#I just wanna watch the world burn series

[zapreportsblog]

I Just Want To See The World Burn

➥ summary : In a world where the hero’s in the comics always win a brilliantly deranged young mind creates a multidimensional traveling watch to their universe where she helps the bad guys become #1

➥ chapter 1: the watch of possibilities

In the small, cluttered laboratory of a brilliant young woman named (Y/n), the air crackled with anticipation. (Y/n) had spent years delving deep into the laws of science and exploring the fascinating realm of multidimensional physics. Her insatiable curiosity had led her down a path of discovery and a burning desire to unravel the mysteries of traveling to other dimensions.

Guided by her relentless pursuit of knowledge, (Y/n) had dedicated countless hours to meticulously studying the works of great minds who had dared to venture into the uncharted territory of interdimensional travel. She immersed herself in the works of visionaries such as Albert Einstein, Stephen Hawking, and countless others who had paved the way for understanding the enigmatic realm of parallel dimensions.

As (Y/n) poured over the intricate equations and theories sprawled across her laboratory table, a thought began to crystallize in her mind. She yearned to push the boundaries of what was known, to challenge the limitations of reality itself. And so, with equal parts trepidation and excitement, she made the decision to embark on a daring experiment—a project that would forever alter the course of her life.

Her ambitious plan centered around the construction of a watch, a device that would become her portal to other dimensions. (Y/n) knew that the journey she was about to undertake was fraught with peril, but her thirst for knowledge and the allure of the unknown propelled her forward.

The construction of the interdimensional watch became an all-consuming obsession for (Y/n). She poured her heart and soul into every intricately crafted piece, ensuring that each component was precisely calibrated to withstand the immense forces that awaited her on the other side of the dimensional barrier.

Days turned into nights as (Y/n) toiled away in her laboratory, meticulously assembling the intricate mechanisms that would power the watch. She pushed herself to the limits of her mental and physical endurance, fueled by a relentless determination to succeed in her audacious endeavor.

As the final piece of the interdimensional watch fell into place, a surge of both excitement and apprehension coursed through (Y/n)'s veins. The moment of truth had arrived. She gazed upon the watch, a small and unassuming object that held the power to transport her to realms beyond imagination.

With a deep breath, (Y/n) cautiously strapped the watch onto her wrist. It felt heavy with possibilities, its weight a reminder of the risks she was about to undertake. Her heart raced as she contemplated the potential outcomes of her experiment—would she unlock the secrets of other dimensions or succumb to the dangers that lay hidden within?

The room fell silent as (Y/n) pressed a small button on the side of the watch. The device hummed to life, emitting a faint glow as the gears and circuits sprang into action. Time seemed to stand still as (Y/n) stared at the watch, awaiting the moment when reality would shift and open the door to a world beyond her own.

A surge of energy pulsed through (Y/n)'s body as the watch activated. The laboratory filled with a blinding light, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the boundaries of the known universe dissolved into the ether. (Y/n) braced herself, ready to traverse the uncharted territory that lay before her.

But then, with a sudden jolt, the light vanished, leaving (Y/n) standing in the same laboratory where her journey had begun. The watch remained inert on her wrist, and a sense of disappointment washed over her. Had her experiment failed? Had her dreams of interdimensional travel been shattered?

Exhausted and disheartened, (Y/n) sank into a chair, contemplating the implications of her failed experiment. Yet, even in the face of disappointment, a spark of determination ignited within her. She refused to be deterred by a single setback. The pursuit of knowledge and the allure of other dimensions still beckoned her, urging her to continue her quest.

Chapter 1 marked the beginning of (Y/n)'s journey—a journey fueled by passion, curiosity, and an unwavering desire to unravel the secrets of interdimensional travel. As she grappled with the disappointment of her initial experiment, a newfound resolve took hold. The road ahead promised challenges and unknown dangers, but (Y/n) was undeterred, ready to push the boundaries of what was known and step into the realm of the extraordinary.

[bigassmoonchild]

Lost

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: It's not the first time you've plummeted into another timeline. It is the first time in years that you've met a Deadpool still doing the anti-hero (vigilante?) thing. And unfortunately for you, you're stuck with him.

Content Tags: DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE SPOILERS! I'm being so serious, this entire series is going to be stock-full of spoilers for that movie. Some mentions of blood, lots of cursing (as expected). No use of Y/N

A/N: I promise I'm working on stuff, work just has had me super busy the last few weeks (months if I'm being more honest) and school is coming up soon for me :(. Anyways. I wanna lick Logans abs. This is hopefully gonna be a slow burn ;)

(p.s. lmk if you wanna be added to a tag list in the future)

(p.p.s. this is mostly story building with a tad bit of plot)

(p.p.p.s. i'm trying to write in a less past tense style, forgive if that changes throughout the story, im so fuckin delirious)

It’s jarring. Every single time it happens is so jarring. It’s almost like getting whiplashed with how hard you are pulled backwards and then your stomach drops; it feels as though you’re falling. The same sensation you get right before you fall asleep, like your body can’t tell if you’re still alive.  

You’ve never been thrown so forcefully out of it. Usually you land, stumbling on your feet. This time, though, you’re thrown onto your back. Your skull cracks against the pavement underneath you and it feels like all the air has been forced out of your body.  

“Fuuuuck,” it feels pushed out of your body, your chest heaving in short gasps. Rolling onto your side, all you can see in front of you is the street. Whatever Earth you’ve landed on, it doesn’t seem like it’s good.  

There’s blood splattered everywhere, cars and buses are on their sides or flipped over. Glass is scattered on the streets. Maybe you just arrived right after the battle of New York, maybe this world has been abandoned.  

You struggle to your feet, stumbling and catching yourself before standing fully upright. You can feel the warmth of some blood on your back before the skin reconnects, leaving behind the burn of cement rash.  

Behind you, there’s panting. It’s heavy and sounds almost wet. Turning, you look at two men who were behind you. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,”  

... 

You tried walking away. Removing yourself from the situation like the adult you were, but no. It wasn’t working. You never got more than a few feet away from the two before being teleported back within their range.  

The two men, Deadpool and the poor Wolverine stuck with him, just watched for some time. Deadpool was oddly quiet through most of it, although you can almost hear the monologue in his thoughts, his head following as you walked in different directions before snapping to where you appeared. Dogpool, the ugly thing, sat in the arms of its alternate person just panting heavily. It never stopped panting.  

You huff angrily, throwing your back against the wall right next to Wade. Crossing your arms, you look down at Mary Puppins sitting in his arms. She went cross eyed while looking up at you, staring blankly at the wall next to you and yourself.  

“Who shit in your biscuit this morning?” Wade asks you, head tilting slightly. You have to brace yourself and breathe deeply to make sure you don’t roll your eyes. You never realized how thankful you were that your home Earths Deadpool ended up in the void before you even knew what abilities you had.  

Glancing down at him with just your eyes, you find that he still hasn’t looked away. “Whoever the hell sent me here, that’s who,” you respond. There’s pain in your voice, you can hear up, but also the utter annoyance that most Deadpool's just bring. “Didn’t know the Wolverine on this world was still alive,” you nod your head towards Logan like you’re gesturing to him.  

It’s quiet. You’ve somehow silenced Wade Wilson, the merc with a mouth. You watch his chest expand in a deep inhale and it caves back in as he exhales deeply.  

“He isn’t,” and your brows furrow. Other than the TVA, you don’t know any other casual dimension jumper. Even they were a stretch, you know, they didn’t deserve to be able to do that.  Somehow, they were able to master it. You think he can see the confusion on your face as your eyes flit back and forth between them. Logan’s still eating whatever it is he had in his hand. “The TVA,” he takes a breath, and you have to interrupt. 

“Why did they bring him here?” You shake your head, brows furrowing further.  

Wade shifts his head side to side. “They didn’t bring him here, sunshine,” his voice perks up. “I did,” and he has the widest smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  

“I don’t,” you pause and rub your face, looking down at the ground. “I don’t even wanna know why or how,”  

“’Cause I'm Marvel Jesus,” is his quick quip back. He stands suddenly, his back popping and cracking as he stretches himself. “Alrighty, Peanut, let’s get going home,” he says to Logan (maybe it was to Mary Puppins, you’ve got no idea), and there’s a little pep in his step. “C’mon puppy!” Wade calls and you get yanked again and appear just a few feet ahead of him.  

With a roll of his eyes, Logan stands and tosses his food off to the side. “I’m going to go figure things out on my own,” he says. Turning away, you watch as Logan walks off from the two of you and you hope to whatever being is out there that you get pulled along with him, but he isn’t able to make it more than a few steps before Wade starts talking again. 

“Oh no you don’t! I’ve waited far too long for this meetup!” Wade calls out, and you see Logan stop in his tracks. His shoulders slump, almost like he’s struggling with a decision he’s about to make. “Blind Al isn’t all she’s cocained up to be, we need a third in our little house of horrors,” he snickers a little. 

You’re really hoping it doesn’t last forever, but when you finally make the trek to Wades apartment that feeling almost vanishes (almost). It’s homey, although the apartment itself is small and cramped with two people already there. You’ve met a few Als before, but only a small number of them weren’t blind. 

It was only in passing though. You could recognize that woman anywhere. Her eyes were always a striking feature, and the few who weren’t blind always carried this sort of knowledge within them as they followed you when you walked by them.  

This Al seemed sweet, although listening to Wade tell you about her was a little odd. You couldn’t fully tell if he was joking about her being able to see cocaine, but there’s been worse you’ve interacted with.  

Speaking of worse, Logan would not let you out of his sight at all thus far. You could feel his eyes boring down on your back the entire walk to the apartment, and even when you got inside and completely ignored everything Wade was saying (a lot of it was just telling you and Logan about the apartment and what to not touch, oddly enough) he would not let you leave his sight.  

Even just checking out what type of T.V this world had to offer left you with his stare. You begin to browse their small selection of DVD’s when you finally speak up. 

“Might wanna take a picture,” it was quiet, but you knew he could hear you. “It’ll last you longer,” but there was no response. Usually, it was the Bucky Barnes of the Earth that had the staring problem, it had never been the Wolverines.  

They always made their problems with you obvious. They’d never pulled this type of behavior, and it was strange. For the first time in years, you had someone act strange and you couldn’t figure out how to go about confronting it.  

“Who’re you?” Logan finally spoke up, quieting Wade in the middle of his rant.  

You swallow thickly. “I’m not the person you think I am,” and you cringe internally. It always sounded dumb when you said it, but you never knew what else to say. Who knows if there’s another you in this world, or maybe even Logans. “Whoever I am, or was, to you? That’s not who I am,” but you’d never met another one of you.  

There’s the thud of glass on wood, it's thick and there’s no way that it isn’t a beer bottle.  “I’ve never met you in my life. Have you?” Assuming he was talking to Wade, you turn as best as you can while still crouched in front of the TV to look at him.  

He’s shrugging, opening his mouth for a response before Logan beats him to it. “What the hell is it that you can do, anyways? Are you a mutant? Or just another fucked up creation by a government?” You bark a laugh.  

“I’m just one of God’s fucked up mistakes, that’s what,” and you look down with a sigh, shaking your head. “I really don’t know. My world didn’t have mutants, not like others do. It was always some botched work done by doctors in basements,” Wade looks appalled.  

His eyes find some spot on the wall, and he smiles at it. “It’s like looking into a mirror. Although a lot less ballsackey and not as interesting,” you have to shake your head.  

Logan clears his throat. “What do you mean, your world didn’t have mutants,” you smile at him.  

“My timeline doesn’t exist anymore,”  

[harryslittlefreakk]

favourite crime 2

summary: harry whisks y/n away for a romantic weekend, but when feelings and questions turn into actions, their relationship only gets more complicated

warnings: smut (protected sex, oral f receiving, choking, spanking, cockwarming) angst, mentions of cheating, forbidden love, age gap

wordcount: 7.3k

a/n: thank you SO much for all the love and feedback on the first part 🙈 i can’t cope. SORRY this took so long to post. please let me know if you enjoyed this one!!! love you <3

(as always it’s not proofread yet so proceed with caution)

special mention to this series’ biggest fan, my homegirl @harryscumcloth who has helped me with this a million times AND may have beat me if this wasn’t posted sooner <3

favourite crime masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

You were nestled in the corner of a quiet pub, worlds away from anyone who might recognise you or Harry, yet still almost jumping out of your skin when anyone met your eye. The armchair you were curled up in was rugged and worn, the padding molded to the shape of every person that had been there before you. Although not the venue you’d pick for a steamy weekend break, the B&B was cozy and welcoming, and somehow it felt even more romantic than a five-star sex hotel. The gentle murmur of distant conversations and the clinking of glasses pulled your attention away from your drink, your eyes scanning across the room until they landed on Harry’s.

Warm bulbs cast a dim glow over his face, the knit of his brows subtle as he stared at you, though he was clearly somewhere else. He’d been going crazy since he last saw you, the memories of the way he made you fall apart at the forefront of his mind. It fuelled a fire within him that his own fears kept putting out. He was burning then frozen, burning then frozen, over and over again.

You were young and needed to date properly, not be someone’s secret. And he couldn’t be your secret, wouldn’t allow himself to darken you with a warped and forbidden affair. But he couldn’t think of anything but you, the way your walls gripped at his fingers, the look in your eyes as he kissed you, the pink of your cheeks after you came. He was totally infatuated with you, yet he knew this was as far as anything could go.

You watched him for a while, waiting for him to speak up. The drive had been mostly quiet, neither of you knowing exactly how to express what you were thinking. Until Bonnie Raitt’s I Cant Make You Love Me came on the radio and two hands shot out to change the station. Harry’s eyes met yours for a second as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, a soft chuckle slipping out. He guided your hand to his thigh, his touch hovering until your thumb started to caress the fabric of his trousers.

“No sad songs in my car,” he teased, eyes fixed on the road. “Put one of your playlists on.”

You picked up your phone, momentarily feeling stupid and young as you scrolled through your Spotify. You had no idea what music Harry liked, and you weren’t about to embarrass yourself by displaying a horrific taste in music. He’d somehow noticed your internal panic, rolling his eyes in jest. “Just put on your on repeat. I wanna see what music you like,” he grinned.

You scrolled through your Spotify with a furrowed brow, your indecisive fingers hovering over the screen. a smirk playing on his lips, watched her struggle. "We’ll be there before you pick something.”

"It's important, Harry. I have to find a playlist that doesn’t have High School Musical in."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "For real?”

"Yes! What's wrong with that?" you laughed, pulling your hand away from his leg.

"Well, for a start," Harry began, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “You’re not twelve.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't help but giggle. "Hey, at least I have variety. You probably listen to dad rock and indie songs that you think will make girls fancy you.”

"Touché," he said, holding up a hand in surrender. "But at least I don’t have the music taste of a pre-teen.”

You rolled your eyes, finally settling on a song. As the first notes played, Harry groaned exaggeratedly. “Just because you have High School Musical in your playlist, doesn’t mean you should play it.”

You grinned, holding up your phone as a mock microphone. "Come on, admit it. You love it."

Harry shook his head, unable to keep a straight face. "You're impossible."

“You’re staring at me,” Harry said finally, pulling you from your daydream.

“You’ve been staring at me since we sat down,” you laughed. “I only looked just now.”

Harry smiled softly, patting his lap in a signal for you to cosy up to him. You stood up, quietly moving around the table, your eyes never leaving Harry.

He opened his arms as you approached, taking a hold of your hand as you settled onto his lap, curling up against him. Harry's arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, his thoughts momentarily forgotten. The comfort of the embrace was immediate, a perfect fit that seemed to melt away the distance that had separated you moments before.

You listened to the steady beat of his heart as Harry pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

“I know what you’re thinking, Harry,” you whispered, glancing down at your drink before meeting his gaze. His anguish was written all over his face, his confusion and indecisiveness seeping into the lines on his tanned skin. He leaned back into the seat, shifting you slightly so that he could see you clearly.

“What am I thinking, bunny?” he asked, his knuckles caressing your cheek.

“You’re thinking… that it’s for the best that nothing happens between us, but you still want it to.” You didn’t want to have the conversation so soon, but it was clearly troubling you both. Harry stayed silent, his dark eyes trained on your face as you fiddled with your straw.

“And you think this weekend should be the end of it,” you added, face hardening as you said it. He made a quiet murmur of agreement, brows knitting as if hearing the words out loud caused physical pain.

“I’ll follow your lead, H. If this is as far as we go, then I say we make it the best weekend ever,” you grinned, hoping that a twinkle cut through the sadness you could feel clouding your eyes.

Harry scanned your face for a second, searching for any sign of hesitance. But you were settled on your choice, your strong gaze giving him no indication of any deeper feelings. He pulled you closer to him after a moment, satisfied that you were on the same team.

To agree on the premature death of your relationship was a gut wrenching feeling, in the most peculiar way. You barely knew Harry outside of his time as your professor, and now you were wondering if he would end up as your one great love, the one big regret you’d have when you’re old and grey, or if he’d be the one who ruined you. You were almost certain it was the former, but it wasn’t the time to dwell on it.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders as you settled into his lap, with one final scan around the pub in case it was suddenly full of people you knew. Harry’s hand pressed against your cheek, turning your head until you faced him. His thumb dragged across your bottom lip, his lips parted just enough for you to see the white of his teeth as he stared at you.

It was the closest you’d been since you found yourself on his lap at the lake. Friday was your study day, your only lecture taught by a different professor, and you’d lost track of time and missed your grading session with Harry. The last you’d seen of him was as he drove away after dropping you home, your panties still dripping from the orgasm he’d given you.

The heat radiating off the wall of muscle grazing your chest had you burning up, your cheeks flushing a bright red under his gaze.

You’d noticed that he always looked at you as if he were undressing you in his mind, but now that he’d seen your body, his eyes bored deeper. So deep that it was almost as if he thought he could get you naked with just one look. But with the way he was looking at you then, it could have been a real possibility.

Harry’s lips ghosted across yours, dragging across your cheek until they settled at your ear. “We should go and check out our room,” he whispered, his voice huskier than it had been previously. His free hand tightened around your waist as he spoke, sending shivers down your spine.

You slid off his lap, leaving your barely touched drink on the table as you headed for the stairs. Harry was close behind you the whole way, his hands finding your hips as you started to climb.

You barely made it through the door before he was pulling you to him, his core pressed tight to your back. You could feel everything, every dip and curve of muscle, every twitch of his cock. Harry’s ringed hands gripped and clawed at your clothes with an urgency that sent a chill through your body.

You let him push you towards the bed, turning to face him when your calves hit the frame. He slid a hand up your shirt without a second thought; the sting of his nails, the warmth of his touch, the drool wetting his bottom lip as he stared at you open-mouthed. It was enough to make your knees buckle beneath you, your body suddenly not strong enough to withstand the energy and desire that coursed through you.

In that moment you realised that Harry was addictive. There was an energy that flowed through him, a frantic buzz of electricity shooting through your bloodstream at the mere thought of him. His touch, his voice, his presence left you with a high that you never want to come down from - a dangerous game to play. You knew you couldn’t have him, and the idea of the fall terrified you. But while thoughts of him were clouding your mind, the what ifs and what thens, he was with you, in front of you, tugging your t-shirt over your head.

You pulled your maxi skirt down, stepping out of it and throwing it somewhere off to the side. Harry backed away from you, his hands falling limply to his sides as his gaze dropped down to your panties. It was his first time seeing you properly, and he wanted to take in everything. The curve of your hips, the freckle on your thigh, the scarring of what once was a belly button piercing. His eyes trailed higher, to the fullness of your breasts, the blush of your nipples, the way your hair rested on your shoulders.

“So fucking pretty, kitten,” he whispered, reaching out to pull you towards him. His hand gripped your wrist firmly as he closed the distance between you. With a swift, fluid motion, Harry pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a shock against the heat radiating from his body. The impact took your breath away, but before you could fully process the sensation, his lips were on yours, fierce and demanding. The world around you blurred into insignificance, your whole being succumbing to the urgency and passion of Harry’s tongue as it moved against yours. His feet nudged between yours, his erection pressing into your parted thighs.

He pulled away after a minute, his fingers tangled in your hair. You were panting, gasping for breath as his lips moved down your neck. “Tell me what you need from me,” he murmured, nipping at the skin between hot kisses.

“Anything, everything,” you whispered, your voice breathy, a ghost of itself. Harry pulled away from you, straightening up so he could look you in the eye. His fingers trailed across your jawline, his normally mossy eyes now like coal as they moved over your face.

“Don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he said, pulling his lower lip into his mouth as his hand roamed your skin, tracing the curves and contours of your hips and waistline.

“Give me everything, H,” you moaned, reaching out to touch him as the anticipation became too much to handle. His hand left your face, fingers tangling between yours as he blocked you from touching him, holding your hand at your side as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

You widened your legs for Harry without a second thought, grip tightening on his hand as he pressed wet kisses to your inner thighs.

“Been dreaming about this,” he drawled, his breath dancing lightly across the inside of your thigh. You were powerless, frozen in place by your need as he curled his fingertips around the lace of your thong, kisses and nips following as he tugged it down your thighs.

He let go of your hand as soon as you were exposed, moving to lift both of your feet with a gentle touch, one after the other. You kicked your panties somewhere across the room, pushing your shoulders back into the wall as his nose nudged into your thigh, opening you wider for him.

Your breath was caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears as you looked down at Harry, watching as he rested back on his heels and took in every part of you. He stared like he wanted to commit it to memory, like this was what he needed to see when he closed his eyes. He draped your leg over his shoulder, licking a hot stripe from your knee to your core.

And then suddenly, without any warning, his fingertips trailed through your entrance, collecting your slick. Your head fell back against the brick as he took his fingers between parted lips, his cheeks hollowing as he suckled on your juices. The whimper that you let out was obscene, he was obscene, worshipping your pussy as if it was everything to him.

When he was satisfied, Harry’s tongue traced the line that his fingers had made, licking into you so tenderly yet driven by desire. He was eating you like he’d been starved, like your pussy was the prey he’d been hunting. Your knees buckled as his nose grazed your clit, your weight shifting slightly as you dropped deeper onto his mouth. You could feel his smirk against your entrance, his moan vibrating through your core as you gasped and panted. But you were playing into his hands, giving him the reactions he so desperately wanted.

His deep groan fluttered through you as your hands twisted into his curls, the sharp sting of your nails just enough to spur him on. He repeated the same movement, over and over, his focus alternating between your entrance and your clit, his fingers wrapped around your thigh, tips digging in just enough that you expected bruises by the morning. The thought of it made you ache, the idea of his touch marking you, making you his, was enough to have your body trembling over him.

Your heel dug into Harry’s back, your motivation somewhere between steadying yourself and pulling him closer, your fingers tangling tighter into his curls. And when he looked up at you, his eyes locking onto your face as his lips moved towards your clit, his fingers sliding into your entrance, you were wrapped around his finger, indebted to him, owned by him from that moment onwards.

“Look at me,” he demanded, the soft touches of his lips against your nerves leaving you whining and rocking against his mouth. When you didn’t pull your head down fast enough, a splayed hand slammed against the curve of your ass. You cried out, tugging on his hair as your eyes met his, your eyelids heavy.

“Good girl,” Harry whispered, his soft lips wrapping back around your clit. Every muscle in your body seemed to tense at once, your entire body buzzing as he worked his fingers inside of you, his free hand rubbing at the mark his slap was sure to have left. It was too much, the pleasure defeating you as you started to fall apart, crying out his name as you came.

Harry waited a minute, kissing across your mound and your inner thighs, before slipping your leg from his shoulder. He got back to his feet slowly, his hands trailing the outside of your body as if he might need to catch you. Your heart was hammering in your throat, the flashes of sweetness and purity in Harry’s actions somehow making the moment even dirtier.

As soon as he was level with you again, confident that you can support yourself, his lips were back on yours. Hungrier, more desperate than before. He pulled you into him, his cock twitching as you bite down on his bottom lip, his hands splayed across your back. You weren’t sure you’d ever been so overwhelmed with desire and need, and you weren’t sure you ever would be again.

“Y’so fucking perfect,” Harry murmured against your mouth, turning you around and pushing you onto the bed. “Do you know how it’s been for me?” he asked, tugging his tshirt over his head. “Watching you in class, seeing you flounce around in those little skirts knowing what’s underneath. Knowing that pussy is waiting for me?”

You shook your head, moving your legs just slightly so he had a better view of you. “Such a tease,” he continued, voice so low you could barely make out his words. You were aching all over, physically pained by the lack of touch, your walls throbbing with impatience. He was taking too long, too many seconds wasted by fiddling with the button on his slacks.

“Please, Harry,” you whimpered, reaching out to help him undress. “You don’t like waiting?” he scoffed, finally stepping out of his trousers. The outline of his cock is all you can focus on, your lips parting as you stare at him. “I need you to tuck me,” you whined, massaging both of your breasts in an attempt to take the edge off.

He walked around the bed to the nightstand, eyes never leaving your body. “All fours,” he demanded, plucking a condom from his wallet.

You followed his orders, turning onto your knees and pressing your chest flat to the bed. His eyes bore into your core as he rolls the condom over his cock, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” he whispered, coming up behind you and tracing the curve of your hips with splayed hands.

He pushes himself against your folds, his tip nudging against your clit with every move. You rock your hips back into him, whining until he lines himself up with your entrance.

Your head dropped to the mattress as he finally pushed himself into you, groaning as your walls pulsated around his width. He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than you’d ever had. You could feel him everywhere. Your head dropped to the mattress as he finally pushed himself into you, groaning as your walls pulsated around his cock. He was big. Bigger than you’d imagined, bigger than you’d ever had. You could feel him everywhere, his tip pressed against your g-spot, his girth splitting you apart.

You gripped the bedsheets with shaky hands, your knuckles white as Harry pulls back.

“Perfect fucking cunt,” he drawled his fingertips digging into your waist. He glanced down, eyes dark as he watches his cock pushing back into you, the condom coated in your slick.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything except moving your hips back to meet his thrusts. His cock was everywhere, filling every inch of you as his hands roamed your ass, each thrust more powerful than the last. “More, Harry, *please*,” you begged, rocking your hips into him so hard that the slap of skin on skin echoed around the room.

“Still need more, huh?” Harry cooed, his voice so low it was almost sinister. You nodded, whimpering as he slammed back into you.

He gathered your hair into a ponytail, twisting it around your fingers and tugging until your back was flush with his chest. His hand snaked around to your throat, squeezing lightly as he tilted your head back to look at him.

“Such a good little slut,” he drawled, watching as you trailed a hand down to your clit, knees weak as you rubbed circles against the sensitive nerves.

