#all of it and its just is so free flowing from everyone

[xxfaithlynxx]

No One's Script

Word Count: 11.4k

Hearts In The Static

⚠️Have tissues nearby! ⚠️❤️

A lot of emotional turmoil....

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Isekai, OC insert, Polyamory / Polyamorous Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, body image issues, Unreliable Narration, Protective Male Characters, rivals to lovers (sort of), past trauma, Everyone Loves Her But She Doesn’t Know Why, Heavy Angst, Fix-It Fic (but of the soul) Mental Health Themes (Depression, ADHD, pcos, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), Suicidal ideation (past), Self-Harm Mention (Non-Graphic Flashback), Emotional Abuse (Referenced past) - Freeform, Body Dysmorphia, Trauma Recovery, Discussion of Medical Symptoms, feelings of worthlessness, Slow Healing & Difficult Conversations, themes of death, Survival, and identity

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Chapter 13:

The silence was no longer a comfort.

It throbbed now, vibrating under my skin like pressure building behind a dam, desperate to break free. My chest ached. My palms had begun to sweat. The quiet was too loud — too real.

It wasn’t just them . Not anymore.

It was the scan. The glitch. The readings.

A singular potential. An unknown Evol. A spectrum I didn’t choose.

I didn’t choose any of this.

And now I was affecting their world. Causing fluctuations. Disrupting metaflux.

Becoming a mirror for things I didn’t understand and couldn’t control.

My heart slammed against my ribs, a sharp pang of panic unfurling like cold fire in my lungs. If I broke something here — if I hurt someone…

My mind flashed back to the song. That song. From Destiny Café. From my world.

“Won’t Let Go.” By Fivefold.

A song that never existed here. A song that shouldn't have crossed the veil between worlds.

But it had.

They’d heard it. Rafayel, Xavier and Caleb. Even the twins. That song had bled through with me.

I stood on shaky legs, stumbling toward the piano before my knees gave out again. My fingers grazed the polished edge of the keys like I might burn from the contact, but I sat anyway — because I didn’t know what else to do.

The bench creaked beneath me. I pressed one key. Then another.

It came slowly, not from memory, but from somewhere deeper —the same place that still remembered how to cry even when no tears came.

A chord. Another.

My hands moved without thought. The melody built, low and aching, as if the piano itself understood.

I began to hum, soft and uncertain. After a soft moment of playing, I sang.

“I found the ghost of the past, a memory that last…”

“Seems like yesterday that we had it made…”

I let the music flow through me, its current rippling across my nerves, my skin.

“They say you never know what you have, until it’s gone...”

The lyrics trembled from me in pieces, like they weren’t mine to hold but I needed them anyway.

“These memories keep me wide awake...”

I could feel it as an Evol stirred — not like a storm, but a tide — slipping quietly into the room around me. The air shimmered faintly, warped by sound, touched by emotion. The floor didn’t shake. The walls didn’t tremble.

But something shifted.

Something heard.

“And that’s why we won’t let go, oh no, oh no...”

“All the memories we hold. Oh no, oh no...”

“Teach us how to go on without you...”

“And I swear we won’t let go...”

My voice cracked. My hands trembled. But I kept playing.

“I swear we won’t let go…”

Behind me, soft footsteps.

I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t stop.

I felt them before I heard them. A presence so familiar it made my chest stutter.

Sylus — first. His energy ran sharp and quiet, always watching. Always calculating.

And beside him… Zayne.

I didn’t have to look to know. The subtle electricity in the air told me. Zayne always brought a change in gravity when he walked into a room — not literal, not like Caleb — but emotional. Like everything in the atmosphere tilted toward him whether you wanted it to or not.

Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to.

They just listened.

And for a moment, I let myself exist in the music. In the sound that wasn’t supposed to be here, in a room that wasn’t mine, in a life that didn’t belong to me.

Because even if I didn’t understand anything else... This, at least, I could still play.

My voice softened on the last line, barely audible.

“I swear we won’t let go…”

And then it was gone — the words dissolved, leaving only the lingering echo of the piano in the hush that followed.

I didn’t lift my hands.

I couldn’t.

My fingers stayed in motion, slipping gently into the progression again. Slower. Simpler. Just the chords now — as soft as a secret, as steady as breath.

Behind me, I felt it: a weighted silence. Thick and pulsing. Like neither of them dared speak.

So I did.

“I used to play this song back home,” I murmured, not daring to look at either of them. “Over and over. On my phone. In the dark. I knew every word. Every pause.”

The chords shifted under my fingers. Minor to major. Grief to grace.

“I didn’t have much… not then. Not really. But I had music. I had songs that didn’t lie to me. And a piano in my school’s back hall with a broken middle C that no one else touched. That was my escape. Always has been.”

The breath that left me sounded cracked, but the chords didn’t falter.

“I’d come home to silence, or yelling, or nothing at all. And I’d shut my door and put my headphones on, and pretend... just for a while... that I was somewhere else. Somewhere like this.”

I laughed under my breath — but it wasn’t joy. It was disbelief.

“And now I’m here. Actually here. And that song... that damn song followed me.”

The music shifted again. Slower. Like grief whispering through time.

Sylus stepped closer first, his boots silent on the floor, but I heard the soft scrape of his jacket sleeve against his leg. His Evol — subtle and sharp like him — flickered faintly in the atmosphere around him, like static trying not to spark.

Zayne came a moment later, quieter still. But the presence of him hit deeper. The way gravity pulls on water.

I kept playing.

“This was the only thing that ever made sense,” I whispered. “Not the world. Not my body. Not the way people looked at me. But this… this made sense.”

Finally, I glanced over my shoulder.

Sylus' jaw was tight, his dark eyes glossed with something he wasn’t letting spill. His arms were crossed — but it wasn’t to distance himself. It was to hold himself together.

Zayne’s gaze was somewhere between sorrow and awe. He wasn’t blinking much, as if doing so might make me disappear.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them had to.

I turned back to the keys and let the last few chords ring out like closing bells.

I wasn’t sure if I felt better. But I was still here. Still breathing. Still playing.

The silence stretched, but I wasn’t done. Not even close.

My fingers hovered above the keys, still trembling slightly from the adrenaline, from the emotion wrung raw and soaked through every note. I didn’t look back at them. I couldn’t. My voice was already breaking, and if I met their eyes, I was scared I’d fall apart all over again.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid ,” I whispered, the confession small and jagged in my throat. “This whole time… I’ve been looking at you—at all of you—like you were pieces of something I used to hold in the palm of my hand.”

The piano’s final chord hummed gently under my words.

“I treated you like characters. Like constructs in a game I used to fall asleep playing because it made me feel something. Because it was the only thing that didn’t make me feel like nothing. And now…”

I laughed again. It was sharp. Bitter. Almost self-mocking.

“Now I’m here. And you’re real. All of you are real . Not lines of code. Not perfect little fantasy men dropped into my loneliness like a bandage I didn’t deserve. You’re not scripted. You’re people. ”

My hands fell into my lap, clenched.

“And I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to talk to you. I feel like every word out of my mouth is a mistake. Like if I say the wrong thing, I’ll screw this up — I’ll set one of you off, or ruin whatever weird fragile thing I’ve somehow been allowed to build with you.”

I swallowed hard, throat burning. Still no movement behind me. Still no words.

“My life… it’s been dictated by fear. By silence. By people teaching me with every look and every rejection that I wasn’t enough. That I was too loud, or too big, or too much —or not enough of the things I should’ve been. For years I just survived. I didn’t live. ”

I blinked, and my vision blurred.

“And now… now I’m here, and I’m not invisible anymore. And it’s terrifying. Because you’re all showing me kindness I don’t know what to do with. Because I keep waiting for the catch. For the shoe to drop. For the moment one of you tells me I imagined all of this and you don’t actually want me here.”

My voice cracked on that.

“I’m not used to people giving without expecting something back. Without conditions. Without taking a piece of me with them when they leave. And I just—”

I gripped the piano bench with both hands, my knuckles going white.

“I don’t know how to navigate any of this. You’re all trying. You’re being patient. And it’s killing me because I don’t know why. Why me? Why now? Why this?”

The tears I hadn’t meant to cry slipped down, warm trails cutting through the exhaustion on my cheeks.

“I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to lose it. But I don’t know how to hold it either.”

A long silence followed. Not cold. Not empty. But heavy with understanding.

The kind of silence that only came when words weren’t enough.

And behind me, still unmoving, were two men I had admired from afar for over a year — not knowing they were so much more than I ever imagined.

The bench creaked as I leaned forward, hiding the trembling in my arms by curling around the weight in my chest. My hands gripped the edge of the piano like I could anchor myself there — like sound and wood and memory could keep me from slipping under the surface again.

I heard him move first. Zayne.

Not with abruptness. Not like someone who didn’t know how to approach. But with the kind of intentional stillness that betrayed just how deeply he felt every word I’d said.

Boots on marble. Careful. Measured.

He crossed the distance slowly, as if not to spook me. But his presence was undeniable. The low warmth of him rolled in gently, like morning sunlight slipping through a storm-clouded sky.

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. My eyes burned too much. My breath had started to catch again.

And then, without asking, he crouched beside the bench — not touching me, but close. His knee brushed mine lightly, a point of contact that asked permission before it ever crossed the boundary.

His voice, when it came, was soft. But it cut right through the haze.

“You weren’t stupid, Aven,” he said, his tone lower than I’d ever heard it. “You were trying to survive. You reached for what you had, for what gave you hope. You did what any of us would’ve done if the world we lived in never looked at us like we mattered.”

I blinked fast, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Zayne’s presence felt like a slow exhale I hadn’t been able to take in years. Solid. Real. Deep in ways I’d only dreamed pixels could be.

“You didn’t treat us like constructs,” he went on, his voice steady despite the emotion crackling in the air around him. “You treated us like we were worth something. You cared . That’s more real than half the people I’ve known my whole damn life.”

My breath hitched as a sob clawed at my throat.

“You think we’re perfect? You think we don’t wake up wondering who we really are? Every single one of us has carried memories we can’t explain. Nightmares from places we’ve never been. Voices that whisper names we don’t recognize until we look at you.”

He shifted slightly, one arm moving across the edge of the bench — not to restrain, not to push, just… to be there .

“Since the moment you showed up, Aven… everything’s changed. Yeah, we’re scared. Confused. Hell, I don’t know what the rules are anymore. But I do know this—”

His voice caught. The barest tremor of something more than he could voice.

“—you’re not ruining anything. You’re reminding us what it means to feel. To protect. To care like it’s breathing.”

I turned to him finally, a shattered gasp leaving me. His eyes met mine — hazel green swirled with gold, rimmed in wetness he wouldn’t let fall. But it was there. And so was he .

Zayne Li. The second man to find me in this world. The first to show me that even the fragments of kindness I didn’t think I deserved… might just be mine to hold.

My lip trembled. My voice shook.

“I’m so tired of trying to be the right version of myself,” I whispered. “So tired of thinking I’m going to wreck something every time I speak.”

Zayne leaned in just enough for our foreheads to brush. No more than that. The pressure light. His hand hovered near mine on the bench, his fingertips barely grazing the edge of my knuckles.

“You don’t need to be any version but this one,” he murmured. “Not perfect. Not beautiful. Just you . That’s all we’ve wanted. Even if it takes you time to believe that.”

And then—another presence. Just behind. Just off to the right.

Sylus.

I didn’t hear him approach — typical — but the shift in the air gave him away. His Evol was always there before he was. A subtle tension in the light. A faint current in the space between breath and thought.

He didn’t say anything.

But I felt him. Standing close enough that the warmth of his body curled into the edge of mine. Close enough that I knew if I leaned just back slightly, I’d find him there — waiting, steady, unmoving.

His hand brushed my back. Not a full touch. Just the backs of his fingers, ghosting between my shoulder blades. A grounding touch. The kind that said, you’re not alone without needing to explain why.

And in that quiet moment — flanked by Zayne’s open emotion and Sylus’ unwavering presence — I broke.

The kind of break that wasn’t destruction, but release. The kind that carved a new space inside me where fear had once lived.

I pressed my face into my hands and sobbed like the girl I’d never allowed myself to be — vulnerable, messy, real.

And neither of them moved away.

Zayne’s breath shuddered against my temple. I felt the moment he forced it down, pressed it into silence, swallowed the raw edge of emotion like it wasn’t his to show. But he didn’t move until he knew I wasn’t shaking anymore — not violently, not dangerously. Just soft now. Fragile. Open.

And then, carefully, he shifted away.

His warmth disappeared, retreating like tidewater. He moved around to the other side of the piano, turning slightly from me — his hands in his pockets, head bowed just enough that I couldn’t see his eyes. I didn’t need to. I could feel the weight he was carrying in his silence. The ache he wouldn’t let fall in front of me.

And in his place, I felt someone else move closer.

Bigger.

Heavier in the air, in the world.

Sylus.

He didn’t ask. He just lowered himself beside me on the bench, the piano creaking under the change in weight. His thigh brushed mine — not deliberately, not forcefully, just... there. Warm. Real. His arm rested along the back of the bench, the way someone might stretch if they weren’t trying to get close. But this wasn’t a stretch. It was a presence.

He didn’t look at me right away.

Instead, his hand reached for the keys.

The first chord was slow, unpolished — the rhythm uneven, like he wasn’t sure his fingers understood the shape of the song. But it was mine . Or… no. Ours now. The same soft melody I’d been playing before, trembling with grief and filled with more silence than sound.

Each note came out like a held breath. Cautious. Deliberate.

And then he spoke — low, quiet, his voice rasped in a way I hadn’t heard before.

“You know… I never really believed in fate.”

His fingers pressed the next chord harder. A little off-beat. Still beautiful.

“I believed in patterns. In systems. In threads we could trace. But fate?” He shook his head. “That was for dreamers. For people who needed an excuse for their pain.”

The melody faltered. He exhaled.

“But then you showed up.”

I turned toward him slowly. Sylus still wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were on the keys, his expression carefully guarded — a man made of edges trying not to cut the person sitting closest to him.

“And all the data I thought I had — all the theories, the trajectories, the anomalies I’ve been tracking for years… they fractured the moment I saw you.”

His hand stopped playing.

And then, slowly, he turned toward me.

His eyes — that intense, endless red — searched mine with something just shy of reverence. Something painfully human.

“I don’t know what this means, Aven. Your Evol, your scan, your presence here... none of it matches what’s possible. Your power is not in any of our research. Not in the Sphere. You’re a ghost where a person should be.”

I sucked in a breath, something about his words cutting through me in ways even kindness hadn’t.

“But you’re here ,” he said, voice lower now. Almost like he was confessing it to himself. “You’re real . And you’re not just mirroring this world. You’re affecting it. Changing it. Do you understand what that means?”

I shook my head before I could stop myself.

He leaned in, just slightly, his shoulder pressing more fully into mine. The warmth of him flooded my skin, grounding and heavy and… something more. Something I couldn’t define.

“I’ve watched hundreds of anomalies. I've dissected temporal splits, metaflux disturbances, echo particles, even proto-emotive spikes.” A pause. “But I’ve never seen anything like you.”

I looked down, but his voice chased the silence before it could close in again.

“You think you don’t belong here because your past is loud and your self-worth is quiet. Because someone else once told you you were only good for being hurt, and the echoes of that voice haven’t stopped screaming since.”

His fingers touched the keys again. This time more certain. The melody taking shape between his words.

“But you are here. And you didn’t just arrive — you resonated. You left a fingerprint on our world, Aven. On me .”

My breath caught.

Sylus looked at me now, fully. The weight of that gaze sent shivers straight through my ribs.

“Maybe your Evol doesn’t make sense yet. Maybe it terrifies you. But it matters . And so do you.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat felt wrapped in thorns.

He leaned a little closer. The barest brush of his temple against my hair, his breath warming the side of my face.

“I don’t know if physical touch still means what it did to the Sylus you knew,” he murmured, as if he’d read my thoughts. “But if it does… then let me offer it. Not as a claim. Not as a fix. Just… as a reminder that you’re not alone in this.”

His fingers pressed another chord. The soft echo of the song between us. Rebuilt.

And I — broken as I was — leaned into him.

Not all the way. Not with full trust.

But enough.

The melody continued — smoother now. More intentional.

Sylus’ hands moved with quiet confidence, each note drawing a thread between the ache inside me and the air that held it. It was like he knew how to translate silence into sound. How to take the heavy hush of my grief and turn it into something that could be heard without being spoken.

And as the chords deepened, Zayne turned.

Slow. Hesitant. Like the moment had stripped him raw and he wasn’t sure what was left.

His eyes caught mine — and I forgot how to breathe.

They were rimmed in red. Not from fatigue or irritation, but from the effort of holding something in. Something that had cracked inside him and was only now beginning to bleed through the golden-green of his gaze. The shimmer of tears clung to the edges like he was too proud to let them fall, but not strong enough to pretend they weren’t there.

And gods, it hurt to see him like that.

Because Zayne Li was composed. Controlled. The kind of man who could hold galaxies in his mind and never let the weight of them bend his spine. But here, now—he was just a man. Standing a few feet away from me with his pain worn like a second skin.

“I hate that you think you’re a burden,” he said, quietly. The words weren’t angry. They were wounded . Like he was bleeding on the inside every time I doubted myself.

“I hate that your first instinct is to shrink yourself so you don’t take up space. That you flinch when we care about you, like kindness is just the warning shot before the pain.”

He stepped closer, slow and careful, but with more certainty than before. Like his hesitation had melted beneath the truth that he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Do you know what it did to me,” he continued, his voice rougher now, “to see you on that hospital bed when Xavier brought you in, after finding you under that overpass that day? He told me how he’d seen you from a distance. Alone. Unconscious. Barely breathing. You didn’t exist in our records. There was no trace of you in the city systems, no echo in the Sphere. It was like the universe just— birthed you from nothing.”

His throat worked around a sharp inhale.

“But the second I saw you... I knew. ” His voice cracked then. “I knew you mattered. I didn’t need a scan or a protocol or a government record to tell me that.”

I felt Sylus shift beside me, the chords he played taking on a deeper resonance — like he was echoing Zayne’s words with every stroke of the keys.

Zayne looked at me like I was gravity and light and something he didn’t understand but desperately wanted to.

“You’ve been carrying your world on your back. All that pain, all that doubt. And you think it makes you weak, but it doesn’t. It makes you real . It makes you human .”

His hand lifted slightly, hovering in the space between us — as if asking without asking if he could reach me.

“You’re not a mistake, Aven. You’re not a glitch in our system or a shadow of some prettier girl from another world. You’re you. And that’s already changed everything.”

He blinked, and one of the tears slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. He didn’t wipe it away.

Didn’t hide it this time.

Just stood there, golden-green eyes glowing in the low light, every line of him pulled taut with emotion — like if I reached out, he might shatter. Or maybe I would.

Beside us, Sylus kept playing. The notes wrapped around us like warmth in winter, like breath in a void. They held us both as Zayne looked at me like I was the answer to a question he hadn’t dared ask in years.

I stared at him, heart twisting.

Zayne, standing there with a tear running unchecked down his cheek, his hand trembling in the space between us like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch me. And Sylus beside me, playing the melody I’d breathed into life with my pain — except now, it sounded like comfort. Like grounding. Like home.

And when his voice joined it—soft, low, not quite singing but not quite humming either—I shattered all over again.

He was humming the words I’d sung minutes ago.

"Teach us how to go on without you, and I swear we won't let go… oh no… oh no…"

Gods.

I covered my mouth with my hand, trying to trap the sob before it could rise, but it clawed free anyway — a whimper laced with disbelief, with a thousand buried screams I hadn’t known I was still carrying.

They saw me. They heard me.

And it broke something loose in me I didn’t think I could survive without.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” I whispered, my voice cracking like splintered glass. “To deserve either of you. Any of you.”

Zayne shook his head immediately, but I pressed on, my hand still covering my mouth, as if I could hold in everything spilling out.

“I came from a world that taught me to apologize for existing. For taking up space. For having emotions. I learned to keep quiet, to smile when I was bleeding, to give when no one ever gave back. And now…”

I looked between them — Zayne’s eyes bloodshot and full of gold-lit ache, and Sylus’ profile still turned toward the piano, focused on the melody but humming softly like it kept him steady.

“Now you’re here. And you’re real. And you’re treating me like I matter. And I don’t know how to… how to let you. ”

My voice trembled like a heartbeat underwater.

“I keep thinking I’ll mess it up. That I’ll say something wrong, or push too hard, or get too close and you’ll see what everyone else saw — that I’m too much. Or not enough. And then you’ll leave.”

I turned back to Zayne, who hadn’t moved, who looked like he was waiting for permission to breathe again.

“I’m terrified of needing you,” I said, softer now. “Because I think I already do. And I don’t know what that means.”

The music wove between us like a thread — binding, gentle, pulsing like breath.

I finally lowered my hand.

And as I blinked away another tear, I heard it — the faint shuffle of footsteps behind me.

Not rushed. Not loud. Just… deliberate. Familiar.

Xavier.

I turned slightly, and there he was — framed in the doorway, tall and motionless at first, a silhouette against the soft interior light of the music room.

He stepped in slowly, like the air inside had weight and he didn’t want to disturb it. His eyes went to Zayne, then to Sylus, and finally — finally — to me.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

His gaze softened, the coolness always carved into his features melting just enough for warmth to rise at the edges.

He approached with the silence of someone used to observing, but his hands were visible — open, relaxed, not guarded. And when he reached us, he stopped just a foot away, like he didn’t want to break the circle forming between us.

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t sure I could.

The moment felt impossibly delicate — like if I breathed too hard, it might slip away.

But then Xavier did something that made my throat close up all over again.

He crouched in front of me.

Not far. Just close enough that his knees brushed mine, and his silver flecked—deep blue gaze was level with my eyes.

And with that quiet intensity only Xavier could command, he whispered, “You’re not alone, Aven.”

My breath hitched.

“Not anymore,” he added.

Behind me, Sylus kept playing.

And the song… It no longer sounded like loss.

It sounded like the beginning of something I never thought I’d be allowed to have.

For a moment, all I could do was breathe .

Heavy, uneven, shuddering. Like I was learning how all over again, with each of them holding pieces of me I’d never meant to hand over.

Sylus kept playing — soft, sure now. The same tune I’d poured out of my own fingertips earlier, when the grief had felt too large to carry in silence. But now, the song sounded different. Not because the melody had changed, but because I had.

Because I wasn’t alone anymore.

My hand moved before my thoughts caught up — slow, trembling, as if crossing a threshold too sacred to name. I reached toward Zayne, whose fingers still hovered in that half-space between longing and restraint.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

And then our hands touched.

He exhaled like something in him had snapped loose and begun to float.

His fingers curled around mine instinctively — warm, steady, shaking just slightly — and I held on like he was a lifeline. Because he was . Somehow, impossibly, he was .

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I leaned sideways.

Not far.

Just enough that my shoulder pressed into Sylus’ side — his frame solid, grounded, the quiet weight of someone who didn’t flinch when the world fell apart around him. His music didn’t pause. If anything, the notes grew warmer. Richer. Like he’d been waiting for me to lean into him all along.

And then—one last gesture.

The last leap.

I tilted forward.

Xavier didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.

But the moment my forehead touched his shoulder — soft, brief, trembling with silent apology and reluctant trust — his hand came up to cradle the back of my head. Gentle. Reverent. Like he knew exactly what this meant for me.

I breathed him in — faint cologne and clean air, like stormlight on metal.

And there I was.

Tethered between three men who had undone me with kindness, steadied me with patience, and held me without expectation.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to.

This… this was the answer.

This was mine.

And then—

“Aven?”

The voice came from the hallway — low, concerned, unmistakably Caleb.

Followed immediately by Rafayel’s more frustrated, breathless, “Okay, seriously, where the hell did you guys go ?”

Zayne tensed first, his head tilting back toward the door, but Sylus was the one who answered.

“Music room,” he called, not breaking his rhythm on the piano, his voice almost amused beneath the reverent hush. “You two walked past it. Twice.”

The footsteps stopped just beyond the doorway.

“You’re kidding me,” Raf muttered, voice muffled through the partially open door. “Do you want us to have a collective cardiac event?”

“Honestly?” Caleb’s voice was closer now. “Yeah, I thought you all got abducted. Or Sylus snapped and started running unauthorized psych eval experiments again.”

“ Again ?” Raf’s tone went higher, more indignant.

And then they stepped inside.

First Caleb — tall, built like a storm in waiting, his shaggy brown hair slightly tousled like he’d been dragging his hands through it. His eyes caught mine instantly — violet-orange, too sharp, too focused — and softened in the same breath. He stopped mid-stride, taking in the scene without a word.

Then Rafayel.

All sculpted cheekbones, pink-blue eyes, and loose elegance even when he was exasperated. His expression shifted the moment he saw me — less smug, more curious, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of the stillness wrapped around us.

But he didn’t speak either.

No one did.

Because they saw it.

Me, leaning into Sylus. My hand wrapped in Zayne’s. My forehead resting against Xavier’s shoulder. A constellation of trust in motion.

I pulled back slightly — just enough to sit upright again, not break the moment entirely.

I looked at them both — Caleb and Raf — and gave them the smallest, barest smile I could manage. It didn’t reach my eyes, not yet. But it didn’t need to.

The silence that followed was thick. Not empty—but full. Saturated.

With warmth. With presence. With the echo of all the things we hadn’t said yet, and maybe never thought we would.

I let it linger a little longer, breathed it in. Felt it settle deep beneath my ribs where the ache lived, that hollow spot where everything I’d buried from my world still festered in the dark.

Five sets of eyes were on me.

Each of them carrying their own storm.

Sylus, still beside me, fingers now stilled on the piano, his crimson eyes watching like he could feel every fluctuation in my breath.

Zayne, his hand still in mine, his jaw tight, his throat working like he wanted to say something but refused to interrupt me.

Xavier, standing in his quiet strength, patient, unreadable but unwavering.

Caleb, arms now crossed loosely over his chest, leaning against the doorway with eyes too sharp, too knowing, the muscle in his jaw twitching like he already knew what I was about to say but was bracing for the weight of it anyway.

And Rafayel. Ever radiant, always dramatic, but now… still. Watching with something softer, more open, written in the way his brows pinched and his lips pressed together like he didn’t want to smirk for once.

I took one more breath.

Then I let go.

“I knew all of you before I ever got here.”

The words came out soft. Too soft. But no one spoke. No one moved. So I kept going.

“In my world, you were just a game. A story I could carry in my pocket. Something I downloaded when I didn’t have anyone else. When the walls got too quiet. When the silence started sounding like the things I wasn’t saying out loud.”

The tears were already building again, but I didn’t stop.

“Each of you meant something different to me. Sylus… your silence. The way you held the weight of everything without complaint. The way you broke things down and rebuilt them—people included—made me feel like maybe I didn’t need to be perfect to matter. That maybe being broken wasn’t the end.”

I turned to him, my voice tighter now.

“And Zayne… gods. You were logic. Compassion. The kind of strength that doesn’t need to shout to be heard. You kept me grounded. Even when I felt like I was losing my grip on everything. You… you made me feel safe. Even when the world didn’t.”

He didn’t say a word.

He just held my hand a little tighter.

“Xavier,” I whispered, turning toward the man whose silence had always felt like scripture.

“You reminded me that stillness isn’t emptiness. That quiet people carry the most. That I didn’t have to explain myself to be understood. There were days I replayed your cards just to feel like someone saw me… even if it was only through a screen.”

Xavier’s eyes softened. Barely. But I saw it. I felt it.

I looked toward the others, my breath catching again.

“Rafayel. You made the world brighter. You were the light. Even in your arrogance. Especially in your arrogance. You smiled when I couldn’t. You made me laugh when I forgot how. I used to imagine what it would be like to have someone like you in my life—someone who could pull color from shadows.”

Raf looked like he wanted to say something smug. But he didn’t. He just swallowed. Hard.

“And Caleb…”

He straightened. Eyes narrowing, but not in defense. In focus.

“You were my mirror.”

The words hit harder than I meant them to. For both of us.

“You were angry . Guarded. But there was always a part of you that wanted to belong. That wanted to love and be loved without being punished for it. You were the one I understood the most. Because your pain looked like mine. Because you wore it like armor and still got up every day and fought anyway.”

A breath.

A heartbeat.

“I used to look at your faces. Listen to your voices. And think… if you were real, maybe someone like me could be worth something too.”

None of them moved.

Not even a twitch.

And I was crying now. Fully. Quietly. Not the hysterical kind. Not sobbing. Just the kind of tears that fall because you’ve carried them for too long.

“I know this isn’t the game. I know you’re not those versions of yourselves. But… in a way, you still saved me. Because every night I sat alone in my apartment with the world closing in around me, you were there. On my screen. In my headphones. In my dreams.”

My throat burned.

“That night, I honestly wasn’t sure if I was going to jump,”

Zayne closed his eyes.

Xavier’s hand flexed at his side.

Caleb took a sharp step forward before catching himself.

“But I’m glad I did,” I whispered. “Because if I hadn’t… I never would’ve landed here. With you.”

The tears kept coming.

“And I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what this Evol means, or what the hell is happening with the Deepspace tunnel, or why I’m bleeding into your world like I was always meant to be part of it…”

I looked at them all — every single one of them.

“But if this… you … is what I found when I fell, then maybe for the first time in my life, falling wasn’t a mistake.”

And then—

I let it break me.

The truth. The grief. The hope.

The silent, shaking surrender of a girl who never thought she’d be allowed to belong.

And the room didn’t collapse.

The world didn’t shatter.

Their eyes didn’t change.

They just listened.

Caleb didn’t rush forward.

He didn’t speak right away either.

But I could see it in his shoulders—the way they rose slowly, like the air in his lungs had thickened under the weight of something ancient. Something unspoken for too long. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers curling in and out of fists like he was deciding whether or not this was a moment he could allow himself to have.

And then he looked at me.

Not through me. Not around me.

At me.

His eyes, amber and violet, softened—not in pity, but in something raw. Something that stripped him down to the marrow.

“You talk about knowing us from your world…” Caleb said slowly, his voice husky and worn. “You knew our stories. Our smiles. Our pain. How each of us helped you hold on when things got dark.”

He took a step forward. Not aggressive, just grounded—deliberate. Every inch of his movement felt like it cost him something.

“But in this world…” He swallowed, and the tension in his jaw twitched. “No one truly knew mine .”

The room was silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he asked, voice low and bitter with memory, “to be passed around like a fucking burden? File to file. Case to case. A name on a clipboard with a number beside it and no one who looked at you like you were real ?”

Zayne looked away.

Rafayel’s brows drew together, his entire body still.

Sylus… Sylus had stopped breathing.

Even Xavier’s normally unreadable expression broke at the edges.

“I was ten when they first took me in. Eleven when the third placement gave up. And then there was the facility. ”

Caleb’s eyes drifted—somewhere distant, somewhere haunted. “They didn’t call us kids there. We were Subjects. Trials. I was X-02. I didn’t even have a fucking name for six months.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth, shaking.

“They wired our spines. Cut us open like machines. Said we were special. Said pain meant progress. We weren’t people—we were potential .”

His voice cracked.

“And I’d have died there. I was ready to. Until Sylus…”

His eyes flicked to the man still seated beside me. Sylus didn’t move, but I felt the weight of his past press like stone into the silence between them.

“We ran,” Caleb continued. “Together. Into a world that didn’t make room for kids like us. No money. No homes. Just shadows and cold pavement and the ache of being almost forgotten.”

He took another step forward, his voice softening into something near-breakable.

“And I learned how to live like that. Like a ghost. Even after we got out. Even after the worst of it was over. I kept people out. I kept my walls so fucking high that even I didn’t remember what was on the other side.”

My chest felt like it had collapsed inward.

“I didn’t have stories or faces to hold onto. I didn’t have some character in a game in another world reminding me I mattered.”

He looked right at me again.

“But you …”

His voice dropped, deeper now. Not quieter. Just lower . Weighted with something he hadn’t shared with anyone before.

“You looked at me like I was someone worth remembering. Worth reaching for. And I don’t understand why. I don’t think I ever will. But I know that when I woke up next to you this morning, I didn’t feel like a weapon. I didn’t feel like a mistake.”

He was shaking now, not from anger—but from the effort of saying everything he’d never let himself say.

“I didn’t dream. I didn’t flinch. I just breathed. And it scared the hell out of me. Because it felt like peace. And I don’t know what to do with peace.”

He dropped to a knee, eye level with me now. And when he spoke again, his voice fractured like a storm choking on its own thunder.

“If falling into our world gave you to us … then maybe, just maybe, I can believe that something in this fucked-up life actually went right. ”

My lungs stuttered, shattered. Tears filled my eyes again, spilling freely, matching the sting along Zayne’s lashes, the way Sylus leaned ever so slightly closer like he needed to touch me just to know I was still here.

And then Caleb whispered—

“I’m glad you jumped, too.”

I didn’t think.

There was no hesitation. No careful planning. No internal monologue arguing whether it was a good idea or not. I just moved.

One second I was sitting there, shaking, broken open by everything Caleb had poured into the room, and the next I was across the floor, my arms around his shoulders, my body curling around his frame like maybe—just maybe—I could hold some of that pain for him.

He tensed at first.

Like it shocked him that someone wanted to be near him after a confession like that.

But then—

He folded.

It was silent, almost imperceptible at first. Just a tremble through the lines of his body, a single shuddered breath that sounded too hollow, too strangled to be stable. And then his arms came around me, not cautiously but completely , as if something inside him had finally broken open and there was no going back.

His face pressed into the crook of my neck, warm breath ghosting across my skin as a sound escaped him—low and hoarse and broken in half.

He cried.

Not just tears. Not quiet sniffles or the kind of composed sorrow that looked good on camera.

This was grief .

This was weight.

This was a man who had carried so much for so long he no longer recognized what it meant to be held.

His fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt like if he didn’t anchor himself, he might fall right through the floor. His body trembled against mine in slow waves, each one more heart-wrenching than the last. And I held him. I held him. No hesitations. No fear. Just the full-force instinct to be there for someone who had never had anyone.

There was no shame in it.

Only silence.

Sacred and tender.

A kind of stillness that felt like the world had paused to let him be human again.

By the time he finally pulled back, there were tear tracks on his cheeks, flushed skin beneath his eyes, and a tension in his jaw that looked like he was trying to pull himself back together before anyone else could see too much.

But I didn’t let go of him.

And he didn’t let go of me.

We stayed that way, suspended in something delicate and necessary, until—

“Well, shit. Now I’m the only one who hasn’t had an emotional breakdown in front of her yet.”

The voice was unmistakable.

Rafayel.

I looked up, half expecting his usual teasing smirk, the familiar slant of mischief in his words—but what I saw instead made my heart stop.

He stood just inside the doorway, arms folded, his weight leaning into one hip like always. But the look in his eyes… it wasn’t smug. It wasn’t flippant.

It was naked.

He gave a crooked smile, soft around the edges, and shrugged.

“I’m serious, you know. I thought I’d come in here, toss a joke, maybe lighten the mood. But then I saw him—” He gestured vaguely toward Caleb. “—and realized I’ve been hiding behind that shit for so long I forgot what it felt like to just say the damn thing.”

He stepped closer, but not all the way in. Like maybe even he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get.

“I’m not good at this stuff. I wasn’t built for it. Emotions, attachments… They were always something that looked better on someone else. Someone softer. Someone not made of thorns and seawater and too much goddamn glitter.”

A small laugh escaped me, unbidden.

He grinned faintly, but it faded too fast.

“But when you said what you did earlier… About how we made you stay , even when you were ready to fall? It hit me, Aven. Right here. ”

He tapped his chest.

“I don’t… I don’t think anyone’s ever said something like that to me. Not like that. Not without asking for something in return either.”

I saw the tightness in his throat. The flicker of something fragile in his brilliant sea-glass eyes.

“So yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “I act like I’ve got it all figured out. Like I’m untouchable. But the truth is…”

His voice cracked, just barely.

“…Every time you look at me like I’m worth something, I feel like I might finally be.”

It wasn’t flashy.

It wasn’t loud.

It was Rafayel, stripped down to the bleeding edges, offering me something no one else ever got to see.

And just like with Caleb, I knew—

This moment mattered.

More than a myth.

More than a memory.

More than any imagined story ever could.

They were all still. Watching me. Not like I was fragile, or broken, or something to be fixed. Just… waiting.

And for once, the storm in my head didn’t scream. It just listened.

I stepped forward—not because I had the words, but because I didn’t. And maybe that was okay.

“I used to think I knew you.”

My voice felt smaller than I wanted it to, but it was honest. I let my eyes drift across each of their faces.

“I thought I knew all your lines. Your histories. The choices you’d make. I memorized your smiles. I chased after your affection like it meant something because—back there—it was the only thing that did. ”

I swallowed hard. “I used to call it comfort. Tapping the screen, getting the answers I craved, the illusion of being seen. But I think… I think I loved you all before I even realized what love was. Not the romantic kind, maybe not yet. But something that felt like safety. Like gravity.”

My eyes burned as I looked at Caleb, then Zayne. “You kept me tethered when I didn’t want to be.”

I glanced down for a second, my voice catching. “You made existing… feel less impossible.”

And then my gaze found Sylus.

“But you’re not scripts,” I said, more quietly. “You’re not here to save me because I tapped the right words. You're not… mine like that. And that terrifies me.”

I paused, breathing through the tightness building in my throat.

“Because now I have to choose to trust you. Not because the game pushed me that way. Not because it’s written. But because you’re real. And I want to.”

I looked at Rafayel and Xavier, both quiet now in their own ways.

“I don’t know how to unlearn the idea that I was never enough in my world. That I was always reaching for people who wouldn’t reach back. You don’t feel like a reward for surviving.”

I took a step closer, not physically touching them yet, but speaking like I was laying something down between us.

“You feel like a beginning.”

Silence wrapped around us—dense, charged, sacred.

And for the first time, I let myself hope that maybe I didn’t have to be the one who gave everything away to feel like I belonged.

Maybe I already did.

Zayne shifted forward, slow and deliberate.

Not hesitant—just measured. Like every word he carried was something fragile, something that might shatter if handled too fast. His eyes, that brilliant swirl of gold and jade, didn’t leave mine for a second.

“I’ve never said this aloud,” he began, his voice low and impossibly steady. “Not to anyone. Not to the others. Not to myself, even. But… something changes in me when I’m near you.”

He looked down, almost like he couldn’t bear to meet my gaze while saying the rest, but then forced himself to hold it anyway. That alone nearly unraveled me.

“You make it feel quieter,” he said softly. “Inside.”

My breath caught.

“I spend most of my life listening to chaos. The endless calculation, the signals, the data—every voice in every room layered behind my thoughts. My Evol doesn’t sleep. It doesn’t stop. The coldness—it’s never been armor. It’s how I cope. It’s how I survive.”

He exhaled, the faintest furrow pinching the space between his brows. “But when I’m with you… it stills.”

He stepped close now, not reaching for me, just… present. Solid and real and impossibly raw.

“Not silenced,” he added, “but softened. Like for once I don’t have to be ten steps ahead of every moment just to stay sane. Like I don’t need to rationalize what I feel when you’re in the room, because what I feel— is already enough. ”

The others didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Even Sylus sat with his hands still on the keys, his dark eyes lowered, listening without interrupting, the resonance of Zayne’s honesty hanging between us like fine-tuned glass.

“I’ve never opened up like this to anyone,” Zayne said, and I could see it now—the barest tremble in his hand, the shimmer of unspoken ache caught in the green of his eyes. “I’ve never needed to.”

A pause.

Then, just above a whisper—

“But I want to, with you.”

And I felt it—that break inside my chest. The small, sharp twist of being seen in a way that was chosen , not assigned. Not demanded.

He wasn’t here because of some path I’d selected in a game. He wasn’t standing in front of me because an algorithm had pushed him toward a romance arc.

He was here because he wanted to be.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

Zayne, so stoic and unreachable to so many, was giving me this piece of himself—his stillness, his ache, his rarest truth—and I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve it.

But I wanted to hold it carefully.

Sylus’s hands lingered on the piano keys long after Zayne’s words settled like ash in the air, but he didn’t play again. The soft, unfinished chords faded into the quiet between us, unresolved.

Then… he stood.

Pushed the bench back with barely a scrape, the movement slow—like every breath between us mattered, like if he moved too fast, it might all collapse. His broad frame cast a shadow as he stepped into the center of the room, not towering, but grounding. Like gravity had shifted its anchor to him.

I watched as he raked one hand through his white hair, eyes burning—dark and storm-slicked. He was always like that, wasn’t he? Beautiful in silence. Sharp at the edges. A living contradiction of restraint and ache.

But now… he was letting the ache rise.

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel when I first saw you,” he said, voice low and strained like it cost him to pull each word from the pit of his chest. “Not because you were unfamiliar. But because you felt like something I’d been waiting for—and I hated that.”

My lips parted, but no sound came.

“I hated that I felt anything ,” he went on, his voice cracking like static under pressure. “Because for so long, I’ve been numb. Ever since the facility. Ever since they carved pieces out of me and told me I was a tool. That I was built for control. That my Evol was never mine—it was theirs.”

He wasn’t looking at me as he spoke. He was somewhere else. Some dark hallway in the back of his own mind, where pain still lived in the corners of his memory.

“And then you appeared. Showed up at Akso. Lost. Broken. Real. And I felt something crack open. I didn’t even want it to.”

He finally looked at me.

And it hit me like a blow to the chest.

Because Sylus— Sylus —looked shattered. His eyes glossy, rimmed with grief he hadn’t allowed himself to show until now.

“You terrify me,” he whispered. “Because you remind me of the things I tried to kill inside myself. The softness. The need. The hope.”

He took a step closer. “But you also… remind me I’m still alive.”

His hands trembled at his sides.

“I thought I had buried everything that made me human. Thought I had to, to survive. But then you walked into my life and looked at me like I wasn’t some experiment gone wrong. Like I was worth saving. ”

He stopped just in front of me, and I could feel the energy rolling off of him—his evol simmering under the surface like a heat wave, restrained only by sheer will.

“And now all I want to do is be someone who deserves that look.”

His voice broke.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be that person. But I want to be.”

The silence bloomed.

Dense. Charged. Cracking at the edges like the pressure of stars about to be born.

Sylus lowered his head slightly, his voice no more than a breath against the air between us.

“You make me want to live like I never did before.”

And gods help me, I could feel my heart give out and start again all at once.

Because for a man built of silence and fire and suffering, Sylus Qin had just offered me the most fragile part of himself.

My breath caught in my throat as Sylus stood there — wrecked in his silence, his shoulders trembling from the weight of what he'd said. He looked like a man ready to burn from the inside out and not stop it. All because of me.

He terrified me too, but not because I was afraid of him.

Because I'd never seen someone like him break for someone like me.

And maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was dangerous. But in that moment, I stepped into the fire willingly.

I moved to him.

No hesitation. No overthinking.

Just instinct and need and something soft blooming in my chest I hadn’t felt in years.

My hand reached up to brush his jaw, trembling like the rest of me. His skin was warm. Alive. Human. Not some digital avatar or scripted fantasy, but a man who had given me something raw and impossible to repay — his truth.

“Sylus,” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “I don’t need you to be perfect.”

His eyes fluttered closed, like the words physically struck him.

“I just need you to be real,” I continued, stepping close enough to feel his breath. “And you already are.”

Something in him fractured then — not in a painful way, but in a way that let him exhale for the first time. Like he'd been holding his breath since I arrived. Since before that. He dipped his head, pressing his brow to mine, our foreheads resting together as the air between us pulsed with something silent and sacred.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was deeper.

A promise that neither of us had the words for yet.

We stayed like that for a moment. One heartbeat. Then two.

Then the sound of a step behind me made us pull apart.

Xavier.

He stood there like a statue carved from dusk — poised, grave, eyes shadowed with something unreadable… until he finally spoke.

“When I saw you that night,” he said, his voice low but steady, “I was prepared to write you off as just another civilian.”

He didn’t move closer. Not yet. His arms were crossed — not defensively, but like he needed something to ground him.

“You were under the overpass. Soaked, shivering. Eyes unfocused. You didn’t say much. And part of me told myself that this wasn’t my problem. That I could do my job, escort you where you needed to go, and forget.”

He looked up at me then, and something in his face cracked open — not all at once, but slowly, like light bleeding into a dark room.

“But your eyes…” he said quietly. “There was something in them. Not fear. Not even desperation.”

A pause.

“It was emptiness. ”

His voice caught, and for Xavier, that was everything.

“I’ve seen a lot of things in this world. I’ve lived through things no one should have to. But I’ve never forgotten what it looked like — that kind of emptiness. I’ve seen it in the mirror.”

His arms dropped to his sides, and he took a step forward.

“I told myself not to care. I told myself you weren’t my responsibility. But I couldn’t walk away. Because for the first time in a very long time… I saw someone who felt like me. ”

His words hit me like a slow, crashing wave. Drowning and cleansing all at once.

“You changed something in me,” he said, voice thick with emotion now. “You made me feel something I thought I buried years ago.”

And then, softly, like a confession—

“You made me hope again.”

He finally reached me, stopping just short of touching. Like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

But his eyes — dark and warm and full of a quiet kind of grief — said enough.

I didn’t know what to say.

I just felt.

I looked at Xavier — really looked at him.

So still. So serious. So devastatingly open.

There was a quiet strength in him that had always felt unreachable from the other side of the screen — like he’d been carved from ice and fire both. But now, I understood: it wasn’t coldness.

It was grief. Layered. Controlled. Endlessly quiet.

And he’d chosen to let me see it.

My hand reached out — slow, tentative — and I touched his arm. Just above the wrist, where the pulse runs soft and steady beneath the skin.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice so soft it almost disappeared. “For not walking away.”

His breath hitched. Barely. But I felt it.

“I see you too, Xavier,” I added. “And I’m not going anywhere either.”

Something shifted in his expression — a flicker of warmth cracking through the careful walls. He nodded once, a barely-there smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It was small.

But it was real.

And then—

“Okay, okay, I’m not saying I want to break this extremely moving, soul-baring moment,” came a familiar voice from behind us, “but if we all cry any harder, I’m going to start leaking glitter out of my tear ducts.”

Rafayel.

He stepped closer with that signature saunter, hands in his pockets, eyes gleaming with emotion and mischief — the rare alchemy only he could pull off.

“I mean seriously,” he said, gesturing around the room, “what is this? A tragic reunion special? A dramatic reading of our collective emotional damage? Should I be worried there’s an after-credits scene where we all hug it out in the rain?”

I let out a laugh — short, sudden, raw. It escaped before I could stop it, and maybe that was the point.

The tension cracked like a sheet of glass, not shattering, but releasing.

Even Sylus smiled — just barely — while Zayne shook his head with a tired sigh, like he’d heard this kind of thing a thousand times before and still secretly appreciated it.

Rafayel stepped between us and gave me an exaggerated bow. “Miss Aven, on behalf of this emotionally constipated council of handsome men, I would like to formally thank you for completely wrecking all of us in record time.”

He straightened, flashing a grin before his tone softened, just enough.

“But also… thanks for being here. With us. Still. ”

I blinked, the laughter still caught in my chest.

The ache hadn’t gone. The tears hadn’t dried.

But in that moment — with all of them around me — it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Not with Rafayel’s levity grounding it. Not with the quiet comfort of Sylus at my side, or Zayne’s lingering presence at my shoulder, or Caleb and Xavier just steps away.

They were here.

And so was I.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The six of us spilled into Sylus’ penthouse kitchen—my heart still fluttering, brimming with emotions we’d laid bare moments ago. Though the charge remained, it felt lighter now—like the surface of water settling after a storm.

The kitchen gleamed with a cold elegance worthy of Sylus’ reputation—floor‑to‑ceiling windows hugging polished marble floors, the view of N109’s neon sprawl shimmering around us. A sculpted island of black quartz, veins slashed with silver, anchored the room. High-gloss cabinets hovered above brushed steel fixtures. Recessed lights traced each angle, highlighting a vase of midnight orchids and a pristine copper breadbox. Nearby, fresh basil in a ceramic pot softened the austerity with green warmth.

I leaned against the island, the space buzzing with unsaid possibilities. My eyes flicked over each of them: Sylus, poised near the wall; Caleb and Zayne exchanging a small, knowing glance; Xavier’s arm draped unconsciously at his side; Rafayel’s quiet smirk. My gaze landed on Sylus, who moved suddenly toward an almost hidden section of the kitchen—where a massive walk‑in fridge and freezer stood concealed behind a matching panel.

He swung the door open, revealing tiers of everything from fresh produce to artisanal cheeses, bottles of wine, and artisanal ice cream in gleaming tubs.

He returned, two bowls in hand. He slid one toward me, thick with swirls of vanilla and caramel, and the other nestled in front of himself. He offered me a spoon with that small, half‑smile—one that carried both generosity and a touch of pride.

“I got the best we had,” he said, tone matter‑of‑fact but warm.

I immersed the spoon into the ice cream, the cold bursting across my tongue. The creamy flavor grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected.

Everyone else hovered, their gazes cast long in the kitchen’s ambient light.

Rafayel finally moved forward, breaking the hush with theatrical flair. “Ice cream for Sylus and our lady? Trash for the rest of us? Disintegrate us at the base, why don’t you.”

Zayne shot him a look: amusement hidden behind a controlled exhale. Caleb offered me a gentle smile. Xavier merely nodded approval.

Raf leaned in conspiratorially. “I call dibs on the next dessert run—don’t think I’m letting you get all the ice cream, boss-man.”

Sylus didn’t say anything; he just settled onto a stool, ice cream in hand, eyes flicking between Raf and me.

I laughed softly—warm and relief‑heavy. “Remember when you solved my living situation for the next decade?”

I scooped another bite. “Sylus bought the apartment right below Xavier’s —furnished it, stocked me with clothes. He paid for years of rent already. Literally, he fixed my next ten years before I even moved in.”

Sylus’ brows rose slightly—an almost invisible blush creeping across his cheekbones.

“Practical,” he said dryly. “But yes.”

I looked around at them again. “And now here I am. In your world. In your kitchen,” I added, voice quieter, vulnerable. “I’m settled. I have… clothes. I have a place that isn’t on the edge of losing it all. But… I still don’t know—what I do now.”

My thumb scrawled the rim of the bowl.

“In my world, surviving meant constant danger. My future was broken dreams and empty rooms. Now I live here. I have you all. I’m scared shitless—to hold this, to believe it.”

I swallowed, steadier now. “But… I’ll try. Not just survive. But—live. With you.”

The ice cream warmed, softening under the restaurant‑grade lights. Around us, the kitchen held its breath.

Sylus murmured: “Then live.”

Zayne nodded with an almost imperceptible click of his jaw.

Xavier raised a glass of water in a silent toast.

Caleb reached out to link our hands on the counter.

Rafayel offered me a triumphant grin—“Mission affectionately sabotaged,” he whispered.

I took a slow bite, savoring more than sweetness—the knowledge that I belonged somewhere, even if I didn’t have the map.

Sylus leaned his forearms onto the dark quartz counter, his bowl of half-melted ice cream abandoned in front of him. “You could work for me,” he said, like it was the most natural suggestion in the world. “I have enough contracts to keep you busy for a lifetime. Something behind the scenes, maybe. Whatever you want.”

I choked out a soft, disbelieving laugh, the kind that caught behind the ribs. “Yeah, no offense, but the idea of working for a guy who dabbles in black market protocores, unregistered weapons, and the occasional corporate takedown? It’s... a little intimidating.” I gave him a teasing glance. “You give off just enough mob boss energy to scare the hell out of me.”

Sylus didn’t even blink. “You wouldn’t be scared if you trained.”

“I’ve never even fired a gun,” I confessed, tapping my spoon against the edge of the bowl.

“Then we’ll fix that,” he said easily. “Not because I want you to use it. But because I want you to have the choice.”

His words wrapped around something soft inside me. Something I didn’t know had longed for that kind of autonomy.

Xavier tilted his head slightly, arms crossed over his chest from his spot by the window. “You ever thought about becoming a Hunter? I could put in a good word.”

I looked at him with quiet gratitude but shook my head. “I don’t think I have it in me to chase danger on purpose. I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

There was no judgment in his eyes, only understanding.

Caleb leaned forward, squeezing my hand under the island. “Then what do you want to do?”

That stopped me.

What did I want?

I glanced around the kitchen, all five of them watching me with different shades of hope in their expressions. But my eyes locked onto Zayne. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His presence always felt like gravity—anchoring, unwavering.

And something clicked.

I remembered that ridiculous Valentine’s Day event card from the game. The one where he hadn’t been an ER doctor with blood on his gloves and exhaustion in his bones. No. He’d been a veterinarian… among other things that I refused to bring to mind during that event.

That card had meant nothing in my world, just digital fluff with leather meant to sell a fantasy. But now, it felt like a whisper from the version of me that had still believed in something gentle. Something kind. Something alive.

“I…” I cleared my throat. “I love animals. More than I’ve ever really loved people. That’s probably why I kept getting hurt. But... is there a school? A clinic? Somewhere I could learn how to help them? Take care of them?”

Zayne’s expression softened into something I didn’t have a name for.

“There’s a veterinary medicine program at the Nara Institute, not far from the East Sector,” he said, voice low and sure. “It’s intense, but they have a beginner track too. I have contacts there. I can help you get in.”

The way he said it—without hesitation, without doubt—it nearly unraveled me.

“You’d help me?” I whispered.

He smiled, just a little. “You don’t have to be alone in anything anymore, Aven.”

Something fragile cracked open inside me. I nodded, unable to speak.

“Done then,” Sylus said simply, already reaching for his tablet. “I’ll cover the costs. Supplies. Books. Tuition.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked at him.

“You want to learn,” he said. “So you’ll learn. That’s all that matters.”

Rafayel grinned. “Our girl’s about to be surrounded by puppies and kittens. I give her two weeks before she tries to adopt five of them.”

I laughed despite myself, brushing away the heat in my eyes. “You’re not wrong.”

And somehow, in the flickering light of that kitchen—between the sharp edges of trauma and the soft weight of new beginnings—I let myself imagine a life that didn’t hurt.

Not all the time.

Not anymore.

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

[glitterghost]

Thank you, Sleep Token, for making it so incredibly easy to love you. ✨️

[honeytonedhottie]

how to be tea - honey's handbook⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌟💞

this is a post that talks about all things beauty, wellness and confidence from the experience of a honey toned hottie. everything ik works cuz i do them myself to just be tea, to be raw, to be FABULOUS. im structuring this post with affirmations as the section titles because what u think and affirm is what you'll experience so thats just me tying LOA into this post...💬🎀

"MY SKIN IS ALWAYS SO GLOWY AND FLAWLESS" ;

skin cycling - skin cycling is basically a skincare routine that alternates between using active ingredients and resting the skin. my skin cycling routine goes like this (exfoliate -> brighten -> hydrate) with rest days where i need them.

i've found this to work really really well for me so if ur looking to try something solid def give this a try! remember, everyone is different so feel free to tailor it to ur needs and experiment to find what works for YOU.

subliminals - SUBLIMINALS are the best! i have a subliminal playlist that i play at night and i wake up looking absolutely FLAWLESS. im linking it right here. ik theres a lot of misconceptions and misinformation about subliminals so lemme give u guys a quick rundown...💬🎀

✨ a subliminal is an audio of affirmations layered with music or rain sounds. so you'd hear the rain sounds, white noise, whale noises etc but the affirmations would play and soak into ur subconscious like a sponge.

✨ subliminal work because they impress new beliefs onto your subconscious, and with the law of assumption, your reality shifts to match those beliefs. also because whatever u assume to be true is true so if u assume they work then they do and thats that.

✨ to make a subliminal work u dont have to do anything but assume. assume that it works. if ur listening to a subliminal and it says anything like "drink water to see results, only listen twice!" or anything like that u can just disregard it cuz thats bs.

"MY BODY IS SO TEAAA" ;

🌟 i workout about 3-4 times a week but on days that i dont work out i still stay active. staying active by going for a walk, jump roping, dancing or running and stretching.

🌟 my everyday workout routine ALWAYS starts by stretching. i'll either do a flexibility stretch or a mobility stretch in the morning and a stretch to relieve pain in my back before bed.

🌟 literally every workout that i do is from youtube, youtube WORKS, youtube is TEA. some days i'll do one long pilates workout and some days i'll target each part of my body with an individual workout. honestly it all depends on what i do and dont have time for.

"I HAVE HAIR TO MY ASS" ;

💕 scalp care is SO neglected and it's arguably one of the most important things to take care of. i oil my hair maybe 1-2x a week with rosemary, jamaican black castor oil, and peppermint. i’ll warm it up a little, massage it in with my fingertips (or that cute lil scalp massager thingy), and then slick it back in a loose ponytail with love.

💕 i sleep with a satin bonnet or pillowcase every night. no excuses. even if i’m tired. even if i’m sad. even if i’m sleeping over somewhere and feel awkward. i will protect the inches.

💕 also brush ur hair! its so important to increase blood flow therefore promote growth. i feel like such a princess every time i brush my hair before bed, and im so METICULOUS with this shit its really amazing.

"EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE IS PERFECT" ;

i try to meditate every singe day to kind of ground myself and just immerse myself in the end and it's great! since im not a very visual girlie i just talk to myself while i do this. even if im not consciously manifesting anything at the time just going inward and having a conversation (idk if this makes me sound crazy but it feels nice)

to ensure that everything in my life is perfect i always make sure i have an agenda for the day cuz im a very type A kind of girl so i like to know exactly what im doing when. i have goals to accomplish and things to do! so my time management is very top tier with my agenda. to keep myself on track i implement little things like :

👛 screen free mornings - i WILL get distracted and i'd just rather not

👛 social media detox every other week - lately tiktok has just been a cesspool of brain rot (and when i say brain rot im not referring to tung tung tung sahur) im referring to incessant bad news and im just NOT into that so i take a break for my mental health every other week. and i try to minimize the time i spend on social media platforms in general

"IM SO TALENTED" ;

i take my passions, and talents SO seriously. im a singer so i practice singing everyday. i'd also say im a rly multi-passionate person. i manage my girl blog, my magazine, i play piano, tennis, and i feel like im always working on a project! so i make sure to pour into myself in all aspects of my life, especially as a perfectionist. i wanna make sure every one of my passions has been poured into.

[silasours]

ৎ⸝⸝⠀BELLY BULGE ! —

#pairing : lucifer, alastor, vox, valentino x gn reader. #cw : 18+ content, mdni. unprotected sex. edging. size kink. praise kink. sub reader. belly bulging. creampie. breeding kink. overstimulation. toy usage. mirror sex. #summary : hazbin men fucking so deep to the point where they can see and feel the bulge on your belly from their dick! wow, and it turns them on further!! #note : greetings and salutations everyone! i'm back (kinda) from my long ass close-to-three-months hiatus. i'm so sorry for disappearing so suddenly, and thank you so much for 1k followers while i was gone! have this and a few other upcoming smuts while i figure out on how to finish the alastor fic :').

ʚ LUCIFER .

how many rounds has it been? you honestly lost count. your ability to recall memories from earlier tonight slowly slips out of your grasps with each deep thrust of lucifer's hips. the sole thing you're able to focus your mind on is the sensation that travels throughout your whole body every time he hits that one spot inside of you, the feeling of multiple fire spark burning through your nerves.

his breathing is as ragged as yours, his usual slicked-back hair now messy and sticking to his sweaty forehead. your fingers fist the soft pillow supporting your face on the wide bed that you share, whimpers and cries being the only sounds that pour out of your sore lips. lucifer gives a moderate playful slap onto your bare hip, earning a small whine from you.

"such wonderful sight, look at you." his hand slides from your hip until his thumb reaches to stretch your flesh, revealing white streams of thick liquid rolling down from your pulsing hole to your inner thigh, an evidence of your partner's previous releases filling you up full. he watches the way his seeds spill out with every push of his hips, when his dick takes up the space inside of you instead and forcing the liquid to be squeezed out.

his tongue pokes out to lick his lips, his free hand once again moving forward to wrap its fingers around your neck firmly. with a soft hum, lucifer pulls your upper body up from the previous position, now having your back press against his chest. you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the faint thumping of his heart through the layers of flesh.

you can barely feel your legs. they had gone numb from how long you've kept them up, the blood flow being reduced and now leaving you with legs that you can barely control by yourself. you gasp at the feeling of lucifer's length reaching deeper inside of you, the tip poking at places that you never knew one could reach inside of you. your hands moved by themselves and held onto whatever that can support your body on this new position, lucifer's ruthless thrust now increasing its pace without mercy.

he keeps a hand wrapped around your neck, holding you still while the other explores your body despite already left countless marks and touch on every inch of your body. your head tilts back to rest on his shoulder, moans and cries never stopped rolling off of your tongue as lucifer whispers sweet nothings into your ear. it was then he felt something he did not feel on your body before this.

curious, his thrusts slows down just a little as his eyes peek from beside your head, his hand caressing the bump that he feels on your stomach. he feels his breath hitch, realizing that the bump would poke out every time he thrusts into you. he feels heat spread all over his body, like he's growing aroused all over again despite the previous releases.

you hear him mutter something along the lines of 'you're so attractive' followed with a few curses. he harshly thrusts into you, digging his hips deep into yours while holding a hand of yours to the same area where your belly would bulge with every thrust. you feel the air of his breath hit your sticky skin as he snickers.

"be good and keep your hand here for me, yeah? we're going for a few more rounds."

ʚ ALASTOR .

"yes, keep going my dear. you're doing great." alastor's clawed fingers dig into the sensitive flesh of your hips as you lower yourself further down onto his length. his words may sound like sweet praises, but his tone hides a hint of petty tease while he speaks. such an annoying demon he is, always teasing you by making you work yourself on him just so he could grab every chance possible to run that dirty tongue of his.

you grumble lightly, ignoring the smug look on his face as you pause your actions, earning a confused look from the demon laying below you. he allowed a short staring contest with each other until he got impatient with how badly he needs to feel your walls pulse around him. he mutters something incomprehensible, tightening his grip on you and forcibly push you down without warning to take in every single inch he has to offer.

your breath catches in your throat almost instantly, eyes widening in surprise and gradually rolling to the back of your head. alastor has an advantage, and he knows just how to use it in his favor. he chuckles at the sight displayed in front of him; you, the same person who had just tried to tick him off earlier now struggling to adjust to the size of his dick stretching you apart.

of course, he knew this is exactly how you liked him to play even though you never directly expressed it.

alastor completely retracts almost all of his length, leaving just the tip nestled in the warmth of your walls and watches you clench around nothing as if you're asking for him to fill you up again. your teary eyes glance down at him, unhappy at the fact that he's still playing tricks on you before letting him draw a loud moan from you with a sudden thrust of his hips.

your arms reach out to catch your body from the back, body leaning back. you struggle to keep yourself upright while riding him, your legs giving out easily as per usual. your hips rock along with his, your sweet spot constantly being stimulated because of how perfect this angle of position is.

alastor savors every reaction and sounds from you, his eyes twitching ever so often from how well you squeeze around him. the bulge on you belly catches his eye; his pupils shake with excitement, muscles pulsing at the delicious sight of the bulge disappearing and reappearing. his mind grows fuzzy from the strange enjoyment he never knew he had for things like this.

"ah, fuck." a clearly audible groan slips past his lips, his hips involuntarily buckles up as ropes of hot release paints your inner walls. his static voice seems to crackle slightly when he cursed which indicates that he feels good. really good. your heart jumps with excitement yet your body crumbles, the coil in your stomach snaps quickly after alastor's, pushing you into a moaning mess.

oxygen seems to have escaped his lungs as he pants for air, the back of his hand covering his eyes. the heat on his face is painfully visible even in the dark room you're currently situated in and the blurred vision you have from tears gathering around your eyes. you were about to move and cup his face to adore his blushing look before his voice rang through your ears, stopping you.

"ah ah, stay there now. keep putting on a pretty show for me. i'm still up for more of it, you see."

ʚ VOX .

"isn't the mirror perfect? my eyes never miss." vox laughs at his own playful comment yet his lustful eyes never left your reflection in the mirror. you advert your gaze from his hungry ones, unable to even properly look at yourself in the mirror without getting all flustered again. the clothes currently hugging your body is a sensual outfit that vox had specifically tailored for you, with the perfect size and design to his liking. anyone would be lying if they said you don't look luscious for eyes to feast on.

of course his comment wouldn't be on the mirror alone, it was mostly towards the outfit you're wearing. he hums, pulling your body closer to his till you're both tangled together in front of the big mirror, your back stuck to his chest. his lips sucks on the sensitive skin on your neck, kiss marks blooming all over like flowers during the spring season. hell, even the noises you make sound extra alluring tonight.

vox's hand slide down your body and presses firmly on your stomach, drinking in your whines as he presses on something bulging. bullseye. he recently discovered that you especially love it when he does this, and it also arouses him a ton.

"mm. you like that? wanna feel my dick from here while i fuck ya?"

a hard exhale leaves your lips as you nod, intertwining your fingers with his and allowing him to have total control over your body. he chuckles at the tightened walls around him before rocking his hips. moans spill out of your lips as he guides your hand to press against your stomach, making you feel just how deep he's going.

"eyes on the mirror, baby." you do your best to lift your eyelids and slide your gaze onto the big mirror set in front of you; vox's eyes glow like a hunter looking at its prey in the reflection, peering from your shoulder.

you question if it was the right choice to drag your lover out from the office he's always holed up in to shop at multiple stores today. he was reluctant at first, making up different excuses to stay in his office. 'i could just have them deliver to our doorstep, baby! we're rich as fuck, remember?' or 'another day, let me stay in today.'

if it wasn't because of how stubborn you were to drag him out even for a small walk, he wouldn't have agreed to go out with you and got a ton of stuff, including this mirror that's sitting by the wall, in front of the bed.

you feel immense embarrassment burning all over your skin from how you're completely displayed in the reflection for the both of you to see, yet your eyes lock with the demon's through the mirror. his smile is brutal. "there we go, now don't look away."

his merciless thrusts brought more blood rushing to your face along with shameless moans from you, followed by grunts that's audible to you from vox. your legs tremble, threatening to give out and the loud sounds of skin slapping gradually fills your head, cutting out the ability to comprehend anything in you.

your gaze fixates on the belly bulge that's painfully visible in the reflection, the sight only tightening the sweet coil hidden in your stomach. the demon groans at you squeezing around his length, knowing that you're enjoying this as much as he currently is brought him dangerously close to the edge. it wasn't long until the both you reach peak, vox pulling out just in time to witness the beautiful sight of his seed staining your inner thighs.

one thing's for sure, he definitely loves going on shopping sprees with you from now on.

ʚ VALENTINO .

work pissed him off. valentino always had a very short temper and gets ticked off by the smallest things at work the moment it doesn't goes the way he wants them to. and the easiest way for him to cool off? it'll either be a good smoke or dragging you to somewhere less busy for a quickie. perhaps both works as well, if he wishes for it.

your body presses up against the cold, hard wall as his breath tickles the back of your ear, his slippery tongue sliding and flicking around damping your earlobe. his actions are quick and rushed, yet somehow careful with everything he does to you by not going too rough on you.

his lower pair of arms slightly fumbles while undressing your lower body from how narrow the space is. you wanted to ask why didn't he choose somewhere with more space, but words stopped right on your tongue when he suddenly inserted his full length into you. you cursed and press your forehead against the wall hard, a strange mixture of pain and pleasure blooms in your stomach while struggling to breathe, adjusting to his size.

"relax a bit carino, you're gonna squeeze my dick off if you don't."

