#content warnings in the chapter notes are enough for me

[allhailbuckybarnes]

the love confession

summary: bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try ;)

warnings: fluff/smut, longing, pining, some use of y/n, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, dirty thoughts, tension, body worship, bob is down bad, bob is a MAN, you are just as down bad, yelena is number one supporter, idiots in love, confusion, jealousy, a pinch of angst, just playing: so so much angst, possessive bob, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, nightmares, anger, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt badly (more on that later), bob is not okay, fear, love, please just kiss alr you two

authors note: this chapter is literally gonna kill me… i’m screaming and kicking my feet. it's giving just kiss alr.

also, bob is a man, okay guys? i'm not sure if y'all love me making him a little more confident and manly, but he is definitely not a child. just the fact that he has been through all the shit he has, and is still a gentleman is enough to make him a man in my eyes. but yeah, anyways, i hope you like soft dom bob... he's still desperate for you i promise.

wednesday and the almost kiss (chapter three)

“Aww, this is so cute guys.” A distant voice chimed. Your head felt the lightest it had in a while.

Your body was curled into something warm. You nuzzled further towards the warmth, and two other voices exclaimed, “Aww!!!”

Wait—last night.

Where’d you end up?

You and Bob, reading, talking, did you fall asleep?

You shoot up—face-to-face with the whole team. Your eyes are unbelievably wide.

John and Bucky stand with their arms crossed, taking in the scene.

Ava and Yelena have a goddamn Polaroid camera out and are snapping disposables left and right. They giggle at your reaction.

And Alexei, well, he’s eating popcorn.

What is it, 7:00?

Bobby is blissfully unaware, snoring softly below you. His floppy brown hair is sprawled across your pillows. You look at his legs, still slightly entangled in yours. He looks so cute.

“So… book club huh?” Walker asks pointedly.

You turn red, “shut up John.” You toss a pillow in his general direction, and he catches it. Of course.

Ava comes to your rescue, “Well, as cute and blackmailish as this has been, we should probably leave them be before Bobby wakes up and freaks out.”

Yelena murmurs in agreement, making sure to snap a couple of last photos. You stick your tongue out at her and then return your gaze to Bob’s sleeping figure.

They file out, Alexei whisper-shouting “You go, girl!” As the door closes. You sigh. What a morning.

Deciding not to cuddle back up to Bobby, you slip the rest of the way out of bed. Your mind is racing at how you’d slept the whole night with no nightmares. How you’d slept the night with Bobby.

Robert Reynolds slept in the same bed as you.

You could cry.

You quickly get in the shower. Jazzed about what had just taken place. They could blackmail you all they wanted. Your crush had stayed the night. “Hell yes, Y/n!!” You cheer to yourself.

He was so hot in his sleep. His arms all wrapped around your middle, holding you to his chest.

You sighed in contentment. Why can’t it always be like this?

After your shower, you wrap yourself up in a towel and walk back into your room.

Bob’s back is to you, and he’s stretching, shirt abandoned to the floor.

You gasp out of instinct, holy lord those back muscles.

He turns at the sound, and is met with your barely covered figure, “Oh my god! I’m sorry!” He exclaims and slaps a hand to his eyes.

You instantly burst into laughter. His brows furrow, “what?”

“You’re cute, you know that, Bobby?” You giggle as you walk straight past him and into your closet. He turns his body, following the sound of your voice. Now you could see his front. Goodness gracious.

Okay so now you were admitting that you thought he was cute. Man, you were on a roll.

He smiles lopsidedly and stammers, “Thank you…”

You throw on some quick workout clothes, silently cursing yourself for not bringing them into the bathroom. You’d probably scared the life out of Bob.

Worth it to see that v-line.

You wonder back out to your room, Bob has put his shirt on again, damn it, and his cheeks are a dusty pink. You smile at him, “How’d you sleep?”

He rubs at his neck, “The best I’ve slept in years. You must be my lucky charm.”

You laugh and hug him. His arms wrap right back around you. It felt so natural, so right. He smiles into your hair, and without a second thought, he kisses the top of your head.

You both freeze. That was not a friendly kiss.

You slowly let go of him, and when you're face to face again, his cheeks have regained the pink pigment. He smiles awkwardly, but his eyes flicker from your nose to each of your eyes. He finally glances at your lips, but you pull away.

God, I'm a pussy.

"Wanna come to the gym with me?" You stutter, breathless.

He nods, his eyes are wide, and he looks like he's debating between running out your door or smashing his mouth against yours.

"Let's spar," he croaks. He would feel your body against his, one way or another.

~~

Bob finally stopped staring at your lips and went to change into some workout clothes. He thought about kissing you. He wished he had. Your lips looked so damn soft, warm, inviting.

He was gonna die if he held in his feelings any longer.

The truth is, he felt you fall asleep on his chest, and he didn't want to leave.

Your soft hums and sweet little twitches made him want to steal you away from the rest of the world. He watched your nostrils flare, and your fingers grip his shirt. He felt like a man. Your man.

A man with his beautiful girl to take care of.

You were everything he could ever want.

So when he felt himself drifting, Bob chose to stay; he chose to kiss your temple and fall asleep right there in your bed.

Now, he was going to spar with you. He sighed, I need to not be a freak. The last thing Bob needed was to get a hard-on while sparring.

Talk about a turn-off.

He headed down to the gym. But when he arrived, it seemed that Walker had gotten to you first.

He was dodging a punch you threw, and you were cussing in mock frustration. John mocked you right back, punching you square in the jaw.

"C'mon sparks, gimme some of that fire you've got, sweetheart!" John laughed as he sparred with you.

"Watch it Walker, I'm taking it easy on you, spare me the same treatment." You yell back as you sweep his leg. Your jaw was swelling.

Bob's hands are clenched into small fists before he can even breathe. Why the fuck was John calling you 'sweetheart.' And why did he have to hit you so hard?

He swelled with anger internally as he watched the two of you spar from this corner of the gym.

That's my girl, Walker, he thought. Don't make me beat your ass like I have so many times before.

John often liked to challenge Bob to a sparring match in front of the team. Yes, the man was strong, but he was no match for Bob, even on his best day.

The serums they had been given were very different. Bob could easily knock John out of the ring with one hand. It made for a pretty fun watch, though.

Bob saw you finally beat John, knocking him down and holding a solid headlock. He smirked at how uninterested you were in keeping your hands on Walker as he tapped out, immediately pulling away, as John lingered.

Good girl. He smiled.

You noticed him, "Bobby! Did you see that? I just crushed Walker. A little pre-workout if you will." You giggle as you take a drink from your water bottle. The sweat on your neck drips into the crack of your bra.

Fuck Bob, snap out of it.

John grumbles about his defeat and walks over to the elevator, seemingly done with his workout. It was just you and Bobby now. Alone.

"Alright Bobby, I expect you to go hard on me," You snicker, as you get back into the ring.

Baby, you have no idea how hard I am on you, he thinks, joining you in the ring.

You launch at him, taking him by surprise, but Bob quickly recovers, punching you in the side, but holding back slightly, he would never truly hurt you.

You, on the other hand, never took it easy; you landed a strong kick to his stomach, sending him rolling. He gets up just in time to catch your fist and push you away, sending you to the mat as well.

"You're pulling punches, Robert. I can handle it," you growl, and pounce on him again, straddling his hips as you try to get a grip around his neck.

Fuck, he's strong, you think as you feel his muscles ripple around your body.

He flips you over, slamming you back down to the mat, your faces upside down from each other, "Oh yeah, sweetheart?" He smirks, breathless. His sweat drips onto your face from his forehead.

God, I want to kiss that smirk off his mouth. You stare into his eyes. The waves crash against your heart, and somehow it beats even faster; you are so smitten. His smirk slowly falls as he stares right back, putting a hand on either side of your head, "You okay, Y/n?" He asks, but a grin slowly creeps onto his face.

Smug bastard.

"Water break?" You croak, sheepishly. He laughs and nods.

Bob helps you up with one hand, pulling you to your feet. You quickly stride towards your water. "Good punch form, L/n," he smiles.

That praise, it's always just enough to get your head spinning. You laugh, "I couldn't barely get any in, Reynolds. Not with you throwing me around like that."

Both of your minds immediately pictured him throwing you around in another context. But you each shook the thought off and got back to sparring.

~~

By the time you were finished, you were both desperately horny for the other. Bob had willed himself not to get hard, but the sweatier, messier, and louder you got, the harder it was to stop himself.

You were soaked. Just plain ruined. Luckily for you, it was easy to pass off as just more glute sweat, but you were straight up Niagara Falls down there.

How could anyone blame you? Bob was sweaty, his hair clung to his forehead, his muscles were strained, and multiple veins jutted out in his arms, neck, and hands.

His voice had turned more gravelly and low as you continued sparring, and he was manhandling you.

A girl's wet dream was currently pinning you down to the sparring mat, and grunting as you struggled against his hold.

Fuck me.

"Quit shifting around, Y/n, just tap out, admit defeat already," He growled into your ear, struggling to not take you right there. You had been sitting like this for at least five minutes, but you had refused to tap out to him.

He finally just sighed and used his hips to pin you down even further, pressing his groin against your mound. You gasped and immediately tapped out. Bob groaned at the loss of contact. Fuck that was hot.

You were up in a flash, grabbing your bottle and heading for the elevator, flustered, "You win, Bobby." You squeaked quickly and ran for the exit. He followed, abandoning his things on the mat, "Hey! Hey, what's wrong?" Bob caught up and grabbed your arm, pulling you back to meet his face.

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" He panicked; maybe the hips were too much. Oh damn it, they were way too much.

You shook your head and tried to turn away again, but his hand caught your chin, keeping your eyes right on his.

"Why're you hiding from me, huh?" He asks, breath still hot and quick from sparring. You swallow nervously and stare into his eyes, helpless.

God, I could just do anything to her right now. As long as she looks at me like that.

"I, I just got... too hot. I felt dizzy." You stammer as you pull his hand from your jaw, holding it by the wrist. The elevator doors open, and he backs you into the wall, putting his wrist on the wall beside your face.

"Cmon, tell me Y/n... I need you to be good, and tell me what that pretty little head is thinking." He teases, his confidence level spiking, as he lets just the slightest bit of Sentry take control. Your eyes wildly search his, as your lips part, and you try to find the words.

He leans in, and his lips just barely brush yours, when a loud chime comes from behind you both. The elevator doors open into the common area. You part from each other. Feeling the tingle from his lips on yours, you quickly exit your room.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

Bob stands, breathless on the elevator, his lips burning from just one graze of yours. He needed to kiss you right, and it needed to be soon.

I'm going to make that girl mine. He groans, rubbing a sweaty palm down his face.

~~

That night, after a long afternoon of avoiding Robert Reynold's at all costs, Yelena crashes into your room. You were reading the same book that Bob had gifted you months ago; this had to have been your fifth time through it.

"C'mon, get dressed. We are going out to the bar." She announces, ripping your book from your hand and tossing it down. You gasped, making sure your book was okay.

You sigh back at her, "Yelena, why are we going to a bar? We have plenty of booze here!" The last thing you needed was to see Bob pressed up against some bimbo at a bar.

She laughs, "You are funny, you know why. I need to get you and Bob drunk enough to finally fuck, it is suffocating to watch you pine over each other." You shush her quickly, "LENA! He's literally right through the wall, and umm, super hearing?!"

She giggles uncontrollably, "Oh, don't worry your little head, кролик, he is already on the way with John."

Well, now you had to go, because Bobby and John didn't get along great, and there was time for said bimbo to latch onto your man. You were so not ready for whatever was going to happen tonight.

FML.

You put on a small black dress and fix your hair. Yelena helped you put on some quick makeup, and you grabbed a pair of short, chunky heels on the way out.

You and Yelena met Ava downstairs, taking the signature Ferrari. The girls talk most of the drive, but you just listen. Your mind is more occupied, thinking about Bob.

I hope he's waiting for me to get there.

The city was so pretty at night, all the lights of NYC gleamed against the sky.

When you get to the bar, you follow Yelena in, the low lighting and loud music taking you in instantly. You see John making out with a girl in the corner, who is surprised? Nobody.

It looks like Bucky and Alexei decided not to come tonight because Bob was leaning against a pole by the bar, a Scotch in his hand, alone. He takes your breath away as he stares at you, slowly drinking in your figure.

You cross to him and sit at the bar, asking for a couple of vodka shots. When they come, you signal for him to take one with you. He obliges, and you both tilt your heads back, feeling the burn coat your throats. He stares at you, and you don't speak.

A man taps your shoulder, and you turn. Bob's eyes turn the slightest bit darker as he holds his Scotch glass tighter. The man uses some pickup line he couldn't have found anywhere but the internet, and his eyes rake over your neck and cleavage. You decline his offer to dance. Bob could kiss you.

The man takes a look at Bob, and then you, and assures you he 'meant no offense,' as he finally leaves. You turn back towards Bobby, only to be met with his eyes. He looked pissed.

"Something wrong, Robert?" You ask innocently, the slightest hint of seduction in your tone. God, alcohol made you a cocky bitch.

He sets his glass down and grabs your wrist, wordless. Pulling you to the dance floor, Bob grips your hip tightly, possessively, and sways you both to the music. He doesn't speak, but his eyes tell you everything you need to know.

There wouldn't be any more men coming up to you tonight, and if you were going home with one, it would be him.

He scans your face, noticing the blush on your cheeks, and looks at your neck. Your collarbone peeks out enough for him to want to take a bite. He seriously considers it. But you pull him close, foreheads touching, and his eyes return to yours.

They speak one word, sin.

Robert can practically hear your thoughts as you stare. You wanted him to take you into the alley and fuck you hard, he could tell. He watched as you stared at his neck veins, you wanted him to choke you, didn't you, dirty girl? Your hands were tightly gripping the shirt he wore, nails just barely scraping him. Your mouth was slightly open, and your lips were wet.

You were panting, wanting, and needy. He could read it off your sheer positioning.

Who was he to deny you?

He pulls you off the floor, leading you to the back entrance, "C'mon, I need to properly finish what I started." He growls, nipping at your ear. You groan quietly and follow without another question.

Once you find the door, you crash into the alley, and Bob spins you, pinning you up against the brick of the building.

"Did you think I could go another day, only almost kissing you? Barely getting to feel those lips? Not getting to make them mine?" He groans, wrecked. His hands feel at your waist as he whispers the dirty words into your temple.

You moan, and push a hand into his hair, pulling his mouth towards yours. He stops you, gripping your neck at the base.

"Hold on, baby," he strains. God, just kiss me already, Bobby.

"I need you to know that this isn't me just wanting to get into your pants, Y/n." He grunts, barely able to hold himself back. He watches your eyes as you take in his words. "I want you to be mine, in every meaning of the word. I want to fall asleep in your bed every night, on purpose. I want to make you coffee in the morning, I want to read our books and go to the store, go on dates. But most of all, I want to call you mine, make you mine." He admits, his eyes shifting to each of yours. His chest rises and falls, "I can't spend one more goddamn day pretending like you are only a friend to me."

Your heart bursts, and you tackle him, pressing your lips together.

Finally.

He meets you in the middle, kissing you back with the same amount of passion and want. Your teeth clash as your tongues collide. You taste him, and he tastes like heaven. You stand in the alleyway, making out, and you both feel a deep, new feeling in your chests.

He laughs when your lips part, and he crushes you to his chest, kissing your hair. You could cry. You feel nothing but love for him. For Bobby, your Bobby.

We'll get to love later, you think as you grip him tightly.

There would be plenty of time for you to feel this new relationship out. You were just happy that he had chosen to tell you, that he had kissed you, and that he wanted you.

Bob pulled away, and pressed another searing kiss onto your lips, "Let me take you home, baby." He purred.

Oh fuck yes.

~~

CLIFFHANGER!!!! SORRY!!!! smut in the next chapter, I promise...

taglist: @sneak-fic @aureliacalista @zombi3-girlz @furiousprincesskingdom @crystalline-owls @lewispullsman @doprincess @rein4star

dm or comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀text me when you get lonely⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀knj⠀⠀)

pairing: non-celeb!ex!namjoon x f!ex!reader

genre: exes-to-lovers, angst, bit of romance, slow-burn, smut

warnings: explicit consensual sex, graphic oral sex (fem receiving), face ridding implied, overstimulation, rough sex, hair pulling, fingering, slight breath control (hand on throat, not choking), cum on body, praise & degradation mix (if you squit your eyes), possessive behavior, size kink, deep penetration, leg on shoulder position, wet/messy sex, begging, post-orgasm sensitivity, soft dom!namjoon, desperation and emotional vulnerability during sex, unprotected sex , aggressive kissing, marking (bites), mild semi-public sexual tension, emphasis in mutual pleasure and yearning (let me know if i'm forgetting something)

word count: 14.3 k

summary: after a night out stirs old feelings, a late-night text opens a door (y/n) swore she’d locked for good. when fate brings them face-to-face at a packed underground gig, sparks fly, wounds reopen, and the line between anger and desire blurs. one reckless night later, they confront what’s left between them—no promises, just raw truth and the fragile hope of second chances.

lu's note: this is officially my longest one-shot ever—and i loved every messy, tender, smut-filled second of writing it. 🖤

i’ll be shifting focus to finish chapter 3 of opposites don’t attract, they destroy (finally, i know lmao) so if content slows down a little, that’s why!! thank you for always being patient with me and letting me take my time with these chaotic little love stories

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ masterlist⠀ | ⠀taglist⠀ | ⠀more to read

the music was loud, someone had spilled beer on the floor, and (y/n) was clutching a half-warm drink like it was her lifeline. she was supposed to be having fun. that had been the plan—get dressed up, laugh too hard, maybe flirt with someone cute and harmless just to feel something again.

but then steph, all glitter lids and tipsy honesty, leaned over and tilted her head like a curious cat.

“hey... didn’t you used to come here with namjoon?”

and just like that, it was over.

it wasn’t the question itself—it was the way the energy shifted. the air changed. the people around them—friends, old classmates, acquaintances that still followed her on instagram out of habit—went quiet in that careful way. like everyone expected her to shatter.

(y/n) smiled. it wasn’t fake, exactly. just... practiced.

“we’re not together anymore,” she said, tipping her cup back. the alcohol went down rough. “it’s been a while.”

steph’s eyes widened. “shit, sorry—i didn’t mean to—”

“it’s fine,” (y/n) cut in, voice light. too light. “i mean, you didn’t know.”

there was a beat of silence. one of her friends, amara, looked like she wanted to say something comforting, but thought better of it. someone else cleared their throat. the music kept playing but it felt like it had gotten quieter.

no one asked anything else.

the hallway outside the bar was dim, lit only by a flickering exit sign and the vague hum of someone’s vape cloud still hanging in the air. (y/n) leaned back against the peeling brick wall, cold seeping into her spine through her thin shirt, and took a slow breath in.

not to cry.

just to breathe.

the night buzzed behind her—voices, basslines, laughter. it all felt far away now, like she was watching it from underwater. her buzz had dulled. or maybe soured. she couldn't tell anymore.

she hated that a name—just a name—could still change the temperature of her blood.

a year. it had been a year. she’d dyed her hair, moved apartments, started journaling again like she was a teenager with a heartbreak playlist. she’d told everyone she was fine. and she was. mostly. enough.

but the way steph had said his name…

namjoon. like he was still hers. like it hadn’t ended in the kind of silence that made her doubt the entire thing ever happened.

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath, rubbing at her arms. the night was cooler than she expected. or maybe that was just what regret felt like.

she checked her phone—reflex. no messages.

she shouldn’t text him. not now. not like this.

her fingers hovered. it was so stupid. she knew it was stupid. but the truth was—

she did miss having him around.

not just the sex, not the shared playlists or the stupid way he folded her laundry like a librarian shelving books. she missed the quiet. the safety. the way he’d always known when she needed to be held without being asked.

and before she could talk herself out of it, her thumbs were moving.

i miss having you around.

she stares at her phone just a moment before locking the screen. “this is so stupid” mumbling under her breath.

the bass was still pounding when she walked back in, like nothing had happened. like her stomach wasn’t twisted and her throat didn’t feel like it had been scraped raw from the inside. someone handed her another drink—she didn’t even catch who. she nodded her thanks, forced another smile, and knocked it back too fast.

the warmth never hit her chest. it just sank.

she hovered at the edge of the circle, letting her friends’ chatter wash over her like static. the laughter felt too loud. the neon lights too bright. she wasn’t in it anymore—just floating above, watching herself nod, sip, grin. a ghost in her own skin.

steph tried to meet her eyes once or twice. (y/n) didn’t let her.

after another drink, she checked the time. 3:08 a.m. perfect excuse.

“hey,” she said, interrupting a story she wasn’t listening to, “i’ve got things to do in the morning, so… i’m gonna head out.”

a couple of her friends blinked. amara pouted. someone offered her a ride.

“nah,” she smiled. “i’m good. thanks.”

steph didn’t say anything. just looked at her like she knew.

(y/n) ignored it, squeezed a few arms goodbye, and slipped out before anyone could stop her.

the night air hit her like a slap—cold, sharp, honest.

she pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. her unsent message was still open on the screen.

i miss having you around.

still there. still blinking.

she didn’t delete it.

but she didn’t send it either.

by the time she stepped into her apartment, the quiet almost made her flinch. no voices, no music, no bass crawling under her skin. just the soft hum of the fridge and the dull echo of her own steps against the floor. 

she toed off her shoes in the dark, letting them fall sideways by the door. her makeup still clung to her skin, smudged slightly under one eye, and her jacket was slipping off her shoulder, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. everything felt too heavy. her arms. her chest. even her thoughts.

she didn’t bother changing out of her clothes. didn’t brush her teeth. didn’t even check her phone again. she just dropped her bag somewhere near the couch and made the short, autopilot walk to her bed, collapsing onto the mattress like something hollowed out. the city buzzed faintly through the window, a distant lullaby of car horns and wind, and within seconds, sleep took her like a blackout.

when she opened her eyes again, the light was harsh.

her head ached in that familiar, dehydrated way. her throat was dry, and her limbs felt tangled in fabric she couldn’t remember putting on. the sun was too bright. the room smelled faintly like whatever perfume she’d sprayed hours before and the remnants of sweat and bar smoke.

she groaned, dragging her arm over her face. reached blindly for her phone.

6 unread messages. none from him.

she was halfway through a notification from a food delivery app when she noticed the chat still open behind it. his name. his thread.

and there it was.

the text she swore she didn’t send.

i miss having you around.

right beneath it:

read 4:17 am.

she blinked at it. once. twice. waiting for something—anything—to change. maybe a reply would pop up. maybe it had glitched. maybe this was a dream and she hadn’t hit send after all.

but no.

he’d read it.

and that was it.

no typing bubble. no three dots. no follow-up. no you too. not even a dry hope you’re good.

just silence.

the kind that wrapped around her like cold water.

her stomach twisted, hot with humiliation. god, had she really sent it? like that? no punctuation, no explanation, just—that? a drunk confession disguised as a throwaway text?

she dropped the phone onto her sheets and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. she wasn’t going to cry. this wasn’t something to cry about.

it was just a text.

just a ghost.

just another reminder that he was still good at walking away.

she didn’t even get out of bed until noon.

and even then, it wasn’t because she wanted to—it was because her bladder forced her to. the sun spilling through the curtains made her wince, and every part of her mouth felt like sandpaper. she moved like she was made of rust, each step slow, dragging, her thoughts heavier than her body.

she didn’t check her phone again.

not right away.

instead, she wandered to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter in that hunched-over way she only ever did when she was hungover or emotionally bruised. this morning, she was both.

by the time she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, her phone was right there next to it—staring at her. taunting her. the temptation was unbearable. not to look at his message—she already knew what was (and wasn’t) there—but to do something about it.

like text him again.

maybe something casual. ironic. a recovery joke.

lol sorry drunk me got sentimental ignore that, rough night lol forget it

but what was the point? he read it. read it. and said nothing.

what the hell else was she supposed to do? follow it up with an apology? beg him to talk to her? no—no, fuck that. she’d already handed him a piece of her vulnerability on a silver platter. she wasn’t about to keep spoon-feeding it to him.

still…

she thought about it.

the entire day, it circled her like a mosquito—tiny, buzzing, impossible to swat away. every time she opened another tab, washed another dish, tied her hair up, the thought came creeping back in: what if he’s waiting for me to say more?

what if he wants her to chase him?

what if he’s just being cautious?

what if he read it and regretted not answering, but didn’t know how?

what if.

what if.

what if.

she typed at least five different drafts of a follow-up. none of them made it past the keyboard. each one felt weaker than the last. some were angry. some were sarcastic. one was just a string of question marks she didn’t even remember typing.

eventually, she just set her phone screen-down and pushed it to the far corner of the table. opened a new document. tried to work. but even her words—normally her safe place, her breath—betrayed her.

every sentence reminded her of him. or worse, of herself with him.

she was halfway through pretending to write an email when the memory of the message hit her again like a slap: i miss having you around.

how pathetic. how raw.

and he hadn’t said a thing.

the knock came just after seven.

soft at first, then impatient. then followed by the sound of a key in the lock.

(y/n) didn’t move from the couch.

she was still in the same hoodie she threw on after her shower, the sleeves tugged over her hands, one leg curled beneath her and the other hanging off the edge like a question mark. a half-eaten banana and a cup of tea sat forgotten on the coffee table, next to her phone, which she hadn’t touched in hours. not since the last time she opened their thread. not since she stared at the word read until it blurred.

the door creaked open, and the scent of bulgogi and rice and something fried cut through the stale air of her apartment.

“i swear to god if you’re dead in here i’m going to bring you back just to slap you,” amara called out.

a beat.

then: “...oh.”

(y/n) didn’t look up. just mumbled, “hi.”

amara’s boots clicked across the floor, and then she was dropping two plastic bags onto the coffee table and kneeling in front of her like some kind of holy intervention.

“jesus christ, you look like a sad victorian ghost. have you even eaten?”

“kinda.”

amara narrowed her eyes. “do fridge grapes and ibuprofen count?”

(y/n) cracked the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

amara sighed and sat beside her, her presence immediate and grounding. she unpacked the food with practiced ease, muttering something about “soy sauce therapy” and “emergency carbs.” they ate in silence for a few minutes, chopsticks scraping against containers, the only soundtrack a soft playlist humming from (y/n)’s laptop.

then amara said, casually, “so… how bad is it?”

(y/n) didn’t answer at first.

she took another bite of kimchi, chewed slowly. tried to pretend it didn’t taste like regret.

then, finally: “i texted him.”

amara didn’t blink. “namjoon?”

(y/n) nodded.

“when?”

“last night.”

“what’d you say?”

(y/n) swallowed hard, looking down at her hands. “i miss having you around.”

amara’s eyebrows shot up. “oh damn. straight to the throat, huh?”

“i didn’t mean to send it. i thought i didn’t. but i did.”

“...and?”

“he read it.” her voice cracked, just slightly. “and he didn’t reply.”

amara leaned back against the couch, exhaling through her nose. she didn’t look surprised. but she did look like she was calculating something in her head.

“bitch,” she finally said, “i love you, so i need to ask—what were you hoping he’d say?”

(y/n) blinked. “i don’t know.”

“yes, you do.”

“i didn’t expect anything, i just—”

amara gave her a look.

(y/n) sighed, letting her head fall against the couch cushion. “i guess… maybe i wanted him to say he missed me too. or that he’d been thinking about me. or that it sucked for him, too.”

amara nodded slowly, eyes soft but steady. “and instead, he gave you silence.”

a beat.

“again.”

that last word landed hard. (y/n) flinched, just a little. but she didn’t argue.

she hated how familiar this feeling was. the waiting. the not-knowing. the pretending not to care while dying inside.

amara nudged her with her foot. “you know this doesn’t mean you’re pathetic, right?”

“sure feels like it.”

“you were vulnerable. that’s brave. and it doesn’t make you desperate, it makes you human. but let’s also not pretend that this isn’t who he’s always been—someone who disappears when you hand him something fragile.”

(y/n)���s throat tightened.

amara continued, voice gentler now. “you don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know what to do with your heart. it’s not your job to teach him how to hold it.”

that was when the tears finally came.

not loud. not many. just a couple that slipped down her cheeks quietly, like they’d been waiting all day for permission.

amara didn’t make a big deal out of it. she just scooted closer, wrapped an arm around (y/n)’s shoulders, and pulled her into her side like they’d done this a hundred times before.

and maybe they had.

you don’t have to chase someone who doesn’t know what to do with your heart.

the words hung in the air like incense smoke—sweet, heavy, lingering long after they were said. (y/n) didn’t answer. she couldn’t. her throat was too tight. so she just leaned into amara’s shoulder, blinking up at the ceiling like if she stared hard enough, the tears would slide back in.

amara let her sit there in silence for a moment, fingers tracing idle circles on (y/n)’s back.

then, gently: “you know this won’t be forever, right?”

(y/n) made a soft, scoffing noise. “what won’t?”

“this feeling. the ache. the shame. you won’t always be this girl who sent the text and got ignored.”

she didn’t believe that. not yet. but hearing someone say it out loud made it hurt a little less.

amara sat up a little straighter, nudging her side. “wanna hear something stupid?”

(y/n) wiped under her eyes. “always.”

“i’ve been holding onto this for three weeks.”

“holding onto what?”

amara reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out two crumpled, slightly bent paper tickets.

“you remember Still Moss?”

(y/n)’s head jerked up. “no fucking way.”

amara grinned. “they’re playing saturday. small set. underground venue in itaewon. i saw the flyer on some niche subreddit and snatched the tickets before they were even posted officially.”

(y/n) blinked. “amar—what the hell, why didn’t you tell me?”

“because you were doing better,” amara said, voice soft but honest. “you weren’t thinking about him every day. you were flirting with the guy at your gym. you were laughing again. and i didn’t want to pull you back into memories of the past just because one of our old favorites decided to crawl out of their indie cave.”

(y/n) took the ticket with both hands, staring at it like it might bite.

“but,” amara added, “now? i think you need something real. something alive. not a text thread. not a read receipt. not silence in a chat that used to be your whole world.”

(y/n)’s lips parted, but no words came out.

amara shrugged. “you don’t have to go for me. but you should go for you. for the part of you that wasn’t just his. the part of you that screamed lyrics and danced like a lunatic in your kitchen and wore that ugly green beanie just because they mentioned it in a b-side.”

“that beanie was iconic.”

“it was moldy avocado vomit and you loved it.”

(y/n) laughed. just once. and it cracked something open.

the grief didn’t vanish. but it shifted. made space for something else. not quite joy. not even hope. just a sliver of maybe.

“you really think it’ll help?” she whispered, still clutching the ticket.

“i think it’ll remind you that you’re more than what he didn’t say.”

(y/n) looked down at the printed text again. the date. the time. the name of a band that once meant everything.

she wasn’t sure if she could face it. but something in her chest fluttered anyway.

“okay,” she said. “i’ll go.”

amara raised her brow. “with me?”

“obviously with you.”

amara grinned and tossed a napkin at her. “cool. you’ve got two days to get your shit together, wash your hair, and remember who the fuck you are.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered this time.

-----

she stared at her closet like it had offended her.

clothes were already strewn across the bed—black mesh tops, a beat-up denim jacket with a fading patch on the back, her favorite pants that somehow always made her feel like she was too much and not enough all at once. she had half a mind to cancel. text amara and say she got sick. or had work. or—fuck it—just ghost the entire thing.

because this was his band.

not officially, obviously. not legally. but still—he was the one who found them. the one who burned their first EP onto a cheap CD and played it in his car at full volume while they drove through the city with the windows down and their hands out like wings. he was the one who paused every other song to say “listen to this part, wait, right here—this is the line that wrecked me.”

they used to talk about seeing Still Moss live like it was some bucket list item. one day. someday. a future tense wrapped in shared laughter and tangled limbs.

and now she was going without him.

(y/n) sank down onto the bed, the air suddenly thick, her fingers trembling as they pulled at the edge of her comforter.

what was she doing?

what the fuck was she trying to do? prove something? distract herself? reclaim something that maybe never really belonged to her alone?

she reached for her phone, scrolled back to his name—again. the message still sat there like a bruise on the screen.

i miss having you around.

read. still no reply.

and now she was going to the show they used to dream about, pretending it didn’t mean anything?

who was she kidding?

she dropped the phone face-down on the bed and covered her face with her hands.

it felt like treason. like stepping into that venue without him was rewriting history, erasing the version of herself that once existed in his arms. she’d be surrounded by music they once called theirs, lyrics that felt like inside jokes, moments only they knew how to hold. what if they played that song? the one he always hummed when he kissed her shoulder half-asleep?

how could she stand in that crowd and not feel his absence like a blade?

still.

not going would mean something, too. it would mean he still owned that part of her.

and maybe—just maybe—going would be her way of saying: you don’t get to have it all.

her reflection caught in the mirror across the room. she looked tired. haunted. but underneath the exhaustion was something steadier. the shadow of resolve.

she stood up.

grabbed the mesh top.

and started getting ready.

the street outside the venue was already humming with life—groups of twenty-somethings crowding the sidewalk, passing around half-smoked cigarettes and cheap convenience store beers, the faint thrum of bass leaking through the brick walls like the night had a pulse.

(y/n) tugged her jacket tighter around her body, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

no sign of amara yet.

she checked her phone for the third time in five minutes. 7:48 p.m. she’d said they’d meet a little before eight, but amara was always early. always waiting on the curb with snacks shoved in her bag and a too-loud story to fill the silence.

and then her phone buzzed.

a text.

[amara :] babe i’m so sorry. something came up. i can’t make it tonight. pls don’t kill me ily :(

(y/n) stared at the message.

read it again.

then once more, just to make sure she hadn’t misread it. but there it was. soft. apologetic. and devastating in its own casual way.

for a second, everything felt like static. the noise around her, the lights, the laughter—it all flattened into white.

she looked up at the venue entrance.

the line was shorter now. people were already filtering inside. the music inside was getting louder, familiar bass lines testing the sound system. Still Moss. she could already picture the setlist in her head.

she hesitated.

every cell in her body told her to leave. to turn around. take the train home. crawl into bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

because now it wasn’t just a gig. it was a battlefield.

but the thing was—she’d already fought this fight with herself earlier.

in the mirror, while deciding on her top. while wiping mascara smudges from under her eyes. while whispering to her reflection, you’re allowed to have things that used to belong to both of you.

and now, standing in front of the venue alone, she realized something else: leaving would feel too much like surrender.

to namjoon.

to the past.

to the version of herself that thought rejection meant she had to disappear.

no fucking way.

she took a breath.

pushed her phone back into her bag.

and stepped into the venue.

it was dim and loud and crowded, the floor sticky under her boots and the air thick with anticipation. the lights were still up. people milling around, drinks in hand, conversations half-shouted. she squeezed through the crowd toward a spot near the back—not close enough to feel suffocated, but just enough to see the stage, to feel the throb of the speakers in her chest.

and despite everything—the anxiety still clawing at her ribs, the faint echo of read 4:17 am playing on a loop in her head—she felt it.

a flicker of excitement.

this was her night.

and she wasn’t going to let the ghost of a man who couldn’t even text her back take that from her.

the venue had that familiar, half-feral energy only places like this could hold—dim ceiling lights hanging from exposed pipes, old show flyers layered on the walls like bark, the faint hum of something spilled and sticky in the air. voices rose and fell around her, half-drunk excitement wrapped around slurred words and laughter. no one here knew her. no one looked twice.

it helped.

for a second, it helped.

(y/n) found a spot near a worn pillar toward the left side of the room, far enough from the stage to breathe, close enough to see the instruments already arranged—drum set lit in soft red, mic stands waiting like they knew secrets. she crossed her arms and let herself sink into the pulse of the crowd. the subtle rhythm of people shuffling, talking, sipping, swaying.

Still Moss would go on soon.

she could feel it.

and beneath her nerves—below the tension stitched into her shoulders, below the phantom sting of rejection still lodged in her chest—there was something else. something familiar.

want.

not for him. not for the past.

for the music. for this night. for this version of herself that had always existed under the hurt.

someone brushed past her and muttered an apology. she nodded. took a slow sip of her drink. let the noise rush around her like static. the pre-show playlist crackled overhead, layered with old demos and deep cuts, and when the familiar intro of one of their early tracks started up—their song, the one from their first EP—her throat tightened.

but she stayed.

she didn’t flinch.

the lights overhead flickered once. twice.

and then they dimmed.

a hush spread through the crowd—not silence, but reverence. anticipation. the kind that hit you low in the gut.

she smiled.

just a little.

and for a moment, she forgot about the message. the rejection. the ache.

for a moment, she was just a girl in a crowd, heart beating in sync with the rest of them.

the stage lights snapped on—white-hot and gold—and the band filed out one by one to the kind of roar that felt earned. the guitarist adjusted his strap. the drummer spun his sticks once, twice, like ritual. the lead singer stepped up to the mic, tugged his cap low, and said—

“you guys ready for a loud fucking night or what?”

the room answered with a scream.

(y/n) screamed with them.

and for those first few songs, she let go.

she danced. not like she used to—not wild and fearless—but she moved. she let the bass hit her ribs and the guitar wrap around her neck and the lyrics pull her mouth into half-remembered shapes. her hands were in the air by the second chorus. her voice raw by the third.

she was alive.

she was alive.

and that’s exactly when it happened.

a shift in the air. not dramatic. not cinematic. just something off. like the static changed frequencies.

she turned her head.

and there he was.

namjoon.

standing maybe twenty feet away, half in shadow, eyes already locked on her like he hadn’t stopped looking since she walked in.

her pulse stuttered.

she didn’t look again. wouldn’t. she turned back to the stage with the kind of sharp, practiced movement that screamed I didn’t see you and I don’t care, even though her lungs had forgotten how to work and her drink suddenly tasted like regret.

the crowd surged forward with the start of another song, and she let herself be pulled along, like if she just moved fast enough, she could outrun the sudden roar of thoughts in her head. she focused on the band—on the flicker of stage lights slicing through fog, on the way the lead singer’s voice cracked in the chorus like a prayer, on the guy next to her who was already elbowing into her space trying to get closer. she focused on anything but him.

but she could feel it.

his stare.

like heat at the back of her neck, heavy and deliberate, digging in like he was trying to memorize the way she stood now. the way she danced without him. the way she still came, still claimed this night as her own. it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t tender. it was invasive. unbearable.

she swallowed hard and lifted her hands, let herself sway with the rhythm, kept her body in motion just to give her mind something to anchor to. the crowd was louder now, rougher—people pushing forward, eager, half-drunk on adrenaline and cheap whiskey. someone brushed up against her, a hand catching too low at her waist before slipping off. another person stumbled into her back, barely catching themselves with a muttered apology and a laugh that didn’t reach their eyes.

the unintended groping, the crush of sweat and sound and strangers—it was a lot. too much. normally she’d lean into it, lose herself. but now every brush of skin felt like static. like him. like memory bleeding into muscle.

she didn’t dare look back.

but she knew.

he was still watching.

maybe trying to figure out if it was really her. maybe trying to decide if he should come over. maybe just… feeling it. the pull. the hurt. the consequence of silence.

her heart beat against her ribs like it was trying to break out.

stay cool. that’s what she kept telling herself. over and over, like a mantra between lyrics. stay cool. stay cool. he doesn’t get to ruin this for you. not again.

and god, she almost believed it.

almost.

but beneath it all, there was still that other voice—small, traitorous, terrified—asking: why is he here? did he know you’d come? is this some kind of joke? or is it fate, sick and stupid, dragging you both back together just to watch you fall apart again?

the lights flashed. the bass hit. the song climbed to its peak.

and she danced.

not for him.

but in spite of him.

she didn’t notice how thick the crowd had gotten until she tried to move.

one song bled into another, and suddenly the bodies pressing in around her weren’t dancing—they were shoving. climbing. surging toward the stage like it was salvation. someone behind her yelled something she couldn’t make out, and the girl to her left kept pushing her elbow into (y/n)’s ribs, eyes locked on the front like she’d sooner break bone than give up her view.

she tried to shift, just enough to step back, maybe slide toward the edge of the crowd—but there was nowhere to go. her foot caught on someone’s bag, someone else’s arm tangled with hers, and in the chaos she realized—fuck—she was stuck.

her breath hitched.

it wasn’t panic. not yet. but it was close.

the air was getting tighter, hotter. the music roared in her chest like thunder, no longer comforting, just loud. she ducked her head, tried to wedge her way sideways—but the wave of bodies moved again, and this time it nearly knocked her off balance. her shoulder clipped someone’s back. her hands went up instinctively, useless.

and then—

a hand.

fingers wrapping around her wrist—firm, familiar, undeniable.

she froze.

looked up.

and there he was.

namjoon.

right in front of her now, eyes wide, mouth tight, brows drawn in that exact expression she remembered from every argument they never really finished—worry twisted into anger. or maybe it was the other way around. either way, it hit her like a punch to the ribs.

his hand was warm.

his grip steady.

and his face—

god, his face.

he didn’t look surprised. not exactly. more like—rattled. like seeing her here was something he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head, but the reality of it still threw him off balance. his jaw clenched. his eyes scanned her face like he was checking for damage, like he expected her to be bruised and broken just from being here.

she didn’t know what to say.

she couldn’t say anything.

the crowd pushed again, and this time he pulled her toward him—closer, instinctively protective, his body shielding hers like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

he leaned in, voice low but urgent in her ear. “you okay?”

she didn’t answer.

she couldn’t.

because all she could think was: you left. and I still wanted to marry you.

and now here he was, dragging her out of the storm like nothing had ever broken between them.

the crowd didn’t care who they were or what cracked, fragile history hung between them—it just kept pressing in, louder, harder, all elbows and shouted lyrics and spilled drinks. someone bumped into her back, hard enough to make her stumble, and she felt namjoon’s grip tighten around her wrist immediately. not rough, not possessive—just instinctive. like his body was answering a question before his brain could form the words.

he pulled her closer, chest brushing against her shoulder now, his other hand moving to the small of her back without thinking, guiding her through the tide like muscle memory. even after all this time, he still moved like someone who wanted to shield her from the world, still held her like she was precious and breakable—even if he had been the one to shatter her last.

“we should move,” he said, close enough that she felt the shape of the words more than heard them. his voice was low, almost calm, but the tension in his jaw told a different story. his eyes—those warm, unreadable eyes—searched her face in the flickering stage light, darting over her skin like he was looking for bruises, for signs that she’d been hurt. not just by the crowd.

by anything.

and she hated that it still made her want to cry.

she nodded, or maybe she didn’t. maybe her body just leaned into the pull of him, because the next thing she knew he was gently—gently—pressing her ahead of him through the crush of people, using his frame to carve a path through the chaos. every time someone got too close, he shifted, stepping between her and the noise, that quiet, seething frustration radiating off him like heat—not at her. never at her. just the situation. the pushing. the closeness. the way she’d been caught in all of it, small and alone and so vulnerable.

and she could feel it—how hard he was trying not to let it show. the anger simmering under his skin. the fear, maybe, buried somewhere beneath it. but it was there, plain as breath: he cared. he still fucking cared.

and that—more than the hands or the eyes or the words—was the most dangerous thing of all.

the bathroom corridor was narrow and dim, lined with peeling posters and flickering overhead lights that buzzed like flies. the smell of stale beer clung to the walls, and the occasional echo of the concert leaked through the cracked door down the hall, muffled now. distant. the adrenaline from the crowd hadn’t faded, not fully, but out here, in the quiet, everything felt sharper. more dangerous.

namjoon turned to face her the second they stepped into the space. he didn’t let go of her wrist until he was sure she was steady on her feet, and even then, his fingers lingered for a moment longer than they should have. like he didn’t want to. like maybe part of him still remembered what it felt like to hold her like this for no reason at all.

he stepped back then, ran a hand through his hair, and started in before she could even catch her breath.

“you shouldn’t have been in there alone,” he said, voice low but tight, like he was trying not to snap. “you know how packed these places get. it’s not safe, not when you’re by yourself. what if I hadn’t been there? you could’ve gotten hurt, trampled, or—”

she blinked, still catching up, heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

namjoon’s eyes stayed locked on hers, jaw clenched like he was still trying to hold the anger in his mouth, but it was starting to fracture—splinters showing through the edges. the fluorescent light above them flickered once, casting shadows across his face, and she hated how familiar he still looked in this lighting. like every too-late night in their old apartment, like every fight that ended with her curled up in his hoodie and his hands in her hair whispering, we’re okay, aren’t we? we’re okay.

but they weren’t okay now.

they hadn’t been in a long time.

“i wasn’t alone by choice,” she said, arms folded tight across her chest. “amara was supposed to come with me.”

namjoon’s mouth parted slightly.

she didn’t wait for him to speak.

“she bought the tickets. said i needed to get out of my head for once. i was going to cancel when she bailed but—” she swallowed hard. “i told myself i’d be fine.”

his expression shifted. not dramatically. not in that open-book way most people’s faces moved. but in the subtle ways she still remembered—his brows pulling in just enough, the set of his mouth softening like it suddenly hurt to keep it closed.

“seriously, what were you thinking? you don’t even like crowds like that. and if amara was supposed to be with you, why didn’t you just leave when she bailed? jesus, you could’ve—”

“you’re such an asshole,” she muttered.

the words slipped out before she could stop them. not loud. but loud enough to cut through him.

he froze.

the silence between them was immediate, electric.

she shook her head, chest tight, throat burning. “you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to show up out of nowhere and act like you’re worried about me when you left me on read.”

he stared at her, jaw tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

“you don’t get to act like it’s still your job to take care of me,” she said, her voice trembling just enough to piss her off. “i sent you one fucking message. one. and you couldn’t even be bothered to answer. and now you’re here lecturing me like you give a shit?”

his eyes darkened. “what was I supposed to say, huh?” he snapped, stepping forward. “you text me in the middle of the night after we haven’t spoken in over a year. what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

her mouth opened. then closed.

namjoon kept going, voice rising like he was finally letting himself feel the thing he’d been pushing down. “you think that didn’t mess with my head? you think I haven’t spent the last few nights wondering if I should’ve said something? if I was allowed to say something? because for a second I thought—fuck, I thought you were drunk, or lonely, or both, and if I said the wrong thing, I’d make it worse.”

she laughed, bitter and breathless. “so you decided saying nothing was the better choice.”

