#I'm sorry but I have to scream and flex for a moment

[captivemuses]

Girl can't run the Spina without putting in the work to stay in tip top shape.

[dilf-docs]

To The Devil I Know

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: your infamous girl's trip with your best friend sarah gets crashed by his overprotective dad.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, it's pussy spanking time again bc i do in fact like it a lot, praise/daddy kink sprinkled somewhere, reader calls him mr. miller A LOT, exhibition kink (v nasty), degradation kink (he calls her little slut), pantie sniffing, dirty talk (they have a sentence awaiting in horny jail), y/n grinds on joel's nose bc yeah i too want that, this is contradicting but lwk sub!joel bc that man's touch starved as HELL, may do a part two idk pls give it love, dad!bod joel bc i say so (yummy), no angst (wtf dilf-docs? the angst gods are so pissed off rn)

word count: 7,195 words

side note: this request got me HOOKED the moment i opened it and since i'm currently on a pedro hyperfixiation rn, we need to put the mental illness to good use. also, this is lwk based on the song by suki waterhouse devil i know! :) i'm seeing that i have two joel fics with devil in the title btw something something abt nickels and not being a lot but weird it happened twice also WE HIT 300 FOLLOWERS??? (and its 1am and i have to wake up at 4am is anyone surprised atp...)

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"Sarah!" you shout, "get your ass out here you looser!"

It's probably eight in the morning, and here you are, honking and shouting in the middle of the quiet calm suburbs.

When you spot her curly head running towards you in a rush, you know she's pissed.

"Stop screaming!" she shouts back, "my neighbours will hate me"

You've known Sarah since you were kids. When you first moved to Texas, she was the only one who spoke to you in school. You grew up with her among white picket fences and scrapped knees, mantaining the friendship even as you moved away, until your return for college.

"Why would I even care? I don't live here!" you joke from the driver's seat, hopping off and giving her a hug. "I'm sorry but I can't help it. I'm just so excited for this trip, we've been planning it for ages!"

You keep talking excitedly about your plans, not noticing how her face falls.

"Yeah, about that..."

"You girls ready?" a third voice enters the picture, definitely not belonging to a girl.

"Uh, Sarah" you breath in, "Why the fuck is your dad here?"

In all his glory: Joel Miller, a guy you haven't seen in forever, too busy living in the dorms, girl dates with Sarah often out of her house. You wanted to explore the world: you weren't ten anymore, and the suburbs lost all of it's appeal they had when you were the age of Barbies and drawing on chalk.

"Listen, y/n. I tried, I really tried. But as soon as I opened my mouth, he started to pack his bags"

"Isn't your dad always busy at work?" you inquire, another one of the reasons Joel's face isn't a fresh memory in your head.

"That's part of the problem. He took all of the pending vacations he had at once" she sighs, sounding as dissapointed as you are. "I understand if you don't want to go"

"Are you being serious right now?" you chuckle dryly. "No, absolutely not. I saved for this trip, packed my favorite outfits and aced all my classes so my parents would allow me. Nothing is going to ruin this for me: not you, not your dad. So we'll go and we'll have all the fun we planned, yeah?" you express firmly, holding her hands. "We will have our girl summer, no matter what. Even if we have to ignore the elephant in the room..."

"Did you just call me fat?"

You turn around, and there he is: the uninvited. Joel Miller's aged face stands before you, strong arms flexing under the pressure of a couple of suitcases.

"No" you reply back, "just a nuissance"

He chuckles at your response, amused. "If you thought I'd let my babygirl go alone with you to the beach and get shit-faced drunk, you're not as smart as I remember, y/n"

Your name would always be on his tongue to call you out. Y/n, don't do that. Y/n apologize to the neighbours. Y/n, slow down. Y/n, don't be so stubborn. You were always a troublemaker, and his lips would only know how to pronounce your name if to berate you. But now, as his mouth says your name with a newly learned tone, dripping with dare and amusement, you can't help but feel a fire ignite that burns your skin.

"Dad!" Sarah calls out, taking you out of your thoughts. She flushes in embarrasment, and you scoff at the idea of giving too much of your time to think about Mr. Miller of all people. "I'm not ten anymore, we'll be just fine"

"You're barely of legal age!" he counters back. "What if somethin' was to happen to you, huh? I'd never forgive myself"

You get annoyed at his over-the-top reactions. What did he think you were gonna do? The wildest thing you had in mind was getting drunk while sitting in the sand. Not even in the water! You may be a wild spirit, but stupid you're not.

"Look, Mr. Miller" he cocks his head to the side, daringly so, almost as if waiting for you to try. "I don't know what you're thinking, but this isn't Driveway Dolls" he looks at you confused, so you try again, "Or Thelma and Louise, whatever suits your fucking old ass. Alright? This is a girls trip, heard that? Just two bestfriends enjoying their youth and summer without boys around to ruin it for them"

"Boys?" he laughs. "Too bad, then, 'cause sweetheart, I'm a man"

Your breath hitches, but you're not going to let him win; you always need to have the last word.

"Well, man up and let your daughter be free for once!"

Sarah covers her face with her palms, clearly knowing her dad more. This is a lost battle.

"Stop, y/n. Please. Dad's impossible to bend"

"He's ruining our trip!" you protest, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Take it or leave it" he leans against his truck, crossing his arms. Your eyes dart to the strained fabric of his sleeves, and when he chuckles, you don't know if he noticed or it's because of his imminent victory.

"Fine!" you throw your hands in the air, dramatically so. "Welcome on board, intruder"

Joel Miller smiles, and maybe it's the rare sight, not even common back in the day, that makes your heart skip a beat.

"And we're taking my truck"

"Are you being serious right now?!" Was this man going to take away all your freedom?

He laughs, mockingly. Rage bubbles in your chest, along something darker you aren't going to admit just yet.

"There is no way my daughter is going on a fucking hatchback to the beach"

You try to distract yourself talking to Sarah in the backseat, but her dad's prying glances time to time from the rear view mirror have you shifting uncomfortably on your seat.

He's persistent, always has been. Joel Miller, just as Sarah said, wasn't a man who could be bent. You'd remember thinking he was a sort of superhero: unbreakable. Whenever Sarah needed help, a pair of strong arms would be there, ready to take the weight off of her shoulders. He was now older, as you have noticed: grey and wrinkles sprayed all over his face. And now, the worst part of it all:

Age had made him infuriatingly attractive.

Unfair, you think, that a man so bitter that only seemed to worry and nag, was blessed with the rare quality of aging like wine. You can deny it anymore: whatever Joel Miller has now that he didn't before is working on you like a lovesick spell.

You look again to the front, just in time to catch one of his subtle (not really) stares. You keep the eye contact, only he tears away his gaze first, something akin to regret and fear circling on his warm brown orbs. The fire from before cracks inside of your belly, and the anticipation begins.

If he was going to ruin your trip, you might as well return the favor.

"M' gonna stop for gas" he says after some minutes of silence, deviating towards a gas station.

You take the opportunity to get out of the truck to strech your legs. Sarah does so too, but then whispers into your ear:

"Tell my dad I need to go to the bathroom. Don't want him worrying"

As if you'll talk to him. Despite that, you nod and she leaves you alone with her annoying dad.

"Reckless too, huh?" Joel appears by your side, almost making you drop your phone. "You know you're not s'pposed to use the damn phone on a gas station? Good thing I ain't let my daughter go alone with you"

You put your phone down. "Reckless? I know what I'm doing" but you sound nervous, for some reason.

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" Joel says, his voice surprisingly soft.

You heart gets stuck in your throat at the sudden shift, "I suppose not"

"I get that you hate me" he confesses, done filling the tank, "but I couldn't let the two of you go alone"

Your cheeks turn pink at the accusation, "I don't hate you"

He laughs, and the sound has something stirring in the lower of your belly. Why is Joel Miller of all people provoking feelings in you no other boy has ever provoked? You're used to playing with boys as you please, and you come to realize that's where the difference lies: you don't know how to handle a man.

A man so strong, your eyes don't leave him as his arms flex while pumping the gas, the delicious peek his simple white shirt gives you not going unnoticed; droplets of sweat on his temple, sliding down his jawline then getting lost down the crook of his neck. You lick your lips on instinct, horrified when you realize what you've just thought and done.

"Damn right you don't"

You could say you've reached some kind of truce, but then Sarah comes back, and when you look at Joel again, he's reverted to that annoying apathic state of his, but instead of bothering you, it only makes you want more.

"Hey" he says to Sarah, "where you went?"

"I had to pee, dad. Relax" she dismisses, shooting at you a can-you-believe-it look.

He walks away, ready to jump in the driver's seat again, when he turns around to whisper to Sarah:

"Don't ever leave me again" tone stern, "not with her"

But you hear.

You arrived late, the sun hiding behind the large body of water that seemed infinite.

"I can't believe we missed the first sunset!" you whine. "It was going to look so good on my Instagram stories..."

"This generation and their problems" Joel scoffs, taking the suitcases to the house you've rented for the next two days.

The answer is right at the tip of your tongue, but you decide to be the bigger person and remain quiet. If he wants to play, you better play smart.

"Dad, please" Sarah calls him out, and you have to hide a laugh. "Don't fight with y/n"

"I ain't doing shit" he sneers, crossing his bulking arms.

Sarah walks past him, muttering against his childishness. That angers Joel, who tries to remain cool.

"I know you hate me" you suddenly appear by his side. Your vainilla scent gets up on his nose, invading his body of you. "I just think you should try, for Sarah"

"I don't hate you" he answers, and now it's your turn to laugh.

"Yeah? Doesn't seem like it, Mr. Miller" it comes out before you can stop it, and there's something dark lurking behind his brown eyes piercing through you.

"I don't" sounding more sure this time. Serious too.

"You'll have to prove that"

You enjoy the surprise on his face and the light pink sprinkled across his cheeks.

"Prove that?"

You nod, finding all of this suddenly funny.

"Hmh, you heard me. Prove it, Mr. Miller. That you don't hate me"

But before he can respond, your bestfriend is back.

"Y/n, come on! You need to check the house. It has a shared balcony!" Sarah beams giddy.

You let her excitement infect you, taking her hand as you go inside the house. Joel stays back, your words ringing on his ears.

On the other hand, Sarah and you check the room together.

"Look this" she points at one of the mirrors in the room: it has details that remind you of the sea. "Isn't it cute?"

"It is" you agree, "we should take a picture"

"Okay. But use your phone" she says, "mine died on the road"

You're about to pull it out when you feel your pockets empty.

"It's... not here"

"You might have left it in the car" she tries to help.

"Yeah" you try to remain level-headed, "I'll go search for it"

You return to the truck, pressing your head against the window. Just like your friend guessed, it's there, abandoned on the seat.

"Lost somethin'?"

You gasp, turning around. Joel Miller's face is centimeters away from yours, breathing heavily as his body cages your smaller frame against the truck's doors.

"My phone" you find your voice after what feels like eternity, "it's inside the car"

"Need help with that?" his voice sounds low, whisper easily to be confused with a growl.

You don't know how to answer, scared for the first time of where your mouth could take you. So your solution is to nod, and step aside for him to open the car.

"There you go" he's dropping it in your hands, fingers lightly brushing yours. There's a shiver down your spine despite the cool weather, and you know damn well it's all his fault. He may feel it too, by the way he takes a step back, putting some distance.

"Need anything else?" but it feels like a slap to the face, as if he's challenging you to speak what you've been thinking but are too coward to do when he stands before you.

"No" you mentally slap yourself for how pathetic you sound, "this is all I needed, Mr. Miller. Thanks"

You look back one last time, despite it all. And there it is: that same look he gave you in the car.

"Anytime" but it falls deaf to your ears, as you basically ran away from him.

Him and his imposing presence, enough to make your legs tremble and your mind to stop working. Him and his smell, that brings you back to simpler times and reminds you of a a secret place in the woods, musk getting under your skin. Him and his breath, hitching when you touch hands. Him and his beating heart, just as loud as yours.

"Took you long" Sarah comments when you return, "I was already falling asleep"

She doesn't know or suspect, you tell yourself, but that doesn't stop you from feeling sick.

That night, as Sarah lays by your side and you try to sleep, all you can think about is his big hands, the lingering feeling of a warm touch. And then Joel, stepping back―coming to his senses, as if something is holding him back.

Anytime.

You can't help but wonder what stopped him.

Days have blurred between drinks by the poolside, waves crashing, wet sand in your fingers and sun carressing skin.

Despite what happened, Joel remains in the shadows, letting you and Sarah enjoy your trip in peace. You may be spending time with your bestfriend, but his presence hangs in the air, impregnated with his strong pine and whisky smell, looming over you like a shadow; suffocating, like his scent is all you can breath. You hate how your mind keeps going back to him, because despite your inicial claims to ruin him, that wasn't the purpose of this vacation, yet Joel seems to have infected you with a need that corners your mind to think of him and him only. The greed you feel is unnatural, like a spell has been cast upon you. He may be far, just as you wanted, and you should enjoy that, but it's that very same distance that is driving you insane.

Today, you and Sarah decided to go diving and then play volleyball.

The day ends, the sun sets, and so does the tiredness. But as Sarah's snores fill your ears, you toss around the bed, trying to conceal sleep to no avail.

Staring at the ceiling, you kept drifting back to Joel, mind wondering and heart racing at thoughts of strong arms caging you, warmth in your body that the breeze creeping through flowing curtains fails to provide.

The sound of wood creaking jolts you awake. His silhoutte is hard to miss, and your eyes follow it cross your bedroom. You pretend to be asleep, his scent up your nose as he walks in careful measured steps, trying not to wake you up. He looks back at Sarah, and the moonlight betrays him when it shines over his eyes, revealing an adoration that gnaws your chest.

He keeps walking, until he reaches the shared balcony. It's then that you make a choice, heart pounding in your chest as you race yourself from bed, going his way.

You go outside, finding him resting his arms on the balcony, facing the beach in silence. Soft waves crash against the wet sand, but not even that can overpower the sound of your beating heart.

"What're you doin' here?" he's asking, even if you haven't moved from your spot. Seems like your friend wasn't joking about his heightened senses, despite his old age. "Thought y'were 'sleep"

"Well, Sarah is a fast sleeper" you answer, walking to his side.

"She sure is" and the faintest of a smile appears on his face.

Joel Miller is a mystery to you: the most closed off man you've ever met, hiding behind his apparent apathy that only seems to be gone whenever Sarah is around. She's the apple of his eye, and those soft traces of a more tamed character that come to light have truly picked your interest, begging for more crumbs that will help you puzzle who he really is: he, that is as handsome as a mystery. The worst is, you don't know what attracts you more.

But you won't let him win.

"Mr. Miller?"

"Yeah?"

"Were you married?"

He looks at you, dark eyes partly iluminated by the moonlight.

"Aren't you a bit too young to be bold?"

"And aren't you too hot to be all alone?" you reply in an instant, rendering him speechless.

He chuckles, but it sounds defeated rather than amused.

"Trust me, kid" he's back at facing the ocean. Goddamn coward. "This isn't what you want"

"Don't call me kid" you berate, almost repulsed at it. "I'm twenty one"

He scoffs. "Still hella young"

"But I know what I want" a wavering hand ready to trace over his pecs, but he's stopped you before it descends. Before it's too late.

"You don't" he assures, grip on your hand stronger, without knowing how much you're enjoying this. Or maybe he does. "See? That's the problem with you kids: you think you do, but you don't"

You loose your patience.

"Tell me then, Mr. Miller. Would a kid do this?"

Taking the distraction, the same hand flies now to grop his dick, and to your surprise, it's already hard.

"Seems I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they want"

"Stop" he warns, hissing when your eager fingers unbuckle his belt. It's huge, for some reason, and you can't help but feel an ardent throb at the thought of grinding on it.

When your eyes look at Joel, he swears he sees you devilishly smirk, almost as if you were mocking him.

"Stop?" you bite your lip, feigning innocence as doe eyes look where dark ones had done before. "If that's what you want, you aren't even trying"

You kneel down, and the position gives you the perfect side of his adam's apple bobbing in a nervous gulp. He grows insecure under your intense stare, breath hitching when the wind hits his now free member as you pull down his underwear, revealing it hard and leaking with precum. You laugh delighted, with victory, and he finds himself trapped between the moon and your games, drowning on a sea feet away.

"I think I know what you want"

"How? You don't even know what you want" barely fighting it.

Your fingers grace over his soft abdomen, tracing down his belly and happy trail. Your teeth nip at the skin scattered with soft rosy lines, peppering the skin with fluttering kisses to entertain your mouth until your digits touch his hard cock. Joel whines, squirming, and you're delighted with the receptiveness, needy sounds escaping his lips.

You haven't even started yet.

"You're right, I don't" you agree. "All I know is you piss me off and that you ruined our trip, so I'm gonna take my anger out on you one way... or another"

You take your first lick, savouring the dark red head. His hips buck, a shaky gasp robbed from his chapped lips.

"Fuck" he exhales weakly, lost against the sound of water.

"Don't worry, Mr. Miller. I'll take good care of you" admiring his girth. He looks down on you, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Joel can't lie and say he isn't fascinated with the way you look at him, not believing so much appetite can fit in such a small young body. Not even his partners before you, had looked at him like he was the best thing in the world, and now here you were: the loud-mouthed brat best friend of his daughter, sucking his cock while Sarah slept just a few meters away. Just yersteday he was bickering with you, not standing your spoiled attituted and juvenile spirit that can't be tamed and won't shut up. Hell, you had even disrespected him. But here he is, not being able to find the words or actions to stop you: because he doesn't want to.

It was all so fucked up.

But then you're closing your lips around his swollen head, and he knows there's no point in fighting it anymore, his whole body urging him to give in.

"Oh, fuck" he pants, getting all worked up as you take him deeper. "Keep goin'. You're doin' a great job, sweetheart"

The praise gets to you, even if not needed.

Your tongue swirls, running the muscle with wet slides, up and down, tip to base, some pressure applied. You proceed to take in his balls, feeling him tense up. You wanted to mock him badly, but your mouth was full of his dick, so that wasn’t happening.

"D-don't stop" he pleads, sounding more like a whine.

He's deep enough that it hits your throat. You've never been this greedy, but also, have never tried with a dick so big. You feel him in the roof of your mouth, your lips at the base of the tip, brushing against skin. Joel can't keep up: breath hitching, moans ragged and consumed, barely standing if it wasn't for your hands digging in his thighs for support.

You keep building pace, seeing Joel's face scrunch up.

"M' close" his voice comes out strained, his head tilting back, wild soft locks from before now plastered against his forehead, dripping with sweat. His muscles tense, you can feel it, and it's just about time before he's coming inside your mouth.

You want it. To taste more of him, who you claim to hate but feels oh so good. Strong, just as his presence.

"So good, fuck, you're so good" in a tone so needy and desperate. It falls out of his lips, followed by more unintelligible praises dripping from his tongue.

And then, in a shaky breath, lost to the wind:

"Y/n"

You gasp, and he feels it, the air ticklish on his sensitive skin.

Joel said your name.

Your name, in a way it had never been said before. Uttered like a prayer, submerged in devotion. Your name, melting into his moans, deep within him, the calling full of a primal desire. The experience is intoxicating, making you crave more.

Joel comes with a groan, head falling back. Your name dies on his lips as his hips thrust up with your lips closing in. Thick spurts of cum mix with saliva in the back of your throat. You pull out, a string of saliva still connecting you to his dick. He looks down on you, body shaking as much as yours. Without breaking eye contact, he wipes some of the mess drooling from your lips, his calloused thumbs carresing you with a softness you didn't think was possible. The contrast makes you falter a bit, and you know Joel notices.

"There you go" your voice comes out hoarse, avoiding his eyes, "now you know what you want"

He chuckles, giving you a hand to stand up. As you raise to your feet, his face is barely inches away from yours. You can see the lines time has marked across his face, the grays coloring hair you remember to be brown, and those eyes―piercing through you like they know you better than you know yourself.

"But do you?"

Joel Miller doesn't know what is regret.

He didn't feel it when Sarah arrived unexpectedly at the ripe age of twenty, forcing him out of college. He didn't feel it when Sarah's mother left him alone to raise his daughter all by himself, aware he had tried it all to make it work. He surely didn't feel it when you came back after leaving Texas, long gone the childlike wonder and features that made him see you as an extension of his daughter, his gaze lingering a bit too long on this familiar face in a beautiful blooming new body.

But this is different, and he isn't sure if, for the first time, he's finally known what is regret.

Joel Miller also doesn't know when to back out of a fight.

He remember his brother Tommy, practically begging to let go of some asshole that dared to pick up on him, knuckles bloody no matter if he was young then and old as stubborn now, the same red painted across his willfull hands.

But now those hands prickle and sweat, no matter how much he runs them over the fabric of his jeans. And now, as your dangerous stare pierces through him across the small table, Sarah oblivious to the game as she quietly munchs her cereal, Joel Miller backs down, his gaze the first to look away.

He realizes just now why he was so afraid to look up to the sky after you left. The same stars that stared back from the high of the dark night are akin to the ones dancing in your eyes.

"Mr. Miller" your voice breaks his train of thoughts.

"Where's Sarah?" he asks in a panicked voice, realizing you've been left alone.

"Brushing her teeth" you answer, slightly taken back by his tone. "We were going out today, remember?"

Ah, yes. A little tour to an island not to far away from there.

"M' not goin'. Sorry, kid" he's decided. Before you can speak, Sarah returns and asks the question herself.

"M' tired. That's all" but it sounds rather an excuse.

"Are you sure, dad?" Sarah presses, not sure why he had changed his mind at the last minute.

"Yeah" he insists, all while avoiding those eyes of yours, unsatisfied and searching for answers of questions qithout a voice. "You girls go and have fun"

So you do.

You go and feel like you're inside of Mamma Mia (your favorite movie; both of you learned ABBA's discography thanks to it, something that offended your parents), the sun reflecting in the water, the little island with its green and sun, and the flowers that dust their petals into the shore where your boat arrives.

But when the trip is over and soft waves rock your return, you think of Joel.

You think you should feel at least a little ashamed of becoming so obssesed with a man in barely two days, who, on top of it all, is your bestfriend's dad. But then you remember the taste of him inside your mouth, how his dick had rasped against your throat, his seed warm in the tip of your tongue. And then his eyes, promises meant to be broken locked away behind tides of fear, that do an excellent job of reminding you how easy is to drown; to fall for how in hazel flickers, Joel seems he'd give you the world.

"Let's get drunk" you deadpan once you're back at the shore.

Sarah laughs at your determination, then realizes you're serious.

"What?"

"Yeah, it's our last day here" you reason. "Besides, your dad isn't here. What's he going to say?"

If you sound between angry and dissapointed at his absence, Sarah remains quiet.

"We're running away" she tries one last time, but by the look in your eyes, you've made your choice.

"Are we? We're twenty-one, Sarah. We can do whatever the fuck we want" you feel rebellious all of a sudden, "what? Don't you wanna give this trip a grand finale?"

So you crash into the nearest bar and waste the night away, drinking and dancing. But you're ordering a drink you don't like, and in every glass of whiskey down your throat, his name hangs in the air like the memory of his smell, locked behind a vault as if it's too sacred to say. But when Sarah gets a boy to dance and lends his friend to you, you wish there was rough where soft meets your skin, and chapped when you kiss his lips. Your body burns ablaze with sweat, alcohol and regret, a dangerous combination that makes you pull Sarah out of the bar when you feel you're about to black out. She complains, but you're set on making it to the bed before your eyelids shut.

Maybe it's because you always had what you wanted, or maybe it was the forbidden, but whatever reason had pushed you in Joel's orbit, refused to let you go.

And maybe you're imagining his voice, scolding you like a kid. Maybe you're seven again, and in the shadows of the bed, you've gone back to your childhood days. Y/n, y/n, y/n. That sick berating tone of his, acting like you're stupid and small.

"Fucking brat" he spats, drops of his angry scowl landing on your cheek. You then realize he's hovering over you, and it's real, not a product of your foggy mind. So you stand up, sobering up a bit, when he charges back again. "Makin' my daughter pass out? What the fuck were you thinkin'? Could've ended in the middle of the street. You're s'pposed to go to the damn island and then come back!"

Your mouth tastes like sand, but even if you've passed out a couple hours ago, the fire doesn't die. So your tongue is back, finding it's voice to say:

"Well, if you hadn't left us alone, this wouldn't have happened"

He chuckles, darkly. Humorless. "I see"

"What?" you challenge, a shiver down your spine that looses itself somewhere else.

"You got my daughter drunk as revenge"

You're mortified at the accusation, the remnants of alcohol now long gone of your system.

"Do you think I'd risk me and my best friend's safety for you? Out of all people, you?" not caring if you sound bitter.

The truth sticks to your skin as uncomfortably as the sweat.

"I dunno, sweetheart. That's why I'm asking you" the pet name rolls effortlessly, in a rough voice that creates a wet spot in your panties. He gets closer, and you can see the tremble of his lips as he lets out a shaky breath. "Be a good girl and answer"

"I won't tell you shit" you spit.

"You little minx, thinkin' you can run your tongue like it ain't been 'round my cock before" you look like a deer caught in headlights, and Joel's enjoying this more than he should. "That's right, what'd Sarah think knowing her friend's a little slut for'er daddy's cock?"

The electric current that crosses your body sparks the fire of the woods hiding behind his auburn storms.

Now you're feeling high on a forest fire. You want the flames to engulf you, even if ashes is all there'll be left.

"Tell me you want this" his forehead clashes against yours, and the whole world falls silent, except for your ringing ears.

"I want this" and he's just as surprised as you are by the unwavering conviction. "I need you, Mr. Miller"

You try to get up, but he pushes you with full force back into your bed. Then, the base creaks, and he's on top of you, his weight pressing you against the mattress.

"What are you-"

"You think I'd let you get away easily? Have things your way? Naive lil' girl" he tuts, "I'll punish you for that"

As on cue, drowned out snores are heard from your side.

"But, Sarah-" you try to protest, his body caging you under his mercy.

"That'll mean you're behavin', right?" he runs his thumb across your lips, gently pulling them down, as if the chase was thrilling as eating the prey. "I know you don't want to wake her up and see her slut of a friend bangin' her daddy"

You tense, remaining silent at the threat, even if your body reacts other ways.

"Good girl"

He’s quick to get rid you of your shorts.

"Fuckin' hell" he murmurs against your neck, the clothing discarded somewhere in the room. "Wearin' this little shitty bottoms to rail me up, knowin' damn well when to bent and get me hard. Been thinkin' of takin' them off ever since you wore 'em first"

The confession makes you whine, and Joel's delighted by the sound, and just how putty you are under his big rough hands.

"Let's see what we got here" his large hands caress your thighs as he settles between your legs. "Black lace, baby? Such a fuckin' tease. Wore 'em for me?"

You shake your head, but his calloused digits dig on the plush skin of your thighs, making you wince at the pain.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. You'd said you'll be a good girl, yeah?" you nod, soaking wet, painfully so.

"Yes, I'll be"

"Show me your manners, then" he presses light kisses on the insides of your thighs, close to where you need his graying beard to tickle, "and I'll show you mine"

"Just eat me, Joel" you demand breathlessly. "Fuck. Need you, Mr. Miller, so bad"

"And why should I reward you, impatient little slut? Eager to get daddy's filthy mouth between that pretty pussy" Joel bites the inside of your thigh, and it takes all of your strength to avoid becoming a moaning mess. "You've been bad, sweetheart. A brat"

You deny it, but his head dissappears between your legs, licking the wet spot on your panties. You squirm under the teasing of his tongue, legs shutting close on instinct. You drown a whimper in your palm as he yanks your panties away.

"Don't do anything I ain't tell you to" demanding, and if you weren't this horny and out of your mind, you'd probably be scared. "There'll be consequences"

You try to obey. But then his nose, that big nose you want covered in your slick as you grind off of it between your legs, sniffs your panties. He gives it one big sniff, and then two, fingers going white as he holds the piece of fabric with too much force, shoving it on his face.

