painful, but you wanted to wait, to hold back your pleasure so you could explode alongside Geralt.

"You want me to fill you up, mark you as mine, huh? Breed you with my pups so everyone knows you're mine?" It was an empty promise and you both knew it. Geralt was sterile and no matter how much he wanted to, he could not father a child. But that didn't make his words any less arousing. The idea of being his and having his child growing in your belly to prove it was so enticing that you couldn't help but entwine your legs around his waist as a way to make sure he didn't slip out from inside you.

"Yes, please! I'm yours, I always will be and I want everyone to know!"

"That's right, you are. And I'm yours." Geralt grunted, leaning his forehead against yours to look you in the eye as he quickened his movements, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased the sweet relief. "Can you feel how deep inside you I am?" He took your hand and pressed it against your lower belly, where you could feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. "I'm going to shoot my seed so deep into you, you'll carry it inside you until your belly starts to swell up with my pups inside it. Is that what you want?"

"Yes! Please, give it to me, wolf! I need to feel you, please." You begged with your last breath, almost bursting into tears from the intensity of the pleasure you felt.

Two more thrusts were all it took for Geralt to push you over the edge. You came with a cry of his name, nails digging into the sweaty skin of his back as your warm walls tightened around his cock, forcing him to stay inside you. That was enough to trigger his own relief, his cock twitching inside you as he shot his load deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with pearly white ropes of cum. And yet, he continued to thrust inside you, making your body shake from the overstimulation. He wanted to make sure his seed stayed inside you. He wanted to be able to smell the mix of his relief and yours on you for the rest of the day.

When he finally pulled away you groaned, feeling empty. Geralt let out an airy chuckle as he dropped down next to you, struggling to catch his breath. He pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you and resting your head on his chest. Even after all that, he still needed to hold you close, to feel the warmth of your body against his. 

You stayed like that until your breathing returned to normal, reveling in each other's closeness. You were so relaxed in his arms that you might well have fallen asleep if not for Geralt breaking the peaceful silence by clearing his throat.

"We should head back." he murmured, his fingers tracing imaginary lines on the exposed skin of your arm.

"I would if I could move." You joked as you began to feel the pain in your tired muscles. You didn't regret anything, though.

"I'm sorry."

You lifted your head from his chest to look at him, giving him a smile to ease the guilt he might be feeling for hurting you. "Don't be, you did exactly what I wanted you to do." You reached up to kiss him and he gladly reciprocated, cupping your cheek with his free hand so he could deepen the kiss.

However, he pulled away faster than you expected. You whined again, but he ignored you, getting up from the floor and shaking the dirt off his clothes. "It's getting late, we need to go." He said and you huffed. You weren't ready to move yet.

"Geraaalt" you complained, pouting. He looked down at you, ready to scold you, but was distracted by the sight of his artwork in all its glory. Your sweat-covered skin glowed under the afternoon light, highlighting your beauty. Your body was covered in his teeth marks and a trail of reddened hickeys trailed from your neck to your breasts and disappeared under the fabric of your dress. You carried his scent on your body, his seed inside you and his teeth marks on your skin. That alone was enough to awaken the wolf inside him once again, though he held back.

"You look beautiful." He said, kneeling beside you to help you knot the ties in the front of your dress, hiding your breasts and the marks he had made behind the fabric.

The softness in Geralt's eyes was such that you felt the need to hide your face, feeling embarrassed and somehow more exposed than when you were having sex. However, he didn't give you time to react as he quickly pulled you into his arms and made his way back to the hut. You relaxed in his arms, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and snuggling against his shoulder. 

"I love you." you said in an almost inaudible whisper. It was as if you were speaking more to yourself than for Geralt to hear you. As if the words had escaped your lips as you were lost in thought.

But Geralt's hearing was exceptionally good. And he couldn't help but smile to himself as he heard those words.

[smallestapplin]

Kinda thinking about the other Rescue Bots + cockwarming

Boulder and Chase handle it better than Blades

Heatwave, however, turns it back around on whoever’s cockwarming him and purposefully twitches to tease them

Oh allow me to add more. Gn!reader but could be read as humna reader or cybertronian.

-

-

Warming Chase’s spike is a close encounter, he loves how close and intimate it feels, he loves having your warm wet heat snuggly around his spike while he reads manuals or works on reports. He has a will of steel and does not easily cave to feeling your valve clenching around him, even if it makes his spike twitch and leak pre-fluid he does not move.

Chase would place a servo on your hip to get you to hold still, to stop you from moving while he focuses on what he’s going.

“I quite enjoy this ‘spike warming’ activity, being connected to you in such a…lewd way feels intoxicating.”

Chase loves it almost as much as he loves interfacing with you, you might have to work hard to get him to finally fuck you when he’s so contact sitting inside you. You’re going to have to plead your case and plead it loudly, whining his name, arching your back, cry for him to fuck you, that is if you want him to move at all.

-

-

Boulder is another one who loves the closeness spike warming provides! However, unlike the others he caves very quickly, how can he not when your valve is clenching around him trying to milk him of all his transfluid? Boulder lasts a long time though, adoring all of this as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, whispering how much he loves you in your ears. It’s easy to hear how much this effects him, each ex-vent growing heavier and heavier, his internal fans growing louder as he tries to cool himself off.

But you feel so good, too good! He wants to stay still and cuddle just like this but his spike is throbbing, his valve is leaking, he needs to overload so badly!

“Ah…haa…oh-oh primus I’m sorry I can’t- frag! Don’t clench like that or I’ll- ohhh..!!”

His large servos on your hips lifting you up and dropping your down. Drool leaking from his intake and his optics bright, taking in every move of your body. Boulder loves you so much, he also loves how you cry out for him, clinging to him, and asking him for more of his thick spike, which he is more than happy to give you! He can never deny you.

-

-

Now Heatwave is just mean warming his spike is a punishment for you. Heatwave is a menace for your tight valve but he also doesn’t care for any sass or attitude you snd his way, and what better way to make you behave than sitting you on his spike? You get to feel how deep he is, feel every throb of his shaft, feel his pre-fluid leaking into you, and you can do nothing about it. You can try to move, try to grind down on his spike, but he will just hold your hips still with one big servo.

You whine and beg for him, trying so hard to squirm and get some sort of pleasure from it but to no avail.

“Maybe you sit there like a good pet and behave, I might consider giving you a treat.”

You try so hard, but Heatwave is a mean girlfriend, he loves making it difficult for you. Biting his dermas as he lowers his free sero to yout clit rubbing it in tight circles that leave you shaking, so close to overlapping- just to stop and not let you cum. If you start begging he will chuckle and mock you for it.

“Aw, can’t handle my spike, sweetspark? You’re the one who was practically asking for this, acting like shareware in front of the others. Someone has to remind you where your place is.”

So mean, he could do this all day and all night, when it comes to bullying your pretty valve he has the patience of a saint, just to have you crying and begging him to move and properly fuck you.

[nouearth]

hear me out.

dick grayson x male reader.

summary: dick pushes you to your limits in the gym, and your animosity towards him slowly transforms into unexpected admiration (and unlocks months of concealed pining).

wc: 7.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!dick, dom!dick, bottom!reader, bottom!reader, sub!reader, one sided rivalry (reader's end), enemies to lovers(?), brief fighting, reader and dick are working out, physical fighting (with boxing gloves), envious!reader, insecure!reader, hotheaded!reader, uncut!reader, public!sex, gym!sex, dirty talk, praising, guidance, handjob, fingering, kissing, spitting, lots of sweat, body worshipping, reader will be walking funny for the next week.

Your shoes squeaked after every thump from landing on your feet. One foot chased after the other in a pursuit, and your knees raised past your navel as the cable rope cut through the air with a turn before hitting the ground. You huffed after every snap of the rope, a burn scalding the muscles in your thighs and wrists with every rotation, tensing as if you’d been hit, as if your coarse throat would feel the remnants of the whip afterward. 

“Five…Four…Three…” 

Sweat dripped off your forehead, off the locks of your bouncing hair, in anticipation of a merited water break. The water bottle sat on the seated stationary bench, pooled by its own condensation. You could taste it with your eyes, a ravishing sight that pushed you harder. You sped up, raised your knees higher, and endured the pain for ten seconds more. Your gut was sucked in, engaging with your core, and your breathed out in methodical puffs, your chest rising along with it. Everything was burning, muscles tightening into flaming knots that would render you frail by tomorrow morning. If the floor was lava, your body was the volcano erupting it. 

Holy bells rang once you finally counted down to zero, and you immediately came to a halt, the weight of your gratification breaking your movement with an echoing thud as you instantly marched forward to quench your thirst. 

“Fuck.”

Your nostrils stung more than usual. Flared with every inhale as you were catching up to your breath, and more so when you cooled down with several sips of water. Breathing had never felt so good, an absolute fiend you turned out to be after every workout.

You’re getting weaker. Breathing harder. Quicker. You’re losing control on your breath. How are you going to keep up with the team? If you feel this fatigued after a warm up? You let them down last time. Got knocked out and Dick—

He was getting to your head. Again.

Dick. 

The name rolled off your tongue bitterly. A foul taste of metal and battery acid lingered in your parched mouth before it was drowned out by another gulp of water. Another. 

And another. 

And another, as the aforementioned man across from you halted his ropes, stopping in his tracks. 

He’d been doing this since you’d arrived. Mirroring you like a reflection, copying your every move as if you were an instructor. If you were doing strength training, he stopped his cardio to take the machine next to you. Pushed when you pushed, groaned—louder—when you did. 

Needed to stretch your hips? He made some lame excuse about how his legs were too tight, and felt the need to join you on the floor, stretching himself beyond the limits of what you could achieve. It colored you impressed, but you would never say that out loud. Though, you did silently admire the view of his ass, and that especially, would be kept a secret between you and the floor.

Now, it was with jump-roping. The two ropes swung from either corners of the gym like the gears working silently in your head. There was a need to compete with you for some reason.

A satisfied smirk rolled a drop of sweat off his face, and seized his naked torso with glitter as he took a step under a light that lit his body like a podium, or—and you hated to admit it—like one of the sculptures you remembered fawning over in Art History. From his broad build, you could tell that Dick was sturdy, toned, and undoubtedly beautiful. 

His fringe clung onto his forehead, but you could see the gratification he got from outlasting you, smiling while he squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. You noticed how much more capable he was with the calmness of his breath, and felt his adrenaline pumping through the room. In turn, it possessed you—his energy–maneuvering you to the center of the room where a foam mat was placed, and to which Dick expectedly trailed after you.

“Wanna have a go, partner?” Dick said while rolling his shoulders back before picking up a pair of boxing gloves, then another without your confirmation. 

“Seriously—“ He tossed the other pair towards you, an accurate shot that landed into your arms. “Are you going to be doing this all day? Copying me?” You silently thanked him because you began kneading one glove like a stress ball, the rubber foam absolutely gratifying with every scrunch of your hand, as well as consoling as it kept you sane for a little longer.

“I don’t see the problem—“ You began approaching him with the gloves fitted snug over your fists. “Well, actually. I do see the problem. You’re not training hard enough.” Marching with heavy stomps, your nose flaring with every breath that he casually spat out. 

“You give up as soon as you feel tired. I mean, no amount of water breaks are going to help you. You think we have the time to sip water when we’re rescuing a town? A city? The world?” 

His voice, soft and smooth yet it was grating to your ears. The constant talking. Rambling. It gave you a headache. It made you see red. Hearing him berate you. Mock you.

“You’re breathing too hard too, which is taking up all of your energy. And your emotions? You need to control them better. Not only does it affect your combat, but your relationship with your team. You shut yourself off when you don’t do well on a mission.” 

“What are you, my therapist now?”

“Listen, it does no one any good if you’re—“

And it stopped with a strong swing towards his left cheek. His head snapped to the side when the rubber foam smacked him like a whip. 

If red hadn’t blurred your vision, you would’ve noticed the tiniest smile he mustered up from the corner of his lips. A crooked, slanted one that was followed up with a chuckle.

“Not exactly fair play, but…” He raised a hand to rub at his cheek before adjusting the gloves onto his wrists, cracking his neck and stretching the muscles in his back with one more shoulder roll before positioning himself like you were: knees bent and fists raised with the gloves fencing off your face. 

“I’ll give it to you. You can throw a good punch. Beginner’s luck?”

The comment made you swing at his left, and he snapped his head to the right. You missed. There was a precision to his move, something that you lacked in as he snuck a punch to your right cheek. A grunt was stifled, and then let loose in a cough when you felt another beat to the left of your abdomen. Sputtering breath, when Dick scored another hit to your jaw. 

“Fuck—“ Your eyes locked on him while he held your gaze. Your perception seemingly widened, heightened as you’d noticed the smallest movements from Dick, twitching upon instinct as if he was about to strike, but there was nothing. Just the taunt of his arms, and Dick’s teasing smile to garnish, to taunt.

He was circling you. You were circling him. It was the same movement, following each other like two predators unwilling to share the last morsel of food. You felt as much as a leader as Dick was, but from the outsider’s perspective, it was telling who was following the other’s lead. 

Who was the experienced leader of the two sparring men.

Dick feigned a punch with a raise of his arm, and you immediately buckled, jerking back to nothing but a bluff of a hit. You were then greeted by an obnoxious chuckle before he landed a successful sneak to your head, a hit impactful enough to rattle your knees and knock a scoff out of you.

“Be observant. I punch better with my—”

Another swing to his left cheek. Successful, and harder this time, as it managed to stumble him from his stance. You could feel the impact of your fist on Dick, even if it was cushioned by foam. 

It was exhilarating.

“Fight better with your mouth closed too.” You spat, raising your arm to strike the same cheek again. Dick detected it before you could attack, and ducked lower to the right, where he met a sudden fist to his jaw, a calculative undercut that sent him falling onto his back.

“Shit—“

Something unleashed in you. The red in your vision had scorched, burned blue as it reached its highest temperature. You immediately seized the opportunity to straddle him, to face the source of your belittlement, to look at the leader that everyone on your team had silently wish you were, that everyone had admired, to somehow stare and pierce him long enough with your eyes that you were able to tear into his body and take his incredible abilities and mold them into your own, becoming that someone that you had undoubtedly admired as well. 

You threw another blow to his face, enough to knock a groan out of him. It was pleasing to your ears, the low trembles of his voice because of your touch, they twitched with gratitude. But you needed more, a beg from Dick, a plea for you to stop. You threw another punch, and then another as you became blinded by rage. It was out of your control, your arms had a mind of their own as they continued wailing on Dick, even if he had shielded himself with his arms for the last minute now.

You breathed hard, tossing your gloves off as you held him down for a stronger grip and prying his arms from his face. A need to touch him, to feel the impact that your gloves had been restraining you from. You pinned him by his bare and sweaty shoulders that made the grasp all the more slippery, but you nonetheless held him anywhere you could, by his biceps now, and stared into him. You peered into those brown eyes that mysteriously settled your fury until you’d succumb to the beautiful tranquility of his orbs, quietly pacific compared to his mouth.

Dick’s chest was rising. Up and down like your own, recovering from the pummeling you had given him. His eyes were widened as he watched you—studied you. No marks on his face, thankfully due to the cushions you were begging to be replaced with stone a tantrum prior. 

It was humiliating to prove him right, about your emotions, and you sat still, on his lap, breathing. Your fists had stripped you of the little energy you had left, and turned it into mush, but you found support in the warmth of Dick’s body, still breathing. Your grasp had loosened, but remained on his biceps. Warm skin, and ever slightly kneading because of your own envy of Dick’s strength.

You felt your eyes closed, shutting yourself off of the supply of Dick’s silent consolation as the adrenaline pumping through your veins had slowed. “I can never be you, can I?”

“Who says you have to?” Finally, Dick’s voice hadn’t grated your ears like it had in the past. It was gentle as ever, but this time, there was a warmth to it that you wished you could be bundled up in if it had a physical body. A spirit that could temper you with just its warmth, rather than the toxic heat that had just boiled your rage.

“Because—they’ve seen you, Grayson. They know how you operate with the Titans. I can see it, you know? The way they look at you, then the way they look at me. It’s just…”

“You know, my team looked at me like that when they saw how Bats ran the Justice League.” 

“With disgust? Contempt? Disdain? All of the above?”

“No,” He laughed, gathering himself half-way up with the support his elbows. “with... relief?”

“That’s… not helping?” You rolled your eyes, and then felt yourself flush upon coming to realization upon your current position on his lap when he sat halfway up. “Sorry—“ Without making eye contact, you brought yourself off Dick’s hips, but found yourself suddenly pulled back by the waist.

“No, no. What I meant was…” He cleared his throat, sitting up as he positioned you back on his lap again. His hands interlocked against the small of your back, a devise to keep you from abandoning him on the lone mat, but to also pull you closer, hip to hip. 

“Batman… is impressive. You’ve seen him, right? How he has this presence that automatically appoints him as leader. Commander, really. I don’t know anyone that can plan better than him, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t have his faults. He’s all business, little relations. So are the others. You’ve seen them too. Supes, the Lanterns. I respect it. They respect him because of that, and vice versa. But… that’s not how my team works. Not the Titans.”

“I see…” You shifted, nodding every now and then as you listened.

“It’s just… My members are more than co-workers, you know? This isn’t some nine-to-five job that you’ll probably quit after five years. It’s… our lives now. And with them, they’re with me every step of the way. So, they’re more than co-workers. You don’t protect co-workers. Not saying the Justice League don’t care about each other… But what you do protect are friends, families. Yeah, they’re my family, so I treat them as such. And maybe… that’s why they seemed relieved they were part of my team. And…”

“I just have to find what works with my team?”

“Yeah. I mean, you guys are just starting out. Everyone’s still adapting, still getting to know each other, still figuring out each other’s powers, right? Things are bound to be a little more destructive in terms of chemistry.”

“I don’t know… I just… I don’t know if I can lead them like you guys can. I’m not like you guys. In terms of skills, in terms of leadership, in terms of—“

“Then work on that with your team. That’s what a good leader does, they seek out help from their teammates and let them know that their opinions and help are valued.”

It sounded absolutely simple. Something that shouldn’t have taken you this long to figure out, but Dick was right. Rather than seeking for your team’s help, you thought you had to endure whatever situation had arisen on your own. It weighted heavily on your shoulders, until you couldn’t muster up the strength to push your own weight. And in turn, that affected your team. You needed them, just as much as they needed you. 

“And here you are…” Dick continued, suddenly bursting with a smile. “Instead of spending time with your team, you’re with me. I know I’m quite charming, but geez, (M/N), can a guy get some alone time?”

You scoffed and lightly punched at his chest. “Did we forget that you were the one joining me in the gym when you have your own in the tower? Copying my every move? What’s up with that?”

He shrugged, kneading nonchalantly at your sides. “Knew you’d be alone. Knew you were probably blaming yourself, moping around. Thought I would give you a little push.”

You shifted again, your hands keeping close to yourself as you couldn’t muster up the strength to complain about his wandering hands.

Or rather, find anything about his hands to complain about.

“Push as in to annoy me?”

“Well, I was supposed to be teaching you some things, but, uh… you were playing whack-a-mole with my head earlier.” 

“That’s because—“ You sighed, dropping your head low in embarrassment. “Sorry. I don’t know. Everything started happening so fast and—“

“No, it’s fine. It gives me the perfect opportunity to introduce you my first lesson of the week.” He was sincere, smiling up at you, almost as if he had mistaken your brief fit of rage as a game of tag.

“What’s that?” You asked, meeting his eyes once again.

He pondered for a moment,, pursing his lips as he was lost within his thoughts before speaking again. “How To Communicate To Your Team 101.”

“How is that even going to—“

You felt a sudden press to your lips. A softness that awakened your five senses by tenfold, and a desire that you had kept vaulted in the back of your mind; now beginning to unlock to its freedom the longer Dick had his lips on you. It wasn’t right. No, it wasn’t like it was morally wrong, it was just…

You hesitated, conjuring up all the reasons in your head on why kissing Dick wasn’t a good idea. But it was futile. Everything had been resolved within this moment; the way he let you use him like a punching bag, the way he didn’t spare a single second to share his empathy for your concerns, the way he tended to your wounds days prior despite your brazen disregard to his kindness. 