“it was a dick move, on both ends” he said, quieter now. not denying it. just... laying it out.

they stared at each other.

her back against the wall. his shoulders drawn tight like he was holding something back with both hands. and the air between them? thick with everything they didn’t say after they broke up. everything they still don’t know how to explain.

the silence after his last words stretched taut between them, like the air was waiting for one of them to break it. (y/n) felt her breath coming fast, too fast, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a mile. her heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons—rage, confusion, grief. want. all tangled together so tightly she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

namjoon was standing barely a foot away, his jaw clenched, arms stiff at his sides like if he moved even a little he’d reach for her, and he didn’t trust himself to do it.

and fuck, she hated how familiar he still felt.

the heat between them was unbearable. it had nothing to do with the venue. nothing to do with the crowd they’d escaped. it was just them, trapped in this too-small hallway, skin prickling, hearts racing, eyes locked.

his gaze flicked down—her lips. then back up.

hers did the same.

and it was like time held its breath.

her mouth parted just slightly, and he leaned in a fraction of an inch, like he couldn’t help it, like something in him needed to be closer. and for a second—one long, shattering second—it felt inevitable. like their mouths were going to meet, and this whole night would collapse into something hot and reckless and full of everything they’d been avoiding.

but they didn’t kiss.

neither of them moved.

and the restraint hurt worse than any breakup ever could.

namjoon exhaled shakily, his voice suddenly quiet. “i should walk you home.”

just like that, the fire between them shifted. cooled at the edges. but didn’t go out.

she blinked, throat thick. “what?”

he met her eyes. no anger there now. just something raw. something so tender it made her chest ache.

“it’s late,” he said. “and i don’t want you going alone.”

her lips parted, but she didn’t know what to say.

because she should say no.

she should tell him to go to hell. to let her be. to stop doing these stupid, soft things that made it so hard to hate him.

but the part of her that sent that text? the part that never really stopped missing him? that part wanted to say yes.

god, it wanted to say yes.

the walk back to her place unfolded like a dream they weren’t sure they were awake for—quiet, disorienting, charged with too much everything. neither of them said a word, not at first. not when they left the venue. not when they crossed the street or turned down the familiar blocks of her neighborhood, shadows stretching long under the streetlights, the faint pulse of the city flickering somewhere behind them.

they didn’t have to speak to feel it.

every step buzzed with unsaid things. every brush of his arm near hers felt like an accident that wasn’t. she could feel his body heat like a second skin. like he was walking too close, not quite touching her, but there—solid, steady, present in a way he hadn’t been in over a year.

and she hated how natural it felt.

hated that her body still remembered the rhythm of him. the pace. the weight. the subtle, invisible pull like gravity still worked differently when he was near.

she didn’t know how they got to her building so fast. one second she was replaying their argument in her head like a song stuck on loop, and the next—she was unlocking the front door, his hand hovering behind her like it used to when she fumbled for her keys, like he still had the instinct to catch her if she dropped anything at all.

they stepped inside.

dim hallway. elevator out of service. and then the climb—three floors of quiet tension, every footfall like punctuation. they didn’t speak, not even as she led him to her door, not even as she stood there with the key halfway into the lock, heartbeat thudding in her throat.

and when she turned to face him again, everything came rushing back.

the fight.

the guilt.

the aching, unbearable want.

“you’re still mad,” he said quietly, eyes locked on hers like he couldn’t bear to look away.

she scoffed, soft and tired. “of course i’m mad.”

“i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“yeah?” she said, voice tight, bitter. “then why did you act like i didn’t exist?”

his face twitched, jaw clenching. “because i didn’t know how to handle it, okay? you don’t get to show up in my messages like that and expect me to be fine.”

“i didn’t expect you to be fine,” she shot back, stepping toward him now, all the space between them collapsing. “i didn’t expect anything, namjoon. i was drunk and stupid and—god, i just missed you. i wasn’t trying to trap you or make some kind of fucking dramatic statement—i just… i don’t know. i didn’t think. but you did. you saw it. and you chose nothing.”

he was breathing harder now. so was she. neither of them looked away.

“do you know how much it hurt?” she whispered, voice breaking. “after everything? to be left on read by the one person i thought would at least… at least say something?”

his mouth parted. something crumpled behind his eyes. but he didn’t speak.

they were so close now that she could feel the edge of his breath against her cheek, smell the faintest trace of something warm and familiar clinging to his collar. the scent of him broke her more than anything he could’ve said.

she wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were standing toe to toe, barely a breath apart, the keys in her hand forgotten, her back nearly brushing the door. his hands clenched at his sides like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself. her fingers curled around the hem of her jacket like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

the silence between them? it wasn’t empty.

it was full. heavy. breaking at the seams.

they weren’t done.

not even close.

namjoon’s eyes searched hers like he was looking for an opening, like if he could just name the thing between them, maybe it would make sense. but it didn’t. it never had. and now, standing inches from her door, with his chest rising and falling like he’d just run here barefoot, all he could manage was, “i didn’t want to make it worse.”

she blinked. slow. disbelieving.

“worse?” she echoed, voice low and razor-sharp. “you think ignoring me made it better?”

he flinched, just a little. his gaze dropped to the floor, like the tile pattern suddenly held the answers. “i thought if i said something, it would… reopen everything. and i didn’t think you wanted that.”

“so instead you just pretended i didn’t exist?” her voice cracked, raw now, too open. “you were the one person who knew how hard that year was for me and you—god, you didn’t even ask if i was okay. you just watched me bleed.”

he took a step back, not far, just enough to pace, to get his bearings—but even that small distance made her feel cold.

“you think it was easy for me?” he said, louder now, no longer calm. “you think i’ve just been—what—fine? do you know how many times i almost called you? how many fucking nights i picked up the phone just to hear your voice and had to put it back down because i didn’t trust myself not to fuck everything up even more?”

“then why didn’t you?” she snapped, stepping toward him again. “why didn’t you call? or text? or do anything?”

“because i loved you too much to hurt you again!” he said it like it burned coming out, like it wasn’t meant to be said at all, not now, not here. but it was out there now. between them. sizzling like an exposed wire.

her breath hitched.

he stared at her, wild-eyed and wrecked. “i still fucking love you, okay? even when i shouldn’t. even when it’s a terrible idea. even when i know you deserve someone who doesn’t keep you waiting at two a.m. for a message that never comes.”

her hand went to the doorknob, like she needed something to hold on to. like if she didn’t, she might collapse under the weight of his words.

“you don’t get to say that now,” she said, barely above a whisper. “you don’t get to stand here and tell me you still love me when you spent the last year pretending i was nothing.”

“i never pretended you were nothing,” he said, voice breaking, “i’ve been pretending you were everything, and that i could live without it.”

and just like that—the thread snapped.

they didn’t move toward each other so much as fall into the space between them, mouths colliding not with grace but with desperation. her back hit the door with a soft thud, his hands finally finding her waist like they were made for it, her fingers tangling in his hair like no time had passed at all. it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet. it was feral—the kind of kiss that tasted like every word they didn’t say, every night spent apart, every second of missing wrapped up in heat and teeth and breathless curses.

there was no going back now.

not after this.

his mouth tasted like all her worst decisions and all her best memories.

they didn’t stop kissing when they left the hallway. they didn’t even pretend to. his hands stayed glued to her hips, dragging her closer with every step like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go. and she couldn’t let go, not when every inch of him felt like muscle memory, not when her hands had minds of their own, sliding under his jacket, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt like she needed to feel the warmth of him to believe this was real.

her keys fumbled in the lock, hands shaking too much to find the hole, her mouth still locked on his, lips bruising against his, his teeth catching her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp and drop the keys entirely.

“fuck,” she breathed, laughing against his mouth, frustrated and drunk on him.

he reached around her, growling low under his breath, picked up the keys, found the lock like it was his apartment and not hers, and shoved the door open.

they stumbled in, mouths never parting. she kicked off her shoes without looking, dragging him inside by the collar. his jacket hit the floor with a dull thud, followed by hers. the air in the room was warmer than it should’ve been. or maybe it was just them. heat radiating from every inch of skin, every frantic touch, every groan pressed into a mouth too busy to stop.

they didn’t bother turning on the lights. didn’t need them.

his hands were everywhere—fisting the fabric at her sides, sliding up her ribs, down her back, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. like he was still angry, still caught in the argument, and this was the only way to speak now. she didn’t mind. she wanted it. wanted to be touched like this. wanted him like this—desperate and undone, like he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her either.

they reached the bedroom door, breath ragged, foreheads touching, lips still grazing each other’s in frantic, broken passes. her hand was on his chest, nails dragging lightly down muscle, his fingers pressing bruises into her waist like punctuation marks.

“this is a stupid idea,” he whispered, voice strained, wrecked, like the words hurt to say.

she grabbed his face, pulled him in again, kissed him like she could erase the thought.

“i don’t care,” she whispered against his lips. “stay. just tonight.”

the way she said it—soft, cracked, a little too close to pleading—broke something in him.

he didn’t answer. didn’t have to.

his mouth was back on hers before she could take another breath, rough, needy, starving, like he was trying to carve his name into her all over again. their bodies collided in the doorway, hands fighting with layers of clothing, mouths locking again and again, each kiss more desperate than the last.

they were already past the point of no return.

and neither of them gave a damn.

they didn’t make it to the bed right away.

he had her pinned to the wall just outside the doorway, their mouths crashing again like every kiss was a bite, a battle. namjoon’s hands gripped her hips hard, dragging her against him, and the low groan he let out when their bodies collided was guttural, like something primal had been knocked loose.

his lips broke from hers only to move down her jaw, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. “fuck—do you know what you did to me?” he muttered, voice rough, gravel-thick. “a year, and you text me like that... then just disappear again?”

her fingers scrambled at the hem of his shirt, yanking it upward, her breath hot against his throat. “you think i didn’t suffer too?” she snapped, dragging the shirt over his head. “you think it didn’t kill me to say nothing when you didn’t reply?”

he stepped forward, forcing her back again, until her shoulder blades hit the hallway wall. his bare chest pressed against hers, skin to skin, and he didn’t pause—just dipped down and pulled her shirt up with both hands, ripping it off in one quick, frustrated motion. his palms roamed her sides, rough and urgent, fingers curling around the waistband of her jeans like he couldn’t stand one more second of fabric between them.

“then why’d you do it?” he growled, mouth crashing to hers again. “why’d you send that message if you didn’t want me to come back?”

she gasped into the kiss, nails dragging down his spine, her jeans already half undone by his fingers, tugging hard, yanking them past her hips. “i didn’t know what i wanted,” she breathed, teeth grazing his bottom lip, “i just—i missed you.”

something in him snapped at that.

his hands locked under her thighs, lifting her with an easy, angry grip. she wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to his shoulders as he carried her into the bedroom. their mouths never parted—just shifted, hungrier, rougher, teeth clashing in the dark. he dropped her on the bed like he couldn’t stand not having her underneath him any longer, following her down with a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and fuck, finally.

her bra was gone next, pulled off with a practiced twist, his hands covering her like he was making up for lost time. he kissed down her neck, over her chest, marking her with lips and teeth, every touch bruising, claiming. her moans were breathy and desperate, her body arching into him like it remembered every time he’d touched her before.

“you should hate me,” he murmured against her skin, voice strained, like the words were choking him.

“maybe i do,” she whispered, dragging his belt open with shaking fingers, “but not tonight.”

he kissed her again, harder this time—his hips grinding against hers, both of them still half-dressed, bodies slick with heat and hunger.

“then don’t stop me,” he whispered, teeth on her jaw, one hand gripping her thigh so tight it made her gasp. “because i don’t think i can.”

his mouth found her neck first—hot, open kisses dragged along her skin like he was starving for it, tongue tasting, teeth grazing. she tilted her head back with a breathy gasp, giving him more, and he took it like a man possessed. he sucked hard just under her jaw, the kind of kiss meant to leave a mark, and she arched beneath him, hands threading into his hair, tugging as if that would tether her to the moment.

he groaned low in his throat, one hand already sliding between their bodies, palming her over her underwear—rough, slow circles of pressure that made her gasp again, hips twitching up against his touch. the fabric was already damp, and he swore under his breath like that fact physically wrecked him.

“fuck, you’re soaked already,” he muttered against her throat, voice dark and hoarse, almost angry about it. “you miss me that bad, huh?”

her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails biting skin. she didn’t answer—not with words. just a moan that caught in her throat, a roll of her hips into his palm that said everything.

his mouth trailed lower, dragging over her collarbones, down the center of her chest, pausing only to breathe her in like she was the last clean thing in a filthy world. and then he was on her breast, hot mouth closing around her nipple with an obscene sound, tongue flicking before he sucked hard, making her back arch off the mattress. her breath hitched. her thighs tightened around his hips.

his other hand gripped the other breast, rough fingers toying with the sensitive peak, thumb brushing, pinching lightly, just enough to make her whine. he switched sides without warning, lips wrapping around the other nipple like he’d been starving for it, groaning into her skin as if he could get drunk off the taste alone.

his mouth never stopped moving—sucking, kissing, biting gently—while his hand between her legs kept working her over the thin cotton barrier, dragging slow, cruel circles over her clit that made her legs tremble.

he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes half-lidded, mouth slick, chest heaving.

“you think about me when you touch yourself?” he rasped, fingers curling against her cunt through her panties. “you still moan my name when it gets too much?”

her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting with a shuddered breath, and god—he wanted to hear her say yes. wanted her to admit that she’d been ruined for anyone else.

and he hadn’t even gotten his mouth between her legs yet.

his mouth trailed lower, leaving a hot, open path down the center of her stomach. her skin jumped under his tongue, her body twitching as he nipped along her waist, his hands spreading her thighs wider, slower, like he wanted to savor the shape of her more than the act itself. like being between her legs again was holy ground—and he was a man at the altar, worshiping through gritted teeth.

he looked up, caught the way she was already squirming beneath him, her chest heaving, lips parted as if every breath was costing her something. and fuck, she was beautiful like this—undone and trying so hard to hold it together.

then he got to her underwear.

he pressed a kiss just above the fabric, then let his eyes drop to the soft elastic hugging her hips. he hooked one finger under the band, tugged it lightly—just enough to make her feel the tension of it. a quiet, predatory smile played on his lips as he murmured, “you look so pretty in these.”

his voice was low, dark, velvet-drenched and filthy. he snapped the band gently against her skin, then ran his thumb along the curve of her pelvis, dipping dangerously close to where she was already soaking through the cotton. he let his mouth follow, mouthing her through the thin fabric, slow, wet drags of his tongue that made her hips buck up off the mattress.

and then—rip.

one swift motion. the fabric gave with a sharp tear, and her gasp echoed off the walls, eyes snapping open just in time to see him toss the ruined panties aside like he didn’t give a damn what they cost.

“i’ll buy you new ones,” he muttered, voice rough as gravel. “but fuck, i couldn’t wait. not with how wet you are.”

and then he was between her legs.

not teasing. not easing in.

devouring.

his tongue licked a long, slow stripe from the bottom of her slit all the way to her clit, ending with a soft suck that made her choke on a moan. his hands gripped her thighs hard, thumbs digging into her skin, keeping her spread open as he buried his face in her like a man possessed.

he groaned into her, the sound low and almost pained, like tasting her again physically undid him.

“missed this,” he growled between licks, one hand sliding under her ass to pull her closer, his mouth working her over like it was his job. “missed how you taste. fuck.”

her hands found his hair, tugging, anchoring herself. her hips rolled, helpless, chasing the pressure of his tongue as he sucked her clit into his mouth again, harder this time, relentless now. his tongue moved fast, slick, filthy strokes while he moaned into her like he was getting off on the sound of her falling apart.

“joon—” she whimpered, voice cracked, fingers curling tight in his hair.

he didn’t stop.

if anything, he smiled against her cunt.

and then—two fingers slid inside her. slow at first. deliberate. crooking up, finding that spot that made her eyes roll back as his mouth never left her clit, his tongue flicking faster, filthy, precise, focused. like he was making up for every second they’d lost.

she was close. so close. and he knew it. he could feel it in the way her thighs trembled, the way her moans got higher, tighter, more desperate. he pressed his hand against her stomach with his free hand, holding her down like he wanted to feel her break from the inside out.

“cum for me,” he murmured against her, voice dark and hungry, “right on my fucking mouth, baby. let me taste you fall apart.”

her orgasm hit hard, sharp and fast, like her body had been waiting for his mouth for too damn long. her back arched, her thighs clamped around his head, and a broken, high-pitched moan tore out of her throat as his fingers kept moving inside her and his tongue never stopped. he held her through it, firm hands pressing her down like he needed to feel her shake apart against his mouth, like he didn’t trust her to stay grounded otherwise.

she whimpered his name like a prayer, like a curse, like she didn’t know what else to hold onto—and still, still, his mouth was on her, tongue dragging through her, catching every twitch, every pulse, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her climax.

only when her body gave out, slumping into the mattress with a wrecked, gasping breath, did he pull back—slow, deliberate.

he licked his lips once.

his chin was glistening. soaked in her.

his mouth was swollen, cheeks flushed, and there was a wild, wrecked look in his eyes as he hovered over her—something between pride and hunger, like tasting her had only made him more desperate, not less.

“fuck,” she breathed, staring at him like he was a hallucination.

and then she dragged him down.

no hesitation. no time to breathe.

her hands curled into his hair, and she kissed him—hard, filthy, open-mouthed, tongue tasting herself on him, moaning into his mouth like she was trying to suck the soul back out of him. his weight pressed down on her, solid and heavy, but it wasn’t enough. she needed more.

“please,” she whispered into the kiss, nails digging into his back, hips lifting up against the weight of his still-clothed cock pressing into her thigh. “joon—please. keep going. i need you inside me. now.”

he groaned into her mouth, like her begging physically hurt him. his hands fumbled at his pants, pulling them down far enough to free himself, the sound of his zipper and her ragged breath the only thing between them. her hands went to her own thighs, spreading them wide beneath him in an offering, desperate, ready—wrecked.

“you sure?” he panted against her lips, forehead pressed to hers, cock in hand, lining himself up with a grip that looked almost painful. “you say the word, i’ll stop.”

she looked him in the eye, voice shaking but certain.

“don’t you fucking dare.”

he slammed into her in one deep, brutal thrust.

his hips slammed into her with one long, deep thrust that knocked the air clean out of her lungs. the stretch burned so good she cried out, legs shaking around his waist, hands fisting the sheets as her head dropped back in utter shock.

“fuck—joon,” she gasped, voice raw, almost stunned at how full she felt, at how much she’d missed this. missed him.

he groaned like the sound of her voice broke something in him. his hands grabbed her thighs, yanked her even closer, then pulled out almost all the way just to slam back in again—harder, sharper, each snap of his hips making the bed creak under the weight of it all. her body jolted with every thrust, his cock thick and heavy inside her, dragging against every spot that made her legs tremble and her breath hitch in real time.

“you feel so fucking good,” he growled, leaning over her, teeth gritted as he fucked her like he meant it. “so fucking tight. fuck—i forgot how tight you get when you’re losing it.”

his hand reached up, tangled into her hair, pulled just enough to tilt her head back. she moaned for it—loved it—the little edge of pain sharp enough to drive her crazier, her back arching up into his chest. his mouth was on hers again before she could speak, all tongue and teeth and gasping moans, swallowing every breath like he couldn’t stand the space between them.

their mouths clashed, messy and open and hungry, like kissing had turned into its own kind of fight.

she clawed at his back, dragging nails down muscle, digging in every time his hips snapped forward and buried himself to the hilt inside her again. each thrust hit so deep she swore she saw stars, his pace fast, merciless, like he was punishing both of them for every second of distance they’d ever had.

“you missed this?” he panted into her mouth, voice low, almost mocking, like he knew. “missed getting fucked like this? stretched out on my cock like you were made for it?”

she choked on a moan, nails raking down his spine. “yes—yes, joon—fuck—don’t stop.”

“wasn’t gonna,” he growled, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand. “not until you’re screaming.”

and then he really let go.

hips slamming into her, deep and fast, skin slapping skin, her whole body sliding up the mattress from the force of it. his free hand went to her waist, holding her down, keeping her steady as he wrecked her, thrust after thrust after thrust—her mouth open, no sounds coming out at all for a second, just wrecked gasps and the kind of expression that would stay burned in his memory forever.

he dropped his forehead to hers again, breathing heavy, fucking her so deep and so hard that tears prickled at the corners of her eyes—not from pain, but from relief. from the way everything in her finally broke under the weight of him.

he pulled out just long enough to manhandle her into a new position—grabbing her thigh, lifting one of her legs and pressing it high onto his shoulder, folding her open for him like a fucking gift. the angle changed everything. he slid back in slow just to feel it, to watch the way her mouth fell open and her eyes rolled back the moment he bottomed out again, deeper now, better.

her moan broke open the silence like a scream, one hand gripping the sheets, the other clawing at his forearm as he started fucking into her again—hard, relentless, that new angle making her feel everything more. every thrust hit home, punching a whimper from her lips, her cunt wet and hot and clenching around him so tight he nearly lost control.

“fuck, baby,” he groaned, leaning over her just enough to bring his hand to her jaw, gripping it, thumb pressed under her chin to tilt her head back so she looked at him. “you look so fucking good like this. making a mess on my cock. soaked all the way down my thighs—shit.”

she couldn’t answer. not really. just breathless, broken sounds, tears threatening to fall because it was too much—not just the sex, but the feeling of it. the heat of his skin, the grip of his hand, the filthy way he was watching her like she was something he’d been dying to touch again.

he leaned in, close enough that their faces almost touched, still pounding into her like he needed to fuck the memory of her into the walls.

“you missed this?” he whispered, voice rough, dark, mean. “missed me splitting you open like this? filling you like no one else can?”

her hands grabbed his wrist, her nails digging into his skin, nodding frantically, eyes wild and desperate. “yes—fuck, yes, namjoon—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”

he growled, pure animal, his grip tightening on her jaw as he kissed her again—messy, filthy, tongue and teeth and moans—his other hand sliding down to where they were joined, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles while he thrust into her like he was chasing a high he couldn’t come down from.

“gonna cum again for me?” he murmured against her mouth, thrusting harder now, faster, body slamming into hers like he meant to break the bed. “you gonna make a mess all over me, baby?”

she was already there. legs shaking. body locking up. her breath caught in her throat and she whimpered, choking on his name like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

“cum for me,” he growled again, voice raw, mouth at her ear now. “fuck—cum on my cock. i missed this so fucking much—missed you.”

and then she shattered.

again.

her body convulsed beneath him, legs trembling, thighs twitching around his hips as she came again—louder this time, back arched, mouth open in a soundless gasp that broke into a moan when he kept thrusting through it. her nails raked down his back, her whole body pulling him in, tighter, deeper, like she wanted to keep him buried inside her forever.

he couldn’t hold it anymore.

the way she clenched around him, the heat, the mess of her under him, the way she looked when she came—completely ruined, all soft and raw and his—it tore the last thread of restraint out of him.

“fuck, i’m—shit, i’m gonna—” his voice cracked, low and hoarse and wrecked, his thrusts stuttering as his body locked up.

he pulled out fast, just in time, his hand wrapped around himself once, twice, and then he came with a broken, strangled whimper right into her ear, forehead pressed to hers, breath hot and fast. thick ropes of his cum landed across her stomach, slick and warm, and he let out a shaky breath as he collapsed halfway over her, chest heaving, fingers still gripping her thigh like he couldn’t let go.

for a moment, neither of them moved. just the sound of their breathing—heavy, ragged, in sync.

but then—he kissed her again.

soft this time.

just under her jaw, then across her throat, right where her pulse still fluttered like a drum. his hand smoothed down her side, his lips slow and deliberate as he pressed them into the soft spot under her ear—the place that used to make her shiver when he loved her gently.

and then—he slid back in.

slow.

gentle.

soothing the ache he’d left behind.

his cock was still hard, still thick, but now every roll of his hips was tender, like he was apologizing with his body. like he couldn’t bear to stop touching her just yet. he buried his face in her neck, groaning quietly as her walls fluttered around him, warm and slick and still so damn tight.

“could stay like this all night,” he whispered, voice barely a breath. “just like this. fuck, you feel so good. like you were made for me.”

her fingers found his hair again, gentler now too, stroking through the sweat-damp strands, her own breath shaky but steadying.

“then don’t go,” she murmured, barely audible.

and he kissed her again.

not fast. not hard.

just full of everything they’d said without words.

the shift was almost too much. like the weight of it all finally sank in once the sweat cooled and the urgency dulled into something deeper. something unbearably tender.

he was still inside her—moving, slow and careful, like he wanted her to feel every inch, like he was afraid to lose the warmth of her if he stopped. their bodies rocked together, hips moving in soft, deliberate rolls, his hands planted beside her head, his chest pressed to hers, their foreheads touching.

he kissed her again, slow and deep, tongues brushing with the kind of hunger that had turned gentle, reverent. her arms wrapped around his shoulders, clutching him close like she was scared he’d vanish. she moaned softly into his mouth, breath hot and broken, each little sound spilling into his throat like a secret.

“you feel so good,” she whispered, voice tight, shaking, almost tearful.

and he felt it. every syllable. the way her voice cracked, the way her body clung to his like she couldn’t let go.

he kissed her harder, but not rough. not anymore.

his hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled back just enough to look at her. his eyes were heavy, glazed with lust and something aching behind it—something close to regret, or maybe grief, for everything they’d lost between then and now.

“i missed this,” he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers, the rhythm of his hips slow and steady, still buried deep inside her. “missed you.”

her breath hitched, eyes fluttering closed as her legs tightened around his waist. she didn’t say anything for a moment, couldn’t—not when her throat was closing up, not when every slow thrust made her feel everything she’d spent the last year pretending didn’t still live under her skin.

“me too,” she finally whispered, brushing her nose against his. “so much.”

he kissed her again. deeper. longer. her lips trembled against his, but she didn’t cry—not yet. just held him tighter, her soft moans landing in his ear like confessions, her hands running down his back, memorizing every ridge of him like he might slip away again.

he moved inside her like they had all the time in the world.

and for a moment, they did.

he was still buried inside her, hips moving in those slow, shallow rolls like he never wanted to stop. but the urgency had passed. the storm had calmed. and when she brushed her fingers gently along the nape of his neck, murmuring his name soft and low, he sighed against her mouth, like her touch was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

he pulled out with a soft groan, breath catching as he left her warmth. but before the space between them could feel too wide, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him—slow, smooth, and intentional.

he hissed, his body jolting from the sudden touch, already so close from everything they’d done that he twitched in her palm, leaking for her.

“shh,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “just let me take care of you.”

her hand moved slow at first, slick and steady, her thumb brushing the tip every so often in a way that made his hips jerk and his breath come harder. her other hand rested on his hip, anchoring him as she stroked him with a rhythm that was both loving and filthy. his eyes fluttered shut, forehead falling to her shoulder, chest rising and falling fast as she murmured to him—sweet nothings and soft gasps of filth.

“you’re so fucking perfect like this,” she breathed, kissing his temple, “so hard for me still. you liked fucking me that much, huh?”

he groaned—whimpered—a quiet, broken sound that made her clench around nothing. she could feel him tensing, his muscles twitching under her hand, his moans getting tighter, shorter, more desperate.

“gonna cum for me, baby?” she whispered, lips dragging along his jaw now, her pace quickening just a little. “all over my hand? let me feel you lose it, joon.”

his hips stuttered once—twice—and then he did, cumming hard, hot, thick spurts painting her hand and her stomach again, his mouth open in a soft, wrecked sound that died against her throat. he trembled, completely spent, and she held him close, kissing the corner of his mouth as he shuddered through the aftershock.

he collapsed on top of her a moment later, body heavy and boneless, his breath loud in the quiet room, mouth still parted against her skin.

she didn’t mind the weight. not one bit.

her clean hand slid into his hair, damp with sweat, fingers gently massaging his scalp, nails lightly grazing as she whispered soothing little circles into his crown. he hummed against her chest, nuzzling in deeper, her heartbeat loud and steady beneath his cheek.

neither of them spoke for a long while.

but in that silence, her hand never left his hair. and he never moved from the curve of her body.

he stayed on her chest for a moment longer, breathing deep, eyes closed like he could hold back the tide if he just didn’t look up. but even with her fingers carding through his hair, even with her heartbeat steady beneath his ear, the weight in his chest kept growing.

he lifted his head slowly, and even that felt like too much. the air shifted. the warmth between them cooled by a breath.

“what are we doing, (y/n)?” he asked, barely above a whisper, his voice already frayed. his eyes searched hers—deep, dark, desperate. looking for something. for regret, maybe. a sign that she wanted to take it back, that this had just been a moment of weakness, a one-night undoing they’d sweep under the rug come morning.

but there wasn’t any.

not in her eyes. not in her touch.

she blinked, then gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach all the way. “well,” she said, breathless, trying for lightness, “you  fucked the shit out of me just now. so… i’d say we’re about four orgasms past asking that question.”

he let out a short, breathy laugh—but it didn’t last. not really.

his eyes didn’t leave hers. and hers… started to falter.

because she could see it. that flicker behind his gaze. the one that said he was trying not to feel too much, not to fall too hard all over again when the edge of her skin still felt like home.

and god—she could feel herself starting to unravel.

“joon,” she whispered, softer now. her clean hand cupped the side of his face, thumb brushing along the line of his cheekbone. “it’s okay.”

“is it?” he asked, the words sharp but the tone anything but. it wasn’t anger. it was fear. “because it doesn’t feel like it should be. it feels like I just—like we just opened a wound we spent a year trying to close.”

she bit her bottom lip. looked up at the ceiling for a second like she was searching for the courage not to let the sting in her eyes turn into tears.

“i’m not sorry,” she said eventually. quietly. “not for a second.”

he looked at her for a long time, as if her answer both soothed and destroyed him.

his hand found her waist under the sheets, gentle now, grounding. like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her—but he couldn’t not.

“me either,” he said.

and yet… the silence said everything else.

“we should probably clean up,” she murmured, voice husky but gentle as she traced lazy fingers down the line of his spine. “we’re both covered in sweat and cum.”

he let out a low, sleepy laugh, forehead still resting against her collarbone. “mmm, that we are.”

it took them a minute to untangle. not because they were too tired, but because every time they shifted, one of them stole another kiss—slow, unhurried, more lips than tongue now. soft breaths, forehead touches, the kind of kisses that meant stay without ever needing to say it.

they padded to the bathroom in silence, limbs heavy, hands brushing. and once inside, under the dim overhead light, the intimacy only deepened.

he turned on the shower and stepped in first, then held out his hand for her without a word. she followed, the water pouring down over both of them, steam curling around their skin as he reached for the shampoo like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he moved slowly, fingers in her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle care. her eyes fluttered shut, arms resting around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest. and when it was her turn, she did the same—dragged her fingers through his hair with a touch that made his knees weak, washed his shoulders and his neck with the pads of her fingers like she was memorizing him all over again.

there was no hunger in it. no spark of lust.

just something closer.

every few moments, one of them would lean in to kiss the other—wet, slow kisses that tasted like water and exhaustion. a kiss to the shoulder. one to the temple. one on the mouth that lingered longer than it should’ve.

they dried off together, standing close, sharing a towel, her eyes following the slope of his back like she was afraid it’d disappear.

he pulled on the shirt she handed him. it was one of his, left behind long ago—somehow still folded in the back of her dresser drawer. she didn’t say anything when he smiled at it. didn’t have to.

and when they were standing in her bedroom again, the air thick with the scent of clean skin and old memory, he moved toward the door almost instinctively—like he should go.

like this had been enough.

“you don’t have to leave,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a thread pulled loose.

he turned slowly, met her eyes.

and god, she looked so bare. not just physically—wrapped in nothing but a towel and damp hair—but emotionally. open. honest. a little afraid.

“stay,” she added, quieter this time. “please.”

his throat worked. like the word caught there.

and then, finally—he nodded.

not dramatic. not with a speech. just a quiet, yes written into the way he came back to her, climbed into her bed, and pulled her into his arms like she belonged there.

because maybe she still did.

they slipped under the sheets like they’d done it a thousand times before—because they had. the weight of the covers settled over them like a secret, like something sacred. her head tucked under his chin, one of his arms curved tightly around her waist, the other splayed across her ribs, his thumb brushing gentle lines over her skin like he had to keep reminding himself she was real.

his breathing was steady against her hair, his legs tangled with hers, the kind of closeness that was impossible to fake. and for the first time in over a year, they weren’t bracing for the next blow. no accusations. no fear.

just truth. in its rawest, sleepiest form.

“i thought you hated me,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

his hand tightened around her waist, just a little. “never,” he said, almost immediately. “i just… didn’t know how to stop missing you without falling apart.”

she closed her eyes, felt that break something in her. a soft exhale left her mouth. “i never stopped missing you,” she admitted. “even when i said i was fine. even when i laughed with my friends and told them i was over it.”

he didn’t answer right away. just pressed his lips to her forehead, long and warm. like he was apologizing for the space that had stretched between them.

“every time i passed that coffee place you loved,” he said, voice low, “i had to walk the other way.”

she blinked hard, tears threatening. “i deleted your number like three times. memorized it anyway.”

he let out a soft laugh through his nose. not happy, not sad. just knowing.

the silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full. full of everything they’d carried in their chests for twelve long months. full of what-ifs and why-nots. full of the ache of having loved each other and the even deeper ache of still loving each other now.

she turned in his arms, nose brushing his, their eyes meeting in the dark. “i didn’t mean to send that message,” she said. “not really. i was drunk, and sad, and tired of pretending i didn’t still—”

“i’m glad you did,” he interrupted softly. “i’ve read it at least a dozen times. didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t ruin us all over again.”

she reached up, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “you didn’t ruin anything, joon. we just… broke. but we never stopped meaning something.”

he kissed her then.

slow. deep. different.

like he heard her.

when they pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breath tangled, hearts pounding in quiet sync.

“can we stay like this?” he murmured, not quite a question, not quite a plea.

“for as long as we want,” she whispered back.

and they stayed.

no promises.

just warmth, and weight, and the hope that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end.

he stayed quiet for a moment longer, just watching her, the way her eyes blinked slowly up at him in the dark. the way her breath steadied when he touched her like that—gently, reverently, like touching something breakable but beloved. his thumb traced her cheekbone, her jaw, the curve of her lip, and when she kissed the pad of it—just a light brush, soft and sure—something inside him settled.

“okay,” he said at last, the word nearly swallowed by the stillness.

her brows furrowed, and he saw the flicker of uncertainty before he caught her chin between his fingers and smiled, just a little.

“we can try,” he said, clearer this time. “if you want to… really try. no more running. no more pretending we’re fine when we’re not.”

her lips parted—surprised, maybe—but she nodded almost immediately. like she’d been waiting to hear that exact thing from the moment he walked into that bathroom corridor and looked at her like she still mattered.

“i do,” she said. no hesitation. “i want to.”

he exhaled then, not shakily, but with the kind of relief that made his whole chest sink into hers.

“me too,” he murmured. “so much.”

they kissed again. slower now, but full. full of things they hadn’t said. full of the ache and the years and the breathless kind of hope that blooms when you stop lying to yourself.

his arms wrapped tighter around her. hers curled beneath his. their legs tangled like they’d never been untangled in the first place.

and this time, when the silence settled around them, it wasn’t heavy.

it was safe.

the kind of quiet you only get when the worst part is over, and something better is starting.

they’d hurt. they’d healed. they’d found their way back through the noise and the hurt and the time.

and now—together, in the dark, skin warm, bodies still humming with memory—they were choosing it.

again.

and this time, they meant it.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove

[societyfolklore]

Dangerous Notes – Part 15

Title: Dangerous Notes – Part 15

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club, The Armoury, Reader finds herself thrust into a world of old-world glamour and unknown danger. The club’s enigmatic owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making her a permanent fixture on his stage-and in his life.

Chapter Summary:  You return to The Armory with the weight of the weekend pressing on your chest.

Word Count:  4.5k

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually), Emotional manipulation / subtle coercion, Mob activity.  Chapter Warnings:  Implied organized crime violence

A/N: Thank you everyone for patience. Please excuse any mistakes or the slight odd mood of this one. I’m not totally well yet but wanted this out 😊 This hasn’t been as read over as some of the others, so it’s a little… meh.. but its up!  Its up!

You hadn’t touched the bracelet box since you'd put it down.

It sat on your kitchen counter, unopened, as you paced the apartment in silence, Frank’s voice still echoing somewhere in your ribs. You’d snapped at him, driven him out. And for what? For a man who hadn’t even texted you? Who shouted and snarled. A man who sent gifts instead of explanations, a man who made you feel like you were orbiting a gravity too heavy to escape?

The silence in your apartment felt louder after Frank left. The hum of the fridge. The creak in the floorboards. All of it suddenly sharper, more pronounced like the world had moved an inch left and everything was slightly off-kilter.

You hovered near the counter more than once, your fingers brushing the edge of the box but never lifting the lid. You didn’t know what Bucky wanted from you. You didn’t even know what you wanted anymore. Something had shifted. Maybe it had been slowly happening all along.

Or maybe it had cracked wide open the moment Frank looked at you like a stranger and walked out the door.

When the knock came, you jolted. For a second, your heart clawed its way up your throat, convinced it was going to be him. That he’d show up at your door again with that maddening calm and that controlling charm, and the whole cycle would start over.

But it wasn’t his voice that came through the door.

“Little songbird,” Alexei called with warm exasperation. “You keep making me work Sundays. This job was supposed to be part-time.”

You opened the door to find him already grinning, bundled in a bomber jacket, keys swinging from his finger. There was something about him that settled your nerves- not entirely, but enough to breathe.

“They sent you again?” you asked, more incredulous than annoyed.

“Who else? You think Barnes is going to let someone new come collect you after yesterday?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a crooked smirk. “Come on. Get your things.”

You grabbed your coat, slung your purse over one shoulder, then paused.

Your gaze caught on the small gift box, the one you hadn’t planned to take, hadn’t planned to deal with. But your hand moved before your mind caught up, sweeping it into your bag. Just in case.

The drive was quiet.

Alexei didn’t press for conversation. He hummed along with the radio under his breath, some old Russian song that rose and fell like a lullaby. You stared out the window, watching the city smear by in streaks of late-afternoon gold and steel grey.

You weren’t sure if Bucky was going to show tonight. He hadn’t texted. The limbo ate at you, left you feeling tight in the chest. There was always a chance he’d be waiting, expectant, as if nothing had happened the day before. As if your world hadn’t tilted.

You didn’t know what had gone down at the Armory. Not really.

 'It’s between families' that’s what Pietro had said. But you’d seen their faces. That tightness in Sam’s jaw. The flicker in Steve’s eyes. The way Bucky barked to get you out.

Something had been bad enough to rattle them. To put them all on edge. You weren’t stupid. You’d taught long enough to recognize when people tried to shield others from the truth. It made you feel small. Just another pawn being moved around a board you hadn’t agreed to step on. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than what had transpired at the docks. Bigger than what the news had reported.

When you arrived at The Armory, the side entrance wasn’t as deserted as usual.

Alexei was still with you, carrying your garment bag slung over one arm, walking just behind as you stepped into the staff hallway. You hadn’t asked him to, he’d just taken it with a simple, “Let me,” and a flash of metal in his teeth as he smiled. You didn’t argue, not when you saw how many men were posted about the place.

There were men in the halls; three of them loitering near the storage corridor, another two posted by the stairwell. Their presence didn’t feel chaotic like yesterday, but it was still unsettling. Their eyes tracked you, impassive but alert. No one smiled. Their quiet presence gave the space an eerie calm, like a pause between something violent and its aftermath. Interspersed between them were the familiar staff members, moving about with trays or clipboards, keeping their heads down. It was like walking through an over-guarded rabbit warren, people weaving around corners and cutting through doors, pretending this was all normal. But you could feel the weight of it now, the way the walls seemed to press inward, heavy with tension and unspoken things.

You squared your shoulders and walked like someone who belonged, even though every step felt forced. Determined. Like you were stepping into a game you didn’t know the rules of, and everyone else was playing with loaded dice.

Further down, you spotted Pietro and Wanda mid-conversation with an older blonde man you hadn’t seen before. Pietro’s posture was relaxed, hands in his pockets, legs crossed at the ankles in a way that suggested comfort but when he noticed you, his head tilted slightly and he gave you a small smile and a wave. Wanda’s gaze flicked over you too. Not hostile. Just watchful. Like she was reading something in you and filing it away. You returned a faint nod, the weight of their gazes pressing into your spine as you turned into the hallway leading toward your dressing room.

You kept your eyes forward.

You weren’t here to make small talk. You weren’t here to observe anything. You were here because you’d made a decision, not out of fear, not out of obligation, but because if you were going to do this, it was going to be on your own terms. You were going to sing. That was the deal you’d made with yourself.

Alexei followed a few steps behind, still carrying your garment bag. Unbothered by all of it, he moved with that same casual confidence, even as he scanned every face around you both.

When you reached your dressing room door, he passed the items over with exaggerated ceremony and leaned against the frame.

"Here you go- safe and delivered. Now, there’s a bottle with my name on it," he said with a wink, his grin spreading wider. The cheeky charm in his voice tugged a reluctant smile to your lips.

You watched him straighten, already whistling some old familiar tune to himself as he strolled back down the hallway, disappearing around the corner without waiting for a reply.

But as you stepped into the dressing room and shut the door behind you, your fingers brushed against the box inside your bag- and you already knew this wasn’t going to be as simple as you hoped.

This place, this night, it was never just a job. Not anymore. You just had to get through tonight.

The moment you turned shutting the door behind you, the room felt both familiar and foreign. The same warm-toned walls and soft lighting greeted you, but none of it felt comforting now. Instead, the air seemed to cling to your skin- thick, expectant, like it was waiting for something to happen. Something inevitable.

You moved slowly, as though your body wasn’t entirely convinced it wanted to be here. Setting your bag down, the soft thud sounded much louder in the quiet, echoing off the walls like a mark being placed. That’s when your eyes caught it: a full bottle of whiskey resting on the vanity. Still sealed. A smooth black ribbon tied around the neck in a sharp little bow. Another gift.

You sat down at the vanity, letting your fingers brush over the smooth ribbon tied at the bottle’s neck, the fabric whispering under your touch.

 It wasn’t just a bottle. It was a statement, one you could feel even in the silence of the room. There was no note, no card, no explanation. Just the gesture, sitting there like a dare or a line drawn in the sand.

You let out a soft breath, resting your elbows on the edge of the vanity, watching your reflection for a moment.

“Certainly a man of contradictions,” you murmured to the quiet room. It wasn’t clear if the whiskey made your stomach twist with gratitude, or if it sank like a stone of unease. Maybe both. Probably both.

You pulled the small box out from your bag, placing it gently on the vanity. For a long moment, you just stared at it, fingers hovering above the lid, hesitant. You hadn’t looked inside it yet. Whatever was in there, it wasn’t just jewellery. It was a question, a gesture, maybe even a manipulation.

You weren't sure what to do with it. Like if you didn't open it, you could just give it back. What business did you have even accepting something like that?

Sighing, you got back up to pick at the food on the side table, letting your gaze drift between bites toward the box. You hadn’t eaten much today, hadn’t eaten much yesterday either and that wouldn’t do. Not with everything going on.

‘Turmoil was not an excuse for neglect’’ That had been your mother’s mantra, one of many sharp truths she drilled into you: take care of yourself, especially when the world doesn’t. God, what would she think of all this? Of the mess you’d landed yourself in?

"Oh now you're just being silly, open the damn thing..." Your tone was harsh even under your breath, the words half-laugh, half-scolding.

Your fingers hesitated only a moment longer before finally lifting the lid.

Light caught on metal- silver-toned and delicately intricate. The bracelet inside shimmered with a vintage elegance, like something you'd expect to see resting on a velvet pillow behind thick glass in a boutique you couldn’t afford to step inside. It had the kind of quiet, undeniable charm that made your stomach flutter with something unplaceable. Not romantic. Not exactly. But real. It looked like it had history, like it had been chosen with purpose, not plucked at random.

"Oh, hell..." The sight of it pulled something tight in your chest. A thread of tension that was both thrill and warning.

You shouldn’t have worn it. It wasn’t part of the plan.

But your hands moved anyway, lifting it gently from its place. It was heavier than you expected, cool against your skin as you fastened it around your wrist.

You weren’t even sure if you could give it back now or if you should. It felt too loaded, the kind of gesture that came with strings you couldn't quite see yet. Maybe this was about the cancelled date, or about how he’d barked at you the day before. Maybe it wasn’t an apology at all but a calculated move. Did he think this would silence questions, buy back goodwill? That you'd take the silver and fall back in line? The gift said something- something important- you just didn’t know what it meant yet. And maybe that was what unsettled you most.

But with everything you’d seen, the violence that danced beneath the surface of this place, you weren’t sure it was safe to poke the wolf. Not when you were already in the den.

And that was that. Too late to take it back.

You reached for the navy dress at first- your hand hovering over it out of habit. You'd worn it last night, even if he hadn’t been there to see it. But something about that choice felt off now, too obedient, too expected. Instead, you tugged another hanger free: the black one. Simple, familiar. Yours. A dress that made you feel like the decision was yours, not a performance for someone else's expectations.

Still, as you slipped it on and glanced down at the silver now glinting on your wrist, you felt the weight of that contradiction. His gift - clear and striking- stood in stark contrast to the plain lines of your dress. And wasn’t that the point? You were wearing it, even if you tried to pretend it was just to keep the peace. The silence surrounding his expectations felt louder than if he’d barked orders directly.

"Stop overthinking... God, just stop it."

You caught your reflection and sighed, fingers grazing the silver. You knew how the news had framed last night- gunfire at the docks, whispers about territory and tension, warnings layered between every line. The weight of every stare felt magnified now, every step under scrutiny. You didn’t want to stand out. Not now. Just sing. Just get through the night. You’d survived worse. You could survive this. Eggshells, again. Why did it have to feel like this?

You didn’t even hear the door open at first. Just a shift in the air, a flicker of movement in the mirror’s reflection and there he was. All in black. A tailored suit that fit like it had been cut for his sins, no tie, just the open collar of a crisp shirt revealing a hint of his throat. His hair was swept back, sharp and clean, not a strand out of place. He looked like a man who had walked straight out of a noir film, all shadows and silence, elegant and unreadable.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Bucky said, voice low, even.

You weren’t sure either. You still weren’t.

You cleared your throat, searching for neutral ground. "You're not the first client who's yelled at me," you said with a tight smile, half-hearted. "Though you do rank among the more dramatic exits."

He huffed something close to a laugh but didn’t reply. Just looked at you. Really looked at you. The air between you thickened, not quite hostile, but not comfortable either- just heavy with everything unsaid. His gaze dropped to your wrist. Stayed there.