"doesn't help, val. that- fuck w-wait," valentino doesn't allow you to finish your complain, cutting you off with a rough thrust. your words turn into whines, nails digging into his arms that are wrapped around your trembling body. he carried on teasing you with irregular thrusts before pulling out fully, a mysteriously playful chuckle bubbling from his chest. you glance at him with a confused expression.

it wasn't long until you hear a familiar buzzing sound of a vibrator. he barely gave you enough time to process the information and question him, inserting the small toy deep inside of you. you gasp; the weird feeling of something vibrating inside of you made it hard for you to understand what to feel. it felt so weird to the point where it's pleasurable, something so unfamiliar yet a turn on.

"what the fuck are you- hey! that shit's still inside- val!" moans slip in between your words as valentino's length replaced his slender fingers inside of you, the tip pushing the vibrating toy deeper into your pulsing walls. choked moans are let out from your throat, the brimming tears spill from your eyes and down to your cheeks.

valentino pushes both of his fingers that were used to insert the toy into your mouth, muttering praises as you instinctively lick and suck on them. your tongue slips in between and around his fingers, coating it with your saliva while some spills out from the corner of your lips and rolls off of your chin.

he shows no mercy with his ruthless thrusts, the toy growing a weird pleasure in your stomach by hitting the perfect areas inside of you. with how deep it is, your belly bulges with every rough thrust of the demon. val whistles the moment he notices it, his gaze now only fixates on your stomach from above, admiring the bulge as his thrusts only grew harsher.

hell, even the size of his dick seems to be growing bigger while your velvet walls remained engulfing it. any thoughts regarding his work are now clouded and replaced with lust, yearning for more of you.

"know what? go on and cum for me, amor. we'll take this to the bedroom then."

© silas ( @silasours ). all rights reserved. every work posted on this account belongs to me, and only me. please refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, translating, or reproducing my work in any form possible.

[jeonstellate]

the ghost of legacy

a legacy joins the paddock for the season — and oscar is the only one not keen on befriending her.

ᯓ★ oscar piastri x fem!räikkönen!reader

ᯓ★ brief mentions of weight, sainz-leclerc divorce, & wound; depictions of insecurity, grid chaos, & confusion/denial

ᯓ★ paragraph format — 4.1K words

masterlist

[pic’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

ᯓ★ direct sequel to the ghost of monza!

ᯓ★ all italian & spanish words in this are from google! yn is kimi räikkönen’s daughter, but there are no physical descriptions mentioned.

ᯓ★ remember how i mentioned that tgom might be my first & only f1 fic? well . . . i’ve been persuaded otherwise :D i have some regrets about this, so i’d appreciate it a lot if y’all can share some feedback <3

The dawn of a season carries fresh, untainted hope. It brings a clean slate in most things — and in everything that matters. It resets the clock back at zero, and draws a mint coat for the starting line. It opens a new book with blank pages, awaiting fresh ink to flow and fill it with something worth remembering.

As poetic as those sound, Oscar can’t care any less. A new season’s a new season, meaning — for the most part — another chance at winning either championships.

For the remaining part? It means coming back to Monza, A-K-A where he met [first name] for three years in a row.

The Italian Grand Prix is still a lifetime away, but there are already moments where he finds himself wondering if she’ll still drop by and ask about Fernando’s whereabouts this season as well. With three consecutive years under their belts, it kind of feels like a tradition by this point. It’ll be too much of a shame if they break it so close to the fifth anniversary.

Honestly, he’s a little tempted to ask the older driver about his niece, but he’s also a little scared of what the other might do if he shows interest. Fernando looks like he’ll slash his tires as a form of intimidation. He doesn’t seem to be above purposely making contact during a race to prove a point, either.

It’s not like he can cut the middle man altogether. He only got her first name. There are a lot of [first name]s in existence. An Instagram search won’t cut it, especially if her profile picture isn’t of herself. A browser search will be just as impossible, if not even more so.

Oscar lets out a sigh without realizing. Is it better, after all, to let the universe decide if they should continue their little tradition?

"It’s not that bad," he hears Lando say next to him. They’re currently in the general hospitality, with a tray of free food they were promised for attending the pre-season ‘grid bonding’ and meetings. As the hospitality doesn’t open until the season officially starts, it’s just everyone in the paddock — the drivers and the crews — occupying the floors.

He looks at his teammate for that, silently hoping he’ll get a clue on what he’s talking about, because he has absolutely no idea what conversation topic they’re currently on. He didn’t mean to zone out but, alas, it’s just so easy to.

He decides to take a shot in the dark, after a moment of not perceiving any clues. He assumes — based on nothing — that he’s talking about the food. "The presentation might be intentionally deceiving."

Lando isn’t impressed. "You just need to gaslight yourself and think it’s good, if that’s really the case."

"No need! It’s actually good!" Pierre interrupts from one of the full six-seater tables. "Try the soup!"

Oscar isn’t really sure if he trusts Pierre’s tastebuds but he thanks him, anyway.

He guides Lando to sit at the eight-seater table next to Pierre’s group, albeit intentionally at the further side so he doesn’t feel pressured to socialize in the beginning of his lunch. He sits on the second seat from the edge, diagonally from the laptop he’s assuming someone forgot to take with them. Lando sits directly across him.

They eat in silence. Normally, one of them initiates a conversation over food. Today, though, Oscar lets his teammate clear his tray without a word. The other had — wisely and questionably — foregone eating breakfast to make the promised buffet worth his while.

He munches on his lunch thoughtfully, uninterested in taking advantage of the free buffet to the fullest. He — as the rest of the grid — has to watch his weight this close to the first race of the season, anyway, to avoid the risk of jeopardizing the car’s speed. He’s not really a fan of intensifying his gym workouts to burn extra calories if he eats way past his normal fill, either.

He zones out while looking directly at the stickers on the laptop cover. He’s not completely foreign to such practice, since his own sisters have decorated their personal laptops with a collection of stickers. As such, he knows how the stickers and their placements essentially show a portion of the laptop owner’s personality and interests.

Deciphering the laptop owner’s interests proves to be a good ‘during lunch’ activity. It doesn’t require a lot of thinking since most of them are pretty straightforward. Some are definitely out of context. The rest are completely obscure to him, which he doesn’t think too deeply about.

Then there’s a selected few that Oscar feels he should know, like the W resembling a fire and the RKN, but is currently blanking on.

The third general hospitality floor, by some coincidence or another, houses all drivers — reserved or otherwise — for lunch. They aren’t the only people on it, as there as also crew members scattered around, but it’s a bit impressive that the entire grid chose to settle on the same floor. Perhaps it’s an (un)intentional consequence of the grid bonding they’re forced to participate in.

Oscar gains more tablemates halfway through his first plate when Ollie and Kimi sit on the edge closest to Pierre’s group. He gains a seatmate when Alex sits next to him and George appears next to Lando.

There’s some sort of harmony in the chaos of overlapping conversations. Even more so when the tables talk to each other without bothering to get up.

Oscar thinks the chaos already peaked when the British and French drivers started defending their respective cuisines from the other’s attacks. Unfortunately, he’s eventually proven wrong when someone makes a deal out of someone else’s entrance to the floor.

"—laptop on a table," he hears a voice say. He can’t see whoever it is, though, since they’re blocked from his view by another.

"Go grab it first then I’ll introduce you to our drivers." The person blocking his view — someone from Williams, judging from the team uniform — moves slightly, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of the other.

He sees the same Williams polo shirt first. Then— the matrix must’ve glitched.

He doesn’t remember blinking nor zoning out, but the next second he comprehends has [first name] diagonal from him across the table.

It feels wrong — and he isn’t quite sure what ‘it’ is. It is the fact that they’re currently worlds away from Monza? Or the fact that she’s wearing nothing that can get her mistaken as a tifoso?

[First name] gives him a wordless nod of recognition before excusing herself to the rest of the table, her laptop tucked between her arm and side.

"Osc, do you know her?" Someone in front whispers to him. He can’t be bothered to identify which gridmate, though, much less give them a reply. After all, his attention has stuck to [first name] like a moth to a flame.

Oscar has no shame about blatantly listening in on a conversation he obviously isn’t a part of.

"Alex, Carlos, this is our engineering intern for this year," the Williams crew member introduces the three. "She’ll be shadowing your race engineers alternatively."

"I’m Alex Albon, car twenty-three." He watches Alex as the latter holds a hand out for a handshake. "Welcome to team Williams."

[First name] takes his hand, "A pleasure."

Carlos reacts late, so it’s almost as if he’s hesitant to introduce himself. "Carlos Sainz, car fifty-five." Unlike his teammate, he doesn’t offer his hand for a shake. He just nods his head once — which she then returns with the same energy. "I see I got custody of you in the divorce."

[First name] lets out a laugh that doesn’t even reach Oscar’s ears. "[First name] Räikkönen — a child of the Sainz-Leclerc divorce, apparently."

Räikkönen?

Kimi Räikkönen?

Oscar must admit, despite understanding that her father is a former Formula One driver since last year, this revelation is still surprising. It isn’t unexpected, as Kimi Räikkönen was one of his top suspects then, but shock is definitely still there.

Probably because he now has an irrefutable evidence that the ghost of Monza is actually an F1 champion’s daughter.

And because there’s also a small part of him that feels embarrassed for not realizing right away. After all, [first name] wears her father’s number proudly — and her favored RKN logo is close enough to his RKKNN. Quite literally, the answer has been right in front of him this entire time.

"Räikkönen? Like Kimi Räikkönen?" Alex echoes his thoughts unknowingly. "That’s so cool."

"Exactly like Kimi Räikkönen," she replies good naturally. "He’s the one who passed it onto me."

The younger Williams driver is handling the revelation better than he is, as far as he can tell. But maybe that’s because Alex didn’t spend a good year thinking she’s a ghost. "No way."

"Yeah, [first name]," Charles pipes up from his seat at Pierre’s table. "No way you broke the Ferrari alliance!"

[First name] looks over to the side to meet Charles’ eyes. "There is no such thing."

"There is so!"

She doesn’t give the Monégasque the satisfaction of responding. Instead, she just returns her attention to the Williams drivers. "I look forward to working with you, Mr. Albon, Carlos."

She gives them a smile so genuine, the media would’ve scrambled to capture it — partly in disbelief that a Räikkönen could smile like so.

And, for a brief moment, Oscar could’ve sworn [first name]’s smile widens a little when their eyes meet.

(Un)fortunately, she’s gone before he can think too much about it.

The paddock stayed the same with [first name] Räikkönen around, more or less. ‘More’ because the fight for the title is still as cutthroat as the last with new rivalries, without necessarily interfering with the civility between them drivers. ‘Less’ because her presence has caused some drivers to gravitate towards her — unintentionally orbiting her every chance they get.

Fernando is a given. As are Charles and Carlos, based on their already-founded closeness in the hospitality. Alex follows soon after. Then Max.

That’s not an exhaustive list. If it had been, most of the grid would’ve been name-dropped, for sure. Maybe even have all— except one. Oscar.

Oscar doesn’t feel deserving of being [first name]’s friend, for a reason he can’t really put into words. [First name] is . . . [first name]. And he’s . . . just Oscar.

He doesn’t ignore her, of course, nor does he pretend she isn’t there when they cross paths. He just doesn’t go out of his way to be closer than acquaintances and gain her favor. He exchanges brief ‘hello’s with her whenever they meet going opposite ways. He returns her nods and waves of acknowledgment from across rooms, and has initiated them on occasion whenever he spots her first.

He doesn’t take detours to drop her off to her destination. He doesn’t sit with her whenever she’s alone, either. Because then, it’ll be a quiet kind of friendship — and he can’t be her friend.

He’s just her acquaintance, at best, and he’s content with that.

After all, [first name] has more than enough new friends. She doesn’t need him — his friendship, that is.

For her part, she seems to respect the invisible line he has drawn between them. Almost as if she can see it as well as he does.

But, perhaps, it isn’t actually as defined for her. For she has no qualms about crashing his pity party on a sidewalk.

"Are you lactose intolerant?" [First name] appears in front of him seemingly out of nowhere.

Oscar takes a second to process what just happened. Even then, he’s still not sure if he’s understanding correctly. ". . . No?"

She nods, almost approvingly, before handing him a paper bag. "Here."

"What’s—" He starts before she can commence her regular habit of disappearing.

[First name], who is already steps away from him, turns back to face him once more. "My dad says it makes everything feel better."

He lets her go after that, albeit her response just made him even more confused.

When he finally opens the paper bag, Oscar finds a spoon, a bottle of water, and a sealed half-pint of gelato in his favorite flavor.

Something in his chest stirs.

The general hospitality is set to house the entirety of the grid drivers for the nth time this season. Another drivers’ meeting is scheduled to start in thirty minutes, and — in true fashion — less than half have made their way up to the room.

By the time Oscar shows up with a pack of others he met on the way, majority of the rookies are already there. Punctuality has obviously not been drained — or, at the very least, influenced — out of their systems.

"George!" Kimi calls for his teammate’s attention as soon as he spots him amongst the crowd that’s barely entering. "Can we adopt [first name]?"

George’s confusion is evident in his stance. Behind him, Oscar needs to stifle an amused laugh. "What?"

"She sang the Italian national anthem for me!" In all honesty, he isn’t following the Italian rookie’s logic. Thankfully, he isn’t the one who needs to respond. "She can also speak Italian!"

He enjoys the view of the older Mercedes driver buffering for an answer from the seat he secured next to Carlos. Even more so when the younger one of the duo pulls out a pleading look with his "please."

He doesn’t know how he found the strength to, but George eventually replies with a non-answer. "You should probably ask Toto about that, Kimi."

"No! [First name]’s ours!" Alex disproves, protectively. "Get your own [first name]!"

"She was ours first!" Charles joins in. The Monégasque likes reminding people she’s a tifoso first, before anything else, during moments like these. He hasn’t quite moved on from the fact that she chose to intern at Williams rather than Ferrari. "Why do you think she knows the Italian national anthem by heart!"

Lewis lets him do all the talking, as Carlos does with Alex. Both seem to have — wisely — figured out [first name] will put a stop to it soon enough, with or without their varied inputs.

And, sure enough indeed, a high pitched sound comes from the speakers built around the room — which instinctively makes everyone cover their ears.

"Princesa!" Oscar can somewhat hear Fernando scold somewhere behind him. "Stop—"

Thankfully, the sound stops within three seconds — and before they actually have to plead for their hearing.

Ever the nonchalant, [first name] merely scans the crowd of betrayed and confused looks before nodding to herself, "Good." It is then that he realizes she used the feedback to silence the room, with the least energy wasted possible.

He knows there’s a chance that might’ve just sent the room into more chaos. After all, they might all be grown up, but they can also a bunch of children sometimes. It was a fair gamble and yet, somehow, she looks like she was completely certain.

He salutes her for that; for having confidence and conviction on par with that of a Formula One driver.

"You’re our race engineer intern, no?" Carlos inquires before expressing his thanks for the printed meeting agenda she handed him and Alex. "Why are you the one doing all of this?"

She shrugs, "Still an intern."

"Do we get one, too?" Esteban asks for the majority somewhere to his left. It’s a fair question, drivers’ meetings don’t usually have the agenda printed out. It’s usually kept hidden from them, to avoid getting them antsy or, worse, letting them organize their protests.

[First name] points to the Williams logo on her uniform. "I’m only required to make Carlos’ and Alex’s lives a little easier."

They find a stack of meeting agenda copies by the front of the room a minute after she disappears. A sticky note on top reads, don’t pass out if they start fighting.

(She becomes their instant favorite to set up meeting rooms. Unfortunately, the FIA has forbidden Williams to let her facilitate their next turn for the same reason.)

The drivers’ rooms are the most private areas in the paddock. It’s where drivers leave their belongings while they’re out and about. It’s where their visitors usually stay to keep out of the crew’s way until the race. It’s where they sneak in a snooze when they don’t get enough sleep from the night before.

However, despite that, the drivers’ rooms can’t be locked from the outside. The McLaren ones, at least, for the time being while their PIN code lock is being updated.

No one knows about the update except for him and Lando, but he still made sure to stash his belongings inside the lockers instead of leaving them lying around just in case. He has faith and trust in the crew, of course, as he has worked with the majority of them for years, but the garage is also an open space. Someone with malicious intent can easily slip in, unnoticed.

In hindsight, it makes the most sense for someone to slip in when either he or Lando wins a race since the garage will be mostly empty then. Thus, a small part of him isn’t surprised to discover that his driver’s room isn’t exactly the way he left it before leaving for the race he ultimately won.

Nothing is taken, thankfully, and the only thing out of place is the sealed half-pint of gelato on the table — which has a spoon tied on it by a familiar handcrafted OP81 bracelet.

[First name]’s.

There’s no meaning behind her very apparent attachment to it. At least, not in a way that is connected to him personally. For all he knows, she only refuses to stop wearing the bracelet — even at the behest of drivers close to her — because of the young fan that handed it to her.

"You don’t have to keep wearing it."

"I want to."

However, nevertheless, seeing the bracelet with his initials and number around her wrist always spark the same unvoiced feeling in his stomach — the one that grew from what stirred in his chest then.

And, somehow, knowing that she intentionally left her prized OP81 fan-made merch behind almost feels like a concession. Like she’s leaving him behind.

That’s an irrational jump in reasoning. After all, they’re not even friends. He knows that — but, apparently, the rest of his body doesn’t. He can easily blame his heightened emotions and illogicality on the adrenaline that hasn’t completely left his body, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

For a reason he is yet to understand, he’s wholeheartedly convinced [first name] isn’t just letting the bracelet go. She’s letting him go, too. And that thought, however illogically sound, doesn’t sit well in his stomach.

He can’t accept the bracelet with the plausible implication it carries. He can’t accept her concession. He doesn’t want to— He doesn’t want her to give up on him.

(He understands nothing. They’re not even friends.)

Thus, like a man with no time to lose and everything in line, Oscar takes off running before he can even comprehend where his feet are taking him.

"[First name]," he calls in relief when he sees her exit the Williams motorhome the same moment he arrives. His voice comes out a little breathless, a little winded from the impromptu run he did around the paddock post-race. He doesn’t care.

"Oscar," she turns with his name on her lips. Her shock is only evident in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"To return your bracelet," he admits, "and to thank you for the congratulatory gift."

She makes a sound of acknowledgement as the shock filters out of her eyes. "You’re welcome. You can keep the bracelet."

Her words sting, like alcohol is poured over an open wound.

(Ridiculous. They’re not even friends.)

"I don’t want it." He says abruptly, instantly regretting the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. "I mean— the bracelet looks better on you."

"I don’t really like orange."

Oscar swallows down the instinct to correct. Protecting the McLaren papaya pride is the least of his worries at the moment. "It goes well with Williams blue—" there’s a hint of desperation in his voice now. He finds it difficult to swallow— "and Ferrari red."

[First name]’s silence stretches. He begins to wonder if she’s back into being a mere hallucination; if he didn’t actually catch her on time and she’s bound to disappear in front of him any second.

He unconsciously holds his breath, anticipatory and unblinking. Praying, almost.

(They’re not friends.)

Then, finally, the silence breaks with her laugh sounding like scoff. She walks towards him with amusement dancing almost unnoticeably in her features. "Okay."

Oscar exhales in relief. He slots the bracelet back around her wrist with a silent promise even he is yet know.

(They’re not friends.)

The season calendar ultimately reaches the Italian Grand Prix, as it does every year.

Oscar, for someone who had been looking forward to it before the new season even started, has forgotten about it as soon as the new season actually began. In his defense, his plate filled at an alarming rate, especially with McLaren’s steel determination to become this year’s World Constructors’ Champion as well. It doesn’t help that he’s already seeing his only reason every weekend, either.

Well, ‘only reason’ might be a little too vague. [First name] is certainly part of that reason, but a big part of it is the tradition they unknowingly made. At least, that’s what he’d like to think, anyway.

Even if it no longer rings true, especially since . . . then.

They’re much closer since, having erased the invisible line between acquaintanceship and friendship. They still do everything they used to do, but now they aren’t limited to just those. They occasionally take detours now. And sit together, when they happen to take a break at the same hour. They hide together, too, when they crave the quietness of being away from everyone else.

Yet, despite the undeniable spike in their time spent together, their tradition at Monza has never been brought up. Not even in reminiscence.

As such, any thoughts about their tradition only lied dormant until the day of. More specifically, when Oscar finally finds himself sitting idle in the McLaren motorhome with a view identical to where he had seen her appear for the last two years.

It’s a bit too late to phone her to drop by just for the unspoken tradition’s sake. So, alas, all he can do now is will the universe to bring her to the McLaren motorhome for any reason it can think of.

Oscar lets himself wallow. He figures it’s better for him to do it now, since his brain refuses to let him think of anything else. He can’t risk jeopardizing his team like that, in case his compartmentalizing ability decides to fail him later.

"What are you doing?" A familiar voice pulls him back to reality. He focuses back to comprehend [first name] standing just outside of his personal bubble, clad in her Räikkönen tifoso gear. He almost forgot how she looks in them, having gotten used to seeing her in Williams colors for the past several months.

He spots the OP81 bracelet resting on her wrist. Its black and papaya theme compliments her red and white tifoso outfit.

A small smile forms at the corners of his mouth. "Waiting for you."

She tilts her head slightly in confusion, but doesn’t question him. "Sure."

He decides not to alleviate her confusion. He just starts walking towards the door, completely trusting she’ll follow him out. He gestures for her to exit first. "Fernando should be in the Aston Martin garage at this hour."

She obliges. "I know." Unlike the previous year where she actively fought to not walk next to him, she doesn’t even bat an eye when he claims one of her sides as they make their way to the Aston Martin area. "I’ve always known after our first meeting, actually."

Oscar can’t quite believe his ears. "Seriously?" [First name] affirms. He suddenly begins to question their exchanges during his first two years in McLaren, skimming through vague memories for clues. "Then why—"

"I needed an excuse," she shrugs nonchalantly. Acting as if she isn’t singlehandedly rewriting the way he views their little tradition. "I had quite the crush on you."

At the bluntness worthy of a Räikkönen, Oscar stops working altogether.

ᯓ★ it’s a little awkward to have an note at the end bc of my tumblr formatting, but it’s important to me that you guys know that yn definitely got banned on purpose. it’s meant to loosely parallel kimi in that grill the grid ep where he lost on purpose so he could leave, heh.

ᯓ★ also! 5/6th way to finishing this, i realized this prolly would’ve been better if i showed yn’s pov— but that was a lil too late, so osc’s pov had to do. yn’s pov would’ve had more angst in it, too, && idk if y’all dig that. lol. in all seriousness, i hope y’all enjoyed somehow <3

[1-800-local-slut]

Space Girl

She's out of this world and in his bed! Meet SuperNova, a humanoid alien who loves everything Earth has to offer. And she loves Mark just as much

Mark Grayson x Black! Alien! Reader

Warning: reader and mark break up and get back together, mentions of smut, it's kind of a long one, but all that aside I hope you enjoy and consider sending requests, leaving comments and likes! <3

Note: you're from a planet called Aurelix, it's a peaceful planet but its people are warriors with a gentle temperament. All the people from this planet have glowing eyes, it can be hidden with contacts. It's basically Earth with way better technology and everyone has powers. Also, you can fly and create burst of energy, your powers are cosmic control due to a genetic experiment and yeah that's it, that's all! Eve and Mark don't have feelings for each other here, man stealing is never the move guys

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For as often as he does it, Mark sometimes felt shame for flying. He felt shame for soaring through the air on a regular basis even though it was part of his genetic makeup. Biologically, he should fly. Logically, he should fly with no guilt. He trained to fly, he likes flying. It's more natural to him than walking sometimes. Yet he can never forget why he can fly. Why his body gave him the strength to destroy lives just as easily as he can save them.

At the end of each day, Mark was a Viltrumite. From a race of brutes who use that same flight to take over worlds and murder anyone who objects. No matter how human he was, Mark would always have something evil inside him. A cancer that no amount of treatment could cure.

That shame keeps him human, as much as he wished he didn't feel it. Others from different planet's didn't get it. Full humans definitely wouldn't get it. And you? You didn't even come close to understanding. Not without trying though.

Mark could never forget when he first saw you. It was warm out, nice and airy with just the right amount of breeze flowing. The house next door received new occupants and settled in quickly it seemed. From his bedroom window, which faced your backyard, he saw you.

Flying in a game of tag with your mother and father, chasing each other with water guns. None of that mattered. The sun caught your skin, which seemed to glow under the light and your curly hair was tied into a gorgeous bundle of mini twist that was then wrapped into a ponytail. Pieces escaped on your face, the rest moved behind you with each turn and twist you made against the backdrop of the cotton candy clouds.

Mark wasn't exactly super-duper careful about who saw him flying but he also wasn't flying around in circles with his dad in the backyard. Anyone could've seen but you didn't care. Infact, you laughed as your mother sprayed you in the face with water and you sprayed her back in response. Flying around care free without an ounce of shame or fear for doing something so natural to you. And for a split second he felt a hint of jealousy. You probably weren't from a race of blood thirsty killers.

As your mother and father grew tired, they floated gently back to the ground, and you made your way to the Earth. But not before you glanced his way. Glowing green eyes glanced into his bedroom window, and you smiled curtly before you landed on your feet and skipped inside with your mother and father gleefully chatting about dinner.

That was the first time Mark saw the good in being an alien in a while. He saw the good in flying about carefree, in feeling no shame about being what he is.

The next time he saw you, it was ringing his front doorbell.

It was a relatively quiet day. Mark went for a run, came home, took a nap, even had time to take a shit. His mother called him to get the door from where she was in the house, then he made his way down the steps.

Opening the door, he saw you. You, floating just a bit off the ground with your car keys in hand. You didn't know him. How would you feel if you knew? Knew he was a Viltrumite, knew what atrocities his "people" had committed. Of course you knew, if you were from space. Had they destroyed your home, that's why you came to Earth? Had-

"Hi! Driveway-uh. Your car..." You searched for the next words, still clearly attempting to get a grasp on English. Glancing out behind you, he looked. His mom accidentally blocked you into the driveway.

"Your car is...blocking? Blocking. My car." Despite how you struggled to get the words out, you still beamed with pride at how you were able to get the words out.

"Oh...sorry." He smiled at you, your dark hair made you look like a cherub. No longer in twist but instead manipulated into curls that framed your face and highlighted your beauty. By Earth and space features you were no doubt beautiful.

Awkward silence settled in between you two and you stopped smiling. Tilting your head you floated closer to him and before he knew it your hand was on his shoulder.

"You are sad?" His first instinct was to lie. It was to say no but... What could be the harm in being honest anyways?

"...Just a bit." Looking down at the ground he shrugged and ran his hand over the back of his neck.

"Why?" What, was your planet just filled with nosy Nancy's? But something in his heart pulled. You were from space. You didn't understand the intricacies of humans keeping to themselves yet. And maybe he just needed a listening ear.

"My dad. He did-...he died."

"You lie?"

"What?"

Just then, a woman down the street called your name, followed by speech in a different language. Anyone else would assume it was just a different language from Earth, but Mark knew better. It was of an entirely different language from an entirely different planet. Turning your head, you looked back to your house.

"Goodbye! Oh," You pointed behind you at the driveway and held up your keys. Should you even be driving on Earth?

"Car." You emphasized, shaking at your keys.

"I'll move it." He responded, finishing the thought for you. You smiled, dipped your head like a nod and flew off back to your house.

'You lie?' Your voice replayed in his head. There was no malice, no judging. You just knew. He lied. Someone knew he lied. And as uneasy as it should've made him feel, instead little waves of relief overtook him.

Before long, your English had improved by heaps and bounds. You were fully integrated into human society it seemed, except for your same blunt forward communication but it did little to stop you. For someone so new to Earth, you got hang of a social life pretty easy. Once you started wearing the dark brown contacts gifted to you by your aunt (who Mark later learned had moved to Earth years earlier) and stopped fighting your parents about them every day they finally let you masquerade as a normal girl from Earth.

By your second week at school, you were all anyone talked about. Well, you and...you. More specifically the appearance of the new hero SuperNova. Who was quickly taking over as Chicago's favorite alien superhero.

'Did you see her boots?'

'I need SuperNova to drop her curl routine.'

'She's cute or whatever.'

Flooded the hallways. Unlike most gossip though you flooded his brain. He typically didn't mind gossip. His parents taught him well enough to mind the business that pays him, but you were stuck in his brain. It didn't help that you two were teamed up together so often. And it didn't help that you and Eve were superhero besties. Or that you lived next door to one another, or that your mom and his mom were fast growing friends.

You were a great friend too. You understood him, but part of him was...uncomfortable. You seemed to just know. Everything in his brain, the tight knot of fears and anxieties in his stomach, you were even able to see the weight on his heart. And it made him so uncomfortable that you were more in touch with his feelings than he was.

So, he took to avoiding having actual conversations with you. Maybe not on purpose, perhaps on purpose he isn't fully sure. He knew virtually nothing about you personally. Not your likes, dislikes, foods you avoid and music you loved. Because if he knew, you'd be in his heart too. Along with all those icky feelings that cover him like a wet blanket you would be trapped in his heart. Those types of conversations could only lead to a deeper connection. A deeper friendship and some days Mark knew himself he would need more than that. It wasn't helpful that you were always stuck in his head, he didn't need you in his heart and soul too.

But you knew. Because you always knew. And your people do not believe in hiding feelings.

"Mark?" It was night, you two were flying home after a disturbance downtown.

"Hm?"

"You are scared that if we become closer friends, your true feelings will overtake you. You do not want to let anyone in because of the inherit shame you feel for who you are from and what you are. You are scared because you cannot hide from me. We do not have to be friends if I make you uncomfortable." With such flippancy you read him. Like it didn't matter, like you didn't unravel him with the efficiency of a well-trained therapist.

He literally felt sick. His palms began to sweat under his costume, and chills ran through his entire body. His stomach grumbled and felt like he swallowed a block of ice that was just sitting in his gut. His nervous system didn't know the difference between dealing with his emotions or being held at gunpoint. You kept flying home until you noticed he stopped behind you.

You stopped and slowly floated back to him. Eyes glowing, empty of hurt or malice but there was an underlying kindness. He had rejected you. He rejected getting to know you the way everyone else had, he rejected your friendship because he was afraid. But your eyes were like a door left open. You hadn't shut that door. It was still open for him; all he had to do was open it the rest of the way.

What, did you think you were saving him? That he was helplessly drowning in his own unnecessary shame that he's refusing to deal with while battling his growing crush on you? That he needed saving? Who did you think you were?

"You are fighting yourself. I bear no intention of 'bettering' you. I am saying what I have observed."

...Fuck, could you just get out of his head for two seconds so he could think? You totally didn't just provide him clarity. Definitely not. So why was he flying in the air completely stiff without saying a word?

"I'm hungry. I'm going to go home and eat. We do not have to be friends Mark. The choice is yours. If you are not comfortable with your feelings, then it must be frustrating for someone to try and help you understand before you are ready." You said, patting him lightly on the shoulder before flying away.

Leaving him alone to float over the city while he tried to shove his stupid feelings back down his throat. He wanted to throw them up. To scream out his frustrations and fears and regrets, and how he thinks you're really nice and smart and fun. But he couldn't. And he still couldn't stop thinking about you either.

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How he found himself at your bedroom window he doesn't know. He was in bed one moment, sneaking a glass of wine the next, then floating outside your window watching you slide open the glass and sit on the roof.

Then he was sitting next you on the roof. You were in pajamas, a matching bonnet corresponded with your fluffy robe and was the same color as your pajamas and bed slippers. He sat with you, knees pulled to his chest. The wind ghosted over his exposed feet. Somehow, he felt as if his heart was about to be as naked as his feet considering he didn't put on socks before he flew out of his window like a man possessed.

When would Mark Grayson ever hide from a girl he liked? Not that he only saw you as that. But here you were, kind and accepting. And he was fighting that and holding some fucked up resentment for you in his heart just a bit because he couldn't open up to someone. Not again.

Two aliens sat on the roof of a suburban home on Earth, looking up at the void of space. You were probably looking towards your home planet. Mark was looking for the courage to be honest. Because this wasn't just about you. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed to open up to someone. Holding everything in was raising his blood pressure.

You didn't push him to speak. You were just happy he was there, you would've been happy without him. Why did it ease him just a bit to know that you could go on without him? Why was it so nice to not feel like someone is leaning on you with everything they have? More silence until Mark found the courage in one shiny star.

"My dad was actually on Earth in order to conquer it for the Viltrum empire. My entire life I thought Viltrumites were good. But the more I learn, the more I hear about the crimes. The planets they've fucked up, the lives they've destroyed. My dad never even cared about my mom. Since he left it's been up to me to defend Earth. I'm trying to balance everything, and I'm all Earth has left against Viltrum. He destroyed Chicago using my face, and he murdered the Guardians of the Globe, he lied for 20+ years to the entire planet, he tried to get me to join him and I'm just scared that Earth will see me as an extension of him but I'm human and I'm not like him at all I promise, Earth is my home and I just want to keep people safe and I'm not like the other Viltrumites-"

Soft hands covered his. While he talked, he began to spiral and didn't even realize how quickly he was drowning in his own thoughts. Didn't even realize that he was rambling so fast that he hadn't been speaking in sentences but just one long chain of thoughts. You interrupted the long rambling and saved him from sinking down into a dark place in his mind.

"I know."

"What?"

"My planet is not on your peoples list of planets to conquer. It is not possible Mark. We are not scared of Viltrum, we have never hidden or cowered before Viltrum. Our people are long standing enemies by Viltrum's choosing. You do not have to worry about me judging you for what you are. You do not have to explain you are different. I know you are different. If it will ease you, you can continue. But I want to know Mark. Not who you are not."

You did it again. You just swept him clean off his feet also basically just told him Viltrumites weren't shit to you. As if they were so insignificant to your people that Mark being one didn't even matter. Then again there always was a bigger fish.