You were being selfish again, guarding yourself off with ice like you had done with the others. When in reality, you wanted him. 

No, you desperately needed him.

You felt him open up his mouth, assuming he was about to speak, but you seized his breath with a slot of your lips, and kissed him. One hand came up to rest on his cheek, to finally feel the slight scruffs you had delivered on his skin, and you caressed tenderly across textured skin, to the slow rhythm of your lips, whispering, “Sorry… again.”

“Don’t be. Without it, you wouldn’t have been on my lap. And… I wouldn’t be kissing you right now.” Dick muttered, a satisfaction to his voice like he had gotten his wish fulfilled. He ran a lone hand up your back, then back down your spine, bone tingling once he repeated again under your hoodie, and gazed across your bare skin.

“What are you doing to me…” It was a genuine question, something you wished could be answered because you didn’t know yourself. And yet, you were scared of the answer if Dick was to ever give you one. It’d been a while since you felt like this, with someone else.

For the past few months, you hated him. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. And now, you feel like you couldn’t tear yourself apart from him. From the softness of his lips and to the warmth of his body; the longer you endured him, the more you realized you had been captivated by Dick all along.

“I don’t know, but… I like figuring you out.” Dick’s speech was slurred from dragging his lips down to your jaw, nipping at your sweaty skin. “Like how you push me away, but you can’t help but tolerate me whenever I’m in the room.” He breathed you in, sucking at the corner of the sharp bone. You pressed your head into his neck, silently letting him take you. “How you’d sneak glances at me and roll your eyes, only to keep on staring… and staring… until you hadn’t realized that I was looking back at you. Because you were too busy looking at me.”

Nothing but the truth came out Dick’s mouth. Remarkably candid, because you thought you were more covert about your conflicting feelings for him. It brought a bloom of heat to your cheeks, and you hid your face inside his neck, groaning because Dick began licking at your neck, and because you felt stripped, absolutely vulnerable.

“Dick…” Something was rising in your shorts, tightened around the center. Warm and pulsing, even when Dick had unzipped your hoodie and thrown them to the side. A chill was felt across your bare back, most likely a draft from the vent, and Dick held you closer, sandwiching the heat, and suddenly your erection, between his body and yours.

“I knew you never hated me.” There was something about your chest that he loved. How smooth it felt. A few hairs had grown at the center, raised from the feelings Dick was supplying to your body. They tickled his cheek whenever he rubbed himself against it until they were then flattened with a long, fluttering lick as he maintained eye contact with you. “Always right.”

The taste of your sweat was salty yet delicate on his tongue.

“Hate is a strong word...” Your fingers threaded through Dick’s locks, scrunching them into your fist when he started toying one nipple at a time with his tongue. The wet muscle flicked deftly, then he suckled, and then tugged, like he had known your body, like he had explored your body before. It was strange, how he knew the right thing to say, and the right thing to do.

Maybe he was ‘always right.’

“Whatever it is, it’s not stopping you right now.” His hands dropped to the waistband of your shorts and he pulled away from your swollen nubs. It was unwilling. You could see it in his eyes, the thirst to ruin, and it compelled him to bring another suck to your nipples, a few seconds more that almost pulled a dangerous whimper out of you before he ultimately paused. “Nor is it stopping me.” 

With a gentle push on your chest, he leaned you back onto the mat while lifting your hips up, smoothly sliding your shorts off. They joined the pile containing your hoodie soon after, and then your briefs to top.

“R-right here? Aren’t there cameras or something…?” Your hands instinctively came down to cover yourself, cupping that embarrassing erection that Dick was thirsting for. The head of your cock peeked out from your clumsy gasp, and his hands instantly came up to pry your hands off.

Dick had that same look in his eyes when he was circling around you earlier. A rapacity blaring the pupil of his eyes. His piercing gaze alone kept your hands from coming up to cover yourself again. You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against his strength.

“I doubt anyone is watching the gym… Private for a reason.” Your legs were then wrapped around his waist after pulling you by the ankles. His presence was commanding. You knew to keep your arms to your side, hands forbidden from obstructing the view of your hard, throbbing cock.

“No wonder you’re so stressed. Look how hard you are.” Dick muttered, seemingly speaking his inner thoughts because he was too distracted by the veins of your erection. Thick and pulsing as he wrapped a hand around you, and stroked, fascinated by the stretch of foreskin unfolding from the head of your cock when he pulled back, then rolling back up when he pulled forward. “This okay?”

“Fuck—Yeah… Feels good.” One arm was raised to wipe the cold sweat off your forehead,  but it then rested against your forehead, shielding yourself from Dick’s gaze as he slowly pumped you back into breaking another round of sweat.

“No,” He paused, suddenly squeezing your foreskin over the tip of your swollen glans. You whimpered. Not only did he squeeze you tight, stripping you of a friction that you desperately had been needing more of. But Dick was teasing, threatening with the dull movement of his thumb as he pressed and rubbed into the fold of skin, polishing the head of your cock  in a thick sheen of pre-cum as his grip would draw out a generous amount from beneath. “I want to see you properly. Look at me.”

You reluctantly met his demands, only after you felt the tip of his thumb prying into your slit. Was this supposed to be a punishment? Because you could’ve allowed it to go on for longer, knowing how much Dick marveled at how much pre-cum you were leaking out.

Your body felt hot, and your hands—they needed something to hold, something to grip. When Dick began resorting to quicker strokes to your cock, you were clawing at the mat at first, etching your presence with indentations of your nails as your warning came in vain. “I’m going to cum if you keep doing that, Dick—“ 

“Use your words I’m telling you.” He spat in his palm after a millisecond of a break before lubing your cock in his own spit and churning you into the tight, yet slippery friction of his fist. Dick’s gaze had been fixated on you, never once had it torn away to look at something else. Not even a peek at your cock deliciously fucking into his fist. Because in case you forgot, he liked figuring you out. “Gotta communicate with me.”

The stoicism you had worn with pride, only ever fragmenting from anger upon defeat; Dick had discovered another facet to its escalating submission, and it was delightful watching you unravel in real-time. The slick of his hands; one beating off your cock while the other massaging your balls; your expressions had given yourself away on how to break you down. Maybe it was because you had given up keeping up the facade. Or maybe it was because it was Dick, who has done more than enough to earn your trust, that you found yourself nearly crumbling.

He had studied you, his hands continuing to wander, explore every part of you while silently cataloging the right spots to make you crack. You were close, hanging off the edge with one hand, nails dulling over a cliff as you desperately prevented gravity from pulling you down under. When his hand had left your balls in favor of suddenly pushing a finger inside of your tight hole, Dick knew you had completely submitted.

Your body was writhing, hips desperately thrusting in the air despite Dick pinning them down to properly stretch your hole and fill you up with another finger, and another. Your expressions were ravishing, conflicted with pleasure and tension, and your mouth opened to politely tell Dick to stop, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to utter the demand. Instead, all that came out of your mouth was a whimper of his name, a stutter that rang delectably in Dick’s ears when he interrupted you with a deep push of his fingers, curling and then pumping in and out of you, and another whimper would secure the deft removal of the rest of his shorts and briefs. All because he couldn’t contain himself anymore. 

He had absolutely no right to teach you about control, for the reason that he was on the brink of losing it himself. You looked absolutely wrecked, all from the stubborn grip around your cock, the tight fit of his fingers, and Dick couldn’t imagine what you’d look like if he was in you, his thick cock fucking you, making love to you.

“Seriously, Dick—I’m about to—“

You couldn’t help it. Dick’s demand to control yourself was absolutely absurd with his reign on your body. The wet, sticky sound his spit made as Dick’s fist was being screwed by your pulsing cock drove you nuts. And then came the view of Dick’s thick cock, throbbing, pre-cum dripping heavily off of his swollen head as he watched you untouched, begging to be touched. You swore you almost surrendered had it not been for his wrist slowing down, a delicacy you begged prior, but now desperately wanted to vanish.

“God, you know I always loved it whenever you accidentally let a smile slip. But this? You’re so beautiful like this, (M/N).” He paused despite your silent pleas for him to otherwise. Though, all was forgiven when he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips. Sweet and bountiful like his words had made you feel, and you kissed him right back, an eagerness compared to his own movements, but then gratefully countered with an impatient swipe at your crack. His cock, plump and heavy, then wet and sticky as he smeared his pre-cum over your hole. Your legs remained wrapped around his hips, but Dick pushed his body weight forward until they folded with your knees touching your chest, his cock dangerously pressing at your entrance.

Dick spat in his palm again, reaching down to coat himself in the sticky layer of spit, and you felt him press. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, anticipating with an accelerating drum of your heart as he teased, slicking your pucker with the gentle, smooth circling of his tip.

“Please… I need it.” You had a gentle grasp around his nape, pulling him down until his forehead rested against yours. You’ve never seen him like this, so up-close and intimate. A mole, a freckle on his face that you’d never noticed, and you instantly yearned for what could’ve been all this time, had it not been for your stubbornness.

“What do you need? You need me inside of you?” Dick clarified against your lips, a whisper into your mouth as you parted them open to welcome his tongue. Hot and heavy, you let your tongue wrap around his for a tingling moment before pulling away, a string of spit webbing a path between your lips and his. “Use your words.”

“Need your cock, need you… Need everything. As long as it’s you.” You marveled at Dick, drunk off of the mutual endearment you have for each other. He regarded you with a warm smile, followed by a dazzling glint within his gaze, then relayed the turn of his mouth to yours with another kiss, a gentle warning, before Dick pushed his hips forward and slipped his cock inside of you.

“Good boy.”

“O-oh, fuck.” 

Your body tensed as soon as you took the first inhale of breath since he’d breached you, sharp and abrupt, just like the pain that had jolted the muscles in your body to squeeze around him. You were playing defense, impeding the foreign introduction inside of your body with a clamp, yet Dick resisted. Rather, he thrived on your strain, adoring the suctioning feeling of his cock as if you were conflicted about inviting him in or pushing him out. It didn’t take much to figure out that it was the former. During the meantime you were adjusting to his cock, Dick was thrusting the few inches that had slid inside of you. Small and short movements to aid in your stretch, and then eventual pleasure as he gradually pushed himself deeper until you’d blossom completely open for him, like a bud in the Spring.

“Fuck, you’re so tight… So good, your ass is so good.” He was satisfied with half of his cock inside of you, rocking into you slowly until you felt comfortable enough to have him harder, faster. Till then, it was perfect like this. Breathing in your whimpers, holding your face like it was the last vestige of your sanity, before kissing you again, sweet on the mouth, tender with your tongue, to hold a fragment of your sanity within him and sealing it where no one could ever take it from him.

“T-too big, Dick—Fuck…” You whimpered again, closing your eyes from the uncomfortable detection of already feeling completely full, yet you and Dick both knew it wasn’t a complaint. Rather, it was a simple observation that had rendered you speechless, an inkling you’d disappoint Dick for not being able to take him properly, to not let him in like you had done for all these months.

“You’re doing great, baby. Doing so good… You can take it, I know you can.” His words were so warm, so kind, so gentle in your ear, low and sinking in your neck as he marked you as his with constant licks and kisses, and immediately, he dialed up your confidence by tenfold. You felt yourself relaxing, the tension in your body melting the longer he rocked half of his cock into you.

Just breathe. Breathe. You found it helpful following Dick’s breathing pattern, exhaling when he pulled out, inhaling when he pushed in, and gradually, you felt yourself opening up for him, taking him in longer strides, with little breaks, faster, harder, until you felt thoroughly plugged when he pushed once more to cork his cock inside of you, balls-deep.

“S-shit, Dick—Fuck—So good—“

Dick trembled with a moan sinking into the underside of your jaw. His cock had never felt so wanted, so warm in another’s body. You took him in without a single complaint, and it was a spectacle, an absolute wonder when Dick leaned back to watch himself completely unsheathe out of you like a dagger out of its scabbard. 

“Look at that… Fucking beautiful.” Your hole was gaped open with the diameter matching the girth of Dick’s cock. Blinking, puckering desperately as it painfully endured the loss of heat, the loss of his desire. You’d never felt so exposed, completely powerless as Dick had you bending your legs further back with one hand, and the other spreading your cheeks apart to further see how much more you could stretch. 

The color of your flesh was enthralling, and if the marks on your neck had not been telling that you were Dick’s; he pressed a kiss to your pucker, gentle nibbling and licking at the puffy rim before abruptly spitting inside of you, and another for good measure, the glorious designation would remind you now.

“Dick—No more, I need you, please—“ You reached down to spread your pucker with the spit dribbling out of you using two fingers, then pulled back to taste him, sucking on them before your craving for Dick would return with a vengeance, body-writhing and mind-numbingly so.

“Tell me. What do you need, hm?” Dick tapped his cock against your hole. The plump head slid smooth over the spit-covered flesh, mixing with his pre-cum, while he watched you with a grin, each swipe of his cock taunting to pull completely away unless you spoke.

“Need you. Inside of me. Fucking me. Holding me. Kissing me. Touching. I don’t know—Please, please. Just need you.” Your wishes were long-winded, but sincere. The gaze you had given him, an imploring look that Dick would take a moment to hold for a little longer despite your begging.  Cherishing it, not knowing if this would be a fluke you’d later regret down the line, but in the end, all that mattered was that  you let your guards down at the mercy of Dick’s guidance. Then utterly defenseless, when he gave into your wishes, a chaste kiss to your lips while doing so, and pushed himself deep inside of you with one smooth thrust.

You stiffened in Dick’s arms when they slipped around you, digging your nails into his skin. Squeezing his waist with your legs, you held onto him when he pushed the rest of his body weight over you, bending you further while keeping his lips connected to yours. He was stabilized on the tip of his toes, thrusting into, past, and against your inner muscles all at once. You clenched around his cockhead, the pleasure unbearable to resist as each dip of his hip successfully knocked a gasp from your mouth. 

“So good, so tight like this…” Dick’s cock was in heaven, burying you deep until his heavy balls pressed flushed to your taint. He would stay motionless whenever he did; to catch up on his breath, to draw out his nearing high for a little longer, and to feel you, luxuriate in the warmth of your walls squeezing him tight, pulsing with dilemma, and ultimately refusing to let go. “Think I can come just like this, you squeezing my cock…”

He looked down at your face, a brief check-up. Your lips moved as if you were about to say something, but no sound came out. Only a stutter of a gasp, little sounds that Dick found incredibly magnetic, to which he found increasingly difficult to keep his lips off of you. He failed with little effort on his end, in hopes to steal those tiny sounds and keep it for himself. 

Your pupils were blown when they weren’t rolling back from the smallest movement of Dick’s hips. In addition, with your lips swollen and lids heavy, you gazed up at Dick like he had saved your life, as if he had guided you towards a better place. Your life seemingly were in his hands as he held your cheeks and kissed you once more. Sweet again, rocking into you steadily, sweat sticking his skin to yours. 

And maybe he did.

“Say something. I want to hear you.” A merciful demand upon your lips. You were trembling, barely swallowing down moans while Dick continuously impaled you with his cock—up into you now, when Dick leaned back until he was sitting up, and brought you back onto his lap like before, pushing your hips towards the rate of his thrusts.

Mesmerized by Dick, your mouth parted open and your throat immediately began emptying itself of all the harbored moans and groans that you had been holding hostage. “F-fuck me, keep fucking me. L-like that. No—Harder, harder—“ They rattled in volume, bouncing in sync with the way your ass had been doing against Dick’s cock, and then louder, because your marvelous sounds emerged an addiction out of Dick.

Sweet Jesus. He couldn’t stop. Watching the desire in your beautiful features, hearing your pleas reflect your want, stroking your cock awaiting for its release, marking every flesh of your skin his mouth had come in contact with. At the level of intimacy; from the pull of Dick’s hair, the sloppy, open-mouthed kisses you two shared, and the mutual passion you had for each other; you no longer felt like his disciple, but rather, an equal to Dick’s being—a derivative blessing, that would course correct each other’s life.

Your hands could barely hold onto his shoulders, but you worked with your strength, the slip of his skin, and locked your hands around his nape. Forehead to forehead, you and Dick breathed moans into each other, heavy and thick with yearning as you two pressed close, stuck to each other like glue. He cataloged the tiniest details on how your face contorted with pleasure; the scrunch of your nose, the roll of your eyes, the part of your lips. Your fist tightened around your cock, pumping it rapidly to the pace of Dick’s thrusts, churning it until your biceps had distractingly flared with veins. 

You did the same. You watched Dick’s mouth agape with rapture. The scrunch of his brows when he fucked into you faster and to the root. The clench of his jaw when you squeezed tight around him, suctioning his cock until he sounded delirious with pleasure. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, and you knew he found you beautiful as well, the beautiful loss of reality from the mutual pleasure, and that was all it took to make you spill your load without a single warning. 

You smashed a guttural groan to his lips and unraveled your fingers, leaning your body back to let your cock release where it pleased to afterward. “Oh, fuck—“ 

“Holy shit.”

Thick shots rained on Dick’s sweaty body. Three spurts to the center of his chiseled chest, and then another four splashing high in the air when Dick powered up on the sight of your cum alone, and drilled you harder, your cock dribbling in cum as he did so. His nails dug into your ass cheeks, spreading them apart, then cushioning them back around his cock to somehow press your walls against every vein pulsing through the thick of his erection.

Dick fucked you like you’d begged him to. Long, strong thrusts, to the brim on each stroke, undoubtedly hitting your prostate at every turn from the way you would jolt forward with widened, rattling, yet blissful eyes. A sight Dick would have forever ingrained into his memory, because you were officially, utterly, and completely wrecked.

It was heaven. The crown of Dick’s cock sliding over the spot, the depth of his cock rendering you immobile and dazed. Again, he’d repeat. A new addiction, surging powerfully through his veins. You let out a sob. 

Again. You squeezed your eyes shut. 

Again. You dug your nails into his shoulders. 

And again. Dick smacked your ass at the delirious state he was in. He had completely breached inside of you, explored every inch of your hole with the circle of his hips. A thrust. A slam. A rut. He had traversed through every option to dismantle you, and like clockwork, your snug hole all but sucked on his cock, begging for him to come inside.

He couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Baby, baby…” Dick’s large hand smothered his warmth around your throat. You could feel the callous in his palm, a gentle abrasion to your smooth skin, and he rubbed your seed all over your body, then his. He fucked harder to the sight of the sticky sheen layering your body. The smell of musk. The stick to his hands. Filthy. Your body and his were filthy together. Filthier, when pleasure burst from the base of his shaft, and in turn, flooded your insides with a large load. He moaned, and you arched into him, into the stick of his body, anticipating for the rupture of your doing. 

Your cock throbbed once, straining forward with its swollen head aiming towards the ceiling, and you spat thick shots of white seed into the air, eventually course-correcting to land on your body and Dick’s.

It was wonderful. You could feel Dick’s cock pulse as his seed rushed up the shaft and buried you deep into your guts with thick and heavy shots. Upon impulse, you squeezed as well, clamping around the peak of DIck’s orgasm until it must have crested with the stillness of his breath. “Don’t pull out.”

“Wasn’t planning on it…”

If he hadn’t thought it enough, you were beautiful, he was keen on calling it a mantra because it meant that he was still here, on this very earth, breathing and witnessing your very existence. Your body was weakened, barely mustering the strength to hold your chest up without the aid of Dick’s arms around you. Limp, after your second orgasm. All of you, you were so beautiful. From your rim hugging the base of your cock, your softening cock dripping, your swollen nipples, the smooth planes of your cum-stained chest, and parted lips. You were a banquet to Dick’s eyes, a feast that could muster up another around to have at you, to have you completely devoured if he had really wanted to.

But no, this was perfect. Watching you in silence, surveying up at you while you peered down at him, panting, breathing slow, in a case of wonder of how one could have such an effect on him without a morsel of effort. 

“So… lessons? You always do this to new recruits?”

“Only if they absolutely suck at their role.” An exhaustion in his smile, you wanted to capture it in between your lips, and replenish him with gratitude.

“Hey— Asshole…” You muttered, a gentle knock to his chest, to which he laughed off, and then held on, to pull you in for a blissful kiss.

