#‘i had a life here before you and now it’s burning’

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct- (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 4

(Since my computer died, I will use some of the other monster AU art I haven't used in a chapter yet instead. Hopefully I can rustle up another computer soon or get Ol' Peepaw Sammy (my 10+ year old laptop) to run my drawing software without having a heart-attack.)

Warnings: collaring, aggressive kindness, yanderes are rampant in this story, invasion of privacy, romantic yanderes, platonic yanderes, monster AU, some history for the monster AU, mention of Humans being eaten, Teachers and Crowley are going to have a ROUGH time, more characters being introduced, reader insert, fem reader, Driders, Crows, Minotaurs, Shadow-men, Selkies, Dragons, Fae, Bats, Harpies, Unicorns, Nemean Lions, Grim is less boisterous/confident in this AU given his rough life but he is still the sassy and clueless kitty-creature we all love, reader is called several affectionate pet names by platonic yanderes (Pup/Cub/Chick)

~~~~~~~~

"So... What happened here?"

You cuddled your new monster friend close to you as you looked upon the building you had been carried to by Rook. He had been swift to return you and the cat-monster you befriended to the building the supposed teachers had been leading you towards. Even as you sat on the large spider's back and stared up at the building, you could see the apparent change that had overcome it.

It mostly looked the same as it had when you had run away from it, but there were several improvements and adjustments that had been made in the short time you were away. Where the windows had been boarded up, they were now all clean and fixed. Where the siding of the building had been in obvious disrepair and even falling off in some places, it now looked like it had received a needed bit of care and reconstruction.

"I can answer that!"

You let out a yelp at the sudden interjection, unconsciously reaching out to Rook's torso and clinging to the spider-man in fear. The way you yelped made your sudden visitor giggle in amusement at your behavior. Hanging from what appeared to be a dead tree branch above you was that same pink and black haired guy that had been in the Dragon's nest with you. He had an impish smile as he regarded you, that smile slipping ever so slightly as his eyes flicked over you and how tightly you held to Rook.

Rook was actually both amused and felt endeared by the fact that you grabbed onto him in a bid for protection from the Drider. It was so very sweet to him to see he had earned some goodwill and trust from you by rescuing you from the Undying Ursus Minor. Even when you relaxed upon realizing who was speaking, you very clearly held tightly to your soft companion, Grim.

"Oh? Did you make a friend out in the forest?"

The Bat Fae dropped from the branch, righting himself before he even hit the ground as he approached your little group. He took a long moment to look at Grim before he gained a kind of impish smile.

"I'll have to inform Malleus about your new charge. We wouldn't want this little one getting burned to a crisp by Malleus. Besides, I know how protective and adoring Children of Man can be when it comes to their cherished companions. The last human I met died for their companions."

Grim seemed unsettled by the Bat's presence and you could feel the way his torn wings seemed to pull closer to his body. Maybe it was the fact that the Bat had wings that were a lot like Grim's, and maybe it was the fact that this newcomer had been so keen to startle you. Regardless, you felt a strong need to protect your new friend as he was the only one who didn't seem to have some kind of twisted agenda planned for you.

"Anyway, Malleus and the other Housewardens showed up after you ran away- not a wise move, might I add- so several of them decided you should be somewhere safer than an old run-down building. Malleus did most of the fixing, but it seemed even Schoenheit was keen to make several additions to your accommodations. They're still mostly here, Malleus went back to his nest to give you some space."

You carefully slid off of the back of the large Spider man, noticing the unusual softness of his fur along the back of his Spider body. There was a kind of intimidation you felt now that you were back on level ground, as the height of Rook's Spider back did make you feel somewhat safer. Now you were on level ground and felt very small next to the blond who towered over you.

In some ways, you wanted to question the unusual Bat, but it quickly became clear you were not going to get that chance as the more adult-appearing men approached. The Crow was in the lead and was flanked by four others that seemed to be older than the monster men you had encountered en masse when you first entered this twisted nightmare land. Two of the men you recognized as the two who came with the Crow to retrieve you from the odd Dragon that had claimed you. The other two were unfamiliar to you, but no less beastly than the first.

One of them seemed to be an older man somewhere in his fifties with gray hair and clear creases along his brow and mouth. Attached where his lower half should have been was the body of some kind of big cat, a pair of oddly large wings sprouted along the shoulders of the cat body and the lower back of the man. He almost seemed to walk with a slight limp as his back leg had clearly suffered some kind of damage in the past.

The second newcomer was a man that seemed to be wreathed in shadows. All you could really make out from the darkness was the skeletal white mask adorning his face, lining up on the same place his own skull would be. His bright purple eyes pierced through the darkness and gleamed like gemstones beneath the brim of his top hat. He seemed younger than the others, but you found it difficult to accurately gauge his age due to the shadows that wrapped around him.

"Now that you're done racing off with no regard to your own health, foolish little chick, it seems I must have a lengthy conversation with you regarding the dangers that are ever present to someone as magically lacking as you."

~~~~~~~~

Several Housewardens and even a few Vice-Housewardens gathered nearby the Ramshackle building and watched the interaction curiously. It was true many had all pitched in to make the decrepit building a bit more liveable for you, but it was nowhere near the level of quality they believed an extinct species should have. They did what they could in the short amount of time they had, busying themselves with the project instead of charging headlong into the forest like many wanted to.

Rook and Lilia had excused themselves from the stern lecture the Crow was giving, opting instead to retreat to the nearby group. Many of those present took interest in Rook, as they could detect the scent he now carried due to carrying the fragile Human back to the safety of campus. A few even tried to take a subtle sniff of the Drider in an attempt to catch more of that uniquely Human smell.

"Roi du Poison, your faithful Huntsman has returned victorious with the little Human completely safe and sound!"

Rook was quick to take his place next to the peacock Harpy, practically beaming from the joy of another successful hunt. For all the beautiful muses Rook had claimed, he was closest with his muse Vil Schoenheit as the peacock Harpy had been one of the primary driving forces in Rook's life. From learning to care for his own appearance to taking care of Vil's pin feathers, he had few he could thank half as much as Vil.

Vil gave the slightest of smiles at having his second in command back by his side, his feathers ever so slightly rousing and fluffing out to show the Harpy was pleased. For all the eccentric behavior his Vice-Housewarden showed, Rook was nigh irreplaceable to Vil. Just knowing Rook had been the one to rescue the little Human was also another source of pride for Vil as it was another source of envy from the others.

"At least Rook can be trusted to bring the Human back promptly. I doubt the same would have been said of you, Leona."

The Nemian Lion was standing away from the group, but the clear way his ears angled back showed he was annoyed. Leona knew he wasn't trusted around the Human without supervision. He and anyone else from Sunset Savana would have to prove themselves 'domestic' to even be considered.

It was Sunset Savana that continued to eat Humans the longest and thus had been branded by the other Kingdoms and Queendoms as barbaric monsters. Leona didn't often pay attention in class- especially boring ass History- but even he knew the way Humans had been adored by so many others. Riddle went as far as not letting Leona out of his sight the second they arrived at the rundown excuse of a dorm. He knew the others wouldn't trust him around that fragile Human even with supervision.

"Piss off, Birdy."

Rook was not thrown by Vil's casual sniping towards Leona, the two proud Housewardens always seeming to be at odds. Instead, the Drider turned to the red-haired Unicorn with a pleasant smile.

"Roi du Règles, you will be pleased to know mon Trickster is Mademoiselle Trickster. You mentioned earlier you could sense her purity, non? That would make her a Human Maiden; the ideal boon companion for a Unicorn such as yourself!"

"Is she? Then it seems I must endeavor to even greater heights to protect her. No doubt the common rabble here will be eager to get at the only Human and only female on campus."