"How come you aren't ashamed?" It was a genuine question. Mark carries the shame of being a Viltrumite every day that he prefers to keep it to himself. Leaning back on your arms you let out a chuckle and Mark buried his face in his arms that still rested on his knees.

"I have nothing to feel shame for. No matter my race, no matter how people view my species, I am me. I can't change that. I am who I am, I came from where I come from. I know me. And there is beauty in what I am."

A man and woman walked past kissing and giggling while a little girl hopped in front of them playing imaginary hopscotch, and a dog yipped excitedly between them.

You peered over the edge and motioned for Mark to come with you. Together two aliens watched three humans, and a dog partake in what to them was a small unimportant moment, but that little girl may remember this until she dies. In a thousand years would Mark even remember this conversation?

"Humans have such beautiful but short lives. And to them it isn't short, but to us it is. But we are all the same. I like TV, humans like TV. I like living, they like living. I make the most of my life, they make the most of theirs. Do they have time to spend worrying about what those before them of done? Or do they instead live for each day, focusing on what they can do with themselves now? Or do they focus on what they can do with their future knowing they cannot change the past?" Who told you to be so smart.

"A lot of us worry about the past."

"And if that is how you chose to live your lives then that is beautiful! But you do not have to let what other Viltrumites have done define you. You cannot change the past. But you can take steps to better your future. You can take steps to better your people. Or instead, better yourself but you are Mark. You are an...," You search for the word, eyes glancing up to the sky while you searched your brain

"individual! You are an individual and can make whatever choice you want. You can be the Viltrumite who changes things, or you can just be you. But you will be Mark for the next thousands of years you will be living. You do not want to carry shame for something you cannot change." It was like you just flipped on a light switch in his brain. Mark was ashamed over something he could not change. It would take time to go away but still. It can go away. That ugly feeling in his heart was finally able to go away and stop haunting him.

You pulled a blanket out from your bedroom window and tossed it over the two of you after a brush of wind ghosted you two. His feet no longer cold, and you covered his heart and eased his mind like the blanket.

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Having an alien girlfriend was a bit difficult. Mark has been attempting to adjust being open about his feelings, while he taught you the value of allowing him and others the luxury of not needing to talk through every feeling that comes through their heads.

After a few months though, something switched. And while Mark Grayson was flawed, he did know how to be a good boyfriend. But you had made things so easy by making it very clear how you felt at all times.

He knew when you were happy, when you were sad, angry, hungry, horny. You usually just told him. But today you flew into Guardians HQ with a proverbial cloud hovering over you and plopped down beside him with an uncharacteristic scowl. Your eyes were glowing so bright from whatever ailed you that it was like a spotlight beaming from your head, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Where you hungry? Tired? A headache? Were you perhaps coming down with something? Could you even get sick? Could he even get sick?

When five minutes passed without you even uttering a word to him, instead just scrolling on your phone and quickly sliding past certain post that seemed to increase your foul mood he realized it was probably best to ask.

"Baby?"

"Hm."

Ouch. Had you ever once scowled at him so hard? You've growled at him before; you've even bit him once on your cycle (or your version of it) but you've never made such a face at him. His pride was happy it was just the two of you in HQ after you both returned from separate missions.

You turned away from him on the couch you were seated on and hugged your knees closer to your chest.

"Are you mad at me?" Slowly he put a hand on your balled up form only for it to be shrugged off. You were so pissed you didn't even want him touching you.

More silence. He heard you shuffle then you straightened out and floated off of the couch. His eyes followed you upwards towards the sky. Hands on your hips, your eyes glowing down at him with tears brimming in your eyes.

"Why did you not tell me you wanted to break up?"

"...I don't want to break up!" The moment it sunk in Mark was floating in the air infront of you. You refused to meet his gaze, arms crossed and turning away from him. You went backwards in an attempt to create distance and Mark found himself floating forwards in an attempt to lessen the distance between you two.

"What's going on? Baby?" His nervous system couldn't tell the difference between you saying that and being shot. The air felt cold and heavy and the nerves in his stomach made him have to shit. You were still refusing to look at him as his hands searched for you while you dodged.

"You do not care about me. You do not care about us."

"Of course I care about you. Of course I care about us!"

"You have a very amusing way of showing it." You shoved him back, as if you just noticed how close he had gotten to you despite your avoidance. A streak of light remained as you flew out of one of the open windows. Dammit, why did they always leave windows open for their flying heroes? Although it was helpful Mark, didn't need it when his girlfriend was talking about breaking up with him and using those open windows to escape him.

By the time he flew out of the window to see if he could convince you to talk about this, you were long gone. The telltale streak of color the remains when you fly was even gone from the sky.

By the time he got home, and talked to his mom it was well past dinner time. Usually, you'd be heading home to eat with your family like you always do on a weeknight. Or you'd be flying home together like you often do late at night because that's when evil seems to emerge. Instead, there was no you.

You weren't cuddled beside him; you weren't conversing with him about the first season of Seance Dog that he was trying not to spoil for you, you two weren't holding hands in a comfortable silence, you weren't there for him to playfully tease or for him to excitedly ramble at.

Once again, he found himself at your window. Well actually your front door. Your window was locked, curtains drawn. A message, telling him to piss off, a saying you enjoyed since you learned it. He thinks your love of swearing is adorable, no matter how many times you say 'motherfucker' in a day. But he couldn't just let you think he didn't care. If he didn't care, he'd be at home fast asleep.

He settled for the old fashioned way. He rang your doorbell and waited with baited breath for someone to open the door. Instead, your mother opened the door and stood towering over Mark. Her eyes glowed nowhere near as intense as yours did hours ago. The glowing eyeballs raked him over, as distaste settled over her features.

"Goodnight, I'm sorry to bother you so late but is-"

"My child does not cry easily."

"Uh, excuse me?"

"My child, was the top warrior in her school. She is ranked across the planet for her skills, she could've become the next leader of our entire planet. She is smart. She is kind, she makes good choices. Most of all she is strong. We left our home planet, she had to start the journey to living amongst humans against her will. Not once did she break. She does not cry easily."

Silence as her eyes began to glow a more intense color.

"You made my child cry." Then the door shut. But for a moment, he saw you. Laying on the couch, your father patted your hooded head. Covered in Mark's hoodie that he gifted you and you hugged yourself close.

He stood there on your porch; through the door he heard your parents comforting you in your own language and he recognized the few words you taught him.

'Mama, what do I do?'

Fuck, what did he even do?

He never realized how much he would miss your honesty. Mark knew it was something he loved about you, but sometimes it could be a bit difficult. You were always in his head. You just always knew and after months of dating, he was still a bit freaked out. You knew him better than he knew himself.

After a year-

The porch was dark, Mark had been in the dark all day about what had you so enraged with him. But finally the light turned on in his brain and he never felt so stupid. A wind blew over him, like the truth that revealed itself to him.

Today had been a year since you two had gotten together. Lifting off, he made his way to his own roof and planted his bottom firmly on the spot he so often sat on. And he thought back over the year.

You helped him sort himself out for a year. You planned your six month anniversary. You planned his birthday party. You reminded him when Valentine's Day was approaching. You helped him plan a birthday party for his mother. You made him dinner the best you could when you got the hang of Earth cooking. You saved him from countless battles, you encouraged him to keep his head up. Even after a devastating loss, you encouraged him to keep his head up. He couldn't remember one day.

You even told him it would be nice if he planned something for once. And he couldn't remember one day.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

His mom tore him a new one, but it was nothing compared to you. You became more like an Earth girl with each passing day, evident by how you'd been giving him the cold shoulder for four days now. Even gossip articles picked up on it.

'Invincible and SuperNova split?'

'SuperNova snubs Invincible after battle!'

Instagram was clowning him. Evident by the comments William was reading out loud to him as they sat in the car with Amber and Eve during lunch. Also, the meme going around of him edited as Art the Clown. They dubbed him 'Invinciclown"

"Oh man this ones funny, 'bro fumbled a baddie', 'SUPERNOVA ONE CHANCE PLEASE!!!', 'Omniman knocked the game out bro', 'The fumble needs to be studied'. Lesbians have also never been happier since you're out of the picture."

"Honestly the entire LGBT community has been praying for your breakup." Amber chimed from the back, scrolling through edits on her phone.

"Look at this."

"NO WAY SOMEONE MADE A BREAKUP EDIT!" Eve yelled, hands dramatically on her head. The internet decided it was over already.

"We aren't broken up. I'm not out of any picture." Mark sulked, head pressed against the glass.

"What's it like being emo and delusional?" Eve snickered, leaning back.

"That's not hot Mark." William added, making dramatic gestures with his hands.

"You're not Paris Hilton. And we aren't broken up. She's mad at me."

"Okay but why is she mad at you? She's been ducking you for almost a week now. She doesn't even duck fades and she's avoiding you." Always sympathetic Eve brought reason back to the car.

"...I forgot our one year anniversary."

....

"The fumble really does need to be studied."

"One year...yeah man she needs to break up with you, that's ghetto as hell."

"I tried saying sorry, but she doesn't want to talk to me! She fought a Kaiju and Doc Seismic on her own before she chose to speak to me. She almost got eaten and literally chose to handle that before talking to me."

"Well, she's tired of spelling everything out for you. What have you actually planned for her that's important? Answer quickly." Amber responded. When was her foot not on Mark's neck?

He couldn't even answer slowly because you typically spell everything out for him.

"Okay but what do I do?"

"Give up?" Eve suggested.

"Accept defeat?" William offered.

"Die because of how bad you dropped the bag?" Amber added her advice.

"Guys I love this girl; can we be serious?" The words came from the depths of his heart. Then silence filled the car again.

"YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HER?"

He was in love with you. He was in love with you and was sitting in a car with his friends while you, the woman he loves, was somewhere. You weren't with him at lunch because he pissed you off so bad you didn't even want to try and communicate.

"I gotta go."

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"Why are you in my bedroom?" You asked, rolling over in your bed and eyeing the man sitting on your bed.

"You haven't been talking to me." Mark figured out pretty quickly where you were when you didn't return back to school. He spent the rest of lunch looking all over the city for you, saw you didn't show up to your trigonometry class and figured you just blew off the rest of the school day. So, he did the only thing his crazy and stupid heart could think of. Because Mark is crazy over you. Even though it took disgustingly long for him to lock in and act like it.

You pulled your covers back up to your chest and rolled back onto your side.

"I do not need to talk to you. You are my ex boyfriend. I do not need to be friends with my ex boyfriend." Did you just stab him and twist the knife? But he had to push on. Because this was not about him. This wasn't about making him feel better, it was time Mark showed you how much he cared.

It was time to be brave, but this was scarier than any battle he'd ever been in.

"...I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary."

"I am sorry that you think that means anything to me four days later."

Okay you were not having it with him.

"You don't want to be with me anymore?"

You tossed the blanket over and sat up. You looked at him and the back of his brain wondered how long you'd been home. You were in a fitted tank top, pajama pants, makeup gone, contacts removed, and your hair gently placed under your bonnet.

"I want to be with someone who cares for me. You do not want to be with me. You have shown me that you do not care for me the way I care for you. I have my struggles. I have my burdens. I have carried your burdens and mine for the past year. I do not put these on you. I ask that you take care of me the way I attempt to take care of you. I asked one thing of you Mark Grayson. You did not do the one thing I asked of you, Mark Grayson." Then you flopped back down on the sheets as if holding eye contact with him was killing you. He cracked, eyes watering and voice cracking.

"I'm sorry. I am sorry baby, I am. I know you needed someone, and I am that someone for you. I didn't mean to let you down. I was so used to you knowing everything already that I forgot that everyone needs someone. And I need you, I can't live without you." He drew closer to you. Mark was absolutely begging. Because you taught him better than to hide his feelings and hiding them right now would only make things worse.

"Things shouldn't come to this extreme for me to realize that and I'm sorry. I...I love you." And with that you shot straight up in the bed. You were staring at him with curious eyes.

"You...love me?"

Mark swallowed thickly, and he blinked away tears. He took his hands in yours, ignoring the way you raised your eyebrow. You didn't yank your hands away, a good sign?

"I love you. I love you. Not just what you do for me, not just how you look. I love you." He breathed. Your eyes filled with tears, and Mark brung his forehead to yours. His heartbeat slowed; the world stopped spinning for a moment. Your heartbeat matched his.

"It is against my customs to forgive you. On my planet, I would be expected to leave you and never look back. You have made a grave error, you have failed to value you me the way I should’ve been all along.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes trained on his hands holding yours.

"But I am not on my planet. And you are sorry. I see your heart, you intend to improve. And I love you. So, against everything I know, I forgive you Mark." It came out in a whisper.

"You forgive me?" His voice was hoarse, from the crying and disbelief.

"I forgive you." Eyes finally met and he saw tears running down your cheeks.

"You love me?" Your lips drew closer to his and he found his knees weakening.

"I love you."

[theempressofthenile]

Astro thoughts : short n sweet <3 Jupiters Moment

Jupiter in the 1st - Beneficial factors play a lot with this group. However they have to work harder to get it. It is because their life is based of their beliefs, they have to work to maintain a certain mindset to keep the luck from straying away. Have beautiful spirits and are capable of anything, that is because they chose to walk that path & not by how easy it looks.

Jupiter in the 2nd - Needs peace & stability at all times. Good looking. Money making abilities are stagnant until they learn to grow with their consciousness. Not everything is what it seems, so try to be on the look out for something new and different. Thats when the luck begins. Take a risk, and use your intellect to get what you need.

Jupiter in the 3rd - Needs a lot more quiet time, hermit mode. Have gifts in astrology here. Some may op for a new path every few months or so. It's because their destined to know a lot in this life and go after anything that interests them at the moment. Could be open to trying new relationship tactics and going with the flow much easier. Have a different perspective than most & they dont keep quiet about it for long. Mature presence. Very odd but likeable at the same time.

Jupiter in the 4th - Royal family. Heritage & traditional values are stored in this vessel. Mysteries and traditional secrets from the family bloodline may come out at some time. This is a very special house placement because its so much to explore in a short time.

Have faith in your lineage, you're the one who breaks the code!

Jupiter in the 5th - Creativity flows through these cats like no other. Very special essence and can be well liked by almost anybody. This comes from their talents btw. If you're good at drawing, singing, dancing, acting, etc. You might catch a lot of attention on you at some point. This placement gives me Johnny Bravo energy. like you're capable of getting the girls to like you with just your looks and personality. Just dont get to happy, no body likes a super boastful guy ;)

Jupiter in the 6th - Unique flow when going after what they love. They work the hardest when its something they know is divinely ordered for them to achieve. They don't mean any harm, their just trying to get their needs met. Super optimistic when live seems to be in order and balanced. But when off balanced, it seems as if a fire has striking them and they become the great dragon. Don't stare at them to hard, they'll begin to overthink a lil.

Jupiter in the 7th - My my my, this is what I call a royal placement. Because this gifts an individual with a great sex life. Could be unattainable to say the least. You're not everyone's 'favorite' but your presence is also something that people want to receive. How that work? You have a value to you that keeps you at bay from onlookers that don't have nothing to give, but something to take. Be more weary with the company you keep, you don't know how good you got it, and how special you are.

Jupiter in the 8th - Very deep, raw personas who are captivated by the knowledge they receive in the dream realm. They have a lot of issues very psychologically, and this gets deeper with the maturing of their path. They have a light & dark persona but its given to sustain balance in this life & the after life. They have integrity and morals and most times it is based of tradition. Other times, their really a rebel, and go after everything they came for. Because what's a life to live when you can't live it freely?

Jupiter in the 9th - Free spirits and ultra loving character. Can be a bit of a know it all but thats fine. This house is their rightful home, so a lot of good energy can be bestowed on them from time to time. Great luck. Adventure is something they should seek from all ages of their life. It is good to have someone around when going on many great journeys of the soul. These people could be a friend you never forget.

Jupiter in the 10th - Likeable nature. Their personalities fit that of the audience they are naturally connected to. Very bountiful energy. Could look like they got it all going on, but deep inside you may not know the true darkness they carry. This is a capricorn ruled house, so they tend to battle some challenges here and there. But with great restraint & an amazing mindset to go with it they come back on top, each and every time.

Jupiter in the 11th - Sweet personas and balanced personalities. They could be in a lot of groups and can know a lot of people with just their smile and cool personality. They could end up being in groups where they are teaching something to a large mass of people. Could be very inspiring and open to anyone they meet.

Jupiter in the 12th - They feel things a lot heavier than most would like to believe. They see the world differently than their peers and this could make them the odd ball at times. Their personalities mesh well with artistic individuals because they've mastered the eye of sight. Meaning that their good at understanding things from a point of view only them and God could understand, but that doesn't mean that it can be explained. In other words, they are extremely complex to the human brain, not an individual you can describe. Very spiritual, very contagious energy. Bright speakers and just super angelic.

[reasonsforhope]

Paywall-Free Version

"Massachusetts’ so-called “millionaires tax” appears primed to actually deliver billions.

State officials said Monday that the voter-approved surtax on high earners has generated more than $1.8 billion in revenue this fiscal year... meaning state officials could have hundreds of millions of surplus dollars to spend on transportation and education initiatives.

The estimated haul is already $800 million more than what Governor Maura Healey and state lawmakers planned to spend from its revenue in fiscal year 2024, the first full year of its implementation. Most of the additional money raised beyond the $1 billion already budgeted would flow to a reserve account, from which state policymakers can pluck money for one-time investments into projects or programs.

The Department of Revenue won’t certify the official amount raised until later this year. But the estimates immediately buoyed supporters’ claims that the surtax would deliver much-needed revenue for the state despite fears it could drive out some of the state’s wealthiest residents.

“Opponents of the Fair Share Amendment claimed that multi-millionaires would flee Massachusetts rather than pay the new tax, and they are being proven wrong every day,” said Andrew Farnitano, a spokesperson for Raise Up Massachusetts, the union-backed group which pushed the 2022 ballot initiative.

"With this money from the ultra-rich, we can do even more to improve our public schools and colleges, invest in roads, bridges, and public transit, and start building an economy that works for everyone,” Farnitano said.

Voters approved the measure in 2022 to levy an additional 4 percent tax on annual earnings over $1 million. At the time, the Massachusetts Budget and Policy Center, a left-leaning think tank, projected it could generate at least $2 billion a year.

State officials last year put their estimates slightly lower at up to $1.7 billion, and lawmakers embraced calls from economists to cap what it initially spends from the surtax, given it may be too volatile to rely upon in its first year.

So far, it’s vastly exceeded those expectations, generating nearly $1.4 billion alone last quarter [aka January to March, 2024 - just three months!], which coincided with a better-than-expected April for tax collections overall...

State Senator Michael Rodrigues, the state’s budget chief, said on the Senate floor Monday that excess revenue from the tax could ultimately come close to $1 billion for this fiscal year. Under language lawmakers passed last year, 85 percent of any “excess” revenue is transferred to an account reserved for one-time projects or spending, such as road maintenance, school building projects, or major public transportation work.

“We will not have any problems identifying those,” Rodrigues said. “As we all know, [transportation and education] are two areas of immense need.”"

-via Boston Globe, May 20, 2024

[ce1estiall]

alcohol-free

summary paige x fem!reader your friend kyra organizes a beach party for surviving finals. you bump into uconn’s basketball star as you admire the beaches view. series masterlist. | masterlist.

warnings fluff, weird guy tries to hit on reader

celestial notes ahhh i hope you guys enjoy chapter 1 of taste of love!! i have to go study now, but i really enjoyed writing this!

“i am alcohol-free, but i get drunk

though i didn’t drink at all

it happens every time i’m with you, because of the way you look at me.” alcohol-free - twice

summer had finally arrived in connecticut. the sun hitting your skin as there were no clouds in the orange sunset. the air was still hot outside, despite it being 9pm. the beach waves crashed on the shore, as the clear waters shimmered from the sun reflection. sand was in your toes, as you were having the time of your life.

you and your friends organized a beach party to celebrate finishing finals. yes, it was well deserved. those finals felt like it was an attempt to kill you. it was kind of like a staycation, enjoying yourself locally.

your friend, kyra, had the idea to have a beach bar during the planning. “it would fit the vibe, c’mon! they have a stand on the beach, we just have to bring the drinks.” she said excitedly. kyra was a type a person. always on time, organized, as her life was basically lived in a planner.

you sighed, attempting to not ruin her mood. “i don’t know, i don’t drink really, its a rare occasion that i do.”

she rolled her eyes in protest. “girl, you know other people drink. i’m not gonna opt out on this just because you’re not gonna have it. you know they also make non-alcoholic drinks, right?”

you gave her idea a thought. “ugh, fine i guess. but we’re only inviting our friend group, right?” you groaned. you were expecting just a small little party with you and your 10 friends, but that was way far off.

“yes, of course. i don’t want a lot of people there anyway. plus, you’ll have something to look forward to this summer!” kyra said with a smile, trying to cheer you up.

something to look forward to.

when you arrived at the beach and got out of your car, you observed the scene. it was crowded, but not too crowded. maybe it was just other people enjoying themselves, right?

you ran down the hill as your wavy hair was flowing in the same direction as the wind, showing off your gold highlights in the sun. a white and blue bikini top with a blue hawaiian flower in your hair, a perfect beach outfit for the start of summer. when you got to the shore, your smile faded. everyone was at the “small party”, sororities, fraternities, and sports teams. someone spread the word throughout town.

you walked up to kyra and your other friend, tonya, as they were at the bar. fairy lights were hung all around, chairs that sat towards the view of the sun setting as a fruity and alcoholic scent filled your nose. kyra turned around and sent a smile your way, as they were laughing while holding some margaritas and glasses of champagne. “hey girl!” she said, giving you a hug.

you smiled, “hey guys!” you observed the scene in awe. nothing could be better as the view. “whoever set this up did amazing.”

tonya was talking to someone else, someone who you didn’t know. she laughed then turned around to talk to you. “i know right!”

you lowered your voice, only loud enough for them to hear. “not to be rude or kill the vibe, but why is there so many people here? i thought this was only just for our group?”

tonya was clearly drunk, as she started to slur her words and laugh at everything. you saw the empty glasses infront of her and pieced the pieces together. “oh, yeah, i invited some people. hope you guys are okay with it.”

you took a deep breath, calming yourself. you were looking forward to this all month and didn’t want to ruin it in 5 minutes. “yeah, thats fine, whatever.”

you looked at the bartender. “can i just get a mimosa with no alcohol?” he nodded. you didn’t trust yourself with alcohol, and really only drank it when you REALLY deserved it. even though it was tempting, you fought that battle with yourself. you observed the crowd of people, identifying the women’s and men’s basketball team, laughing, goofing off, and dancing the night away as if they were kids again. speakers blasting with music that almost made you go deaf because of the volume.

the bartender handed you your mimosa. you tapped kyra’s shoulder. “i’m gonna go sit down near the water.” kyra nodded as you walked down just above the water. towels were scattered all over for anyone who wanted to sit on the sand. you sat down, leaning back a little as your left hand touched the sand and your right hand held your drink.

the sky started to fade into pinks and yellows, as the suns ray reflected in the ocean. the birds were chirping, flying into the sky. the sound of the water could make you fall asleep. you smiled as serotonin was flowing in your veins.

the beach was always your comfort place. no matter what was going on with your life, you would drive to the beach and be in the present. it was like all your fears and worries drifted away. you would walk into the waters, only your legs and feet exposed into the sea and scream, cry, laugh, yell. anything to get whatever it was off your chest

you admired the view as if it were art, when all of a sudden you hear footsteps plopping in the sand behind you. “mind if i sit here?”

you turned your head around to see who the person was. a tall, blonde, blue eyed girl inches behind you. you knew who it was.

paige bueckers, uconn’s superstar at the basketball capital of the world. her charisma and character is what made others so attractive to her, because of the way she acts both on and off the court.

you froze, “yeah.” scooting away to make room for her. paige gave a small, faint smile. her hair was down, wearing a blue floral, short sleeve button up with white shorts.

you broke the silence. “let me guess, tonya invited you?” you starred at her blue eyes, which seemed like they would cast a spell on you.

“bingo.” she smiled, very subtle, but noticeable for you to see. you placed your drink down beside you. “didn’t think you’d be here. thought you would probably putting some shots up.”

she chuckled. “you got jokes i see.” she pointed to the bar where her friends kk, ice, and jana were sitting, laughing and joking. “i would’ve preferred that, but my friends convinced me to come.”

“your friends did a nice job though, i’m not complaining.” paige said, looking at the waves which resembled her eyes.

“see, i didn’t know they were inviting the whole campus here. but i’m glad you’re having fun. my friends kyra mostly planned it. she’s the one with the messy bun.” you shouted kyra’s name, as she waved over to the both of you.

“what drink did you get?” paige asked, her eyes pointing to your glass.

you took a sip from your glass while looking at her. “mimosa, no alcohol.”

she groaned. “such no fun. who goes to a party and doesn’t drink?”

you fired back. “who goes to a party and expects to not have a good time? and i at least know what self control is, paige”

she smirked. “touché.” paige slowly got up from the sand. “i’m gonna order something, come.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, immediately following her like a stray dog. once you both were leaning at the counter of the bar, paige’s hands slowly grazed your waist for a split second. your body sparked, her touch leaving your waist in tingles. “one dirty shirley please.” she looked down at you, her elbow resting of your shoulder. “want anything?”

“i’m okay, thank you though.” you sat down at the bar, turning to admire the view once again. paige sat down next to you as she received her drink.

you spoke in awe, “god, you can’t deny that view.”

she took a sip of her dirty shirley. “i love the view in front of me right now.” you turned around looking at her to process what she just said. “did you just try hitting on me?”

she smirked, placing her drink down and resting her head on her hand. “interpret it as you want.” paige sent a wink towards you, which led you blushing in response. “you’re so corny, at least practice some good pickup lines before you go to a function.”

as you both were chatting it up, a random guy stumbles in front of you. he was drunk, he wasn’t even on earth anymore. he whistled while checking you out. “damn mama, you lookin’ like you needin’ someone.”

you threw back a disgusted look, then ignored the disturbance and went back to talking to paige, hoping it would go away. unfortunately, it didn’t. the guy kept laughing, “don’t shy away from me now. c’mon let me take you home, get to know you.” he touched your hand that was resting on the counter.

paige looked at the guy up and down, then grabbing your hand from the counter. “look, i don’t wanna cause any trouble but keep doing this shit and i promise you, it’s not gonna be pretty. don’t fucking touch her.” she wrapped her arm around you neck and shoulders. “she’s got a girlfriend, which is sitting right next to her.”

he started laughing, turning back to his friends. “man… you’re not gonna anything. you really think you the shit huh?”

paige got up from her seat, tucking in her chair as she slowly approached the group of guys. “does it look like i’m joking?”

the way their smile faded on their faces was priceless. they backed up and eventually walked away. paige told them to “fuck off” once they left, then looking back at you. “are you okay?” she asked with concern.

you were stunned from what just happened. “yeah, i’m okay. thank you for that, really. god knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

paige touched your shoulder, attempting to calm you down. “you need me to drive you to your place?”

“no, i’m okay. can you just walk me to my car?”

you both walked up the hill, towards the parking lot looking for your white mercedes. paige frequently looked around to see if there was anything or anyone suspicious coming towards you both. she was like your security guard, making sure to protect you and keep you safe.

once you go to your car, you grabbed your keys and unlocked the car. paige opened the drivers seat for you. before you sat inside, she stopped you in your tracks. “sorry about those assholes. if you want maybe we can go out another time? without someone bothering you.”

you smiled, cheeks becoming rosy. “yeah, i’d love that.” paige handed you her phone, allowing you to enter your contact information. “thank you really. i’ll see you around paige, hopefully not at a court.”

she gave a faint laugh. “see you.” you closed your car door as she walked back, you sighed and leaned your chair back attempting to remember what just happened. the way paige handled the situation, saying she was your girlfriend, almost fighting for you, for your protection and safety. the way she looked at you afterwards, made it feel like you were drunk from her daze, even though you didn’t drink anything at all.

[otto-s-alskling]

Bars and bathroom breaks

Simon Riley X Reader (It's a smut, deal with it)

TW: Mentions of alcohol, praise kink (if you squint), breeding kink, did I say alcohol?, semi public sex, a lot of drunk Simon talking

Another mission success. It was to be expected that on missions that went as hard as this one gets its reward, namely by getting as wasted as the team could. Soap managed to wrangle them all into a new pub that's filled with probably the biggest shelf of alcohol that Ghost have seen in a local place, and surprisingly, a band stage, DJ station, and a dance floor in the other half, swarming with locals and tourists alike, much to Gaz's delight. Price chuckled as he surveyed the scene before looking at the four.

"Alright, you know the rules. Don't subtract from the population, don't add to the population, don't get us kicked out, don't get us into jail. If you get arrested, you're on your own, I ain't posting bail." The captain reminded them just before losing sight of Soap who most likely went straight for the bar.

Gaz shrugged before smiling, "I'll go help with the drinks, the usuals for now."

Ghost begrudgingly nodded before grasping your arm, following Price who found a free booth, luckily.

"Big place, am I right?" Price commented as he sat down, which earned an eye roll from behind Ghost's medical face mask.

"Too crowded for me." He muttered and placed his hand on your knee, as if he'd lose you in the crowd despite you just staying in your seat.

The older Brit shook his head, chuckling, just as the other two members returned with a tray of drinks and to Ghost's horror, Soap with a tray of probably at least three rounds of shots for everyone. God have mercy.

•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•

Alcohol flowed and alcohol went. The team lost count of how much they had and had Soap charming a random brunette in a corner, Gaz talking to a few ladies in a different booth, Price on guard duty on the table and surprisingly, you and Ghost on the dance floor.

The music was mellow, definitely meant for couples, but the intoxicated Brit didn't care, just swaying against you slowly, humming along with the melody.

"... Hm, you're quiet." He whispered against your ear, earning a soft huff.

"Just didn't expect you to be a dancer." Your voice whispered back as his hands tightened around your waist.

"It's just a bit of swaying, innit? Can't be that hard of a lad to do." His accent was more punctuated, more pronounced in the last hour that everyone had been getting wasted on. "Reckon you deserve one for surviving out there."

"Just a dance, huh?" You joked and he chuckled before pressing his mask against your ear, almost as if he's... Kissing your earlobe.

"Maybe a bit more than a dance." He huskily whispered. That got your attention as you looked up, seeing him scanning the surroundings and if the others are thoroughly... Distracted. Before you can utter another word, he grabbed your hand, tugging you down the hall to the bathrooms and immediately entered the gender neutral one, locking it behind him.

"Lieutenan-" Your words were halted by his gloves on your mouth as he pulled his mask down before shushing you with a torrid kiss.

You felt his stubble against your chin, his hands landing on the back of your head and one on your hip as he wrapped his arm around you. His tongue was insistent, pressing against your lips before sliding in, finding yours and twirling around it, the taste of alcohol on his tongue and breath almost as intoxicating as a brand new shot.

It was so mind numbing that you didn't notice the hand on your head guiding yours to wrap around his neck, then sliding down to your ass, touching the soft flesh and hoisting you up the countertop. He pulled away, panting before latching his lips on your jaw and neck, fingers gently tracing on your jeans and flicking your pants' button open, zipper finally jolting you to focus as he opened it.

"Shhh ... Don't make a sound, don't want us getting caught now, yeah?" He gruffly murmured as he pawed at you, as if the alcohol in his mind had unleashed the tension that had been brewing between the two of you for weeks. He took no time before pulling you off the countertop, making you face the mirror, seeing your face as red as a tomato, making him chuckle as he licked your ear. "All red for me... Let's see if you can hold back from screaming." He amusedly added as he finally pushed your pants and underwear down, followed by his belt buckle clicking off.

"Eyes on the mirror, love. I wanna see this." He murmured as he held on your jaw while his other hand guided his cock close to your heat, running the tip up and down your hole, teasing but not yet entering. Bastard. He smirked as he watched your reaction, that neediness in your breath and the way your hips followed, as if beckoning him to end your suffering already.

He played the white knight advocate and slowly, fucking achingly slowly eased his cock in, watching the o of your mouth and the way your eyes rolled back as he pushed inch by delicious inch all into your heat. "Shh... Shh... Good girl... Fuckin hell... Better than I imagined..." He was gonna let you adjust but you just had to grind back. "Fucking bitch in heat."

He pushed down on the small of your back, pressing you on to the countertop while his other hand grabbed onto your hair, grasping from the base of it as he made you arch up, forced to see yourself in the mirror as he ruts into you like a madman.

"Bitch couldn't fucking wait huh? Greedy little pussy just had to get more? You're such a - God, fuck, you feel so fucking good." For a man who was as stoic as Ghost, he was vocal against your ears, taunting and praising, the scent of alcohol and sex now filling the bathroom and the rhythmic slapping of wet flesh against flesh.

His hands moved from your hair to your jaw, cradling your face as he kept slamming his hips into you. "Look at that face. Picture perfect." He murmured as he watched your reactions of you getting railed on the mirror.

A few thrusts in got your eyes rolling, cheeks flushed and the thing about keeping quiet has been thrown out the window as you moaned in tandem of his movements. Amber eyes bore into your face before he made you turn to the side and kissed you deeply, tongue twirling against yours sloppily.

"Gonna cum like this? Gonna milk me, baby? Ain't got no rubber, you still want it?" He taunted but you were too cockdrunk to care and just nodded vehemently in between moans. He chuckled darkly as he adjusted and wrapped his arms around your waist, eyes still trained on the mirror.

"This cunt's mine." He muttered before using the countertop as a leverage, slamming his hips hard into yours, making you clutch the edges, profanities spilling out from your lips as you began feeling the tightness in your core hike up fast. You could barely say please before a blinding hot static filled your mind, your knees buckling as you came and creamed all over his cock.