With the way you fit into his arms as if you’d always been meant to be there, warm where he was cold, and cold where you were warm, he knew he didn’t need his question answered.

“Kidding. Let’s just say… it was curated for a special someone. And hopefully, they liked it as much as I liked teaching it.”

“I have a good feeling that they did.” 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[jikookncity]

Pirate!Haechan x Siren!Reader (Smut)

14k, unprotected sex, reader humps donghyuck in his sleep but he's super into it, riding, floor sex, dirty talk, masterbation, degradation, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault (not in detail, very quick and nothing actually happens), reader is a SIREN

The sea was glass that night—too calm for any mortal comfort. Even the stars hung back, wary of what stirred beneath the surface.

Captain Donghyuck stood at the bow of The Maiden’s Mercy, eyes locked on the black horizon. His jaw clenched, fingers flexing over the hilt of his cutlass. Weeks he’d been chasing whispers. Months of bribing drunk sailors in dark taverns, collecting fragmented lore and forbidden charts. All leading to this: the rumored trail to the ancient, cursed treasure said to grant a man power and riches beyond belief.

But only a siren could guide him there.

And tonight, he'd baited one.

The trap was brutal—crude magic mixed with silver nets soaked in sacred oil. The crew had gone silent hours ago, tension thick in the air. Then came the song, faint and honeyed, curling over the water like smoke. Men began to drift toward the sound, glazed-eyed, mesmerized. Donghyuck had clamped wax in his ears. Waited.

When she breached the surface—hair like sea silk, eyes glowing like deep emeralds—he acted.

Now, the ship creaked under moonlight as his men dragged her onto the deck, slippery and snarling, tangled in the glimmering net. Her voice was already rising, low and hypnotic, a sound that made their blood slow in their veins.

“Shut her up,” Donghyuck snapped.

Before she could release her full song, he knelt, grabbed a length of cloth, and shoved it into her mouth, gagging her roughly. She screamed behind it, thrashing in fury. Even silenced, her voice was dangerous—like desire made sound.

Her skin shimmered faintly as they hauled her upright. She was wet, furious, and wickedly stunning. Water clung to the swell of her breasts, to the curve of her hips and thighs, her tail already beginning to split as it dried, scales peeling back to reveal smooth legs beneath. Her transformation was slow but mesmerizing, her magic receding with every drop of water that left her body.

Donghyuck couldn’t look away.

His eyes roamed shamelessly over her body, sharp and intense. The slick arch of her spine. The way she stood tall, even bound and gagged, defiance sparking in her eyes. She met his gaze like she wanted to bite his throat out.

“Beautiful thing,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. “You’re going to take me to the gold.”

She hissed behind the gag.

“Lock her up,” he said, voice dark with amusement and something more primal. “Don’t let her near water. And keep her dry.”

Two crewmen dragged her down into the belly of the ship. The brig was cold, iron-barred, with a single oil lamp flickering overhead. They tossed her inside like she weighed nothing, the cell door slamming behind her.

Donghyuck followed, boots echoing on the wood floor.

He stepped up to the bars, watching as she slowly adjusted, tail now nearly gone, legs fully formed. Her hands were bound behind her back, her chest rising and falling with rage.

“You’re mine now, siren,” he said softly. “You’re going to be very useful to me.”

She met his eyes. The heat in her stare was enough to make any man flinch.

But Donghyuck only smiled.

He was used to dangerous creatures.

And he’d never wanted one more.

The ship groaned gently with the ocean's lull, but inside the brig, time stood still.

Donghyuck leaned against the iron bars, fingers toying with the keys hooked at his hip. He watched her silently for a long moment. She sat in the far corner, back pressed to the wooden wall, hair still damp and curling over her shoulders, clinging to the exposed skin of her chest. Her arms were still tied behind her, her legs curled beneath her in a posture that looked almost relaxed—until you noticed the tension in her jaw. The burning in her eyes.

He slid the cell door open with an easy hand.

She didn’t flinch. Just lifted her chin.

Donghyuck stepped inside, slow and sure, kneeling in front of her like she was something rare and volatile. He pulled the gag loose from her mouth, fingers brushing the curve of her cheek as he did.

"There," he said smoothly. “Better, isn’t it?”

Silence.

She held his gaze, lips red and parted, but said nothing.

Not a sound.

He smiled, cocking his head. “Still not speaking, huh?”

Nothing.

Donghyuck chuckled lowly and leaned in, just enough to breathe the same air as her. His eyes dropped to her lips.

“You know, there’s a rumor,” he said softly. “That if a human kisses a siren… he can breathe underwater.” He gave her a long, lingering look. “Tempting, isn’t it?”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But her jaw tightened, and—

Her teeth shifted.

In the low light, her lips curled back just enough to show the beginning of fangs. Sharp. Gleaming.

Dangerous.

Donghyuck only grinned.

“Feisty,” he murmured, unbothered. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be begging me for a kiss later.”

Still, she said nothing.

But her heart was pounding too hard now, the blood in her veins rushing with heat she hadn’t felt before. Not for any sailor. Not for any prince. She'd lured kings to their deaths, sung admirals into the sea. But this man—this pirate captain with maddening confidence and too-sharp eyes—he unsettled her.

She hated how aware she was of his warmth, how close he was, how his scent smelled like salt and smoke and danger. How he looked at her like he already owned her. It made her want to bite him.

And… something else.

Donghyuck watched her closely. He felt the tension in the air, heavy like a storm about to break.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You stay down here until you’re ready to talk. No water. No sunlight. But—” he held up a finger, “—if you decide to be a good girl and use that mouth for something other than hissing, I’ll move you upstairs. A real bed. Food. Clothes. I might even let you sit next to me at dinner.”

She bared her teeth at him again, eyes narrowed to slits.

Donghyuck smiled like she’d kissed him.

“Prison hold it is.”

He stood, and before she could react, he grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder with ease. She let out a muffled, furious grunt, fists pounding his back uselessly.

“Careful,” he teased, “or I might think you like being carried.”

He marched back through the brig, kicking the door open with his boot before tossing her back onto the cell’s cot like she weighed nothing. She landed with a thud, glaring murder up at him.

Donghyuck only laughed.

“You’re going to make this so much fun.”

The cell clanged shut. The keys jangled.

And the siren, still stubborn and silent, was left wondering how this man had made her body burn hotter than anything she’d felt in her immortal life.

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

The brig was silent except for the creak of the ship and the faint hum of the sea beneath.

Y/N sat with her back to the wall, wrists still bound behind her, gagged again after yet another failed attempt to tempt her into speech. Her sharp eyes were half-lidded, watching, waiting. Every moment on this wretched dry ship made her feel weaker, and angrier. And worse than all of it… hotter. Her body kept reacting to him—to Donghyuck—and she loathed it.

So she was all venom and stillness when the cell door creaked open without warning.

Two sailors stepped into the dim brig, lanterns swinging in their hands. They were younger. Nervous. Curious. Their eyes gleamed with something darker than fascination.

“Well, would you look at that,” one muttered, stepping closer to the bars. “They weren’t lying… she’s real.”

The second one whistled. “A real siren. I heard they can turn your brain to mush with a song… but they’ve got to be wetto do it, right? She’s harmless like this.”

They laughed under their breath, the kind of laugh that made her blood run cold with rage.

“Captain’ll kill us if he finds us down here,” one whispered, even as he pulled the key off the wall hook. “Just a look.”

“Maybe a kiss,” the other one snickered. “They say if you kiss a siren, you can breathe underwater. Could be useful.”

Y/N snarled into her gag, straining against the ropes.

“Oh, hush,” the first one said, stepping into the cell. “Let’s see if it’s true.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. She waited.

The man crouched beside her and reached forward, tugging the gag from her mouth with a grin. “Pretty lips,” he muttered.

The second his hand moved toward her face again—

She struck.

Her mouth snapped open and her fangs sank deep into the meat of his palm. He screamed, a piercing, ragged sound as blood gushed from the wound. He stumbled backward, crashing into the floor, shrieking.

“You bitch!” the second sailor shouted, lunging forward. He tried to grab her, wrestling her down with his arms, trying to force her flat.

Y/N screamed, voice hoarse but full of fury, thrashing against his weight.

Then—

BANG.

The second sailor’s body stiffened.

Blood bloomed from his chest like spilled wine.

He crumpled beside her with a heavy thud, eyes wide, dead before he hit the ground.

Y/N froze.

The remaining man was still groaning on the floor, clutching his hand.

And behind him, standing in the doorway, was Donghyuck.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Gun still smoking.

His gaze swept over the scene. The blood. Her body. Her ragged breath.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

Y/N stared at him.

And then bared her teeth.

She hissed, chest rising and falling, fangs still stained red.

Donghyuck exhaled sharply and stepped into the cell, grabbing the gag from the floor and slipping it gently back between her lips. She growled, biting the cloth this time as if it offended her more than anything else.

“I never meant to put you in danger,” he muttered, voice tight with something like guilt. “You’re here for one reason—your knowledge of the treasure. That’s it. Once we find it, we part ways. Simple.”

He looked down at the dead man. Then at her.

“I can’t risk this happening again.”

He turned, barking to the crew outside, “Bring chains. And clean this mess up.”

Then to her, he added under his breath, “You’re staying in my quarters from now on. No one touches you. No one looks at you. That’s an order.”

She hissed again, but something in her chest shifted. Something unfamiliar. Heat mixed with… something that almost felt like safety.

Later that night, still gagged and still seething, Y/N sat in the corner of Donghyuck’s captain’s quarters—lavish, dark wood, lanterns swaying softly with the tide. She watched him from across the room as he scrubbed blood from his hands at the basin, back tense.

She didn’t speak, but she listened.

He stormed out to the deck minutes later.

And from the shadows, she heard his voice boom out across the crew:

“If anyone so much as thinks about stepping foot near her again without my permission,” Donghyuck shouted, voice like fire, “they’ll meet the same fate. I don’t care if it’s my first mate or my brother—death. No warnings.”

Silence.

Only the ocean dared to move after that.

And back in his cabin, Y/N closed her eyes, her heart beating too loud in her ears. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself—but for the first time since being dragged onto this cursed ship…

She wasn’t afraid.

The cabin swayed gently with the sea, wood groaning as if sighing under the tension inside.

Donghyuck had stripped his jacket first. Then his boots. Now, shirt half-unbuttoned, he stood in front of the small mirror, running a hand through his damp hair. The heat from the lanterns clung to the room like breath on skin, and he didn’t hide what he was doing—undressing, towel slung around his neck, muscles flexing as he dried his arms.

Y/N sat in the corner chair, chains loose enough now to allow movement, gag removed for dinner.

She didn’t eat.

She watched.

Unblinking.

Her green eyes raked over his torso, his hips, the patch of bare skin revealed with every shift of his shirt. She showed no shame, no embarrassment. Naked herself, her legs now fully formed, knees pulled loosely to her chest. There was no modesty in the way she sat. Sirens didn’t understand modesty.

Donghyuck noticed, of course. Every glance. Every breath.

He set down the towel and turned toward her with a cocky smirk.

“You just going to stare all night, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head slowly, voice low, rough from disuse.

“Why do humans wear clothes?”

Donghyuck froze.

He turned, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You just spoke.”

She didn’t react to his surprise. Just stared. “Answer me.”

He leaned back against the table, arms crossed. “Well,” he drawled, “humans wear clothes for privacy. Modesty. Protection. Shame, maybe. Though…” he smirked again, eyes dragging down her body, “not all of us care much for any of those things.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly. “I don’t understand. What is there to be ashamed of?”

He chuckled. “I don’t know if you’re brave, clueless, or both.”

He took a step toward her. Then another.

Close enough to make the air shift between them.

“Do sirens have sex?” he asked casually, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N’s eyes widened. Her breath caught. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped, voice raspier now, cheeks flushing.

“Oh,” he said, leaning in, just enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “You’re shy now?” He tilted his head. “So maybe you do understand shame.”

She didn’t move. But her eyes flicked away for the first time, lips slightly parted, breath unsteady. The strange ache between her legs was growing again. Sharp and hot. Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore. The tail she once had had never throbbed like this.

Donghyuck smiled darkly, voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“You’re missing out,” he murmured. “Nothing feels better than being stretched out… by the right man.”

Y/N gasped.

The heat pulsed between her thighs, involuntary and unbearable. She clenched her legs together, swallowing hard.

He backed up with a smirk, hands raised.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said lightly. “I’m not touching you.”

He turned his back, walking toward the washbasin.

“But I need a cold shower.”

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

The captain’s quarters were dark, save for the soft sway of the oil lantern hanging above the bed. The ship rocked gently beneath them, a lullaby for the damned.

Y/N lay beside Donghyuck, her wrists still chained loosely to the bedframe. Her gag remained—softened now, cloth instead of rope—but still firm in its purpose. Her sharp fangs had proven too dangerous to trust, even when she slept.

She wore one of his shirts, oversized and hanging off her body in soft folds. He’d pulled it over her head hours ago with grumbled concern—“can’t have you freezing and dying before you tell me where the damn treasure is.” But now…

Now she was writhing in the sheets.

Donghyuck blinked awake, breath catching when he realized what he was seeing.

Y/N’s back arched gently, body twisting, her thighs clenching and shifting under the covers. Her chest rose and fell fast, nipples pebbling through the thin fabric of his shirt. Sweat gleamed on her skin like ocean mist, lips parted around the gag as low, sweet moans slipped from her throat—soft, needy, unaware.

She was dreaming.

And it was filthy.

Donghyuck stayed frozen for a beat, then slowly turned onto his side, watching.

Watching as she arched again, helpless to the sensations wracking her body.

A lazy, smug smile spread across his face. He tucked a hand under his head, just enjoying the show.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Her eyes fluttered open with a soft gasp, brows pinched in confusion, body still shivering.

Donghyuck leaned over her, eyes locked on hers. He cupped her jaw roughly, tilting her face toward him.

“Did you have a good dream?” he asked, voice low and rough, taunting. “Huh, sweetheart? Was it me you were dreaming about?”

She whimpered behind the gag, stunned by the intensity of what she felt—her thighs slick, her core throbbing. Nothing had ever felt like this before. Not in the sea. Not in her tail.

Donghyuck’s nose grazed her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent was sweeter than before—ripe with heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, yanking himself back suddenly like he’d been burned. “You’re dangerous.”

He threw himself onto his back, arm over his eyes, breathing heavy.

Beside him, Y/N let out a frustrated, muffled shriek. Her body was a wildfire she couldn’t douse, and he was the match that lit it. She glared at him, then at herself, furious with the aching between her legs, the wetness, the longing. She’d never wanted anyone—certainly not a human. But Donghyuck was ruining her. And she hated how good it felt.

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

Donghyuck sat her beside him at the long dining table on deck, the chains still discreetly hidden under the tablecloth. She wore a second shirt now—tighter, cleaner, less oversized—but the gag was finally gone.

Her eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the gathered crew like a cornered animal.

She didn’t touch the food in front of her.

The rest of the crew avoided looking at her directly, except for the occasional sidelong glance or whispered mutter. The woman who had killed one of their own and left another maimed—what kind of creature had they let onto the ship?

Then a voice cut through the tension, warm and gentle.

“It’s alright.”

Y/N’s eyes flicked up.

Across the table sat a young man—freckles, tousled hair, a soft smile. His posture was relaxed but confident.

“I’m Mark,” he said. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to hurt you. Once all this treasure nonsense is sorted, you’ll be free. I promise.”

Donghyuck glanced at him but said nothing, letting the moment breathe.

Y/N didn’t respond. Not with words. But her gaze lingered. Just for a second.

And then, quietly, without looking away from Mark—

She picked up a piece of fruit and bit into it.

Donghyuck didn’t smile.

But he saw it.

And he didn’t miss the flare of jealousy tightening in his gut.

The captain’s quarters were quiet again. The sound of the ocean just outside the hull, wind brushing over the sails. Lanternlight flickered across polished wood and tattered maps, bathing the room in a soft gold.

Y/N sat on the edge of the captain’s bed, legs crossed, chains still looped gently around her ankles and one wrist. She could move freely within the space, but not far enough to escape. Not yet.

Donghyuck stood across the room, cleaning his pistol, back turned.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, voice smooth but sharp. “Even if I lead you to the treasure… you won’t survive it.”

He paused, the soft click of metal stopping mid-motion.

“There are traps,” she continued. “Ancient ones. Ones meant to tear men like you apart.”

He glanced over his shoulder, brow quirked, smirking. “Men like me?”

“Greedy. Arrogant. Mortal.”

He turned to face her fully, arms folding across his chest. “I appreciate the concern,” he drawled, “but don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ve survived worse than a few booby traps.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes—and then, without warning, reached for the hem of the shirt he’d given her. She tugged it over her head and dropped it carelessly onto the bed beside her.

Nude. Unbothered.

Like the sea had never taught her modesty.

“This thing is restricting,” she said simply. “Annoying in the heat.”

Donghyuck froze.

His gaze raked over her—bare legs, full breasts, soft stomach, smooth skin shimmering slightly from the heat of the room. His jaw flexed. He turned his head and dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly like trying to anchor himself.

Y/N noticed.

Her voice came low and amused. “Why do you always get so fidgety when I take my clothes off?”

Donghyuck dragged his eyes back to hers. There was no smirk now—just something darker.

“Because you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said. “And I’m trying very hard not to ruin you before you beg me to.”

Her lips parted.

Then she scowled.

“You’re filthy,” she snapped. “That’ll never happen.”

He grinned lazily, stepping closer, unbothered. “We’ll see.”

The silence that followed was thick. It throbbed.

Then he cleared his throat and turned toward the table, grabbing the covered tray he’d brought earlier. He set it down beside her on the bed and lifted the lid.

“Dinner.”

She eyed the food, then her wrists.

“My chains hurt,” she said. “Feed me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You bite me, I shoot you.”

She tilted her chin defiantly. “You won't. You like me too much.”

His jaw ticked.

But he reached for a fork.

Y/N sat up straighter, letting her thighs spread a little wider, back arching just enough to make it clear she wasn’t shy. She opened her mouth slightly, waiting.

Donghyuck brought the fork to her lips.

The moment was too quiet. Too hot. She leaned forward and took the bite slowly, lips brushing the metal, eyes locked on his the entire time. He could feel her breath on his fingers.

He swallowed hard.

“Fuck, you’re dangerous,” he muttered.

She smiled wickedly, licking her lips. “You said that already.”

He fed her again, and again. Closer. Slower. Each bite a challenge, each glance a test of will.

She could feel his thigh just inches from hers, the warmth of his skin, the tight control in every motion. Her body pulsed with the same restless, aching heat as the night before. She didn’t understand it—but she knew it was his fault. He was the reason her new legs trembled and her core clenched and her skin felt too hot to touch.

And yet…

She opened her mouth again.

And Donghyuck, lips parted, breathing harder now, gave her one more bite.

Then another.

Until he was very sure he needed to leave before he forgot all his rules.

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

The captain’s quarters were too warm again.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her legs dangling off the side, the remains of dinner pushed aside. Her skin still glistened slightly with heat, her breath just a touch too shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the loose shirt she’d reluctantly thrown on after their intimate feeding.

Donghyuck leaned against the far wall, arms folded, shirt untucked now, damp curls clinging to his forehead. He watched her. Always watching her.

She shifted, tugging at the collar of the shirt. “Why does my body… feel like this?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Hot. Tight. Weak.” She scowled at her own thighs. “It’s like something’s pulling at me. Inside.”

Donghyuck bit back a groan. He walked slowly toward the bed, crouched down in front of her, hands braced on his knees.

“That’s called arousal, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low and smug. “It means your body wants something.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That can’t be it.”

He leaned in. Close. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. “Oh, it’s it. Trust me.”

Y/N’s legs twitched. Her breath caught. Her mouth opened like she might ask something else—but then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sound of a fist pounding the captain’s door.

Donghyuck groaned in frustration, standing.

“What?” he barked.

“Storm’s rolling in fast,” a voice called from outside. “Wind’s shifting hard. Could get ugly.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Then turned to Y/N with a sigh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the timing.