It was then a certain displeased yell split the air, originating from the Human in question. The shout unsettled the various students present and even managed to make Riddle almost rear from the sudden interjection.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

~~~~~~~~

You stared incredulously at Crowley, your hands resting over the collar that now sat securely on your neck. Despite how you pulled and groped at the material, you couldn't find a way to unlock it and free yourself from the new and rather dehumanizing feeling of being collared. Even Grim got himself a matching Collar, though his looked more like a pristine bow. Both his collar and your collar had a little device hanging where the tags would be on a dog's collar.

"You've made it more than abundantly clear that you will wander away to areas that can be dangerous to your health if you are allowed to freely roam. I can't have you ending your life prematurely simply because you didn't have the sense to stay away from something dangerous. That collar of yours will make it much easier to dissuade you from going places you shouldn't."

Grim was still trying to wriggle out of his collar while you glared angrily at the overgrown Crow who put it there. You eventually had to stop Grim as the little cat-creature was beginning to thrash and could hurt himself if he wasn't careful. Luckily, the little beast soothed with your touch and stared up at you through his mismatched and scarred eyes. Even though you wanted to lay into Crowley for daring to put a collar on the two of you like you were some kind of pet, the man who had introduced himself as Divus Crewel spoke up.

"I know you don't like the collar, but try to think of it from our perspective, sweet pup. You aren't a normal sight here or anywhere in our world. If certain ne're-do-wells caught wind of a Human living on our campus, they may try to poach you if given the chance. We don't want to give them the chance."

You frowned angrily at the men but also somewhat understood where they were coming from on the matter. Though you really couldn't grasp the concept of Humans being extinct- given the fact you came from a world where Humans were the only truly sentient species- you did somewhat understand where they were coming from. Classifying an animal as endangered only made an increase in the demand for pieces of said animal. They were certain Humans were extinct, so you were more than just a prized commodity to collectors and hunters alike.

"How does the collar help against poaching? If someone wanted to get me with an arrow or a knife, a collar doesn't do anything to stop that."

"That is true in most cases, but your collar is enchanted. The collar keeps track of your location and will alert us as well as the Housewardens if anything does try to harm you. It can't stop a full attack, but it can deflect minor magic."

"Why did Grim get collared too?"

"Because, though I am loathe to let a beast of the forest stay with you, it is better you have some kind of magical protection with you. His skills are subpar compared to a Housewarden, but it is still more skill and magic than you have available to you. Best to keep track of the both of you."

Grim didn't fight his collar anymore, but he certainly didn't look happy as his little torn wings drooped and his ears angled downwards. He was clearly quite displeased but didn't seem too upset despite the fact he did not sign up for this kind of treatment. Once he resigned himself to the collar, he slightly perked up and raised his lopsided gaze to meet that of Crewel.

"Hey, seal-guy, does this mean I have to go to classes with my Hench-Hooman like a student and stuff?"

"It would be ideal to have (Y/n) attend classes, if only to keep her around professors and prevent the loneliness from negatively impacting her health. Humans were known to be a social creature, after all, and with no other Humans around the other students would be the next best thing."

"... So does that mean I can actually be a fancy-pants student and become the greatest mage to ever live?"

"Whatever keeps you by (Y/n)'s side. Though it may behoove us to enlist the aid of other students as well... They will have to prove themselves first, of course."

Crowley nodded along to Crewel's words as if they were the most obvious thing and you vaguely got the impression that the Crow really didn't realize what he was agreeing to. Though he was the Headmage- which to you meant he was the head of the school- he seemed far less aware of the situation as a whole and leaned on the other professors for that information. Something about him made you wonder why he was so eager to keep you on school grounds. It made you think back to his comment about the last human he met and you wondered if that had anything to do with how keen he was to keep you yet seemed keen to let the others take point in explaining things to you.

It was during this thought that the older looking man spoke, his voice aged and almost fatherly in how he spoke to you.

"Naturally, you are still the only true expert on Humans, being one yourself, so we will have to ultimately trust your judgement. I am of a mind with Divus that we should not be allowing a forest beast unrestricted access to you, but you seem to trust this Grim. Should you need something, you have but to ask us one of us. I also feel Mr. Rosehearts, Mr. Hunt, Mr. Draconia, and perhaps even a number of others would be keen to aid you. Don't ever go to Savanaclaw for aid. Though it may have been several hundred years ago, many of those from Sunset Savana and those of specific beastman lineages were instrumental in the extinction of Humans. Better to be safe than sorry with your safety."

He had been introduced to you as Mozus Trein, the History professor. Though you were curious as to why he seemed so fond of you, you figured it had something to do with you being Human and his natural love and fascination with history. You had to admit, it was nice that he didn't talk to or about you like you were a pet or some kind of exotic toy- an exotic animal, maybe, but not a pet. Most of the professors seemed to be of a similar mind- minus the Crow- and that somewhat helped put you at ease with them.

"So, does that mean it will only be Grim and I in here? No one else?"

"Well, the ghosts may pay you a visit and check in on you. Would you like someone to spend the evening here as well? I understand this is a new place and some company may put you at ease. It is my understanding that Mr. Draconia has already made a secondary nest in this dorm for you to use at your leisure, no doubt the others added beds or various furniture as well."

"No, I kind of like the fact that it's just me and Grim, I was just wondering because all of them are here," you gestured to the group of Housewardens and Vice-Housewardens nearby, "so I didn't know if they were staying or not. It is getting super late at night..."

"They should be returning to their dorms soon, though Housewardens and Vice-Housewardens are not bound by the same curfew as the other students."

He glanced at the others before back at you, a serious look of concern painting his features.

"Are you certain you would rather be alone tonight? Some wayward fools may try to enter the dorm when we leave."

The genuine concern in his expression and tone made you seriously consider his words. It was true that you didn't really feel very safe with anyone other than your small companion Grim, but the wizend professor did have a point. His prompting paired with the fact that you had made many poor choices for yourself this night did more to sway you than expected. You looked at the several monsters waiting nearby and had to conceed that someone keeping an eye out was not a bad idea given the already rocky start to your time in such a world.

"... I think you might have a point, actually..."

"How about this; you choose from the Housewardens and Vice-Housewardens who helped fix up this old dorm for you. Clearly they have at least shown they care for your wellbeing enough to put in an effort to make it livable. I will say now- however- should you choose Leona, I will choose someone else for you. I would love to say all our students are safe, but that just isn't the case and we can't take chances with you."

"That seems fair... But how do I know which one Leona is?"

"Leona is the Nemean Lion- ah, but I forget, you don't have Nemean Lions where you're from, do you?"

You shook your head. You could recall that there were Greek myths of Heraclies slaying a golden lion known as the Nemean Lion, but nothing like the monster men you have met.

"I will point him out when you decide who you feel is safest to stay with you."

"Okay. Grim, want to help me choose?"

The stout creature smiled eagerly in response to your question, holding up his front legs for you to pick him up. He was not like a cat in the sense that he was thrilled when you held him, but he did seem to enjoy your warmth and the fact he didn't have to walk when you carried him. As you cuddled Grim, professor Trein began to lead you to the group.

It was easy to feel somewhat safe with the older man and you kept close to his side as you two approached the group of fellow students. They all looked curious at the fact that you and the professor had approached them first. Perhaps you were going to thank them or ask them for something else to help you settle in.

"Listen up, you lot. I would hope others have enough common sense to leave (Y/n) here alone, but we all know that isn't going to happen. Since you are the ones that actually showed up to ensure our only Human is safe, it is safe to assume you care what happens to (Y/n). We feel it would be best to have either a Housewarden or a Vice-housewarden remain here for the evening in the event someone tries their luck."

Professor Trein then glanced back at you, nodding his head towards the group in clear invitation to approach. As you drew close, you couldn't help but take note of how all eyes quickly fell on you. Some of the people there were familiar to you, and some were not.

Rook was among the familiar, same with the Harpy that stood next to him. The only one whose name you recognized was Rook's as he had been the only one to actually introduce himself to you.

"... Can I choose Rook? He's the only name I know..."

"I would happily accept, Mademoiselle Trickster, but there is one far fairer and better than I at all but hunting. I suggest you choose Roi du Poison, the beautiful Vil Schoenheit."

The spider man made a sweeping arm motion to his side towards the Harpy, as if he were presenting the bird-man to you. The bird in question seemed surprised by the sudden introduction but took it in stride and instead turned his purple eyes to you. As you locked eyes with him, something odd happened. His feathers seemed to quiver before the feathers atop his head raised, his tail feathers doing the same to create an almost dazzling display of iridescent colors. He was clearly a peacock bird-man, but what didn't make much sense to you was why he was showing off for you. You didn't think you were really worth showing those feathers to since you weren't a bird like him.

"You are welcome to choose one as fair as me, little Human. I will ensure your safety to the furthest of my capabilities."

It almost seemed like the peacock were trying to make himself seem like the best choice, showing off colors and strength in an effort to have you choose him. If anything, you weren't the only one who was surprised at seeing such a display from the peacock. The others seemed almost shocked by this showing of feathers but someone was clearly far less than pleased upon seeing Vil posturing for you.

"Absolutely not! I refuse to allow anyone who does any kind of display dance for her to be permitted anywhere near her. I would have your head if you weren't my senior, Vil! Such a maiden should not be accosted by eager men who only see her as a breeding toy. Professor, I demand you override this choice and select me to guard this Human. I shall uphold every rule the Queen has set and I will not allow such tomfoolery to burden this Human."

Vil seemed angered by this as his feathers ruffled and stood on end, eyes glaring angrily at the offending Unicorn man. The wickedly sharp tallons on the ends of the bird's fingers seemed to only be sharper when displayed with such clear disdain for the Unicorn. It seemed like a fight was on the verge of erupting before Grim's voice interrupted them.

"I don't like any of them! Maybe the spider-drider-guy, but this is my Hooman which means I should choose who protects us!"

"Are you-? What the hell is a 'Hooman'? She is a Human, not 'Hooman' and I don't appreciate your casual disrespect for her species-!"

It was during the Unicorn's rant that you interrupted, feeling angry that the man would dare talk to Grim like that. Sure, you found it odd that the cat creature called you Hooman, but you certainly didn't mind it either. Even above all of that, Grim was your friend and these men were not.

"And who said it was your place to correct him? I know what I am and I think it's cute he calls me Hooman. What I don't appreciate is how you think you can yell at him! He can call me Hooman if he wants, you are not afforded the same privilege! And I have a name. It's (Y/n) (L/n), so don't you dare ever call me anything else."

Your sudden snapping at the Unicorn clearly surprised and unsettled him as he took several steps back, almost seeming like he was about to rear from your yelling. Even though his blue eyes stared in absolute surprise, you felt no need to back down and if anything you wanted to chase off the delicate Unicorn for daring to raise his voice at Grim. A light chuckle met your ears and drew your ire away from the Unicorn and to another familiar grinning face. It was the pink and black haired Bat.

"Keeheehee, seems she doesn't like you very much Riddle. Or, it could be that Humans are traditionally a pack-bonding species and little Grim is now her pack. Clearly Riddle isn't your choice, so who actually will be?"

You frowned at this question and went back to looking at the group, Grim seemed to be doing the same as he purred and snuggled down into your arms. From those you now knew, you still figured either the Bat or Rook would be best. It was then someone else caught your eye bringing you to a halt as you stared at them.

He had sun kissed skin and dark mahogany hair. Even as he stood in the light of the moon, he almost seemed to have a golden glow that wrapped around his scowling figure. When he noticed you looking at him, his bright green eyes narrowed ever so slightly before looking away from you. His actions were as if he were trying to dissuade you from picking him despite the fact he was among the group. You vaguely recognized him from the many who you first saw when you came tumbling out of the coffin.

"Choose someone else, Mousey. They won't let you pick me, I might gobble you up."

"I'm not a-"

"Yes, you are. You are a little Mousey herbivore of the only sentient species Nemean Lions dared to feast upon."

"Nemean...? You're Leona?"

"I'm surprised you even care enough to know my name. Leona Kingscholar, second prince of Sunset Savana and Housewarden of Savanaclaw. Careful, Mousey, you aren't safe around me. I may not have tasted Human before, but I'm willing to break several laws to give it a try."

He almost seemed like he was trying to actually get you away from him, a look of vague sadness hiding behind his smouldering emerald eyes even as he glared at you. There was more to this tale than he was telling but you knew he wasn't going to give you the information you wanted. With another long look at the golden Lion, you turned you gaze back to the group as a whole.

"I guess... Since the Dragon- Malleus, if I'm remembering properly- isn't here, I'll pick the Bat."

"Aww, I'll be sure to let Malleus know you wanted to pick him. I'm sure he'll be pleased. I can keep an eye on you and make sure those other whippersnappers don't come sniffing around. Keeheehee, cute that you call me Bat, but I also have a name if you feel like using it. Lilia Vanrouge, at your esteemed service, (Y/n). Malleus is my primary ward, but he certainly wouldn't be too displeased if I kept an eye on his hoard as well."

You nodded, wondering just why the Dragon decided you were one of his but not willing to question Lilia as to the true motives just yet. It almost seemed like those present fixed Lilia with a jealous sneer as the Bat happily joined your side. Trein simply nodded, accepting your choice as it was not Leona- whom he planned to berate for threatening you- and was a fairly safe choice. Lilia was of the few who had encountered a Human before in his many centuries, so no doubt he would be safe around you.

"It is decided then. I shall see you in my class tomorrow, (Y/n). Do not hesitate to reach out to me should you need anything. Your other professors and I will be working on getting you a phone to communicate with us faster. For now, sleep well, little cub."

[theshift]

The Breakout

Before everything fell apart, Marcus had a life that he was proud of. He wasn’t some thug or low-life; he had his routines, his ambitions. Boxing was his escape, the one place where he felt in control. He spent hours in the gym, the sound of fists hitting heavy bags and the smell of sweat filling the air as he trained. There was something about the discipline, the focus, the rhythm of a good fight that made the chaos of the outside world fade away. He wasn’t a pro, but he was good—damn good—and he was starting to get noticed. On weekends, he’d run along the river, feeling the early morning breeze, imagining his next match. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was his, and he had a future lined up. That was before it all got ripped away—before he was framed for a crime he didn’t commit. Now, that life seemed like a distant dream, one he’d never wake up to again. The real world, the one he’d worked so hard for, felt like it had vanished forever.

Marcus had been in prison for two long months. His life had been ripped away, and now he was just another inmate waiting for judgment in a system that didn’t care.

But even worse than being locked up was dealing with Officer Nathan, the patrol officer who took sick pleasure in making Marcus’s life miserable. Nathan was cruel. Every day he found a new way to degrade Marcus. Whether it was spilling his food on the ground or shouting insults that cut deeper than the metal bars around him, Nathan loved to remind Marcus who was in control.

Today had been no different. As Marcus sat on his cot, his mind still reeling from the news of his sentencing—fifteen years—Nathan showed up at his cell with that same smirk.

“Well, well, look at you. Fifteen years, huh? Guess you’re gonna rot here for a while,” Nathan sneered, leaning against the bars. “Bet you thought you’d get off easy. But nobody cares about some low-life scum like you.”

Marcus clenched his fists, staring at the floor. He couldn’t believe it. Fifteen years for something he didn’t do. His whole life—gone. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to ignore Nathan’s voice.

“You know what the best part is?” Nathan continued, his voice dripping with cruelty. “You’ll be here, getting old and wasting away, while I’m out there. Free. Living my life. Makes you wonder why you even bother fighting, doesn’t it?”

Marcus’s body tensed. “I didn’t do it.”

Nathan barked out a laugh. “Sure, that’s what they all say. Keep telling yourself that, Marcus. Doesn’t change a damn thing.” He tapped the bars with his baton, a sharp clink ringing out. “You belong here. And I’m going to make sure every day feels like hell for you. Count on it.”

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore. The injustice, the humiliation—it all boiled inside him. He couldn’t live like this, not for fifteen years. His hands shook, his breath coming in sharp gasps as his heart pounded in his chest.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You look like you’re about to cry. Go ahead,” Nathan jeered. “Cry like the pathetic loser you are.”

Something snapped inside Marcus.

“You think you’re untouchable,” Marcus muttered, his voice low, trembling with rage.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Marcus slowly lifted his head, eyes burning with something darker, something Nathan had never seen before. “You think you’re better than me because you’re on that side of the bars? Because you can do whatever you want to people like me?”

Nathan chuckled, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes now. “Yeah, I do. What are you gonna do about it?”

Marcus’s lips twisted into a cold smile as he stood up, his body humming with a power he had always kept hidden, a power he had refused to use until now. His gaze locked onto Nathan, and the room seemed to thrum with a strange energy.

Nathan stepped back from the bars, suddenly on edge. “What’s your deal, man? Sit down before you do something stupid.”

But Marcus didn’t stop. His eyes were like burning coals, and a strange pressure filled the air around them. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, feeling the dark energy swirling within him like a storm, ready to be unleashed.

He had never wanted to use his gift, but this was different. This was survival.

Marcus's body felt weightless as he reached out mentally, a strange, ethereal sensation that began to rise from the depths of his chest. The connection to Nathan was immediate—a tether of energy, dark and tangible, latching onto him like invisible chains. Marcus’s mind surged toward Nathan, slipping through the cracks of his consciousness, feeling his presence as if it were a physical thing.

The shift was sudden, a jarring sensation that sent Nathan stumbling backward. His hands shot up to his head, as if he could physically block Marcus’s intrusion, but it was already too late. Marcus could feel Nathan’s mind now—panicked, scattered, full of raw terror.

“No—what are you doing?” Nathan’s voice was sharp, trembling with fear.

Marcus’s smile widened. His consciousness flooded Nathan’s mind like dark water, consuming him, pushing past every mental wall the officer tried to erect. It was a slow process, deliberate, like sinking into quicksand, inch by inch, until Nathan’s screams became muffled in the back of his own mind.

Nathan staggered back against the wall, his body twitching as Marcus took over. From the outside, it looked like Nathan was having some kind of seizure, his face contorting in shock as his limbs jerked, resisting the possession. But Marcus was relentless. He pushed deeper, feeling his own awareness settle into Nathan’s body as though slipping on a perfectly tailored suit.

Nathan's mind screamed, trapped now as a mere voice, a presence that Marcus could feel but had full control over. “Stop! Get out! You can’t do this!”

Marcus ignored him. He flexed Nathan’s fingers, feeling the strength of his new form. The once-familiar prison walls looked different through Nathan’s eyes—sharper, crisper. Marcus rolled his shoulders, testing the muscles that now responded to his command.

Inside, Nathan’s terror grew. “What are you—get out of my body!”

Marcus’s laugh, low and cruel, rumbled through Nathan’s throat. “Oh, Nathan… you’re not in charge anymore.”

With one final surge of effort, Marcus forced Nathan’s consciousness into the back of his mind, shoving him deep into a corner, trapping him in the prison of Marcus’s old body. Nathan was now locked away, his pleas for help falling on deaf ears as Marcus stood tall in his stolen skin.

Nathan, now trapped in Marcus’s body, staggered forward, horrified at the sight of his own hands—Marcus’s hands—reaching out toward him, mocking him. He tried to scream, but Marcus simply sneered. “Enjoy being on the other side of those bars. I’ll make sure to give you the same treatment you gave me.”

Marcus felt the real Nathan's panic, buried deep inside his old body, helpless and confused, as the guards dragged him away. “No! You don’t understand—I’m not Marcus! I’m Nathan! Please!”

But no one listened. To everyone else, it was just Marcus losing his mind.

Meanwhile, Marcus—now fully in control of Nathan’s body—strolled through the prison halls, relishing the newfound power. Nathan’s voice screamed in the back of his head, but Marcus simply tuned him out, reveling in the freedom and control he had never felt before.

“You’ve had your fun, Nathan,” Marcus muttered under his breath, his voice sounding strange but powerful. “Now it’s my turn.”

Nathan was trapped inside Marcus’s body, powerless, screaming silently as Marcus turned and walked down the hallway in his new form. The other guards greeted him with nods of respect, completely unaware of the switch.

As Marcus settled into Nathan's body, something unexpected surfaced from the officer's memories—Nathan was secretly into men. Hidden beneath his tough exterior and cruel demeanor was a desire he had never dared to act on, a truth he kept buried deep, afraid of what it would mean for his image as the hardened officer. And to Marcus's surprise, Nathan had even found him attractive, though he would have never admitted it. The irony was delicious.

Now, with full control of Nathan's body, Marcus realized he could have the life Nathan was too scared to embrace. He wasted no time. With Nathan’s face, his fit build, and authority, Marcus quickly began to attract attention, something Nathan had always fantasized about but never had the nerve to act on. Marcus, on the other hand, had no qualms about indulging in what Nathan had suppressed. Within days, he had hooked up with men who were drawn to his new appearance—something Nathan had always dreamed of but never had the courage to pursue. It wasn’t just about the power; it was about taking Nathan’s secret desires and living them out in ways Nathan never could.

More days passed, and Marcus, now in Nathan’s body, relished every moment of his new life. He took over Nathan’s duties, tormenting the real Nathan—trapped inside Marcus’s old body. Every time Marcus walked by, he could see the fear in his own face, the panic in Nathan’s eyes as he tried to tell the guards what had happened.

“Nobody’s listening, Nathan,” Marcus whispered one day as he passed by the cell. “They think you’ve lost it. Crazy, isn’t it?”

Nathan, trapped and powerless, screamed, banging on the bars of the cell. “Stop this! Please! I’m not Marcus! I’m not him!”

But no one believed him. To the other guards, he was just another inmate losing his mind.

Marcus continued his life as Nathan, basking in the power that came with it. He spent a week tormenting the real Nathan, letting the other guards treat him the same way Nathan had treated Marcus. The irony wasn’t lost on him, and he loved every second of it.

One day, Marcus stood in front of a mirror in Nathan’s office, staring at the reflection of Nathan’s face. A thought struck him.

“Why waste this? Why stay here as some low-life prison officer?” he murmured to himself. He grinned, running a hand over Nathan’s strong jawline. “I could do so much more.”

The next morning, Marcus handed in Nathan’s resignation. He was done with this place, with this pathetic life. He had bigger plans. He left the prison behind without a second glance, the real Nathan screaming in his own body, now doomed to serve the sentence Marcus was supposed to endure.

And Marcus? He moved to the city, reinvented himself as a model. Nathan’s looks, once wasted on cruelty, now served Marcus well. The spotlight loved him, and he embraced his new life, his new identity.

As Marcus rose to fame, Nathan remained locked in a cell, forgotten, living the nightmare he had once created for others.

And Marcus? He was finally free.

[childrenofcain-if]

How would the Ro's take care of an MC who is so sick he can't even get out of bed?

C LACROIX

C stood at the doorway, the faintest crease of worry between their brows as they watched you lie there, your breath labored, eyes half-lidded in a feverish haze. the room felt unnervingly still except for the faint rustle of the sheets when you shifted, too weak to even call out their name when you noticed their presence.

“you look awful,” they finally said, their voice carrying the usual cool indifference, but their eyes flickered, betraying something that wasn’t quite annoyance. maybe concern. but if it was, they didn’t allow it to show.

you groaned and shifted beneath the blankets, feeling like your body was made of lead. “thanks, lacroix. that’s exactly what i needed to hear.”

they rolled their eyes but didn’t leave. instead, they pushed off the doorframe and stepped into the room, the sound of their shoes soft against the floor. a strange softness overtook their usually grumpy demeanor as they set down a glass of water and a bottle of medicine on the nightstand. they crouched beside the bed, eyes scanning your face like they were committing it to memory.

“can’t you be sick more quietly? some of us have better things to do than listen to your misery.” C muttered, even as their fingers brushed a damp strand of hair away from your face, a touch that was startlingly tender, especially coming from them.

you made a noise, something between a groan and a laugh. “you could’ve just stayed away,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. the fever was making everything blur at the edges, the room tilting slightly as you blinked at them. “i’m not going to die.”

their expression flickered, just for a second, and then it was gone. “yeah, well,” they muttered, looking away. “it’s not like i’ve got anything better to do.”

that was a lie. C always had something better to do. whether it was running around to find a quiet place to do their assignments or finding ways to antagonize you, their time was precious, and they spent most of it reminding everyone else of that fact. and yet, here they were, at your bedside, pretending like this was the biggest inconvenience of their life when they could’ve just as easily left you to rot in your fevered misery.

their hand hovered near your forehead, as if they were considering whether it was worth the effort to actually touch you. finally, with another sigh, they pressed their palm to your forehead. “bon dieu, you’re burning up.”

“really?” you tried to grin, but it faltered. “i hadn’t noticed.”

C rolled their eyes again, but you could hear the strain in their voice, the way it softened just slightly. “you’re insufferable even when you’re half-delirious.”

they shifted, standing up again with a sort of begrudging purpose, heading for the bathroom. you heard the sound of water running, before they returned, holding a damp cloth in one hand and picking up the glass of water on the nightstand in the other.

“you’re going to drink this,” they said firmly, thrusting the glass toward you, “and not argue with me.”

your fingers barely wrapped around the glass before it was slipping, and C caught it with a swift movement, shooting you a glare that seemed to say are you seriously this helpless? they steadied your hand, bringing the glass to your lips with more care than their expression suggested.

“go on,” they coaxed, their voice softer now, the command tempered by something almost like patience. you managed a few sips before leaning back against the pillows, utterly spent from the effort.

C’s jaw tightened, their frustration evident, but it wasn’t the kind of frustration that came from actual annoyance—more like they were mad at the situation, at you being too sick to fend for yourself, at them for caring when they told themselves they shouldn’t. they pressed the damp cloth against your forehead, their movements brusque but careful, like they were trying to make sure they didn’t hurt you, even though they acted like they didn’t care if they did.

“i’m fine,” you whispered, though even you didn’t believe it.

“no, you’re not,” they shot back, sitting down again on the edge of the bed, watching you with a critical eye. “don’t lie to me. you look like a resurrected corpse.”

“thanks,” you murmured sarcastically. “you’re such a charmer, lacroix.”

they gave a dry chuckle, running a hand through their hair as if they were debating whether to stay or leave you to your fate. but then they didn’t move. they just sat there, silent, fingers tracing the edge of the bedspread, like they were trying to figure out how they ended up in this situation in the first place.

“i’m not even a nursing major,” they finally muttered, though the edge in their voice had dulled. “i shouldn’t be here, you know. i don’t do… this.”

“could’ve fooled me,” you mumbled, eyes half-closed as the fever weighed down your thoughts. “you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“lucas used to get sick a lot,” C admitted almost reluctantly, fluffing your blanket in the process. “father wasn’t exactly what you’d call ‘nurturing,’ and mother stayed in new york for work most of the time. he was fussy and didn’t like any of our nannies either, so i had to step up and take care of him.”

for a moment, neither of you spoke as you take in the bits and pieces of their life that they just shared with you. but still, they didn’t leave immediately afterwards. they leaned back, crossing their arms again as if to make it abundantly clear that this was temporary—that the second you were remotely capable of standing on your own, they’d be out the door.

except, as minutes passed, you realized they weren’t going anywhere. you drifted in and out of feverish sleep, but every time you opened your eyes, there they were, the steady presence you hadn’t expected.

at some point, you felt them shift, and their voice broke through the haze of your fevered state. “you’d better recover soon,” they said quietly, almost like they were talking to themself. “i’m not doing this for the whole day.”

but you knew, despite their words, despite the way they acted like they didn’t want to be here, that they wouldn’t leave. not until they were sure you were okay.

“you care,” you whispered, your eyes half-closed as sleep tugged at you again.

C scoffed, but the sound was hollow. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“you care,” you repeated, a delirious smile on your lips as you felt yourself fading into sleep again.

and maybe you imagined it, but just before you drifted off, you could’ve sworn you heard them mutter, “shut up and rest, you adorable idiot.”

the next time you opened your eyes, the fever had started to ebb, and there they were, asleep, slouched back in the chair beside the bed, their head resting against the back of it, eyes closed, arms still crossed in defiance of the fact that they had stayed.

they hadn’t left you, not even for a second.

V NÆSHOLM

the room was quiet except for the soft rustle of curtains and the occasional muffled cough from you.

V sat cross-legged on the chair, watching you with a kind of stillness that felt like patience but was closer to piety. the pale light through the window seemed colder today, casting everything in muted shades of gray.

you hadn’t moved much, wrapped up in the blankets like a child, too weak to bother with the outside world. your skin was damp, slick with fever, and the effort of sitting up was too much to even consider.

V slipped off the bed and padded across the room, their footsteps silent on the plush carpet floor. they were always quiet, like they thought the world could fall apart with one wrong move. a shadow crossed their face as they looked at you, something between worry and… prayer? maybe. with V, it was always hard to tell where emotions ended and faith began.

“you’re burning up,” V whispered, their voice soft but unwavering. they knelt beside you, one hand hovering over your forehead like they were checking for something sacred. “we should get you some water. you need to stay hydrated.”

you blinked up at them, but the words were foggy, tangled in your fever. you tried to speak, tried to say something witty or sarcastic to brush it off, but all that came out was a low hum.

“shh,” V said quickly, before you could struggle with words. “i’ll do the talking. just—just rest.”

they disappeared into the kitchen, and the sound of water being poured felt too loud for the stillness of the room. when they returned, they sat on the edge of the bed, careful, like they were afraid of disturbing something delicate.

“here,” V said, holding out a glass. “you don’t have to sit up. just sip.”

you gave them a look, weakly lifting your arm, but it fell limp before you could grasp the glass. V’s brow furrowed slightly as they bit their lip. they shifted closer, gently lifting your head with one hand and pressing the cool rim of the glass to your lips. the water was cold, and the relief of it made you swallow too quickly, nearly choking. V pulled the glass back immediately.

“slow down,” they murmured, worry threading through their voice now. “it’s not going anywhere.”

you coughed, sinking back into the pillows, feeling the fever drag you down. V watched you for a long moment, their hand still cradling the back of your head. they were so close you could smell the faint scent of incense and cedar that always clung to them, like a quiet reminder of the prayers they carried around in their pockets.

“i should call a doctor,” V said suddenly, voice low but certain.

“no,” you croaked, the word scraping out of your throat like it was broken. “just... give it some time. it’ll pass eventually.” V shook their head, fingers still threaded through your hair, their touch absentminded.

“you say that, but you can’t even lift your head.” their tone was gentle but insistent, the way they always were when they were right and you were too stubborn to admit it.

you let out a weak sigh. “i’ve been worse.”

“i know.” their eyes flickered, something haunted passing through them before they could mask it. they shifted, leaning in just enough for you to catch their scent again. “but you’re not alone this time.”

the words hung in the air, thick and weighty like a promise. you glanced at V, at the way they hovered close without pressing, their usual distance gone in favor of something quieter, more intimate.

“you don’t have to—” you started, but they cut you off with a small shake of their head.

“i want to,” they said softly, their voice barely above a whisper, like the confession was too delicate for the room to hold. “i’m not leaving you like this.”

there was something resolute in their eyes now, a kind of quiet strength that felt more like faith than obligation. V had always carried themselves that way—like their devotion to you wasn’t something they chose, but something that was simply woven into their soul.

they slipped away for a moment and returned with a damp cloth. without a word, they sat beside you, dabbing at your forehead with such care that it almost felt reverent. the coldness of the cloth against your fevered skin was a shock, but you were too tired to flinch.

“better?” they asked after a long pause, their voice cutting through the haze like a prayer meant just for you.

“yeah,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut. “thanks.”

V didn’t respond, just kept up their gentle ministrations, hands steady as they cooled your skin, movements careful, precise. you could feel the way their presence settled over you like a blanket—warm, steady, comforting.

after a few minutes, you opened your eyes, catching a glimpse of V’s expression. there was something unspoken in the way they looked at you, something tender, like a thread between the two of you had pulled tighter, more fragile.

“why are you being so nice?” you asked, the words rasping out through the dryness in your throat. they smiled faintly, cutting you off again, this time with a look.

“i’m always nice,” they said, their lips curving into something soft. “though this time you might actually need it.”

you laughed, or at least tried to, but it came out as a weak cough. V’s smile didn’t fade, but there was something sad about it now, a sadness wrapped in affection.

“you’re not alone,” they repeated, softer now, like they were saying it more for themself than for you.

and in the quiet of that moment, with the room drenched in the dull gray light, it felt like a promise that would be kept, long after the fever broke.

W OSTENDORF

W hovered awkwardly at the edge of the room, a bundle of blankets clutched in their arms. they stood there for a moment, indecisive, looking between you and the blankets like they were unsure of where they were. the sunlight filtering through the curtains softened their features, giving them an air of uncertainty that was almost endearing.

you could barely move—your body ached, the fever radiating through every inch of you. the world around you felt distant, hazy, like you were stuck underwater and everything above the surface moved in slow motion.

W took a step closer, then hesitated, their brow furrowing. “i—i brought more blankets,” they said, their voice quiet, as if afraid that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile stillness of the room. “you looked cold.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but only a raspy cough escaped. they winced at the sound, their face tightening with concern as they hurried forward, laying the blankets down on the foot of the bed. the gesture was clumsy, unsure, but filled with a kind of tenderness that was so distinctly W.

“you don’t have to stay,” you managed to croak out, though you didn’t really mean it. you didn’t want them to leave.

“i know,” they said, a little too quickly, as if they’d been expecting you to say that. they stood there for a moment, wringing their hands together like they weren’t sure what to do with them. “but i’m going to. if that’s okay.”

you gave them a small nod, too weak to argue, and they seemed to take that as permission. they grabbed the chair from the corner of the room and dragged it over to the side of your bed, the wooden legs scraping softly against the floor. they sat down, knees drawn up slightly, their lanky frame awkwardly folded into the chair.

for a while, neither of you spoke. you could hear your own labored breathing, feel the heat of the fever still clinging to your skin. W’s presence, though quiet, was grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

after what felt like forever, they spoke again, their voice softer than before. “i—i made some chicken noodle soup earlier,” they said, fidgeting with the hem of their plaid shirt. “it’s probably not very good. i’m not great at cooking, but i could… i could heat it up for you. if you want.”

you smiled weakly, the corners of your lips barely lifting. “you made soup?”