You weren’t sure if that look meant recognition, satisfaction, or something else entirely. It was like he was seeing a decision you hadn’t realized you’d made. Your breath caught as you tried to hold his gaze in the mirror, but it was hard, like staring at a flame and pretending it didn’t burn.

“Thanks for the bracelet,” you murmured, unable to hold the silence any longer. It came out softer than you meant it, like you were admitting something instead of offering gratitude. "It’s... a lot."

He nodded once, slowly. "Looks good on you."

It was a simple compliment, but something about it made the floor shift slightly beneath your feet. There was no smirk this time, no challenge in his voice. Just something... almost quiet. Present. Unshaped. Like he was offering something he didn’t quite know how to say.

You swallowed. The silence wasn’t angry now, it was dense with possibility.

He shifted slightly, as if he was about to say more, and for a second you thought maybe, finally, he was going to explain. Apologize. Something. But instead he looked away.

"It was a bad moment," he said quietly, voice low and close to something real. "There was a lot going on."

You just nodded. It wasn’t your place to tell someone like him anything about pressure or priorities.

"Busy time, the news-" you offered, but the words felt too casual, and something in his expression sharpened, just a flicker. You trailed off. "I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I understand why you were short. Why you couldn't do lunch.."

He didn’t respond, but the look softened again. Not warmth, not exactly. But not cold either. Something shifted in him, small, but present.

You rushed to fill the silence, nerves taking over.

"I mean, I don’t expect- like, I didn’t think you’d show up or anything, it’s not like we had real plans. I just... I didn’t want to be mad if there was a reason. And it seems like there was. A real one. Bigger than me."

He looked at you for a moment longer, then gave the faintest nod. "It’s never just one thing."

You weren’t sure if he meant you, or the city, or the weight of what he carried.

Your fingers curled instinctively around the bracelet. "Even as far as apology gifts go," you said softly, "it’s more than I expected. Not that I expected anything from you."

Bucky’s gaze dropped back to your wrist. "I don’t like breaking promises," he said simply. "And I did say we’d have lunch."

Threat? Promise? Apparently, with him, they were one and the same.

But just as he turned, he paused his hand resting briefly on the edge of the door frame fingers curling against the wood as if to anchor himself.

"I know this... isn’t what you signed up for," he said, voice quieter now, more human. "I don’t expect you to understand it all. Just... ."

You blinked, startled by the honesty, by the faint strain in his voice- like the words had cost him something. "I'm sorry I missed lunch. I was looking forward to it." He didn’t move closer. Didn’t push. And that restraint, that strange, careful stillness. It undid you more than any command ever could.

Your fingers twisted around the bracelet without thinking. "Another time." You just got out quietly, kicking yourself for agreeing to 'raincheck' a date you'd never wanted. One he'd used his leverage to get in the first place.

Bucky nodded, his fingers tapping once against the doorframe. "Enjoy tonight. I know I'm going too."

"Thanks," you replied quietly, unsure what to do with the warmth that sparked in your chest.

When he finally turned and left, your throat stayed tight, your hands frozen in your lap. You didn’t call out. You didn’t stop him. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look back at the door, until he was gone. Only then did you glance over your shoulder, the space where he'd stood now just empty air and quiet echo. You wondered if the silence would linger like perfume, if the soft click of the door would be something you'd hear in your dreams. The room felt different now. Like it remembered him, too.

And when it shut behind him, the ache bloomed fully. Not sharp- but low, echoing. A hollow throb deep in your ribs. You stared at your reflection, seeing someone you didn’t entirely recognize. Someone who wore gifts from men like him. Someone who missed him before he’d even vanished down the hall.

The bracelet caught the light again. It shimmered in the mirror like it was trying to speak for him.  You weren’t sure what it meant, and maybe you didn’t want to admit how much you cared. But there it was, glinting silver and sure, when nothing else felt that way.

All you knew was that part of you- against all reason, against every good sense you’d ever had- was already hoping he’d come back.

By the time you stepped onto the floor of The Armory, it felt more like an event than a night of music. The room was fuller than usual, golden light blooming across lacquered wood and low-set tables. Conversation buzzed under the music that piped from hidden speakers. Laughter too. The walls hummed with life again, though there was still something simmering beneath it all- a pressure, not quite gone.

Because you knew better now, you noticed. Just like the men who had been stationed in the backstage halls, they were scattered about the main floor too; one by the bar, another posted near the coat check, others sitting at tables but never really relaxing. They weren’t patrons, not really. They were eyes, ears, weight behind smiles. Under the glamour, you could feel the steel. It was becoming clear why the place was called The Armory.

At the back table Bucky sat with his usual crew. Steve beside him, broad-shouldered and silent. Sam on the other side, expression unreadable but watchful. But it was the redhead next to Bucky who drew your attention and held it.

Her hair was flame-bright, twisted into an elegant bun. She looked relaxed at first glance, one arm resting on the table, but her eyes told a different story. They swept the room like scanning lasers, clinical, calculating. The kind of stare that logged exits and threats, not wine lists.

She leaned in to say something to Bucky, her lips barely moving. Whatever it was, it made him smirk; shoulders loosening just enough to notice. Something about the set of his body said he was steadier tonight. Not exactly relaxed, but less braced for violence.

You couldn’t help but wonder who she was. Not just to him, but in the ecosystem of this place. No one else at that table got his full attention when they spoke. Not like that.

Staff moved around the room with their usual elegance, but you noticed the way their eyes still swept each entrance. Calm now. Watchful. Like they were waiting for a signal that wouldn’t come.

You lingered in the wings for a moment. Pietro was already at the piano, his jacket still on, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He didn’t look up, but you saw his fingers flex once before he began to play. Same tempo as always. The same soft lift. Familiar and grounding.

You stepped into the light.

You didn’t look at the crowd. You didn’t try to find Bucky. You let the music be the anchor.

The first note left your lips like it didn’t belong to you. It wasn’t perfect. But it was steady. Controlled.

Then the next came. Stronger. Each breath another layer pulled free.

You weren’t singing for anyone. Just for yourself. And maybe that’s why it came out with that strange mix of raw and calm. As if your soul had decided to be honest, but your body still remembered how to be composed.

And through it all, the bracelet stayed cool and firm against your skin.

Applause came like it always did. But this time it didn’t settle over your skin the same way. It passed through you.

Pietro gave you a wink that had you feeling easier. Though you shouldn't of, you gave him a small smile. He returned it but didn’t say much. Just a quiet little nod. Still hadn’t taken off that jacket as you just gave the band a small wave and headed off.

You went back to the dressing room, letting the hush of the backstage corridors swallow you whole. It was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that echoed, like an empty church after midnight. You tried to settle, but the tension from earlier hadn’t faded. Instead, it clung to the air, thick and strange. You could still feel the residue of everything- Bucky’s visit, your performance, the redhead’s watchful eyes, all of it stacked inside your chest.

You didn’t even remember getting changed. You’d moved on muscle memory alone, slipping out of your dress and packing your things. The whiskey bottle now tucked in your bag, untouched. Your items gathered. Just waiting. Alexei had said he'd be taking you home, and a part of you clung to that. It felt like a lifeline, some small, stable thing in a place that still felt unstable.

But the waiting scraped at your nerves. The longer you sat there, the more it felt like the walls were pressing inward. As if the quiet wasn’t natural, but forced- strained by something unspoken. You kept glancing toward the door like it might open on its own, or someone would knock with news you weren’t ready to hear.

Then a knock.

You jumped slightly. The door creaked open, and Wanda stepped inside, her expression softer than expected. Something in her eyes was kind, even if a little tired. There was a warmth in the way she looked at you- familiar and protective. Behind her, that older blonde man lingered in the hallway again- his gaze sharp, still sweeping the corridor like a soldier stuck on duty. Watching everything. Guarding nothing and everything at once.

"Your ride's ready sweetie," Wanda said, her voice gentler this time. "- said he’d meet you at the side door, so you didn’t have to go back out again."

You nodded, already reaching for your coat, something about the warmth in her tone grounding you just a little. Her kindness hit something you hadn’t expected- made your throat tighten just a little.

The SUV was waiting in the same spot as always. Black. Solid. The kind of quiet presence that said it belonged without needing to announce itself.

Alexei was already at the driver’s side, one hand resting casually on the openrear door. He gave you a nod as you climbed in.

"You were good tonight," he said once you were inside.

You didn’t answer right away. You just buckled in and stared out the window. The streets moved past like slow watercolor. The world outside looked blurry somehow, even though your eyes weren’t wet.

He put something on- soft music, older than either of you. Russian again. Almost mournful. But it filled the silence without pressing on it.

Your fingers curled in your lap. You turned your head just slightly, looking back through the window one last time as the SUV turned a corner.

The Armory glowed gold and shadowed in the distance, like a jewel box left open too long, spilling secrets under its lacquered lid, ghosts of glamour and danger mingling like smoke.

You thought about Bucky up in his office, maybe unbuttoning that sharp jacket, leaning back in a chair surrounded by people who understood him. Maybe that redhead beside him, whoever she was- laughed a little louder when no one else was around. Maybe they all sat around some nights once the civilians had gone home, sipping expensive liquor, trading stories they’d never write down. Or maybe they didn’t speak at all, maybe the quiet between them was the kind that only came from shared knowledge and trust. The kind of silence that meant safety, not distance.

You could almost hear the noise, imagine the flicker of low light, the clink of ice in heavy-bottomed glasses. Picture the real smile he might wear at home, somewhere far from eyes. What he might sound like when he wasn’t in charge of anything. If he ever let himself stop performing.

You sighed softly and turned your head, letting your gaze drift to the window instead of watching The Armory disappear behind you. The lights of the city were smeared across the glass, and your reflection blinked back at you, tired, quiet, uncertain.

Tomorrow was Monday. School. Your real life. The part that didn’t involve late-night performances under golden lights or cryptic gifts wrapped in ribbon. It had nothing to do with smoky lounges or the man whose silence still echoed louder than words. The man you weren’t supposed to think about- but did anyway. You didn’t know what was worse- wanting to see the version of him that might exist in quiet rooms, or fearing you already had, and that it had changed something in you. Something you couldn’t name yet, only feel tightening in your chest as the car rolled onward into the dark.

TAGS @mrsnikstan @sassybearfire @calwitch @ruexj283 @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora @hextech-bros

[cinnamoonblue]

Chapter XI | Ghost in the Shell

Summary: You moved to one of the biggest cities in the world - Grand Line to pursue filmmaking career. Soon enough your path will cross with the vocalist of upcoming band called “The Neighbourhood”. At first you decided to be just friends - because it would be easier, but sadly as everything in life sometimes by taking the easy path we regret a lot of things.

Main characters: Portgas D Ace x Reader (female)

Supporting characters: Nami, Usopp, Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law, Deuce, Shanks, Buggy, Sabo, Eustass Kid, Koala, Robin, Dave (OC)

Description: Modern AU | Musician Ace

WARNINGS: ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP this story will contain descriptions of violence, 18+ only, contains explicit sexual themes and content, explicit language, use of alcohol, use of cannabis, use of nicotine/cigarettes, angst, hurt/no comfort, hurt/comfort, implied injury, family trauma, slow burn, destructive behavior, toxic behavior, illegal activities, NSFW, conflicted feelings, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, jealousy, suggestive themes, violence, substance use, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, mentions of depression, mentions of loosing a loved one, mentions of violence, PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS

Word Count: 9,1K

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NOTE: I'm extremely sorry about how short this chapter is and how long it took me to put it out. Fosr some reason it was really hard for me to write this one. Anyway - a lot of angst, and depression, and hurt in this chapter. Also I struggled a lot naming this chapter. More yapping in the end note. Enjoy ♡

Sunsets – don’t we all love them? The sky painted in beautiful colors despite what season it was. Despite how bad your day was you could always look up at the sky and be like – “My day was bad, but the sunset is beautiful. This bad day is over.” And that was why I had always found sunsets to be quite mournful. The day was over. No matter if it was the happiest or the saddest day of your life, this day would never happen again. It happened once. Whatever had happened that day it would never happen again; it would never undo itself and the mistakes you made. The mistakes I made.

Sitting next to my father with a heavy heart in my chest, we both hadn’t said much. We haven’t said anything at all. Today we buried my mother, or should I say cremated. He hasn’t put down the black ceramic urn down for even a second. I had never seen him being so … heartbroken. Not even when she left us. Now it seemed like the lively spirit he had, has left his eyes and now they seemed so lifeless.

Mourning someone you never knew was a strange feeling. What exactly were you mourning for?

I never knew my mother. All the memories I could recall with her are from before my knees develop, let alone my brain. The only vivid memories I had from her  were her absence in my life. So again – what wa there for me to mourn for?

Her love? Her caring persona? The affection she gave me? The time spent with her? What was it for me to mourn her for? I never got the chance to know her. She never got the chance to get to know me.

I never gave her the chance to get to know me.

Maybe this was what I was mourning right now? The what if…

What if I hadn’t reacted the way I did three days ago? What if I gave her the chance to explain herself. What if it wasn’t too late for us?

I couldn’t stop asking myself those questions. I couldn’t stop blaming myself. I couldn’t stop feeling like I was the one who killed her, not her addiction, not her life choices – but me.

Every time I took a glance at my father and the sorrow crossing over his entire face and body, I felt like I was the one shooting whatever substance she shot in her veins that night. I felt like I was the one who injected her with her death.

The guilt was eating me alive.

“Dad…” I whispered with a trembling voice trying to catch his attention. I didn’t expect him to pay any attention to me. He was far too lost in his own mind.

Looking at him broke my heart. The lack of sleep for the past few days was visible on his face as the dark circles under his eyes were getting bigger and darker. His eyes were red and puffy from all the tears he cried and was still holding. The black suit he was wearing was still neatly ironed, not a single wrinkle on it with only the tie around his neck loose.

I wondered what was going on in his head right now; what was he thinking about – was he blaming me? He should be, isn’t he? Part of me wanted him to blame be. Part of me wanted him to point his anger or sadness or whatever he was feeling right now towards me and yell at me – “You killed her.” This would ease my pain and guilty consciousness.

My phone vibrated in the small purse I was carrying with me. Pulling the phone out of it, I read the message from Shanks asking when to pick me up. We both knew that my father would need some time alone, to process his own grief, but I didn’t want to leave him alone.

Clearing my throat, I turned to him again. “Dad, Shanks asks when to pick me up. Do you want me to stay with you a bit longer or…” I couldn’t finish the sentence because I was sure of the response. I could feel that he wanted me to go away, but there was no response. Again.

“Dad, please.” The grip around my phone was getting stronger as I tried to hold myself and my emotions grounded. Tears were slowly building up in my eyes, ready to fall if I let them. This silence was the worst punishment I have ever received from him. “Speak with me. Yell, scream, get angry whatever just please don’t go all silent.” I begged.

With a deep exhale he finally turned his head towards me and with a small shrug and smile, which didn’t even fully reach the corner of his mouth, he finally spoke up. “There is nothing to say or scream about, baby girl. You tell Shanks to pick you up.” Turning his attention back to the scenery in front of him he didn’t say anything more.

Biting the inside of my cheeks, I just nodded. There was no point pushing for more, he wouldn’t speak up, which only meant that he was in a great deal of pain and sorrow, one I couldn’t understand, but I must respect.

I sent Shanks a quick message, telling him to pick me up now to which he responded that he will be here in less than twenty minutes. Until then, my father and I spent the time in silence, until I broke it. “I understand if you blame me for it… I blame myself.” Getting up from the bench I look at him one last time before I leave. “But please, dad… don’t shut me off.”

“I just need to grief that’s all (Y/N).” He tells me, his voice is tired and low. “Don’t make Shanks wait for you. Go kid.”

Nodding I turned around without saying anything and made my way to where I knew Shanks was waiting for me. It took me less than a five minutes’ walk to spot his red jeep parked on the side way.

“Hey, Shanks.” I greeted him as I opened the door and took a seat on the passenger side.

“Hey, Foxy.” He said back, reaching with his hand and ruffling my hair. “You doin’ alright, kid?”

Humming in response as I buckled myself up with the seatbelt I nodded. “Yea, I’m fine.”

“How’s your dad?” He asked, without looking at me, his eyes focused on the road.

“He is… managing… I guess…” I was not sure how to answer this question, and neither would my father if someone asked him. “It was only us two, you know.”

My father and I were the only people who attended the funeral, if I may call it this. I wasn’t sure if he had contacted any of her friends or family. I knew I had some relatives from her side, but I have never met them. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if she had any friends in the first place. What was this woman’s life like? I had so many questions, yet none of them would be answered now as it was too late for me to ask them. Maybe someday when my father found it within himself to forgive me, I would ask him.

“Not surprised.” Shanks chuckled. “She should be grateful that even you two showed up.”

“Yea… you’re right.” I knew that Shanks was right, but that gut feeling in me that was eating me alive with guilt was telling me that he was too harsh, and in fact, if I was more forgiving, the past three days would have never happened. “How’s Natasha? Haven’t seen her in a while.” I changed the subject.

If I was to tell Shanks how I felt and the thoughts I had in my mind about my mother and her death, he would immediately comfort me, but I wasn’t looking for comfort. I was looking for a punishment. I was looking for someone who would be honest with me and tell me – “Yes, it is your fault. You killed her.”

That was why changing the subject seemed like the best option right now.

Some weeks had passed since the funeral. Life since then has been at a very fast peace. I have joined every possible project in school, I even ended up on Dave’s movie set as a set designer, and we started reconnecting slowly, but nothing like before, it was all very professional, and movie related.

Every shift or help Shanks needed for the bar I was there to help. Even if it was a last-minute call I would still go. I would do everything not to be left alone with my own thoughts.

My sleep was barely on the schedule. I was not sure if it was because of all the caffeine, I have been consuming like crazy lately, or all the nightmares I have been having every time I close my eyes. I have lost count of how many times I had woken up with screams or my body paralyzed with only my mind being conscious. The worst and most recent case always being the one when I hallucinate about her standing in the corner of my room. She just stood there without saying a word, her body lifeless, but eyes full of blame like they were screaming at me – “Why did you kill me?”

That was why, at best, I could do no more than four to five hours of sleep, and these were only very rare and lucky occasions. For me this was manageable, all I needed was coffee or an energy drink in quite a big and unhealthy amount, but they helped me to go through my days.

Unlike usual this time I surround myself with people. Silence and loneliness would kill me. You want to grab coffee with me? Sure, let’s go. You want help with your project but it’s going to take the whole day and probably night? Please, count me in. You want to go clubbing? Hell yeah.

I couldn’t remember the last time I said no to someone. I would do anything just to not be alone, because I was drowning, but I couldn’t scream for help. I was consumed by so much guilt and regret, and I felt no need for redemption for myself. I deserved this. Whatever it was I deserved it, so I let it consume me.

This new me wasn’t me at all. Looking at the mirror every morning and night I couldn’t recognize the face I was seeing in it. I was aware that it was me, but it didn’t feel like me. I felt like a ghost in a shell. A spirit trapped in a body which I cannot escape.

I could see some people liking the ‘new’ me – always down for whatever, very open up and happy. Who wouldn’t love such a chill spontaneous person? But there were people like Shanks, Kid, Nami and Usopp in my life who were constantly nagging me with questions about how I was doing and that I should take it easy. Especially Shanks.

Right now, I was stuck with him in his office. He had noticed for some time now the sudden weight drops, and constant drinking of energy drinks drank by me while I was working.

“Shanks, I’m not hungry.” I whined as he refused to let me go until I finished the meal in front of me.

“Foxy, I’m not having this conversation with you again.” He replied without looking at me, focusing on some paperwork he must finish today. “Plus, Natasha made it for you.”

“Don’t used her against me.” I rolled my eyes, pushing the plate away. “I ate some and I’m full, now could I please go to work?”

“It’s quiet right now, no need of you at the bar.”

“Shanks, I’m not five.” Leaning on the chair with a groan, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Then stop acting like you are.” He said putting the documents aside. “Foxy, I’m really concern about you.” Sighing he placed his elbows on the desk and leaned on it. “Your dad’s also worried.”

Hearing this I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, bet. That’s why he hasn’t called me in a month or so.”

“I’m not justifying him, but…” Trying to find the right words Shanks obviously struggled how to continue without taking sides. “He had a very strange relationship with your mother and for some reason he never stopped loving this woman, so he is having a really hard time right now.”

I decided not to say anything. What was the point anyway? Everyone was sympathizing with him and excusing his behavior, and so did I, but this didn’t change the fact that he was barely speaking with me, and if we did it was only through messages.

“Just please, eat a bit more and then you can go.” Shanks told me as he was getting up and leaving the office.

Looking at the plate sitting in front of me I sighed. I barely felt any hunger nowadays. I barely felt like myself lately, and the last thing on my mind was putting something in my stomach. Pushing myself into taking a few more bites from the food I put it aside and left the office.

It shouldn’t be a busy night tonight, after all it was Thursday a week before most people get their salaries. It is just me and Kid working tonight, and hopefully Shanks would leave soon.

Nothing interesting was happening during the shift. It was mostly me and Kid chitchatting, with customers coming from time to time. Around eleven we got some more people walking in, mostly college students my age spending their last money on some cheap beer.

At some point I opened another energy drink, and of course if not Shanks, Kid was going to make a comment about it. “Your heart is ‘bout to explode soon if you don’t stop them drinks.”

I rolled my eyes at him while taking a big sip of the drink. Putting it down I gave him a mocking smile. “Kid, I must inform you, that life is not so generous to me and I have a lot more to suffer before it ends me.”

“By the looks of it, you don’t have much left.” He chuckled. “You need to change this thing you girls put under your eyes because it isn’t helping much.” He said pointing a finger at my face.

“It’s called concealer. I need to tell Victoria, to teach you better about makeup Kid.” I teased him about his girlfriend, making him blush a bit. Every time I mentioned her name his whole face changed, getting all flustered and uncomfortable like a little boy.

I couldn’t help but continue to tease him about Victoria. Who would of believe that it took one girl to turn a grumpy man into such a sunshine.

Our little game was cut short as one girl came to the bar and told us that the toilet paper was finished. “Women’s toilet is your problem.” Kid laughed at me as he threw the key for the toilet paper holders at me to catch.

Walking to the storage and then the girl’s restroom inside there were two girls. Obviously, friends but very different. One of them had a more edgy style while the other was like she just came out of the Barbie movie.  They both froze when they saw me entering the toilets and at first, I didn’t pay them any attention despite their attitude being weird, but when I got out all three of us froze on the spot.

My eyes were moving between them and the little transparent bag full of white dust which didn’t take me long to figure out that it was.

The girl who looked like a Barbie sniffed and wiped her nose before she spoke up. “Please, don’t tell anyone.” Her voice was filled with panic.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Her friend jumped in quickly before she turned around to grab the little bag and shoved it into her purse.

I was still frozen and didn’t know how to response or what to do. Was I supposed to get out and let Kid and Shanks know? Yes, I was. But I couldn’t. Something made me completely stunned in this situation to a point where I could feel my heartbeat fastening.

“Hey, are you okay?” The Barbie girl, if I may call her this, took a few steps towards me. Despite what she had taken, she seemed genuinely concerned.

Before she could reach my shoulder and touch me, I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of this state. “I’m fine.” I murmured, taking a step back and looking away from them.

“Please, don’t snitch on us.” The edgy girl also came closer to me and her friend. “Plus, we’re leaving soon.”

“I-I won’t.” I quietly said before I cleared my throat and passed by them, leaving the toilets.

Getting behind the bar, Kid gave a questioning look. “Don’t ask.” I told him before grabbing and opening another energy drink.

“Okay, that is enough.” He said reaching out and snatching the can out of my hands.

 “Kid, what the fuck?” I yelled at him, irritated by his action. “What was that for?”

“This was going to be your fourth one for the night!” He shouted back, his brows frowning, irritation and anger written all over his face. “Even a man my size can’t take that much caffein.”

“I’ve seen you drinking more.” I snorted, rolling my eyes at him I turned around to reach for another one, but he was quick to stop me.

“Yo brat, that’s enough!” Now he was mad. It usually won’t take long to get Kid pissed off, he was like a tickling bomb, one wrong pushed button and he was ready to explode. “Go pick some glasses from the tables.”

“You go and do that.” I spat at him as I left the bar and stormed off to the back entrance.

Shutting the door behind me, I grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled it as I leaned on the wall behind me. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. My heart was beating fast, and the air was barely feeling my lungs.

“Not now. Please, not now.” I spoke to myself as I looked up at the night sky, trying to calm myself.

This has been happening quite a lot recently. I wouldn’t call them panic attacks more like anxiety ones, but some were heavier than the others. But right now, this was the last thing I needed.

I wasn’t sure what triggered it - my little argument with Kid or the girls in the restroom taking drugs, or both. Probably both.

Parting my lips I took big and deep inhales and exhales. It took me some time to calm myself and to be able to feel air normally getting to my lungs. I gave myself some more time before I went back inside.

Walking behind the bar, Kid grunted at me. “You cool off, brat?”

“Fuck off, Kid.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Did Shanks leave?” Kneeling to hide myself from customers, I reached for my phone, which I had left to charge, to check what time it was. It was almost midnight.

“Nah, he is still here.” Kid said nodding at where Shanks was. “The Monkey head’s here, too.”

Hearing Luffy’s nickname I immediately got up on my feet to see if Kid was messing with me. He wasn’t. Luffy was in fact here, and he and Shanks were chitchatting close to the stairs entrance.

“Also, Shanks said you can clock out.”

I looked back at Kid and nodded. “Sure. Bye, asshole.” I told him, leaving the bar and going to the storage/changing room downstairs to gather my things. In response, Kid just laughed at me.

Getting my bag with me I realized I left my phone at the bar and sighed annoyed. Going back upstairs I told Kid to hand it to me, but at that same time the two girls from the toilet came to me, apparently, they haven’t left yet.

“Hey, thank you for not outing us.” Said the more edgy styled girl.

“It’s fine.” I shrugged, not sure what else to tell them.

“We’re heading to this underground club now.” Her friend, the one dressed like she was a Barbie, handed me a little card with the club’s name on it. I had never heard of it before, giving her a weird look as it also said on the card that it was a ‘special’ invitation. “You can’t go in if you don’t have invitation like this one.” She explained after seeing my confused expression.

“Yea, you should totally join us.” The edgy girl agreed with her friend. “You seem cool.”

“Thank you, girls but I think I’ll pass.” Giving them a small smile I handed back the card, but they brushed me off.

“Keep it.” Said the Barbie. “You might change your mind and join us later.” She winked at me taking her friends arm in hers.

“See you there.” Both of them said at the same time and left.

I turned to Kid and showed him the card. “You know this place?”

Snatching the card from my fingers his brows frowned as he read the card. “Yea, I do. Only people on hard drugs and freaky kinks go there.” He handed it back and turned away.

This was the last thing I expected to hear. Not my kind of place. Or people, by what I have been just told. “I got invited there. Maybe I should try it sometimes.”

Slowly turning around, Kid gave a look of disbelief. “No, seriously what is wrong with you?”

“Nothing?” The look of confusion written all over my face. “I just said maybe I’ll check it out.”

“Did you go deaf or plain stupid?” Kid was barely holding up his anger, considering Shanks being close by and the customers around.

“Oh my, Kid you’re such an asshole. God forbit a girl wants to try something new.” I yelled back at him and as he was about to scream back at me, not caring about the surroundings, but we got interrupted by a very loud and bright voice.

“(Y/N)!” Luffy yelled, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug. “Haven’t seen you since Sanji’s birthday. How you’ve been? Is Jaggy here bothering you?”

“Hi Luffy.” I return his hug. “When he isn’t?” Rolling my eyes I shot a deadly look at Kid, making him grunt and turn away from us. “What brings you here?” 

With his bright and big smile always on Luffy started rambling. “Shanks found me some job for the summer, and I came to speak with him about it. What you been up to? You doin’ alright?”  

“All good. The usual, you know how it is.” Shrugging, I gave him a small smile.

“Ah, filmmakers.” Luffy playfully rolled his eyes and poked me on the side, making me giggle. “But seriously, you doing good?”

Giggling a bit confused, I raised my brow at him. “Yes, Luffy, I’m. Why? Do I look bad or something?”

“No, no… just you look a bit tired.” He didn’t sound convincing at all, but I let it pass.

“Are you leaving? Wanna walk together?” Pointing with my thumb behind me to the stair entrance waiting for his response.

“Yea, but I must wait for Shanks for a bit, if you’re not in a hurry you can wait for me.” I almost agreed until hearing what came next from Luffy’s mouth. “Plus, Ace is giving me a ride home, so we can drop you off as well.”

Ace… I would be lying if I said that I had forgotten about him. Definitely, over him at this point, but still crossing my mind from time to time. Sometimes more than I would like to. My heart still skipped a beat by just hearing his name. The thought of him possibly being outside immediately crossed my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask Luffy if he was already here waiting for him.

“No, it’s fine Luffy. I’m kind of in a hurry.” I chuckled. “But see you around, yeah?” I hugged him one more time.

“We need to hang out more.” He told me, pulling always from the hug.

I agreed with him before I turned and made my way to the exit. As I made it to the stairs someone grabbed my hand and pulled me. I wasn’t surprised to see Kid and his grumpy face.

“What now?” Pulling my hand away from his, I crossed my hands in front of my chest.

“I’m serious, brat.” The tone in his voice was both warning and caring. “Don’t go to that place.”

Sighing I just nodded, mostly because I wanted him to leave me alone. “No need to worry, Kid.” I didn’t say anything more and left.

With every step I was taking my heartbeat was increasing. I haven’t forgotten what Luffy had told me. There was a fifty-fifty chance that his brother might be already outside. As much as I was over him, I was still not sure if I could face him.

Stopping at the top of the stairs I took a deep breath in before stepping outside.

Ace’s patience was wearing thin. He wasn’t sure how long he had been waiting for his brother, but he was sure it had been almost thirty minutes at this point.

They were having a “brothers” night at Sabo’s place, until Shanks had called Luffy and asked him to come to his bar. Sabo was too tired to drive so Ace had no choice but to drive his little brother, who had failed his driving test three times already, and was relying on public transport or his friends’ generosity to get to places.

Ace’s motorbike was left at the service therefore he had to take Sabo’s car, which he really didn’t want to drive. That night, from months ago, was still hunting him every time he saw his brother’s car.

Lighting his second cigarette, he leans on the side of the car. Looking up at the night sky as he exhaled the smoke that filled his lungs his mind was driving him crazy as always.

The last few weeks hadn’t been easy for him. Things in his life had been more confusing than ever. It hadn’t been a day since that day his aunt gave him his mother’s diary that he hadn’t read it.

Most of the things written there didn’t make sense to him. His opinion about his father hasn’t changed, but it has become a bit more accepted. His father was his father. He couldn’t change this, but he needed to accept living with this fact and stop blaming him for his own mistakes. At least by his mother’s words his dad knew how to be a good partner. Something Ace was failing at miserably. 

You had crossed his thoughts many times, but Ace had decided that the best thing he must do was to let you go. You had made it clear that no matter what, you want nothing to do with him, and he must respect your boundaries. He had already crossed and stepped over them many times and he didn’t plan to do so again.

Was he over you? He wanted to say yes, but he would be probably lying to himself. On top of it, right now, he had bigger issues on his own, and finding time to bother asking himself where his feelings and emotions towards you stood, wasn’t on the list at all.

Taking another puff of his cigarette, he overheard the entrance door of the bar opening and slightly turned his head to it, hoping that it would finally be his brother. It wasn’t his brother, and it was the person he least expected to see. Or at least to see tonight of all nights.

Both of you froze as your eyes met. Neither of you moving or saying anything. Last time you saw each other was Sanji’s birthday. It had been two months since then. Your last conversation was everything but nice and smooth.

You had two choices – avoiding Ace and taking the longer way home or pass by him and saving yourself five to ten minutes. Ignoring your fastened heartbeat, you clutched on the strap of your bag. Taking one deep breath, you made up your mind and went on your way.

To Ace’s surprise, you made your way towards him. He was sure that you would pass by him, not acknowledging his existence at all, but you stopped just two steps away from him, making him straighten his posture and drop his cigarette on the side.

“Hi.” You almost whispered.

“Hey.” He barely replied.

What were you supposed to say now? Why did you even stop greeting him in the first place? What gotten into you; do you just walk away now?

While your mind was searching for an answer to why you stopped speaking with him, Ace’s eyes couldn’t stop roaming up and down your face and body, but not in the pervert way. This wasn’t the girl he had seen months ago. You looked like a ghost. Physically you seemed here, but there was no life behind your eyes. The eyes, which he was so used to reading every little emotion behind them, now seemed so lifeless.

Not only this but the bags under your eyes weren’t hidden well enough with concealer, your mascara smudged around the corner of your eyelids. The obvious unhealthy weight drop he wanted to ignore but couldn’t.

Where did the girl he knew go, and what had happened to make her be a ghost in her own body?

Ace wanted to ask you millions of questions, but he couldn’t, he didn’t feel like he should nor that you would give him the answers.

You were looking everywhere but at him, still managed to steal some glances. His hair had gotten quite long, almost touching his shoulders. Not that you didn’t like it, just not used to seeing him with this long hair. He looked tired, but when he hadn’t. You were quite aware of his fucked up sleeping schedule, you doubted it had changed over the past few months. Maybe he was overworked.

“How’s life been?” You blurred out so fast Ace almost missed what you have asked.

He should be the one asking you this, not the other way around. Clearing his throat and shrugging a bit he didn’t really know what to respond. “Same old, I guess. How ‘bout you?”

Shrugging awkwardly, the hold of your bag became even stronger. “Same old.”

Lair. He wanted to call out your bluff, but he had no right to do so, for which he just nodded. “Didn’t you work only during the weekends?” Ace wasn’t sure if even this was okay to ask you, but he already said it out loud therefore he only hoped it would be alright.

“N-not anymore.” You didn’t miss the way one of his brows slightly lifted in a questionable manner for which you felt like you must explain yourself. “I’m working almost everyday now, juggling with school and so.”

“I see.” Ace mumbled. “How’s things going there? In school I mean.”

Looking down at your feet, you slightly tapped on the pavement with one foot, this conversation playing with your nerves. “It’s going well. Quite a lot of projects at the same time, but it’s nice. Keeps me busy.” Glancing at him from under your lashes, you gave him half a smile, one which didn’t reach the corner of your eyes.

Keeps you busy from what? Ace wanted to ask so badly but didn’t say anything. This small conversation with you was killing him. He had never had such an awkward interaction with you before. Even at Sanji’s party wasn’t this painful bad as right now.

You were no different than him. This was so bad, and awkward, and cringe… and painful. Telling each other bits about your lives when you used to talk for hours about the most stupid things ever without even batting an eye on how cringe or uncomfortable they might be was a different kind of pain. Going from strangers, to friends, to… strangers was quite painful. At least for you, you couldn’t speak for Ace’s behalf.

“Congrats, by the way.” You told him, making him give you another questioning look as he slightly tilted his head to the side. “Number one on Billboards. Nami and Usopp were talking about this all week long.”

Light laughter escaped past his lips as he looked up at the sky. He couldn’t believe what was happening; you of all people congratulating him. He must have crashed or something on the way here because there was no way this was happening right now.

“Did I say something funny?” The confusion in your voice was clear making Ace placing his hand to his heart as he fixed his eyes on you.

“No, doll.” The name coming so naturally to him that he didn’t even realize it, neither did you complain about it. “Just… you of all people congratulating me is kind of ironic that’s all.” He visibly got uncomfortable. The memories of how you two-, how he ended things with you, filled his mind. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t been a coward that night. “Thank you, tho.”

Considering how you two ended things last time you knew what he meant by this. Looking at the car behind him the bitter memory floated in your mind.

The awkward silence got interrupted by the loud opening of the door. Luffy finally came out and saved you and Ace from the position you two found yourselves in.

“Oi, (Y/N) did you change your mind?” Luffy completely ignored his brother, instead he focused his attention on you. His hand pointing at the car, reminding you of his offer earlier.

“Oh no, Luffy. Thank you.” Waving your hands in a protest against his offer you also gave him a small smile. “Just… saying hello to your brother that’s all.” Glancing at Ace, your eyes locked again, but you both looked away immediately, knowing that there were quite a lot of unsaid things between you two.

“So stubborn.” He chuckled, nudging Ace on the arm with his elbow. “Isn’t she Ace? I offered to give her a ride home, but she keeps declining me. Tell her that it’s not a problem.” Nudging him one more time, Luffy was starting to piss his brother off.

Glancing at you, Ace could see that this whole thing was becoming uncomfortable for you, despite your attempts to hide it. “If she told you no then leave her alone Luffy.”

Whining Luffy raised his hands in the air, defeated by his stubborn brother and friend who obviously needed a little push. What a lot of people didn’t realize about Luffy was that despite his goofiness, he was quite emotionally intelligent. There was still something left between you and his brother, which must be said or done, but sadly Luffy wasn’t the best when it came to how to create a plan.

Taking a deep breath in, this was the best moment to say your goodbye to the brothers. “Well, it was nice seeing you guys. I must get going now.”

“Same (Y/N).” Luffy replied before pushing Ace to the side so he could get in the car.

Without saying anything to each other you and Ace just slightly nodded goodbye. As you walked away Ace just gave you one last look before making his way around to the driver’s side. Cursing himself, he called out your name, making you turn around and look at him. “Take care.”

He didn’t mean just take care while getting home, he meant in general. Doubting that you would get what he meant nor that you would listen, he felt like telling you at least this for his own sake.

“I will Ace.” There was something very bitter in the way you smiled and responded to him.

Yet, hearing his name leaving your lips caused his heartstrings to pull. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed hearing your voice saying it, now all he had left was to yearn for the next time destiny would bring you together to hear it falling from your lips again.

Getting into the car and starting the engine, he didn’t say anything. His mind filled once again with you. Not only from the confusion he was feeling after this conversation, but guilt also. If he could reach out to you and make you speak with him, not about you two, but about why you were the way you currently were. What had happened to the lust for life in your eyes to get killed?

“She looks like shit.” Despite how lost Ace was in his thoughts he heard his brother loud and clearly. This sentence coming from Luffy earned him a big hard slap on the back of his head. “Ouch, what was that for?” Holding the back of his neck, Luffy looked at his brother in disbelief. “Why did you slap me so hard?”

“Never say something like that about her ever again.” Ace warned his brother as he gave him a deadly side-eyed glance.

“I didn’t mean it like she is ugly or some.” Luffy whined, returning his brother’s slap, but as a punch on the shoulder. “I meant she seems to be struggling with something. A lot.”

“Yea, I noticed that, too.” Ace murmured. Biting the inside of his cheek he sighed before turning to his brother. “Any idea why?” He shouldn’t be asking questions, but he couldn’t help it.

“Her mother died, maybe that’s why.” Luffy shrugged looking at his brother, who knew her better. He expected Ace to give him some answers, instead he said nothing.

Ace was aware of your relationship with your mother. He was not doubting that you might be grieving for her in some way, but this bad? There had to be more to it.

Dropping Luffy to his place the two brothers said goodbye, but before leaving the car Luffy turned to Ace. “Should we check on her?” The tone of his voice was filled with concern, after all you were his friend, and Luffy treated his friends like family.

“Luffy…” Ace signed deeply before continuing. “I have no rights to do such thing, but you can. After all she is a friend of yours, isn’t she?”

“She was your friend, too.” Ace didn’t need this painful reminder. “More than this even.”

“Luffy, enough.” Ace’s voice was warning; his little brother was pushing his buttons.

Getting out of the car, Luffy leaned on the open door. “Just reach out to her, Ace. This might be your chance to do something right with this girl for once.” Without waiting for a response from Ace, Luffy slammed the door and made his way to his apartment.

Getting home, Ace couldn’t get his little brother’s words out of his mind. Luffy was right, to a certain extent. Last time you made it clear – you wanted nothing to do with him. But tonight… tonight you were the one who approached him. You were the one who engaged the conversation.

There wasn’t a single trace of the angry, hurt by him girl. Instead, there was this shell of a person who had been shattered by something. You were hurt, but not heartbroken hurt… did someone hurt you? There was something in the way you looked tonight that reminded him of something, but he couldn’t point out what it was exactly.

Pacing back and forth around his apartment Ace didn’t know what to do. He wanted to reach out but how? He couldn’t think of anything.

He grabbed and put down his phone many times. Should he text or call you? He doubted you would answer either way. Hell, you probably had his number blocked, he wouldn’t be surprised. He deserved it after all.

But why did you stop and speak with him tonight?

“Come on, coward.” Running his hand through his messy dark locks he pulled on it. “Think. Just think.”

Maybe this was the problem. He was thinking too much. Maybe he just needed to try whatever came into his mind first and just do it.

Grabbing his phone one more time he opened it and scrolled to your name in his contacts list. Opening the messages he looked at the last one exchanged between you two. If only he could turn back time.

He typed. And typed. And deleted. And typed. And deleted. And nothing felt right. Finally, he got frustrated with himself and wrote the only logical sentence that made sense in his mind. ‘Did you get home?’

Throwing the phone on the side after pressing sent Ace didn’t want to look at it. The chances of you responding were zero. Why would you? He was sure he was a closed chapter in your life. There was no way you could be still keen on him the same way he was on you.

He was so stupid. He should have never sent this message. Maybe you haven’t seen it yet and be could unsent it. Reaching for his phone to delete the messages at the same moment it vibrated. His hand froze over the phone. There was no way you would respond. Right?

On the way back home I could stop slapping myself mentally in the head. What had gotten into me? Why did I stop to speak with him? What was wrong with me?

Walking into my apartment I threw my bag to the side and went to the bathroom immediately. Taking my clothes off, putting my hair to the side, I turned the shower on and let the water fall on my body. The warm water wasn’t helping to relax my body at all.

I would be lying to myself if I said that it wasn’t nice to speak with Ace again. Even if the conversation was awkward and very uncomfortable. It could have always been worse. We already had way worse conversations than this one.

Tonight, there was something different about him. He was somehow changed, and it wasn’t just his appearance. Something had happened to him, but what was it? Maybe I can ask Nami sometimes and she might know something. 

But it didn’t matter. Ace was a closed chapter in my life. An unfinished closed chapter. I was over him and I shouldn’t allow my mind to wander around the memories of him.

Getting out of the shower I took my makeup off and started applying a new one. I had decided to go to this club these two girls told me about. Fuck Kid and his concerns. What was the worst thing that could happen? Someone spiking my drink? It had happened once, I didn’t plan for it to happen twice as I would only go to see the place, dance for a bit and then go home. Nothing too crazy.

I heard my phone vibrate, but I ignored it as I was looking for something to put on. It should be already after midnight and tomorrow I must be at school for a lighting exercise which should start at nine, which means that if I would get home around four or five in the morning, I should have around three hours of sleep left before I leave for school.

Finally, picking up what to wear, just a top with some skirt, I quickly put it on. I went to the fridge and took a new cold energy drink, now there was no Kid or Shanks to bother me so I could drink it at peace. Taking a big sip of it, I left it on the kitchen counter and went to grab my bag to look for my phone. Pulling it out, I gasped.

I was not sure how many times I had reread the message. “Did you get home…” I read out loud to myself.

I never blocked his number. There was always this hope within me that one day he would reach out again, but this hope died long time ago and after that I just forgot to block him.

Swiping on the screen to unlock the phone I opened the message. I could just leave it as it was and not respond at all. Instead, I answer, short and clear – ‘Yes. :)’

“Don’t read too much into it (Y/N)!” I scolded myself.

Leaving the phone on the side I walked into the bathroom to take one last look at myself, and I sighed. To be honest, I couldn’t recognize myself. No wonder I get people asking me all the time if I was alright. Going out at almost one in the morning? By myself? To meet with some strangers who took drugs in the toilets of a random club?

I wondered if she started that way too. Maybe she also had a shitty mother who abandoned her, so she took comfort in the illusion created by the drug she used.

Walking back into the room I sat on the couch. I had two options: first one – take off my makeup, put on some movie and try to sleep; second one – go out and hope nothing bad happens and have a good time.

I was trying to create this new persona, new me. A happy outgoing spontaneous girl, because no one would like the old more closed off person I was. My past was the best example of it. Was going out a bad idea? Definitely, but I must do it, if I want to keep living as the ‘new’ me.  

Getting up from the couch I made my way to the hallway, put my shoes on and was ready to leave when I realized I left my phone somewhere around the kitchen counter. It took me less than a few seconds to find it. Checking to see if I had everything with me, I opened the door and just as I was about to step outside my phone vibrated in my hand.

‘Don’t want to bother u. Just checking if u got home safe.’

One hand was holding a strong grip on the phone, the other on the door handle. I could ignore the message and just go with my night. I should ignore this message. I must ignore this message. I was over him. He didn’t matter at all to me anymore. I never mattered to him. So why would he care if I was safe or not?

The memories of him and I at Sanji’s party came into my mind. I did wonder a few times what it would have been like if I said yes that night to his offer of a new beginning for us. Did he mean as friends or more than this? What if I had let him in again? Would things have been better? What if I had said yes that night, I might have also said yes to her, and she would have been still alive? What if… what if…

The pulse in my body drastically increased. I could feel myself gasping for air. Taking a step back and shutting the door I leaned on the wall and slowly fell to the floor. My heart was beating so fast and hard to a point I could feel it almost ripping off my chest. Taking off the top I had put on, I was left in only my bra and skirt. My skin was burning. My mouth got dry, and I was in desperate need of water.

Crawling to the kitchen while still gasping for air I managed to reach the sink and slowly get up. Gripping on the countertop I turned the water tap on and let it run before splashing some water on my skin. With a shaking hand I reached for a glass and filled it up with water. Trying my best to calm myself and normalize my breathing I raised the glass to my lips, but because of my shaky hands it how wet it was I dropped it on the floor.

The glass pieces spread across the floor and the water splashed everywhere. This was like a final straw for everything I was holding. Collapsing on the floor on my knees and hands, an agonizing cry left my lips. Some of the glass pieces stuck to the palms of my hands and now there were drops of blood mixing with the water on the floor.

What if all of this happened just because I turned his suggestion for a new start down? What if I was in a better mindset after it and none of this would have happened? What if I was with him that day and I handled the encounter with her better? What if we were still friends but I still managed to withhold my anger? What if I never confessed my feelings to him? What if… What if…

My mind was spiraling. There was a new what if after the new what if. I needed air. I needed to also stop the blood coming from the palms of my hands and remove the glass pieces stuck on them, and clean the floor, and I must… I must do so many things, but my mind was in a fog.  