"Ye'r too fuckin' sweet, I'll give you that" he mumbles in a drunken haze. "Need to taste that drippin' cunt of yours 'night"

The bed creaks again, or maybe it's the sound of his bones starting to give in to old age, but Joel is sucking your clit, tongue pushed inside of your puffy folds. You hide a moan against his lips, hands traveling to grip his hair.

"Joel" you breathe out. 

He parts your folds easily, and before you know it, a rugged finger circles your entrance. Your back arches, and then he leaves place for his mouth again, flicking your sensitive core with his tongue. A moan a little too loud escapes your lips, making his eyes darken when the bed next to you shifts, Sarah tossing in her sleep.

"You dumb fuckin' brat. What'd I say?" his hand slams against your pussy, a sting you've never felt before, both showered in pain and pleasure, spreading across your cunt. "Don't disobey me. Apologize, now"

He stops his minstrations, and you're so achingly close to your orgasm, that the answer falls easy and rushed from your lips.

"Sorry, Mr. Miller"

"Good girl" Joel praises as he pushes his finger in, next to his tongue on your clit.

But the orgasm is so deliciously close, and you can't wait for more. So now you're grinding in his face by reflex, rubbing against his big nose just like you'd imagined. You whine at the sensation, and Joel rests his tongue flat on your clit with surprise.

"Who gave you permission to do that?" but his voice sounds more amused than nagging. "That imagination of yours is somethin' else. Have you been thinkin' bout it all this time, hmh, greedy dirty slut?"

The orgasm looms closer, hitting when Joel pushes a second rough finger in, walls clenching against his digits. He pulls away, licking his fingers with his tongue.

"Such a perfect pussy you got there, sweetheart. As sweet as you when you ain't bein' a pain in the ass"

You laugh breathless, trying to recover.

"Wanna taste?"

So now he's kissing you for the first time, his lips rough against plush skin, nibbling with your lower lips between his teeth, his tongue still tasting like you roaming free inside your mouth, like he wants to mark every corner; imprint himself in you. You've never wanted anything, hell, anyone more. The kiss leaves you hanging, heart racing at the closeness of his face and the warmhearted feeling of his lips on yours, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together.

"There you go" he chuckles, enamoured at the sight of your puffy lips. "Now it's my turn"

He's quick to get rid of the jeans and belt (oh well, it'll be another day) until he's over you, just wearing his boxers.

You'd never seen Joel naked before, why would you? But there's a vague memory of hot summer days, trying to survive the heat in the town's pool, just as the rest. He was there, eye candy for the mothers and horny teens. You hadn't understand back then, when he was all muscle, but you do know, where the mighty strenght is still hidden there, somewhere between his sturdy arms and chest as soft as his belly, round as it pushes above the only piece of cloth that forbids you to see his dick. His chest is full of hair, and God, you feel so dirty wanting to bury your face in the sweat drenched patch.

"Stop lookin' at me like that" he teases, but there is a small voice of insecurity hiding its undertones beneath his smirk under your stare.

"You're so fucking hot, Joel" comes out before you can stop it, now mouth acting up on its own.

Fuck, he thinks, he's too far gone. There's no point of return.

Your eager fingers pull down the underwear, fingers grazing the softness of his length. You slowly grabs his dick as he comes closer, never seeing anything as big and provoking as it. That makes you tighten your grip on his dick, which stands proud and tall, leaking precum, and the muscles of his thighs strain against his skin. 

He positions himself between your legs again.

"Let's put this big bad boy to use, huh?"

He grunts at your words, large hands finding your thighs for support, as he caresses up and down the skin littered with marks and kisses.

Joel pushes in. Just his tip, yet your mouth falls open at how large he already feels, and you tighten your hold on his neck.

"Tell me if it hurts" all softness on his eyes, his forehead falling against yours, as if he hadn't been punishing you just minutes ago. Your heart races at the gesture, tender meeting the rough of his edges.

The real question isn't asked, but you're on the pill and you trust him. You just want to fill him inside of you, all of him.

"I will, Mr. Miller"

He slams all the way in. You let out a broken sound, quickly muffled by his palm as he stays buried deep inside of you, givimg you time to adjust to his size. It burns, but you enjoy the way the pain feels. He slowly pulls out, before pushing all the way in again. Your slick folds take him, and he grunts, supporting his aching body by the forehead against yours one more time.

"So tight, sweetheart. Ain't nobody ruinin' this pussy but me" his growl comes out possesive as Joel establishes a steady rhythm. You softly moan as he keeps moving, pounding into you, hitting a spot no one had before, making you see stars. It gets harder to stay quiet, but Joel caputres every little sound that comes out of you in a kiss, as if that way he could preserve them better and forever.

You wrap your legs tight around him, keeping him close as your walls clench around him, his thrusts harder yet slower as he keeps going, ramming into you.

"Look at you, coatin' my dick like a fuckin' meltin' ice cream" he gently pushes it again between your folds, rubbing his dick on your clit. "So fuckin' wet, for me"

His lips are slightly parted and his eyes looked all fogged up, lost in the fire, thrusts becoming sloppier as he too feels it coming.

"So fuckin' pretty" drips from his mouth, and there's the stars in your eyes and the light you insist he's always had, even if he'd prefere the darkness. "The prettiest girl in the world with the sweetest pussy, givin' it all to this ol' perverted fuck"

The words and his big dick inside of you makes your eyes flutter shut on instinct.

"Don't sleep on me, baby" he coos, a hand brushing damp hair from your face. You recognize the look: the same in the car, on the balcony and on the poarch of his house, after letting the years go by. Back then, you thought you had dreamed it, but now that the secret saccharine sweetness reveals herself as he slams into you, you know it was real.

This is real.

You meet his gaze again and try to hold it as he pounds you so gently yet so rough, trying to show him without words that whatever this wrong and sick feeling was, you felt the same.

"Such'a good girl, takin' me so well" Joel grunts, slamming to the hilt. "Fuck, sweetheart, I'm gonna-"

His dick twitches inside of you, walls spasming around his cock as your pussy takes it all, milking him dry.

"Take it all, like the good girl you are"

Both of you pant, and it takes him a while to realize the sun is raising again until its rays hurt his eyesight.

He's about to tell you how this shouldn't be, how he, at such an old age shouldn't be pinning for his daughter's friend: so young, sweet and loud-mouthed. No matter if you felt the same, or if your body was marked in and out by him. No, because wanting isn't enough, and no tide could wash away his sins from the shore.

"Listen, y/n-" your name like he has never said it before: no scold, no malice nor lust. Just a softness he hadn't felt in years, asleep under thick layers of cold.

But your soft snores fill the silence between the beats of his heart.

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs / tags: @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrosgrogu thank you sm for reading! hope u enjoy it :)

[theetherealbloom]

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.9

Chapter Nine: The Silver Lining's I'll Be There With You

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck, Heavy Overthinking, Cecilia deserves her own warning lol, Confrontation,

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: SOOO… lol, this is the longest I’ve gone without writing/posting, I deeply apologise and I’m so sorry T^T I literally had to lock the fuck in with school, each week I had at least two exams/deadlines. I blame our profs for their poor planning lol. Anyways, I have a little bit of a lighter load now since it’s almost finals season… I’ll keep ya’ll posted, and I humbly ask ya’ll to be patient for the next update and oh god, TLOU season 2… Uneven Odds… My backlog is insane right now, oh naur. Pedro babes I love you, but go on vacation boo. 

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Silver Lining by Laufey

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PINEWOOD STUDIOS, LONDON — MORNING

You were hella nervous. Pedro held your hand the entire car ride to the studio, his thumb softly brushing over your knuckles, grounding you even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.

"You're quiet," he murmured, watching you from the corner of his eye. "You okay, baby?"

You forced a smile. "Yeah. Just… y’know. Nervous."

"About what?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off. "I dunno. Just… going back on set. Seeing everyone. After, y'know…"

The accident.

Pedro squeezed your hand tighter. His jaw clenched, and you could tell — he was still haunted by it too. The way you had thrown yourself in front of him. The way he had watched you collapse under the rig. The way he had screamed for help — like his entire world was falling apart.

"Hey." His voice was soft. "I'm not leaving your side, okay? The second you wanna leave — we leave. I don't care what anyone says."

And you believed him. God, you did. But there was still this gnawing pit in your stomach. Something you couldn't shake.

Because something still didn't make sense.

The rig was never supposed to fall like that.

The air in the studio felt wrong the moment you stepped inside.

Too still. Too watchful.

The crew was polite — too polite — but cagey. Their gazes flitted toward you, then away. Conversations hushed behind clipboards. Even your supervisor couldn’t meet your eyes. Something was off.

And Pedro… he never let go of your hand.

“Hey.” His thumb brushed against your knuckles, voice low. “You okay?”

You weren’t sure. Your stomach coiled, dread sinking deep into your bones. “Yeah. Just—”

“—Glad you could make it,” a voice interrupted.

You both turned.

Rob, the production’s safety manager, stood stiffly at the entrance. His face was a heavy mask of professionalism, but his eyes… there was something hard in them.

“Rob?” Pedro said, stepping forward slightly. “What’s going on?”

Rob’s jaw flexed. “We need to speak with you both. Privately.”

Your stomach flipped. “Both of us?”

A beat of hesitation. “Yes. It’s regarding the rig accident.”

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.

The meeting room was small and clinical. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing the walls in a cold, sterile glow. A long table stretched across the center, surrounded by a few empty chairs — and at the end of it, a large television screen.

You sat next to Pedro. His knee pressed against yours, grounding you — or maybe grounding himself.

“What’s going on?” you finally managed, trying to sound casual despite the dread in your throat.

Rob didn’t answer immediately. He set his clipboard down and exhaled heavily, gaze flicking between you and Pedro. We reviewed the footage from the accident. We also conducted a full inspection of the rig.”

Your chest tightened. “And?”

Rob hesitated, his throat working. “We found something.”

Silence dropped like a hammer. Your pulse pounded in your ears.

“What did you find?” Pedro’s voice was tight, protective.

Rob didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed a remote and clicked it. The television flickered to life.

And there it was.

The accident.

Your throat closed.

You watched yourself on the screen — laughing softly as you secured the cast into their harnesses. Pedro stood beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder as he said something that made you smile. The light rig swayed subtly above you, unnoticed.

And then—

It happened.

The exact moment the rig detached.

A sharp, metallic snap. Your body jolted, instinctively pushing Pedro out of the way as the light came crashing down.

Your mouth ran dry. Every muscle in your body seized.

“Wait—pause it,” Pedro rasped, his voice cracking. “Right there.”

Rob froze the footage. Pedro shot to his feet, pointing at the corner of the screen. ��Zoom in.”

The image expanded.

And there — in the background — was someone.

Half-hidden behind a metal panel. But unmistakable.

“Cecilia,” you whispered, ice flooding your veins.

Pedro went rigid beside you. “What the fuck—”

She was watching you. Her gaze locked solely on you. And then — her hand moved.

A deliberate pull.

And that’s when the rig snapped.

“No.” Pedro’s voice broke, his entire body jerking back as though burned. “No — she—” His hand raked through his hair. “She did that on fucking purpose.”

You couldn’t breathe. “Why—why would she—”

And then Rob’s voice cut through. Low. Grave.

“…She wasn’t trying to kill Mr. Pascal.”

The room dropped into an unbearable silence.

Your head snapped toward Rob. “…What?”

Rob’s throat worked. “The investigation revealed the rig was deliberately tampered with during your lunch break. Cecilia was on set when no one else was. We believe she… adjusted the release on the rig.”

Your entire body went cold. “But it didn’t fall on me,” you rasped. “It— it almost hit him—”

“Because the timing was off.” Rob’s voice was heavy. “…It was meant to fall when you returned. She was waiting for you to get under it.”

Pedro’s hands were shaking. “You’re saying—”

“She was trying to kill her,” Rob confirmed grimly. “And when it didn’t happen — she didn’t react. She just… watched.”

Your stomach lurched.

Pedro stumbled back a step, his face ashen. “Where the fuck is she?” he demanded, voice raw.

“We have her in a separate room. Security’s questioning her now.”

Rob’s words sat heavy in the air.  

The room was suffocating. You could hear the hum of the air conditioner, the faint chatter from outside the closed door, the scratch of Rob’s pen against his clipboard. Everything felt too loud and too quiet at the same time.  

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself.  

"I know she and I don’t get along…” you started, your voice unsteady. “But this is a lot.”  

Pedro’s head snapped toward you. His eyes—wide, dark, still brimming with the horror of what he just saw—searched yours like he couldn’t believe you were saying that.  

“A lot?” he repeated, voice tight. “A lot?”  

You swallowed.  

“Pedro, I—”  

“No.” He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck, his whole body strung tight with barely restrained fury. “She tried to fucking kill you. And you’re standing here acting like it’s just—what? Office drama?”  

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”  

“No,” he cut you off, stepping closer. “She planned this, waited for the right moment, rigged that thing to fall exactly when you’d be standing there—” He sucked in a shaky breath. “She watched it happen.”  

The words made your blood run cold.  

Because he was right.  

She had watched. You’d seen it in the footage—the way her head barely moved as the rig came loose, how she didn’t even flinch when it nearly crushed Pedro.  

If anything… it had almost looked like satisfaction.  

A chill ran down your spine.  

Pedro saw your expression shift, and his own softened just a fraction. He sighed, running a hand down his face before reaching for you again, his fingers sliding against yours.  

“Amor,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “You can’t downplay this.”  

You hesitated—but you didn’t pull away.  

“I just—” you licked your lips, eyes darting toward Rob. “I need to know why.”  

“Then let’s find out.” Pedro’s grip tightened. He looked at Rob. “I want to see her.”  

Rob hesitated.  

"Mr. Pascal, I don't think—"  

“We need to see her.”  

There was no room for argument.  

Rob exhaled sharply, glancing between you both before nodding. "Follow me."  

SECURITY ROOM — PINEWOOD STUDIOS

The moment you stepped inside, the air felt wrong.  

Cecilia didn’t look up at first. She just sat there, fingers tapping lazily against the metal table, the picture of boredom. But when the door clicked shut behind you, her lips curled into something sharp, something mocking.  

“Well, well.” She leaned back, exhaling a slow breath through her nose. “Look who survived.”  

Pedro’s hands clenched into fists.  

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had questions—you had so many questions—but standing in front of her, seeing the absolute lack of remorse in her expression, your stomach twisted into knots.  

“You were trying to kill me.” It wasn’t even a question.  

Cecilia tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something twisted. “You make it sound so dramatic.”  

Pedro lunged.  

Security was on him before he could reach her, two guards stepping in to block his path. His breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving, but he didn’t take his eyes off her.  

“You tried to fucking kill her!” he spat, voice raw with barely restrained rage.  

Cecilia let out a soft, breathy laugh.  

And then she looked at you.  

The intensity of it made your stomach churn. There was something ugly in her gaze, something simmering beneath the surface.  

“Don’t act so shocked,” she mused, her voice sickly sweet. “You had to know I hated you.”  

You took a shaky step forward. “Why?”  

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”  

“Why, Cecilia?”  

Her smirk dropped.  

And then—  

"Because you don’t belong here," she snapped.  

The air seemed to still.  

Pedro stiffened beside you.  

Cecilia leaned forward, her nails scraping against the metal table. "You’re nobody," she sneered. “Some random, awkward little nobody who just lucked her way into all of this.” Her eyes flicked to Pedro with something scathing. “And somehow, you have him wrapped around your pathetic little finger.”  

Your breath hitched.  

Pedro’s hand found yours, squeezing tight.  

She saw it. And laughed.  

"Oh, wow," she drawled. “That’s fucking hilarious.”  

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off.  

"You walk onto this set like you belong here, like you’re one of us—but you’re not." Her voice was venomous now, her eyes wild. “You think people don’t talk about you? You think we don’t see it? The way you cling to him like some shy, pathetic little puppy?”  

You flinched.  

Pedro stepped in front of you instinctively, his body a shield. “You don’t get to talk to her like that.”  

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "Look at you. Protecting her. It’s honestly nauseating."  

Pedro’s grip on your hand tightened.  

"Here’s what really pisses me off," she continued, voice low and sharp. "I worked my ass off to get where I am. I have connections, I have talent, I belong here. But you—" her lip curled "—some quiet, nothing of a girl, you get handed everything. People like you shouldn’t get to win."  

Your throat tightened.  

Cecilia sat back, exhaling through her nose. "So yeah," she murmured. "I wanted you gone."  

Silence.  

And then Pedro moved.  

Not toward her—but toward you. His hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your jaw. His touch was gentle, but his voice was firm.  

“She’s everything you’ll never be,” he said quietly.  

Cecilia’s eyes darkened.  

Rob, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. His voice was sharp, cold.  

“You’re done.”  

Cecilia blinked, her head snapping toward him.  

“Legal is handling the rest,” Rob continued. "You’ll be formally charged. The company will pursue legal action for endangering crew and tampering with safety equipment. And as for Mr. Pascal and Miss—”  

Pedro cut him off. “We’re filing charges too.”  

Your heart skipped.  

Cecilia laughed. "We’re?” Her eyes flicked to you. “Oh my god. You’re actually letting him do this for you.”  

Pedro didn’t even hesitate. "No," he said. “She’s not letting me do anything. I’m doing this because she deserves better.”  

Cecilia scoffed, but it was weaker now.  

Security moved in. "Time’s up," one of them muttered, gripping Cecilia’s arm.  

She didn’t fight them. Didn’t struggle. But as they led her out, she turned, eyes locking onto yours.  

And then she smiled.  

A chill ran down your spine.  

Pedro felt it. You knew he did—because his hand never left yours.  

Rob cleared his throat. "You two need to come with me. Legal will brief you on the next steps."  

Pedro nodded, already leading you toward the door.  

But your feet felt heavy.  

This wasn’t over.  

Not by a long shot.  

And somehow… you had a terrible feeling that Cecilia wasn’t done with you yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — LATER THAT DAY

To say the rest of the workday was exhausting was an understatement.  

The meeting with legal had been a blur—signing statements, reviewing footage again, going over protocol and next steps. There was so much red tape, so much legal jargon, that it all started to bleed together in your head.  

And then there was Cecilia.  

She was officially gone. Fired. Out of the studio.  

No one was exactly mourning her departure. In fact, you quickly realized that she hadn’t been all that liked to begin with. Crew members exchanged knowing glances, a few even muttering things like, “About damn time.” It was a strange kind of relief, knowing you hadn’t imagined the way she’d treated you—that you hadn’t been overreacting.  

Still, you couldn’t shake the sick feeling in your gut.  

There was something about the way she had smiled before she left.  

Like she knew something you didn’t.  

But you pushed it down. You had to. There was still work to be done, cameras to prep, lights to check. The show had to go on, and the last thing you wanted was to make everything about you.  

So you pretended.  

You focused on your job, gave polite smiles when necessary, forced your hands to steady when they trembled. If anyone noticed how stiff you were, they didn’t say anything. And if Pedro noticed—well.  

He was watching you.  

Constantly.  

Even as he ran through his scenes, even when he was talking to the director, even when he was across the damn set, you could feel it—his eyes lingering, his brow furrowed in quiet concern.  

And honestly? It was starting to make you nervous.  

So, during a break between shots, when he finally cornered you near the equipment table, you weren’t exactly surprised.  

"Are you okay?"  

You swallowed, forcing a small smile. "I’m fine."  

Pedro raised an eyebrow.  

Damn it.  

"I’m trying to be fine," you amended, shifting awkwardly under his gaze.  

He sighed. "You don’t have to try with me, you know."  

Your stomach twisted.  

Because that was the thing about Pedro—he was safe. You had known that since the moment you met him. It was in his voice, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he never pushed too hard, never made you feel like you had to be anything other than what you were.  

And that—that terrified you more than anything.  

Because what if you fell into that safety? What if you leaned too hard? What if you needed him too much?  

You bit your lip, glancing down. "I just... I don’t want to make this a big deal."  

Pedro was silent for a beat. Then—  

"But it is a big deal," he murmured.  

Your breath caught.  

Pedro reached out, his fingers ghosting over your wrist before he really touched you—slow and gentle, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.  

You didn’t.  

"Someone tried to hurt you," he continued, voice low, careful. "I need you to understand that I—" He broke off, his jaw clenching like he was trying to rein himself in. "I don’t take that lightly."  

You exhaled shakily.  

"I know," you whispered.  

His fingers tightened around your wrist, warm and steady.  

For a second, neither of you moved.  

And then—  

Someone called Pedro’s name from across the set.  

He swore under his breath but didn’t let go right away, his thumb brushing absently against your pulse.  

"We’re not done talking about this," he murmured.  

And before you could protest, he was gone.  

Leaving you standing there, heart racing, hands aching with the ghost of his touch.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — EARLY EVENING  

The day dragged on like a ghost of itself.

After Cecilia was escorted off set and Pedro’s legal team assured you everything would be handled, you forced yourself to keep working. You were quiet. Careful. Mechanical. Going through the motions like a wind-up version of yourself.

People tried to be nice. Someone handed you a protein bar. Someone else asked if you were okay in that awkward, nervous way people do when they don’t know how to talk about something awful.  

You smiled. Nodded. Said, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

You weren’t.

By the time the lights dimmed and crew started packing up, the hum of the studio felt deafening. Pedro had been across the lot filming a short pickup scene—he’d looked back at you three times as he walked off, like he didn’t want to leave you alone, but you waved him on with a soft, forced smile. Told him you’d be fine.

You lied.

Because now you found yourself sitting on a lonely bench just outside the studio’s back lot, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The sun was low in the sky, casting everything in golden haze, but none of it touched the growing pit in your chest.

Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You almost died.

He almost died.  

You didn’t even remember moving—your body just acted, just lunged toward him before the rig collapsed. You could still feel the heat of it brushing past your back as you shoved him out of the way. The sound of it crashing. Pedro yelling your name. The weight of it all hadn’t sunk in until now.

You sat there, heart pounding, staring at your hands like they belonged to someone else.

Then—Footsteps. Familiar ones. Heavy boots on pavement.

Pedro.

“…There you are,” he said softly.

You looked up too fast, eyes wide. He frowned when he saw your face.

“You said you were going to the parking lot,” he murmured, kneeling down in front of you instead of sitting beside you. “You’ve been out here alone?”

You nodded. Barely. “Yeah. I just… I needed a second.”

His gaze flickered over you, reading all the things you didn’t say.

“You’re not okay.”

You tried to smile again. Failed. “No.”

That one word cracked something open. Your voice wobbled. “I’m really not.”

Pedro didn’t say anything—he just reached for your hands, gently prying them from where they were clutched around your middle. His thumbs brushed your knuckles as he held them, grounding you with his warmth.

“I keep thinking,” you whispered, “If I was just a few steps slower—if I hadn’t looked up, if the timing was different… you could’ve been—”

“Hey.” He reached up, cupping your cheek. His voice was low and firm and steady. “But I wasn’t. You were there. You saved me.”

You blinked hard. Your throat tightened. “But you shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. None of this should’ve happened. I don’t know how she—how someone I used to know—could hate me that much. It’s like… like I did something wrong just by existing.”

Pedro’s brow furrowed. His thumb brushed gently under your eye where a tear had slipped free. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “You’re not the problem, cariño. She is. Whatever’s broken in her, it has nothing to do with you.”

You dropped your gaze. “I’ve always been the weird one. The quiet one. The ‘who even let her in here?’ kind of girl.”

Pedro let out a breath like it hurt to hear you say that. Then he sat beside you, pulling you into his chest without hesitation. You didn’t even think—your body just curled into him like it was home.

“I don’t know who made you feel like that,” he said quietly, “but they were all wrong.”

His arms were wrapped around you tight. Solid. Safe.

“You belong here,” he whispered. “You’re good at your job. You’re kind. And brave. You didn’t even hesitate today. You didn’t think about it, didn’t flinch—you just moved.”

You felt the warmth of his breath against your temple.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life,” he admitted. “Watching that rig come down, seeing you throw yourself toward me—” His voice cracked, just a little. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got hurt.”

Your heart thudded painfully at that.

You shifted slightly, your face still tucked against his shoulder, your voice small. “But I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

Silence fell for a moment. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It was full of unspoken things. Of feeling.  

You pulled back just enough to look at him. He didn’t let go.

“…You really scared me too,” you whispered. “More than I expected. And I—I don’t think it’s just because I like working with you.”

Pedro’s eyes softened.

“You don’t?” he asked gently.

Your cheeks flushed. You glanced down, shy and awkward. “No. I think… I think I like you in the stupid romantic way.”

Pedro didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned in—slow, careful, giving you every chance to back away.

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you, it was soft. Warm. Like the sun finally touching your skin after a long, cold day.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, “That’s not stupid.”

You smiled, still tearful, still trembling—but for the first time all day, the weight on your chest felt just a little bit lighter.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet.

Not uncomfortable—just… full. The kind of silence that settles in after your body’s been wrung out by adrenaline and nerves. You stared out the window, your hands fidgeting in your lap. Pedro sat beside you, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your wrist with his thumb, like he needed to keep reminding himself you were still there.

He didn’t ask you anything. Didn’t push. Just stayed close.

By the time the keycard clicked and the hotel door swung open, your shoulders felt like they were being held up by thread.

Pedro locked the door behind you. You stood there for a beat too long, not sure what to do with yourself. Like you were suddenly a guest in your own body.

“Hey,” his voice came from behind, soft. “Why don’t you sit down, okay?”

You nodded, toeing off your shoes and sinking onto the edge of the bed. The moment your weight settled into the mattress, your spine curled forward. You didn’t cry. Didn’t break. Just sat there, small and still, trying to hold it all in.

Pedro crouched in front of you.

You didn’t realize your hands were shaking until he reached for them.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

You looked up, eyes glassy, and gave the smallest nod.

He took your hands into his, warm and steady, his thumbs brushing slow circles over your knuckles.

“Pedro…”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, eyes focused entirely on you. “Hm?”

You hesitated. Your heart fluttered in your chest—nervous, raw, still carrying the weight of everything that had happened. But his hands felt like an anchor. His eyes were kind and open and safe.

“Thank you,” you said softly. Barely more than a whisper.

His lips parted—just the smallest bit—and then curved into something achingly tender.

“Anything for you, mi amor,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

The way he said it—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t performative. There was no teasing lilt in his voice. It was soft and full of meaning, like every word had been carefully chosen. Like he meant it with his whole chest.

You tried to look away, but he was already watching you with that gaze that always made you feel like the most precious thing in the room.

“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you said quietly, your voice cracking just a little. “I’ve been weird all day, I barely said anything, and I just—there was this moment where I couldn’t stop shaking. I still feel like I can’t breathe right.”

Pedro didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he brought your hands up and pressed a kiss to your fingers, slow and reverent. Like you were something delicate and sacred.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said gently. “I know what today was. I saw what it did to you. And I saw how hard you still tried.”

Your throat felt tight.

“You didn’t shut down,” he continued. “You showed up. You protected me. And then you went right back to work like nothing happened. But sweetheart… that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot.”

Your lips trembled.

He let go of your hands just long enough to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheeks. “You don’t have to be okay right away. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I didn’t think it’d affect me this much,” you whispered. “It’s just… I felt so stupid for freezing up earlier.”

“You weren’t stupid,” he said immediately. “You were brave. You were human.”

You looked down, unsure of what to say to that. You were still getting used to how he talked to you—like you mattered. Like your feelings were real and valid and worth holding space for.

Pedro tipped your chin up with a gentle finger. “Hey.”

Your eyes met his again.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You don’t owe anyone a perfect reaction. You don’t owe me anything except exactly who you are.”

“I don’t know how to be that around you,” you admitted, cheeks burning. “I still feel like I’m tripping over my own feet when I talk.”

His smile turned playful—just for a second.

“I think it’s cute.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. “Don’t say that.”

He laughed softly, arms wrapping around you again.

“I’m serious,” he murmured into your hair. “You’re so hard on yourself, mi amor. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

Your heart fluttered painfully in your chest. You stayed like that, pressed close against him, letting his warmth sink into your skin like sunlight through linen. Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt, and he held you like you were something he didn’t want to let go of.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again.

“Will you stay?” you asked softly.

Pedro’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Of course.”

“No, I mean…” You hesitated. “All night.”

He reached up, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You want me here?”