"Fuck, that's it. That's it. God, fucking milk me!" He crazed, still watching your face fill with euphoria on the mirror before his hips stuttered and hilted deep, painting your insides with his warm spurts of virile seed. "Fucking perfect... Oh yeah... God, gonna breed you... Fuck."

He stayed inside for a bit, watching you collapse on the countertop as he chuckled, kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck. "Good girl. Perfection... Gonna stay in for a bit, yeah? Make sure it takes."

First actual smut. Wow. Where did my fluffy writing go? 😅😅😅

[frantic-fiction]

Beg 18+

Pic Credit: astarionposting

Astarion x F!reader

Summary: Astarion asks for more blood, you make him work for it.

Warnings/Tags: Smut MDNI, fingering, begging, slight overstimulation, sub!Astarion, switch!Astarion, Druid!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Masterlist

"There you are, darling,"

Astarion hovers above you as you sit cross-legged in the grass by your tent, his shadow blanketing you, blocking the sun's warmth. You hum in acknowledgment, but your focus is solely on your book. A delicate finger dangles in front of the vampire, who audibly scoffs but otherwise stays silent and waits, patiently observing. 

You pick at the skin of your lips absentmindedly with your teeth as you flip the page. You can feel his eyes on you, taking every inch of your body in with his wandering gaze. Shifting in the grass, you continue to read, relishing the impatience dripping from Astarion, smirking when each flick of the page elicits a huff of annoyance from the vampire.

Once your chapter finishes, you mark your page and lean back on your hands to look up at the man with a quizzical arch to your brow. "How can I help you, Astarion?" 

His annoyance melts like ice in the sun as a sultry smile stretches his lips. "Can I not simply want to see your enchantingly beautiful face?"

You snort, "You have barely spoken to me since the tiefling's party. So I'd say you want something." Standing, you brush off the dirt on your pants and move to store your book away.

"I have to!" Astarion balks, pressing a hand to his chest in a dramatic display. "Besides, we have been incredibly busy running all over the gods damn wilderness since you and everyone else seem to want to play the hero."

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, a playful retort poised on your tongue. "I'm terribly sorry that some of us have morals and a conscience," you tease, your gaze meeting him with a mixture of challenge and amusement.

"Oh, I have morals, my sweet," Astarion purrs, leaning into your space, his breath chilly against your skin. "however, mine sway towards the more sinful side."

You suppress the shudder that trembles through your body. Astarion always has a way of reducing you to a mumbling, blushing mess with only a few salacious words. It's like he holds the key to pulling you apart and leaving you consumed by him, and he knows it, too. But you're not giving in that easily. There's something he wants. You can see it in his eyes, and he's not going to get it without working for it.

Putting your hand up, you interrupt his following flirty remark. "Did you want something? Or are you just here to interrupt my free time?"

Astarion looks at you in shock, mouth open to speak, but no words seem to want to flow. His eyebrows furrowed, and a smirk stretched his lips. Leaning on one hip, Astarion flicks out his hand, idly looking at his nails. 

"Yes, actually, I have a list. Coin, sex, blood, revenge," Astarion counts on his fingers, his tone dripping with amusement. "Certainly not in that order, and I could go on, but what I came here for specifically is something that might be better…" Astarion looks around the camp, taking mind of everyone. "Discussed in private."

Having a hunch on where this would lead, you stifle a laugh, a plan forming in your head. "Then lead the way." You motion for him to walk, smiling brightly at the vampire. 

Astarion nods smugly, obviously feeling like his plan was going just as he attended. He escorts the two of you past the others' tents and deep into the woods. Your hunch seems more viable as the brush becomes thicker and the symphony of nature's melody replaces the still air. 

After a few minutes of walking in relative silence, the two of you break into a small clearing. Its grass has spatters of bright patches of wildflowers, and the colors of oranges, pinks, and blues contrast against the expanse of green. There's a small pond on the far side, and cattails and pond reeds sway in the winds. A deer is grazing the water, but sensing Astarion as a predator; it quickly retreats to the woods.

Paying more attention to the scenery, you had yet to notice Astarion stop mid-step and swing on his heel. You stumble slightly into his chest. "I believe this spot will do nicely," he declares smugly as you step back.

Taking a step back, you quickly recover, "And why are we here exactly, Astarion? I was quite enjoying my book."

For a moment, uncertainty flickers across Astarion's features before swiftly being concealed behind a facade of confidence and a devilish smile. Turning away from you, he strides further into the small alcove.

"Are you so eager to escape my company, my dear?" he counters playfully, eyes scanning the clearing. "I thought you would like this little spot. I had no idea how beautiful the woods could be." 

"You're stalling," you accuse.

"Am not!" Astarion's voice echoes against the canopy.

Folding your arms over your chest, you give Astarion a pointed look.

The vampire sighs deeply, shoulders slumping. "Gods, this is embarrassing," Astarion mumbles under his breath so low you barely catch it. He combs a hand through his tousled curls, not bothering to turn back to face you. "Fine, yes, you see… I'm hungry, darling. Starving, actually."

Of course, the prick ignores you for almost a week to ask you for a bite. After what he did, he thinks he can call on you like his personal snack pack. Oh no, he's going to have to do better than that.

"Then hunt." You smirk, "Or did you need me to ensnare something for you?" 

"Excuse me! I am perfectly capable of hunting!" Astarion snaps his head back and storms toward you. "It's these bloody woods; there's barely any fauna in the cursed thing."

His outburst has the surrounding animals scurrying, and before you can open your mouth to utter a mocking retort, Astarion grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against his body. You yelped at the sudden force of his moments, your hand catching yourself on his chest. 

"Don't make me say it," Astarion breathes against your ear, his hands trailing teasing paths down your sides. 

"Astarion," you chuckle, feigning ignorance. "I don't understand what you're implying. If you want something, you'll need to say it."

Astarion nuzzles against your neck with a groan of frustration, his lips brushing against your skin in a maddeningly gentle caress. "Darling, may I have a taste?" He murmurs, the scrape of his fangs against your flesh nearly causing you to relent. "I'm famished, and your blood… Gods, it's intoxicating. I promise to make it just as pleasurable for you."

How easy it would be to say yes. Let him take what he wants and wait for the next time he wants something from you. But you weren't his little chew toy, just waiting for whenever he deems you worthy enough for attention. No, he needs to learn. 

"Beg." You demand, twirling out of his grasp and pushing him away gently.

"What?" Astarion pauses, disbelief written across his face as if he misheard you. 

"Beg." You repeat, your words slipping from your lips mockingly slowly.

"Are you serious?"

You meet his gaze with unwavering resolve, waiting for him to comply. As realization dawns, Astarion's expression shifts to amusement.

"Joking doesn't suit you, dear," he scoffs, his laughter echoing through the clearing. 

Silent and persistent, you hold his gaze, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. His eyes drift to the faint scar beneath your chin, a silent reminder. Wetting his lips, Astarion clears his throat before looking at you, clearly trying to grapple for the upper hand.

"Must we really play this song and dance?" He asks.

"If you want my blood, this is how you'll get it."

You hold firm, with your arms crossed over your chest. Astarion stares at you as if seeing you for the first time, and a mix of emotions storms behind his eyes. His body seems to deflate, coming to terms with the fact that you won't back down. Licking his lips, Astarion swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak.

"Darling," he murmurs through gritted teeth, his posture betraying his inner turmoil. "Allow me a taste of your exquisite blood. I'm starving and beg for your mercy."

"On your knees," you command softly, relishing the power that surges between you. "And I want a please this time."

Astarion looks at you with wide eyes. "Must I degrade myself further?" The anticipation in his voice betrays his reluctance to give in to you. "You've already gotten what you've wanted."

Biting your lip, you step closer and delicately cup his jaw, your touch gentle but commanding, and bring Astarion's lips tantalizingly close to yours. "I'll let you have your fill of my blood and more if you want. But only if you're a good boy and listen." Astarion breath leaves his lungs in a shuddering gasp, all fight seeping from his body.

"You are a cruel woman." 

With a resigned sigh, Astarion sinks to his knees. His silver curls reflect the golden light filtering through the forest canopy. His back is pin straight, and his neck is arched up to look at you with his deep crimson eyes. You can't help but focus on the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows again.

"I beg, please allow me the privilege to taste your tantalizing blood," he starts, but you zone out the rest of his words, focusing more on Astarion himself.

You focused on how his shirt hugs his chest, the cotton straining in some places while loose in others. You noticed how blue his veins are, just under his pale skin. You see how his pants seemed tight in the front, something stiff straining against the thick fabric. 

Wait. Oh. Now that is interesting. 

You pounce before you can think things through, mind moving more on instinct than anything else. Astarion's plea for you is replaced with a yelp as you push him on his back and straddle his lap.

"Wh-what are you?" he stutters before letting out a pathetic moan he will most certainly deny later. 

You capture his mouth in a heated kiss. Your tongue runs over the seam of his lips, and when Astarion allows you access, you lick into his mouth. Your tongues twirl in a practiced dance as you deepen the kiss. Astarion groans into your mouth. A hand moves up to cup your head, fingers combing through your hair. 

"Astarion," you purr breathlessly, rolling your front against the vampire's growing bulge. You press your body closer against his, practically willing yourself to melt into him. "Did begging for me get you all excited?"

"Excuse you? No! Don't be ridiculous," he tries to deny but fails when another moan rakes through his chest with another turn of your hips. 

"Look at you, all hard and needy." You lick up the column of his throat, stopping to playfully bite at his ear before whispering. "Do you like being my good boy, Astarion?"

"Shit! You're being ridiculous," Astarion pants, his hand tightening on your hips to cease your ministrations. "You're rubbing against me like a desperate virgin. Any man would get aroused."

Humming calmly, you sit back on your haunches and remove your shirt, tossing the garment into the bushes. Astarion's eyes immediately wander your exposed skin, drinking in the sight of your body. You take your bra off and trail your fingers over your nipples. Astarion lets out a pitiful groan.

"That's disappointing," you pout out your lip, trying to conceal a smile. "I was going to reward you for being so good." 

"Darling, I think this is reward enough, so long as we end this with my teeth in your pretty neck."

"That's good to know," you chuckle, trailing a hand down the valley of your breast and over the planes of your stomach, stopping just shy of your waistband. "I'll enjoy this reward for both of us.

Astarion's brows scrunch slightly in confusion before zeroing in on your hand as you teasingly slip under the waistband of your pants and past your folds. Sighing softly, you begin to tease your clit with the pad of your finger, staring down at Astarion, who looks as if he might just have an aneurysm.

He cools his features with a smug smirk, idly trailing his hand up your side. "A show and then dinner? My dear, you're not as good at this teasing as you think, but I admire your effort."

One of Astarion's icy hands works up to your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The other grips your hip and begins to rock you against his stiff erection. You involuntarily gasp at the friction, allowing the vampire a moment of control.

Astarion ruts against you, letting out a grunt when you grind down with equal enthusiasm. Then suddenly, Astarion's hands are ripped from your body and pinned to the ground as you rise further, removing any contact between the two of you.

"What?" Astarion exclaims before looking to the side. Little vines sprout from the ground, binding his hands to the hard earth. "Gods, you wretched thing." 

Clicking your tongue, you grin wickedly down at the trapped man. "Only good boys get to touch."

"Darling, must we continue this?" Astarion groans in frustration, tugging at your vines, annoyed when they don't give. "We both want this. You're the one making things difficult."

"Maybe, but only because I love hearing you beg for me. Now, unless you're going to give me what I want." You resume your ministrations, moaning as you dip a finger into your neglected hole. "Keep quiet,"

"At least remove your trousers!"

"Don't make me gag that pretty mouth of yours, Astarion." 

Astarion fumes from underneath you, but you can see the cracks forming, the dilated pupils, the rapidly falling chest as he pants for breath he doesn't need, and the way he tugs against his bindings even though he knows nothing will give. You know he'll break. He already did once he had a bit more incentive.

Adding another finger, you start to pump in and out of your dripping cunt; an audible squelching noise can be heard with each dip of your hand. You moan, dropping your head back. Circling your puffy clit with your thumb, you rock against your hand, your other one snaking up your body to tease your breast.

"Astarion," you breathe out, smirking when you hear the man's frustrated groan. "Gods, I'm so wet, making a mess, squeezing my fingers so tight."

"You are killing me all over again, sweetheart," Astarion cries; his hips are desperately trying to move against you, but another vine wraps around his stomach, holding him down.

"Just say the word's Star," you say, pinching your nipple and rolling it between your fingers. A whine rips from your throat when you curl your fingers up and hit that spongy spot, which has a familiar burning sensation that starts coiling in your gut. "Fuck, say the words, and it could be you making me feel this good. Won't you be my good boy?" 

"Gods," He bites back another moan, slamming his head in the dirt. 

"I'm so close," you whimper, moving your thumb faster against your clit. "Just imagine it could have been your cock I'm clenching around, not my fingers. Could have been you that's making a mess of me." Looking down, you see Astarion all flustered, mouth agape, and hair a mess of frizzy curls, his whole body practically buzzing with need. It was enough to send you over the edge cumming around your fingers with a choked sob. 

This finally broke the man. "Fine, okay! Please, please let me go!" Astarion pleads, voice ragged and needy. "Just let me touch you. I'll do anything you want, please. Gods, please, please, please!"

Suddenly, the vines vanish, and your lips are again on his. Astarion's pleas muffle against your mouth and quickly morph into a satisfied grunt when he bites his lip. Now that he's finally free, Astarion's quick to roll the two of you and pin you against the cold earth. Nestled between your thighs, Astarion starts mindlessly tearing at his clothes, his mouth trailing sloppy open-mouth kisses down your neck and to your chest. 

"You are an evil woman." Astarion murmurs against the skin between your breasts. Slipping one of your nipples into his mouth, he begins to suck, and you gasp, arching your back into him. 

"Astarion, fuck!" 

A hand curls into his hair, your nails raking against his scalp, causing him to hum against your chest, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. You feel his hands move to your pants, tugging them down your hips, dragging your drenched underwear with them. 

A cold finger trails through your warm cunt, and you shiver at the feeling. "I must admit, darling, I quite like it when you take charge, but," His voice rumbles against your skin, and you whine at the feeling of his fangs teasing your swollen nipple. "My patience has grown thin, so if it's okay with you, your good boy will take his reward now." His finger teases your entrance, barely dipping in.

You clench, choking on the gasp that bubbles up your throats. "Yes! Gods, please fuck me!" 

Astarion cups the back of your head and kisses you deeply. Feeling his hard cock swipe through your cunt, your gasp into his mouth, your hand coming up to hold his face. He presses into you, and you pull away from his lips, moaning at the stretch of his cock, filling you to the brim. Astarion peppers feather light kisses over your face and neck as he bottoms out and waits for you to nudge him to continue. 

Throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, Astarion pulls out almost entirely before impaling you again and sets a steady pace. A pace has your toes curling and you feeling breathless with each delicious drag of his cock against your walls. You don't think you'll get over the feeling of Astarion inside you, feeling the ridges rub against you in all the perfect ways as if he has the only manual to tear you apart with mind-numbing pleasure. 

"Ugh-Always so tight," he grunts into your neck, "So perfect, just for me."

"Astarion!" You dig your nails into his shoulders and buck against each of his thrusts. "Faster, please!"

Astarion picks up the pace; your collective sounds of pleasure mingle together in the air, and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes around the clearing. Astarion's forehead drops against yours, and both of your noses brush against each other as he breathes in every whimper and moan of ecstasy you give him with each drag of his cock against your walls. Snaking a hand between your conjoined bodies, his nimble fingers swirl around your clit in time with each grind of his hips. 

Another moan rolls off your tongue, and soon, that warmth blossoms once again in the pit of your stomach. "D-don't stop," you plead, hands running up his chest to wrap around his shoulder. "M' close." 

Astarion nuzzles at your neck and inhales your scent, groaning at a particularly tight squeeze of your cunt. Even after all the begging and pleading you put him through, he still silently asks before he takes a bite. The thought warms your heart and is something you'll have to reflect on later. 

"Yes! Please, bite me!" You whimper, clutching the back of his neck and pressing him close. 

The sharp sting of ice pierces your neck, and you cry out against the pain. Astarion pays special attention to your clit, applying pressure and dragging his thumb around the swollen bud, his way of helping you through the initial sting. After a moment, the pain resides in mind-numbing pleasure, and soon, everything becomes too much. 

Astarion consumes you. His hand caressing your body, his mouth lavishing your neck, his cock hitting you perfectly in spots only he seems to know how to reach. It's all too much, and soon tears prick at your eyes, and the heat in your lower stomach bursts, draining lava into your veins. Your nails dig into the flesh of Astarion's shoulders as you scream out his name, body spasming around the pleasure that courses through your body. 

This seems to be enough to push Astarion over the edge with you. Still drinking mouthfuls of your blood, Astarion is rutting into you, grinding your pelvis against the solid earth. His moans hum against your skin, and his thrust becomes sloppy before a rush of heat gushes inside you as Astarion cums.

With a few more gulps of blood and a few more thrusts of his hips, you whimper with overstimulation. Astarion removes his mouth from your body, licking any stray droplets. He rolls onto his back, dragging you with him until your head is lying on his chest. You whine at the loss of fullness, cringing at the feeling of your combined release that begins to drip down your legs. 

"That was…" Astarion trails off, seeming to be at a loss for words. 

"Way better than the tiefling party." You mumble against his chest, smirking at the snort he makes.

"Yes, I would be inclined to agree."

"So you admit it," you tease, trailing your thumb over Astarion's nipple. "You liked begging for me."

"I wouldn't… mind if you took charge again," Astarion says, skirting around your claim.

"Whatever protects your ego." You tilt your head up. "Hey, Star?" 

Astarion hums in acknowledgment, but his eyes are closed, his body seeping into a comfortable stillness. You note something he didn't allow himself to do at the party. Reaching your hand up, you run your fingers along his jaw, coaxing his eyes open.

"Next time, don't ignore me for a week to ask for my blood. I don't want you hungry. I care about you." 

Astarion seems to freeze at your words as if he's never heard a caring word said to him. The thought alone makes you want to hunt this Cazador down and flay him for all of Baldur's gate to see. 

Astarion opens his mouth to speak, but no words escape. He clears his throat and tries again. "Yes, that will certainly make things easier from now on." 

The two of you lay there in silence, just enjoying the feeling of each other's skin against the other. Soon, when the sky turns to ombres of blues, pinks, and purples, you decide it's time to return to camp. Astarion is quiet for the journey back; an air of contemplation clings to his being. You don't push. Goodnights were said, and you parted ways, feeling like something had changed. Everything may have changed.

Heya, it's been crazy, but I finally got some time and energy to finish up this piece I've been working on for a while. I hope Astarion's not too out of character for as earlier of act one, I just liked the idea. I hope you all enjoyed, let me know what ya thought!

Taglist

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[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: What they do in their free time

Marko

- Beach-combing

- Since low and hide tide happen often at night or early in the morning when it’s still dark he gets to comb the beach for new TriNkEts

- David always yells at him when he returns from his treasure hunting with “more crap”

- There is a TON of sea glass in his corner of the cave. It’s all kept in glass jars, but he keeps the red pieces in a separate little jar because that color is super hard to find

- He also likes to look for washed up toys, bottle necks, and shiny rocks

- HE DESPERATELY WANTS A ROCK TUMBLER

- Unfortunately they are expensive, and Dwayne says that there isn’t enough electricity flowing through the cave to power one

Paul

- Ease dropping

- This man LIVES for the DRAMA

- He doesn’t even know the people he is ease dropping on or who they are talking about, but you bet your bottom dollar he doesn’t mind his tea unfamiliar and piping hot!

- Because he is with the boys 24/7 they really don’t have any secrets between them (that Paul knows of )

- So he has to get his tea fix elsewhere

- He likes to listen in on conversations while he’s in line for rides

- at the record store

- around the food vendors

- he gets lots of tea from just hanging out on the beach and at the local drive in

- You would be surprised the amount of people who talk during movies….

- His ease dropping skills have come in handy on occasion

- Every once in awhile a vampire hunter will wander into town, and start asking the locals questions they have no business asking

- Paul usually hears of their arrival through the grapevine and is able to warn the boys

Dwayne

- Helping out Laddie’s family

- It’s kind of sick that he does this, but he honestly can’t help himself

- After Max brought Laddie to the boys, Dwayne couldn’t help checking out Laddies kin and seeing for himself what this kid’s background was like

- It wasn’t great

- They lived in a run down apartment complex, that was missing half its ruff and probably hadn’t passed an inspection in 20 years

- After some snooping around, and stalking the place a few nights Dwayne was able to determine that Laddie had an aunt (who was his guardian it seemed ) a sister a few years older then him, and a 5 year old cousin

- At first Dwayne HELLA judged the aunt, because clearly if Laddie was able to find his way to the board walk and into the arms of Max, she was not keeping an eye on him in the first place

- He witnessed her grief, her tears, her confusion, when she realized Laddie was missing

- he gave her no sympathy for what he thought were the consequences of her incompetence

- but then

- He witnessed a family dinner in their small apartment that changed his opinion

- They were all sitting down to eat dinner, when there was a knock on the door. One of the children who lived in the apartment complex stopped by to play with Laddie’s sister. The aunt was just about to tell the boy to come back later, when the boy’s stomach growled. And it wasn’t a “ I’m a little peckish” or “ gee I forgot to eat lunch” type of growl. It was an“ I haven’t eaten in a few days” growl

- Without hesitation, she gave her meal to the boy and told him to come back whenever he had no food to eat at home

- Dwayne found himself to be in a little bit of a dilemma after this

- He felt guilty, but sending Laddie back wasn’t an option anymore

- The kid was half vampire now and he belonged with his brothers

- But then he noticed the lock on the door was broken, and the least he could do would be to fix it. So he snuck in once everyone was asleep and took care of it

- And then he fixed the leaky faucet

- And the loose cabinet

- And the floor board that was coming up would only take two nails to get back into place, so he might as well fix it, right?

- Dwayne soon found himself paying the apartment a weekly visit to repair stuff here and their

- Laddies aunt just assumed that the landlord decided to do his job for once and so doesn’t suspect anything

David

- breaking into Max’s house

- He LOVES to screw with Max and he would do it on a nightly basis if he could

- But

- The boys *cough cough* Paul and Marko, would probably be a tad too destructive if they came along

- Together the boys like to find vampire related objects and leave them outside Max’s house as a joke

- They’ve left costume vampire teeth

- Cloves of garlic

- Fake blood packets

- Vampire comic books

- The bat kite we see in the movie

- Max secretly finds it endearing though!

- He’s sons are playing little pranks on him and he find’s it adorable

- But what Max doesn’t know is that David takes it a step farther

- Max doesn’t lock his door, because, you know, he’s a vampire and he has Thorn to guard the place when he’s gone

- Max some how has not figured out yet that David likes to spend time in his home when he’s not there

- I think it’s because Max spends a decent amount of time around the boys, so that their scents feels normal to have around and be on his clothes. So when it’s been a long night at the video store, and he strolls into his house and can smell David it doesn’t feel out of the ordinary

- David has slowly become cordial with Thorn. I would say friend, but Thorn would rip David to shreds if Max gave him the command. But! if David brings Thorn a nice, juicy bone, then he will let him pass

- Kind of like Cerberus

- David likes to sit on Max’s back porch, and in his recliner

- He likes to snoop around his books and in his desk drawers

- He will swipe cash here and there when he finds it

- He just really likes the idea of being in Max’s space with out Max’s permission

[nylwnder]

muddy mess

a/n: hiiiiiiiiiiiiii my bbs!!!!!!!!! okay, i have made you guys wait so long for this and i honestly never expected this to end up at 6k?? didn't even know i am capable of such a word count but its all for uuuu guys!! i hope you love it as much as i loved writing it (even if it took me longer than i would have wanted, in which sorry pls forgive me <3 i hate uni) i added some suggestions from u guys (like making the reader latina again!). also yes, this is indeed the end of the smutty series and i absolutely loved this opportunity to be soooo slutty with you guys!!! dw, i have a lot of ideas still flowing and i can't wait to share that during the rest of 2025 :) enjoy whores!

pairing: william nylander x latina!reader 

warnings: SMUT!! oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dog walker!reader, use of spanish (with translations in brackets), swearing, mutual pinning, just being lowkey obsessed with each other, pablo and banksy referred to as willy's kids (cause they are), beau mention!!!!! (my dog <333333)

word count: 6.3k

taglist:  @shoot-the-puck, @lukepangburn118 , @hawkeyefierce , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay , @fallinallincurls , @andrea9 , @dylpickle4791 , @biznastysloneshift12 , @dramatic-queen , @willianmylander

series masterpost 

the day was nice, one of the reasons why autumn was your favourite season. the air is a welcoming crisp, enough to wear a long sleeve or a lightly layered outfit, complimenting the bright and shining sun that grazed everyone’s faces. the city was bright with warm tones, the yellow and orange leaves littering the ground like a sunset. 

you had gotten ready in the morning to head to your first client, your only client, your favourite client. you hooked the leash on your own dog, beau, and headed out the door. walking to the apartment building you know all too well, welcoming yourself to the front desk per usual. 

once the elevator doors sprung open to the correct level, beau had made his way to the door in excitement. smelling through the crack and wagging his tail. cracking open the lock with your key, you’re met with your usual sight: three dogs greeting each other in pure joy. afterwards, the other two greet you with licks to any and all exposed skin. 

“hola chavalitos, ay si mi preciouso!” (hi kiddos, oh yes you cuties!!) you exclaim. 

you close the door behind you, as the pups run to the living room to continue saying hello. beginning to play with some toys while you grab the necessities for pablo and banksy. willy always left everything you needed neatly for you on a table everytime he left them for practice, a game or a road trip. you always appreciated his consideration, sometimes wasting far too much time trying to find a leash or a harness in a crowded mess with other clients.   

you call pablo and banksy over, kneeling down to get them all geared up while beau waits patiently beside them. “you are such good boys aren't you!” you smile, patting one before turning to set up the other. 

you must admit, you have never walked more well behaved dogs in your life. sure there was the odd excitement for a squirrel or an eager pull to the dog park, but never a hassle and always something you could manage. in all honesty, you didn't even really need the leashes, since william has accustomed them to behave perfectly fine without them. but for safety and formality, you chose to do so. 

that also meant you couldn't deny working full time for william, when he asked. with the way his schedule seemed to mesh perfectly with your life, not to mention the way beau had managed to bond with his adorably curly rascals—and william—it seemed like an easy decision. willy also made sure to meet up to expectations, to make sure it was worth it to invest all your time in him and his pups. sure, you would have done it for free, out of pure love and care for pablo and banksy… and william, but this was your job. your source of income for the moment. and will understood that. 

that also meant the butterflies and fuzzy feeling you felt whenever you would catch willy still in the apartment, fresh out of the shower, shirt nowhere to be seen and sweats hanging deliciously low around his waist, was to be pushed aside. and buried. deep, deep underground. 

you had to ignore the way your heart pounded a little faster and a little louder when his hand would gently touch your waist to catch your attention on a matter before he left. or the way his fingers would grace your own when he would take the boys’ stuff out of your hands. 

or hide the blush that laced your face when he would offer to hang out when he was back. or call you on his free days. you didn't have to say yes, maybe you really shouldn't have, to maintain a sense of independence and professionalism, but you said yes, because you wanted to. you wanted to so fucking bad. 

and you definitely had to stop feeling the small ounce of jealousy whenever you found a particular article of clothing that certainly belonged to a girl, scattered somewhere on the edge of the bed or near the back of the couch. not to mention, that one day you were met face to face by a girl in the kitchen, startled by your presence. you were about to explain yourself before william came out to introduce you to her. 

you could notice the way her eyes watched you with a layered sense of bothersome, and you couldn't help but smile. when she noticed the way william spoke to you, with joy and ease. words laced with love and gratitude. with the way he hugged you, in front of her, holding you against the stern build of his chest. his hands falling low, to the small of your back. he thanked you quietly and gently in your ear. not just for taking care of pablo and banksy, and loving them like him (if not more), but for being there for him. and with him. for making him smile. for being you. 

he did that often. 

—

you guys did your usual walk around the yorkville area. heading to the park and letting the boys roam around and enjoy their time together. you always stopped to let them smell and explore, it was their walk after all. 

you made it to the off-leash area, unhooking their leashes and closing the gate behind you, making sure no other pups escaped while you entered. the boys ran around, greeting other pups and engaging in playful games and fights. beau wasn’t too much of a social dog and easily gets overwhelmed, so after a few sniffs he makes his way back to you. he hops up on the bench that you were sitting and watching from. 

you gave him a few pets around the ears, “all done today, bubs? buen chico!” (good boy!) your phone then suddenly began to buzz in your pocket. 

standing up slightly to grab it, you see your mother’s picture on the screen. “hola mami” (hi mom) 

“mija, como estas?” (my daughter, how are you?) 

“bien mamá, estoy en el parque con los chuchitos. y tu y papi?” (i’m okay, just at the park with the dogs. how are you and dad?) 

“ay chavala, siempre estás en el parque, siempre con esos perros. cuando vas a encontrar un buen hombre mija, ah?” (you’re always at the park, and always with those dogs. when are you going to find a good man, huh?)

“mamá…” 

“william! siempre estás con ese william. y él? estás seguro de que solo cuidas a sus perritos?” (you’re always with william. what about him? are you sure you only take care of his dogs?)

“si, mamá. for the hundredth time, i'm just the dog walker.” 

“mhmm, y yo solo soy tu madre. y le has dicho que te gusta? no estoy diciendo que tengas que casarte con él mañana, pero—” (and i'm only your mom. have you told him that you like him? i'm not telling you to go marry him tomorrow but—)

“ay dios mío, mamá no estoy saliendo con william!” (oh my god, mom im not dating william!)

“entonces, por qué sientes que desearías estar saliendo con él? estoy segura de que a él también le gustas, nena.” (then why does it feel like you want to date him? i'm sure he likes you too, sweetie)

you play with your hair, standing up and turning to check on pablo and banksy, completely distracted by your mother’s interrogation. not like you should have been surprised, this isn't the first time. 

“okay. lo único que digo es que si no te arriesgas, el universo podría empujarte en la dirección correcta.” (im only saying, if you don't put yourself out there, the universe might just push you in the right direction)

“okay mamá, tengo que ir. te amo, cuidate.” (okay mom, i have to go. i love you, take care)

“te amo también, cariño. tu papá te llamará después del trabajo, vale?” (i love you too, sweetie. your dad will call you after work, okay?)

“okay, bye.”

only a single breath after your words, you find your foot slipping in a hidden patch of mud near a part of the fence. you go flying forwards, your phone tumbling down in front of you. you crunch the dry leaves on the floor and begin feeling the cold and moist ground under you. the dogs bark, coming to your face and sniffing all around you. banksy jumps on you, you gently push him down to allow yourself to get up as quickly as possible. 

this cannot be happening right now. 

groaning, covered in mud from knees to torso, you mumbled to yourself…“she cursed me”.

there weren’t many people inside the dog park at the time, that doesn’t mean you didn't feel a heavy wash of embarrassment flood over you. not to mention the fact that the people who did witness the accident didn’t offer a hand or ask if you were alright. perhaps because you leashed the dogs and left equally as quick as you fell. 

you walked all the way back to william’s apartment with a huge brown patch of dirt covering the entire front of your body. you kept your head low, and walked until you reached the comfort of the familiar sliding doors of the elevator. turning to look at the mirror behind you, you looked hilarious. 

the elevator opened and you unlocked willy’s door, letting the dogs free. you made sure to not step too far into the apartment, not wanting to make too much of a mess with your muddy shoes. you left them neatly in a corner, planning on cleaning them after you cleaned yourself up first. 

yes, you could have walked back to your apartment and gotten into your own shower. but you did not feel like walking another 10 blocks with eyes scattering towards you while you smelt like dog shit. because you did. since it probably was a mixture of both that you so beautifully chose to land on today.

william was supposed to make it home from a road trip sometime in the afternoon, so you knew you had time. plus, he had mentioned that you could use anything you wanted when you were over, “whatever you need” he assured you. anyways, you have stayed over at his place when he's been gone for long roadtrips, to ensure his boys eat well and are taken care of besides a walk. you knew the place like the back of your hand if you were being honest. hell, he’s even caught you singing to selena and dancing with the pups when he’s come home. 

did he join you? perhaps. he can't deny that he enjoyed the view. the domestic-ness of it all. it was always him & his dogs in the city they call home. but when was it going to grow by one? the one. 

that being said, you never actually used his shower before, going as far as stopping by at your own place to do anything like that. plus it allowed you to switch out the clothes you had packed. it was something you felt you should do, to establish those boundaries and solidify your professionalism. but right now, he would understand the situation that you were in. no, he wouldn't mind you assured yourself.

you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a plastic bag on your way over to put your clothes in so they wouldn’t dirty the floor. you got in, relishing in the welcoming drip of water, and awaiting the fresh and clean scent of soap. 

his body wash. it stood on the shelf before you grabbed it. the smell was intoxicating, as you poured it into your hands. it smelled like him everytime he passed by you after practice. everytime he left before a game. the days he's hugged you, the scent still lingering in his neck and his hair. 

it felt wrong. maybe you really should have gone home. but you were already in here. “its fine i’ll be done before he gets home.” you mumbled. 

clothes. what were you going to wear? no you couldn't possibly grab one of his hoodies and sweats. maybe you could put them in the washer. yes of course, thats what ill do… but what if he comes home by then? what will i wear? i’ll be naked!

you quickly scrubbed yourself clean, all over your legs and stomach, the dirt having transferred through your clothes and stained your skin. you could do this fast and he wouldn't even know you were in there. but then the door opened and you heard footsteps and waddles and happy whines coming from the dogs.

he's here. 

you heard him greet the dogs like usual, and could sense his figure getting closer towards the bathroom. he called out your name. 

ay dios mío, “in here!” 

“everything alright?” he asked, standing near a corner so that he couldn't see through his standing shower, respecting your privacy. 