Harry leaned down a little, sinking his teeth into the flesh next to his hand. You couldn’t keep from crying out, writhing in his grasp. You’d never felt so much before. His cock fucking into you, his grip on your throat, the pull of your skin between his teeth, your fingers at your clit. It was like you were experiencing everything at its fullest, your senses heightened as your body went into overdrive. You didn’t have time to register your orgasm until you were in the thick of it, rolling your body against your palm, choking out a scream of Harry’s name.

He eased his grip on your throat, letting you drop down onto the mattress as you rode through your high. He pulled out of you, rolling onto the centre of the bed with a groan.

You climbed on top of him, lining his length up with your entrance and slipping him back inside of you. Your head rolled back on your shoulders as you felt him from a new angle, your hands resting against his tattooed torso.

“So fucking big, H,” you whined, circling your hips as if it would make any difference to the way you were bursting at the seams, stuffed full of his cock.

His hands found your hips as you started to inch yourself off him, your eyebrows furrowed as you try to get used to his size.

“Taking me so well, kitten,” Harry murmured, his eyes glazed over as he watches you ride him, your ass slapping against his groin as you start to bounce on him.

He cupped the back of your neck with one hand, pulling you closer to him. You planted your hands on either side of his head, grinning against his mouth as he kissed you, the taste of your slick still lingering on his tongue. Your body was practically aglow with energy, tingling from your head to your toes as he reached around to slam a hand against your ass. Each smack of his palm is punctuated with your loud cry, falling into time with the squelch of your juices to form an obscene chorus. It’s an entirely depraved, overwhelmingly dirty sound, especially for the early afternoon.

But as Harry gripped your hips and held you steady, fucking up into you with the power and force of a machine gun firing, you really don’t care at all about anything going on around you. In that moment, it’s you and Harry against the world. That’s the final thought you had before your walls clamped around his cock, whimpering into his mouth as your third orgasm of the day started to tear through your body. Harry’s thrusts got sloppier, his hips jolting as he came, your pussy milking him of all he had. Your hips rocked as he panted into your mouth, rubbing at the welts starting to rise on your skin.

You waited for his heart rate to lower before easing off of him, pulling the condom from his length as you kneeled beside him. Harry watched as you tied the end, dropping it haphazardly near the bin before flopping down next to him, chest still heaving.

You stared at the ceiling, stars still lingering in your vision. It wasn’t fair. Harry wasn’t the kind of man you were meant to have a fling with, he was the white picket fence and babies man. You knew that questioning him and begging would only make you look younger and sillier in his eyes, but the lingering vulnerability had your words slipping out before you could hold yourself back.

“I don’t want this weekend to be all we have,” you whispered, rolling over to look at Harry.

“I don’t either, princess,” he murmured, propping himself up on his elbow. His free hand pushed the stray hairs from your face, his touch never far from you. “But at this point in your life, do you really want to sneak around for a few years?”

You stared at him in silence for a moment, your bottom lip jutting out as you realised how impossible any kind of relationship would be.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do. But if I have you, I want to be able to show you off. You’re too good to be any man’s secret.”

You groaned, throwing your hands over your face. How could someone make you feel so wanted even as they let you down?

“You know I’m right,” Harry teased. You could almost hear the arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. You rolled onto your back, letting your arms drop limply at your sides. “No,” you grumbled.

“I am,” Harry continued, climbing over you and planting his hands on either side of your head. “Now are you gonna carry on sulking, or are we going to enjoy ourselves?”

The injustice melted away as you stared up at him, his toothy grin spreading as your face softened. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pushing your hips up until they met his core. “Show me what I’ll be missing,” you whispered, the tug on your heartstrings overpowered by your need.

—

The shower, desk, window seat, sink, every surface possible had all been used by the time the sun went down that evening. You were exhausted, every inch of your body throbbing. Harry could see it in the way your face screwed up just a little every time you moved, his hands never ceasing as they rubbed over your sides.

He glanced down at you, a soft smile curving his lips. You were somewhere between simply too content to open your eyes and full-on knocked out as he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the you. He padded softly across the room, kicking away discarded items of clothing as he made his way to the bathroom, the cool tiles a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed.

The tub had barely started filling up before you appeared in the doorway, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“Hi, kitten,” Harry grinned, pulling you in for a hug.

You hated how easy and normal everything felt as you wrapped your arms around his back, your head falling between his pecs as if this was where you were meant to be.

“What you doing?”

“I was rough with you today, and I feel bad,” he shrugged. “And you seem like the kind of girl who likes a bath.”

“I’ve had a really nice day,” you sighed, your voice muffled against his t-shirt. You really had, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that he’d fucked you the way you’d always dreamed of. It wasn’t right that he’d been the Troy to your Gabriella. It wasn’t right that he was taking the time to care for you. It wasn’t right that this was the way your story would end.

But you pushed those feelings down as Harry kissed the top of your head, his thumb rubbing circles on your lower back. “Good. Me too.”

You stepped away from him as he reached around to shut the water off. “What are you supposed to do while I have a bath?”

“I don’t know. Fall to my knees and cry until you’re back,” Harry shrugged, tangling his fingers with yours and pulling your arms around his neck.

You dodged his kiss with a laugh, shaking your head as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t even think about asking me to join you. That is the smallest bathtub I’ve ever seen,” Harry teased.

“Then just stay here with me,” you ask, grinning when he agreed. He pulled your hands to his mouth, kissing each of your knuckles one by one.

“Just give me a minute,” he told you, letting go of you as he backed out of the bathroom.

You stepped into the bath when Harry left, listening out for a clue as to what he suddenly needed to do. All you heard was the main door closing behind him, and his quick steps down the hallway.

He padded back into the bathroom a few minutes later with a flute of champagne in either hand. “Nice touch,” you grinned, washing the bubbles from your hand as he passed one of the glasses to you with a gentle kiss on the top of your head.

“Can’t fault a man for trying,” Harry smiled, closing the toilet so he could sit next to you.

You pushed the bubbles around the surface of the bath for a second, watching as they popped and sparkled.

“Take your top off,” you giggled, turning to Harry with a bright grin.

He eyed you suspiciously as you glared back at him, your smile never faltering. “I’m naked, H. In the bath. What exactly are you expecting me to do right now?”

He shrugged, tugging his t-shirt over his head after a pause and balling it between his fists.

“I never knew you had so many tattoos. Didn’t really get to see them earlier,” you told him, eyes trailing across each one. You’d caught glimpses of them before, but you hadn’t expected his torso and arms to be littered in so much ink.

“Can’t really show them at work,” Harry shrugged, glancing down at his inked torso.

“I like the moth,” you mused, though your eyes were glued to the ferns poking out from the waistband of his pants. “Which one’s your favourite?”

He looked over himself, twisting his arms around so he could get a view of each tattoo. “These two, I think,” he answered finally, pointing to the A and G on his shoulders. “For my mum and sister.”

“You don’t have the right build for an English professor,” you stated, not entirely expecting to voice that aloud.

“No?” Harry laughed, his eyes back on you as you sipped your champagne. You shook your head, cheeks a little flushed as you realised you’d have to explain yourself.

“English professors are grey. Or beige. They’re old and withered and smell like dusty libraries,” you told him. “You’re…”

“Not like that, I hope,” Harry finished for you, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks as he grinned.

“Not at all. I think every single student has a crush on you,” you smirked. “Did you always want to be a teacher?”

Harry shook his head, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “Didn’t even consider it until I was about to graduate.”

“I have no idea what I’m going to do after,” you confessed, nose crinkling as you thought about it. “None of the jobs available really appeal to me. I might have to marry rich.”

Harry let out a loud laugh as you giggled. “Don’t look at me. I have about £5 left to my name after paying my bills.”

You settled into an almost uncomfortable silence, both seemingly realising how close you’d gotten to inadvertently discussing marriage.

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked finally, cutting through any tension at risk of building up.

“A little,” you replied, tilting your head as you look at him.

“Want me to go get something?”

You nodded, setting your empty glass down as Harry leans over, planting a gentle kiss on your lips. Your eyes widened when he turned away, tugging his t-shirt back over his head.

It was all too domesticated, too natural. You were acting like an established couple, not two people who would go their separate ways after leaving the hotel room. But despite knowing that, every touch and every kiss had you melting into Harry a little more.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts and distract yourself before you concocted a reality in which you could live happily ever after with Harry by your side.

You decided to preoccupy yourself with getting cleaned up as soon as you heard the door swing shut, scrubbing your body and any leftover makeup from your face.

You stepped out the bath, wrapping yourself in the one clean towel neither of you had ruined, when your phone buzzed from the windowsill.

courtney: hows it going? you ok ? X

y/n: had more orgasms today than I’ve had in my life.

courtney: 🍆? 😉

y/n: tell you everything later. Love u xx

You threw your phone in the general direction of the bed, smirking to yourself. You knew you shouldn’t tell Courtney everything, but Harry must’ve known that was a given before he fucked you the way he had.

Your reflection caught your eye in the mirror as you hung the towel back up, the girl staring back at you glowing. You hated that this was the happiest you’d been in a long time, and you hated knowing that all of that would be stripped away not even twenty four hours later. But you’d already told yourself time and time again not to dwell on it now, promising yourself as much sadness as you needed the second you got home. You had a funny feeling that Illicit Affairs might be the only song you’d listen to for a few weeks.

It was only as you stared at yourself that you noticed the familiar discomfort that came with wearing your contacts for too long. Your eyes were begging for relief, but you felt suddenly shy about wearing your glasses in front of Harry. He’d definitely seen you wearing them before, but you could never be sure how much he’d noticed you before.

You sighed, blinking a few times before plucking both lenses from your eyes and dropping them into the bin.

It was only as you padded towards the bed that you realised that your ‘good’ glasses were in your bag. With your clean clothes. In the backseat of Harry’s car. You found your purse, pulling out your spare glasses with a groan. They were your huge, thick, never-wear-in-front-of-anyone-else, emergency pair. Definitely not the pair you wanted Harry to see you in.

You ran your fingers along the arm with a grumble, pushing them onto your nose. Any glasses were better than Harry coming back to find you naked and blind. Perching on the edge of the bed, you messaged Harry to remind him to bring the bags up when he got back to the room.

It was only a few minutes later that you heard his keycard in the door and he came to your rescue, with two pizza boxes balanced in his hand and both bags slung over his shoulders.

“This is a nice surprise,” he grinned, setting the pizzas and bags down next to you. You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head away from him slightly.

“My clothes and good glasses are in my bag,” you mumbled, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“And why is that a bad thing?” he asked, kicking his shoes off before sitting down next to you. His palm found your cheek, turning your head back towards him. “You are naked and adorable. I wouldn’t have bothered with the bags if I’d known.”

“You are incredible. I have no idea what happened with your generation’s self esteem. Seriously,” Harry told you, holding your head up with two fingers under your chin.

He studied your face for a minute before pushing you down, knocking the pizzas out of the way with a muttered “oops.”

Harry angled himself slightly above you, cupping your face in both hands. He pressed tender kisses to your forehead, nose and the corners of your lips, before moving down your neck, kissing along your throat and collarbone.

His mouth continued down, his lips wrapping around your nipple as his hand found the other breast, giving them both some attention before swapping. And then he followed that same trail upwards, pausing to kiss and nibble at your ear.

“Think you’re the most beautiful girl in world,” he whispered, suckling on the skin just below your ear. “You are to me.”

You turned your head until your nose brushed against his, eyes soft as you stare back at him.

“What do you need, princess?” Harry asked, his voice low as you fumbled with his belt buckle.

“Just want to be close to you, H,” you whispered, clawing at his slacks with impatience.

He pushed your hair out of your eyes before standing to remove his clothes, stroking his cock a few times as it sprung out of his boxers. His eyes were on you as he touched himself, a sight you knew would flash behind your eyes every time you reached into your panties.

“Come here,” he told you, moving backwards on the bed until his back met the headboard.

You climbed onto his lap, any tension in your body melting away as you settled over his cock. “We used all the condoms earlier,” Harry whispered, wrapping a hand around your waist to pull you closer to him.

“Doesn’t matter,” you replied. “Just needed to feel you.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, rubbing circles around the dimples on your lower back. You nodded, running your fingers through his curls. “Lift up a second, kitten,” he whispered, holding his free hand under the curve of your ass as you raised your hips.

He lined himself up with your entrance, biting down on his lower lip as he eased you back down, feeling you for the first time with no barrier.

You let out a moan you didn’t even know you’d been holding, the sensation of him deep inside you, filling you up, exactly what you’d needed.

“Better now, princess?” Harry cooed, running his hand along your hips. You nodded, reaching for the pizza box. “Better.”

—

“I’m away for the next two days,” Harry told you, tangling his fingers with yours. “Got a teaching conference.”

“Do you think it’ll be hard to go back to normal?” you asked, totally disregarding what he’d said.

“Yes,” Harry answered, without so much as skipping a beat. “But I think it will only be so difficult because we have to keep seeing each other.”

You let out a dejected sigh, running your thumb across the back of his hand. “Yeah.”

“So you should spend the next two days practicing some self restraint,” Harry teased, looking over at you with that same, goofy, familiar grin.

“You are the serial toucher,” you laughed, tugging your hand away from his to swat at his chest.

“You just touched me.”

“I hit you.”

Harry snatched your hand back, chuckling before you settled into silence. Your gaze shifted to the view outside your window, familiar buildings and street signs coming into view as you drove closer to home. You weren’t ready to carry on with the life you had before Harry, his presence making everything somehow brighter.

“What’s your girlfriend doing tonight?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Ask your roommate. She’s probably at yours,” you smirked.

“She’s always at mine,” Harry groaned. “Do you want to pick her up before I drop you home? I assume you’ll need to gossip,” he teased.

You shook your head softly, eyes dropping to where your hands sat intertwined. “No, it’s okay. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

You had a date with a book, a pint of ice cream and a potential cry lined up for when you got home. You weren’t ready to share your weekend with Courtney, needing to keep it sacred just a while longer. It was the only thing you had that was only yours and Harry’s for now.

—

You approached Harry’s office door, reaching for the doorknob with a tentative hand. You shouldn’t have been there and you knew it, but with a question from his earlier lecture and a burning desire to just see him, you pushed the door open.

You barely knew how to act around him after your weekend. He hadn’t met your eye in class, purposely avoiding your gaze when he passed you in the hall. You’d waited two days to speak to him, which was nothing. But it was two days of drafting and deleting nonsense texts, trying to come up with excuses to see Courtney at his in case he was there, pulling on his t-shirt before you touched yourself so it would feel like he was with you. You were completely, utterly addicted to him.

Harry’s eyes lit up the moment turned around and saw you, a genuine smile spreading across his face. The room had felt different without you, the monotony of grading and the cold glow of his laptop screen somehow duller and more lifeless than he remembered.

He gestured towards the empty seat, dropping the pile of books he was carrying onto the desk. “I won’t be long,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “Just had a question about today’s lecture.”

Harry leaned against the wooden edge of his desk, watching you as you flipped through your notes. He couldn’t help noticing how much warmth you brought into his office, how relieved he was to be alone with you.

“How are you?” he asked finally, cutting through the silence.

“M’okay. Just trying to actually focus on my degree now,” you smiled, heart pounding as you eased into conversation. “Decided to tutor a couple of other students.”

“Your professor would be proud,” Harry grinned, running a hand through his curls. You returned his smile, your notebook falling to your side as you edged just a few inches closer. The tension felt thick, too many unspoken words to fit into one short conversation. But Harry's gaze was soft as he looked over you, an intensity behind his eyes that made your heart pound against your ribcage. You could see the cogs turning in his head, an internal battle between desire and restraint.

You were thankful for the dimmed lights as a blush crept up your cheeks, stepping closer to Harry as if an invisible force pushed you towards him. Your fingertips brushed his knee, your lips parting slightly as you stared up at him.

You’d somehow expected him to change, to see him today and he wasn’t the same man you’d left behind. But he was no different than the man who’d fucked you, who’d cared for you so tenderly.

In a moment of weakness, Harry leaned in, his hand tangling into your hair as his lips found yours. It was gentle yet urgent, filled with all the emotions he had been holding back. You pulled him closer, your notes forgotten as they dropped to the floor, your fingers wrapping around his collar. For a few fleeting seconds, you were almost transported back in time, reality shifting into a parallel where this was natural and normal.

But Harry suddenly pulled away, his breath ragged, his expression conflicted. "We can't," he whispered, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm sorry, kitten.”

Your heart ached at the loss of his touch, leaning forward to chase his kiss. But Harry’s hand fell from you as he took a step back, his eyes glued to the floor.

The silence that followed was heavy, loaded with everything left unsaid. Harry turned away, leaving you standing there, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on your lips, and the cold realization of his withdrawal settling in.

Your heart plummeted as Harry's words echoed in your ears. You trailed a finger along your lower lip, trying to soothe the sting of rejection. You felt exposed, your mind racing with self-doubt, wondering if you had misread everything. If you had been foolish to think there was something more.

You backed away from Harry, tears of hurt and embarrassment stinging at your eyes. He was silent, frozen as he watched you walk away. The second the door closed behind you, his gaze dropped to your notes on the ground, his fist slamming into the desk behind him.

—

Harry slumped over the breakfast bar, his head in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to have gone this way, and he thought he knew better. He had decided to stay away from you, and he’d broken that promise to himself. He was supposed to keep his distance. You were nothing short of irresistible to him, and he knew the second he was alone with you he’d cross boundaries. And that was exactly what he’d done.

“Just talk to her,” Courtney told him from across the kitchen. Trapped in his inner turmoil, he hadn’t even noticed her in the room.

“Remember I’m still your professor,” Harry grumbled, eyes still focused on the grainy marble under him.

She shookher head, groaning as she swiped the untouched slice of toast from his plate. He lifted his head to look at her, hoping his expression would convey how little he wanted to get into a conversation about you. Courtney raised her eyebrows as she backed out of the room, eyes still on Harry. “You’re not the only one who’s in a strop, you know.”

“You’re also in my house,” he called after her, running a hand through his hair.

You hadn’t told Courtney about that afternoon yet. Harry knew Courtney was feisty before she became his second roommate, and he was certain that she’d make no attempt to hide her feelings towards him if she knew how he’d rejected you. Either you were too embarrassed to even mention it, or there was still a chance for Harry to turn things around. He may have been a man in a pit of despair, but he chose to take it as a sign.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed his keys and left. He didn’t even know what his plan was, or what he was signing himself up for by going to see you. But twenty minutes later he was pulling up outside your apartment, hoping you’d be home and praying you would be willing to hear him out.

Your windows were open and a light was on, so he was over the first hurdle.

He was almost at your doorstep when he heard it. The little uncertain giggles that exploded into laughter. It was his favourite sound, and until then, he’d foolishly assumed it was reserved for him. But there was someone else in your flat, someone else making you laugh the way he did.

He backed away from the door, leaning up against his car to try and get a glimpse of who was inside. He couldn’t see anyone, even craning his neck and stretching onto his tiptoes was hopeless. He turned around, clenching his fists as his jaw tightened. He was about to get back into his car when he heard the second voice, a husky male voice. He couldn’t hear what he said, but he didn’t need to. There was another man in your room, another man making you laugh the way he had. And you were happy. Not backing away from him in tears, with hurt and embarrassment written all over your face.

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t the man who got cheated on, but you weren’t cheating on him. He’d ended it. You weren’t his, and you had every right to be with someone else. But that didn’t make it feel any better.

He should never have put you in a position where you could be anyone else’s. His mind was racing, thoughts of you tangled up in your bedsheets with him, that voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear, hands that didn’t belong to him trailing over the bruises Harry had left on your skin.

“Fuck,” he shouted, his fist flying out to make contact with his wing mirror. He should have just fucking kissed you properly. He should’ve found a way to make it work, but he hadn’t. He was a coward, pushing you into the arms of another man just so he could protect his fucking reputation.

He was half prepared to march back to your door, to charge in and reclaim what he’d lost. But he knew he wasn’t acting or thinking like someone you’d want around, so he got back into his car and left, heading for nowhere.

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[hoshifighting]

hoshi as a sugar baby!

— WARNINGS: sugar mommy x sugar baby relationship, smut, teasing, sponsor!reader,dancer!soonyoung, multiples orgasms, soonyoung is a freak in bed, dancer's hips. — (Seventeen as Sugar Baby's Series)

you were used to being the one who controlled the room, the one who made heads turn for all the right reasons. you weren’t used to showing up in a place where your designer scarpans echoed against the hard floors of a dance studio, surrounded by people in scuffed sneakers and well-worn sweats. it was almost laughable, the stark contrast between you and them, but you held your head high, owning every step as if the place belonged to you.

you were there for business, checking on one of the many studios you sponsored. it was supposed to be a quick visit, a formality, but then you saw him—soonyoung. the way he carried himself, all confident swagger as he walked in with his dance partners, sweat still glistening on his skin from what you could only assume was a performance. he was the kind of hot that made you stop and stare, like the kind of guy you'd see on a billboard in nothing but designer underwear.

but when your eyes met his, something unexpected happened—his face flushed a bright pink. you hadn’t even done anything yet, just looked at him, but suddenly the cocky dancer couldn’t stop stuttering.

“h-hi,” he managed to choke out, his voice cracking just a bit as his friends shot him amused glances.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the smirk threatening to tug at the corners of your lips. “hi.”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, looking for all the world like a fish out of water. you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to figure out what to say. his friends, probably tired of watching him flounder, gave him a shove.

“soonyoung, just ask her already,” one of them hissed, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped.

“ask me what?” you prompted, leaning in just enough to make him squirm. you were enjoying this more than you should.

“uh, i was just, um… me and my friends were gonna grab some food at this, uh, street food bar… you wanna come?” he blurted out, his voice rushing the words together in his nervousness.

his friends all cringed, one even elbowing him and whispering something about you being the sponsor. so yeah, a street food bar didn’t fit you, apparently.

but you didn’t mind. in fact, you were impressed that he’d asked at all, considering how out of place you looked in your crisp white shirt and perfectly styled hair.

“sure,” you said, surprising yourself as much as him. “why not?”

the stunned silence that followed was almost comical, but soon enough, you found yourself following soonyoung and his group to a small, bustling street food bar. it was the kind of place you’d never have set foot in on your own, but there was something endearing about how nervous soonyoung was as he tried to make conversation with you, all while sneaking worried glances at your hair.

“you don’t have to worry, you know,” you teased as he glanced at you again, clearly concerned about the smell of frying pork wafting through the air. “i’m not going to bite your head off if my hair smells like food.”

his eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, his ears burning red. “i just… i didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“why not?” you asked, genuinely curious.

he shrugged, poking at his food with a pair of chopsticks. “you just seem… i don’t know… out of my league.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a moment before smiling. “maybe i am, but that doesn’t mean i can’t enjoy some fried pork with you.”

his eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw a spark of the confidence he’d had when he first walked into the studio. “well, i’m glad you did.”

and just like that, the tension melted away. soonyoung was still a little nervous, still stealing glances at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were there, but the conversation flowed easier, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a while.

you could tell he was trying to impress you in his own way, showing off a bit as he talked about dancing, about his aspirations, about how much the studio meant to him. and as the night went on, you realized that maybe you’d underestimated him. sure, he was a little awkward, a little rough around the edges, but there was a charm to him that you couldn’t ignore.

by the time you left the bar, your hair did smell faintly of fried pork, but you didn’t mind. if anything, it was a reminder of a night that had turned out to be far more enjoyable than you’d expected.

“thanks for coming with me,” soonyoung said as you walked back to your car, his voice more confident now.

“thank you for asking,” you replied, turning to him with a smile. “maybe next time, we can go somewhere a little more… upscale.”

his eyes lit up at the suggestion, and he nodded eagerly. “i’d like that.”

the relationship with soonyoung progressed in the most unexpected way. from that awkward street food date to trips in first class, dinners at exclusive restaurants, and gifts that had him questioning your sanity. you loved watching his reactions—how his eyes would widen in disbelief, how his voice would go high-pitched when he realized just how much you were spending on him.

like the time you handed him a box containing a pair of sneakers. he had no idea what brand they were—some obscure, ultra-luxury label that you’d stumbled upon while shopping in milan. you’d seen the way his face lit up when he talked about sneakers, so you thought you’d indulge him a little.

“babe, you shouldn’t have,” he’d said, grinning as he pulled the shoes out of the box, not even realizing just how much they were worth.

“trust me, you’ll love them,” you’d replied with a smirk, already knowing what was coming.

it wasn’t until later that night, when you were in the middle of a meeting, that your phone rang. seeing soonyoung’s name on the screen, you excused yourself, expecting some casual conversation. instead, you were greeted by his panicked voice.

“are you out of your mind?!”

you blinked, trying to stifle a laugh. “excuse me?”

“those sneakers,” he continued, his voice almost a shriek. “do you know how much they cost? that’s more than my rent!”

that did it. you couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up, loud enough to make your secretary peek into your office with a raised eyebrow. you waved her off, trying to compose yourself as you brought the phone back to your ear.

“soonyoung, it’s fine. just enjoy them,” you said, still chuckling.

“enjoy them? i’m afraid to even wear them! what if i step in something? i could buy a car with that money!”

“then don’t step in anything,” you teased, biting your lip to keep from laughing again.

“you’re impossible,” he huffed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “seriously, though… thank you. but you don’t have to keep buying me stuff like this. just… be with me.”

that last part made you pause, your heart doing a little flip. it was easy to get caught up in the luxury, in the thrill of spoiling him, but moments like this reminded you why you’d started this in the first place. it wasn’t just about the gifts or the trips. it was about him. about how he made you feel grounded, even as you floated in a world of privilege.

“you know,” you began, your tone softer now, “i like spoiling you. it makes me happy to see you happy.”

“i am happy,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “but i don’t need all this to be happy. just… don’t stop being with me, okay?”

your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his words wrapping around your heart. “i won’t. i promise.”

from then on, the dynamic between you shifted. sure, there were still the extravagant gifts, the luxurious vacations, and the fine dining. but there was also more—quiet moments together, like when he’d sneak into your office just to bring you coffee, or when you’d spend a lazy sunday in bed, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. and yes, there were still the moments where you’d surprise him with something ridiculous, just to see that wide-eyed look on his face. like the time you flew him to paris on a whim, just because he mentioned wanting to see the eiffel tower at night.

“you’re really spoiling me,” he’d whispered, standing with you on the observation deck, the lights of the city sparkling below.