You nodded. “I feel safe when you’re here.”

His chest rose with a quiet breath, and then he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead—slow, lingering, warm.

“Then I’m staying,” he said simply.

And he did.

You both climbed under the covers a few minutes later, your back to his chest, his arms around your waist. He held you gently, like a promise. You were still a little shy, still unsure of how close to be—but when he murmured, “I’ve got you,” into your shoulder, something deep in you finally let go.

You fell asleep wrapped in his warmth, the world softening around you.

End Notes:

I know, it's not a super long chapter update, for that I am so sorry, but I swear the next one will be longer tehe!

Will they catch a break?!?! I dunno. There’s a lot of things that come with dating a celebrity… and soon enough, the public will find out. I’m sure it will be fine! ...Right?

Anyways, I apologize once again for the wait and thank you for your patience! See you soon 🤍

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove @ashhlsstuff @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @youusunshineyoutemptress @klajmekkk @aomi-nabi @churchofjoemiller @pascalitobarnes @ccmoonshine @its-different-for-girls66 @bunniboo0015 @kneelforloki @sarcasticamentegiulia @joelmillerpascal

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Part II

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Part I | Part III

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Hawk and Pope make it back to Oceanside and J becomes involved with the Cody's. Slow Burn. Word Count: 5,266 (pls free me) Content Warning: Typical Animal Kingdom warnings. Pope is Pope in this bit. Would 100% call the police if it was anyone other than him. A/N: I'm screaming from the messages I've received about this fic. Thank you so much to everyone who has reached out. I'm glad to help pull people over from The Pitt and into Animal Kingdom hell. ****Also, I had an edible while I was editing this so if something is wonky that is your business, not mine lmao. Please comment & reblog :)

The ride the following morning was quiet. Pope didn’t say much of anything when he finally came out of the bathroom the night before and Hawk forced herself to fall asleep before she said something that would set him off. 

He was up and dressed before she even cracked her eyes open, and he was sitting on the side of his bed, watching her silently as she slept. 

“Jesus Christ, Pope.” Hawk said with a start when she did eventually open her eyes. Her voice broke him from whatever thoughts had him occupied and his eyes shifted to the floor. Hawk sat up, the blanket falling to her waist and the strap of her tank top slid from her shoulder. Pope swore the room got twenty degrees hotter. 

He stood and booked it out the door before Hawk could even ask where he was going. She looked at the time on her phone, groaned, then fell back into the comfort of the mattress. 

The radio played softly to break up the tense silence of the SUV. They were passing through Santa Clarita when Pope finally spoke.

“You should’ve told me.” He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t even look at her. His sunglasses-covered eyes just stared out of the passenger window to watch the scenery as it passed. 

“I made the decision based off of-”

“Based off of what?” He cut her off. “She was my sister-”

“-A sister you haven’t spoken to in fifteen years, Pope.” Hawk glanced at Pope, but he was already looking straight at her. “I was going to tell you whether you were still locked up or if you were released, but I wasn’t going to drop this on you when that hearing had so much riding on it. It wasn’t a nice decision to make, and I’m sorry I had to make it at all, but I don’t regret doing it.” Hawk let that settle in the car for a moment before Pope spoke again. 

“You keeping anything else from me?” The look she gave him told him he went too far, so he kept his mouth shut for the rest of the ride as she turned the music up louder.

“I’m not Smurf, Pope.”  

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Hawk breathed out as she found a place to park. The street was lined with cars and music could be heard leaching from the backyard of the Cody compound. She looked down to see Pope’s hands balled into fists before flexing his fingers out. “You good?” He nodded absentmindedly. “Then let’s get this over with.”

“Wish you would’ve told us you were getting out. We would’ve picked you up,” Smurf said as she lounged against Pope in the den. Craig, Baz, Cath, Deran, J, and Hawk were scattered around the room.

“With balloons and a homemade sign.” Pope responded sarcastically.

“A limo with two hookers in the back,” Deran suggested from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, and an 8-ball of speed.” Craig shook his head, making a bleh noise with his mouth hung open. J looked between them, then back at Hawk. 

“Why didn’t you say anything, Hawk?” Smurf’s question drew everyone’s eyes to the woman in question. She just shrugged, nodding to Pope.

“Wasn’t my business to tell.”  

“Speaking of your business,” Craig put the tray he was breaking up buds on to the side and gave Hawk his full attention. “You’ve been hangin’ around Julia and her kid this whole time and didn’t say shit to any of us?”

“Yup.”

“...Because…”

“Because that’s my business, Craig. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone, much less you.”

“Don’t be defensive, baby. He’s just asking a question.” Smurf knew that would piss Hawk off. The gaslighting, the downplaying -it was all a part of the matriarch’s playbook.

“Just think it’s weird, is all. She was disowned for a reason and none of us were supposed to reach out to her. She-”

“-I did what I was supposed to. I did what I had to do so that I could look in the mirror and live with myself. The only reason you know about him now is because she’s gone.” Hawk crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. 

“You’ve strayed too far, Hawk. We need to do some bonding, you and me, to get back to how things were. You have a good heart, but you let it cloud your judgement. I won’t hold that against you this time around. You supported my grandson when his mother failed miserably and I’ll always be grateful to you for it.” J tried not to wince, but Hawk caught it. Baz felt the tension and decided to break it by bringing Pope back to the forefront of the conversation.

“Why didn’t you say anything when I visited you last week?” Why didn’t Pope mention that Baz had gone to see him? Was this something that happened often? Pope’s eyes caught Hawk’s before they went back to Baz.

“I figured I’d get rejected like the last two times,” He shrugged.

“Well, it’s about time that parole board came to its senses.” Smurf spoke up, pushing her hair back. “Six years for a bank robbery where no one gets hurt. The three you’ve done are crime enough, baby,” She leaned back and kissed Pope’s cheek. The way she was draped over Pope made Hawk sick to her stomach. In the last three years with Pope gone, she had forgotten just how uncomfortable Smurf’s displays of affection towards him were. Hawk’s eyes shot over to the other brothers and Baz was already looking at her. He was trying to read exactly what she was thinking, but she made it a point to school her expression into complete neutrality.

“Three years and nineteen days,” Pope breathed out, his arm propped up behind Smurf’s shoulders. 

“Oh, whatever it is, we are just very happy you’re home. Hawk, thank you for bringing Pope home to us.” All she could do was nod. “Just so sorry you had to come home to the news about Julia.”

“I’m gonna go out for a while,” J spoke up at the mention of his mom. Hawk’s eyes darted over to him as he stood awkwardly.

“Where you going?” Baz asked.

“Uh, just to my girlfriend’s place.” J shrugged, trying to inch his way out.

“Oh, I-I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Smurf spoke up, her interest piqued.

“You don’t know anything about him,” Hawk mumbled. Baz raised a brow and Cath had to bite her lip to not laugh. If there was one thing that Cath and Hawk bonded over, it was Smurf. 

“Oh, she’s…she’s more like this girl that’s my friend,” J tried to steer away once he saw Smurf’s interest. He had already given too much information out freely and it was like chum in the water. 

“You’ll have to bring her by some time.” J glanced to Hawk, who was picking at one of her fingernails as Smurf spoke. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” J tried to placate her so he could end the conversation, but Pope decided to interject himself.

“So, you’re living here, huh, J?” Hawk knew that tone, knew that Pope was fishing -for what exactly, she couldn’t be sure, but the look in his eyes was dangerous. “Part of it all now?” He asked the room. Over my dead body, Hawk wanted to say, but she knew Smurf would be all too happy to get rid of her if she caused any more issues. 

“He’s been here for one day, sweetie,” Smurf tried to placate Pope, but he wasn’t having it.

“Let me drive you over,” He offered J.

“That’s not necessary, Pope,” Hawk spoke up, pinning him with a look that said not to push it.

“We should catch up, right, J?” Pope was goading the teen, bullying him into consenting, but Hawk verbally stepped in before J folded under the pressure of Pope’s gaze. 

“J, go,” Hawk directed with a tilt of her head towards the door. He nodded at her and turned to leave. She waited for the door that led from the kitchen to the garage to close before she turned back to Pope and Smurf. “He is not involved in whatever bullshit you guys have going on. He’s seventeen, Smurf. It would be incredibly negligent of you to allow him to get involved with any of this. You’re a lot of things, but you aren’t stupid.” Pope’s eyes burned through Hawk, and inside he felt an all consuming rage at the way you protected this outsider -Julia’s kid. He felt betrayal, a similar burning he felt with Julia when she abandoned him for Baz, then ultimately altogether once she was excommunicated from the family. Hawk never once brought this kid up to him in the nearly three years she was calling and visiting him in prison and it irked him. It ate away at him bit by bit in a way he wasn't familiar with. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. He’ll be just fine,” Smurf patted Pope’s thigh as she stood up. “Mind helping me in the kitchen?” She looked down at you and Cath, who up until that point had gone unnoticed by Smurf. 

“Sure thing, Smurf.” 

Hawk was chopping veggies for a salad on the island while Baz and Pope spoke behind her. Smurf was a few feet to her right and Cath was near the sink. She could feel Pope’s eyes on her again, watching her every move as he sipped on a bottle of beer. Baz chuckled, seeing just how attached Pope had become to Hawk. 

Baz did warn her that this would happen, called it way back when she had first started visiting Pope at Folsom. She made her bed and now she was going to have to lay in it.

“So what are we planning next?” Baz heard a heavy sigh leave Hawk at Pope’s question. He was anxious, antsy, and ready to jump back into things as if he hadn’t been gone for over three years. Baz, Smurf, and Hawk exchanged glances. Pope scoffed, looking around the kitchen. “You’re not gonna tell me? I’m not a part of this anymore?” He shot at Smurf.

“Yes, you’re part of it, but in case it slipped your mind you’ve only been out of prison for a day, Pope. Now you’re just going to have to sit this one out.”

“Where should I sit, exactly, since J is in my room?” Pope’s eyes narrowed at Smurf as he slotted himself in the space between Hawk and Smurf at the island. 

“Sleep on the sofa a night or two,” Smurf suggested.

“A night or two. Wow.” Pope paced behind Hawk. 

“You cannot stay here, sweetie. We can’t have parole officers popping in all day and night to give you piss tests.” Hawk paused mid slice of a tomato when Smurf’s gaze was directed at her. “Why don’t you stay with Hawk a few days? You wouldn’t mind that, would you, sweetheart?” Hawk blinked, put on the spot in the worst way.

“You know what, screw it." Pope answered for her, "I’ll just crash at my place.” Hawk resumed slicing, knowing this was going to get uglier.

“Yeah...you can’t,” Baz spoke up from where he was sitting on a stool. Pope stopped dead in his tracks, waiting for Baz to continue. “We sold it.”

“You what?” There it was.

“Pope, we’re gonna get you a new place. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” There the downplaying was again. Hawk pushed down on the knife with more force than she meant to, causing the tomato to slip from her grip and the knife to clatter against the board. Everyone turned to look at her as she sorted herself out before noticing the eyes on her. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and leaned her hip against the island.   

“If it makes everyone more comfortable, I can take J and Pope can have his space back. Everyone wins.” Which was the logical suggestion in a room full of arguing adults, but Hawk could tell Smurf wanted to get her claws into J when she said it was best for him to stay. Parole needed a clean address for Pope and J was already given to Smurf by the state so he technically needed to stay. 

Pope had shifted behind Hawk when she turned back to busying her hands so she couldn’t see his expression, but she could tell his vibe had shifted as he moved up just behind her. He was so close Hawk could smell the body wash that lingered on his skin from his shower earlier that morning before they left the hotel. Warmth radiated from his body and she felt like she was on fire. 

“It shouldn’t be a problem, right?” Smurf had a smug look as she was working the marinade into the bowl of meat she was prepping. “You two seem to be cozy enough.” Smurf winked salaciously and it made Hawk’s skin crawl.

Peeking over her shoulder to look at him, Hawk said, “You’re always welcome at my place, Pope, until you can get back on your feet. I have more than enough space and I don’t mind. My only condition,” She looked at both Baz and Smurf, “-is that none of the shit you guys do crosses into my home, am I clear?” She wasn’t going to let Smurf have the satisfaction of knowing she took Hawk down a peg. She’d bow and submit just as she did every time Smurf pushed back on her. 

“She’s done more than enough, Smurf.” Pope spoke directly to Smurf. Smurf raised a manicured brow at her son, surprise evident that he’d push back on your behalf. It seemed that her suspicions were confirmed that Hawk had her talons in him -whether she knew it or not was another thing entirely. She shared a look with Baz, before returning it to Hawk and Pope. 

“We all need to make sacrifices, baby. J stays. We’ll get you a new house in no time. Just have to be patient.” That was that. A tense silence fell over the kitchen as Hawk finished putting the salad together so she could get the hell out of there. She didn’t plan on staying as long as she had, but what Smurf wanted, Smurf got.

“I’m uh, I'm gonna head out, Smurf,” Hawk announced as she rinsed her hands off. 

“You’re not staying for lunch?” 

“Nah, I have to run down to the shop to grab some paperwork I left behind and then finish up some work at home. I've got a packed schedule this week and I want to get on top of it.” The excuse was lame, but Hawk did not care at that moment. She just needed to get out of that house. Smurf disposed of her gloves, then came around to give Hawk a hug and a kiss to her temple. 

“I meant what I said, Hawk. I need to see more of you around here, am I understood?” The younger woman nodded, feeling like a child receiving a reprimand. 

“Sure thing, Smurf.” She said weakly, returning the hug before bringing her attention to Pope.    

“You staying?” She asked. He nodded, still sipping at his beer. “Spare key will be under the blue pot on the porch Keep it.” He wanted to say something, Hawk could see it, but there were too many eyes and too many ears so he just kept his lips sealed shut.

Pope showed up to Hawk’s around seven that night. The sun was setting on the horizon, casting the city in a peachy glow. She got up from her usual perch at the island with her laptop and met him at the front door. 

“Shoes off, please.” She instructed him to the rack by the door. “I like to keep the floors as clean as possible.” Pope toed off his boots and looked at Hawk expectantly. “I’ll show you to your room. This way,” She led him through the spacious kitchen, down through the living room, and down a hallway that was line with photographs and artwork. “Bathroom’s right here,” She pointed to the first door on the right. “This is J’s room. Please be respectful of his stuff.” Hawk said pointedly. She knew he’d go snooping -it was his nature. As long as he didn’t leave destruction in his wake, she didn’t care where he went looking. “My room is all the way at the end, and this is your room.” She pushed open the door and let Pope walk in first.

“Everything is clean -sheets, blankets, pillow cases. I left some towels for you on the dresser, and if you need anything else, the hall closet is next to the bathroom. Go ahead and set your bag down and I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

Pope had been inside before one singular time, and he happened to be with Baz so they didn’t get any further than Hawk’s entryway. It was sleek, clean, and modern, but with just enough live plants and color to make it lived in and approachable.

“We went through the living room, this is the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want. There’s beer and drinks in the fridge, wine in the wine chiller, snacks in the pantry.” She pointed as they walked through the house. “The garage is through here. I use it for a workshop mainly,” She opened the door and Pope immediately caught the purple glow of the grow light setup she had going on.

“Backyard is this way,” She directed him down a small hallway that led to a den with sliding doors to the back porch. “And this is it. Like I said, help yourself to whatever you want. The pool was just serviced last week, so feel free to indulge. It’s much more relaxing than Smurf’s, I promise.” Pope looked out at the view of the ocean from Hawk’s porch.

The sound of a cell phone ringing broke the bubble they were both in, and Hawk brought a hand to rest on Pope’s bicep. “I’m gonna go grab that. Make yourself comfortable.” He nodded as she disappeared through the slider. Pope felt like an intruder, and he technically was. The kid had his own room in her house for Christ’s sake.

Pope felt that sizzle again.

It was buried just far enough under the surface, but he felt it all the same. It couldn’t be jealousy. He wasn’t jealous of a kid. Just like he wasn’t jealous of Baz when it came to Julia when they were kids. He wasn’t. And even if he was, it didn’t matter. The kid was mostly out of the picture as far as Pope was concerned. Smurf had him and that meant he had Hawk all to himself -just as it should’ve been. 

The day of Julia’s funeral hung heavy over the house as Pope and Hawk got ready. Pope was buttoning his shirt when he heard it. He stopped in his tracks and listened, his ear pulling him out of his room and down the hall to Hawk’s bedroom. The door was cracked open and when he boldly pushed the door open further, the sound grew louder. 

“My body turns and yearns for a sleep that won’t ever come. It’s never over, a kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder,” Hawk’s soft voice carried through the bedroom with Jeff Buckley’s just over it. The sound of the shower mixed with the music had Pope in a trance that carried him over to the en-suite bathroom that was very much open.

Steam billowed around the room, fogging up the glass shower just enough to block Pope from seeing anything lower than Hawk's hips. He watched and he listened as she sang and hummed softly along to the song while she rinsed the shampoo from her hair. Pope’s hands itched, craving to touch what was untouchable. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

“It’s never over, she’s the tear that hangs inside my soul forever.” Hawk turned, eyes still closed as she let the water roll down her back. The steam didn’t come quite high enough to block Pope from getting a full view of her glistening, soapy breasts as she swayed gently to the music. 

A trickle of sweat beaded down Pope's neck and a sharp twitch traveled down to his cock at the visual alone. His heart started to go into overdrive and he subconsciously reached down to adjust the black slacks he was wearing, but he didn’t leave -his feet were firmly planted to the carpet of her bedroom. Hawk could’ve opened her eyes at any point and saw him in the doorway, watching, saving every detail to his memory that he would keep under lock and key.

Hawk turned again, her back facing Pope once more, and continued to hum as she scrubbed her body. The scent of her body wash made him feel like he was going to pass out at any given second. The visual, audio, and olfactory overload was too much for him after being locked up for so long, and he finally started backing out of the room when he heard the shower turn off and the next song changed to something less moody. Pope shut Hawk’s bedroom door as it was when he found it and locked himself in his bedroom to handle himself. 

He felt like a feral animal. 

Hawk was Julia’s best friend growing up. Always off limits and out of reach, but Pope was always a little bit infatuated with her from day one. His eyes wandered occasionally, of course they did, but they always led back to her. She was kind. She was good. Hawk was everything Pope knew he couldn’t ruin with the darkness that lingered within himself. He was a dog trained to sic anyone Smurf pointed at, ready to rip them limb from limb because that's what he did, that was his role, and Hawk showed him compassion when she had no business doing so. Pope didn’t deserve it in the least bit, he’d be the first to admit that, but god…he knew if he turned Hawk away the first time she went to visit him it would’ve been one of the biggest regrets of his life. 

“Would anyone like to say anything?” Smurf’s voice broke the silence of the small funeral. Hawk was about to speak up when Julia’s neighbor, Dina, beat her to it.

“They don’t belong here, J.” Dina stepped forward, “Don’t stand there with them. Don’t.” She looked at Hawk, disappointment in her bloodshot eyes. A palm rested itself on Hawk’s lower back, supporting her. “Hawk-”

“Dina,” Hawk warned with a shake of her head. Her voice was raspy from crying, the loss of her friend didn’t get any easier to handle, especially not when saw the casket. The hand on her back, Pope’s hand, applied gentle pressure in a small circle that she naturally leaned back to -allowing it to soothe her. “Not now, Dina. Please.”

“Thank you, Dina, but I’m alright.” J spoke up. Dina looked hard at Hawk for a moment, then turned and left the service. Pope’s hand shifted to her waist, pulling her flush to his side. The warmth of his solid body against hers almost made her knees buckle. She could feel the tension in each muscle of his torso and his arm as it rested against her back. Touch-starved was the first thing that popped into Hawk's brain and her brain stuttered at the thought. Pope leaned over to reach Hawk’s ear.

“You good?” His voice held just the right amount of raspiness to it as he whispered. He could tell she had nothing left to give for the day and he was grateful she accepted a ride from him at the house when he offered it. 

“Yeah.” Hawk breathed out, eyes firmly on Juila’s casket as the last of the flowers dropped out of view. 

The doorbell ringing knocked Hawk out of her thoughts. She pulled her silk robe tighter around herself as she got up from the plush sofa and shuffled to the front door. She peeked through the side window and yanked the door open when she saw J standing on the porch.

“Where’s your key?” He never knocked -he never needed to. 

“Smurf.” He didn’t need to explain further as Hawk let him in. When he passed through out of the dark and into the light of the entryway, he did so quickly, but not quick enough for Hawk to miss the massive bruise on his cheek and the split lip that he was sporting. She grabbed J by the sleeve of his sweatshirt to pull him back into her view. Her hand gently gripped his chin, tilting his face towards the light to see the damage. Blood was crusted under his lip and she could see the bruise blooming over his cheekbone. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Her brain was on red alert as she continued to look him over.

“Don’t worry about it.” He tried to brush her off, to push her hand away, but she kept her grip on him. 

“Did one of them put their hands on you, J?” He weighed his options; he could tell Hawk the truth, that he was out getting his first taste of what the Cody boys did, or he could lie. “I’m serious, J. Was it Deran? Craig? Baz?” Nothing, “Pope?” His eyes shifted. Pope technically roughed him up, so it wasn’t an entire lie, and J didn’t want to deal with Hawk’s inevitable disappointment when she found out that he had only been there less than a week and he was already entangled in their way of life. J was a terrible liar because he never needed a reason to lie to Hawk. She knew his mannerisms, his little tells. He didn’t explicitly say it outright, but the shift of his eyes was all she needed to know that Pope was involved with whatever happened to his face.

“Let’s get this cleaned up. You can crash here tonight and I’ll take you to Smurf’s in the morning, alright? Just…relax. I’m gonna handle this.” J could see the storm brewing in her eyes and while he kind of felt bad for lying, whatever was coming Pope’s way would be payback for being an absolute psycho every time J interacted with him.  

J went to bed about an hour ago after Hawk reassured him that everything would be fine, that she didn’t need him to stay up with her for her safety. Pope wouldn’t lay a finger on her, much to J’s apprehension when she said this out loud. He wasn’t sure he’d put anything past Pope. 

So Hawk waited. And waited. And waited for Pope to show back up. If he knew what was good for him, he’d stay the whole night out there, but as luck would have it, he quietly tiptoed into the house at 3:47 AM. The house was dark save a small lamp in the living room, and a very pissed off Hawk accompanied it.

“Why are you up?” Pope’s voice broke the silence, eyes calculating as he looked around the room. Hawk was up in a flash. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hawk’s open palm pushed at Pope’s chest, taking him back by surprise. Was it the smartest thing to do to a recently released inmate? No, but Hawk had been stewing as she waited for Pope to finally show up and he was going to feel every bit of the anger she felt.  

“Shit! Take it easy!” He put his hands up to deflect Hawk’s second swing as he stumbled to the side. She grabbed his right hand, twisting it to show a split in his middle knuckle, and held it up, shaking his arm.

“I open my fucking house to you and you pull this shit, Pope?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He pulled his arm out of her grip, but knew she immediately clocked him. Hawk pulled him down by the chest of his t-shirt and pointed a finger centimeters away from his face. 

“The next time you decide to put your fucking hands on him I will not hesitate to put you in the ground next to her, Pope. I am dead serious.” Pope had seen Hawk angry before, but it was never directed at him and never to this degree. “After everything I’ve done for you, you think you can disrespect me by putting your hands on him? You’re gonna bite the hand of the only person who has been by your side when nobody fucking else gave two shits?”

“I had my reasons, Hawk. He is not your kid -he’s Julia’s, and I don’t trust him. Not yet.” Hawk let go of his shirt and pushed him without any real force to it. 

“He is my son, Pope.” Hawk spat in correction. “I fed him,” She poked her chest with her index finger, “I bought and changed his diapers,” Another poke, “I lost sleep when he cried through the night for weeks on end. He walked his first steps to me. His first word was my name. I was there when he lost his first baby tooth. I did his homework with him. I went to parent teacher conferences. I went to his little league games. I taught him how to ride a bike. I went through college applications with him, I did tours of schools with him. I did everything but give fucking birth to him, Pope. I was mom and dad without help from anyone other than my dead fucking father. And above all, I gave him somewhere safe to rest his fucking head at night and made sure he never went without, so don’t stand there and tell me that J is not my fucking kid when you should’ve been there to help her!” For the first time in his life, Pope was stunned. He blinked down at Hawk, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to put words together.

“I couldn’t-”

“-And I could?” She cut him off, not done with him just yet. “Christ, I was eighteen raising a fucking baby that I didn’t even give birth to, Pope! I was working two jobs to keep a fucking roof over my head on top of raising a goddamn kid while you assholes were out causing mayhem at every turn, so don’t tell me what you couldn’t do. I was all he had in the world to give him a fraction of a chance at life, and Julia begged me. She begged me, Pope, to not let him get caught up with you guys -with Smurf, and I did a hell of a job protecting him from this fucking family for as long as I did, but that doesn’t matter now because Smurf legally has him for the next ten months.” Pope's eyes narrowed. Hawk didn’t know where they went or what the kid did. 

She thinks I did this to him, Pope thought to himself. The kid had a chance to rat, to tell Hawk what they did and why he got the dogshit knocked out of him. Pope expected J to tell her, but he didn’t.

He lied to her.

Pope was so sure, after hearing how close the two of you were, that the kid would run to Hawk with his tail between his legs and World War III would commence, but it didn’t happen. 

The kid might have his use after all.  

“I mean it, Pope. Don’t you ever fucking cross me again when it comes to him. This is the one and only warning I’m doing you the courtesy of giving. The next time it’ll be a fucking kill shot.”

Please comment & reblog :)

[rafayelxsylusho]

How would the LADS men react to you faking an org@sm part 3

Xavier x reader

TW: SMUT SMUT SMUT ⭐⭐⭐

JEALOUSY JEALOUSY

You have a new hunting partner, you agreed to train with him today and he was waiting for you outside your building, so you decided to fake it.

You knew Xavier and he was not acting normally, he was never this possessive. You guys had been at it for almost an hour and he just kept edging you and denying you the pleasure you craved, it was like he wanted to keep you there all day just to himself.

Xavier's smirk grows wider, a glimmer of amusement and something darker, more knowing, flashing in his deep blue eyes. He leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, and watching you through half lidded eyes, with a look that's almost lazily indulgent, as if he was letting you have this little moment of pretense.

"Is that all you've got, bunny?" he murmurs "I thought we did better than such obvious tricks and games."

"Come now," he purrs, leaning in until you feel his breath ghosting over your ear, the scruff of his chin rasping lightly against your cheek. "You can do better than that. Give me a real show."

"Xavier, I have to go, can we talk about this later? I'm running late, I'm so sorry".

You try to slip away and dress as quickly as you can until you feel him grab your wrist and in one sudden movement he yanks you back towards him, pushing you flush against the cold glass of the floor to ceiling window. The chill seeps through your naked skin, pebbling your flesh with goosebumps.

He crowds into your space, one hand braced on the glass beside your head, the other still gripping your wrist, pinning your arm above you. His body looms over you, surrounding you, trapping you against the window.

His eyes search yours, a lock of his blond hair falls across his brow as he leans down, until you're nearly nose to nose. You can see every flicker of emotion in those piercing blue depths, the hunger, the possessiveness, the promise of retribution.

"Going somewhere?" he murmurs, his breath feels hot against your lips, mingling with yours in the scant space between your mouths. "Without giving me my proper goodbye?"

His grip on your wrist tightens fractionally, a silent warning. The hand on the glass flexes, fingers curling into the window, as if he's barely holding himself back from grabbing you, from dragging you back onto the bed and pinning you beneath him until he's wrenched every last drop of pleasure from your body.

"Be a good girl," he says softly, dangerously, "and stay. I'm not done with you yet."

You can see the jealousy burning in his eyes.

"Ahh, I see," he says, voice dripping with mocking understanding. "Your new hunting partner is already here, hmm? And you're in a hurry to go to him."

His eyes move to the window, following your own to the man sitting on the bench outside. His eyes narrow, jaw clenching as he takes in the sight. After a long, tense moment, he turns back to you, a dark scowl etched on his face.

"Yes, that's him," he confirms "Quite an eager little thing, isn't he? Practically bouncing in his seat, waiting for you."