“had a bit of a, um- muddy mess…” 

you heard him giggle, and you couldn’t help but feel a tad embarrassed again. he mentioned he saw your shoes at the door. 

“i’m sorry, i didn't really wanna walk all the way home like that. plus i'm pretty sure i fell in dog shit.” 

he shared a chuckle again. “that's okay, told you, whatever you need.”

you continued to rinse. “i’ll be done in a sec.” silence fell between the two of you but you could feel william hadn't moved from his spot. 

“do you want some help?” he asked. it could pass as a gentle, genuine and innocent question from the outside. but was it more layered than a friendly check in? oh most definitely. 

yes. yes. yes. “no i’m fine. i can manage.” 

another silence hit the air, but your mind was racing, and your mouth spoke before you had time to acknowledge that fact. 

“just, my clothes. need to wash them.” 

you heard the bag rattle from outside the shower. “could help if i rinse them under the water first” william says, tone calm and calculated. 

this between-the-lines conversation between the two of you was beginning to feel more real by the second. the feelings the two of you have for each other are beginning to get stronger and stronger. you didn't know how much longer you could rub it off. 

“is that okay?” he asked, the words like a spell lulling your rationality away. 

“yeah. thats okay.” more than okay. 

you hear a bit of shuffling before the shower door opens. your heart is racing, pounding in your ears. 

his eyes catch yours the second he makes his way inside. he makes sure to keep them there, never going down, not even if he wanted to. because he really wanted to. 

you're known to be such a poised person. presentable, confident and almost always at ease. but william makes you nervous, not like anything you’ve ever experienced. it's insane really. 

he inches closer to your figure, your clothes in his hand. you're backed up against the wall, noticing the way he's fully clothed. and the more he got closer to you the more his shirt started to get wet. and his pants and the ends of his hair. 

“willy” you mutter, soft and sweet. 

william had been fighting the urge to grab you by the hips and kiss you for two years now. a cruel amount of time really. “baby, can i?” he asks, quietly and gently. 

“mhmm” it comes out more whiney than you had anticipated. your composure completely lost. 

his lips connect with yours and they mold into each other like you’ve done it before. forming a rhythm together like it was habit. your hand dug into his hair, making a home at the nape of his neck. his body pressed into yours, your nipples hard against his cold wet shirt. you felt a shiver overcome you when his lips parted yours for a breath. 

“you pinche cabrón” (fucking asshole) 

“excuse me?” he asks playfully, with a smirk on his face. he knows the word, he's heard it plenty from you. 

“you made me wait that long?” you say, looking up and gaining a bit of your confidence back. 

“i made you wait? what about me?” he said, a smile on his face. 

“it's not my fault you didn't ask me earlier.”

“well i asked you now..” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for another kiss. 

“you better show me what i've been missing for two years” you say against his lips, with a smirk.  

“oh älskling, you don't even know.” he says, looking down at you with his signature grin. you giggle back, god you're a sucker for him.  

he hangs your clothes over the gap of the shower door while you tug at his own. he pulls his shirt up and over his head looking down for the first time since he came in here. 

a part of him feels the need to look away, to give you your privacy, but as you stand there before him, your skin covered in water droplets, warm against his own, he can’t do anything but stare. he takes in the curve of your breasts and how the light coming into the shower softly hits your nipples. his hands feel their way down your body, caressing the curves of your hips. his hands continue making their way down, rubbing over your ass and squeezing the bottom of them. a hushed moan escapes you. 

“you're beautiful. truly beautiful.” he says, one of his hands reaching for the back of your head, making you look up at him and smile. blushing just a bit, you're not immune to his charm. you’ll never be. 

his finger comes up and wipes off a smudged mark of mud from your jaw. your fingers ache to reciprocate a touch, so you bring your hand to rake down his torso, feeling the tufts of hair that litter his chest all the way down to the lines that sculpt him. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, alluring and comforting. 

your fingers go for his pants button, willy looking down as you unbutton them and yank them down, along with his boxers. he helps kick them off, grabbing them and hanging them near your own. 

you really don’t know what else to do but stare. “bueno mierda” (well, fuck) you whisper subtly. 

he grabs your chin and tilts your head back up towards him, letting his lips meet yours once again. his arms wrap around your lower back, making you arch off the wall and press yourself against him. water fell through the cracks between the two of you. sliding over your body, you don't know how much it's masking the pool between your thighs.  

you try your best to buck your hips, trying to seek any friction against william, his cock getting hard against you making you spiral. sensing your neediness for a while now, he gives you one last kiss before making his way down, leaving a kiss between your boobs and one on the curved line below your stomach. you hear your heart beating in your ears again, equally as hard as the thud in your core. 

his mouth leaves a sloppy wet kiss right on your clit. “got such a pretty pussy, princess” 

“willy” you moan, he looks up at you with a smirk.

“what's wrong baby?” he asks sweetly, hands on the sides of your thighs. 

you give out a whimper, “please” 

“what do you want, älskling?” he wants to pry those words out of you.

“eat me.” por favor!!!!! 

“that's it, sweets.” he praises, not a single word said without that stupid smile. you keep feeling it against your folds, when his tongue licks a long stripe against your pussy. he groans at your taste doing it once again and again and again. you should be embarrassed by the way your thighs are shaking by his head, william in love with just how reactive you are to his touch. to him. 

“feel better, baby?” 

you internally scoff. “more” you mutter, jerking your hips. 

his smirk takes a bite out of your clit, rolling and sucking it. he moves back down, his tongue piercing your aching hole, his nose bumping into you, your eyes roll back. he was trying to be sweet, soft, gentle—he really was—but you, god, you drive him fucking crazy and all too quickly he's getting rough as he delivers hard sucks to your clit, mouthing at your pussy. your sweet sounds echoing in the small space, it's downright sinful that you could hear the way he's eating you out, even against the shower, the slurps and licks of a man starved ring in your ears.

his eyes flicker up to you to watch the way your face contorted in pleasure so gracefully. he's surrounded by your smell, the warmth of your thighs and your moans and he wouldn't want it any other way. you can't form a coherent thought, your mind is gone and all you can focus on is how good his tongue feels on you, how he eats you with such hunger, dedication and consideration no other man has taken the time to feed you. he lets you grind against his face, lets you use him for your pleasure.

“fuck!” you moan. the tight tug on his hair and your heavy breathing alerts william that you're close. moving his hands up to your hips, he pulls himself up, wasting no time to stick two fingers inside of you. you open your eyes and find his own, glowing with lust, and your lips part when you feel his cock lined up to your entrance, pushing in with one strong thrust. god, he slips all the way in. fills you up so full that you cry, stutter a sob, breath caught in the back of your throat. brain going cloudy, body melting into his and you question if this is real.

but then william grabs you by the ass to wrap your legs around his, pinning you to the cold tiled wall of the shower and you want his arms to keep you stable and grounded. one of his hands is glued to your side, the other kneading one of your breasts, pinching your nipple and making you bite your lip to suppress your moans. 

“you’re so tight, älskade” willy says, suppressing his own whimper. your walls contract around him as he speaks, as his mouth leaves kisses to your collarbone and teeth graze your pulse point. 

a few thrusts was all you needed. 

all you needed until a mumbling spanish mess escapes you. where your hands scratch into william’s shoulder and willy groans at the overwhelming grip you have on him, both inside and out. where your core is a warm and wet and snug nirvana. 

the water hitting you wakes you back up, helps you blink back into reality. held by your utopia, except the man in front of you is real this time, and not just the leading man of your dreams. the face you would pray for at a time you never thought that any of this could happen, that you could never be together.

you keep asking yourself what was that rule you felt you were breaking, when you look into his eyes now. sure, he was your employer, but what HR department can forbid this? when you are two grown adults in a mutual agreement with shared love for two poodle mixes. when the two of you bonded and understood each other more than some of the couples you would see out on the streets and at events. it wasn't pretend between the two of you. it never would be. how could it be? this is the realest thing that could be happening to someone. 

“been thinking about this the second i met you” he murmurs against your lips.

you whined again, pulling him closer with your arms, desperate for more. “then don’t stop”

his grin is contagious, you swear. and you can't help but giggle when he turns the water off and carries you all the way to the bed. throwing you gently on the mattress, letting his cock slip out of you momentarily. 

your wet curls flicker water droplets to your face and neck. william shakes his head and more fall off, each one falling on you. you’re a giggling mess, pushing him gently by the chest and telling him to stop. he shares a laugh, leaning in to kiss you for what seems like the millionth time in the past sequence you two have shared. and yet it's not enough. he needs more, to feel and taste every single crevice of you. love every single atom of your body.

his tongue licks the smeared wetness on your neck, leaving open mouth kisses on the droplets that remain untouched on your skin. your skin grows hot yet goosebumps appear one by one over your figure. the reaction your body has to him is confusing and exhilarating. william is caressing parts of yourself you hadn’t known existed, and each with little fuss. he moves, and you fall apart at the seams. he breathes, and you would crumble at his feet. he looks your way, and you are prepared to kneel at his altar. you get lost in the moment, in his mesmerizingly blue eyes and upturned mouth. 

he licks a stripe up your stomach and a shiver rolls over you. his mouth then attaches to one of your breasts and a gasp escapes you. he rolls it around in his mouth and sucks, reciprocating the action to the other one. your hand moves to the nape of his neck, sharing a light tug on the strands that sat there. “will” you whined, relishing in the movements of his mouth, however eager to feel him deep inside you again. 

“m’sorry sweets” he says, apologizing for his little sidequest. you were just so mesmerizing, he couldn't help but get distracted by you. you smile while he looks up at you. he grabs your hips and shifts you higher up the bed, so your head could lay near a pillow that he dragged down for you. 

he fits in between the slot of your open legs perfectly, leans down to greet your lips so swiftly, grabs the back of your thighs with grace and lifts them to sit on his shoulders with ease. “this okay, älskling?” 

“perfect” you reply, hands gripping his forearms tightly. slowly, he guides himself to your entrance again, rubbing the tip against your clit before swiping down and pushing in. he gives a good hearty thrust, making sure to bottom out, and your breath stutters. you will never get enough of the way he stretches you. 

your fingers move upwards on his arms, letting your nails gently graze him. you look up at him, memorizing every single crease and crevice on his body. he's licking his lips, watching the way your eyes explore him and your cheeks blush at him reciprocating the action. both of you engrossed by the idea of being together like this, while he's stuffed deep inside you, like your cum isnt all over his mouth and fingers and cock. 

will you two ever get enough of each other? no, you simply couldn’t. 

william leans into you more, feeling the way your thighs push into your body. his thrusts began to find a steady pace, one that feeds every single spongy part inside you. the sound of your pussy squelching fills your ears, followed by william’s soft moans, the grumble spilling into your open mouth as he lays a kiss. 

“goddamn sweets, hear how wet you are for me?”

a pathetic whine leaves your lips. the sounds coming from the two of you are so lewd but your toes curl and your head spins and your heart pounds and it's the best fucking feeling you have ever experienced in the world. 

you have never had a man take the time for you. make sure he reaches parts of your body that you weren’t even sure were there. now you know and you don’t ever want to go back.

“cariño” you moan, yanking at the chain that sits around his neck. you pull him down to you, biting down on his lips as you clench around and you hear a whimper escape him. 

the effect he has on you is the same as you have on him. the way you look up at him, with so much love and appreciation. like he is capable of giving you everything you have ever wanted, his heart cant help but swell. he cant help but make sure you feel that love back, cause fuck do you deserve it more than him sometimes. for everything you have ever done for him, for being undeniably you every single fucking day and giving him the priveledge to witness that as close as he has. he's been enamoured by you for so long, he didn't know what to do for much longer if he couldn't have you. 

as both your needs become more demanding, his hips begin to slap against yours. moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he continues to speed up. the noises he is drawing from your body are embarrassing if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. you wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.

he begins to twitch inside you the more you begin to tighten around him. he even felt it hard to exit you with the way you squeezed him so hard, like you feared he would leave and never come back. he has never felt this deliciously overwhelmed. 

not too long after, you feel a warmth calm the pressure in your stomach, both of you having a sense of heavenly pleasure wash over you, one you both only dreamed of sharing together. one william would wake up in the morning to, cock hard and sore against his boxers. like he didn't have to act normal around you when you came to pick up the kids, but his cheeks couldn’t help but blush. 

“attagirl” he whispers in your ear, as you take all of his cum with open legs in one single final thrust. you blush at the feeling, at his words, at the fact that he has marked you, a silent call that you are his and he is yours and there's no looking back. 

he slides out of you, letting your legs fall slowly to the sides and wrapping his arms around your back, arching you off the bed and pulling you to sit in his lap. he moves the two of you so that he can sit against a pillow and his headboard. your lips connect with his, kissing as your conjoined cum begins to drip out of you and into william’s lap. 

you look back to see, and begin to feel a little shy, a ball of butterflies forming in your stomach, the ones that frequently visit you when you’re around will. you tuck your face into his neck scooting closer to him, wrapping your legs around his form. “you're so hot, baby” willy says, knowing his praise will make you feel less embarrassed by the crude site. 

little does he know his praise makes you all the more needy. 

you feel a desire deep in your core again, and you grind your wet pussy against his softening cock—a surge of confidence has come back to you. 

he gives out a little moan into your hair, hands moving to your hips where he squeezes. “you want more, älskade?” 

you bite your lip, “is that okay?” you can't get enough of him, sue me! you think to yourself. 

“i thought you'd never ask” he replies with a smirk, and you can't help but giggle back. 

you place your hands on his thick shoulders, letting yourself slide down onto him. both of you gasped, he went in so easy with your conjoined juices still around your walls. you rested there for a second, leaning your head back with a moan. you feel william twitch inside you, more sensitive to your core than before. 

“you’re so pretty like this,” willy mutters, slotting his lips over yours, “stuffed with my cock.”

“oh my god,” you quiver, shaking your head, begging for him to just shut up cause he’s making you lightheaded. he’s so deep inside of you, hitting that spot so far back that you so deliciously discovered today. his cock keeps twitching every now and then, forcing a pout onto your lips as he looks at you. you haven’t even moved and you feel so fucking close already.

you begin to roll your hips around, letting his pubic bone rub your clit every time you grind down. willliam’s hands move up your sides, cupping your boobs as they sway with your movements. he shares a whimper at the sight, as you start bouncing on him. though it isn’t much longer before your thighs begin to shake, already inching closer to that sweet release. 

willy wraps his hands around your frame, tightly pressing you into him as he lays down and thrusts up into you. you whimper repeatedly, body instinctively tightening, and he groans roughly, as if the way you clamp down around him is testing every last ounce of his control. 

as william’s thrusts get faster, they also get sloppier. he’s insanely pussydrunk and the only thing going through his mind is you. your name, how good you feel, how pretty you look. you're biting his neck as he pumps into you, sure you're seeing stars as the divine sting between your legs continues. 

you both don’t seem to last long, getting lost in each other once again. willy’s hand is in your hair, digging his fingertips deep into your scalp and yanking just a bit. his own thighs stutter and shake a bit as he cums into your already drenched cunt again. your pussy makes sure to milk every last drop from him as you needily bite another mark into his neck. you’ve wanted to mark him for so long now. 

now you can.

—

you lay against his pillows, the aftershocks still honey-sweet where they thud in your core. your legs still recovering from their jelly-like state as you have them sprawled out. william’s head resting on your propped up thigh. looking up at you while you played with his hair. he reciprocated the tender affection by rubbing small circles on your other thigh. 

he looked at you in awe. proud that he finally had succumbed to his love for you. that he didn't have to keep holding back, telling himself he couldn’t touch you, or kiss you, or spend every waking moment with you. that you didn't have to go home and leave him every time. he couldn’t stop thinking about you since the moment you were mentioned as an avid dog lover by his teammates, a recommended nanny for his boys. he couldn’t get over the way pablo and banksy were so loving and friendly with you on your first meeting and every single one thereafter. the way they would wait for you every single time. 

you are the one.

“when do you have to go?” you asked. 

“like 4 hours or so…” you liked that answer, smiling and running your hands through his hair again. even so, it wasn’t enough. this was your first taste of intimate, domestic life with willy. you didn't want to let go of it yet…. dreaming of staying in this apartment with him, not leaving until you’re left weak in the knees, reaching unwritten orgasm records. just all of it, you want all of it.

“can you wait till the very last minute?” 

“come with me. wear the jersey i got you and come with me.” the jersey in mention obviously being his own. you wore it to a game already once, and felt the tension with him when he came over to greet you after the game, the way his eyes hit yours and his hands lingered around you and the way his jaw seemed strained and tight every time he would see his name written on your back. you went home incredibly flustered that night, that you can admit.

“i can finally do what i was dying to do last time.” he says mischievously, your pussy throbbed at the thought. a thought you had since that night, and one your pathetic fingers couldn't have possibly held up to. 

“hm, but i was going to invite mi papa,” you joked, your purposeful mood killer. seeing the way he rolled his eyes and huffed. “he would love to see you, he loved the game last time.”

“another day, i promise. just not tonight, please.” he says, grabbing you by the hips and bringing you down the bed to reach eye to eye. his cock now tucked against your thigh, semi-soft. 

“fine, but he would have loved to see you guys fuck the bolts.” you both giggle. 

“you better win, by the way. or no extracurricular activities like you have planned out in that head.” 

“is that a threat?” his grin unsurprisingly present.

“you bet on it” you inch closer to his face, words spoken against his lips. “necesitas ganártelo, cariño.” (you need to earn it, honey) william understands your challenge.

“well i will, you can mark my words.” he says, giving your plushy hips a squeeze. his lips envelope yours in a series of kisses, arms wrapping around his neck. 

maybe this would have happened eventually—once you both stepped over this nonexistent barrier between the two of you—but god are you grateful that being covered in shit brought you to this bliss. 

…maybe your mom was right after all.

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[bratkook]

deep six: dancing with death. (m) jjk

part one. part two. v-day drabble

pairing. biker!jk x reader genre. smut, fluff warnings. infidelity (but its ok i promise), protected s*x, oral, jungkook is kinda whiny and that itself deserves a warning, they're just fluffy and mushy and love each other they just dont know it yet word count. 12.2k summary. you've always known to stay away from the tombstone patches, told they were the enemy, that you'd be betraying your club if you chose not to listen. but an unsuspected friendship makes you think that maybe not everyone was as bad as you were made to believe. author’s note. hihiiii, this is a prequel to the deep six series! aka how jungkook and oc start their friendship and have it blossom into what it becomes in part one of deep six. i truly love these two so much, something about their forbidden love and how jungkook is tough and dangerous but oh so sweet to her makes me fucking melt!!! ok hope u enjoy it bye ily muah

The world is a constant blur, days merging, memories hazy and bleeding together in your mind. The only time you enjoy the blur is now, sitting on your bike as you flow through the streets. Exiting Cobra territory made you feel free, the streets widening up the further you got, allowing you to cruise without the fear of getting swiped by a careless driver. 

Your eyes fall shut briefly, taking a slow breath as you try to push the earlier feelings away. Minho was having a bad day, a deal he had hoped to make to start running ice falling through, the man in charge deciding to go with a neighboring club instead. It wasn’t your fault the man thought Minho was too hot headed and messy to not find a way to mess this deal up, wanting a club with more reach, more connections and reliability than the Cobras could offer. That didn’t stop Minho from treating you like it was your fault, doing what he did best before barking orders at you to go for a run, desperately needing alcohol to drown his emotions. 

The earlier fear still rattles you, leaves your fingers trembling slightly as they clutch the handles and accelerate. He couldn’t hurt you here, and that's all the comfort you need at the moment, finally pulling into the familiar parking lot of the bodega. There’s a few cars parked inside, a lone scooter tossed by the sidewalk, and a shiny black bike parked by the entrance. 

You eye it for a moment, always checking for visible tags that let you know if the bike belonged to a club that had the Cobra’s high on their hit list. It’d be easy to act dumb if it was, no identifying items on you, knowing better than to roam the streets without Minho with a serpent stamped on you. 

When you find nothing you decide it’s fine, knowing you were on a time crunch to get what he wanted. With another slow breath you step off your bike, already feeling your earlier nerves fade away as you enter your comfort space. It seems odd to consider it one, but something about the buzzing fluorescent lighting and peeling laminate made you feel like an individual. 

Music plays through a portable speaker by the cashier, the worker greeting you with a smile that you return before you turn down your favorite aisle. That’s when you spot him again. The Deep Six member in the same spot he was in the last time you saw him a few weeks ago. It had been a close encounter then, not realizing who he was with your boyfriend standing outside. But his arms are revealed to you now, markings on his skin making it clear what club he belonged to, leaving no room for confusion. If that somehow wasn’t enough the giant patches on his vest and the glimmering rings on his fingers spell it out, literally. 

You approach him slowly, not sure if you trust him but not fully on edge like you were before, knowing Minho’s watchful eyes weren’t observing your every move. Without the ticking bomb a few feet away you allow yourself to slightly relax in the presence of him, assuming he had no idea who you were, clearly too focused on his candy selection. 

Sure you were on a run for Minho but you always pick something up for yourself. A small smile is already on your lips as your eyes land on the sour straws, ready to pick your flavor of choice, only to find it completely empty. Instantly you know the culprit is the man next to you, remembering the way you had reached for the same candy last time you saw him here by chance, and as you turn to stare at him you see his palms cradling four packets of the sour straws, a teasing smile on his face as he meets your eyes. Greedy. 

“Sorry,” he breathes out, sounding anything but, trying desperately not to laugh and failing as he makes his way to the front to pay. You don’t even respond to him, admitting defeat as you settle on the green apple flavored ones before you return to your earlier task, finding a case of Minho’s favorite beer and paying for it. 

The heat welcomes you once more outside, loading up the beer and candy into the saddlebags on the side of your bike, already forgetting about the candy thief from inside. 

“Hey, Snake!” A voice cuts through the air, making you freeze as you search for it, finding the Six standing by the shiny black bike you had spotted earlier. He reaches into his pocket, still smiling as he pulls out the blue raspberry sour straw packet, tossing it your way with ease. 

You catch it with both palms, momentarily stunned at the small gesture and at the fact that he clearly knew you were associated with the Cobras. The rumble of his engine snaps you out of it, smiling slightly as you look up at him once more, a breathless thank you escaping your lips before he is smiling back and peeling out of the parking lot. 

When you live the life you do, constantly on edge with a paranoid boyfriend questioning everyone’s intentions, it's hard not to let his way of thinking affect your own. Even as you sit back at the clubhouse, holding onto that packet of candy, you can’t help but wonder if maybe the Six’s seemingly sweet gesture was a trap. Maybe he was testing to see how gullible you are, stupid enough to interact with him, to use you to send a message to the Cobras. It wouldn’t be the first time. Minho’s reign made you an easy target, knowing you had a lot of enemies that would love to make a lesson of you. 

It's been so long since anyone has shown you genuine kindness with no strings attached, and as you finally enjoy your treat, you can’t stop the warm feeling of hope in your chest that maybe not everyone was as bad as you were made to believe. 

You don’t return to your comfort space again until two weeks later, on another run for the club. Minho seemed to think if he gave you pointless errands to run you’d be satisfied, content with the loveless relationship and mundane everyday life. It was his way of keeping you on a leash, making you follow orders and letting the lead slacken up, only tightening it back up to remind you he was all you had. But you’d take the small moments of peace wherever you could get them. 

The lot is empty today as you pull in, the only car belonging to the worker inside. The moment of solitude only lasts for a minute, a loud rumble cutting through the air as another bike pulls in beside you. You tense up immediately, whipping your head to assess the situation, spotting the familiar Six too lost in his thoughts to realize you were here. He furrows his brows as he takes off his helmet, adjusting the large rings on his fingers before he glances your way, jumping slightly when he notices it's you. 

You eye him curiously, hands coming up to the key in the ignition, ready to start it up and tail out of here if he made a move. Minho had made a claim of some other club trying to ambush a deal earlier today, an unlucky hangout being the only one hurt, but without an identifying patch it left him on edge more than normal. So far the Six didn’t make you feel like you had to be wary, but you couldn’t be so sure. 

He seems to sense it, his arms raising up in surrender as he stays on his bike. “It’s okay snake, I don’t bite.” He smiles at his own stupid remark, but it slowly falls off his face when he sees the stoic expression remains on yours. “Seriously though, I’m just here for some smokes and a treat. I can go somewhere else if it really makes you this uncomfortable though.”

“Why aren’t you somewhere else to begin with?” you bite back, still not trusting that he wasn’t trying to trap you. 

Jungkook just sighs, hand coming up to ruffle up his helmet hair. “It’s nice to get away sometimes. This is neutral grounds, you know as best as I do that anything club related done here is a death wish.” He lets you process his statement, seeing the way you continue to eye him, your gaze tracing along the patches he wears. The large tombstone taunts you, torn and a little rugged on the edges, showing just how long he’s been wearing it. “Why aren’t you somewhere on your side of town?”

You purse your lips, looking away from him as you pull your hand away from your key, getting off your bike, deciding this conversation was better to have inside your little safe space. “Like you said, it’s nice to get away sometimes.” You hook your helmet over your handle, reaching the bodega’s door and holding it open as you look back at him. “You coming?”

He seems to snap out of it, quickly hopping off his bike and jogging your way, saying a quick greeting to the worker before going down the familiar aisle. He smiles when he sees you next to those damn sour straws. 

“Those must be your favorite huh?”

You give him a quick glance, seeing the smile on his lips before you turn back and grab a packet of the candy. “They are, so try not to take all of them at once again.”

He lets out a soft laugh, reaching forward and grabbing a couple of the same. “I gave you one last time, which says a lot because I don’t really like sharing.”

“A Six that doesn’t like sharing? That’s not surprising.” Your words are light, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you turn around and continue roaming the aisle. 

“Not as surprising as a Snake trying to tell me what to do.” The crinkling of plastic fills the store as he rips open his packet, taking a bite of a sour straw as he tries to hide his own smile when you give him an eye roll. 

“I’m not technically a Snake,” you mutter out, finger tracing along the chocolate bar you were contemplating grabbing. It wasn’t a lie, you didn’t wear the patch, you weren’t granted the perks of being a part of the club, nothing you said held any weight on the decisions they made. You weren’t a Cobra, you just belonged to one of them. Though that didn’t seem like the wisest thing to tell him, you knew the history between Deep Six and the Cobras, and telling him you belonged to Minho of all people would put you high up on his list of people to hurt if he had bad intentions to begin with. 

“Oh? You just like to hang on to the back of one then?”

“Something like that,” you sigh, deciding not to grab the extra treat, turning to look at him fully once more. “Are you gonna keep calling me a snake?”

His tongue prods along his cheek as he looks down at you, eyebrow slowly cocking up. “What would you rather I call you?”

“Y/N.”

He nods slowly, letting your name settle into his mind before he was reaching his hand out, the golden glimmering rings spelling out SIX shining in the light. You eye his hand for a minute before grabbing it in a gentle handshake, seeing the way he smiles before saying his own name. 

“Jungkook.”

Jungkook was proud of his club, wore his patch with pride, did everything he could to show his loyalty. So why was he starting to tell white lies to his brothers, making up excuses to justify why he was going to the bodega on neutral grounds directly after finishing a job. He knew what would happen if they knew who he was talking to, slowly befriending. His only rational excuse was the fact that you had said you weren’t technically a Cobra, and although he’s not sure how well that would hold up to the rest of his members, it was the only excuse that helped ease his guilt. 

He was currently sat on the small sidewalk outside of the bodega, elbows leaning on his knees as he glanced around the empty lot. You had been meeting here once every week or so. He had started to take note of the typical times you’d be sent on runs of your own, choosing to coincidentally run into you at the same time. You had yet to arrive today though, leaving him waiting for fifteen minutes, wondering if maybe you wouldn’t be showing up today. 

Just before he decides to head out, you pull into the lot on your Dyna, a smile on your face when you spot him sitting on the sidewalk like a child. 

“You’re late,” he calls out, grabbing a packet of candy and tossing it your way when you get off your bike and head towards him. 

“Sorry, I wasn’t aware we had a time set for our little play dates.” You open up the candy, taking a bite and shutting your eyes at the sour taste. Jungkook laughs at your expression, patting the sidewalk beside him for you to settle into. 

“I can’t be left unsupervised, you should know this by now.”

You laugh now, taking a look at the bodega and the surrounding area. “Nothing seems to be destroyed, I think you do just fine unsupervised.”

He leans back on his palm, raking back his dark hair as he stares into the sky in thought. “I tend to cause psychological damage, not too big on destroying property.”

“Got it. So you torture people?”

Jungkook chuckles, turning to look at you slightly, a small twinkle of mischief flashing in his eyes as he smiles. “Exactly.”

You can only laugh, not exactly sure how truthful he was being with his little joke. The both of you made an effort to not discuss the intricacies of your clubs, not entirely sure what it was that you both did for them, knowing things would get too messy and tangled up if you did. Instead you talk about yourselves, knowing small anecdotes of each other’s childhoods, recounting stories of when he took a few tumbles on his bike when he was just starting to learn to ride, ones of you before the life of the Cobras was all you knew. 

It was a brief moment of normalcy, being able to talk to someone else, laughing over dumb jokes while sharing candy. It made you forget how twisted all of it was until you returned back home. 

Jungkook just appreciated having a new friend, someone to talk to about things that didn’t have to do with his club. He just wished he could talk to you in moments that lasted longer than the brief bodega hang outs. So as you both finish up, loading up your bike with the items you were told to come pick up, he takes a leap of faith. 

“Hey, can I—uh. Can I have your number?” He looks uncharacteristically shy as he asks this, one hand rubbing along the back of his neck. “To arrange our play dates,” he adds jokingly, a small smile on his lips in hopes of softening the blow of potential rejection as he reaches for his phone and hands it over. 

You freeze instantly, staring at his device as the voice in your head tells you not to, screams that this would get you in trouble. But the hopeful look on his face is enough to shut it up, grabbing his phone with a nod. “Sure, but uhm, I can’t text often.”

His brows furrow slightly at the tone you use, watching the way you type in your number and text yourself. Something about it made it seem like you were nervous, and the only thing he can assume is that the people you were around would grow curious over who you were texting. 

“Why? Scared your Snake friends would be pissed that a Six is texting you?” His tone is playful, but as you hand him his phone back, the look on your face makes his smile slowly fade away. 

“My boyfriend, specifically.”

Jungkook feels his heart drop at the revelation. He knew you were most likely involved with a Cobra, having seen you the first time you met on the back of one’s bike—more specifically, Minho’s bike. He had just assumed you were Minho’s chosen girl for the day, but if you were mentioning a boyfriend now, Jungkook could easily piece together who exactly that is. 

The third cardinal rule of his club replays in the back of his mind, “Never get involved with a Cobra”. It makes his head hurt, desperately trying to find a deeper excuse, a loophole to allow this to continue. It shouldn’t mean anything, you two were just friendly, barely even toeing that line as it was. But just knowing you were spoken for, by the leader of the Cobras especially, made the guilt he already felt for speaking to you get worse. 

But he does his best to shake it off, drowning out his thoughts as he takes his phone back and shrugs. 

“We’re just two people who share a love for sour straws, but if it makes you feel better you text me whenever you want.”

You don’t text him for a while, the fear of your tiny little secret being exposed keeps you from responding to the text you had sent yourself from his phone. There was also the small feeling of guilt festering in your stomach, feeling like you had lied to him by keeping your relationship a secret. All he had assumed from the get go was that you liked to hang around Cobras, but you noticed the way his face had changed when you mentioned a boyfriend, and you can only imagine how he’d react if you told him your boyfriend was the leader of the Cobras. 

You find yourself staring at your device any chance you get, hidden in the bathroom of your place, lounging on the couch in the clubhouse, until you finally get the courage to send the first text. It makes your heart race, saving his number under your best friend's name, changing the emoji at the end so you know the difference, going as far as putting his messages on do not disturb. Clearly hiding, keeping him a secret. 

Jungkook knows it's wrong, because he’s keeping it a secret too. But once that first text was sent, they never stopped. He responds when he has time in between club duties, knowing you’ll reply when you get a moment alone. Your messages are short, random conversations that never crossed any lines, but he meant what he said, taking full advantage of having your number to coordinate your play dates. 

The guilt you feel slowly fades away with each passing day, becoming comfortable in your ways as you let him know what days you’ll be on that side of town, and before you know it, your hang outs become your favorite thing. You slowly start to consider Jungkook your friend, another rare slice of peace in your messy life. It makes you feel like your younger self, excited to speak to a cute boy and laugh until your cheeks hurt. 

And it should make you feel icky to have these thoughts about someone who wasn’t your boyfriend, but your relationship with Minho had been romantically dead for years now, not able to remember the last time he did something for you that didn’t solely benefit him. So you choose to enjoy the small flutters in your stomach that occur around Jungkook, allowing yourself to sit closer to him each time, friendly touches beginning to get more courageous while still toeing the line. 

Jungkook doesn’t mind it, he thought you were pretty and would let you trace the patches on his jacket or analyze his tattoos up close if that's what you wanted. You were the one with a boyfriend, who was he to tell you what was right or wrong for you to do, he wasn’t one to judge or pull a morality card on you considering the things he does in his club. It was all mostly innocent anyways, even now as you stand a good few feet away from each other, respective candy in each other's hands, attempting to toss them into your mouths. 

It was innocent. 

“God, your aim is horrible!” you laugh out, feeling the candy hit your forehead and bounce right off. 

“What are you talking about? That was a clear headshot.” He has that charming smirk on his face as he says it, tongue flicking against his lip ring while he laughs too. 

“You’re not trying to kill me Jungkook, we’re trying to see who wins first.” You swat the remnants of sugar off your face as you reach into your own bag for a piece of candy, motioning for him to be ready. He gets into position, slightly bending his knees and angling his head back with his mouth open, ready to catch whatever you throw. With a small snicker you grab four small pieces of candy, aiming right for his face with one eye shut and sending them flying. Jungkook is totally unsuspecting until suddenly, he’s being pelted all over his face, his eyes squeezing shut at the shock. 