“maybe i am,” you replied, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “but that’s because you deserve it.”

but beneath his playful frustration, you could tell that he loved it—the gifts, the attention, the way you seemed to know exactly how to keep him on his toes. and the more you spoiled him, the more he let his guard down, slipping into the role of your sugar baby with a comfort that had once seemed impossible.

every time you saw him, he was wearing something you’d bought him. the designer clothes, the luxury watches, the sneakers that were apparently worth more than his rent—it all became a part of him, an extension of the way you showered him with everything he didn’t even know he wanted.

soonyoung was a fucking beast in bed—there’s no other way to put it. you’d never met anyone who could break down your walls the way he did, turning every ounce of your composed, CEO exterior into a puddle of raw, desperate need. you’d been with your share of men, playboys who thought they could handle you, but none of them came close to what soonyoung gave you.

like that time you were waiting for your chauffeur after a charity gala. you were the picture of elegance, standing there in your custom gown, looking every bit the composed CEO. then, out of nowhere, soonyoung slid up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his body against yours. you could feel his cock—hard, ready, insistent, and shamelessly grinding against your ass. his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “can’t wait to fuck you in that dress.”

“you’re really something, you know that?”

“oh? what’s that supposed to mean?” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. you felt him shift, pressing his hips forward just enough for you to feel the unmistakable hardness against your ass again.

you nearly choked on your own breath, your perfectly poised exterior cracking just a little. “not here.”

“why not? they’re all staring at you anyway,” he teased. “might as well give them something worth watching.”

“soonyoung,” you warned, but your voice lacked conviction, and you both knew it.

he loved to fuck with your composure, to see you struggle to maintain that icy exterior you were known for. like when you were paying for one of his outrageous gifts, handing over your black card with a smirk. he’d sidle up behind you, pressing his hard cock against you while murmuring a quiet “thank you” into your ear. the people behind you in line? didn’t matter. all that mattered was the way your body reacted, the way your brain short-circuited every damn time.

and when it came to sex, soonyoung didn’t just make love to you—he fucked you like he had something to prove. his dancer’s hips were a lethal weapon, rolling and grinding into you with a precision that had you seeing stars. he knew exactly how to move, how to hit that spot inside you that turned you into a moaning, trembling mess.

he held your legs wide apart, his hips driving into you with a rhythm that made you want to scream. and you did—because with soonyoung, you didn’t hold back. he wouldn’t let you.

he had this thing about numbers, too. every gift you bought him, every splurge on something ridiculously extravagant, he saw it as a challenge. like that time in dubai, when you’d gone on a shopping spree, loading up on ten full bags of presents just to see how far he’d take it. each swipe of your card was met with a smirk, anticipation building as you mentally tallied up the orgasms you knew he’d demand in return.

that night, he didn’t just match it—he exceeded it. 10. fucking. times. he had you screaming his name.

he took his time that night, dragging out every orgasm until you were on the verge of begging him to stop. but you didn’t—you couldn’t.

by the time he was done, you were spent, your body trembling, muscles sore from the intensity of it all. you’d never felt so used, so thoroughly fucked, and yet… you couldn’t get enough. not of him, not of the way he took you apart and put you back together, over and over.

by the time he was done, you were a wreck—sore, trembling, and utterly spent. the heat of dubai didn’t help, making everything feel more intense, more suffocating, even with the air conditioning blasting.

you had to take a rest day after that, your body too worn out from the marathon of pleasure soonyoung had put you through. but god, it was worth it. every ache, every sore muscle, was a reminder of just how good he was. and just how much he had you wrapped around his finger.

soonyoung had no manners in bed, and with him, you learned to have none too.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the ravenous rupture

fused with the foe, chapter five

a/n: and that's it for fused with the foe! but don't you worry, our wonderful king and queen will return in both of the next instalments of the series ♡ (the release date for the next one is already up on the masterlist)

summary: “I don’t want you to think we have to have a conventional marriage, gods know we haven’t so far,” he added with a tilt of his head, “so, I just wanted to convey to you that if you ever want to be with someone else, at any degree, then you have my full support to do so.” 

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, smut, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, love confession, crying, kissing, loss of virginity, semi-public sex, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, dirty talk, oral, fingering, handjob, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, aftercare

word count: 3895

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Raising yourself up onto your tip toes, your fingertip still didn’t even manage to graze the spine of the tome you were trying to reach, only the tall shelf it stood on. 

But just then, before you could turn to get a chair to balance on, an inked hand came into view and grasped the book for you. 

“The Biology of Soil: A Farmer’s Comprehensive Study of Dirt,” Barnes dryly read the title out loud, “sounds absolutely riveting.”

“Don’t mock,” you snatched the leatherbound tome out of the knight’s hand, “it is interesting!”

“Of course, it is, your majesty,” he bit down a chuckle, “my apologies.”

A soft laugh couldn’t help but bubble out of you as you exited the library, “you know, you remind me a lot of my brothers.”

Walking at your side, he shot you a squint, “is that a compliment?”

“Well, I meant it as so, but I guess it could also be interpreted as an insult, all depending on which brother.”

Sinking further back into the plush armchair, your eyes danced from star to star as they glinted back at you through the big library window. 

The full moon was so bright that you hadn’t needed to light a candle in order to make out the sentences in the open book that rested in your lap. 

But suddenly, the creak of the heavy double doors to the chamber found your ears and when you twisted your head to discover who it was, your frame immediately sprung up from your comfortable seat. The forgotten tome tumbled to the floor with a dull thump as the embroidered dressing gown you wore over your ivory chemise fluttered around your legs as you swiftly stood.

“Your majesty–, Steve, I mean, Steve,” you clumsily corrected yourself, “hi, hello.”

“Evening,” he simply smiled, slowing his stride as he watched you bend down to pick the hardback off the floor. 

Hugging the book to your chest, you blew out a breath, “what–, uh…” you eyed the loose linen shirt he had sloppily tugged into his trousers, “what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, “thought a boring novel might do the trick,” letting his fingertips kiss the ends of each bookcase as he neared you by the window, “what about you?”

“Yeah, I can’t sleep either,” a soft sigh flowed from your lips, “my mind just doesn’t seem to wanna settle down these days…”

A gentle furrow appeared to Steve’s brow, “what’s troubling you?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” you placed the book down on the round side table by the armchair. 

“If it’s keeping you up then it’s not nothing,” gripping the tall back of the chair, he rested against it as he gazed at your visage in the moonlight, “come on, you can talk to me.”

The knot in your chest tightened, “no, I can’t,” and you averted your gaze to the stone floor, “I really can’t…”

“Why?” 

“Because–…” clenching your jaw in an effort to keep tears at bay, you briefly shot him a glare as you snapped, “because I just can’t, alright?” squeezing your eyes shut, you quietly muttered just beneath your breath, “gods… how long will I have to wait…” 

Having apparently had better hearing than you’d thought, Steve then queried, “wait for what?”

Fluttering your eyes back open, you met his gaze and uttered sombrely, “…for it to pass…” feeling your heart thump painfully in your chest just from the mere sight of him. 

A low sigh slowly seeped out of his lungs before his unwavering gaze averted to the upholstery of the chair, “…I hope you know that I’ve grown to care for you a great deal. You’re a very dear friend,” he uttered with the utmost sincerity, “and as a dear friend, I wish for you nothing but the purest of happiness. I want you to experience all of the great and wonderful things that life has to offer,” his ocean eyes then drifted back up to catch yours, “don’t let our union hold you back for any of that.”

Sucking in a breath, you asked, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to think we have to have a conventional marriage, gods know we haven’t so far,” he added with a tilt of his head, “so, I just wanted to convey to you that if you ever want to be with someone else, at any degree, then you have my full support to do so.” 

Averting your gaze, “…is that what you want?” you dug your nails into your opposite palm, “for us both to openly be with other people?”

“I don’t want you to be lonely and depressed,” fragments of desperation resonated in his tone, “you’ve already experienced more than one lifetime of hardships and I really don’t want this to be another one. So, when you fall in love, please don’t hesitate. You of all people deserve to experience that.” 

“…I–…” a shaky breath escaped you, “I can’t–…”

“…you can’t?” he echoed in nearly a whisper. 

“I can’t because–…” lifting your gaze, the library around you grew more blurry by the second, “because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you revealed, “from the moment that I wake to even the dreams that possess me at night. I can not shake you from my thoughts no matter how hard I try,” as you blinked, a tear escaped and rolled down your cheek, “Steve, I wish for you to experience those very joys you speak of just as fiercely. I just want you to be happy even if I’m not the source.”

Looking as if he was scarcely breathing at all, his gaze stayed fixed upon you as he uttered, “dove, why do you think I wish that for you?” your eyes grew wide at his confession, “I don’t wanna be with someone else when you are the one I want by my side,” his fingers faltered from the grip they had on the back of the armchair as his slow steps began to carry him closer to where you stood, “not just as my queen, but as my friend, as my conscience, as my judgement, as my heart,” his eyes glistened as he then declared, “I am yours, Y/n. I didn’t plan for it, I don’t even know when it happened or how, but I do know that it’s true.”

Closing the short distance that remained, you walked up and pulled him down as you began to rise up to your tip toes. As you crashed your lips against his, it didn’t take long before you felt his broad hands glide over your waist. 

Breaking the kiss, you retracted just enough to catch the beguiling look in his eye. The corners of his lips drew up dreamily just as yours did right before you dove back in.

As your fingers weaved in his beard, so did his tongue as it danced against your own, making you lightheaded as your feet began to shuffle back, though you didn’t realise that you’d even been moving till your spine crashed against a sturdy bookcase. 

Parting momentarily at the impact, a soft giggle swiftly followed your initial squeak the collision conjured. As his gentle chuckle echoed your own, Steve’s palm caressed down your features before he captured your lips once more. 

When the fire inside of you crackled and burned too hot for you to ignore, you pulled back, a glossy string of saliva still kept you connected a moment before you gasped, “Steve, I–… I–…”

Resting his palms over yours as they clutched the top of his tunic, he tilted his chin back further, “what?” creating enough of a distance between you to truly check in. 

But how you were going to ask of him what you desired remained a mystery, no matter how hard you scrambled your fuzzy mind. So instead, you wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists and slowly guided it lower. 

“Dove…” he sucked in a breath as his gaze shadowed the journey you were taking his touch on, “do you wanna–…” finding your eye, he asked you softly, “you sure you know what it is you’re asking for?” 

“Yes,” swiftly flowed out of you as you nodded dizzily, “I–… I know. I read the books, I read all of them, I know how it all works,” your rushed words conjured a lovely little chuckle from the royal, “I just–… please?” your hot breathed fanned across his features as he leaned back in close, “I–… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…” with your fingers still enveloped around his wrist, his touch slowly began to take over and to move on its own, “fantasising about what you might be like…” unhurriedly ghosting up and down the curve of your waist, “about what your touch must feel like…” each time creeping closer and closer to where you wished for him to caress, “how it differs compared to my own…” till his teasing touch ended each fluttering swoop with feather-light grazes at both the swell of your tits, as well as the lower part of your abdomen, just before he actually reached anything real, through still leaving you utterly dazed. 

Leaning a forearm against the shelf behind you, he smirked, “…you think about me?” 

“Every night,” you dug your fingers in the fabric of your chemise and pleadingly began to hike it up, “sometimes the sun doesn’t even manage to set before I need a moment alone… all because of you.”

As he then captured your lips in a fierce kiss, his wandering hand dipped under your thin shift before you’d even raised the hem completely. When his touch found your buzzing pearl, a whimper slipped from your lungs and vibrated against his tongue as your grip on the fabric faltered and it dropped to hang around his wrist like a curtain.

“Is this how you dreamed about me touching you?” he gazed down at you, smiling at the way you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

Mind melting to ooze, you bubbled, “yes–, but also–, oh!” your brows knit together as he switched to circle your clit harder, “a-also–”

“Also how?” you could hear your want reverberate off the palace walls as he touched you, “did you dream about me kissing you down here?” holding your gaze, Steve then sank to his knees before you. 

Your breaths came in ragged as you blinked down at him, “y-yes,” watching intently as he dipped his head under your gathered-up skirts. The sloppy pecks he then lavishly began to plant over your glistening petals felt like nothing you’d ever imagined, “oh, that’s–,” you let out a broken moan, “don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Throwing your head back against the bookcase, Steve’s grip buried in your crumbled clothes as his soft tongue dragged through your desperation. 

Letting go of your chemise with one hand, it drifted down your hip. Enclosing his lips around your throbbing clit, he sucked down hard as his fingers joined to sweep through your mess, only parting from you for a breath, “gods, you taste so fucking good,” before he eased one digit inside your clenching cunt. 

You barely noticed that it was falling before the robe you wore slipped off your frame and tumbled to a puddle on the floor, leaving you with only the thin shift and the king’s hot kisses for warmth in the cold night. 

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you whimpered, reaching down to thread your fingers in his honied hair as a second finger sneaked in beside the other, fucking you gently with them. 

You nearly wiggled out of his grasp when his luscious laps unravelled you completely, but somehow the monarch managed to follow your every squirm till he softened his efforts and replaced them with a few soft pecks over your sensitive clit that made your whole form twitch.

Fluttering your eyes open, you met his gaze as he raised the back of his hand to wipe some of your juices from his beard. 

Breathlessly, you uttered, “get up,” and as he did, you didn’t waste any time before your eyes drifted from his tender stare, “take your shirt off.” 

With one hand, he reached back and tugged the tunic off of his head, swiftly letting it drop to the floor and join the fabric puddle already at your feet. 

For a moment, he didn’t give in on his urge to close the short distance between you, simply stood there and let your stare study him, learn the galaxy of his flesh, every little mark and scar that told the story of his past. 

With your eyes still glued to the burliness of his fuzzy chest, you uttered, “tell me again,” before lifting your gaze up to meet his, “tell me again so that I know this is real.”

Reaching out to grasp your right hand, he said, “it’s real,” stepping closer as he placed your ceremonially scarred palm over his heart, “I’m real, this is real,” his fingers on his own marked hand, which clasped over yours, gently brushed over your knuckles as he spoke, “I am yours,” he shifted again and closed the small gap between you, “I will always be yours till my dying breath.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, you watched as the moonlight glinted in the blue of his eyes, making them look like the sea on a stormy night. 

“I think my heart has belonged to you ever since the dragon attack,” you professed, “though it took me a while longer before I realised what it was, why you made me feel the way that you do,” you parted your fingers against his chest, “Steve,” and let his weave in with your own, “I love you.”

Using his hold as an advantage, Steve yanked you to him till your lips crashed against his. Letting your free hand wander across his warm skin, it swiftly came down to cup the palpable tent in his trousers.

“Fuck…” he groaned lowly as you offered him a light pet. 

As you shifted to fiddle after the buttons on the side of his breeches, even the aid of your other hand didn’t yield any success in undoing more than one of them. Swiftly coming to your rescue, you swore it only took him three seconds before they hung loose enough around his hips for his cock to spring free.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you glanced down at length which stood so proud it poked you in the stomach. If only you had the proper context to truly know how intimidated you should have been at the discovery of his fat girth. 

Hesitantly inching your fingers closer as you stared, you asked, “can I–…?”

“Mhm,” he hummed as he slowly brought your hand the rest of the way down, engulfing his own grasp around yours and gently showing you how to touch him. 

As a sinful curse flowed from Steve’s lips, his free hand drifted up to weave itself into your hair. 

“Will it hurt?” you watched how your fingers failed to meet on the other side of his girth. 

“I don’t know, I hope not,” his forehead rested against your own, “but if it does, then we just stop and figure something else out, okay?”

“Okay…” you hazily nodded. 

Feeling his fingers flex around your own, you saw precum glint at the bulbous tip. 

“It’s all for you, dove,” you felt him throb at your touch, “all because of you,” a desperate growl then seeped out of his lungs as he seized your lips in a fervent kiss, and the next thing you knew, the whole world fell out from under you as he scooped you up into his arms. When a shrill yelp escaped you, Steve simply readjusted his grip on you and said, “don’t worry, I’ve got you,” nipping gently at your neck, “I won’t let you fall.”

With your fingers still grasping his girth, the new position now had your pussy pressed dangerously close to it, so close that you couldn’t help but sweep the head of his cock through your soppy folds and drench him. Tapping your clit a few times, the instinctual drive of his hips triggered you to simply cup his length near and let him part your pretty petals and lather himself in your needy nectar. Each desperate thrust ended in an electric nudge at your pearl, rendering you to whimper shakily into the night. 

But then suddenly, in the fog of it all, the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside, purely because of just how wet and ready you were. 

“O-oh, fuck!” everything froze as you reeled at the staggering sensation, breathlessly digging your nails into his broad shoulders and leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

“Sorry,” he hastily panted, “you okay?”

“Uh–… uh-huh,” you nodded fuzzily, shutting your eyes a moment as you caught your breath. 

But then as your gaze fluttered open once more, you caught his stare and offered him a short, affirming nod, holding his eye as he slowly began to move. 

Your mouth hung agape as he shallowly fucked you, barely even giving you anything but still turning you into goo in his grasp. 

“Y-you’re so beautiful,” you whispered as you fluttered around him. 

Gliding you’re your palm up to his cheek, moans tumbled out of you both as he gently began to offer you more. Your legs couldn’t help but twitch in his grasp as he practically split you in half with the way he eased you down on his fat cock. 

“You’re doing so well,” his face crumbled up in a silent moan as you felt every detail of him slowly stretch you out, “gods, you’re so wet…”

And the next thing you knew, it wasn’t so slow and steady any longer, as the bookcase your spine was pressed against rattled at his efforts. 

You thought before that just the bulbous head of him was overwhelming, but to have that tip kiss desperately against the deepest part of you was something else entirely. You couldn’t speak, you couldn't think, you could barely even breathe, just go slack in his firm hold and feel him, not just right there, but fucking everywhere, that’s how stuffed you were. 

Steve’s strength wasn’t that novel to you these days, but to have him lift you up and sink you down on his cock, like you were just a leaf on the wind, still managed to amaze you. 

“F-fuck,” you blubbered as you tumbled over the edge once more, “oh, fuck!” accidentally knocking a few books down as one of your arms flailed for purchase. 

You barely registered the loud thud the crashing books emanated as your frame melted down into his hold. Your face buried itself in the crook of his neck as he breathlessly came to a halt, still embedded deep inside of your clenching cunt. 

The sound of his breaths directly in your ear helped to soothe your tingling senses as he rested his cheek against the crown of your head. 

Shifting his feet, Steve carried you the short distance over to the comfortable armchair you’d inhabited earlier. Carefully sitting down in it and keeping you in his lap, his arms silkily slid up your back and hugged you close. 

After persuading you to curl out of your hiding spot by planting soft pecks all over your face, you blinked down at him, bathed in the moonlight that gushed in from the tall window beside where you sat.

Gliding a hand around to your front, Steve gently tugged on the thin string at your neckline, undoing the bow, before he pulled the shoulders down your arms till you slid out of the sleeves and the top of the undergarment crumbled to gather at your waist with the rest of the fabric. 

As he pressed his lips to the peak of your tits, one of his palms accompanied the kisses. A soft whine flowed out of you as your hand slid down to where your bodies were still joined and played with your puffy pearl. 

Casting a glance down, he groaned, “yeah, rub that little clit for me,” and your hips intuitively began to rock gently. 

As you touched yourself, something else caught your attention as you slowly began to ride him. At the lower part of your stomach, you felt the dull bulge of his staggering size poke your palm steadily to the rhythm of your gentle efforts.

Letting your pebbly nipple escape from his lips with a pop, his gravelly timbre washed over you as you slowly rocked, “that’s it, fuck–,” his grip slid down to be firm on your ass, “that’s my girl.”

Abruptly, as if snapping out of a trance, you notice just how loud you both were being.

“Wait,” you shushed him though didn’t halt your hips motions, “we’re in the library, someone could hear us!”

“Then fucking let them hear us,” his fingers dug into your ass as he desperately took over and bounced you in his lap, manhandling you as he slammed you down on his cock hard enough for you to lose your breath, “no one would dare bother us, trust me.”

And before you knew it, your cunt clamped down one last time around his cock, hard enough to halt his efforts and milk him of all of his worth. 

Weakly letting his dick slip out, your skin was practically glued to his as you plastered yourselves to each other and you sensed his hot load slowly leaked out of your sensitive hole. 

As you listened to his heartbeat slowly return to normal and your heavy lids fought to stay open, a thought entered your mind. 

“Hey, Steve?”

Shifting his arms around you, his soft hum washed over you, “hm?”

Keeping your voice low, you shared, “I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight…” but to your surprise, a gentle chuckle then rumbled in his chest, “what?” you lifted your head and blinked up at him, “why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just­­–,” he smiled, gazing down at you as if Zondür himself had divinely created you especially for him, “you really think I’d let you skip off to your room alone after all of that, like it never even happened?” 

Huffing out a short giggle, you lowered your glance, “well, when you put it like that…”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, “if you want me to sleep beside you, I will,” rising from his comfortable seat, he readjusted his grip on you, twisting you to him as he hooked an arm behind your knees and at your back. As he carried you close, he began to lumber out of the library and down the hallway, concurring the short distance to where your chambers lied, “my queen, I would love nothing more for the rest of my days than to fall asleep with your head on my chest and wake up to your softness arching against me…”

Flexing your fingers around his neck, you raised yourself up enough to capture his lips in a tender kiss one last time just as he kicked your bedroom door shut behind you both.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[vagabond-umlaut]

'til our fingers decompose, keep my hand in yours

then her eyes look at me, love breaks my bones and I laugh

gojo satoru x wife!reader; 18+ content so mdni; mostly tooth-rotting domestic fluff w mild smut; baby-making stuff [it's breeding, y'all- but not written in a very spicy way... i'm too shy; wht's my fault in tht]; satoru & you're a bit too much in love w each other; not toxic tho... js a teeny-tiny amt too much– haha; satoru calls you cookie and minx; too many kisses written to count [and 1 mention of the words 'cum' and 'cunt' each– i said right, i'm too shy :))]; loserboy loverboy 'toru; tw: talks on conceiving; 2.6k wc

the fic title and summary don't rly hv a very strong connection to the fic plot— except the fact they fit satoru's character here to a tee ^_^

belongs to the series 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate' but can be read as a stand-alone fic if you wanna

fic title from everywhere, everything by noah kahan // fic summary from a poem by charles bukowski // header frm pinterest // divider by @/benkeibear // jjk isn't mine

Gojo Satoru is in love with you. Entirely, utterly, whole-heartedly—

Simply put, the man adores you.

Reveres you even; your existence in both this world and his: one that has morphed to fit the shape and size of your form, your smiles, your frowns– Your husband believes he cannot be any more enchanted by you, any more ensnared by you than he already is...

Only to be proven wrong when you ask something of him.

The sweet croon of the music seems to dissipate away, as well as the quiet murmurs of the crowds, when Gojo sees you lift your head from where it lay on his chest. Eyes briefly flicking to where you both are in a gentle sway on the dance floor, amongst other couples; before they return to the shades on his face.

Growing an endearing quality of coyness as you gaze at him, features becoming suffused with warmth and hues before you repeat your ask to him; voice softening, trembling. Even more this time.

"'Toru," you say, fingers flexing from where they are looped around his neck, around his existence. Your smile is shaky, right at the corners of your mouth, before you take a deep breath to force them to stabilise– somehow, your husband realises.

He watches you draw in yet another deep breath, and ask, "You'll give me anything I want from you... won't you?"

He will.

Of course, he will.

Ask him to pluck the waxing gibbous from the night sky, to make you a pretty little pendant out of it— he will.

Ask him to burn this city to the ground, just so you've enough ash for your innumerable pots of cacti— he will.

Ask him to do anything and everything: whatever your heart desires– be it for a moment or for years— Gojo will do it for you, no matter the consequences he must face for it— for what bears any consequence to the sorcerer's life, if not your happiness and well-being??

He drags a hand from where it rested on your lower back, up the side, to your cheek, gently cupping the soft flesh there. Letting loose a tiny smile, fond, unguarded, true, when you lean into his touch.

"Ask away, cookie. Tell your 'Toru what you want."

"I..." you start. Voice soft and timid. Gaze darting away a second time, this time to the slowing pace of your and your husband's dance steps on the floor...

Before you raise your eyes, a mesmerising flurry of many feelings, to his concealed ones.

And Gojo swears, there's surely something different in you, making something different in him as well, when you look at him that way–

"I want to have your babies, 'Toru."

The first response you words elicit in him is a static— Noisy. Buzzing. Something that renders him dumb. Deaf and blind to everything and everyone except his wife, for a moment perhaps a tad too long...

The second response is him, very obviously, nearly dragging you off the dance floor, and having offered a bullshit explanation for leaving early to the party host, pulling you out into the toasty summer night.

Gojo teleports before the doors to the hall have been closed behind you both, not even for three whole seconds.

And bends down to smash his lips onto yours, the instant the familiar comforting feel of your home settles on his shoulders... seeps into his body, immediately setting him at ease... yet not at all at ease...

Especially because of these stupid fucking cockblocking trousers—

A loud pop! sounds through the living room, bouncing off its walls.

Soon followed by a mishmash of an aggrieved whine and an annoyed grunt from your husband, at the loss of contact with one of your best physical features to him—

it all melts away though when Gojo opens his eyes to find you looking at him with a slight sheen in your big round eyes and the tremor from before in your lips.

You push him away gently by the pads of your fingers— but the effort lasts only for a beat. Teeth biting down onto your lower lip, your small fingers let only a brief moment pass before twisting into the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer. Almost as if they're scared he might turn into smoke, if their hold is loosened even a pinch.

Gojo thinks you sound terribly puny when you finally break the thick silence layering over the entire flat–

Much too puny than he would like to hear his precious little wife be.

"Do you really want kids with me, 'Toru? You're not doing this just for me– just 'cause I want a family with you— you aren't, are you?"

"Do you..." Gojo starts then pauses for a bit to curb the chuckle nearly spilling forth his mouth, before resuming. The amusement in his tone can be reduced only so much, though— despite, or maybe due to the worry marking your pretty features.

Very unnecessary worry marking your very, very pretty features.

"Do you really think I'm that selfless– that good-hearted– cookie?"

Your brows furrow for a beat— before flattening in a look of complete sincere honesty. "You always think of me before yourself, 'Toru– don't want to pressurise you into doing anything you don't want to, is all."

"Oh, is it so?" he hums, mouth curving into a leisurely grin as he trails his fingertips from where they're entangled in your hair, dancing over the side of your neck until they reach the base of your throat– A faint pressure on the flesh there.

The ensuing hitch in your breath makes his grin sharpen, his trousers tighten. He lets his voice fall to an unhurried husk of a whisper.

"So you think I don't wanna have a family with you, hm?"