Getting up on my feet, stepping on the broken pieces with my shoes on and still shaking I slowly made my way to the front door. I couldn’t prosses what I was doing or going. I wasn’t sure why I was doing it.

Supporting myself with one elbow on the wall I kneeled down to get my phone. With shaky fingers I opened it and dialed the number I should be the least calling. He would probably - no, he would definitely think that I was extremely pathetic. I surely was. But I was also out of my mind right now and apparently tonight was all about the wrong decision so one more would be the end of it.

The phone rang a few times before I heard the painfully familiar low raspy voice of his. “Hello?”

Biting on my lower lip as hard as I could to surpass the sob threatening to leave my lips, I inhaled through my nose and breathed out through my mouth as quietly as possible. “Ace…” I whispered, a single tear falling from the corner of my eye.

I guess I wasn’t the best at hiding as he started shooting a question after the question at me. “Where are you? Are you crying? Are you hurt?” His voice was full of concern. I could hear him moving around before he spoke up again. “Please answer me. I’m on my way to wherever you are, okay?”

“I’m home.” I quietly replied, slowly kneeling and sitting on the cold floor of the hallway.

“Twenty. No, fifteen. No, fuck. Ten minutes and I’m there, you hear me?” Hearing the keys from the other side of the line and the loud shutting of the door, I just hummed. “Doll, please speak to me.” He told me, his voice pleading. “Are you hurt? Why are you crying? Just… fuck.”

I couldn’t focus much on what he was telling me as I was too focused looking at my bleeding hands. It wasn’t much blood, there were three small pieces of glass in my right hand and just one on my left, but it didn’t hurt, or I just couldn’t feel it right now. I slowly picked them out one by one.

“I’m… I’m not hurt Ace.” I was extremely hurt, emotionally, not physically. “The door code is the same. Drive safe, please.” My voice was quite low, almost above a whisper.

“Don’t cut off the line, stay with me.” He told me more calmly now. “I just got in the car, and I need ten minutes to get to your place, okay?”

“Okay.” I whispered. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, no you didn’t.” Not only did his voice get calmer, but it also got softer.

“What were you doing?”

“Was watching a movie.”

“Which one?”

“You gonna make fun of me.” He softly chuckled.

Clicking with my tongue I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “No, I won’t.”

“I’ll tell you when I come.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me about the movie you directed, yea?” I could tell he was trying to distract me from whatever was going on in my head and I let him.

“Which one?”

“The one you filmed at the end of… March I think it was?”

“Oh, that one.” I murmured. “How do you know when we filmed it?”

“Usopp.”

“Yea, that makes sense.” I softly chuckled.

I was tired. Not physically, but mentally. But I still told him about how it went, and by the time I was done he was already parking outside and making his way up.

“I’ll see you in a few seconds, doll.” He told me before cutting the line.

This was my cue to get up and unlock the door. Getting up on my feet my heart once again started beating faster as I knew that just seconds from now, he would be standing right here in front of me and seeing how much of a mess I was. At the same time as the doorbell rang, I reached for the handle. Taking a deep breath in, I pressed it down and opened the door. And there he was.

Standing in front of me at two in the morning, my prince in shining armor. What a cliché.

Clearing his throat, Ace looked away a bit uncomfortable. “Uhm… doll.” He said, glancing back at me.

“Yes, sorry. Come in.” Shaking my head I realized that I should move to let him in. 

“I’ll, but… um… You’re kind of half naked.”

Looking down at myself I noticed that I was only wearing my bra and skirt. I forgot the fact that I was fighting for breath and took off my top. “Oh.” I exclaimed calmly. “Sorry, totally forgot this part.” Mumbling to myself, I walked to where I threw off the top, giving him more space to come in. Putting it on me, I turned to him. “So, um… you see the apartment is a bit of a mess.”

Closing the door behind him, Ace turned to me. “Yea… the apartment is.” Ave murmured to himself as you lead the way inside.

END NOTE: Poor Reader :'(... my girl can't catch a break. I hope you wouldn't hate me for the weight drop description, it just felt right to write it this way, so please excuse me. The last part of the chapter has always been in my mind, and it must end this way for what is about to happen next, but no spoilers. Again idk why I struggled so much writing this one and then editing it, but anyway - it is out now, if you are reading this is means you finished it, and you are free to leave your feedback ♡ I always appreciate your likes, comments, reblogs and messages ♡ Love you all a lot, don't hate me too much and take care ♡

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writing, format & dividers © cinnamoonblue fanart @a_phu14 on IG ©cinnamoonblue, do not copy or plagiarise my work.

[liliavalley]

a good magnus archives fic should leave you with a stomach ache and enjoying something you didn’t think you’d find yourself enjoying

[karinasbaby]

BREATHE ME IN. ✱ MDNI ❕

synopsis. The ancient bloodline of serpent hybrids was hidden, closed off. Unknown, a mere unconfirmed sighting of them is enough to ring alarms of danger. But here you were, claimed and possessed by a snake that held a voice as smooth as honey and a touch as light as feather— what would happen when your curiosity over his kind gets the best of you and you want to unleash the side of him that was written down in history?

pairing. snake!jake x fem!reader (19+)❕warnings. PURE FLITH, like genuinely disgusting nasty questionable smut. DARK CONTENT, jake is obv a snake, fangs, subspace, blood drinking, mentions of stalking + kidnapping, he has magical venom like an aphrodisiac, venom feeding, unprotected sex, creampies, feeding rituals, supernatural bond formation, belly bulge, tongue sucking + throat fucking, knotting bcs he has a knot, body worship, womb + cervix worship & fucking, Jake has stalkerish tendencies, he bites u multiple times, oviposition like full on eggs cuz hes a reptile, like he lays eggs in u fyi, insane breeding kink like genuinely, soft moments but like just twice in the span of 16k words. word count. 16.7k

a,note. this is by far my nastiest fic i’ve ever written. half of me gen doesn’t want to post this here, it’s my first time ever writing + posting something like this. please read the warnings and minors do not interact. this fic contains dark content and some creepy stuff people might be uncomfortable with, read at your own risk & have a nice day ! + proofread at 9 am with zero hours of sleep (as usual)

The sound of pages turning reverberated through the walls.

You sat on the soft mattress, back pressing against the headboard while a pile of books accompanied your bedside table, fingers flicking from page to page.

A simple warm light dimmed the room, your shared bedroom that almost felt alive, your surroundings felt like they pulsed sometimes. The furniture feeling cold to the touch before turning warmer, this was yours and his sacred place, his nest.

It was where you were most comfortable with being, and he was most satisfied with you being. Engulfed in his warmth, in his pulse that synced with his heartbeat so he connected to you at all times.

The paper in front of you contained drawings, sketches, definitions, explanations. The first few that you skipped revolved around mermaids, wolf hybrids, panther hybrids— till you finally reached the chapter you wanted.

Snake hybrids. The offspring of humans, serpents and vipers.

“Snake hybrids have special characteristics, most of them carry split eyes that dilate at the sighting of a prey. Some have large tongues, dry and barbed. Extending a few inches past what’s considered normal depending on the hybrid bloodline—“

You flipped the page.

“A rare species of serpent crossbreds may be born with multiple different appendages, their tails—“

You flipped another page.

Vision skimming past the words written carefully onto each part, the different anatomies of snakes, their hybrid form and their viper form— you were too indulged in the book to notice the passing glimmer of scales.

Obsidian with a jade iridescence, thick and rough.

Jake slithered towards you quietly, silencing his hissing and the scratch of his scales as he made his way through his nest. Emerald slit eyes that locked in on you. His lover, his mate, his prey.

And before you could turn your wrist to turn the page— you felt it.

The warm, large brushing of his scurry tail. His scales providing a soothing chill before the warmth of his venom pulsed through it. “Entertaining yourself with books about me when I’m right here?” His tone was smooth, deep and hypnotising.

“I was just curious..” you closed the book, the sound of the cover shutting bringing a daunting smile to his sharp features, his eyes raked over you, slits tightening when he tilted his head.

“Hm? About what, love?” His tail circled your ankle before trailing upper, sneaking between the warmth of your inner thighs when you squirmed before wrapping around your waist, fully coiling himself around you as he inched his face closer.

You breathed out shakily, “about your kind..” “what about my kind?” His heartbeat pulsed around the walls in the nest and around you. Tail tensing the slightest bit making you feel the drumming beat that coursed through your viper’s veins.

His question stopped you. A flush warming around your neck at the embarrassment of admitting that you wanted to know about snakes mating. Serpents bonding. Vipers connecting and devoting themselves fully.

Because it’s true— you are curious. So curious as to why Jake has allowed you into his nest, has made you feel the shimmery scales of his tail yet still hasn’t fully claimed you.

The amount of stories you’ve heard of other humans being claimed by their serpent hybrids, the sheer force of their connection, the weight of the love they shared, the way they became biologically altered to accept their mate.. made you feel hollow.

Jake didn’t do any of that with you. Sure, he might’ve told you about his previous mate experiences. You might’ve gained knowledge about a thing or two of a sacred ritual passed down from fanged bloodlines, but you didn’t experience.

You wanted to feel jake connect to you as far as his reptile body allowed him to. You wanted to feel him devote himself completely to you, to mark you, to scent you, to bond to you for life and claim you.

You yearned to be claimed by him.

And Jake could already see the longing in your eyes, he felt it every time your fingers touched his scales. Each time you stared at his long tongue that flicked past his plump lips, he knew. And he wanted to claim you as badly as you wanted him, but he was still scared of hurting you.

Two different kinds, two different species. He had venom coursing through his veins next to his cold blood while yours pumped warmly, he had fangs that ached when he took too long to release while your teeth were half the size of his, even though Jake wanted to claim you— god, he wanted to worship you. There was still an intrusive thought that gnawed his mind that you’ll hurt. That he’ll break you, that you’re not ready for him.

“I could show you what you want to know, satisfy your curiosity..” he trailed off, bringing his clawed finger to trace down your jaw making you nuzzle against his touch. “But I might hurt you.” Jake whispered admittedly, the raise of your eyebrows and the surprise in your eyes almost making him regret telling you.

You wrapped your hand around his, warm. He could feel the unnoticeable tremor in your digits when you laced them through his. Squeezing once. “You’ll never hurt me, Jake.” Reassuring him, you looked straight at him. Allowing him to see the confidence in your gaze. “I know you never will.”

The serpent sighed, inching closer to push his forehead against yours while his tail tightened around your frame. “I’m still worried, but I do want to try.” Lips brushing around yours before he pulled away to let you see him, past his softness, past his worries, past everything.

To see his slit pupils dilate, to see the peek of his fangs that dripped with his nectar-like honey, to fully remind you just what you were asking of him.

God that thought alone made you crave him more.

“I will show you everything.” He purred, “give you anything you want to make you know me. Get your body used to me, to taste me.”

And Jake always kept his promises.

It starts the next day.

You’re in the comfort of his nest, tip of his tail stroking your thigh lazily, he was hovering above your laying frame, close. So close you could feel the swift lick of his tongue whenever it flicked out.

“We have a feeding ritual.” He hisses, voice barely above a whisper as you nod at his words. Concentration fully locked on him, giving him all your attention when he finally gave in to preparing you for him.

He’s inches away from your face, soft breaths fanning your skin as jake continues, “it’s intimate, I will mark your inside with my tongue, and feed you my venom.” You gulped.

Not because you were scared, maybe a small part of you was nervous but you knew about something like this before— a few fleeting articles that were titled with “venom feeding” and if anything, you were anticipating this.

Yet your eyebrows still furrowed, “my inside?” He nodded, “your throat. I’ll mark it with my tongue, claim it as my own.”

“Now let me show you, sweet thing.” And you nodded, he flicked his muscle out slowly this time. The tip passing his lips as his split tongue came into view. Both endings twitching independently as more came out.

His venom infused saliva shined in front of you. The sight of his abnormally long tongue made your mouth water. You suddenly felt a heat rush down your body, settling into your core when Jake showed you just how ready his tongue was to claim you.

Jake smirked at your bewildered expression, the dazed look in your eyes that followed his every move when he retracted his tongue back. “Are you ready?” Without even replying back to another word, your mouth opened for him.

Your innocent obedience making his emerald gaze dilate, your own tongue— sweet and small in comparison to his, lolling out just to show him how ready and prepared you were.

He breathed deeply through his nose, pulling you closer before he hovered his face above yours. And spat.

You gasped at the sight of the wet glob that glistened with his venom. It almost appeared to pulse in your eyes. As if his poison was just as impatient as you were to ruin you.

And when the long string finally landed on your awaiting tongue, you moaned at the flavour. So thick, so warm and sweet. An addictive tingle spreading around your mouth when the venom travelled along your tastebuds.

Your first taste of his nectarine venom, the one he prepared for you, to feed you only.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. A familiar heat awakening in his body when you closed your mouth, humming pleasantly at his venom that your body accepted. He kept trying to focus, reminding himself that something could still go wrong, you could reject his venom, your body could react negatively to it— but you were sloshing it around your mouth like you were tasting your favourite honey.

And Jake knew now that your body didn’t just accept him, it liked him. Enjoyed his taste, the tinge of his claim on your tongue.

“Swallow, sweetheart.” His clawed hands, rough looking but oh so gentle when cradling your face made you have no choice but to keep your eyes locked on his when you swallowed.

Where he stared at your throat, the small gulp of him going down your throat and coating it down on the way— to settle into your stomach, where your body will slowly break it down and he will become a part of you.

That thought alone, of being so close to you that you carry him made him almost lose his mind.

“You took it all so well, angel girl.” You closed your eyes when he caressed your neck, the base of his thumb pressing against your pulse point that sang for him. “You’re ready. Your body accepted me, it’s only fair that I feed it well now.”

And that’s when his tail circled your hips, scales wrapping around you protectively while his index finger tapped your cheek. “Open up again for me.” His demanding tone made you shudder in his hold before you let your mouth fall open again, jaw going slack while jake admired the new nest his tongue will find comfort in.

Your throat tightened around nothing, so wet and warm he couldn’t hold himself back from pushing his tongue out and slipping it inside of you.

His split tips slithered along your tongue. Barbed, wet and divided. You drooled uncontrollably around his muscle when he sank in further, brushing against the back of your throat when you gagged around him, hands gripping at his arms desperately as Jake tried his best to open you up more.

To accept more of him, more of his aching tongue that was about to burst from the amount of venom he held for you, more of his tongue that sent electrifying pulses down his body just from the taste of you.

The taste of your cavern all wrapped around him, trying her best to take more of him in but it felt like he was endless.

“J-Jake..” you mumbled, jaw flexing as it almost began to hurt from the flexion, but Jake was obsessed.

His hair ruffled in all directions, a fusion of your saliva with mixed his dripping down his chin while he kept his eyes closed for a few seconds. Like he was trying to memorise your taste, the feeling of your throat tightening around his tongue. The hot and dripping embrace of your body around his.

“Almost there.” And once he spoke those words— you felt it.

The release. The warm, continuous waves that pumped down your throat. Pure venom.

Poison that swirled straight from his pulsing glands from under his jaw that was altered— it wasn’t lethal, wasn’t dangerous, his body had specifically crafted this venom for a mate.

With the purpose of claiming, of marking, of scenting, of breeding.

It was thicker than the first taste he gave you. Sweeter than the first dribble you felt on your tongue. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when the steady pulses streamed down, you felt the heat radiating off of what you were swallowing, the way it marked its way down your throat all the way to your stomach to tuck itself inside of you. Where it pulsed.

The feeling of being owned from your mouth— your tongue and your throat like this was making a floating sensation swirl around your head. You couldn’t tell if this was from his venom or from the pleasure that you were feeling from having him this close, this connected to you.

But it didn’t matter, because everything felt good.

The forked tips of his tongue stroked down your throat, caressing every warm muscle, every corner and crevice they could reach while your serpent’s venom slipped inside, where you couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow around his tongue.

Jake almost lost it.

You were taking him. A sacred, bonding part of him that he’s never used on anyone like this, he’s never marked anyone like this. Yet here you were, with his barbed tongue so deep down your throat, drool that infused with your spilling tears drizzling down your neck while you sucked him more.

Like you weren’t aware of doing it, like it was your own body’s doing.

And jake continued feeding you. Who else would he feed if not his mate that was taking him in so sweetly? Pretty tight little throat pulsing around him when you gagged before sucking him in more, your muscles trying their best to take him in, to drag him in deeper and to have him continue.

Because Jake knew before you, that this wasn’t just a feeding. This was the start of an addiction.

He didn’t just feed your body his venom to claim you, he did it so your body knows that it’s owned. Knows that it has a viper that will protect it, nourish it, feed it.

And what’s a better way than making you know this by making you addicted to him? By making you crave him. Your throat that he just marked and claimed to need him, his venom becoming the only salvation to your thirst that he awakened. Because you’re his mate.

You’re his other half, you’re his.

It was past midnight when you woke up.

Sweaty, icy cold. Breathing heavily when your entire body tingled, an uncomfortable itch— an uncomfortable burn. A scratch that bled in your throat.

The feeling wasn’t new, you knew you were thirsty, the ache and dryness in your mouth almost made it feel like you were scratching it from the inside when you moved your tongue.

With bleary eyes you reached blindly towards the bedside table, where jake always brought a glass of water for you. Ignoring the shift of scales around your waist when you moved, fingers wrapping around the cooling cup before bringing it up to you.

And swallowing one sip, second sip.

Until you finished the whole glass without even meaning to, but your eyebrows furrowed.

Sleepy confusion clouding your senses when the ache didn’t dull, it continued. It felt like you didn’t even try, the water effectiveless.

Your breathing quickened when the sensation became entirely suffocating. Was the water too little? Was there something wrong with your mouth? You felt yourself almost on the verge of hyperventilating.

Almost, because the tail around you tightened before jake spoke right against your neck.

“Precious?” Voice still laced with sleep, tail unwrapping slightly as you turned around to face him. He could see the slumber slowly fading off your face along with the dampening along your temples. “Is something wrong?”

“My throat..” you sounded hoarse, wincing slightly at the discomfort that came along with moving your mouth, “it feels so dry.. and I just drank water, I think I need more.” You slung your legs down the side of the bed right when his clawed hand held your nightdress.

And then the serpent realised something.

“Baby.. it’s not the water.” Jake coaxed you back into the bed, “what?” You whispered now, the itch intensifying the longer you spent in bed, the longer your mouth stayed dry.

“It’s not the water, you can even test it for yourself.” He quickly reached back and gave you his glass from his side, the liquid sloshing as you brought it to your lips and gulped it in the blink of an eye. Still dry.

Your hand wrapped around your throat in irritation, “then what is it?” “It’s me.”

The serpent sat up on the bed, towering frame hovering above yours as his tail slithered to rest against your hips, “your throat isn't thirsty for water, it’s thirsty for me.” You gulped.

His clawed index ran along your jawline, “you had a taste of my venom, and that’s what your body wants now. It wants me, it knows me. Recognises me as your mate.”

His words, his tone, his slit pupils, his sharp claw— everything felt so territorial. Completely consuming, making you melt against the mattress as he pressed his brawny body to yours. “Your body knows I’m the one that’s supposed to feed it.”

Focused eyes tilted down to where you swallowed nervously, his hand instinctively wrapping around your feverish skin. “So let me feed you.” Jake felt the urge to feed you long before either of you decided to go to sleep, it hasn’t even been half a day since you first tasted him, but he knew you’d crave him again in a few hours.

He still wanted to test it.

To test your body, your senses. To see if you could depend on him, if your body could want him to function. To be hungry for him and his taste. To yearn for him.

Not that he wanted to ever starve you, to deprive you of the one thing his body produced for you. It was quite the opposite. He wanted the bond between you to strengthen, to grow, to make both of you dependent on each other.

He doesn’t waste another minute, don’t want to make either of you suffer because the ache in his fangs is becoming too much.

“Open up.” He demands, fingers gently squeezing your neck when your mouth fell open for him and he sighed. It fuelled him up, awakened an urge inside of him. Whenever your jaw stretched for him, he felt an electrifying excitement bloom in his chest.

A thirst that burned his throat. And just like that he slipped his tongue back inside of your mouth, split ends separating when they reached their home. Slithering in further and further while you both moaned at the feeling.

You gasped at the first drip of venom, so rich, so sweet. Your hands mindlessly reaching to his wrist while he moved to hold yours, interlacing your fingers as he sank deeper.

Going past the back of your throat, relishing in the feeling of you tightening around him before relaxing in acceptance, in recognition before your muscles began to swallow.

He groaned in pleasure when you hummed around his tongue, milking the venom that spilled inside of you for the second time because it was so reliving.

The moment you tasted him again, everything disappeared. The itch, the scratch and discomfort— gone.

Jake was right, it isn’t a thirst for water. It’s for him. The same venom he fed you, the same venom that warmed your insides and infused to your blood in your veins. Accepting him and desiring him.

It felt so intense, so overpowering to have him wrap his cool tail around you, lengthy tongue that fucked your throat shoved in so deep while he still held your hand gently, still kept his other right above your pulse points.

Because that’s where he was now. That’s where his venom pulsed. Right inside of you.

He fed you, nourishing your body and satisfying your thirst as you emptied his glands, falling further into a state of complete euphoria and bliss at being catered for. Limbs feeling heavier with each passing second when you whimpered around his mouth that pulsed more venom down your throat.

“Let go, sweetheart.” Jake whispered, his expression devoted as he memorised the way you looked under him, full of him. “You did amazing for me.. your body responded to me, wanted me. Let go now, little thing. Let me take care of you.” And you were slipping more.

Words enthralling, touch entrancing, tongue feeding. You were completely and utterly bonded.

“Let me fill you up till you sleep again.”

Jake’s scales pulsed around you, once, twice. Each one syncing with the rhythm of his heartbeat that he wrapped around you.

The sleep slipped out of your eyes when you fully registered the familiar warmth, slowly opening your lids to greet his slit pupils that admired you.

“Good morning, little nest.” His accent was more accentuated when his tone was groggy, the slumber still twinkling in his words when he sleepily smiled at you.

“Morning, handsome.” And your big, scary, serpent boyfriend hid his face in the crook of your neck, a specific throb crossing through his tail and your body when his heart fluttered.

He kissed your collarbone while you hummed sleepily, “I wasn’t too rough yesterday, was I?” Your fingers stroked his nape, shaking your head before placing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Not at all.”

Jake breathed out a sigh of relief as the weight on his chest was lifted off, the nagging thoughts of hurting you, injuring you or worse— scaring you. All floating away gently while he cradled you closer to him, flicking his tongue out to taste the air that carried your sweetness and your scent.

“You should stay in bed today, love.” He spoke gently, tip of his tail stroking your lower back with his velvety scales. “Let me take care of you today.” “Don’t you always do that, though?” He smirked.

“You’re my mate now. I am bonding to you, I’m the only one who should take care of you.”

Jake’s tone was low, his passion, devotion and protection blazing in each syllable. He was a hybrid after all, human to some extent but his soul was a serpent. Protective, possessive, fierce, demanding.

His mate came first, bond second and pride third. The bloodline has been sacred for centuries, rare and unknown. Some believed that it was that way intentionally. The vipers always hissed quietly, presence cloaked with their fanged bared out.

And even if the lions, the panthers, the wolves walked around freely, their bloodlines rare but loud, serpents were always silent.

That’s what set them apart, that’s what makes them dangerous.

They don’t seek, their mating ritual is vastly different from others. They choose and then they claim, and then they disappear.

Hiss along the shadows, hide behind corners where no one can find them. Because that’s how it’s always been like. That’s what makes Jake’s species unlike any other one.

That’s why your friends freaked out when you first confessed that you were seeing someone— a hybrid, a snake.

Because they declare their mates. They capture and they slither back to the dark.

That’s what happened to you an entire year ago.

You didn’t know that Jake’s attention was on you, that there was a certain pull, a tug he felt whenever he detected your scent. He chose you before you even knew him.

And when the shadows hissed darker at night in your room, when your skin became addicted to the cool of scales on it, when all the alarm signs were going off in your friends’ and families heads that it’s happening right in front of their eyes— you disappeared.

You didn’t fade, you didn’t get to say a goodbye, you slept at night and woke up in his nest the next morning.

That’s how it’s been for the past year, this is your home, where you enjoy your time and flourish in your bubble around him. He’s taken you far away, not a place you recognise, the language you still learn till this day but there are no prying eyes on you.

There are no more hands reaching to you to pull you away— just scales.

And you love it, you’ve grown to obsess over it with time.

“Then take care of me, always.” You don’t have to tell jake twice.

He’s nuzzling his face into your neck, breathing in your love deeply before lifting his head and tapping your cheek, “open.” His pupils dilate alongside yours automatically, “let me feed you now before you get hungry again.” And you do, you let him.

Pretty plump lips, still swollen from yesterday’s feeding falling open as he sighs in pride. He can spot the fading stickiness of his venom on the back of your throat, it’s almost time then.

Jake balances himself on his arms, face just a few inches apart from yours before he opens his own mouth, tongue falling out with multiple strings of saliva that pulsed with his poison extending down the length of his muscle, so long, so lethal yet it made its way to your mouth carefully.

The split ends softly brushing your lips when he released. Steady, long and thick pulses of his warm venom dripping right from his tongue and into your mouth, where you hummed in pleasure, in delight. At the feeling of relief cascading down your body in waves the more he breathed into you.

“Take it all, love.” He whispered, his tongue now moving just to circle around yours, still pulsing and still giving. While you only took, swallowing each and every drop. “Keep yourself full, always be full of me.” Jake lowered himself, tongue slipping right against yours before his divided tips touched the entrance of your throat again— just to stroke.

His eyes were half lidded when he spoke “feeling better now, sweetheart?” And you nodded, dazed and full. The heat of his venom enveloping you, wrapping around you completely and gently loving you. “Good girl.” Then jake retracted his muscle, placing a quick kiss to your open mouth before he chased your tongue.

Both of you instinctively moaning in pleasure when his forked tongue dragged against yours, eyes closing when your candied, gentle, human flavour bursted in his mouth while he kissed and nipped your tongue.

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, a heat pooling down towards your core, a craving awakening making your hips twitch under him, right when jake began to suck on your tongue.

“Fuck.. baby..” he took more, mouth chasing after your sensitive tongue while you whimpered under him, still drunk on his venom and now he was sucking your tongue like it was the source, “tastes so sweet.. so addictive.” His lips wrapped more tightly, he sucked harshly, relishing in the vibrations that trailed down his throat from your mouth.

Jake’s hand gripped your hip, to stop you from rutting into him, and his fingertips almost burned from the heat you were radiating, so needy, so eager, so his.

Then with a final suck to the tip of your tongue, he trailed his kisses lower. Open mouthed with his barbed skin stroking you to mark and to claim. “I’ve got you.. I’ve got your throat.” He whispered, his lips reaching your lower stomach as he nipped your hip bone, just enough to graze it with his peeking fang. “And I’ve got you here.” Jake spoke right when his hand cupped your mound.

You gasped, a shudder tensing through your body at the slight feeling of relief, of having him touch you right where you need him the most, where your body yearned for him the most.

And jake chuckled.

A deep, crazed rumble of his chest that almost sounded like a purr, his slender fingers deftly stroked your sopping cunt, leaking and dripping when he has barely touched you, and the thought of you being so ready for him, your pretty little pussy wanting him so much that she’s salivating for him? Was making him dizzy.

He hissed, feral and possessive when his claw ripped your soaked panties open, the lace dangling off of it while he let out a guttural sound at the sight of you, so wet, glistening and tightening around nothing as if you’re inviting him in, welcoming him in— begging him to touch you.

“Look at you..” his claws disappeared in an instant, trailing down your folds gently just to hear you whimper under him. “She’s so needy for me..” he was stunned.

Infatuated, so so in love with your pretty hole, his hole, his womb and his home.

“Let’s see how she’ll react to me..” he spoke with the tip of his finger circling your entrance, swirling your nectarine spit making your whole body flutter under him. “She should recognise me now..” you didn’t know what he was talking about.

Because jake didn’t tell you that his venom doesn’t only make your throat crave him, it doesn’t only make your mouth thirst for him and your body to settle when he’s around.

The venom that he created for you, that ran in your veins right now and reached your womb— marks you.

From the inside out, wholly and entirely. You didn’t know this, but he owns you now. Your throat, your womb, your entire body.

And he is right. Because the second he kisses your entrance, soft lips nuzzling into your quivering walls, the first flick of his venom laced tongue just inside your entrance— barely in, just a simple poke.

Your back arched in the nest.

A broken sob and moan slipped past your lips at the sheer force, the sheer strength of the contraction that coursed through your body, absolutely and utterly divine.

The tears that aligned your waterline now slipped freely, your walls fluttered— tightening, widening, convulsing restlessly as if they were trying to milk something just at the slightest taste of his venom.

You felt the way a deeper part of you opened up— your tight, unscathed and untouched cervix pulsing right before flickering. As if the gate was entirely unsealed now, cervix swollen, low and ready.

And jake felt all of it, he felt the way your thighs twitched and jerked next to his head, he senses the way your pussy awakened, your womb fluttering open in preparation for him.

Because she recognised him, a single taste— a short, almost nonexistent slip of his venom and she released.

“Of course she does..” he laughed in awe, at the feeling of your body burning under him, at the breathless sounds that escaped your falling chest, at the way more slick poured out of you like it was urging him in.

The sight, the sense and the scent of everything alone made his head spin. The serpent felt the way his tail twitched in desperation, fingers shaking as he tried his best to not allow his claws to slip out, his slit pupils dilating so far his emerald iris is gone.

He felt the carnal urge, the primal pull that stirred inside of him. The need and the desire, the programmed, biological response of his kind to claim, to worship, to breed. The very cunt that’s anticipating him. Dripping in arousal and hunger in hopes of luring him in with his venom still pulsing through your veins, so reactive, so responsive.

But not tonight, not yet.

Jake will just worship you for tonight, please and satisfy your needy pussy in preparation for what’s to come.

That’s when he slipped his tongue inside of you. Lengthy muscle that pulsed within your walls at every contraction that he felt, you cried. Fingers gripping around the sheets so hard your knuckles paled, a sheen, thin layer of sweat illuminating your body while you fell apart above his nest.

You looked divine, something holy, something completely sacred.

And the serpent wanted to do nothing more than to devote himself to you. Mind, body and soul.

His pretty mate, his loving mate that accepted and thrived off of his venom— writhing under him, twitching and shaking as moans spilled out of your body, pure euphoria overflowing within you while jake retracted his tongue— only to thrust it back in entirely.

Movements sloppy, uncoordinated and mindless as he fucked your throbbing cunt on his tongue that dripped and drooled with his saliva and his venom, your walls clamped down on his muscle, the first contact of his poison right against you made you feel delirious.

Your body drank him in, tightening walls that he fucked were wrapping around him, milking his tongue that gave more and more of his flavour, his taste and your womb’s sedative.

Jake’s tail slashed behind him, his hips rutting restlessly against the layers of fabric of his nest under him. He felt his senses sparking when your taste filled him up. Eyes wild, claws peeking before disappearing and jake was just getting started.

His breaths were heavy as he felt himself unable to breathe. Tongue so deep inside of you, the forked edges dragged against your pulsing walls while his split tips nuzzled into your sweetest spots, you tasted so good, so tender.

He wrapped your thighs around his head with no intentions of slipping out anytime soon, his mouth suckled around your folds, drenched when his nose brushed against your puffy clit, needy and neglected that from one single stroke, you came.

You weren’t even able to process the build up of your climax, nor were you able to comprehend the waves of pleasure that crashed upon you, one after the other. Merciless as jake fucked you through it. Tongue piercing you faster, rougher and deeper.

Until you felt him reach your peak.

The one sacred spot inside of you. Hidden and tucked away so deep in safety, in security. The one spot that jake claimed.

The one the serpent wanted and marked. It belongs to him now, your fluttering, dripping cervix that throbbed the moment his poisoned tips reached it.

And you screamed, the sensation so new, so uncomfortable yet soothing— so painful yet pleasant, it made you feel like your mind was melting away, your head being filled with mush while your body went completely limp under him.

Jake was euphoric. High on the taste of you, on the feeling of you pulsing around him, and right when he reached the opening of your cervix, his place, the one he’s going to surrender himself too, he felt feral.

He’s reached his peak, the most precious part of his mate that he caressed with the tips of his tongue, slicking and stroking the tight muscle that twitched for him, called for him. He couldn’t ever think of retracting himself away, of leaving you alone, not when the sensation of your tightening was so addictive.

He could feel you from here, love you from here. He was able to sense the beat of your heart just because his tongue was touching the most intimate part of you, and he felt his body shake in relief. In satisfaction that this is his home.

Your womb, pretty and fluttery, prospered under his venom. The one he keeps feeding you, rolling out of his glands along his tongue and straight to your cervix, where your muscles pulsed like they were taking him in, drinking him up.

“You’re drinking from me..” he mouthed at your sensitive clit, your cunt was so overstimulated, so used but still restless against his tongue. “Your womb.. she’s taking from me. She recognises me..” he’s completely frenzied.

And you were slipping in and out of consciousness, unaware in a bubble of constant bliss, you didn’t know if you were cumming anymore— all you could feel was the consistent thrumming, the consistent pulling and convulsing of your walls around his tongue while the tips swirled and pushed at your cervix, almost like they were cuddling against it.

Jake’s body slumped, engulfed in elation while your figure rested under him, legs occasionally twitching when he caressed too hard, his mouth and tongue locked. This time on your cunt, feeding his venom inside of you to claim you, to leave a mark so deep it’s almost a wound, a scar that you’ll always carry.

A deep connection, a familiarity between his venom and your womb.

So he kept feeding you, even when your awareness floated away, keeping you sealed in a cloud of pure pleasure and surrender. Even when his muscles ached and his tail twitched wildly, and even when his sweatpants felt so warm and sticky from his mindless release right when your womb accepted him.

He was still inside of you, like a good, responsible and possessive mate that will do anything for his other half. He caressed you, he held you and kept you full while your cervix allowed it, welcomed it, loved it.

You were flourishing with his venom flooding you from the inside, and it was just the beginning.

The serpent placed a big porcelain plate in front of you. Vibrant with colours of different fruits and vegetables, the pretty hues from the berries and the chopped pieces of bell peppers alongside the golden glow of the fried eggs he made so early in the morning.

Packed with protein and filling, just what he needed for his mate. “Eat. All of it, angel.” His words were tender, touch even softer in comparison. He hovered behind you, towering frame that glimmered with scattered scales along his tail, Jake’s built was so impressively massive he could cover you with his body completely.

“I need you to be healthy, at all times. Need you to be energetic and strong.” His clawed finger ran along your shoulder blade, careful and featherlight. Teasing the strap of your short, satin nightgown that he picked up when your body was too sensitive to even move. You nodded at his attentiveness, heart swelling in your chest when he placed a soft kiss to your neck. “Eat well, my mate.”

And you did, fingers grabbing the honeyed toast apart as you chewed, strawberries bursting with sweetness in your mouth as you nourished your body the whole time your viper’s tail stroked your thighs, travelling along the dips and curves of your skin gently. Scales velvety soft as if each movement that was caressing you was kissing your body.

You turned around every now and then to pop a piece of fruit into his mouth, pulling apart your toast unevenly to give him the bigger pieces, and he accepted all of them. Flicking his long tongue out to tease your fingertips that held the food to his lips before he let the edge of his fang graze your skin, just to hear you giggle when he finally took the piece in his mouth.

He felt himself falling closer to you, even though there was barely in space between you two physically, he still was lured towards you. No matter how much he kissed you, touched you and breathed you in he always yearned to be closer.

To nuzzle into you, carve a space in your heart just for him and stay there, safe and protected in the spot that he flourished in. He could never feel himself close enough— if possible, he wanted to bore his entire soul to yours.

You fed him when you believed that it was the opposite, you loved and protected him when you thought that he was the one doing everything. But the truth was that he would’ve crumbled apart ages ago if it wasn’t for your kind touch and loving eyes that gazed at him like he hung the stars in your universe, he breathed the air into your lungs and he brought the sun out to your sky.

So devoted, so in love and so mated.

He adored you, his very being was wrapped around you, surrounding you in ways only a serpent could wrap around their mate. He wasn’t just bonding himself to you, eventually making himself just bonded— no, he was fated to you.

The same way you accepted him, the same way you were fated to him.

A fusion of your two souls, laced with warm blood and sweet venom that glowed between your chests, something beyond comprehension skills, beyond the relationships and marriages you were used too, because you weren’t in love with jake. You dedicated every piece of yourself to him.

And he held each piece with care, a teasing yet gentle hold. Just like the way he nipped your finger now.

“Ow! That one hurted.” You huffed, the serpent’s pupils thinned when he let out a sudden breath, a laugh at your endearing expression while you stared at your perfectly fine finger.

Jake quickly engulfed your finger in his hands, cool blooded heart unable to take the slight pout in your face. He pressed his lips right on the spot he grazed, “all better now, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

The serpent kept you close, arm now cradling your side, tail wrapped protectively around your ankle all the while his own hand fed you from the plate since your hand should ‘just rest now’ according to his words.

And he pressed a soft kiss to your overly sweet mouth after each bite. As if to praise you, to seal the bite inside and make sure that you swallow it.

When you’re done with everything, he presses a kiss to your throat.

It felt like a ‘thank you’ rather than a kiss, a small appreciation for nurturing you and keeping you in his arms.

You cuddled closer to him, a habitual heat radiating off his body that pulsed against you. Making you feel every breath, every beat and every pulse. You were a part of him as much as he was a part of you.

“Jake..” your voice was giddy, calling for him as he hummed peacefully behind you, his lips were gently littering kisses along your shoulder, down your arm and right on the faint throb on your wrist.

And then you felt it.

A deep, carnal hunger, the same discomfort, the same itch from two nights ago— it made you shift in your seat, retracting your arm from his hold like you couldn’t fully breathe for a moment, your body was feverish.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, detecting the shift instantly and flicking his tongue out to taste the air— distress, agitation, thirst.

His tail unwrapped from your ankle, “everything okay?” Voice low, attentive and protective. You shook your head, a dryness aching in your throat. “I think .. that thing is happening again.” The serpent’s composure wavered.

It was working. Your body .. was thirsty for him again.

It made jake swoon. A slight tremor in his fingers when he breathed out shakily, his own body trembling in the need to provide, the need to protect and love.

He felt like he was drowning in you.

“Oh baby..” he cooed, muscular arms wrapping around your middle to lift you off and bring you back to the nest, your safe space and his home. He carried you tenderly, claws nowhere to be seen while his soft palms caressed your skin.

Jake laid you down above the fabrics, the cloths and clothes and the blankets that he chose, his own larger body hovering above you while your stomach churned in hunger. The feeling bubbling up and burning your throat, making you whimper in his hold as he shushed you softly.

He leaned down to your neck, pressing his nose right above your pulse point, each thump making his muscles relax as he flicked his tongue out— little beads of poison glittering that he licked down your skin.

The serpent kept moving, nuzzling your skin, kissing your collarbones, licking right above your breasts, nipping along your shoulders while his palm pressed on your lower stomach— right above your uterus where you felt a contraction pulse the moment his skin touched yours.

A gasp slipped out of you at the feeling, a sudden rush of heat washing down your body as you began gushing, folds soaking through your panties while Jake gazed at you in awe. “You’re already calling for me..” he was mesmerised.

“Your womb .. she’s calling for me again. She recognises me even more than I expected.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead right to the heat source, right between your hips, “I still have to prepare you more for me, love.”

“Still need you to be ready for me.. so you can take all of me.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, words of reassurance and calm spilling past his lips but there trickles of sweat on his temples, the tips of his claws almost fully appearing— and that’s when you noticed that Jake was holding himself back from you.

“Jake .. please.” You whimpered, weak hands curling around him as your hips began to ache in need, a soreness spreading from your throat, to your stomach that felt empty and down between your legs.. where you were practically twitching in desire.

Your nails dug into his muscles, “I need you right now, I need you.” Jake inhaled sharply, his own pants tightening around him, the way you looked at him— with the gentlest twinkle of tears in your eyes, lips wobbling when you begged him to give himself fully to you, to not restrain himself, not now and not ever.

But Jake couldn’t, you weren’t ready for him. He knew this and no matter how much it hurt him— he didn’t want to hurt you.

He’ll take all the needed time to prepare you, to prepare your body for him. So when the time does actually come, you’ll fully accept him instead of being in pain. He could never make you uncomfortable knowing that he was the cause.

“Sweetheart.. you know I can’t. Not yet.” He caressed your jaw, fingers featherlight as they went down your neck, you felt small tears drop slip down your temples that he didn’t hesitate to lick up, the sight of you almost making him whimper with the urge to just fully claim you, adore you and make you his.

“You’re not ready for me yet, little nest.” He mumbled against your skin, tone shaky like his words were hurting him. “but once you are— I promise I’ll never let you go a day without being filled of me. I promise I’ll always let you feel me in any way that you want. You’ll fully breathe me in.”

“But for now, I’ll just keep soothing you with my venom.” His lips were now returning to your neck, fangs peeking past his plump lips that became swollen from the kissing. “Ready, baby?” You nodded your head quickly, tears springing down your eyes fully in anticipation at him finally sedating you.

And then it happened— his fangs sunk right into your pulse point. The sharp tips puncturing your skin, your vein, venom instantly gushing inside of you making your blood flare.

You didn’t even have time to process the pain— the burning wound and sinking of his fangs, didn’t even have time to process the scream that it ripped out from your chest before you fell back to the mattress the moment his poison hit your blood stream directly. No longer being drunk from your throat, it was being injected.

And the feeling was making you intoxicated. Completely drunk in the matter of seconds as you mewled in euphoria, pleasure coursing through you, intensifying with every heart beat inside of you that rushed, picking up the pace when jake growled into your skin.

He moaned when your flavour hit his tongue. The serpent, though not one to crave blood, felt his head spin at yours. The crimson warmth that flushed into his mouth, he was drinking the life of you, the life of his mate.

Then you started to feel it— the more he drank, the more he took, the tighter his hands gripped your hips, the more you floated.

Slowly, faintly slipping out of the embrace of consciousness. Your eyelids became droopy, breaths slow and deep while your entire body relaxed.

Jake noticed all of it. He just venom-fed you into subspace.

The feeling of your body fully surrendering to him, to his scales, to his fangs and to his venom made him groan in satisfaction. You were giving him your complete all.

“That’s right, baby..” he muttered, mouth still so wet of you while you whimpered in his hold, so spent and so high on his poison. The sensation of him flooding you was so electrifying yet so soothing. It was like your entire body was waiting for this again, “go under for me.. just like that.”

Jake didn’t know it yet, but this version of you, so pliant, so unguarded was his favourite. He could protect you all he wanted, kiss you and caress you all he wanted all the while you trusted him just enough to let him do absolutely anything to you.

“Stay there for me, love.. I’ll take care of you.” And he did. His venom pulsed inside of you carefully, filling you up and making ecstasy rush through your entire body that fluttered in his hold. You let go entirely. Not a single thought, a single voice or a single breath in your head. Besides the warmth of his body and the stroke of his scaled tail around your calf. “I always will.”

With his arms wrapped protectively around you and his fangs snug inside of you— you slept in peace. Cradled in the most gentle hold that’s ever touched you, as if you were made of the most divine glass to bless Earth, and in Jake’s eyes of course you were, you were the most precious human he’s ever laid eyes on.

This bite— wasn’t just a simple feeding from him to you, it wasn’t just a bite. It was complete submission, it was dedication and it a confession. All this wasn’t for him, he already knew he had you wrapped around him just like the way he had his tail coiled around you, he knew he had a home in your soul in the same way you owned his.

But this was a mark of love, a promise to the bond that you both created. One that bridged your mortal heart to his serpent one, webbing in between and making them inseparable. And now, each pulse of your heart was connected to his. Each breath that you inhaled to your lungs, he exhaled them for you. Each thought that annoyed your mind, he fought it off for you.

This was past anything that you could’ve shared with another human, and way more exceptional than any mating he could’ve had with another hybrid. Because you were connecting two universe together with each moment you both breathed together— you connected a human to a snake.

A bond that flourished, that bloomed and went beyond any other previous love, relationship or marriage.

You had your soul tied to his now, and you both grew to adore this bond more day by day.

It happens without either of you knowing, without either of you catching on, but the connection grows.

Each night that you spend wrapped in his coils, the taste of his venom still fresh in your tongue and his claws retracted with his hand covering your waist protectively? It blooms.

With every shared breath, it pulses to life. With every exchanged kiss, it stirred like it was awakening— akin to an ancient flame, an ancient dream, a promise. Spoken only between the lips of a human and a serpent, but kept safe. Secure with your love and his scales.

Then it grew, it blossomed. A life formed between the two of you, a new breath that swelled over your relationship, your bond grew. Fully forming, fully developing and connecting you to him, body, mind, soul and heart.

It started off when you were in the den, an open book between your hands while you cuddled up against his hoodie in the nest. Jake was outside, he muttered something about hybrid meetings before disappearing behind the door.

And then you felt a tug— a push at your chest, heat building up but not the good kind, no. You felt angry.

Like something had agitated you, something pissed you off. Something that went wrong.

You sat up right on the bed, brows furrowed at confusion and the way your hands were almost twitching with fury. That’s when the door of your house slammed open, almost getting thrown off of its hinges.

In came Jake. Pupils slit entirely, almost appearing like a thin line as his emerald eyes were dim. Claws full unsheathed while his tail lashed behind him like a whip. He stormed inside of the place, steps heavy and mad.

“Jake..?” You called but his ears were ringing. He didn’t spot your figure walking into the living room, too busy pacing around the area while running his claws through his hair. “Did something happen at the meeting?” When your quiet, calm voice finally registered into his senses, he exhaled.

He breathed for the first time in hours.

An instant relief rushed through him— the same one that you felt as the bond now humming. In satisfaction, in relief at the proximity.

“No.. nothing happened, love. Nothing that you need to worry about.” Jake walked towards you, the anger in his posture fully dissipating when he inched closer and laid his palms on your hips. The touch making him melt against you. “It’s .. nothing serious.” He swallowed heavily.

But you already knew. You felt it.

Shaking your head, “Jake .. I know you’re angry because something went wrong.” Now his eyes were locked on you. “I don’t know what it is.. but it felt like something that you worked hard on was messed up. Like the frustration you get when your effort just goes to waste.” The serpent stilled.

“How did you.. figure all this out?”