He shifts even closer, pinning you harder against the glass, using his height and strength to loom over you in a display of dominance.

"Spread. Your. Legs." he commands, enunciating each word slowly, darkly.

"Come on Y/N, be a good girl and do as you're told. Show me your sweet cunt, the one that belongs to me."

He's not asking permission, he's demanding compliance. The air between your bodies feels charged with erotic energy, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard and so deep," he promises "I'm going to pound this tight little cunt of yours until you're screaming my name, until you forget all about your precious new partner out there."

His hand moves to your thigh, his fingers brushing close to your sex. He teases along your inner thigh, his touch feather light and taunting.

"And when you're out there, trying to focus on your training, trying to hold your gun right...I want you to remember every single thrust, how I stretched you out."

His hips press urgently against your ass letting you feel the hard outline of his cock.

"I'll fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling it for days. And every ache, every delicious twinge...you'll know it was me. You'll know that this pussy belongs to me, no matter who you're with."

He doesn't hesitate, he surges forward, driving his hard cock deep inside you in one thrust. The breath is driven from your lungs as he hilts himself fully inside you.

"Fuck!" he snarls, head thrown back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as your walls grip him like a vice. "So fucking wet and warm"

He gives you no time to adjust, no gentle start. He sets a punishing pace from the very beginning. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room as he takes you hard and fast, just like he promised.

One hand grips your hip, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, while the other finds your throat, pulling your head back.

Each thrust drives your body forward, your face and tits slam against the cold glass of the window. The shock of the chill on your skin contrasts deliciously with the heat of his body pinning you from behind.

"Fuck, the way your ass bounces...it's...nghh". His fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened peak between them.

He leans over you, caging you in completely, his chest pressed to your back. His breath falls across your shoulder and neck, his teeth finding your skin, biting down hard enough to leave vivid marks.

"Scream for me, bunny" he demands, "Let the whole damn city know who's ruining this pussy"

He snakes a hand around your hip, finding your clit, and rubs the sensitive nub in circles. His fingers use your arousal to his advantage, stroking, teasing and pushing you closer to the edge.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises, hips never slowing "And then I'm going to send you out there, a fucking mess, to make you remember who you belong to."

Xavier's breath comes fast and hot against the back of your neck.

"Oh, how I wish this window was made of clear glass, I want the whole world to see you like this, tits pressed against the window, your cunt stretched wide around my cock as I fuck you just...like...this...."

"I want them to see your face, flushed and fucked stupid. I want them to watch your body shake with every thrust."

He rolls his hips, grinding his pelvis against your ass, letting you feel every thick inch of him buried deep inside you.

"And I want them to know, without a doubt, that this cunt belongs to me. That no matter who you're with, no matter what you do...you'll always be mine"

He thrusts his hips forward, slamming into you with enough force to rattle the window in its frame. The glass rattles and shakes with each thrust, a testament to the ferocity of his desire.

"Cum for me, scream my name, let the whole world know who makes you feel this way!"

Your scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room and bouncing off the window. "XAVIER!" You wail, your voice breaking on his name as your orgasm hits you.

"Fuck, yes! Just like that"

He rubs your clit almost cruelly as he works you through your high, pushing you to take even more. Your scream turns into a wordless, keening wail, your body shaking as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves.

He suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you feeling empty and aching. Before you can miss the fullness of him, he's spinning you around, flipping you to face him. His hands grip your shoulders tightly, fingers digging into your skin, and with an almost rough motion, he pushes you down to your knees.

You find yourself staring up at him, your chest heaving, your hair a wild mess around your face. Your lips are parted slightly, still letting out the occasional gasping breath.

He takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head back, forcing you to keep eye contact. His other hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly, teasingly.

"Look at you, so thoroughly fucked but still desperate for more"

His grip on his cock tightens, his strokes becoming faster, more urgent as he feels your tongue lapping at the sensitive head. The sensation is too much, too intense, and with a groan, he yanks his hips back.

Thick, hot ropes of cum erupt from the swollen tip, painting your heaving chest and face in broad, messy strokes.

He pumps his length through the final spurts, ensuring every last drop of his hot cum is spent on your body.

He leans down, his face softening into a tender expression as he gently cups your cheek. With his thumb, he carefully wipes away the remnants of his release from your lips and chin, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to moments before.

"Such a good girl" he murmurs, a note of pride in his voice. "I want you to keep this on your chest."

He stands up to his full height, looking down at you with a mix of satisfaction and possessive heat in his eyes. 

"Now, go on and finish your training. But don't take too long...I'll be waiting to help you get cleaned up properly when you return."

With a final look and a playful wink, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving you kneeling there, chest marked with his cum, heart still racing from your intense encounter. The promise of more to come hangs heavy in the air, filling you with anticipation and a bone deep satisfaction.

[mingi-s-dimples]

No Safe Haven - Jongho

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

pairing: military general!jongho x captured fem!spy

genre: army/military au, 18+, filth, enemies to lovers

summary: you never thought infiltrating in his base would get you utterly destroyed and ruined in his office.. but he made sure to make you scream his name.

wc: 5.4k

warnings: military au, enemies to lovers, mean dom!jongho, bratty!reader, lots of cursing, lots of marking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, wrist restraint, lots of talking back tehehe, fingering with a glove, fingering in general, three rounds in total, desk sex, lip biting, biting, possessiveness, unprotected sex (boo use protection irl) completely consensual, for sure forgot something &&& will edit later.

Author's Note: HELLOOOO GUYSSS it's been a while since I've posted a fic of my own, of my own idea 🫣. I've been super into military attire and stuff these days because for uni I'm going to choose the military general medicine part not the citizen one 🤞 and I got pleeentyyyy of ideas to write just about thinking of the uniforms - ups (I'm a whore for this man I'm so sorry-). Anyways it's pure filth- enjoyy 😋🎀

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

The battlefield had been bloody, ruthless. You had done everything you could to keep your cover intact, but in the end,

Jongho had caught you.

You had been sent to infiltrate his ranks, gather intel, and sabotage his forces from within. But the war general, known for his unshakable control and brutal tactics, saw through your deception from the very start. Now, you were his prisoner.

The heavy scent of leather, steel, and smoke filled the war tent where you knelt on the cold stone floor, arms bound behind your back. Your head remained high despite the tight ropes digging into your wrists, despite the oppressive weight of the man standing above you. Jongho hadn’t said a word yet, but his presence was enough to suffocate you.

Boots scraped against the floor as he circled you, slow and methodical, like a lion taking its time with a wounded prey. “I should have you executed,” he mused, voice deep, rich, unwavering. “That is the price of betrayal, after all.”

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Then do it.”

His lips curled at your defiance, a smirk that was both amused and completely in control. "No," he murmured, crouching to your level. "Death is a mercy you don’t deserve."

Your breath hitched as he reached out, gloved fingers tracing the side of your face in a touch that was far too gentle, too intimate for an enemy.

“You infiltrated my army,” Jongho continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Lied to me. Manipulated my men. And yet… look at you. Still trying to act strong.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to break under his gaze. But then, his grip shifted—fingers tightening around your chin, forcing your head back until your neck was bared to him. His next words sent a shiver down your spine.

"Let’s see how long that fire lasts, little spy. Because make no mistake…" His lips brushed dangerously close to your ear. "I will enjoy watching you burn."

Your pulse was hammering, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. Not when he looked at you like he already owned you.

He was too close—too much, too commanding, too intense. His breath fanned over your lips, his fingers still resting just under your chin, as if he were deciding whether to stroke or break.

You hated how easily he made you react. How his voice settled into your bones, how the weight of his gaze made your stomach tighten. So you did the only thing that made sense.

You spat in his face.

The moment the spit landed, a slow, dangerous silence settled between you.

Jongho didn’t move. Didn’t wipe it away. Didn’t react at all for a long, agonizing moment.

His head tilted as he slowly dragged his tongue across his teeth. His fingers flexed at his sides before he reached up and wiped the spit off his cheek with the back of his glove, watching you like a predator who had just decided to play with its food.

"You're fucking bold, aren't you?"

You barely had time to breathe before his hand shot out and wrapped around your throat.

Not crushing. Not yet. But firm, a warning.

His hand tightened around your throat, firm enough to keep you still, to remind you that he was the one in control here.

You should have been terrified. Any sane person would be. But you weren’t.

Not when his pupils were blown wide, Not when his breath came out ragged and heavy like he was barely holding himself back.

"You just don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?" his hand hovered in the air almost like he'd hit you, but he didn't. He backed off in a second.

Despite the way his dominance wrapped around you like a vice, despite the way his grip sent a heat spiraling through your core, you still smirked.

"You wanted to slap me," you murmured, your voice smooth, taunting. "But you didn’t."

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Something almost feral.

"You really don’t know who the fuck you’re talking to.”

And then—his grip flexed, not enough to choke, but enough to steal your breath for half a second.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to something dark and commanding.

"I should throw you to my men," he murmured, his breath scorching against your skin. "Let them deal with you, break you the way traitors deserve."

A shiver rocketed down your spine.

"But you won’t," you breathed. "Because I belong to you, don’t I?"

The words tasted dangerous, but they weren’t a surrender. They were a challenge.

Jongho stilled and chuckled.

"See, that’s the thing," he muttered. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for his thumb to press against your bottom lip. "You talk like you have a choice."

His thumb dragged down, pulling your lip slightly—teasing, testing, owning.

"You think you can keep fighting me?" he scoffed. "That you can keep pretending you’re not fucking shaking for me?"

Your lips parted to spit something back, but you never got the chance.

Because he kissed you. And fuck, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a war, a claim, a punishment.

His lips crashed onto yours, hot and demanding, swallowing your gasp as his fingers tangled in your hair. Then—he yanked your head back.

A sharp pull, just enough to make you arch into him, just enough to make you fucking feel it.

The kiss was messy, deep, raw. His tongue brushed against yours, then forced its way in, taking, stealing, consuming.

You hated how easily he made you respond. How your body melted into him despite the fire in your veins.

His teeth sank into your lower lip, sharp, punishing, enough to draw a gasp from deep in your throat.

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his dominance dripping from every touch, every movement.

"Fuck," he muttered against your lips, his breath ragged. His fingers tightened in your hair, keeping you close, keeping you right where he wanted you. Then, just as suddenly, he ripped himself away.

Your chest heaved, your lips tingling, swollen, fucking ruined. His forehead pressed to yours, his breathing uneven, heavy.

"I’ve wanted to fucking ruin you since the moment I found out you infiltrated my base."

Your stomach flipped violently. Jongho’s voice was rough, pure gravel, pure torment.

"I should have had you killed." His lips brushed against your jaw, your cheek, your ear. His grip on your hip tightened, pulling you flush against him. "But I didn't."

Your breath came in short, quick bursts.

"Why?" you whispered, and you hated how breathless you sounded.

His smirk was pure sin. "Because I wanted to be the one to break you," he murmured. "Wanted to see you fall apart under me, wanted to hear you fucking beg."

Your nails dug into your palms, the last remnants of your resistance hanging by a thread.

He tilted his head, his nose barely brushing yours. "I hate how much I want you," he murmured. “And I fucking love it at the same time."

The air between you was scorching, suffocating, dangerous.

"Tell me, little spy," he murmured. His lips ghosted over yours, his words dripping in dominance.

"Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?"

And for the first time… You didn’t have an answer.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating, stretched to its very limit.

Jongho was still so fucking close, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Then—he snapped.

With a low, wrecked curse, he yanked you forward, his grip like iron around your wrist. Before you could react, he lifted you up effortlessly, manhandling you like you were nothing, your back colliding with the small desk in the room.

His body followed—towering, overwhelming, consuming. And then, he shoved you back.

One palm wrapped around your throat, the other sliding up your waist, fingers digging in, staking his claim as your spine hit the cold wall behind you.

Jongho’s breathing was wrecked, his expression nothing short of feral.

"You really fucking love pushing me, don’t you?" he muttered, his lips crashing onto yours before you had the chance to respond.

This kiss was pure fucking destruction.

Hot. Messy. Feral.

He wasn’t kissing you—he was taking you.

His tongue pushed in, deep and demanding, licking into your mouth like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to ruin the way you tasted.

He swallowed the gasp you let out when his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin.

"Fuck," he groaned against your lips, his hips pressing flush against yours, his grip tightening on your waist.

His thumb brushed up, pressing against your jaw, tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

And god—his eyes.

Dark. Wild. Possessive.

"I swear to fucking god," he muttered, his voice low, dripping in dominance, "if you don’t tell me you want this, I’ll stop right now."

You licked your lips, still dazed, still burning from the way he kissed you.

He waited. Just a breath. Just a second. Then—you smirked.

"Stop?" you echoed, your voice syrupy sweet, teasing, testing. “You won’t."

Jongho’s jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard his teeth grind.

His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging into your flesh, grounding himself.

"You really wanna play this damn game, don’t you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath scorching hot.

You tilted your head, batting your lashes. "I don’t know what you mean, General," you taunted. "I thought you were going to stop."

Something in him snapped at your words. "Fuck," he cursed, low and sharp and fucking wrecked.

Then, he kissed you again—harder, deeper, with even less patience.

His hand slid down from your throat, down your chest, gripping your waist, your thigh, spreading you open for him.

"Tell me you want this," he muttered, his lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting, sucking, leaving his mark.

His teeth scraped against your skin, his breath scorching hot against the bruises he left behind.

You inhaled sharply, every inch of you burning, every nerve alight with him.

Then, just to test him one last time, you murmured—so fucking soft, so fucking bratty—

"Make me."

Jongho groaned, deep and wrecked, his hand tightening on your waist like he was seconds away from breaking you completely.

"Oh, you have no fucking idea what you just asked for.”

His lips were relentless. They left no space untouched, trailing down from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your throat—biting, sucking, marking. He wasn’t just kissing you. He was ruining you.

The first sharp bite to your neck ripped a whine from your lips, your head tilting back as pleasure and pain mingled in a dizzying haze.

And just as you sucked in another breath— His hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight. Not yet. Just enough to remind you who the fuck was in control.

"Shut up," he muttered, his grip flexing, silencing the sound still stuck in your throat.

Your nails dug into the edge of the desk, knuckles white, body burning.

His other hand—hot, rough, possessive—slid up your waist, finding the torn fabric of your blouse.

Jongho exhaled sharply at the sight of your black lace bra, his breath coming out heavier, rougher, his restraint hanging by a fucking thread.

"God damn.." he muttered under his breath, his hands splaying over your ribs, thumbs brushing just under your breasts.

Then—his mouth was on you again.

His lips latched onto the swell of your chest, kissing, licking, then—Biting.

The first mark sent a jolt straight between your legs, a soft whimper slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Jongho groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your waist harder, his desperation slipping through the cracks.

His hat—that goddamn general’s cap he always wore like a crown—finally tumbled off, landing somewhere on the floor.

And god, that sight alone—his dark, tousled hair finally exposed, his head buried against your chest, his body pushing you further into the desk—It was almost too much.

And yet—you couldn’t resist pushing him further. You chuckled, low, teasing, amused by his sheer fucking desperation.

"You’re pathetic," you murmured, your voice dripping in mockery.

Jongho stilled and laughed.

Then, with zero warning, he sank his teeth into the curve of your breast. Not gentle. Not sweet. A punishment.

A small cry tore from your throat, but his hand tightened on your neck, keeping it trapped, keeping it his.

"You think this is funny, huh?" he muttered, his breath scorching against the bruises he left.

You grinned, breathless, wrecked, but still teasing.

"Yeah," you whispered, your lashes fluttering as you met his gaze.

Jongho exhaled sharply, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen, damp with you.

"God, you just don’t fucking stop," he muttered, his hands tightening on your waist, holding you in place.

"Then maybe," he continued, his lips trailing up your chest, your throat, back to your mouth,

“I should shut you up myself."

You licked your lips, still tasting him, still feeling the way his hands had claimed every inch of you.

And yet—he still hadn’t ruined you. Not completely. So you did what you did best. You pushed him further.

"You keep talking about ruining me," you murmured, tilting your head, voice syrupy sweet, taunting.

Jongho’s fingers twitched on your waist, his jaw clenching.

You smirked. "When are you actually gonna do it?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience snapping like a thin thread. Then—his hand was on your throat again. Tighter. Unyielding. His grip forced your head back against the wall, your body completely at his mercy.

"You wanna be ruined, huh?" he muttered, his voice low, dripping in danger.

You barely had time to breathe before he pushed forward, pressing his lips to your ear.

"You wanna be destroyed, hm?" he whispered, his voice a promise.

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up.

Jongho felt it. He fucking felt it.

"Let's see.. I wanna make you beg," he muttered, his hand sliding lower, his grip on your throat loosening just enough to let you breathe.

His lips dragged down your jaw, back to your throat, biting, licking, marking you deeper.

"I wanna hear you scream my name," he continued, his words scorching hot against your skin.

You sucked in a breath, your nails digging into the edge of the desk as his hands traveled lower, claiming, consuming.

"I wanna make you cry, cry for my mercy" he whispered, his teeth grazing your pulse. “But you won't get any.”

A small sound—something between a moan and a gasp—slipped past your lips.

He groaned, wrecked at the sound of you.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

"You really have no idea what you’ve done," he murmured, his gaze burning into yours.

"You really don’t fucking know how long I’ve waited for this."

His fingers dragged along your thigh, teasing, tormenting, pushing you closer to the edge without even touching you properly.

"You don’t get it, do you?" he whispered.

"You’re mine now."

His grip tightened on your jaw, his mouth hovering just above yours.

"And I’m gonna fucking destroy your pretty little pussy.”

He was looong gone.

The moment he yanked off his thick army jacket, revealing the sheer strength beneath—the broad chest, the cut muscles, the battle-worn scars beneath his black shirt—your breath caught in your throat.

And when he reached for your blouse, tearing it away to finally reveal the toned body that came with being a spy, his eyes darkened.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his gaze drinking you in, raw and hungry.

You should have been embarrassed. Should have felt exposed.

But instead? You liked it.

You liked the way his eyes devoured you whole. Liked the way his breath hitched as he took in every inch of you.

And god, his personality? That commanding, ruthless dominance?

It was everything you wanted. Everything you needed.

Maybe it was because of your career, the way you were trained to fight, to defy, to challenge the most dangerous of men.

Or maybe—you just liked men who knew how to fucking take.

Jongho’s fingers moved to your pants, unfastening them with zero hesitation. With one sharp tug, they were gone, pooling at your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your panties.

And that’s when he saw them.

The scars.

Faint. Barely there. Memories of fights, of battles you survived.

Jongho stilled. Not in hesitation. Not in pity. In pure, raw admiration. Then—he lowered himself. Dropped to his knees. And he pressed his lips to the first scar. Then another. And another. Each one kissed, licked, marked.

Your breath shuddered, your head tilting back against the wall, your thighs trembling beneath his hands.

You wanted to touch him.

Wanted to tangle your fingers in his thick, black hair, yank him closer, make him stay there forever. But you couldn’t. Your hands were still tied.

Jongho exhaled sharply against your skin, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"You’re fucking perfect," he muttered, his lips brushing over the inside of your leg, his voice deep, reverent, utterly wrecked.

Then—he lifted his head. And that look?

That ravenous, all-consuming, predatory stare?

It sent a violent shudder through your entire body.

Jongho didn't even bother taking off his gloves.

His breath was ragged, heavy, dripping in hunger as he pushed himself back up, towering over you again.

His gloved fingers—rough, calloused, strong—trailed from your breasts, grazing over your tight, sensitive skin, dragging lower, lower—

Until he reached the soaked fabric of your panties, barely covering what was his.

He exhaled sharply, his hot breath hitting your face as his lips brushed over yours, teasing, taunting.

"You’re dripping," he murmured, his voice a low, filthy rasp.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing the soaked material, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made your thighs tremble.

You whined, hips twitching.

"Mhm, you want it," he muttered, his tone dark, knowing, dripping in dominance.

He didn’t ask. He knew.

You glared at him, refusing to answer, refusing to give him what he wanted. So, he took it.

With one sharp, impatient tug, your panties were gone—ripped off like they were nothing.

And then—his fingers were on you. Bare, exposed, nowhere to hide.

A choked moan escaped your lips the second his fingers slid through your slick folds, gathering everything you were giving him.

Jongho let out a low, pleased sound, his jaw tightening.

"You’re fucking soaked," he muttered, almost to himself, almost like he was losing control just from feeling how wrecked you already were.

And then—he pushed in.

One finger, thick, gloved, sliding into your cunt with ease, filling you up in ways that made your breath hitch.

You clenched around him instinctively, a sharp moan escaping before you could stop it.

Jongho cursed under his breath.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours as he shoved in another finger, stretching you open, preparing you.

He didn’t ease you in. Didn’t tease. Didn’t wait. He destroyed. His fingers pounded into you, rough, deep, deliberate. Thrusting. Stretching. Curling just right.

Every drag, every push, every pump had your legs trembling, your breath hitching, your body shaking.

You moaned again, louder, a desperate sound that only spurred him on.

"That’s it," he muttered, his lips grazing your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper.

"Let me hear you."

His free hand gripped your waist, holding you still as you writhed under his touch, helpless, wrecked, desperate for more.

He thrust his fingers harder, deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over and over until—

A strangled moan tore from your throat, your body clenching, tightening, shattering.

Jongho groaned, watching as you came undone around his fingers.

"Good fucking girl," he murmured, his lips trailing down your jaw, over your pulse, feeling the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

And then—he yanked his fingers out, his gloved hand covered in your slick.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he brought them to your lips.

"Open."

Your breath hitched. But you did.

And the second your tongue met the taste of yourself on his fingers, Jongho groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked.

"Fuck," he muttered, his jaw clenching.

Then—his hands were on his belt. Unbuckling. Unzipping. Freeing himself.

"You took my fingers so fucking well," he murmured, his voice a promise, dark and deadly and drenched in filth.

"Now—"

He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the very edge of the desk, lining himself up against your still-twitching entrance.

"Let’s see how well you take my cock."

Jongho didn't waste a second. His hands went to his belt—quick, precise, impatient.

The metal clinked as he unfastened it, and then—his pants dropped, pooling at his ankles, leaving him in nothing but his tight black briefs.

Your breath hitched.You could already see it.

The outline. The size. The sheer thickness. And then—his briefs went next. Fuck. He was big. Thick, long, heavy, the tip leaking with proof of just how much he fucking wanted you. And the look on his face? Ravenous. Starved. Like he was going to eat you alive.

Then—his teeth clenched around his gloves.

One by one, he yanked them off with nothing but his fucking mouth, his sharp canines digging into the fabric, his jaw tightening.

The sight? Sinful. Dangerous. Absolutely lethal. And the second they were off—he grabbed you. Spread your thighs wide open, lined himself up, and—

Slid right the fuck in.

One, brutal, devastating thrust. Every inch. Every single inch, buried deep inside you.

Your back arched off the desk, a broken moan ripping from your lips as he filled you completely, stretching you wide, making you take him.

A deep, low, animalistic sound escaped his chest, his hands gripping your waist so tightly it was borderline bruising.

"Tight as fuck," he hissed, his jaw clenching as he bottomed out, the head of his cock pressing against the very deepest part of you.

You clenched around him—hard. Jongho cursed under his breath. And then, when his gaze flickered to your face—

When he saw the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips trembled, the way your eyes glazed over with unshed tears from the sheer stretch of him—

His expression darkened. And his cock fucking twitched inside you.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice husky, sinful, absolutely wrecked.

"You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?"

His thumb wiped away a stray tear that slipped down your cheek.

"Yeah," he murmured, his lips grazing yours, his fingers gripping your thighs.

"You will."

Then—he moved. And ruined you. Hard. Deep. Merciless. His thrusts were brutal. Animalistic. Completely unhinged.

Your body fucking bounced with every snap of his hips, every shove, every relentless drive of his cock inside you.

"Taking it so fucking well," he muttered, his jaw clenched, his nails digging into your skin.

Deep. So deep. So goddamn good.

Your moans turned to whimpers, your whimpers turned to broken cries.

His fingers tightened on your waist, his thrusts turning sharp, rough, pure devastation.

"That’s it," he muttered, his voice a low, dark rasp.

"Fucking take it."

And you did. Every inch. Every thrust. Every ounce of filthy, reckless, dominating pleasure he gave you. You loved it. Fucking loved it.

And Jongho?

He was going to make sure you never forgot it.

Jongho’s grip on your waist tightened—bruising, possessive, unrelenting.

His pace grew harder. Deeper. More powerful.

Each thrust sent you reeling, your body rocking with the sheer force of him, the desk beneath you creaking under the weight of it all.

Then—his hand slid to your back. A sharp tug. A forceful pull. He dragged you closer, forcing you to take him even deeper. A wrecked cry left your lips. You cursed. You whined. You moaned.

Low, deep, almost feral—his voice drenched in raw satisfaction.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his fingers digging into your skin, his breath warm against your ear.

"Every inch of me inside you, just how I’ve fucking wanted—"

His head fell forward, a growl vibrating in his chest. He was close.

And then—his next words sent a full-body shudder down your spine.

"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice hoarse, his thrusts turning erratic, deeper, desperate.

"Gonna fuckin’ ruin you."

And then—he did.

He buried himself deep, filling you up, holding you there, making you take everything he gave you.

You gasped, your body clenching around him, your mind spinning, your breath hitched—

But Jongho wasn’t done. Not even close.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. His fingers brushed up your spine—slow, teasing, dangerous.

Then, in one swift, powerful motion—he flipped you over.

You barely had time to gasp before he dragged you to the edge of the desk, forcing your chest against the cold wood.

And then—his hand wrapped around your face. A firm push.

Your cheek met the surface, your breath hitching as he leaned over you, his weight pressing into your back, keeping you exactly where he wanted.

"Not done with you," he murmured, his tone dangerously low.

"Not even fucking close."

Then— a yank.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to make your eyes meet his. And his gaze? Dark. Feral. Completely wrecked.

"Look at me," he muttered, his grip tightening, his breath ragged.

"Watch me while I fucking destroy you."

And then—he did exactly that.

Jongho’s grip on your hair tightened, forcing your gaze onto his. His hips snapped forward—ruthless, punishing, relentless. Harder. Deeper. Unyielding.

Every thrust was a claim, a vow, a promise to ruin you beyond repair.

The desk beneath you creaked, your body jolting with every devastating movement.

"You feel that?" he rasped, his voice dripping with dominance, his tone laced with pure, unfiltered possession.

"Feel how deep I am? How I’m making you take it?"

Your breath hitched, your body tightening, the coil in your stomach winding dangerously close to snapping.

Jongho noticed. Of course he did. He smirked—dark, knowing. And then—he stopped. Pulled out.

Your body screamed in protest, the pleasure that had built up to a near-breaking point now cruelly ripped away.

A strangled noise left your lips. "You—"

"You think you get to come?" Jongho cut you off, his hand gripping your hip, forcing you still beneath him.

"You think I’ll let you have it that easily?"

Then—he was inside you again. Filling you up in a single, brutal thrust, dragging you back to the edge— And stopping. Again.

"Fuck—" you gasped, your hands clenching into fists behind your back, your legs trembling.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Not until I hear you," he murmured, his grip tightening, his voice deep, wicked.

"You want to come, sweetheart?" His breath ghosted over your ear, his hips rolling into you with slow, deliberate torture.

"Then say my fucking name."

You swallowed hard, your pride fighting against the sheer desperation flooding your body.

You were so close, so ruined, so wrecked—

But you refused to give in. So he did it again. And again. Brought you to the peak—then ripped it away. Over. And over. And over. Until—

"Jongho!"

It tore from your throat, raw and desperate, a curse, a plea, a surrender all in one.

Only then did he give it to you.

Only then did he let you fall.

And when you did?

You shattered.

The pleasure crashed over you in violent waves, your body tightening, clenching, convulsing around him as he groaned through clenched teeth.

"That’s it," he murmured, his pace turning wild, ruthless.

"Take it. Fucking take it.”

And then—he followed.

Burying himself deep one more time, his grip bruising, his body wrecked as he spilled inside you—

Filling you. Claiming you. Destroying you.