"Ah, it's not that," Gojo notes you waste not one moment to breathe back. He pulls you flush to himself by the other hand clutching your lower back, fingers digging in when you stutter, "I-I was j-just–"

"What will you do if I say I don't want kids, cookie?" He interrupts, still maintaining the low cadence of his tone.

Your fingers let go of his coat, soon followed by the re-emergence of that damn shaky smile of yours. Your husband doesn't like it one bit, but says nothing to hear your answer instead...

Albeit he knows what it will be, knowing just how much of a fool you never fail to turn into when it comes to matters involving him– a fact he usually loves about you, his pride and ego adore about you; but in this specific moment... Not so much.

Your soft mumble disrupts his internal groan, "I will never bring this topic up ever again in that case, Satoru. I promise you, I won't."

"And what if I say I wanna knock you up nice and good?"

You'll short circuit, is what Gojo predicts before the last word is even out of his mouth— and he's proven right, amazingly so, in less than a beat, when you do:

Eyes enlarging. Cheeks warming. Mouth opening and closing: once, twice then thrice... As if you're an adorable fish gasping for air in the onslaught of his simple [yet cruel– he knows you deem him so right now– how can you be so cute...] inquiry.

Deciding to grant his poor wife some much-needed mercy, the man bends down to whisper into your ear, lightly grazing the earlobe with his teeth, "If saying it out loud is too much, why don't you show your 'Toru instead what you will do, hm? I'm sure that will be easier."

"I..." you hesitate, the word still a wisp of your breath, until your hands return to the front of his coat. And you lean back a smidgen, features lighting up as you ask. Slowly. Carefully. Hopefully.

A knot, your husband never knew existed, loosens in the middle of his chest at the sight of your strengthening smile.

"Can I take this as your 'yes' then?"

"You can."

And that's the only reply Gojo finds he has to give to have your lips on his... Not too soft yet so very tender in the way they move against his own... Almost as if you're scared of hurting him... Terrified of causing even a pinch of pain to him.

Something between a moan and a squeak rips itself from your throat when the sorcerer bullies his tongue into the warm welcoming space of your mouth, simultaneously hooking his arms under your thighs to lift you. Mouths never leaving each other, not even for one second, as he kicks his shoes off, hearing you do the same, heels hitting the floor with a sharp clack!— And he finally, fucking finally, takes a step into–

"Bedroom, 'Toru!" Pulling away, you exclaim hastily, breathlessly, "Not the sofa or the kitchen counter this time, please."

"Too demanding, aren't we?" Gojo coos, licking his lips then stealing a small taste of the angry swollen redness of your pretty lips– Choosing to concede when you pout up at him, "Alright, fine— Can't really deny my amazing wife anything, can I?"

"No!" You giggle back cheekily—

And you're correct.

Extremely correct, your husband reckons, smiling softly as he moves out of you; out of the embrace of your wet, warm, maddening walls— A sharp hiss escapes through between his teeth, brows scrunching in momentary discomfort whilst he faintly registers your weak whimper.

Wasting no time to scoop back the load of creamy white cum leaking out your sore cunt, Gojo lifts your hips to keep a pillow beneath them. And stuffs his fingers into his mouth— exaggeratedly moaning with a smirk when he catches your cute little face of mortification.

"You're horrible," you mutter visibly exasperated, what with that huge roll of eyes you do when the sorcerer groans out yet again around his fingers in appreciation, shifting to lie beside you.

He removes his fingers with a loud pop!. Grinning like a Cheshire Cat when your eyes stay on them a bit too long for someone who sees it as horrible... Before they skitter away to reach his face.

He wraps an arm round you, dragging you closer until your boobs are squished against his pecs. A shiver of thrill runs down his spine at the wonderful– no, absolutely heavenly feeling.

"I'm in love, cookie," he offers besides a noisy lovestruck sigh in reply.

You, as usual, as expected, take only one or two moments before the not-too-annoyed scowl on your face gives way to a tender smile.

Wrapping an arm around him in return, you nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. He feels your lips on his skin more than hears your words they shape. Whispered into the comfortable darkness of your shared bedroom.

"Love is a force to be reckoned with, huh?"

Just love? Maybe... Maybe not... Truth be told, Gojo has no idea. And he has never been too keen on forming an idea either.

But your love?

It surely is, your husband muses to himself with no small amounts of delight or adoration, It did change the trajectory of his life, did it not?

He is supposed to be by himself— The Strongest, yes, but one with a solitary existence. He is supposed to be in this bed, awake and quiet, staring up at the ceiling whilst his senses easily fall prey to the heavy weights of his past, his mistakes, his unpardonable sins— vanishing long after the first rays of the sun have broken through the curtains...

Yet... with the love you've so obstinately kept safe for him throughout the years... here he is now.

Still awake– a bit restless, in fact– but the farthest from being alone.

The love of his life, safe, sated and smiling in his careful hold. Whilst his senses tingle in smug joy and content as his eyes, all six of them, rove over the innumerable proofs of his insatiable hunger, boundless ardour for you.

Starting from your kiss-bitten lips; to the multiple splotches of purple dotting the expanse of your neck, your chest, your stomach, down to the delectable inner aspect of your thighs; to the angry red nip marks left nearly all over your body, wherever he could get access, wherever you wouldn't gently push his mouth away from with a whine—

To, of course, your belly: Flat now but won't remain so for a long time. Becoming swollen and round with your babies– his babies– A perfect mixture of you and him. A perfect result of your mutual feelings...

An impossibly anxious gasp disturbs his smooth stream of thoughts, as well as the steady downwards flow of his blood...

He looks down to find you wrenching yourself away from his arms to get hold of the long-forgotten pillow— Ah. It's the pillow.

"It's too easy to get you worried over the smallest of things, y'know?" Gojo tuts, still moves to help you stuff the pillow to elevate your hips on noticing your wince on shifting.

You throw him a cross glare, which soon changes into an upset pout.

"Shut up, Satoru. This is not a small thing, this is a huge thing! What will happen if my chances of conceiving fall because of this mistake, 'Toru?" you suddenly erupt into an anguished screech.

Gojo feels his heart threatening to burst at the seams, just from how utterly cute you look. He knocks his forehead lightly against yours.

"Wanna go for another round, cookie?"

"Huh!?!?" you exclaim, eyes growing round and cheeks flaring up yet once more— Your husband intervenes however, before you return to your struggling-to-breathe-fish form, "Don't be so embarrassed, you little minx; you were spouting all sorts of debauched stuff some time back–"

He pauses for a beat, thinking if he should quote everything you said. Then deciding against it, so as to not have you short circuit yet again, repeats, amusement lacing his tone, "Tell me, do you wanna?"

"I'm not a minx," you mumble back.

And the sorcerer almost believes you, mind being swayed by the light glimmer in your gorgeous eyes, the plush flesh of your lower lip jutted out just the right amount, the enticing manner your eyelashes appear to be batting themselves at him in the faint moonlight streaming into the room via the light curtains...

Only for the slowly, steadily enveloping bubble to be popped.

By the feel of something soft and warm– your foot– travelling up the skin of his calf; the same moment he watches your fingers trail over his chest and the planes of his stomach. Tongue peeking out for less than an instant when your gaze drops to his fingers– the very fingers he was sucking on not even five minutes back—

Pushing the pillow away, Gojo climbs back atop you. A knee wedged to part your thighs while he bends down, face angled to swallow that endearing surprised squeak of yours with his insistent, impatient lips.

You were right.

Love is, for real, a force to be reckoned with.

But Gojo Satoru— No, his cookie's 'Toru in love with her– And now, in love with the idea of having a huge happy family with her as well...

That's a force only you know how to put a leash on.

[Not that you will ever—

You're as hopeless a goner for him as he is for you!]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … GOOD GRACES ♡

track three of the short n’sweet series. pairing: toxicex!johnb x reader. based loosely off the song good graces by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

it was a tactic to get john b’s attention and that was so clear to him. whatever you were doing was fucking working, and that irritated him.

john b would like to say he was a pretty calm and reasonable guy, but as he stands in the centre of some random girls pool party, watching you hanging off the arm of some douchebag kook— he can’t help but nearly squeeze all the alcohol out of his red solo cop. he settles on shakily bringing it to his lips instead, eyes not leaving your form as he sips the bitter liquor down. shit, that was strong. but not as strong as the burning jealousy in his chest.

he knew how it looked — the jealousy, the rage in his eyes. there were very few things that could get him this wired up and maybe the copious amounts of alcohol in his body wasn’t helping, but if you didn’t stop grinding your bikini bottom clad ass against that random guys shorts, barely offering the pogue boy a glance over your shoulder — there’d be hell to pay. like mentioned, he could be pretty calm and reasonable, but tonight he felt like breaking a kooks jaw.

he saw the opportunity to get to you arise when your new friend left your side for a moment to play a round of beer pong, which is when john b all but wrapped a hand round your arm and kidnapped you into a nearby hallway.

“jesus, what are you doing you psycho?” you accuse — loud, unabashed and clearly tipsy. the brunette squints, used to your theatrics.

“you serious? hm? him? you brought that guy?” he deadpans, tilting his head expectantly as if waiting for an answer.

“are you serious? i can bring who i want where i want. we’re broken up.” you huff, sticking your chin in the air stubbornly as you cross your arms over your chest. maybe his hormones were all out of whack, but he swears you’re doing it to press your tits together and get a rise out of him. he clenches his fist, pressing his lips together in self restraint.

“do you know how much that’s killing me? like — like can you imagine the scene you’d cause if i came here with a girl— no, not just a girl— a kook girl?” he whisper yells, looming over you and god do you wanna be pissed off. but in that backwards cap and baggy tshirt, your ex boyfriend looks more than delectable and it fuels you beyond belief to see that he still cares so much. perhaps you’d throw him a bone, addicted to putting him through the pain he put you through when you were together.

a salacious smile spreads across your glossed lips as you stare up at him, waiting for him to finish his little tantrum.

“you know, you should talk to me nicely john b. especially if you want to get in my good graces.” you drag it out slowly, like every word had a double meaning attached to it and now he’s falling back a little, face falling in realisation that you might be on the same page tonight. he blinks, staring you down for a few more moments just to make sure before shaking his head and ushering you borderline violently to the bathroom at the end of the hall. he’s sure your friend wouldn’t miss you too sorely.

as soon as that doors locked, john b is doing the one thing he’d been dying to do all night — and that was drop to his knees and force your legs open, locking eyes with you solemnly as he peels your bikini bottom to the side. it’s to no surprise, you’re soaking wet to the point where he couldn’t believe it wasn’t leaking out the sides for the world to see. for such a sweet and innocent girl, you sure did get off on toxic foreplay.

“i can’t believe you.” he huffs, hot breath making your folds flutter for him and you lean your warm body against the cold tiles, pulling his head to your cunt where it belonged.

“please.” you shudder, and now you’re the one begging — needing the hot mouth of your ex boyfriend to dull the ache. he feels some power regained, knowing that you had such arousal that could only be tamed by him.

“yeah? been waiting for this puppy?” he coos as he kisses around your pubic mound, thick finger wiggling its way to your sopping hot hole that awaited him.

“jus’ dont tease, c’mon.” you plead and he decides to stick to the words you told him. good graces, you said — and what better what to get into your good books than to make you cum so hard you couldn’t hold yourself up against the bathroom wall any longer?

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 23

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; a tad bit of angst; smidge of illness; all the pregnancy woes in the world; some suggestive dialogue A/N: There's some serious fluff in this. I tried so hard to keep Daryl in character while having him offer all he could to a person doing something precious for him. I hope I succeeded. The explanation of midnight blue is a little bit of self indulgence. It's my own favorite color and the reason why. I know I skipped the nursing home scene but I took the liberty of adding into the timeline somewhere as a mention.

The events of the day before had ended in the most amusing way, with you nearly inviting Carol in before getting dressed.

“She knows what tits and a vagina look like, Daryl.”

“She don’t know what my dick looks like, Y/N!”

“Touche, sir.”

All ended well and Carol saw no genitalia that fine day.

You had officially worn one another out. After the Tylenol and Carol’s snickers and knowing smiles, you and Daryl fell onto the pillows and slept until the next morning. The fever remained, albeit burning less and less hot each time the old man would look him over. His lungs were sounding better. Hershel removed the IV when the archer proved he could keep up with hydrating and promised to take it easy. Of course, he would. He had you as his warden. 

The next evening, after a bowl of hearty stew with the venison you had brought back,—two bowls for Daryl—you laid in bed. He wasn’t complaining, for once, and actually seemed to be close to falling asleep. It had been a relief to watch him eat well, even if he did try to share the second bowl. You were feeling a little nauseated, sharing that knowledge honestly when you turned down his offering. Your condition had definitely improved, the severity of the occurrences much less concerning. Things were actually okay. 

“Daryl?” You licked your suddenly dry lips but continued drawing patterns on his bare chest from your spot against his side with his arm wrapped around you. He hummed, his usual reply, eyes remaining closed while his thumb swept back and forth over your ribs. When you didn’t answer right away, he pulled you a little closer. It was unclear if it was intentional or not.

“What?” He cleared his throat, his voice still gravelly. 

“Can we—I’d like to know more about you.” Your timid request must have snagged his attention because he was shifting your bodies to lie face to face, one hand below his cheek and the other rubbing small circles just over where the baby had finally stopped tap dancing. He was giving you that look, the squinted eyes that scrutinized someone for any indication of dishonesty or hidden agenda. He should know you better than that by now, but you remained quiet.

“Whaddaya wanna know?” He finally queried, his hand going still but remaining where it was.

“Anything. Everything.” You shrugged your available shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this—be an us—then we need to know one another, don’t you think?” He started tapping a finger against your abdomen.

“S’your favorite color?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, scrunching it with a smile. “Midnight blue. What’s yours?” He pulled a face, curiosity shining through.

“Why midnight?” He asked with a sniff, shuffling around a bit on the pillow.

“Because even though I know it isn’t, I like to think that’s the color of the night sky. Not black, but dark blue and full stars. Black is nothing, it’s lonely, but to think of it as blue. It’s a little more comforting.” The archer gave you a thoughtful look, the corner of his mouth ticking upward so minutely that anyone else would have missed it. Not you. “Now, what’s yours?”

He mimicked your earlier shrug. “Dunno. Don’t really got one, I guess.” Your silence beckoned him to explain. After moving his hand from below his cheek to chew on the side of his thumb, he eventually elaborated. “Grew up learnin’ to ‘preciate all’a ‘em. House was—it was always dark, ‘specially after mama died. When my old man—I spent a lot’a time outside. Noticed things. Blue sky’d turn a bit purple before it’d snow, even if it was just a lil’. Grass—it’d be green but have those brown pieces where I’d walk all’a the time. Creek looked muddy unless ya stood in it. Then ya’d see the bottom an’ how the water’d catch the light. Sometimes it’d be blue, sometimes kinda green. Just depended on the day.” His gaze had dropped away from you at some point, focused on the miniscule area of bed sheets between your bodies.

You were glad for it because your eyes had started to fill and shine. You were granted the opportunity to blink back the tears before he looked up. Daryl was so much more than anyone had given him credit for, than anyone had been willing to learn. Carol had told you a story about an exchange with Andrea, when she had taken a jab at what she thought was his limited vocabulary.

“Get a dictionary. Look it up. Observant.”

“D’ya like dogs or cats?” He asked so suddenly that you nearly flinched, realizing that you had just been staring at some point past his head for an undetermined amount of time. There was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“I like both, but I’m a dog person.” You frowned. Having a dog would probably be something your child would never get to experience. “You?”

“Dogs. Cats ain’t trustworthy.” It was such an amusing thing to say with such a straight face. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, I need to hear this.” You caught him staring at your lips, maybe watching you laugh or maybe he wanted to kiss you. Both? You pretended not to notice. 

“Dogs’re smart but cats’re calculated. Make ya think they’re all innocent when they ain’t. Always up to somethin’.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re afraid of cats.” You smirked, absently reaching to run your fingers through his hair. Daryl made a disgruntled sound and shook his head to stave off your attempts.

“Ain’t afraid’a ‘em. Just don’t trust ‘em.”

“Right.” You nodded, face falling into feigned seriousness before it became real, your next question burning inside your chest, just below the fear you’d need to surpass to ask. He was likely to shut down the session, maybe even close off completely. You could always hope he’d begun to trust you enough to open up, even if only a little, but the prospect suddenly seemed so far away. “Daryl.”

“Ask.” He was looking right into your eyes with a hint of determination you’d seen before when the circumstances were different, dire even. Was that how he saw this? A dire situation that could result in you being gone in some way?

“Who—what happened?” You let a single fingertip press gently against the deepest scar on his chest, your eyes lingering on it for but a moment before you contradicted his intensity with tenderness. Not pity, but a gentle curiosity. A request to allow you to understand.

“My dad—he was never a good man.” He swallowed hard. “Got worse after mama died. She drank. Fell asleep with a smoke, burned up in our house.” His fingers were plucking at the small space between you, a fine tremor in his hand. He pulled it out of your reach when you reached for it. “Didn’t know what to do with us, I guess. Me an’ Merle—my brother.” The brother that Rick had left behind in Atlanta, the brother who was likely dead. Yet another relative your baby would never know. “Merle tried to—he’d take the beatin’ when he could, did his best. Booked it outta there when he couldn't take it no more. Joined the army.” His eyes were wet, but he sniffed and cleared his throat. “Wasn't nothin’ standin’ between me an’ the old man then—between me an’ the belt. The cigarettes.” He fell silent, clearly finished with talking about his parents.

“Tell me about Merle?” You ventured, shot down with a shake of his head against the pillow.

“Ain’t your turn.” He sniffed again. “Your mama—tell me ‘bout your mama.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of a soft demand; an it’s only fair. You didn’t mind. You’d accepted her abandonment long ago. You had been content with the amazing father with whom you were gifted.

“She booked it. We didn’t have a lot of money, and she never really wanted me in the first place. Tucked tail and ran the first chance she got.” You shrugged, unbothered beyond the twinge of guilt you felt for being so okay with the hand you had been dealt while Daryl struggled to even think about his past. “I didn’t even miss her. I mean, it sucked at first. I always felt bad, watching daddy struggle. So, I learned to help and that was that.”

He was so obviously jealous, yet another emotion that he didn't know how to process. You saw the anger flare before he doused it, returning to a solemn state of silence. He was awaiting your question, wherein you found a dilemma. Did you push through the conversation about his family? Or did you switch to something else, give him a break? 

“Thank you for trusting me.” When you reached for him then, he didn’t pull away. His mask cracked and a few pieces fell away, but he held the rest steady. “That’s enough for now, okay? If you have more questions, I’ll answer them. Gladly. But you’ve shared enough, okay?” When he studied you, you didn’t let him proceed with his usual scrutiny. “It’s fine, Daryl. We can talk more when—if—you ever want to again. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

He accepted the out with a long exhale and a nod, his gaze falling away. You embraced the silence and its discomfort, just touching him while he was in a place to allow it. You stroked his cheek, the stubble thicker than usual with his confinement to the bed. You smoothed his hair, scratched gently over his scalp. Finally, you scooted closer and pulled him toward you to meet in the middle. Tangling your legs around his, you guided his head to rest under your chin. He let you without complaint or denial, a testament to how he had silently endured when he needed comforting.

The two of you laid there, his breaths evening out to the point where you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, breaking the silence, he cleared his throat. “Why me?” You pulled back just enough to angle your head and look at him.

“Why you what?”

“Why ya settlin’ with me? We can raise a kid together without you givin’ up a chance with someone better.” He took a deep breath, keeping his head down. “I won’t hold ya to it if ya change your mind later—if someone shows—”

“There’s no one better.” You nearly snapped at him, your tone harsher than you’d ever meant for it to be. He flinched and you instantly hated yourself for it. You’d seen someone’s quick movements earn that reaction before, but words hardly affected Daryl physically, not like that. “Daryl.” You silently pleaded with him to look at you, but were left disappointed. “There’s no one better.” You repeated, so softly that it was almost a whisper, your breath disturbing his hair. “I want to raise this baby with you. I want to be with you. I love you. That’s not gonna change.”

He simply hummed, the sound reverberating against your throat. You wanted to throttle him, but none of his self-deprecation was his fault. You hated people you didn’t even know for it. “Don’t deserve all this.” Your brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Feel like m’gettin’ somethin’ meant for someone else. Like m’takin’—” The words died on the tip of his tongue. What could you even say to that? You could tell him he deserved the world—the fucking universe—but he’d never believe it. You’d just have to show him. It would take time and patience that would likely be tested over and over, but he was worth it.

“You’ll see.” You settled back against him, let silence fall between you again. After a while, he actually did fall asleep, the tension you had noticed in him finally melting away into a restful state he so desperately needed in order to continue getting well. A kiss was pressed into his hair. You never fell asleep yourself, simply lying there with him. Your heart ached yet it was full. With your fingers traveling up and down his back in gentle motions you hoped were comforting even within his dreams, you told him again. “You’ll see.”

Daryl was coughing strenuously by the time you reached the truck, his hand pressed hard against his chest. The cold air, the rush of grabbing up all the bags, the running from the herd—it was taking its toll on his still healing body.

“Keys.” You demanded. “I’m driving.”  You could see it on his face that he was going to argue, but he doubled over in another fit of coughs and deep, wheezing gasps. Digging in his pocket through the ordeal, he tossed you the keyring. The bags you two were responsible for were tossed into the back next to the bike. It took the archer two attempts to pull himself onto the bench seat, which required the effort of both your bodies to move back in order to accommodate your 30 week bump. Just as your door closed, a discolored hand slapped against the window, startling you into a shout.

The van was already moving when you pressed the gas to peel out behind it, mowing down at least three walkers. Dark blood splattered onto the windshield, smearing but mostly washing away when you used the partially frozen fluid and wipers. Daryl’s forehead was against the dashboard as he fought to catch his breath in the chilled air. You were fumbling for the temperature controls when he smacked your hand away.

“Just—just drive. I got it.” He rasped, the warming air filling the cab a moment later. His back thudded against the seat, shaking it slightly, his head falling back against the headrest with his eyes closed. He was finally sucking in gulps of air into irritated, partially healed lungs. When you reached a point that was safe enough to pull off, you would make sure the group remembered his state of health and didn’t travel for too long before finding anything suitable and safe enough for a stay of at least a few days. “Quit your worryin’, woman. M’good.”

“Just don’t, Daryl.” You argued quietly, desperate to keep the peace between the pair of you that you’d managed to create. “Let me worry. If you don’t fight me on it, I’ll be less likely to do something stupid.” You glanced over, finding his head rolled toward you, his jaw set but he relented with a jerk of his head.

“Fine. Just have ‘em find whatever. S’long as it keeps your ass right here beside me.” 

You smiled and silently celebrated your victory, even as he noticed and grumbled beside you. When you placed your hand, palm up, on the seat between you, only a heartbeat passed before you felt him squeezing your fingers.

Roughly eight weeks left, though Hershel said you could safely deliver if you made it at least four more weeks. You were actually becoming slightly miserable. The nausea would come and go, though you actually vomited less and less. Your ankles were missing completely under the puffy skin. Your belly felt so heavy that even just standing was becoming a chore. Lori was sympathetic, constantly giving you advice. Not only you but Daryl as well. You had seen her whispering to him, watched the way he would go completely still, not looking at her but listening intently. Rick could give him all the advice in the world but Lori’s input was crucial. She knew exactly what you needed.

The archer argued with you less and less, though you could see the restraint it took for him to bite his tongue, sometimes literally. He let you hunt with him because you were restless. Lori had said it was because of the urge to start nesting, which you had found amusing, but Daryl already knew about it because of the damn books he continued to snatch up on runs. Why it frustrated you that he was willing to go that extra mile was beyond your comprehension. Maybe because he knew more about what was going on with your body than you did? You should have been grateful, but all you wanted to do was kick him in the shins.

“Can ya just—nevermind.” He grunted from behind you while the two of you tracked some turkeys. You knew they’d be in the trees for the cold weather so you kept your eyes upward, irritating the hunter when you would nearly trip or run into something. Still, he kept his cool, which was admirable for your hot-headed partner. Daryl didn’t like the term boyfriend, you’d discovered during a brief conversation where you’d found your tongue looser than normal and spilling out questions you’d otherwise never ask. The two of you had settled on being partners, though you didn’t feel it was enough to describe your relationship. He had simply shrugged.

You couldn’t hunt with a gun. He’d all but forbade it. Too loud, would draw walkers. So he found you a bow. Not a crossbow but a traditional one. It didn’t take much practice. You only needed to become familiar with the tension of the string, how far to pull for the trajectory and speed needed. Aiming came naturally.

“Shut up, Daryl. I’m fine.” You snapped, instantly muttering an apology. It was but wasn’t his fault you felt so crappy. It took two to make the baby whose little foot or hand or whatever was always pressing into your ribs. You were just as responsible and tried to remember that even when it was you and not him that felt like absolute shit most of the time. As if the world was hellbent on fucking with you, the toe of your boot found its way beneath an exposed root and you nearly faceplanted. If not for Daryl’s constant observance, you surely would have.

He snagged your bicep, dropping his crossbow to reach across your chest and grip your other shoulder. All you needed was a dislocated shoulder when you were already so beyond miserable. He made sure you stayed on your feet, nearly stumbling himself, but saying nothing when you found his irritated but concerned gaze. The weight of it instantly brought on the sniffling you knew was about to lead to a breakdown.

Over the course of only three weeks, the archer had memorized the signs and adapted, learning how to soothe you even at the expense of his own comfort. He immediately pulled you into his arms as close as he could with your ever-growing belly between you, shushing you and rubbing your back. 

“S’alright. I won’t letcha fall.”

Noble as his intentions were, that only seemed to stir up even more guilt. “I don’t know why I can’t just listen when you tell me I should stay behind! Why do you let me just do whatever I want even when you know it’s the wrong choice?!” You rubbed your wet face against his button up, leaving a dark spot and not for the first time.

“Cause you’re hard-headed an’ feelin’ like crap. Only make ya feel worse for me to argue with ya.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. “I’m not hard-headed, Daryl! I’m fucking capable and everyone wants to treat me like I’m gonna break!” You pushed him away roughly and stomped forward, sniffling harder than necessary. You heard a sigh from behind you, the sound of him picking up his crossbow and before following at a distance.

When you shot down the turkey, even beyond the pride you felt carrying it back, something told you that he saw it first but didn’t even raise his weapon.

Carol had heated some water for you so you could wipe down, feeling like your skin was crawling after being in the woods all day. It was a foreign feeling for the leaves and cool, fresh air to feel like it stuck to your flesh and needed to be scrubbed away. You were a mess. Your body hurt and you constantly needed to pee. You were irritable. You’d want Daryl to fuck you one minute and then shove him away the moment he touched the slick apex of your thighs. You were torturing the poor man who didn’t have a clue how to provide the type of comfort you needed when he couldn’t even process how to overcome his own lack of it growing up.