“I don’t know, I just felt it.” He tilted his head.

You weren’t a hybrid that could pick up on scent changes, besides the fact that he did storm inside the house with his mannerisms screaming anger, you still knew too much.

“I felt your anger.” You added, your words now making his eyebrow arch while his claws grazed your skin just a tiny bit.

Inching closer, “I felt the way your frustration bloomed in your chest, the way your hands..” you lowered yours to hold onto his, thumb pressing gently against his palm, “the way they shook in anger.”

Jake exhaled shakily.

“I don’t know why, I think it’s this bond thing we have going on. But I truly felt everything like I was the one experiencing.” Your words— you simply didn’t know how much they weighed to jake.

You didn’t know that this was just more confirmation to him that you’re his mate. That the bond is settling in, fully connecting and spreading further into your lives. You felt his emotions when he wasn’t even near you.

Maybe you were unaware, or maybe you weren’t ready to face something like this. But you were already developing a sense of instinct for him. For your mate. This sense, had already existed in jake since he was born, it’s only that now it found its other half.

You were completing him without even knowing.

The bond was flourishing, roaring in love and devotion that only thrummed harder when your mate was close by.

He pressed his forehead to yours, all of his limbs felt relaxed. “It is the bond. You’re not just marked by me anymore, you’re mine and I’m yours. Emotions, thoughts and soul wise.”

“You feel what I feel. That’s how close we are now.” And you only blinked at him in awe, mesmerised by the bond and your creation— this special connection that you formed and developed with Jake with your bare hands, now made you exist within him the same way he will within you.

Over the days, it only blossomed more.

Your thoughts were no longer fully yours, they were sharing a space with Jake’s. And sometimes it was a bit too much.

“I wonder how our kids will look like..” “Jake.” He perked up, tongue flicking out nervously as he looked at you with his eyes widened. “Can you not wonder about our kids when I’m trying to read?” You could’ve sworn you felt just the lightest flush on the tips of his ears. “Sorry..”

“Will i be asking him too much if—“ you’re not even given the chance to continue before you feel a warm tail wrapping around your ankle. Holding you gently as his burly figure slithered behind you. “Never.” He hissed, “you’ll never ask for too much.”

But it was never just your thoughts. Jake started to feel the way you do as well.

Whenever you felt colder than usual, he would cuddle up next to you wordlessly. His scales tangling around you multiple times while he places a gentle kiss on your temple.

The one day you woke up craving something sweet for breakfast, he already had an entire plate of honeyed toast and waffles piling up next to chopped fruits. And he would feed the pieces to you one by one. Glued to your side as he nourished you right in front of his eyes.

With his closeness, the shared attachment and the continuous reaching out for each other, the bond was enchanted. It fluttered whenever the serpent touched a sensitive spot on your skin, buzzed when you kissed his neck.

It bent when he didn’t glance at you in hours. It coiled when you didn’t touch him for a night.

The connection was an indicator and a regulator of everything. Syncing your heartbeats, your thoughts, your souls.

It kept you bounded to jake. In all ways possible, you were his.

That’s why when you woke up one day, with an uncomfortable tightening in your abdomen, a warmth burning your skin and an itch that you couldn’t drink away— jake was by your side before you even called for him.

Because he didn’t need you to be verbal about anything anymore, he felt it before you even spoke it.

The discomfort, the pain and shuddering when your entire body ached. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” Your voice was hushed when you curled in on yourself in the middle of his nest. Jake was on his knees next to you, slit pupils studying your every move— before the realisation dawned on him.

It wasn’t discomfort it was a tug.

It wasn’t pain it was a call.

“My body .. feels so wrong. It feels so odd.” Because it was ready. “Love..” the air from his lungs was knocked out the second you whimpered and he smelt it.

Like a carnal urge awakening, ripping its way to life within him— he picked up your scent, your need. Your arousal, sweet and addictive wafting through the air to his nose.

His split tongue uncontrollably flicked out to taste it, to taste the tiniest tinge of your nectarine in the air. And he groaned when he realised that you weren’t just ready— you were fertile for him. You tasted fertile.

“It’s not wrong.. or odd.” The serpent hissed, now climbing next to your curled body before his tail and arms engulfed you. “Your body is calling for me, little nest.” You grunted at his words, arousal gushing between your legs like flowing slick. “You’re ready for me.” And at that your legs instinctively opened.

Like a welcoming gesture, the warmth spreading between you both as Jake coiled himself around you, his massive arm wrapping around your waist, holding you close, grounding you. While the other slipped down your hips.

You moaned in relief when he mouthed at your shoulder, fingers dipping past your soaked underwear while the tip of his nose brushed right against your pulse point— and he nuzzled closer. Kissing, nipping, licking at your skin to scent you. Right above your heart beat.

“My pretty mate..” his claws were retracted, rough fingers toying with your folds making you gasp in his hold. “All ready for me.. finally calling for me.” The serpent felt delirious.

He felt the way that the desire that rushed through you, was stemming from the deepest parts of your soul. He was witnessing you naked. Completely bare for his eyes, searching and reaching towards him.

Towards the only person you know that will hold you, soothe you and protect you. Your mate.

Jake moved to hover above you, his tail now circling your hips with the tip stroking your lower stomach where the skin burned him. You looked up at him, pretty eyes glossy with expectancy, waiting when your body blazed with need.

And when you felt a pulse, a contraction blooming in your abdomen in pain— you whimpered his name. So soft, so broken and defenceless.

Jake crumbled entirely. All restraint and plans of being gentle with you in your first time evaporating away.

He needed you, and you need him right now.

“Shh— sweetheart, don’t worry. I’ve got you..” the serpent’s tail coiled around one of your thighs before pulling it towards his hips, opening you. His mouth latched onto your jaw, flicking his divided tongue along your skin while you shuddered under him. Gasps and sighs all falling from your lips as waves of relief washed down on you, the bond humming in satisfaction whenever jake touched you.

“I’ve got you.. your mate’s got you, already so sweet and ready for me..” Jake babbled on the lower his kisses went, plump lips already swollen trailing down your collarbone before he ripped apart your nightgown. Claws shredding the soft satin before settling above your flushed skin gently. So careful. “You’re all ready for me.. I can feel it.” He pressed his palm onto your lower stomach—

And he could’ve sworn he felt a throb. Right under his touch.

Jake couldn’t help the frenzied smile that etched on his features.

You groaned in pleasure when he pressed— applying light pressure, his pupils dilating when your scent sharpened. Sweetened. And the throbbing under his palm continued.

“There she is..” his voice was low, so low it sounded like he was purring. He leaned right next to your ear, akin to a predator taunting their prey, territorial and crazed. “There’s my favourite place.. pulsing for me.” He flicked his tongue out to taste you again. The need, the lust and the desire.

He pressed harder. “Feel that, angel? That’s you wanting me. That’s you being my mate.” Jake breathed in, inhaling your scent like it was his air— like he couldn’t live without it. “That’s where I’m gonna be at all times now. I’m going to keep you full. Here. Always.”

Your limbs were weak, the hunger now burning its way through your veins and lighting you on fire. Like a lava waiting just for the right moment to erupt inside of you, yet you only could whimper under jake. Could only look at him with tears in your eyes in hopes of him doing something.

The serpent then sensed everything.

The burn in your womb, the ache in your body, the warmth pooling between your legs— the bond convulsing with anticipation and jake was left gasping for breath. “Fuck.. baby, this is all for me? This is how you feel for me?” And you nodded because he wasn’t aware of the way he had you suffocating in his love. Wasn’t aware that you were drowning in him.

Now Jake didn’t want to do anything besides the exact same.

To cover and wrap and strangle himself with you. He suddenly lowered himself and finally kissed you.

The gasps and moans fell past your lips effortlessly, the kiss was anything but that. It was the two of you breathing one another in. Biting, licking, sucking with your teeth clashing. His spit instantly dribbled down your throat, the venom bursting in your tongue like it just sprung you back to life and you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around the serpent’s neck to bring him closer, to take more.

Jake’s entire body was pressed against yours. His tail thrumming with his heart beat that pulsed wildly, smooth scales turning warmer by the second, you moaned into his mouth and he swallowed. “So pretty.. every pretty noise you make.. every pretty moan are all mine.” He bit on your lower lip, brushing his split ends while tears aligned your waterline, “just mine. Only mine.”

“Jake.. please,” your voice was barely audible, a small, broken sound between all his hissing. “I need you, really bad. It hurts.” Jake inhaled sharply,

And then he unleashed everything.

His hands, that were so gently caressing your skin, held onto your wrists and pinned them upwards. He pushed his body against yours, his tail pressing at your hips after coiling around once— trapping you under him.

The serpent hissed loudly. A light vibration rumbling in his chest that spread to your body, he began to rut into you. Hips rubbing and grinding mindlessly, you felt a poke— a pressure. Of something massive, warm, throbbing.

The size alone makes you choke a gasp out, jake smiled like he knew that you felt him. “Felt me, little nest? I’m gonna be inside you all the time now.” He whispered hotly into your skin. “Gonna let you crave me so much you’ll want me in all the time, everyday.” And you knew that he meant every word. Because Jake always kept his promises.

He loved the way your wetness seeped through his clothes to coat him. Loved the way you were so soaked and so eager to claim you couldn’t help yourself but do it even without him touching you. He wanted you to claim and mark him just as bad as he wanted to do it to you, and now was his chance to bring all his dreams to life.

While you were shuddering and gasping beneath him, his tail uncoiled.

The tip that once rested on your hip, inched closer to your middle— right before dipping under your panties.

You froze.

“Feel me, baby?” His tail thrusted deeper, your pussy tightened around his scales that soothed your walls. Pulsing, throbbing and so hot it felt like he was leaking inside of you. You sobbed when the stretch settled in, so wide it burned you from the inside out. Yet it felt so good. Especially when he pressed down his palm, feeling right where he was. “I’m right here, angel. I’m home.”

You squealed when his rough tip, now soft and swollen nuzzled right into your cervix opening. The small, pulsating rhythm of the beginning of your uterus throbbing at the contact. You sniffled as you weakly held onto him, body completely open and vulnerable at his mercy. “Jake.. a-are you sure this is okay—?” You sounded so shy. So bewildered at what he was doing to you, to your little pussy that could only stretch and drool around him.

The serpent laughed breathlessly. “Of course, baby. You’re taking me so well.. wrapping around my tail so nicely, look how pretty you look all open for me.” His praises fell off his lips like honey, Jake felt the way you clenched around his scales as he stretched you open. Your cunt dripping more and more each time he pulled back just the slightest bit before pushing his tail all the way back in.

Up until his swollen tip pressed against your cervix, and then began to pulse.

Your body twitched above the nest. Hips jerking forward when Jake didn’t pull back, he only throbbed right into your opening like his tail was kissing your cervix. “J-Jake.. what’s going on—“ “shhh Angel girl. Don’t worry about anything, let your mate prepare your pretty womb.” And then you felt the force, the pull.

The suction right against your tight ring of muscles. Like he was pulling your uterus down and making it bloom open at the same time— you felt the way your womb contracted right before dilating at his command.

And at the sensation of the hot, sticky and wet sucking, you thrashed in his hold. Your entire body felt like it was melting away while Jake wrapped his arms around you roughly, to keep you in place when you sobbed into his neck.

You felt so overwhelmed. The feeling was building up inside of you so rapidly, your heart thundered in your chest, struggling to keep up with everything that was happening.

From his whispered praises, sloppy mouth kissing and licking anywhere he could reach, the peak of his claws appearing every second just to dig and then disappear— and his tail. His tail that felt like it was splitting you as it sucked at your cervix, trembling as if to beg for your womb to let it inside. Everything felt debauched, so cruel yet so blissful.

“Gonna make your needy womb all open for me..” the serpent grunted breathlessly next to your ear, tongue flicking to lick the shell before he spoke again. “Get you all pretty and ready for me.. so you’ll be able to carry my clutch, baby.” You whimpered.

Throat hoarse from the consistent moaning and sobbing, eyelashes heavy from the unshed tears, the nest felt unbearable— yet it was also the only place you wanted to be in right now. The air so thick with his scent, with your slick and his wafting pheromones that floated away from his scales. Sweat clinging to both of your bodies, increasing the more his skin rubbed to yours.

Jake felt his senses slipping through his fingers, nostrils flared as he tried his best to inhale into his suffocating lungs. He could only feel you. Only breathe and sense you. His instincts flaring yet calming down at the same time, his thoughts incoherent as an ancient, a primitive hiss echoed through him. Like the serpent inside of Jake fully awakened this time.

With the intention to arouse, to stake, to coil around what’s his.

That was exactly what his body was moving to do before he was even aware of it. He felt so lost, so drunk and mindless with his hands gripping your hips to anchor himself. Yet nothing helped, he felt himself slipping further into the warmth, the engulfing embrace of lust and mating.

He wanted nothing more than to be connected to you in the most intimate way possible. His tail that cradled your cervix, the opening that fluttered around him like a blooming flower— latched on. Sucking and pulling like your womb was its only lifeline. Jake shuddered above you the more his body desperately pulled.

Your legs folded around his hips, pulling his tail even closer when your entire body yearned for him. Thirst amplifying by the second, your skin was feverish. Blazing with an entire layer of glistening sweat. You could no longer talk or speak— you left all the talking to your weak limbs that gripped onto the serpent like he was the only thing keeping secure, keeping you afloat above the sea of need that you both were drowning in.

It felt too intimate, too close, too much. You couldn’t breathe without his hot mouth touching you in some way, you felt your mind shut down the moment his hands would move from one place to another— and jake was weak.

His hands almost frail while his legs trembled. “Shit sweetheart.. you’re taking me in so well.” His tone airy, barely carrying the usual edge to it when he was melting on top of you. You could only flutter around his tail, your shyness still glowing and it made his heart lurch to his throat.

Then he moved his hand, one stayed anchored next to your head to steady himself while the other dipped low. He lowered himself to litter kisses down your neck, whispers of loving, sweet promises all spoken carefully to your skin only. Like it was a promise between him and your body alone.

Jake’s figure was restless. Twitchy, so sensitive. He felt something unfurling within him— something he wasn’t fully prepared for himself. And it excited him and terrified him at the same time.

The scratch of claws against his ribs, the graze of fangs against his throat. He was holding back his serpent from fully possessing him. Coming out and claiming, marking and hurting. Because that’s what his kind did.

It was driving him insane. But you looked so pretty under him.. writhing just from his tail that suckled on your womb like it was breathing air. A singular moment of break would mean that he would starve. His movements were all steady, stable. continuous.

Yet there was an urge to just dig his claws inside of you. To land his final touch and lay his clutch in your warmth— to fully possess you and change you. Witness the way your body will adapt to him.

The effect of him on you.

Jake tried his hardest to hold back, even if he was thrusting his tail inside of you like he was chasing his own high. Even if he felt the way you gushed and shuddered around him when your climax fluttered through you, he still attempted his best to tame his animalistic side.

But serpents were always stronger than humans. He could only do so much with his humane abilities—

That’s why he slipped his tail out in the blink of an eye, his pupils slitting to thin threads when a cry fell from your lips right before he flipped you over onto your stomach.

The serpent was wild. Claws now fully digging into your skin making you whimper in pain, his muscular chest pressed to your back. Pushing you towards the mattress while he held your hips, shifting them upwards to press against his own.

He was completely slipping. Fangs bared, venom dripping down his throat. A deadly glint in his as his breaths came out shallow. The mortal cuffs he had forced upon himself melting entirely when a painful throb spread right from under his abdomen—

From right below his waistline, where his slit slowly folded open to allow his erect cock to slither from behind his iridescent scales— he was massive. Awakened and excited. Way past the average human size, tip a primal red while his base flushed gently with the same gleaming dark emerald of his scales.

And he was leaking so much you would’ve thought that it was his climax instead. Pretty, opaline with infused venom ropes of cum drizzled past his length. Dripping onto the fabrics of the nest when he pressed the head of his cock to your sopping entrance.

He felt absolutely feral. His hands trembling, attempting his best to keep him steady while he teased your cunt. The serpent’s mouth was unable to detach from your body, “mine mine mine..” he whispered with his eyes half lidded, drowning in desire.

“All mine.. my pretty mate, my little nest.” He spoke, wrapping one of his hands around your neck. Fully thrusting inside of you. “There we go..” and you were panting.

He was so big, so deep. “J-jake.. please slow down—“ he paused.

Length throbbing, flaring between her stretched walls. “You want me to slow down.. when she’s been waiting for me?” Jake mocked.

His grip on your jaw tightened, sharp nails indenting your skin. “How could I possibly do that, baby?” Now his voice was softer. Desperate, wet with the leaking venom from his fangs. He talked like he was guilt tripping you, like he couldn’t believe that you wanted him to slow down. Like it hurt.

“Just a little bit— don’t stop, m’not asking you to..” the serpent exhaled heavily, continuing to sheath himself inside of you. “You don’t get what you do to me, baby..”

“You dont get what I want to do to you right now..” his voice was unlike his. Something dark, something ferocious spoke from within him. Thick with malice, webbed in the impulse to ruin.

And you were the victim. You were the chosen one to take. The thought alone made you shiver beneath him, goosebumps appearing making the animal behind you chuckle in amusement.

“Scared?” Jake snarled right next to your ear. Smiling when more tears slipped past your eyes— from the adrenaline that dug into your heart, the swirled combination of fear and excitement— terror and arousal. “No need to be scared, baby.. I’m just here to take care of you.”

He whispered like he was trying to distract you. Like his words could conceal the burn, the unbearable stretch of his serpent cock that thrusted inside of you.

You gasped wordlessly, back arching when fresh tears aligned along your jaw. Every single inch of your body felt electrified while you felt almost suffocated. “Breathe.” Jake growled.

Fangs brushing your ear. You struggled, you felt consumed. Undertaken by a dizzying fog of pleasure and euphoria— so strong it numbed you. “Breathe baby..” this time his thumbs pressed right above your jugular vein making you choke.

“J-jake—! S’too much— too deep—!” “But baby you’re taking it so well though..” you cried when his hand creeped to close just lightly around your mouth. “Listen to her, angel.” And you did. The wet, noisy and obscene sounds of your pussy clenching around him when he thrusted, pulling his hips back for a slight second— only letting you feel his tip before shoving his cock inside of your cunt that squirted in relief. “How am I supposed to slow down when this is how you sound for me?”

He trembled behind you. Legs twitching with his pelvis pressing flush into you. “You’re taking your mate too good, sweetness..” the pleasure creeped right up his spine, the sensation making him guttered. “Too good, baby.. you’re driving me insane.”

So soft, so warm. Searingly hot. Your entire body flushed under him, womb pulsing as the head of his swollen cock kept kissing it, pulling it and pushing it like it loved toying with your deepest, most sacred part. His favourite part.

All the while his hovering figure leaned down lower and lower. Until he had his front pressed to your back. Each breath that left his lungs fanned around your skin. His tongue flicked out to taste the thick air. It tasted so abundant with your flavours.

“You’re all mine, angel.. only mine. Just mine. My pretty mate that I’ll love and fill forever.” With each word he pushed more. He stayed inside more. Each time making your limbs melt further above the nest. Everything felt so good— a spell that he spoke in an unknown, ancient language that only he knew the gravity of before blowing it towards you.

He had you fully under his control. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t speak. You barely could move. You were unable to do anything— and for some reason it felt nice.

It was comforting to have his weight pinning you down. Comforting to know that no matter how much your needy cervix ached, he’ll always be there to kiss it better.

It made you feel so safe. So protected and cared for when your mate worshipped you like you were the only religion he knew. The only one he believed in and the only one he saw.

With each stroke of his slick cock that spilled heat inside of you, it felt like your walls were hugging him back. So intimately holding him close even the serpent exhaled shakily at being so accepted— so loved.

Jake then picked up the pace, the slow, deep thrusts shifting into more brutal ones— untamed and beast-like. You mewled into the feathery pillow. So weak compared to the uncontrollable hissing behind you.

Your pussy sucked him in, cervix moulding around his tip the more he teased it. “Feel me here, baby? Doesn’t it feel good to have me here?” And he pressed on your lower stomach. Caressing the bulge of his viper cock that massaged your insides, he felt every flutter, every vein and every ridge while you cried, so overwhelmed.

“F-fuck yes—! I love it, I love it so much— I love how deep you are in me, jakey—“ you babbled, drunk. Wholly under the altered cloud of pleasure he always manages to form around your head. Jake growled at your tone, so airy. He could practically taste how high on his love you were. “Yeah, baby? I’m gonna be here all the time now. Gonna keep your greedy cunt stuffed of me.” His claws glowed, fangs almost vibrating in instinct.

Mark. Claim. Bite. Ruin.

And Jake sunk his teeth right into your shoulder blade, the sensation instantly making you unravel around him as you milked his cock that burned. His hips snapping against you wildly while your arousal drizzled down onto the nest, ruining everything just like the way you were right now.

Sobbing, vision spotted with your ears ringing as Jake fucked you through your orgasm before pulling another one out of you. Your womb was convulsing. Contractions washing down on your body so painfully yet the waves of ecstasy were stronger.

The serpent then injected his venom into you again. The flush of the sweetness bursting in your veins from the hidden hunger. The unknown crave that just got settled, Jake groaned at your taste once again. Your blood tasted even more saccharine when it was engulfed by your orgasm.

You crashed. Over and over again. His length relentless as it rammed inside of you, fucking into all of your sweet spots that made your body jerk under Jake. “That’s it, isn’t it angel?” He breathed heavily when you squealed right as his hips pressed to you in a certain angle— “that’s your sweet, baby spot. Isn’t it? I’m going to worship it.” And he did.

His tip nursed from it. Pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. The knot in your abdomen no longer formed— you were stuck in a constant state of falling apart while your womb milked his cock even more.

It felt like your body had a mind of its own. So needy, so desperate that no matter how much your mind practically shut down it didn’t care. It was addicted, attached, dependent.

And Jake loved it. He loved the way your pussy was wrapped around him. Tightly, possessively. Unwilling to let go whenever he pulled back— you were claiming him back. Your body was dragging its marks on him, etching its way into his very own skin with the way his cock was tight with desire. The need to unleash and finally paint your insides with him.

So he kept going, because he couldn’t think. He couldn’t process anything. He only felt the pulses, felt the tugging, felt the constant edging of something ready to release, prepared to snap.

“I’m gonna fill you up so well, sweetheart.” The snake hissed, his hand now moving to cradle your lower belly. Where he was going to make you swell with him. His tail coiled behind him, body building in anticipation while his fangs teased your open wound. Where he could still taste you on his tongue.

“Stuff you so full you’ll be leaking of me for weeks. You’ll feel me every time you move.” You shivered at his words. Not because you were scared— but because of how you felt a drop. The lowering of your cervix as it opened more, like a second starved mouth, like it wanted to be stuffed. It wanted to be filled with your mate’s seed.

And when your muscles fluttered around his cock’s head he cooed. “Oh angel.. your pretty womb is just as needy for me as I am for her.” His hand now pressed harder and he felt your uterus flutter back at his touch. “I’ll soothe her.. I’ll satisfy her. Always.”

You couldn’t help the way your body arched further into the bed— hips shifting to allow him to go even deeper while your face was buried into the pillow now. You were still inviting him in even when he was drowning in you.

“P-please.. don’t let me be empty.” And that sentence alone broke Jake.

Then you heard the aftermath— it wasn’t a moan, it wasn’t a gasp, it wasn’t something human.

It was a vibration. One that started from the tip of his tail to the top of his head— a click and then a rattle. A heavy, snapping noise that came deep from within his guts. He was released.

“You want to be filled up with me?” The voice that spoke from behind you wasn’t Jake. The moment you froze in shock— walls clenching in surprise when you turned around and saw him different.

His pupils were in their thinnest form, emerald irises glowing brightly in the dim nest. Fangs fully dropped and dripping with venom that fell atop your lower back, right before melting and being drunk by your skin. His scales were fluttering, a dusty green covering the tips of the ones that emerged around his shoulders and neck, down to his forearms.

He looked wickedly frightening. He looked monstrous.

And somehow that made you want him even more.

“I’ll break you.” His tone was a fusion between a hiss and a deep, heavy rumbling that came from the depths of his chest. “I’ll ruin you completely. I will crawl inside of you and alter you. Just like I did with my venom, just like how you belong to me now.” His words, his mouth dripped with venom.

It scared you. Fuck, it terrified you. Yet you still couldn’t find it in yourself to move away, to escape from the beast behind you. The one that was buried so deep inside of you while you tightened around him, pouring at every word he growled at you.

You couldn’t help the way you pushed yourself back under him— the way you pushed your pelvis back against his, and he laughed.

A guttural, dangerous laughter that made more poison spill out from his mouth. “You want me to claim you just as bad as I do.. you want me to take your soul.” And you nodded.

You agreed because you couldn’t function anymore. You couldn’t imagine, couldn’t think about any possibility or life that doesn’t revolve around your serpent. You couldn’t do it, your mind refused to conjure up any image of you that didn’t have scales. That didn’t have venom marks. That didn’t have chilling split pupils.

Because your own body depended on him now. It responded to him, it recognised him, it knew him. You were marked, you were owned.

You had already given him your heart and body, it was only a matter of time before he sunk his fangs around your soul as well.

And you would allow it, because you knew you were safe. You knew that your mate would make the sky fall above the grass to keep you warm and protected between his arms.

Even if he had you away from the world, even if his voice became the only one that you knew, his eyes the only ones you saw and his body the only one you felt, you would never pick another over him.

You could never not choose him. You could never live without your mate.

And Jake claimed everything. His thrusts turned animalistic. Like he was ravaging your guts, scarring your insides to only accept him. His claws sunk back into your hips, deep and unforgiving. Any time your figure jerked forward— moved the slightest bit from under him— he would drag you back.

Because under him is where you belonged now. “Don’t try to run from me, pretty.” His tail, still coated with your wetness brushed your calf. “You and I both know you can’t go anywhere.”

The scales circled you, they engulfed you in coils. From around your hips, between your legs, up your waist and finally resting around your neck— right before he squeezed.

“Jake!” You cried, heart ramming into your ribs when you felt your lungs burn with need of air. The serpent kept his coils unmoving, applying the slightest pressure. “Shh, love. You’re safe, I’ll never hurt you.” Your tired hands desperately held onto the cooling scales, where you could sense each breath he took.

With his cock still nestled so deep inside of your weeping womb, he turned your face around with his clawed hand. “If you want air, you can breathe me in.” And before you could utter another word— he shoved his tongue into your parted lips.

Both of you groaned at the familiar taste, the familiar feeling and stretch of his forked split ends that instantly latched onto the back of your throat. He thrusted inside of you again, cock tightening in a way that you felt it from the heavy release he kept pushing back.

Jake hummed when you moaned around his tongue, your eyes closing in euphoria at his venom streaming down your throat while his length split you open. You felt more aches of pleasure branching into your body, endless climaxes and orgasms all knotting together as your mind floated.

“There you go.. keep floating for me, baby. Stay under my venom.” And you did, you took everything he gave you. The warm, filling poison and the hot ropes of precum that he buried inside of you. “Doing so well for me.. you deserve to be filled so good.” He muttered around your mouth before suckling on your muscle like a baby.

The serpent retracted his tongue, he babbled as he felt the heat building up in his cool blooded body, his legs twitching, tail fluttering around you the closer he inched towards his climax before it broke— and it shattered him entirely.

He snarled so loudly, the noise shaking out of his ribs when his limbs tensed, scales vibrating as he came inside of you.

But he didn’t cum like you normally expected, it wasn’t a few ropes of his warm seed— it was a flood.

A blazing hot, endless liquid that bursted inside of you. Making you cry at the feeling of the stream, of the overflow. He kept hissing in pleasure, wrapped up in a storm of mouth watering thrill that coursed through him, intensifying when your womb constricted— like it was drinking him up, filling your uterus with all he gave.

You were sobbing against the pillow now, covered in a sticky pool of wetness, of arousal and his flooding that didn’t decrease— and then you felt a poke. “There it is..” it was a swell.

A consistent rising, a bump that formed right around his base that was being pushed inside of you now.

Inside of your gushing entrance that clenched in surprise— in shock when you screamed at the ceaseless stretch. The fresh burn, the boiling warmth of his knot as it sunk into you. All the while Jake kept kissing you through it, shushing you and mumbling words into your ear.

“You can take it.. you’re almost there.” His voice was tender now, after his release the viper somewhat softened. You shook under him as your cunt drooled around the new intrusion, much similar to the saliva that dripped out of your mouth.

And then a final pop! That signalled him fully sheathing himself in. Locking him to you with his seed almost sloshing inside of your swollen stomach. The skin on your belly tight and stretched just the slightest bit at the flood.

Jake was in awe.

His clawed hands that were covered in your drool and your indents hovered around your belly, you were so full of him.. so stuffed just from carrying his seed. “You look divine, love.” He kissed right into the wound he had his fangs in just a few minutes ago.

You shuddered at his featherlight touch. A whirling contrast from his predatory hold. Yet you still melted under his fingertips, still floating and relaxed for him.

“Looking so pretty.. just from my seed alone.” His palm pressed against the swell, “wonder how you’ll look like when you carry my clutch.” At those words, you whimpered—

“I want it..” the serpent stiffened. “I want to carry your clutch, Jake.” Jake’s expression changed.

It became unreadable, you were too embarrassed to look at him, your face still covered by the pillowcase, still sensitive. “Baby.. do you realise what you’re asking for?” And before you could even answer, he felt a throb.

Much similar to the one before he bred you, much similar to the one he already memorised— the one of your womb.

Calling for him once again, even when he had just flooded her. She was still greedy. Still wanted more.

Jake smiled.

“Is that so..” he purred, knot swelling down, the bulge slowly slipping out of you. Allowing his gaze to take in the sight of your gaping pussy— still tightening around nothing, still pulsing, still hungry even when she was dripping in him.

You whined at the emptiness, the coldness that wrapped around your womb now that Jake’s cock wasn’t cradling it— the neediness from your body made the serpent sigh in love. “Still want me so bad.. still wanting my clutch.” His hands trailed down your sides that twitched beautifully under his touch.

He then carefully moved you, laying you gently on your back. His tail unfurled from around you slightly, it still hovered next to your hips. He distanced himself just enough to let you breathe.

“I’ll give you my clutch.” Jake whispered right as he looked into your eyes. Half lidded and sparkling with unshed tears that prickled at his heart. “I’ll give you everything that I have.” He leaned down to press the lightest kiss on your lips. Mouths barely touching when his plump lips brushed your swollen ones.

His claws had fully vanished, hands carefully steadying your thighs to wrap around him once more as he slid in between your legs, this time his cock appeared thicker— erect and leaking but swollen. Heavy, loaded.

The sight alone made you salivate. “You’re so.. full,”

“I’ll let it out. I will let it out inside of you.. I’ll make it easy for you.. I’ll make it feel good.” The serpent hissed into your lips, breath hot and heavy as the steam in the nest practically bubbled. The windows were foggy, the room thick and layered with his scent, his pheromones and your arousal.

And then he sank into you once more— this time easier, this time sliding between your slippery walls that gushed around him in welcome. Jake shivered above you, mouth agape while you moaned right into his lips.

The sounds that formed from his cock nudging inside of you were filthy. So nasty, so wet it made your whole body burn. Your hands finally finding the strength to wrap around his wrists on either side of your head just to stabilise yourself.

“She’s so greedy.. she’s sucking me in so well, baby. You’re so needy for me.” Jake whined as his hips worked restlessly, chasing his high when his swollen cock— filled with his clutch caressed your inside, their new home. “I’m gonna give you my babies.. you’ll carry and protect them. You’ll be such a great mama to our babies.” He muttered before dipping his head into the curve of your neck, right where your blood still drizzled in thick droplets.

Your womb quivered with each thrust, every stroke pulling a breath out of your lungs before he sank in so deep his head latched onto your cervix again. “There we go..” Jake’s words were slurred, you were limp above the nest. Slumped under him while he almost evaporated. So intoxicated on the feeling of your walls milking him, so obsessed with how warm your body felt because of him.

And then Jake felt the first drop.. the first swell that indicated his egg lowering. He pressed his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock fully nursing onto your cervix when you felt the shift— the weight, the round sphere that was moving to be inside of you.

“Just like that.. take it, love. Take it and keep it safe.” It finally sunk inside of you, round and weighted. The sensation so new, so intimate as it slipped past him— right into the opening of your cervix that sucked the egg in. Shielding and protecting it in your womb, making you sigh in relief at the sheer relief of carrying his weight— of carrying him.

But then there was another swell.. another drop. “I-is that another—?” “Yes— fuck i have more to give, I always have more to give when it comes to you.” His pelvis jerked into yours, saliva dripping out of his mouth like water as his slit pupils rolled into the back of his head, the feeling burned him from the inside out, blazed his abdomen in ecstatic fire. “Take it, baby. Take all of them from me.”

This time you cried when it pressed into your cervix, the muscles fluttering softly before sucking the egg right next to the other one. The weight increasing in your womb made your legs shake, another release building up even when your body felt so sore. Your pussy still twitching with Jake deep inside of you.

“Last one, little nest. You can take it, I know you can.” The serpent mouthed at your skin, tongue flicking to lick along your cheek, to catch the slipping tears that fell when your stomach felt so full. So heavy and tight already but he was still giving you more.

His palm pressed against the swell, the forming bump of his clutch being protected by you. Being nourished and nurtured inside of you. His instincts flared, the final egg slipping slowly, the heaviest and largest of the bunch— “f-fuck.. we’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re almost full of me.” Jake sobbed into your neck.

His serpent body overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy, by the intensity of the love he held for you. The weight of acceptance, of you wanting him back. All crashing down on him as he stuffed you with his final egg, the bulge of it making you both gasp as the stretch ripped a release from you, so deep, so carnal.

“That’s it baby.. you did it. You’re carrying my soul now.” He spoke tearfully into your mouth, still so close to you. Still buried deep inside of you, his tip remained nuzzled against your cervix that fully closed now. Fulfilled and satisfied.

The serpent’s palm rested against your stomach, it felt warm. Soft with you now holding him, nestling his babies inside the most precious part of you. “You look so beautiful.. all mine. Just mine, so full of me.” Jake worshipped your body.

Tail caressing the underside of your belly while the snake moved towards you, laying next to your body before cradling you against him. All his instincts telling him to protect. To shield.

You hummed in content. So spent, so tired and so bred. Your heart’s pace finally calming down when you cuddled closer to Jake’s warmth. The serpent’s tongue flicked out to touch your neck, your shoulders, just to scent you again. To surround you with him completely while you carry his clutch.

“Sleep now my little nest. I’ll protect you and our babies.” His whisper fluttered with love, your eyes already closing the second he began to purr for you. Soft vibrations calming your nerves while his scales coiled around you protectively, his palm resting above your lower stomach.

“All mine.” The serpent hissed quietly before closing his eyes.

a,n. holy fucking shit it’s finally done. thanks for reading this fever dream 🫶🏼 & feedback is greatly appreciated ! ♡

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part one!

FEEL SO CLOSE

[next chapter]

summary: Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. step-cest, age gap (unspecified, but reader is 19/20, Tommy in his early-mid 30s), unprotected piv, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), attempted seduction (from reader), pussy pronouns, praise, dirty talk, creampie, begging, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, no outbreak AU, Tommy POV

note: genuinely this is the filthiest most diabolic thing I've ever written and I'm absolutely terrified to post it!!! if it's not your cup of tea pls keep scrolling, and if you do read it, let me know what you think!! also, I wrote the nightclub scene with the song Feel So Close by Calvin Harris in mind (iykyk), but feel free to imagine whatever you like!

wc: 12.1k

[series masterlist]

[main masterlist] [AO3]

You’ve always been close.

Since that first night you’d met in Joel’s kitchen, Tommy has always felt drawn to you. Like you were one and the same. Two peas in a fucking pod, despite how…indecent it sometimes felt.

It was late summer. Hot. Your mother and Joel had arranged a dinner. They’d wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other.’ Grilled burgers and made pasta salad and poured glasses of cheap champagne. The whole nine yards. 

Joel had warned Tommy about you ahead of time. Talked about his new girlfriend’s daughter, about how you were a bit…wild. Impulsive. Too pretty and too smart for your own good.

You’re a couple of years older than Sarah, freshly out of high school with a devil-may-care attitude. The two of you get along well—Sarah thinks the whispered comments you pour in her ear all night are just hilarious. The two of you spend most of the afternoon on the side of the pool chattering while Tommy…well, Tommy certainly feels a bit like a third wheel. 

He knows it’s not intentional. Joel isn’t like that, he’s just…excited. He loves your mom and is eager to start this new chapter of his life, to expand his family the way he’s always wanted to. And your mom is nice enough. Sweet and easy going, a good match for his brother. But she’s a mom. And Joel’s Joel. 

It’s Saturday night, and Tommy Miller is bored half to death sipping champagne and watching two teenage girls giggle over something on their cell phones. 

And it’s not like he can leave right away. At least, not until after his desert has settled. But he knows where Joel keeps the good liquor, and dismisses himself in search of it.

He’s pouring two shots of whiskey into a glass tumbler when he hears the back door open. Tommy expects it to be Joel, coming to offer a penny for his thoughts. He opens his mouth to soothe his brother's nerves, to reassure him that his other half does fit him as perfectly as it seems. To tell him that he’s crazy for letting another little girl live under his roof, to warn him it’ll be double the hormones and double the attitude, but if it makes him happy…

“Hey.”

It’s not Joel who speaks at all. It’s your voice, soft but sultry. Tommy smiles at you over his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

You saddle up to his side, so close your elbow brushes his as you lean on the counter, eyes focused on his hands as he pours. “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to,” you say with a dispirited sigh.

It makes Tommy laugh. He sets the bottle down and lifts the tumbler to his mouth, grinning all the while. “Can’t say this little soirée is particularly, uh…exhilarating,” he says, sipping from his glass.

He can feel your attention on him, hotter even than the burn of the whiskey. Your eyes slide down the column of his throat, over his chest, stopping at his waist. You turn your head the smallest bit, not dissimilar to that of a curious little puppy. Crude and shameless in your examination. You look back up to find him staring at you, unable and unwilling to fight his knowing smirk. “Can I have some of that?”

“You old enough?” Tommy doesn’t even know why he asks, because he already knows the answer.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a sweet little smile, you say, “No. But it’s not like it would be my first time. No cherry to pop here.”

Filthy mouth for a girl your age. Funny, though. It’s kind of endearing. He was an awful lot younger than you are now when he started drinking. The first time he’d blacked out had been his sophomore year of high school—barely sixteen, woke up in the middle of a field two hours away from home. He’d had to use a pay phone to get ahold of Joel to come pick him up. 

And it’s better this way, isn’t it? To do it at home, surrounded by people who care about you. Who will keep you safe. It’s not like one drink’s going to put you on your ass, anyway.

He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, opening the cupboard to find another tumbler. 

You stop him, delicate hand around his wrist. “Are you crazy? That’s evidence.”

Tommy furrows his brows. “What, the cup? I’ll wash it when you’re done. S’alright.”

“Waste of time.” You take the whiskey and twist off the cap, pushing the smooth glass bottle into his hands. “You know how to waterfall without drowning me?”

He likes you, Tommy thinks. Probably more than he should. He gets that familiar tug in his lower abdomen, the one that urges him to move closer, to speak slower. 

It’s a little fucked up, he knows. You’re so young, and odds are your mom will marry into the family, and then you’d be…well, you’d be his niece. Kind of. 

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tommy promises. “Yeah, I got you. Tilt your head back.”

You step further in front of him, spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. He can feel the heat of your skin against his, and it makes Tommy feel dizzy. You tilt your head back, just as he said, but it’s not quite enough. 

He reaches up, cradling your jaw in his hand, thumb pressed against the underside of your chin. He knows he could just tell you, could just use the words ‘a little more’ and you’d do as he asks. But the heated look in your eyes as he touches you so gently…it’s worth it. “Like this,” he tells you, pushing your chin back. “There you go. Now open your mouth.”

It sounds so vulgar in his ears. And Tommy doesn’t mean it that way, but you smile up at him and say, “You’re supposed to take me out on a date first, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffs. “You ever let another man in your mouth and he doesn’t wine an’ dine you first, you let me know so I can take care of him.” Tommy’s only sort of kidding. If you ever asked, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Alright,” you say. “No other man, then. Just you.”

He has to look away, unable to contain his amusement. “Christ, girl.” Tommy shakes his head, delighting in the sound of your giggling. He can feel the vibration of it in his hand, still pressed against the side of your neck. “Ridiculous.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the kitchen, calling Tommy’s name. 

He tries to take a step back, get some distance, but you hook your leg around his to keep him close, bare and exposed to him from the hem of your denim shorts down. Tommy grips your thigh tightly but doesn’t quite push you away. “Yeah, Joel?”

You tilt your head back, perfect this time, just like he showed you.

Tommy shakes his head again, surprised by your brazenness, but he just can’t seem to stop smiling. He lifts the glass bottle and pours the whiskey slowly, holding in his laughter all the while.

“Bring out another slice of that pie,” Joel says from the back door. “The key lime one. Sarah wants some more.”

“Yeah, sure. One slice of key lime,” Tommy calls back, watching with rapt attention as the amber liquid pools in your pretty mouth. And then, more to you than to Joel, he says, “You got it.”

He stops just before your mouth is too full and sets the bottle back on the counter as the back door closes. You tilt your head back down, grimacing as you swallow. You have to do it twice, and Tommy knows that shit burns.

He’d feel bad if it weren’t for the drop of liquid that spills from the corner of your pursed lips, leaving a trail of whiskey as it drips down your chin. It’s such a sight to behold that his mouth waters. It takes every last ounce of his common sense to keep from leaning forward and licking it up.

Instead, he runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, collecting every last drop, and proceeds to suck it clean. “No man left behind,” he says playfully, painfully aware of the slight lift of your hips and the almost unnoticeable arch of your back.

“Right, no. Of course,” you say, words just a little breathless. “It would be, like, alcohol abuse.”

Tommy chuckles as he finally steps away, surprised by the complete lack of guilt he feels. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and finds the remainder of the key lime pie in the fridge.

Your steps echo in the kitchen when you leave, the screen door creaking as you push it open. He catches the words as you speak them under your breath just before disappearing from view. “Certainly not boring anymore.”

Tommy returns to the backyard with Sarah’s key lime pie in one hand and his refilled glass tumbler in the other, a newfound spring in his step.

It doesn’t take long for family dinners to become a tradition. They’re moved to Sunday nights, though, which works a hell of a lot better for Tommy. He usually shows up hungover, sporting a headache and a bad mood.

You’re real good at pulling him out of it, though. Always making those dirty jokes, uncaring of who hears, often earning a scolding from your mother when your humor graces the dinner table. 

Eventually, it takes nothing but a shared glance before you slink off to the kitchen, one at a time, to steal more of Joel’s whiskey. Like a secret, shared language that only the two of you understand. As if the moment the thought crosses his mind, it crosses yours, too. Almost like you’re connected, somehow. 

Sometimes Sunday dinners will be paired with a movie. Often, it’s a film Joel rented for the weekend that he claims has ‘good reviews,’ but never has a satisfying ending.

Tommy doesn’t stay for the popcorn or the candy, though. He doesn’t even stay for the movie, in truth. 

He stays because you always sit beside him on the loveseat.

It always starts innocently enough. You pull the scratchy, old blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both. And then you’re poking his thigh while murmuring comments in his ear.

You’ll say, “God, that guy has the worst fake crying face I’ve ever seen. Looks like he’s constipated.”

And Tommy will laugh, and Sarah will scowl and shush him, and your hand will linger on his knee. 

Halfway through, you’ll shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable. You’ll lean back against the armrest and lay your legs across his lap. And Tommy, impulsive man that he is, will slide his hands between your thighs and rub circles into your soft skin, careful not to move too fast, to be too obvious. 

Once you reach this point of the night, Tommy doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all. He focuses on you instead, on the way your breath catches in your throat when he squeezes hard, on the way your knees slowly drift further and further apart, on the flush that crawls up your cheeks each time he catches your eye.

It never feels quite so innocent when the movie ends and Tommy has to sit on the couch with that blanket over his lap just a little longer than everyone else.

In September, Joel tells him you and your mom are moving in permanently. No more weekend sleepovers. You’re taking the spare room across the hall from Sarah, the one Tommy knows like the back of his hand after crashing in it countless times.

He’s not sure why, but there’s something satisfying about knowing you’ll be there, sleeping in the bed he’s slept in hundreds of times.

Joel asks him to help move some of the furniture, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate to agree. They move the larger things, while you and Sarah excitedly unpack cardboard boxes and talk about sharing clothes and shoes.

Tommy remembers the times Sarah would beg Joel for a sibling when she was younger, and it warms his heart to see she’s finally gotten the sister she’s always wanted.

He sees you a whole lot more often after that. Tommy picks Joel and Sarah up every morning and drops Joel off after work every day.

Most of the time, you’re still sleeping when he shows up at seven. But the evidence of you is littered all over the house; your shoes by the front door, your jacket slung over the dining room chair, your denim shorts on the floor beside the laundry basket in the bathroom. 

And after work, he always comes inside to visit you. Just to see how you’re doing, to see if you’ve had a good day, often making some silly joke just so he gets to hear your sweet laughter. Sometimes he finds you watching one of those teen dramas in the living room, and he loves to poke fun at you for it. “These weird ass vampires again? What, now there’s werewolves, too? How original.”

“Shut up,” you’ll say, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin.’ I know how you love that freaky shit.” The embarrassment will show on your face, and Tommy will laugh but his shoulders will drop as all the stress from the day melts away.

Some nights, he’ll find you in the backyard by the pool with that tiny lime colored bikini on, lying on your belly, soaking up the sun. He’ll try to scare you, try to get close with soundless movements. 

But you always catch him. Can always sense he’s there. “Now, what if I suddenly decided I didn’t want tan lines and took off my top while you tried sneaking up on me? Tits out. Then what?”

Tommy stops just a few paces away from the spot in the grass where you’ve thrown out your beach towel. He towers over you, casting shadows across your spine. “Wouldn’t be nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“You peeping on me, Tommy? Is that where you got your name?”

He snorts, but the idea isn’t half bad. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” The comment gives him pause, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because you’re turning on your back and reaching for the string tied loosely around your neck.

You stare up at him, eyes all glittering and mischievous, hair splayed out in a perfect halo around your head. Tommy knows that he should stop you. Should laugh it off and walk away.