“Of course,” he muttered. “Always when it’s getting good.”

He crossed the room, unlocked the door, and opened it—revealing Mark standing at attention.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “She doesn’t leave. No one goes in or out unless it’s me.”

Mark nodded quickly. “Aye, Captain.”

Donghyuck turned back to her once more, smirking. “Be good, sweetheart. We’ll finish this talk later.”

Then he was gone, boots thudding down the stairs as the storm began to howl outside.

Mark stood awkwardly in the corner, eyes on the floor.

Y/N sat still for a while, silent.

“You can sit,” she said after a long pause. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Mark laughed nervously, pulling over a chair. “Sorry. I just— I’ve never seen another siren before or been this close to one.”

“I figured.”

“You… look more human than I thought you would.”

She smirked. “Is that disappointing?”

He looked flustered. “No! No, not at all. You’re, uh… beautiful. I mean. You know. For a creature that eats sailors.”

Y/N’s laughter was soft, surprising even herself. “You’re not like the others.”

Mark’s cheeks flushed. “I just think… it’s wrong to treat you like a prisoner when you haven’t even done anything to us yet. At least not something anyone didn't deserve”

She tilted her head. “So innocent,” she muttered under her breath.

Mark cleared his throat and tried not to look at her too long—but his eyes flickered down her body again before jerking away. “You, um… don’t like wearing clothes, do you?”

“No.” She stood slowly, letting the shirt she’d taken off earlier slip through her fingers. “They don’t make sense.”

Mark turned bright red, eyes immediately snapping to the ceiling. “Could you— maybe just put it back on? Please?”

She grinned, amused. “You’re no fun.”

But she slipped the shirt back on anyway.

Not for modesty.

For him.

An hour later, the door creaked open again.

Donghyuck returned soaked to the bone, hair dripping, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He looked wild, wind-whipped, and irritated—but his eyes landed on Y/N immediately, scanning for any signs of disobedience. Then flicked briefly to Mark.

“She behave?” he asked.

Mark nodded. “Yes, Captain. Quiet as a tidepool.”

“Good.” Donghyuck clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re dismissed. Go help the others prep for the storm. Tie everything down.”

Mark hesitated just a second, glanced back at Y/N, then nodded again and slipped out.

Donghyuck turned toward her slowly, eyes darker now, tension rolling off him in waves.

“It’s gonna be a busy night,” he said, voice quiet. “Don’t try anything.”

She lifted her chin. “I won’t.”

“Good. Because even if you did…” he stepped forward, close enough to make her breath catch, “we’re too far from your precious waters. Weeks away. That’s assuming you even know how to find your way home.”

She didn’t reply—but she felt the reminder sink into her stomach like a stone.

He stepped back, peeling off his wet shirt, muscles flexing in the low light.

Y/N’s thighs pressed together without her meaning to.

And Donghyuck—smirking now, towel in hand—noticed.

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

The storm battered the ship from all sides, waves crashing like thunder, the hull creaking under nature’s weight. But inside the captain’s quarters, the real chaos was simmering under skin.

Y/N couldn’t sit still.

Her legs pressed together, thighs clenching and rubbing in search of friction. Her breaths were shallow, desperate. She paced, then sat, then squirmed in the chair near the bed, her chains clinking softly with every twitch.

“I feel like I’m going to explode,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Like I’m being punished.”

Across the room, Donghyuck leaned back in his chair with maddening calm, sweat on his brow despite the cool sea air. He gave her a lazy smirk, eyes dragging down her bare legs, her parted lips, the clear desperation in every movement of her hips.

“I could fix that,” he said casually, voice low and obscene. “One good fuck, and you’d stop whining. You’d forget your name. Forget the treasure. Forget your tail ever existed.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, screeching, pushing off the wall.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

“I’d fuck you right here,” he murmured. “Bent over this chair, your ass high, screaming my name while I ruin your tight, virgin—”

She shoved him, furious, her entire body burning.

But the anger wasn’t enough to stop the heat pulsing between her legs, slick and aching and starved. Her breaths came faster now. Her body moved on its own.

She fell back into the chair and finally—finally—spread her legs wide.

Right in front of him.

And slid her hand between them.

Donghyuck’s mouth went dry.

Y/N moaned softly, fingers brushing her soaked slit, back arching, hair sticking to her sweat-damp neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, biting her lip, grinding down against her own hand like she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck—” Donghyuck stood up fast, storming toward her. “No.”

Before she could get any relief, he grabbed her wrist and yanked it away. “You don’t get to touch yourself like that in mychair.”

She growled, struggling. “You’re the reason I feel like this! You—you did something to me!”

Donghyuck tightened the chains at her wrists, locking her arms behind the chairpost this time, more secure. “Damn right I did.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, grinding herself down against the edge of the chair instead, desperate now, wild. “I hate this—!”

Her shirt rode up, bare heat pressing into the wood, her hips working back and forth in quick, helpless bursts. She moaned through gritted teeth, unable to stop.

Donghyuck stood frozen for a second, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temple. He was rock hard now, and furious about it.

Then he snapped.

In one motion, he grabbed her and hauled her up—slamming her back against the wall, her wrists still pinned, her body flush to his front.

“You need to fucking stop,” he growled, voice shredded and desperate, his breath hot against her neck. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

His hips were pressed into her ass, his hardness impossible to ignore. His hand braced next to her head, the other gripping the chain at her wrists.

She squirmed in his hold, panting, not even trying to deny how wet she was now, how badly her body was begging for him.

Donghyuck’s mouth hovered at her ear. His voice was broken and raw.

“If you don’t stop grinding that sweet little cunt on my wall, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Y/N whimpered, biting her lip, her thighs trembling.

He pulled away with effort, pacing back like a caged animal.

“Cold shower,” he muttered, half to himself. “I need—another fucking—cold shower.”

The door slammed behind him as he left.

Y/N slid down the wall, still breathing like she’d run a mile, her body wrecked and unsatisfied, trembling with need.

And for the first time, she whispered into the empty room,

“…please.”

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

The storm howled like a living beast.

Waves slammed against the ship, wood groaning, sails snapping in the wind. Y/N sat in the captain’s quarters, arms still chained, legs twitching with every crash of thunder. She could hear yelling. Panic. Footsteps pounding on soaked wood.

She smirked to herself, lips curling.

Serves them right, she thought. Kidnapping a siren… the sea always takes what it’s owed.

Then came the scream.

A different kind of scream.

“Man overboard!”

And then Donghyuck’s voice, raw and broken, cutting through the chaos.

“MARK!”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

She didn’t know why. Didn’t want to know. But her body moved before her mind could stop it.

She yanked against the chains. The wood creaked. Her pulse thundered louder than the storm.

The door was locked.

But not for long.

She hurled herself against it, over and over, rage and panic giving her unnatural strength. Finally, with a splintering crack, it burst open—her bare feet hitting the wet deck, hair whipping around her face as rain poured down like knives.

The crew turned, shocked by the sight of her. One flash of glowing green eyes, bare legs morphing mid-sprint into her glittering tail, and then—

She dove.

Smooth and silent.

The sea swallowed her whole.

Donghyuck stood at the railing, rain blinding him, chest heaving. His heart sank. She’s gone. She escaped. Mark’s dead. He lost them both.

Then—

“Captain!”

A cry from the lookout.

He turned—

And saw her.

Y/N broke the surface a few feet away, struggling against the current but slicing through the waves with practiced ease. In her arms was Mark, limp but breathing, blood running from his temple.

She swam toward the rope ladder with all the strength she had left.

Hands reached down to help them up—crew pulling Mark up first, shouting orders, pressing on his chest.

Donghyuck dropped to his knees beside him.

“Breathe, Mark—breathe, damn it—”

Mark choked suddenly, coughing up water. His eyes opened, wide and dazed.

The crew let out a collective cry of relief.

Donghyuck exhaled like he’d been underwater himself.

Then slowly, his eyes rose—

And locked on her.

Y/N, still soaked, her long tail glittering beneath her, skin pale and trembling. She clung to the side of the ship, arms shaking as she tried to haul herself further onboard, struggling between tail and legs, caught in the in-between.

She was free.

She had water. She had her voice.

She could’ve sung them all to the bottom of the ocean.

But she didn’t.

She just… stared at him.

Her green eyes blazing. Her face unreadable. The siren in her was alive—but so was something else. Something cracked wide open in her chest.

Donghyuck stood, staring back, drenched and stunned.

She hissed softly when she slipped, tail thudding against the slick deck. She couldn’t stand—not with her legs gone again.

He didn’t say a word.

He just walked over, slid his arms beneath her, and lifted her easily against his chest.

Her head rested against his shoulder, but she didn’t speak.

He didn’t look at her again.

Just turned and carried her silently back into the captain’s quarters, sea-soaked and glowing and heavier than anything he’d ever held.

He set her down gently on the bed.

And walked back out, closing the door behind him, jaw clenched as he went to check on Mark.

----------

The noon sun pierced through a blanket of gray clouds, casting the deck in a soft, golden light. The worst of the storm had passed. The crew moved slower today—tired, hungover on fear—but when Y/N stepped out from below deck, every head turned.

This time, no one whispered.

They stood still. Silent. And then—

A chorus of nods.

Some gave awkward bows. Others mumbled their thanks.

One even left a piece of fruit at her seat before scurrying off.

Y/N blinked, suspicious.

“What is this?”

Donghyuck, seated beside her at the long wooden table, didn’t look up.

“They’re grateful,” he muttered. “You saved Mark. They thought you’d let him drown.”

Y/N scoffed. “I thought about it.”

The crew laughed nervously.

Then Mark appeared.

Hair still damp, temple bandaged, eyes soft.

He came to her side, his steps slow but sure.

“I owe you my life,” he said quietly.

Y/N stared at him for a long time, then picked up a piece of bread, tearing it in half.

“You saved me first,” she said. “You treated me like a person.”

Mark smiled, lips twitching like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

Y/N finally ate. Cleaned her plate in silence. The rest of the crew subtly relaxed, the atmosphere growing warmer as the waves calmed.

She stood up abruptly.

“I want to go back to my room.”

Donghyuck raised a brow but didn’t argue. “It’s actually my room.”

She shot him a glare. “Not anymore.”

He stood, motioning for her to follow, still oddly quiet since last night.

The door shut with a soft click. Y/N padded across the floor, tail now gone, legs beneath her again. She sat on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath her, eyes on him.

Donghyuck remained standing.

Silent.

Brooding.

“What’s your problem?” she asked.

He didn’t look at her.

“You’ve barely looked at me all day,” she said. “I saved your crew. I saved Mark. You’d think you’d be a little more charming again.”

Donghyuck ran a hand through his hair and let out a long, ragged breath.

“You did,” he said. “You did save him. And I… have no fucking clue what to do with that.”

He finally looked at her. Really looked at her.

“All I’ve done is kidnap you. Chain you up. Threaten you. And you still—” his jaw tightened. “You still dove into a storm and brought back the one person I can’t live without.”

Y/N’s gaze didn’t soften. But something in her expression shifted—like the weight of what they were finally naming was too heavy to ignore.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she said.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then—

“I’ll tell you where the gold is.”

Donghyuck blinked.

She stood, moving closer, stopping just in front of him.

“But once we find it,” she said quietly, “you let me go. We both know I could've sunk your entire crew and ship last night, but I didn't. I have no idea where we are and when I'm free, I want to go. I get you to your gold, you get me home. Deal?”

He swallowed. Hard.

“It’s a deal,” he said. “And I’ll give you anything else you want.”

Y/N laughed. Low. Bitter.

“There’s nothing you can give me.”

And she walked away.

Leaving Donghyuck staring after her, pulse racing, knowing damn well—

That wasn’t true.

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

The village was small, nestled between jagged cliffs and churning sea. It was the first time Y/N had stepped on land since being dragged aboard Donghyuck’s ship, and the feeling was strange. Every texture beneath her bare feet, every new smell and sound made her pause with wide eyes and tilted head.

“Stay close,” Donghyuck muttered, his hand wrapping around hers. “There are more people here than fish.”

Y/N’s fingers twitched in his grasp. Her skin prickled at the contact — his palm warm and calloused, grounding her — and yet charged, like lightning might crackle from it at any moment. She didn’t pull away.

He didn’t either.

They walked through the narrow, cobbled streets, Donghyuck’s oversized shirt hanging off her shoulders, the belt tied too tight around her waist to keep it from slipping. She looked half wild, half regal — a siren in borrowed skin.

Heads turned. Men stared.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened.

When they entered the tailor’s shop, the bell chimed overhead.

A petite woman with silver rings on every finger looked up and beamed. “Ah! Finally, someone with taste. And—” her eyes drifted to Y/N, widening in delight. “Oh my stars. She’s beautiful.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re… more gorgeous.”

The woman laughed brightly. “What a charmer.”

Donghyuck watched in stunned silence as Y/N let herself be measured, lifted her arms, turned around, touched all the fabrics with reverence. The tailor cooed and fussed over her, telling her what colors would make her glow (as if she didn’t already), calling her skin luminous, her body perfect.

“She’s shy,” Donghyuck said offhandedly.

“I am not,” Y/N said immediately.

The tailor grinned. “You two make a cute couple.”

Both Y/N and Donghyuck froze.

“No - were not - I would never...,” they said at once, speaking over each other.

But their eyes met — and held — for a second too long.

Neither of them looked away first.

----------

Y/N gasped as they passed a group of giggling children chasing a dog through the square.

“What are those?” she whispered urgently.

Donghyuck blinked. “Kids.”

She crouched, watching them with wide, fascinated eyes. “Why are those humans so small and… cute? Are they a different breed?”

He laughed, actually laughed, and the sound made her stomach twist.

“They’re just younger,” he said. “You grow into one of me eventually.”

“Gross,” she muttered.

-----------

The tavern was loud, packed, lit with flickering torches. Music played in one corner, boots stomping on wood, laughter echoing through beer-frothed air.

Donghyuck sat at the bar with Y/N beside him, her new fitted dress snug on her hips, sleeves slipping off her shoulders. She drew attention wherever she went — but she didn’t notice. She was too busy studying how beer foamed or how humans laughed with their teeth.

Then she approached.

Tall. Stunning. Curved like the ocean. A woman in red leaned over Donghyuck’s shoulder with a coy smile, her voice honey-slick.

“Well well. Captain, you’re a long way from your usual ports.”

Donghyuck smirked. “You know me?”

“I never forget a handsome face.”

Y/N didn’t understand what was happening at first. Just that something in her belly twisted watching the woman touch his chest.

Then the woman leaned in closer — too close — and Donghyuck didn’t push her away.

Y/N’s lip curled.

She stepped forward.

Her fangs slid out like silver and she let out a powerful hiss, her eyes glowing green.

The woman screamed and stumbled back, heels catching on the floor before she bolted out of the tavern, her drink crashing to the ground behind her.

Silence fell for a beat. Then people laughed.

Donghyuck turned to her, stunned. “What the hell was that?”

Y/N shrugged, licking her teeth and smiling, unbothered. “She was annoying me.”

Donghyuck narrowed his eyes, biting back a smile. “You jealous, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, that same smug grin on her lips. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But she didn’t move from his side.

And when he threw an arm over the back of her chair — casually, lazily, like he was just stretching — she didn’t move away either.

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

The tavern was starting to fill with the night crowd — sailors, locals, girls in bright dresses, and men already leaning too close to too many glasses. The buzz of music and clinking tankards grew louder by the minute.

Y/N sat at their table beside Donghyuck, brows furrowed as he drained the last of his drink and stood up with a sigh.

“Go back to the ship,” he muttered, waving Mark over with a lazy flick of his fingers. “Take her with you. We leave first thing in the morning.”

Y/N blinked. “No.”

Donghyuck raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly, already stepping away from the table. “It’s not safe for you out here at night. I want to drink. I can’t protect you when I’m drunk.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she snapped, standing too. “Not from men. Not from you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking tired. “Y/N—”

“Why?” she demanded. “So you can find some random woman to drag into bed?”

He let out a hollow laugh. A short, humorless thing.

Then he turned on her—suddenly, sharply—and shoved her back against the wooden wall of the bar. The impact made the entire tavern blur for a moment, air knocked from her lungs as his hand grabbed her jaw, holding her face.

His body was flush with hers.

His voice was low and dangerous.

“I can sleep with whoever I want.”

Y/N’s mouth parted, eyes narrowed—but she didn’t speak.

Donghyuck’s grip tightened slightly, breath warm on her cheek.

“But I won’t,” he growled. “Because it turns out, my body only fucking responds to you. So no, sweetheart. No one else is touching me tonight.”

His gaze dragged over her face, lingering on her lips, his jaw flexing like he hated the truth coming out of his own mouth.

“I just need some damn space.”

Y/N smiled then.

Sweet.

Mocking.

With fire in her eyes.

“Well,” she said coolly, “have all the damn space you want.”

She shoved him back with both hands — hard — and without looking at him again, turned and stormed across the tavern, grabbing Mark by the arm.

“Take me to the ship.”

Mark glanced between them, wide-eyed, but nodded. “Yes. Yeah—okay.”

They disappeared into the night.

Donghyuck watched her go, fists clenched at his sides, chest tight and head swimming with regret.

But he didn’t follow.

Not yet.

The tavern was almost empty when Donghyuck stumbled back into the captain’s quarters.

He’d sobered up halfway on the walk.

Partially from the night air.

Mostly from the regret.

The room was dim, lantern burning low.

Y/N was already asleep — curled on the far edge of the bed, facing the wall, arms crossed, the sheets pulled all the way around her like a cocoon. She was hogging every single blanket on the mattress, leaving none for him.

Donghyuck stood there in silence.

And just… stared.

At the stubborn set of her back. The way her hair tangled against the pillow. The rise and fall of her breath.

The space between them had never felt so suffocating.

He dropped into the bed beside her, careful not to touch her.

But his eyes stayed on her for a long, long time.

---------

The journey toward the lost treasure had begun.

The ocean was calm. The crew worked with quiet determination. And Y/N…

Y/N didn’t speak a single word to Donghyuck.

She laughed with the crew. Teased Mark. Even offered to help scrub decks just to learn how humans used “buckets.” But whenever Donghyuck walked past her, whenever he entered a room or tried to catch her eye—

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t speak.

She was the picture of peace.

And it drove him insane.

“Can you pass me that rope?” she asked Mark sweetly.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he stammered, handing it over with shaking fingers.

They stood near the helm, the sea stretching wide and endless around them, the sun beating down on their shoulders.

Donghyuck stood just behind them, arms crossed, eyes burning into Y/N’s back.

“So…” Y/N said casually, tying the rope. “When you have sex… does it hurt at first?”

Mark went beet red.

“I—uh—that’s not—” He choked. “I mean, it depends! I—I wouldn’t know exactly from your perspective but I’ve read that—uh—some people—”

Donghyuck stepped in sharply. “Don’t ask him that.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, unbothered. “Why not?”

“If you want to talk about sex, you talk to me. No one else.”

She stared at him, gaze cool and sharp like sea glass.

“I’ll talk about whatever I want,” she said. “With whoever I want.”

Mark swallowed. “I’m just gonna… check the rigging. Over there. Far away. Yup.”

And he was gone.

Silence fell between them.

The wind tugged at her hair. Her jaw clenched.

“Why can’t you ever just listen to me?” Donghyuck asked, exasperated.

“Why the hell would I listen to my kidnapper?” she snapped.

He stepped closer.

Tension sparked between them instantly.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Fine,” she said, sharp and defiant. “Answer my question. When does the feeling go away? The heat. The ache. It’s constant.”

Donghyuck’s breath hitched. Then his smile — slow and dark — curled across his lips like oil spreading on water.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, circling her, voice low enough that only she could hear. “It doesn’t just go away. You have to work it out of your system.”

She inhaled sharply.

His hand ghosted along the edge of the railing beside her, not touching, but close enough to make her skin prickle.

“It starts with the stretch,” he said. “At first, you’ll think it’s too much. You’ll grip the sheets, maybe my arms, try to close your legs—but I’ll keep pushing. Keep rocking deeper until I hit that perfect little spot inside of you.”

Her throat bobbed with a gasp. Her eyes widened.