“Dude,” he laughs, eyes finally opening up to spot you cackling away, perfectly content at your little stunt. 

“Okay, okay sorry. For real this time. I got it, I can feel it in my bones.” Jungkook should tell you no, say you wasted your turn and deliver payback, but you look too happy right now for him to do anything but smile and nod as he gets back into position once more. He sees the way you bring your hand close to your face, shutting one eye to try to aim, tongue slightly poking out in concentration before you toss the candy across a few feet of distance. 

Jungkook doesn’t even register that the candy successfully landed in his mouth until you’re gasping in shock. That’s when his eyes widen, his mouth shutting as he begins to chew, standing up straight and feeling his heart start to warm at how proud you look at having beat him. He closes the distance between you, extending a hand out for a high five that you gladly give him. 

Now that you’re closer, you see all the sprinkles of sugar on his face. It dusts along his cheekbones and the top of his nose, looking like small freckles on his skin. You give him an endearing smile as you cup his face and swipe it away from his skin. You do it without thinking really, tips of your fingers gently flicking away the evidence of your tiny prank. 

Jungkook’s chest tightens at the soft gesture, eyes wide as he watches you, too scared to move, almost like it would startle you or make you come to your senses and remember he was a Six. He chooses to just focus on how soft your hand feels against his cheek, how sweet you sound when you say he looks like a mess, your eyes filled with what he hopes is the same adoration he has as you look up at him, a lot closer than you need to be.

Jungkook knows all the sugar is gone now but you’re still there, thumb rubbing along his cheek, tracing the scar under his eye while your gaze lands on the piercing on his lip. He holds his breath when you look up at him once more, and maybe it's his wishful thinking but he swears the way you look at him tells him to make a move, so he does. Slowly at first, wanting to give you a chance to deny his advances, but you meet his lips before he can close the distance himself.

The innocence is gone now. Jungkook had felt something brewing with each of your interactions, chalking it off to pure friendliness, but he knows a small spark had been lit the second you started speaking to each other. 

The kiss burns, the guilt and betrayal to his club clawing at his mind but he doesn't care, welcoming it as he deepens it, sliding his hand into your hair and focusing on the way you let out a soft breath as he does so. It makes your mind spin, your hands gently looping around his neck to bring him closer. You don’t have time to think, too enveloped in the way his piercing feels against your lips, how his fingers softly rake through your hair, how he takes a deep breath when you kiss him back harder. 

It's brief, a small moment of weakness led by temptation, but you can’t deny how you both feel exhilarated, wide eyes and smiles on your faces when you pull back. "You taste like candy," you giggle.

“Your favorite,” he mumbles, still close enough to nudge the tip of his nose along yours. His voice is low as he lets reality settle, slowly inching back, his eyes meeting yours and seeing the small clouds of panic start to form around you. Reality seems to be hitting you too, fear of what would happen to him if Minho ever found out, or what would happen to you if he even had an inkling. A small harmless crush had just passed over into dangerous territory. 

“Hey,” Jungkook starts softly, hand gently coming to rest on your shoulder to bring you back to the present. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“No, but it does,” you groan. It did mean something, it didn’t matter how small it seemed, but you know the kiss meant something. Your small panic had nothing to do with being unfaithful, you knew Minho cheated on you with any girls who were willing to show their loyalty to the club, and if it kept him off of you then you didn’t mind it. You were scared to put Jungkook in danger. “It means something and my boyfriend’s crazy, he’ll kill both of us if he finds out.”

“I know he is.” He shrugs, looking directly at you, seeing the shocked look on your face at his admission. 

“You know what?” you whisper. 

“I know he’s a psycho. I kind of put two and two together when you mentioned a boyfriend. It is Minho right?” When you nod slowly, still unsure how to respond he just continues speaking. “But look, I know. All of it. I know I’m not supposed to be speaking to you, let alone kissing you and enjoying it, but it happened. I know it’s wrong, that I should feel bad and I don’t, but I also know where my loyalties lie within the club and what rules I’m willing to bend. If you’re saying it means something, then it does.”

You can only stare at him, feeling the clouds of panic start to fade. “But I'm telling you, I know what's at risk and I won’t be using it to harm you.”

“I mean…it is both our asses on the line,” you mumble out, still feeling his hand on your shoulder. He smiles at your words now, making you slowly smile back. 

“So, we’re taking it to our graves?” His voice is light again, the playful tone you were used to back. When you nod he smiles wider. “Cool, should we kiss on it?”

Jungkook laughs when you shove his shoulder with a cackle, rolling your eyes as you step back, walking back into the bodega to get what you came for. “You’re so unserious. Get away from me.”

The issue with this imaginary line being crossed is that it leaves you thinking “what’s next”, constantly wondering just what else you could get away with. One kiss shared turns into two which turns into five, given so casually it feels like second nature. It seems like both of your guards have dropped now, more at ease with each other, touches getting as bold as they could in public. 

“Are you sure my skin isn’t gonna burn off?” you joke, laughing when Jungkook gives you an eye roll. His jacket is in his hands, shaking it off before he’s swinging it around your frame, helping you slide your arms into it. He had jokingly said it would swallow you whole, and you honestly just wanted an excuse to be closer to him so when he suggested you try it on you couldn’t deny him. 

“You might burst into flames, so just drop and roll baby.” He snickers when you playfully glare at him. Jungkook looks down at you with a smile, his hands smoothing the collar before he’s taking a step back to admire how the large leather jacket looked on you. The patches cover the arms and back, his first initial, last name and rank displayed over the left breast pocket, something your finger comes up to trace absentmindedly.  

“I don’t know, the jacket suits you. You sure you don’t wanna become a Six?”

“Very funny Jungkook. They’ll be putting a Cobra on my tombstone when I’m dead.” 

He waves you off, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Let me live in my fantasy world, yeah?”

“Your fantasy world involves me being a Six?” you giggle, looking up at him with a sly smile.

“Don’t kink shame me. Now smile for the picture,” he sings out, bending down as he extends his arm out, ready to take a selfie. You had yet to take photos of you both, too scared to be caught by Minho, but you allowed Jungkook to document your newly formed friendship as much as he wanted, knowing he had less to worry about when it came to snooping. 

Your arms wrap around him, the tombstone patch on display as you both smile widely for the picture. He looks at it with a cheeky grin, mumbling out how cute he thought it was before putting his phone away. 

“Do you need the usual for your run today?” he asks, knowing Minho always had you stocking up his alcohol. 

“Not today. I’m technically supposed to be locked inside our place. A few Cobra’s headed out of state this morning for a meeting.”

Jungkook hums, having briefly heard of an arms deal happening out of state, he just hadn’t been aware it was the Cobra’s doing. “Why didn’t you go with?”

“Too risky.” You lean back against the textured wall of the building, still cozy in his jacket. Minho loved to have you right by his side at all times, so if he said it was safer for you to stay here then you wouldn’t question him. “He has to make sure his prized possession stays safe.”

Jungkook laughs, slinging an arm around you and bringing you to his side obnoxiously. “Well you tell him I have that covered.”

“Jungkook, he’d cut your tongue out. Stop it!” you cackle. 

“I’d like to see him fucking try,” he grunts out, enjoying the way you playfully swat at him. He’d like to think he could have Minho’s head served on a silver platter if he ever got close enough to put his hands on him. 

“What about you? Any fun club plans after our playdate?”

Jungkook sighs, a smile still on his face. “Nope. I’m officially clocked out.” Your laugh is felt against his side, only making his smile widen. “I just have to stop by the clubhouse to grab something before heading home.”

“How far is the clubhouse from here?” You’re looking up at him with a twinkle in your eye, your smile still as sweet as can be, but he senses some undertone that he hopes he isn’t imagining. 

“Not far, about 20 minutes. Why? You want a tour?”

That was all he had to ask before you were following his bike down the busy streets on his side of town. His jacket is still on you, providing you with a small sense of security, knowing if anyone spotted you they’d assume you were with him. It leaves you at ease, entering the secure lot of his clubhouse, coming to a stop beside him and glancing around as you take off your helmet. 

It’s empty, a few cars parked around that looked like they were in need of repair, but no other bikes or lingering people. Jungkook steps off his bike, motioning for you to follow him, excited at showing you his favorite place. 

As you follow his lead you instantly see how different Deep Six’s clubhouse is compared to the Cobras. The space is taken care of, decorated thoughtfully, a space made for business as well as hanging out with their friends and families. Touches of the club are nestled around, a large Harley on display on a far wall, a frame showing the timeline and evolution of their patch tucked between other photos, and the most obvious and slightly obnoxious ode to the club comes in the gallery wall displaying all of their mugshots. Cute. 

“It’s nothing fancy,” he mumbles, spreading his arms out as he stands in the middle of the main room. A brown tufted leather couch is right behind him, a giant pool table behind it and a fully loaded bar to the right. 

“Compared to ours it sure is.” The Cobra’s clubhouse was made for business only, the meeting room was kept in pristine condition while the rest of it was only made to be nice enough to house drunken members and whatever hangouts were in the process of joining. 

“Really?” When you nod he just frowns, approaching you to grab your hand and pull you along, trying to show you more. “I’ll show you my space.”

“Your space?” you wonder, smiling when he squeezes your palm lightly, leading you down a hall to the right. A few doors line both walls, different ranks tacked on the middle of them, coming to a stop in front of one that says Road Captain. You had never really paid attention to his rank on his jacket, never really caring to read anyone’s rank in general, but seeing it displayed on this door let you know just how deep his involvement in his club was. 

“Only ranked members get private rooms.” He sounds almost bashful as he says this, grinning before opening up the door and switching on the light. A desk is on the right, paperwork neatly stacked in piles, a dresser is along the other wall with pictures tacked onto a cork board right above it. His bed is in the middle, sheets a dark gray and neatly made. It’s nestled between two windows on either side, letting in the slowly setting sunlight. 

You step into the room, walking to the dresser to look at the photos he has tacked up. He looks younger in some of these, hair messier and longer, no piercing or tattoos yet as he leans on his bike, another member attempting to put him in a headlock. They’re all club photos for the most part, the only one standing out is a photo of a teenage looking Jungkook holding up a diploma with what you can only assume is his parents beside him. 

“Cute,” you mumble out, smiling as you turn back to face him. It was odd to feel this calm around him, so used to the faint ticking heard in your head, reminding you that you were running on borrowed time, forced to interact in small bursts. With Minho completely occupied, the ticking disappears, allowing you to fully enjoy the moment for what it was. 

“I didn’t expect you to be sentimental like this,” you tease, smiling at the way his eyes narrow at you as he approaches, his tongue poking at his cheek as he fights a smile. 

“I’m full of surprises,” he murmurs, standing a foot away from you now, peering down at you with an aura of playfulness surrounding him. Your hands reach out to gently play with the material of his shirt, tugging him even closer. Jungkook could feel the tension, the same slowly growing tension that had been brewing with each day spent together. He can only watch as your hands slowly trail up his stomach, gliding up to gingerly rest against his chest. 

He wanted to kiss you, wanted to feel you gasp against his lips, but the last thing he wanted to do was make you feel like he had suggested showing you his clubhouse to be a total sleaze. Jungkook knew the line had grown blurry, kisses and touches shared with ease, but he wasn’t bold enough to assume you’d be okay with taking anything further. So when you decide to make the first move, leaning up to ghost your lips over his own, he can only hold his breath, eyes fluttering shut when you softly press them together. 

Your hands rest on his shoulders now, holding yourself steady as you kiss him, feeling the way his body melts into it. You pull away with a soft smack of your lips, inching back slightly. “What other surprises do you have?” 

Jungkook holds in a groan when you start to pepper kisses on the corner of his mouth, trailing them down his jaw, gently nipping the skin of his throat right below his ear. You giggle when he shudders, his hands gripping your waist, fingers tightening around you. 

“If you let me, I can show you.” His voice holds a tinge of unsureness, wanting for you to be okay with this without sounding pushy. But Jungkook had been thinking of this since your first kiss so he couldn’t help the desperate tone laced between each syllable. 

“Show me. Show me whatever you want,” you whisper, hand coming up to cup his cheek, looking up at him through your lashes. When his eyes meet yours he finally lets his resolve crack, attaching your lips once more in a heated kiss, finally feeling you gasp against him. 

Jungkook is a little ashamed to admit how easily this was affecting him, his heart already racing in his chest, stomach fluttering with each shared moan, bulge growing in his jeans when your hand slips into his hair and pulls. His hands slide down the material of his jacket you have on, pulling it off your body and tossing it aside without a care. He feels you smile against his lips at the action, clearly enjoying the way his hands roam along your body, desperate to touch you in ways he wasn’t able to before. 

It’s an eager dance to his bed, blindly stepping back as he guides you to it until your knees buckle against the mattress, giggling as you flop onto it. Your arm rests back to hold you steady, other hand gripping onto his shirt to yank him back over you, reattaching your lips in a heated kiss. 

Jungkook laughs into the kiss, his arm wrapping around you to haul you further up the bed properly, slowly pushing you back until you’re flat against the bed. His body settles over you, the cute visual of his hair framing his face is the first thing you see when your eyes flutter open as he pulls back. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, his hand coming up to gently cradle your jaw, thumb rubbing along your bottom lip as he smirks before dipping back down. 

He kisses the corner of your mouth, following the same trail you had left on him earlier, smiling against your skin when you shudder as he nips your neck. Slowly, his hands slide down your body, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt and tugging it up to reveal your stomach. 

“Can I take this off?” he mumbles, eyes peering up at you for confirmation. When you breathe out a yes, he slides it further up, helping you slip out of your shirt fully before you’re settling on your back again. A thin bralette covers your boobs, lacey cups revealing a glimmer on your nipples that has him tilting his head in curiosity. 

You catch what he’s looking at, smile spreading on your lips as you reach up to touch his jaw, finger gently tapping along the small mole he has below his lips. “I’m full of surprises too,” you mumble, smiling wider when he boldly cups your chest, thumb swiping at your pierced nipple through the lace. 

“I can see that,” he mumurs, voice low and raspy, making your stomach flip. He looks at you once more, brow cocking up in question as his fingers toy with the fabric. You nod your head, knowing what he wanted, allowing him to slip the straps off your shoulders before he’s sliding a palm under your back to properly unclasp your bra, giving himself the perfect view. 

Its hard to ignore the small burst of confidence that surges through you when he groans, eyes hooded while he leans down to pepper kisses down your chest. It had been such a long time since you’ve felt truly desired, since you’ve been kissed delicately, had hands touch your skin so gently it tickles and leaves you breathing out a laugh. So you relish in it. You shut your eyes and enjoy the way Jungkook presses wet kisses to your skin, you let yourself gasp in pleasure when he wraps his lips around your pierced nipple and sucks. 

Your hands instinctively slip through his hair, fingers yanking his thick strands as he hums against your skin, tongue flicking along the piercing. Jungkook feels the way you jut your chest further out, back arching at the sensation. A deep groan escapes you as his palm comes up to cup your other breast, the cool feeling of his rings sending a shiver down your spine. 

He smiles as he pulls back, cocky with eyes twinkling with mischief as his fingers playfully dance down your body. 

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers reach the waistband of your jeans, teasingly dipping past it as he lifts a brow in question. He needed clear boundaries, not wanting to cross any lines. You find it cute, how despite the fact that you’re laying here, chest heaving with anticipation, eyes surely wild with desire, he’s still wanting to make sure. 

“Can I?” He repeats his earlier question, features soft as he waits for your answer. 

“We need to even out the playing field first Six,” you tease, smiling when he chuckles and points to his shirt. You nod, staring up at him from the bed as he kneels up, staring right at you as he reaches behind his neck and yanks the shirt off of his body. 

Your blood warms up further at the sight of him, seeing his muscles flex under his tattoos as he straightens back up. Jungkook tilts his head slightly, biting on his lip ring as he fights back the smile at your clear admiration. The black marks his skin, some tattoos looking darker than others, showing you just which ones were recent additions. 

The owl on his chest looks the brightest, edges still crisp, shading looking rich in the skulls beneath each wing. They seem to move as Jungkook takes a breath, snapping you out of it as you look back into his eyes. 

“Is this even enough for you?” he jokes, smiling wide when you nod in confirmation, your eyes following his movements as his hand returns to your jeans. You watch with bated breath as he unbuttons the top, slowly pulling down the zipper before his hands hook into the waistband and starts to tug. Your hips lift from the bed to help, allowing him to pull them off, tossing them to the side along with your shoes and socks. 

You can feel your stomach flipping with nerves, the worry of doing something new with someone new, the small clouds of insecurity rolling in, wondering if you looked good in this angle, if maybe Jungkook preferred you to look a certain way or wear cute underwear with bows on the front instead of the black regular cotton ones you currently have on. 

It all settles down as he drops lowers, eyes looking up at you as he presses kisses onto your hips and slowly tugs your underwear down, clearly not paying any mind to them. A trail of goosebumps blossom down your thighs, following your underwear as he pulls them off too. He stands up once more, eyes swimming with want as he sees you. 

“Let me get a good look at you,” he murmurs when he notices the way your arms begin to want to cover yourself up at being fully exposed. He thinks it's cute how shy you seem now, eyes bouncing away from his as he takes his time drinking you in. With your eyes diverted, he thinks it's a great time to dive in, his hands coming down to grip your palms while his face nudges its way into the crook of your neck to kiss your skin, smiling at the way you gasp and laugh at the ticklish feeling

“Jungkook!” you giggle, feeling his hands pin your own down on the bed, his mouth traveling down your body as he guides your hands into his hair, letting you know he wants you to keep playing with the strands. Your finger twirls his hair around, feeling him smile against your skin as he descends once more. 

“Everything about you is so pretty,” he mumbles into your stomach, eyes peering up at you while his hands return to your hips, slowly sliding down to your thighs to grip the flesh. Wet kisses smack into your skin, leaving a trail on each hip and down your thigh until he’s suddenly biting. He laughs when you gasp, your fingers tugging his hair on instinct when you look down with a shocked expression. 

“Looked so good you had to take a bite?” you joke, smiling down at him, feeling the fluttering in your stomach when he winks. 

“Oh I need more than just a bite,” he groans, fingers tightening their hold on your thighs before he presses a kiss directly onto your mound, slowly sticking his tongue out to gently flick along your slit. 

Jungkook loves the way your breath gets shaky as you exhale, a soft moan of his name reaching his ears when he gently parts your folds and teasingly flicks against your clit. A part of him knows this might be the one and only time he’ll ever get to experience you like this, the only time he’ll see you flush on his bed, gasping for more as your hips roll into him. So he wants to store every moment in his brain, keep it locked away until the next time he misses you. 

“Fuck Jungkook, that feels good,” you moan, fingers locked in his hair, keeping him close as he ravishes you. The praise makes his ego grow, lips wrapping around your clit and sucking with the perfect amount of pressure. It makes your stomach tense, short little zaps of electricity flowing through your body with each flick of his tongue. 

“Good, I just wanna make you feel good.” He leans back a bit, admiring the look of your sodden folds for a moment before he's letting a glob of spit drip from his mouth directly onto your clit. He bites his lip as his fingers spread it around, coating his digits as he circles your entrance. His eyes meet yours again, brow raised in question, smiling when you nod in response. Slowly, he pushes forward, eyes focused on your reaction, seeing the way you bite down on your lip as his finger sinks in. 

Jungkook tries not to let his mind get carried away when he feels your walls fluttering around his digit, already imagining how you would feel around him, feeling his cock aching in his jeans as he sinks a second finger in to properly stretch you out. With each thrust of his fingers his mind wanders further, the need to see you falling apart leading his mouth back onto you, the combining sensation making you moan louder. 

The stretch of his fingers has your head spinning, eyes falling shut as you mewl on his sheets, fingers raking through his hair. “More Jungkook, please,” you whimper, not able to get enough of him. 

The desperation lacing your voice makes Jungkook’s heart flutter, ready to comply with anything you want. He moans against your folds, a third finger adding to the delicious stretch. The wet clicks of his fingers thrusting into your drenched pussy fill the room, and it's the greed living inside of Jungkook that makes him want to thrust into you faster, make it so that all you can hear is the sound of your pleasure. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when he curves his fingers upwards, tickling the sweet spot that makes your eyes roll. That’s when you feel the familiar cool sensation of his rings once more. You were used to feeling them on your arms when he playfully pulled you around, used to the feeling of them on your cheeks when he gripped your face before kissing you, but feeling them against your cunt each time he thrust his fingers forward, it made your body burn up with lust. There was something about having the name of a club you were told to stay far away from pressed against you salaciously that only made the waves of pleasure you feel crash over you even harder. 

“Mm, close Jungkook,” you whine, your free hand sliding up your body to tug and pinch at your nipples. Jungkook peers up at you from between his thighs and the visual of you playing with yourself while he ate you out has him making a mess in his underwear. He doesn’t even care how easy it is for you to make him this needy, knowing you were enjoying yourself because of him was all that mattered. 

“Wanna feel you baby,” he mutters out, lips shiny with your arousal, fingers scissoring inside of you, feeling the way your walls tighten around him. Your hands grip his hair tighter, making him hiss, a breathy laugh hitting your messy folds when you guide his mouth back onto you. 

Jungkook knows you’re right on the edge, the craving for your release making you arch your back, moans of his name slurring together with pleas for more more. All it takes is a few more flicks of his tongue for your climax to crest, the prettiest moan he’s ever heard reaching his ears as you gush around his fingers. 

“There you go, good girl,” he groans, pulling back as he licks his lips, staring at your trembling body with eyes swimming with lust. His thumb replaces his mouth, rubbing your swollen clit, enjoying the way you writhe at the slight overstimulation. 

“Ah, ‘Guk,” you whimper. And the new nickname has him smiling, loving the way it sounds coming from you so much he almost doesn’t want to stop. It takes your small hands coming down to grip his wrist for him to finally pull away, your soft giggles of enjoyment coming to a halt when he slips his fingers into his mouth. 

“Told you I needed more than just a bite,” he teases, making an absolute show of licking his fingers. “What about you, are you satisfied?”

You lift yourself up with one arm, the other reaching forward to grip his belt loop, tugging him closer as you look up at him through your lashes. “Mm, no I don’t think I am.” His abs tense when your finger trails along his skin, toying with the button on his jeans, slowly popping them open and pulling down the zipper. 

“Then I need to fix that,” he mumbles, tongue flicking his lip ring as he stares down at you, watching the way you reach down to palm at his bulge. Your face lights up at his words, a smile spreading on your face as he helps you tug down his jeans, obviously eager. Jungkook’s smirk only deepens when your eyes widen once you finally release his cock, a small gasp escaping you at the size of him. 

Pearly beads of precum collect at his tip, swollen and aching for your touch, so when you finally grasp his length and swipe your thumb along the bulbous tip he lets out a deep groan that has your core clenching. 

“Fuck, babe.” He grunts when your palm starts to slide up and down, his eyes focused on the way you slowly inch forward, your tongue peeking out to gently lick his tip. Jungkook knows he’s in trouble, already feeling his body react to your touch. All you had done was give him a few teasing touches and his mind was already spinning. Its an inner battle as he watches you take more of him into your mouth, his jaw dropping at the warm feeling, hands clenching by his side when you moan at the taste of him. 

“Y/N,” he groans, “you’re gonna make me cum too fast.” You pop off of him with a wet smack, a saccharine smile on your lips as you giggle. 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Your head tilts as you question him, hand still lazily pumping his length. 

“It is when I want to fuck you first.” That makes your hand finally stop, brows raising in interest. Your free hand slides up his body, carefully cupping his face, guiding him down to kiss you. 

“Then fuck me, Jungkook. I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips, feeling him groan against you as he kisses you harder. You know what you mean. You’re his for the night, despite how strong your connection with him is, the reality was that as long as Minho had his claws sunk into you, there would never be a chance for you and Jungkook to delve deeper into this relationship. But this tiny bubble you were both in was enough for you. 

The energy is different than what you’re used to, the both of you smiling through the kisses, soft words whispered against skin as you help him take off his jeans. Jungkook’s laugh is infectious when you gasp at the sight of his thighs, the double headed wolf tattoo catching your attention immediately, praising it under your breath before he’s kissing you once more, telling you he’ll let you properly see it later as his hands grope your sides. 

“How do you want me?” you mumble, gently nipping his lip. 

“If it was my way I’d have you in every position I could think of. You tell me, baby.” If Jungkook let his selfish desires take over, he’d tell you he wanted you to ride him, let you bounce on top of him and use him while he got to watch your pretty face. But he can’t be that selfish, even if the small pestering voice in his head tells him that this might be his only chance to. Still, his eyes are soft as he pulls back, ringed hand caressing your face with a tenderness that makes your heart clench

“Can I ride you?” Your voice is timid, just above a whisper, but it makes Jungkook shut his eyes and groan. You see, he wasn’t corny, didn’t believe in fate or anything like that, but for a brief moment Jungkook's convinced this was meant to be. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning forward to rest his forhead against yours. “Yes, please.”

The way he begs makes your pussy ache, hips instinctively rolling up into his, enjoying the way he hisses, rutting his cock against your inner thigh. The beads of precum leak off his tip, leaving a small puddle by your hip, smeared around as he repeats the action. 

“O-okay,” you gasp, biting down on your lip as you peek at the visual, trying not to get lost in the way he teases himself. “Let me ‘Guk, wanna feel you.”

He nods, tendrils of hair tickling your face as he kisses you again before leaning back. You try not to stare but it's so hard when he looks like that, length hard and bobbing as he rummages through the drawer by his bed, a sheepish smile on his lips when he plucks out a shiny square packet. 

Your heart races in your chest as you sit up, coming onto your knees and crawling to the head of the bed, gently patting the space next to you. Jungkook’s quick to settle beside you, back leaning against the small headboard, large hands reaching to grab your hips and hoist you over his thighs. A small laugh escapes you at being manhandled, the toned muscles of his thighs felt underneath you, his cock poking at your belly from your proximity. 

Your eyes are glued to it, watching in awe as he pulls out the condom and carefully rolls it on, a small sigh meeting your ears. 

“Can’t wait to feel you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw, your hand meeting his around his cock as you lift your hips just enough. His free hand finds your hip again as you guide his tip to your entrance, teasingly circling it, slipping the tip inside for a second before popping it back out, the two of you gasping at the feeling. 

“Mm, sit on it,” he groans, brows pinched together as he nudges his nose into your neck. Wet kisses mark your skin, his hand getting tighter on your hip when you repeat the action again before finally sinking further down. Your walls clench around him, the stretch making you whine. You had seen his size, knowing just how big he was, but now that he’s inside of you and you feel it, you pace yourself. 

It's unintentionally torturous, the warm tightness slowly enveloping more of him and all he could do was clench his jaw and grip you harder. Jungkook is patient, fighting every urge he has to thrust up or sit you down fully. Instead he murmurs praises into your skin, tells you how good you feel, how good you’re doing, that you’re almost there until you’re butt rests flush against his thighs. 

A shuddering breath hits his shoulder, your face coming up to stare at him properly now. He’s staring at you with hooded eyes, mouth slightly opened as he gasps when your walls flutter. 

“So big,” you mumble, kissing him gently, lips ghosting over his, hips slowly lifting an inch before coming back down. 

“I know, baby. Take your time.” He groans, kissing you harder, teeth clicking together in his haste, breathing into each other. Jungkook felt like he was dreaming, some sick fantasy teasing him while he slept, giving him a taste of you before reality would settle in and snatch it all away. But you don’t usually feel this way in his dreams, don’t dig your nails into his shoulder as you quicken your pace, your wetness dripping down his cock and pooling at the base. And Jungkook is glad that he prefers reality over his dreams for once. 

“Oh god ‘Guk,” you moan, skin slapping together with each rise and fall of your hips. His lips are coated in a sheen of spit, swollen from your kisses and gentle bites, but he gives you a smile, clearly enjoying your reaction to him. 

“Does it feel good baby?” he murmurs, voice deep and raspy at the edges, his hand sliding up your thighs, pressing into your tummy with a tilt to his head. “Feel nice and full?”

You shudder at his question, feeling the pressure of his palm, and you swear you can feel the tip of his cock nudging into it. “Y-yes, so good, so full. Just wanna fuck you forever.”

He hums, feeling your words deep inside of him. It makes him melt into the headboard, hand traveling further up until he has a handful of your tits in them. Jungkook plays with them a bit, finger pinching and twisting the hard buds, tugging gently at the silver bar, hearing you moan at the sensation. 

“You can fuck me whenever you want,” he grunts at a particular drop of your hips, the wetness aiding in your pace. 

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he groans, thumb rolling along your nipple, softly rutting up into you. “Just text me whenever you want it. Pretty face, delicious pussy, I’ll always be here for you.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you giggle, throwing your head back as you get lost in the motion. Jungkook laughs with you, arm scooping around your back to pull you closer, his mouth kissing up and down your neck, teeth grazing the surface with the urge to suck but he knows better. 

“Just for you,” he breathes into your skin, feeling you laugh again. 

It feels like nothing else matters, not the potential consequences to this, no worry about what this meant for your special friendship. All that matters is that Jungkook is grabbing you like he can’t get enough of you, kissing you like his life depends on it, not shy at all at vocalizing how good it all feels. 

“Wanna cum,” you gasp, cupping his face, seeing the way he focuses on your lips as you speak. 

“Yeah? Tell me what you need.” He bends his knees slightly, pressure on his heels as he fucks up into you. The jiggle of your tits makes his mouth water, caught in a daze. 

“Need you to touch me.” It's the softest plea, tone dripping and needy, making Jungkook nod immediately. He bites his lip as he trails a hand up your chest, over your neck until he’s cupping your jaw, his thumb rubbing along your lower lip. With a gentle tap, you’re opening up, eyes locked together as you wrap your lips around the digit and suck, giving him a teasing bite as he tries to pull it out. 

He smiles at you, bringing down his soaked thumb in between your bodies until it reaches home directly onto your clit. The sudden touch makes you gasp, bundle of nerves swollen and sensitive, and its almost too much. But he’s gentle, easing you into the feeling, only applying more pressure when you finally relax, falling back into the delicious rhythm you have going. 

Jungkook can feel the coil tightening inside of him with each pulse of your pussy, walls clamping around him on each lift, making an absolute mess as the arousal drips onto his balls. 

“More?” He quickens his finger, circling your clit faster, paying close attention to your reaction. 

“Oh, fuck. No, like that. Just like that.” So he does, jaw dropped open as he watches you get lost in it all, bouncing on top of him as fast as you wanted, using him just like he wanted. Your thighs burn but it feels too good to think about stopping, the beginning signs of your orgasm licking at your skin, encouraging you to fuck him faster. You can hear how messy you’re leaving him, the squelch of your pussy blending in with the moans and thumping of the headboard. 

“Close, fuck—ah,” you stutter and gasp, brows pinched together tightly, only able to stare at him as you start to fall apart. He looks at you in awe, breathing in time with you, matching each gasp and moan, thumb slipping around in your slick. It's the accidental flick of his that has you tumbling over the edge, nearly shrieking out his name as your high comes barreling at you. 

Jungkook curses under his breath as you tremble above him. Your hand curls into his hair, yanking him forward into a messy kiss as you moan unabashedly, his thumb continuing to flick along your puffy clit for another minute to work you through it before he’s clutching onto your hips and controlling your speed. You’re still twitching at the aftershocks, small sparks kissing your skin and leaving you in a comfortable haze as you tangle your tongue with his, pulling back with a smile so sweet. 

“I wanna see you cum Jungkook,” you kiss him again, teasing him as you pull away and watch him chase you for more. “Made me feel so good, want you to cum for me.”

Jungkook groans, nodding as he wraps his arm around you, pushing off the headboard until the air is whooshing around you and your back is meeting the sheets once more. He cages you in easily, arms under your back, cradling your head as he buries his face into your neck and surges his hips into you. 

Your breath leaves you at the change in position, legs wrapping around his hips, shuddering as his pelvis nudges your sensitive clit. He doesn’t care how desperate he looks, fucking you like he was starved of affection, the need to cum taking over all of his senses. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” Your nails dig into his back, scratching along his skin, making him groan into your ear. His thrusts grow more sporadic, shallow, losing their grace as your purposefully clench around him. 

“Oh shit, you’re gonna make me cum.” He whines, voice breathy against your neck, and you swear you’ll cum again. 

“Yeah? Cum for me, c’mon,” you whisper, grazing his back and tightening your walls again. He nods against you before he’s leaning back, giving you the view you so sweetly asked for. His thick brows are furrowed on his forehead, eyes heady with lust, and a deep groan of your name spilling past his lips as he cums. Your feet urge him closer as his hips stutter, rutting into you to milk his orgasm as he fills up the condom. 

The room falls quiet for a moment, the both of you catching your breath, hearts slowing down as the high settles over your bones. And then he’s laughing, flopping back over you and tightening his hold on your body. 

“Why are you laughing?” You giggle too, hands running through his hair as you smile in a love sick daze. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard,” he admits sheepishly, kissing your warm skin, leaning back with a childish smile as he kisses your nose and ever so slowly starts to pull out of you. The sound is filthy, core sensitive and messy, and when he fully pulls out you can’t help but close your legs. 

He simply laughs, hand softly rubbing at your calves before he’s getting up and disposing of the condom. 

You’re still in that same foggy haze from earlier, even as Jungkook returns with a damp cloth to clean you up, all you can do is hum in thanks as you melt into his sheets. It doesn’t take long for him to settle in beside you again, holding you close, hand tickling the skin of the thigh you have hooked over his hip. 

“You have such pretty legs.” It’s a soft compliment, almost like it wasn’t meant to escape him. But when you look at him with a sincere smile he continues. “If you were mine I’d beg you to wear skirts all the time just so I could stare at them, touch them—“ he grips your thighs playfully, smiling at your laugh, “I’d be able to flick it up so easily and fuck you in it.”