He doesn’t, though. His feet stay firmly planted, pressure building in his lower abdomen, cock pulsing behind the chrome zipper of his jeans.

You tug at the strings until the fabric falls slack. Still covering your chest, but only just barely. 

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

You hook your thumb around the thin string across your ribcage, the only resistance left between this moment and the next, a lone scrap of polyester that stands between Tommy being the fun uncle and the weird one.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t say anything at all. But he admits to himself only that he does want it. That he wants you. To see you, to touch you, to feel you. It’s wrong and perverted and maybe even a little gross, but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

Slowly, those loose-fitting triangles drift lower and lower, almost there. His breath comes fast and labored. The seconds tick by, feeling much longer than they truly are. 

 And then—

“Dinner!” Your mom’s voice carries through the backyard, kind and airy. “Are you staying, Tommy? We’re having pasta tonight.”

Tommy clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at your mom, who stands on the back deck completely oblivious. “Uh, no,” he says. “Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You extend your hand to him, the other held tightly over the fabric of your top to keep it in place. “Help me up,” you say, and he does. 

He watches as you turn your back to him, straining to memorize every last second of this moment because he never, ever wants to forget it. The smoothness of your skin, the shallow slope at the small of your back, the delicious curve of your ass—if this is all he ever gets to see, Tommy wants it stuck in his brain like glue. Permanent.

You move the arm that’s held to your chest, and the green fabric finally drops, exposing you completely. With your back still to him, all Tommy can see is the subtle curves of the sides of your breasts, but it’s enough to make his heart race. You gather your hair at the nape of your neck and ask, “Can you tie it for me?”

Tommy knows you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “Course,” he says, stepping forward, placing his rough, calloused hands on your delicate shoulders. He reaches down your body and gathers the nylon strands between his fingers, careful not to touch you more than what’s necessary.

He wants to, though. Christ, does he. His lungs stutter at the thought alone. It takes everything in him to resist lowering himself to his knees and giving you the tender, loving care you deserve. He’d worship you, Tommy decides. He’d demonstrate how a girl like you is supposed to be treated. Touched slowly, gently—until you beg him for more, until you whimper and cry and remember no words but his fucking name. 

Until his touch is so deeply embedded in your skin that you’d never be able to root him out. 

But he doesn’t give you so much as a clue to what he’s thinking. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, fanning across the back of your neck, and ties the lime colored strands into a perfect bow. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and says, “Be good, now. Alright?”

You turn to face him, that familiar, provocative smirk on your sweet mouth. “Never,” you promise, and he knows you mean it.

Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s speeding the entire way back to his shitty apartment. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even make it inside. He sits behind the wheel of his truck, right in the open, empty parking lot, squeezing his aching cock in his hand, head filled with thoughts of you.

The next time he stays for dinner, your mom makes fajitas. You sit beside him on the steps of the back porch and pick red peppers off his plate.

You and Sarah belly-laugh about some YouTube video you watched together late last night, mimicking impressions of an animatronic voice. And it’s at this very moment that Tommy realizes he might be in real trouble.

Because he wants to fuck you. Thinks about it almost every goddamn night. Can’t even get off with the women he meets at the bars anymore without closing his eyes and recalling that lime bikini or the arch of your back or the way your thighs fit so perfectly in his big hands. It’s a carnal desire. Uncontrollable.

But this? Feeling a sense of elation provoked only by knowing you're here beside him, safe, happy, and fed? It’s something else. Something heavy. Something he can’t quite put a name to because he doesn’t have any experience with it, despite his age.

All Tommy Miller knows is that he smiles just at the sound of your name.

The thought crosses his mind that he should try to keep his distance, and he tells himself he will. He lies in bed thinking about it, conducting a plan in his head while staring at the ceiling at two in the morning. He can’t not see you. But maybe he doesn’t have to be so inviting. Maybe he doesn’t have to seek you out every afternoon, doesn’t have to check in and make sure you’ve had a good day. 

Maybe he sits on the opposite end of the table during Sunday dinner. Maybe when you give him that look and head to the kitchen in search of whiskey, Tommy keeps his ass on the couch.

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He sits on the front steps and glances over his shoulder when the door creaks open and is only a little surprised when you step outside with bare feet, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.

Your hair’s messy, and there’s an imprint from your pillow on your cheek. Still half asleep, you let out the cutest whimper he’s ever heard and crawl right into his lap like it’s where you belong. 

Tommy spreads his knees apart to make room for you, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete and tossing it in the grass. He brackets his arms around your waist and interlocks his fingers at your hip while you curl up against him, stealing his warmth. 

It feels so easy, so natural that he doesn’t fight it for a second. Doesn’t even realize he should. All those big plans he made six hours ago to right this wrong dissolve as easily as sugar in water. He kisses your forehead and holds you close and says, “Hey, sweetheart. You alright? Somethin’ wrong?”

You nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck and murmur sleepily, “Missed you.”

Just two words, but that’s all it takes. He decides that the heavy feeling inside his chest is his to cope with. He won’t make you suffer for it. Can’t imagine ever pushing you away or sitting across from you instead of at your side.

There’s only one word for this, he knows. Only one explanation for why he continuously fights for your laughter, your comfort. Only one reason he’s memorized the pattern of your breathing and would know the touch of your hands with his eyes closed.

It’s not right. 

It’s not, and Tommy knows it, but he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. So, he cradles this feeling in his hands. Holds it gently. Sees it for what it is. 

And then he tucks it away. Locks it up tight and promises never to speak of it. 

Joel takes your mom to Galveston for the weekend on their anniversary. He asks Tommy to keep an eye on you and Sarah, to keep his phone on in case the two of you need anything.

He brings takeout over after work on Friday night, but leaves the two of you to your own devices after that. Tommy remembers being your age and doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t want anyone involved to consider him a fucking babysitter. So he gives you the space he wanted when he was young. Figures if you need him, you’ll call him, and he’ll come running.

The phone doesn’t ring until late Sunday afternoon. 

Joel and your mom are due home in the next few hours, and your voice is panicky on the other end of the line. “Hey. Can you—can you come over? We sort of broke something, and I tried to fix it but I think I only made it worse.”

Tommy’s in his truck before the call even ends. He asks a hundred questions, tries to get some sort of clarification on the way over. But you don’t give much in the way of answers, and his confusion only increases when he pulls into Joel’s driveway and sees you standing on the porch with a trash bag in hand. “Okay, before you come inside, you have to swear to secrecy,” you say.

Tommy’s brows furrow.  “Christ, kid. What the hell’d you do? There a fuckin’ dead body in there?”

You roll your eyes. “Just promise you won’t tell Joel or my mom.”

“Can’t promise nothin’ if I don’t know—”

“Just promise me, Tommy,” you say, frustration building. He’s never seen you this serious, he realizes.

Even if there was a dead body behind the front door, Tommy knows he’d do nothing but protect you from the fallout. And he hates how nervous you look, so the decision comes easily. “Hey.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. “I promise, alright?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cause Sarah’s in there freaking the fuck out cause I called you.”

Tommy follows you inside, mouth open with the intent to ask more questions. But they’re all answered rather quickly when he sees the state of Joel’s living room.

There are half-empty beer cans and red solo cups littered all over every viable surface. Pink and green and orange streamers hang from the ceiling fan and over the stair bannister. Confetti covers the floor and there’s a shattered glass bottle in the kitchen sink, but the most obvious stressor is the six-inch hole in the wall beside the fridge.

Sarah’s footsteps rush down the hall, finger pointed at Tommy. Her eyes are wide, and there’s genuine tension on her face. “Did you swear?”

Tommy raises both hands in surrender. “Cross my heart,” he says, and means it. “Let me take care of the wall first. I’ll get the broken glass after. Don’t wanna see either one of you near it. The last thing we need right now is a trip to the emergency room for stitches.”

Between the three of you, it doesn’t take long. Tommy finds a mesh patch, spackle, and a half-empty gallon of paint in Joel’s garage that matches the kitchen walls. He fills the cavity as quickly as he can, using the box fan from Joel’s bedroom window to speed up the drying process.

You make quick progress, and yet still, he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sound of tires in the driveway.

Both you and Sarah freeze in place, staring at each other with expressions that are somehow both horrified and amused. “We’re so fucked, dude,” you whisper.

But when it comes to hiding things like this, Tommy Miller might just consider himself an expert. “Not just yet,” he swears. “Throw it all out back. I’ll keep them outside for a minute, and then when I leave, I’ll take care of it, alright? Be quick.”

He tries not to laugh as you and Sarah launch into action, running around the room and filling your hands with what remains.

Tommy meets Joel at his truck and asks him how their vacation was, making comments and drawing the discussion out as your mom talks about the aquarium and the restaurants on the pier and how the hotel staff folded your towels into the shape of little swans. 

Joel asks how you and Sarah behaved, asks if there had been any trouble. Tommy shakes his head, leaning against the side of the truck. “Nah,” he lies easily. “They were perfect angels as usual.”

When he can no longer make viable conversation points, he very nosily helps them bring their luggage and souvenirs inside. He finds you and Sarah cuddled up on the couch, both reading books that Tommy knows you’ve never cracked open a day in your life.

You both look so out of place that it almost gives you away. He tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t quite work. Joel stares at him in confusion while you and Sarah glare at him from across the room, and so Tommy dismisses himself quickly. “Gonna head home,” he says. “Have to, uh…check on the neighbor's cat. Watching it for the weekend, too.”

He leaves through the front door, but sneaks around through the gate and quietly grabs the trash from the backyard just as he promised. It takes two trips to get it all, and he throws everything into the back of his truck on the off chance that Joel checks the bin before trash day.

Tommy’s tossing the last one when he sees you come sprinting off the front porch. He thinks maybe he’s forgotten something, or maybe Joel and your mom had seen right through the lie and all that acting was for nothing.

But then you’re throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. 

Holding you is as easy as breathing. He keeps you upright, keeps you close, with his big hands spread wide over your back.

You say, “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” and the air is punched from his fucking lungs. 

It’s the first time you've said it. The very first time, and he feels giddy and nervous, and his stomach gets all tied in knots like he’s some teenage boy. He squeezes you tighter, and his laughter slips out unrestrained this time. 

It’s filthy and dirty and disgusting, but he loves it. “I’ve always got you, darlin',” he says. “You know that.”

You lift your head to look at him, and your pretty mouth is suddenly so close to his that you share the same breath. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I know you do.”

It warms him from the inside out to hear it. He loves being this for you. A holder of secrets, a shoulder to lean on, a solver of problems. He loves that you make him feel needed—wanted in a way he’s never been before.

He loves being your Uncle Tommy. 

You press your forehead to his, and desire creeps up his spine, hot and thick and asphyxiating. His limbs feel heavy, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. It’s painful how badly he wants you. Like a peak he can’t quite reach, an itch he can’t quite scratch. You thread your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Nothing has ever felt as good as it feels to be touched by you, Tommy realizes. And he knows nothing will ever compare. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, sweetheart, I…”

There are no words to say. They get all jumbled in his head, and the only thing he can make out in the chaos is his yearning.

“I know,” you say. Because of course you do. You’ve always known him, have always understood him in a way no one else has. Have always been able to see the look on his face and read the thoughts in his head. “I know.”

Slowly, carefully, you untangle your legs from around his waist. You slide down his body and he knows you can feel it. Knows there’s no way in hell the throbbing of his cock could ever be mistaken as just his belt buckle. 

But you say nothing. Just smile up at him with those hungry eyes and press a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

He drives home in silence.

No music, no news station. Even the windows he leaves up. Tommy can’t think beyond the taste of your oxygen, can’t see past the absolute fucking shit show he’s gotten himself into. He sits in his truck outside his apartment for twenty minutes before he moves again, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

And then, as if he hadn’t almost kissed you in broad daylight, the world keeps turning.

He cleans out the bed of his truck, showers the smell of paint and cheap beer from his skin, and then he goes to work the next morning. He teases Joel about the swan-shaped towels, but there’s no salt to it. Truly, he’s happy for his brother. 

Joel’s been so selfless his whole life. Has given the first half of it up to raise Tommy and the second half to raise Sarah and never complained, not even once.

If anyone in the world deserves that gooey, cliche kind of love that’s just good and uncomplicated and easy, it’s Joel. They really are perfect for each other, he and your mother.

Tommy tries not to think about how his happiness for his brother is paired with a simmering jealousy underneath. Decides to take that green-eyed confession to his grave.

Friday afternoon, one of the electricians Joel hired a few months ago invites Tommy out to a nightclub. “The whole team’s going tomorrow,” he says. “Booze, girls, drugs if you’re into that kinda thing. One of those pop-up ones. It’s in that old warehouse on the other side of town.”

Sounds tempting, he’ll admit. Right up his alley. But Tommy knows himself, and knows that in a place like that he’s likely to go a little overboard. Spend too much money, have too many drinks, wake up the next morning with a girl in his bed he doesn’t remember talking to. And if he does that, he likely won’t make it to Sunday dinner at Joel’s. 

Which means no time with you. 

No stolen, longing glances across the room. No heat of your thigh pressed against his. No thieving fingers on his plate.

Tommy shakes his head. “Thanks, Mike. But, uh…I’m—I’m good.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then Joel asks, real gently, “You got a girl or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“What? Nah, man. No. Definitely not.” Tommy knows his answer comes too quickly, too dismissive for it to be even remotely believable. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not his girl. You just…well, you’re his niece. Sort of.

Joel eyes him suspiciously. All he says is, “Never would’ve imagined you’d skip out on that.” But it’s enough to convince Tommy that his brother doesn’t believe him for even a second.

He lay awake that night, head filled with thoughts of you. Because Tommy knows Joel’s right. Before you’d waltzed into his life and altered its course, he would’ve been all over that. Would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an exclusive warehouse party, even knowing what would likely happen. He’d take the migraine and the dehydration and the overdrafted checking account at just the plausible idea of a good time.

And he’d declined so quickly. That’s the part that gets him. The thing that gives him perspective. He hadn’t even debated it for a single second because the things that once brought him joy pale in comparison to simply being at your side. 

Saturday morning, Tommy makes a phone call. Says he changed his mind and gets the address of the warehouse.

He spends his afternoon running errands, doing everything he knows he won’t have the energy for tomorrow. And then he showers and puts gel in his hair and picks out a nice outfit. Starched blue jeans that fit him nicely and an expensive leather belt and a white t-shirt. He puts on a simple gold chain and sprays his favorite cologne (trying not to think about the fact that it’s only his favorite because one afternoon you’d said he smelled so good he was ‘edible’). 

On the drive over, he has to hype himself up. Has to try and convince himself that this is a good thing. It’s what he needs. To get out there again, to find someone who makes him feel the way you do. Someone nice and age-appropriate and not loosely familial. Someone who doesn’t know Joel or your mother or Sarah or you in any fucking capactiy whatsoever. 

Tommy doesn’t think it’s likely that he’ll find that person here, of course. But there’s a possibility, right? To meet someone who could be the love of his life. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

There are more people than he expects. The warehouse looks almost dark on the outside. Quiet and empty. But once the bouncer checks his ID and lets him through the double doors, the inside is a different world entirely. 

There are three different bars. One on the left wall, one on the right, and one in the very center of the room in the shape of an oval. There’s a big stage with a live DJ and house music playing loud over the speakers. The dance floor is lively and drenched in neon lights and the air is thick with humidity and the smell of liquor.

Excitement trickles into his bloodstream. It’s been a long while since he’s been in a place like this, but Tommy thinks it might just cure him.

All it takes is a quick text before he finds Mike and the rest of the guys from the work site that decided to show up. There’s only a handful of them, but they all split the bill for a round of shots, and Tommy orders a whiskey and coke. 

They’re here for one reason, of course—and Tommy’s no different. They chat for a while, but eventually the guys all peel off from the group one by one after buying a girl a drink and then proceeding to disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Mike has a wife, but even he finds someone to dance with, and eventually Tommy sits at the bar alone. 

He pulls out his phone. Opens your thread of messages and smiles to himself as he scrolls through them. It’s filled with silly photos and dirty jokes and the occasional text from you that reads, ‘miss you today<3’ and his perpetual response, ‘I always miss you more. Be good, sweetheart.’ 

Tommy’s so deeply focused on his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when his drink is pulled right out of his hands.

He looks up with a scowl on his face, not anticipating a fight but preparing for one, and then—

“Can I have some of that?” You don’t wait for his answer before sipping from his glass, leaving lip gloss stains in the same place his mouth was moments ago.

“What in the fuck?” A crease forms between his brows as he takes in your familiar face, backlit by green and yellow lights. “They’re checking IDs at the door,” he says. “How did you even get in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Uncle Tommy. You’re telling me you never had a fake when you were my age?”

Tommy knows he probably should say something…responsible right now. Should probably warn you of the dangers in a place like this, especially for a girl like you. Should be taught about covetous men with wandering hands and powders dropped in drinks and cigarettes laced with God knows what.

But he did have a fake ID at your age and could be found at places a whole lot like this one. Two peas in a fucking pod, he thinks. 

So, instead, he asks, “Did you, uh…come here with someone? Friends or…I don’t know. A boyfriend, maybe?”

He steels himself in preparation for your answer. You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before, but you’re at that age. Probably experimenting a little, sifting through the options to find which one suits you best.

But you’re standing at a bar, all alone, buying your own drink. Shitty fucking option, Tommy thinks.

“Why? You jealous or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Tommy knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. But the sad part is that you’re not too far off, and that’s what has him turning to the bartender and ordering another.

“Got no reason to be jealous,” Tommy answers with a shrug. “Ain’t exactly like I’ve got a spot on the roster, darlin’.”

Your smile falls. Just barely, almost undetectable. But Tommy notices. Would notice it even if you were across the room. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, Tommy Miller.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The words are sharp, icy. You take a long drink from his stolen glass. “What stops you?”

His brows furrow. “Stops me…?”

“From doing what you want to me.” It gives him pause, laying it out so boldly like that. The truth he’s never spoken aloud falls so easily from your tongue. “We get so close,” you elaborate. “Just one moment, one choice away…but you never do it. You always hesitate, and then the moment’s gone. So what stops you?”

His morals, your age, your vibrance. You’re so good, so lively and carefree and happy. How does he explain that he doesn’t want to ruin this? Ruin you? How does he explain that taking that next step with you would tarnish both of you forever? Red to blue, green to yellow. It would never be the same. 

He’s supposed to protect you. Supposed to give you a shoulder to cry on and a soft landing in your time of need and spot you a twenty when you’re short on cash. Supposed to be a guiding hand as an uncle should. He’s not supposed to be…whatever this is.

Tommy’s relieved when the bartender hands him his drink. “You know what stops me,” he says as if it’s obvious, throwing back half the glass in one long drink. The whiskey burns.

“Would it be different if you didn’t know me?”

“Very,” he answers honestly, his mind filling so easily with those obscene possibilities. “But I do know you, so it doesn’t matter.”

That familiar, troublesome smirk finds its way to your glossy lips. You toss back what remains in your glass, set it on the bar, and say, “I’m going to walk away. Okay? And you’re going to have one of those cases of temporary amnesia.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “You’re crazy,” he says.

But you don’t pay him any mind. “You’re going to forget everything you know about me. Every last detail. I’m just some girl at a club, and you’re just some guy at the bar.” You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, staring up at him with starry eyes. Tommy’s heart races behind his sternum, but he can’t stop grinning. “I’m not me, and you’re not you. And tomorrow, you’ll be cured. Everything will go back to normal, just like it was. Okay?”

“S’a real bad idea, darlin’,” he warns.

“So don’t make me do it alone.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s never said no to you in all his life, and it’s just…it’s just one night, right? Maybe it’s what he needs. A slow release of pressure, a controlled indulgence to prevent an explosion.

You see the decision as he makes it. Know what he’s thinking without him speaking a single word. Tommy covers his mouth to stifle his rugged amusement as he watches you take five steps away from him, turn in a complete circle, and then make your way back to the bar.

In a dramatic show of film-esque seduction, you lean against the bar and say, “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt.

You playfully slap his bicep with the back of your hand. “Aren’t you going to ask if you can buy me a drink? Wine and dine me?”

He recalls your very first conversation, that one in Joel’s kitchen when you’d promised not to let any man inside your mouth without properly romancing you first. “Alright, then,” he resigns. “What’re you havin,’ sweetheart?”

“Whiskey,” you say, and he’s not the least bit surprised.

Tommy buys your drink and says, “You look…really beautiful.” You’re wearing a silvery satin dress, sinfully short, tight in all the right places. The straps are thin against your otherwise bare shoulders, and he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down the curve of your collarbone. He thinks it might be the very first time he’s ever touched you here, and it’s not inherently a sexual caress, but it feels so… intimate. Heavy.

You glance down at yourself, at the strappy black heels on your feet. “Thank you,” you say. “But I think it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Fuck yeah it would,” he agrees, chuckling.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Tommy’s never abandoned a drink so fast in his life. He takes your hand in his and says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leads you through the crowd while the DJ plays some bass-heavy pop song he’s heard on the radio a hundred times. He finds a reasonable space and raises your hand above your head, turning you so he can properly appreciate the sight of that dress.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says. “Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s a joke, but Tommy’s being dead serious. You say, “Shut up.” But he sees the way your cheeks heat, even beneath the flashing lights.

You sway your hips in time to the beat, body moving in sync with the music. There’s nothing shy or timid about it; that allure of yours comes so easily, glowing from the inside out.

Tommy’s never been a good dancer, and he knows it, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You seem to find such amusement in his nonsensical movements, not a drop of apprehension trickles into his psyche. 

When you grab his hands and place them on your hips, he lets his instinct take over. Pulls you in close, chests pressed together, his thigh between your legs. You sing the lyrics as if every song is your favorite with a face-splitting grin and those sweet giggles falling from your lips. He pushes you away and spins you around, only to pull you right back. Right into his waiting embrace, right where you belong. Your breath comes fast, but you don’t slow down, and neither does he.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this in his entire life. This open, this full. A strange sort of nostalgia passes through him, a homesickness, missing the moment before it’s even passed, knowing he’ll eventually look back on this night as the best he’s ever had.

The air is hot and stiff, but he breathes in your oxygen, and it gives him life. You move together so seamlessly, and Tommy thinks about how he’d come here seeking the possible love of his life and wonders if it’s fate that you were here.

Fate that you had a fake ID, that you somehow knew about the same exclusive pop-up party he’d declined and then came to anyway. Fate that you’d be here alone, that you’d choose one bar out of three others, and that he just happened to be standing there at the very same time. In a warehouse filled with a thousand strangers, you’d somehow found him.

The songs flow and fade, bleeding from one to the next. You dance and dance, and Tommy watches you—enthralled, obsessed, in love.

He loses track of the time, thinks hours could have passed without his notice, and he wouldn’t have even cared. But when he sees a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, he asks, “Wanna step out for a minute?”

You nod once, and Tommy grabs your hand again and pulls you out of the crowd. He gives the bouncer a tight-lipped smile as you slip out of the wide doors. There’s a designated smoking area near the entrance, and that’s where Tommy leads you. 

The music can still be heard outside, muffled and low. He pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. When he looks up, he finds you watching him, leaning back against the concrete wall of the warehouse, the blue light of the moon reflected in your eyes. 

You outstretch your hand and take the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a slow drag. “Do you bring girls you don’t know home often?”

Tommy can see right through you. Sees that unease beneath your smile, sees the way you feel the need to ask but don’t want the answer, and relates to it. It makes his stomach turn, though. Because he doesn’t ever want you to think of yourself that way, doesn’t want you to think for a single second that this is anything like that.

Because you’re not a girl he doesn’t know. Not just a means to an end. You’re you.

You’re everything.

“I don’t like this,” he admits quietly. “The pretending.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, and when he puts it to his mouth, he can taste the cherry flavor of your lip gloss on the orange filter. “Would you have as much fun, though? With all that added weight.”

Tommy doesn’t know. Has never had a fucking clue about anything in all his life, really. Never knew what he wanted to do or who he wanted to be.

The only thing that has ever been clear to him is you.

“If we stopped pretending,” you say. “What would you do?”

He hesitates.

And then decides not to let this moment pass him.

He places both hands on either side of your face and kisses you hard, hungry. Tasting you feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief. Your bottom lip slots between his so perfectly that he thinks you must have been made for him, that there could never be anyone else. When you let out the most delicious whimper he’s ever heard, Tommy slides his tongue into your mouth and moans.

It feels like time wasted, like this is what he’s been meant to do his whole life, and now he has to make up for the opportunity lost.

When he pulls away, it’s reluctant, still cradling your pretty face in his hands. Your eyes are wide, and your breath is labored. 

“That’s what I would do,” he says.

A minute passes, and you just stare at him, searching his eyes for something. Doubt, maybe. But you won’t find any, because Tommy Miller has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

And then, finally—

“Uncle Tommy?”

No more pretending. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to take me home. Right now,” you say.

“Now?”

“Yes. Right the fuck now. Please.”

He smiles widely. “C’mon, baby.”

Tommy takes you to his truck and buckles you in. The ride back to his apartment feels like a blur. He’s barely had two drinks, but you make him feel drunk.

You can’t keep your hands off him. It only takes three seconds once he pulls onto the road before you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding across the cab. You press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and run your hands over his strong thighs, giggling all the while.

He has to reel you in a little after almost running a red light. “Careful, now,” he says, taking your hand in his free one and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If I die before I get to eat your pussy I’ll come back and haunt the fuck out of you.”

You throw your head back and laugh, but Tommy means it.

It’s a relief when he pulls in the parking lot in one piece, but before he even cuts the ignition, you’re crawling into his lap.

His pretty, desperate girl. 

You kiss him deep, tongue sliding against his, hips tilting over the already hard cock in his jeans. He could cum just like this, Tommy knows, with you on top of him and your hands tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. You smell sweet and seductive, and he can think of nothing beyond this singular moment.

“Let’s just do it right here,” you say, panting, hands sliding beneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, please.”

There are no words to describe how much it satisfies him to hear it, to hear you beg for him. But you deserve better than this. Deserve so much more than a back seat fuck. He wants to give you everything, wants to give you all of him. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says. Because he does. “Wanna see you in my bed, though.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and Tommy uses it to his advantage, holding you close as he quickly gets out of the truck and locks it behind him. You’re a giggling mess, pressing kisses to his face as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to his apartment. “You’re so handsome,” you say. “Have I ever told you that?” 

“A hundred times,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “But one more won’t hurt.”

His apartment is a mess. There are dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor and an empty plate on the coffee table, but just seeing you here makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He begins to wonder if this is where you’re meant to be; taking up room in his space, kicking off your shoes at the front door.

Tommy’s cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

“Kiss me again,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

He does. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue licking into your sweet mouth, savoring the taste of what remains of your shimmery lip gloss.

Tommy’s hands drift lower, squeezing at the round globes of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. One of his hands dips between your thighs, feeling the soft lace you wear beneath that sinful dress. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Been dreamin’ about it.”

“You dream about me?”

He wraps his big arms around your waist and lifts you. “Every fuckin’ night,” he admits, turning towards his bedroom. 

Doesn’t make it very far, though. Because when you wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him, Tommy lets out a low sound from somewhere deep inside his chest before laying you back against the kitchen island. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs to himself. Close enough, he thinks.

You look so fucking pretty like this. All sprawled out for him, flushed with your swollen lips parted and your pupils blown wide. He’d always known it would be a sight to behold, but this…it’s something else entirely. 

Cataclysmic. Divine sacrilege.

He leans over you and kisses your chest softly. “Tell me you want this,” he says. “That you want me.”

Your answer comes fast. “I want you, Uncle Tommy.” 

And he feels a deep-seated desire swirl low in his abdomen. Because it’s fucked up. He knows it is. Is completely, lucidly aware that this is all wrong. Filthy and twisted.

Yet he wants it anyway. Maybe not despite it, but because of it. Pleasure heightened with this sick perversion.

He slides his hands under your dress and hooks his fingers around the lace, pulling it down your legs. You’re so wet for him he can see it stick, webs of slick snapping as he groans at the sight. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I need you so bad it hurts,” you tell him. “Get so wet just thinking about it.” Your voice is low and desperate, almost a cry. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s going to take care of you, okay? Gonna make that ache go away.”

He kisses you slowly. Starts at your ankle and slowly works his way up. He kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, savoring the moment not for you but for him, leaving indentations of his teeth in your flesh. A memory, he thinks. A promise that you’ll think of this tomorrow and the next day. That you’ll remember the way he made you feel.

Then he’s rolling your dress up your hips, delighting in the way you get all shy and squirmy as he takes you in, unashamed in his study. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

He surges forward, licking through your folds. memorizing the way your slit feels beneath his tongue because he never wants to forget this. Never wants to forget the way you gasp beneath him or the way your hands pull at his hair. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.” he kisses your clit. Once, twice, before sucking it between his lips. He spreads your legs wide and presses his mouth to you, nose crinkling against your pubic bone. 

He could die here a happy man. You taste divine, better than anything his mind could have ever conjured up. He licks and sucks until you’re writhing, and when he presses two fingers gently into your opening, your back arches off the counter top. 

Tommy hooks two fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot, your perfect moans echoing through his kitchen. He wraps an arm around your thigh and pulls you roughly to the edge of the counter. His tongue is warm and wet as he uses it to circle your clit, groaning against you, sending vibrations through your body.

His name falls from your mouth between gasping breaths. You grind yourself against him, making a delicious mess of his face and pulling at the roots of his hair.

He can feel you clenching around his fingers, chasing that high, chasing release. Tommy decides to give you a little encouragement. “Go on, now,” he mutters against your spit-soaked clit. “Take it, baby. You deserve it. Been so fuckin’ good for so long. Deserve a reward.”

Your breath halts, just for a second. And then you let out a long, salacious moan and your legs tremble around his head. Tommy feels your walls pulse around his two fingers, squeezing them hard. “Fuck, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he praises, flicking his soft tongue gently over your clit, fingers working you through it, pressing in deep. “There you go, shhh. Just like that.”

He looks up at you, branding this image in his brain. The arch of your back, the strain in your throat as you desperately take in oxygen, the way the shimmery, silver sequins on your dress cast little rainbows across his apartment. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he says. “So pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy.”

Only when your writhing stops and your breath evens out does he slow the rhythm of his fingers, caressing your insides slowly, gently, making sure he coaxes it all out of you and delighting in the little whimpers you make in response. And then he carefully slides them out of you, digits slick and glossy with your release. Your eyes are glued to his as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, not wasting a single drop. That smirk of yours forms as you say, breathless, “Kiss me.”

Tommy grips the back of your neck and pulls you forward, grinning as he gives you what you need. He kisses you eagerly, tongue finding yours, licking into your mouth.

“Can taste it,” you mutter, giggling against his lips. “I made a real mess of you.”

In more ways than one, Tommy thinks. “Tastes fuckin’ good, though,” he says. “Just gettin’ started, anyway.”

He lifts you off the counter, laughing as you squeal in surprise when he tosses you over his shoulder so easily. You fist your hands in the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt, seeking stability. “I bet you have blue sheets,” you say.

Tommy snorts. “You’ve thought about the color of my sheets?” Such a simple thing, an irrelevant part of his life that has never mattered to him in any capacity.

“Duh,” you say as if it’s obvious, and Tommy’s suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. He likes that you think about it—his sheets, his bedroom, him. Likes knowing he’s not been alone in his mania. “Always knew I’d end up in them.”

He laughs darkly as he pushes open the door and shoulders you onto his bed, right in the center of his navy blue sheets.

You smile up at him, beaming with pride, and he shakes his head as you say, “Told ya.”

It doesn’t surprise him that you’d guessed correctly because you know him. Better than anyone else ever has. Because you and Tommy are one and the same, two sides to the same twisted coin. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he teases, crawling over you, knees braced on either side of your thighs. “S’enough outta you, know it all.”

You open your mouth, probably to make some filthy joke, but whatever it is never sees the light of day because Tommy hooks his fingers around the thin straps of your dress and pulls them down your shoulders. He tugs at the fabric until your breasts are bared to him, pretty and soft and perfect.

He cups them tenderly in his hands, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of your nipples. He watches goosebumps rise across your chest, and it brings a sick smile to his face. “S’that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes heavy. “Touch me more. Wanna feel you.”

Tommy’s never heard a more tempting request in his life. He leans over and presses his mouth to your chest, hands roaming over your skin. He takes your nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sighing against you at the sound of your moan.

He pushes your dress down to your hips and lets you shimmy the rest of the way out of it, kicking the shiny fabric onto the floor. You lift your hips to meet his, and his cock is so hard and needy that the smallest bit of friction nearly knocks him on his ass. “Shit,” he hisses, trailing kisses across your chest, spreading his worship. He plans to take his time, wants to see just how close he can get you with just his mouth on your tits.

But then your voice breaks through your breathy whimpers. “Uncle Tommy,” you say. “Wait. Wait, I—”

He stops, pulling back, giving you room to breathe. The coldness of fear begins to trickle in as he anticipates your next words. Has he gone too far? Said too much, moved too fast?

“I want you in my mouth,” you say with those pretty eyes, and he convinces himself he’s dreaming. “Please.”

Because this can’t be real. There’s no way in hell he’s looking at you, naked in his bed, begging to suck his cock. His pretty, perfect girl. Tommy runs his hands down his face, and a sound of utter disbelief escapes him. But then he’s nodding, just as eager. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “Course you can.”

Your responding smile sends a shiver down his spine. Carefully, you move from beneath him, hands tugging at the buckle of his leather belt. He can do nothing but watch with reverence as you unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper, tongue wetting your lips. 

The air gets stuck in his lungs as you reach into his boxers and pull him out with gentle fingers. It’s hypnotic, the way you touch him. You press a sweet, chaste kiss to his tip and with that one touch alone he’s already fighting for his fucking life.

But he lets you do what you want to him. Lets you move at your own pace. Tommy’s grateful you’re slow in your pursuit, though. Tasting him, tongue gliding down the underside of his shaft, savoring.

When you finally take him fully in your mouth, his head falls back and he sighs deeply. It’s almost too much to feel you and look at you, but Tommy doesn’t want to miss it. He strokes your hair as you hollow out your cheeks and greedily swallow him down. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look so good with my dick in your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Just like that.”

You suck harder, take him in deeper. His vision blurs, and pleasure builds and builds and builds, rushing to the surface of his skin. 

“Easy,” he warns. You look at him through your lashes, lips parted around his heavy cock. It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever fucking seen and it’s going to have him cumming down your throat. “Easy, easy, easy—” Tommy takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back, dick pulsing as he watches strands of your spit stick to him. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Pure, sprightly giggles bubble from your glossy lips. So beautiful it hurts him. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

You move across his bed, crawling back towards the headboard. Your voice is low, a seductive whisper as you tell him, “I want you to take off your clothes.”

He does. Starts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then he takes off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, discarding them beside your pretty little dress.

“I want you to come over here and kiss me,” you say. Tommy moves on instinct, crawling towards you. He’s nearly there when you speak again, mouth hovering over yours. “And then I want you inside me, Uncle Tommy.”

He shivers as you spread your legs slowly, putting on a sweet little show. All for him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. You slide your hands down your body, that troublesome look on your face, teasing. As you glide your fingers through your pussy, slick and glossy, you continue. “Wanna watch it go in. Wanna see it here,” you say, pressing hard against your lower abdomen.

Tommy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Has never had any problem satisfying all your needs. And that doesn’t change now, either.

He kisses you slowly. Meaningfully. There’s intent behind it. Love. Adoration. He hopes you can feel it. Hope you can sense it.

With his forehead against yours, he lines himself up at your entrance. He cradles your face with his hand. Says, “Tell me if it hurts.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, and his hands shake. You watch it, just as you wanted. Watch his cock split you open, watch your pretty pussy make room for him. And Tommy watches you, delighting in the way your eyes go wide and watery, in the way your lips part in a gasp.

He sinks into you all the way, hips pressed tight against yours. And when he pulls back out his cock is covered in your slick. “How’s it feel, baby?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving. “S’good,” you answer. “So fucking…God. You’re so big.”

Tommy tilts his hips, quickly finding a cadence that makes you cry out his name. You feel like heaven. Warm and wet, soaked. The sounds echo in his bedroom, obscene and filthy. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple. Every part of you he can reach. “This what you wanted? Hm?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Shh, s’alright, darlin’. Ain’t gotta beg me. Uncle Tommy’s got you.” Your silky walls grip his cock tighter as he says it, and he knows then and there that you’re the same in this, too. Knows that you like the perversion, the corruption, the filth. 

He thrusts harder, deeper. Your back arches, and your hand reaches for his. Tommy laces his fingers through yours and has never felt closer to anyone in his life. You say, “I needed you,” and he agrees.

“I know, baby. Me too. I’m here now. Gonna make you cum for me.” He uses his free hand and presses it to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You do. His perfect girl. He presses his fingers past your lips, into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them, coating them in your spit. And then he snakes his arm between you and circles your clit, tortorously gentle. “Oh my fucking God,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

But Tommy won’t have it. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Wanna see the way you look cumming on Uncle Tommy’s cock, huh?” You do as he says, and a tear rolls down your cheek. “There you go. Just like that. Good job.”

“Tommy,” you whimper, pussy fluttering around him. He’s not going to last long, not like this. Not when you cry for him so beautifully. 

He circles your clit faster, fighting off the bliss that creeps up his spine. “Right here,” he says, kissing your tears away, salt clinging to his lips. “Stay right here with me, sweet girl. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well for me.”

Your fingernails dig into the back of his hand and he knows you’re there, can feel your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Cum with me,” you say, breath ragged. “Cum with me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” you tell him, voice pleading. “I’m on birth control, I swear. Just…I want to feel it, Uncle Tommy. Want you to fill me up.”

This will damn him, he knows.

“Please, please, please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum, oh my God—”

He’d do anything for you.

“Always gonna give you what you want,” he says. “My favorite girl.”

Your eyes are starry as you crest that high, somehow even more exquisite than the first time. Sweet moans fill the room, and your thighs shake as your release rocks through you, spine bending off his blue sheets. You cry out his name, and that’s what sets him over the edge.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with thick, sticky ropes of cum. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he knows he’ll chase this high for the rest of his fucking life. “That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Such a filthy little thing, beggin’ for your Uncle Tommy to fill you up with his cum. You’re so perfect for me.”

He gives you every last drop, thrusting in deep until his cock is so overstimulated it almost hurts. But he circles your clit with his spit-soaked fingers until you come down, walls spasming uncontrollably around him.

When he finally pulls out of you, he does it gently. And then he collapses on the bed beside you, panting to try and slow the racing of his heart. He turns his head to look at you and catches your eye, and he’s not quite sure why, but you both grin and just laugh.

There’s no dirty joke or any sort of amusement. Nothing’s funny, but Tommy supposes he’s just…well, he’s happy. Seeing you on the right side of his mattress, all naked and fucked out and satisfied, it just feels so right.

And he knows it’s not. Knows it’s so far removed from the idea of right that it’s absurd, but you’re stifling your laughter behind your hands and turning away from him to try and find some sort of composure, and Tommy thinks maybe he just doesn’t fucking care.

Doesn’t care about right or wrong, doesn’t care about what anyone would think or say. Because how could he when you’re at his side? How could anything else on God’s green earth ever matter to him as much as you?

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

But this is enough, Tommy thinks. This one night. A stolen moment in time that will forever belong only to the two of you, where nothing and no one matters beyond his apartment. The life here, the love between you, encased so perfectly in these four walls…it’s a gift. One he doesn’t deserve. Sweet as maple syrup and warm as the hot summer sun.

And yet it’s been given to him anyway, and Tommy Miller’s going to cherish it for the rest of his life.

When you finally turn back to him, you lie on your side with a face-splitting grin. “We’re so fucked,” you say.

Tommy laughs. “Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, pulling you close. He wraps his arms around your waist and treasures the weight of your head on his chest. “Totally, completely fucked.”

“Well, at least we’re together.”

He smiles. Presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “At least there’s that.”

Two peas in a fucking pod.

(ermmmm ik i said i wanted to write more single part fics this year but if literally just one person asks for a part two I'll cave)

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[cbeargyu]

just a bet for you

summary: you weren’t the prettiest, the smartest, or the kind of girl people noticed—until heeseung did. he gave you his umbrella on a rainy day, his attention when no one else cared, and eventually, his love... or so you thought. two months in, after giving him your first kiss, your first time, your whole heart—he tells you the truth: it was never real. just a bet. just you.

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, high school au, emotional hurt, heartbreak, unrequited love, coming-of-age, betrayal, dark romance.

warnings: emotional manipulation, virginity loss, deception, heartbreak, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, crying during sex, aftermath of intimacy, mentions of emotional neglect, emotionally intense scenes, toxic dynamics, vulnerability, strong language.

wc: 3,6k

notes: hiiii🫶🏻 lately i’ve been obsessed with enhypen🤭 and i really want to write so much about them 🖤 i have 3 fanfics in mind with heesung as the bad boy😈🔥 and this is the first one! i’m also thinking about making a part two for this story, but what do you guys think? should i or not? 🤔🤫 if you want to be on the taglist i’ll make for the next chapter and the upcoming heesung or enhypen fanfics in general, please comment! thank you so much and i hope you enjoy 🥹

PART 2 HERE.

“y/n,” he said, his tone flat. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

your heart paused.

you sat up a little, adjusting the blanket around your chest, still half-dazed, still sore. “what do you mean?”

he didn’t look at you. “this wasn’t my first time.”

you blinked. “oh… okay. i mean… i didn’t think it was. that’s fine.”

but he shook his head, slow and almost impatient. “no. you’re not getting it.”

you tilted your head, your heart picking up speed. “then explain it to me.”

his fingers laced together, elbows on his knees. he stared down at the floor like it was easier to talk to than you.

“let’s stop this,” he said suddenly. “we should end it here.”

you blinked hard, your breath catching in your throat. “what?”

he finally turned a little, just enough for you to see the side of his face. his profile was blank, almost bored.

“from the beginning, you were like a ghost,” he said. “always hovering, always watching. pretending our meetings were accidents, like you weren’t constantly following me around. like you weren’t desperate for me to see you.”

his words were sharp, colder than anything he’d ever said to you.

“i tolerated it,” he added, his tone dry. “because i was curious. i wanted to see how far you’d go.”

your eyes were wide now, and you sat up straighter, the blanket clutched tightly over your chest. “heesung… what are you talking about?”

he turned his head, finally meeting your gaze over his shoulder.

“i’m not the person you think i am.”

your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“this was a game. a bet,” he said softly. “i wanted to see how far you’d go for me.”

you couldn’t breathe.

his eyes met yours. colder than you’d ever seen them. lifeless. cruel.

“now i know.”

it had been raining for most of the day. the kind of slow, persistent drizzle that soaked through your socks and left your skin clammy even beneath your uniform. your cheap umbrella, the one you’d had since middle school, finally gave out around lunch—one of the ribs snapped in the wind, and you watched helplessly as the fabric peeled away like skin from bone. you’d tried to make it work anyway, stubbornly clutching it on your way out of the school gates, books held close to your chest, shoes squelching against the pavement. you didn’t expect anyone to stop. no one ever did.

“hey,” a voice said, soft but clear under the rain.

you turned, blinking up at him—lee heesung. tall, dark-haired, and slightly damp around the collar, holding a black umbrella that looked way too expensive for a high school student. you recognized him from the class next door. everyone did. he was the kind of boy who didn’t need to try to be noticed. always the top of the leaderboard in physics and literature, always the first pick for any team. but he wasn’t loud. he wasn’t even particularly social. he just… existed above the rest, like a story you weren’t allowed to touch.

he stepped closer and tilted his umbrella slightly to cover you. “yours broke?”

you hesitated, stunned by the simple question. “yeah. it’s, um… useless now.”

he didn’t say anything else. just held out the umbrella handle to you.

“take it,” he said. “i’m not going far. you need it more.”

you stared at him, thinking maybe he was joking, or testing you somehow, but his face was unreadable. not smiling, not smug. just… calm.

“thank you,” you murmured, reaching out for it like it might vanish if you moved too quickly.

he gave a slight nod, and with that, he walked off into the rain, hands in his pockets, hair already sticking to his forehead. no explanation. no follow-up. just gone.

after that, you started seeing him everywhere.

in the mornings, standing by the vending machine with his headphones in. at lunch, sitting by the window, sketching in a notebook you couldn’t see. after school, waiting at the bike rack with his fingers curled loosely around the handlebars. he never looked for you, never waved, but your eyes found him anyway—like a habit. a quiet kind of orbit.

you never thought someone like him would look back.

so when he asked you out—casually, almost like a dare—you didn’t think twice.

“go out with me,” he said one afternoon as you gathered your things after the study group he’d joined last minute. his tone was flat, but his eyes met yours, unwavering.

you blinked. “what?”

“you heard me,” he replied, shoving a pen into his backpack. “i’m asking you out, y/n.”

your heart flipped painfully. “why?”

he shrugged. “why not?”

you said yes. of course you said yes.

and that’s how it started. not with roses or confessions, but a strange, slow burn of moments stitched together—he holding your books when your arms were full, walking you home in silence, waiting for you after school without saying he would. he never called you ‘babe’ or held your hand in front of others. he didn’t kiss you at your locker or brag about you to his friends. but he showed up. when you were sick, he brought medicine. when you had your period, he offered his hoodie because he noticed the way you sat curled in discomfort. when you failed a quiz, he helped you study without a word of judgment.

and slowly, you fell.

you started staying up late just to replay your conversations in your head. you started writing his name in the margins of your notes. you started hoping—stupidly, recklessly—that maybe he liked you back in that quiet, complicated way he existed.

he never said “i love you.” but he looked at you, sometimes, like you were worth noticing. like maybe you were real.

you’d never known love could be so quiet.

no fireworks, no racing heartbeat. just a gentle kind of knowing—the way heesung would always wait for you at the gate, pretending he just happened to be there. the way he never forgot your schedule, even when you did. the way he carried your bag without asking when your shoulders hurt, or opened your water bottle for you during breaks without saying a word. he never called attention to it. never asked for thanks.

but you noticed. you noticed everything.

like how, when you got caught in the rain again a week later, he didn’t offer you his umbrella this time—he just pulled you under his without hesitation, one arm around your shoulder, holding you close so you wouldn’t get wet. you walked home together like that, your cheeks burning the whole time, your heart making up songs from the rhythm of his steps.

sometimes he’d do small things—thread your charger through the desk so you wouldn’t trip over it, order your favorite bread at the convenience store before you even told him, peel tangerines during break and place one gently on your notebook without ever looking up.

he never said “i care about you.” but he didn’t need to.

one afternoon, the two of you sat at the far corner of the school library, hidden behind tall shelves and rows of dusty encyclopedias. finals were close, and he’d offered to help you review for the math test. you tried to focus, but your brain was mush and his cologne smelled warm and clean, and the way he leaned over your notebook made your breath catch.

you were mid-sentence—trying to understand the difference between permutations and combinations—when he reached over, slowly, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

you froze. his fingertips brushed your cheek, barely touching, but it made your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t have words for. your lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.

he didn’t move away.

his gaze lingered on your face, eyes dark and unreadable, his hand resting now on the edge of the table between you. his thumb brushed against your pinky finger.