You didn’t hear him enter the room as you bowed over the small sink in the dusty bathroom, your skin still damp beneath your long sleeved shirt and flannel sleep pants. You had washed your hair to the best of your ability, the wet strands forming a curtain around your face that blocked your view of the door. You didn’t startle when you felt the heat of his body behind you. It was familiar at that point in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” You whispered, the syllables of his name coming out as a soft whimper. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing nervously.

“S’okay.” He stepped closer and you fully expected to feel his erection press against your ass, but that wasn’t the case. There was only the firm safety of his body, your human security blanket. “Wanna—can I try somethin’?” His voice shook beside your ear but his hands remained steady, digits still squeezing and releasing. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, his exhale warm against your neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t his warm palms sliding beneath your belly and lifting with more gentleness than you were aware a human being could possess. The absence of the weight pulling down was an instant relief, your muscles turning to jello. You leaned back against him and he kept you upright, silently offering you comfort and succor that your body didn’t even know it needed.

“Fuck.” You breathed, eyes fluttering closed and head laying back against his shoulder. The tears came when his lips pressed against your temple, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for what you were enduring. “Thank you.” Your own appreciation trembled over your lips, whether toward the man at your back or a god you weren’t sure you believed in for putting him there.

[saturnsorbits]

Android AU where you purchase a discounted and broken Bakugo model.

He’s got limited movement in his right arm, a faulty ocular system and a series of burns that cover one side of his face and have made the middle of his chest all melted and tacky - the synthetic skin warped like scarred flesh, but he works well enough.

It’s nice, having him around. You cook together. Watch movies. Go on picnics. Hike. Dine out. Visit aquariums and museums. It doesn’t take long for people to start assuming…

Husband. Boyfriend. Fiancé. It’s all thrown round. An endearing misunderstanding that never garners more than a blush, or at least it was, until the feelings started.

It’s a growing debate, if the androids can feel like humans can, but you find yourself at his mercy anyway. You fall for him slowly, but definitely, lost to him in all of the ways you’d never thought possible.

You bottle it, lock it in your chest even when it becomes too much taking you in a choke hold and then one day, you just… Burst.

Ducking under the rail of the park, you cross the wood-chips and toss yourself to the curved rubber seat of the swing. Beyond the small park is the ocean - a small slither of wide open blue that crashes against the walls of the sea barrier before you.

This was your place, just your place and now, now you’re sharing it with him.

He sits on your left, pushing himself with the balls of his feet. In the shadow of the street light with his synthetic blonde spikes spilling over his forehead, he almost feels like a lover - like something more than he can be. ‘I like it here.’

‘I know.’ Bakugo turns, smirks. The social module downloaded into his brain makes it look perfect, tells him the exact angle his lips should stretch to for the chosen effect.

‘There’s something about the sea being so close, it’s…’

‘Calming.’

‘Yeah.’ You sigh, glancing over to Bakugo careful not to look too long. ‘It’s calming.’

‘You wanna know why?’

‘Sure.’

‘My search says it’s due to the broad nature of the sound, as it hits your ear...' He taps your tragus. 'It creates a deep tonal noise, which due to its processing ease in the brain creates a soothing effect.'

'Huh.' It’s strange, hearing him talk like this. Usually, he’s so informal, so blunt and matter of fact it’s strange when all of that wiring in his head kicks back in and has him talking like… Well like a robot.

‘Did it again, didn’t I?’

You chuckle. ‘Sometimes you just talk like we’re worlds apart.’

‘Sorry. I -.’

‘No, no…’ You smile, softly, before reaching over and resting your palm on his thigh.

Bakugo blinks, looking down at the hand wrapping his leg. Gingerly, he accepts it. Entwining his fingers with yours, he squeezes. ‘I…’ His voice is a whisper. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Katsuki.’

Squeezing softly, Bakugo doesn’t lift his gaze when he talks. 'I don't love you.'

You laugh, the cold air stinging your teeth. ‘I don’t love you.’ It’s a half-truth, the emotion caught in your chest might not yet be love, but it’s too close to it for comfort. ‘You don’t have to love me.’

Bakugo breathes deep despite not needing to. ‘I - I don’t feel -.’

You cut him off, eyes wide, a softeness already burrowing into your expression. You can’t imagine what’s it’s like, to be filled with a thing you were born never to have - to be coming alive for the first time. ‘Katsuki… You do. I know that you’re more than just a robot… More than -‘

‘No.’ Bakugo tightens his grip on your hand, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. ‘I can - I do feel…’ He corrects. ‘I just don’t feel for you what you feel for me.’

[pretzel-box]

PART 4 | MASTERLIST HERE

Tags: Mentions of violence, Injuries, Cruel Behaviour in general. It's dark content. Painter included. Slow burn starting now!

Trigger warnings: Force Feeding, Isolation, different types of Abuse

Words: 5,4k

Authors Note: First, this will be one of the last extremly violent chapters of AASB, going to announce more in the next chapter. For all people who wanna stop the series: The first part will be skip able in future. The series officially starts it's main plot now.

Also everything here is pure fiction. I do not support behaviour shown in this fiction or similar things.

You lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, surrendering to the soft glow of Sebastian’s lure. The shadows that had clung to you like a second skin began to peel away, retreating in the face of that delicate light. You let yourself sink into its gentleness, a stark contrast to the harsh brutality you knew all too well. The light kissed your skin with a softness that mocked the cruelty of his nature, and you almost allowed yourself to forget, for just a moment, the monster standing before you. A faint ringing filled your ears, like distant bells swaying in the wind—haunting, persistent, pulling you deeper into the quiet of your own mind.

Sebastian had hurled you to the ground with newfound force, his face twisted into a mask of disgust and seething anger. The tenderness that once lived in his eyes was gone, replaced by the stark void of his hatred. It was in that moment you understood—Sebastian Solace’s hatred ran deeper than any ocean, plunging into unfathomable depths where light couldn’t reach.

Trusting him had been your mistake, one that now felt like a betrayal to yourself. You had dug your own grave the moment you allowed yourself to believe in him, each passing day another shovel of dirt thrown into the hole you were carving. You could feel it now, the weight of your naivety, pressing down on you like the earth you had prepared for your unmarked tomb. How you loathed yourself—each breath you took was heavy with self-hatred, each beat of your heart a reminder of your foolishness. You were a creature cursed, revolting even to yourself.

The world watched with cruel amusement as you wept silently in your mind, never daring to shed a tear in front of him. You knew better—Sebastian would feast on your weakness, your tears nothing more than a victory to him, a reminder of how thoroughly he had broken you.

“Let’s return,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the stillness like a jagged blade. Before you could even process his words, he was hauling you off the ground, two of his arms wrapping around your torso with a bruised force that could be fatal if he wished it to be. He slung you over his shoulder with brutal efficiency, the suddenness of it stealing the breath from your lungs. His shoulder dug into your stomach, the pressure sending waves of pain radiating through your abdomen, but you swallowed the whimper threatening to escape. You knew better than to complain.

Each of his steps sent jolts through your body, the world swaying violently with his movements. It reminded you of the ride in the submarine, the same sickening lurch of your stomach as the vessel dove deeper into the abyss. But this was worse—there was no escaping the pain, no reprieve from the way his shoulder pressed cruelly into your stomach, no chance to catch your breath. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, drawing blood as you forced yourself to remain silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing you in pain.

The cold night air stung your skin like tiny needles, mingling with the heat of your bruises. You could feel Sebastian’s anger simmering just beneath the surface, a volatile force that could erupt at any moment. His grip on you was firm, almost punishing, as if he was holding back the urge to let his rage fully take over. His claws scraped against your skin, digging into the fabric of your diving suit as if he wanted to tear you apart right there and then. Each movement he did was heavy, deliberate, like he was slithering off the edge of the world—and taking you with him.

The silence between you was suffocating, the only sound his labored breathing, harsh and uneven like the growl of a beast barely restrained. The path ahead felt endless, shrouded in the same darkness that now consumed your mind, but you knew you had no choice but to endure. You had to let him carry you, helpless as you were, hoping that wherever his fury led, it wouldn't be darker than the void you were already in.

The air grew colder still as the familiar scent of rust and oil hit your senses, signaling your approach to his shop. When the heavy metallic door of the back room creaked open, the dim light inside cast long, warped shadows across the cluttered space. Tools and scraps of metal littered the floor, and the walls were lined with the remnants of failed projects. It was a dismal sanctuary, a reflection of the twisted mind that now held you captive. The memories of the strange camaraderie you once shared seemed distant now, almost transparent, like fleeting dreams dissolving in the harsh light of reality.

Your stomach churned as you took it all in, the fluttering hope you once felt now turned to heavy stones, weighing you down.

Sebastian didn't speak as he carried you inside, his grip still unyielding. He finally dropped you unceremoniously onto the cold concrete floor, and your legs wobbled, barely holding you as you stumbled forward. You struggled to catch your breath, the sharp, metallic taste of blood still on your tongue.

Moving with an eerie calm, Sebastian reached for a heavy iron chain hanging from the wall. The sound of it dragging across the floor echoed ominously through the small space, sending a shiver down your spine. He knelt in front of you, his fingers rough and uncaring as he clamped the shackle around your ankle, the rusted metal biting into your flesh with a finality that made your heart sink.

The weight of the chain was oppressive, a cruel reminder of your captivity. As he stood, his towering figure cast a long shadow over you, and for a brief moment, his gaze lingered on you—dark, unreadable, devoid of the person he had once been. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken tension of a thousand unshed tears, a thousand shattered dreams.

Finally, Sebastian turned away, retreating into the shadows of the hallway, his heavy movements echoing ominously in the cold space. The quiet clink of the chain as you shifted was the only sound that followed his departure, but just as you thought he had left you to the silence, his voice cut through the darkness once more—quiet, yet filled with a chilling rage that twisted your stomach into knots.

"Touch something, and I'll tear off your fingers one by one, make you chew on them." His voice, disembodied in the distance, crawled across your skin, each word heavy with venom. "Stay there. Be quiet. He will watch you, in case you're stupid enough to believe your dumb little self ever had a chance of escape. Every step you take, every breath you breathe—it will all lead to your final moment."

His threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating, the darkness of the hallway swallowing his presence, but the weight of his words lingered. Any remaining resolve you had left crumbled in that moment, your body giving way to the exhaustion and fear that had been gnawing at you from the inside. The little bit of self-control you’d been clinging to dissolved into dust, and you collapsed, sinking to the floor once more.

Your cheek met the cold, slick surface of the ground, a puddle of stagnant water pooling beneath you. The chill seeped into your skin, numbing the bruises that painted your body in shades of angry red and purple. The sharp sting from the fresh marks softened slightly as the water cooled them, offering the smallest reprieve in a moment that had become nothing but pain. Your fingers, trembling with the remnants of adrenaline and fear, lifted weakly, tugging at the chain that bound you to the spot. It rattled slightly, but the metal didn’t give—it was unyielding, unbreakable. The realization settled in like lead in your stomach: you were going nowhere.

You stared at the chain, the rusted links heavy and rough against your skin, testing its strength with a futile pull. It was clear that the chain wouldn’t move, that there would be no escape. The metal was too strong, too securely fastened to the wall, and you knew that trying to free yourself would only leave you more broken than you already were. You’d sooner tear off your own limb than remove the shackle that held you prisoner.

A deep sense of helplessness crept over you, suffocating in its intensity. The cold floor pressed against you, and the oppressive weight of the chain seemed to mirror the crushing burden of your circumstances. You were trapped—not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, ensnared by Sebastian's cruelty, by the darkness that had taken root in him, and by the twisted, nightmarish reality that had consumed you both.

The sound of your shallow breaths filled the silence, the quiet clinking of the chain a constant reminder of your newfound situation. You could feel your heart beating heavily in your chest, each thud like a drumbeat of dread, echoing through the stillness of the shop. There was no one to hear your cries, no one to offer you comfort or solace. You were utterly alone.

In the distance, something shifted—a light flickering just barely out of sight, alarming you from the shadows and as Sebastian had promised you, you felt something or someone gaze at you. You didn’t need to see it to know it was there, his presence a dark, looming threat that kept you rooted in place. Every movement you made, every breath you took, was being monitored, controlled. There was no room for defiance, no space for hope. You were at the mercy of a person whose cruelty knew no bounds.

As the hours stretched on, the cold seeped deeper into your bones, and exhaustion began to take its toll. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by the chain, the bruises, the fear. But even as your eyelids fluttered, too tired to stay open, your mind remained restless, unable to escape the nightmare that had become your reality. You didn’t know what would come next, but the dread that gnawed at you made it clear—it wouldn’t be anything good.

“My, my. What a sight. You must be exhausted, hm? I’m sorry to see that. Actually, I’m not. But manners, am I right?”

The voice was smooth yet dripping with sarcasm, echoing around the room. Your eyes darted to the corners, searching for the source, but the space was empty, save for you and the suffocating darkness. At first, you thought it was just the weight of your own thoughts manifesting into cruel whispers. But this was different—clearer, sharper, too vivid to be a mere figment of your mind.

“Sebastian spoke about you. Well, I saw you two around, and I must admit,” the voice continued, a cruel edge slicing through its tone, “it made me digitally gag to see you being all lovey with him. What did you expect?”

Your body trembled, whether from the cold, the pain, or the creeping terror, you couldn’t tell. The voice was relentless, mocking you with each passing second. Was it your own mind finally breaking under the pressure? Had you gone completely mad, hallucinating voices that only added to your torment?

“Oh, Sebby~ Marry me! Kiss me! I love you, my wonderful strong man,” the voice sang mockingly, its tone twisted into a grotesque parody of your affection for Sebastian. It was like it was pulling memories from your deepest insecurities, twisting them into something vile, something repulsive.

The nausea rose in your throat as the voice continued, its words a dagger to your pride, to your self-worth. “You, yeah you, little maggot. You’re nothing more than a small, filthy animal. A distraction to him.”

Your heart sank deeper, your mind unable to grasp the weight of it all. The words were harsh, brutal, hitting like blows you couldn’t defend against. The worst part? A piece of you believed it. You always had, in the darkest corners of your mind.

“I.”

“Can’t.”

“Allow.”

“THAT.”

The final word was like a trigger. In an instant, the warm yellow lights flickered before plunging the room into darkness. Seconds later, an eerie red glow filled the space, the emergency lights kicking in. They cast twisted shadows on the walls, making the room feel even smaller, more oppressive. The faint hum of the machinery faded into silence, replaced by the steady drip of water and the pounding of your own heartbeat.

Your breath hitched, fear tightening its grip around your chest as the voice carried on, undeterred by the change in atmosphere. “You were a distraction from the very moment you set foot on this ground. What did you expect? A warm welcome?” It laughed, a sound so devoid of warmth it sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you. You are so dead that it warms my digital heart.”

There was a brief pause, almost as if the voice was savoring the tension, the fear it had created. The red light bathed the room in a hellish glow, and the wet floor beneath you felt even colder, seeping through your clothes and chilling you to the bone.

“Sebastian loathes you so much,” the voice purred, each word like venom slipping into your veins. “Keep being like that, and he will gut you with his claws, hang you outside his shop as a snack for our little wall-dwelling friends.”

The imagery hit you like a punch to the gut. Your mind conjured images of yourself hanging lifelessly from some rusted hook, your body torn apart, Sebastian’s eyes cold and indifferent as he offered you up like some worthless sacrifice. The thought left you gasping for air, your chest tight with panic.

The voice circled around you like a predator, never showing itself, only speaking in cruel, tormenting tones. Every word chipped away at your already fragile state, leaving you teetering on the edge of despair. You had been pushed so far, and this—whatever this was—felt like the final push over the precipice.

“Face it,” the voice hissed, dripping with malice. “You were never important. Not to him, not to anyone. And soon, you’ll be nothing more than a forgotten memory, rotting in the dark.”

The red light flickered again, casting the room into momentary darkness before returning to its ominous glow. You could hear your own shaky breaths, the sound of the chain clinking as you tried, once more, to pull yourself up. But you couldn’t. You were too weak, too broken.

The voice fell silent for a moment, as if satisfied with the damage it had done. But you knew it wasn’t finished. It was waiting, watching, savoring the fear coursing through your veins like a twisted game.

In the silence that followed, all you could do was lie there, helpless and trembling, waiting for whatever nightmare would come next.

The door slammed open a while later with a deafening crash, sending a tremor through the cold, darkened room. You jolted at the sound, instinctively curling in on yourself as best you could with the chain still clamped around your ankle. Sebastian had returned.

His silhouette filled the doorway, towering and menacing. His once familiar frame, the one that used to offer you comfort, was now nothing but a looming shadow of cruelty. He trudged into the room, his arms laden with rusted metal scraps, chains, and jagged pieces of equipment, the weight of it all clattering to the floor in a heap.

You stared at the pile, heart pounding. The heavy scent of oil and rust filled the air, almost suffocating, mixing with the stale dampness that lingered from the puddle beneath you. Sebastian’s face was devoid of any expression, but his eyes—they were cold, dead, like pits of endless darkness.

He turned toward you, his gaze settling on your trembling form. There was no affection left, no trace of the man you once trusted. Without a word, he bent down to rummage through the scraps he’d brought, pulling out a tangle of wires and a metal pipe, testing their strength in his hands.

You watched him, fear spreading like ice in your veins. You tried to speak, to plead with him, but the words lodged in your throat, blocked by the growing terror. He noticed your gaze, his lips curling into a humorless smirk.

“Still think I’m gonna play nice?” he muttered, his voice thick with disdain. He tossed the pipe aside, slithering toward you with measured, deliberate strides.

Your stomach churned as he bent down before you, his large frame casting a shadow over your already shivering body while the red emergency lights framed his body from behind. He grabbed a metal bowl from beside the pile, filled with a strange mush that looked more like something scraped off a filthy factory floor than actual food.

“Eat.” His voice was cold, commanding.

You shook your head instinctively, repulsed by the sight of the disgusting slop. But Sebastian wasn’t having it. In a swift, brutal motion, he grabbed your jaw, forcing it open with a strong and painful grip. His other hand shoved the bowl towards your mouth, spilling the foul-smelling substance down your throat.

You gagged violently, choking on the taste as you tried to turn your head away in a pitiful attempt. But his grip was iron, unyielding like the chain around your ankle. Another set of fresh tears blurred your vision as the sensation of the slimy food rejecting it with every swallow. Still, Sebastian forced more into your mouth, his hand relentless.

“You don't get to decide what to eat or when you eat.” He cursed, it was clear that his little attitude pissed him off dearly.

Sebastian’s eyes flicked upward, narrowing as the faintest sound echoed through the room—a soft, metallic scrape, like something sliding across the vents above. His expression darkened, and he moved swiftly, grabbing a rag from the nearest table. Without hesitation, he turned back to you, eyes blazing with irritation.

“You stay quiet. Understand?” he hissed, his voice low and threatening.

You barely had time to react before he roughly jammed the rag into your mouth, gagging you with a sudden, forceful shove. The musty fabric pressed against your tongue, cutting off any chance of speech, and you choked slightly, tears springing to your eyes as the gag tightened painfully around your jaw. Sebastian didn’t care. He secured it tightly, making sure there was no way for you to spit it out.

The scraping sound grew louder, the unmistakable noise of someone crawling through the ventilation system. Sebastian’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, his lips curling into a sneer.

“An expendable,” he muttered to himself, as if the very thought disgusted him.

Without another word, Sebastian grabbed you by the arm, dragging you across the room with ease. You stumbled, legs shaking beneath you, as he roughly shoved you behind a stack of debris and rusted crates. The hard metal edges scraped against your skin as you were wedged into a narrow space, hidden completely from view.

His hand lingered on your shoulder for a brief moment, his grip tight and bruising. He leaned down close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

“Not a sound,” he whispered, his voice cold and final. “If they find you, I’ll make sure they never leave this place alive—and you’ll wish you never left that damn floor.”

With that, he turned sharply, moving away from your hiding spot with a calm, deliberate stride. You could hear the soft clink of tools being moved as he pretended to busy himself with the clutter on his files and items, acting as though nothing unusual was happening at all.

Your heart raced in your chest, the gag muffling your shallow breaths as you crouched behind the debris, every muscle in your body tense with fear. The faint echo of movement in the vents grew louder, closer, and then—finally—a metal grate fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could just make out the figure dropping down from the vent. The expendable customer, covered in grime and sweat from their journey, straightened up, looking around the shop with wide eyes. They appeared nervous, their gaze darting around the room as though expecting something—or someone—to jump out at them.

Sebastian didn’t look up at first, continuing to tinker with some random tool on his table. The tension in the air was palpable, and you could feel the weight of it pressing down on you as you remained frozen in your hiding spot.

“Uh... h-hey,” the expendable stammered, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “I was... I was sent for a quick purchase. Heard you’ve got some code breachers for me.”

Sebastian finally turned, his expression cool and detached. He wiped his hands on a rag, tossing it aside before speaking.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I don’t have any. Also you're late. I was about to close.”

The expendable gulped, looking even more anxious than before. “Sorry! It’s just... the vents, y’know? Not exactly the easiest way to get around. I didn’t mean to—”

“Spare me the excuses,” Sebastian cut in sharply, stepping closer to the newcomer. “You want code breachers? No. And next time you make me wait, I won’t be so generous and keep it at no but show you what it means to disturb me.”

You couldn’t see Sebastian’s face from where you were hidden, but you could feel the cold menace in his tone. The expendable, clearly intimidated, nodded quickly, fumbling with their pack as they prepared to make the exchange.

Your pulse quickened, every nerve in your body screaming for you to stay still, to remain silent. From your cramped hiding spot, you could hear the faint rustle of the transaction taking place, but your mind was too fogged with panic to process it. The metallic taste of the gag filled your mouth, making you feel sick as you struggled to keep your breathing steady.

A few minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and finally, the expendable mumbled a hurried thanks before turning to leave. You heard the clatter of boots as they climbed back into the vent, the grate rattling shut behind them.

Sebastian waited until the sound of their movements faded completely before he moved again. He approached your hiding spot, his tail scapes against the floor slow and deliberate as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes cold and unfeeling.

Without a word, he reached for the gag, yanking it roughly from your mouth. The sudden freedom made you gasp for air, your lips sore and bruised from the pressure of the cloth. But before you could say anything, his hand shot out, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Remember,” he growled, his voice low and menacing. “You’re nothing here. And if you think for a second that anyone’s coming to save you, you’re dead wrong.”

With that, he released your chin.

You swallowed hard, the metallic taste of the gag still lingering on your tongue as your mind raced with desperation. Every bruise on your body throbbed, a constant reminder of your helplessness, your complete powerlessness. But something inside you, some flicker of survival, pushed you to speak. Maybe there was a way out. Maybe if you could make yourself useful and get him items, Sebastian wouldn’t see you as just another burden, another thing to be crushed beneath his heel.

You forced yourself to your feet, even though your legs trembled beneath you, and moved from your hiding spot. Sebastian hadn’t gone far. He stood a few feet away, tinkering with the pile of scrap he had gathered earlier, his back turned to you. The soft clinks of metal scraping together echoed in the dim shop, blending with the faint hum of the remaining lights overhead.

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, but you had to push past it. There was no other choice.

“Sebastian,” you rasped, your voice weak but determined. He didn’t respond immediately, his hands continuing to work on whatever twisted piece of metal lay in front of him. You swallowed again, throat dry, and forced yourself to take a step closer. “Let me help.”

At that, he froze, his hands hovering over the tools. Slowly, he straightened, turning his head just enough to glance at you from the corner of his eye. The silence stretched unbearably, and for a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake. If he was about to lash out, to hurt you more than you could handle. But you pressed on, your desperation outweighing your fear.

“I... I know I’m nothing to you,” you continued, voice trembling. “But I can be useful. I can help you. Whatever you’re planning—whatever you need to do—I’ll do it. I’ll be your tool, your... your instrument. Just don’t throw me away.”

His head turned fully now, eyes narrowing as he studied you. His expression was unreadable, cold and calculating as he took in your words, your trembling form. You felt the weight of his gaze settle on you like a suffocating blanket, but you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. This was your only chance.

“I know I’m weak,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you can use that, can’t you? No one would expect me. No one would see me coming. I can do things for you that no one else can. I’ll be loyal. I’ll follow your orders without question. I swear.”

Sebastian’s lips curled slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker, something twisted. He took a step closer, and instinctively, you flinched, but you stood your ground, heart pounding in your chest.

“And why,” he said slowly, voice low and dangerous, “would I trust someone like you? A tool is only as valuable as its reliability. And you?” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your face. “You’ve proven to be nothing but a nuisance.”

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you forced yourself to meet his gaze, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “Because I have nothing left,” you whispered. “I’ve already lost everything. You... you’re the only thing I have now. If I can be of use to you, then that’s all that matters. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.” You played the submissive victim, trying to fool him once again.

For a moment, the room was silent. Sebastian’s eyes bored into yours, searching, testing. Then, slowly, he straightened, his expression darkening.

“So, you want to be useful, do you?” he said, his tone mocking. “You want to be my tool? My little puppet?”

You nodded, heart hammering in your chest. “Yes.”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His hand shot out, grabbing you by the jaw with bruising force. His fingers dug into your skin, and you winced, but you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t.

“You’ll regret those words,” he murmured, his voice a cold whisper against your ear. “Because once you’re mine, there’s no going back. I will use you. I will break you. And when I’m done, there will be nothing left of who you were. Nothing.”

You shuddered, but you nodded again, the words catching in your throat. “I understand,” you croaked.

Sebastian released you, pushing you back slightly as he took a step away, his eyes gleaming with something dark, something dangerous.

“Fine,” he said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “Let’s see how useful you can be.”

He turned back to the pile of scrap, gesturing to the tools scattered around. “Start by cleaning this mess up. And don’t think about running. Because if you do... I’ll make sure you regret ever thinking you could outsmart me.”

You dropped to your knees immediately, grabbing the tools with trembling hands.

You hesitated for a long moment, the memory of that mocking voice still fresh in your mind. It had been gnawing at you ever since the encounter, the cruel taunts echoing in your head like a relentless reminder of your growing desperation. Now, with Sebastian looming over you as you fumbled with the tools he had tossed your way, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You had to tell him.

“Sebastian,” you started, your voice shaky as you glanced up at him from where you knelt on the ground. He didn’t respond right away, still focused on the piece of scrap he was fiddling with, his brows furrowed in concentration. But you pressed on, your voice growing steadier as you spoke. “There’s… there’s something I need to tell you. Earlier, when you left me alone in here… I heard something.”