“And when I find it?” He smiled. “You’ll scream.”

His hand rested on the railing now, brushing hers.

“You’ll beg—maybe for me to stop, maybe for more. But I won’t stop. Not until I feel you clench around me. Until you come so hard you forget you ever had a tail.”

Y/N’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts.

Her lips parted, face flushed, thighs pressed together like she could trap the heat and hide it.

Donghyuck leaned closer, his mouth inches from hers.

“Then,” he whispered, “and only then, you’ll finally feel relief.”

She gasped again, trembling now, breath hot and uneven against his mouth.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Didn’t touch her.

He stepped back slowly, eyes blazing.

“It’s maddening being near you,” he said roughly. “I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe.”

Y/N stared at him, frozen.

Every nerve in her body alive. Her heart hammering like the sea in a storm.

And Donghyuck turned away—

Before he did something they couldn’t undo.

--------

The fight still lingered in the air — sharp and heavy, like salt in a wound. Neither had spoken in hours. Not a word when the cabin door slammed. Not when they stripped down. Not when they climbed into bed.

Y/N faced the wall.

Donghyuck lay behind her, stiff and silent. His breathing was slow now, deep — finally asleep.

She wasn’t.

Not with her thighs clenched, her heart pounding, her pride bruised and burning. They hadn’t touched in days. Not since the last argument. And tonight’s silence was unbearable.

Still, she refused to turn around. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly she needed him.

But gods — she did.

Just once, she told herself. If she could just feel him once, maybe she’d sleep again.

So she moved.

Carefully.

Slowly, she turned, crawling over to him, straddling his waist beneath the thin blanket. He didn’t stir. His brows were relaxed in the dim light, lips parted slightly. Moonlight spilled across his cheekbones, softening the edges of a face she couldn’t stop dreaming about.

“Fuck,” she whispered, breath hitching. “You’re so handsome it hurts.”

She pulled his shirt — hers, really — off her shoulders, too hot to breathe, her skin prickling with nerves. Naked now, she placed her palms on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her fingertips. Her hips moved on instinct, rolling slowly, gasping softly at the friction of her bare pussy dragging against the thick fabric of his underclothes.

He groaned — in his sleep.

Her eyes widened.

Then he bucked his hips up, unconscious but needy, grinding into her with a hardness that was growing fast beneath her.

Her jaw dropped in a silent moan, heat surging through her entire body. She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. Her hips moved again, and again — smoother now, bolder.

Then—

Donghyuck’s eyes snapped open.

And in one fluid, furious motion, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the mattress with his hand around her throat.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

Y/N arched into him, no shame, just need. “Please,” she whispered, eyes glassy with desire. “Just this once. I need you inside me.”

His grip didn’t tighten, but it stayed firm, keeping her still. His hips settled between her thighs, the outline of his cock pressing right where she wanted it.

“This what it took?” he sneered. “Had to crawl on top of me in the dark like a needy little slut to finally admit you wanted it?”

She whimpered, eyes fluttering, nodding slightly.

He exhaled a long breath — then let go of her throat, only to slide his hand up to cup her jaw. Not tender — just taking control.

“I knew you’d fold,” he murmured, his mouth finding the soft skin of her neck. “Knew you’d come begging eventually.”

He kissed down, never touching her lips, just her throat, her collarbone, lower. When his mouth found her breast, he groaned like it had been haunting him.

“Been dreaming about these,” he muttered against her skin before biting her, tongue soothing the sting right after. His hands kneaded her breasts like he owned them, thumbs circling her nipples until she writhed under him.

Then — finally — he shoved his underclothes down just enough, lined himself up, and without warning, slowly thrust all the way in.

They both moaned — loud, raw, relieved.

“Fuck,” he gasped, burying himself in her warmth. “So tight. So fucking wet. You were ready for me, weren’t you?”

Y/N’s legs wrapped around his waist, her head tipping back, mouth open in a silent cry. She didn’t answer — didn’t need to. Her body answered for her, clenching around him like it never wanted to let go. She had never known such pleasure was possible.

He held still for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to hers.

Then he pulled back, and started to move.

Rough and deep, every thrust angled with purpose until she gasped — a sharp sound, body jerking beneath him.

Donghyuck froze. Smiled darkly.

“There it is,” he murmured, grinding into that perfect spot. “That’s the one, huh? That’s where you break.”

She was close. Already unraveling, her hands fumbling for something to hold on to — and he gave her his. Their fingers locked tight, tangled, as he thrust into her again and again, chasing the high he knew would tear her apart.

“Come for me,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “Clench around this cock. Show me how much you needed this.”

Y/N came hard, gasping his name, eyes rolled back as her body shook around him.

He followed right after, moaning into her neck, hips stuttering as he came deep inside her, still pulsing from the strength of it.

Neither of them moved right away. He stayed inside her. She kept clenching around him. His hand in hers. Their bodies still rocking from the aftershocks.

Their lips brushed once.

Almost.

But she turned her head.

And instead, he buried his face in her neck, kissing and biting the skin there like he was claiming it, like that was enough.

----------

The ship set sail at dawn.

The crew moved with purpose, laughter louder than usual, the wind kinder, the ocean calm. It felt like the tide itself was carrying them toward something great. Toward gold.

But there was something else in the air too.

A tension broken. A pressure relieved.

And Mark noticed it the moment he stepped onto the deck.

Y/N walked past him, her skin brighter somehow, the breeze playing through her hair as she gave a quiet, unreadable smile to no one in particular. Not hostile. Not annoyed. Just… content.

Glowing.

And behind her?

Donghyuck.

Looking like the smuggest bastard alive.

Mark stared at the two of them. Back and forth. Then grabbed Donghyuck’s arm as he passed and yanked him toward the stairs.

“What?” Donghyuck said, clearly amused.

Mark didn’t even lower his voice. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck just smirked.

“You did!” Mark hissed. “Are you out of your mind?”

Donghyuck shrugged, leaning lazily against the railing. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Wait… kiss? Did you actually kiss her?”

“No,” Donghyuck said, gaze flicking out over the water. “Didn’t want to risk it. If the rumour’s true and kissing a siren lets you breathe underwater… it should be her move, don’t you think?”

Mark blinked. “So you did… everything else?”

Donghyuck didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

Mark rubbed his face like he was trying to erase the mental image. “Hyuck… what are you doing? You promised to let her go after the treasure. That was the deal.”

“And nothing’s changed,” Donghyuck said easily. “She told me herself last night. Once the gold’s found, she’s gone. I’m not holding her here.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re thinking clearly,” Mark muttered. “Neither of you are.”

He turned and walked off before Donghyuck could reply.

Donghyuck stayed there, arms crossed, staring out at the horizon.

They were getting close — he could feel it. Every gust of wind in the sails, every shift of the sea whispered it. The map pieces were aligning. The route Y/N had given him made sense now. It was all falling into place.

The treasure he’d spent years chasing was within reach.

But for some reason…

He wasn’t as excited as he thought he’d be.

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

They docked at a small island just after midday — a quiet, hidden place off the usual routes, with thick palms, soft sand, and deep lagoons. The crew was eager to stretch their legs, get drunk, and forget, for a few hours at least, the long sea ahead.

But Donghyuck had something else in mind.

"Come on," he muttered to Y/N, not waiting for her to follow. She did anyway, silent as ever, her eyes narrowed.

They hiked through thick brush and winding paths until they reached it — a clear blue oasis tucked between rocks and vines. A hidden pool, glowing in the dappled sunlight. The air was humid. Quiet.

"You can swim here," he said simply, sitting down at the edge of the stone. “Figured you’d want the water more than the crew.”

Y/N stared at him a moment, then stepped into the pool. Her tail unfurled beneath the surface, glinting like cut glass. She sank under, disappearing completely.

Donghyuck exhaled.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to think about the curve of her back, the way her skin had shimmered just before she slipped beneath the surface. He tried not to feel guilty for still being angry, and still wanting her at the same time.

The water stayed still for several seconds.

Then—

She surfaced.

Only her eyes visible.

Glowing, inhuman, shimmering beneath long wet lashes.

He felt his breath catch.

Slowly, Y/N swam toward him — silent, smooth, her glowing siren eyes fixed on his. The closer she came, the harder it was for Donghyuck to look away. His spine straightened. His muscles tensed.

Then she began to hum.

Low and haunting.

He blinked fast, eyes flickering. His fingers curled into fists.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

But it was already working.

His chest began to rise faster. His heartbeat picked up. His fingers dug into the stone beside him.

Her voice wasn’t even a full melody yet — just the start of a siren’s song, but he felt it — deep, humming in his bones, crawling beneath his skin.

Still underwater, Y/N swam toward him slowly. Gracefully. Like she had all the time in the world.

And he couldn’t move.

The hum wrapped around him like warm silk, coaxing his body forward while his mind screamed to pull back.

His jaw clenched. Every muscle in his body was locked in resistance.

Still, she came.

Rising up from the water, her hands pressed against the stone edge. Her tail glistened as she lifted herself onto the rock beside him. Her body was dripping wet, slick and glowing. His shirt was clinging to her torso — though nearly see-through now — but it was her eyes that held him.

Still glowing. Still singing.

She slid closer. Her palms pressed to his chest.

Haechan’s whole body shuddered.

She stroked along the line of his collarbone, up his throat, over the edge of his jaw.

“You’re shaking,” she said softly, a whisper wrapped in amusement.

His breath was ragged. “You’re doing it again.”

She tilted her head. “You locked me up. Shoved me in chains. What did you think I was going to do? Forgive you?”

“I thought…” His voice wavered. “I thought you might not want to hurt me.”

“I don’t,” she said, voice still light.

Then she leaned in, her lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“But I do want to remind you who I am.”

The humming stopped.

The power dropped like a stone in the water. Haechan let out a shaky breath, blinking fast, like snapping out of a dream. The air around them shifted back to normal.

She looked at him with that same quiet, smug calm—

Then dove into the water again with a twist of her tail, a splash soaking the front of his shirt.

“Hey—!” he sputtered, standing up, blinking through the droplets.

She surfaced several feet away, floating on her back now, looking up at the sky like nothing happened.

He wiped his face and swore under his breath.

She had him completely undone… and she knew it.

Then dove back into the water with a flick of her tail — splashing him hard enough to soak his clothes.

She surfaced once more near the edge of the lagoon, floating on her back like nothing happened, humming a different, sweeter tune this time. His shirt clung to his chest. His heart still hadn’t slowed.

She was playing with him.

And it was working.

The sun had dipped low over the island, casting the oasis in golden light. Haechan sat at the edge again, still wringing seawater from his shirt after her last surprise splash.

Then he felt a sharp tug at his ankle.

Before he could react, Y/N dragged him under.

He gasped—just before the water swallowed him whole.

Everything was blue and silent beneath the surface. Haechan’s eyes opened wide, panic briefly flaring in his chest, but then he saw her — Y/N gliding through the water like a dream, or a warning. Her tail flashed like a blade. Her arms outstretched toward him, eyes glowing, hair floating like ink.

He’d never seen her like this.

Powerful. In her element.

He reached for her, clumsy and human, but she twirled away from him effortlessly, circling him with ease.

She wanted him to see.

She wanted him to know this world wasn’t his.

That it belonged to her.

Haechan lasted maybe a minute.

Then the burn in his lungs became unbearable. He kicked toward the surface, breaking through the water with a sharp gasp, air flooding back into his chest.

He floated there, panting, blinking up at the sky.

Then—ripples.

Y/N surfaced too, silent.

Only her eyes visible again — glowing just above the surface, watching him.

Haechan flinched slightly. “You look terrifying when you do that,” he muttered between breaths.

Her voice cut through the air. Clear. Cool. Confident.

“I know,” she said. “That’s the point.”

It was the first thing she’d said to him in days.

He blinked at her, water dripping down his face. “What you did earlier… with your song. That wasn’t okay.”

Y/N gave a cold little laugh, tilting her head. “Neither was kidnapping me.”

Touché.

The water lapped between them, neither moving closer. But something had shifted — their anger softened by salt and breathlessness, their stubborn pride eroded by the current.

Then, quietly, she asked, “Why is the treasure so important to you anyway?”

She floated closer now, arms crossed over a slick rock, eyes narrowed as she studied him. “You have everything you need already. A ship. A crew that respects you. Power. Freedom.”

Haechan looked away.

He wiped the water from his face and leaned back, resting his elbows on the stone behind him, throat working.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then—he sighed.

“You ever want to stop running?”

Y/N blinked, thrown by the softness in his voice.

“My father was a sailor,” he said. “Honest. Poor. We lived in a shack near the docks. He used to say gold doesn’t matter unless you can rest on it. Unless it lets you stop living with one foot always ready to run.”

Y/N said nothing.

“So yeah,” Haechan muttered. “I want the treasure. I want to stop. I want to buy a patch of land so big no one can find me. Grow fruit, drink rum, sleep in. Not owe a thing to the sea. Or to anyone.”

His voice was quieter now.

“Is that so greedy?”

Y/N stared at him for a long time.

No tricks in her eyes now. No siren glow. Just… curiosity.

And maybe a hint of something softer.

“No,” she said. “It’s not.”

Haechan met her gaze.

The silence between them was different now — deeper.

Then she sank beneath the surface again, leaving only ripples.

But this time, she didn’t disappear.

She circled him once, brushed her fingers lightly along his arm underwater… then surfaced beside him, hip-to-hip, resting her chin on his shoulder with a hum.

Not a spell.

Just a sound.

Just her.

----------

Donghyuck leaned back on his elbows, sweat already glistening along his collarbones, shirt soaked from yn dragging him in earlier, watching Y/N cut through the water like sin given form. She twirled and dipped, sleek and hypnotic, her tail flashing under the surface like temptation itself.

She wasn’t just swimming.

She was performing.

And she wanted him to watch.

His cock had been hard for five minutes straight.

When she finally emerged, she didn’t say a word. Just swam to the shallows and rose — tail shifting mid-step, morphing into long, wet, bare legs. Her nipples were tight from the cool water, and her skin glistened as she sauntered toward him, dripping, powerful, devastating.

She straddled him slowly, pressing her soaked body to his fully clothed one, her heat grinding right onto his cock.

“You’re so obvious,” she whispered against his jaw. “Bringing me out here like this. Just the two of us. All alone. You wanted me loud, didn’t you?”

Donghyuck’s hands gripped her thighs, groaning under his breath. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh?” She rolled her hips, rubbing her slick pussy directly over the thick bulge in his pants. “So it’s just coincidence this place is so damn secluded? Where I can scream your name and no one will hear me?”

She ground down again — harder. “Deny it, Captain. Go on. Dare you.”

He laughed — dark and low.

“You think I brought you here for peace and quiet?” he rasped, grabbing a fistful of her ass, pulling her flush against him. “I brought you here so I could fuck you into the dirt and you wouldn’t have to hold back a single fucking sound.”

Y/N moaned, fingers already tugging his pants down, freeing his cock. She hovered over him, rubbing herself on the tip, teasing them both. “You want to hear me beg?” she whispered.

“No,” Donghyuck growled. “I want to hear you scream.”

She sank down on him in one slow, aching motion, and they both moaned — loud, unashamed.

Her head tipped back as she took every inch, hips settling in his lap. “Gods,” she gasped, rotating her hips. “You stretch me so good—”

“You were fucking made for me,” he snarled, thrusting up hard, making her cry out. “You walk around dripping, knowing exactly what you’re doing. You act like I’m the monster, but look at you—riding me in the goddamn dirt like a bitch in heat.”

Y/N braced herself on his chest, bouncing now, hair clinging to her face, breath hot and broken.

“It’s only ever been you,” she panted. “I need you.”

Donghyuck’s hands slid to her waist, watching her move like it was a vision meant for him alone. The filth of it — her slick thighs, his cock disappearing into her over and over, their mixed sounds echoing through the canyon — it drove him wild.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, eyes fluttering. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, tightening around him and riding him harder. “Not until you come inside me.”

He flipped her over without warning, slamming into her from above now, pinning her arms down.

“You want it? Then take it. But don’t you dare pretend you’re in control.”

Their bodies moved in sync — hot, sticky, brutal. They were grunting, gasping, so close to the edge it hurt.

Donghyuck found her spot again and didn’t stop, drilling into her with filthy praise spilling from his mouth.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growled. “Say it.”

“It’s yours—fuck—it’s yours—”

Their hands locked tight.

They moaned together — raw, guttural — as they came in sync, her legs shaking, his cock pulsing deep inside her.

And when it was over, when their breathing slowed and their bodies calmed, their lips hovered.

So close.

She turned her head.

And Donghyuck pressed his face into her neck, licking the sweat from her skin like he couldn’t get enough of her taste.

But she wasn’t done.

She leaned in — so close their noses brushed — and let her fangs descend.

Donghyuck’s breath hitched, eyes darkening.

She bit his bottom lip. Not too deep — just enough. A single bead of blood welled up.

Then she licked it — slow, deliberate — her tongue dragging across his lip like a promise.

Still no kiss.

Donghyuck licked his own lips after, tasting her saliva mixed with blood groaning. 

"If I died right now I'd be the happiest man alive."

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

The sky was soft that evening back on the ship — all pink streaks and gold-dipped clouds, the sea glassy and still.

The crew was buzzing with quiet anticipation. They were close now to the treasure they had been looking for. Everyone could feel it.

Y/N stood by the railing, wind tugging at her hair as she stared at the horizon. Mark approached slowly, cautious but warm, holding two tin mugs of lukewarm tea.

"Don’t worry,” he said, offering her one. “No rum in it.”

She took it with a quiet smile.

They stood in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t feel awkward — just thoughtful.

Then she spoke, her voice low. “I’ve met a lot of bad men in my life.”

Mark glanced at her, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes on the ocean.

“Sailors. Soldiers. Hunters. Men who saw me as a prize or a monster.” She sipped her tea. “But you, Mark… you’re the most pure-hearted, kindest man I’ve ever met.”

Mark went still.

“You’re not naive,” she added quickly. “You’re good. That’s different. And I hope you never change. I hope this world doesn’t corrupt you.”

He swallowed hard. “I… thanks. That means a lot. You’re… you’re not what I expected either.”

She smiled faintly. “I know.”

Then she looked past him, toward the captain’s quarters, where Donghyuck had just stepped out, leaning against the post to watch them.

“I hope he gets everything he wanted,” Y/N said quietly, her voice dipping into something sadder, heavier. ��Once he finds the treasure. I really do.”

Mark followed her gaze, then gave her a soft pat on the shoulder and left her alone.

Donghyuck didn’t say anything for a moment. Just approached, hands in his pockets, watching the sky with her.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “For kidnapping you. For everything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

He gave a short laugh, dry and tired. “You’ll be free soon. And then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. But her silence was louder than any rejection.

Because neither of them looked happy about it.

Then—

“There,” she whispered, pointing to a shape in the distance. Faint, but unmistakable. An island rising out of the mist.

“That’s the one.”

Donghyuck’s breath caught.

He’d waited years for this.

But now, with her beside him, the weight in his chest was something else entirely.

He nodded once, quietly.

“Then let’s go.”

The island was quiet when they landed.

Too quiet.

Thick jungle framed the white sand beach like teeth, the air damp and heavy with the scent of moss and secrets. Birds didn't chirp. The wind didn't move.

Donghyuck stood at the head of the crew, compass in one hand, cutlass in the other. Beside him, Y/N watched the tree line with narrowed eyes, barefoot in the soft sand, her posture coiled and alert.

"This is it," she confirmed softly. "The map ends here."

The crew was already fanning out, eager and restless. The promise of gold was louder than caution.

“Spread out in twos,” Donghyuck ordered. “Follow the ravine north. Mark, stay close to me. Y/N—” He hesitated. “You lead.”

Y/N gave him a sharp glance, then nodded, stepping forward through the brush with eerie grace, tail gone, legs long and bare beneath the shirt and belts wrapped around her waist. The jungle swallowed them whole.

They walked for hours.

Past broken statues covered in vines. Cracked tiles with worn symbols. Booby traps long-dead — and some still very much alive. At one point, a pressure plate set off a spear that missed Mark’s head by inches.