“you’re not dumb,” he said softly, and for a second you thought you’d imagined it.

“what?”

he gave you a look, the kind that made your heart ache—equal parts tired and amused. “you always look like you’re about to cry when you study. like the numbers are bullying you.”

you laughed under your breath, biting your lip, and that’s when it happened.

he leaned in, not suddenly, not dramatically—just a slow tilt forward, like gravity had made the decision for him. your lips met in the space between breath and thought.

your first kiss.

his lips were warm, softer than you expected, moving carefully, almost unsure, like he was figuring it out at the same time as you. your eyes fluttered shut, your hand clenched the side of your chair. the world slowed down into the taste of mint and something faintly sweet, into the way his nose brushed yours, into the tiny breath he gave against your mouth like he didn’t want to stop.

and when he pulled away, just slightly, he didn’t speak.

neither did you.

you just stared at each other, your forehead almost touching, and for once the silence wasn’t awkward—it was full. full of all the things you didn’t have to say. his thumb grazed your knuckle once more before he picked up your pencil and returned it to your hand, turning the page of the textbook like nothing had happened.

but everything had changed.

you walked out of the library with his fingers loosely tangled in yours, and no one said a word.

still, you felt them—eyes watching from across the courtyard.

jay and sunghoon stood by the vending machines, not talking, just looking. their uniforms unbuttoned at the collar, hands in their pockets, that same slight smirk on both of their faces. not friendly. not surprised. almost… entertained.

you squeezed heesung’s hand tighter, but he didn’t look at them. or at you.

just ahead.

it had been two months since you started dating heesung. one month exactly since your first kiss in the library.

you still remembered how it felt—his lips soft and warm, the way the world had gone silent around you. since then, your relationship had moved slowly, carefully. there were more kisses, most of them stolen, tucked between hallways and shadows. he'd press a kiss to your temple before leaving, or lean in suddenly when you were mid-sentence, just to shut you up. it was never rushed. never loud.

and neither was he.

heesung remained the same. quiet, composed, hard to read. at first, it made you nervous—made you wonder if he liked you as much as you liked him. but then he'd hold your hand under the desk, or show up with your favorite snack without being asked, or carry your bag without saying a word. you realized he just... wasn’t expressive the way other people were. he loved in quiet actions, not words. and you accepted him like that.

maybe that was why, one night, when your parents were away visiting your aunt, you invited him over.

you told him you just wanted to watch a movie. but that wasn’t the whole truth.

the truth was, you wanted to feel closer. to give him something no one else had. you were scared, but more than that—you were sure. sure of him. sure of the way you felt when he looked at you like you mattered. sure of the way his hand fit around yours, like it was meant to be there.

you sat beside him on the couch, movie playing in the background, but your thoughts were louder than the dialogue on screen.

you turned to him, heart in your throat.

“heesung… can i tell you something?”

he looked at you with those eyes that always made your chest ache. “of course.”

you swallowed. “i want to do it. with you.”

his brows rose slightly. “do what?”

you gave a tiny, nervous laugh. “you know what.”

his face changed then—eyes widening just enough to show surprise, lips parting. “y/n…”

“i mean it,” you said, quieter now. “i want my first time to be with you.”

he blinked, frozen, like his brain was buffering.

“are you sure?” he asked after a beat. “like... really sure?”

you nodded, cheeks burning. “yeah. i thought about it a lot.”

he hesitated again, then slowly reached for your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“okay,” he whispered. “let’s go to your room.”

you stood on shaky legs, leading him down the hallway, heart pounding so hard you thought he might hear it. your hands were clammy, but his stayed steady. when you opened the door, he walked in slowly, glancing around, and then turned back to you.

“i didn’t bring anything,” he said carefully. “condoms. i didn’t think…”

your cheeks flamed. “i bought some.”

he blinked again. “you did?”

“yeah,” you said quickly. “just in case. i didn’t want us to have to stop because of that. i mean—i wasn’t sure if we would, but i thought maybe—”

“hey,” he said softly, and you stopped rambling.

his smile was small. real. “thank you.”

he stepped closer, touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, and leaned in. the kiss was slow—deeper than the others. your hands found the fabric of his hoodie, clinging gently. he tugged it off, then let you pull off yours. piece by piece, the layers fell away, until you were both under the covers, your skin buzzing with nerves and warmth.

his fingers traced your ribs, your hips, your thighs—always slow, always asking without words. he kissed your collarbone, then your chest, trailing soft kisses downward as if he were learning you by heart. you flinched when he touched between your legs, your whole body tensing. his hand paused.

“it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’ll go slow.”

you nodded, voice caught in your throat.

he kissed you again, his lips tender, grounding you. when he finally pushed in, your fingers dug into his shoulders, breath hitching with the pressure, the burn. it hurt—not sharp, but stretching, unfamiliar. you let out a shaky whimper and he stopped instantly, resting his forehead against yours.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

“no,” you breathed. “i want to.”

he moved carefully, in and out, his breath brushing your cheek, his hands cradling your face. there were no moans. no pornographic noises. just small sounds—your sharp gasps, the way his breath caught every time your walls clenched around him. his body stayed close to yours, his chest pressed to yours, like he couldn’t bear to be apart even for a second.

it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t easy. but it was yours.

and when it was over, he didn’t say anything. he just pulled you into his arms, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your temple.

and you thought, this is what it means to be loved.

you were wrong.

your body ached in a way that was unfamiliar—tender, raw, but not painful. just... used. and strangely, you didn’t hate the feeling. you were lying on your stomach, skin still flushed, the thin sheet draped over your lower half, your hair sticking slightly to the back of your neck. everything felt distant and slow, like the room had been dipped in warm honey. your breathing hadn’t completely settled yet.

outside, the sky had gone soft and gray, rain still tapping gently against the windows of your bedroom.

you heard soft footsteps from the hallway. heesung reappeared, shirtless but already in his boxers and jeans, carrying a small bowl of soup and a spoon. he didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of the bed and gently tapped your shoulder.

“hey,” he whispered, as if the moment needed to stay quiet. “you need to eat something.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and slow. he scooped a bit of soup with the spoon and held it near your lips, waiting. your cheeks heated at the intimacy of it, but you let him feed you—small, careful bites, while he watched in silence. his hair was slightly messy, lips pink from kissing you earlier, but his expression was unreadable. calm. like always.

you smiled softly, trying to break the silence, your voice small. “i’m really glad it was with you.”

he didn’t respond.

he just placed the bowl gently on your lower back, resting it there like he couldn't bother to find another surface. the warmth seeped through the blanket, grounding you in place.

you frowned, confused, your lips parted to say something—but then he turned his body slightly, giving you his back as he sat fully on the edge of the bed. the air shifted.

“y/n,” he said, his tone flat. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

your heart paused.

you sat up a little, adjusting the blanket around your chest, still half-dazed, still sore. “what do you mean?”

he didn’t look at you. “this wasn’t my first time.”

you blinked. “oh… okay. i mean… i didn’t think it was. that’s fine.”

but he shook his head, slow and almost impatient. “no. you’re not getting it.”

you tilted your head, your heart picking up speed. “then explain it to me.”

his fingers laced together, elbows on his knees. he stared down at the floor like it was easier to talk to than you.

“let’s stop this,” he said suddenly. “we should end it here.”

you blinked hard, your breath catching in your throat. “what?”

he finally turned a little, just enough for you to see the side of his face. his profile was blank, almost bored.

“from the beginning, you were like a ghost,” he said. “always hovering, always watching. pretending our meetings were accidents, like you weren’t constantly following me around. like you weren’t desperate for me to see you.”

his words were sharp, colder than anything he’d ever said to you.

“i tolerated it,” he added, his tone dry. “because i was curious. i wanted to see how far you’d go.”

your eyes were wide now, and you sat up straighter, the blanket clutched tightly over your chest. “heesung… what are you talking about?”

he turned his head, finally meeting your gaze over his shoulder.

“i’m not the person you think i am.”

your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“this was a game. a bet,” he said softly. “i wanted to see how far you’d go for me.”

you couldn’t breathe.

his eyes met yours. colder than you’d ever seen them. lifeless. cruel.

“now i know.”

he stood slowly, facing you fully now, his expression unreadable—but his lips curved slightly. a smirk. sharp and poisonous.

“i never liked you.”

you didn’t realize you were crying until your vision blurred. the tears were hot, sliding down your cheeks before you could stop them, before you could even understand what was happening. the pain didn’t come like a stab. it came like a flood, slow and drowning. it stole your breath.

he watched it happen.

he watched the way you crumbled, and he said nothing.

he watched you cry like it meant nothing. like you were a stranger. your tears fell silently at first, but now they were endless—hot and unstoppable, dripping down your cheeks, your chin, soaking the sheet you clung to.

he stood, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and began buttoning it slowly.

“i’ll go now,” he said, voice cool, almost bored. “don’t look for me after this.”

you blinked rapidly through the tears, vision warped. “w–what?”

he didn’t answer. he just walked toward your bedroom door, not once looking back.

panic bloomed inside your chest. your throat closed up.

“heesung,” you called out, voice cracking. “wait—please—”

you wrapped the blanket around your body in a desperate tangle, stumbling off the bed. your bare feet hit the cold floor and you tried to run after him, but your foot slipped on the rug. your body twisted and collapsed hard onto the floor, your elbow hitting first, then your hip. pain shot through your side, but it didn’t matter.

“heesung!” you screamed, half from pain, half from the chaos exploding inside your heart.

he was already halfway down the stairs.

he didn’t look back. he didn’t even flinch.

you tried to stand, but your knees buckled. the blanket slipped from your shoulders, and you dragged it back up, wrapping it tight around your trembling body as you crawled toward the top of the stairs.

you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. everything was shattering too fast.

through the blur of tears, you saw his figure reaching the front door, calm and unbothered, like this wasn’t your ending.

“liar,” you whispered.

your lips trembled.

“liar…” you said again, louder now. “you’re a liar!”

your voice broke.

you’re a liar, you’re a liar, you’re a liar.

you thought about every moment. every touch. every kiss. the way he fixed your hair behind your ear in the library. the way he fed you soup with careful hands. the way he carried your bag when your shoulder was sore. the way his fingers trembled the first time he held your hand. his silence. his warmth.

he didn’t speak much... but his actions—his actions...

you curled your fingers into the blanket, knuckles white.

“you didn’t mean it...” you whispered. “you couldn’t have meant it.”

he opened the front door.

“heesung!”

your scream echoed down the stairs like something broken inside you cracked open.

he paused—just for a second. and then he stepped outside.

gone.

your knees gave out completely, body slumping on the cold wood of the hallway floor, chest heaving, face wet and burning. you felt like a child. like someone ripped the light out of you with bare hands.

“i hate you...” you sobbed.

your voice was hoarse, nearly gone.

“i hate you...” you whispered again, softer now.

but deep down, that wasn’t the truth.

not yet.

you wanted to hate him. you needed to.

but all you could do was cry.

[cherry-lala]

Some things Don't End, They Echo

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Female! Reader x Remmick  

Genre: Southern Gothic, Supernatural Thriller, Dark Romance, Psychological Horror. Word Count:11.4k+

Summary: The dance continues in a world unraveling at the seams, where ghosts wear familiar faces and every silence hides a price. As Y/N moves through shadows thick with hunger and half-truths, she must decide what kind of freedom is worth the ache—and whether redemption can bloom in soil soaked with sorrow.

Content Warning: Emotional and physical abuse, manipulation, supernatural themes, implied and explicit violence, betrayal, transformation lore, body horror elements, graphic depictions of blood, intense psychological and emotional distress, explicit sexual content (including bloodplay, coercion, and power imbalance), references to domestic conflict, mind control, and religious imagery involving damnation and corrupted salvation. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Here it is—Part 2 (and the final chapter) to The Devil Waits Where Wildflowers Grow, the one so many of y’all asked for. I enjoyed watching this, even with exams beating me around. Writing it was a comfort, a catharsis—and your support on Part 1 meant the world. Thank you for every comment, like, and reblog. You kept me going. As always, I hope it haunts you just right. Again, Likes, reblogs, and Comments are always appreciated.

Taglist: @alastorhazbin, @jakecockley, @dezibou

The room smelled like lavender and starch, thick with the stillness only Sunday mornings knew.

Mama hummed a hymn under her breath, the notes trembling like moth wings in the golden light.

I stood still in front of the mirror, hands folded over the folds of my white cotton dress.

White gloves. White socks with the little lace trim.

The picture of innocence, shaped by hands that still believed innocence could be preserved if tied tight enough.

Mama’s fingers, careful and calloused, smoothed my sleeves. She tucked a wild curl behind my ear and smiled at me through the mirror — a tired, proud smile she saved only for mornings like these.

“Pretty as a picture,” she said, her voice carrying all the love and all the fear a mother could fit into a few words.

I blinked.

And the world shifted.

I turned in her arms, meaning to reach up and hug her.

But somehow, suddenly — I was taller.

And she was older.

Her hands trembled on my shoulders, confusion flashing across her lined face.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Mama asked. Her voice cracked at the edges. “Why are you cryin’?”

I hadn’t even realized I was.

A tear slid hot and slow down my cheek, dripping onto the lace.

Before I could form words, Mama gasped — a raw, wounded sound — and stumbled back, the white ribbon slipping from her fingers to the floor like a dying bird.

I spun toward the mirror.

And saw it.

Saw me — but not the girl I was.

Not even the woman I thought I’d grow into.

No.

The thing in the glass wore my face, but wrong.

Eyes black as cinders, ringed in a seeping red that ran down my cheeks like melting wax.

My mouth hung open — a silent scream caught behind broken lips.

The white dress, once so carefully pressed, now bloomed with stains the color of old blood.

Mama pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.

Her voice came out in a whisper too full of knowing to be anything but truth.

“The devil has visited you… and left a raven’s feather at your door.

And you — you accepted it.”

I spun toward her, arms reaching — pleading —

“Mama, no—!”

But the floor cracked open first.

A black mist poured out like smoke from a curse long buried.

It wrapped around her ankles, her knees, her throat.

Her body jerked once — then dissolved into ash, crumbling through the air like burned prayer paper.

And through the mist, a mouth formed.

That mouth.

That smile I had trusted.

The one that once whispered safety under the stars, now pulled wide in a predator’s grin.

The world tilted.

Blurring.

Fading.

I came back to myself with a ragged breath, choking on the thick air of a dark, unfamiliar room on the floor, cold sweat clinging to my back, the faint flicker of an oil lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The room dim and silent, except for the slow creak of wood… and the quiet hum of breath that wasn’t mine.

Sitting across the room, watching me carefully — was Stack.

At first, my heart leapt — a familiar face in a world gone cold.

I almost ran to him — almost — until I caught the gleam in his eyes.

Not brown.

Not human.

But white.

Blazing and empty as a snowfield under a full moon.

His smile stretched just a little too wide.

Predatory.

Slouched in the chair across the room, arms folded, watching me with a patience that felt wrong.

“What…” I rasped, backing toward the dresser, “what happened to you?”

My voice trembled. “What are you?”

The mirror above the dresser caught me just as I turned.

I saw my own eyes — or what used to be mine.

Pitch black. Red glowing like coals flickering deep in the hearth.

A fire that didn’t warm — just warned.

I stumbled back, mouth opening with a soundless gasp.

Stack chuckled, low and lazy like the devil warming up a sermon.

“I’m like you now,” he said, tilting his head as if showing off the whites of his eyes. “Well… kinda. He gifted us freedom. From all that heartbreak, all that heaviness. Gave you freedom the way you thought was best.”

Desperation gripped me.

I lunged for the window, tearing the heavy curtains aside.

Sunlight poured in.

It hit my skin—

and the world fractured.

It wasn’t fire.

It wasn’t pain.

It was terror.

Ripping through my mind like a pack of wolves.

The golden light twisted into knives, slicing into every hidden corner of me — dredging up every buried fear, every secret shame, every broken promise.

The sun I used to love—

the warmth that once kissed my skin—

now roared inside my skull like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

I collapsed, a hoarse, broken scream tearing from my chest.

Clawing at the floor, at the walls, trying to escape what was already inside me.

Stack watched.

Silent.

Almost sad.

He reached out with a casual hand, pulling the curtains closed again.

The light vanished.

I lay there, a trembling wreck, sobbing into the dusty boards.

Stack crouched low beside me, voice dropping soft and cold as winter mud:

“She’ll learn,” he said.

“This life’s better for her.

True freedom.”

His boots scraped the floor as he stood again, leaving me crumpled there.

The door clicked shut behind Stack, and for a moment, the room was quiet again — too quiet.

Then came the sound.

Soft boots on old wood.

He was here.

Remmick.

The air changed with him, thickened until it tasted like copper on my tongue.

He crouched beside me, slow and easy, like he was soothing a frightened animal.

His hand brushed against my hair — a pet, a comfort, a mockery.

“You’re all better now,” he crooned, voice low and soft enough to make my teeth ache. “Sometimes… the first taste of freedom’s too sweet for a belly that’s been filled with bitterness too long.”

I jerked away from his touch, scrambling back until my spine hit the cold dresser behind me.

The mirror rattled above it, showing me both of us:

Me — trembling, broken.

Him — smiling, patient.

Like a god admiring a sculpture he’d half-finished.

He didn’t follow.

Just stayed crouched there, red eyes gleaming like coals, eyebrows lifted in that innocent, boyish way that used to warm me from the inside out.

Now it just made my heart twist the wrong way.

Not because I hated him.

Because I still loved him.

And love like that…

It’s worse than hate.

It’s the knife you twist in yourself.

I choked on a sob, the words clawing free without thought.

“Why did you turn me into this monster?” I whispered. “This ain’t freedom… it ain’t even enslavement. It’s worse.”

Remmick’s mouth pulled into something almost pitying. Almost.

He stood slow, dust shifting off his shirt.

“I only did what you asked of me,” he said, voice syrupy sweet. “Don’t talk like I didn’t give you a choice. You wanted this, darlin’. You begged for a way out. I just made the decision easier.”

His words spun the air — circles with no end, no beginning.

“But it’s alright,” he drawled, stepping back, giving me room to breathe and suffocate at once. “Once I find lil’ ole Sammie… this lick of freedom will be just a taste of what’s to come.”

At Sammie’s name, my heart leapt.

He was alive.

Maybe others were, too.

I clutched at that hope with trembling fingers, already piecing together desperate plans. Run. Warn him. Stop Remmick.

But Remmick chuckled low in his throat, like he could taste my thoughts.

He dropped into the chair Stack had occupied moments before, sprawling like he owned the whole damned world.

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, voice dripping pity. “Don’t be so eager. Sammie won’t trust you no more than he trusts me. Thinks you’re the devil’s pawn now—”

“Fuck you!” I snapped, the venom lashing out before I could leash it.

He didn’t flinch.

Just smiled wider.

A crescent moon smile. Hungry.

“Aw, no need to get upset,” he cooed. “I’m doing this for the best, you see. For me. For you. For all those poor souls that ache for a world without chains.”

His eyes shone when he spoke. Like he believed it. Like he tasted salvation and didn’t even know it was poison.

“You don’t know what’s best for me,” I hissed, fists curling tight enough to split new claws into my palms. “You never did. You preyed on my need for compassion. For hope. Fed me lies, called it love.

You’re no savior.

You’re just a lost soul that drunk the wine of lies and deceived yourself.”

For the first time, Remmick’s smile faltered.

Just a flicker.

He dropped his gaze to his hands, turning them over slow, as if even he didn’t recognize what he’d become.

When he looked back up, his face was empty.

“Never said I was a savior,” he murmured. “Only came to set the captives free. To bring peace to a broken world. And…”

His lips twitched up again.

“Well, I guess I did come to save after all.

Look at you, darlin’. Finally usin’ that pretty head.”

He turned, heading for the open door with lazy grace.

“I’m going to warn them,” I spat after him, my voice shaking with fury and terror. “I’ll find Sammie. Even if it kills me.”

He paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder.

A shadow stretched long behind him, darker than night itself.

“So stubborn,” he mused. “No vision.”

He tapped his lips, mock-thoughtful.

“But that’s why I didn’t turn you fully.

You fight too much.

You keep me… entertained.”

His smile sharpened.

“But don’t think I came unprepared, darlin’,” he said, voice sinking low. “When I changed you, I made sure you couldn’t end it easy.

Didn’t want you throwin’ yourself into the sun like some tragic heroine.”

He shook his head, tsking.

“I left you more living than dead. Call it mercy,” he said. 

His voice thickened, dragging the room down with it.

“And now?

The sun don’t kill you.

It holds you.

Burns your mind.

Plays every mistake, every grief, every lie you ever swallowed — on a loop.

That’s your true punishment, sweetheart.”

He stepped into the hall.

Paused just long enough to drive the last nail into me.

“Now you’ll finally see just how close you’ve always been to the devil.”

The door closed with a whisper of finality.

The door closed with a whisper—quiet as sin, soft as silk over a blade.

And I shattered.

My fists struck the dresser like thunder begging to be heard, splinters flying like a cry unsaid.

The mirror spiderwebbed outward, each crack a fault line in my chest.

The lamp flickered—once, twice—then danced wild shadows across the wreckage of the room.

Shadows that didn’t move like they used to.

I dropped, sobbing.

Raw.

Broken open like fruit too ripe for this world.

Tears carved tracks down my cheeks, hot as blood.

And in the fractured glass, she stared back.

Me.

But not.

Black-eyed.

Twisted.

Monstrous.

I had become the thing I swore I never would.

The thing I once pitied.

The thing I feared.

I had tasted freedom… and drank too deep.

And now?

The devil wore my face.

That quiet little sound—just a door closing—rattled through me like a funeral bell.

It echoed too loud.

Too final.

Like the world had whispered its last breath and left me behind to rot in the stillness.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Not really.

The silence pressed in—soft at first, then tight, cruel.

Like fingers around my throat, wrapping around my ribs, filling the hollows of me where hope used to live.

Squeezing.

I backed away from the door on legs that no longer felt like mine.

My fingers shook—not from fear.

From truth.

Because I understood now.

Not just what I was—

But what I’d lost.

No freedom.

No peace.

No promise.

Just a hollow thing with something vile curling inside her chest.

A mistake dressed in skin.

I staggered.

My knees buckled, and the floor met me hard.

My chest heaved like it remembered how to cry for help, but the air wouldn’t come.

All I could feel was him.

Remmick.

Still here. Still everywhere.

His voice smeared across the walls like oil.

Like blood.

“You’re always closest to the devil.”

And that smile.

God.

That fucking smile.

My hands clawed at my chest, trying to hold on to something warm, something human—

but all I touched was the burn.

It pulsed.

Grief.

Rage.

The taste of love soured and rusted on the back of my tongue.

I choked on it.

Choked on the truth.

Choked on the ache of still loving the thing that broke me.

Because that’s what he did.

He cracked me open and called it mercy.

Called it freedom.

And I let him.

I followed him down, thinking his voice meant salvation.

And now?

Now I didn’t know what I was.

A woman?

A monster?

A memory?

Just a shell shaped like me.

I dragged myself to the mirror, arm trembling.

Bones screamed under skin that didn’t bruise like it used to.

And when I looked up—

She looked back.

Not me.

Not anymore.

Eyes like polished obsidian.

A red glow flickering deep inside like the devil left a candle burning just beneath the surface.

Like coals waiting for breath.

I touched the glass.

It was cold.

And it didn’t feel like mine.

And for the first time—honest and low—I whispered it.

“I’m not strong enough.”

Not for this.

Not for what’s coming.

Not to stop Remmick.

Not to bear this hunger in my blood, this weight in my bones.

Not when part of me…

still wanted him.

Still ached for the sound of his voice.

Still dreamed of his hands.

Still missed the lie of being chosen.

The tears came quiet now.

Not hot like before.

Just steady.

As if I was already halfway gone.

The room swayed, broken, tilting on some axis I couldn’t fix.

I curled up.

Surrounded by shattered glass

and the dust

of a woman I used to be.

Because now I saw it clear:

Remmick didn’t destroy me.

He rewrote me.

And I didn’t know if there was a way back.

Not anymore.

———

Sunlight. Soft, dappled through the canopy overhead like God’s own fingers pressed gentle against the earth.

I was little again.

Knees diggin’ into warm dirt out behind Mama’s house, the kind that clung to skin and crept under fingernails. The hem of my baby blue dress puddled around me, streaked with grass stains and the green breath of summer. My breath came light. Easy. Like I’d never known sorrow.

In my small, shaking palms, a bird fluttered. A little thing — brown wings tremblin’ like paper caught in a storm. It looked up at me with one eye, scared but still trustin’. Caught between dyin’ and hopin’ I might keep it.

“I’m gon’ fix you,” I whispered, voice soft as a prayer. “Mama says you gotta press gentle on the hurt. Let the hurt feel heard.”

I wrapped its crooked wing with Mama’s rag — one that still held the warmth of a stovetop — and moved careful, clumsy. My hands were filled with the shaky pride of a child who still believed love could mend what life broke.

“There,” I said, satisfaction curling around the word. “That’s better, huh?”

It didn’t answer, but it blinked at me. And that blink — Lord, that blink was enough. I set it down like I was settin’ down a blessing.

It stumbled. Hopped.

And then—by some mercy—it flew.

That’s how I remember it.

That’s the memory I held like gospel.

But memory lies.

Because when I blinked—

The world shifted.

The ground grew darker. Wet with somethin’ more than earth. The rag I’d tied ’round that little wing was soaked through — red and seeping.

The bird wasn’t flutterin’.

Wasn’t breathin’.

The rock sat beside it. Just there. Like it’d always been. Heavy. Stained.

And my hands — my baby hands — were red.

I gasped, staggered back like the sky’d tilted.

“No,” I whispered. “I didn’t—I didn’t—”

The screen door behind me slammed open.

Mama stood there, her eyes wide and wild, brimmin’ with fury and shame.

“You killed it,” she hissed, voice like the strike of a switch. “Lord have mercy… what did you do?”

“I tried to help—”

Her finger pointed, shakin’ so hard I thought it might break right off. “You ain���t no healer. You’re a curse.”

The words hit me like stones. Like God Himself had turned His back.

“No,” I breathed. “No, I loved it. I loved it—”

But her face blurred. The edges of her eyes twistin’, meltin’.

The memory broke apart like ash.

And when she spoke again, it wasn’t her voice.

It was his.

Remmick’s voice. That slow, slick honey-coat of a man born of sweet lies and sharpened teeth.

“You’ve always been a killer,” he said.

“You just needed someone to show you how to be honest about it.”

———

I woke with a jolt, lungs burnin’. Another nightmare. Another slice of hell carved from the corners of my mind. I sat up in that dusty bed, heart jackhammerin’. Couldn’t rightly remember how I got there — just flashes of me, scribblin’ out a plan on scrap paper, mind runnin’ circles ’round Sammie.

It had happened twice now. Slippin’ like that. Losin’ whole hours to black. Like my brain weren’t mine no more.

Remmick hadn’t shown his face since. Just leavin’ me to rot in that room, watchin’ from shadows, waitin’ for me to break in two.

And maybe I already had.

Maybe that was the plan all along.

I pressed my hand to my chest. Couldn’t even trust my own thoughts. They felt borrowed. Bent.

Before I could blink again, the house filled with sound.

A choir.

No, not a choir.

Voices — too many, too close. Low and strange.I rose, legs stiff, bones screamin’. Walked slow to the curtain, peeled it back.

Moonlight sliced into the room.

Out there, just past the tree line, shapes moved. Dancin’.

No.

Spinnin’.

Hypnotic. Like they was caught in some kind of trance.

I opened the window without meanin’ to. The music crawled in. Sank under my skin.

It sounded like sorrow strung with sugar.

Before I knew it, the house was behind me. I was out there — feet crunchin’ twigs, heart poundin’. Every step felt like I was bein’ pulled by strings I couldn’t see.

They danced in a circle. Counter-clockwise. Backward. Like time rewound and never stopped. 

It almost felt like how it was back at the juke joint, something spiritual. Like a copy to some degree. But somethin was missin. Like eating a lemon but the taste is sweet than sour.

And in the center — Him.

Remmick.

He was smilin’. Eyes like burnin’ paper under moonlight.

He beckoned me forward, just like always. And I obeyed.

He grabbed my arm, pulled me in close — too close. The others danced on, hummin’ Merle in voices that didn’t sound like they came from mouths no more.

“You feel it don’ ya?” he said, his breath warm on my cheek. “You feel this energy, this magic, but you also feel how somethin’s missin.”

I couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t blink.

“That somethin’ missin is Sammie and his gift,” he said, low and smooth. “And the longer we wait, the more time is wasted on not bein’ truly one family.”

“And we don’ want that, now do we y/n?” Mary’s voice cut in like a blade, and there she stood — eyes white, smile gone bitter cold. “We just want to be one big happy free family.”

Tears welled up, but they wouldn’t fall. My body — my soul — refused to spill for them no more.

Then the pressure cracked.

My voice came back, and Lord, it came sharp.

“You say Sammie is that somethin’ missin, or is it really because you can never invoke the ancestors — past, present, and future — like Sammie can? You can never truly have that, because the people you turned will never have that connection that drawn you to the juke joi—”

He snatched my face in one hand. Squeezed ’til my cheeks burned.

His eyes flared, teeth grit.

“You just love to run that mouth of yours,” he said, too calm. “Should’ve just taken over your whole mind instead of half.”

That grin — it weren’t playful no more. It was mean.

“Don’t forget who at the end of the day can break this pretty mind of yours. Did it once. Don’t make me do it again. It’ll be worse than what hell the memories the sun can burn in that head.”

He shoved me hard.

My body moved without askin’. Stepped right back into the dance. Circle never broke.

And all I could do was watch through the window like eyes of mine.

Watch the world spin the wrong way.

Watch myself disappear.

———

The moment I came back to myself, it was like the dark got peeled off my eyes. Breath caught sharp in my chest. I shot up off from the same dusty bed, fast but quiet, hands movin’ like they already knew the truth was waitin’ where I left it. Dropped to my knees and lifted the warped floorboard — the one with that stubborn edge I had to dig at with the crook of my nail.

There it was.

Paper, curled and brittle with dust, still hidin’ where I’d stashed it. I pressed it flat on the little nightstand near the closet, fingers shakin’ as I picked up the stub of that pencil. Lead near gone, wood splintered at the tip — but I didn’t care.

I had to finish.

Didn’t matter if it took blood instead of graphite.

I wrote fast, every word scratchin’ against the paper like a cry from my chest. A warning. 

Then came footsteps.

My whole body froze.

Heavy. Sure. Drawin’ closer like the tickin’ of judgment.

Quick as I could, I folded that letter, shoved it back in its hidey hole, laid the board back down — just as the door creaked open.

Stack stood there, leanin’ in the doorway like he owned the place. That grin on his face made my stomach turn damn near inside out. Like he was proud of somethin’ that oughta haunt a man.

“Remmick wanna see you,” he said. “Don’ want no trouble. Just talk. His words, not mine.”

I stood slow, my limbs feelin’ older than they had any right to. Didn’t speak. Just followed behind him through them crooked halls, each step echoing like the house itself was watchin’.

He led me to another room — one I ain’t never been in before.

No bed.

Just two chairs.

And a chess table.

Door shut behind me with a hollow click that made my heart skip. Then I saw it — and God help me, I wished I hadn’t.

Remmick was sittin’ there, leanin’ back easy like a man on a front porch. Blood streaked from his mouth down to his bare chest, open shirt hangin’ loose like he ain’t had a care in the world. At his feet, slumped and still, was a man. Facedown. Dead lookin. Neck at the wrong angle. Gone cold.

I staggered.

My breath caught hard.

“Oh, no need to be worried, darlin’,” Remmick said smooth, like we was talkin’ over sweet tea. “He just got too close to where he wasn’t s’posed to be. Guess he wanted to join the family.”

His teeth shone through the blood. Sharp. Too many.

I opened my mouth — wanted to scream, cuss, beg, anything.

But I couldn’t.

Somethin’ else stole my focus.

“Aw, darlin’,” he drawled, that voice low and syrupy. “You droolin’.”

I blinked — felt warmth on my chin, lifted my hand to find it slick.

Thick.

warm.

“No,” I whispered. But it was true.

“You just hungry is all,” he said. “Come here. I can share.”

And I did.

Or rather, my body did.

Dropped to my knees, crawled across that splintered floor like a dog he’d called home. Every movement wasn’t mine but felt like mine all the same. Like my soul was screamin’ and my limbs just smiled.

He reached down, fingers under my chin, tiltin’ my face to his.

“No matter how much you resist it,” he murmured, “it’ll push back ten times harder.”

Then he kissed me.

Deep.

Long.

Blood warm on my lips on my tongue , seepin’ into the cracks like it belonged there. I moaned — not from pleasure, but from the horror of likin’ it for a split second. My hands climbed his thighs, desperate and trembling, until they found his arms and held on like I could keep myself from drownin’.

When he pulled back, he tapped my cheek real sweet, like a man might to a wife who made his supper just right.

“You look so much better with a lil’ blood on ya.”

My chest clenched.

Hard.

But I didn’t let it show.

“Remmick,” I croaked, voice cracked open down the middle, “why you so hellbent on makin’ me more of a monster than I already am? Can’t you let me fake it — just a lil’, for my own sake?”

He leaned in close, voice soft but cuttin’.

“You ain’t no monster, darlin’,” he said, brushin’ hair from my face. “You just a step forward to bein’ a goddess — my goodness. And if you’d just help me finish the plan, well… the world could be ours.”

His hand cupped my cheek like I was sacred.

But his words?

They tasted like honey poured over rot.

And still — I let it coat my tongue.

Even though I could already feel the cavities settin’ in.

——

Remmick takes my silence as support. I don’t say a word when he comes back with newly turned people or when he’s off on the manhunt for Sammie. I don’t say a word when he seeks me out after another failed attempt of finding Sammie. I don’t say a word when he comes back blistered and burned from the setting sun, cursing that them Natives found him again killing Annie and Mary -though the weight in my chest lifted a bit at that, knowing they were finally free now, along with a few others he so-called new family, saying that we had to leave by sunrise or they will kill us all.

 So we fled my note left at the front door. A woman taking clothes off the clothing line from a full day's dry in the sun is who his next victim was. He easily overpowered her and changed her and when she stood back up knocking on her door her husband opened it and invited her in with no hesitation she then turned him. The house was free to roam now. The day passed with no signs of the natives in the area and as soon as night fell again, Remmick was out again hunting down Sammie like a man starved. 

He has become restless but so did I. After he left I waited a few before changing out of the bloody dress I’ve been wearing since that night at the juke joint to whatever dress was in the closet in the first room I went in. I threw on a dainty brown hat before walking out of the house to town. I squeezed my hands into fists hoping that Grace didn’t close up her shop too early.

Once I reached town, the moon was high up and most of the businesses were already closed. Some folks were still out, bringing shipments into the shops before locking up. I made my way to Grace's shop, the light inside was still on but the door was locked. I quickly but quietly knocked on the glass and waited. The hushed background noise of conversation outside filled the empty space. 

As I was about to knock again I see her silhouette come from the back making her way to the front. She unlocks the door about to make a comment about how the shop is closed but when she locked eyes with me she ate her words. She quickly invited me in before locking the door behind her.

“I got your letter, them natives dropped it off to me earlier in the day.” She said getting straight to the point. “You said very little in the letter but I know it’s more you couldn’t share on paper.”

I nodded with a heavy sigh before hugging her, a sob breaking from my lips.

“Things are so fucked right now, Grace, everyone I knew is gone.”

She comforts me, patting my back, “news broke fast at what happened down at the juke joint, people say it was the klan but didn’t find any body’s. I’m just glad you’re alright,”

“That’s the thing Grace, I’m not alright. Something changed in me and I can’t even trust myself but I know I can trust you.” I gave her another folded piece of paper that I quickly wrote in before leaving earlier and handed it to her. “I know you and Bo know where Sammie and Smoke are laying low at but I don’t want you to tell me just pass this note to him please.” She nodded as she took it from my hand, a determined look on her face.

“I have to go now but please be safe out there, there’s more monsters lurking out there than the klan.”

After our exchange, I quickly headed back to the house. When I reached it there was no one in sight letting me know Remmick was still out on his crazed hunt. I opened the door; I entered the home easily as it didn’t know whether to let me in or keep me out. The clothing I wore tore the veil and I slipped in like I never left.

I tossed down the hat on the table in the kitchen, making my way to the room to change back into my old garbs before Remmick gets here. I opened the door as I began to unbutton the front of the dress.

“Went dancing without me, darlin’?” I jumped in my skin at the sudden voice and turned slowly before making eye contact with the culprit.

Remmick sat in the darkest corner in the room, tapping his long fingers on the armrest of the wooden chair. 

“I-I” the lie was caught in my throat as he stood reaching my shocked form. His sharp nails digging into my side and I wince a bit in pain. “No need to lie darlin, I’ve caught you with your hand in the sweets jar.”

I pushed his hands off me as I created space between us, sitting on the small bed in the room. “You knew I wasn’t going to sit here and let you continue your manhunt for Sammie and do nothing about.”

“Who did you meet with?��� He ignores my previous words, and I scoff a bit. “No one that concerns you or your heinous plans.” I spit. A choked noise came from my throat as he wrapped his hands around it squeezing it; I gripped his wrist to try to pull it off me but he only squeezed it harder.

“I just keep on letting you get over on me because I care for you and all you want to do is destroy this plan of mines. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to make heaven on earth. Didn’t you want that? “ he lets go of me before taking a step back looking away from my choked form. “I didn’t want that, all I wanted was for you to save me from my life with Frank, from his hands. But now I see it, that you’re no better than him. I guess the devil does come in many forms.”

He sighs before kneeling in front of me, leaning his cheek on my thighs as he caresses them, “I’m sorry, darlin’ I got ahead of myself.” His voice soft now, his emotions giving me whiplash, “it’s just I lost them all today, them Natives never left from checking the premises and they killed them all,” he sounded defeated and I felt elated with this information, he’s at his lowest right now and I can now carve his mind the way I need to.

 “Oh wow, I-I’m sorry.” I say sadly, playing the part as I run my hands through his hair in a comforting way. “Maybe we should lay low for a while so they can get off our backs. The more we rush this, the more we lose.” He groaned at my words like he disagrees or doesn’t want to accept it. “I can’t stop; I’ve gone too far.

 This is the time I’ve been waiting for centuries and now that I have the opportunity in my grasp I won’t let it slip from me so easily, especially when it’s right in front of me.” I sigh in my head at his words knowin’ it wouldn’t be that easy to persuade him but at least I tried on to the next plan. “Well let me help you find Sammie.” He lifted up from my lap quickly a suspicious glint in his red eyes. “And why would you want to do that?” I can see his walls begin to build itself up again so I quickly respond “because now I see how you truly care to give people freedom from their pain and chains in this world and the longer I sit back and watch the more I wish to make a change even if it has to be by this way.” I say like I was reluctant to the idea but understand him.

He looks at me with those pouty eyebrows like something softened in him from my words, “Darlin’ you don’t know how much I needed those words.” He reaches his hand out caressing my cheek; we kept eye contact before he broke it looking at my lips before locking eyes with me again. Remmick stared up at me like I was the sin he’d spent centuries chasing.

The room reeked of blood and tension, the kind that coils tight and doesn’t let go until someone breaks.

His lips brushed mine—brief, testing—before I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down hard, our mouths colliding like a war. It was messy, greedy, all tongue and breath and teeth. He tasted like heat and iron and the kind of ache that never goes away.

Clothes didn’t come off—they were ripped. Thread popped. Buttons scattered. Neither of us cared.

He shoved me down onto the bed, hands already between my thighs, spreading me open with a growl low in his chest.

“You’ve been starvin’ for this,” he hissed, fingers pressing where I needed them most.

“So have you,” I gasped, grinding down on his hand. “I can smell it on you.”

He chuckled darkly and dropped to his knees, dragging me to the edge of the bed. His mouth was on me in seconds—no hesitation. He licked like a man denied heaven, tongue greedy and practiced, lips curling into a smirk every time I gasped or bucked or cursed his name.

His fingers dug into my thighs, pinning me open. I came fast, hard, writhing under his mouth—but he didn’t stop. Didn’t let me go. Just kept going like my climax was just an appetizer.

“You gonna beg for me now?” he murmured against me, voice wrecked and low.

I pulled him up by the hair and kissed him hard, tasting myself on his tongue.

“Fuck me,” I snarled.

And he did.

He bent me over, hand in my hair, other gripping my hip like he owned it. When he pushed inside me, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t romantic. It was claiming.

Every thrust was deep, brutal, intentional—meant to remind me of what I was, what he made me. My hands fisted the sheets, the wall, his arms—whatever I could reach.

“Look at you takin’ me,” he growled in my ear. “Body’s been beggin’ for me every night.”

I didn’t deny it.

Couldn’t.

All I could do was moan—low and guttural—my mind white-hot with the sensation of him hitting just right, over and over.

We flipped again—me on top, straddling him, clawing at his chest as I rode him rough and fast. His hands roamed everywhere, nails scraping, teeth biting, drawing blood that only made us crazier.

I leaned down, lips brushing his throat, and bit deep.

He gasped—head snapping back, hips bucking up hard into me.

His blood filled my mouth, hot and electric, and I moaned into the wound.

He grabbed the back of my neck and bit me too—shoulder, collarbone, throat. Marking me. Claiming me. Drinking me. His blood mixed with mine, thick and sacred.

“We were made for this,” he groaned. “You feel it too. Say it.”

I didn’t.

But I screamed when I came again, body clenching around him like it never wanted to let go.

He followed, snarling into my skin, coming deep and hard and endless.

⸻

We collapsed together, breath ragged, bodies slick with sweat and blood.

He tangled his fingers in my hair, lips pressed to my shoulder.

But I didn’t close my eyes.

I just laid there, heart still pounding, blood still thrumming, the taste of him thick in my mouth.

Because this wasn’t love.

This was warfare.

And I’d just given the enemy every inch of me.Again.

——

Two Days Later – Nightfall

The house exhaled behind me as I slipped out the front door, closing it with the kind of care that makes no sound—like I was sneaking out of someone else’s life. The sky was dark as velvet—the kind of night that clung close, hushed and watchful. Still. Heavy. No wind, no whisper, just the faint hush of pine trees breathing in the distance.

Remmick was upstairs, lying low like he said. Said the Natives were still lurking, waiting to strike again. Said we needed to be cautious. Said he needed me to go check the edges of the woods, see how close the threat was.

He said it like it was nothing.

Like he trusted me.

So I nodded and played the part.

But I turned toward town instead, boots moving quick beneath my hem, the cold dirt road swallowing each step. The air was damp, alive with the kind of silence that feels like it’s listening.

No one stopped me. No one looked twice. Just another shadow among shadows, passing quiet under the unlit porch lamps and shuttered windows. I walked with my head tucked low, hat pulled firm against my brow. I’d learned how to walk invisible.

By the time I reached Grace’s shop, the quiet felt louder. And I knew before I even stepped close—something was wrong.

The lights were out.

The door locked.

Stillness pressed against the windows like a held breath. No smell of boiling herbs. No faint silhouette behind lace. Just absence.

I knocked once. Gentle.

No answer.

I waited, blood rising loud in my ears.

I was about to knock again when I heard it behind me.

“Evenin’. Lookin’ for Grace?”

My hand fell, slow. I turned just enough to see the man across the street. Older. Thick coat. His store sign swung gently above him—dry goods. He was locking up, half in, half out the door.

I offered a nod. Nothing more.

He chuckled. Not mean, just tired. “She’s alright. Her and Bo both. Took sick, maybe. Word is she’s been out for two days. Bo’s been back and forth quiet-like. He’s home now. Taking care of her, I’d guess.”

His voice was casual, but it didn’t land right. My stomach pulled tight.

“Thanks,” I said soft, barely above the hush of the wind. Just enough to pass.

He tipped his hat and disappeared into the warmth of his store, door shutting behind him like punctuation.

I stood there a beat longer, just watching the door. The silence around the shop didn’t hum with illness. It hummed with absence.

Still—I crouched low and slipped the folded letter under her door. Just like before. Quick. Clean.

Didn’t knock.

Didn’t wait.

Just turned and made my way back to the house, faster now. The shadows felt thicker. The road shorter. Like something was following me home.

———

The house looked just the same as when I left it—tilted quiet, half-forgotten, the way places get when they’ve seen too much. The porch creaked beneath my feet, but only once. I pushed the door open slow, stepping into the stale hush that lived between these walls.

Inside smelled like wood smoke and old iron. The kind of scent that clings to grief.

Remmick was in the parlor, long legs stretched out, one boot propped on the table. He was toying with a deck of cards, shuffling with one hand while the other cradled a glass of something dark. His eyes stayed on the cards.

“Well?” he asked, voice lazy.

“Didn’t see no one,” I said, brushing my sleeves off. “Nothing but trees and dirt. Think they’re gone now.”

He nodded slow, like he already knew. “Good. Gettin’ real tired of lookin’ over my shoulder.”

I walked past him and sank down on the couch, letting my breath out slower than I should’ve. The fabric under me still held the shape of his weight from earlier. He’d been there not long ago, waiting for something.

His eyes flicked up to me once—just a glance—and then back to the cards.

“You did good,” he said. Smooth. Steady. “Ain’t nobody better I’d trust to check.”

I hummed, not bothering to answer.

He didn’t press.

Didn’t notice the way I dug my thumbnail into my palm just to stay here, in this moment, in this lie I had to wear like skin.

Didn’t notice how I was listening—for movement, for footsteps upstairs, for the scrape of someone else in the dark.

I leaned my head back against the cushion, eyes drifting toward the ceiling, where the wood grain twisted into patterns I used to trace in dreams. Now I couldn’t stop seeing them shift like they were trying to spell out a warning.

“You tired?” he asked after a while.

I shrugged.

Remmick cut the deck again. “You been quiet lately.”

“Just thinkin’.”