And when the tremors faded, when your breath finally returned, when your body lay limp against the desk, utterly spent—

Jongho? He wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

His fingers slid to your chin, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze.

And his next words? A promise.

"You think I’m done with ruining you?"

His lips brushed yours, his voice dark, wrecked, hungry.

"You don’t even know the half of it.”

Jongho didn’t stop.

Didn’t let you breathe. Didn’t let you think.

Your body was still trembling, still wrecked from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t done with you.

His fingers pushed deep—so deep you nearly screamed.

"You feel that?" His voice was dark, rough, dripping with possession.

"You’re taking everything I give you, and I haven’t even ruined you completely yet."

His other hand grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him, forcing you to see the hunger in his gaze.

Then—he shoved his fingers between your lips.

"Suck."

It wasn’t a request.

Your tongue flicked over them, hot, wet, sinful— and Jongho groaned, low and wrecked.

"That’s a good girl," he muttered, his fingers dragging over your tongue before pulling free with a wet pop.

"Now, let’s see how loud I can make you scream."

And then—he was inside you again. Hard. Deep. Devastating.

Your back arched, a moan breaking from your lips, but Jongho wasn’t satisfied with that. His fingers found your clit, pressing, rubbing, teasing— You jolted. Cursed.

"Too much?" he mocked, his pace turning brutal, his grip on your waist tightening.

"Too bad."

His thrusts were merciless, unrelenting, driving you higher, harder— Until the pleasure became unbearable.

Your body convulsed, tightening, clenching, shaking— And Jongho felt it.

"Give it to me," he ordered, his voice pure command, pure dominance, pure destruction. You finally shattered.

Your scream broke through the room, your body wrecked, trembling, convulsing around him—Jongho groaned, his own restraint snapping, his grip on you bruising, unyielding—

And then he followed.

Filling you to the brim this time, all over again, cum dripping from your cunt on the desk.

And when it was over—when you were nothing but a trembling mess beneath him—

Jongho leaned down, his breath hot against your ear.

Jongho didn’t move for a long moment, his breath still ragged, his body still pressed against yours, the heat between you still unbearable.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice low, wrecked, commanding.

"I’ll untie you," he murmured, fingers dragging down your spine, teasing, taunting, possessive.

"But only if you swear yourself to me. To my side."

You inhaled sharply. You knew what he meant. He wasn’t just asking for loyalty—he was demanding it.

"Join me," he continued, his fingers tightening around your wrists, his touch still firm, still controlling. "Or I keep you here. Forever.”

The threat—or promise—sent a dangerous thrill down your spine. A smirk tugged at your lips despite the exhaustion in your limbs, the soreness in your body, the undeniable fact that he had completely, utterly wrecked you.

You tilted your head slightly, voice teasing, sultry, defiant.

"You know," you mused, deliberately slow, deliberately provoking,

"I was gonna retire from being a spy for them anyway."

Jongho stilled.

You grinned, eyes flashing as you added, "Guess you're stuck with me, General.”

Jongho still had that dark, commanding presence as he loomed over you, his grip firm, his body still radiating heat and power. His fingers traced over the marks he’d left on your skin, a silent reminder of what he’d just done to you.

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

Even wrecked, trembling, and utterly ruined, you still had your pride.

You smirked, tilting your head up slightly, feigning innocence.

"Didn’t you get enough of me, darling?" you teased, your voice dripping with mock sweetness, your eyes flashing with mischief despite the raw pleasure still lingering in your body.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, his voice a sinful whisper.

"Didn’t I ruin your pussy enough?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw, his tone dark and taunting.

"You’re teasing me because you want more, aren’t you?"

His fingers trailed down your spine, sending a shiver through your exhausted body, his presence still overwhelming, still utterly in control.

Your smirk didn’t waver. His didn’t either.

“You're mine. Utterly, completely, mine.”

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[alternate-real-ities]

Can i see the alternate versions of myself? I'd especially love to see my arab version!

Hey there! Sorry for the wait, calibrations took a bit longer than expected. But you know what? Here, come with me. I want to try something different this time. Stay close though, I don't want you to get lost in the multiverse. Ready? Come through this portal with me.

See this guy? This is you, but in the dimension I like to call Arab World. Now come with me. You'll see what I mean.

We're here. Careful, cover yourself with this keffiyeh. We can't be seen like this, we'll be arrested for sure. Okay good, now wait...

There! See that guy carrying the heavy crate? Let's follow him.

That's Amir, a strong and handsome Arab man who helps around the local market. You might have guessed it, but Amir is you in this reality. Look how you effortlessly move that thing around. Your muscles so big and defined, your skin tanned from the sun, and your eyes sparkling with confidence. Oh yeah, you look good. Want to see more? Let's follow him.

Now we're at the gym. Amir is a local personal trainer, you know, the kind that makes you sweat and scream in pleasure. Look at him, casually chatting with his clients, flexing his biceps, and showing off that chiselled jawline of his. The way he moves, the way he talks, it's like he's in control of everything around him. You can feel it yourself, can't you? The power, the confidence, the allure. In this reality, you're a man that knows what he wants, and I think you know pretty well what happens to those that disobey you.

Come on, let's not linger here too long. I want to show you something else.

Pretty sweet, huh? I found this exact moment in the timeline. Look at those hot furry pecs of yours, and the size of those arms! I think I'm getting wet just looking at you. You think he knows how sexy he is? I bet he does. Maybe I could convince him to give me a private show later. But knowing this reality, I don't think that would be a good idea. I don't want to end up in a harem of slaves, even if it sounds like a fun idea.

I'm getting a bit carried away here, sorry. Let's move on to the next reality.

You step through another shimmering portal, the world shifting around you. The air is thick with neon lights and pulsing music. You find yourself in the heart of Seoul, surrounded by the electric energy of a nightclub.

A familiar face catches your eye - it's you, but not quite. This version of you is taller and broader than you, with a glint in your eye that speaks of confidence and charisma. You're dressed like you're in a rave, wearing a revealing mesh crop top that shows off your toned sizeable chest and abs, paired with slutty shorts that highlight your muscular legs.

But enough of that, come with me again.

Stepping through the portal again, the world shifts around you. This time, you find yourself in a bustling gym. Look, there you are. Right after finishing a heavy set, huh. Well, did I mention you're a powerlifter in this reality? You've got the usual Asian young-looking facial features, but the size of your body is truly something else.

Just a sexy, hunky powerlifter. The gym regulars can't help but sneak glances as you rack the weights and stretch out, your physique and confidence impossible to ignore. You finish your set, take a long drink from your shaker, and lean back with a relaxed, satisfied grin, soaking in the admiration.

Ready to see the next version of yourself? Let's do one last trip. Step through this portal again.

You step through the portal and find yourself in a vibrant Mumbai café, the air buzzing with conversation and the aroma of spices. Across the room, you spot yourself - this time as Rohan, a charismatic Indian influencer with a magnetic presence.

Here, come with me - let's introduce ourselves to Rohan. See him over there? That's you in this reality: a charismatic Indian influencer with a magnetic presence.

Oh, you're shy? No worries, I got this.

some time later

That wasn't so hard, was it? Your alternate self, Rohan, is thrilled to meet you, and even invited us to join him on a walk through the city. Stick close to me though, don't want you to get lost in time.

On our walk, Rohan shares stories of his rise to fame, his passion for fitness, and his love for fashion. He's a social media sensation, with millions of followers who adore his lifestyle and physique. As we walk, fans spot him and rush over for selfies - he flashes a charming grin, flexes his biceps, and shares a laugh, always gracious and confident. His style is impeccable: a crisp linen shirt, tailored trousers, and designer sunglasses perched on his head.

As evening falls, Rohan leads us to an exclusive rooftop party overlooking the city. Bollywood stars mingle with business moguls, and we're right at the centre of it all. Rohan introduces us as his closest friends, and soon we're swept up in conversations about fashion, fitness, and the latest social media trends.

As the night deepens, you find yourself reflecting on the incredible versions of yourself you've met. Each reality offered a glimpse into a different life - one shaped by culture, ambition, and circumstance, but all sharing the same spark that makes you, well, you.

Rohan raises a glass in your honour, and the group cheers. Now, I don't want to ruin the moment, but we need to get back to our own reality. I'm running low on energy, and I don't want to risk getting stuck here. So, let's say our goodbyes to Rohan and step back through the portal.

Did your farewell? Alright, let's go...

--------------------

That wasn't so bad, was it? I've got to say, those alternate versions of you were quite hot. I hope you enjoyed coming on this small trip with me. Don't think I'll be able to do this again anytime soon, though. I'm afraid the physical strain of jumping through so many realities at once is taking its toll on me. I might need to rest for a while before I can do this again. But hey, thanks for joining me on this journey through the multiverse. Who knows? Maybe next time, we'll find even more surprising versions of you.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Sooo there’s this trend I’ve seen going around where it’s basically someone copying someone’s snaps, and then they basically just flex their muscles, and the person copying the other person is just RIPPED. I was wondering how that would go with the monkey kings, where they’re joking around with the reader and just asks them to flex, and it just turns out the reader is SUPER muscular

MAMA IS BUFF💪

(Lmk Wukong) I can see him flexing his muscles as a joke, especially when he's busy shouting and bragging to Mk. Though he would joke to you and also show off his good looks which you called him handsome on multiple occasions. You told him and Mk that you your own muscles as well, and of course Wukong asked you to show him, thinking your joining in on the fun. Until when you did you flexed your muscles so hard your sleeved ripped, cue Mk's blown mind and Wukong's jaw touching the floor. He also might be blushing and drooling very hard as he pushes Mk out the house so he can jump your bones🤤

(HIB Wukong) Man he would think the concept of flexing is stupid, and thinks it's purely for showing off.(Which is rich coming from him🙄) However Luier was on his motor mouth moments and asked Wukong if he still has his muscles, and of course he was against it. Though that's when you tell Luier that both you and Wukong have muscles, it's just not seen too often. Wukong, though, you were exaggerating and just telling Luier anything to keep him for bothering him, so he asked about it. That's when you sighed and showed your BULK Biceps ripping the sleeves slightly. Luier began fanboying and shooting questions at light speed. Meanwhile, blood shot out of Wukong's like a water fountain, mumbling as he had a physical breakdown.

(NR Wukong) I'm sorry but this man is a hyperactive bean pole, you would think that all the CENTURIES of battle he would have some kind of bulk but no. However he did share some stories with you and Li about when he was at his prime. You would laugh at his exaggerated muscle mass, and that's when Wukong challenged you to a flexing compilation. Though that quickly backfired Spantacularly when you flexed so hard you shredded a perfectly good jacket, your muscular body would ruin him beyond repair. you would have this man screaming from the roof YES MISTRESS! DESTROY MY SKINNY ASS! BREAK ME IN HALF LIKE A KIT KAT BAR!🥵 I don't know how somebody can get even more shameless.

(MKR Wukong) Oh this should be hilarious, I mean Wukong clearly doesn't need muscles to cave somebody's face in. Wukong would roll his eyes at the idea of flexing, and also thinks it's stupid. That's when you told him about your own muscles as you walked together on patrol, Wukong immediately thought you were messing with him. Their is no way you looking all pretty and Dainty could ever have muscles like that, However It didn't stop him from asking to see out of curiosity. I KID YOU NOT, but the second you flexed those perfect biceps, back and shoulder muscles boy did Wukong acend to a whole new plane of peace and love with his demon boner. You should probably take him to the doctor 😬

(Netflix Wukong) Oh god you don't want to absolutely destroy this little boy's self-confidence, which is why you kelp your muscles to yourself. Though let's face it he has spaghetti Ramen arms to the point where even his staff would have more muscle then him, but that's besides the point. Wukong would loudly and desperately show off his own muscles despite them looking like twigs, is when he challenged you to flex. Wukong asked if you have any muscles not expecting you to say yes, he also wasn't expecting you to have an entire body made of muscles what's really killing him is those big Juicy thighs muscles. You mean if my mommy gets mad at me enough she'll crush my head like a watermelon??? Wukong fell into true madness that day, mentally and Sexually.

(BMW Wukong) OHHHHHHHHH GOD NOOO UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, CAN HE KNOW ABOUT YOUR MUSCLES because once he does it's over. Wukong would brag for hours and hours about his physical physique as he shows off to impress his dear wifey who is you. However, you didn't tell him about your own muscles mainly because you once felt insecure about them. You got a bit tired of him running your mouth, so you decided to show him your muscles, and boy, was that a game changer. You would have this man re-evaluating his life like you gave him a good crisis. You mean to tell him that this entire time you could have at any time absolutely break his back like an F*CKING GLOWSTICK...........but chose not to...his boner is soooooooo hard and Pulsing that he can't afford to wear pants right now.

(Destined one) Oh lord you would shock the poor baby into another layer of silence if you ever flash your muscles like that. The Destined one has no interest in flexing or in muscles, despite him being battle driven however I think it would peak his curiosity if he learned that you have muscles. The second he learned that you had one of those body builder muscles that can rip clothes off like tissue paper, he couldn't handle it. Im not kidding the Destined one Collapsed on the floor like he was having the most severe seizure of his immortal life. Next time he wants to see those muscles in actions in your shared bed at home😳

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG💪

[tanobatcher]

heyyy!! I have a request for hunter x fem!reader. i'd love something sort of soft and domestic, taking place after the bad batch finale where they've settled down on pabu together. hunter's just gotten out of the shower, and reader is already in bed waiting for him. but when he walks in the room, all relaxed and shirtless with his curls still wet (literally screaming rn just thinking of it), and she can like absolutely not look at him. like, she knows if she makes eye contact she'll go into full flustered mode. Blushing, giggling, kicking her feet type of feel. she just adores how he looks like that, and it's honestly unfair how gorgeous he is 🥲. it'd also be cute if Hunter notices she's acting weird and he gently teases her about it and she tries (but totally fails) to keep it cool. just something fluffy and intimate, with warm vibes, soft teasing, and maybe a kiss or two at the end? thank you!! 💛

this had me blushing, giggling, and kicking my feet too ehehe hope u enjoy and ty for this <3 apologies for the delay, i had such a busy week!!

shower thoughts

hunter x fem reader summary: your nerves are hard to handle during a cozy night in with hunter. warnings: none!! a/n: i'm ngl i always listen to lana del rey while writing him

Hunter’s helmet is a lot heavier than you expected. It doesn’t fit quite well in your hands, too large and bulky for the right grip. Still, your fingers try to follow the lines crossing the dark, worn-out plastoid like veins devoid of blood. You haven’t asked him much about where he comes from—the life he’s escaped from—and you’re not sure if you can handle the answer. Maybe one day, when the days have long been spent on Pabu as time heals old wounds, he’ll speak. And you’ll listen.

The faint sound of running water from the next room over trickles into a tapping rhythm, stirring your attention from your queries. Within a few minutes that aren’t enough to let you catch your breath, the bedroom door opens slowly but steadily. Your instinct is to look up and smile, happy that he’s returned to your company. But that expression quickly fades when you drink in his presence—his appearance—just everything that he is.

He’s standing tall in nothing but loose sleeping pants hung low around his waist, about to step inside as he pushes some wet hair out of his face with a calloused hand. If he notices that you’re frozen and staring, he doesn’t say anything until he crosses the distance toward his bed, where you’re comfortably tangled in his sheets. A burning flush stings your face, becoming an itch that can’t be scratched with mere fingernails. Quickly averting your gaze from him, you stare into the black visors of his helmet and hear your heartbeat pound even louder when he asks, “What do you have there?”

“I was just looking,” you explain apologetically, “You left your case open, so…”

He’s in front of you now, looming over your figure as if waiting for you to meet his eyes. When you don’t, he simply takes the helmet from your lap and turns around to put this old relic away. You catch sight of some water droplets clinging to his bare skin as he crouches before tugging out a large case from a corner that has already started to collect dust. His back is turned to you, flexing with his movements. You watch his arms open up the top, feeling even more at risk of embarrassing yourself with every rippling evidence of his perfection.

“Um…I’m sorry,” you begin rambling, cringing at how nervous you sound, “I didn’t mean to go through your stuff like that. I was just curious…I’ve never seen something like this up close before…”

He takes a moment to observe the contents of this case—the rest of his armor—before shutting the top with a definitive click. “Don’t apologize.”

His voice sends shivers down your spine, only heightening the butterflies giggling and spiraling in your stomach. It’s like they’re echoing through your insides, distracting you from his next question.

“Sorry—what was that?” You laugh quietly, tucking your knees under your chin as he stands and steps closer to you again, “I wasn’t—I didn’t hear you.”

He cocks his head to the side a bit, staring you down with an amused smile. “I asked if you’re feeling better.”

“Oh…yeah,” you answer, “I was just tired before.”

“What about now?” He steps even closer, and his eyes flick between your face and your legs as you tighten your body together, “Still tired?”

“No!” You respond in an effort to sound normal, but it only comes across as more panicked.

He chuckles under his breath and brings the back of his hand toward your forehead. You’re about to exhale a breath until he slides his touch down to your cheeks, skimming across your jawline like he’s teasing you.

“You’re a little warm,” he points out as his hand retreats.

“It’s warm in here,” is all you can squeak out when you realize you’re at eye level with his abdomen. You feel as if he’s waiting for the right moment to pounce, drawing out your nerves just to consume them.

“Yeah?” He considers your response, “I can—”

“Are you going to put a shirt on?” you blurt out.

His head snaps in your direction, clearly surprised, but all that’s written on his face is something too mischievous for your comfort. He leans over the bed, over you, planting both hands around your body as he cages you into an inescapable position. It’s slow but deliberate, letting the tips of your noses touch for a fleeting second that leaves you breathless.

“Why?” He studies you closely, tilting his head.

You don’t speak, afraid the stammers bubbling behind your lips will slip out.

“I’m not…” he leans forward, “…making you uncomfortable, am I?”

His lips brush over yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. You swallow the lump in your throat and try to level your expression, wanting to appear as unbothered as him. It’s not easy, though. Not when it’s him.

“No,” you whisper unconvincingly.

“You sure?” He lowers his mouth to your jawline, and you melt despite how lightly he kisses you there. Your hands tentatively squeeze his upper arms, hoping to use him for stability even though he’s the reason you feel like you’re floating off the ground.

“No,” you say again.

He laughs and climbs into bed, rolling you on top of him so that you’re chest to chest in his arms. The change is so sudden that you squeal a little, and your following laugh meshes with his behind the doors you wish could stay closed forever. Being here with him is the bliss you’ve been searching for your whole life, and little do you know that he just might feel the same. Thinking about this only warms your insides even more, though. You suddenly bury your face in his chest, unable to control the humiliating blush that can’t seem to go away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “Look at me.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you slip away from his embrace and turn over onto your side, away from him.

“What’s wrong?” He questions through a slight chuckle that tells you he knows exactly what’s wrong. His hand slides up your torso, tugging so that you’ll turn back around. You’re fully aware that he can just make you, but he doesn’t.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

“Then come here,” he insists.

“I am here.”

He sighs, and the conversation pauses for a moment that makes you believe he might just let you off the hook for this one. You’re proven wrong when he moves over you, now face to face, as he pulls you into him. You shift under the covers a little more, hiding slightly despite throwing your leg over his side. And even though you haven’t mustered the courage to look him in the eye again, you simply breathe in the fact that you’re just holding each other through your wild nerves. His arms feel so strong, so right when they’re around you. This truth only brings a smile to your lips, which he unsurprisingly catches.

“Something funny?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Is that the only thing you’re going to say to me?”

Your smile widens. “No?”

He rolls his eyes before setting his jaw, both expressions of exasperation that you’ve seen many times before. What’s unpredictable, though, is the moment he leans forward and kisses you slowly. Your body molds further into his as you push your hands through his hair, still damp and heavy from his shower. It’s also soft like his lips, reminding you that he’s your warmest source of comfort above anything else. Your faces are still pressed together when he pulls away with hardly any distance, just enough to tell you, “Relax. I won’t bite.”

You blush and press your thumb into his bottom lip. “Sure you won’t.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

He takes your hand and drapes it across his hair again, like a telling sign he wants you to keep touching him there. So you do, running your fingers back and forth while occasionally applying a little more pressure to your nails. His eyes flutter shut, calming his expression, other than the small smile that remains attached to the mouth that just kissed you. It’s like you’re given some more space to breathe now that you’re looking at him without his returning stare. Exhaling softly, your hand travels downward and caresses the side of his tattoo. The angular ridge of his cheekbones. The faded scars through his stubble. You touch it all so gently that he feels safe enough to fall asleep, which you believe he is, until he murmurs something under his breath. Leaning closer, you hear him say, “I want you in my bed every night. Can you do that for me?”

An excited flare brings a quiet laugh to your response. “Only if you ask nicely.”

He grins with his eyes still closed and turns so that he’s lying on his back now, bringing you with him toward his chest. You hear his heartbeat against your ear, and you can’t help but press your face into him even more to hear it louder. To feel it closer.

“That was me asking nicely,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“I figured,” you yawn, settling yourself in his arms, “But yeah. I can do that for you.”

He reaches for your jaw, caressing it lightly as he replies, “I’m glad.”

You hardly notice that the tumultuous butterflies in your stomach have calmed to a silent pause, replaced with a comfortable serenity you wouldn’t trade for the world. Your pulse still quickens when he touches you, but you’re not nearly as nervous as you were before. It happened much faster than you could perceive. Or, maybe, it was so slow that you missed the way this homely feeling snuck into your heart like a child tiptoeing through a sleeping household. Exhilarating, but quiet. You like that, just as you like him. The light shuts off, and his room darkens as you drop a kiss to his chest right above his heartbeat before smoothing over the same spot with your palm.

“Me too.”

[zeezelweazel]

Need bottom alexia being needy but reader is tired and let’s alexia get off by grinding on her

Alexia Putellas| About Time|

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I decided to turn this into a whole fic cuz I just loved the idea so much

Bottom Alexia>>>>

TW: dry humping, mention of masturbation, praise

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You and Alexia have a very similar schedule. It's not often that you have training while she can stay home and relax but it does happen occasionally. And it did happen today. Unfortunately for Alexia it's one of those days for her were she can't seem to get her mind away from sex. She's been wet since she saw you leave the house wearing a pair of sweats and a compression shirt.

Alexia tried getting herself off but even after coming she could still feel her core aching for you. She whined and ran her sweaty palm through her blonde locks and fell back against the pillows. She couldn't wait for you to get home.

You sighed tiredly when you entered the apartment. You felt so exhausted the only thing you could think about was hoping in the shower and then jumping on your soft bed. You take your time in the shower, not knowing that your girlfriend who was taking a nap is now wide awake and aware that at long last you're home.

When you open the door and enter the bedroom Alexia is sitting on the bed. Her dark eyes follow your frame as you get ready for bed.

The moment your back hits the cushions Alexia is on top of you. You gasp softly but soon all your noises are muffled by her lips. Alexia kisses you deeply and slowly, at least at first. The kiss quickly turns desperate and fast and Alexia's hands start wandering. Under your shirt to grip your flexing abs and higher to squeeze your biceps. Realising were things are going, you pull back from the kiss and lightly push Alexia back. You apologetically smile when she whines.

"I'm sorry baby I'm just really tired right now. I don't think I even have the energy to move my hands."

Alexia sits on top of you still and when she makes a move to get off her croch bumps into your thigh in the most delightful way possible. Alexia gasps and pauses, she wants to let you rest but it felt so good. She looks at your face when she feels your hands rest on her hips.

You use your hands to guide her lower down your thigh. Alexia bites her lip and you smirk up at her.

"Well? Come on needy girl, you know what to do."

Alexia hastily pulls down her shorts and panties, not caring about her shirt, and immediately starts grinding against the strong muscles of your leg. She's moving her hips against your thigh, fast and hard, her whines and moans are getting louder and louder and you can't stop yourself from getting wet. The sight of her pussy sliding against your leg makes you wish you had the energy to properly fuck her.

Alexia is so close but she just can't seem to get there. Soon she's kissing you again, whimpering and panting over your lips.

"Please, I just wanna- fuck, please... I need you."

Alexia was going to loose her mind if she didn't come soon. Thankfully her pathetic and needy pleading gave you enough strength to move your arm and rub her clit with your thumb. The moment the pad of your finger touched her sensitive clit Alexia was almost screaming in pleasure as her hips picked up the pace. You flexed the muscles of your thigh, hoping to help Alexia find her release.

"That's it baby. Come on my thigh like a good girl."

The words of praise sent Alexia right over the edge. She came with a high pitched moan as her hips kept moving against you, desperately trying to ride out the blissful feeling. When she came down from her high she smiled at you and rolled over to lie next to you. You opened up your arms for her to snuggle against you and Alexia moved in your arms immediately.

"Sorry, I got you all dirty again.

"Wanna shower together?"

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[kpopsexstories]

QUICK FIX GAY #5: TXT Yeonjun & Soobin Post-performance Sex

This is a 100% gay story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Pairing: Top Soobin x Bottom Yeonjun

Content: Standing/from behind, Doggy style, Missionary

Type of Sex: MEDIUM

Word Count: 1,539

“Fuck, that was such a rush!” Soobin exclaimed when they ran off the stage. He pulled up his shirt and used it to haphazardly dab his face, revealing his sweaty chest and flat tummy.

“It was so hot!” Yeonjun said, genuine joy written all over his exhausted face.

“Yeah!” Soobin concurred excitedly. The rush going through their bodies was over-powering, and it felt incredible.

“Did you hear them out there?” Yeonjun asked. ”I feel so fucking sexy!”

Soobin let go of his shirt and laughed. “You are sexy,” he said with a naughty smirk.

Yeonjun met his eyes. They had been walking quickly off the stage, their bodies pumped with adrenaline. Now they stopped, screams and music still ringing in their ears.

Neither of them said a word. The crowd was still going wild. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, but which was really just a few seconds.

Then they both leaped at each other, consumed by the thrill of their sensual and iconic live performance. The moment they had worked so hard for had come and gone so quickly.

Their lips met, and their hands rapidly explored their wet bodies. They made out and rubbed their bodies close together, their shirt soaked and their dicks rock hard.

“I'm so hard,” Yeonjun moaned between their lustful kisses. “I got horny even on stage.”

“My dick was about to burst out of my pants,” Soobin admitted, while consumed by Yeonjun's hot body and their passionate make-out session.

“Let's celebrate,” Yeonjun grunted. His mouth was open and Soobin was violently kissing his neck.

Soobin pulled his friend hard with a hand around his back. “We have to get back out there soon.”

“I know,” Yeonjun said and stuck his hand down Soobin pants, to find the erection he knew was in there. ”Let's be quick.”

“Alright,” Soobin said while panting heavily, in the privacy of their backstage dressing room. “Come here.”

*****

Yeonjun had his shirt wrapped around his neck, exposing his bare back. His pants were pulled down to his ankles and he stuck his ass out.

Soobin was standing naked behind him. His dick was throbbing hard between Yeonjun’s cheeks, sliding in and out of the smooth ass.

“Fuck you were good,” he groaned behind his friend.

Yeonjun grimaced when the cock stretched his hole. “N-not as good… as you,” he said in a pained tone. “Fuck, slow down.”

Soobin reduced his adrenaline-induced pace. He lightened his grip around Yeonjun's slim waist and hips, and thrust his cock into his friend more gently.

“Sorry,” he said while panting softly. “It's just…”

He pulled the dick half way out.

“…that performance…”

He wiped his forhead with the back of his hand, then quickly put his palm back on Yeonjun's hip.

“…was insane!”

He thrust his cock hard inside, and Yeonjun let out a low groan.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun agreed. “You were fucking hot!”

“No,” Soobin moaned. He pulled Yeonjun's ass a little closer, while he kept slamming his groin against the ass cheeks. “You are.”

“The way you moved you body…” Yeonjun continued as if he was trying to win an argument. “You… Ahhh, fuck… you gave it so much more than at practice.”

“The way you rolled your hips…” Soobin countered. “You always do it so… mmm, yeah… sensually. Makes me wanna fuck you hard.”

“The way your pecs flexed when I touched them…”

“Fuck, that felt so good!”