His movements slowed slightly, though he didn’t turn to look at you. “What did you hear?” he muttered, his tone indifferent, as if he was expecting some trivial complaint. You swallowed nervously, fingers gripping the wrench in your hand a little tighter.

“It was a voice,” you said quietly. “A man’s voice. He… he was talking to me. Mocking me.”

That got his attention. Sebastian stopped entirely now, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, a scowl forming on his face. “What the hell are you talking about?” he growled. “You were alone.”

“I know I was,” you stammered, your heart racing as you tried to explain. “But I swear, I heard him. He said horrible things. Called me… called me a distraction. Said you’d gut me and hang me outside like some kind of… of warning.”

Sebastian’s scowl deepened, and for a second, you thought he was going to lash out, accuse you of lying or going mad. But instead, he let out an irritated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if this was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in frustration. “Of course, he would do that.”

“He?” you echoed, confused. “So… I’m not crazy? There really was someone talking to me?”

Sebastian shot you a withering glare, his annoyance clear. “It wasn’t just someone. It was someone I work with. A temporary helper.”

“A helper?” you repeated, still not quite following.

He tossed the scrap metal aside with a loud clatter and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at you as if this whole situation was your fault. “Yeah, a helper. Painter, to be specific. He’s a glorified AI that Urbanshape trapped and a while back I asked him to help me with surveillance and data tracking. His main purpose is keeping an eye on things and handling some of the tech around here. Also, keeping the crystal secure from those filthy human idiots.”

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. “So… Painter’s an AI? But why would he talk to me like that? Why would he mock me?”

Sebastian scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because he’s an insufferable bastard if he wants to be,” he growled. “I gave him too much freedom for personality when I struck a deal with him. Thought it’d make him more efficient, but all it did was make him a smug little prick. He likes to mess with people. Especially weak ones.”

You flinched at the jab, but you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. At least now you knew you weren’t losing your mind. The voice had been real, even if it was just some sadistic AI.

“He watches everything,” Sebastian continued, his voice gruff as he turned back to his work. “If he saw you stumbling around like an idiot, he probably decided to have a little fun at your expense. Don’t take it personally. He’s just doing what he wants to do.”

You nodded slowly, processing the information. “So… is he always watching? Even now?”

“Most likely,” Sebastian muttered, not looking at you. “He’s everywhere where I want him to be. The shop, the vents, the cameras. He sees everything, and he loves to play god when he can and when I allow him.”

You shuddered at the thought, the idea of being constantly watched by some twisted AI unsettling. But you swallowed down the discomfort, not wanting to show any more weakness in front of Sebastian. You’d already been humiliated enough.

“Just ignore him,” Sebastian added, his tone dismissive. “The more you react, the more he’ll push.”

“But, Painer will always be on my leash.”

[evermoresversion]

FALLING FOR YOU, CONRAD FISHER. CHAPTER THREE.

PAIRING Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

TW/TAGS Established relationship, fluff, marriage proposal, mention of pregnancy.

SUMMARY After everything you've been through, you and Conrad decide the future of your relationship.

SONG Paper Rings by Taylor Swift.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN | CONRAD'S MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST | SERIES' MASTERLIST

"Where we go?" you asked Conrad as he guided you somewhere on the beach while you had your eyes covered with a blindfold.

It had been at least two years since what happened with Belly.

"Just wait a little bit." you could hear the smile on his lips and there was a moment where he let go of you.

"Connie?" you asked with a bit of worry but it dissipated when you heard his voice again.

"I'm here, hon." You waited until he gave the next instruction. "Walk a couple of steps forward."

"I'm not going to fall, am I?" you heard him let out a soft laugh.

"No, love, trust me."

You sighed and did as he asked, thus coming across his body, from which you took his forearms with your hands so as not to fall.

"I got you, I got you." he assured. "Take off the blindfold."

Once again you obeyed him and blinked several times to get used to the sudden change in light while Conrad adjusted your hair that had been messed up.

Once you could see clearly a big smile formed on your lips.

"We are in...?" You asked, looking into his eyes and observing a shine in them that you were sure was the same in yours.

"Yes, we are in the same place where..."

"We kissed for the first time." You both said in unison while you watched the beach and he admired you.

"Yeah." he smiled.

"This part of the beach is even prettier at night." you mentioned and your gaze finally landed on Conrad and he looked at you with love and adoration. Despite so much time together, he still managed to make you nervous.

"I thought about making dinner for you but everything would probably have burned, so I might as well pass on that option." He mentioned with a sly smile of embarrassment and you smiled, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb.

"It's perfect anyway." You murmured, observing everything in detail. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah," he scratched the back of his neck, looking at everything as well and then at you. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding me? I love it. I love the vintage lights and the detail of the petals. Thanks, Connie." You smiled gratefully and he leaned down to peck your lips.

"Everything to see you happy."

Your attention was diverted to one of the nearby trees, some photos were hanging on it. You approached to see it up close and sure enough, they were photos of both of you.

"Connie this is beautiful..." as you turned to look at him, he was kneeling on one knee in front of you, holding the most beautiful ring you had ever seen in your life.

"y/n, we have been through so much together that I think we deserve a happy ending, I wanna teach you how forever feels like, I want to wake up with you every morning, spend the rest of my life with you and grow old together. You are everything I was looking for and I finally found it, so I won't let you go, I will take care of your heart as the most precious thing I have, you are everything to me. Do you want to marry me?"

Some tears threatened to come out of your eyes and a look of panic appeared on Conrad's face at your silence, but he sighed in relief the moment you began to nod effusively.

"Yes! Of course I want to marry you." Conrad got up from the ground, gently took your hand, put the ring on your finger, kissing your hand and took your face to kiss you lovingly.

"We're going to be very happy, you won't regret it." He murmured against your lips and you kissed him again excitedly.

At that moment you didn't need anything more than each other.

Deep down you have never needed it.

disclaimer ── evermoresversion © 2024.

TAGLIST OF THE SERIES : @ilovefamousmen11 @elcpsstuff @j-u-hs-world @akornsworld @conradfisherswifesstuff @sarcasm-and-stiles @nctma15

[highvern]

Track 9: Feature Me - Flo

“He's got me actin' like I'm some kind of animal // The way he looks at me, I don't feel like a girl no more”

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!Reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: Katoptronophilia, exhibitionism, pussy slapping, Mingyu is a huge tease, brat!reader, fantasy of choking, sex toys (vibrator)

Length: ~800

Note: i know i said this came out tomorrow but this is my world and i do what i want! also i wrote this before nana tour revealed shirtless gyu with a chain but now that that's out there im down stupendously (as if I wasn't already)

Like, comment, reblog, enjoy!

Mixtape Series: Me & You Masterlist

main masterlist

This blog is intended for 18+ only! MDNI or you'll be blocked!

“I told you to watch.” Mingyu rasps in your ear, free hand harsh against your chin as he drags your head back up.

The mirror resting against the wall across from your bed frames a scene of complete debauchery. Mingyu’s head just visible over your shoulder, captivated with every jump of your tummy and gasp of breath as he forces the pink vibrator against your clit on the highest setting; encouraging him to force your legs wider to enjoy the show.

Mingyu loved watching you touch yourself, loved having you watch him touch himself, and most of all loved touching you. So why not combine all those things and put on a performance worthy of a never-to-be invited audience?

Not an hour ago you’d been embarrassed. Batting away your boyfriend's hands as Mingyu recounted the video he found on Twitter. Whispering how hot you'd look spread out for him, practically begging for you to let him get you off in front of the mirror he already moved from the hallway to the corner of the bedroom.

And now you sit, completely naked while he remains fully clothed underneath you, the stiff material of his jeans rubbing your bare skin raw each time you squirmed in his arms, your knees hitched on the outsides of his thighs, preventing any sort of shyness at his affection.

“Please, Gyu,” you gasp, drool leaking down your chin as his arms flex with effort to keep you still.

Ignoring your request, Mingyu angles the vibrator just so; leaving your chest caving and muscles ripped tight. “Need it so bad, don’t you pretty girl? Just look at you humping my hand.”

“Say that like—shit!— you aren’t about to cream your pants.” You bite back.

A stinging slap to your pussy nearly sends you to the floor, hips bucking into the contact. The now forgotten vibrator buzzes across the carpet while Mingyu harshly swipes against your clit. 

“Aww, baby.” Mingyu tuts. “Be nice.”

Voice cracking, you goad him again. “Or what?”

Another slap answered with a sob and Mingyu smiles over your shoulder, pinching your chin between his fingers and forcing your head to turn towards his. You can feel the residual dampness from earlier smear across your jaw and your boyfriend delights in the mess; eyes igniting with glee that only spells trouble for you. 

“Wanna come?”

Whine as he brushes his nose against your own, his mouth just out of reach causing you to warble with protest. Your back shakes with Mingyu's laughter at the pathetic state you’ve melted into, turning your head back to the mirror.

You’re a mess; eyes red and watering and body glistening with sweat. And where Mingyu works you is no better; blossoming pink around the thumb abusing your swollen bundle of nerves, your opening sucking up his fingers eagerly.

“Please!” 

You don’t know what you’re begging for. Maybe to finish like this on his fingers; maybe for him to unzip his pants, slip his cock inside, and have you ride him; maybe for the hand gripping your chin to dip to your neck and giving a loving squeeze while he lavishes you in praise. 

But Mingyu knows exactly what you need.

The inside of your thighs burn with warning, both of Mingyu's strong hands dropping to get you to the end. Your thighs attempt to shutter close at the shock but the man behind you forces you wide open to drink in everything.

A third finger joins the other two curling against that place inside you and Mingyu's ears ring with the guttural moan they press from your lips. Vision black, your soul flees into the abyss in an effort to preserve your sanity because Mingyu doesn’t stop. Even when you thrash in his lap, his teeth and hands force you in place, making you take what he offers freely.

It isn't until the blood returns to your brain that you find the strength to bat away the hand still wedged between your thighs.

“Shhhhit,” you gasp.

Mingyu’s lips stretch into a smile. Pampering reverent kisses anywhere within reach while you catch your breath. He silently adores the way you melt in his hold, mouth slack and eyes dropping.

“Good?”

With a final peck to his lip you begin your descent. Sinking onto boneless knees, Mingyu follows you with confused eyes, eyebrows furrowed as you unzip his jeans. Arching your back, you know he can see the remnants of your orgasm dripping onto the floor beneath you if he took the time to look up. But he's trained on your doe eyes and the shrinking distance between your mouth and his cock and misses the motion of your free hand cradling the long forgotten vibrator.

Mingyu's so sensitive he nearly knees you in the tit when you press it to the underside of his leaking tip with a sadistic smile.

“Eyes on the mirror, baby.”

-

Taglist: @tomodachiii @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @cvpidyunho

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Nine: The Pomegranate Theory

Summary: Jakes still trying to wrap his head around what’s happening with your health. Doctor Ignatii oversteps? And you settle in while Jake helps you write some of your newest book.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil.

Word Count: 4.3K

Author Note: My birthday present to you all is a new chapter of Was It Over. Once again I just wanted to say thank-you all so very much for all the love and support you have given me throughout this series. It truly means the world to me.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The Pomegranate truly is the perfect symbol when comparing the differences between men and women. The enjoyment of a pomegranate is something that cannot and shouldn’t be rushed. Instead, it's something that requires patience and gentle hands. With deliberation and commitment comes the reward of its sweet, sweet flesh. 

When rushed, there is failure to collect all the seeds. Many men sacrifice the collection of its entirety for the sake of saving time. They'd rather risk the loss of a percentage of the fruit for immediate gratification. What we often fail to consider is that there may be a reason for the  dissimilarities between men and women. We tend to point out that the majority of men don't have the same attention to detail that women do instead of focusing on our individual strengths, and how they can balance and support each other. 

Instead, you chose, for the longest of times, to consider that your husband was willing to learn something that perhaps didn't come instinctively to him as it did to you. It's the energy you put into cutting and deseeding the metaphorical pomegranate that represented your marriage, but Jake never seemed to want to learn how to carefully harvest all those beautiful seeds. 

You and Jake both collectively brought so much to your marriage, you both had something to learn from one another in order to grow. But choosing resentment when you decided to step away from the man you loved more than life itself was never an option. 

Because resentment always leads to isolation: 

“Okay small steps for me Y/n.” Doctor Ignatii asked as he held your arms and stood before you. Everything hurt, everything felt wrong. Everything was stiff and out of place, but the sooner you were up and walking even if it was only a few steps here and there–the quicker your recovery would be. Having a stroke wasn't exactly defined as a step in your cancer treatment plan. No, it came right out of the left field and took you, your mother and your doctors by total surprise. “That's it, small steps.” 

“I don't think I should keep going, it feels wrong.” Your body didn't feel like your own, the ground underneath your no-slip socks felt uneven. Your feet felt like lead–heavy and weak at the same time. Your head had maintained a dull ache since you woke up post surgery that hadn’t gone away. Overall you just didn't feel like yourself and it showed. 

“Your neurological pathways need time to re-adjust to normal.” Doctor Ignatii was hopeful you'd have a pretty smooth recovery, his worry about any deficits post stroke was at a pretty low concern level just based on how quickly they were able to react to the stroke itself. “Give yourself some time, I'll touch base with the plastics department and oncology to discuss your pre-op notes prior to your mastectomy.” Doctor Ignatii explained as Jake watched with crossed arms off to the side as you took a few uneasy steps around the room littered with Christmas lights and decorations for the holiday seasons. “It's gonna be a slow but steady recovery, we just wanna make sure prior to your mastectomy that your body can handle the additional stress it's placed under while in surgery. The fact you're taking baby steps right now is a really good sign.” 

“Can I have a shower soon by any chance?” All you wanted was to not feel sticky and gross. “Is that in the realm of possibility any time soon?” 

“Only if you try to walk to the bathroom.” Doctor Ignittii replied with a quick wit you appreciated, he wasn't treating you like a sudden gust of a strong wind your be knocked on your sare and you truly appreciated the vote of confidence from your doctor. “But sure, I don't have any problem with you showering, maybe ask for some help?” Doctor Ignatii gestured over to where Jake stood just watching over you. He kept his respective distance but his eyes never left yours. He’s yet to leave your side for more than twenty minutes to grab something to eat, drink and take a deep breath. He was still trying to process how quickly things had changed. 

“Happy to help.” Jake teased as he sent you a wink, the half sided smirk was prevalent across his flustered but composed face. “Respectfully.” 

“Respectfully–” You replied as you stood on your own, Doctor Ignatti had stepped aside to let you take the lead. “You need to call our children and let them know you haven't abandoned them at their grandmother's house.”

“I should do that, shouldn't I?” Jake sighed, he'd been avoiding the call all together. With it being Christmas Eve Eve and your surgery still going ahead as planned, it was a call Jake wasn't looking forward to making. 

“I think it might be a good idea–” You slowly but surely sat down on the edge of your hospital bed, the IV poll you were gripping for dear life pumped against the side before Jake stepped a little closer to fix the tangled wires and cords. “Thanks.” You smiled softly as you watched him work.

“I'll let you know how our pre-op meeting goes, Mrs Seresin.” Doctor Ignatti interrupted with a quick tight lipped smile. “And–” Jake raised an eyebrow as your doctor paused in his tracks. “Although probably unsolicited, I've seen too many families come through these halls to know time is a fickle thing, if your kids aren't aware of your current situation, I favour the side of full transparency, no matter the age.” 

You didn't know how to respond so you said nothing and settled on a simple nod with kind eyes to match. Jake however, wasn't as graceful with his snarky growl. He was the very embodiment of a protective German Shepherd with his guard up.

“It's a good thing we didn't ask for your opinion then isn't it.” Jake snapped, he didn't mean to take his insecurities out on the man who had if nothing else saved your life.he was still trying to figure out who this Jensen guy was. But he did and it made you frown with shock horror that such a snarky comment would come from your husband's mouth.

“You’re right, I overstepped.” Doctor Ignatti held it hands up as if to say he was sorry. “I apologise, I'll be back later with an update for you.” You said nothing, you simply chose to remain silent until your doctor had left the room and silence had once again fallen over you and Jake. 

“I didn't mean–” Jake wanted to say he didn't mean to be so snappy. That he really didn't mean to bite the hand that saved his wife, But you 

“You meant it.” The tone you used broke right through the exterior of Jake's hardened shell. Despite his inability to make it known that all Jake was trying to do in that very moment was show a united front on your decision to keep your family, your husband and subsequently your children in the dark about your current situation—he still helped you back into bed, tucked your legs under the Blau and fixed your pillows. “And he’s right you know, whether we want to hear it or not the kids probably need to know why you left so abruptly.” Jake's phone had been ringing off the hook since he left his mother's house. Jasmine was persistent regardless if Jake was answering or not. Constant texts, missed calls, updates on the kids she knew he was thankful for despite his missing in action status. 

“You wanna tell the kids what’s going on?” You and Jake hadn’t really discussed it, he was following your lead on this one. Jake didn’t want to overstep any boundaries you’d set he wasn’t aware of, or had unintentionally forgotten about. He was holding off on everything, telling his sister what the hell was going on, telling his mother more than she ever deserved to know, telling the kids their mum was a little sick. 

“No—no, I wanna tell the kids, for now, that I’m just a little sick and that’s why I needed you here more than they needed you over the next few days.” You explained your view. “I don't want them panicking about me, they're young, too young to need to know the severity of the situation.” 

“Not telling them doesn't make the truth any less real, Honey–what if we tell them and–“ Jake never got a chance to finish his sentence, he never got a chance to say that if you didn’t want to tell your kids he’d support your decision regardless if he agreed or not before you interrupted to explain where you were coming from. 

“They don't need to know Jake, I can't tell them, I can't tell my children that I might be dying alright I just can't.” You were a little more harsh than need be, but the emotional weight of the situation was taking a toll on you. “But I wasn’t about to bite my brain surgeon's head off for offering a valid opinion on a rough situation.” 

“You know what?” Jake cooed as he reached out to touch your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing your soft skin. The gentle touch brought you a solace you'd never truly understand as Jake's emerald eyes swirled with all the love and admiration in the world. “You’re right.” Jake didn't want to argue, not now, not when he could tell your emotions were running high and life seemed like it was against you. You needed him in your corner, for better or worse. “I’ll call Jas, I'll tell her what's going on, full God's honest truth and then we’ll tell the kids that you're just a little sick.” 

“Just a little–” You replied with tears in your eyes, they were pooling at your lower lash line, ready to spill and open the flood gates. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you.” Jake listened as the pad of his thumb worked to catch the falling tears that cascaded down your cheek. “I should have–you needed to know.”

“I understand why you didn't.” Jake sighed as he sat by your bed side. “I wasn't–” he began to explain but shortly after changed what he was about to say. “I put myself in a position where I could lose you, and I shouldn't have, you and me and whatever our marriage is right now isn't the priority so just know I'm not saying this to fix that.” Jake cooed as he felt his eyes watering. “Right now all that matters is that we focus on you and your health and making sure you are the only priority.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“I got you one of those pant by numbers kits and some lego flowers I thought you might be able to do to fill the time.” Your mother wore a fake smile so painfully obvious that it made your heart want to burst inside your chest. This wasn't and hadn't been easy on her, carrying the burden of being the only one who knew about your diagnosis. Now, as Jake sat by your bedside, your mother wanted nothing more than to tell him how thankful she was that she now had someone else to carry the weight with. 

But Mary wasn't about to do that, no. She wouldn't make the situation about her. But watching her little girl go through something she wouldn't wish upon her worst enemy was brutal. 

“That's really nice of you mum, you didn't have to do that.” Jake frowned momentarily when he heard you say that go to line. ‘You didn't have to do that.’ It was a sentence he hadn’t heard in a long time. You always used to say it, Jake just wasn't sure when you had stopped saying it to him. There wasn’t an awful lot of things he was going out of his way to do that would earn him a bashful or somewhat self deprecating response like that. 

“I know, but I saw them at Target and thought they might keep you occupied.” Your mothers smile faded just slightly as she placed your presents under the small christmas tree that sat on the top of the small cupboard that could be used to house clothing and personal items patients brought with them. You hadn't paid much mind to unpacking, all you had managed was your toiletries. But your mother had gone above and beyond to make the space you were taking up residency in a little more homie. “How’re you feeling anyway?” 

“I'm alright, a little stiff but Doctor Ignatii said that's to be expected, he’ll be back soon to help with the first few steps.” You knew your mother wasn't really prying about a health update, but more about a romantic one. Her eyes quickly darted to where Jake still sat holding your hand in his. He was afraid that if he let go that you'd disappear. Or worse. “A little shocked to find out my children are still in Texas but I'm sure given the circumstances I'll manage.” 

“Well at least they're supervised and with family, that's all that matters.” Your mother replied as she pushed a little of your hair behind your ear. “Have you given any more thought about cutting your hair?” 

“You were thinking about cutting your hair?” Jake finally managed the courage to jump into the conversation, he still felt like an intruder of some sort. He was still trying to process everything, the very idea that you were battling an aggressive form of breast cancer along with the fact you'd suffered a very recent stroke was all too much for his brain to comprehend. 

“I'm gonna lose it all anyway.” You shrugged as you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “May as well get ahead of the curve and shave it all off before it falls out.” Hair holds memories, in some cultures it's even considered sacred. In some religions women cover their hair after marriage for only their husbands to see, others keep theirs pure and untreated by dyes. Some women of colour from countries across the world prefer to wear their hair in protective styles that give their hair longevity and life. 

But you? You were losing yours. The keratin in your follicles had stopped reproducing, your follicles were dying off and snapping. It was a hard pill to swallow if you were being completely honest, but if shaving your hair off before you were subjected to looking like your daughters weird barbie doll was something that could help you maintain whatever dignity you had left, you were going to do it, regardless if you were slightly worried about your head being an odd shape. It beats you know, dying after all. 

“Doctor Ignatii already took a pretty big chunk anyway from the surgery.” Your mother added. “Besides, it's a little more empowering to shave it yourself than losing it over time.” Jake understood, so he didn't argue. It was your choice at the end of the day. “Now, I'm not staying for too long, I thought I'd head back to yours, tidy up, make sure the house is in order for when you're able to go home.” Before you had a chance to argue or say she didn't have to, Jake was advocating on your behalf. 

“Thanks Maz, that's perfect.” He smiled softly as the pad of his thumb rubbed against your hand. All you did was nod along in agreement, it did sound nice. Unnecessary in your humble opinion, but nice. 

It wasn't long after that your mother was saying her goodbyes to the both of you for the day, being along with Jake wasn't awkward, but it did feel a little uneasy with so much still left to discuss. All the potential what if’s and could be’s. 

“Can you please pass me my laptop?” You were the first one to break the silence that had fallen between the two of you, only the steady threthem of monitors could be heard amongst the thick silence. 

“You still working on that book?” Jake asked rather tentatively, it was a touchy subject. If you said yes then that meant you hadn't had time to finish it before your due date. Jake knew he played more of a role in that then he’d like to admit, but the idea you were still working on the same book meant the separation truly hadnt boded well in your favour to focus on your career. For Jake however, it had opened up another career advancement. The Daggers. 

“Uh yeah actually I am.” You sat up a little straighter in your bed and fixed up the blanket covering your legs. “I shelved it there for a little while.” The explanation truly was just that, you hadn't really had all that much time to work on a new publication while trying to raise three children on your own. “I picked it up again around August, just haven't made much progress with it with everything that's been going on.” 

“Do you feel like sharing some exclusive details with your number one fan?” Jake was almost unashamed in his attempt at breaking down your walls. “Who knows, I might be able to inspire some creativity.” 

“Oh you're my number one fan now are you?” You chuckled softly as you watched Jake reached into the drawer your mother had put your laptop and charger in. “And there isn't much creative freedom when it comes to writing a bibliography for true crime, unless you count ghoulish overkill and an absurd use of dark humour to cover up the truly graphic details of the world's most notorious crimes.” Jake smiled back at you as he held your laptop in one hand, the rose gold Mac with stickers randomly pleased all over the lid. 

“Don't be fooled by the good looks Honey, I can read a sentence or two without stuttering.” 

“Could've fooled me.” You fired back without hesitation as Jake faked a shot to the heart. “You really want me to read some to you?” Jake hadn't asked about your work in months. You'd stopped wondering if he cared about your career path before you decided to walk away from your marriage to focus on yourself. At the end of it all you left believing Jake had stopped caring about the things that made you simply you. 

“Yeah, of course, I mean–it would be nice to read some new material, after all–the copies I have back in North Island are pretty much falling apart from how much I tend to flick through them.” Jake had never been a big true crime fan, that was until you published your first book. 

“Wait, you have my books? Which ones?” The revelation made your heart skip a beat inside your chest, so much so that Jake saw it on the monitor. It made his cheeks flush a crimson red at the very thought he could still make you this flustered. 

“Uh–” Jake started as he came back down to sit beside you, opening up your laptop and placing it on the small but practical table that could go over your legs. “I have all five.” Jake would read the dedication every night before he went to bed and every morning before he went to work. They were all slightly different but the sentiment remained the same. His favourite one to read was:

“Dedicated to the man who loves me so, thank you for your service, I love you with all my heart.” 

Jake knew deep down, after all the two of you had gone through, after all the hurt he’d unintentionally caused with his emotional disconnect, that the dedication in your newest book wouldn't be for him. It would be for your children. 

“You've never told me this before?” Jake should have told you, he should have been more open, more honest about his feelings. He shouldn't have lost sight of what was truly important to him and it definitely shouldn't have taken losing you to realise how important you were. Jake had never known female rage until he dealt and fought with a woman who was feeling undervalued, unappreciated and unwanted. 

“I should have, I know that now.” It was only a small gesture at the bottom of Everest itself but Jake knew now was the time he had to really put the effort in, to show you he truly cared, that he really did love you in sickness and in health. “I'd really like to sit here and maybe I can read what you've written so far out loud so you can just rest–and if there's anything you wanna change, I can do it for you.” 

“Oh you don’t have to—“ Your sentence trailed off into nothing as you looked into your husband’s eyes, searching for an ounce of hesitation or burden in them. But all you saw were those emerald green eyes staring back at you with all the love and warmth in the world. Jake wanted to do this, truly. “Sure, yeah if uh—I’d really like that.” 

It felt nice to be taken care of, to be valued and loved. But it wasn’t enough to undo the damage that Jake had unintentionally caused. He was going to have to put the work in, fight for you as much as you had to fight for your life. 

“Okay.” Jake smiled as he cleared his throat and turned the laptop his way. “Alright Honey, let’s go from the top shall we?”