they flushed slightly, ducking their head. “i, uh, tried.”

“that’s sweet.”

they blinked at you, clearly not expecting the compliment. for a moment, you thought they might actually leave the room out of sheer embarrassment, but they just nodded, clearing their throat. “i’ll go heat it up, then.”

W disappeared into the hallway, leaving you in the quiet room, the sound of their footsteps echoing faintly. you closed your eyes, letting the fever pull at you, but before you could drift too far, you heard them return, the soft clink of a spoon against a bowl breaking the stillness.

they sat down on the edge of the bed this time, the chair abandoned. they held the bowl of soup in one hand, the other awkwardly fumbling with the spoon.

“you need to sit up,” they said, though there was no command in their voice, only a kind of quiet concern.

“i can’t,” you mumbled, the effort of speaking too much.

“alright.” they swallowed nervously, then leaned forward, sliding their arm around your back, lifting you with a gentleness that surprised you. “let me help.”

their arm was steady, surprisingly strong for someone so unsure of themself. they propped you up against the pillows, their hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary before they pulled away, reaching for the soup again.

“here,” they murmured, carefully dipping the spoon into the bowl. they blew on it first, testing it like they weren’t sure if it would burn you, before holding it to your lips. “slowly, little at a time.”

you took the spoonful of soup, warm and surprisingly soothing against the rawness of your throat. it wasn’t very good—too much salt, too little flavor, mushy macaroni—but the fact that W had made it, that they were there, meant more than anything else in that moment.

“sorry,” they muttered, noticing the barely suppressed grimace on your face. “i—i know it’s bad. i tried out a lot of recipes and this is the only one which turned out edible. i’ll practice more later.”

“no,” you whispered, swallowing thickly. “it’s fine.”

it really wasn’t and it was clear that W didn’t believe you, but they didn’t argue. they kept feeding you spoonful after spoonful, slow and careful, their eyes darting between your face and the bowl as if they were making sure you weren’t going to collapse any second.

“i feel like a child,” you muttered, trying for a joke. it didn’t quite land.

W’s lips twitched in a small smile. “you’ve always been a little stubborn,” they said, their voice nostalgic and soft. “even when we were kids. you never liked being taken care of when you got sick.”

you smiled at that, too tired to respond. when you’d had enough, they set the bowl aside, their hand brushing lightly against yours as they moved back to their chair. you were exhausted again, your body sinking deeper into the pillows, the fever dragging at you.

“you should get some sleep,” W said, their voice a murmur. “i’ll stay right here.”

you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded, closing your eyes. their presence was a quiet anchor, steady and calm, the sound of their breathing a soft, rhythmic reminder that you weren’t alone.

as you drifted off, you felt the faintest brush of W’s fingers against your hand, a hesitant touch, like they wanted to offer comfort but weren’t sure how. their voice, barely audible, floated through the thick haze of sleep.

“i’ll be here,” they whispered. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and somehow, even through the fever, even through the exhaustion that pulled you under, you believed them wholeheartedly.

D DIACONU

D stood in the doorway, the light behind them casting a long shadow across the floor. for a moment, they didn’t move, just watched you lying there, half-hidden beneath the tangled blankets. their expression was hard to read, a mixture of something close to worry but disguised beneath the usual mask of nonchalance.

“you look like death warmed over,” D said, finally breaking the silence with their usual bluntness. they leaned against the doorframe, crossing their arms. “not a great look for you, sweet cheeks.”

you tried to respond, but all that came out was a hoarse croak, your throat dry and raw. the fever made everything feel heavy, like the air in the room was thicker than it should be, and just opening your eyes felt like an effort.

“hey,” they said, their voice softening as they pushed off the doorframe and strode over to the bed, “no smart comeback? must be bad. looks like V wasn’t overreacting after all.”

D sat on the edge of the bed, their presence filling the space in that way only they could. they were close but not touching, their energy restless, as if they weren’t sure what to do in this moment.

“i’ll live,” you rasped, though the effort it took to say the words made you feel like you were lying.

D’s mouth quirked into a half-smile, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “yeah, well, not looking like it from here.”

they stood up, moving to the windows. in one smooth motion, they threw the curtains wide open, letting in a flood of sunlight that made you wince and pull the blankets over your face.

“god, why—” you groaned, voice muffled by the blankets.

“you need air,” D said, dragging a chair over and sitting down next to the bed with a sigh. they leaned back, looking at you like they were trying to figure out how much of this was an exaggeration and how much was real. “or maybe a miracle. i don’t know. you’re not going to get better hiding in the dark like fucking nosferatu.”

“pretty sure the fever’s going to kill me first,” you muttered.

D just stared at you for a moment, their half-lidded gray eyes taking in every detail—the sheen of sweat on your skin, the dark circles under your eyes, the way your breaths came shallow and uneven.

“you’re not going to die,” they said, a little too forcefully, like they were trying to convince themself as much as you. it seemed like they noticed it too because they tried to cover it up with a joke. “i’d kill you first. messy but faster.”

“i’d also suffer less,” you added with a weak chuckle, though it quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. D’s face tightened, and without another word, they were up, rummaging around in the small bag they’d brought with them.

when they came back, they had a glass of water and some pills. “here,” they said, pushing them into your hand. “take this.”

you looked at the pills with suspicion. “do i look like i’m in the state to do drugs at the moment?”

“these aren’t— well, technically medicines are drugs,” they shook their head. “but it’s for the fever. trust me, you need it.”

you stared at the pills for a moment longer before sighing and downing them with the water. D watched you the whole time, their eyes narrowed and making sure you weren’t going to choke or spill the water everywhere.

after a few seconds of silence, they sighed, leaning back in the chair again, but there was a tension in their posture, like they weren’t entirely comfortable being still for this long.

“i’m not great at this,” D admitted, running a hand through their hair in a rare display of vulnerability. “taking care of people, i mean. but you’re not exactly leaving me much of a choice, are you?”

you glanced over at them, trying to muster a weak smile. “the door is that way.”

they snorted, a sound that was more amused than anything. “yeah, well, you’re not getting rid of me so easily, sweet cheeks.”

for a while, D just sat there, tapping their fingers against the side of the chair in an impatient rhythm. the quiet between you both wasn’t uncomfortable, though—it was just... there. it was easy, even with the fever dragging at your consciousness.

D wasn’t the type to hover over anyone, to fuss. they’d never be like that. but their presence was steady, solid in a way that made you feel like maybe you weren’t going to drown under the weight of this sickness after all.

they sighed again, louder this time, clearly irritated with themself. “you know, i should’ve just left you to suffer. would’ve been funnier.”

you rolled your eyes weakly, but there was no real feeling in it. “you’re terrible at pretending you don’t care.”

D’s lips twitched upward, but they didn’t deny it. instead, they leaned forward, elbows on their knees, and gave you a long look.

“you’re not allowed to die on me, okay?” they said, their tone half-joking but their eyes serious. “because then i’d have to explain to everyone why i spent an entire day sitting around and being nice to you. and i’m not doing that.”

“deal,” you croaked, managing a small smile. “i’ll try not to die just to spare you the trouble.”

“good,” they said, leaning back again, looking more comfortable now that the conversation was back in a familiar, light-hearted territory. “because i don’t do hospital visits. or funerals.”

you closed your eyes, the exhaustion creeping back in despite their attempts to keep you awake. their voice, though, kept you tethered to the room, to the present.

“sleep,” D said, gentler now. “i’ll be here when you wake up. but if you die, i’m dialing up necromancers left and right.”

“understood,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you drifted off.

and as you slipped into sleep, you could feel D’s gaze still on you, steady and unrelenting, like they were keeping watch. like they’d fight the fever off themself if they could.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M stood at the foot of your bed, arms crossed, a look of mild exasperation on their face. the room felt too large and too cold despite the covers you’d pulled up to your chin, and the fever left you tangled in a mix of sweats and chills.

“really,” M said, voice posh and clipped, “you should have called me earlier. this is entirely preventable, you know.”

you tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “yeah, sorry, i’ll be sure to schedule my illness next time.”

they gave a small, elegant shrug, as if conceding that point, but you could tell they didn’t fully agree. M always had an answer, a solution to every problem, and you being incapacitated by something as mundane as sickness seemed to offend their sense of order.

without another word, they turned and headed out of the room. you stared after them, confused for a moment, but they were back almost immediately, carrying a silver tray with a delicate teacup balanced on it. the sight was so absurdly M—like they couldn’t fathom the idea of handling something as simple as tea without making it an event—that you couldn’t help but smile.

“chamomile,” they announced, setting the tray down on your bedside table with the kind of grace that made the act feel like a theatre performance. “good for your throat, and it won’t upset your stomach either.”

you propped yourself up on your elbows, feeling weak but trying not to let it show. M lifted the teacup with both hands and offered it to you with all the solemnity of a ceremonial ritual.

“drink,” they said. “slowly.”

you raised an eyebrow but took the cup anyway, the warmth of it seeping into your hands. “do you always take care of everyone like this?”

max tilted their head slightly, considering the question. “you’re not ‘everyone,’” they said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “i have standards, you know.”

you sipped the tea, feeling the heat slide down your throat. it was calming, the way chamomile always was, but there was something more comforting about the way M watched you with that inscrutable expression of precision and care.

“i feel awful,” you rasped, your head lolling against the headboard. “why are you being so caring towards me?”

M quirked an eyebrow, their lips curving into that half-smile of theirs—a smile that knew too much. “contrary to popular belief, darling, i am quite capable of kindness when the situation calls for it.”

“thanks,” you murmured, resting back against the pillows. “for, you know, the tea. the care.”

M’s lips twitched, almost like they were amused. “you should know by now that i don’t do things halfway.” they sat down in the armchair beside your bed, the dark leather creaking slightly under their weight. even sitting, they were composed, their posture immaculate as they crossed one leg over the other. “you’re an absolute disaster right now,” they added, though their tone wasn’t unkind. “but, thankfully for you, i’m here.”

you snorted, setting the teacup back on the tray. “a disaster, huh?”

they smiled—a small, subtle curve of the lips. “an endearing disaster.”

you coughed again, this time harder, and M immediately stood up, as if on alert. they moved quickly but with a calmness that made it clear they weren’t flustered by the situation.

“you’re overheating,” they observed, brushing their cool hand against your forehead. “i’ll get you some water.”

they returned in what felt like no time at all, a glass of water in hand. M held it out to you, not so much as letting you struggle to sit up on your own. you managed to drink a few sips, feeling a little steadier as the cold water cut through the fever’s haze.

as you handed the glass back, M’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected. there was something in their eyes—a hint of concern, but deeper than that, something bordering on protectiveness.

you gave them a soft smile. “thank you. your help... it’s appreciated. really.”

“i should hope so,” they replied, straightening the edge of your blanket with a meticulous hand. “you’d better be back on your feet soon. i don’t have the patience to babysit indefinitely.”

despite their words, you could see the truth in their actions—the way they moved so carefully, like every detail mattered. M didn’t deal in overtly emotional gestures, but their care was all the more powerful because of its restraint. they weren’t going to fawn over you or make a scene. but they would sit there, beside your bed, making sure everything was taken care of while you recovered.

and as the hours passed, they remained by your side, the room filled with the quiet rhythm of your breathing, their calm presence a balm against the fever. you could feel their gaze on you even as you drifted in and out of sleep, an anchor to the world beyond the heat of your sickness.

when you woke again, the light had shifted in the room, casting long shadows across the walls. M was still there, a book in their lap, though it was closed, as if they hadn’t actually been reading it.

“you didn’t have to stay,” you said, your voice rough with sleep.

M glanced over at you, their expression unreadable but softened by the dim light. “of course i did,” they said, as if it were the simplest truth. they stood up, placing the book on the bedside table before smoothing down the front of their shirt. “now, rest. i’ll make sure everything’s in order when you’re back to your usual self.”

there was no arguing with them—there never was. and so, as you let the exhaustion pull you back under, you felt an odd sense of peace, knowing that M would keep everything in place.

[wooziorgans]

moon song || ljh

warnings: post breakup au. ex idol!reader. reader has an implied suicide attempt(s) in the past. reader is implied to do something akin to relapsing at the end of the fic. ed talk. lots of pressure that comes w being an idol. clubs. drinking. seungcheol hates y/n for leaving. leaving the idol industry behind. seeing your ex after four years. hurt w very little comfort. right person, wrong time.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: vent piece mostly. abt my frustration of still being sick, abt my frustration of not seeming to get better, abt how it never seems to stop. abt all of my wasted potential as a person. all of it, none of it, everything and nothing at all. i am so tired.

please read with caution. this is just a lot of emotions all in one place.

The loud bass that hits your head as soon as you enter the club makes your head pound immediately. It’s been four long years since you’ve even been in this part of Seoul, let alone been in a club with this group of ex-colleagues.

Ex-colleagues is certainly one way to put it. They were all so much more, and you know that this is just an excuse for all of them to get drunk. You wonder briefly if Jihoon’s here. He never used to drink, but then again, he didn’t do a lot of things until you were in the picture. You wonder how much has changed now that you’re not.

The memory of him burns like a hot iron branding your back, and you head to the nearest table of refreshments to grab a drink. If he’s here, you’ll need all the alcohol you can get your hands on. Maybe that makes you no better than anyone else; no better than the scene you so desperately needed to leave four years ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.

You’re no longer apart of it. What you do now won’t cost you your career. If the night ends with you passed out in an alley way simply because you saw your ex at an album release party for an album he produced, so be it. He never comes to these things anyways.

At least, he didn’t when you knew him. You haven’t known Jihoon for a long time. It’s been four years after all; a lot can change in a week, let alone four years.

Like your decision to leave the K-pop industry. You had mulled over it for weeks, before you brought it up to anyone, and you didn’t go to Jihoon first. He was the last person you told. At least, officially, that you were leaving.

All those years of work as a trainee, just for it to be nothing. All of the tears, the angry screams into your pillow, the poverty your company forced you into in the first few years of your career because it was boarding on bankruptcy. All of this wasted potential. Maybe you could’ve been someone great.

You were, for a few years. Your group took off, and the first few years of success made all of the hard work feel like it was worth something. But as the saying goes, too much of a good thing won’t be good for long.

The pressure started to build, and it built until it boiled over and you were found on the verge of doing something terrible in your bathroom by your boyfriend and your manager after a week of unusual silence. Jihoon never was a crier, but god did he sob as he held you in the back of the ambulance. He had never begged for anything the way he begged for you to talk to him.

Please, god, please talk to me Y/N. Please, baby. I can’t— I can’t lose you.

It’s funny, really, how things work out. You dug yourself so deep into this hole of despair from the pressure of being an idol, that the only way out of it was to completely separate yourself from that life and start over.

After terminating your contract, you broke up with Jihoon. Or, you didn’t break up with him, only told him that you needed to take a break while you sorted yourself out. After being on a break for four years, is it still just a break? Or are you broken up at that point?

Both you and Jihoon know the answer to that.

Three years of no social media, no articles about you, none of your old friends reaching out to check in on you because they held a contractual obligation to be nice to you in the hallways. Three and a half years out of the spotlight. Three and a half years of peace, of healing, of sorting your life out and learning how to breathe again.

It’s been four years without Jihoon, and you didn’t really think much about the consequences that potentially sharing a space with him would have. But now they’re suffocating. All you can think about is the potential possibility of him being here, which, he wouldn’t be, right? He hates these kinds of gatherings. He used to skip his own release parties to watch shitty romance movies with you on the couch in his studio.

Does he have someone new to watch romance movies with? Or has he given up romance altogether? You know from the first few months, updates provided by Soonyoung, that he didn’t take the distance very well. You know that he missed you, and he worried about you constantly. You know you’re spiralling, and you know all those years of therapy will be for nothing if you don’t pull yourself out of it.

You don’t have to do that, because Seungkwan does it for you. “Y/N? You came!” He seems elated that you’re here, off his rocker, probably drunk.

“Of course I came! It’s your first album as BSS, Seungkwan.” You smile, and it’s not forced at all. You have completely forgotten how easy it is to fall into banter with Seungkwan. It’s almost like you never left in the first place.

Except something in his eyes seems off. That’s your first red flag to turn around and get the fuck out of this club, but you don’t. “My god. It’s been so long. How are you doing?” With anyone else, the small talk would’ve taken you out back and killed you. It’s different with Seungkwan.

Different how? He was one of the only people who consistently checked in on you when you first left. As you settled into your new life, the texts became less frequent; now, four years later they’re hardly anything to notice, but he’ll still send you a text on every holiday, and he’s wished you happy birthday every year since you met him.

“I’m doing a lot better. I’m… I’m good.” You laugh softly. Seungkwan smiles at you.

“That’s good. I’ve missed having you around— of course I don’t expect you to come back into this scene, but it would be nice to see you sometime.” Seungkwan squeezes your shoulder softly and smiles wider.

“Yeah, of course. I know I’ve been gone, but I’ll make it less hard to get a hold of me. I’ve missed all of you, truth be told.” You smile back. “I’ve just… been doing a lot of healing and I think it’s about time I finally start reconnecting with people. Is everyone here?” You ask.

“Oh, yeah. We’re all here! I kind of spilled that I invited you so everyone decided to come just in case you showed up.” The depth of all doesn’t really seem to cross Seungkwan’s mind; he’s certainly not thinking about Jihoon right now, or Seungcheol for that matter. You’re pretty sure Seungcheol would punch you if he caught sight of you. Maybe Jihoon would too. You have no idea how Jihoon even feels about you.

“Even, uh, Jihoon?” The smile falls from Seungkwan’s face.

“Oh. Yeah. He’s here too.” Seungkwan swallows when he sees your face shift. “You… he-he wants to talk to you. It’s not my place to really say, but he’s not mad. I think he just wants closure.”

So maybe Jihoon wouldn’t punch you. That’s a bit of a relief.

“Oh my god! Y/N! You came!” It’s Seokmin, very clearly drunk. You didn’t keep in contact with him, though he did send you a few paragraphs over text as he wished you all the best, telling you to reach out if you ever needed anything. You didn’t take him up on the offer.

“I did!” You smile, tilting your head as you look up at Seokmin.

“Can I have a hug?” He’s already opening his arms and you slide right into them. His hug is firm and warm. You’ve missed Seokmin a lot more than you cared to admit. Seungkwan grumbles about how he should’ve asked for a hug and you laugh, pulling him into one.

You catch up with Seokmin briefly before he’s being pulled away by someone you don’t know. You stick with Seungkwan, talking about your life, the album, avoiding the subject of Jihoon.

And then you turn your head at the bright sound of laughter, and you see him. You see him, and he’s not the same mess he was when you left him with no promise of when you’d see each other next. He’s not the scared man in his early twenties who had no idea if you were going to die on him. He’s not the man who stayed with you in the hospital for days on end.

He’s not the producer you knew who’d slide his headphones over your ears as he pulled you into his lap. He’s not the warm hand that held yours because you forgot your gloves again. He’s not the hushed giggles at four in the morning, or the hurried kisses, or the soft whimpers and praises as you tangled yourselves in his bedsheets.

Jihoon isn’t yours anymore.

You had hoped he wouldn’t be such a sore subject for you anymore, but seeing him in all of his glory four years later… god does it fucking hurt. You’ve done a lot of healing in the last four years, but in that time you never really had the time to process the loss of Jihoon.

Soonyoung spots you, and that’s when you know you’re doomed, because if Soonyoung is distracted, Jihoon always notices the thing that catches him off guard. You try to pull your eyes away from Jihoon, but you can’t. You swear he’s gotten more beautiful in the last four years.

He’s gotten bigger, physically— far more muscular. You can see the curve of his pecks through his shirt, one that isn’t even tight against his body. Jihoon’s always been a big fitness buff, but it appears he’s put more effort into himself. His biceps strain against the fitted sleeves of his long sleeve black shirt.

Jihoon’s face looks different too. He still has the same round cheeks you used to always pinch and prod at. His jawline is still soft, but it’s more defined. His eyes are bright, and the bags under them are still there. You wonder briefly if he’s ever gotten rid of them; if the skin under his eyes has ever matched the rest of his milky complexion.

His hair is longer than you’ve ever seen it. Dark and flowy, it’s reflective and healthy, half tied up with what would be his undercut hanging freely. A few pieces frame his face. It looks soft and healthy. Jihoon looks soft and healthy.

He’s smiling as he scans the crowd to find what Soonyoung is distracted by, and then he spots you. The smile is wiped off of Jihoon’s face faster than your brain can even register it. Seungkwan stiffens beside you, hand finding your shoulder to steady you as you stumble briefly, but the pull between you and Jihoon is too much.

Both of you start moving towards each other, pushing your way through the crowd. “Y/N.” His voice comes out in a breath, chest heaving and then he’s there, right in front of you, after four years.

You don’t know what to say, can’t process the fact that he’s in front of you, as beautiful as ever. “Jihoon,” you echo, “hi.” You can’t help the small smile that threatens to pull at your lips. The tension on Jihoon’s face eases, but he doesn’t smile back.

“Hi. How are you doing?” Jihoon asks, and if it was anyone else, it would’ve been a sad attempt at small talk. It’s Jihoon, so you know he’s asking how you’re doing now, if you’re better. A part of him is asking if you still feel like killing yourself. The answer to the last part is no.

“I’m… better. A lot better.” You laugh awkwardly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t doing okay.” Now, Jihoon actually does smile at you, and though it’s small, it’s still there.

“You look a lot better. Healthier. I’m glad.” Jihoon takes a sip of his drink as he looks down at you. He’s right; you’re much healthier now. There’s solid meat on your bones, your thighs touch and your ribs don’t show anymore. Your face has filled out, cheeks full and round. Your eyes don’t look as though they’re sunken into your skull, they’re brighter now; they seem to shine with life in a way they never have before.

Jihoon takes you in properly, and god, you’ve gotten so much more beautiful since the last time he saw you. It hurts. It hurts a lot to see how good you look now, without him. He knows it’s a lot more complicated than that, but it still hurts nonetheless.

You look healthy, like an actual person and not a skeleton, and you were never that way when you were an idol. You were never like that when you were with Jihoon.

“Oh, um, thank you. Should we… should we sit? We have a lot to talk about.” You laugh again to hide your nerves. Jihoon can still read you, and he knows you’re brimming with nerves. He knows you’re a little scared, probably more than a little, and he is too.

You’ve never breached the subject, hardly even talked about your breakup. Jihoon doesn’t like to think about it. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t like to think about how much worse you were doing, even if it destroyed him. The breakup was harder on you, tenfold, and you went through it alone.

“I- uh. Yeah, yeah, we can go sit. It’s probably about time we talk.” Jihoon laughs nervously, closing his eyes for a second. He wordlessly starts walking towards the vacant booths of the club. You follow close behind.

Jihoon sits down, and you take a seat across from him. It’s silent for a few moments. Both of you are staring at your cups, not drinking, just swirling your liquids of choice.

Jihoon speaks first, but he can’t look at you. “Why’d you have to leave me?” He asks, and his voice breaks softly as he says it. You certainly weren’t expecting that as the first question he asked, but you don’t really know what else he would’ve asked.

“I… I had to leave everything that had to do with being an idol behind. You… you included.” It’s a shitty answer, but you can’t think in Jihoon’s presence.

“I understand that, but I would’ve been there for you. I would’ve helped you get help. You didn’t have to do it by yourself, Y/N. I loved you; I would’ve done anything to make sure you were safe.” Jihoon’s bites at his lip, eyes sparkling in the low lights of the club. He looks like he’s about to cry, and god does it break your heart.

He loved you, past tense. It’s jarring. It stings, but what else did you expect? For him to still want you? That’s unrealistic and completely unfair to expect from him.

It hits you then that you might still be in love with him. That makes this next part so much harder.

“I know. I know, but it made sense to me at the time. I can’t- I can’t rationalize anything that I did at that time in my life. None of it makes sense, but I made a lot of choices that I regret and I can’t go back on them now. It’s too late for that and I’m- I’m so sorry for everything I put you through, Jihoon. All of it; everything, god, I’m so sorry.” You spill, and the soft burn in the back of your throat makes it hard to speak as you try not to cry. “You didn’t deserve to deal with any of it.” You whisper softly.

“Y/N,” Jihoon whispers back, “I forgave you a long time ago. I just want closure.” Closure. Jihoon wants closure, meaning he wants to move on. The tears in his eyes shine brightly, though they don’t fall, but he’s crying nonetheless, and that makes you feel worse.

“I don’t deserve that though. I don’t deserve to be forgiven for just leaving you. Seungcheol still hasn’t forgiven me; why the hell would you?” You swallow hard, and that seems to break the dam as the first few tears slip down your cheeks.

“Seungcheol has his own issues. We never told him the full story, and maybe that’s why he’s still… iffy about the whole thing. But I forgive you. I just, I want to stop hiding from you. I don’t want to be worried about running into you somewhere and not knowing what to say. I still care about you, so much, and, god does it fucking kill me to still worry about you when you’ve never made an effort to reach out to me.” Jihoon’s always been blunt, so you should’ve expected this, but it makes you feel worse; guilty. “I would’ve answered your calls, in a heartbeat. You know I would’ve.” Jihoon blinks, and the first few tears fall down his face.

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to call you after so long. I spent six months in and out of the hospital, and after that I had to get back on my feet. By the time I even had time to think about calling you, it’d been a year, and to me that was too late.” You close your eyes and exhale deeply, fingers twitching.

Jihoon used to hold your hands when you were upset to stop them from twitching so much. He used to pull your head close to his chest and wipe your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He makes no effort to do so now. Jihoon can’t even look at you properly.

He’s focused on picking at the calluses on his palms. Some things never change.

“You- six months? Y/N, fuck, I had no idea. I knew it was bad but, shit, really?” Jihoon’s voice breaks fully, and all you can do is nod. “How many more times? How many times did you—?” He can’t finish his sentence. His throat closes up.

“Four.” Jihoon has nothing to say in reply. He can’t, not with the deep hurt that settles in his chest, so you elaborate. “I really just wanted to die. The media was on my ass for the first year and it was just bad. I spent the next year after that in a rehabilitation program to fix my relationship with food and it helped a lot. I found a good therapist and I’m still seeing her. It’s helped a lot. I’m- I’m clean.” You pick up your cup, hand shaking, and take a large drink to calm your nerves.

“I’m really glad that you’re healthy now. Really, god, that’s such a relief.” Jihoon’s tears are steady now. He wipes at them with his sleeve. You mutter a soft thank you.

Outside of the booth, the noise has been blocked out by your conversation, but you hear something peculiar. It’s Seungcheol, his voice is loud and booming. He’s angry.

“What the fuck are they doing here?! Seriously, why did you even invite them?” Both you and Jihoon look up at the same time to see Joshua and Mingyu trying to deescalate the situation. Seungkwan is yelling back, face red as he tries to block Seungcheol’s view of the booth you and Jihoon are sat in.

“No, I’ve fucking had it with all of you. Defending them for just fucking leaving Jihoon without a word. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you bring them here?” Seungcheol is drunk and looking for a confrontation with you, and that’s enough of a threat to have you and Jihoon standing as he tries to usher you out of the club without Seungcheol seeing.

“Fuck, you should probably go.” Jihoon pulls you close to him, shielding you from Seungcheol’s view. You nod, walking fast beside him as you push your way through the crowd.

“Yah! You, get the fuck back here!” Neither of you listen as you push your way out of the door. You make the mistake of looking behind you to see Joshua and Mingyu physically holding Seungcheol back. Wonwoo is there now too, standing in front of him to prevent him from walking.

The outside air is cold and bitter. You shiver as you pull out your phone to order a ride. You and Jihoon are completely silent. He’s standing so close to you that you can feel his body heat radiating off onto you.

“I’ll wait with you. How long?” He asks, voice shaky.

“Two minutes.” You only have two minutes left with Jihoon. It’s so finite, the time you’re spending with him. If only you had more time.

You’re not afforded that luxury as you shiver beside him. “Can I- is it okay if I—?” You nod, unsure of what he’s asking. It’s a yes either way. Jihoon pulls you into his arms in a tight, warm hug. His hands don’t find their way into your hair, or rub your back. He just holds you. It’s all he can do.

Both of you ignore the mutual swell of warmth in your chests. You’re still in love with him, you know that, and that’s why the car seems to show up in no time. Your phone chimes as the car pulls up in front of the club as you reluctantly start to separate yourselves.

There’s so much you didn’t get to talk about. You tell him so. “We, fuck, I had so much more to say. I had so much more to explain. You, god, you were the right person, Jihoon. Everything else was just so wrong.” You thought the weight would’ve been lifted off your chest, but it only hurts more. You close your eyes as you turn away.

“Y/N, fuck, don’t do this to me right now.” Jihoon whispers, eyes filling with tears once again.

“I’m sorry Jihoon. I love you. I’ll see you around.” You open the door to the car.

“I, yeah. Take care of yourself.” Jihoon can’t look at you, no way in hell can he look at you as you close the door and drive off. He stands still in the cold, watching as the car disappears from his sight. He leans against the wall, head falling back as the tears start pouring freely.

As he pushes the door to the club open, it hits him hard, fills his whole body as a bone deep love for you settles. And it hurts, god does it hurt. Seungcheol’s calmed down, but the snide remark that slips past his lip doesn’t even register in Jihoon’s brain. All Jihoon recognizes is his tone, and that’s enough.

“I’ll punch you right in your fucking mouth, Seungcheol, I swear to god. Shut the fuck up.” Jihoon hardly ever makes threats, but when he does it has everyone going quiet. Seungcheol, Joshua and Mingyu stop in their tracks. There’s been enough drama for one night.

Jihoon grabs a new drink and chugs it, before he goes to grab his coat. He needs to get out of here before the sob building in his throat bursts.

You manage to keep your tears at bay until you enter your apartment. You find yourself in the bathroom, against the cold tile and the porcelain of the bathtub. You don’t do anything, just sit there and breathe as the tears flow freely.

It wasn’t supposed to end like that. You were supposed to have more time to reconcile with Jihoon. You and bathrooms have seen a lot of hurt. Most of your bad decisions are made in bathrooms. You don’t do anything, you just sit there for a few minutes as you cry.

Nothing happens the next night. Or the night after. A week after the release party, Jihoon still plagues your mind and that’s when you crack. Your old manager turned friend answers the phone.

“Hi. You okay?” Yena asks softly, voice ridden with sleep.

“Drive me to the hospital? I think I need stitches.” You laugh nervously. The adrenaline has worn off and all you feel is regret.

“Y/N.” She sighs, but it’s not disappointment. She’s seen a lot of things with you, and supported you through all of them. You’re the reason she quit being a manager and went back to university. You made her realize the idol life isn’t as glamorous as it seems, and you’ve formed a very solid friendship over the past five years. “You know they’re gonna keep you for a few days, right?”

“Yeah. I know. It was impulsive. Like, I’m fine now. I just couldn’t stop thinking.” You sigh.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be on the way. Cold water and pressure until I get there, yeah?” You laugh softly.

“Already on it.” The call disconnects soon after, and you look up at the mirror. Briefly, you imagine Jihoon standing behind you in a much different situation than the one you’re in now.

His thick arms are wrapped around your waist, head leaning against yours. He’s smiling in your vision. You smile softly in your reflection, though it’s strained. The blood on your hands pulls you out of it.

a/n: i wrote this when i was going through it. i’m fine now but i seriously can’t do angst like i used to so i might write a part two or something where they end up back together.

[sxcretricciardo]

rivals forever - M.V

•

The roar of the engines reverberated through the paddock as you walked with purpose, helmet in hand, the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and gasoline filling the air. You had come a long way to get here, breaking barriers as one of the few female drivers in Formula 1, and not just a token driver either—one of the best. You were a force to be reckoned with, consistently competing at the top of the grid, and now, one of the sport’s fiercest rivalries was between you and Max Verstappen.

Max had always been competitive, but so had you. The tension between you two was legendary, lighting up the paddock and thrilling fans worldwide. Both of you fought for every inch on track, trading positions, dueling wheel-to-wheel, and sometimes crashing out in spectacular fashion. Today had been one of those days.

The race had been intense—fast corners, aggressive overtakes, and then the inevitable collision. Neither of you gave an inch. You knew Max wouldn’t. You weren’t the type to back down either. The moment it happened, the sound of carbon fiber crashing echoed in your ears as both of your cars went sliding into the gravel trap, ending the race for the both of you. The frustration was palpable. DNF. Both of you were out.

You slammed your helmet down as you made your way back to the paddock. Max was already there, pacing like a caged lion. His fiery blue eyes locked onto you the moment you entered.

“Are you kidding me?” he spat, closing the distance between you.

You weren’t in the mood for this. “You turned in on me!” you shot back, your voice rising as adrenaline and anger pumped through your veins. “I had the inside line. You didn’t leave any room!”

Max’s jaw clenched. “It’s racing. You don’t just expect me to let you through. You’ve done this before!”

“Oh, I’ve done this before?” You stepped closer to him, not backing down. “What about you? You can’t handle anyone getting past you, can you? Your ego can’t take it.”

“You crashed into me!” Max was livid now, the two of you standing toe to toe, noses nearly touching, the tension sizzling between you.

“Maybe if you didn’t drive like an idiot, we’d both be finishing races,” you hissed.

For a moment, the air crackled with the possibility of something more—more anger, more fighting, more...something. But before either of you could escalate it further, team members pulled you apart, ushering you away, telling you to cool off. But the fire was still burning inside.

Later that evening, the team dinner was subdued, everyone clearly annoyed by the race result, especially the fact that their two top drivers had knocked each other out. You had a drink, then another, trying to shake off the frustration of the day. But it wasn’t working.

Before you knew it, you found yourself in the hotel bar, nursing a whiskey on the rocks. You weren’t surprised when Max appeared at the other end of the bar, also drinking. The bartender gave you both a wary glance but said nothing. The rivalry between you two was the talk of the season, and everyone knew it.

For a while, you ignored each other, focusing on your drinks. But the bar wasn’t that big, and after a couple more rounds, Max made his way over to your end, sitting beside you with a sigh. “Hell of a race,” he muttered.

You snorted, still annoyed. “Hell of a crash.”

Silence stretched between you for a few beats before Max chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, you drive me crazy.”

“Good,” you said, taking a sip. “That’s the idea.”

You both laughed, the alcohol loosening the tension between you, though the competitive fire still smoldered just beneath the surface. As the night wore on, the bar emptied, and the conversation grew easier. You talked about racing, life on the road, the pressures of being at the top. And, of course, the rivalry.

Max looked at you, his expression softening slightly, the alcohol clearly making him more relaxed. “You’re good, you know. Really good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re only just realizing that?”

He grinned, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping. “I’ve always known. Maybe that’s why you get under my skin so much.”