“You nearly made me laugh when you looked me in the eye.”

Soobin chuckled but quickly regained his lustful face. “Your body was so sexy,” he said to change the subject and keep his focus. Then he threw his head back. “Ahh, ahhgh, uhhhgn!”

“YES, Soobin, come in my ass! Hurry up we need to go!”

Soobin clutched his teeth and closed his eyes hard. As did Yeonjun, who perked his lips fully focused on the sensation of Soobin's cock rubbing against his insides.

Soobin thrust faster again, but didn't go as deep as before. “Ahh, your sexy waist! Fuck, it turned me on!”

He felt like his eyes were going to implode and his cock was about to burst any second.

“I-,” he stuttered, struggling to breathe normally. “I was so hard!”

Yeonjun suddenly giggled, which temporarily took them out of their intimate bubble after all. “You really had a boner on stage?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Soobin exclaimed and couldn't help but smile too. He opened his eyes and looked up and down Yeonjun's bare back, and the shirt pulling tight around the neck.

Yeonjun felt a change in their lustfull sex and pushed away from the wall. He started turning his body and Soobin slowly pulled out.

“The couch…” Yeonjun said, almost a demand. He bent down to pull his clothes off his feet, but the shirt remained fixed around his neck behind his head.

Soobin quickly rushed after his friend in the direction of the sofa which stood in a corner of the small room. Yeonjun turned around and pulled him in. He fell backwards on the couch and Soobin came crashing on top. They made out, hard and passionately, while rocking and grinding their slim and slippery bodies together.

“Mmm,” Soobin moaned when he pressed his groin against Yeonjun's waist and stomach.

“Ahh, put your dick back in me,” Yeonjun ordered and spread his legs wide. “Were out of time.”

Soobin raised himself onto his arms and reached in to find his shaft. They grinned at each other when he slowly positioned the head and pushed forward.

“Fuck,” Yeonjun groaned when he was penetrated.

“Damn you're hot,” Soobin smirked, then closed his eyes hard when the dick slid all the way in.

They resumed their lustful fucking, Soobin pulling out and pushing back in while rolling his ass up and down. Yeonjun's knees moved higher with each increasingly hard thrust.

“We can't do it again,” Soobin observed.

“What do you mean?” Yeonjun asked.

“The performance. It's only a matter of time before…”

A sensational rush shot through his organ, filling his whole body with lust.

“…before someone sees me hard.”

Yeonjun giggled. “Just focus on the work and think of something else.”

Soobin smiled lovingly at his friend. He pushed his dick all the way in and enjoyed the sight of Yeonjun's pleasured face.

“How can I when you're dancing so sexy next to me? I wanted to take you right then and there.”

“Take me now,” Yeonjun suggested and ran his hand along Soobin's slim body. “Hurry up.”

Soobin didn't respond, but grinned and started moving his body faster. He too knew that time was of the essence.

His ass bounced up and down as he fucked his friend good, and both men started to feel relaxed. This was just what they needed to cool down, though it felt hotter than ever, before they had to get back out there.

“Mm, fuck,” Yeonjun kept saying.

“Ahh, fuck yeah,” Soobin kept moaning.

He leaned down and their lips met. Yeonjun held him hard around the back with one hand, and stroke his own dick between them with the other.

Their faces were twisted and their teeth hit the other's as they held their tongues and grimaced hard, their faces pressed together. Their lips touched when Yeonjun jolted and pushed his dick hard against Soobin's stomach, releasing his grip just as he shot his load.

The orgasm was quick and abrupt. Soobin hardly even noticed it at first, too consumed by his own strong pleasure. Then he reached his climax too.

He thrust forward and deep into Yeonjun's body. He squeezed and pushed down on Yeonjun's waist, abruptly raising his upper body again. He opened his mouth and exhaled deeply, when his balls burst and he ejected his cum inside Yeonjun's ass.

“Fu-uuuck!” he exclaimed and jolted again.

“Mm, so hot!” Yeonjun moaned beneath him.

“You make me so fucking horny!” Soobin said and emptied himself fully with a few more quick and passionate jerks.

His ass slowed down and he relaxed. The adrenaline was still pumping but wasn't as overpowering as before. He sat up on his knees and let his hand glide down Yeonjun's pumped chest and soft stomach.

“Ahh, yeeeaaah,” he sighed loudly.

“Quick,” Yeonjun said and began to sit up too. “We're out of time.”

Naked and growing slack, both men stood up and rushed to collect their clothes. Soobin found some tissues and handed a couple to his friend. They quickly wiped their fronts whole looking for their next outfit.

“Just leave it there,” Yeonjun said and yanked the soaked paper out of Soobin's hand. “It doesn't show.”

They found the clothes they were supposed to change into. Soobin pulled his crop top up slightly and did a double take of his body in a mirror, to make sure sperm wasn't dripping down his sides.

“Ready?” Yeonjun asked.

“Ready,” Soobin confirmed and smiled.

Yeonjun opened the door and they rushed out. The crowd was screaming their names when the music started playing again. The sexy performance was just the opening act, but now that the couple had come they could focus fully on their performance.

Next time, they agreed, they should probably have sex before the show started.

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 7

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] Part 7: [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (3k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Angry Sex, Nightmares, Domesticity, Morning Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

Glimpses of every day life and sharing an apartment with Carmy.

"I'm sorry, okay? I am! I won't use your ingredients without asking- just- please calm the fuck down!"

Your small argument from closing time had escalated on the way home to the point where you were screaming at each other by the time you slammed the apartment door behind you and followed Carmy to the bedroom. You had fought before, of course you had. But this was probably the worst one so far.

Carmy stood on the opposite corner of the room, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.

"Do you know how fucking expensive imported black garlic is?"

"I don't, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me," you spat, petty, the whole sentence leaving a bitter taste inside your mouth. You backtracked."I'm sorry. I'll pay for it, okay?" you tried to appease him even as your blood was boiling. "Listen, when I moved in, I was ready to make some compromises. I downsized my closet, I sold some furniture-"

"I didn't ask you to do any of that," Carmy interrupted you.

"Carm," you gave him a stern look. "I'm only saying that you could be more understanding about shit like this. We share the fridge and the pantry. I'm sorry I assumed I could use the stuff inside without asking, it will not happen again," you repeated, then inhaled deeply. "Just- I can't help feeling this isn't about that."

Carmy looked red in the face, angry like you had only seen him inside the kitchen, pacing and flexing his fingers. You couldn't believe he was actually losing his shit so severely over a steak and some garlic - even if it was a super expensive steak and black garlic.

He looked at the ceiling. "It is about you touching my shit without asking. It is about you leaving your things on the kitchen table when I need it to work-" he clenched his jaw. "I'm sick and tired of not knowing where anything is in my own fucking apartment!"

You had organized the closet to fit your stuff, and  put Carmy's vintage denim and your bigger dresses in storage. You still had to get a desk for your sewing machine and work stuff, in the meantime it had stayed on the kitchen table, which, in your defense, had remained unused for most of your stay.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you asked in exasperation. "I've been living here for three weeks! You could have said something instead of bottling it up until it was-" you gestured vaguely in his direction, "whatever this is!"

"I like you being here, I didn't want to scare you off!" Carmy groaned.

"Carm, did you think I would leave if we didn't agree on where the shirts are supposed to go?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Dunno!"

"You can tell me things, Carm!" you crossed the room until he was close enough to touch. His eyes looked like the sky before a storm. "You can tell me anything."

"Then why are you so fucking mad?" he said defiantly.

"Because I don't like when you yell at me like I'm just another chef in your fucking kitchen," you said, it was something you had been keeping quiet since your fight started. "I'm not getting paid to put up with this shit."

It struck Carmy completely quiet. And you regretted it the moment it left your lips. You had almost found some middle ground and you had trampled all over it. He took a step closer and stared at you, his eyes dark and angry, the space between you felt charged.

Before you knew what was going on, he grabbed you by the back of the neck and kissed you roughly, biting on your lips, mouth wide open. You pressed on his chest with your hands - you were still too mad at him. But his hands were strong and his tongue was relentless and you could feel yourself getting wet from the mixture of anger and lust - and who knew those two emotions were so close to each other?

"Fuck, I can stop," he said, barely separating his lips from yours, breathing hard. "You want that?"

You pulled on his shirt, bringing him towards you, kissing him back with just as much fervor. Then, using that same grasp, you moved him to the edge of the bed and pushed him hard, his curls bouncing as he fell on his back.

"I want you to fucking apologize, Carmen," you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. You leaned over and trapped his wrists with your hands, above his head. Even putting all your strength into it, he could wiggle himself free at any moment, but he didn't; he stayed down and looked at you hungrily.

"I'm sorry," he said, a little too cocky for your taste, a smirk barely hidden on the side of his face.

You ground your hips against his, feeling his cock harden underneath you. He rolled his eyes and arched his neck. He looked beautiful, like a marble statue.

"What was that?" you asked, stopping your movement abruptly and getting close to his face.

He whined. "I'm sorry," and it sounded more truthful this time.

"Mhmm, that's more like it."

You kept holding both of Carmy's wrists with one hand, while the other moved downward, going underneath his shirt and playing with his nipple, massaging and pinching gently until he closed his eyes and hummed in bliss. Then you stopped.

"Fuck you," he said, letting out some leftover venom from your fight. 

You smirked - why was this so hot?

You got your answer immediately after, when Carmy got free and turned you over, fast and aggressive, like he rarely was in the bedroom. He caged you with his arms and legs, all taut muscle and shaking breaths.

"What about you?" he said, his voice low.

"What about me?" you tilted your head. "I apologized like ten times, Carm. And I meant it."

"You said some fucked up things just now," his breath tickled your face as he studied you from every angle, like he was a wild animal and you were his prey.

"I did," you admitted. You arched your neck, trying to get close and... What? Kiss him? Bite him? You weren't sure. He put one hand on your throat, not quite a caress, closing his tattooed fingers around it. You squeezed your thighs together, blood flowing with need. "I meant some of that too."

"Which part?"

"That I don't like when you yell at me," you said honestly, the moment a little cheapened with how horny you sounded.

"That all?" Carmy's voice had turned hoarse from screaming and you wished you didn't find it so attractive.

"Yeah," you exhaled.

"Good," he said dryly and got up, freeing you, but you remained immobile.

Suddenly, he yanked hard on your jeans and underwear, leaving you bare in seconds.

"Fuck, Carmy."

You hated how needy you sounded, how wrecked you felt as he licked his hand and finally put his fingers inside you, how good he was at making you crumble... You let out a pleading and pathetic sound as he touched your clit roughly and finger fucked you a little too hard.

Then, he took his fingers out without a warning, leaving you empty and out of breath; his hands ghosted the insides of your thighs. You grabbed at his wrist, begging to be touched again. Carmy climbed on the bed instead, hovering above you, kissing you ferociously.

"Eager?" he teased when you started raising your hips to rub on his jeans.

"Impatient," you replied, trying to wind him up.

It worked - his eyes darkened again.

"Hands above your head," he ordered and you obeyed. He took your shirt off carelessly, your bra was almost spilling out with how forceful he was being but he didn't bother taking it off. The whole thing was angry, urgent, and so fucking hot. Carmy was undoing his belt and you used the pause to scoot backwards, just enough to reach your bedside table.

"Hurry the fuck up!" You threw a condom at him, hitting him square on the face.

Carmy gave you a look that was half exasperation, half amused lust. He unbuttoned his jeans just enough to take his cock out, then threw the empty wrapper back at you. He grabbed your legs and dragged you closer, forcefully, the duvet wrinkling underneath you.

"I swear I'm gonna-"

You didn't let him finish. You fisted the collar of his t-shirt and brought him down to kiss, biting on his lower lip, then soothing with your tongue. You opened your legs wide and tugged at the belt loops of his jeans - there was something arousing about him being almost completely clothed and you being almost naked.

"Fuck me, please, fuck me," you begged into his mouth, way past any sense of pride you had at the beginning of the fight. Carmy wasn't any better, rushing to obey the moment you said it.

"Fucking need it," he groaned as he entered you. It wasn't clear if he was talking about you or him - not that you had time to think about it before he started pounding into you. You felt every inch of Carmy's cock as it went in and out.

"So fucking good," you rasped to the side of his face. It spurred him on and made him go faster and harder - your moans got louder and louder. He covered your mouth with his hand.

"The fucking mouth on you," he mumbled low. You clenched your pussy in retaliation and watched as he rolled his eyes and lost his rhythm. "Holy shit, you're gonna kill me."

You ran your hands under his shirt, tracing the contour of his muscles, feeling them quiver and strain as Carmy tried his damnedest to keep going, one hand on the mattress and the other keeping you quiet. Part of you smiled in satisfaction knowing he was getting tired and wouldn't last.

"Shit. Fuck me," he whined and stopped for a moment, sweating and panting. He finally uncovered your mouth, conceding defeat.

"Want me to take over?" you asked with a chuckle.

Carmy sighed and fell on the mattress beside you. "Still mad at you," he said, the sound pitiful with how hard he was breathing.

"Good to know," you climbed on top of him, straddling, lowering yourself on his cock, making him arch his back with pleasure. "I'm still mad too."

You rode him mercilessly, your hips slamming against his, hands on his chest, his eyes marveling at the bounce of your breasts. You took him right to the edge and left him hanging, the veins of his neck bulging as he groaned in frustration.

You clicked your tongue, swaying gently. "Not coming until I do."

"Yeah?" he arched his eyebrows, taking the challenge for what it was.

His hand moved from gripping your hip to where your bodies connected, his thumb finding your clit and caressing it. Your legs shook involuntarily, a spark going through you.

He grinned.

"Oh, fuck you," you sighed, your neck arched, looking at the ceiling while you bounced on his cock. He knew just what he was doing - making you tremble and moan with every gentle touch.

"Come on," he urged you, meeting your thrusts, fucking into you, hitting your G spot almost by mistake.

"Fuck," you gasped, biting your lip to stop from screaming.

You rode him much faster, something desperate and feral taking over you. Carmy's eyes widened when your walls started fluttering around his cock.

"Are you-? Can I-?" he asked in a choked out voice.

"Yes, yes," you managed to say, squeezing the wrist of the hand that was touching your clit so deliciously as your orgasm started taking over every one of your senses. "Yes, Carmy."

He tensed underneath you, flushed all over, eyes closed, and his lips forming a beautiful 'O'. You stared, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes.

He looked up at you, soft, grateful, a smile curling his lips.

"C'mere," he beckoned you downwards, meeting you with relieved kisses, breathy laughter filling the space between you. He caressed your back, tugging on your bra straps until you were somewhat covered again. The tenderness of the gesture warmed you all over.

"You okay?" Carmy asked and you nodded, nuzzling your nose against his in the process. A pause. "Hey. I am sorry. I was angry and-"

"I know," you fixed his hair, all sweaty and sticking on his forehead. "I'm sorry too."

He kissed your shoulder lovingly.

"I like you being here," he said. "I just- I need time to figure it out. That okay?"

"Yeah," you traced the line of his nose with your finger. "We'll figure it out together, baby."

You kissed him sweetly and he rolled you over to your side.

"I'll go to the thrift store tomorrow," you said, cupping his face. "Buy a desk and shit."

Carmy smiled. "I'll fix the pantry. Put labels on my shit. Make room for your things."

"I think that's the most romantic thing you've said to me," you joked, giggling when he tickled your sides.

"Shut the fuck up!"

He laughed with you, leaving kisses on your face and throat.

~

You woke up to the sound of Carmy talking in his sleep. Most of it was gibberish, quiet mumbles as he thrashed on the bed, the one word you could make out was 'Mikey' - over and over. He winced and let out a pained sound. You got closer and held him, your arm across his chest.

You knew he had nightmares, you'd been there for a couple of them, but sleeping every night with him meant you saw much more of it. It broke your heart how many you had missed, how bad he hurt...

"It's okay, Carmy," you soothed softly. "I'm here, baby, it's okay."

He woke up with a startle, breathing fast.

"Fuck, sorry," he sat up and ran his hands over his face. "Bad dream."

"I know," you waited for him to settle, giving him space.

After a while, he laid back next to you. You moved slowly, gently, touching the side of his face and caressing his hair, calming him down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh," Carmy looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard, "there was a fire. Just so much smoke," he cleared his throat. "And, uh, Mike was there." There was a long pause. "Did I ever tell you he planned to set the restaurant on fire?"

"What?" you froze.

He hummed. "To cash the insurance money, you know," he reached for your free hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing them close to his chest; his heart was pounding.

"I'm sorry, Carm," you waited for him to say something but he stayed silent, vacant. "It feels so weird that I never met him."

"Probably for the better, to be honest," he said dryly. There was something dark about the way he said it.

"Hey," you squeezed his hand, trying to ground him. "What'd you like about him?"

"About Mike?" he said looking at you. "Uh- He was warm. He told the best stories, took care of Nat and me, gave the best hugs... A real big brother, you know?"

You nodded.

"Started getting tattoos because of him," he said, flexing his hands to show the ink on them. "He was so cool, and I wanted to be that."

"I think you're pretty cool," you said sweetly, kissing his knuckles.

"Thanks," he said through a sad smile. "Richie says he was all wrong by the end of it..."

"Wrong how?"

"He wasn't warm anymore, he was, uh, like a fryer fire, I guess. His stories didn't make sense. Kept forgetting shit. A mess, you know?"

"Maybe that's why he pushed you away," you said softly. You knew Carmy felt guilty for his time in New York. "He wanted you to remember him like he was before."

"Maybe," he conceded, looking up at the ceiling.

You stayed like that for a while, caressing his arm, tracing lines on his skin.

"Would you-" he said, then stopped.

You turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Would you hold me?" Carmy asked, his blue eyes open and vulnerable.

"Of course," you smiled and shifted on the bed to spoon him, his back to your chest, your arms around him, leaving gentle kisses on his shoulder blade. You could feel his heartbeat settle as he went back to sleep.

"Love you, Carm," you said right before you drifted off.

~

You woke up to the feeling of Carmy kissing your face softly. You hummed, content. When you opened your eyes, the bright light of late morning was all over your bedroom.

"Didn't hear you coming in last night," you said, your voice raspy with sleep.

"Got in late. Bad day," he raised his hand to touch your hair, staring at the way it caught the light. "Nat forced me to take today off."

"That bad?" you asked, a little concerned.

Carmy moved his fingers to the worry lines on your face, soothing.

"Not really. Someone talked about work life balance in her last Al-family meeting and she's all about that shit right now," he smiled. You loved to see how he looked soft with sleep, relaxed for a little while.

"Have I told you I really like her?"

"You might have," he said playfully, then leaned over to kiss you. It was a gentle thing, his lips lazy on yours and his body flushed as he hugged you.

You took his shirt off, not out of lust, just wanting to get more warmth from his skin on yours. You slowly started kissing his tattoos. You liked the ones on his arms and hands; they were familiar, whenever you thought of Carmy it was the image you conjured. But you loved his other tattoos, the ones nobody else saw, the secrets he kept and only shared with you. You left kisses on his shoulder and his chest, running your fingers on the ink on his ribs and right above his hip bone.

"I've missed you, Carm," you confessed.

It had been a hectic couple of weeks. You had barely seen each other, mostly just sleeping on the same bed, saying good night and good morning before each of you left for work.

"Missed you too," he replied.

His hands roamed your body, tugging gently at the fabric of your sleep shirt, helping you out of it, all while kissing you. You melted in his arms, pliant as he rolled you over and started leaving pecks on your skin.

"Carmy," you sighed. His lips left imprints on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and your chest. He stayed there, kissing the top of your breasts, the side, the valley between them, and your nipples. Your pulse was racing and you wondered whether he could feel it with his mouth.

"You're so soft," he said, his exhale giving you goosebumps. "Smell so nice."

"You smell nice too, baby," you giggled. Carmy's hair still had a lavender-like scent from his night shower.

"Mmm..."

He kept kissing. Your belly, your hip, the wrinkle that formed between your mound and your thigh. There was something so like devotion in the way that he moved; it wasn't about filling some selfish need to get his dick wet, he wanted you to feel loved.

"C’mere," you called him back up, to kiss his lips fervently, your hands buried in his hair. When you parted, he smiled, his eyes were still sleepy. He looked so comfortable, so soft...

Your hand traced again that tattoo on his hip, then moved downward, to the hair on his navel, and lower, touching him over his boxers. He was half hard, his nose buried in your neck. When he groaned, his chest rumbled against yours.

"So nice," he said. "’m too fucking tired to fuck you like you deserve, though."

Your free hand caressed the back of Carmy's neck, holding him closer.

"Just want you to relax, make you feel good," you whispered, moving the hand on his cock back and forth, slow, loving.

He moaned, then shifted a little on the bed. You didn't realize why he was moving until his hand snaked its way inside your shorts.

"Oh," you squirmed a little at the feeling of his fingers.

"Too cold?" Carmy asked.

"No, it's okay," you leaned to kiss him. "It's okay," you repeated.

You kept on touching and kissing, everything in that sort of clumsy haze, one of your legs over his. You needed this: being with him without the rush of being late, no urgency, no fucking as fast as you could before Carmy had to run to the restaurant. You had all the time in the world - you could count the freckles on his face and stare at the blue in his eyes as he mumbled sweet nothings into the morning air.

His free hand touched your wrist, guiding it to the head of his cock, the sluggish rhythm you had set just enough to make him roll his eyes and kiss you hard, drowning a whine against your lips as he released.

"Love you so much," Carmy mumbled.

You kissed the side of his face. "I love you, I love you," your voice came out choked and high.

Without you noticing, the constant massaging between your folds had built up too. You came with a long exhale, closing your eyes for a moment, lightly squeezing his side.

"Wanna stay here forever," he said after a while of just looking at you and caressing your back.

"Just sleeping and fucking all day," you replied tiredly.

"I'd like that."

~

[Deleted Scene]

[Part 8]

~

@th3h0nkz @faephoria @wadupppp

[cherrywrecked]

Gamer girl sakura forcing you to give head while she plays

EJFJDJJDJDJD FIRST KKURA ASK AND IT'S THIS??? HOW'D YOU KNOW I'M A SUCKER FOR GAMER!KKURA???

tags: gamer!sakura, streamer!oc. g!p!kkura. blowjob. tit job.

kkura, your gamer girlfriend had always, always loved your mouth. from the way you talk, how you read your viewers' comments, how you kiss her, up until how you wrap them around the tip of her cock before sucking him off, she loves it, but right now, she hates you for it. she hates how you're not giving her what she wants.

“baby, please. i need you, please?” with her cute eyes, she begs for you while you sit in between her legs while she's sitting on her computer chair with her pants and underwear pooling on her feet and her controller in her hands. this made you chuckle. she's still in game with her friends and one wrong press on the paddle to trigger the press to talk feature on her discord, her friends would hear her begging for you.

“you told me to take my time, kkura, didn't you? that's what i'm doing.” you looked up at her with cunning eyes, tongue resting flat on her length before dragging it up, the tip of your tongue flexing as it reaches the tip of her cock. “fuck, do that again, baby. that felt good.” kkura's breathing was heavy and you can see how frustrated she already was. her cock was so hard against your cheeks, the veins protruding with how hard she already was.

“god, look at you, sakura. pathetically hard for your girlfriend while being in game with your friends.” you say, lips kissing a part of her shaft in between every word. you felt her cock twitching every time your soft lips touches the tip. wanting to tease her more, you used your dominant hand to cup her balls, giving it the gentlest massage, and holy fuck, that might have been just the reason why sakura suddenly activated her press to talk paddle and said; “i'm sorry, chae, yunjin. i need to afk. i can't... a-ah, it feels good.” and you were so sure her friends heard her moan. it was hot, but also, the moment she took the headphones down to her neck and her controller back on her table, you knew you were fucked.

without having to think twice, sakura took a fistful of your hair while mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ before she forced herself into your mouth, making you choke. “fuck, baby. you're so warm around m-my cock...”, sakura moans rather loudly, breath hitching every once in a while that the tip of her cock reaches the back of your throat. you hum against her length, making kkura shudder with the vibration it gave her. you repositioned yourself in between her legs, kneeling even more comfortably now with your arms resting atop her thighs. “god, you're so pretty... baby, i'm c-close. f-fuck!” sakura threw her head back as you hallowed your cheeks around her length and before she could even shoot her load, you quickly pulled away, replacing your mouth with your tits around her length instead.

sakura's whimpers were driving you insane. she sounds pretty and desperate—you were so ready to give her what she deserves. pressing your mounds around her dick, you moved it the same way you would ride her, up, down— with your tongue stuck out for her as she thrust her hips and fucks your tits. “i-i'm cumming, baby— baby... shit, shit!” and true to her words, her cum is now dirtying your pretty face, but to sakura, that only made you even more beautiful. she lowers herself down to meet your lips for a slow, gentle kiss and that's when you heard your friends screaming through sakura's headphones—“SAKURA, YOU HAVE YOUR MIC FUCKING TURNED ON. GODDAMN IT?”

[storiesssbyhopfullysunny]

Not Sorry

Dean Winchester x My personal OC

This is my own personal work please do not steal it or use anywhere else! This is mine character within the plot line of Supernatural. All rights to Supernatural and its storyline belong to Warner Brothers. This is my first story like this and I’m very proud of it. Please be kind and compassionate.

Warnings: Smut!! And lots of it!!, fluffy Dean, mentions of blood, dying and hell, awkwardness, 18+ mature content, some funny moments

This is my first snippet of a bigger story with my original character Evelyn or Eve. It takes places early Season 4 after Dean returns from Hell.

Gif by @fallencrackships

——————————————————————————

I should've died. I would’ve died. If it wasn’t for Dean.

The thought kept looping through my head, quiet and insistent, like the ringing after a gunshot. Even now, back in the motel with the door locked and my body stitched back together, the ache in my ribs didn't compare to the way he looked at me in that field—blood on his hands, jaw clenched, eyes wild.

Dean hadn't said much since.

He stood by the window now, shoulders squared like he was ready to fight off the next attack, even though we both knew the danger had passed, for now. The lamplight painted his profile in gold and shadow, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

I sat on the bed in one of his flannels, too long for me, warm in a way that made my chest ache. It smelled of gunpowder and leather. My hair was still damp from the shower. The room was warm and smelled like soap.

"You gonna look at me tonight?" I asked, voice low, timid. A softness I reserved for the Winchesters boy and not many others.

He didn't turn. "Not if I can help it."

That stung. "Thanks."

I couldn’t help the huff that left my lips. A beat of silence. Then he exhaled through his nose. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean, Dean?"

He didn't answer.

I stood, and walked over to him slowly. "You don’t gotta pretend with me Dean.”

He glanced at me, just once, but it was enough to see it. The fire. The restraint. The way his hands flexed at his sides like they didn't know what to do.

"I thought I lost you," he muttered. "You were bleeding out."

I stepped closer. "But you didn’t, I’m right here."

"That’s not the point," he said, almost too quiet to hear. "You could have."

My fingers brushed his arm. He didn't flinch, but he didn't move either. I could feel the tension rolling off him—too much want wrapped in too much guilt.

"I'm not made of glass, Dean."

"Didn't say you were."

"You act like if you touch me, I'll break."

He finally turned, jaw tight. Something burning behind is eyes. "No. I act like if I touch you, I won't stop. And that changes everything."

That landed somewhere deep in my chest. I couldn’t think before. "Maybe it should." Flew out of my mouth.

He looked at me then, really looked. His eyes were raw, dark, full of things he'd never say out loud. I reached up and touched his face. The stubble on his chin pricking against my skin. He caught my wrist gently, like he wasn't sure if he should hold me or push me away.

"I'm not good at this," he said, voice gruff.

"I know."

"You've been in my head since you showed back up at Bobby’s. Hell, since before that."

"You think it’s different for me?”

His silence told me everything I needed to know.

"I watched you die, Dean. You think I don't still wake up hearing that scream? Putting you in that grave?”

He swallowed hard, gaze flicking to my lips, then back to my eyes. "I'm not who I used to be."

"Neither am I."

"I don't want to be careful with you," he admitted, jaw tight. "I don't know how to make this sweet. I want to feel you, need you, like I've been trying not to for years. And if I do that..." He exhaled sharply. "There's no going back."