“Take it away Mr. Ghost Writer.” You cooed as you settled into your hospital bed and found a comfortable position, if anything you were feeling rather tired. Maybe you’d be able to get some more sleep soon—that wasn’t such a bad idea. 

“In the early hours of January 1996, after an evening spent celebrating at Club Bayview in the Perth suburb of Claremonth, 18-year-old Sarah Spiers called a taxi to nearby Mosman Park. But when the cab arrived, she’d already gone. Sarah was never seen again.” Jake read out loud as you listened and laid there wondering if this was all some Lavender Haze to mask the reality that your marriage was over: 

 Or really how Jake wanted the two of you to be. Together again, in sickness and in health. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Just tilt your head a little.” Jake was being as gentle as he ever could be. “Let me know if I'm hurtin’ you.” The steam from the shower filled the bathroom as you sat on the little shower stool. The hot water cascaded down your naked self taking all the grimy sticky remanence from surgery away with it. 

“Feels perfect.” You sighed in relief at the feeling of being clean once again, Jake stood behind you washing your body with a small lofa in soft circular motions. Under the water with you. It wasn't awkward to see each other so exposed, however, given the circumstances, you felt incredibly vulnerable. “Can you get my neck a little more?” Jake obliged to your request and moved the soap free suds around your next. It felt surreal, otherworldly even after the last few days. You let the silence fall around you as you reveled in the sensation of Jake's hands roaming your naked body in a not so sexual way. It felt nice to be touched in such a way that made you feel safe. 

“Jake–?” Your voice sounded softer than it did just a few moments ago, your eyes lingered over to the sink where in the corner of your eye, you could see the clippers you’d bought with you to the hospital in preparation for this very moment. Originally you were going to do it yourself, then, you thought perhaps you could ask your mother–but now, sitting under the stream of steady warm water with Jake helping to cleanse your weakened body post surgery– you knew you had to ask him. 

“Yeah Honey?” Jake cooed as he washed your body, being ever so careful to not knock and bump the cords and wires that were still attached to your arms. Doctor Ignatii had assured Jake they could get wet–but he was still sus.  

“Will–will you shave my head?” The silence that followed as deafening as you felt Jake's hands nearly came to a complete stop. “I just–I dont think I'm strong enough to do it myself.” Again, Jake's silence was all consuming. “You don't have to if you don't want to, I uh–i understand if it’s too big of an ask–I can always ask mu–” Before you could go off on a tangent, Jake was interrupting as he came around to kneel before you. 

“No, no Honey, of course I'll help you.” Jake made sure to clarify. “It's just–it's just no one ever prepares you for your wife to ask you to do something like this.” You saw the sadness in Jake's eyes, the understanding and compassion. “But of course, yes, I'll do whatever you need me to and if being your barber is something you need then consider me the best in the biz.” 

Your heart couldn't contain itself inside your chest as you reached out to caress Jake's scruffed cheek. For whatever reason, you couldn't stop the worlds from escaping your lips. 

“I love you–” The Pomegranate truly is the perfect symbol when comparing the differences between men and women. The enjoyment of a pomegranate is something that cannot and shouldn’t be rushed. Instead, it's something that requires patience and gentle hands. With deliberation and commitment comes the reward of its sweet flesh. 

Jake knew it was the environment, the situation and the fear of being slowly taken by disease, but he couldn't help but to lean in, cup your face and kiss you like he’d missed you everyday since you left him back in January. The slow pull of desire ached in Jake's chest as your tongue danced with his: and as he pulled away to let his forehead rest against yours? He allowed himself just a single moment of reprieve: 

“I love you so much Honey–oh so much.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the soaring arrow

fused with the foe, chapter two

a/n: we getting somewhere in this one... progress... and by progress, i of course mean that we are one chapter closer to when they finally get to be happy and in love.

summary: “…do you still wanna learn?”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, violence, gore, injury, weapons, big scary dire bear, a bit of a cliffhanger of an ending to this chapter (the drama is here, it has arrived, in the majestic for of [spoiler])

word count: 4706

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Rising yet again from the plush stool, your feet carried you the short distance back around to the opposing seat. Your elbow came to rest against the edge of the small games table as you glanced down at the chequered board and your chin swiftly found your propped-up palm as a bored breath seeped from your lungs. 

As you moved one of the ivory pieces, the thoughts you’d been trying to keep at bay for weeks slipped through ever so slightly. The king hadn’t talked to you since the wedding, in fact, whenever you’d been in the same room with each other, his gaze never found you. 

You might as well have been invisible.

The arm beneath your face slowly melted down till it layed flat against the table and you let your head follow along. Slumped over, your cheek pressed against your forearm. 

Raising your gaze from your up-close perspective of the chess pieces, it fell upon the man leaning 

against the wall by the exit. Dark locks only half tied up, a crossbow was strapped to his broad back as his stormy gaze stayed low and locked on the small dagger he absentmindedly twirled and flipped in his fingers.

Letting out another sigh, you didn’t bother straightening out before you asked, “so, is this just how it’s gonna be?”

Halting his fiddling, Barnes’ eyes met yours, “pardon me, your majesty?”

“You just lurking wherever I am, is that how it’s gonna be for the rest of my life?” you lifted yourself only slightly so that both of your palms pressed into your soft cheeks to prop it up. 

“No, I’m just here till you get settled, then I’ll go back to my usual business,” the advisor stated. 

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know, your majesty,” he sheathed the short blade at his side, “why? If it’s because you don’t care for my presence then please just say so, I won’t be offended if you’d rather have a different warden looking out for you.”

“No,” you sat up properly, “it’s not that, not at all, I just–… could I maybe go for a walk?” the question hesitantly left your lips. 

“Sure, you can,” he nodded slightly, “where do you wanna go? I could show you the Valarian Ward in town, there are lots of museums there you might like–”

“No,” you cut his offer off, “I meant if I could go for a walk on my own.”

“Oh… well, I’m not entirely sure that’s the best idea…” he uttered carefully. 

“I am your queen, aren’t I? So, can’t I just command you to let me go by myself?” you tried, blinking up at him like a little puppy, “please, Barnes.”

A low sigh then flowed from his lips as his stare raked across the floor. A moment passed before he opened his mouth again, slowly saying as his gaze stayed averted, “your majesty, I am gonna leave for a moment, I suddenly remembered that I forgot something in my chambers this morning. Please excuse me as I momentarily won’t be here watch where you go,” his eyes flicked up to meet yours, “you got that?” 

“Yes,” a bright smile stretched across your features, “I understand what you’re saying,” as you instantly shot up to your feet, “thank you, Barnes.” 

Though half regretting his choice already, he still offered you a half-hearted smile, “you’re welcome, your majesty.”

Bending down, you plucked a long-stemmed daisy and added it to the bouquet of wildflowers your left fist was tightly enclosed around. As you lifted yourself back up, your vision washed over the blossoming meadow you stood on, located on the hill directly north of the castle. From here only parts of the seaside community were perceivable, as from this angle the mountainous fortress blocked off the vast majority of Borün city, only the edges closest to the main road, like the city stables and the water mill, caught your gaze. But the farmlands that curved over the rolling hills west of the town had no obstructions in their path. The vision of golden fields as well as wide pens that housed both fuzzy brown cows and round little sheep, that blissfully soaked in the mild afternoon sun, couldn’t help but bring a smile to your lips. 

Peeking over your shoulder, the warnings of the king’s right-hand man faintly echoed in your mind as you glanced at the thick forest. Temptation had swayed your feet to carry you dangerously close to the edge. The Noll woods didn’t seem that dangerous from this angle, perhaps it was safe enough on the perimeter and it was just the dangers deep within it that they were so terrified of. So, the next thing you knew, your leisurely stride had crossed the meadow and the dark wilderness had swallowed you whole. 

Extending an arm as your feet slowly walked over the crunchy leaves and the pillowy moss clusters, you felt the cool leaves brush against your open palm, almost as if you were greeting each and every one of them as you passed. The chirping birds high up in the dense treetops sang a pleasant melody that caused a bright smile to bloom on your lips. 

You weren’t sure how long you ventured forth, deeper and deeper into the twisted forest, but eventually, a small and speckled bush caught your eye, ripe with the vibrant berries you recognised from the layered cake that you had been served for tea just a few days prior. The fabric of the long burgundy cloak you wore billowed behind you as you rushed to pluck the small fruits. A soft hum vibrated at your lips as you tasted their tart sweetness, popping them in your mouth one by one. 

Though just as your head was up in the clouds, over the moon about this little slice of paradise you had discovered, a low growl emanated from the tall shrubs just behind the berry bush. Your fingers froze in an instant and the fruits in your berry-stained palm rolled to the ground. Slowly, you raised your gaze as a giant snout pushed through the dense plants and the creature’s rotten breath fanned across your cheeks, causing your stomach to churn. 

Holding your breath, petrified with fear, you willed your feet to shuffle back at a terrifyingly slow pace. Your entire body trembled like a leaf on the wind as your eyes stayed glued on the dark animal slowly creeping into the clearing. 

A bear, though at least three times the size of any normal one, came stomping into the light. Its footsteps were heavy enough to make the forest floor quake. Long and gnarly teeth curled up over its drooping lip as viscus slobber, and what looked like blood, dripped from its gums, staining the blades of grass below with every hefty step. Nowhere on its scarred skull were something that resembled eyes, so as it sniffed loudly, your hair nearly rustling in the gust, the blind monster detected precisely where you stood.

A snarl rumbled out from its toothy maw as it clawed closer to you like a predator playing with its food just before it pounced. Eclipsing the dabbled sunlight that streamed in through the tree canopy, the massive creature blocked off any chance you had of escape. The petrifying roar it then let out caused your hands to instinctively shoot up in front of your face. 

Falling back, you collided with the thick tree trunk right behind you. Adrenaline pumped so furiously throughout your body that the tree almost felt like a pillow, as your body was so filled with terror that it didn’t let you notice any of the pain. 

Through your shielding fingers, you caught sight of a swift movement, though it wasn’t the ravaging bear before you. From out of nowhere a broad figure suddenly appeared, slipping in between you and the creature. 

Your eyes widened as you saw the king hold a shield up high, groaning from the strain as he blocked the monster’s mighty attack. Drawing a stout axe at his belt, he sliced it low, catching one of the bear’s legs and causing it to reel back enough for him to bash the shield against its snout, sending it back a few paces. The arching blows he then landed on the gnawing beast were a brutal blur to your eyes as he didn’t yield till the monster was slain and its blood stained the mossy forest floor. 

Slowly turning to face you, crimson dabbled his features and tainted his beard as he stared you down and roared, “what the hell were you thinking?” his broad chest still heaved from the battle as he took a step closer to you, “you’re not in Obelón anymore, you can’t just wander off!”

“I–… I’m sorry,” you said weakly, your eyes felt heavy as you stumbled to distance yourself from the tree trunk, “I didn’t–”

“You didn’t what?” inching closer, he sheathed his weapons, “think you’d bump into a dire bear? What if it had been something worse, huh? What then? Do you have any idea of what kind of dangers lurk in these shadows?”

Black spots dappled your vision as you just managed a faintly utter, “I’m s-sorr–,” before you collapsed. 

As the king caught you in his arms, your cloak unfurled to reveal the silks of your gown ripped and peeking out from the shreds was a grave wound on your waist. 

When you finally woke up, you weren’t in the forest any longer, but warm under the covers in your own bed.

You weren’t sure what you noticed first, the familiar surroundings or the sharp sting that throbbed at your side. Wincing silently, you pulled down the blankets and saw the clean cloths that bandaged the injury. As you carefully ran a fingertip over the dressing, a figure at the foot of the bed caught your hazy gaze. 

Slumped over on a small stool with his head resting against his folded-up arms, there sat the king, completely out cold. 

A clay pitcher of water stood on the adjacent bedside table beside a few empty cups that had a deep green tint to the glass. Carefully, as to not rouse the slumbering monarch, you reached for the jug in order to quench the thirst that scratched at your throat. As your fingertips brushed against the handle and moved it just a tad, an aching wave suddenly washed over you as the attempt stretched and disturbed your injured waist enough for you to recoil back, accidentally tugging at the decanter in the process and retroactively knocking over one of the nearby glasses.

As soon as it smashed to the stone floor, the king bolted up like he’d been struck by lightning. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you rushed as you clutched your throbbing side and leaned back against the pillows, “I just wanted something to drink.”

Still groggy, he sucked in a breath as he squinted over at you in the bed, “don’t move,” his voice was deep from sleep, “I’ll get it,” and he reached over to fill up the glass that didn’t fall to its doom, “here,” handing it to you, his eyes stayed on you as you took a sip, “how are you feeling?”

Lowing the drink to your lap, you watched the water ripple gently in the glass as you uttered, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking I’d run into any monsters, I just wanted to see the forest. I’ve never been in a real forest before, so I just–… I’m sorry…”

A low sigh flowed from the king’s lips before he asked, “how are you feeling, dove? Does it hurt badly? Because I can fetch you some herbs if it does.” 

“It’s not pleasant, but I’ll manage,” as you always did. Your pain tolerance was through the roof when it had to be, “I’m sorry.”

“Would you please stop apologising?” your tense gaze finally flickered up to meet his, “I understand you wandering out on your own, I even understand you wanting to explore the forest, but what I don’t understand is why you didn’t bring a weapon with you. I know you don’t know too much about this kingdom, but you must have a basic understanding of just how dangerous it is, especially The Noll Woods. So why didn’t you bring anything to protect yourself with?”

“What?” you blinked, “I don’t own a weapon.” 

Eyes widening, his brows shot up, “you don’t?” 

“No…” you shifted lightly under his gaze, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

Leaning forward slightly, he asked, “dove, do you not know how to fight?” 

“Why would I know how to fight?” 

“Why would you–…” he echoed faintly before lowing his gaze to the blankets spread out on the canopy bed, “gods, I knew that Obelón’s high walls helped protect its people from many creatures, but I know even that doesn’t stop the citizens from knowing the basics at least. Why didn’t you ever?” he found your eyes once more, “you’re of royal birth. Why haven’t you been in lessons since you were a child?” 

Shifting your grasp around the glass, you uttered, “…my father wouldn’t let me…” your brows were still deeply knitted as you said, “I thought it was improper for fine ladies to have such skills.” 

“It’s not,” he shook his head, “trust me. Some of the best fighters I’ve ever known were fine ladies such as yourself.” 

“Really?” you couldn’t help but inch forward a bit. 

“Yeah, my mom for one taught me a lot of what I know, as well as–…” an unreadable expression briefly washed over his features as his sentence suddenly crumbled, “well, others…” 

“I always wanted to learn,” you thought back, “used to spy on my brothers when they were training, even tried to convince Callum to teach me in secret, but none of it ever worked out… my dad always found out and then he’d–…” your gaze stayed locked on the outline of your legs beneath the covers as you felt a shiver run down your spine, “I, uhm… I learned to stop doing that. Going against his rules.” 

After he helped you place the glass back beside the pitcher, the king’s deep timbre filled the chamber once more, “…do you still wanna learn?”

The gentle wind kissed your cheeks as you squinted your eyes at the circular target close to the ivy-covered outer wall of the front courtyard. Though the training area stood nestled between the warden’s barracks and the royal stables, the king’s right-hand man had ensured that there wouldn’t be as many people crowding the common area as there usually were, a gesture you’d become thankful for as the act of learning an entirely new skill was intimidating enough without having the added commotion of experts in the field directly next to you, granting you the perspective of just how green you were. 

Over countless days, bedridden in your chambers, the wound to your side had scabbed over and healed nearly completely. Though the wait was significant, it hadn’t felt that dreary, since at the first dawn you woke, the king’s presence had been exchanged for a tall stack of meticulously selected books. The majority of them were factual records about Eflorr, the land, the history, everything that had been out of your fingertips in the library of your birthplace. But occasionally in between the tomes of the kingdom were books of completely different genres. There was a wide and worn book of fables that had whimsical illustrations on each page, a pocket-sized novel counting the mystery of a fictional rogue, as well as a collection of flowery poems. 

Letting the nocked arrow fly, it didn’t pierce itself into the bullseye your eyes were boring a hole into, but instead joined the cluster lodged in the ground. 

“I am never gonna get this,” you muttered, nearly tossing the training bow from you. 

“Oh, don’t lose hope yet, your majesty,” you twisted your neck to see Barnes standing by the small, open-style stables adjacent to where you stood, petting the cheek of the black horse that stuck its head over the fence, “you’ve only been going for a few days.” 

Drawing another arrow from the quiver not yet strapped to your back, but simply resting on the small stool scooted close, you attempted once more, and though it didn’t hit the target, the arrowhead did wedge itself in between two of the stones on the wall behind it. 

“Not bad,” your body jumped at the unexpected voice, “you’re getting closer.”

Spinning around, you saw the king, arms crossed and leaning against the building directly behind you, “your majesty!” your eyes grew to the size of saucers, “h-hello.”

“You need to relax your bow arm more,” he pushed himself off of the wall and walked up to you. 

“What?” you blinked, still slightly stunned and scrambling to catch up to the fact that he was even there. 

“Here,” he stepped up behind you and a sharp breath of air filled your lungs as his touch found the limb clutching the bow, “you need to relax this arm,” his presence ghosted against your spine as his touch adjusted your appendage to the proper angle, “and lower it just a bit,” plucking up an arrow, he too nocked it for you and let his fingers linger over yours as you drew the string back tight, “use the corner of your lips as an anchor,” as the feathery fletching tickled your cheek, you could have sworn that you felt his curled knuckle shyly brush against your features as well, “and since you’re not very brawny, try and keep a bit of tension right here, it’ll help,” his hand slid down to your waist, the other palm briefly joining on the other side before he let go of you. You could feel the gentle gust of his breath on the shell of your ear as his low voice instructed you, “give it a try.”

The arrow then soared through the air and lodged itself into the outermost ring of the target, “oh my gods,” you squealed, your body victoriously wiggling at the sight, “I did it!”

“Atta girl,” he smiled at the result, and you turned your head to gaze back at him, the fact that he hadn’t shifted back yet caused a shiver to crawl up your spine, “see? I knew you could do it,” his eyes finally flickered down to yours, though when the close proximity dawned on him, only a second passed before his feet began to move, “anyways,” clearing his throat, his vision now seemed to wander over anything but you, “uhm… good job,” he offered your upper arm a small pat, “keep it up,” then turned to the high warden still off to the side, “Buck, I need you to take a look at something for me, up in the war room.”

Giving the horse one last scratch, Barnes answered his friend, “sure thing.”

“You know the king well, correct?” you asked the soldier as he walked with you down to breakfast. At this point, you’d gotten fairly used to Barnes acting as your shadow.

“You could say that,” the corners of his lips curled up in a soft smile, “my mom was a servant here at the castle, so I essentially grew up alongside him. Then as soon as I was old enough, I joined the wardens, partly just to stay at his side. So yes, I do know him well,” he nodded slowly, “I know him very well.”

Rounding the corner, you walked down a long hallway with windows facing out toward the sea all along the right wall. Motes of dust hung suspended in the morning sunbeams that spilt into the hall, perfectly still, like flakes of gold leaf trapped in resin.

Glancing over at him once more as you stepped through one of the golden rays, you slowly opened your mouth once more, “can I ask something?”

“You can ask me anything you’d like,” he met your eye. 

“Does–…” you hesitated a moment before averting your gaze to gather up the courage to utter, “does the king have someone else?”

Gently cocking his head, Barnes echoed, “someone else?”

“Does he have someone else?” you repeated, sensing heat creep up in your cheeks.

“Oh, uh,” he breathed as you reached the end of the hallway and he stretched out his arm to push open the door you’d arrived at, “no, not that I know of.”

As he opened the door to the smaller of the dining rooms for you to enter, you noticed that you’d been unconsciously gnawing at the inner part of your bottom lip till it nearly bled and you forced yourself to stop, “alright…”

When you crossed over the threshold, Barnes stayed put on the other side, though offered you a small nod before the heavy doors fell shut behind you. 

Turning to face the long table centred in the chamber, your eyes suddenly grew wide as an unexpected figure sat on the far end. 

“Good morning,” the king glanced up at you as he popped the piece of strawberry lodged on the tip of his fork into his mouth. 

“Your majesty! I–, I–…” you blinked a second, finding it impossible to get your feet to move the last few paces over to your set place, “I thought you took your breakfast up in your personal chambers.”

“Felt like a change in scenery today,” he plucked up a porcelain cup filled with steaming tea and brought it to his lips, though paused before taking a sip, “is that alright?”

“Of course, it is,” a shudder ran through you as you shook yourself out of your stupor and sat down at the table. 

A generous spread of options layed arced around your empty plate. From seasonal fruits, cut up and arranged on an oblong platter, to hearty bread, sliced and toasted, propped up for it to stay crisp, the selection never ceased to make your belly rumble in want. 

When your plate was filled up and you slowly began to pick away at it, the king’s voice suddenly echoed from the other end of the table. 

“Are you busy this afternoon?”

“Busy?” you lifted your gaze and sent it down past the short floral centrepiece to look at him, “no, your majesty, not in particular. Why do you ask?”

His elbow was propped against the edge of the table and his hand gently rested against his beard as he continued to stare at you, “I was wondering if you’d care to promenade with me.”

“I know it doesn’t look like much from this angle,” the king pointed to the dark cave entrance on the cliff that the castle stood upon, “but that emergency exit has saved countless monarchs.”

“So, the tunnel leads up to the basement?” you glanced down to the part of the coastline still a ways further down the pebbly beach.

“Yep, opens up into the wine cellar, it’s actually one of the racks that’s concealed as the door down.”

Glancing up at him as you slowly walked beside one another, an amused smile curled up on your lip, “clever.”

“Yeah, my mom thought so, she was the one who implemented it.”

The corners of your lips then dropped back down, and you waited a second before asking softly, “when did she pass?”

“A while ago now…” his vision briefly flickered down to look at the waves foam at the shore, “anyways, I’d recommend taking a guide with you if you’re gonna go exploring in the cave because it can be easy to get lost if you didn’t grow up with it as your playground.” 

“I’ll remember that,” a faint chuckle bubbled out of you.

The pebbles crunched beneath your slow stride as you made your way down the beach, closer and closer to where the fort loomed and the docks beyond flourished into the bustling city. 

After he’d bent down to pick up a smooth, dark rock, the royal then spoke in a slightly apprehensive tone, “hey, I actually wanted to talk to you about something…”

Noticing that his stride had halted, you stopped as well, “yes, your majesty?”

His gaze stayed on the small rock in his palm as he turned it a few times, “I know I haven’t exactly been the warmest towards you, I haven’t given you any solid reason to trust or even like me,” his ocean eyes then lifted to meet yours, “but we are supposed to rule together, be a team. So, I propose that we call a truce. Let’s start over and try and be friends,” his broad hand then extended. 

Clasping your fingers around his palm, you shook on it, “truce,” and a small smile bloomed as you then returned to your walk.

Your eyes didn’t stray long from him, staring at him inquisitively till he, on a glance, noticed.

“What?”

“It’s just,” you squinted over at the man walking beside you, the water gentle and calm behind him, “I don’t even really know you…”

“Well,” he breathed, as if that setback was easy enough to remedy, “what would you like to know?”

“I don’t know…” as you continued to stare at him, your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the opalescent stone attached to the chain hanging from your neck, “tell me everything.”

“Everything?” his eyebrows raised a second before he exhaled lowly, “alright… uhm,” he then lowered his gaze as he scrambled his brain, “my favourite colour is blue. I can’t stand pears,” he began to list off, “I know I don’t look it now, but I was a very scrawny kid, sick all the time. I’m excellent at skipping rocks, actually learned how to just down there from an old family friend. What else… uh, I don’t have a lot of free time, but the little I do, I tend to either read, history in particular, as well as draw or paint, whenever I have the chance.”

“Paint?” you chuckled as that was one of the last things you thought he’d say. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “not many, but a few of my pieces are strung up around the castle.”

“I will have to keep my eye out for those, your majesty,” you smiled. 

“Oh, and please, no more of that,” he pleaded, “you shouldn’t call me your majesty any longer, we’re friends now,” he momentarily turned to toss the rock into the rippling sea, and a small ring bloomed on the surface as it delved in, “you are my wife,” the corners of his lips tugged upwards as he faced you once more, “you should call me by my name.”

“Alright, Steve,” the name felt oddly intimate on your tongue, “I’ll try my best to do better.”

As he smiled down at you, a shadow suddenly soared across the sky above both of your heads. Lifting your eyes to the clouds above, they swiftly went wide in fear as you saw the creature that flew straight towards the village. 

“Oh gods, is that a–”

“Dragon,” Steve uttered before you could. 

The winged behemoth of a beast had scales like the darkest tree bark, but in the sunlight it soared through, they shined regally like an oil spill. 

Grabbing you by the hand as warning bells rang out over the seaside community, Steve dragged you with him and he addressed the two wardens that had lingered a few paces back while you both were out, “take her inside, through the cave, stay low, away from any windows.”

“Yes, my liege,” they swiftly replied and moved to defend you, but as the king’s grasp left yours, you reached out to halt him.

“Wait!” your fingers rushed to snag your lucky charm off, “here,” and you layed the fine necklace into his open palm before finding his eyes one last time and uttering, “please don’t die.”

Closing his fist around the jewel, he offered you a grave nod before the wardens led you into the cave and the king rushed down the banks and up the algae-slick steps that led up to the harbour. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[morganbritton132]

I read ‘zoomies with the kids.’ and assumed it was one of the boys running around the house with the fur babies lol. I see it being Steve and Eddie watching on found but annoyed because Steve is zooming in socks on the hardwood floors and head injuries…

Can I just say how happy this series makes me? I love these two and the world you’ve made for all of the party; your posts always brighten my day. Thank you for sharing them and for letting Eddie and Steve survive and be happy <333

First, I just wanna say thank you for the kind words! I think this little world is a group effort and I really appreciate everybody that throws their ideas into the ring and allows me to build upon them. It’s truly been the best even if I’m a lot slower at getting to them than I used to be.

No one considers how hard quarantine was on pets.

Some people have dogs that are trained to be around people and it’s weird for that to suddenly stop. Suddenly they aren’t going to school anymore or to the grocery store. Steve’s not doing trivia night or taking classes at the community center. They’re just home all the time now and Eddie is always with Steve so Ozzy just… doesn’t really have anything to do.

Not needing to be as vigilant as he is when Steve is more active, Ozzy’s left with an excess of energy and it makes him antsy. Much like his owners, he’s bored.