There was a beat of silence as his words hung in the air. You felt your heart race, but this time, it wasn’t from anger or adrenaline. You weren’t sure if it was the drinks, the long hours, or something else, but the tension between you had shifted. What had started as competition and rivalry now felt like something...more.

Before you could overthink it, Max leaned in, his lips brushing against yours, and just like that, the fire between you ignited in a different way. The kiss was rough, urgent, a release of all the tension that had been building between you for months. Neither of you stopped to question it.

Somehow, you made it back to the hotel room, clothes discarded in a blur, the intensity between you never wavering. The night was a haze of passion, both of you giving as good as you got, just like on the track. It was fast, heated, and undeniable.

The next morning, you woke up tangled in the sheets, Max’s arm draped across your waist. For a moment, you didn’t move, your head pounding slightly from the drinks, your body sore from both the race and the night before. You turned your head to see Max still asleep, his face softened in the morning light. It was strange, seeing him like this, without the cocky smirk or the intense focus he always had at the track.

And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes fluttered open. He looked at you, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

You felt a strange warmth spread through your chest, something you weren’t used to feeling when it came to Max. “Morning,” you replied softly.

For a moment, the world outside the room didn’t exist. There were no races, no rivalries, no expectations—just the two of you, lying there, wrapped up in each other. But reality wasn’t something you could escape forever.

Max propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching yours. “Last night...”

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure where this conversation was going, and a part of you didn’t want to know.

“I meant what I said. You get under my skin,” he admitted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “But I don’t think it’s just the rivalry. I think it’s more than that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What are you saying, Max?”

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “I think I...I like you. More than I should, considering we’re supposed to be fighting for the championship.”

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. You hadn’t expected this. But then again, you hadn’t expected last night either. “I think I like you too,” you admitted, the words feeling foreign but right at the same time.

Max smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, this time slower, softer. It felt different from last night, more tender, more real. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “So what now?”

You chuckled, tracing a finger along his jawline. “We’ve got a race next weekend, don’t we?”

He laughed, the sound vibrating through you. “Yeah, we do.”

“And I’m still going to fight you for every point,” you teased, though there was no malice in your voice.

“Good,” Max murmured, his lips brushing against yours. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

The next race weekend was just as intense as the last, but something had changed between you and Max. On track, the rivalry was as fierce as ever—neither of you gave an inch, still battling for every position, still determined to come out on top. But off the track, things were different. The stolen glances, the secret smiles, the late-night rendezvous—it was a secret neither of you were ready to share with the world yet, but it was there, simmering beneath the surface.

As the season went on, the world continued to watch your rivalry, none the wiser to the fact that, behind closed doors, things had shifted. And by the time the final race of the season rolled around, Max had already slipped a ring onto your finger, a private promise that no matter what happened on track, you were in this together.

A year after that first night in the hotel, you stood hand in hand at the altar, surrounded by family, friends, and teammates, the rivalry still very much alive but now accompanied by something far deeper.

Max smiled at you as you exchanged vows, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “We might fight on track,” he whispered as the officiant pronounced you husband and wife. “But off track...you’re mine.”

You grinned, pulling him in for a kiss. “Always.”

[hi-sierra]

On August 27th, 2023, I started Hormone Replacement Therapy.

On August 27th, 2024, I summited the tallest point in the Continental US via the High Sierra Trail.

Both were things I knew I wanted to do for... Well, most of my life, but never had the guts to follow through. Until I got burned out enough that I realized I couldn't spend the rest of my life ignoring things like that.

It took a lot of troubleshooting to actually get HRT to work, but by late spring, I was hormonally female. Changes started to take off, and will continue for years- I'm starting to look back and wonder what I was worried about.

Training for the HST also took time, and again, I don't know what I was worried about. By the time I had "built up" to the HST, I had already done several things that were just as or more strenuous, and it went by easily.

Of course, that didn't make it any less spectacular. The pictures here follow my slow 7 days on the HST, starting at the Giant Forest, over the Kaweah gap, down into Kern Canyon, and over Whitney. The granite features of the Sierras are always incredible, and doing it on foot means a first hand look at all of the tiny shifts in flora and fauna along the way.

I'm slowly starting research back up, and feel way better about it than I did before. But now that I have the skill set, I'm absolutely gonna head back into the mountains from time to time, and I'm already dreaming about more ambitious hiking goals for the next few years. I'm coming for you someday, JMT.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (12)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 700+

- Previous part: 11

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The skies over Dragonstone were overcast, a heavy blanket of gray clouds that seemed to press down on the ancient fortress. The sea winds swept through the courtyard, carrying the salty tang of the ocean as you stood, watching the crimson form of Caraxes descend from the heavens. The Blood Wyrm was unmistakable, his long, serpentine body slicing through the air with a grace that belied his fearsome reputation. As Caraxes landed with a thud that sent vibrations through the stone beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of nostalgia and wariness.

It had been ten years since you’d left King’s Landing, ten years since you’d made your choice to live in exile with Rhaenyra, far from the politics and treachery of the court. Yet, even here, on the windswept isle of Dragonstone, the shadows of your past seemed ever-present. And now, with Daemon’s arrival, those shadows had come calling once more.

Daemon slid off Caraxes with a practiced ease, his movements as fluid and confident as ever. His silver hair, longer now, whipped around his face in the brisk wind. He wore a dark riding cloak that billowed behind him as he approached, his expression a curious blend of amusement and something else, something that made you tense.

“Nephew,” Daemon greeted, his lips curling into a wry smile as he stopped before you. “It’s been too long. I’d say Dragonstone suits you, though I must admit, the quiet life doesn’t seem quite your style.”

You clasped his arm in greeting, your grip firm as you met his gaze. “Daemon,” you replied, your tone cordial but guarded. “I’d say the same for you. But then, I don’t imagine you’ve come all this way just to admire the scenery.”

Daemon laughed, a low, almost conspiratorial sound. “No, no. Though I must say, the view from the skies is magnificent, as always.” His eyes gleamed with that familiar mischievous glint. “I couldn’t resist dropping in. I still remember the show we put on all those years ago—Lannister’s face was something to behold, wasn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Yes, you did enjoy yourself, didn’t you? Stirring up the hornet’s nest and then watching it burn.” There was a pause, then you added, more seriously, “But we’ve paid the price for it, haven’t we? Exiled from our father, from the crown. All for defying a marriage that should never have been considered.”

Daemon shrugged, as if such consequences were of little concern to him. “What’s life without a bit of rebellion, hmm? You and Rhaenyra made your choice, and I supported you then as I do now. Besides, it was amusing to see the Lannisters quiver for once. You took what was rightfully yours—no more, no less.”

You nodded, though the weight of the years spent in exile bore heavily on your shoulders. “But why are you here now, Uncle?” you asked, your voice turning serious. “You didn’t come all this way just to reminisce.”

Daemon’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more contemplative look. He took a moment, glancing around the courtyard, his eyes lingering on the old walls and the distant sea beyond. “Viserys sent me,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “He wishes to see you both. He’s… missed you, despite everything. The years have not been kind to him without his children. And he wants to meet his grandchildren.”

The mention of your father’s name brought a mix of emotions surging to the surface. You’d tried to bury your anger, your resentment, but hearing that Viserys wanted to see you now, after so many years of estrangement, felt like reopening an old wound.

“He wants to meet my children now?” you said, your voice flat, betraying none of the turmoil inside. “I suppose it’s been difficult for him, hasn’t it? So difficult that he married Alicent Hightower after Otto couldn’t push her onto me as well.” Bitterness seeped into your words. “And then he tried to do the same with Rhaenyra.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching you closely. “I won’t deny that Otto Hightower’s machinations played a part in all this. And yes, Viserys made his choices. Poor ones, perhaps. But he’s still your father, and the weight of his crown has only grown heavier over the years.”

You turned away, looking out toward the horizon where the sky met the churning sea. The memories of those last days in King’s Landing, the betrayal, the forced choices—it all felt too close, too raw, even now. “He was willing to sacrifice both of us for the sake of alliances, for the sake of his damned peace.”

“And now he’s paying the price for it,” Daemon said softly, his voice lacking its usual bite. “You and Rhaenyra—your absence has left a wound in him. He’s not the man you remember, nephew. The years, the burdens of the crown… they’ve taken their toll. He’s not well.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions inside you. Part of you wanted to scoff, to dismiss the idea that Viserys could feel regret, that he could truly want to reconcile. But another part of you, the part that remembered your father not as a king but as the man who had once held you and Rhaenyra close, who had smiled and laughed and told stories of old Valyria—that part of you ached to believe it.

“And what of Rhaenyra?” you asked, turning back to Daemon. “He’s banished her in all but name. What does he want from her now?”

Daemon sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “He wants his daughter back. He wants his son back. He wants to meet the children he’s only heard about in letters. Whatever anger or pride kept him away before, it’s fading. He’s sick, Y/N. And he’s afraid.”

You clenched your jaw, the conflicting emotions tearing at you. This was the last thing you had expected—a summons, an invitation to return after all these years. And yet, the thought of facing your father, of returning to that world of intrigue and betrayal, made your blood boil.

“It’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “We’ve built a life here. Our family is here. And after everything that’s happened…”

“No,” Daemon agreed. “It’s never simple. But he’s reaching out, in his own way. He’s trying to mend what’s broken. If you’re willing to listen.”

You looked down at the stones beneath your feet, the wind carrying the distant cries of the dragons above. This was a decision that couldn’t be made lightly. Too much was at stake—your family, your children, and Rhaenyra’s heart, which had been battered by years of rejection and exile.

“And if we say no?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Daemon shrugged, though there was a seriousness in his eyes that belied his casual posture. “Then you stay here, and the world keeps turning. But know this: Viserys is dying. If you don’t see him now, you may never have the chance to see him again.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, your heart pounding as you tried to process what Daemon had said. It felt like a trap, like the last desperate plea of a man who had already lost too much. But there was also truth in it, a truth that made your chest ache.

“I’ll speak to Rhaenyra,” you said finally, your voice strained. “But I make no promises.”

Daemon nodded, his gaze understanding. “That’s all I ask, nephew.”

He turned then, walking back toward Caraxes, who waited patiently in the courtyard. As Daemon climbed back into the saddle, he looked back at you one last time, his expression solemn. “Take your time, Y/N. But don’t take too long.”

With a final nod, he urged Caraxes into the air, the great dragon’s wings beating powerfully as they lifted off the ground, the sound echoing across Dragonstone.

You watched as they disappeared into the sky, the wind whipping around you, carrying with it the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. The decision lay heavy on your shoulders, a choice that could change everything once again.

The horns of the city rang out twice, their deep, resonant call echoing across the Red Keep and through the streets of King’s Landing. The sound brought King Viserys back from his restless thoughts, his frail form stiffening as he looked out the open window. His children had returned, just as Daemon had promised. The realization brought a mix of relief and trepidation to his heart.

Viserys turned to Ser Harrold Westerling, who stood dutifully at his side. The years had not been kind to the king; his skin was pallid, his frame thin and weakened, and his once proud stance was hunched, as if the weight of his crown had finally crushed him. His breathing was labored, each intake a struggle, but his eyes, though dimmed, were still sharp with anticipation.

“Ser Harrold,” Viserys said, his voice strained but determined. “Prepare an escort. The Prince and Princess are to be brought from the Dragonpit to the Red Keep with all the honor they are due. Ensure their children are treated with the respect of their station.”

Ser Harrold bowed, his face a mask of concern. “As you command, Your Grace.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the king’s weary form. “Shall I summon the Maester? You seem... unwell.”

Viserys waved him off, his hand trembling. “I’ll see my children first. There will be time for rest later.”

With a nod, Ser Harrold left to make the arrangements, leaving Viserys alone in the chamber. The king took a deep, shuddering breath, leaning heavily on his cane as he made his way toward the door. Each step was a struggle, but the thought of seeing you and Rhaenyra again after so many years gave him strength he had thought long gone.

The courtyard of the Red Keep was filled with anticipation as the welcoming party assembled. Lords and ladies, retainers and servants all gathered, whispering among themselves as they awaited the arrival of the Prince and Princess. Viserys stood at the head of the party, flanked by his Kingsguard and councilors. His gaze was fixed on the grand entrance, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

And then, you rode in, leading the procession on horseback, Rhaenyra at your side. The sight of you both, after so long, took his breath away. You had changed in the ten years you’d been away—no longer the young man who had left King’s Landing in a storm of rebellion and defiance. Your hair, still the pale blond of your Targaryen lineage, was longer now, pulled back into a neat braid. Your features were more defined, a hardness in your jaw and eyes that spoke of battles fought and won. You wore dark armor, polished but unadorned, the emblem of House Targaryen etched into the breastplate. There was an air of command about you, a strength and resolve that had grown in your years of exile. But there was also something colder, a guardedness in your expression that made Viserys’s heart ache.

Rhaenyra rode beside you, her presence as commanding as ever. Her silver hair, loose and windswept, framed her face, and her violet eyes were fixed ahead, the only hint of her anxiety the slight tension in her jaw. Behind you both, riding on smaller horses, were your children—Jacerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. They sat tall in their saddles, their expressions a mixture of awe and trepidation as they took in the grandeur of the Red Keep.

You dismounted first, your movements fluid and controlled, as you stepped forward to greet your father. Rhaenyra followed suit, helping the children down from their mounts. Viserys felt a lump in his throat as he watched, his eyes lingering on his grandchildren, whom he was seeing for the first time in the flesh.

“Father,” you greeted, your voice formal and cold. The title was spoken without warmth, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of disappointment and disdain. “It’s been a long time.”

Viserys’s heart clenched at the harshness in your tone, the bitterness that lay just beneath the surface. He took a faltering step forward, leaning heavily on his cane. “Y/N...” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “You’ve... you’ve grown into a fine man. I—”

“Save the pleasantries, Father,” you interrupted, your voice low but cutting. “We both know why we’re here. You sent Daemon to bring us back after ten years of silence. What is it you truly want?”

The courtyard seemed to still at your words, the gathered nobles exchanging uneasy glances. Rhaenyra stood slightly behind you, her face unreadable as she placed a reassuring hand on Jacerys’s shoulder. The boy looked up at his mother, his eyes wide with uncertainty, but he remained silent.

Viserys swallowed, the pain in his chest worsening. “I wanted... I needed to see you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve missed you both, more than I can say. And I... I want to meet my grandchildren.” His eyes moved to the three boys, his gaze softening. “They... they’re beautiful, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra inclined her head, her expression guarded. “They are my pride, Father.” Her tone was polite but distant, and Viserys felt the chasm between them, one that had only widened with time.

You turned to Alicent then, who stood beside Otto, her face pale and tense. “Alicent,” you greeted, your tone almost polite but edged with disdain. “Or should I say, Your Grace?” You gave her a curt nod. “I must confess, I’m unsure of how to address you now.”

Alicent flinched at the coldness in your voice, her eyes lowering for a moment as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Prince Y/N,” she began, her voice strained but steady. “It is... good to see you after so long. The king has been unwell, and it is a comfort to him to have his family near once more.”

“Family,” you echoed, the word heavy with irony. “Yes, I suppose that’s what we are. Though I doubt Rhaenyra and I were much of a comfort to him when he chose to marry you.”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she forced herself to meet your gaze. “I never wished to cause you or Rhaenyra pain,” she said quietly, her voice sincere despite the tension between you. “I—”

“Stop,” you said, your tone softening just slightly. You could see the pain in her eyes, and though part of you wanted to lash out, you restrained yourself. “This isn’t about you, Alicent.”

Before the silence could stretch any further, Maester Mellos stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Prince Y/N, Princess Rhaenyra,” he greeted, his tone deferential. “Welcome back to King’s Landing. We have much to discuss, but for now, let us focus on your safe return.”

You nodded curtly, though your gaze remained on your father. “Yes, there is much to discuss.”

The tension in the courtyard was palpable as you turned to Tyland Lannister, who had remained silent through the exchange. His face was a mask of civility, though there was a tightness around his eyes as he forced a smile.

“Prince Y/N,” Tyland greeted, his voice strained. “It’s good to see you again. The realm has missed your presence. We hope you’ll find King’s Landing... accommodating.”

You studied him for a moment, your expression unreadable. “Lord Tyland,” you said finally. “I hope your brother has recovered from the shock of our departure all those years ago.”

Tyland’s smile faltered, but he kept his composure. “Lord Jason has moved on, as have we all,” he replied, his voice tight.

Before the exchange could escalate further, Otto Hightower stepped forward, his voice smooth and diplomatic. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation inside, Your Grace, Your Highness. We’ve had food and wine prepared, and there is much to discuss.”

Viserys nodded, though his gaze remained on you and Rhaenyra, his eyes lingering on the boys beside her. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, let us go inside.”

You exchanged a glance with Rhaenyra, who gave a small nod. The five of you—husband, wife, and children—followed the king into the Keep, the tension hanging over the family like a storm waiting to break.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was filled with the soft clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation as the family gathered for the first meal they had shared in over a decade. The long table was set with an abundance of food and drink, from roasted game and fresh fruits to flagons of fine Dornish wine. Yet, despite the luxurious spread, the atmosphere was strained, the tension palpable in every glance, every word exchanged.

Viserys sat at the head of the table, his frail frame dwarfed by the opulent chair. He watched his family with a mixture of relief and trepidation, his gaze flickering between you, Rhaenyra, and your children, and then to Alicent, who sat to his right, her expression carefully composed. On the other side of Alicent were her children—Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena—all of whom sat quietly, their eyes darting curiously to you and Rhaenyra.

You and Rhaenyra were seated directly across from Alicent, your children beside you. Jacerys and Lucerys were trying to appear composed and dignified, their youthful faces betraying their unease in such an imposing setting. Joffrey, the youngest, shifted restlessly in his seat, glancing up at the grand, unfamiliar surroundings. You reached out and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, a small smile on your lips.

Viserys cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. “It is... heartening to have my family together once more,” he began, his voice weak but sincere. “We have much to discuss, but let us first enjoy this meal.”

The conversation started tentatively, with polite inquiries about the children and your life on Dragonstone. But as the meal progressed, Viserys turned the topic to the elephant in the room, his eyes resting on you and Rhaenyra.

“I understand,” Viserys said slowly, his gaze shifting from you to Rhaenyra, “that you were married in the old Valyrian chapel on Dragonstone. An ancient and sacred place.”

You inclined your head slightly, your expression neutral. “Yes, Father. Rhaenyra and I were wed there, according to the customs of our ancestors.” Your tone was measured, but there was a subtle edge to it. “It is as valid a marriage as any other in the eyes of our house and tradition.”

Tyland Lannister, seated a few places down, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His lips pressed into a thin line as he recalled the enormous sum House Lannister had spent on the grand wedding that never took place, not to mention the damage to the Sept near Casterly Rock. “Of course, Prince Y/N,” he said, his voice strained. “One can hardly dispute the... sanctity of such a union. Though the Sept where... your departure occurred still bears the scars of that day.” He forced a polite smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

You gave him a cool look, your expression unyielding. “I’m sure House Lannister can afford a few repairs, Lord Tyland.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, but he did not press the matter further, his hand clenching around his goblet.

Alicent, who had been observing the exchange quietly, set down her knife and fork, her eyes lingering on you and Rhaenyra, then shifting to the children seated beside you. There was an underlying tension in her gaze, a restrained irritation that simmered beneath her polite facade. It was a feeling she had harbored for years, one that had only grown as she watched you and Rhaenyra defy everything the realm expected of you.

She couldn’t help but wonder, as she often had, if Rhaenyra had deliberately lured you into her bed before you left for the Dornish border. Had she seduced you, entangled you in her web to secure your loyalty and affection so completely that you would defy the king and steal her away from her own wedding? The thought gnawed at her, though she pushed it down, focusing instead on the repulsion she felt at your union. To her, who had been raised in the Faith of the Seven, your marriage was an affront, a sinful act of selfishness that mocked the very traditions she held dear.

As Alicent’s gaze lingered on your children—on Jacerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—Rhaenyra felt the weight of her scrutiny. She looked up sharply, her eyes locking with Alicent’s. There was no warmth in Rhaenyra’s gaze, only a cold, defiant challenge. For a moment, the two women stared at each other, the years of bitterness and betrayal hanging between them like a shadow.

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys said suddenly, breaking the tension, his tone filled with a forced cheerfulness. “I must say, the boys have grown strong and handsome. I would very much like to get to know my grandsons better.”

Rhaenyra tore her gaze away from Alicent, her expression softening as she looked at her father. “They are as spirited as their namesakes,” she replied, her voice steady. “Jacerys and Lucerys have been practicing their swordplay, and Joffrey, well... he is still finding his way, but he has the heart of a dragon.”

Viserys smiled, though the effort seemed to cost him. “I look forward to seeing them in the training yard. Perhaps they could even teach their uncles a thing or two.” He gestured toward Alicent’s children, who had been watching the exchange in silence.

Aegon, now a young man, glanced at you and Rhaenyra with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something darker that he hid behind a lazy smirk. Aemond, his face serious, studied you with the intensity of someone trying to understand an enemy. Helaena, on the other hand, seemed lost in her own world, her fingers tracing patterns on the tablecloth as she muttered softly to herself.

You looked at your half-siblings, your expression unreadable. “We will see, Father,” you said evenly. “It’s been a long time since we’ve shared such... family activities.”

Alicent’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, she almost spoke, her lips parting as if to say something, but then she stopped, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. She looked at Viserys instead, forcing a smile. “The children have missed having their father present. I’m sure it would do them good to spend time with their family,” she said, though her words felt hollow.

Viserys nodded, his eyes distant. “Yes, yes... family. It is what binds us, even when we are apart.” He looked at you then, his gaze lingering on the hardness in your eyes, the guarded expression on your face. “Y/N, Rhaenyra... these years have been difficult for us all. But now that you are here, perhaps we can begin to heal these wounds.”

“We’ll see,” you said quietly, your tone flat. “It’s not so easily done, Father.”

The conversation drifted on, the tension ebbing and flowing with each exchange. The food was eaten, though few seemed to have much appetite. The wine was poured, though most drank sparingly. The atmosphere remained strained, the past casting long shadows over the present.

Aegon, his gaze flicking between you and Rhaenyra, leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning. “So, what’s life like on Dragonstone, brother? It must be... exciting, living among the dragons and the ghosts.”

You looked at him, your expression cool. “It has its challenges,” you replied, your voice calm. “But it’s home.”

“And the people there?” Aemond asked, his tone more direct. “Do they welcome you as their Prince, or do they fear the dragon that stole the princess away?”

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table, but you merely raised an eyebrow. “The people of Dragonstone know where their loyalties lie,” you said smoothly. “And they respect those who defend them, not those who sit idle in luxury.”

The barb hit its mark, and Aemond’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Alicent spoke up, her voice strained but firm. “That’s enough, Aemond.” She turned to you, her gaze steady. “Y/N, Rhaenyra... despite everything, I am glad you are here. For the king’s sake, if nothing else.”

Rhaenyra’s lips tightened, but she inclined her head slightly. “For the king’s sake,” she echoed, her voice tinged with bitterness.

The uneasy quiet was punctuated by the occasional clink of cutlery against porcelain, the scrape of a chair, or the hushed murmur of a courtier whispering nervously. Though there were many gathered at the table, it felt as if there were only two camps—those who stood with you and Rhaenyra, and those who supported Alicent and her children. And, of course, King Viserys, caught between them all, like a man trying to hold back a tide with his bare hands.

Alicent set down her goblet, her fingers lingering around the base, and cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the table. Her eyes moved from Rhaenyra to you, then back to Rhaenyra, a calculated look in them. “Rhaenyra,” she began, her voice polite but edged with something sharper. “It’s been so many years since you left. We all... wondered what compelled you to take such drastic actions.” She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose, after everything, you must have had your reasons for eloping and leaving your family behind.”

Rhaenyra stiffened, her fingers curling around the stem of her goblet. “My reasons, as you put it, were very clear, Alicent.” Her tone was steady, but you could hear the barely restrained anger beneath the surface. “I chose to marry the man I love, the man I wanted to spend my life with. That is a choice that, as I recall, was not available to you.”

A sharp intake of breath rippled around the table, courtiers exchanging glances. Alicent’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, her eyes flashing with something dark. “You’re right, of course. Duty has often dictated my choices. But not everyone has the luxury to simply follow their heart, especially when the stability of the realm is at stake.” Her voice was soft, but there was steel in it.

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed. “The stability of the realm? Is that what you call forcing me into a marriage with Jason Lannister? All for some political gain?” She leaned forward, her voice rising slightly. “You speak of duty, Alicent, but don’t pretend for a moment that you or your father haven’t benefited greatly from those same decisions.”

Alicent’s face flushed, but she kept her composure. “We all have a role to play, Rhaenyra. You were supposed to be the princess, to stand by your father’s side, not flee to Dragonstone with your brother and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to retort, but you reached out, placing a hand on her arm, your touch gentle but firm. “Enough,” you said quietly, though your voice carried authority. You turned to Alicent, your gaze steady and unreadable. “We did what we felt was right, given the circumstances. And it’s clear those decisions were not made lightly.”

Alicent met your gaze, her eyes searching, as if trying to understand you, trying to find the man she remembered. “And what circumstances were those, Y/N?” she asked, her voice softer now. “What was so dire that it justified breaking your father’s heart and turning your back on the realm?”

You exhaled slowly, your eyes flicking to Viserys, who watched the exchange with a pained expression. “Our father was forcing Rhaenyra into a marriage she did not want, to a man she did not love. And he was willing to do the same to me.” Your voice was calm but firm. “I made a promise to protect my sister, and I will not apologize for keeping that promise.”

The hall was silent, every eye on you and Alicent. You could see the hurt in her eyes, the resentment she tried to hide behind her composed mask. You turned away from her then, focusing on Otto Hightower, who had been watching the exchange with a calculating expression.

“Lord Hightower,” you said, your voice carrying the weight of your title. “Perhaps you could enlighten us on the current state of the realm. I would hope that as heir to the throne, I would be made aware of any... pressing matters.”

Otto leaned forward slightly, a faint smile on his lips as he addressed you. “Of course, Prince Y/N. The realm is... stable, for the most part. The Stepstones remain a volatile area, despite Prince Daemon’s recent efforts. There are still struggles with Dorne, though nothing that threatens immediate conflict.” He paused, his gaze shrewd. “There have been whispers of unrest in the Riverlands, but they have been managed thus far.”

You nodded, though your expression remained serious. “And what of the alliances formed in my absence? Surely, there have been changes in the political landscape.”

Otto’s smile widened, though it did not reach his eyes. “Indeed. Since your departure, several key marriages have strengthened ties with the Reach and the Stormlands. The marriage of your sister, Princess Helaena, to Prince Aegon has also ensured a more unified front within House Targaryen.”

You glanced at Aegon, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked at you with a mix of curiosity and disdain, his mouth twisted into a faint smirk. “And what of your marriage, Y/N?” Aegon drawled, his voice carrying across the table. “I’ve heard many tales of the... unique customs on Dragonstone.”

You shot him a cold look, your patience wearing thin. “My marriage is as strong as any in this room,” you said sharply. “And it is recognized by those who matter.”

Before Aegon could respond, Viserys raised a hand, his voice trembling but determined. “Enough of this bickering. We are here as a family, not as political adversaries.” He looked at you and Rhaenyra, his eyes pleading. “I have missed you both terribly. And I wish to see my grandchildren grow up knowing their family. Whatever has happened, we must find a way to move forward. Together.”

There was a moment of silence, the king’s words hanging heavy in the air. You glanced at Rhaenyra, whose face softened slightly, her anger ebbing away in the face of her father’s frailty.

But Alicent wasn’t done. She turned back to Rhaenyra, her eyes hardening. “And what of your sons, Rhaenyra?” she asked, her voice deceptively light. “You’ve been away so long. Do you ever wonder what kind of life they could have had here, at court? Among their family?”

Rhaenyra’s gaze snapped to Alicent, her eyes narrowing. “My sons are dragons, Alicent. They belong on Dragonstone, among their people, not in this nest of vipers.” Her voice was cold, each word a dagger.

A murmur rippled through the courtiers, tension rising. You could see Otto’s calculating gaze flick between you and Rhaenyra, as if weighing the implications of every word spoken.

Alicent’s face tightened, but she didn’t back down. “I suppose that’s one way to see it,” she said quietly. “But a child should know their family. Even if that family isn’t perfect.”

Rhaenyra leaned forward, her voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare presume to lecture me on family, Alicent. You, who wormed your way into my father’s bed, who bore children of your own while trying to strip me of everything that was mine.”

The tension at the table was suffocating now, every courtier’s gaze fixed on the two women, their faces pale with the anticipation of what might come next.

Before the situation could escalate further, you interjected, your voice calm but firm. “We will discuss this another day,” you said, your eyes moving between Alicent and Rhaenyra. “This is not the time or place for such discussions.”

Alicent’s gaze flicked to you, her eyes filled with a mixture of resentment and sadness. “You’ve changed, Y/N,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “You used to care more about... so many things.”

You felt a pang in your chest, but you forced it down, your expression unyielding. “I still care, Alicent. But my priorities have changed.” You glanced at your children, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes, their confusion and fear evident. “My family is what matters now. And I will protect them, no matter the cost.”

A silence fell over the table, the weight of your words settling like a stone. Viserys looked between you and Alicent, his eyes filled with a deep sorrow, as if he were watching his family splinter before his eyes.

Otto, ever the diplomat, leaned forward slightly, his tone soothing. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time. For now, let us focus on what unites us, rather than what divides us.”

Viserys nodded slowly, though his gaze remained troubled. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, let us try to be... a family again.”

The meal continued in strained silence.

The bedchamber in the Red Keep felt both familiar and foreign after so many years. The room was adorned with rich tapestries depicting dragons in flight and the Targaryen sigil emblazoned proudly on the walls, a constant reminder of your heritage and the legacy you bore. The soft flicker of candles illuminated the space, casting a warm glow over the plush rugs and the intricately carved bed that dominated the center of the room.

You stood near the window, gazing out over the sprawling city of King’s Landing, the lights of the city twinkling like distant stars in the darkened sky. The sounds of the bustling capital, though muffled, reached your ears—the hum of voices, the distant clatter of hooves against cobblestone, the occasional call of a merchant trying to sell his wares even at this late hour. It was a strong contrast to the quiet, windswept solitude of Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra was across the room, slipping out of her gown and into a simpler, more comfortable robe. Her silver hair, loose now, cascaded down her back in waves. She watched you from the corner of her eye, sensing the tension in your posture, the heaviness in your shoulders.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice breaking the silence that had settled between you. “Are you all right?”

You sighed deeply, turning away from the window to look at her. “I’m not sure how to answer that,” you replied, your voice tinged with frustration and sorrow. “Seeing him today... I barely recognized the man who was once our father. He’s a shadow of what he used to be.”

Rhaenyra moved closer, her bare feet silent on the thick rug. She reached out, placing a hand gently on your arm. “He’s aged more than the years should allow,” she agreed, her tone laced with sadness. “But it’s not just time, is it?”

You shook your head, your jaw clenched. “No, it’s not.” You turned back to the window, the city sprawling out beneath you, feeling impossibly far away. “It’s them. The Hightowers. Otto, Alicent... they’ve twisted him, manipulated him. I remember a time when he was strong, decisive. Now he seems... broken, as if they’ve drained the life out of him.”

Rhaenyra’s hand tightened on your arm, a gesture of solidarity. “They’ve poisoned his mind with their ambitions. Alicent has always been her father’s pawn, and Otto... he’s wanted to control the throne for as long as I can remember.”

You nodded, your eyes narrowing as you thought back to the day’s events, the way Otto’s gaze seemed to assess every word, every action, always calculating, always scheming. “I saw the way he looked at us today, weighing the situation, trying to find a way to turn it to his advantage. And Alicent...” You trailed off, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “She’s no different. They want to use Father as a puppet, to control the realm through him.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “And he lets them. He let them slither their way into every corner of his life, every decision. He’s not the father who once stood before the council and proclaimed us his heirs, who would have fought for what was right, no matter the cost.”

You turned back to her, your eyes softening as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I know, Rhaenyra. I know. But what can we do? If we push too hard, if we try to wrest control from them, it could tear the realm apart.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with defiance. “Then let it tear. We have dragons, Y/N. We have strength they can only dream of. We can remind them what true power looks like.”

You shook your head, your expression pained. “I don’t want to fight them, Rhaenyra. I don’t want to start a war. But I won’t let them continue to destroy what little remains of the father we once knew.”

She looked at you, her gaze intense, searching your face for answers, for a way forward. “Then what do we do?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You took a deep breath, your hand still lingering on her cheek. “We play their game, for now. We show them we’re not weak, but we don’t strike unless we have to. Father needs to see that we’re here, that we’re not abandoning him to their schemes. Maybe... maybe we can remind him of who he used to be.”