"Then don't go back." I wasn’t thinking anymore, the words that had sat at the tip of my tongue time and time again finally rolling off with no control. I carefully reached to put my hand on his cheek, fully aware he could push me away at any moment. I moved closer to him, carefully watching his every move. "I've waited long enough." The words were almost a whisper but sounded much louder in the silence of the room; but we both knew the weight they held.

Testing my limit I cautiously closed what little space was left between us looking up at him as I rested my hand on his chest. Feeling the rise and fall of his breath hitch against my touch.

He reached for my hips hesitantly before he settled them right below my bandage. I winced as his grip on my waist tightened, and for a second, I thought he'd pull away. I couldn’t help the thoughts that started to flutter through my head. He stared down at me intensely. Almost as if I’d disappear if he let go. Our difference in height glaringly obvious now that we were basically chest to chest.

My breath caught in my throat as Dean pressed closer to me. I could feel the heat of his breath fan over my face and it was then I realized how close Dean really was to me. His eyes flickered from mine to my lips. I shuddered under his gaze.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t kiss me. Didn’t pull away.

Just stared. Like he was memorizing ever inch of my face. I stared back taking in every single freckle or scar that adorned his face. He was beautiful.

“Dean…” I whispered, unsure what I was asking.

His jaw clenched. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m something good.”

I swallowed hard, my voice barely steady. “You are.”

He exhaled through his nose, rough and shaky, like the words wounded him more than comforted him. Then, slowly, like he was giving me one last chance to stop him, he leaned in.

His lips brushed mine.

Just once.

Feather-soft. Hesitant. Devastating.

And then he kissed me again, harder this time. Like he’d given up fighting it. Like he needed to prove something in the way his mouth claimed mine.

I gasped against him, and that sound undid him.

His hands slid into my hair, threading through the strands as he kissed me deeper, fuller. My fingers gripped his shirt, pulling him against me. Every inch of his body against mine made me ache more. I couldn't believe I was doing this.

He pulled his lips from mine slowly and I couldn't help the soft, desperate whine that escaped my lips as he rested his forehead to mine, both of us breathless. My cheeks burning in emabrassment.

His mouth found mine again, this time with no hesitation.

There was something wild in the way he kissed me now, like he’d finally surrendered to how badly he wanted it, wanted me. His hands cupped my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheeks as he tilted my head back and took his time. His lips feathered over mine and I swore to myself if his hands wearn’t holding me. His lips began to wonder, slow and searching, dancing over my chin and along my jaw. I gasped again.

My whole body lit up under his touch.

He moved carefully at first but when I slid my hands under his shirt and felt the heat of his bare skin, he groaned low in his throat and everything changed. My restraint fading alongside his.

He pulled me tighter against him, hands gripping my hips like he didn’t want there to be a single inch between us. I could feel how hard he was already, pressed hot and heavy against my lower stomach. The dirty thoughts going through my head were plentiful. He leaned further down burying his face in my neck and kissed along the skin there, teeth grazing lightly.

“Been trying not to think about this,” he muttered against my throat, voice rough and broken. “But you’re everywhere, Eve. Always have been.

His words sent a thrill through me, sharp and sweet.

I fumbled with the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped me pull it over his head, revealing the scarred, sculpted body I’d patched and stitched plenty of times.

I ran my hands down his chest, slow, tracing every line and scar. I breathed, studying him gently.

Dean froze for a half-second, shifting under my gaze. I leaned up, on the tips of my toes, and kissed the space over his heart. Where his tattoo laid.

He leaned into my touch.

His hands slid under my shirt then, pushing the fabric up until I lifted my arms to let him take it off. His gaze dropped to my bare skin, and his hunger sharpened, but his touch softened. His hand slid down my side. Calloused fingers traced the curve of my waist, then paused when they reached my ribs. He brushed his thumb over the ink there.

“You’re gonna wreck me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss just below my collarbone.

“Then let me,” I murmured, backing up slowly toward the bed, pulling him down with me.

He followed, every inch of his body lining up with mine, his mouth finding mine again, deeper now, hotter. His hands roamed, fingers skimming over my breasts, my ribs, my waist, across my thighs like he was learning me by feel. I gasped when his palm slid between my thighs, teasing, stroking.

“Dean—” The word barely made it out, my body jolting as his touch landed with devastating precision.

He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my skin. God, I almost crumbled beneath him. “Say my name like that again, and I swear—”

“Dean,” I whispered, slower this time, eyes locked on his, a wicked smile peeling across my lips.

He kissed me hard, almost bruising, and slipped his fingers inside me. I thanked myself silently for wearing the thin shorts.

He moved with purpose, curling his fingers just right, his eyes never leaving mine as he watched me unravel. My back arched and I couldn’t help the soft, desperate whine that escaped my lips as his fingers moved just right. The sound was involuntary, high-pitched and needy, and the second it left my lips, I froze.

Dean stilled, just for a beat, like he was stunned.

Then he groaned, head dropping to my shoulder like the sound physically hit him.

“Fuck, Eve,” he rasped. He looked up at me, eyes blazing, lips curved into the faintest, wrecked smile. “That little whine you just made? Cutest damn thing I’ve ever heard. And the hottest.”

My skin burned. “Dean—” his lips found the curve of my neck again kissing up my jaw.

“Do it again,” he muttered against my skin “Make that sound for me again.”

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. All I could do was shudder in his grasp.

His mouth on my neck was maddening, soft, slow kisses that turned to open-mouthed heat, I could taste the hints of wishkey on his tongue, his stubble scraping just enough to make me shiver. One hand stayed between my thighs, working me open with aching precision, while the other pressed firm against my right side, keeping me close, like he needed me right there.

I whimpered again, barely a sound, and felt him twitch against me, harder now.

Dean groaned, deep and guttural. “Shit, Sweetheart, you have no idea what that does to me.”

I buried my face in his shoulder, another whine escaping my lips, fingers digging into his back as he curled his fingers again. A small smirck decorated his face “Dean, please…”

His breath hitched, He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, jaw clenched like he was holding himself together by a thread. “Say it again,” he murmured, voice rough and wrecked. “Say my name like that. Beg for it.”

If I had any resistance left in me, it melted away. I arched beneath him, legs parting instinctively as he curled his finger again, making me gasp—sharp and breathless.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing mine. “Let go for me, Eve.”

I met his gaze, trembling, wrecked, and whispered, “Dean… I need you.”

And that was it.

The last thread snapped.

He hesitated, just for a breath.

Then he leaned in, voice low and wrecked.

“You already have me.” He curled his finger in that moment and I cried out, a sound that that seemed so far away but yet so loud.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, teeth grazing my lip before his tongue slid against mine and I groaned into his mouth. My hands fumbled with his belt, desperately, and he stilled me.

"Let me," he said, voice dark. He slipped his fingers out, and I bit back a whimper at the sudden ache of emptiness.

I let go, watched as he stripped for me, jeans, boxers, all tossed aside like armor. His body was scarred and strong, and God, he was beautiful in a way he'd never believe.

He knelt between my thighs and pulled off the thin bed shorts, slow and focused. His gaze drank in every inch of me.

"You've been killing me for years," he said. "And I let you."

He leaned down and kissed my chest, my stomach, trailing fire as he went. When his mouth found the wet heat between my legs, I gasped, hips rising. He groaned against me, tongue moving in slow, devastating circles until I was whimpering, fingers tangled in his hair.

"Dean—please—"

He pulled away just enough to speak. "You taste so good, Sweetheart." I whined again, this man would be the undoing of me.

He kissed his way back up my body, fingers guiding himself to my entrance. I looked up into his eyes, no fear, no hesitation anymore. Just a storm of need and something deeper.

He pushed in slowly, watching me the whole time. Every inch stretched, burned, filled, until he was fully inside me and I couldn't breathe.

We stilled there, forehead to forehead, hearts hammering.

"I've got you," he whispered. I whined in despiration jutting my hips against his in the slightest attempt to create friction.

And then he moved.

It was desperate. Raw. A rhythm forged in years of repression and longing. His thrusts were deep, rough, perfect. My name on his lips wasn't a word—it was a prayer, a curse, a confession. Something I had never thought I'd hear falling off his lips In a gasp.

“Fuck, Eve—”

His voice broke on my name, rough and guttural. I could feel him unraveling, feel the exact moment he couldn’t hold back any longer. His rhythm turned frantic, hips snapping into mine, deep and desperate, chasing the edge like he couldn’t stop if he tried.

And God, I didn’t want him to.

“Dean, oh my God, Dean,” I moaned, high and breathless, my nails digging into his back as everything inside me coiled tight, pressure building with each perfect thrust. “I’m—please, I’m so close—” I whined, giving in fully to the seering sensation run through my body.

He groaned into my neck, voice wrecked and trembling. “Come on, sweetheart… give it to me… let go…”

That name—sweetheart—sent me over the edge.

My entire body arched into his as pleasure slammed through me like a lightning strike, hot and bright and blinding. I cried out, loud and raw, his name broken on my lips.

He wasn’t far behind.

Dean cursed under his breath, thrust once more, then buried himself deep with a low, guttural growl as he came, shaking against me. “Fuck—Eve—” he rasped, clutching me to him.

We stayed like that, tangled and breathless, skin damp with sweat and aftershocks, hearts hammering in perfect rhythm.

And then—

The motel door creaked open.

“I got burgers. Hope you didn’t eat alre—”

Sam.

Dean froze. My blood turned to ice.

Sam’s voice cut off. Paper bags rustled.

And then a beat of complete, stunned silence.

“Oh my fucking God,” Sam muttered, and I could hear the instant horror dawned on him. “Nope. Nope. I didn’t see anything. Did not see a damn thing.”

Dean blinked, still inside me, then dropped his forehead against my shoulder with a groan. “Son of a bitch.”

I covered my flaming face with both hands as the door banged shut behind Sam. His footsteps pounded down the hall.

“I’m going to the Impala!” Sam’s voice called faintly through the wall. “I’m living in the Impala!”

Laughter bubbled out of me—delirious, mortified laughter. Dean shook with it too, his shoulders trembling, face still buried in my neck.

“Well,” I gasped between giggles, “at least we know he brought food.”

Dean looked up at me, eyes glassy and stunned, lips curling into a crooked grin. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

Dean's breath was heavy, chest rising and falling against mine, but there was something fragile beneath the fire now. The way his eyes searched mine, like he was trying to find a way to put all the words he couldn't say into just one look.

I traced lazy circles on his back, still slick and warm, and felt the tension in his muscles slowly ease—just a little.

"I'm sorry about Sam," I whispered, voice hoarse.

Dean snorted, a rough, tired sound. "He always picks the worst times. Like he wants us to star in some bad motel porno."

I laughed softly, the sound shaky. "Yeah, real classy."

He shifted, finally pulling out and rolling beside me, his skin prickling where it had been pressed against mine. The quiet between us was heavy but not empty. It felt like the space where everything we'd been holding back could finally settle.

"You good?" he asked, voice low.

"Better," I said honestly, my fingers finding his.

He gave a half-smile, like he wasn't sure if he deserved it. "Me too."

We lay there, hands tangled, for god knew how long. It felt peaceful for a moment. Something neither of us were used to. Dean was still quiet, but his gaze kept flicking to my face—like he was memorizing every line, every curve. Occasionally he'd reach over placing a soft kiss against my lips, making my heart flutter each time. Even after the most passionate night if my life I still couldn't believe I was here.

With Dean.

When I finally broke the silence, it was with a question I'd been holding onto for years. "Why’d you avoid me after you got back, Dean.” He winced, like he knew it was coming, but he'd hoped it wouldn't.

He exhaled sharply, eyes darkening. "Cause I'm not good for you, Eve."

"You're wrong."

He shook his head, voice low but fierce. "I've seen what I can do. Hell... what I did."

Dean hadn't talked about hell, not to anyone else at least, I reached out, cupping his cheek. "You're here."

His hand covered mine, warm and steady. "That's not enough."

"It's all I need."

Next day

Dean was never good at mornings.

He never stretched or yawned, never lingered in bed the way normal people did. The second his eyes opened, he was up, defensive, alert, already half out the door before the rest of the world had caught up. Like rest was a luxury he wasn't allowed to want.

But this morning, he stayed.

I leaned against him, warm under the covers, as the motel air tried to sneak past the window seams. His arm was around my shoulder, his hand absently tracing the top of my thigh like he didn't even realize he was doing it. I could feel his thoughts spiraling—quiet, but relentless.

"You're doing that thing again," I murmured against his collarbone. He shifted a little pulling me closer to him.

"What thing?"

"Where you disappear, even though you're right here."

He tensed for half a second. "Just thinking."

"That's always dangerous." I kissed his collarbone softly.

His breath hitched into a small laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. I leaned up on one elbow, searching his face.

"You regret it?" I asked gently. The fear, this would all be pulled away in a second, a faint buzz in the back of my head.

He didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened, his hand stilled on my skin. For a moment, I thought he'd lie. That he'd brush it off or change the subject.

But he surprised me.

"I regret waiting so long," he said quietly. "But I'm scared shitless I'm gonna ruin this. That I already have."

My throat tightened and my heart skipped a beat. "You didn't ruin anything, Dean."

He looked at me then, really looked. "You think I don't see what this is? What you are? You're light. And I'm... hell."

I reached for him, fingertips brushing the mark on his shoulder, the one he never talked about but always guarded like it might burn through his skin.

"You're not what happened to you," I said. "You're not what they made you do."

"I was good at it, Eve," he said, the words low and rough. "Down there, I stopped counting. I didn't just survive it, I became it. I don't know how to come back from that."

My chest ached. He had been through so damn much. I touched his face, thumb brushing the shadow of his stubble. "You already are."

He shook his head. "I can't protect you and keep you and love you, not without one of those things breaking."

I didn't flinch, even as my heart skipped at the word love slipping out without permission.

"I'm not asking you to be perfect," I whispered. "I just want you to be you."

"I don't want to watch you die," he said, voice cracked and low.

"Then stop wasting time pushing me away."

We were quiet for a long moment. I could feel him unraveling beside me, inch by inch. Not dramatically, not all at once, just quietly letting the weight shift, letting it settle on both of us, instead of carrying it alone.

Finally, he reached up, fingers threading through my hair. He pulled me to him, slow and deliberate, kissing me like a man still unsure if he deserved it. There was no urgency in it now, just something tender and aching.

"I'm not gonna say it," he muttered against my lips.

"I'm not asking you to," I whispered back.

"But you know it's there."

I nodded. "Yeah."

He sighed, forehead pressed to mine. He leaned into kiss me again, this time more passionate then the last. Not quite the same sense of urgency as last night. I sighed into it giving in to his lips that swallowed mine in a searing delicious rythm.

But then, there was a knock on the door.

Not a pounding, not angry, but unmistakably Sam.

Dean tensed beside me, muscles going rigid as he pulled back, a airy whine leaving my lips from the loss of connection. His expression was caught somewhere between guilt and instinct. Like he wasn't sure if he wanted to cover me up or shield me from something.

"Dean," I said, voice still low from everything we hadn't quite said.

He looked down at me, jaw flexing. "This... this is gonna be a thing now, isn't it?"

I gave him a faint smile. "You mean reality?"

He huffed. "Yeah. That."

The knock came again, a little more pointed this time. "Dean? Eve? You alive in there?"

Dean groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Barely." He knew his brother couldn't hear him but he groaned again letting his grip on me loosen.

I reached for the thin motel sheet and wrapped it around myself. Sliding out of the bed, and padding to the bathroom mirror to try and look like I hadn't just had the most emotionally and physically intense night of my life.

Dean was slower to move. He sat at the edge of the bed, bare chest rising and falling like he hadn't quite caught his breath since last night. The bruises on his side—old and healing—stood out in the soft morning light. He didn't bother to cover them. For once, he wasn't hiding.

"Are we opening the door?" I asked softly.

He looked up, gave a crooked, tired smile. "You're braver than me." He tossed the flannel I had been wearing last night at me.

I slipped on the flannel making sure I was completely decent before I crossed the room and kissed his forehead. "I've always been braver than you."

He chuckled as I turned to open the door. Reaching for the Nob.

When I opened the door, Sam stood there holding a paper bag and three cups of gas station coffee, his eyes immediately catching the state of me, hair a mess, shirt that wasn't mine, flushed skin.

His eyebrows lifted. "So... uh. I guess that explains the noise."

I froze. The emabessment burning hot in my ears.

Dean, from behind me, grumbled, "Jesus, Sammy."

Sam held up his hands. "Hey, not judging. Just—next time? Lock the damn door."

Dean came to stand beside me, now in his jeans but still shirtless, running a hand through his hair. "Next time, maybe knock louder."

I stifled a laugh, stepping back to let Sam in.

But as the three of us stood there in the tiny motel room, something unspoken passed between the brothers, and between Dean and me. It was a shift. A quiet, seismic one.

He didn’t deny it, didn’t make a joke to brush it off.

And when he looked at me, just for a second, I could see it. All of it.

The guilt.

The hope.

The terrifying possibility that, after everything, this might be real.

We didn’t say anything else. We didn’t have to. The silence between us felt less like avoidance and more like surrender, like we were both too afraid to speak the truth out loud in case it shattered the fragile thing forming between us.

Sam could feel it too, just in a different way.

Later

After the world's most awkward breakfast with cold diner eggs and forced small talk, and the lingering embarrassment of Sam walking in on us. Dean said he needed to hit the gas station for ammo and snacks, really just an excuse to get air.

The moment the Impala rumbled out of the lot, Sam gave me that look. Not judging. Just... knowing.

I sat cross-legged on the motel bed, sipping my second coffee of the day, trying not to meet his eyes. But of course, he waited. Patiently, like he always did when he knew I had something I wasn't saying. Sam could always read me like a book, some days better than myself.

"I'm not gonna give you the protective speech," he said finally, sitting across from me. "He's not exactly fragile."

"But?"

"But," Sam said, lifting his brows, "you are. And you've been in love with him since, what... 1998? Maybe earlier?"

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "God, was it that obvious?"

Sam chuckled. "You used to stare at him like he hung the damn moon.”

"I did not."

"You did." He leaned back against the chair. "And he was too far up his own ass to notice."

I smiled despite myself. I could almost still feel the heat of his hands on my skin. Big and calloused. "He noticed. He just ran from it."

Sam nodded. "He's good at that."

There was a moment of quiet between us. Something me and Sam had always been good at. Comfortable silence. This time though, He let out a sigh that broke throught the air.

“You okay?” I asked, standing from the bed I was sitting on an moving to sit next to him at the small table.

He half smiled, a faint hue of pink dusting his cheeks. “Yeah. Just… trying to unsee things.”

I snorted. “Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry,” he muttered with a wry smile, sipping his coffee. “But it’s fine. Honestly? I’m glad. He’s been… different since he got back. Not worse. Just… heavy. Like he’s carrying all this crap and pretending he’s not.

My throat tightened. I knew exactly what he meant. Hell wasn't exactly a vacation. I swallowed hard around the lump forming in my throat at the thought of Dean.

In that place.

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But with you? He breathes again. It’s like he remembers he’s still human.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s not always easy with him.”

“It never will be,” Sam said, glancing at me, with a small reausrring smile.

“I know, but its worth it.” I said softly.

The door creaked open behind us. Dean stepped inside, the paper bag in his hand crinkling slightly, the smell of gas station coffee and something fried trailing in after him. His eyes swept over me, then flicked to Sam, lingering just a second too long.

“Got your crap,” he muttered, dropping the bag on the table. Sam reached for the bag, uttering a small thank you, before the room fell quiet.

Silence stretched between the three of us like a tightrope. I could feel Dean’s tension from across the room, saw it in the way his jaw ticked, in the way he avoided looking at me too long.

Sam stood suddenly, grabbing the nearest book off the cluttered table. “I, uh, should check something in the lore, something Bobby mentioned yesterday.” He backed toward the door like he was escaping a fire. Eyes darting from me who was watching Dean and Dean who was looking at him confused.

Dean blinked. “You can’t do it here?”

“Nope,” Sam said, already halfway out the door. “Need… better Wi-Fi.”

The door closed behind him with a click.

Dean looked at me.

I was already looking at him.

And the room, once again, was too quiet.

Dean hadn't moved much after Sam left, just stood there, leaning against the dresser, pretending like touching me hadn't just become the thing he needed most in the short gap of time.

But his eyes told a million stories. He watched me carefully as I got from the table and closed the short gap between us.

I stepped into him until there was no more space between us. My hands slid under the hem of his henley, palms gliding up the warmth of his stomach, his chest. He twitched at my touch, like even now he didn't trust that I wanted this.

"Still thinking?" I asked, voice quiet.

His eyes darkened. "Trying not to."

"Then don't."

I leaned up and kissed him before he could answer, deep, and a little greedy. Dean caught my waist with both hands, his thumb brushing absentmindedly, over the top of my tattoo peeking out over my jeans, gripping like he didn't know if he wanted to pull me closer or push me away. But I didn't give him the chance to run. I pressed against him.

His breath hitched when I bit gently at his lower lip. "Eve..."

I leaned back enough to meet his eyes. "You're allowed to want something, Dean."

"I always want you." The confession fell out raw, almost angry, like he resented how easy it came.

I slid my hands down his back, under his waistband, tugging him flush to me. "Then take me like you mean it." I couldn't believe those words had left my mouth. I had gotten a taste of Dean Winchester and I don't think I could ever go back.

That did it.

His mouth crashed to mine, all restraint gone. Hands gripping hard, almost desperate, he lifted me up a small squeal dancing of my lips, I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the mattress. He laid me on the bed and I gasped, as Dean came down over me, hot and solid and everywhere.

His mouth dragged down my throat, stubble scratching, tongue chasing the marks he left like an apology. My shirt was gone before I even noticed him pulling it over my head, his lips finding every inch of skin like he'd never get enough.

"Been thinking about this since before Hell," he muttered, voice gravel against my skin. "Since the first time I let you walk away."

"You thought it was the right thing."I breathed.

His fingers slid beneath the waistband of my jeans, slow and calculated, his lips brushing my ear. "It wasn't."

I arched into him as he pushed them down, heat rolling over me in waves. He kissed his way down my stomach, every touch more worship than lust. But still—when he groaned against my thigh, I felt how hard he was holding back. For me.

I curled my fingers into his hair, tugging gently. "Dean."

He looked up, wrecked and beautiful. "Yeah?"

"Don't hold back."

And this time, he didn't.

His mouth was everywhere, his hands grounding me as the room spun. It was hot and rough and so slow, the kind of build up that made my legs tremble long before he even moved inside me.

When he finally did, when our bodies locked into something deeper than rhythm, he pressed his forehead to mine, breath ragged.

"Tell me this is real," he whispered.

I kissed him hard, “It’s real, Dean. I’m yours.”

His breath hitched the moment I whispered I’m yours.

Dean groaned, wrecked. His hips surged forward, deeper, more desperate. His rhythm shifted, no longer controlled, but needy.

His hand slid between us, fingers finding the ache between my thighs like he already memorized the path. He circled that spot with maddening precision, each pass making me cry out, breathless.

My hands clutched at his back, nails dragging down muscle and scar as I arched into him. My body was trembling, overwhelmed, begging.

Every sound I made only seemed to push him further, like he couldn’t get enough of it, of me.

“Just like that,” he murmured, lips brushing mine. “I’ve got you, Eve.”

The heat built fast, coiling low and sharp. I couldn’t bite back the soft, desperate whines tumbling from my throat.

Dean shuddered.

His forehead pressed to mine, gaze locked with mine like he needed to watch me fall apart.

“Let go,” he whispered.

And like I was waiting for his permission I did.

My whole body arched, hips bucking, the climax tearing through me in a flood of heat and sound. I gasped his name dragging him over the edge with me.

He groaned voice catching as he thrusted into me one more time before he stilled deep inside me.

“Fuck… Sweetheart—” The word tore from his throat as he came. His whole body trembled with it, breath ragged against my neck.

Something in me cracked wide open at the sound of it—sweetheart—said like it meant everything, like I was everything. He had said if last night but it felt bigger in that moment.

I held him tighter, arms around his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist like I could keep him there forever.

He didn’t move for a long moment. Just breathed into the curve of my neck, chest heaving, like the world had finally gone still.

And for once, it did.

Eventually, he shifted just enough to rest his forehead against mine. Our skin was damp, sticky, warm. Our breathing still unsteady. But his hand found mine in the tangle of sheets, fingers lacing through like it was instinct.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You okay?”

I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak at first. Then, quietly, “Yeah. Are you?”

He gave the smallest huff of a laugh. “Ask me again when I can feel my legs.”

I smiled, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “You called me sweetheart.”

He froze for a heartbeat. “Yeah… I guess I did.”

My heart swelled. “I like it. You did it last night too.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me. Whatever shield he usually wore, it was gone. There was nothing in his eyes but warmth, exhaustion, and something that scared me in the best possible way.

Something close to love.

But he still didn’t say it.

Instead, he eased onto his side, pulling me with him, pressing kisses to my shoulder and jaw as we settled into the aftermath. His arms wrapped around me like a cocoon.

I traced slow, idle patterns across his chest, just feeling him breathe.

“You always make those sounds?” he asked eventually playful but serious.

My cheeks burned. “Dean—”

“No, I’m serious.” His hand slid down my spine. “Thought I was gonna lose it the second you started whining like that. It—” He stopped, biting back the rest.

I smiled into his chest. “Good to know.”

He chuckled, low and soft. “Gonna be thinking about that forever.”

We lay there in silence for a few minutes. Just… holding each other. I didn’t know what we were now. What would happen tomorrow, or next week, or what would happen when we walked out that door.

But right now?

Right now, we were this,a tangle of limbs and bruised hearts and shared breath. And it was enough.

His fingers danced along my spine. There was a kind of poetry in his hands, each scar a stanza, each line a memory of battles he had fought before, but yet they still held a softness. Something I hoped would be reserved for me from now on.

Dean moved slowly, careful as he slipped out of me, and I let out a soft, involuntary whimper at the loss. The ache between my thighs was sharp and sweet, the kind of soreness that would linger, but I didn’t regret a single second.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I managed a breathless smile. “I’m good.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“You’re literally shaking,” he said, eyebrows drawing together as he looked me over like he was checking for damage. “And not in a fun way.”

“I’ll live,” I said, trying to sit up, and immediately flopping back with a wince. The pain in my ribs once a forethought now aching up my left side.

Dean gave me a look that was part smug, part worried. “Jesus. I broke you.”

“You didn’t break me.” I let out a breathy laugh.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of guilt behind the teasing. “Stay there. I got it.”

He got up, still shirtless, jeans tugged back on haphazardly, belt undone, no shoes, and headed for the bathroom. A moment later, he returned with a warm washcloth and a bottle of water. No fanfare, just doing what needed to be done. That was Dean: save the world, clean you up after he wrecks you, pretend like none of it mattered too much.

But it did.

He knelt beside the bed, not saying anything as he cleaned me up with slow, careful hands.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, reaching for the water.

He handed it over without looking up. “Yeah. Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice.”

I snorted. “Five-star treatment.”

“You know it.” His lips twitched. “Warm towel, fine linens, and a free concussion if the headboard gets involved.”

I laughed, breath catching, and he finally looked at me.

Something quiet passed between us. Something heavy.

He climbed back into bed, pulling the blanket up over both of us, and settled behind me, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist. His chin dropped to my shoulder, breath slow and warm against my skin.

For a while, we didn’t say anything.

I could feel the press of his body behind mine, the weight of him. His fingers traced lazy shapes on my stomach, dipping low, then back up, like he couldn’t stop touching me, even if he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Dean?” I asked after a minute, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Mm?”

“What happens now?”

His hand stilled.

He didn’t answer right away. Just shifted, pulled me a little closer, like that was the only answer he had.

“I dunno,” he said finally. “We check out of this crap motel, hit the road, probably almost die again by Thursday.”

I smiled faintly. “Sounds romantic.”

He huffed against my neck. “Best I can offer.”

“You say that like this wasn’t…”

I didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t make me.

Instead, he said, “I meant what I said earlier.”

I turned in his arms to face him.