“Stay sharp!” Donghyuck barked. “One wrong move and we’re all dead.”

Eventually, they reached a clearing — and the mouth of a temple.

Carved into the cliffside, ancient and crumbling, its pillars still standing, stone doors sealed shut.

It was there. It had to be.

The crew erupted into celebration — cheering, hugging, patting each other on the back.

And through it all, Y/N stood silent.

Until the noise died down and she stepped into the center of the clearing.

“This is where you should stop,” she said plainly. “You’ve made it. You can still turn back.”

The crew blinked at her.

Donghyuck frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Y/N looked around at all of them — her voice calm, but her words cutting.

“Everyone’s heard of the lost treasure of Elarion,” she said. “They know it’s real. But they never ask why it’s never been taken. Why no one’s claimed it.”

“Because they failed,” one sailor muttered.

Y/N shook her head slowly. “Because it’s cursed.”

The crew stilled.

“You’ll find it,” she said. “You’ll be happy. You’ll spend your wealth, buy ships, estates, women. You’ll drink the finest wine. Live like kings.”

“But it won’t last.”

Her eyes flicked to Donghyuck.

“Soon, you’ll feel it. That hollow pit in your chest. That ache that doesn’t go away. Because money doesn’t buy joy — and once you lose your hunger, you lose yourself. You won’t even realize it’s happening. Until one day, you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the man staring back.”

A long silence followed.

Mark looked visibly shaken.

One of the older crew members crossed himself.

Donghyuck held her gaze, jaw tight.

“That’s just a rumour,” he said finally. “A sailor’s tale. Doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Y/N shrugged, her tone almost playful now.

“Suit yourself, Captain.”

And then she turned and walked toward the temple steps.

They stood in front of the sealed temple doors, the stone surface carved with symbols older than any kingdom Donghyuck had ever plundered.

While the crew gathered torches and ropes behind them, Donghyuck stayed close to Y/N’s side, eyes flicking from the doors to her face.

“You really believe that curse story?” he asked under his breath.

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the stone like it was watching her back.

Donghyuck took a step closer. “If it were your treasure… what would you do with it?”

She glanced at him, expression unreadable. “Sirens don’t care about material things. We don’t even have a concept of wealth like you do. I am the sea. It’s always given me what I need.”

“So there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted?” he asked. “No dream? No secret longing?”

She was quiet again. Then, softly, she said:

“Maybe… companionship.”

That made him pause.

Y/N kept her gaze fixed on the temple, voice low and distant.

“It can be boring, you know. Lonely. Sirens sing for fun, for instinct. But it’s always the same ending. A man falls under, drowns, screams… dies. It’s hard to crave anything different when you’re built to destroy.”

Her eyes glinted. “But sometimes I wonder what it would be like. To swim beside someone. To talk. To not have to lie. To not be feared.”

Donghyuck stared at her, something cracking in his chest. But he didn’t push her.

Instead, he reached forward — and pressed his palm to the door.

It groaned, stone mechanisms shifting and grinding.

And slowly… it opened.

Inside the temple, it was dark and warm. The air was thick with age, and the walls were carved with puzzles, riddles, strange symbols they worked through as a team — matching constellations, avoiding collapsing tiles, dodging blades that swung from the walls like silent pendulums.

It felt like the treasure didn’t want to be found.

But they pressed on.

Y/N remained silent through most of it, her expression stoic, though her eyes scanned everything — calculating, remembering, guiding.

And finally, they reached the final chamber.

The deepest cavern. The end of the path.

They stepped inside— And found nothing.

Just stone.

Cold. Empty. Dusty.

The crew froze.

Whispers filled the space.

“That’s it?” “There’s nothing here?” “We were lied to.” “We’ve wasted years.”

Mark looked at Donghyuck, who stood stock-still, face unreadable.

Y/N stepped forward slowly. Her bare feet echoed softly as she moved into the center of the room.

And then— She began to sing.

Not loudly. Not like a weapon.

Soft. Sweet. Like the lull of the waves.

The walls began to hum. Vibrate. And then… glow.

Faint gold light bloomed from the far side of the cave, spreading like sunlight over the stone.

A murmur went through the crew — and suddenly, they ran, boots pounding, shouting in disbelief.

Donghyuck was the first to reach it.

And there it was.

Endless.

Gold stacked higher than any man. Coins, crowns, goblets, swords encrusted with jewels, chests spilling open with rubies and sapphires. Ancient weapons. Royal heirlooms. Riches long lost to legend.

He stepped into the gold, his boots sinking into coins, his breath catching.

He had found it.

The treasure he’d chased his whole life.

And yet… somewhere behind him, Y/N stood quietly at the entrance of the chamber, her face calm but her eyes distant — already knowing how this story ends.

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

The room erupted in chaos.

Shouts of joy echoed off the golden walls. Coins clattered, chests were pried open, and men fell to their knees laughing as they let gold pour through their fingers like water. They stuffed bags, hats, even their shirts, giddy and frenzied.

One man tried to climb a mountain of coins and slipped, disappearing in an avalanche of riches. Another hugged a jewel-encrusted helmet like it was a long-lost lover. It was madness. Beautiful, sparkling madness.

But Y/N was already turning around.

Her expression unreadable as she took one last look over her shoulder.

Donghyuck stood at the center of it all, surrounded by everything he had ever wanted.

And he wasn’t moving.

Just staring.

Eyes wide, chest still. Not reaching. Not touching.

Y/N lingered for a beat longer, watching him.

He looked like a man who had just realized he was standing in the middle of his dream… and feeling absolutely nothing.

Her heart twisted.

She wondered—just for a second—what it would’ve been like if he were a siren. Or if she had been born human. If they hadn’t started as enemies. If he hadn’t caged her. If she hadn’t tried to drown him with her song.

She wondered what could’ve been.

Mark caught her gaze and saw the softness in her expression before she turned sharply and began to walk away.

He made a move to speak to Donghyuck, but Y/N raised a single finger to her lips and shook her head.

Don’t tell him.

Mark froze, dazed. Unsure if she was using her voice to compel him or if he was simply caught in her gravity.

Either way, he nodded.

And let her go.

The air outside was cooler.

The ship looked just as she left it, bobbing gently in the shallow cove where they’d anchored. The jungle was still. The water was calm.

Y/N sat at the edge of the dock, legs in the water, waiting.

She didn’t look back.

Not even when the sound of someone running behind her broke through the trees.

“Y/N!”

Donghyuck’s voice cracked, desperate.

“Y/N!”

He stumbled out of the jungle, hair wild, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic as they landed on her.

He looked like he’d just fought through hell to find her.

And he had.

She turned her head slightly as he skidded to a stop beside her.

"You promised you'd take me back home," she said quietly.

Donghyuck nodded, so breathless, so relieved it almost hurt.

"I thought—I thought you left—"

“You were busy,” she said simply.

He didn’t reply. He just stared at her, then slowly dropped to his knees beside her like he still didn’t quite believe she was real.

Mark and the rest of the crew appeared behind them, dragging sacks of loot with greedy smiles and dazed expressions.

Mark approached and handed Donghyuck a bag.

“Figured you’d want something. You didn’t take anything.”

Donghyuck didn’t even look at it.

He just dropped the bag at his feet.

And kept staring at her.

The crew laughed, already talking about where they’d go next, what they’d buy, who they’d become.

But Donghyuck didn’t join them.

Because his treasure was already here.

And she was still deciding whether or not she’d let him keep it.

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

The water was calmer than it had been in weeks — still and deep, a silken blue stretching endlessly in every direction. The sun was beginning to set behind them, casting the ship and its weary crew in a molten glow.

They had arrived.

Her waters.

Home.

Y/N stood at the edge of the deck, the wind in her hair, the salt thick in her lungs. She could feel it in her bones — the ocean humming with welcome. It had missed her.

Behind her, Donghyuck stood with his arms crossed, eyes unreadable. He hadn’t said much on the journey back. Not since they left the island. Not since she chose to sit alone, staring at the sea instead of at him.

Now he came closer, steps slow, uncertain.

“This is it,” he said softly.

Y/N didn’t look at him, just nodded. “It is.”

A beat.

Then she turned.

“I hope you’re happy, Donghyuck,” she said sincerely. ���Really. You found what you were looking for. You got your gold. You completed your quest.”

He winced.

She saw it.

The way her words hit something raw.

Like they tasted bitter coming from her.

“I’m not proud of how this started,” he said. “But I am sorry. For everything.”

She nodded again, slower this time, letting the silence hang between them like mist.

Then she turned to the rest of the crew, offering them a quiet smile.

“Goodbye,” she said, and then, surprising even herself— “Thank you.”

She stepped forward and hugged Mark — arms around his shoulders, a warm squeeze. He blinked in stunned silence, then hugged her back fiercely.

The first human she had ever touched with affection.

The only one she hadn’t tried to drown.

Then she turned to Donghyuck once more.

Their eyes met.

Nothing was said.

But everything was felt.

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

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[rewiringtoheal]

My Darling, You Enchant Me

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: a little teasing and a lot of pleasing.

Words: 1,453

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, strap-on, soft smut

A/N: The first few paragraphs are from a scrapped piece but I flushed it out and made it for Natasha. Thank you for the support. You guys are awesome.

You are mesmerized by the goddess astride you. The stunning flush that painted her once creamy white skin is breathtaking. Those green eyes you adore are set ablaze as they look upon you begging for release. 

Your eyes trail down her body appreciating the long crimson hair cascading down Natasha’s left shoulder. And the soft full breasts swaying with the motion of her hips as she rides your fingers. 

Your mind is lost in a haze. All you see is her. All you feel is her. The tensing of her thighs, the rolling of her hips, and the feeling of being inside of her is enchanting. 

The walls of her core welcome you like an old friend. They stretch around your fingers with familiarity. Your hand strains as a cramp runs through your wrist but you double your efforts wanting to please her. 

“So good, baby. Don’t fucking stop.” Natasha whimpers. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love” You husk. 

You feel small hands digging into your shoulders, nails tear into your flesh, leaving crescent marks in their wake. Your free hand flutters down the smooth warm skin of her back landing on her hip trying to help stabilize her as she loses herself in you.

The rhythm you’ve had thus far is becoming erratic as Natasha starts to mindlessly hump your hand as she chases her release. Indecipherable words leave her kiss swollen mouth. You know she’s close; with practiced ease you curl your fingers into the sweet spongy spot inside of her. Your thumb slides through slick folds to stimulate her clit. It is the catalyst that pushes her over the edge.

“Fuck, Detka. So good.” Natasha cries out.

She is a sight to behold as she reaches her climax. A sheen of sweat coats her taut body, strands of her red hair are stuck to her forehead, and her eyebrows are furrowed. Full pink lips drop open with a whimper as she basks in her pleasure. 

Small trembles work their way through her body as she slumps into you. She burrows her nose into your neck and the warmth of her breath sends shivers down your spine. You kiss the side of her head, lingering there for a little while, relishing in this closeness. 

You eventually withdraw your fingers from Natasha with reluctance.  She nips at your neck in displeasure causing you to chuckle. 

“Darling, as much as I would like too. I can’t stay inside of you forever.” Fondness coats your voice as you clean your slick covered hand in the navy blue sheets of your shared bed. 

“I know but I like feeling full.” Natasha mumbles into you. 

“Oh baby, I know you do. If you want I can fill you up properly? We won’t even need any lube with how wet you still are.” 

She withdraws from your neck, with a playful smirk, and green eyes filled with mischief. “Detka, the wetness our lower halves are drowning in is as much your fault as it is mine.” That perfect eyebrow of hers lifts sassily. “Don’t even pretend you aren’t going absolutely feral at the thought of fucking me with your strap.”

 Your hands creep up Natasha’s sides, landing just below her ribs, shooting her a cocky smirk of your own. “My little spy thinks she’s so funny, doesn’t she? Mhmm. Something definitely needs to be done about all of that sass…” 

Natasha anticipates your next move but it’s too late. She's caught in your clutches. You roll her over onto her back with a burst of adrenaline and you start tickling her in earnest. The most adorable squeak leaves the redhead before transforming into giggles.

You’re smiling so hard from the sounds of her happiness. It’s a privilege to know that you are the only one who gets to experience this side of her. The playful, loving and goofy woman that most people wouldn’t believe is hidden underneath the black widow persona. Is the same woman you get to love. What a wonderful life you lead.

“Baby, please stop tickling me.” Natasha manages to get out in between giggles.

Your heart fills with undeniable affection as you look upon her. The small smile she so rarely gets to wear outside of your home is present and you adore seeing her look so content. She’s covered in sweat, sticky with your shared arousal, and yet she looks at peace. You couldn’t help but match her energy. 

Your hands slow down, tickling transforms into a gentle caress, the mood between you shifting into something more tender. “Alright, my darling. No more tickling… I think it’s time I finally fill you up. Don’t you?”

Natasha hums in agreement. Her small hands push you towards the nightstand, urgent, you know how much she loves watching you prepare. 

You wink at her cheekily, before reaching towards your nightstands drawer and grabbing your well loved leather harness. Her gaze burns into you as you clamber off the bed to buckle yourself in. 

You reach back into the nightstand drawer, grabbing Natasha’s favorite toy, and shove it through the o-ring. The thick piece of silicone stands erect between your powerful thighs. 

Natasha’s hands are on you within seconds. She’s pulling you as close to her as she can get. Grasping onto your lower back and hips like her life depends on it as you settle between her legs. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I’m gonna take good care of you.” You murmur, allowing yourself to be drawn in. You push forward slightly just enough to grind against Natasha’s clit for a minute or so; making sure that the toy is coated in her slick.

She squirms beneath you; hips rutting against you in desperate need. “Detka, please. I need you inside.” 

You can’t deny her when she asks so sweetly and in truth you want to be inside of her as much as she does. You cradle Natasha in your arms, resting your forehead against hers, loving the intimacy. Her shaky inhale caresses your lips as you slowly push the tip in.

You push forward, at a leisure pace, until you are fully buried inside of her. Nails dig into your hips encouraging you to move. Your initial thrusts are mindful, wanting Natasha to adjust to your thickness, before you set a familiar pace. 

A slow sensual grind of pelvises, as you clutch to one another. You glide your nose along Natasha’s savoring her warmth. Stopping to draw her into a deep kiss; it’s all tongue, teeth and incoordination. 

You trail kisses down her jawline, pausing to suck an irresistible  earlobe into your mouth, nipping at the soft piece of flesh. A low moan echoes from beside you. You travel down her neck, leaving a wet path of saliva and love bites in your wake.

Natasha’s thighs tighten around your hips; begging you to go faster. 

“Oh god, fuck baby filling me so good.” Natasha keened.

You grunt in agreement. The toy is rubbing against your clit in the most delicious way every time she rocks against you. 

“Shit, babe. You feel so fucking good.” You nuzzle your nose into the crook of her neck. “Taking me so well. No one can make you feel as full as I can.” You anchor your hands on Natasha’s thighs, setting a faster pace, incoherent mumbling spews from supple lips.

“So full. Fuck, Jesus christ” Natasha mewls.

The two of you are rutting against each other like wild animals as you both chase your release. You know it won’t take long for either of you to cum with the franticness of your movements. 

Every thrust into Natasha is met with resistance as her walls tighten around your strap and her thighs start to shake. 

“Come with me, baby” one of your hands trails through dripping wet red curls to rub circles around Natasha’s clit. 

She tenses up with a shout of your name, fingers dig into your shoulder blades, holding on for dear life.  As shockwaves of pleasure ripple through her body. 

You cry out, as your own orgasm overtakes you. The neglected pressure in your loins finally being taken care of.

The adrenaline seeps out of you and the only thing you’re left with is bone deep exhaustion as you collapse onto Natasha.

The two of you curl around each other, breathing heavy, but satisfied.

“Damn, we really need to shower at some point but I don’t know if I will be able to stand anytime soon.” Natasha pants.

“Fuck, I know we are so sticky but I don’t want to get up.” You whine.

She hums in agreement. Neither of you try to move. You just stay there snuggled together and joined in the most intimate way. 

[healmydesires]

hide & seek ꕤ jinu

previous parts one, two & four - but all fics can be read as standalones.

pairing: jinu x fem!angel reader

summary: What begins as playful chase evolves into something more intense and primal as Jinu hunts you through the woods.

genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end (18+ mdni)

word count: almost 3k

warnings/tags: demon x angel trope (can honestly be read as human!reader but it’s just (in my head) in the same universe as the previous jinu fics), established relationship, reader is described as shorter than jinu, soulmates. unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom jinu, sub!reader, chasing, primal play, prey/hunter role play, praise kink, dirty talk. body worship. lots of pet names. short and filthy. reader has hair, no further description though. this is not beta read sorry!

a/n: I am going insane. the Jinu brainrot is real. I always wanted to write the prey/hunter role play type of vibe… like it’s so primal ugh. obviously I had to put my own twist to it! It was cute until it wasn’t 😈 anyways I hope you enjoy!!! 🩷🥰

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

The forest was alive with the whispers of the night, the air thick with anticipation as you darted between the ancient trees, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You tried to move as quietly as possible through the dense forest. Your breath came in ragged gasps, the cool night air doing little to calm the fire burning within you.

The forest, once a peaceful sanctuary, had become a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs heightening your senses. You knew Jinu was out there, his presence a silent force drawing you in, a predator on the hunt. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that coiled tightly in your core.

Jinu had given you a two-minute head start to find your hiding place, but you’d known he would eventually find you. The anticipation was intoxicating—you both eagerly awaited it and longed not to be caught.

The longer he had to search, the better it would be for both of you.

What had started as innocent hide and seek had evolved into something far more intense. In the beginning, it had been nothing more than a playful game between you two. Every time he’d caught you, you’d want to try again and again, driven by the desire to hide better, to be more strategic, to let him search longer and more thoroughly. The forest had become your playground, every tree and shadow a potential sanctuary.

But gradually, something had shifted. The innocent giggles that had once stumbled from your lips had transformed into something more breathless and deliberate. But now, as the chase intensified, the air charged with a different kind of energy—raw, primal, and undeniably sensual. What had begun as childish fun had morphed into an exquisite game of cat and mouse, where the stakes felt infinitely higher.

There had been something intoxicating about knowing he was out there, hunting for you. About understanding that when he finally found you—and he always did—he would make you scream. The knowledge that he was tracking your every movement, following your scent, listening for the slightest sound you might make, had sent thrills racing through your veins.

You heard the sound of footsteps drawing nearer and had tensed, pressing yourself deeper into your hiding spot behind the ancient weeping willow. The tree seemed to envelop you, its branches reaching out as if to protect you from Jinu closing in. Its long, silvery green leaves had cascaded around you like a natural curtain, creating some sort of cocoon around you. The bark had been rough against your back as you'd held your breath, willing yourself to become one with the tree.

Through the gossamer veil of leaves, you’d caught glimpses of a shadow moving through the forest with predatory grace. Each step had been deliberate, calculated—he'd been savoring the hunt as much as you'd been savoring the anticipation of being found.

“Come on out, sweetheart. You know you can’t hide from me forever,”Jinu had called out, his voice carrying through the trees like velvet wrapped around steel.

You’d held your breath, every muscle in your body freezing completely as he moved around the area. Your heart hammered so violently you’d been certain he could hear it echoing through the forest. The seconds had stretched into eternity as you’d waited, pressed against the rough bark, praying the willow’s curtain would keep your hiding place a secret.

To your surprise, he hadn’t looked between the cascading leaves. Perhaps he’d been too focused on the deeper shadows, or maybe he’d been playing with you, prolonging the chase. You’d waited until you’d heard his footsteps retreating further into the forest before daring to emerge from your sanctuary.

Moving like a ghost, you’d slipped from your hiding place with the fluid grace of a startled deer. Carefully parting the willow’s curtain, you peered through the gap, scanning the forest for any sign of his tall frame. When you’d spotted him disappearing deeper into the woods, you’d seized your chance and taken off toward the waterfall at the forest’s heart.

You tried to run in a straight line as well as possible, your feet finding purchase on the soft earth as you navigated around branches and low bushes that threatened to snag and reveal your whereabouts. Every step had been calculated—swift but silent, desperate but controlled. He’d been close, too close, and you’d needed to create distance as quickly as possible without giving away your position.