Rhaenyra leaned into your touch, her eyes closing briefly as she took comfort in your presence. “I want to believe that’s possible,” she murmured. “But I fear he’s too far gone. Every time I look at him, I see the pain in his eyes, the weight of all these years of being pulled in different directions. I see...” Her voice caught, and she paused, taking a shaky breath. “I see how they’ve taken him from us.”

You pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her, holding her tightly as if you could shield her from the world, from the pain that seemed to seep into every corner of your lives. “We’ll find a way, Rhaenyra. We have to.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the low lit chamber, the world outside forgotten as you held each other, drawing strength from the connection that had carried you through so much. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the distant sounds of the Red Keep—the footsteps of guards, the murmur of servants—faded into the background.

“Do you think he’ll see it?” Rhaenyra asked softly, her head resting against your chest. “Will he see that they’ve twisted everything, that they’ve made him into a tool for their own gain?”

You sighed, your fingers gently tracing circles on her back. “I don’t know. I hope so. But even if he does, I’m not sure he has the strength left to fight them.”

Rhaenyra pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting yours, fierce and determined. “Then we’ll be his strength. We’ll remind him that he’s not alone, that he still has us.”

You nodded, your gaze steady as you looked down at her. “We’ll fight for him, for the father we remember, for the man who once fought for us. But we have to be careful. We can’t let Otto and Alicent see us as a threat, not yet.”

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “For now, we’ll play the dutiful children. But if they push us too far...” Her voice trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “If they push us too far, we’ll remind them what it means to cross House Targaryen.”

A faint smile curved her lips, and she reached up to cup your face, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I’m glad I have you by my side,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

“Always,” you murmured, your voice firm. “Now and forever.”

The two of you stood there for a long moment, the weight of your responsibilities, your fears, and your love all intertwined in the quiet darkness of the chamber. 

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Cupid doesn’t gamble

Summary: Leon, a mafia boss whose empire dominates all casinos on the west coast, meets a young girl amidst a game of poker. What would happen if he threw all his chips and gambled his love for you?

Warning: Mafia!Boss!Leon x Female!Reader. Eventual smut (I know y’all want this so bad). Slow burn. Romantic. Leon is a gentleman. Characters are 21+ (makes sense for casinos). Researched topics. Mentions of violence. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 6,620

A/N: So, I’d like to start off with saying that being in the Mafia is not okay. Al Capone was NOT a good guy. But, this is fiction. None of this is real so before I get myself canceled (pls don’t) trust that I did my research. I thought of Salvatore by LDR writing this lol.

[II] [III]

“The summer's wild and I've been waiting for you all this time I adore you, can't you see, you're meant for me. Summer's hot but I've been cold without you, I was so wrong not to doubt your Medellin, tangerine dreams,” - Salvatore, Lana Del Rey

Poker isn’t just a game of gambling and betting your money away. It’s intimate and personal, in order to win you must read your opponent. Strip each other bare until the other shows a sign of vulnerability, only then will you find a loophole and win.

But nobody seems to understand the arts of chips and card decks. To be given an awful hand and turning the game to your favor is powerful and uplifting. There is great danger with gambling but there are also great rewards.

Leon was a famous man, known for establishing the most successful casinos of, dare I say, the nation. He’s a businessman, driven by the need to make a statement of himself. To hold power over people’s head with a flick of the wrist. He’s ambitious, cunning, but also respectful.

Coming from nothing but rags and the slum, he swore to his parents that he will earn everything he ever wanted in life. To provide for his family, to become one of the richest and notorious men of America. And he did.

He easily became a member of the mafia after being taken under the care of a kind man. When his parents died and he was shunned away by society, he never expected a man from a dangerous world to take him as a child and teach him to become the man that he is today.

And now here he was, engaging himself in a long hour of poker with a rookie player. You’ve never been keen on gambling your savings away, you deterred yourself from gaining the addiction. But, you did like to play every once in a while, especially since the casino you were in was quite lavish, courtesy of the man who built the casino in the first place.

You didn’t know anything about it, you didn’t even know that the man in front of you was the very own man who built his life step by step.

"You're good with your hands," he said in a rich and low tone as he stared at you from across the table.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you moved on forward with the game. You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes as you tried to guess what he was going to move with tonight.

A low, amused chuckle escaped his lips as he continued to watch you analyze him. He knew damn well you had no clue how to play, yet you were trying your best. It's what drew him to you.

He noticed you stealing glances his way as you thought of a plan. *Adorable.* He leaned back into his seat, eyeing you closely as he waited for you to make your next move.

"You're a bad bluffer," he pointed out with a smirk.

“And you’re a talker,” you quipped back with sass. You were silent for a moment before you decided to either go big or go home, “Raise,” you said to him.

Your eyes were glued to him, watching for his reaction. Was he going to fold or call? Either way, you believed you had a better hand than him.

"And you're cocky, too," he returned with a hint of humor in his voice. He raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised by your bold move. Even if you didn't know how to play, you had some guts.

He studies you for a moment, his eyes lingering on you before returning to his cards. After a moment of contemplating, he pushes a stack of chips forward, adding to the pot.

"Call. Let's see what you've got," he challenges you with a sly smile.

You turned your cards over, revealing a Diamond Queen and Clover King. You put them down and crossed your arms over your chest as you looked at him with a smirk.

The bet was a high number of money. Probably worth more than your limbs being sold in the black market. But you were here for a reason, to earn some quick money. The man in front of you looked quite wealthy, wealthy and rich men weren’t uncommon in this place but it still made you feel a bit inferior with everyone wanting to show off.

Leon leaned forward, inspecting your cards closely. The smirk on your face said it all. You thought you had a good hand, and he wouldn't deny that you had a decent one. But, it wasn't enough to beat him. He leaned back into his seat once more, his expression unchanging, as he revealed his own cards. A Spade Queen and a Diamond Ace. A straight flush. His eyes met yours, his smirk turning into a cocky grin.

"I'm afraid you've lost this round, darling," he said in a teasing tone.

Your smirk immediately fell as you saw his straight flush. Wow, you lost again. You didn’t even notice him calling you by a pet name. Did you owe this man money now? How did you not see it coming? That bastard was cocky and confident as hell! You should’ve known he had a good hand.

Leon chuckled once again. The look on your face was priceless—a mix of frustration and disbelief.

He loved it.

"Looks like I win again," he said teasingly, gathering up the chips on the table, "And don't worry, darling, you don't owe me anything. Just better luck next time."

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze still fixed on you as he smirked. He found your reaction absolutely adorable.

You furrowed your brows confused, you didn’t owe him anything? “Wait, are you serious?” You asked confusedly. He was different from other guys around here. Was he really willing to forget about your loss and even wished you better luck?

Who was this guy? There was something about him, though, that seemed dangerous and suspicious, “Why?”

Leon tilted his head to the side as he observed you, noticing the confusion on your face. You were clearly surprised by his words. It seems like you’re *not* used to men like him.

He chuckled softly at your question. "Why? Because I'm a gentleman," he responds with a smirk.

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving your face, "And I'm not in the business of taking money from pretty young girls like yourself. I'm not that heartless."

Your cheeks flared, did he just say you were pretty? You’ve never met a man so… straightforward. You cleared your throat and nibbled on your bottom lip, “Thank you,” you muttered quietly. Leon's gaze softened as he watched your cheeks flush and saw you bite your bottom lip. *Adorable.*

He’s a gentleman, he’s not *that* heartless? You didn’t understand him. He wore expensive clothes and his aura was confident.

“Is there anything else you’d like in return?” You asked as you looked at him, your arms on the table, “I’d feel guilty if you went back home empty handed.”

He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. "There is... one thing," he replied, his voice low and smooth.

He paused for a moment, his eyes locking with yours once more. "Your name," he said simply, his smile widening, "I'd like to know your name."

You stared at him for a few moments before you nodded slightly, “Okay,” you muttered. You extended your hand towards him, “My name is Y/n,” you said softly. He was truly a gentleman, wasn’t he? He doesn’t take money from girls and he was respectful. He’s one of a kind.

Leon looked at your hand for a moment before taking it gently in his own. His rough, calloused fingers wrapped around your small, soft hand. He loved the contrast between your skin and his. The way your slender fingers fit perfectly in his grasp.

"Y/n," he repeated quietly, as if he was testing the way the name felt on his tongue. He let out a soft chuckle before bringing your hand to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks flushed even more red when he kissed your knuckles. Did he come out of a book or something?! You’ve never met a man that screamed rich and respectful man. It was attractive. You were a bit speechless. Most guys met wouldn’t even be bothered to know your name and yet, here he was, treating you like a lady. Did he time travel or something?

You didn’t even try to move your hand away, it was like you got stuck in a trance. He was an enigma, who knew your poker opponent was so… you didn’t even know how to describe it. He chuckled softly at your reaction. He wasn't surprised, after all, most men don't have manners these days. Not men like him.

He slowly released your hand, though he couldn't bring himself to completely let go just yet. He continued to hold onto it, his thumb gently caressing your knuckles.

“Can I know your name too?” You asked a bit hesitantly, you wanted to know but you didn’t want to seem disrespectful. He felt so fancy, like a true gentleman. The kind of man you read in romance books where you could only dream of being treated with such care.

"Of course, darling," he replied in a low tone, his gaze still fixated on your face. He could tell that you were completely taken by him, though he couldn't blame you, most girls were. He could tell that you were captivated by his mannerisms and demeanor. It seemed like you appreciated his old-fashioned actions and chivalry, not that he was surprised. But something told him that you were different than the others. You weren't just after his wealth or status, he could see it in your eyes.

In the game of poker, it was easy to fall and lose. But for some reason, you like playing with him even if it means losing most of the rounds.

You didn’t even notice the two bodyguards approaching him from behind since you didn’t know what his occupation was like. You were strangers. The two bodyguards were ready to jump into action if you tried anything suspicious. But what could you do? You were completely harmless.

As his bodyguards approached from behind, Leon glanced over his shoulder at them. He held up a hand, silently signaling for them to hold off. The bodyguards stood a few feet away, far enough to not listen to your conversation but close enough to jump to him if he got into a dangerous situation. Leon's lips curled into an amused smile as he watched you realize the presence of his bodyguards. They were there to protect him, after all.

"My name is Leon," he finally replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Leon Kennedy."

“Leon,” you repeated, tasting the way it rolled off your tongue. It was a fancy name, suiting him very well.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Kennedy,” you said politely. Leon suppressed a chuckle as you repeated his name, the sound of it on your lips was like music to his ears. It was as if you were singing his name, rather than simply saying it.

He smirked when you called him 'Mister Kennedy,' finding your use of a formal title both amusing and endearing. "Please, call me Leon. 'Mister Kennedy' makes me feel old," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t help the small smile from reaching your lips, just minutes ago he beat you in a game of poker and yet, he didn’t make you feel bad for losing. You nodded at him, “Alright, I won’t.”

Then, one of the two bodyguards approached Leon, leaning down to his ear to whisper, “Sir, your presence is being requested on the tenth floor,” he whispered. Leon's expression, although unchanging, darkened at the bodyguard's words. He knew exactly what it meant for his presence to be "requested" on the tenth floor. But he didn't want to leave just yet. He was enjoying the time he had with you, he was enjoying your company and your sweet demeanor. If only he could stay a little bit longer.

He nodded at the bodyguard, silently signaling that he understood. He looked back at you, his expression softening once again.

"I have business to attend to," he said quietly, a hint of regret in his voice.

“Oh, right, yeah,” you muttered quickly under your breath as you stood up, fixing your outfit that you were wearing, “I shouldn’t take more of your time,” you said softly and politely, “It was nice meeting you, Leon. I hope to play with you in the future.”

Leon looked up at you as you stood up, his gaze following every movement. He could feel his heart skip a beat, he found you truly adorable. He felt a pang of disappointment when you mentioned not taking up more of his time. But he understood, he had responsibilities to take care of.

"The pleasure was all mine, darling," he said quietly, his voice slightly strained. He didn't want you to leave, but he had no choice.

“Sir,” one bodyguard spoke up from behind him, “Should we keep an eye on her?” He asked as the bodyguard’s gaze remained on your form, you were already standing by the bar drinking a damn fountain drink.

It was clear that the bodyguards were good at their job, they wanted to keep Leon safe since he was a mafia boss and enemies could be everywhere. Leon's gaze shifted from yours as he focused on his bodyguard's question. He could sense the slight tension in the air, the bodyguards were always cautious. But that was their job, to protect him at all costs.

He shook his head slightly, "No, that won't be necessary," he replied coldly, "She's harmless," he added, his eyes fixated on you once more.

“Yes sir,” the bodyguard said before the two bodyguards began to escort Leon to the elevator to get to the tenth floor. As Leon walked towards the elevator, escorted by his bodyguards, he couldn't help but glance back one last time, his eyes settling on your form at the bar.

He felt a twinge of something, was it concern? He wasn't sure. The thought of you being approached by someone else made him uneasy. But he had to remind himself that you weren't his responsibility.

He stepped into the elevator, his mind still occupied with thoughts of you.

"Watch her," he muttered to his bodyguards, "make sure no one goes near her."

The bodyguard nodded before stepping out of the elevator and went over to watch from a distance to not scare me off.

He was left with the other bodyguard and as they reached the tenth floor, the doors opened to reveal a very expensive suite, “Ah, Leon,” the voice of a man rang as he approached Leon.

The man was no other than a guy that went by an alias, “Kyle”, for safety reasons, “Glad you could make it,” he was dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, the belt tight around his waist to keep him from flashing anyone. Kyle was a character, that much was clear. Greeting Leon as if they were old friends.

"Cut the pleasantries," Leon replied coolly as he strode past Kyle, into the extravagant suite. Despite his cold exterior, his mind was still occupied by thoughts of you.

Kyle laughed and followed after Leon, “Always cutting to the chase, huh, amigo?” He said the Spanish word in a terrible accent, he didn’t even know Spanish.

Kyle was truly one of a kind but he was an ally to Leon’s mafia. Matter of fact, he provided Leon with the newest weapons from an Italian manufacturer. Illegal weapon trafficking.

“Got some new ladies you might want to see,” he said as he walked in front of Leon, guiding him to his room. As he entered his room, the sheets were messy and two naked women laid on the bed. With a flick of his wrist, the ladies stepped out of the room, giving Leon a wink.

As they entered the room, Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of the naked women on the bed. Was this really necessary?

"I'm not interested," he said bluntly, his cold tone sending a clear message. Despite his outwardly tough demeanor, Leon disliked the lifestyle that Kyle embodied.

Kyle definitely had a typical lifestyle of a play boy, always finding girls to sleep with as he spends money on expensive champagne and clothes. But he was a good provider for the mafia. Kyle was needed; a necessary evil.

But Leon wasn’t a womanizer like that, especially with the way he treated you. Kyle chuckled and shook his head, “Oh, I think you will,” he muttered before I retrieved a box and opened it. Leon's expression changed. The sight of the new weapons in the box piqued his interest.

“Got these new ladies fresh from Rome,” he said, revealing new manufactured guns, “These are in beta testing but their purpose isn’t like regular guns—no. These babies hold up to thrice the ammunition and can fire double bullets at the same time.”

He could already see the potential these guns held. The extra ammunition and the ability to fire double bullets at once could give his men an advantage in a dangerous situation.

"Interesting," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the guns. Despite his dislike for Kyle's lifestyle, Leon had to admit he knew how to source the best weapons.

"How did you get your hands on these?" he asked, his voice now lacking any hostility.

Kyle shrugged and leaned back, “I sent a blueprint last month over to my manufacturer in Italy. Said he’d give it a try. He experimented here and there right before he sent me these prototypes.”

“But I don’t recommend using them yet,” he said as he walked over to stand next to Leon, draping an arm around Leon’s shoulders as if they were best friends.

“Something about them probably not working and backfiring. Blah, blah, blah. You know the nerd stuff,” he said.

Leon's brow furrowed as he heard Kyle's words. Using untested weapons could be risky, especially if they had the potential for a devastating recoil. He pushed Kyle's arm off his shoulders, his expression turning cold again. He wasn't fond of being touched, especially by someone like Kyle.

"Then why show them to me if they might not work?" he asked with a hint of irritation in his voice. He preferred to focus on proven weapons, not experimental ones.

As his arm was pushed off his shoulders, Kyle wasn’t a bit ashamed, “Well, before we proceed with the testing, we needed your approval.”

Then, Kyle grew a bit serious, which only ever happened once a fortnight. He leaned closer to Leon to whisper in his ear, “I’ve heard that there’s been recent suspicious activity up north where the colony is. This is just a precaution because I don’t want anyone stealing my guns.”

Ever since Leon became the new mafia boss, which was years ago, many other bosses have tried to take him down. Even if it meant stealing his resources. Despite his disdain for Kyle, Leon couldn't ignore the serious look on his face. He knew that when Kyle spoke like this, he wasn't messing around.

"Suspicious activity, you say?" he replied, his voice low and calculating. He didn't appreciate being targeted, especially by other mafia bosses, "Any idea who might be behind it?"

He shrugged and shook his head, “No, there’s no idea who it might be but I’ve heard rumors that it’s someone who’s after your territory.”

Kyle sighed and stored the guns away once more, “In any case. Call me up if you change your plan, I’ll send word to Italy to keep producing and testing. Until then,” he said before he patted Leon on the shoulder and walked out of his room saying, “Alright, ladies, who’s ready for some sexy time on the jacuzzi?”

Leon watched as Kyle left the room, rolling his eyes at the man's behavior. Despite Kyle's eccentricities and playboy lifestyle, he couldn't deny that he was an asset to the mafia. As the sound of laughter and splashing water came from the jacuzzi, Leon turned his attention back to the matter at hand. The possibility of someone targeting his territory unsettled him.

With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts once again drifting to you. He couldn't seem to get you off his mind.

“Do you want to go back to the main floor, Sir?” His bodyguard asked. Leon's eyes went to his bodyguard, and he nodded.

"Yes," he said simply. He had to go back to the main floor. He knew that his bodyguards had been instructed to keep an eye on you, and he was curious to see if you were still there.

As he stepped out of the room, he couldn't help but glance over at the bar. He could see you sitting there, sipping on a Dr. Pepper. Despite the presence of his bodyguard, he took a subtle step closer, watching you from a distance.

Now the three men were watching you, Leon with his two bodyguards behind him. They were no longer on the tenth floor and instead were on the main floor where you were.

“Who is she, boss?” One bodyguard asked. They had seen Leon play with you for a few rounds but they didn’t hear your conversation. Of how he forgave your debt and asked for your name, but they did see him kiss your hand. Leon's gaze never left you, his eyes watching your every move. He could feel the curiosity of his bodyguards, they had clearly noticed his interaction with you.

“Do you know her?” The other bodyguard asked. They still kept professional but their curiosity was high. They’ve never seen Leon talk to a woman before, he’d usually brush them off because he knew they were after his money.

"She's nobody," Leon replied, his voice cold and distant. Even though he had shown you a rare moment of humanity, he didn’t want his bodyguards to think he had a “soft spot”, especially towards a stranger.

"She's just a poker player, that's all," he added, dismissing their curiosity. But his eyes told a different story, he couldn't tear his gaze away from you.

“A terrible one,” one commented, “A Diamond queen and clover king against your straight flush… she’s got confidence.”

“Or maybe she didn’t know. Our boss holds a really good poker face,” the other replied. Which was true, Leon was a damn good poker player but you also didn’t play like a professional. You barely knew what you were doing.

You turned around to get your bag from the stool next to your standing form, seemingly finished with your drink and getting ready to pay for it.

Leon's eyes followed your every movement, his mind racing, "She was a challenge,” he said quietly, his voice betraying a hint of amusement. Despite your lack of skill, he had enjoyed playing with you, it had been surprisingly fun.

As he saw you turn to retrieve your bag, he felt a strange pang in his chest. He didn’t want you to leave yet. He took a step forward, his bodyguards following closely behind him.

You were too busy looking through your bag, pulling out your wallet and counting the bills you had to pay your tab. Would it even be considered a tab if you got non-alcoholic drinks? You didn’t notice Leon returning at all, his bodyguards didn’t say anything. They knew better than to prod at his life choices. If anything, they’d just keep a more careful eye on you to make sure nothing bad happened.

“Hold on—“ you said to the bartender as you counted your coins to give him the exact number of your total.

As you began counting your coins to pay the bartender, he couldn't help but step forward and reach into his pocket, "I'll cover it," he said, his voice firm and commanding. He felt strangely compelled to take care of you, even in this small gesture.

You straightened up at the sound of his voice, your heart jumped and beat quickly as you whipped your head to look at none other than Leon. Always a true gentleman.

“I—“ you said as yoi looked at him and the bartender before you looked back at his blue eyes, “No, it’s okay. I’ve got this,” you said quietly. He’d already forgiven your debt and now he wants to pay for your drinks?

Leon's expression remained stoic as he heard your protest. He didn't expect you to be so modest and determined to pay for your own drinks. But he found it endearing.

"It's not a problem," he replied, his voice firm. He could sense your guilt, but he didn’t want you to feel like a charity case. He genuinely wanted to take care of you, even if it was in small ways. He slid a few bills to the bartender, paying for your drinks and closing the tab before you could argue further.

Your cheeks blushed again as you looked away, you’ve never had anyone take care of you like he has, “You’re too kind,” you muttered in a flustered tone.

He was already breaking his own rules because the bodyguards seemed to have picked up on some details. It wasn’t common for them to see Leon be so… interested in a woman. Much less someone like you but they found it oddly endearing. Secretly cheering for their boss.

Leon was taller than you so you had to look up at him, “Did everything go well with your business?” You asked genuinely. Leon's expression softened slightly as he saw your flushed cheeks and your sincere question. He was unused to caring about someone’s well being, but he found himself wanting to share a bit with you.

"Yes, business went well," he confirmed, his voice remaining cool and collected. But there was a hint of tiredness in his eyes, the stresses of being a mafia boss often taking a toll on him.

He studied you for a moment, his gaze calculating but not unkind. "And how have you been?" he asked, surprising himself with his own question.

“Oh, you know,” you faintly shrugged your shoulders as you pointed towards the bar, “I stayed there the whole time. I don’t like wandering on my own. Lots of… creeps out here, y’know?”

But he wasn’t a creep. He was far from it. Leon was a gentleman, a man who knew how to treat women right.

Leon chuckled, a rare sound coming from him, at your straightforward answer. He found it refreshing how honest you were, unlike the fake smiles and flattery he usually received from people.

His eyes swept the casino floor, full of various people, men, and women. He knew you were right about the creeps that roamed around, especially with a pretty face like yours.

"You're right about the creeps," he agreed, his voice low and protective. "A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone."

Your cheeks blushed again when he said you were pretty, why was he so casual with the compliments?! But nevertheless, you couldn’t stop the smile forming on your lips, “Yeah… I was about to leave since it was getting late, actually,” you said as you quickly remembered what you were doing.

“I was going to get an Uber and go back home. I should probably practice my poker skills too,” you said with a small smile. Leon's gaze darkened slightly at the mention of you leaving. He didn't want this night to end, not when he'd enjoyed your company more than he thought he would.

He took a step closer, shortening the distance between you. "An Uber?" he repeated, his voice taking on a hint of disapproval. "With all the creepers out there?"

He paused, seeming to consider something before speaking again. "Let me give you a ride home," he offered, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your eyes widened a bit and your breath hitched when he stepped closer to you and offered you a ride home. You should’ve said no but for some reason, you felt safe in his presence. You slowly nodded your head, feeling like you shouldn’t reject his offer. He’s been kind to you and you wanted to be kind as well, “Only if it’s not a burden.”

“I’d hate to shift your plans for the night. I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” you said with a nervous laugh as you played with your hands.

Leon couldn't help but chuckle at your words and the nervousness in your laugh. You were clearly unused to being cared for like this, but it was almost endearing to see you flustered. He shook his head, his expression serious. "It's not a burden," he reassured you. "And you're not an inconvenience. I wouldn't offer unless I meant it."

He motioned for his bodyguards to follow as he put a hand gently on your lower back, beginning to guide you towards the exit. You gathered your things, which was just your purse, and let him guide you towards the exit. His bodyguards were shocked to say the least. They knew Leon didn’t like to be touched or touch other people but here he was, gently putting his hand on you to guide you out of the building. They were in for a fun ride.

As you made it out and stepped outside, you were met with wind. The wind blew over your form, goosebumps on your skin as you wrapped your arms over your chest to give yourself some heat. Leon noticed your body shiver, the cool night air obviously getting to you. He was so used to suppressing his own physical needs that he had briefly forgotten that you weren’t built for the harsher elements like he was.

"Here," he said gruffly. He removed his black jacket and gently placed it around your shoulders, his fingers lingering for a moment on the fabric.

The black suit jacket was big on you but it was so warm, it even smelled like his cologne and you felt your cheeks flare up. He smelled good, “Thank you,” you said as you looked up at him.

A black car pulled in front of you, it was fancy and the black was matte. No doubt, the latest car. Just how rich was he? One of the bodyguards moved towards the door and opened it for the two of you. Leon nodded in acknowledgement of your thanks, his eyes never leaving yours, "After you," he said, gesturing for you to get into the car first. His voice was gruff, but there was a warm undertone in it.

He waited, standing by the car door, until you climbed in, before he slid into the seat beside you, closing the door behind him. The bodyguards climbed into the front seat, the engine purring softly to life.

No one would’ve believed them if they said that Leon was warm and kind. They’ve seen the type of ruthless man he could be, he was a mafia boss! Hence why the bodyguards were shocked. They’ve never seen him act this way with anyone.

You sat next to Leon, your thighs pressed together and your form still wearing his black suit jacket, “Thank you,” you said before you climbed to sit next to him. You were new to the whole taken care of thing. Leon felt a pang of something unfamiliar in his chest when you thanked him again. It was as if you weren’t used to being treated like this, but he found himself wanting to give you more. He felt the strange urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you close and away from the world.

He let out a low hum of acknowledgment. "You don’t need to keep thanking me," he said quietly, his voice low and rough.

You softy laughed at his words despite his low and rough voice, “Sorry, force of habit. I’m not used to people being so kind to me. Especially after playing Poker with me,” you replied with a small but genuine smile.

“Most guys would either just get mad at me for beating them or they would humiliate me further for beating me,” you said quietly, your hands laying on your lap as you looked down at them.

Then you glanced back at him, “But you’re different. I think… I like to have you as my opponent… if you’d let me,” but it was more than just Poker, right? It was about connecting, about seeing him again. His expression softened as you spoke again, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "You like having me as your opponent, huh?" he said, his voice holding a hint of amusement.

He reached out, his hand gently resting on top of yours, his touch calloused but surprisingly gentle, "You don’t even know what you’re asking for."

Your breath hitched and you looked down at his hand on top of yours. Even though he’d held your hand and kissed it, you still got flustered.

But he was right. Essentially, you didn’t even know him. You met him today and lost a poker game. But something in you wanted to keep seeing him, you didn’t want to let such a kind man go.

“I can learn,” you whispered. This went beyond poker, even though you spoke about it, hidden words were conveyed. You didn’t know what you were asking for, not knowing he was in the mafia. Leon's smirk grew at your words, a hint of something more behind it. He could hear the double meaning in your words, and it sent a thrill through him. Here you were, this timid, pretty thing, wanting to get to know him better.

His fingers gently squeezed your hand as he spoke, his voice low. "You’re a fast learner, I bet," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

But then his expression darkened slightly, the reality of his world intruding on the moment. He was a mafia boss, and you… you were innocent and pure.

You nodded, “I like learning things. Knowledge is power, is what George Orwell said once,” you muttered. Leon's smirk turned into a half-smile at your mention of George Orwell. This girl was full of surprises. It seemed to him that you were more than just a pretty face working as a pit boss.

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if reflexively trying to keep a grip on you. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, he should let you go before you get swept into the dangerous world he lived in.

But something about you was making him greedy. The Mafia Boss never had to worry about letting go before, now, he didn’t want to.

You felt his hand tighten around yours and you didn’t want to let go yet. Once you reached your apartment, you looked at him and leaned towards his face to whisper, “Think it over,” you whispered, your brows furrowing a bit before you let go of his hand and got out of the car.

Leon's eyes widened slightly at your whisper, your unexpected boldness sending a jolt of surprise, and something else through him. You'd just told him to think things over, as if it was a date that you were asking him on. But before he could open his mouth to reply, you had already slipped out of the car, leaving him a bit taken aback.

He stayed sitting in his seat for a beat, his fingers clenching the leather, his eyes fixed on your figure. You were playing with fire, and you didn’t even realize it.

You were about to walk into your apartment when you realized you were still wearing his suit jacket. You quickly ran back towards the car and slipped it the jacket off, giving him an awkward smile, “I, uh…”

“Almost forgot this,” you muttered softly, the pink hue on your cheeks not leaving any time soon. Leon took the jacket in his hands, his gaze lingering on you as you handed it to him. He took in your flushed cheeks, your awkward smile, and it sent a pang through his chest.

He wanted to reach out, to touch your cheek, to do something to keep you from leaving. But instead, he simply folded the jacket over his arm, his fingers tracing the fabric.

"Keep it," he said, his voice rough. "It looks better on you."

Your eyes widened a bit and your lips parted into a small ‘Oh’ when he gave you the jacket once more. To which you slowly took, you didn’t want to be greedy but you loved the way it smelled.

“Thank you,” you whispered sincerely, “For tonight.”

The offer still stood. You were willing to throw yourself down into a fire if it meant getting to know him better. Isn’t that what Poker is about? To understand your opponent? But this wasn’t about Poker anymore.

Leon clenched his jaw as he watched your expression, your sincere thanks only making it harder for him to let you go. Your naivete was like a double-edged sword - it drew him in but also made him hesitant.

But he wasn’t some saint. No, far from it. He was a Mafia Boss, and he wasn’t used to denying himself.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking with yours, his voice a rough, quiet murmur. “When can I see you again?”

You stared at him through the window, a bit surprised that he wanted to see you again. You were just some idiot poker player and yet… was he actually considering seeing you again?

You stood there in shock for a few seconds like an absolute idiot before you realized you hadn’t said anything. Your cheeks flushed and you quickly cleared your throat, “Uh—“

He paused, his eyes roaming over you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your uncertainty. It was a new sight for him, having a woman so clearly out of his world be so... vulnerable.

“You want to see me again?” You asked unsure. Leon’s lips quirked up into a small smirk at your reaction, your surprise and confusion only endearing you to him more. You were just so damn endearing. He leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze sharp, “Yes, I want to see you again.”

“Well, I’m free this Saturday… if you want to—I dunno—go out…?”

“Saturday it is, then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

This time, you couldn’t help the smile that reached your lips. Was he truly taking you out on a date? You nodded your head at him, your lips curling up into a genuine smile, “Alright…” you muttered quietly, “I’ll see you then. You know where I live anyway.”

He offered you a ride and now knows where you lived, but somehow, you felt comfortable with him knowing, “Goodnight, Leon.”

You walked backwards, looking at him for as long as possible before eventually turning around to get into your apartment. Leon watched as you retreated back into your apartment, his gaze following your every move. There was a strange flutter in his chest, something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something that he thought he had lost.

When you disappeared from sight, he let out a low, rough exhale, running his hand through his short hair. This was dangerous, getting close to you, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to care.

“Goodnight, doll,” he murmured, watching your door close behind you.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Busy Bees

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Notes: If I extended my closed requests deadline would you guys be mad 💀💀💀

P.S I��m dying my hair soon I’m so excited I could cry

P.P.S I miss my italics but they take so long to do

“Ohhh my god these were the best brownies I’ve ever tasted in my entire life” Buck moans exaggeratedly as he lets his arm hang from the table. 

You’re just coming up from the bathroom as Chimney is finishing off the last one.

“Hey!! Did you even save me one??” You point at the empty pan and they all look at each other 

“Ummmm” Buck starts looking around through the pile of baked goods as you tap your foot. You cross your arms over your chest and he holds his hand up. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine!! Look!” He holds up a small pan, more of a personal one, and takes the plastic off 

“See? Made by the same person! Therefore equally as delicious” he hands it off to you and you stick your tongue out at him before accepting it. 

“Alright… I guess you can live… for now” You give him a little I’m watching you gesture and go to pop it in the toaster oven. 

“Hey, Buck? You have that brownie you wanted to give me earlier?” Eddie comes up the stairs next and Buck looks over at you with wide eyes. You roll your eyes and sigh, waving your fork at Eddie. 

“You wanna share with me? It’s definitely enough for two. Never trust Buck with brownies” You pull it from the oven and he shrugs, grabbing a fork from the drawer and following you to the table. 

“Don’t mind if I do” 

A couple of hours later, Buck is lying on top of the engine… and Ravi is trying to keep Hen from jumping off the balcony to land on the truck. 

“Buck! Get down from there!” Athena had brought you all back to the station to figure out what the hell had happened. You jump up and down trying to reach for him like it’s going to work at all. 

“Come on Buck! Here Bucky Bucky! I have more brownies!” You try to convince him to come down but he’s not budging. 

“What are we going to do” you groan as you lean against the truck and Eddie shrugs as he walks over. 

“Honestly we should probably just let Athena handle this…” he wipes the sweat from his brow and you stop, putting your hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey? Are you okay??” 

You stand next to him, your hand on his arm. You’d started to get hot and the buttons on your work shirt were starting to come undone easier and easier. The top of your breasts are exposed to the air, just try to keep yourself cool as best you can.