“That you’ve got me,” he said, voice low and rough. “You still do. But if we go out there—back to all the crap waiting for us—I don’t know how long I can be this guy.”

“I don’t need you to be anyone else, Dean. Just this… whatever this is. It’s enough.”

He stared at me like he didn’t believe it. And then he kissed me again, slow and deep, like it was the only thing that made sense in a world where nothing ever did.

We stayed wrapped up in each other. The clock ticking by, the sun rising, but neither of us moved. Not yet.

Because out there was reality. Monsters, death, guilt.

But in here… it was just us.

And for once, neither of us were ready to let it go

Eventually, the silence turned too deafening to ignore.

Dean sighed behind me, long and reluctant, then pressed one last kiss to the bare line of my shoulder.

“We should… probably move,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Before Sam gets back and starts asking questions I don’t feel like answering.”

I hummed, not quite agreeing, not quite disagreeing. Reluctantly I moved to let him slide out from behind me. He stood up stretching and I couldn't help but admire the way the muscles in his back flexed.

“He walked in on us mid-” I gestured to the bed, that laid in disarray once again. “Trust me, he knows.” I couldn't help but laugh a little as I said it.

Dean shot me a look over his shoulder as he reached for his jeans for the second time today. That earned a laugh out of him, weak but real. I finally sat up, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the warmth we’d wrapped ourselves in moments ago.

We dressed slowly, each movement deliberate, like pulling on armor. Every zip, every fold of fabric was a reminder: time to go back. To the road. To the weight of saving people and the truths we carried with us.

I missed the smell of his flannel as I shrugged mine on over the tank top I had worn yesterday now crusted with dried blood, I almost forgot about.

Almost.

Dean tossed me my bag from the chair in the corner and I caught it with a small nod of thanks.

Neither of us spoke much as we moved around the room, packing up, brushing teeth, gathering weapons and laundry and the pieces of ourselves we’d left scattered across the sheets.

He paused once, watching me fold a shirt, something unreadable in his expression. “This wasn’t just a one-time thing.”

I looked up. “‘I’d like that .”

He gave a single, solemn nod, then grabbed the last of the duffel bags, just as the door creaked open.

Sam.

Hands full of books, hair tousled like he’d had one too many close encounters with a stack of dusty books.

“Hey,” he said casually, stepping inside. “Library was dead. Found a few things that might help with that case in Canonsburg”

Then he stopped. Noticing the half-zipped bags, Dean’s flushed face, my hair still vaguely wild despite my best attempts at taming it.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Oh,” Sam said, voice catching with secondhand awkwardness. “You guys are… packing.”

Dean didn’t miss a beat. “What gave it away? The packing?”

Sam blinked. “Right. Okay. Cool. Well—I’m just gonna…take this back to the car then. Call Bobby.”

He was gone before either of us could respond, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.

Dean snorted. “Think he needs a second to bleach his brain.”

I sank onto the edge of the bed, trying not to laugh. “Think he’ll ever look either of us in the eye again?”

Dean tossed the last bag toward the door and crossed the room to stand in front of me, brushing my hair behind my ear with a tenderness that nearly undid me.

“Eventually, Doesnt matter,” he said. “I’m not sorry.”

I looked up at him, heart pounding. “Me neither.”

He bent down and kissed me again, soft, sure, the kind of kiss that said: We’ll figure this out. I couldn't help but melt into him. He felt like home like Ive belonged here the whole time. Like I was made for him and him for me.

Then he pulled back with that half-cocked smirk and offered me a hand.

“Let’s go, sweetheart.” I tried to hide the shiver that ran down my spine but he noticed a small chuckle flowing from his lips. He grabbed our bags with one hand and opened the door with the other, ushering me under his arm.

I could feel his eyes burning against my back as walked down the hallway and into the parking lot.

Sam was already in the passenger seat so I slid in behind him tossing my bag on the seat next to me. Dean climbed into the drivers seat firing the impala up and pulling out of the lot.

And just like that, we were back on the road.

But something had changed.

This time, we were gonna do it together.

[dinasfavslut]

LoserEllie x Fem!reader

a/n: This fic was supposed to come out in late August or early September, so I am a month late, and I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy it since I've spent a while on this (I started writing and never finished).

Warnings:smut 18+ Minors just dont interact, Smoking, Sexual thoughts, Cussing, Pet names, Teasing, Oral, Fingering, Slight mention of strap, Squirting

Everyone is aware that Ellie smokes; we have all seen it. Of course, there are also the dealer Ellie fics, which I absolutely love, but just picture Ellie making reader squirt for the first time while high!

Ellie calls you over for the "usual" hangout of smoking, fighting while playing the latest video game she purchased, exchanging lust-filled glances at each other, and taking turns going to the restroom to deal with your neediness so you don't pounce on one another. The typical predicament continues.

"Okay, how about a crash bandicoot?”

She places the joint between her soft pink lips and says, "I mean, it's whatever." Her fingers, god, her fingers, her hands, and how she flexes them after spending long hours writing or drawing, playing the guitar, rolling blunts and joints—you could go on and on...and on—is almost down to her fingers when she takes another drag.

You two have long been "friends." Everyone in town knows that you and Ellie are more than "just friends", but as far as the relationship goes, it isn't dating or just a friendship, and that kills you. You like Ellie; you really like her, and smoking enhances that feeling toward her. Additionally, it also helps to want to get pounded by her right on the couch.

She had already loaded the game and begun playing while you were still deep in thought. She was so engrossed in her game that you could see her thumbs and fingers pressing and moving the various buttons. "I'm going to get a snack, Els. You want something." She gave a brief glance over, not straining her head from facing the TV. Her gaze seemed to remain fixed on your body as you stood up, pressing your thighs together as you did so.

"Yeah..." You entered the kitchen in search of a bite to quell your hunger. You discovered cookies, popcorn, Cheezits, and wet wipes after searching the cabinets. Why were wet wipes kept in the snack cabinet?

“Ellie?” You gave her a concerned-confused look as she held up the wipes.

“What?” She looked at you, and you just waved around the wipes.

"Uh, well, keep the ants away.”

“Where the fuck did you hear that?”

“I read it or something somewhere... But that isn't a snack, bubs.” Obviously, the wet wipes weren't a snack. You walk over to her and straddle her lap.

"I'm not going to make you eat the wet wipes." Your thoughts had returned to what had just been said a few moments prior: "Wait, Ellie Williams, do you have ants!?" She gave you a dumbfounded look like a middle school boy who had just been scolded. "You have ants when you were about to let us eat food from your cupboard?"

"Calm down, baby. The wet wipes carried out their duties."

"And how do you know that?"

"I didnt hear any screaming that you saw an ant," she said. She shifted into a new position, pushing her hips a up little higher. You noticed this bump or something rigid. None of those properly expresses what you felt. The bulge in her pants was pressing directly on your clit while you were seated on Ellie's lap. You were soaked through, which was unfortunate for you. You were wet before, of course, but now it was leaking through.

Ellie picked you up and set you down next to her, but she quickly noticed the mess you had made beneath yourself. "You, um, do you need any help with..." you nodded quickly in order to get to you something you have been waiting ages for while also stopping her from finishing her sentence she laid you down in front of her, lifted up your skirt to let it rest on your torso, and pulled off the green underwear you had chosen to wear that day, which of course would need to be washed. "Just relax for me; it is okay, I’l make it feel good, promise". You trusted her i mean why wouldnt you- your trusted ellie with yourself at least, so when she kept kissing the inside of your thighs, you didn't question, but you did whine.

“Els please” 

"Right, I'm sorry." She gave you her silly little smile before returning to her task at hand. Her lips were almost immediately attached to your clit. You whimpered and gasped loudly from her movements. The effects of the weed haven't faded quite yet, making all of Ellie's movements feel 10 times better, but let's be real, it's Ellie fucking Williams, and you've been wainting for this forever.

“E-el-” She slid her agile, calloused fingers into your cunt, causing you to let out an exasperated gasp, followed by a loud moan. You tilted your head forward to see her face. Her eyes were stuck to the way you just kept dripping and how her fingers were being swallowed up so easily.

“Ive got you, babe. Lay back for me. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?" Responding to her request, you nod and lay down. The pace of her fingers quickens, and she hits a spot that makes your head feel light and your tummy coil.

 "Els, please." Ellies, ignoring your pleads, having lust take over. Completely, you feel yourself about to let go at any minute, any second, but it's not like all the times you've fingered yourself to the thought of her before. Ellie's mouth on your clit,  her fingers thrusting out of you, you moan louder than you even knew your voice could handle. She continued quickening her pace until she drained everything out of you. You “came” all over her hands, face, and couch. She pulled her head back and paused for a moment. “I-I am so sorry, I didn't mean.”

She places her finger over your mouth to hush your apologies. "It's alright, angel; I know you couldn't help it.” You were embarrassed by your actions, but somehow, even though she had a big mess that she had to clean up, her reassuring words made everything fine. She leans right over you and places a kiss on your lips. “I think I'm in love with you. Actually, I know that I'm in love with you. I love you, bubs.”

"I love you too Els."

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 16

Summary: The final confrontation with Hybern comes to a head.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Character Death (or two, sorry Beron), Suggestiveness ;)

Author's Note: I'm going to be totally honest, I have a terrible time writing endings, they have never been my strong suit, I like to keep things open ended so that they can just go one forever and ever. So, I intend to write a couple more chapters as part of the epilogue, I'm thinking a mating ceremony? Some fluffy goodness to make up for all the angst? Let me know what you guys want to see :) (I've posted a poll here for ideas as well )

Previous Chapter/ Master List

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Rhys is screaming, roaring, your name.

You should be dead. 

You’re certainly cold, as cold as you had been the first time the Cauldron’s powers had filled you, but this time, this time there is an end to it. This time you can claw your way to the surface and grab some air. This time you do not fight it, do not surrender to it, you grab hold of that icy power and draw it in like a breath. And when your lungs are full, you release that breath with a scream that blows the roof off the Temple.

You’re not dead at all.

Helion lays with his hands over his head at your feet, completely unharmed.

You rub at the spot on your chest where you took the brunt of the blast, the only real discomfort you still feel from the whole ordeal.

Rhys grabs you by the shoulder, shouting your name, terror shooting down the bond. 

“I’m ok,” you assure. “Although, I do kinda have heartburn now.”

Helion raises himself back up as both Azriel and Cassian slam into the ground beside you. 

“Mother’s Tits!” Cassian bellows.

You burp from the pressure in your chest.

“How the fuck?” Azriel says to Rhys.

Your mate is staring at you like he can’t believe any of this is real, and you’re honestly inclined to believe the same. Just a couple months ago you had fully believed you were just some farm girl, and now, here you stand, a full fledged Death Goddess. 

“What was that?” Rhys demands none of them in particular, his face awash with worry.

You roll your shoulders, strangely more confident than before. You can take that, you can take whatever else it’s got. “The Cauldron and I have unfinished business.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before an arrow comes whizzing past your ear. That was why it had been so empty; why cast spells and lay boobytraps when Hybern could simply pull his men back and wait for you all to enter so he could blast you away with the Cauldron?

Both Cassian and Azriel turn to face the Temple, large wings outstretched like shields as they raise their gloved hands. Ruby and cobalt siphons gleam on their hands and a moment later, they channel a blast of energy at them, turning the first wave of Hybern’s archers to ash. 

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say they’re only out to let the Cauldron recharge,” Helion warns.

You rub at your chest again. “I need to get inside.”

“No-” Rhys starts, his hand still gripping your shoulder as he reconsiders the path ahead. His brothers push forward, their fine-tuned energy blasts clearing a path. For the moment, the Cauldron is quiet. It will not stay that way.

“It has to be me,” you say, turning away from the destruction ahead of you to look at him. It’s not fair that either of your lives have turned out like this, that the time you’ve had together has been so full of hardships. If things were different, maybe you would have wandered into the Night Court on your own, bumped into him in the city somewhere and the bond would have clicked. You could have had something simple, gentle, not these dangers and battles and pain between you. 

“Let us be done with this,” there’s really not time for this conversation, but if anything goes wrong, you couldn’t bear any more regret. “So we can go home, together, like we bargained.”

You flex your hand, where the ink no longer resides, before brushing your hand over his cheek. “I love you, Rhys.”

“No good-byes,” he whispers, violet eyes heavy. 

“We’ll have more time,” you promise. “And I am grateful for what we’ve already had.”

“Even if I did make a mess of it?” He teases, though his voice breaks.

You stretch up on your toes and kiss him gently on the lips. “I suppose I can find it in me to forgive you.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you feel the Cauldron powering up again, its voice a siren call in your mind as it beckons you. You pull away from your mate. “Pull them back.”

“Cassian! Azriel!” He barks and the two Illyrians turn ever so slightly to look at him in confusion, their glittering energy shields parting just enough to let a body through. 

You don’t wait for Rhys to give them anymore orders, you sprint through that gap as fast as your legs can carry you. 

“Come. Sweet Death. Come play, Little Goddess.”

It’s Cassian that yells for you to wait. Cassian who would have taken that next hit, those beautiful wings shredded to pieces had you not been standing directly between him and the next blast. The cold consumes you, makes every breath feel like swallowing glass, but still, you keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The next wave of soldiers comes barrelling forward, and you take all that borrowed energy clustered in your chest and hurl it at them. There’s no way to track how many bodies you turn to mist, a splatter of blood across your face their only remains. The blast takes another part of the Temple off, giving you a path right to where the Cauldron still remains mounted atop the altar. Its three legs have been fused to the ancient stone, Hybern shielded behind it, his men in a semi-circle around the sides.

“Playing hero now, daughter?” He snarls.

“Come to me.”

You open your arms wide as you stalk towards him, a green mist from the Cauldron pouring out over the edges. Even as he swirls a hand through the fog, when It speaks, he offers no reaction, even under his control, the words are meant for you alone. In the end, fate has drawn the two of you together. 

“Give me your best shot!” You challenge.

“Closer. Come closer. Let me hold you.”

The next blast is stronger, pushing you backwards as debris from the now crumbling Temple rains down on your head. Outside, the clash of swords and cries of fighting men ring out. So Hybern is not foolish enough to keep all his men in one place, though that is a battle for the High Lords. You turn your attention away from the noise, swallowing the icy fire that bubbles in your chest from the influx of power, and hurl it back at the altar so hard the ancient stones crack. 

For the first time, Hybern falters, stepping back from the Cauldron with a hand over his face to shield himself from the blast. His men had not been so fortunate.

“You cannot withstand this forever,” Hybern warns.

“And these blasts are not without cost, I’d imagine,” you return. “How long can you hide behind your Cauldron?”

He swirls a hand over the fog, offering a soft chant that makes the Cauldron bubble and groan. The floor trembles as the Cauldron shakes and spits out another attack, this time going wide and brushing the side of your face as it blows the roof off the place. 

Your face is not as sturdy as your chest and the assault makes your ears ring, your right eye blurry. Overhead, Cassian’s Illyrian legion swoops and circles, the strange gems atop their hands pulsing like a dozen flashing lights. 

You shake your head to clear your vision as you turn back to your father. “Afraid to face me without your precious weapon?”

He growls, teeth flashing as he grips the lip of the Cauldron with both hands.

“Come play. Come free me.”

His hands twitch from holding the ancient metal, yet he won’t let it go. “You forget how powerless against me you were before, Daughter.”

You get a step closer, the stones shaking beneath your boots. The more blasts you take, the more stiff your body feels, there is only so much abuse you can take. “Before you released me of whatever limits my powers had, you mean?” You sneer. “I’d say we’re evenly matched now.”

“You’re out of your element!” He shouts.

The Cauldron pulses like a heartbeat, the metal screaming now and you have enough time to reach out a hand and catch it in your palm, even as your arms scream in protest. It is a concentrated effort to push that power back out of your palm, even more so to aim it back at his head. 

There isn’t time for him to shield, forcing him to take a step back away from the Cauldron, finally removing his hands from the lip. You waste no time in rushing forward and getting your own hand around the ancient metal. Instantly, it freezes you in place, the icy depths of whatever magic swirls within latches on like a thousand tiny hooks, fusing itself to you. It takes of you as you take of it, the exchange even and ceaseless.

You poke at the bridge between your mind and Rhys. “NOW!”

A blast of your father’s power slams into the back of your hand as he screams, trying to tear you away, but even though your skin breaks, blood spraying, you couldn’t let go if you wanted to. This is exactly where the Cauldron wants you and it’s exactly where you will stay until it’s done. 

“Yes! Finally! Play with me,” it purrs as Rhys and Helion burst into the room. Light and dark swirl around them like whirlwinds, blowing the walls away until the only thing left standing in the entirety of the Temple is the altar.

“Show me what you want,” you tell it as you try drawing it’s icy power into yourself. There is no end to it; no beginning either. It is you and you are it and the more you take into yourself, the more of you it steals. The mist it emanates slithers around your wrists and up your arms as your own darkness dips within it’s center and disappears. 

“We are made to destroy,” it sings. 

A scream tears out of you as it pushes more of itself into you, the wave of energy that escapes out your mouth shooting up into the sky, nearly taking out some of the Illyrians still swooping overhead. 

A shadow of Rhys’s power slithers into your mind, wrapping around you in a warm embrace. “You can do this. Fight it!”

“Show me what you want,” you insist as Hybern turns his attention away from you to face the High Lords running towards him. They are both powerful swordsmen, but the movements are stiff from years of disuse, their steps faltering as he pushes them back away from you with his own sword.

“He seeks to destroy,” the Cauldron purrs as if the thought makes it happy.

“Not him,” you say through your now chattering teeth. “You. What do you want?”

Rhys roars in pain behind you as Hybern clips his shoulder and Helion rushes to his aid, large broadsword angling for your father’s throat. Hybern catches Helion at the wrist and twists, snapping the Lord’s shoulder in one swift motion.

The Cauldron hums as if thinking. “Destruction is our way…”

“No,” you snarl. “You were once the instrument of life in Prythian! Destruction is not your only way, it is not my only way. If I can do more than kill, if I am more than a monster…” A monster would not have beaten Amarantha, would not have saved your mate, would not have fallen in love. Monsters do not feel, do not love. You brush a mental hand over the bond and draw another steadying breath, even as the cold seeps into your bones; makes your whole body shake. “We do not have to be weapons.”

From the treeline surrounding the ruins of the Temple, more and more of Hybern’s soldiers make it past the aerial units filtering above, clashing with the combined powers of the High Lords. Beron keeps them temporarily at bay with a wall of fire, but you can see the flames wavering, his weathered face pale and slick with sweat. Kallias and Tarquin remain back to back, using their powers to hurl projectiles over the wall of flame, holding steady, even as the sound of the labored breathing floats your way on the wind. They are holding, but it will not last forever. You need to even the playing field. 

“Please. Help me stop him,” you beg. “I will give you whatever you want.”

“I like this new game,” the Cauldron purrs.

The flow of power between you and it has not faltered, you keep pulling more and more of it in as it continues to take it back. Your knees give out beneath you, hands still fused to the lip as a cold sweat beads off your forehead. 

“Please,” you rasp. “Tell me what you want!”

Beron goes down with an arrow in the chest, his limp body collapsing into the earth so hard you feel the tremble of the impact. The Cauldron chuckles beneath your palms, still delighting in the destruction. 

“Helion!” Rhys roars as Hybern drives his sword across the Lord of Day’s stomach, his own blade swinging at Hybern’s neck.

You give the Cauldron a shake, “Come on! This can’t be what you want!” 

Rhys takes an elbow to the nose, blood spattering as Hybern outmaneuvers him, and barely manages to throw himself out of the way of the following strike, the blade leaving a gash in his fighting leathers. From overhead, Cassian spies the fight and angles himself away from his troops to come help, but it feels as if he’s moving in slow motion. Somehow, whether it’s the Cauldron’s power or the bond, you know something is about to be very, very wrong.

You grit your teeth, claws digging into the metal of the Cauldron and pull, skin peeling away as you get a hand off the lip to blast as much power as you can in Hybern’s direction. If the Cauldron will not help you, you will do this yourself. Nothing is going to take your mate from you ever again.

Cassian banks hard to avoid the blast, his cursing just audible over Hybern’s screaming. You’d known, just by the feel of it within your chest that this kind of power would be lethal, but watching as it burns through flesh and muscle, leaving nothing but exposed, stark white bone is enough to make your stomach rise into your throat. 

Hybern’s sword turns to ash in his skeletal hand, still raised above Rhys’s head in what would have been a killing blow. It’s nothing but bone all the way down to his shoulder, chunks of his armor blasted away, bits of blistered skin visible from where the blast had gone a little wide. A little to the left and you would have taken him and Rhys out. 

Your father gapes at you, more nightmare now than male.

“This is more fun than a bargain,” the Cauldron purrs. Perhaps it has been corrupted beyond repair, perhaps it can only be good when wielded by the right creature. Perhaps only the Mother had managed to tame the magic within and had left it an empty shell of what could have been.

You stop trying to take anything from it, and when you do, it lets your other hand free without injury. You slump against the altar as Rhys drives his sword through Hybern’s throat. Blood gurgles from his lips, eyes vacant and staring at the Cauldron as if in one final plea for help, before he falls face down in the grass.

The chaos that ensues in the next couple minutes feels like a fever dream as the Night Court’s forces drive the rest of Hybern’s away. Tarquin rushes to Helion, hands glowing in a strange light as the Spell-Cleaver instructs him on how to use his water magic to heal the gaping wound in his stomach. There is no saving Beron, Thesan confirms from where the dead man lies. 

Rhys rushes to your side, where you remain slumped against the Cauldron, eyes blurry as the world spins around you. He cups your face, gently tapping at your cheeks. “Hey, hey, stay with me! You’re ok. You did it!”

You lean your face into his touch, “Don’t suppose you know how to get rid of this thing, huh?”

The Cauldron hisses in response. 

He laughs, half-delirious with relief as he kisses your nose, your cheeks, your forehead. “We won! It’s over.”

It’s over.

You touch your forehead to his, body heavy, but laughing now yourself. “We did it!”

Azriel and Cassian come running as soon as it’s clear to do so, wings tucked tight behind them. “Everybody ok?”

Rhys kisses you, his lips still bloody, but you don’t have it in you to care as you return it. It is finally over; you are more than ok.

------

You watch the sunset across a glittering horizon, the warm rays bouncing off the rolling waves lapping at your ankles. The sand is warm beneath your feet, a supernatural ward keeping the water cool instead of frozen like it should be this time of year. 

Footsteps sound behind you, the only warning you get before strong arms wrap around your waist. Your mate’s breath warm against your skin as he kisses your neck. “Enjoying the view?”

Any sight with sunlight is a luxury, you savor every wisp of wind, every ray of sunshine against your still pale skin. It will be awhile before either of you get any color back.

“More so now that you’re here,” you say with a grin as he places another kiss on your cheek. 

He’d wanted to go straight back to the Night Court, but the matter of the Cauldron still remained. Eventually the High Lords, and the newly crowned Eris, had decided it needed to be returned to its resting place with the nephilim Miriam and her husband Drakon, who had suffered heavy losses when Hybern had marched through and stolen it. Under Helion’s instructions, the Cauldron’s legs had once again been cleaved and separated, and in doing so, the ancient artifact had finally, blissfully, gone silent. Rhys, long standing friends with Miriam and Drakon, had offered to take this piece back before returning home. It seemed only fitting that you followed to ensure no one else attempted to wield it.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you say after a moment of silence, only the crashing of the waves between the two of you.

Rhys settles against your back, body sturdy and warm. His pulse against you should be enough to convince you that this isn’t a dream, but you’re still waiting for something else to jump out from behind the rocks dotting the landscape and surprise you. Any minute now the dream will crumble and once again, stone walls will cover every inch of your surroundings.

“We’re out,” Rhys promises.

You wait, expecting to hear heels clicking against stone or a buzzing of a collar against your throat. It’s a miracle you can stand in the water at all without feeling your throat close up. 

You lace your fingers with his, holding them tight where he rests them against your stomach. “We’re out,” you whisper.

Cassian and Azriel had come along, their boots heavy against the fine sand as they approach. 

“We leaving or what?” Cassian asks.

Azriel punches him hard in the shoulder. “I thought I told you to give them a minute!”

“They’ve had plenty of minutes, any longer they’re gonna start making out, and I, for one, would like to be somewhere far away before that happens.” Cassian returns.

“It’s like dealing with toddlers,” Rhys whispers in your ear.

You release his hand so you can turn in his arms, palms flat against his chest. Most of the damage inflicted during the fight is healed, though there is still some bruising around his eyes from his broken nose. It’s unfair that he’s still the most beautiful male you’ve ever seen, even with the bruising. 

“You know you’ve missed their antics.”

He grins, violet eyes glittering like a thousand stars and you promise yourself you’ll do anything to keep that look on his face. There has been enough pain and grief to last the rest of your lives.

“That I have,” he admits.

“Then we should probably get the little Illyrian baby back before he gets hungry,” you retort.

“Hey!” Cassian scoffs.

Rhys hums his approval as he places a gentle kiss on your lips. “I do have some bargains to fulfill, after all.”

You glance down at your bandage covered hands as if you can see the lack of ink there, the destroyed bond still tender, even now. 

He draws his hand up to give yours a squeeze, before bringing it to his lips. “Broken or not, I intend to keep it.”

“We could make some new ones I’m sure,” you muse.

“Can we please leave?” Cassian whines. 

Rhys ignores him, eyes glinting in challenge. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, I seem to recall a few suggestions you had…”

His lips are on yours again, hungry and wanting and the tether between you burns hot. “I’ll make as many bargains as you’d like, Darling.”

“Home first,” you force yourself to pull away and say, because if you keep letting him kiss you like that, neither of you will be leaving the beach. 

He grins, shoulders rolling back, and from behind him a set of massive, bat-like wings appear. You gape, even as your head spins with the recollection that you had once thought there was something missing between the gaps of the tattoos on his back. The leathery membrane stretches out behind him like one would stretch their arms, fluttering slightly in the evening breeze. 

You reach out a hand to give them a inquisitory touch and he swings them out of reach. “Not here,” he purrs in your ear.

Before you can ask why, he sweeps you up into his arms and launches into the sky. You toss your arms around his neck and squeeze your eyes shut as your stomach lurches into your throat.

“It’s more enjoyable if your eyes are open, Darling,” he laughs, wings beating hard to catch the right draft that will take you to the Night Court.

“I like to keep my stomach where it belongs, but thanks,” you mutter, burying your face in his neck to hide from the wind. 

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights?” He teases.

“Heights? No. Falling? Yes,” you return.

“You know I’d never drop you,” he says in all seriousness.

You let out a huff of annoyance, because damn him, his right and you know it. After everything, there is still no safer place to be than in your mate’s arms. You open one eye, then the other, and take a shaky breath before finally turning your head to the side to see the vast expanse of open sky around you. 

The sun has slowly set, the sky awash in purples and blues as the first bit of stars appear in the sky. Rhys tilts and dips around the fluffiest clouds you’ve ever seen in your life, but you can’t help yourself from removing your arm from around his shoulders to try and touch one. They’re a lot more wet than you anticipated them being. 

“I never thought I’d see this again,” Rhys whispers.

You kiss his cheek, flooding the bond with as much warmth as you can. It’ll be easier, once you’ve fully accepted it, and you plan to, once things are a little more settled. It would be a lot for him to return home to, you want to give him some time to just be home before tackling a new heightened sense of emotions and all that comes with being mated, but you already have a few ideas on how you want to go about it. For now, you’ll keep this thing between you simple and not overwhelming. 

“Thank you, for getting us out,” he says.

“I didn’t do that much,” you reply. “We did it together.”

“It was all you,” he returns. “I think that collar messed up your memories a little.”

“My memories are fine,” you retort with an eye roll, even though he can’t see it. “We did it together, as we planned to. As we’ll do with whatever comes next.”

He grins as he follows a draft downwards, three mountain peaks coming into view. Somehow, you can feel in your chest when you cross the border, as if you very bones know that this is where you’re meant to be. He glides lower, letting you view the snow flecked landscape beneath you, grinning as he takes in the way you devour his court with your eyes. “Welcome to the Night Court.”

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