As you raced through the dappled moonlight filtering through the canopy, your pulse pounded in your ears, nearly drowning out the distant sound of rushing water. The waterfall couldn’t be far now—it would provide the perfect place to catch your breath and plan your next move.

“Do you want to keep running, little kitten?” The words had drifted through the forest like smoke, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. You’d spun in all directions, your eyes straining against the dim light filtering through the canopy above. Your heart had skipped as you searched frantically for his silhouette among the shadows, but the forest had offered no answers.

By the time you’d reached the crystalline pond surrounding the waterfall, your pulse had been thundering in your ears. You removed your shoes hastily, the cool grass beneath your feet a stark contrast to the heat racing through your veins. You glanced back toward the forest repeatedly, you began to lift your dress over your head when you heard it—your name, called out in Jinu’s distinctive voice.

He was still hidden somewhere in the forest, but the sound had been significantly closer than before. Much closer. The realisation had sent a delicious shiver of anticipation down your spine as you’d realised your time was running out.

Panic and excitement had warred within you as you quickly gathered your clothes, clutching them against your chest before slipping into the cool water. The pond had been deeper than expected, the water reaching your waist as you waded toward the thundering cascade. You swam toward the waterfall with desperate determination, the cool water a shock against your heated skin, before disappearing behind the curtain of rushing water.

It had been then that you’d discovered the hidden sanctuary—a small cave carved into the rock face behind the waterfall, accessible only through a narrow gap between moss-covered stones. The space had been intimate, barely large enough for two people, but it had felt like a secret world hidden from view.

“You’re getting sloppy, angel. You left your shoes here,” Jinu had called out, his voice cutting through the sound of cascading water as you’d heard him step into the pond. “It’s like you want me to find you,” he taunted, amusement threading through his tone.

You hadn’t dared to reply, focusing instead on keeping your breathing as even as possible despite the way your heart had been racing. You clutched your clothes tighter, the fabric damp against your skin, and held your breath as you heard him enter the pond. Through a gap in the rocks, you watched him wade into the water, his movements fluid and purposeful as he removed his shoes and shirt, revealing the lean muscle of his torso. He’s been searching methodically, looking for any trace of your presence, any clue that might lead him to you.

The sound of his movements was a symphony of splashes and murmurs, each step bringing him closer to your hiding place. You felt a flush of heat despite the coolness of the cave, your body betraying your fear with a tremor of desire.

When he’d been perhaps three meters away from your hiding spot, you’d carefully selected a small stone from the cave floor and thrown it toward the opposite side of the pond. The splash had been subtle but effective—you’d watched him investigate the disturbance, giving you precious moments to retreat deeper into the cave’s shadowy recesses.

You pressed your back against the cold rock, your heart hammering in your chest, your senses heightened to every sound, every ripple in the water. The cave felt smaller now, the walls closing in as the tension between you and Jinu thickened.

But then silence had fallen, and your heart had plummeted. The absence of sound had been more terrifying than any noise. Where was he? The thought that he might have somehow moved without detection, that he could appear anywhere at any moment, had made your pulse spike with equal parts fear and anticipation.

You’d risked peering around the rocky corner, scanning the water-distorted view of the pond, but you’d seen nothing. No sign of him at all.

That was when it happened. A strong hand had clamped down over your mouth at the exact moment his voice had whispered against your ear, a warm breath sending shivers down your spine: “Nice try.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he pressed a kiss to the dampened skin, his lips lingering there as if savoring the moment.

You bit your lip, fighting down the sounds threatening to slip out. Jinu grinned, sensing them, and he kissed your throat again. You could feel his teeth as he smiled, slightly sharp at the canines, and achingly gentle as they scraped against your skin.

You began to squirm against his grip, your body moving in practiced resistance as his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, lifting you effortlessly from the rocky cave floor. But you hadn’t used even half of your true strength to fight him—this dance between you had been choreographed through countless encounters. You wanted to provoke him, to stoke the fire in his eyes, but never to risk truly hurting either of you.

Your struggles had been calculated, designed to heighten the tension rather than create genuine escape. Each twist of your body against his had been deliberate, a wordless communication that spoke of defiance and surrender in equal measure. The game had reached its inevitable conclusion, but the real prize had always been this moment: getting caught, claimed, and completely at his mercy in the hidden sanctuary behind the waterfall.

Jinu’s hands came to trace your skin. His touch was reverent, yet possessive, as if he needed to remind himself of every curve, every dip, every inch of skin that belonged to him.

“This pussy is mine now, kitten,” he growled out, roughly forcing you over the edge of the rocks and pinning your hands against the surface before you.

A rough slap landed on your ass, causing you to freeze long enough for Jinu to trail his fingers along your cunt.

“You’re all naked for me, and you’re soaking wet, yet you’re trying so hard to get away from me,” he teased before his touch was gone and you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled. “Now, you’re going to take my cock like a good girl since you made me chase you all over this godforsaken forest and lay you over these rocks, understood?”

You bit your lip to hide a smile and tried squirming under him again, only to be met with two more quick slaps to your ass that caused you to whimper. As soon as your motions faltered, he lifted one of your legs and placed it over the edge of the rock, then pushed inside you in one quick motion.

“Jinu, f-fuck!” You yelped and whimpered out all at once, eyes watering at the stretch. The stretch burned, but you were wet enough just from the chase that it didn’t truly hurt.

Jinu gave you a couple of moments to adjust before he was pounding into you with abandon. He kept a tight grip on your wrists that were still locked in his hands and a grip on your thigh that was over the edge of the rock, using them to keep you in place. With a slight change of the angle of his hips, you were moaning loudly underneath him and he was chuckling above you.

“Good girl,” he praised breathlessly, “you’re taking me so well… as if your pussy was meant for my cock.”

You clenched around him at the praise and felt his hand move from your thigh and his fingers found your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts and causing your moans to turn to desperate whimpers.

His pace was ruthless, but oh so good. The head of his cock found your spot after a few pumps, and your answering scream told him exactly where to hit. He then began slamming into the soft spot without mercy.

He wanted to carry you back to the little house you rented in the woods that night, to see you limp and twitching in his arms and unable to walk.

You screamed again as he slid particularly deep, your head lolling forward in ecstasy.

“You ran and hid so well for what? I can feel the way you already want to cum around me,” he taunted, causing a small bit of embarrassment to fill you at just how quickly he had managed to get you to the edge already.

His hips were heavy every time he thrust inside you, pounding against your ass intensely. Bliss clouded your mind as he pounded you through the numbing pleasure, bringing you to the edge of climax in minutes.

“Please, Jinu, can I cum?” You begged. The coil in the pit of your stomach grew tighter, warmer and you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold off much longer.

“Of course my angel,” he said easily, “but I’m not stopping until I have my fill, too, princess.” As if to punctuate his point, the speed of his thrusts picked up and he made sure to hit that spot inside you every time.

You gave in to the pleasure, knowing he was going to keep going but not being able to hold yourself back. Your eyes rolled back, your world dissolving into pure ecstasy. You trembled, your body shaking uncontrollably as you came, your walls clenching around him in waves of pleasure.

Your nails dug into the rocks, scratching them, and the only thing that fell from your lips was a symphony of your whimpers and his name.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your ear.

With your orgasm taken care of, Jinu began focusing on his own pleasure, letting his thrusts become reckless and sloppy as he chased his own high.

Your whimpers, moans, and the way you said his name at the onslaught of pleasure only spurred him on and it was moments later that you could feel his release spilling inside of you.

He dropped his hold on your hands and both of his came to either side of you while his head dropped to the center of your back. You could feel his heavy breaths trail down your back and a slow trail of kisses going down your spine.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he teased, his fingers idly stroking your thigh. “That little rock trick almost had me fooled.” He complimented with a slight chuckle, pulling you into his arms bridal style.

You chuckled, a light, airy sound that danced on the edge of your lips. “Almost,” you emphasized, your tone dripping with faux innocence. “But you always catch me in the end.”

He pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips lingering there as if to claim you once more. “That’s because you’re mine to catch,” he whispered against your ear.

“Next time, don’t turn your back to me.”

“I can’t wait. Next time I won’t go easy on you.” you promised with a timid giggle as you rested your head on his chest.

He chuckled before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Then, with infinite care, he carried you both back toward the moonlit pond, the silver light dancing across the water’s surface like scattered diamonds. The night air had been crisp against your skin as you’d emerged from behind the waterfall’s curtain, but his warmth had enveloped you completely. Together, you slipped into the cool water for a midnight swim, the chase forgotten in favor of gentle splashes and quiet laughter that had echoed softly through the forest.

thank you for reading <3

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐀 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓・l.f.

🔪 — You can't fall in love with him, he can't fall in love with you—that would be apocalypse.

LEE FELIX is your new bodyguard, and you hate his guts. Growing up the Mafia's princess, daughter of the most ruthless mob boss in the world, you learned at a young age—all humans are expendable. Now you're 5,956 miles from home, landing in Seoul South Korea with your infuriatingly perfect bodyguard on a very important mission—figure out how your father's henchmen are going missing. Nothing makes sense. Who is making so many ruthless criminals disappear? The more you and Felix dig into the past, the more you seem to expose. There’s so many gaps in the story, dark secrets to be uncovered, and betrayals to lament. Nothing is as it seems when you’re chasing a ghost. Will you be able to keep it together, seeing felix every day for the next year? There's so much that could go wrong.

♟️ — paring・felix x reader // genres・mafia!au, bodyguard!au, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, humor, slow burn, found family, mystery!au, hurt and comfort, smut…maybe // words・6.4k // chapter warnings・ fights, blood, knives, alcohol, mentions of death, crime and people going missing, uhhh cursing, i think that's it!

a/n・yayyy guys we finally did it!! the first chapter of my long awaited bodyguard!felix fic is finally here!! I struggled so much trying to write this fic. I certainly couldn't have done it without the lovely @jeonginsleftcheek who was my biggest supporter from the very beginning and all the way through when I had a mental breakdown, an existential crisis, a small writing hiatus, changed the plot, then changed it back, then changed it again, and changed it again but she helped me through it all. I truly cannot thank you enough for all your help. I hope I did it justice. (ozzy i am so sorry ik you've already read this a/n a million times but i really do love you and i appreciate you sooo much!!) p.s another super big thank you to my lovely editor and best friend @petvlss there would be so many comma splices without her.

“𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲.”

—Sade Andria Zabala.

The dream always begins the same.

You're switching between attendees, twirling into suited men's arms, only to be handed off to elegantly dressed women, the length of their sparkly gowns catching on glassy heels. The opulent ballroom, with its vaulted fresco ceilings and marbled floors, sparkles beneath the light of diamond chandeliers dangling above your tilted head.

Without fail, you trip into a large man's chest, his gloved hand clasping your waist right before you fall. You only see half of his dazzling smile before the world transforms, a thousand stars bursting in your vision as he dips you down, holding you closely, carefully as though your skin were made of precious jewels. It is through the gentleness of a faceless man's fingers that you realize you haven't once, throughout the entire night, cracked a grin.

Cue the indicative signs: an explosive warmth blossoming in your chest, a blinding smile stretching across your lips, and suddenly, with debilitating intensity, a feeling like you are, for once, truly free.

You never get a chance to fully discern your feelings, not before the floor trembles, the dancers dissolving into darkness. The shadows circle around your ankles, gnarled faces clawing their way up your calves—terror coils underneath your ribs, pulling you apart from the inside out.

Hopelessly, desperately, you search for the man's solace, fingers tugging at the sleeves around his shoulders, and somehow, in the chaos of your actions, you find yourself settling the pad of your thumb just under his jawline. He doesn't pull away, God, you wish he did—the shadows don't give you enough time to process the consequences of your actions before they go for his throat instead.

They snare him by the jugular, wrenching him out of your grasp, slamming his back into the wall hard enough to make him crumple. The darkness blankets his limp figure, falling over his shattered spine.

Anguish tears through your chest, ripping out of your throat in the form of a guttural scream. You try to chase him—you always do, you never learn—you don't get two steps forward before the cherub fresco drips off the ceiling, reverting back to its original form.

Blood.

Angels weep crimson tears; deep red rivulets that crystallize into claws over fractured ceilings. You should have known your freedom was ill-fated from the beginning—thick, heavy blood slithers down your throat, coating the pads of your fingertips with the manifestation of a curse.

You never feel it. The sickening crack of your heart tearing from your ribs, struck straight through a fresco's crimson claw. They assure that the next time you look at the man, it will be your last.

So you remain, paralyzed in clouds of umbra, until you gather enough strength to lift your neck. Until your eyes find his crumpled body, overturned and limp.

Who is he? You're left to wonder. Why can I never see his face?

You never find the rest of the man's face. 

It is far too covered in your blood.

“Aim for the jaw!” A voice calls out from outside the ring, though it’s echoed in the dark, empty room.

A fist flies past your face. You dodge it, swiveling on a heel and kicking your opponent straight in the jaw.

He stumbles, slamming against the ground with a sickening crack, blood trickling from his lips. Yeah, he was definitely down for the count.

You hang off the ring ropes, a single brow lifted. “You done?”

He narrows his eyes, red painting his scowl. “What the fuck do you think?”

You let out a chuckle, tossing him a towel, which only deepens both your laugh and his scowl when it smacks him straight in the face. He spits into the fabric. “You didn’t have to kick me that hard.”

“You’re right, I didn’t—” you slip from the boxing ring before squirting some water in your mouth. You wipe off the excess, a shit-eating grin on your lips when you wink, “—But where’s the fun in that?”

He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch up—just slightly.

You’ve worked with him for three days short of two months, and in this time, you’ve gathered more than enough information on him. He’s practically harmless, figuring he’s a simple drug runner, and as a testament to his loyalty under your father, offered to aid in your training. He’s twenty-five, no kids or wife, with a strong jaw and cropped black hair. He has surprisingly strong punches, and his name is Alejandro Gomez, though he doesn’t know you’ve figured that out.

It’s a gift to know somebody's name. It’s a sign of trust, of loyalty, an unsaid promise that, if things go south, I won’t snitch.

Names are also a means for leverage.

You still don’t know your father's real name.

You’re in the middle of going over your performance with your instructor, Ji-yoo, when suddenly someone taps you on the shoulder and whispers something into your ear. “You’re needed in the study.”

Diego, you’ve grown familiar with his voice. He’s been your father’s bodyguard for years. He straightens, folding his hands behind his back and settling them atop his thick utility belt, his gaze set forward. You look up, brows furrowed. He gives you a small, clueless shrug.

“Right,” you mutter, annoyed, gathering your belongings and bidding your tutor a final goodbye. Diego doesn’t ever know anything; he simply does what he’s told. He opens the door for you and escorts you all the way to your father’s study.

“Come in,” A voice commands, following the rap of the bodyguards' knuckles. The sun breaks through a large skylight above him, casting a youthful glow across his otherwise opaque expression, hands folded atop his desk. He didn’t seem agitated, and you’ve been following orders, so you’re drawing a blank for what this meeting could be about. Diego pulls the double doors shut, taking his post outside.

It wasn’t often that he met with you, and you understood why; he’s a busy man, business and whatnot. Sure, he didn’t always have time for things like family dinners. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. He did, contrary to popular belief. He protected you, providing you with as many tutors and Jiu Jitsu instructors as you needed. It was hard—hours and hours of constant training, but if that’s what it took to survive a world this dangerous, this cruel, then you were lucky to have a father like him watching over you. 

“You needed me?”

“Sit down, Mija,” He doesn’t betray anything in his calm, leveled tone, extending a hand out to the velvet chair in front of him. You obey. Mija—a Spanish term of endearment meaning “my daughter”—reveals both his thick accent and Mexican heritage. He’s been calling you that for as long as you can remember.

“I’m not going to be here forever, you know.” That catches you off guard, “And one day, you’re going to need to take over my empire.”

You squirm, whispering, “I know.”

“You’ve proven yourself more than capable over these past few years.” His lips twitch, almost imperceptibly, but you notice it. It’s such a rare sight, it makes pride firework in your chest. “I’m proud of you.”

A smile threatens to split your face in two, but you bite it back, opting for a curt nod. “I appreciate it.

He doesn’t respond; instead, he places a single hand on your shoulder. The air shifts, something catching behind his eyes, a bit hesitant, but still deliberate when he finally says, “You deserve a more significant role, I’ve seen everything you can do, everything you’ve achieved.” This time it’s impossible to keep the grin off your cheeks, that is, until he finishes, “That’s why I’ve decided to send you to Korea.”

All good, fuzzy feelings screech to a deafening halt.

“Korea?” Suddenly, it feels like somebody's tossed you into the ice-cold Atlantic, duct-taped and wriggling.

A pause, and then he’s retracting his hand, giving a quick, dismissive wave. “We’ve run into some issues in Seoul. A loose end, if you will. It’s nothing we can’t handle, of course, but it’s never a loss to be cautious. It’s going to be an easy fix, I’m sure.”

“A fix? What am I fixing?” That makes him laugh, dark and humorless.

“You won’t be fixing anything. You will be finding the loose end, whoever that may be, and well, I’ll deal with all the rest.” There’s something sinister with the way he says that, a tone that sits in the pit of your gut like rotten milk. You know exactly what he does to loose ends.

“I need eyes on the inside, somebody smart, loyal, somebody I can trust. That somebody is you, Mija. It’s always been you.” It’s the first time since you’ve seen him that you aren’t looking into his eyes, chewing on your bottom lip. You shouldn’t be this unsure. It was all wrong; he is right. You were loyal. You deserved this role.

Then, why were you hesitating?

Something in your expression must betray your inner conflict because he’s cocking his head and purring, “What, do you not think you can handle it?”

You stay silent.

He sighs, giving a curt, disappointed shake of his head. “I thought you were ready, but if you don’t think you can handle it—”

“No!” You blurt out before those pesky thoughts can stop you. “No, you’re right. I’m ready, I can handle it.”

He nods, something flickering in his eyes. “I’ve already arranged everything. It won’t be a safe mission, but with Felix, you will be.”

Felix? He doesn’t give you enough time to wonder. He leans forward, pressing the sleek intercom button, “Diego, let Felix in.”

The double doors part, and a large black boot plants itself on the ground. A second later, the single most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life glides into the room, and your lips part.

He’s not the biggest man you’ve seen, but he makes up for that with muscle, packed underneath that tight, black uniform. He appears young, with delicate, pink lips and golden hair that falls just above his shoulders, slicked back with a few strands hanging over his forehead. A swarm of butterflies erupts in your stomach, much to your demise.

It doesn’t click quite yet, the role Felix plays, because all you can imagine is how nice it’s going to be sleeping next to him. And then, “Y/N, meet Felix—your new bodyguard.”

The butterflies die, burn, and drop into the pit of your stomach in a messy, blood-stained soup. You stiffen, out of all the recent revelations, this one makes you feel like you were going to die.

“Hello,” he says, respectfully bowing his head in greeting. He startles you with his deep voice, warm and accented. ”It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He smiles, soft and disarming in its kindness, for a second, you’re more terrified than anything, not of him, but for him. As quickly as it came, you stuff it deep inside of you, replacing it with a cold indifference. “You really think this is necessary? I mean, I haven’t had one of those since…” You can’t bear to say it, the mere memory makes a thick lump form in your throat.

He sighs, extending an arm out and grabbing a bottle of whiskey from his shelf, a cherry, and a cup. His lips form a hard line, voice lowering. “If you don’t make the same mistakes, you don’t have anything to worry about.” He lifts a sharp, polished blade from his pocket, gaze never wavering as he slices into the fruit. It bleeds into the crystal glass, red liquid staining his tanned fingers. “This time will be different. Correct?”

Slowly, the juice drips across the blade until it reaches the hilt. You swallow, breath slowing to a stop. He’s right—

You won’t make the same mistake again.

You meet his gaze, jaw tight. “Yes, sir.”

He seems pleased by that answer.

“You will be briefed on the plane,” your father says, tipping the liquid into his mouth. “For now, rest. I will send you a car tomorrow morning at eight. Felix, make sure she is ready by then.”