Eddie's eyes flicker down to your chest, and he can't help but let out a soft growl. His body is begging for some strange release, and you’re the only one who can provide it. He swallows thickly, trying to regain control. 

"I'm... I'm fine, Y/N. Just a bit... warm."

He can't meet your gaze, instead, his eyes dart around the room, searching for something, anything, to distract him from the heat building up between his legs. His hand shakily reaches up to brush a strand of hair off your forehead, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

You feel a familiar jolt of electricity and bite your lip, he still can’t really look at you, even if he’s trying, you can feel the shakiness in his hands and that gets your attention for a moment. 

“Eddie, you’re really burning up, maybe we should go sit down…”

He shifts his weight, trying to get more comfortable, but his hard cock is not making it easy. He can't help but let his eyes linger on your chest again. His mind is racing with the idea of tearing off your top, burying his face between your breasts, and feeling your nipples harden under his tongue.

Yeah because that was so normal… okay well- hear him out. 

“Uh-“ He clears his throat, trying to regain control, but his voice comes out a bit huskier than usual.

“M-maybe just some fresh air? Let’s step outside” 

“Of course”

You smile worriedly, helping him outside. You lead him over to the side of the station, letting him rest against the cool brick wall. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing calmly.

Something about the way he does that, the way his chest expands slowly. He’s unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and you can see his hot, glowy, skin peeking through. You wet your lips slowly, wanting to just jump him right there. 

Hold on a second. What? 

“C-Can I get you anything?” You fan yourself a bit, maybe being outside is even worse, despite being in the shade with a nice breeze blowing 

Eddie nods, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes for a moment, trying to get a grip on his racing thoughts.

“Some water I guess?”

He opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours once more, and he can't help but notice how your breasts rise and fall with each breath, staring at you the same way you had been with him earlier. His cock throbs, and he shifts again, trying to alleviate the pressure. 

He swallows hard, his voice still a bit hoarse

“And maybe... maybe you could stay close. Just in case”

“Of course, Eddie. I’m here for you, okay? I’ll be right back!” 

“Okayyy… water… water” You bend down to look through the fridge for Eddie’s metal bottle and huff out a breath. It was starting to get hot, you shifted a little, just to get any kind of relief from the ocean that your panties had turned into and it wasn’t working in the least. 

You grab the bottle and spin on your heel to go back to him and completely collide with the table in front of you. 

“Ow! Fuck that-“ 

You freeze for a second… staring at the rounded edge. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look around slowly, you know there’s not a camera that can reach this corner… and no one’s around.

You set the bottle down gingerly, just… just a little relief. Anything to distract you from the way your body is aching for a release. You look around one more time before you step closer to the table and lean over it a little, the second you feel your pussy come into contact with the hard, smooth surface it’s over. Your eyes roll back as you grind against the table, gasping softly and letting your head fall forward. 

“O-oh my god” You whisper, your body shaking as you grind faster, trying not to make any noise. You pull the collar of your shirt down more, letting the cool air hit your chest as you lean over the table more and roll your hips. 

“Hey? Y/N? I’m sorry I got wo-“

Eddie freezes in his spot and stares at your exposed chest, gulping quietly. His cock twitches at your sweet sun-kissed skin and no tan lines. You look down at him and that’s when you notice how hard he is. It’s straining against his pants and you can see the way he keeps shifting, like he’s trying to put pressure on it. 

You’ve been caught, completely caught and there’s no way around it. Your cheeks burn and no matter what you do, you can’t stop your hips from moving against the table. His eyes lock with yours, you can see the deep primal desires in his blown pupils… and you know you look exactly the same. 

“I think- I think something is wrong,” You say quietly and he blinks slowly. 

“Oh? You think?” 

You don’t even have the time to sass back at him before he’s lunging for you and knocking you both down to the floor. He puts his hand behind your head before it collides with the title beneath you and presses his body down against you. 

“Jesus fucki-“ 

His lips smash into yours and you greedily yank him down closer, moaning as his tongue tangles with yours. His hips grind fast circles into yours and you wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him harder against you. 

Damn, are you both glad Bobby runs a tight ship and Buck has just mopped the floors. 

“Let me take you home, please fuck l-let me take you h-home” He begs, biting at your neck and kissing the bruises he leaves. 

“Let’s go” You nod fast, letting your hands run through his hair and tugging it back. He groans frustratedly as he keeps grinding on you, you giggle at the obvious tent in his pants and reach down between you two and tease the tip with your fingers. 

“D-don’t do that!” He slaps at your hand, his head falling against your shoulder as he whimpers into your shoulder. Your mouth drops as you feel the wetness in your hand, his sticky cum between your fingertips. 

“Still think it’s funny?” He takes your hand and smirks as he puts it up to your lips. You wrap your pouty lips around your fingers and suck them clean, groaning quietly as you taste him. He thoroughly enjoys watching you do that, nearly melting again as he ruts his hips into yours. Even though he’d just come, he’s still hard as a rock… and maybe that’s not so much of an issue right now. 

“Come on” 

He pulls you off the floor with him and down the stairs, he’s moving so fast you have to practically jog to keep up with him. He goes to his locker and grabs his wallet and keys before pulling you out to his truck. He lifts your hips practically tossing you into the cab and gets in. 

You pounce on him as soon as he shuts the door and pin him to it, kissing him breathless and tearing open his shirt. The buttons go flying and you stop for a second 

“I’ll get you a new one” 

He snorts and puts his hands on your hips, squeezing them 

“You really think I give a fuck?”��

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it” You pant as you start to pull off your shirt and he smirks.

“I have an idea” He helps you take it off, putting his hands on your tits immediately and squeezing them in his hands, you unhook your bra and grin sweetly when his jaw drops slowly. 

“Your idea?” You purr playfully and he rubs his thumbs over your nipples, watching them pebble 

“Suck my cock while I’m driving,” He says rather bluntly, all of his attention on the dark little nubs in front of him, the carnal urge to suck on them sending jolts of pleasure straight down to his rock-hard cock. 

“I think that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me” You whisper, your eyes wide and your mouth watering. 

“Oh baby” He chuckles darkly “I haven’t even gotten started” 

He starts the truck and you finally unzip his pants, freeing his erection 

“Ho-ly shit” You mutter and Eddie grins, taking your hand and wrapping it around his weeping cock. You stroke it slowly, your fingers not even meeting as you ogle it, his precum dripping down your fingers. 

 You keep stroking, feeling how he responds to your touch, his head lays against the headrest as he starts up the truck, the deep rumble of the engine causes your toes to curl and you gasp a little feeling it deep in your core. 

Oh, something is totally off. 

You look at him, his long neck exposed to you and he looks at you for a second his eyes are half-lidded as he reaches out, cupping the back of your head and pushing you down gently. 

“Open up for me baby” He guides your face to his cock and you eagerly wrap your lips around him, tasting him and rolling your eyes back.

“Fuuuck” He sighs, running his hand over your hair as your tongue traces his cock. He thrusts a little now his toes curling when he hears your little choking noise. 

“Relax your throat” You feel him start to speed up and you’re absolutely sure he’s over the speed limit as his hand traces down your side and moves between your legs. You feel his fingers sink into you slowly and you groan around his cock, moving your hips on his fingers and fucking yourself slowly as you bob your head up and down. 

“I’ve been so selfish, this is probably affecting you just as badly” he pulls you off of him by your hair and smiles deviously at your blissed-out face, pecking your lips. 

“Take off your pants pretty girl, wanna see how wet you are”

You sit up, eagerly sliding your pants down and opening your legs for him. The sensual smell of your arousal fills his lungs as he breathes deeply. He reaches over and strokes your thigh, making a whimpering noise as he looks at the wetness covering your panties completely. He rubs his thumb over the front and you moan sweetly, melting at his touch. 

He keeps one hand on you and the other in a death grip on the wheel, his fingers push your panties to the side, inserting two fingers into your wetness. He pumps them in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit in sync with his fingers.

You melt against the door, and this entire situation definitely isn’t safe but neither of you care as Eddie screeches to a halt in front of his garage. He rips off his seatbelt and gets on his knees, lifting your hips up to his mouth and sucking your clit into his mouth. 

He adds a third finger now, stretching you even more, his tongue never leaving your clit as he spells his name between your legs like he owns you. He wants you to come apart, to lose yourself in the pleasure he's giving you. 

Your back arches off the seat as you fuck yourself against his mouth desperately 

“F-faster, your tongue, please” You gasp out, stuttering over your sentence and he looks up at you, his eyes locking with yours as he bites your clit. You jolt and cry out his name, tugging at his hair before his tongue speeds up. He pulls your hips even closer as you try to get away from him and slaps your thigh. 

“Stay still” He growls and you whimper, closing your legs around his head as your hips roll against his mouth. You can see the way he’s got one knee on the floor so he can grind his cock into the seat. You roll your eyes back and shut them as you cum on his face, spreading your legs wide as his fingers work your body. 

“Eddie! Oh god- fuck yes oh my god” You babble as he keeps sucking at your clit until he’s satisfied that you are. You weakly try to shove his head away and he finally pulls away, kisses your mound, and nuzzling his nose against your sensitive clit 

“Should’ve drowned me” He mumbles, kissing your folds and you rub his hair gently, mussing it up. 

“I’ve never actually done that before” You shrug and he looks up quickly 

“You’ve never what??” 

Your cheeks flush and you shrug, “I mean. It’s just never really happened for me you know? Like sure I’d like to know what it’s like but-“

“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard” He shakes his head as he sits up, both of your bodies are still burning but at least you can think a little now. 

“Oh shut up” You throw his shirt at him and he catches it. You squeak when he grabs your wrist and yanks you to him. 

“I think by now we know what we gotta do,” He says as he starts putting it on you, you look up at him as he puts your arms through and starts to button it back up as best he can 

“Are you okay with that?” He stops, looking into your eyes and you smirk 

“It’s a little late to ask you know”

“Oh teehee” he slaps your thigh and you giggle, putting on your boots. 

“This is all you’re going to get me in” You look at him as he pulls his pants back up and leaves them unbuttoned and grabs his spare tank top from the back, putting that on too. He doesn’t want to give his older neighbors a heart attack. 

“That’s perfectly fine. Makes it easier to take off” 

He gets out of the truck and comes around to your side, opening the door for you. You hop out and take his hand, yanking him down to your height and connecting your lips 

He snickers against your mouth, his hands going to your waist as he guides you backward all the way to the front door, even lifting you up the step so you don’t have to part. Your fingers stay tangled in his luscious locks as he fumbles with the door for a second before it swings open 

As soon as you’re both inside he kicks the door shut and it’s your turn to guide him. You push him down on the sofa and grin as you straddle him and start to yank his clothes off, kissing him passionately as you go 

He falls back onto the sofa, his eyes never leaving yours as you start to strip him. He helps you, pulling off his shirt and pouting when you get up to tug off his pants, revealing his rock-hard cock once again. He can't help but let out a low, needy groan as you finish undressing him. He's eager to get to you, to feel your naked skin against his. 

He reaches for you again, pulling you onto his lap, his hands gripping your ass as he starts to kiss your neck, nibbling and sucking on your skin, leaving hickeys in his wake.

He lifts you up, positioning you over his cock. He looks into your eyes, they mirror the heated desperation in his own as he slowly pushes into you.

He groans as he feels your tight heat enveloping him, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to thrust, this is what he’s been dreaming about all afternoon and you’re just as good as he always knew you would be

His voice is thick with lust as you both moan together deeply “Fuck you feel so damn good” He pants, feeling the primal urge to pound your pussy and you want it just as bad, you put your hands over his as he squeezes your hips tighter. 

“H-harder? Please?” You say it so deliciously sweet, giving him a pretty little pout and wetting your lashes that he can’t help but give you exactly what you want 

Eddie's thrusts grow more aggressive, bouncing you on his cock faster. He can't get enough of the way you feel around him, the way you moan, and the way your body moves against his. He leans back, pulling you down for a deep, hungry kiss as he continues to thrust up into you.

He breaks the kiss, his voice thick with lust

“Fuck, you're so tight. I can't get enough of you”

He reaches up, pinching your nipples as he thrusts, his hips slamming into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust. 

You slap your hands on his chest, curling your nails into it as you let your head fall forward. 

“That’s it baby oh my g-god that’s it” you sob praises, as sweat drips down both your brows. 

His thrusts become more urgent, more desperate as he loses himself in the rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound. 

“I-I’m gonna c-cum, fuck Eddie!”

He reaches his hand down, rubbing your clit in fast circles and you squirt for the first time in your life, your juices splashing over his pelvis and soaking the couch beneath you two.  

He moans loudly, feeling your tight pussy clenching around him as you come. It's enough to send him over the edge. He thrusts one last time, burying himself deep inside you, and lets out a loud groan as he comes, filling you with his hot cum. 

You collapse on his chest, panting heavily and letting your body rest against his. He lets his arms fall to the sides, panting just as harshly. 

“That was fucking amazing” He giddily covers his face with his hands, shaking his head “Jesus Christ that was the best I’ve ever had” 

You giggle, completely agreeing with him as you adjust yourself on his cock, making sure he stays inside you. 

“I can’t believe you seriously made me do that” 

“Was there any doubt I wouldn’t?” He scoffs, bringing his hands up to cup your sweet face 

“And that was just the first time…as soon as we can move we’re going into my bedroom and-“ 

“Oh my god” You stop, remembering just where you are “Oh god Eddie!! Your couch!” 

He blinks and then squeezes your cheeks together. 

“I just made you squirt all over me… and you think I’m worried about my couch?” 

“I can buy you a new one!! I promise I’ll-“

Eddie covers your mouth, smirking when he feels your pussy clench around him lightly. 

“All I want to hear from you is “Yes Daddy” you understand me?” He uncovers your mouth and you gape slightly before nodding slowly 

“Y-yes Daddy.” 

“Good girl. Now, you and I will go couch shopping whenever you’d like” He runs his thumb over your lip  “You will not be paying for it…” 

Before you can even whine in protest his hand comes down on your ass and you yelp. 

“Hey!! That was-“ His fingers wrap around your throat and he sighs 

“And here I thought you could take direction. May I finish my train of thought?” 

He can feel you gulp, which just makes him grin widely, deviously 

“Yes Daddy” you mumble and he gives you a little pat on the cheek 

“Anyway. You can pick any damn couch you want… because if you think for one minute I’m ever letting you out of my sight again and that you’re not officially mine?” He nuzzles your nose 

“I didn’t fuck you nearly as hard as I should have” 

[strayrockette]

My Sunshine Girl: A Healing Home

Masterlist❤️Previous Part

Summary: Having Benny around changes things for the better.

Themes: Family drama, underlying grief, and finding comfort in your favorite person

A/n: I didn't realize I was writing in first person and by the time I noticed I was already too deep in the process 🤷‍♀️LMK if you wanna be part of a taglist for this series, or for all my works!!

The weeks following the fight at the bar were a blur of quiet days and slow healing. Benny had told me to stay home until the bruises and scrapes faded, though he never really explained why I needed to lay low or how he planned to smooth things over with the cops. I didn’t press him on it. I trusted him enough to just listen, even if the silence that came with being cooped up sometimes felt too heavy to bear.

I called my uncle to let him know I was taking a few weeks off, spinning some story about needing to clear out the attic and sort through old boxes that had been collecting dust since my childhood. It wasn’t a lie, exactly; the attic had been long overdue for a cleanout. But what I hadn’t expected was how many old memories would come flooding back during those quiet weeks at home.

Some days, the house felt haunted by the past—pictures of my mom tucked away in forgotten corners, trinkets from a time when life felt simpler. I’d find my old pookie bear, the one my ma had made me, and all at once, the grief would hit me hard, like no time had passed at all. I’d crumble under the weight of it, tears streaming down my face, and Benny would be right there, no questions asked. He didn’t pry when I broke down, didn’t push for explanations. He just wrapped his arms around me, letting me cry it out until the storm passed.

He was my buffer, my anchor, the one constant in a sea of emotions I wasn’t always prepared to deal with. And even on the hardest days, he made it easier just by being there.

But it wasn’t all sadness. Sometimes, between the dusting and sorting, we’d stumble onto something that would break the tension and remind me that joy still had a place in this old house. Like the day Benny found my middle school diary—tucked away in a box of yearbooks and scribbled notes, full of awkward confessions and childhood crushes. I was mortified, scrambling to snatch it out of his hands as he held it above his head, flipping through the pages with a devilish grin.

“Number one: Mr. O’Connell, your eighth-grade math teacher? Really?” Benny read aloud, his tone dripping with mock horror as I jumped, trying and failing to grab the diary back.

“Oh my god, Benny, stop!” I begged, my face burning as I reached up, but he just laughed, lifting the diary higher, making a game out of it.

“You had a thing for math, huh? Or just guys with glasses?”

I groaned, mortified but unable to keep the smile off my face. “Give it back! I swear, I’ll—”

Benny kept reading, amused at my futile attempts. I shoved a nearby box over, using it as a makeshift step stool, only for it to collapse under me, sending me tumbling to the floor. The crash echoed through the attic, and for a second, everything went silent before Benny’s laughter broke the tension, deep and infectious.

I looked up, sprawled on the floor, and started laughing too, the kind of uncontrollable, belly-aching laughter that leaves you breathless and teary-eyed for all the right reasons. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed like that in this house.

We spent the rest of the day making new memories, each corner of the attic becoming less about the past and more about the here and now. Benny helped me pack away the old pain and fill the empty spaces with something lighter, something new. The house felt different by the end of those weeks, less like a museum of all the hurt I’d carried and more like a home that was ours.

Every time I looked at a corner that used to be filled with sadness, I felt gratitude instead—a quiet, blooming joy that wrapped itself around my heart. I wasn’t forgetting my mom or the pain we’d both gone through, but I was finding a way to make room for happiness too.

The midday sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting warm, golden light across the countertops as I moved around the stove. The smell of homemade tomato soup filled the air, mingling with the buttery aroma of the grilled cheese I was making for lunch. I knew Benny was supposed to be out the door over an hour ago, but here he was, his arms snug around my waist and his head resting comfortably on my shoulder. I could feel the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing against my back, his presence grounding me in a way that made the entire world feel right.

“Weren’t you supposed to leave an hour ago?” I whispered with a giggle as he kissed the sensitive spot on my neck, his lips lingering just long enough to make my skin tingle.

Benny hummed, his voice low and lazy, full of that warmth that always sent shivers down my spine. “You’re holding me hostage,” he murmured, nuzzling into my neck like he had all the time in the world.

I scoffed, flipping the sandwich in the pan, the bread sizzling as it turned a perfect golden brown. “I hope that’s not what you’re tellin’ the boys,” I teased, trying to keep the smile off my face as his kisses grew more persistent, more playful.

“They’d believe it,” he said, his lips brushing against my skin as he grinned. “You were a sight of fear for them that night.”

I nudged him gently, still caught off guard by the way he made me feel so seen, so known. “No way they fear me,” I said, laughing at the absurdity of it. The idea of those big, greasy, tattooed men being scared of someone like me was ridiculous. I was a lot of things, but intimidating wasn’t one of them—not to them, at least.

Benny chuckled softly, his voice a warm rumble that I felt all the way to my bones. “You were a force,” he said, and I could hear the pride mixed with amusement in his tone. “Five women tried to pull you off, and you broke through them—teeth, nails, and limbs flying everywhere. Like a little monkey.”

I gasped, feigning offense as I pushed him back playfully, though his hold on me didn’t loosen. “Rude!” I scolded, my cheeks warming as I turned the sandwich again, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the way his words made my heart race.

Benny laughed, the sound deep and peaceful, wrapping around me like a favorite song. “I never want to think about that night ever again,” I sighed, shaking my head at the memory. I’d gone to the bar looking for some fun, but it had turned into anything but that. “Eat your grilled cheese and leave me alone, Benny Cross. You’ve made enough rude comments for one day.”

He dipped lower, his lips brushing my cheek, then my jaw, peppering soft kisses along my skin until I was practically squirming from the attention. “I’m waiting,” he murmured, his voice smooth as honey, and I knew he was enjoying every second of this.

“Your plate was already made,” I said, my tone dripping with disbelief as I tried to keep my composure. I pointed to the counter where his sandwich and soup were sitting, perfectly plated and ready to eat. “Right there.”

“For you,” he whispered against my ear, his hands roaming my sides in a slow, soft caress that sent jolts of pleasure through me. He was relentless, every touch deliberate, every kiss a gentle tease that made it hard to think straight.

I bit down on the wave of heat that spread through me, refusing to give in completely. “If I hear someone make a comment about me keepin’ you hostage the next time I’m at the bar, I swear I’m chucking an 8-ball at ‘em,” I warned, trying to sound stern, but my voice came out breathless, betraying the effect he had on me.

Benny grinned, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, “Let ‘em talk, Sunshine. You’ve got nothing to prove.” His hands continued their slow exploration, skimming over my hips and up my back, a mix of comfort and desire that made my knees weak. “Besides, I like being held hostage by you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and free, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside me. “Yeah, well, you better behave,” I said, turning just enough to look at him, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Or I might just let you go.”

He pulled me closer, his grip firm but tender, holding me in place as he looked down at me with that lazy, cocky smile I’d grown to love. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” he said, his voice low and rough, filled with something deeper than just teasing. “I’m right where I wanna be.”

I leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body and the comfort of his words wrap around me like a blanket. His stubble tickled along my neck with each kiss he placed. I shivered and inched away from him with a giggle, "At least let me finish plating my dish."

He grumbled as he stepped away, grabbed his plate, and moved to sit at the table. I glanced over my shoulder and found him staring intently at me, his eyes dark and.. "Oh my gosh, Benny, are you pouting??" I squealed, "I'm so telling-"

My teasing quietened as a rapid knock broke our moment. The knock wasn’t just loud—it was aggressive, rattling the walls with an urgency that made my heart jump. Benny stood up from the table, his easy smile fading as the tension in the air thickened. I watched as he walked to the door, his shoulders squared and ready for whatever trouble was waiting on the other side. I barely heard the door open before a booming voice echoed,

“Where is she?”

Uncle Harold boomed, his voice filling every corner of the room. Benny instantly stepped in front of him, his stance protective and his jaw clenched tight. I could feel the anger radiating off Harold in waves, each word landing like a blow.

“You need to back off, Harold,” Benny said, his voice edged with warning as he kept his body between me and my uncle. “You can’t just come in here like this.”

But Harold was past listening. He shoved Benny aside, his eyes searching the room until they found me, just as I stepped around the corner from the kitchen. I froze, the intensity of his glare pinning me in place. Benny quickly moved to close the door behind Aunt Gina and stepped in front of me, blocking my uncle’s line of sight. His broad back was a shield between me and the onslaught of Harold’s rage.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice shaky but defiant. I tried to look around Benny, but he held his ground, his presence a firm line of defense.

Harold’s face was twisted with anger, his fists clenched as he pointed at me. “You’ve got this boy living in your mama’s house!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “And I’ve got Old Man Harry telling me you’ve got a bunch of Vandals vouching that you weren’t in a fight when six women described you in detail!”

The words hit like a slap, the sheer force of his anger pressing down on me, but as his accusations rang out, something inside me snapped.

Benny glanced back at me, his eyes searching mine, but he didn’t move from his spot in front of me. He was there, steady and unflinching, even as the storm raged on. “Harold, you need to calm down,” Benny said, his voice low and tense. “She doesn’t need this from you.”

I stepped around Benny, frustration boiling over. “DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF RIGHT NOW?” I yelled, my voice trembling with fury and years of bottled-up hurt. “You used to be a biker too! You still have your bike! You know what that life is like!”

“That’s different,” Uncle Harold snapped, his anger flaring again as he tried to reel himself back, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easy.

“No, it’s not!” I shot back, my voice breaking. “When you met Aunt Gigi, you’d just gotten out of jail! She still gave you a chance. She saw something in you that no one else did. How is it any different for me and Benny?”

Harold’s face tightened, his anger battling with the guilt that flickered briefly in his eyes. “It’s different because your mama made me promise,” he said, his voice straining, shaking with unspoken grief. “She made me promise that I’d protect you. I gave her my word that I’d be the father you needed.”

Pain gripped my chest, sharp and unforgiving. My throat tightened as I tried to hold back the emotions that threatened to swallow me whole. “Don’t bring her into this!” I shouted, my voice cracking under the weight of it all. The mention of my mom felt like a knife, twisting deep. The hurt was suffocating, choking me with memories of promises I never asked for.

Harold’s face contorted with pain and fury, his voice shaking as he continued. “You’re running around with this boy, getting into trouble, doing things you shouldn’t. You aren’t the little girl we raised.”

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady myself, but the grief and anger were a tidal wave, pulling me under. I tried to step around Benny, desperate to confront my uncle face-to-face, but Benny’s arm shot out, his hand gently tucking me behind him. His body was a shield, protecting me even when I was ready to charge headfirst into the fire.

“Harold, enough,” Benny said, his voice like steel, unyielding and protective. “You don’t get to judge her. You don’t get to make her feel small.”

I peeked around Benny, the tears burning in my eyes as I stared at my uncle. “You never knew me,” I said, my voice cracking with the raw truth I’d kept buried for years. “Because the little girl you raised was broken, scared and angry. You never saw that, did you? You never saw how hard it was to keep it together, how much I was hurting.”

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken pain. Aunt Gina stepped closer, her face etched with sadness as she watched me unravel. “Sunny, we’re just trying to help,” she said softly, her voice a calm presence amidst the chaos. “We love you. We don’t want to see you get hurt.”

But I was too far gone, too tangled up in my own grief and anger to let the words soothe me. “I know you love me,” I said, my voice trembling as I fought to keep control. “But you don’t get to decide what’s best for me anymore. You don’t get to come in here and throw around all your guilt and promises like they’re weapons.”

Harold’s face fell, the anger draining away, leaving only the hollow ache of regret. His shoulders sagged, and for the first time, he looked at me not with fury, but with a kind of desperate sorrow. “I’m scared, Sunny,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared I’m failing her. Failing you. I don’t want to lose you.”

The admission hit me harder than any of his accusations. I could see the guilt and fear that mirrored my own, the weight of promises made in grief and love and uncertainty. But this wasn’t just about him, and it wasn’t about my mom. It was about me.

I took a shaky step forward, Benny’s hand still resting on my shoulder, grounding me. “You’re not failing me,” I said, my voice softening as the anger ebbed away, replaced by something gentler. “But you’ve got to let me live. You’ve got to trust me to make my own choices, even if they’re messy.”

Aunt Gina reached out, squeezing Harold’s arm, her touch a quiet anchor pulling him back. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a sadness that was heavy and old, and nodded slowly. “We just want you to be happy,” she said, her voice choked with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I am happy,” I whispered, looking up at Benny, who watched me with those steady eyes that had been my rock through it all. “Because I’m finally living for me.”

Uncle Harolds expression softened, the lines of his face deepening as he looked at me, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his own failures. “Forgive me,” he murmured, his voice breaking with raw vulnerability. It wasn’t just an apology for tonight, but for everything—for every time he’d let his anger and grief overshadow his love for me.

Harold bowed his head, the pain etched deep into his features, and without another word, he turned away, his broad, hulking figure seeming smaller, more fragile as he walked toward the door. He moved slowly, like he was dragging the weight of the world behind him, every step heavy with the sorrow of a man who’d tried to do right but hadn’t always known how.

Aunt Gina lingered for a moment, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and quiet reassurance. She reached out, squeezing my arm gently, her touch warm and grounding. “We’re still here, Sunny,” she said softly, her voice laced with a kind of fierce love that made my chest ache. “No matter what, we’re still here for you.”

I nodded, feeling the sting of tears that I refused to let fall. “I know,” I whispered, my voice catching as I met her gaze. “Thank you.”

Gina gave me a soft, reassuring smile, the kind that spoke of years of shared memories, both good and bad. She glanced at Benny, her expression shifting to something like cautious hope, and then back at me, her eyes full of unspoken promises. She turned to follow Harold, her footsteps light but purposeful, and with one last look, she stepped through the door, closing it softly behind her.

With the door closed and my aunt and uncle finally gone, the weight of their words hung heavy in the air, settling deep into my bones. The playfulness of our earlier mood had completely vanished, replaced by something darker and more somber. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling lost, unsure of what to do with myself as the emotional turmoil that always seemed to follow me crept back in. I had thought I’d managed to escape it these past few weeks, hiding in the warmth of Benny’s company, but now it was back, clawing at me with a vengeance.

I sniffed, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat, the familiar sting of tears threatening to break free again. “I need a nap,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Benny, my gaze fixed on the stairs as I rushed past him, desperate to get away, to hide from the flood of emotions crashing over me.

I stumbled into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me and collapsing onto the bed. I curled up into a tight ball, pulling the blankets around me as if they could shield me from everything swirling inside my head. My uncle’s voice echoed, relentless and unforgiving, each word like a dagger twisting deeper. ‘I promised your ma I’d take care of you.’ The guilt, the pressure, the overwhelming sense of being a disappointment—it all wrapped around me, suffocating and relentless.

I buried my face into the pillow, my chest tightening with each shaky breath as I tried to keep it together. But it was no use. The tears came anyway, hot and uncontrollable, spilling over as I silently sobbed into the fabric. The pain of my past, the weight of everyone’s expectations—it was too much. All the anger, the sadness, and the unresolved grief came rushing back, drowning me in a wave of emotions I didn’t know how to handle.

I didn’t hear Benny come in, but I felt the bed dip as he sat beside me, his presence a quiet, grounding force that I hadn’t realized I was desperate for. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask me to talk or try to pry me open. He simply wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, his body fitting around mine like a protective shield. I felt his head nestle into the crook of my neck, his breath warm and steady against my skin.

He didn’t let go, didn’t pull back when I tensed, just held me tighter, his arms firm and unyielding. Benny’s embrace was like an anchor, something solid and real in the middle of my storm. His touch was gentle, each stroke of his thumb against my shoulder a silent reassurance that I wasn’t alone, that I didn’t have to carry all of this by myself. I felt the trembling in my body start to ease, the frantic beating of my heart slowly matching the calm, even rhythm of his.

Benny’s presence was more than just comforting; it was life-saving. He grounded me in a way that nothing else could, pulling me back from the edge of my own despair. The panic, the guilt, all the things I kept locked away—they didn’t feel so unbearable with him there, holding me through it. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the tension slowly begin to drain from my muscles.

He kissed my shoulder softly, his lips brushing against my skin in a gesture so gentle it almost broke me all over again. I felt the tears well up once more, but this time they were softer, less frantic, as if Benny’s presence was slowly unwinding the tight knot of pain inside me. I turned slightly, pressing my face into his chest, breathing him in—the scent of leather, smoke, and something uniquely his that always made me feel safe.

“I’ve got you,” Benny whispered, his voice low and hushed, like a secret meant only for me. His hand moved up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair as he held me close. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, the words breaking through my defenses in a way that nothing else had. Benny didn’t try to fix me, didn’t pretend that he could make everything better, and that was exactly what I needed. He was just there, unconditionally, holding me as I broke down, no judgment, no expectations—just a quiet, unwavering support that made me feel like maybe I could keep going, even when everything felt impossible.

I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my eyes puffy and wet, but his gaze was soft and full of something that made my heart ache. I saw the way he looked at me—not with pity, but with an understanding that went deeper than words. He brushed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away the last of my tears, and I felt the flood of emotion rise up again, but this time it was different, warmer.

“I love you,” I whispered, the confession spilling out before I could second-guess it. It was raw and unguarded, the truth laid bare in the quiet space between us. For the first time, it didn’t feel scary to say. It felt right.

Benny’s face softened, and a smile tugged at his lips, gentle and filled with a quiet joy that made my heart flutter. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine, his eyes closing as he let the words sink in. “I love you, too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

I melted into him, my arms wrapping around his neck as he held me tighter, his embrace a sanctuary from the world outside. The chaos, the pain, my uncle’s harsh words—they all faded into the background, replaced by the steady, calming presence of Benny beside me. I buried my face against his chest, letting myself be small and vulnerable, knowing that with Benny, I didn’t have to be anything but myself.

Taglist: @storiesfromafan@aleemendoza2425-blog , @preciouslilmonster , @iamaslytherin0

[mama2bears]

The Storm Of Life Chapter 3

Pairing: Tyler/F.Reader

Warnings: None.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A loud clash of thunder startled you awake, lighting lit up the room. “MOMMY!” the kids starting screaming for you from the other room. “I am coming.” you sighed, standing up. You had a headache and your stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. You felt like you were burning up, yet a chill ran down your spin. Great, you thought. Now I am sick on top of everything else.

“Hey guys, it's okay.” you open the door to the children's room, turning your head as you coughed. “Mommy is here.”

“I am scared.” Harley was crying and hugging her teddy bear.

“Is a tornado coming to destroy this house too?” Billy asked, tears streaming down his face.

Thunder boomed outside again and lighting struck something nearby, shaking the house with a boom. The nightlight in the room went out and the kids screamed. You started to tremble with fear. Was there a tornado out there?

“Hey, everything okay?” Tyler came up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder as he shone a flashlight around the room.

“We're scared.” Billy cried, “Is a tornado coming?”

“No, this is just a thunderstorm, buddy.” Tyler reassured the child. “No tornadoes tonight. If there was one, we would go into a place called a storm cellar that's connected to the house and we'd be safe in there. This is nothing more then thunder and lighting.”

“Excuse me.” you take off running for the bathroom, feeling your stomach getting sick. You stumbled in the hallway before finally making it to the bathroom fumbled around to the toilet. It was so dark you could hardly see anything.

“You guys stay right here. I am only going across the hall to help your mama, okay?” Tyler said.

The kids nodded and huddled under their blankets.

“You okay?” Tyler asked, shinning the light into the bathroom.

You were sitting on the floor, head hung over the toilet as your stomach emptied it's self of everything you ate or drank in the last several hours.

Tyler got a wash cloth from the closet and ran it under cool water. “Here. This might help.” he said bringing it over to you and brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Thanks.” your voice was barely a whisper as you took deep breaths and held the cool clothe to your face, trying to get your stomach to settle down.