Your laugh is louder now, your hand playfully swatting at his chest at how quick he was to get raunchy. 

If you were mine. 

That phrase repeats in your mind, sounding like a sweet song that you’d never get tired of hearing. 

“I’ll wear one at the meet next week,” you promise, running your hand over his chest. You knew you’d be seeing him there, able to freely ogle at him with all the neighboring clubs gathered together in an attempt to keep the peace. You might not be able to interact like you usually do, but just seeing him was enough. 

Just as he’s about to reply, the sound of a familiar engine cuts the air. You freeze instantly, wide eyes staring at Jungkook, seeing the confused look on his face. He lifts a hand up, motioning for you to stay as he sits up straighter, ears perking up when he hears the front door of the clubhouse open up. 

“Stay here. They won’t come in here but I know they saw my bike so I’ll get rid of them.” You can only nod as he hurries into his clothes, buttoning his jeans in a haste and deciding to forgo his shirt and shoes as he all but runs out of the room, shutting the door behind him. 

The haze you felt earlier is long gone, anxiety settling into your bones once more, realizing just what sort of situation you were in. Jungkook seemed to think the golden rule of staying away from Cobras was fine with you, but who knows just what kind of loyalty the Six member in the other room holds. 

All you needed was one man hell bent on loyalty to come barging in, and you don’t even want to think of what would become of you. Your heart rattles in your chest as you sit up too, eyes glancing around the room to find your pile of clothes. 

You can hear them mumbling in the main room, Jungkook’s laughter sounding out as he jokes around with his fellow brother. You can only imagine what he’s telling him, maybe explaining why theres a second bike parked next to his, or giving his reason for being shirtless and disheveled at the clubhouse this late in the day. Whatever is going on, you know you shouldn’t wait around to see how it plays out. Being with Jungkook makes reality pause, fade away and leave you to believe that things were meant to be this easy. 

But that's not your reality. 

You knew you wanted this to happen, could still feel the butterflies in your stomach as you remember the way he kissed your skin. But you couldn’t let the line be crossed this far again. You’re not sure karma would be too kind to you the next time. 

As quiet as you can, you slip out of bed, carefully putting your clothes back on and looking at the desk in the corner. Before you overthink it, you grab the pen and notepad he has resting on top of paperwork, scribbling out a quick note before you’re returning to his bedside, yanking up the curtains and wiggling the window open to slip out. 

Back in the main room, Jungkook is sitting on the bar stool, Hoseok resting against the counter as they both joke around. Jungkook is thankful that Hoseok doesn’t seem to ask too many questions, knowing very well that he must have some girl in the room, but he wasn’t nosey enough to want to know who. 

“So you’re not gonna introduce your friend?” he jokes, giving Jungkook a coy smile, enjoying the way his younger friend blushes and shoves his shoulder. 

“No you weirdo, you fucking scared her by showing up like this. Why the hell are you here anyway?”

Hoseok cackles, pushing away from the counter and walking towards the meeting room. “Sorry, I didn't mean to be a cockblock. I forgot to grab some paperwork.” The way he says it makes it seem like it was work documents, contracts that needed to be signed instead of files detailing the amount of guns they’d be receiving in the next drop. He disappears into the room, returning a few moments later with the folder in his hand. “I’ll be out of your hair now.”

And he does just that, waving goodbye and stepping back outside. But as he approaches his bike he realizes the bike he had seen next to Jungkook’s was missing now. 

Jungkook is none the wiser as he walks back to his room, a smile on his face that falls when he doesn’t see you on the bed. The sheets are a mess, your clothes are missing, his curtains are drawn up and his window remains cracked open. He steps closer now, a white sheet of paper catching his attention on his desk. 

Thanks for the tour, I think your room might be my favorite<3 Remember, we take this to our graves. We’ll kiss on it over sour straws soon x

Ps. I’ll see you at the meet, I’ll be the one in the short skirt. 

Maybe it's the sick hopefulness he feels in his chest, but Jungkook can’t help but smile as he thinks this won’t be the last time afterall.

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

Play With Fire - Johnny Storm x fem!Reader

Authors Note: Well, since we have officially been introduced to MCU Johnny Storm, here's a little one shot I wrote a month ago because I am absolutely feral for Johnny Storm. We don't know much about how he's going to be portrayed so, I used my imagination. I hope you enjoy!

PS: Smut is not my forte so I hope it's...satisfactory.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, contains adult content, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT 18+, smut, lots of fire puns (I'm not sorry or maybe I am), lots of yapping

Pairings: Johnny Storm x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k+

The glimmering lights of the charity gala bathed the New York skyline in golden hues, casting long shadows on the sleek, chrome surfaces decorating the event. The décor was a striking blend of mid-century modern aesthetics—smooth, flowing lines, geometric shapes, and vibrant colors—reminiscent of a time when the future was just a few glamorous steps away and held a more optimistic approach. 

You didn’t want to be here but there you were, trapped in a sea of tuxedos and satin gowns, your father’s arm draped possessively over your shoulder like a shield. It had been his idea to bring you along, of course, a desperate attempt to put up a "family-first" front after the affair rumor hit the front pages of The New York Post a week ago.

You hated galas. You hated the small talk, the polite smiles, and the thinly veiled gossip that filled the air. You hated the way your father’s overbearing presence had turned the night into a performance, with you as the unwilling starlet.

“I’ll only be a minute,” your father whispered to you, his fingers tightening around your arm in that way that said, don’t move. “Keep a smile on your face. This is important. Our family needs this.”

You barely suppressed a groan, nodding stiffly before he was off, mingling with the city's elite. His eyes, always sharp, locked onto the wealthy faces around him, like a predator hunting for its next meal.

You took a deep breath, turning away from the throng of people, hoping for a moment of solitude. The jazz band played in the background, their smooth melodies swirling in the air. You found yourself in the back corner, near a large glass window overlooking the city.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped into the room, a confident swagger to his stride. Johnny Storm, better known to the world as the Human Torch, was hard to miss. His sharp blue eyes gleamed, his blonde hair tousled just enough to look casually effortless. He was, of course, dressed to the nines—a sleek black suit that hugged his athletic frame and a white shirt that gleamed in the ambient evening lights.

You knew who he was. Everyone did. His exploits were plastered across every major newspaper and the tabloids couldn’t get enough of his charisma and charm. He was a man of fire, literally and figuratively, the kind of person who seemed born for attention.

There was something different about him tonight. No flames. No flashy heroics. Just Johnny, looking slightly out of place amidst the formality of the gala.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes when he caught sight of you and flashed a grin, as if he’d spotted an old friend. “Well, well,” he said with a teasing smirk, his voice warm with amusement. “What’s a beautiful woman like you hiding in the corner all by herself? You look like you could use some company.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Not really,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned against the glass. “I’d rather be anywhere but here, to be honest.”

Johnny’s grin faltered for a split second, then he chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. These things can be a pain. All the smiles and the handshakes and small talk.” He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets. “You’re not here for the free drinks, then?”

You shook your head. “My father dragged me here. He thinks it’ll fix... everything.” You waved vaguely toward the sea of tuxedos and gowns. “But you know how it is—people with money can’t stand to be seen as anything less than perfect.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his tone thoughtful, as he glanced around. “I get the pressure. I mean, being a public figure comes with a lot of... expectations.” He flashed a grin, a little wry. “You’d be surprised how many charity galas I’ve attended for reasons that had nothing to do with actual charity.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You? I would’ve guessed you'd be more of a ‘save the day, destroy the bad guys’ type.”

Johnny laughed, his expression softening as he pushed off the wall and stepped a little closer. “That’s mostly me, but tonight… tonight I’m just Johnny. No fire. No superpowers. Just a guy who’s probably as uncomfortable as you are.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, I was thinking about ditching this whole thing and heading to a dive bar. Could be more fun. You in?”

Your lips twitched upward. “I’m supposed to be here for my father. This whole thing’s a mess.”

Johnny shrugged. “Tell you what then. When your father’s done playing the ‘perfect family’ game, I’ll swing by and whisk you away for some real fun. In the meantime, if you ever need a distraction, just holler for me, doll. I’m pretty good at getting people out of awkward situations.”

You met his gaze, amused and a little skeptical, but something about his laid-back confidence and easy charm made the idea tempting. "I'll keep that in mind," you said, your voice softer now.

Johnny’s eyes flickered over to the crowd for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “You’re probably sick of being the center of attention,” he said quietly. “I get it. Sometimes you just need a break from all the... stuff.”

You gave a short, quiet laugh. “If only it were that easy.”

Johnny’s grin returned, this time a little softer, more genuine. “Well, if you need a superhero to make your night a little less superficial, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he turned with a wink, slipping back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of well-dressed faces.

You stayed where you were for a while longer, the sound of the gala and the distant jazz playing in the background. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, was one of the last people you’d ever expect to feel any kind of kinship with, but for a few moments, he’d made you feel a little less trapped in the fake world your father had built around you.

And in a night full of forced smiles and shallow conversation, that small bit of genuine connection felt like a flicker of light in a sea of cold steel and polished chrome.

The gala was starting to wind down. The last glasses of champagne had been sipped, the tables cleared, and the final whispers of forced pleasantries echoed through the room. Yet, despite the event nearing its end, the energy hadn’t quite shifted. The jazz band had given way to a recorded track—a gritty, energetic tune that you instantly recognized.

"Play With Fire" by The Rolling Stones.

The heavy, seductive beat reverberated through the room, slinking through the air with a raw, untamed edge. It was unexpected. Unusual for a place that so carefully curated its atmosphere with smiles and good intentions. But there it was—one of the most rebellious songs of the time, now lacing the air, intoxicating and dangerous.

Somehow, as if it were fate, amidst the sea of tailored suits and glittering gowns, Johnny Storm appeared again, walking toward you like he had some kind of magnetic pull.

He flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming under the cool, metallic lighting, his posture still effortless and relaxed despite the formality of the event. “Didn’t think they’d play this here,” he said, nodding toward the speakers, his voice amused. “I mean, talk about ruining the mood.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the deep growl of the guitar riff matching the beat of your heart. "Definitely not the kind of song you'd expect at a gala like this."

Johnny tilted his head slightly, the mischievous grin never leaving his face. “You know what? I’ve got an idea.” Without waiting for your response, he extended a hand toward you, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Dance with me.”

Your first instinct was to refuse. You weren’t in the mood for any more attention, and honestly, you didn’t dance. However, something about Johnny's easy confidence and charms, the casual way he dared you to step out of the perfectly controlled lines of this polished world, made you hesitate.

He wasn’t asking for anything extravagant, not some perfect ballroom spin or rehearsed routine. He was just... offering a moment.

For a heartbeat, you just stared at him. And then, as the chorus of “Play With Fire” blasted louder, you shrugged and took his hand. "Alright, Mr. Storm. Let’s see what you’ve got."

His grin spread even wider as he gently pulled you toward the center of the floor. The room seemed to narrow around you. Those who had been murmuring and sipping champagne suddenly halted as they took in the scene. 

But you didn’t care. Not now.

Johnny’s hand rested lightly on your waist, his other still holding yours as the two of you moved together. The pulse of the song matched your quickening heartbeat, and, for once, you didn’t mind the eyes on you.

The music seemed to speak to both of you, something unrestrained and reckless—something wild that had been suppressed by all the proper rules of society. Johnny’s movements were smooth, fluid, and effortless. He had the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to make the world bend to his will, and yet, somehow, his presence didn’t feel as overwhelming as you would assume.

You stepped in time with him, your own body moving with a freedom you hadn’t expected. The lyrics about temptation and fire seemed to mirror the electrifying pull between you. There was something present that was dangerous but exhilarating. Forbidden but impossible to resist.

You looked up at him, half in surprise, half in something else you couldn’t quite name. His eyes flickered back to you, almost searching, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. No, it was more like he was giving you the space to decide just how far you'd go, how far you'd let this wild, reckless moment carry you.

“You know,” Johnny said as he guided you through a slow turn, his voice low, “they say if you play with fire, you’re bound to get burned.”

You raised an eyebrow, the edges of your lips curling upward. "You know what they say about fire, right?" you teased, spinning under his arm. "It can warm you up just as easily as it can scorch you."

He gave you a roguish wink, pulling you close again as the song picked up speed. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

The world around you seemed to fade away as the music built in intensity. The room, the gala, the whispers—everything was irrelevant in that moment. All that existed was the two of you moving in sync to the rhythm, bodies close, the heat of his touch igniting a spark in you that you hadn’t expected.

The song surged toward its climax, the pounding drums pushing the beat faster, wilder. Johnny’s hand slipped lower to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, and the space between you vanished entirely. You could feel the heat of him. His body was a living furnace against yours, the friction of his energy igniting something within you, something that had always been held in check by the carefully constructed life you’d been forced to live.

You danced like you were both on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the line between control and surrender. Johnny’s laugh was infectious as he spun you one last time, a wild, unrestrained sound that made you realize how much you’d been holding back all night. He twirled you back into his arms, the song roaring in your ears as you laughed. 

The moment lingered there, suspended in time. A brief but intense escape from the world you’d known.

When the final notes of "Play With Fire" echoed through the room, you stood there, breathless and laughing softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Well,” Johnny said, grinning down at you like a devil. “I think we’re both burned.”

You caught your breath, a little dizzy from the rush but you didn’t mind. “Yeah. Maybe. But it was worth it.”

He gave you a knowing look, eyes full of something that was both playful and... something more. He was the Human Torch, but in that moment, he wasn’t just fire. He was a spark that could have burned everything or lit a whole new path. 

And maybe, for the first time all night, you felt like you were standing on the edge of something that wasn’t entirely out of your control.

Johnny winked, lowering his head so his lips were resting at the crest of your ear, his voice just above a whisper. “Sometimes, the best part about playing with fire is the burn.”

You smiled, feeling the heat of it in every fiber of your being. You hadn’t expected to find anything real tonight, but then again, you hadn’t expected to dance with a superhero to this song either. It was dangerous. Reckless.

It felt like freedom. That was the best part of it all. 

The last notes of "Play With Fire" still echoed in your ears, even though the beat had long since faded, replaced by the hum of a million voices, all of them too eager to return to the business of looking perfect.

You had somehow ended up on the edge of the dance floor, your breath still uneven, your pulse racing from more than just the rhythm of the music. Johnny stood beside you, his smile more subdued now, a knowing glint in his eyes as if he understood that something in you had shifted—something you hadn’t expected to feel tonight. The dance had been reckless, free, but the moment you’d stepped back, the world around you had tried to pull you back into place.

His presence, however, still felt like a spark. An electricity you didn’t want to let go of. Not yet. 

“Well,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, the earlier mischievous tone replaced with something a little softer. “That was fun.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Fun? You could say that again.” Your laugh was a little more breathless than you intended, but you didn’t care. It felt good to be this... unfolded for once.

“You know,” he continued, stepping just a little closer, the heat of his body still too tempting, “the night doesn’t have to end here. There’s a spot… a little hidden place I go to when I need a break from all this.” He gestured toward the glittering ballroom, the clinking of glasses and forced chatter drifting in the background. “It’s up on the rooftop. Private. Quiet. I think you’d like it.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the sudden flutter in your stomach. Of course, Johnny Storm had a “private spot” for everything. He was, after all, the Human Torch—effortless, smooth, always in control. However, there was something about the way he said it, about the quiet invitation in his voice that made it hard to ignore. Maybe you did want to escape the fake smiles and phony pleasantries.

You glanced toward the entrance of the ballroom, where your father was still busy shaking hands with some benefactor from the event, lost in his world of polished deals. You hadn’t been looking forward to more of that tonight.

A part of you, the part that had spent so long just trying to keep things together, felt that pull. You needed to break free, even if just for a moment. And another part of you? The part that had danced with Johnny, felt his heat like an actual flare against your skin? That part wanted to see where this could go.

“Fuck it,” you said, your voice quieter than you expected. “Lead the way..”

Johnny’s grin returned, the familiar flash of confidence lighting up his face. Without another word, he took your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a smoothness that barely made anyone notice. His fingers curled gently around yours, warm, sure, the touch casual yet intentional. It was like he knew exactly how to move in this world—his world—while making it feel like it was all about you in that moment.

You followed him through a door to the back of the venue, into a dimly lit corridor that led to a discreet elevator. Johnny pressed the button without a word, his eyes briefly meeting yours. There was something unspoken between you two, something that felt like it had been building without either of you realizing it.

The elevator ride was quick, almost too quick, and when the doors slid open, you stepped out onto the rooftop.

The air hit you first, the cool night breeze sweeping through the garden, carrying the scent of the city mixed with something sweet and floral. It was a sharp contrast to the glossy, manufactured world of the gala below. Here, on the private rooftop, everything felt different. The towering buildings of Manhattan stretched in all directions, but above, it was quieter. More intimate.

Johnny led you through the garden, where lush greenery contrasted against the stark steel and glass of the city around you. The lights here were soft, golden, hidden beneath the plants, casting just enough light to make the space feel almost like a dream. The far-off hum of the city was muted here, and the distant skyline stretched like a canvas of muted lights.

“This is… nice,” you murmured, taking it all in. The silence, the peace, the fact that for a moment, you weren’t anywhere but right here with Johnny. No cameras, no whispers, no obligations.

“I come up here when I need a break from the chaos,” Johnny said, his voice quieter now, matching the serenity of the space. He stopped beside a stone bench, and you both stood for a moment, taking in the view together. “Sometimes it’s good to just… get away. I don’t know about you, but tonight felt like I needed to breathe.”

You nodded, feeling the truth of that. The gala had been suffocating in its own way. Full of too many expectations, too many eyes watching. Too much of your father’s mask.

Johnny leaned against the edge of a low wall, hands in his pockets, his body slightly turned toward you. His eyes, usually so full of energy and fire, seemed softer in the dim light of the rooftop garden. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come up here,” he admitted with a small smile. “Most people aren’t exactly keen on leaving the spotlight. But I like that you did.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, but the rush from the dance still lingered, making it hard to keep your calm exterior. “What can I say? I needed a change of scenery. I guess you could say you have a way of making people want to step out of their comfort zone. Besides, the spotlight isn’t my thing. Never was.”

He chuckled, and there was a genuine warmth to it. “I don’t know if it’s me, or just that sometimes you need someone who isn’t afraid to break the rules.”

You met his eyes again and for a moment, it felt like the world around you had gone still. The wind was the only thing moving, brushing through your hair and ruffling Johnny’s shirt just slightly. And yet, there was an electricity between you two, quiet but undeniable.

“You’re a rule breaker, huh?” you asked, your voice low and teasing.

Johnny’s smile turned a little more wicked, that familiar mischief lighting up his face again. “Maybe,” he said, pushing off from the wall and stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe it’s just that… sometimes the rules are there to be bent.”

He was close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, the same heat that had burned so bright on the dance floor. His presence was magnetic, inescapable, and you had to fight the urge to step closer to him.

“Well, I think you’ve already set my night on fire,” you said, voice a little breathless.

Johnny didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he took another step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. His touch was electric, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

You could feel the tension building between you—every heartbeat, every breath. The city below, the skyline, and the quiet garden was all just background noise now.

“Maybe we should just let the night burn then,” Johnny said softly, his voice deep and seductive, like he was speaking just for you. 

You didn’t know what you were stepping into, but right then, under the stars with Johnny Storm, you didn’t need to. You let go of the last of your reservations.

And for the first time tonight, you let the fire take you.

Johnny was close, closer than you’d expected. His presence, that electric heat that never quite seemed to dissipate, was undeniable. His eyes were on you, dark and steady, but there was something different in them now. There was now something softer, more deliberate than the playful energy that had defined their banter earlier in the night.

You stood beside him, heart racing, mind whirling. The dance had been the first spark, the moment when something unexpected flickered between you. But now? The air felt thick with unspoken words, each one hanging in the space between you like a slow-burning fuse.

“You know,” Johnny said, his voice low and surprisingly serious, “I don’t come up here often with anyone. It’s usually just me and the stars, you know? The chaos gets too loud sometimes. But tonight… Tonight it feels different.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t talking about the view or the quiet of the rooftop anymore. He was talking about you. Something about his tone, about the way his words wrapped around you, sent a shiver down your spine. The fire in him had shifted. The flippant hero, always surrounded by chaos and light, was now speaking softly, his words like an invitation, a promise.

“I get that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is nice. Peaceful. I could see why you wouldn’t want to share it.”

Johnny took a half-step closer, the space between you narrowing until his breath was warm on your face. His blue eyes—those beautiful stormy, electric eyes—searched yours like he was looking for permission, or maybe waiting for you to make the first move. The gravity between you was palpable, magnetic. Everything else faded into the background. All that mattered was the two of you standing there, in the heart of the rooftop garden, this space between chaos and quiet.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his lips curving into a slow, unsteady smile. “I’ve been thinking... maybe I’m the kind of guy who can burn things down and fly, but I also know when it’s time to stop and just... feel. Not many people know that about me.”

His words wrapped around you like a firestorm, the heat of them sinking deep into your chest. It was too much and yet it was everything you’d been craving all night. No pretense. No walls. Just the raw pull of the moment, the intensity that was flaring between you two like a flame in the dark.

With no more hesitation, Johnny’s hand lifted, slow but sure, as though he was asking for permission even now. His fingers brushed against your cheek, warm and light, his touch like a spark against your skin. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, the touch so intimate that it made your breath hitch.

“You don’t have to worry,” he murmured, his voice low, just for you. “I won’t burn you.”

You swallowed, your own breath a little shaky. Something wild had taken hold of you, some primal urge that told you not to hold back. You stepped into him, closing the last of the distance between you.

“I’m not afraid of getting burned,” you said, your voice a little hoarse. 

Johnny’s eyes flickered with something hot, something unrestrained. And then, without another word, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that matched the fire he carried inside. The kiss was everything you’d imagined and more urgent, intense, full of heat, yet strangely soft. His lips were warm, the taste of him a mixture of whiskey and something electric, something undeniably him.

His hands slid to your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the warmth of him. His body. His energy. It surged through you like a live wire. You kissed him back, your own hands rising to tangle in his hair, feeling the wild heat of his touch consume you, like he was setting a fire inside you that you didn’t know how to extinguish.

For a moment, there was nothing but the heat of the kiss, the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing through your chest. The world had fallen away. There were no rumors, no expectations, no father or gala or fake smiles. There was only the two of you, locked in this perfect, intoxicating moment, a kiss that felt like it could burn down the whole city and leave nothing but the ashes.

When you pulled back, just for a breath, Johnny’s eyes were darker than before, smoldering with something that went deeper than the fire he controlled. His chest rose and fell with each breath, but he didn’t step away. Instead, his forehead leaned against yours, and he whispered your name, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers still tangled in his hair, your chest pressed against his. There was a quiet calm in you now, something that had been absent the entire night. Something that told you, even with all the fire and heat, maybe this was just the beginning.

“Maybe you’re more than just fire, Johnny Storm,” you whispered back. “Maybe you’re something a little softer. Less dangerous than you put on. Fire can be beautiful too. It’s not always destructive.”

Johnny’s laugh was low, his lips brushing against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “Maybe,” he said, voice teasing but tender, “but I still have a few flames left to share.”

As the night stretched on, with the soft breeze swirling around you and the city still pulsing below, you knew one thing for certain: there was no going back. Not after this. Not after the fire had burned so bright between you.

You weren’t sure you even wanted to go back.

The city lights below flickered like a sea of stars, but up there on the rooftop, the night felt different. The soft hum of the wind moving through the plants, all of it was a contrast to the tension crackling between you and Johnny. The kiss you’d shared earlier hadn’t been enough—it was only the beginning of something more. Something you couldn’t quite control.

You needed more. 

Johnny stood close to you. Too close. But you didn’t want him to step back. His scent lingered in the air around you, a mix of the fresh outdoors and something smoky, something undeniably him. His eyes, dark and electric, never left yours, and every beat of your heart seemed to echo between you. His lips were slightly parted, his breath shallow, like he was waiting for you to make the next move.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby,” Johnny says breathlessly. “You’re playing with fire.”

You felt a thrill run through you at the words. Everything about him. From his cocky grin, the edge of danger in his voice, the way his body practically hummed with heat… He was irresistible. You tilted your head slightly, daring him with a soft smile.

“I think you’re the one who started the fire, Johnny,” you said, your voice low, teasing. It wasn’t a challenge, not exactly, but it felt like one all the same. Something between the two of you had shifted and now there was no going back.

Johnny took a step closer, his heat radiating off him like a furnace. You could feel the air between you thickening, crackling with an energy you hadn’t known you craved until now. His hand reached for you, slow and deliberate, but he didn’t touch you just yet. Instead, his fingers hovered near your waist, the slightest of touches, making you ache for more.

“You sure you can handle it?” Johnny murmured, his voice almost playful, but there was an underlying intensity in his words.

You swallowed, your pulse racing. “You’re the one who’s burning up,” you whispered, taking a small step forward, closing the last bit of distance between you.

Your pulse quickens at Johnny's bold words, your  breath catching in her throat. You look up at him through hooded lashes, your heart racing in anticipation. 

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you ask, you voice barely above a whisper. With a sudden burst of courage, you wrap your arms around Johnny's neck, pulling him flush against your body. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the cool night air. 

“Because either way, I'm willing to take the risk,” you confess, your lips hovering tantalizingly close to his. You close the final distance, pressing your  mouth to Johnny's in a searing kiss. Your tongue darts out, teasing the seam of his lips before delving inside to tangle with his.

Johnny groans into the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist to pull her tighter against him. He returns your passion with equal fervor, his tongue dancing with yours in a sensual duel. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he drinks it greedily, lost in the heady rush of desire. Breaking the kiss, Johnny trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he presses your back against the cold stone wall. The hard planes of his body molded perfectly against your body. Johnny grinds his hips into yours, letting you feel the evidence of his arousal.

“Tell me you want this,” Johnny said breathlessly, his intense gaze on you.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pins you against the wall. The rough texture of the stone contrasts sharply with the heat of Johnny's body, making you acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Yes, God yes,” you moan, your hips bucking against his in a desperate bid for friction. “I want this. Burn me alive, Mr. Storm.”

Your words are punctuated by a series of urgent kisses, your mouth seeking out Johnny's with a hunger that borders on desperation. Your hands roam over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his suit. You want to tear the fabric away, to expose the man beneath and claim him as your own.

“That's the spirit,” Johnny praises, his voice thick with lust. He captures your lips again, devouring you with a primal intensity that leaves you breathless and wanting more. His hands roam freely over your curves, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Johnny slips a hand beneath your skirt, his fingers tracing the lace of your panties before pushing them aside to delve into your slick heat. Johnny groans, his thumb finding your clit and starts rubbing it in slow, tortuous circles. “You're so wet for me already. I can't wait to taste you.” 

With a swift motion, Johnny rips open your dress, the fabric ripping with ease. He palms your bare breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they pebble under his touch. 

“You're perfect,” he rasps, leaning in to capture a pert bud between his teeth.

You cry out, you back arching as Johnny teases your sensitive nipples. The sensation of his hot mouth on your skin sends jolts of pleasure straight to your core, making you throb around his invading fingers. “Oh fuck, Johnny!” you gasp, your hips grinding wildly against his hand. “Don't stop, please…” 

Lost in the haze of desire, you fumble with the fastenings of Johnny's trousers, desperate to free his straining erection. You need to feel him. All of him. As if reading your mind, Johnny relieves you of the task, swiftly shedding his pants and underwear. His cock springs free, thick and pulsing with need. You wrap your hand around it, stroking the velvety length with reverence.

A hoarse cry tears from your throat as Johnny thrusts inside you completely, stretching your inner walls to their limit. The sudden intrusion triggers a wave of intense pleasure that courses through your veins, leaving you trembling and breathless.

“Johnny... oh god, yes!” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to his size. You start to roll your hips, experimenting with the delicious friction as Johnny remains still inside you. The sensation of his hot, hard length nestled deep within your core is almost overwhelming, stoking the flames of your desire to new heights. Impatient to move, you clench your inner muscles around Johnny's cock, urging him to start thrusting. “Please, Johnny,” you beg, your voice husky with need.

Johnny's restraint snaps at your pleading and he begins to move, setting a relentless pace that has you crying out in ecstasy. Each powerful thrust drives him deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the night air. 

“You're so damn tight,” Johnny growls, his eyes locked on your face as he watches you come undone beneath him. “I can feel every inch of you milking my cock. It’s driving me crazy.”

He leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you with increasing ferocity. The rooftop garden blurs around them, replaced by a world consisting solely of heat, hunger, and the primal urge to claim and be claimed. Johnny breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, biting and sucking at the delicate skin. 

“Come for me, baby,” Johnny mutters into your neck, panting as he kept up with his relenting pace. “Come for me.”

The combination of his rough treatment and the unrelenting rhythm of his thrusts pushes you closer to the edge. Your inner walls begin to flutter and clench, signaling your impending climax. You wrap your legs tightly around Johnny's waist, locking your ankles behind his back to draw him impossibly deeper. 

“Johnny, I'm gonna—!” you scream as the first waves of an orgasm crash over you, your pussy spasming wildly around his pistoning cock. The intense pleasure is almost too much to bear, sending you hurtling into a maelstrom of bliss. Through the haze of your release, you feel Johnny's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shorter and more urgent.

Johnny's grip on you tightens as he feels your pussy convulsing around him, milking his cock for all it's worth. The sensation of your clenching walls and the sound of your ragged breathing spur him on, driving him to new heights of pleasure.

“That's it, baby, squeeze my cock,”  Johnny grunts, his hips snapping forward in short, brutal strokes. “You're mine, all mine.” 

With a final, guttural roar, Johnny buries himself to the hilt and erupts, painting your insides with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the sheer ecstasy of the moment. As the aftershocks subside, Johnny collapses against you, his weight pinning you against the wall.

Breathless and sated, you cradle Johnny's face in your hands, gazing up at him with adoring eyes. 

“That was... incredible,” you whisper, your voice trembling with residual pleasure. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at the way his heated skin seems to glow in the moonlight. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the lingering effects of their passion, leaves you feeling vulnerable yet deeply connected to Johnny. “I've never felt anything like that before,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and wonder.

Johnny's chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. He's still buried inside you, their bodies intimately entwined. The sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is almost too much to bear.

“You're something else,” Johnny murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were trouble, but fuck, I wouldn't trade this for anything.” 

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes, and sees the same awe and vulnerability reflected back at him. It's a moment of raw honesty, stripped of pretenses and societal expectations. Johnny brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle compared to the fierce passion they just shared.

Your heart swells at Johnny's words, your soul feeling as if it's been set ablaze by the intensity of their connection. You reach up to frame his face, your thumbs stroking his cheekbones as you search his gaze. 

“It was a good reprieve from all the formalities,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers trace the contours of his jawline, marveling at both the strength and unexplored tenderness etched into his features.

Johnny nods, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, definitely a nice distraction from all the pomp and circumstance,” he leans in, capturing your mouth in a tender, exploratory kiss. It's a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy that preceded it, but no less potent in its own way. When Johnny finally breaks apart, he rests his forehead against yours once more, his breath mingling with yours. “I should probably get you back downstairs before anyone misses you.”  

Despite the practicality of the situation, neither you nor Johnny make a move to disengage. The moment stretches on, heavy with unspoken promises and the knowledge that their lives will soon return to their usual trajectories.

You sigh softly, the sound caught between your  lips as you reluctantly pull away from Johnny's embrace. The sudden chill of the night air against your overheated skin is a jarring reminder of the world beyond this hidden alcove.

“Yes, we should…” Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him, the moonlight casting an ethereal glow across his face. There's a bittersweet quality to the moment, a sense of longing for something that may never come to be. “But what if I don’t want to?” 

Johnny's eyes flash with a hint of mischief at your words, a devilish grin spreading across his face. 

“Then we stay up here all night and let the world keep spinning without us.”

[krakenattack]

Mild spoiler for The Last Graduate ahead, but:

Having just reread the whole series, I love how at odds El and the Scholomance are. Like, El's pessimism is a great way of making your narrator unreliable, since El is sometimes right and sometimes wrong always expecting the worst response from everyone around her(a thought worthy of another entire post), but it becomes very funny once she realizes that part of the problem at school is that she can't do small spells? Like, she spends the whole first book being like 'this school is the devil tempting me to evil, it wants me to become a maleficier, I can't even ask for a simple cleaning spell without getting horrible spells for summoning mortal flames and enslaving an army of people, I hate it', and meanwhile the Scholomance is flipping frantically through its catalogue of spells gathered over thousands of years, desperately trying to find a spell in a language El knows that she can also cast with her affinity for working incredibly large and powerful spells. El's over here driving a bulldozer and saying, 'I would like to build a Jenga tower' and the Scholomance is looking at her with the weary despair of a preschool teacher knowing they're going to be suffering through a temper tantrum soon but unable to stop it.

El, a furious teenager who doesn't know as much as she thinks she does: I don't wanna summon a mortal flame! I want my room clean!

The Scholomance, a giant building that cleans its own hallways, floors, dishes and various and assorted other workings with mortal flame: Why is this child testing me

Also hilarious in retrospect is El's blithe statement in the first book about how no one would ever give her that much mana to do these high volume spells bc mana isn't free or easy to acquire and so the school is clearly telling her to turn maleficier and kill her fellow students all while Orion is humming to himself as he kills mals and dumps oodles and oodles of mana into the New York power sharers.

El "I'd rather die than ask for help" Higgins: I won't do these spells bc no one will give me mana

The Scholomance, as loudly as a building who may or may not be partially sentient and who can't speak human languages: Wow, those sure are some HIGH MANA VOLUME spells you got there! If only there was SOMEONE around who would be able to provide you with a NIGH LIMITLESS FLOW OF MANA so that you'd be able to cast them!

Orion: :)

El: *hisses like a feral cat*

Orion: :(

The Scholomance: oh my freaking god

Hilarious. Top tier humor.