“You will be briefed on the plane,” your father says, reaching behind him and grabbing a bottle of whiskey. He pours it into a crystal glass, tipping it into his mouth. “For now, rest. I will send you a car tomorrow morning at ten. Felix, make sure she is ready by then.”

Felix gives him a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

You’re scooting back before a cold, wet blade lands against your jaw. It smells like whiskey and blood. His voice drops to a whisper, shifting until it’s only you and him in the room.

“We’re family, Mija.” He tilts your chin up, and for a second, it feels like you’re looking at yourself. “There’s not a love stronger than that, and right now your family needs you. You wouldn’t wanna mess that up, would you?”

The mere idea makes goosebumps prickle up your arms. “No, of course not.”

He smiles, and for once, it actually reaches his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

Felix doesn’t dare look at you as you walk through the doors, sealing your fate.

You are so fucked.

“You’re not sleeping on the bed,” is the first thing you say when you walk into your bedroom, swiveling around.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” For whatever reason, you expected him to pick some kind of fight, comment on your pettiness, send you an eye-roll—something. But no, he’s utterly indifferent, leaning against the edge of your dresser and pulling off his velcroed gloves with a satisfying rip. Frustration bites underneath your eyelids.

You could really use a drink right now.

At that, you shoo him away from your dresser—also a secret mini bar—earning you a confused side-eye, before moving out of the way. You pull open a drawer, coming face-to-face with rows of glistening alcohol bottles. Felix sends you a mildly horrified look. “Are you of legal age to be drinking—”

“Are you of legal age to be working?” You smile, popping the lid off a whiskey bottle and drowning two shots’ worth of liquor down your throat.

“Hilarious.” He deadpans.

A cocky tilt of your head. “Most people think so.”

Silence.

With a small sigh, you collapse onto the bed, thick sheets ruffling underneath you as you take this valuable time and observe your new bodyguard. His gaze clouds as you take another sip of whiskey, a small divot forming in his forehead as momentarily, his movements stutter. He doesn’t seem to be a terrible person, per se. But that didn’t matter; the tension still clamped around your ribs all the same.

After a few more minutes of mindless studying, the alcohol finally hits your system, muscles loosening and anxiety floating up from your lopsided grin. This is the part you loved the most about being drunk, getting tipsy.

Felix must have noticed your drunken smile because no sooner do you express joy is he extending out a hand and crushing it. “I think that’s enough.”

“The blankets are in the hall closet. You can have this—” you ignore him, turning around to snatch a pillow from your bed and catapult it at his face. He catches it with a tick in his jaw and a single raised brow. That is a lot hotter than you are willing to admit. With a flustered cough, you continue. “Make your bed wherever, I don’t really care. I’m going to bed.” You punctuate your sentence with a final swig, but Felix gently wraps his fingers around your jaw, lifting your chin before the lips can touch the rim.

“I think that’s enough.” He repeats in that wicked deep voice of his, a flicker of warning in his gaze. Your heart does an elaborate salsa dance all the way to your throat. Oh, you were far too drunk for this.

You shakily hand the bottle to him.

With that, he smiles, dropping your face and locking up the bottle before turning back to you, innocently asking, “Where’d you say the blankets were, again?”

Your heart still hasn’t finished its lessons in salsa when you breathe, “In the closet.”

He nods before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. You fall back against your mattress with a heavy, heavy breath. Was this what it was going to be like for the rest of your time together? Him demanding things from you in that sick, twisted voice of his. It’s unfair! He sounds like panties dropping! You literally can’t do this. Nope. Nada. Not happening. If he was going to order you around like you weren’t a full grown adult then he could at least be considerate and not sound like a bad (good) porno!! All that anxiety and pent-up energy comes out in the form of a frustrated cry, turning into your pillow and pummeling your fists into it like the mature adult you were.

Felix comes back in mid-throw, which, with your super-amazing reflexes, you still immediately, clearing your throat and taking said pillow in your hands to pretend to fluff it out.

He stops mid-step, letting out an amused laugh before tossing his blankets onto the ground. “Do I wanna know?”

Your cheeks flush dark red. “Do you wanna sleep in the hallway?”

He lifts his hands in a playful, placating stance before continuing to set up his makeshift bed. When he’s finished, you’ve already settled in, covers thrown over your shoulders. Bedsheets rustle as he turns, politely tapping your mattress. With an annoyed huff, you mutter, “What?”

It takes him a beat to respond. Though when he does, his soft, kind voice disarms you. “Goodnight.”

You don’t have it in you to respond.

The dream always begins the same.

It always ends the same, too.

Blood.

You awaken with a shout, jerking off your sweat-soaked mattress to grasp at your intact T-shirt. It’s only then, when you take a deep breath with your full, working lungs, that your heart takes the hint.

You’re alive.

The dull sound of a body shifting makes your nerves fire all over again, spine stiffening as you swivel around on your mattress in search of the sound. Blonde.

Felix.

He’s sleeping, lashes splayed across pale cheeks in such a way that he almost appears ethereal. Delicate. Mortal.

That’s when you’re hit with cold, sharp reality—a feeling that coils around you and pierces that sensitive spot inside your chest, forever bruised by your own consequences.

You can’t be here right now.

It hasn’t been more than four hours, so naturally, you’re still drunk. Vision swaying as you swing your legs off the bed and tiptoe out of the room, peeking back to find a still, hopefully sleeping, Felix.

Thankfully, the more you awaken, the more bubbly you feel, slipping back into the carefree, tipsy version of yourself. The house is silent and dark, hallways solely illuminated by dim, gilded lamps. They provide drops of light, sneaking further and further down the large, spiral staircase.

You have a single foot on the stairs when suddenly, a deep, raspy voice appears from thin air, startling you straight out of your skin. “Late night snack?”

You let out a high-pitched yelp, swiveling around to throat punch the intruder. Though you weren’t going far because the quick movement is enough to make you dizzy. Warm hands clasp over your shoulders, steadying you before you nosedive down the stairs.

That’s when you see him—those bright, innocent eyes and golden hair that seems to glow in the moonlight. For a second, you’re under a spell. He’s like really pretty.

Then you remember who he is.

“Your dad doesn’t like it when you’re out past 10.” He glances at his watch. “It’s 1:44 a.m.”

Good feelings gone.

“Are you just everywhere?” You grumble, fighting the slur that tangles on your tongue.

“Please, come back to bed. You’re going to be tired in the morning.” Felix says, restrained frustration stretching his voice thin.

Should you listen to him? Yeah, probably. Were you going to? Hell no.

So, like the mature adult you are, you stomp down the hallway in your fuzzy, pink, Hello-Kitty slippers.

Felix doesn’t bother trying to stop you, his sharp eyes trailing you as you continue this petulant temper tantrum. “Where are you going?”

Emotion wells up in your throat when you notice the exhaustion rasping his voice. For a split second, your movements stutter. This is ridiculous, you were fully aware of that, but you’re too stubborn to quit now. If he’s going to accompany you for the next…forever, he’s going to get the whole Y/N L/N package. Maybe, then it’ll all click.

He doesn’t belong here.

You’re stumbling nowhere, you can’t run away from him anyway, figuratively and literally. The turn you took leads to a dead end. You still walk anyway. “Not to Korea with you, that’s for sure!”

“Oh, what is your problem??” He retorts through gritted teeth, his exasperation only growing when you turn around and stick your tongue out. He sucks on his teeth, his own tongue pressed into his cheek. “Y’know what—”

It takes him three strides to catch up with you, two hands clasping over your hips, and a single movement for the carpet to be on the ceiling. You cry out, his shoulder digging into your stomach as he wraps his forearm around the backs of your knees. He can’t be serious. How dare he, manhandling you like this! You were ready to go full Jiu Jitsu on his ass, that is until something much more enticing catches your attention. His actual ass.

The realization dawns on you with a hiccup.

“Y’know I can’t be too mad at’cha, man, I do have an excellent view from down here.” The liquor must have rushed to your head because you feel a dire need to make Felix aware of his fabulous buttocks. Drunken giggles bubble up from your lips as you take in his ass in all its plump, round goodness. “Hey Felix, has anybody ever told you, you have a great butt?” You land a firm smack against it.

His back grows rigid, muscles rippling under your touch before he awkwardly clears his throat and pushes the bedroom door open.

“Okay, down you go.” His voice is tight, matching his movements as he cradles the back of your head and lays you on the mattress.

You expect him to respond with an irritated glare and a snide comment, but he doesn’t say anything; in fact, he doesn’t look at you at all. The darkness shadows his face, but when he steps into the moonlight, you see it. The red creeping across his cheeks.

You can’t stop the laughter that bursts from your throat. It’s not actually that funny, but right now, with how drunk you are—it’s the funniest shit you’ve ever witnessed. Felix’s face is painted in horror.

He’s blushing harder now, cherry creeping up his neck and staining the tips of his ears. “What? What’s so funny?!”

You’re writhing on the sheets, clutching your stomach as you gasp for breath. “Y-Your face is soooo red!”

Your comment does nothing to help his embarrassment.

His expression does nothing to help your laughter.

“Go to bed.” He demands, begrudgingly ducking into the makeshift ground-bed and throwing the covers over his face.

“I am going to have so much fun with you.” You giggle, tapping the crown of his covered head.

“Goodnight.” He huffs, defeated and muffled underneath the sheets. He hasn’t even been here a day and he’s already done with you.

You let out one final snicker before drifting back to sleep.

Santiago Reyes.

He’s the string that unraveled it all.

Who pulled it? That’s what’s important here.

You still haven’t figured it out.

Now, you’re down twelve hours on a private jet, six coffees, three grueling conversations with Felix—one of those being when he woke you up late, on purpose. That little prick. You’re still not over that. Two hangover-proof Tylonals, and one impending conversation with Minho.

Which brings you here, drowning in the sound of a ringing phone, impatiently waiting for him to answer.

Minho is your father's assistant…kind of. He’s pretty much a built in archivist, hacker, account, therapist, handyman and soon-to-be drinking buddy. If he would actually take up your offer. But alas, he likes the prospect of rotting away in a basement better than taking shots with you.

He’s probably got the right idea, but still. Ouch.

The phone picks up.

You let an audible, revealed sigh. “Oh, just the man—”

Minho blurts, “Yes, sir, she’s on the line.” before you can finish, a panicked tilt in his voice. Which is his way of saying “please, for the love of everything holy, don’t get me fired.”

“Y/N, are you there?” Your brows touch your hairline when you hear your father's voice filt through the speaker. You’ve spoken more to your father in the past 36 hours than you have in the past 36 days. Most conversations were translated through Minho, not with Minho. So, in conclusion, this is a trip.

“Yes…I’m here?”

“Good. Have you looked through the files yet?” He’s wasting no time, you see.

It takes a solid ten seconds to slam back down to earth, tongue dry and heavy as you blurt, “Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’ve looked through them! Um, gotten to all of them…specifically the Santiago file. That one has caught most of my interest.”

Minho speaks up, talking like the walking Wikipedia page he is: “Santiago Reyes, age 34 was the first to go missing, he disappeared June 14th 2020. He was last seen fleeing your hotel in California—Thanatos Tower. He both lived and operated there, often holding extravagant business parties there. The hotel was raided by the FBI 8 hours later.”

That catches you by surprise. The file never said anything about FBI. “The FBI raided one of our hotels? How did that happen?”

Your father's wrath is ill contained when he mutters, “That’s a good question. Thankfully, they didn’t find anything important. If they did we would’ve been rotting in prison years ago.”

Felix perks up, lifting his nose from his book and not-so-subtly eavesdrops.

“If everything started in LA, why are you sending me to Korea?” You ask softly, mindlessly flipping through the files again.

“Are you sure you read the files yet?” Your father scoffs, diminishingly.

Thankfully, he can’t see you because the way your cheeks turn bright red is downright pathetic. “Yeah, of course I did…I was just confused…sorry.”

Minho, being the God-send he is, quickly interjects. “Santiago is important, yes. But, most, or well, I should say, all, the other members were busted in Korea. Hence you being sent to Korea and not LA. I don’t believe these two cases are connected.”

“It wasn’t in his file, but I’m going to assume Santiago got busted as well.”

There’s silence on the other end. It stretches suspiciously long.

“Santiago is MIA.” Minho finally breaks the silence.

Felix makes a face. You glare at him. His eyes go wide, and he ducks back behind his book.

“Santiago is MIA? His home was raided by the FBI, but we don’t know where he is?”

More silence.

“Well…we have a theory...” Minho states awkwardly.

“Minho has a theory.” Your father interrupts.

“I think he’s dead.” Minho corrects, clearly trying to control his temper.

“I think he’s in prison. A secure facility, and due to the nature of his crimes and ties to the Mafia, his records are confidential. The other seventeen missing people were found in prison.” A clink is heard on the other end. Your father was definitely making himself a drink.

Wait. Eighteen.

You stack the manila folders up, counting and recounting before hesitantly saying, “I only have seven folders here.”

Felix, sitting across from you, tosses you a folder that magically fell into his lap. “Eight.” He whispers, looking guilty as hell.

You send him a deadly glare. “Eight.”

“Minho was only able to recover eight files before the KNPA found his leak; thankfully, he was able to erase his tracks before they could trace him.”

“So, we’re missing like half of the files?” You sigh, defeated and annoyed.

Minho grunts from the other end. “It’s better than nothing.”

“The rest, they’re just guessing games? How do you even know that—”

“Mija.” Your father's assertive tone seals your lips shut and forces you back on track.

“Here, it says: video evidence.” They can’t see you, but you still point at the file with your pen anyway. “What video evidence?”

“See, this is where it starts to get messy—” Minho starts.

“Like it wasn’t already messy.” You mutter under your breath. Felix breathes out a quiet laugh.

“All eighteen people are currently being held with video evidence. Though it never actually says what kind of video that is.”

“There’s nothing useful in these files. It’s just a whole bunch of basic information and vague terms.” You mutter frustrated, slamming the folders back onto the table. “We’re chasing a damn ghost.”

“That’s where I want you to start.” Your father speaks up, “Look into the evidence, see what they have against us. Once we know what they’ve got, we’ll know who gave it to them. I’ll be in touch.” Only you can hear the silent goodbye. “Minho, finish this off.” The line drops.

You both let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

It’s easy to talk to Minho, but around your father, it’s like doing ballet around broken glass.

You don’t waste any time, bidding your goodbyes and hanging up the call. Your plan was to open your computer and spend the next two hours digging into the evidence before landing. But you didn’t even get to your private server before the sound of Felix’s raspy voice interrupts you mid-click. He sinks into the seat beside you, now holding a mug of fresh coffee. “Y’know, I never caught your name.”

His statement sends ice-cold annoyance rushing through your body. Your shoulders stiffen. “Good.”

He stills mid-sip of his coffee, and you can already imagine the divit forming in his brow. “You don’t…want me to know your name?”

“You don’t need to know it.” You mutter bitterly, hoping he’ll finally take the hint, but no, of course he doesn’t.

His eyes burn into the side of your head. “What do you want me to call you then?”

Your voice is flat. “I’d rather you don’t talk to me at all.”

There’s a pause. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he lets out a loud, exasperated snort, setting his cup into the holder and leaning back. His thighs spread apart, wide.

“Alright, princess.” The word slides off his tongue so easily, his voice dipping sinfully deep. Your brain quite literally buffers. Your fingers slip on the keyboard, and the computer flashes before darkening.

Oh no. Oh, no, no, no. No. He is not going to do this to you. And you are not going to get flustered because some guy in a suit and a sexy voice calls you a pet name. You hate it. Actually, it’s demeaning, mocking, if anything. You do not like him calling you that.

It takes you a solid ten seconds to convince yourself of that fact.

“Don’t call me that.” You bite and pray he doesn’t hear the wobble in your voice.

His lips twitch. “Then tell me your name.”

You squint at him and really think about it.

Theoretically, you could tell him your name. He probably already knows it, anyway. But this is Felix we’re talking about. The same man who woke you up an hour late and robbed you of your morning scone.

“No.” You say, stubbornly.

“Then, it’s settled, princess.” He smirks lazily. Your bodyguard is going to need a bodyguard if he doesn’t shut up in the next two seconds. Of course, he continues. “I overheard your conversation—”

“You mean eavesdropped?” You smile.

He chuckles, shaking his head at your pettiness. “Yeah, something like that.”

You let out a snort yourself, refreshing your computer screen. It buzzes and flashes white. You switch to the embedded private browser that Minho installed.

“You need working theories. Do you have any?” Felix finishes, scooting closer to you.

You stiffen.

The answer is no. You have no working theories.

Felix must sense your hesitation because he scoots closer, voice softening. “I can help, y’know…”

“I don’t need your help.” You snap a little too harshly.

Felix nods, scooting back to give you more space. “You’re right. You don’t need my help,” He pauses, and his voice lowers into something warmer, more patient. “But I want to help you. It wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes.”

Being the daughter of a Mafia boss came with its own set of challenges, but there’s one that’s been tattooed into you since birth. The unabiding ideology that, simply because you are a woman, you’re expected to fail. People talked down to you, not directly. And never to your face.

But you noticed it in the subtext, reading between the lines just like your father taught you. They weren’t trying to help you.

They were trying to do what they thought you couldn’t.

And, just like they expect you to fail. You expect him to be just like all the others. It’s unfair. You realize that now.

He speaks with so much earnestness that something inside you softens. Guilt gnaws at your stomach as you bite your bottom lip.

He’s right. It wouldn’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes.

“Fine.” You sigh, sliding him the stack of files. His lips curve, and his eyes crinkle into little crescent moons.

He eagerly snatches the files. “You won’t regret it, I swear!”

“I better not.”

“What’s a ‘Discord?”

Felix peeks up from the home he’s made of mugshots and manila folders across from you. “Discord?”

You nod, cursor hovering over said link. It’s been a little over an hour now, and within that time—you haven’t actually found anything useful out—but you did discover an interesting website called Tumblr and now Discord. The power of the internet.

Felix’s brow crinkles, and he waddles out of the delicate paper trail he’s made to lean over your shoulder, eyes flicking across your computer before pulling away. “Oh yeah, Discord. It’s like a website for talking or whatever. A lot of gamers use it.”

Your brows shoot up. “Would avid podcast listeners use it?”

You’ve been grasping at straws at this point. You jumped from a few useless news articles covering the case—which pretty much just included information you already had—to some more personal blogs and external resources before finally discovering something minutely useful. A user under the name @spencerreidsslut (valid) wrote something about a Case Files episode covering the case. Which brings you here, talking to Felix and pondering clicking this suspicious link.

He cocks his head and clicks his tongue. “Theoretically, I guess they could. I don’t really know, though. I’ve only ever used it for gaming.”

You almost brush past it, but then it hits you.

You jerk your neck up. “You game?”

Felix’s eyes widen before he awkwardly clears his throat, a bashful blush flooding his cheeks. “Um, yeah…I do…”

You snicker, tapping the link. “Why am I not surprised?”

His blush deepens, and he shoots you an annoyed look. “Oh, be quiet.”

You were going to retort, but then the page loads. Lines of colorful messages pop up, most of them were small talk among friends and conversation about other episodes, until you reach around the time Ki-yoo, the first missing person, was arrested.

You scroll some more through people berateing Ki-yoo, some questionable jokes before something catches your eye.

You stop reading right there.

“Hey, Felix, I think I found something.” Wordlessly, he walks over to you, leaning over your shoulder once more. His eyes widen.

Without thinking, you click the link.

It feels like a lifetime of loading and shared panicked breaths as you imagine the amount of trouble you’d be in for allowing somebody to hack your computer before the screen fills with red.

A single pulsing triangle. You’ve been taken to Twitter. There’s nothing on the page. No comments. No likes. No retweets. Only a video.

Felix presses play for you, and nobody could have prepared you for the scene that unfolds before you.

Your blood freezes in your veins.

Ki-yoo's in front of a camera. He scoots into a chair, hair looking sweat-caked and disheveled. He parts his lips, and your spine turns to stone because Ki-yoo didn’t get busted.

He turned himself in.

OMFG GUYS I DID IT!!! like 9 months later ive finally finished it...

if you wanna be tagged in the rest of the chapters please comment!!