“Not a problem.” he responded, resting a hand on your shoulder for a moment.

Finally, you decide your stomach was over with being sick and you stood with the help of Tyler supporting your arm and dropped the wash clothe in the hamper.

“Come on, I'll make sure you get back to your room okay.” Tyler said softly, shinning the flashlight in front of you to light up the hall.

“No, I gotta go back with the kids. They're terrified of storms.” you turn to head towards the kids room.

“Let me sit up with them, as long as they are okay with it. You should be in bed resting.”

You shake your head, “I couldn't ask you to do that. I am not even sure they will be okay with a stranger.” you glance at him, “Well a new friend at least. They just met you today. It takes a lot for me to calm them down in storms.”

“It's okay. You aren't asking me, I am offering. I don't have any big plans for tomorrow, and you're sick.” he said, “Go back to bed. I'll sit with them for a bit if they want me to.”

You nod and Tyler leads you back into your room, making sure you made it to the bed. As you crawled under the covers once more he turned and left, closing the door halfway behind him.

“Hey guys...how are we doing?” Tyler asked. The storm had seemed to be calming down now and the kids didn't seem so afraid.

“Is it gone?” Harley asked.

“For now. I think there are more coming.” he answered.

“Is mommy okay?” Billy asked.

“Mommy is okay, but she's sick. She went back to bed to lay down so she can feel better.” Tyler explained. “You know how it is to be sick, right?”

Both kids nodded, “I don't like to be sick. I feel yucky.” Harley made a face, sticking out her tongue.

“I just want to lay down when I am sick. I don't feel good when I am sick.” Billy added.

“That's right.” Tyler shook his head, “And that's how your mama is feeling right now. How about you guys come down stairs with me and we'll get your mommy some medicine and water to help her feel better, then I'll sit in here with you until all the storms are gone. Will that be okay?”

“You chase storms, right?” Billy asked.

Tyler nodded, “That's right. Sometimes I do.”

“Do you know when there is a tornado?” he asked.

Tyler nodded, “Normally, yes. We have a very good idea when and where the tornadoes are going to hit. That's why we chase the storms. We try to warn people of the danger before the tornadoes come and we help them after the storm.”

“Are there tornadoes coming this way tonight?” Billy asked.

“No, buddy. No tornadoes tonight. I promise. Only thunder and lighting and lots of rain.”

“It's still scary.” Harley added.

“I know.” Tyler went over and gave the little girl a hug, “That's why I am going to stay in here with you after we get your mommy some medicine. I'll stay up and watch the storms to make sure there's no tornadoes or anything bad in them. I used to be scared of storms too, you know that?”

“Really?” Billy asked, “What did you do?”

“Well, come on downstairs with me and I'll tell you while I get some stuff for your mommy.” Tyler picked up Harley and extended a hand for Billy to hold. “Billy, you can be in charge of the flashlight if you want.”

“Cool!” Billy was happy to hold the flashlight and light the way down the stairs as Tyler continued talking. “Now, when I was little like you and scared of storms, my mama would build a little bed out of blankets and pillows and we'd snuggle down and play games, or tell stories, or even sing songs. Sometimes, we'd have milk and cookies for a snack.”

“I want milk and cookies.” Harley whined, laying her head on Tyler's shoulder as he carried her into the kitchen. He sat her down in a chair and Billy climbed up in a chair next to her.

“Alright guys. I am going to fix you some milk and cookies, but you can't tell your mommy about this, okay?”

They nodded as Tyler took down three glasses, filling two of them with milk and setting them down in front of the kids. He got two cookies from the cookie jar and placed them down.

“Can we sing songs and tell stories tonight?” Billy asked in between bites of his cookie.

“Sure buddy.” Tyler agreed, fixing a glass of water for you and getting some medicine for fever and upset stomach. “We'll make a little area of blankets and pillows and we will sing songs and tell stories until you guys are ready to go back to sleep.”

“Yay!” the kids cheered.

Thunder rolled again and instantly, their smiles faded and they got a look of fear.

“It's okay, just another storm rolling in.” Tyler assured them as they finished their cookies and milk. He put their glasses in the dishwasher and then picked up your medicine and water. “Billy, do you want to lead the way again?”

Billy nodded, holding the flashlight and leading the way up the stairs and to your mom.

You hear the door open and turn to look, “Hey, I got you some medicine for your stomach and fever.” Tyler said softly, setting the water on the nightstand and handing you two pills.

“Thanks, you didn't have to.” You sat up and gave him a smile, then looked at the kids, “What are you two doing out of bed?”

“Helping Mr. Tyler.” Billy grinned.

“And we had cookies and milk!” Harley added.

“Hey! That was suppose to be a secret! You gonna get me in trouble!” Tyler grinned then turned to you, “I kept them with me so they didn't get scared. I am going to sit with them until the storms are gone. Sounds like another one is rolling in.”

“We are going to sing songs and tell stories!” Billy added.

“Thank you.” You give a soft smile to Tyler and look over at your two kids, “You two be good for Mr. Tyler, understood?”

“Yes mommy.” they both say in union.

“Okay, guys. Ready to go make a cozy area out of your blankets and pillows?” he asked.

“YAY!” The kids cheer and each grab one of his hands and pull him out of the room.

“If you need anything, let me know.” Tyler called to you as the kids pull him down the hallway and you smile.

The kids eagerly grabbed the blankets and pillows from their bed, and Harley grabbed her favorite bear, Lulu. Tyler helped them set up a seating area in the corner far away from the window and then sat down and both kids climbed up in his lap.

“Alright, do we want a song or a story first?” he asked.

“I like the Mowana song!” Harley said.

Thinking for a moment, Tyler remembered a song from the movie. He enjoyed the Disney movies, but he didn't tell anyone else that. In a way, he was still just a kid himself. As his mama kept telling him...he never grew up.

Tyler leaned back against the wall and wrapped each kid in their blanket, then began to sing.

Every turn I take

Every trail I track

Every path I make

Every road leads back to the place I know

Where I cannot go

Where I long to be

As Tyler sang, his mind wandered. This is what he had always wanted, but could never find. This was where he could not go, but longed to be. Being with you today and being with the kids made him realize what he had been missing all these years. Horseback riding with kids in tow, watching them pick wildflowers for their mama, shopping for the kids, and now...being the protector during a storm. This was what he wanted, but could never seem to have. He dated a lot, but nothing ever really got serious. A family of his own was what he really was searching for all this time, but just could never find. 'Maybe someday.' he thought to himself with a sad smile. For now, this was enough. This felt like home. This felt like exactly where his heart wanted to be.

[nastyenemyeater]

Rockstar Choso 🫣👹🎸🥁- FANFIC

I saw some tiktoks about Choso being a drummer and it gave me some ideas.

Here are the links :

SHOUT OUT TO NARUTOSS.RAMEN

either way here's the plot : basically Y/n got cheated on by her bf at a club and she got revenge by kissing the drummer of 'The curses' rockstar band .

“Look Y/n isn’t that Nathan?” asked your best friend, pointing at a guy during a hardcore kissing session with a random girl.

The blasting music, the heat in the club and the moving people passing by and occasionally shoving you to pave their way, were not helping you in any way digest the scene you just witnessed.

Your knees felt weak, your heartbeat increased considerably, memories flashed by, tears started overflowing and millions of questions exploded inside your head “why? Am I dreaming? Why did he cheat so easily? Did he even love me?”

“Go confront him Y/n! What are you waiting for? The fuck??” shouted your best friend, shaking you fervently and bringing you back to the hell.

You couldn’t. Or you thought it didn’t matter anymore.

“That motherfucker” you seethed in anger.

Alcohol was all you could think about. Yes, you needed to drink a shit ton of it. After all, you came to the club to enjoy your Saturday night. You didn’t plan on having your heart broken but … life never goes how you want it right?

You made your way to the bar, jaw clenched, eyes burning with anger and determined to drown the night’s misery in alcohol. The bartender handed you the strongest shot of vodka, and you backed at least five of them. Each one went down smoother than the last, but the pain refused to fade.

"Maybe I should just make out with the first guy that comes along," you thought bitterly, resting your head on your arms as you looked to your left.

Unexpectedly, a pair of dark, hazy eyes were already locked on you. He sat back against the bar, elbows resting casually behind him. His dark, messy hair clung to his sweaty forehead, framing his sharp features – a defined jawline, high cheekbones, and tired, yet piercing eyes that studied you intently. Tattoos snaked up his neck and down his muscular arms, accentuated by the sleeveless black shirt that clung to his broad frame. His legs were spread wide, exuding a quiet confidence and control.

Without thinking, you locked eyes with him, staring intently with no thoughts, just an empty, heated gaze. A faint smirk played on his lips as he stared back, silent but sharp, as if he was waiting for you to make the next move.

“Whatch’you lookin’ at?” he asked with an amused tone, breaking the silence between you two.

You didn’t have the strength to engage in any conversation yet, and all you could do was stare at him. Being in that inebriating state made easy for you to prolongate the eye contact.

He let out a low chuckle, stood from his seat and made his way toward you.

But before he could take another step, 2 other guys suddenly pulled him away, dragging him toward the other side of the bar. A chaotic stream of girls followed, screaming some names as they swarmed after them.

You watched as he winked at you before disappearing into the crowd. Despite the commotion, you remained rooted to your spot, an amused smile playing on your lips as you took in the scene.

“Wow, they must be somebody for them to get followed liked this” you wondered. You groaned loudly as you realized your mistake “Fuckkk ! I just blew my chance … fuck fuck fuck … Uh give me another one please” you said, asking for another shot to forget about this massive fail.

By now, the alcohol coursing through your veins made you feel more at ease, braver, and a little reckless. Confidence surged with every beat of the rock music that pounded through the club, filling your body with raw energy. The tension that had been building up inside you needed an outlet, and before you knew it, you found yourself weaving through the crowd toward the dance floor.

You moved with purpose, shaking off the accumulated stress with each step. The crowd was electric, and soon you managed to slip right to the front of the stage, where you spotted the two guys who had dragged your "new friend" away earlier. They were performing, and you finally recognized them as The Curses, a rockstar band.

You also spotted your "new friend" as their drummer. His name was Choso apparently.

The music reverberated through your body, each beat syncing with the rising tension inside, a strange mix of hurt, anger, and alcohol pushing you to the edge. By the time they finished their set, the adrenaline was pumping so hard it was like a shot of fire to your system.

Without thinking, you somehow climbed up on the stage. The crowd’s roar faded into the background as you grabbed the microphone, your voice raw with emotion as you shouted, “FUCK YOU NATHAN!”

The audience gasped, some laughing, some unsure what was happening, but you didn’t care. Your mind raced as you continued, “GO FUCK YOURSELF NATHAN! YOU DON’T DESERVE SHIT IN YOUR LIFE”

The two guys from the band rushed over, trying to calm you down, but most importantly trying to yank the mic out of your hands. One of them put a hand on your shoulder, but you jerked your arm away and continued, “YOU HEAR ME, NATHAN? YOU MANWHORE”

Someone grabbed your arm, pulling you slightly back as a voice whispered, "C’mon, miss, don’t embarrass yourself. Get down from the—"

But you cut them off, shouting, “DON’T TOUCH ME! I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SPEAK!” Your voice rang out, fierce and defiant. Then, you turned and realized it wasn’t a stranger—it was Choso. His intense, steady gaze met yours, silently pleading for you to calm down. For a moment, everything else faded, and it was just the two of you, his eyes trying to pull you back from the edge.

The noise and chaos seemed to fade into the background. Staring into his captivating eyes, you thought, It’s now or never. Your gaze flicked from his eyes to his plump lips, and without hesitation, you acted.

You dragged him down toward you, while rising up onto your tiptoes, and then you kissed him fervently, all the pent-up emotion pouring into that moment.

His pink-haired friend cackled into the mic, “You hear that, Nathan? You fucked up! Your girl’s gone now!”

“yeah you son a bitch! look at me eating up this guy’s mouth!” you thought, deepening the kiss.

You would be a total liar if you said that making out with Choso was just any other chore to get back at your ex.

No, no, no, no… that man was a beast. The second your lips touched his, he yanked your body against his, your breasts colliding with his large, hard chest.

Every inch of him was solid, muscle-packed beneath his shirt like he was carved from stone. His body radiated heat, and the faint sheen of sweat from his earlier performance mixed with the scent of his cologne—a powerful, intoxicating blend that made you want him even more. The mix was engulfing, dizzying, wrapping around you like a drug, making it impossible to pull away.

What started as a kiss turned into something deeper, more intense. His mouth was commanding, his lips moving over yours with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. His tongue was battling against yours, and all you could do was respond.

He was devouring the fuck out of you.

His hands slid down to your waist, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The feel of his body against yours – strong, immovable – made you crave more. Your fingers roamed up his shoulders, desperate to feel more of him, to get closer.

This wasn’t just some kiss to get back at Nathan. Choso’s kiss was raw, overwhelming, and consuming – everything you didn’t know you needed.

“Ok ok lovebirds! time’s up! you both can finish this later” suggested his sexy black-haired friend.

The crowd's reaction to your passionate kiss was a mix of emotions. Some voices rose in anger, hurling insults, while others cheered loudly, celebrating your bold move. The air buzzed with a clash of discontent and admiration. Some of them even started chanting “fuck you Nathan” in chorus.

But eventually, all good things must come to an end … and you had to shed yourself from Choso’s addictive body. You were both panting and staring at each other’s soul trying to figure out what just happened and what was going to happen afterwards.

“So ... do you make a habit of kissing random guys on stage?” he asked with a smirk, his eyes lingering on your face, taking in every detail.

“I … I have to go …” you stuttered, pushing him slowly away.

“Oh nah you can’t go now. There is no way I’ll let you leave after what you just did to me” he said, pulling you closer.

“I acted impulsively … I’m sorry … I need to go” you said, still trying to get out of his grip.

“Oh, so you’re just going to run back to Nathan?” he spat bitterly, holding you even harder.

You immediately frowned upon hearing his name again.

“Fuck you” you gritted, putting all your almighty force to push yourself away from him.

“That’s perfect, I have a 20-minute break anyway” he said, grinning. Before you could respond, his strong arms encircled your waist. In one swift, fluid motion, you were lifted off the ground. Panic surged as you were hoisted over his shoulder. It wasn’t a gentle lift; it was firm and unyielding.

“Guys, if you don’t mind, I have something to take care of” he informed his friends.

“Man, do whatch’ya gotta do, we lost you the minute she got on stage” said the black-haired guy.

You kicked and hit desperately, your fists pounding against his back. “Put me down!” you screamed, struggling against the grip holding you. “Let me go!”

“I don’t know about you, but I like to kiss a little before fucking. That being said, if you like it rough I can do that for you baby” he said, spanking you.

“The fuck??? did you just spank me?? how dare you??” you screamed at him, outraged.

“oh so we were literally dry-humping each other on stage 5 minutes ago but I can’t spank you now? That’s bullshit! You’re mine now!” he said, pushing an exit door.

When he finally set you down, the cold night air jolted you back to reality.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t think this through, ok? I just saw my boyfriend kissing a chick and I saw you as an opportunity to get revenge … I’m sorry please, just let me go” you pleaded.

He leaned in, slammed both of his hands on the wall, caging you with his body “So you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy our kissing session?” he asked faking a pout, but clearly amused.

“I didn’t say that” you shyly admitted, looking away.

“Then why are you running away?” he whispered in your ear, his lips now dangerously close to your neck.

“Please understand my situation here, I still have to deal with my feelings” you said, trying to get your neurons to work.

“I know for sure I can get him out of your head and give you new feelings to think about” he whispered against your neck.

“Look, I’m not trying to fuck … I told you I acted impulsively, I’m sorry” you asserted. Your mouth said no but your body craved this man with every alive and dead cell.

“Hey, as much as I love sex, I’m not going to fuck with you if you’re not willing. What I’d really like to do, though, is to get to know you better. So, what’s your name” he asked, his tilted curious face looking at you.

“I … uh … Y/n” you sighed. You knew there was no point in faking a name. You would have forgotten about it anyway.

“Y/n ... I can see myself moaning your name”

“Shut up. Choso.” you said, trying to hide your fluster.

“I definitely can see you moaning my name” he added, with a smirk.

You could see yourself doing that too. Just thinking about it, sent tingling signals to your pussy.

“Can I get another kiss before going back to stage?” he asked with a demanding look on his face. He looked so adorable, with his pleading eyes and his slightly parted lips. He held your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look up to him.

That bastard … He wasn’t playing fairly …

“if you keep looking at me like that I might have to bring you home, and keep you all for myself” he whispered again in your neck.

You couldn’t speak. You were unable to focus on not acting impulsively again and trying to formulate long sentences. Your brain was in a total meltdown.

“Just so you know, I still plan to get my revenge and kiss you first, and when I do, you’re not getting out alive” he added, gently kissing your neck.

Silence.

“Please ... say something, you’re driving me crazy” he whispered, desperation lingering on his voice.

His hands slid on your back, pulling you closer to him.

“Fuck … baby … please … don’t give me the silence treatment …” he whined, holding you harder.

“Ok …just one peck” you sighed, finally making a decision. You had surrendered to this man’s desires.  

You got on your tippy toes and gave him a 4-second peck on his soft lips. But no light brush of lips or polite peck was enough for Choso. As soon as your lips touched again, he kissed you back with everything he had, hungry for so much more.

“Hey! C’mon man, we need you back on stage. Sex time’s over” interrupted pink-haired guy busting the exit door open.

“Fuck off man” Choso growled between kisses, as you both slowly came to a stop.

“I want to see you again baby. Gimme somethin’ more than your name” he asked, visibly frustrated.

“How about you look for me here next Saturday at your concert?” you suggested, smirking unknowingly, your hands roaming on his broad chest.

“And when I catch you,” he said with a grin, “you'll see the things I’m going to do to you.” he finished, with a hard squeeze of your ass.

i hope you liked this story ❤️ don't hesitate to comment and reblog !

[thefearedashantis]

Touch Grass

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Reader makes Remus stand barefoot in grass to help his chronic pain

Warning: its pretty short

"Is this really necessary?"

You step into the grass with a frown “didn’t you say you were having a flare-up?”

“Killer”

“Then yes, it’s necessary.”

You and Remus have only been living in this house for a few months. It fell on the more expensive side of what you could afford, but you'd both agreed to cut back on a few luxuries until you developed a suitable spending cushion.

You'd chosen it because it was the only spot you'd viewed that really had your sole requirement. A yard. Even if only a measly few feet of it.

You thrived off being outside. A few minutes of sunlight and fresh air a day were enough to breeze you through a rough week. Sometimes, you would even retreat out here for hours at a time to just stare at the sky and listen to music. Falling asleep on more than one occasion.

All you had to do now was convince your indoorsy boyfriend just how beneficial the investment could be for him as well.

It's a beautiful day.

A perfectly clear blue sky. The neighbourhood in a lull as afternoon sweeps in. Signs of life drift over your high fence, allowing you to imagine what you couldn't physically see. Muffled chatter from a television, someone watching old reruns. The smell of freshly baked pastries, an oven timer chiming. The squeals and giggles of a child echoed by the rowdy grumble of a dog. That in particular was a sound you heard quite often these days. The people that lived directly beside you had a young son who relished in terrorizing their new Golden.

A gentle touch presses into your hip, startling you.

You turn to face Remus and almost break out into tears at the sight of him, already feeling guilty for forcing him off the couch.

He looks so frail for such an otherwise tall, imposing boy. Dark hair sticks to his damp forehead, sweater haphazardly thrown over his drooping shoulders. His skin is washed, cracked lips melded together in a grimace, and eyes glassy where they stare at you. Heavy lidded. He sways on bare feet. Fingers bunch into the fabric of your shirt and pull taught. You stumble a step at his grip.

Reaching out, your arms circle his waist “Here, lean on me." He's slumping forward before you've even finished offering. His face settles into the space between your neck and shoulder. He inhales deeply, suppressing a groan only for your benefit. With a sharp intake of air, he rubs his nose into your skin, allowing the next bellow of pain to slip free. The grisly sound of his teeth grinding makes your heart clench.

You're such a horrible person.

"Only for a few minutes Rem," you promise, sliding your hand into his hair to massage his scalp. He's putting much more weight on you than he usually allows. You have to lock your knees to steady you both.

“I'm burning” Remus complains.

You squint up at the sun. There's no cloud cover to protect you from its battering rays. "Sunlight is good for you." He'd been shut away in the house all week, with the curtains closed.

"Not if I end up with skin cancer."

You remind him of the sunscreen you'd so lovingly slathered on him prior to your journey outside. The citrusy aroma of it lingers on him. "The spf was pretty high."

This doesn't seem to appease him. Warm breath billows across the front of your face as Remus shifts to your other shoulder, hiding himself from direct contact. He does feel pretty warm. Overheating wouldn't do his exhausted body any good.

Tapping him twice, you try to dislodge your intertwined limbs. "I'll get you a hat." Some water as well. He could rest on the porch steps until you get back. You wait a beat for Remus to let go, and when he doesn't, tap him again.

"I'm fine like this," he mumbles, kissing the hollow of your throat lightly

You ask if he's sure but receive no response.

The two of you stand in the centre of your yard in comfortable silence for the next few minutes. Occasionally, Remus will groan and rearrange himself, to which you can provide little comfort other than a firm rub on the back. You don't want to disturb him, so you keep busy by wiggling your toes in the grass. It rained last night, the soil still damp. The cool ground feels good.

After a while, Remus eases some of his weight. Leaning up, he bumps your foreheads together. Cheek to Cheek, he rests his lips against your ear, sending a pleasant jolt down your spine. He whispers, "So what's the science behind this?"

"Well, it's called grounding." As soon as you say it, you feel stupid.

Remus has dealt with chronic pain for as long as you've known him. Has tried every remedy there was. Who were you to think you'd found all the answers from one of your silly little deep dives.

Your palms start to get clammy. How could you explain to him that you were forcing him into discomfort to satisfy your own curiosities.

"Go on, don't get shy now." Remus can feel the sudden tension in your posture. Pressing in closer, he virtually fuses your bodies together.

"Imagine your body is like a phone," you start. "You have to recharge it regularly for it to work properly. Grounding is like plugging your phone, yourself, in. When you do it, you connect your body to the electrical energy of the Earth. Simple things like walking barefoot on grass or leaning against a tree or deep breaths of fresh air can rejuvenate you." And just to sound like you have some sort of good reasoning you tack on "Its supposed to be anti-inflammatory." At least that's what every nature healing blog you'd read claimed.

Remus remains quiet as if he's waiting for you to say more. Your nerves fizzle with embarrassment.

"Is it working?" You wonder aloud, more to yourself than anything.

Remus tips the two of you side to side with a long hum. Nimble fingers play at the edge of your top, gliding upwards to push at the pluff of your tummy. "I'm not sure, but you’re soft."

You struggle to contain a giggle when they slide even higher. Up and up until they brush along the underside of your chest.

Yanking his hands down, you nip at his chin. "A few more minutes, and then we’ll go inside." Maybe you'd even reward him for not laughing outright at your idea.

My back hurts - XoXo Jermaine

divider: @plutism

[chimcess]

Nachash || jhs (Prologue)

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (ft. Taehyung) Genre: Supernatural AU, Demon!Hoseok, Doctor!Reader, Smut, One night stand, Angst, Horror AU, Incubus! Hoseok, 90s AU, Yandere!AU (that's putting it lightly) Rating: 18+ (don’t interact if you’re a minor) Word Count:  6.6k+ Summary: After losing both of her parents, Y/N decided to sell her home in Florida and move back to New York City, a place she barely remembers despite having lived in Harlem for a decade. Her reality begins to blur as she loses track of dreams and waking life. At the center of this confusion is Hoseok, a sweet man who gives her an eerie sense of déjà vu. She can't shake the feeling that Hoseok isn't who he claims to be, and she's haunted by a strange bar that keeps appearing in her nightmares. Warnings: Wet dreams, explicit sexual contact in those dreams, graphic violence, hard dom Hoseok, demon Hobi acting like the horrible creature he is, emotional manipulation, DEATH, alcohol consumption, sexual harassment (brief), dream manipulation, stalking, vampire mind control, asshole Hobi (seriously), morally grey Taehyung, morally grey vampires in general, vampire bar, use of pagers because this is the early 90s (I have pager code translations at the bottom of the page), lots of cursing, vaginal fingering, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, sadistic Hoseok, death by sex in her dreams, did I mention how horrible of a person this Hobi is?, mans is an obsessive stalker, and this is just the prologue because Tumblr's new rules are weird and don't make sense, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: I've had to split this into two seperate parts since Tumblr does not allow posts over a certain line count anymore (boo!), so I'm giving you guys the beginning section first! This entire story will be based in the 90s and will have a lot of pretty dark elements attachted to it. I really wanted to force myself to write a character that is so out of my wheelhouse it made me uncomfortable-- and that's exactly who incubus Hoseok is in this one. Happy Halloween everyone!

Next Part to be released 10/31 || Released early on AO3: here

August 1992

My bones cracked, the sound echoing through the sterile silence, and I struggled to catch my breath. A thin layer of sweat clung to my skin, and I patted myself down to make sure I was still awake, still alive. Slowly, the panic subsided as I took in my surroundings. The bright fluorescent lights above made my eyes ache, but their harsh glow was a strange comfort. I was still in the hospital. The bed beneath me creaked as I sighed and flopped back down.

The nightmares had been haunting me for a while now. I couldn’t pinpoint when the first one came, but it had been two months since they turned sexual. The worst ones hit during my 24-hour shifts, as if my mind was playing some twisted game. There was always a man—always the same man—with golden eyes that glowed in the darkness. His skin was soft, supple, and disturbingly perfect.

Even when I closed my eyes, his perfect face flashed in the darkness behind my eyelids. It always ended the same way. I would climax, my body thrashing violently, only to look up and see his skin peeling away, ashes raining down, with fire slipping through the cracks. My own body would begin to burn, and I’d scream in horror as his once-perfect face revealed a skull with flames and black smoke oozing out. I would wake up just as his skeletal hand reached for my throat. The scenario changed, but the ending never did.

Sighing, I fumbled around for my phone. When I found it under my pillow, alongside my watch, I realized that I was due back in twenty minutes. I groaned. There was no going back to sleep now. I carefully climbed off my bunk, trying to remain as quiet as possible. Dr. Boseman was fast asleep, blissfully unaware of my nightly torment. She still had another hour before she had to return to the floor. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror. The ER was filled with messy doctors, and I would be no exception. Slipping my shoes back on and shrugging on my white coat, I quickly put on my lanyard and left the little room.

It had been a relatively slow night. We all knew better than to say the dreaded “Q” word, but that didn’t mean we weren’t aware of the unusual silence. The most excitement we had was a car accident victim, and he would survive. My attending physician, Dr. Kepler, was at the nurse’s station laughing with some of the nurses.

“Morning, Doc,” came Shannon’s voice, the night custodian.

“Hey, Shan, how are you?” I smiled at the elderly woman.

“I’m fine. About to clean some bathrooms.”

“Good luck with that,” I waved, knowing the small talk was over.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Dr. Kepler smiled when I was close enough to talk. He was a handsome man with broad shoulders and pearly white teeth. I knew better, though. He had a bad habit of cheating on his wife with residents. He had never shown any interest in me, most likely because I never treated him differently. Some of the girls were too friendly with him and lost their professionalism, and he took advantage of that. As much as he disgusted me, I had to admit he was one hell of a doctor.

“Dr. L/N,” he greeted.

“Evening, Dr. Kepler,” I replied. “How’s it going, Angie?”

The tech beamed at me. She had started working at the hospital around the same time I had begun my residency, and we made fast friends. On quiet days like this, the two of us would sit at the desk and shoot the shit. She gave me a little wink.

“Oh, you know, paperwork and stuff,” she replied.

“One of those days?”

“When isn’t it?” She rolled her eyes.

“I feel your pain,” Kepler forced his way into our conversation. He was dreadfully boring, so I chose to ignore him whenever this happened. Typically, he would realize no one was paying attention to him and leave. “I had to help out in L&D tonight, and let me tell you, I am glad I did not go that route. Couldn’t imagine having to deal with hysterical females all day.”

I grimaced. He was such a pig. Angie rolled her eyes but kept her mouth shut. If she spoke up, he would never leave. A few nurses gave half-hearted replies, and I caught the eyes of Issic, one of the nurse practitioners who helped out in the emergency room. Normally so well-behaved and soft-spoken, the large, teddy-bear-like man glowered at the doctor. If looks could kill, I could not say Dr. Kepler would be dead, but I had to admit he would be majorly hurt. Still, no one called him out on the gross comments. We never did.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow,” Dr. Kepler bid us goodbye, his rant about how stupid specialties other than cardiology are.

Angie twisted her nose in disgust once his back was turned. She disliked him more than I did. He made obvious advances toward her, something that made her and everyone else at the station uncomfortable, but there was not much we could do. I told her to report him for sexual harassment, but she never did. Nor did anybody else. I had never noticed how little we stood up for ourselves before.

“Glad he’s gone,” Mariah, an RN, commented.

“Creep,” another tech said.

“Anyway,” Angie did not acknowledge them. “I’m going out for drinks with some of the other nurses. You want to come?”

“Where at?” I checked my watch. I would have to begin my pre-rounds soon.

“This new bar Dauphine. Selene went a few weeks back with some friends of hers.”

“I’m not in the club scene,” I reminded her.

I knew Selene, not well, but I did know her. We met at Angie’s Christmas party last year along with a few of her other friends. I had left early but not before Selene had started to bump and grind with anyone she could get her hands on. This included Jeon Jungkook, the local wack-job-false-prophet-wannabe-fortuneteller and my cousin’s boyfriend. The two ended up having sex in the back of his Impala where said cousin found them in the middle of the act. Jungkook said it was his “destiny.” Selene simply laughed and was right back on his lap. I did not care much for her after that.

“There are only certain rooms like that. The main area is like a lounge. She said it was chill until they went dancing.”

I hummed. It had been a while since I had gone out. Maybe it would be a nice distraction, especially with the weird dreams I’d been having.

“When?” Angie smiled wide. She knew she had won me over.

“Thursday. I made sure to get a day you weren’t on call.”

And then my watch began beeping, signaling my return to work. Angie pouted her bottom lip out and batted her eyelashes. I smiled and shook my head.

“Duty calls,” I turned around and began walking away. “See you Thursday,” I called behind me.

“Fuck,” I sighed, throwing my head back.

“You’re so wet,” the man groaned, releasing my clit.

I squirmed underneath him, legs shaking, and breathing erratic. The man chuckled darkly, sticking a third finger in. I cried out once more.

“You’re such a fucking slut,” he rasped before slapping my right breast.

I screamed, the pain and pleasure mixing so many times tonight that I could no longer discern the two. He slapped the other side. Tears fell from my eyes.

“I’m going to take my time with you,” his voice felt further away than it had before.

His fingers were gone, and I whined. I hardly recognized the person I had become. Never had I begged for a man’s touch or wanted rough sex. I knew he could do anything to me, and I would not complain. I knew that he knew that as well. I also knew that he loved it. A sharp, painful slap was delivered to my already aching pussy. Another scream.

“And when I’m done,” slap, “I’m going to devour you.”

And I came undone for the third time.

I adjusted my dress again, feeling its snugness a little too keenly. It had been ages since I’d gone out, and Angie’s insistence on looking “sexy” felt like a cruel joke. Most of my wardrobe consisted of scrubs and old college hoodies, so my little black dress, tucked away in the back of my closet, had to do. Back when I was nineteen, it had fit like a glove. Now, it clung to my newer curves, which weren’t so new anymore. Should I change?

Groaning, I fell back on my bed. What am I doing? If Angie were here, she’d tell me to stop acting like “such a virgin” and laugh. She always laughed hardest at her own jokes. According to her, being with less than three guys by age twenty-three was unheard of. The fact that I was pushing thirty and had only been with two was some sort of medical anomaly to her. The virgin jokes had been annoying at first, but I’d learned that was just Angie’s sense of humor. Childish, yes, but she was likable enough to forgive it.

I sat up and looked at myself in the mirror again. The dress looked good, better than I expected. So why the apprehension? Struggling to pinpoint the source of my anxiety, I finally gave up. I threw on a leather jacket and started putting on the finishing touches to my look. I was meeting everyone at the club since Angie lived on the other side of town. She had kindly offered to pay for my cab. After texting her that I was ready, I slipped on a pair of black boots and stepped outside to wait for my ride.

The night was cold, unusually so for August, even for New York. Adjusting to the climate had been tough. Originally from Jersey, my family had moved to Florida when I was a child. I’d gone to Tulane for undergrad and then moved to New York for med school. After graduating from Columbia two years ago, I started my residency at Harlem Hospital Center. I was planning to stay for my ICU fellowship.

A gust of wind ruffled my clothes, and for a moment, I swore I felt phantom hands caress my hips. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine. My mind was still on edge from the nightmares. Last night’s had been particularly vivid: horns had sprouted from his head before he ripped a chunk of my breast out with his teeth, blood dripping onto my sheets as my screams echoed off the walls.

My phone rang, its sharp tone startling me. Angela had pressured me into getting a cellphone a few months ago, and I was still getting used to the intrusion. Handy at times, sure, but mostly an annoyance. The bulky Nokia was far too cumbersome.

“You in the car yet? The driver’s name is Jimin.”

As she said it, a pair of headlights turned the corner, and the car slowed down.

“About to get in now,” I said, eager to hang up. The assumption that I was wealthy because I had a cellphone always embarrassed me.

“God, I’m so excited to see you!” Angie squealed, the sounds of the club already drowning her out. I regretted agreeing to come out. “The password is Conti. Whatever that means.”

I smiled. “It’s a street name in New Orleans.”

The car pulled up to the curb, and I quickly opened the door. 

“I’m about to get in the cab,” I said, buckling up. “I’ll see you in a bit, Ang.”

“Page me when you get here!”

The ride was quiet. The driver greeted me, asked for my name, then lapsed into silence. Soft R&B played in the background. To distract myself, I sent a quick message to my mom and listened to the driver quietly singing along. He had a nice voice. Just as we pulled up, TLC came on, and I felt a pang of disappointment that I wouldn’t get to hear him sing along. I thanked him before getting out. Jimin drove off seconds after I closed the door with a polite ‘goodnight.’

The alleyway leading to the club was less intimidating than I’d expected. Angie’s description of a long, red-lit path had conjured far worse images in my mind. The lights were bright enough to see by, and the walk was short. Voices drifted from outside the club, easing some of my tension. Maybe the rumors were just that—rumors.

Dauphine had a reputation for attracting the town’s freaks. Drugs, alcohol, sex parties that ended in blood-splattered walls, and people who went in but never came out. The rumors spiraled out of control after Namjoon Kim was found dead outside. Typical media frenzy—no one cared when ten prostitutes went missing, but a rich CEO gets shot, and it’s front-page news. I rolled my eyes. Some things never change.

A group of friends stopped talking as I approached, and apprehension churned in my gut. Bile rose in my throat, but I forced it down. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them. Their presence was enough to leave me shaking. One of them snickered, and I shivered. Without even glancing at them, I knew they’d be terrifying. The bouncer opened the peephole in the door.

“Conti,” I said, my voice harsh.

The door opened seconds later, and I practically ran inside, shoving past the bouncer without much care. He didn’t seem to mind my rudeness. Without their eyes on me, I could finally breathe. I paged Angie to let her know I was here.

Angela: 110 307

Angela: 209

Y/N: 08

I shoved my pager back into my bag and started navigating the maze of the bar. The nurse had been right; it was more subdued than I had imagined. Red and black dominated the color scheme, with large sofas and booths scattered about. Neon signs pointed to the restrooms, and the place was pleasantly devoid of orgies or bloodbaths. I felt a wave of relief—no strobe lights, no thrumming dance floors. 