Joan gets stressed out if Steve is home when he’s not supposed to be because that usually means that there’s something wrong with him. The only time he’s ever been off work for more than a couple days at this time of year was when a medication switch caused cluster seizures. It takes a bit of time for her to get used to him being there.

The solution: They go on walks.

It calms Joan if Steve leaves the house for a bit and it helps Ozzy burn off some of that unused energy, and it also helps Steve who would otherwise be doomscrolling Facebook and thinking about Lucas at the hospital. He already had a semi-regular walking schedule for Ozzy a couple days a week but once COVID hit, they started walking daily.

Unless it rained. Eddie hates when it rains because…

Eddie looks visibly distracted during a zoom interview with the band. You can literally see him tracking something beyond the camera with his eyes because Steve is chasing their pets through the house, and they keep running by the room he is in.

Eddie finishes up what he was saying and then hits mute before shouting, “Stop running!”

Steve literally slides into the room on his socked feet, having to hold onto the doorframe when he lists too far over in one direction. He’s breathy and smiling when he asks, “Your interview over?”

“I’m muted,” Eddie says. “Stop with the zoomies before one of you get hurt because we can’t go to the hospital….Or, at least, take off your socks.”

“Why? So you can look my feet?” Steve asks, scrunching his face up with mock disgust. “Freak.”

Eddie can’t even formulate a response to that before Gareth’s voice is coming out loud and clear from his speakers, “Dude, you did not hit mute.”

“Shi-oot,” Eddie swore, looking away from Steve for just a second. He’s gone when he looks back up, already running back down the hall to play with the animals. He just shakes his head and asks, “We’ll cut this out, right?”

The interviewer asks if he has a roommate and Eddie is in the middle of trying to figure out what the funnier answer to that question is when he hears a loud crash. He nearly blows Gareth’s eardrum out with how loudly he shouts, “Did you fall?”

When this part is inevitably kept in the interview, you can hear faintly over Eddie’s mic, “I’m good!”

[zepskies]

Being Human – Part 1

Pairing: Alec McDowell x F. Reader

Summary: Your life made sense before Alec slipped his way in. He unravels your threads without even trying. He frustrates you as easily as he weasels back into your good graces. But you soon realize that this man is worth the challenge.

AN: This is technically my first Dark Angel story, since I wrote Part 1 of this before "Bullseye." It will be four parts. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Summary: You’ve managed to keep things playful and friendly with Alec so far, despite his flirtatious nature. But when he asks you for a favor that goes painfully awry, the transgenic has to figure out something that wasn’t in his training: how to apologize. [Set during 2.06]

Word Count: 5,000

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Tension, angst, spiciness, implied smut.

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: Training Day

As sad as it is, this is probably your favorite place in the world.

Crash is as divey as a dive bar can get. And yet, it still boasts the strongest, cheapest drinks in Seattle. The music is decent, and the company is good. At least tonight it is, because you’ve met up with Max, Original Cindy, and Sketchy after a long day of slinging packages.

The only problem?

The newest member of Jam Pony, slinking up from the corner of your eye and easing into the seat next to you at the bar.

You turn an expectant gaze to Alec McDowell and his flirtatious green eyes. They take in your jeans and halter top with an obvious perusal. 

“Can I help you?” you ask dryly.

“No, no. It’s what I can do for you,” he replies. You’re about to roll your eyes when he adds, “Let me buy you a beer. Or whatever you’re drinking.”

Just then, the bartender slides you the beer you’ve already ordered. You thank him and give Alec a smile.

“Got it covered, thanks,” you reply, sipping the froth off your drink.

Alec sighs and crosses his arms. “When are you gonna stop putting the freeze on me?”

“When I’m not part of your internal checklist of Breasts on Legs,” you retort. Glancing around the bar, you note three other girls you’ve already seen him shoot his shot with tonight.

Alec scoffs and holds his chest.

“That’s hurtful,” he claims. “It really is.”

But he shifts toward you in his seat, cutting off your smile. Your face warms at his proximity.

Damn, he smells good, you think.

“Besides,” he says, “I always save the best for last.”

His smile makes your heart beat faster, though you eye him wryly. He opens his smartass mouth to say something else, but you get a reprieve when Original Cindy slides into the seat on your other side. She tosses you a wink.

It gives you just enough confidence to smirk in Alec’s face.

“Keep trying. Maybe someday I’ll lose my mind,” you say, with a teasing raise of brows.

Alec is still amused as he shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable. Insulting, yet, still somehow endearing.”

“Don’t wanna get clowned, don’t act like a clown,” you tell him sweetly. 

“I know that’s right,” Cindy quips. She orders a Cosmo to upgrade her beer. She must’ve won a bet tonight, if she was able to score enough cash for liquor.

“Hilarious,” Alec says. He pouts a little. “Hey, I’m not some mongrel on the loose. I’m just looking for some honest companionship.”

“Honest?” you laugh. “Now that’s hilarious.”

He gives you a fake laugh, but he watches you go when you slip away from him to join Max and Sketchy in the back room by the pool table. Alec’s smile fades a little.

Cindy raises a brow at him, along with a tan finger.

“No,” she says. “You actually crushin’ on homegirl? For real?”

Alec glances at her. “Where’d you get that idea?”

She gives him a flat look.

“Should I burn some sage?” she asks.

Alec shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Come on. I think Max is calling us over.”

When the two of them venture over to where you and Max are playing a game of pool, Alec’s cocky smile is back. His eyes catch yours when he sits down at a nearby table. Your lips curve while you lean on your pool cue.

For the past few weeks, this is how it’s always been with you and Alec. Push and pull. A sort of caustic flirtation that you can’t in good conscience take seriously. But to his credit, he always tries.

And he seems to always mean it. 

You’ll never admit it, but it’s getting harder and harder for you to resist the pull of him. He’s clearly a guy who doesn’t do attachments, and you have a bad habit of getting attached. Your life is hard enough without adding a dash of heartbreak into the mix.

So Max helps you sharpen your skills at this game while you finish your beer. And…maybe you “unintentionally” tease Alec a little with the curve of your ass when you’re bent over the table, lining up a shot.

In fairness, you’re a bit tipsy.

You spend the rest of the night drinking two more beers and laughing and losing the game—first to Max, then to Alec, and finally to Sketchy. By then, you know it’s time to cut your losses.

You haul your backpack onto your shoulder and start to head out of the bar. But who should slip into your way than Alec freakin’ McDowell?

“Hey, I’ve got a quick question for you,” he says.

You sigh. “Alec, the usual sniping was fun, but I’m tired and I want to go home.”

He stops you with a touch on your arm. He seems slightly more serious.

“It’s a favor,” he says, pulling out a small rectangular package wrapped in plain brown paper. You look down at it in confusion.

“I saw on the work chart that you’re scheduled to go over to Sector 4 tomorrow,” he says. “Would you mind delivering this for me?”

Your brows raise at him. He raises $20 in front of your face.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he smiles.

You take the $20 and the package, though you’re still a little uncertain.

“What’s in it?”

Alec leans in close to your ear. “I’ll give you an extra $10 if you don’t ask.”

His voice washes over you and makes your skin prickle. You’re blushing, but your eyes narrow at him further.

“Make it $20,” you counter.

He scoffs. Though after a moment…he coughs up the extra cash.

“The most expensive damn delivery I’ve never made,” he mutters.

You have to crane your neck a bit, as he stands over a head taller than you, but you smile up at him brightly.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you say.

For him, maybe the expense was worth it to get that smile.

You pull up on your bike to what you think is the right address. You don’t usually come to this side of town, even in Sector 4.

It feels a bit like a shanty town and a meat packing district all at once—complete with dodgy-looking street vendors and unmarked vans loading and unloading cargo behind them. 

“Can I help you, little girl?”

You stifle a gasp as your path is suddenly obstructed. A black man and his two white friends have crowded around your bike, but they don’t look normal. Various metal spikes and prods protrude from their faces, neck, and body, but they’re not your typical piercings. The metal is fused into their skin.

Oh shit, you think, as your heartrate picks up. Steelheads.

“I’m just making a delivery,” you tell them. Your eyes dart to your surroundings, trying to catch anyone’s gaze for a little help.

But in big cities like this, everyone knows to keep their eyes down.

Don’t look, don’t tell. Don’t get any trouble.

“I think you might be lost, love,” says one of the other men. He’s British, by the sound of his accent, and is the taller of the two. His skin is pale, though there’s a red ring under his eyes that suggests drugs, or whatever else these three are injecting into themselves.

“Uhh, yeah. I must be. I’ll just go,” you nod, and you start to back up. The ringleader Brit clamps a bony hand on your bike to stop you. He grabs the scrap of paper Alec gave you, which holds the address for your intended delivery.

The Steelhead examines it lazily, before his gaze flicks back up to yours.

“Well, well. I stand corrected,” he says. He gestures to the small package in your hands. “What’s in it?”

You shrug and try to play off your ignorance. Because the truth is, you have no idea.

“It’s not my job to know,” you reply.

“Ah, but you see, it’s our business to know,” the Brit says, leaning in towards you. You lean back with pursed lips.

“This is our little piece of paradise,” says the shortest one. His lips are damn near purple.

“We’re what you call…territorial,” says the leader. He grabs you off your bike while the first man takes the package from you.

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble,” you say, though you hate the way your voice shakes. “I can just go—”

“Oh, we’ll let you go, little mouse. You’re gonna give a message back to sender,” the Brit says. “But first, a reminder.”

He shoves you back into the nearest wall. It’s solid brick that stuns a gasp out of you. He presses in on you, grabbing your face and dragging a sharp, unnaturally long nail against your cheek, biting into the skin.

It’s painful enough to make you whimper as you feel wetness drip down to your neck. His friends laugh at your discomfort, at your fear. You’re too frozen to reach for the pepper spray in your pocket…

“What’s going on here?” another man asks. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a black uniform. For the first time in your life, you’re grateful to see a cop.

The Steelhead releases you, and the three of them are subtle in the way they back off from you.

“Nothing here, officer,” the leader says. Though he gives you a smirk. “Just accepting a delivery.”

You let them keep the package and pretend that a signature has made it onto your clipboard. You climb back onto your bike and you leave Sector 4 without looking back. All the while, your arms shake and you wipe at the blur of tears in your eyes.

When you get back to the Jam Pony base of operations (a warehouse that feels like a basement), you park your bike out front and head inside.

Your legs still feel precarious. And even though the blood is dry against the cut on your cheek, you know you need to clean and disinfect it at some point.

Of course, you have to run into Alec and Sketchy, who are palling around without a care in the world.

That all stops when they turn to look at you. Their mirth dies on their faces. Alec’s gaze runs over you and stops at your cheek. You dab at your face, tentative and self-conscious. You know you must look like hell. Of course, they can’t let you just go to your locker in peace.

“Jeez, what the hell happened to you?” Sketchy asks.

You shake your head. “Fell into a bush.”

You drag Alec aside by his arm, giving him a warning look that further lets him know you’re lying. He follows you without complaint over to the lockers, where you two have the semblance of privacy. Before he can ask you what really happened, you snap at him.

“What the hell was in that package?” you ask. “Drugs? A weapon? Some other contraband? Do you know what could’ve happened to me if I’d gotten caught with that shit? Do you know what almost…”

Tears burgeon in your eyes all over again, and you have to take a deep, shaky breath. 

Alec’s brows furrow in what might actually be concern. He grasps your arm, gentle but firm. 

“Hey, tell me what happened,” he says.

Unconsciously, his grip on your arm makes the memory flash in your mind: of that pale, greasy man grabbing you and pinning you against the wall.

You shrug out of Alec’s hold more harshly than you meant to. It makes him raise a placating hand, as his eyes widen a fraction.

“A gaggle of Steelheads,” you say. You breathe tremulously, blinking past your tears. “I was lucky…anyway. Next time you want to ask me for a favor? Don’t.”

 You brush past Alec to get to your locker. There you grab the rest of your things and head out, though it’s quite a few hours before closing time. Nothing gets by Normal, who stops you at the reception desk.

“Hey, hey, Missy! Where the hell’re you going?” he asks. “Get back here. I’ve got packages that need homes.”

“I’m taking some much needed PTO,” you quip.

“You don’t have PTO. It’s not that kind of business,” Normal says.

“Then bite me,” you snap. “How’s that?”

Most of the room stills into quiet shock. You feel the weight of their gazes, your coworkers and friends, including Normal’s slackened face.

You’re normally not one to talk back. You accept your assignments without question, not wanting to cause undue trouble for yourself. Like everyone else here, you need your job, and you have nothing to fall back on.

But it’s enough, and you’re thoroughly done with today.

Your saving grace is that it’s plain to see how shaken up you are, even when you leave. Alec approaches the receptionist desk with Sketchy, drumming his hand on the counter absently. 

“What the hell crawled up her keister?” Normal remarks. “She’s lucky I’m short staffed right now, or she’d be in the can.”

Despite his strong talk, he resumes collecting paperwork and organizing files to distract himself from how much you’d taken him aback.

Alec frowns.

“She uh, had to deal with some Steelheads,” he offers, and hesitates. “...What the hell’s a Steelhead?”

“Yeah, you know, they’re into implants and biotech stuff,” Sketchy explains.

“She would know better than to hang out with those low lives,” Normal interjects. “They’re amped off their gourds on hormones and who knows what else.”

Alec processes that with a deepening frown. He decides to head out onto his next “delivery.”

He makes it to Sector 4 on his bike within an hour, but he still envies Max’s motorcycle. When he racks up enough cash, he’s definitely scoring a faster ride.

For now, he pulls up near the address he sent you to earlier. He never should’ve given you his drugs to sell, especially when he clearly doesn’t know this city well enough yet.

Poor reconnaissance, Alec, he thinks. Sloppy.

Though when did he start to think of himself as Alec and not by his designation, 494?

He’s soon taken out of his musings when he sees a gaggle of three men outside a cargo van. Each of them is uglier than the last, with metal spikes, among other things sticking out from their bodies. Steelheads. They’ve got to be.

These are the guys who harassed you.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Alec says, climbing off his bike. The men turn to the newcomer with suspicious frowns.

“I’m looking for three fugly Steelheads that hassled a friend of mine this morning,” he says.

One is tall, pale and wiry, and he opens his arms wide. “Well, you found ‘em.”

He has a British accent. The sight of him alone grates on Alec, though all he shows is calm confidence. He teases the short one, who seems to be missing an arm. Apparently he’s “pre-op,” set to get a new cyber arm made of Japanese steel.

Fucking wackos, Alec thinks. Manticore could learn a thing or two from these guys about mutilation.

“Here’s the thing, fellas,” Alec says. “My friend was carrying a package that didn’t belong to her. It belonged to me. You guys took it, and I need to get it back.”

The first man scoffs. “There seems to be a breakdown in communication, doesn’t it?”

He approaches Alec, hands on his hips, with his two cronies behind him. Alec can already smell their stench from where he stands. He doesn’t need them to get any closer.

“Maybe your little bitch didn’t relay our message,” he says, pushing his luck.

Alec’s smile sharpens; a deadly warning in and of itself.

“Nobody around here sells Andy but us,” says another of them.

Androxtamine. Alec didn’t care to be a drug dealer. It was just a means to an end in order to pay Max back for her help a little while back. Now, his buyer is pissed that he didn’t get his damn drugs, and Alec is out $500.

He tries to explain that calmly to this group of weirdos, but the leader is just so damn cocky.

“What’s a puff like you need with $500 anyway, eh?” he asks.

Alec’s smirk deepens. He mimics the guy’s accent and replies, “Actually, I need it for a ride on your mum.”

Well, the Steelheads don’t take too kindly to that. They try their best, Alec will hand it to them. But his genetics and training make the resulting “fight” no more than child’s play. He takes his frustrations out of their asses.

He can’t help being slightly more brutal than necessary when he remembers the fear lingering behind your eyes. The bloody cut on your cheek. The way it could’ve been so much worse…

And it would’ve been your fault. Alec’s lips press into a line.

Logan Cale, Max’s rich non-boyfriend and secret “Eyes Only” vigilante, calls Alec halfway through his venting session to, surprisingly, ask for his help.

Alec agrees, because it’s mainly for Max. A creature has been killing cops in Seattle. Unfortunately, the description of a “man-dog” sounds way too much like Joshua, their fellow transgenic in hiding.

It also means Alec has to spend most of his afternoon in a musty sewer.

The job ends up being a bitch and a half, even when Max finally shows up to help out. The true culprit ends up being Joshua’s brother, Isaac, who Joshua is forced to stop before he kills any more policemen who remind him of Manticore’s abusive guards.

The gentle Joshua ends up having to take out his own brother. Something that’s both familiar, and foreign to Alec. (But he’s sure it’s not so foreign to Max.)

It’s a harrowing scene, and a touch too emotional for Alec’s comfort. He leaves Max to tend to Joshua in the aftermath and catches a ride home with Logan. Somehow though, as bone tired and grimy as he feels, Alec can’t feel right about going home just yet.

Something is niggling in the back of his mind, forcing him to hand Logan a scrap of paper that holds your address. (Alec might’ve snuck into Normal’s office before he left for the day to find out where you lived on your employee file.)

“Hey, can you stop at this address?” Alec asks.

Logan glances at the piece of paper and nods. He then looks over at Alec. They aren’t friends, but Logan is perceptive enough to know that something’s weighing on his passenger.

“Everything okay?” Logan asks.

“There’s something I have to do,” Alec supplies.

When they eventually arrive to what seems like an abandoned building, Logan looks over at Alec.

“Good luck,” he offers.

Alec nods gratefully. They aren’t friends, but he supposes Logan’s not so bad, even if he is a slave to Max’s supposed charms.

Alec gets out of the car and head inside the building. It’s old and dirty, and he really can’t believe you live like this. It lacks security and basic hygiene. If he wanted to, he could kick straight through your door with half of his strength.

Instead, he knocks.

A few moments later, he hears your feet padding cautiously to the door.

“Who is it?” you ask. Your voice is familiar and pleasant to his ears, if nervous.

“It’s me, Alec,” he replies.

It takes a second of your hesitation, but you unlock the door and open it.

He eyes your tank-top and shorts, the thin bra, your damp hair, the smell of your shampoo assaulting his heightened senses. 

But the jagged red line across your cheek draws his attention, along with the confusion in your eyes, and the wooden spoon in your hand. Was that supposed to be your weapon of choice? 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. “How’d you even know where I live?”

“Ah, I told Normal I wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren’t going AWOL on the job tomorrow,” Alec says with a teasing smile.

You look a bit skeptical, but you let him in when he asks if he can. He smells whatever you’re cooking, spots the metal pot of pasta sauce simmering on the janky-looking stove, and his mouth starts to water. He’s starving, now that he thinks about it.

He then focuses on taking in the rest of the apartment…and it doesn’t take him long. This place is a shoebox.

At least it’s clean, as much as the peeling drywall can be.

“Why’re you here then?” you ask. Alec turns to see you have a hand on your hip. You’re staring at him like he’s a puzzle you’re trying to figure out.

You set down the wooden spoon on the counter and face him. Alec’s tempted to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, but he keeps his arms down to his sides instead.

“About what happened today,” he says. “Those guys aren’t going to be a problem for you again.”

You tilt your head at him.

“What’d you do?” you ask with furrowed brows. “Something shy of legal?”

Alec starts to smile. “Maybe.”

You hmph in response. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Alec barely resists rolling his eyes, though he knows he deserves that. Once again, he takes in your apartment. It’s cozy, he supposes, if small.

“You live alone?” he asks. “No roommate? Boyfriend?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” you say dryly. “But no. To both.” 

That satisfies him, and yet there’s a little churn in his gut. This place is questionable at best. Doesn’t exactly boast decent security. He’s not too worried about the Steelheads trying to find you, but after the past few months outside of Manticore, he realizes how rough it’s become for humanity after the Pulse, especially for a woman alone.

“You could use a doorman around here,” he remarks. 

You scoff in amusement. “Yeah, well. It may not be the Ritz, but as long as the heater doesn’t crap out on me, it’s a decent day.” 

Alec doesn’t know what the Ritz is, but it sounds nicer than this dump. 

You catch the silent look of judgment on his face, making you frown and cross your arms.

“I can take care of myself just fine, okay, Dad?”

Alec frowns and gestures to your face. “Yeah. Right. You’re little miss Fight Club.”

That sparks your temper. You glare up at him with a defiant tilt to your chin.

“This,” you point to your marred cheek, “wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. I’m not an idiot. I don’t put myself in stupid situations, except for that one time I ignored my better judgment to help you!”

Alec glowers back at you, but he knows he doesn’t have a good defense. You take a step into his orbit and tap a finger into his chest.

“And by the way,” you add. Your voice cracks like a whip. “Whoever taught you how to apologize did a bang up job!”

By the end of your little rant, you’re breathing deeply, and Alec is barely holding onto his own temper. What cuts through it all are the frustrated tears brimming in your eyes.

He sighs internally.

They didn’t exactly cover this in training, he thinks, but he supposes that's just…Being Human 101.

All too soon, your anger dims into defensiveness. You withdraw from him and gesture to the door.

“Now if you don’t mind, please get out of my shithole apartment so I can finish cooking in peace,” you gripe.

“Wait, wait,” Alec implores, when you try to lead him out. He lets you back him up a step or two, just to seem human, but now he digs his heels in. He looks down at you with true regret. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. His hand finds your unmarred cheek, caressing softly. His thumb swipes across your skin. “I am. I shouldn't have asked you to make that delivery. I'm sorry you got hurt.”

You stare up at him, breathing labored, and making your breasts just barely brush his sternum. Your eyes search his just as much as he is yours.  

He isn’t actually sure who moves first, him or you. But when his lips meet yours, it feels like electricity under his skin. It’s magnets that are meant to connect—it’s his arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands and you grabbing his face, sinking your fingers into his sandy brown hair.

It’s teeth clicking and tongues warring as he backs you up to the kitchen counter, and he hefts you up there by your hips.

You squeal in surprise, making Alec chuckle before he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

You start to push his jacket off his shoulders, and he helps you, letting the rest of it slide right off, followed by his shirt and your tank top. His hands smooth up your bare thighs and his thumbs dip in between, squeezing near the apex of your thighs and making you tremble against his chest. Warmth pools in your core even from that simple touch.

“W-Wait,” you whisper. 

It makes Alec pause. His muscles tense. Has he read you wrong? 

He searches your face for a sign of discomfort. If you don’t want this, it’ll be…hard, at this point (for more reasons than one). But if he has to, he’ll let you go.

He’s relieved when you only twist away for a moment to turn off the stove. You return to him with a smile as your hands come to rest on his chest. You bite your lower lip. 

“Shall we continue?” he teases. 

His thumb encourages you to let go of your lip. He takes your chin between his fingers and guides you back to him.

The next kiss burns with a slower passion. One that consumes you enough to hook your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips. 

He grins against your lips and lifts you again, this time holding you firmly against him. You make another sound of surprise, but you don’t let that stop you from delving deeper into his kiss. 

He carries you into the bedroom and slams the rickety door.

Afterwards, the two of you lay together on the wrong side of your bed. 

Alec lies on his stomach and you on your back. The night had gotten such that you stopped caring which side you typically put your pillow on. Your hair is fanned out on the mattress in many tangles he took pride in creating.

A shitty show plays on your small TV, but Alec is watching with rapt attention. 

He’s kind of cute about it actually, you think. Like he’s never seen a soap opera before. 

“Ooh, that one’s my favorite,” you point backwards. “It’s about a sexy doctor, obviously.”

“Right, because I’m sure doctors always have this much sex with their patients,” Alec quips. 

You snort and shake your head. You stare at the side of his face for a moment, rather than the TV. 

The back of his hand rubs against your shoulder, earning your attention. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asks. He’s still looking at the screen.

“That I’m even hungrier now, but I don’t feel like getting up,” you admit with a giggle. He laughs.

“I wouldn’t mind some chow,” he says. 

You roll onto your stomach, taking some of the sheets with you when your knee slides over, resting against his naked lower back. You lean your chin on his shoulder as your hand travels across his back. 

“Is that your way of inviting yourself over for dinner?” you ask. 

He looks over at you then. He’s grinning, but his eyes are a touch softer, you think.

“If you don’t mind me crashing,” he says.

You shake your head and sift your fingers through his hair. Your gaze drifts down the back of his neck and catches on a strange mark. It’s a barcode, you realize, touching it lightly with two fingers. 

“What’s this? A prison tat?” you tease. 

He chuckles humorlessly. “Sort of.”

Your amusement fades, but your soft fingers along the back of his neck elicit a small shiver out of him. Your touch is gentle. He isn’t used to gentle, and it makes goosebumps spread across his skin. He feels your lips press a kiss to his shoulder next, and he turns his head to look at you. 

Beautiful, he thinks, taking in your face again, and the hint of cleavage down the sheets covering you, hiding the familiar curves he had all too much fun exploring.

“You gonna tell me the story?” you ask. “Or save it for a rainy day?”

Alec lets out a sigh through his nose. “Let’s pencil that one under the ‘Rainy’ column.”

You nod in agreement and bite your lip. These days, everyone has a story they’re not proud of. Even something that keeps them up at night. You don’t press Alec for his.

He’s grateful for that. He leans in and kisses you, nice and slow.

From the beginning, he noticed you. Your tenacity. Your quiet confidence. How you’re always willing to help your friends, and how you’ve never taken any of his shit, even if he knew part of you had been contemplating his suggestive offers. That spark always kept him coming back for more…and somehow, it became more.

In the back of his mind, this scares him a little. Being with you feels dangerous in a way that feels both familiar and foreign, but it’s too late. He’s been hooked by the pull of you. It’s a craving he can’t help but try and fill. Hopefully, not just tonight.  

“You said something about food?” he grins.

You smile and lean in again, until you’re mere inches from his lips. 

“Hmm, impromptu dinner date?” you offer. Alec laughs quietly and nods.

“We kinda went about this backwards,” you say, “but if you like spaghetti and plain sauce, I’m your girl.”

He smirks at that, and thumbs at your chin.

“Then you’re my girl.”

AN: And there's Part 1! It's only my second time writing Alec, so I hope he feels in character. Let me know what you think of this little series so far. 😘💜

There's much more in store over the next three parts, and the next one tackles perhaps my favorite episode (2.11), even if it's the most gutting.

Next Time:

“All right, that’s enough outta you,” Alec says, and he claims you with a more demanding kiss. His fingers sink into your hair tightly.  

But you press your hand to his cheek, making him pause for a moment. The amusement fades from his eyes the longer he stares into yours. You’re not teasing or joking anymore. 

You kiss him then with meaning. With tenderness. 

You don’t know how it makes that coil of guilt grip him like a vice.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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