A few minutes later, I found the bar. Only one man was seated there, engaged in a tender conversation with the bartender. She caressed his cheek, and I melted at the sight. It was heartwarming to see such affection in a place rumored to be so dangerous. I doubted many would be comfortable with their partner working in a place as infamous as this.

Respecting their privacy, I took a seat a few stools away and picked up a small drink menu. Angie was nowhere in sight. I stifled a laugh; the menu was a mix of classic cocktails and blood types listed underneath each one. For a place as notorious as this, I hadn't expected it to be a vampire-themed bar. I was already excited to see the dance floor. Themed bars in New Orleans had always been a blast during my Tulane days.

"Good evening," the bartender's voice was silky smooth.

I smiled. "Hi."

"What can I get for you?"

Suppressing a grin, I said, "I'll have a dirty martini. Shot of O negative."

The chuckle slipped out before I could stop it. The bartender smirked, her skin glistening under the red lights. The man at the other end of the bar looked at me, his eyes wide, before bursting into loud laughter. Eyes turned towards us, the sensation making my skin crawl, but I stayed composed. The bartender leaned in closer.

"Are you okay with cherry liqueur?"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

She laughed. "Then you don't want that shot, babe."

I nodded, glancing at my nails. Where was Angie? Rolling my eyes, I groaned. She’d probably run into some guy and forgotten about me. I straightened up, trying to see over the tall booths scattered about. No sign of her blonde head anywhere. With a sigh, I gave up. She’d show up eventually.

"Looking for someone?" The bartender slid my drink over.

"Oh," I clutched my chest, startled. "Just a friend of mine. She got here earlier but I can't find her. She said she’d come get me."

"I might’ve seen her." Her brows knitted in concern.

"She’s tall," I gestured, "really skinny. Blonde hair and blue eyes. She’s wearing a blue sequin dress."

The bartender nodded. "Yeah, I saw her and a couple of girls head to the back. She ran off with a guy not too long ago."

I groaned. Of course, she did. I must have missed her on my way in. Sinking into my chair, I threw back my martini, ripping the olive off the toothpick. My annoyance was palpable. I tried calling her, but there was no response.

Y/N: 420

Y/N: 3011

After a few more failed attempts, I paged Monica, another tech from the hospital I was close with. I used her last name; there were too many Monicas to keep track of. Her code number was written down on a piece of paper in my wallet.

Y/N: 221

"Hey," the bartender called out.

She seemed hesitant to speak. I felt a pang of guilt for making her uncomfortable. She probably thought her tip was on the line. I willed myself to calm down.

"Sorry about that."

"No worries," she replied, waving me off. "Just… be careful. We get some characters in here. I’ll keep an eye out for your friend."

I smiled at her. "Thanks."

"Anytime. If you need anything, just ask for 'Bootsy,'" she winked before taking my empty glass and returning to her boyfriend.

My pager buzzed.

Everson: 419

I rolled my eyes. I hated technology outside of medical settings. Pagers were useless for meaningful conversation. Luckily, Monica carried her cell everywhere, flaunting her family’s wealth. Her phone was much nicer than mine.

"Hey babe!" She shouted over the music.

"Angie left," I spoke louder than necessary, hoping she could hear. "The bartender saw her leave with a guy."

Monica laughed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. We were too different to get along beyond pleasantries.

"Go Ang!" She giggled drunkenly. "We’re all in the back."

I rolled my eyes. "It’s my first time here."

"Bar, take a right, walk straight until you see a bunch of doors."

"What’s the entrance look like? Everything looks the same here."

"The door is black with a purple bead hanging off the handle," she hiccuped, then burped. "The lights around it are really red."

Annoyed, I shoved my phone into my purse and slid off my chair. The long hallway was daunting. This part of the bar was dimly lit and far more unsettling. Unlike the eyes on my back earlier, there was no one here. The jazz music faded, and I fought back a shiver. This place was creepy.

I went to the end of the hall only to find it empty. No door, no beads, nothing. Monica had given me the wrong directions. As frustrated as I was, I couldn’t be too upset with her. She had no idea what she was talking about and already had a few drinks in her system. My anger towards Angela only grew. I sent her another text, seething, and started to wander again, hunting for the elusive door.

The nurse was right; this place was a labyrinth. High ceilings and narrow passages could make even the most fearless person feel claustrophobic. I had to hold my breath when the walls seemed to close in. Aimlessly, I roamed, still finding nothing. The longer I walked, the more convinced I became that this lounge had been a catacomb at some point. From the outside, it didn't look nearly this expansive. My heels clicked loudly in the eerie silence. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I glanced around nervously.

"How the hell do you get lost in a bar?" I cursed myself, turning back the way I came. The bartender was nice enough; maybe she could help.

"It's a lounge, sha," a voice said behind me.

I screamed, flinching, and spun around, losing my footing. I grabbed the wall, but the impact scraped my arm against the rough bricks. The person offered a hand, but I ignored it, picking myself up and glaring at the stranger.

He was gorgeous—tall, slender, with broad shoulders and lean muscles under a white button-down shirt. His hands, large with long, piano fingers, slid back into his pants pockets. His doe eyes sparkled with amusement, and his grin was wide and boxy.

"My apologies," his voice was honeyed. "I didn't mean to startle you."

I kept glaring. "Startle? You nearly gave me a heart attack."

He snickered before his eyes fixed on my arm. "You're bleeding."

I looked at my shoulder, noticing the rip in my jacket and the blood seeping out. Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I yelled, feeling tears welling up. Tonight had been a disaster from the start—the dress, the people outside, Angie ditching me. Every part of it felt like a waste of time. I should just go home.

"Are you okay, sha?" he asked, gently touching my arm.

I laughed bitterly. "Does it look like it?"

"No, you look upset."

"Great detective work, Captain Obvious," I snapped, rolling my eyes and yanking my arm away. "And it’s pronounced cher, not sha."

He stepped back, his smile never faltering. He seemed amused, which I found odd, but I couldn’t walk away. I didn’t like him. He was creepy, even in his beauty, and his eyes reminded me of the group outside. Yet, my feet felt rooted to the ground, as if frozen in fear.

"No, cher, it's sha where I’m from."

I sniffled. "Louisiana, huh?"

"Born in France, but my family moved to New Orleans when I was young. I learned Kouri-Vini from a trumpet player in the French Quarter."

Embarrassed by my outburst, I nodded. Trust me to correct the grammar of a Frenchman. The night’s mood soured further, all my hopes for a good time dashed. Still, I couldn't deny a strange attraction to the stranger. His presence, unsettling yet warm, invited me to stay.

"You looked lost."

"I am. Trying to find my friends, but I have no idea where to go. They said 'the back,' like that’s helpful. I’ve been wandering for at least thirty minutes."

He placed a thoughtful finger on his chin. "You really shouldn’t walk around alone," he warned. "There are a lot of unsavory characters here."

"Are you an Anne Rice character or something?" I scratched my shoulder, wincing at the sting. "Why are you talking like that? It’s weird."

"Should I apologize?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not if you can get me back to the bar."

He laughed. "I believe that can be arranged."

"You're doing it again." This time, we laughed together.

The walk back was shorter than I’d expected. He moved silently, with perfect posture, his perfection unsettling. Too symmetrical, too beautiful, and far too polite for someone who looked younger than me. As the jazz music grew louder, I learned he played the saxophone and trumpet for years in New Orleans. He opened his first bar, Midnight Moon, a few years ago and moved to New York City to branch out.

"What do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I’m a resident."

"Doctor," he whistled. "Very impressive."

"Not as impressive as being a rich, successful CEO in your twenties."

He laughed loudly, drawing a few looks. On cue, I lowered my head, feeling strange. Normally confident, here I felt the need to stay unseen, their eyes on me unnerving.

"What’s your name?" he asked, surprising me.

"Y/N," I answered, meeting his gaze.

He smiled, dazzling and unsettling. "I'm Taehyung."

"Nice to meet you, Taehyung," I said, my heart racing.

His eyes were a strange color, almost black with flecks of red under the lights. They were beautiful, but the spell broke, and I looked away again, feeling uneasy.

“There’s someone here who wants to see you,” Taehyung said, his voice rasping, almost angry. “But I don’t want to share you yet.”

I sucked in a breath, startled by his proximity. He had moved closer until we were chest to chest. I breathed him in—freesias and honey. My mouth watered, but I stepped back with effort. Taehyung didn’t follow.

“It’s probably my friend,” I said, noticing the bartender’s boyfriend staring. “We were supposed to meet here.”

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s eyes locked onto mine. “Remember what I said about unsavory characters.”

I nodded, dazed, as he brushed my hair behind my ear.

“Don’t leave with it, sha,” he whispered, sending a shiver up my spine.

I was too stunned to respond. Whatever Taehyung had said flew over my head as I placed my hand on the cheek he kissed. The skin still tingled where he had touched. When I looked up, he was gone. I spun in a circle, but there was no sign of the man anywhere. I made eye contact with the guy at the bar again and felt uncomfortable going up to him. He was frowning at me.

Taehyung had said someone was waiting for me, and the only person I could think of was Angie. She must have decided to come back after seeing my messages. Her hookup must have been lackluster if she came all the way back here. I chuckled to myself and finally walked to the bar. It would be fun to drink and talk shit. Then we could finally meet up with Monica and the girls, and my night could start looking up.

Angela was nowhere in sight when I got to the bar. The same man was still looking at me, as was the bartender. A new figure sat in my chair. It was another man by the looks of it, judging by their shoulders and haircut. I continued my search for Angela but still came up empty-handed. She was just looking for me.

"Looking for something?" the bartender asked.

I nodded. "Yeah, the guy I was with said someone was looking for me. Have you seen her?"

She pursed her lips and glanced at the other man. "Can't say I have. Taehyung was probably confused."

My shoulders dropped in defeat. Again, I was left stranded. I should probably just go home and call it a night. A small voice told me to go and find Taehyung. He had said he didn’t want to share me. How had he known someone was waiting for me?

I couldn’t think about it for too long, as if my mind wouldn’t let me. I thought about him, his perfect face, and how beautiful he was. His eyes, eyes I could not recall the color of for the life of me, staring down at me. His voice, a gentle purr in my ear beckoning me closer. A draft startled me out of my daydream and I realized I wanted to leave.

I sighed. "I think I’m going to head out then."

I swore I saw relief wash over her face. Her lips had been tight when I came back around, but she gave me a small, genuine grin. Probably some asshole customer. Every place has them, even a luxurious one. Her shoulders stiffened when the other man raised his arm. Her boyfriend’s hands clenched. That guy must be the douche.

"Bourbon." Oh, yeah, definitely a tool.

I rolled my eyes and did not think before taking a seat at the bar. I could at least distract her. She frowned at me and continued making his drink.

"Thought you were leaving?"

"I could get another drink before I go." I smiled at her.

"Dirty martini for the lady," the mystery man said.

My heart stopped. His face... My mouth dropped open at the sight of him. My dream man. He was sitting right in front of me. Every detail, every line and curve were the same. Even the mole on his lip was there. Just like Taehyung, it was hard to look into his eyes, but I knew they would be the same. I couldn’t remember what they looked like, but I was certain they shined a gentle, soft gold in the dark.

"You do like them dirty, right?" He grinned.

I couldn’t respond for a few moments. The resemblance was uncanny. The anxiety Taehyung’s presence had given me was nothing compared to this. It felt like an elephant had sat on my chest while every nerve in my body screamed at me to run. And just like Taehyung, I found myself unable to move. I found that I did not want to. I welcomed the feeling.

"How did you know that?" I asked, still in awe.

"I overheard you earlier. Was going to buy you one then but you left before I could."

I swallowed my thickening saliva. It was hard to get down. Every part of me wanted to run. My body begged to get away from him, but it also yearned to be near him. I was alight in every way possible, and the confusion was hard to wrap my head around. Do I stay or do I go? As if he could read my mind, the man reached out and ran a finger over the top of my hand. Electricity shot through my body, and it burned where he had touched.

"Have a drink with me."

"Okay," I whispered, hypnotized by his voice.

The bartender placed my drink in front of me before going back to her side of the bar, like she was trying to stay as far away from the man as possible. I knew his name, it was on the tip of my tongue, but I was insane to think it was even possible. He was a stranger, and there was no possible way he was my dream man. The two just looked similar. In my dreams, his eyes were gold, and his skin was much paler and sickly. I glanced at his hands and relaxed even further. In my dreams, the man had scars over every inch of his body.

"I’m Hoseok, by the way." He smiled at me, and I quivered.

There was something off about his teeth. His canines were too sharp. In fact, all of his teeth were. They were so white they almost glowed in the red lights. Too perfect. Everything about him was. I scooted away from him and angled my legs toward the bartender. I wanted to leave again. I wanted to get away from him. I had been right about his name.

I took a nervous sip of my drink. Why had I sat down in the first place? At the moment, it had seemed like the right thing to do, but now I felt conflicted. Had I really wanted to stay? It surely felt that way at the time. Now, I wanted to go home, and my body language was clear. Still, I could not stand up and walk away. Still, I took another sip and curled away from him without moving.

"Are you okay? You seem tense."

I nodded too quickly and enthusiastically to ever be taken seriously. Hoseok seemed amused by this, just as he had been smirking at my squirming moments before. He was unsettling. Maybe it was his resemblance to the monster from my dreams that had me on edge. Yes, I thought, that had to be the reason.

"Bad night," I replied, my hands shaking. I quickly finished my drink and stood up. Hoseok smiled at me. "Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going now."

"See you soon, Y/N."

I was so focused on leaving the bar, I did not hear the slip of his tongue. I had never told him my name. That night, after I got home, I dreamt of Hoseok killing me again. The next day, Angela never showed up for work, never answered my messages. No one else had heard from her either.

Her body was found mutilated and tortured in a motel room a few blocks away from Dauphine the following morning. My dreams began to include her in them. She cried for me to help her, blamed me for her death, and even laughed as I got my throat ripped out. I was never able to focus anymore and was blessed that my residency program finished only four months later.

After graduation, the dreams stopped. I stayed with my parents for the summer, played in the Florida sun, and decided against going back to New York for my fellowship. Instead, I chose to stay in Tallahassee and start my career. It was safe there. He was gone. A few years later, I left for Jacksonville, and my paranoia had started to fade.

Years had gone by, and my memories of his face began to escape me. His name was nothing more than a gentle whisper in the deepest pits of my mind. Even then, saying that would be an overstatement. My return to New York was in the wake of my mother’s death. My dad had passed away a few years prior, and our vacation home in Harlem, the same place I lived in so many years ago, had become prime real estate. I got a fellowship through Columbia upon my return. Life was looking up despite my grief, and I was ready to start a new venture in my medical career.

That was the beginning of my eventual end. I had cheated death all those years ago. Angela was my replacement, though I had no idea at the time. That thing knew she was waiting for me. It knew she would not let me out of her sight, so it took care of the problem. My fear gave it power, and it indulged itself in my torture. When I came back, it knew.

This time, I would not be lucky. Nothing and no one would get in its way. Soon, all memories of that night vanished. Angela’s name escaped me first, then her face, and finally what happened to her. Dauphine and its never-ending halls were gone. The thing that sat at the bar made sure of that before making his next move.

It was mid-October when he came back into my life, all memories of his face wiped from my mind, and his game really started. My death would be his favorite. A death he rejoiced in for years to come only to be disappointed that nothing lived up to that night.

Things like Hoseok lived for the chase, and I proved to be his greatest target.

Next

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[sencrose]

— WHO ARE YOU, REALLY?

pairing: naoya zenin x f!reader, implied feelings involving naomaki

tags: dead dove do not eat. dubcon, angst?, reader is described as having a similar appearance to maki (mostly in hairstyle), incestuous undertones, physical abuse (against maki, sorry queen) established relationship, throatfucking, no prep, rough sex, pain during sex, (condescending) praise, hair pulling, internalized misogyny

wc: 3.2k

summary: You do not know what your husband sees in you. For better or worse, you learn.

a/n: back on my writing horrible things about naoya bullshit!! ngl this was weird to write but i also had a lot of fun with it. big thank you to @blueparadis for beta reading this for me <3 please read the tags and proceed with caution. ao3 link here

tagging: @pixelcafe-network @jellyfishsart

You do not know what your husband sees in you. 

It is not that you are without merit, but you are, simply put, plain. A weed in a field of flowers in full bloom. The diet that follows after a bad bout of the stomach flu. A satellite in the night sky that might be mistaken for a star — until it glides past far too quickly to be one, much to an onlooker’s disappointment. 

You know what power the Zen’in clan holds. The kind of power where even the most upstanding of sons will poison their fathers just for a taste. The paranoia that comes with it, the rumors of potential traitors whispered between paper doors is enough to keep anyone on edge. 

With all of that in mind, you know in your heart of hearts you are not the type of person the next head of the clan would pursue. 

Yet you were told he picked you out by hand, out of the dozens of matchmaking papers given to him. Applicants that began and ended on ink, their names, birthdays, and occupations, were discarded without a care of who they were,, or who they could have been. 

What an honor, you were told. 

So you packed up your things with a judgemental eye, preparing yourself for the worst when you arrive. Would they let you keep a stuffed animal that was a birthday gift from a friend, or is that too childish? What about this shirt — is it conservative enough or will it bring unwanted attention?

You left most things behind. 

—

Every now and then, you recall a conversation you had with your mother shared over a plate of cut fruit, shortly before you received the news from the Zen’in clan. It comes to you whenever you see the young girls rushing through the corridors, hands holding a stack of sheets that tower over them. 

“Do you have any dreams?” she asked, carving the skin of an apple, the crimson peel spiraling under her skillful thumb, “Ambitions?”

She tended to ask this now and then. It’s natural, you assumed; a mother’s desire to know anything and everything there is to know about their child. 

It’s hard to remember or keep track of all the answers you’ve given her. All you know is that they’ve become less ambitious over the years. From huffing your chest out and saying you’ll be an astronaut who lives out in the stars with the profound confidence only a child could have, to something less spectacular, more mundane. 

You didn’t have much luck becoming a sorcerer, which shrunk your options. Maybe you’d go to school. Maybe get a degree, get some kind of corporate job, waste your life away in a gray office cubicle. 

But none of those are dreams. Obligations, perhaps.

“No, not really,” you replied, detached from the conversation. It was the truth. 

She patted you on the back, comfortingly. “Ah, that’s a good thing. You don’t want to be greedy.”

You still don’t know what she meant by that, but you also made no effort to ask for clarification. The words simmered low and steady until it burned and branded itself in your head.

As if to pull you out of your thoughts, your mother handed you a slice, an offering. Despite her words, you wondered if it was consolation. 

—

Even after some time has passed since your arrival, you do not know what your husband sees in you. You’re not sure he sees you at all. 

His touch is few and far between. 

To your surprise, on the night of your wedding you did not consummate your marriage. It happened two weeks after, and it was not what you expected from someone who had supposedly picked you out on his own accord. 

It was anything but gentle. You learned quickly that Naoya Zen’in is not a patient man.

Rough hands were grabbing anywhere, everywhere. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was trying to devour you. 

Nothing placated him. When you gazed up at him teary-eyed with soft pleas to go slower, you only made things worse. Hands grabbed onto your form to flip you over, push your face into the sheets so he didn’t have to hear your protests. Fingers pressed deep into the dip of your waist, so hard you worried about bruises forming (they did). 

Once he got what he wanted out of you, he tossed you to the side. As if you were some random girl he just happened to pick up for the night, someone he hoped would be gone come morning. 

As if you weren’t his wife. 

It was the first time in a long time that you realized, maybe, you had wants. Desires. To do something instead of having something done onto you. 

But your mother’s words haunt you. 

You don’t want to be greedy. 

—

For the first time since arriving at the estate, you have a hint of what your husband sees in you.

You don’t think you’re supposed to see it. You don’t think you’re supposed to be here at all.  

A girl lies on the floor of the open courtyard, her head underneath Naoya’s heel.

It’s like looking into a mirror, though a bit distorted. The image is similar, but the puzzle pieces filling in the gaps are all different.

Her hair is much like yours, though the strands that frame her face hang like blades, sharpened, ready to cut anyone who gets too close. 

You don’t have that type of intensity around you. The pieces of hair that frame your face soften your features. Wispy, uncertain shapes that blow away with the slightest puff of wind. 

The similarities start and end there. 

Though she’s younger than you, she wears a hardened expression, one you always thought would come to you with age. You realize now that you must’ve had it easy when you see how she wears it like it’s all she’s ever known. 

Although you go unnoticed by your husband, the girl acknowledges your presence. Her gaze meets yours, fury ablaze in her eyes, along with something else you don’t recognize. Your legs react before you even realize, taking a step back. 

Even with her body pressed into the ground in submission, you can tell she is anything but. It’s written candidly on her face, teeth bared to the world, begging for flesh to dig into.

Your husband must be a blind fool. Even you can see from a distance that she’s a wild animal in human form, just waiting for a chance to break the chains of her enclosure. You feel it in her stare, how she strips you down to a state even Naoya hasn’t witnessed. You don’t like it. How her eyes hone in on you like a lion staring down its prey.

Then again, would you even be considered prey? Even a rabbit has a fighting chance at running away. You do not know how to run. Not towards a goal, and certainly not away from danger.

But you can still walk. Walk while you can and you can forget you’ve ever seen this. Stuff it back in the recesses of your mind, back where you wrote off wants and desires and greed all those years ago.

You don’t walk away fast enough.

When you hear her name slip from your husband’s lips, your stomach freefalls. 

You haven’t been at the estate for long, but you know of her. Everyone does. You just never had the chance to put a name to a face. Maki Zen’in, one half of the clan disappointment, alongside her twin sister. It goes without saying that you also know of the ties that connect them.

You know your husband is a cruel man. He has to be; it’s practically a requirement for someone of his power and status. But it’s hard to watch when it’s laid out so plainly in front of you. Even so, you stay.

You watch with a tightness in your chest as he pulls her up by the base of her ponytail before throwing her back onto the ground, gravel and dust dispersed in the air from the impact.

Anger lights a fire in his eyes. No matter what he does, he doesn’t seem to get the reaction he wants, or much of a reaction at all. She takes it in stride, only emitting hushed grunts when he kicks her. While you flinch at the volume of his voice rising, she boldly sneers at his frustration.

You meet her eyes again. 

She laughs. 

It isn’t to piss off Naoya. No, it’s directed at you. The bystander who’ll go on with her day like nothing ever happened, even after witnessing the horrific abuse doled out at the hands of her husband.

Even though she doesn’t hold an ounce of cursed energy in her veins, you know what she thinks of you. You hear it in the dry chuckle she lets out before Naoya kicks her again.

You’re cursed. 

How pitiful. 

—

You’re sure he’s ranting about something, maybe something Naobito did, but you can’t bring yourself to listen to him. All you can think about is the girl in the courtyard, with an ire in her eyes you’ve never seen before. When was the last time you looked like that? Felt something so intense it radiated off of your very being, so bright and radiant it couldn’t be ignored? Have you ever had that kind of fighting spirit in you?

A stagnant silence brings you back. You vacantly stare back at your husband. It was your turn to speak for once. You perk up at the opportunity, though you’re unsure how to seize it.

“Sorry. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? You don’t need to say anything. C’mere.”

He pulls you in closer, his hand petting your head. It’s the only time he shows any semblance of gentleness, a cruel way of lulling you into a false sense of security. You know what comes next. His hand presses against your head, lower, lower, until you’re nestled against his crotch. Naoya looks at you, expectantly. 

Your fingers wrap around the cotton ties that hold his hakama pants, pulling with a tug. From there, the fabric falls easily, more so once you reach around his waist to undo the tension from the straps. 

You steel yourself to do what you’ve always done, though something sits in the back of your mind. 

You get him to groan with a long stroke of your tongue on the underside of his cock. Build yourself up to taking his entire length into his mouth, inch by dreadful inch, but it’s hard. By the time you swallow him whole, you can feel his tip pressing against the back of your throat. You do your best to service him at a pace he’d be satisfied with, one you know is out of your skillset, dribbling spit and coughing softly whenever you go too deep.

But Naoya isn’t satisfied. He’s impatient, his fingers weaving through your hair, pulling tight before he quickens your pace to his own liking. It’s something you still haven’t gotten used to. The burning in your eyes, the gross wet sounds that leave your mouth as he bobs your head up and down like a toy.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Take me in so well, don’t you?” His grip around your hair tightens.

He continues recklessly fucking your throat, ignoring all of the choked cough and garbled yelps you let out whenever he hits the back of your throat. All you can do is take it, ball your fists and fold your thumbs in, and hope that trick you learned about reducing your gag reflex isn’t just some urban legend.

Naoya removes yourself from him as roughly as he places you onto him. The rush of air is both a welcome one and sudden change, and you gasp and cough at the sensation.

“Wife,” He brandishes the title like a weapon, the blade of a dagger pressed against your neck.

“Tie your hair up for me, won’t you?” he poses it as a question, but you know you have no choice in the matter. 

Time freezes.

Your eyes shift and you find yourself fiddling with your fingers, hoping he will change his mind if you look up at him with a disarming plea in your eyes, but his gaze does not falter. His eyes only get darker, a dangerous amber that glows like a warning sign in the lowlight of your shared chamber, as he awaits you to fulfill his request. 

Maybe your husband doesn’t see you, but you have always seen him for who he is, even if you didn’t want to admit it. It shines more than ever, when he tilts his head and the corners of his lips upturn. A snake carefully wrapping itself around a rat, just one good squeeze away from keeping you in his clutches forever. Once again, you’re trapped and frozen with nowhere to go. Unfortunately, you play your part well without trying.

You shouldn’t be surprised. It probably runs in their blood.

Slowly, you tie your hair up, strands spilling between your fingertips as you pick them up again, gathering and pulling through the hair only halfway through the elastic, an unstable, floppy bun.

You don’t want to be greedy.

A ghost of unspoken words from your mother whispers against your ear, and maybe if you caught on a bit sooner, things would be different. What was she trying to tell you? What did she hold behind her tongue so cautiously?

Because that’s not how I raised you?

Because that’s not a woman’s place?

Because that’s not what makes a good wife?

But none of it sounds quite right.

And though the thoughts swirl and cloud your head, something else rings bright and clear through the murkiness. 

You want. You want to be wrong. You want it with an intensity you’ve never felt before in your life, a desire clawing its way out of your chest, desperate to see the light of day. 

It’s a good thing. You don’t want to be greedy.

Naoya gently tugs on the loop of hair with his fingers, almost intimately, and it makes your stomach curl. He pulls apart the strands in half to tighten it, until a ponytail reminiscent of the one you saw earlier today sits on top of your head. 

It is only in this moment the clouds in your mind disperse, the addendum your mother wanted to add clear as day.

Because all you will be left with is disappointment.

Even though you’re filled with unease, you follow his lead because it’s all you’ve ever known. He pulls on the waistband of your skirt before pushing his hand against your back, getting you in position to arch for him. 

His fingers drag against your slit, before sliding two of them inside your hole, ignoring any initial resistance. Another thing you learned about your husband is that he’s a determined man; to your dismay, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fit, he’ll make it fit. Even the stretch of his digits is uncomfortable, scissoring them inside you just to hear you whine under his touch. You wince when he withdraws them, tighten up when you feel something hot and hard pressed against you.

There’s no getting used to his size. Even if he took the time to prepare you properly, you’re sure it would still hurt – if not at the initial penetration, then at the frenzied thrusts that come shortly after. His plump cockhead nudges teasingly against your hole, poking and proding before pulling away. He likes to keep you on your toes, hear you whimper when he surprises you a rough thrust. 

Something about him seems more impatient than usual.

He pushes himself into you, and you bite down on your lip as he splits your walls apart in one swift movement. Over the course of your marriage, you’ve learned to wait out the pain, keep your breathing steady until he starts to move. But his pace never stays slow for long. It’s only a short moment before his hips slam into yours faster and you have to weave through the sheets and grip for stability.

“Naoya, ‘s too much,” you whine, voice high pitched and on the edge of sounding needy.

Without warning his hands wrap around your ponytail and he pulls tight. The sharp pain makes you wince, arch your back until you’re pressed flush against his chest.

“Talking back, are we?” he quips back.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say, hushed and quiet. 

You don’t think he accepts your apology, not when he tugs a bit harder and gives you a thrust so deep it knocks the air out of your lungs. Whether he accepts it or not, he’s still enjoying himself. You hear it in the groans he lets out whenever he hits you deep inside and you moan at the impact, feel it in the way his other hand kneads your breast before giving your nipple a tug.

“You like this, don’t you?”

You wonder if his words are actually directed towards you, but you don’t think too hard about your response, falling back on your default mode of placating him.

“Mhm,” you hum softly.

“Then you won’t mind if I go harder, right?” he asks, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond. There’s no smooth transition, he simply goes straight into fucking you harder.

His pace is dizzying, the slap of skin-to-skin echoing throughout the room as he fucks you.

He only gets louder and more desperate as his hips slam into yours. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this before. It makes your mind race, makes you wonder if he’s holding back his tongue to call out another name whenever he hums a bit too long in pleasure. Each sound he makes causes your heart to skip in terror and anticipation, but you never hear it. Still, it trembles. 

“Be a bit louder for me, ok?” he whispers in the shell of your ear. His hand traces down from your chest to your waist, lower until it reaches your aching clit. “I’ll even treat you tonight.”

The unexpected contact pushes you further into him, sends a shiver of tension up your spine. You don’t want to admit the pleasure boiling up in you, not like this, but your body doesn’t give you much of a choice. Your lips are the first line of defense to fall, high pitched moans you don’t recognize spilling so easily, naturally, as if it’s water leaking from a faucet.

Maybe he thinks you’re enjoying yourself just a bit too much, because the grip on your hair tightens once again. But it doesn’t stop the rush of warmth building up in your stomach, from your muscles tightening to prepare for your impending climax.

“Nao, I’m close, I’m close-”

Shame washes over you along with your orgasm, walls fluttering against his cock, as he fucks you through it. Naoya’s own climax follows shortly after yours, his hips thrusting harder until he stills with a shaky groan. 

Only once he removes himself from you, you collapse on to the bed, body spent. You cautiously reach for the hair tie, looking over at Naoya as you pull it out with a soft tug. He doesn’t stop you. 

You know what your husband sees in you.

You wish you didn’t see it too. 

[n0tamused]

"Deeds, not words"

A/n: Finally finished this and tbh I am very proud of how it came out even if I see that I could have done better in certain areas. I prefer the first one better, but tbh I love them both. I have scrambled together a little story to go along with this, although I do have to warn that the details of Jien and Proxy's story, how it really unfolds, is still subject to change. This drabble here is just me exploring ideas of how Proxy can start seeping more and more poison into Jien's life, but we'll see. To anyone that does read it, thank you <3 Mwah.

Contents: Syaoran, a technician of the team of Armed Archeologists, is accompanying Jien to Scalegorge Waterscape at the invite of a High Elder. What waits for them there is no warm welcome.

There is an odd tension in the air, so ill it made him sick. Scalegorge Waterscape had towering walls of water all around, and it felt as if they were ready to swallow him at any moment, the sky above being the only solace. The air was still with the smell of salt, and there was a quiet sound. Like the one a dog made before it growled. 

Miss YueXia didn’t budge, and Syaoran judged it was because she was from these parts. Perhaps she felt at home even, but whether that was good or bad didn’t have space in their conversation with the Elder before them. And now he could sense that feeling of anger from Jien, he only wished he could see her face from where he stood, a step behind her. Did she look angry? Or was it that cold expression she once served the team after that messed up expedition?

“We have welcomed you into our fold and treated you as our own. Yet our eyes have reported your face sneaking about in the night around the Luofu, sowing suspicions and spreading gossip. Is this your way to show gratitude, YueXia?”

The Elder looked at Jien with cold suspicious eyes. 

“High Elder, while I appreciate your invitation to meet me I fail to see how or why I would do such things, especially since I have not been on the Luofu in almost a year” she replied, cold and even tone, yet there was an unmistakable tinge of some need below it all - a need to make things right. A flicker of a flame. 

“Moreover, I have never wished you or the people of Luofu any ill will and I have always advocated for the safety of the civilians as much as a Cloud Knight. Did you bring me here to confront me for something another has done?”

“Another?” the Elder bristled, arrogance rolling off of him like a cloak. “I have seen it myself, this ‘another’ was you. I saw your face in the darkness. And you dare lie to my face? The Disciples of Sanctus Medicus have been on the prowl and you with them. I knew the IPC wishes to get their clutches on the Vidyadhara, but I refused to believe you would aid in such a goal”

That is not true, Syaoran wanted to say, feeling his face twist in displeasure. Jien was against the Abundance, against the Disciples, the whole team knew, but even if she wasn’t - her team was. Syaoran knew Kaiya had a burning hatred for the Abundance and his wife was from the Xianzhou Yaoqing. He’d be the first to jump against any idea of Jien bringing any harm to Xianzhou Luofu, but everyone knew she’d sooner go mad than think of such schemes. 

“Do you know how many you’ve hurt with your doings? And you wish to say my eyes are deceiving me as well?” 

Jien’s eyes fell dark and darker still, her jaw stiff as she ground her teeth together, listening to the Elder talk without interrupting him.

“I meant no insult when I previously said you were mistaken in your assertion, but now you are accusing me and my team of inexcusable crimes and I will not tolerate such” Her tail brushed against the cold stone, pale and gnawed away by sea and time. “High Elder, I can assure you I had no chance to do such things, even if I had the plan to ever harm you and the people, which I remind you again - I never did and never will do. I was half a cosmos away. Do you propose I have, perhaps, cloned myself? I pray you don't jest, High Elder, and listen to what I have to say. Who you saw was not me, I swear on my life..” Jien put her hand over her heart to show her sincerity as the seams of her silence began to tighten and break. 

The Elder Syaoran couldn’t remember the name of frowned deeply at her words, distrust swimming in his eyes, body taut as a bow string. “And you propose I believe you over the reports of countless others?” 

“I cannot force you to put those reports aside and trust my word alone, but I hope the eyewitnesses of my team, as well as camera surveillance and date records of my passage through the cosmos can be proof enough to you and so many others that are holding the belief that I or any of my team have committed these crimes. I am more than willing to bring them all over here, to you, as soon as morning comes if that would let your mind let go of these beliefs” Jien sighed and shook her head a moment later. “Although, I do fail to see - if these crimes are so severe, I would have expected someone else to come and question me about them..” there was a mild insult interlaced between her words and tone, so skillfully that not even the Elder before her could point it out without sounding mad.

He only exhales a long breath through his nose. “You will be questioned by the Ten-lords Commission” he said, tone resolute. Syaoran could see Jien move her hands behind her back, her fingers forming into a fist. Somthing told Syaoran that the High Elder came to this decision on the spot.. “The evidence is overwhelming and not in your favor. But I will give you until morning to bring your evidence to us, and we’ll take it from there”