“Dangerous thing to do in this house,” he muttered with a smirk.

He tossed a card on the table face-up.

The devil.

I stared at it. Couldn’t look away.

He watched me then. Not just glanced. Watched.

I felt it.

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, darlin’?”

I turned my face slow, gave him a smile I didn’t feel. “No. Just tired. Like you said.”

He smiled back, like that answer pleased him.

But I could tell he was listening harder now.

I shifted on the couch and let my eyes close. Just for a moment. Just long enough to make him think I was at ease.

But I wasn’t.

Grace was missing.

Bo too.

Remmick hadn’t suspected a thing. Not yet.

But this plan I’d been shaping in shadows? It was slipping through my fingers like water, and I didn’t know how many more nights I had left before he caught me trying to hold it.

——

The street felt longer this time.

Quieter, too.

I walked with my head down, arms wrapped around myself like that could keep the ache in my ribs from spreading. Remmick was out again, gathering what scraps he could—new bodies, new followers, anyone who could fill the void of the ones he’d lost. And I was left to sit in the hollow of his house, mind chewing itself raw.

Grace hadn’t reached out.

Not a whisper. Not a sign.

Something twisted in me the longer I waited, and by the time I pulled my shawl over my shoulders and stepped into the night, I already knew I wouldn’t come back whole.

Her house came into view at the edge of the lane—familiar and wrong all at once. The blinds were drawn. The porch light was off. Stillness pressed up against the walls like something holding its breath.

I climbed the steps slow.

Knocked once.

Waited.

Another knock.

My pulse started up in my throat, heavy and loud, until—

The door opened.

And there she was.

Grace.

Same face, same eyes, but not the same woman who once whispered promises in the back of her shop.

She didn’t look sick. Didn’t look surprised.

Just tired.

Like she’d already made up her mind before I even got there.

“Grace,” I breathed, relief and confusion tangling in my voice. “I’ve been waitin’ for word—what happened? Are you alright?”

She looked at me for a long moment before she spoke. No hug. No warmth.

Just cool, clipped words.

“I can’t help you no more, Y/N.”

My breath caught.

“What?”

She crossed her arms. “Whatever it is you’re stirrin’ up, it’s followin’ you. You done brought danger to my door, and I can’t let it near Bo , Lisa or me again. Not now.”

I blinked, heat rushing to my face.

“But you said—Grace, you said if I ever needed—”

“That was before,” she said, voice hardening. “Before I realized what you’d turned into. What’s waitin’ in the woods behind you.”

She looked past me then.

Not at the trees.

At what she thought I’d become.

I shook my head, mouth parting, searching for words that might save whatever this was. “I’m still me—Grace, please—”

“I need you to go.”

And with that, she closed the door.

Didn’t slam it. Just shut it soft.

Final.

I stood there, staring at the wood, like maybe it’d open back up and undo what just happened.

But it didn’t.

The porch creaked as I sank down onto the top step, arms limp at my sides. The air had that thick weight to it again, the kind that made your bones ache like they remembered something awful.

My last string to Sammie was cut.

I didn’t even know if he’d gotten my note.

Didn’t know if he was alive. Or hiding. Or already lost to Remmick’s hunger.

I didn’t cry.

Didn’t have anything left in me for that.

I just sat there, for what felt like hours, until the wind shifted and I knew I had to move.

———

The house felt colder when I returned.

Not in temperature—just in presence.

Like it knew something had changed.

I pushed through the door, not bothering to close it quiet this time. The shadows felt heavier. My skin prickled like the walls were watching.

I drifted through the parlor, my steps slow, heavy. Sank into the couch, my eyes fixed on nothing. Time blurred. I could still feel the echo of Grace’s voice, the chill behind her words.

I stayed there until I heard the latch click.

The front door creaked open.

Bootsteps.

Remmick.

He stepped in with his usual ease, closing the door behind him. His shirt was wrinkled. Dust clung to his cuffs. His eyes locked onto me, curious at first.

But I didn’t give him time to ask.

I stood.

Crossed the space in three sharp steps.

And kissed him.

Hard.

His mouth met mine with that familiar pressure, warm and dangerous, and for once I didn’t flinch from it. My hands curled into his shirt, fingers pulling him down into me, my breath caught somewhere between fury and grief.

He staggered back a step with me in his arms, mouth moving against mine with a growl of surprise, then heat. His hands found my waist—firm, possessive.

I kissed him like I needed to forget.

And maybe I did.

Forget Grace.

Forget the weight of a name nobody said anymore.

Forget that I’d lost the only person left who believed I was worth saving.

He didn’t ask what I was running from.

Didn’t need to.

Because Remmick knew what it looked like when something broke in you.

And he knew how to kiss like it was the cure.

Even if it was just another poison I drank too willingly.

Even if I was the one reaching for the bottle Again.

———

I waited until the moon sat high and clean above the trees before slipping out again, coat pulled tight over my frame, the last chill of daylight still clinging to the edges of the wind. Remmick was still hunting what he’d lost — what he thought he could recreate with blood and sweet talk. He didn’t ask where I was going tonight. Just told me, quiet and easy, “Be back before it’s too late.”

Too late for who, I didn’t ask.

The road to town stretched long, silent. My boots crunched softly over gravel, a sound that felt too loud for the kind of thoughts I was carrying. I counted the minutes with each step, mind racing faster than my feet. I needed clarity. Grace’s face hadn’t left my mind since she shut that door in it. Something was wrong, and I couldn’t let it go.

I turned onto Main, the familiar wooden storefronts all shadowed in lamplight and memory. I spotted the dry goods store across from Grace’s shop — the one where that older man had spoken to me before. I approached slow, cautious. The windows glowed from within.

I stopped at the edge of the porch and knocked gently against the doorframe. Not too loud. Not too soft. Just enough to say: I don’t mean no harm.

The man inside looked up from behind the counter. Recognition lit up his face, though he squinted just the same, like he wasn’t quite sure if I was real or not.

“Evenin’,” I said, voice calm but low. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod.

“Come in, sure,” he said, walking over to unlock the door. “Don’t often get visitors this late, but it’s your kind of hour, I suppose.”

I stepped inside, the warmth of the store meeting me like a familiar hush. It smelled like cedarwood, dust, and old paper — like things that kept secrets.

He moved behind the counter again, leaning slightly against it as he regarded me. “You lookin’ better than last time I saw you. Seemed a little… restless then.”

I gave a small smile, not enough to reach my eyes. “Still restless.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Ain’t we all.”

I didn’t waste time. “You remember what you said about Grace being sick?”

He blinked. “Sure.”

“Well, I saw her. She ain’t sick. And she wasn’t surprised to see me. She just… shut me out. Like I was poison.”

His frown deepened. He scratched his head, gaze drifting toward the window like the answer might be hiding outside. “I don’t know what’s what no more. She and Bo kept to themselves the past couple days. Didn’t even open the shop since you came by. But I do recall…” His fingers tapped rhythm on the wood. “Something strange.”

He snapped his fingers suddenly, his expression lighting up. “Damn near forgot!”

He ducked behind the counter, rummaging through drawers and stacked papers until he pulled out a folded note — weathered but intact.

“Grace gave me this in a hurry a few nights back. Told me if a woman came lookin’ for her at night — to hand it over. No name, just a description. Figured it was you.”

My fingers trembled as I took it. “Thank you,” I said, voice soft.

He nodded, already turning back to wipe down a nearby shelf. “Hope it clears somethin’ up.”

I unfolded the paper with care, and Grace’s familiar script met my eyes like a balm and a blade:

Y/N—

He got it. Your letter. Sammie read every word.

I don’t have a reply from him — he didn’t risk sendin’ one.

Things got bad quick. Too many eyes. I’m layin’ low for now, maybe longer.

But listen close —

Sammie and Smoke are heading north. Five days from when you sent the letter.

He’ll wait as long as he can, but once the time comes, he has to go.

It’s not safe to stay.

I don’t know when you’ll get this, but you’ll have to move fast. Here’s where to look——

God keep you.

–G

The words rang through me like a bell toll.

Five days.

I counted backward in my head, trying not to panic. Three had already slipped through my fingers. Two remained — if I was lucky. If he was.

I closed the letter, fingers stiff, and slid it into my pocket with trembling care. I turned for the door.

“Thank you again,” I said over my shoulder, not waiting for him to reply.

Outside, the wind bit a little harder. I pulled my coat tighter and walked with purpose toward the alleyway.

No one followed.

The trash can waited like a sentinel.

I tore the note into pieces, sharp and fast, letting them fall into the dark.

Gone.

Gone like the chance I was clawing to keep hold of.

I looked once more at the glowing windows of Grace’s house in the distance. Still drawn. Still closed.

And then I walked back toward the house I shared with the devil — heart pounding like a drum, like war.

——

Remmick was still gone when I got there.

But not for long.

And the next move would have to be mine.

The plan was set. Rough around the edges, held together by frayed nerves and desperate hope—but it was all I had. Tomorrow night, it would be enacted. No more waiting. No more second-guessing.If all went well, I’d be gone.Possibly leaving Remmick behind. The thought pierced deeper than I’d anticipated. A dull ache settled in my chest, one I couldn’t quite name. 

I sat on the couch, the room dimly lit, lost in my thoughts when the door creaked open.Remmick entered, exhaling a sigh that spoke of exhaustion. He moved with a weariness that seemed to seep into the room. He settled into a dining chair behind me, the weight of the day evident in his posture.

“Things are moving slower than I’d like,” he began, his voice tinged with frustration. “People are hesitant, resistant. It’s… taxing.”

I nodded, offering a noncommittal hum.

After a pause, he asked, “Any updates on Sammie’s whereabouts?”

My heart skipped a beat. “No,” I replied quickly. “Nothing concrete. The town’s been quiet.” 

He studied me for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure?” 

I forced a smile. “Positive. If I had anything, you’d be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied.The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I stood, the need to bridge the distance overwhelming. I walked over to him, noting the way his shirt was discarded to the side, suspenders hanging loosely at his waist.His eyes met mine, a glint of red flickering in their depths as I settled onto his lap.

“Just wait a little longer,” I murmured, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Who knows? Sammie might just walk to you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. His hand found my waist, pulling me closer.

“Or maybe I’ll find him,” he said, voice a whisper against my skin, “because I never lost him.”

A shiver ran down my spine. I silenced him with a kiss, desperate to drown out the implications of his words. I didn’t want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to know if he was bluffin’ or boastin’.I just needed to forget.

I slid off his lap, down to my knees between his thighs. My hands moved on instinct, unfastening the button at his waist, pulling the fabric down slow. His cock was already half-hard, twitching to life under my touch.

Remmick watched me with a quiet, ravenous hunger, his eyes flickering red like they remembered old wars.

“You sure about this?” he murmured, voice dipped in syrup.

“No,” I whispered. “But I ain’t stoppin’.”

I wrapped my lips around him, taking him slow, tasting the salt and musk of him as I worked my tongue down his shaft. His head fell back, a low groan rumbling from his chest. His hand curled into my hair, not pushing—just there. Guiding. Praising.I sucked harder, deeper, letting him hit the back of my throat, letting him feel every inch of my want and denial.

He cursed, low and shaky. “Fuck, darlin’. You feel like you’re prayin’ with your mouth.”

His hips rolled, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of my mouth. He tasted like power. Like a promise I didn’t want to keep.My hands slid up his thighs, holding him steady as he twitched in my mouth, his moans climbing higher. Faster.

Until he bucked hard, one hand clenched in my hair, spilling into me with a growl that sounded like a broken vow.I stayed there a moment, letting him ride it out, then pulled back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to breathe through the weight in my chest.Afterward, the room was silent save for our mingled breaths. I rested against him, heart pounding, mind racing.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face, eyes searching mine.

“You won’t leave me now, would you, darlin’?”

I hesitated, then shook my head slowly.A smile touched his lips. “Good. Wouldn’t want the woman I love to leave me to forever loneliness.”

The words struck me, a mix of warmth and dread curling in my stomach. I buried my face in his neck, the weight of my decision pressing down on me.

——

The moon wore a veil of clouds tonight, like it didn’t want to bear witness to what was about to happen. Half-bright and mean-looking, it hovered above me as I crept away from the house like a thief in the dark. Remmick had already left—gone off chasing ghosts and pieces of a plan falling apart in his own hands. Said he’d be back before sunrise. I knew he would.

And I knew I wouldn’t be.

This was it. No more stalling. No more swallowing screams in that house where the walls watched me breathe. My plan—frayed at the seams and stitched with desperation—was all I had now. And if the stars were kind, it might buy me a few hours’ head start.

I followed the path Grace had described, further from town than I expected. The ground grew rockier, the trees thicker. Shadows pressed in close. My nerves were wired so tight, every rustle in the trees felt like someone whisperin’ my name. But I kept walking. I had to. The house wasn’t far now. I saw it through the branches—a small thing, hunched in the dark with a car parked in front. A flicker of breath escaped me. Relief. They hadn’t left yet. Grace’s directions had been good. I hadn’t been followed. Not yet.

My steps quickened, hope making me reckless.

And then—I froze.A rustle in the trees behind me. Not the wind.

My skin went tight. My body wanted to run, scream, fight—but I stood there locked in place like prey.Then something small burst out of the treeline.I nearly screamed. Nearly ran. But the shape straightened. A face I knew.

“Grace?” I whispered.

She stumbled toward me, her breaths ragged, tears streaking her cheeks. Her dress was torn, her hair wild.

“They got them,” she sobbed, falling into my arms. “Bo—Amy—oh God, I watched them turn ‘em right in front of me. I hid, I ran, but they—they knew, Y/N. They knew.”

I held her close, one arm locked around her trembling body as the other reached instinctively for the gun hidden in my waistband. My stomach sank with her words.

This wasn’t just a ruined plan. It was a massacre in motion.

“We have to go,” I breathed. “Now.”

The two of us ran the rest of the way to the house. My mind was already racing. I didn’t know if they’d followed Grace, if they’d followed me, if they were already here—but I wasn’t about to lose this chance.

I pounded on the door.

It opened so fast it startled me.

Smoke stood there, rifle raised—but the moment he saw our faces, his expression broke wide.

“Y/N? Grace?”

“Can we come in?,” I gasped. “Now.”

“Yea.”He stepped back fast, letting us in. He looked both ways before slamming the door shut behind us.

Inside, Sammie was in the hallway, tense and alert—eyes wide as he saw us. Then soft, just for a second. He was alive.

I rushed to him and pulled him into a hug. The weight of his arms around me almost brought me to my knees. He smelled like sweat and pine and something old and burnt.Then I saw it. A claw mark across his cheek, still scabbed and angry. I reached for it. He lowered his head like he was ashamed.

“Remmick,” he said quietly.I said nothing. Just dropped my hand.Smoke locked every window, checked every corner. We gathered in the parlor, breathing too loud, too fast.We shared what we knew—Grace telling how Bo and Amy were caught. I told them what Remmick had lied about. What he was building. What I let him build.None of us had words for what sat in the room with us. We just knew we had to go.

Smoke pulled a heavy sack from the floor. “We leave now,” he said. “They’ll trace Grace’s steps soon enough.”

I nodded, numb. My hands moved on their own, grabbing bags, helping load the car. It was muscle memory. Fight or flight. Survive.Outside, the wind stirred the trees.Grace tugged at my arm, pulling me aside as the others worked.

“I think we should stay another night,” she whispered. “Just till things calm a little. It’s too sudden. We’ll draw less attention—”

“Grace,” I said gently, but stopped.

Something was wrong.

“G…Grace,” I said again, and my voice cracked. “You’re—you’re drooling.”

She wiped her mouth. But it was too slow. Too calm.Her lips stretched into a smile that wasn’t hers.

“Guess the cat’s out the bag.”

I stumbled back.

“Smoke!” I shouted.

He turned just as Grace’s eyes went white, glowing like a lantern lit from within.

“Ah, shit,” he breathed.

Too late.From the trees, more figures emerged. Calm. Confident.

Bo. Stack. Amy.

Grinning.

Like puppets with the strings still showing.My stomach flipped. I counted bodies.

Annie. Mary. More of them. All the ones Remmick said had died.Liars. Every last one of them. Or maybe just him.

And then—there he was.

Remmick.

Stepping through the trees like he never left them.

He looked just the same. Dusty boots. Rolled sleeves. Hair damp with effort. But his eyes?

His eyes burned.

“Should I call this a family reunion?” he drawled, voice cutting through the night like a whip.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. I wanted to scream, to cry, to laugh from how stupid I’d been.

“You fuckin’ liar—”

He cut me off with a soft tsk. “Now, now. Don’t give me that, Y/N. You been lyin’ to me since day one. Thought it was only fair to give it back in double.”

The others fanned out, blocking the car, the trees, the road. There was nowhere left to run.

“I kept an eye on you,” Remmick said, stepping closer, every word heavy. “Even when you thought I wasn’t around. Every errand. Every letter. Every secret little knock on some poor girl’s door—I saw it. You think you were foolin’ me, baby? I let you.”

My mouth opened—but I couldn’t find a lie good enough to cover the hurt.

“You played me like a fiddle,” he said, voice suddenly sharp. “But only one of us got stuck. Only one of us saw the bigger picture . And now look what you done. Wasted time. Endangered what I built. You think I waited centuries for this just to let you get in the way?”

His voice dropped to a growl. “I could’ve made you a queen. Instead, you chose to be a warnin’.”

The pain hit like a slap.

But it wasn’t the betrayal.

It was the shame.

Because I had loved him.

Even when I shouldn’t have.

Even now.

Smoke stumbled, wounded and breathing heavy, his arm barely lifting the rifle. Sammie moved to help—but Remmick was already there.

He grabbed Sammie by the collar, mouth open, teeth sharp—

I didn’t think.

I just moved.

Grabbed the gun from the dirt, raised it, and fired.The shot cracked through the clearing.Remmick dropped Sammie, staggering back, shock and fury twisting his face.

He turned to me.Eyes burning. Hurt. Betrayed.

“You really wanna do this, darlin’?” he whispered.

I didn’t know I was crying until the tears reached my lips. “I can’t let you make anyone else suffer. You’ve done enough.”

The moon tilted in the sky, shifting just enough that I could see the edge of morning begin to rise.Sammie struggled to his feet, limping.

“I should’ve never let you play with my plan,” Remmick said, quiet now. “I guess… my love for you was my weakness.”

Sammie grabbed the stake. I saw it. Saw him raise it behind Remmick.

I dropped the gun.I stepped forward.

And kissed him.

Remmick stiffened. Shocked.His hand cupped my face. For a moment, it was just us again.

And then—

“Do it, Sammie,” I yelled.

The stake drove through his back.

And into my chest.Pain like I’d never known.

He snarled.

I gasped.

“You were never meant to be mine in this life,” I whispered, forehead pressed to his. “But maybe in the next…”His skin began to blister then burn. The sun rose.

Screams echoed around us—his followers lighting up like bonfires as they tried to run.He tried to pull away.

But I held him.Held him until the flames took us both.

And everything went black.

———

1985

Somewhere in Louisiana

The market smelled like July holdin’ its breath—hot tar, overripe peaches, and molasses gone sour under the weight of the sun. A Marvin Gaye tune played low from a radio tucked behind a fruit stall, half-swallowed by the hum of cicadas and the thump of crates bein’ moved.

I came for coffee beans. That’s it.

But fate’s got a funny way of reroutin’ simple errands.

He passed me like a ghost wearin’ skin.

Not ‘cause he was fine—though he was.

White tee soft with time, tucked into jeans worn pale at the thighs. Denim jacket slung careless over one shoulder. Boots steady on the ground. Hair a mess like he’d just woken up from somethin’ deep.

But that ain’t why I stopped.

I stopped ‘cause my body knew before my heart remembered.

Like my bones stood still for someone they used to ache for.

He paused. Turned.

Brows drawn in like he was tryin’ to place me in a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

“‘Scuse me, miss,” he said, voice smooth as aged bourbon. “Do I… know you from somewhere?”

I blinked once. Twice.

“I—maybe,” I said. My voice came out soft, like it hadn’t spoken sorrow in years.

He smiled, half-tilted, cautious. “That’s funny. I was just about to say the same.”

I nodded slow. “You ever been down to Mississippi?”

His smile dipped, then stilled. “Once. Long time ago.”

That somethin’ passed between us—

not quite tension. Not quite peace.

Just an old ache that ain’t ever learned how to die.

He stepped closer, like he didn’t mean to but couldn’t help it.

“I know this is a little forward,” he said, reachin’ in his pocket, pullin’ out a worn scrap of receipt paper and a pen, “but… would you wanna grab a drink sometime?”

My breath caught.

Not from surprise.

From remembrance.

That voice.

That tilt of the head.

That kind of question that could rearrange your whole life if you let it.

I didn’t let it show.

“Sure,” I said, smiling faint. “I’d like that.”

He scribbled down a number, handed me the paper like it held somethin’ sacred.

I took it, my fingers brushing his.

“Remmick,” he said.

“Y/N,” I answered, just as quiet.

His eyes searched mine for a second too long. Somethin’ flickered there—like déjà vu grippin’ his ribs too tight.

Then—

“Y/N!” a voice called out behind me, sharp as a church bell on Sunday morning.

“You gon’ make us miss The Movie! Move your feet, girl!”

I turned quick to see Mary, arms crossed, grin wide watching my exchange.

“Oh—sorry!” I laughed, half-startled, shakin’ my head as I gathered my bags. “I’ll call you later,” I told him, already steppin’ backward.

“Hope you do,” he said, lips curvin’ easy.

I turned toward Mary, my heart beatin’ fast for no reason I could name.

Behind me, he watched.

Eyes flickered red—

Just for a second.Gone before the blink finished.

And when I looked back one last time—

he was walkin’ away, hands in his pockets, hummin’ low to the rhythm of a song only he remembered.

[aerialmirrorss]

𝐰 𝐢 𝐥 𝐝 𝐟 𝐥 𝐨 𝐰 𝐞 𝐫 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ rafe cameron

playing: 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 by billie eilish 𝜗𝜚˚｡˚ ⋆

synopsis! rafe realizes how much he cares about you when he’s willing to put everything on the line for your safety after a leaked video gets to sarah, your best friend..

paring: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

warnings: friends? with benefits , angst , panic attack (pogue!reader) , soft(ish)!rafe (he’s bipolar ik) , sexual content + unprotected sex! , lots of praise + dirty talk , some fluff , the L word , potential stalker? , mature , 18+ (minors dni!)

word count: 7.4k

notes: this is chapter two of my nobody gets me series. click the link below to read chapter one! ♡

chapter one: 𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲 𝐠 𝐞 𝐭 𝐬 𝐦 𝐞 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

chapter three: 𝐜 𝐚 𝐬 𝐮 𝐚 𝐥 ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚｡˚ ⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆

to say rafe was freaking out would be an understatement. it had been days since he’d last seen you, and the silence on your end was driving him to the edge of his sanity. not a single text, call, or word had come from you. it was like you’d vanished, and every minute without hearing from you only made his frustration worse.

he sat on the edge of his bed at tannyhill, replaying the night in his head for the hundredth time. every detail, every sound, every look—it all came flooding back, leaving him questioning everything. maybe he’d been too rough. maybe he’d misread your reactions, thinking you wanted it when in reality, you were trying to get away. the thought sent a chill down his spine.

he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. he paced his room, running his hand through his hair, biting his thumbnail anxiously as he mumbled under his breath. every scenario raced through his mind, each one worse than the last.

should he text you again? call? or maybe just drive to your house and force you to talk to him? the idea of busting down your door crossed his mind more than once, his desperation teetering on obsession. he hated feeling this out of control, hated not knowing where you stood.

but above all, he hated the thought of losing you—of you slipping through his fingers without giving him the chance to make it right.

just then, as if his prayers had been answered, your name lit up his phone. a call.

for a moment, he stared at the screen, his heart hammering in his chest before he cleared his throat and steadied his hand enough to swipe the answer button. “hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

the silence on your end made his stomach churn. maybe you’d called by accident? but then, faintly, he heard it—your voice. it was barely a whisper, rough and broken, like you’d been crying for hours.

“i need to talk to you,” you said, the vulnerability in your tone cutting straight through him.

“yeah, okay. i’ll come to you—” he shot up from his bed, already slipping on his shoes, when you interrupted him.

“n-no,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “just meet me at the beach. i’ll send you my pin.”

before he could respond, the line went dead, leaving him in silence once again. he stood frozen for a moment, staring at his phone, his mind racing. then, without hesitation, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. whatever this was, he wasn’t about to leave it unresolved.

you watched as the waves crashed against the shore, the rhythmic sound doing little to calm the storm inside you. with trembling hands, you adjusted your hat and pulled up the hood of your oversized sweater, trying to shield yourself from the cool night air—and maybe from your own reflection in the water. your puffy eyes told the story you didn’t want to share. if it wasn’t already obvious you’d been crying for days, you wouldn’t have bothered with the oversized sweater as a weak disguise.

you’ve been spamming sarah’s phone nonstop, sending text after text, leaving voicemails that never got a reply. it got to the point where you’re certain she’s blocked you. the silent treatment has been unbearable, eating away at you in a way you didn’t expect.

but even worse, you haven’t set foot in the chateau since it all happened. you couldn’t bring yourself to. if sarah was mad at you—and you knew she was—then the rest of them probably were too. if she told them—and she likely did—you doubted any of them would want to see you.

the thought of facing jj, of looking into his bruised eye and knowing how you betrayed him, kept you away. you didn’t deserve their forgiveness, so you didn’t ask for it. instead, you sat here, waiting for rafe, the one person you weren’t sure you could avoid any longer.

you feel a presence behind you, the weight of it heavy in the air, and you know without looking who it is. the sound of footsteps crunching softly against the sand confirms it before that presence settles beside you.

rafe doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his eyes on you, studying you, trying to gauge your mood. you don’t turn to face him, but out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of his expression—his furrowed brows, the slight downturn of his lips, and the unmistakable concern in his features.

your chest tightens. maybe he already knew about the video. maybe that’s why he looked like this—like he wasn’t sure what to say but felt he needed to be here.

you swallow hard, forcing the lump in your throat down, the tension stretching painfully in the quiet. “sarah knows, rafe,” you mutter finally, your voice barely above a whisper, but it feels deafening in the stillness.

you turn your head slightly to gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t give you one. his expression doesn’t change, his silence heavy and unreadable. of course he doesn’t react—you should’ve expected that.

you sigh softly, the weight of it all pressing harder against you. “there’s, um—” your voice cracks, and you pause, biting down on your trembling lip as the tears threaten to spill. “there’s a video of us. before we got in the truck. and someone sent it to her.”

you roll your lips into your mouth, trying desperately to hold yourself together, but it feels like you’re crumbling piece by piece. a single tear slips down your cheek, warm against your cold, rosy skin. you don’t wipe it away, too consumed by the weight of everything to care.

your chest feels like it’s caving in, the weight of it pressing down so hard it steals the air from your lungs. your breaths come short and shallow, each one more desperate than the last as if no matter how hard you try, you can’t pull in enough oxygen. your hands start to tremble, curling into fists at your sides, and your heart pounds so violently in your chest it feels like it might burst.

your vision starts to tunnel, the edges blurring as the crashing waves in front of you twist into an indistinguishable mess of sound and movement. your head feels light, like you’re floating and sinking at the same time, and a sharp heat spreads through your chest and throat, making it even harder to breathe.

you press your hands against your knees, trying to ground yourself, but it only makes the dizziness worse. the lump in your throat feels unbearable, choking you as tears stream uncontrollably down your face. everything feels too loud and too bright, the sound of the waves and the faint hum of rafe’s presence blending into an overwhelming cacophony.

“hey,” rafe says softly, his voice distant despite being right next to you. you barely register the warmth of his hand against your arm. “hey, look at me. breathe. just breathe.”

but you can’t. your body is out of your control, your mind spiraling into a dark abyss of guilt, fear, and panic. the more you fight it, the tighter the grip becomes, until all you can do is clutch your arms around yourself, trying to hold the pieces of you together as the panic consumes you.

rafe stands abruptly, the tension in his movements evident, before crouching down right in front of you. his hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing slow, soothing strokes over your skin, an anchor in the storm of your panic.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, drawing your unfocused gaze to his. his eyes lock onto yours, grounding and intent. “look at me,” he urges, keeping his tone soft but firm.

he takes a deep inhale, exaggerating the motion so you can follow it, then exhales slowly, motioning for you to mimic him, taking your hand and putting it on his chest. “breathe with me,” he says, his own chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

your attempts are shaky at first, uneven gasps that barely resemble breaths, but you follow him. inhale. exhale. over and over. relief washes over his face as your breathing starts to regulate, the shallow gasps slowly giving way to deeper, steadier pulls of air.

“there we go,” he soothes, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your cheek. “good job, baby.” the nickname slips out before he can stop it, but he doesn’t correct himself, too focused on calming you.

his other hand comes to rest lightly on your knee, grounding you further, his presence unwavering. “i’ve got you,” he says softly, his voice steady, as if willing you to believe it.

in that moment, as rafe watched you close your eyes, your chest rising and falling steadily again, relief softening your tear-streaked face, something inside him snapped. rage surged through him like a tidal wave, sudden and uncontrollable.

and he blamed sarah.

to him, it was her fault. she had no right to get involved, no reason to make this worse. something that was meant to stay between you and him—just you and him—was now tearing you apart. and all because of her.

his jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he thought about her selfishness, her spoiled sense of righteousness. it didn’t matter that she was his sister; all he could see was the way her actions had hurt you. the way she had betrayed him.

the image of you struggling to breathe, broken and panicked because of her interference, made his blood boil. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t right. and it was enough to make him see red.

and then there was that damn video.

the thought of it made rafe’s fists clench at his sides. it wasn’t just about the invasion of privacy; it was about you—your exposure in such a vulnerable moment. the idea of someone lurking, watching, and recording without your knowledge made his blood run cold with anger.

he didn’t care about his own reputation, not in the slightest. all he cared about was you and the way it could hurt you, the way it already had hurt you.

rafe was determined to figure out who took it. he didn’t care how long it would take or what he’d have to do to get the answers. whoever it was would regret ever crossing that line. and he’d make sure of it.

rafe gently pulls you to your feet, his hands steadying you before he wraps his arms around your shoulders, drawing you into a firm, grounding hug. the warmth radiating from his body seeps into you, calming the residual tremors in your chest. his steady breathing against the top of your head is a silent reassurance that you’re okay, that he’s got you.

“you’re good,” he murmurs softly, almost to himself, as if trying to convince you both.

after a few moments, he pulls back slightly, his hands brushing your arms as he guides you toward the passenger side of his truck. he opens the door and helps you inside, his fingers lingering as he buckles your seatbelt, the light touch against your bare thighs sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. you shiver but don’t say anything, leaning back into the seat as he closes the door.

once the truck is moving, the hum of the engine fills the comfortable silence between you. you haven’t said a word since the breakdown at the beach, but rafe doesn’t push. he seems to understand that the quiet is what you need right now.

he pulls into a nearby gas station, the bright lights spilling across the truck as he puts it in park. “i’ll be quick,” he mumbles, more to himself than you, before slipping out and heading inside.

you sit there, watching him through the window as he grabs a water bottle and lingers near the snack aisle, seemingly deliberating. for a brief moment, you feel a flicker of something you can’t place—gratitude, guilt, or maybe just relief that he’s here.

inside, rafe grabs a pack of gummy worms, deciding it’s the safest option. he figures it’s something easy, something you might actually eat since he’s convinced you haven’t been eating properly these past few days. satisfied, he starts to head to the checkout when he hears it—a laugh he knows all too well, one that instantly sets him on edge.

his head snaps in the direction of the sound, and there they are—sarah and john b, standing in the same aisle he just walked out of. rafe’s jaw tightens, a flare of anger igniting in his chest. it takes everything in him not to start something right then and there.

his fists clench at his sides as he forces himself to stay composed, but the tension in his body is undeniable as he turns on his heel and strides toward her.

“i need to talk to you,” he says sharply, his voice low but firm as he approaches sarah.

sarah visibly jumps at his sudden appearance, her startled expression quickly morphing into a glare. rafe can see the way her jaw ticks, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface, mirroring his own.

she glances at john b, offering him a reassuring smile. “i’ll be right back,” she says calmly, though her tone carries an edge. reluctantly, john b stays put, watching them as sarah follows rafe to the back of the store, where the beverage aisle is quieter and out of sight.

as soon as they’re alone, rafe’s grip tightens on the gummy worms and water bottle in his hands, his knuckles turning white as he struggles for some semblance of control. his glare pierces through sarah, the tension between them thick and heavy, charged with years of unresolved resentment.

“you had no fucking right,” he growls, his voice low and venomous, the anger in his tone bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.

sarah’s brows knit together, her own frustration flaring as she lowers her voice to a sharp whisper. “i had no right? rafe, you had no fucking right!” she hisses, her eyes blazing with anger. “my best friend of all people? are you serious? you could’ve literally chosen anyone else, anyone, but no, you always have to come after my happiness!”

her words hang heavy between them, cutting deeper than she intended. rafe’s jaw clenches, his entire body rigid as he stares at her, his anger matched only by the faint flicker of hurt she’s unknowingly struck.

“this isn’t about your happiness,” he snaps back, his voice still low but laced with venom. “this is about you sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. you had no right to drag her into this.”

sarah crosses her arms, her glare unwavering. “and you had no right to do what you did, rafe. you knew what this would do to her, to me, to all of us. but you didn’t care, did you? because you never do.”

rafe steps closer, the tension between them nearly suffocating as his voice drops even lower, dripping with bitterness. “you think i don’t care? you have no idea what i feel, sarah. none. but you—you took it too far. that video?” his grip tightens around the items in his hands, the plastic crinkling under the pressure. “do you have any idea what that did to her? to me?”

sarah’s arms tighten around herself, but she doesn’t back down. “i didn’t take that video, rafe. don’t pin your shit on me,” she fires back, her voice steadier now, but no less angry. “you’re the one who dragged her into your bullshit. you’re the one who made her a target.”

“a target? i’ve been protecting her!” he snarls, his composure cracking as he takes another step closer. “you think i wanted this? for someone to spy on us, to send you a video like that? you have no idea what i’d do to keep her safe.”

sarah laughs bitterly, shaking her head. “protecting her? from what, rafe? from you?” her words are sharp, designed to cut, and they do. “because that’s what it looks like from where I’m standing.”

rafe’s jaw ticks, his breathing heavy, as he stares her down, trying to bite back the words that threaten to spill. “you don’t get it,” he mutters, his voice thick with frustration. “you never did. this isn’t about you, sarah.”

“no, it’s about her,” she snaps, her voice rising slightly despite her attempt to keep it contained. “my best friend, rafe. she’s not just some girl for you to fuck around with and forget about when it’s convenient. she deserves better than this—better than you.”

the words hit him harder than he expects, but he doesn’t let it show. instead, he leans in closer, his tone sharp as a blade. “and you think she needs you playing savior? she doesn’t, sarah. she’s stronger than you give her credit for.”

sarah’s face softens slightly, her anger flickering into something more conflicted, but she doesn’t back down. “if she’s so strong, then why is she breaking because of you?” she whispers, her voice quieter now but no less cutting.

rafe doesn’t answer immediately, his grip loosening as the weight of her words settles over him. for the first time, he looks away, his jaw tight as he swallows hard.

sarah sighs deeply, her anger giving way to something softer, though the tension in her shoulders remains. she looks down at her shoes for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet rafe’s, her eyes filled with something he doesn’t expect—concern.

“if you really care about her, rafe,” she says, her voice quieter now, less sharp but still firm, “you’ll leave her alone. you’re just going to take her down with you.”

her words cut deeper than he wants to admit, but he doesn’t let it show. his jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he shakes his head. “you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, his voice low but defensive.

“don’t i?” sarah counters, her brows furrowing. “i’ve seen it, rafe. the way you drag people into your chaos. she’s already hurting because of you—look at what’s happened these past few days! she doesn’t need this. she doesn’t need you.”

rafe flinches at the words but quickly masks it with anger. “and what? you think walking away is going to fix everything? you think i can just leave her and pretend like nothing happened?” his voice rises slightly, frustration creeping in.

“yes,” sarah replies simply, her tone steady but sad. “because if you don’t, she’s going to lose herself trying to save you. and you know that, rafe. deep down, you know that.”

rafe’s hands clench into fists, his breathing heavy as her words sink in. for a moment, he’s silent, his eyes darting away as he processes what she’s said. but instead of responding, he turns on his heel, walking away from her and toward the checkout, his mind racing with everything he doesn’t want to admit might be true.

as rafe walks toward the checkout, his thoughts are a storm of anger, guilt, and something deeper he can’t quite name. sarah’s words play over and over in his head, each repetition chipping away at his defenses. if you really care about her, you’ll leave her alone. the weight of it feels unbearable, but he pushes it down, refusing to let it show.

he pays for the water and gummy worms quickly, his mind far from the mundane transaction. the cashier’s bored expression barely registers as he grabs the bag and heads back to the truck. the short walk feels like miles, his chest tight with a mix of emotions he can’t fully unravel.

when he gets back to the truck, he opens the door and climbs in, placing the bag on the center console. you’re still in the passenger seat, curled up slightly, staring out the window at the empty gas station parking lot. the dim light casts shadows across your face, and rafe’s chest aches at the sight of you looking so small, so fragile.

“here,” he says, his voice softer than usual as he pulls out the water and gummy worms, placing them gently in your lap. “figured you should have something.”

you don’t look at him right away, your fingers hesitating before picking up the water bottle. “thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely audible, but it’s the first thing you’ve said to him since the beach. it feels like both a relief and a dagger in his chest.

rafe leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair as silence falls between you again. he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix this. sarah’s words linger in the back of his mind like a poison, making him question everything.

finally, he glances at you, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “do you… do you want me to take you home?” the question hangs in the air, heavy and uncertain, as he watches you for any sign of what you want, what you need from him.

“um—my mom and i kinda got into this fight,” you admit, your voice small, barely louder than the hum of the truck’s engine. “i really don’t want to be home right now.” your fingers fumble with the cap of the water bottle before you finally twist it open, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in your throat.

rafe glances at you briefly, nodding as he shifts the truck into gear. “tannyhill it is,” he says simply, his tone steady but softer than you expected.

soon, he’s reversing out of the gas station, the hum of the tires on the road filling the silence between you. you steal a glance at him, his profile illuminated by the dim dashboard lights. his grip on the steering wheel is firm, his jaw tight, but his expression is calm—focused, almost protective.

you sip your water quietly, the tension from earlier slowly starting to ebb away, replaced by a strange sense of relief. for all of rafe’s flaws, he always had a way of making you feel like, in the moment, nothing else could touch you.

as the truck cruises through the dark streets, you lean your head against the window, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. the familiar scent of leather and cologne fills your senses, grounding you more than you care to admit.

you hadn’t been to tannyhill in a while, the last time being a couple of weeks ago with rafe. stepping inside now, you realize it hasn’t changed—it still holds that same strange sense of comfort, despite everything. the air smells faintly of cedar and something distinctly rafe, a mix of cologne and the warm musk of the house itself.

rafe walks in behind you, the sound of his shoes soft against the hardwood floor. he sets his keys down next to the coat hanger with a quiet clink, his movements uncharacteristically calm. you glance around as you step further into the house, your gaze catching the open laptop and scattered paperwork on the coffee table. clearly, he’d been in the middle of something important when you called.

you move to the outside balcony, sinking onto the couch there, the cool night air brushing against your skin. rafe follows shortly after, standing in the doorway for a moment before stepping onto the balcony.

your eyes flick back to the coffee table through the glass door, taking in the slight disarray of his work. he must’ve dropped everything the moment he heard your voice, and the thought makes your chest tighten, your heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth.

“you didn’t have to stop what you were doing,” you say softly, glancing up at him.

he shrugs, leaning against the balcony railing, his expression unreadable but his voice steady. “it’s not important. you are.”

his words linger in the air between you, and for once, you don’t overthink them. you just let yourself feel the comfort of being here, the weight of the day slowly lifting.

“rafe—” you begin, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

“yeah?” he cuts in quickly, his response sharp and immediate, like he’d been waiting on edge for you to say something. his eyes search yours, his posture tense, his mind clearly elsewhere. sarah’s words are still plaguing him, the weight of them pulling him into his thoughts.

you take a small breath, steadying yourself. “thank you,” you say, your tone even softer now. “for helping me through that.”

his expression softens slightly, and he takes a step closer before sitting down on the small table in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours. his focus is completely on you now, and the tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction.

“it’s happened before,” you admit quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, “but it’s never been that…” your voice trails off, the weight of earlier still heavy in your chest.

rafe nods slowly, understanding without needing you to finish the sentence. “i know,” he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with something that sounds like regret. his gaze holds yours, unwavering. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

his words settle over you like a blanket, grounding you in the moment. for all his rough edges, rafe had a way of being exactly what you needed when the world felt like too much. and right now, that was more than enough.

the silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken, until rafe finally sighs, breaking it. “i saw sarah at the store,” he says, his voice low.

your gaze lifts from your fingers, which had been nervously fiddling with the hem of your sweater. sitting up straighter, you meet his eyes, searching for something in his expression. “what did she say?” you ask softly.

he exhales sharply, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “i just want you to know,” he begins, his voice steady but tense, “she’s not mad at you. she’s mad at me.” his hand clenches into a fist, his knuckles whitening as he stares down at the floor.

“sarah…” he trails off, his jaw tightening at the mere thought of her. after a beat, he continues, his voice bitter. “she thinks i’m using you to get to her.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, all you can do is watch him, trying to make sense of it all. “are you?” you ask, your voice quiet but firm, your gaze unwavering as you search his face.

rafe’s eyes flicker between yours, the tension in his body palpable. his jaw works for a moment, and then he finally answers, his voice steady. “no.”

the way he says it—calm, without hesitation—makes you believe him. but the weight of everything else still lingers, making the air between you feel thick and unsteady.

“rafe, it’s fine. really, I’m over it,” you say softly, trying to keep your tone light, even though it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on your chest. “if you just want to keep it casual, then we’ll leave it at that. it was the agreement in the first place, right?”

his jaw tightens, his teeth grinding together as he struggles to keep his composure. casual. the word feels like a knife twisting in his gut because it’s the opposite of what he wants.

but admitting that to you? that’s something else entirely. he almost slipped earlier—nearly spilled everything in the middle of the gas station while arguing with sarah. but here, sitting across from you, the words feel too heavy, too risky.

rafe wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to protect you. every instinct in him screamed to keep you away from his world, to shield you from the darkness that followed him everywhere he went.

“it’s not that simple,” he mutters finally, his voice low, as if he’s talking more to himself than to you. his fists clench again, the tension in his body radiating outward. “you think this is about keeping it casual? it’s not. it’s about keeping you safe.”

his eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, the mask slips completely. there’s a raw vulnerability in his expression, something he’s been trying to keep buried. “the way i live my life… it’ll ruin you,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “and i can’t let that happen.”

your brows knit together, a confused pout forming on your lips that almost makes him cave. “if this is about stacy thornton—”

“it’s not about stacy,” he interrupts quickly, his tone sharp but not unkind. his hands move to his face, rubbing stressfully as he exhales deeply. “the reason you saw me with her that day on the golf course… it wasn’t what you think.”

you stay quiet, your gaze fixed on him as he drops his hands and meets your eyes again. “i was trying to strike a deal with her father. cameron development is his company’s biggest competitor, and if i can get close to stacy, he won’t see me as a threat, and i could blindside him,” he explains, his voice steady but laced with frustration, as though the situation is as exhausting for him as it is for you.

his hand instinctively finds your knee, his thumb tracing gentle patterns across it, grounding himself as much as you. “i don’t want anything to do with stacy, i promise,” he says, his tone softening as he looks at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding.

the sincerity in his voice, the gentle touch of his hand, and the raw honesty in his confession make it harder for you to hold onto the frustration you felt before. “then why does it feel like you’re always pushing me away?” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

his eyes shut softly, as if he’s trying to gather any remaining resolve he can muster. his chest rises and falls with a heavy sigh before he speaks, his voice low and unsteady. “because, baby…” the nickname slips from his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, it sends a flutter through your stomach despite the weight of the moment.

“if i don’t push you away,” he continues, his eyes opening slowly to meet yours, “then i have to let you in. and i can’t do that to you.” his voice cracks just slightly at the end, the vulnerability slipping through despite his attempts to stay composed.

his hand tightens its grip on your knee for a moment, as if anchoring himself to you, his thumb still tracing gentle patterns. “letting you in means exposing you to all of it—everything i’ve done, everything i am. and you don’t deserve that.” his voice wavers, the rawness in his tone making your chest ache.

you stare at him, your heart twisting at his words. “but don’t you see?” you whisper, leaning forward slightly, your own voice trembling. “you’re not protecting me by shutting me out, rafe. you’re just hurting me more.”

his resolve crumbles completely, the weight of holding back proving too much. he sighs softly, his hand sliding from your knee to gently grip your chin, tilting your face toward his. his eyes search yours for a moment, as if asking for permission, before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

it’s not like the other times. this kiss isn’t rushed or heated—it’s careful, almost fragile, like he’s afraid it might break both of you if he lingers too long. his thumb brushes your jaw as his lips move against yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades away.

when he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his hand still holding your chin. his voice is barely a whisper when he speaks. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “i just… i don’t know how else to show you.”

“show me what?” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly as you chew on your bottom lip, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from closing the distance between you again.

rafe’s hand lingers on your chin, his thumb gently brushing your skin as his eyes bore into yours, raw and unguarded. he swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly as he finally says the words that have been clawing at him for what feels like forever.

“that i love you,” he murmurs, the confession hanging heavily in the air between you. his gaze doesn’t falter, watching your every reaction like he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next.

your breath catches in your throat, his words hitting you harder than you ever expected. the vulnerability in his voice, the way his hand shakes ever so slightly against your skin—it’s enough to shatter any walls you had left.

“well, i can piece it together, i’m a big girl,” you mutter, your words barely leaving your lips before you close the space between you, crashing your mouth against his without another thought.

rafe groans softly, his hands immediately finding their way into your hair, tangling in it as he pulls you closer. in one swift motion, he removes the hat from your head, tossing it aside like it’s in his way. his lips move against yours with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, his touch igniting a spark that makes your whole body feel alive.

“what are you doing to me, huh?” he mumbles against your lips, his voice low and gravelly, the words almost a plea.

you smile against his mouth, the smallest laugh escaping you before you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands brushing lightly against his chest. “probably the same thing you’re doing to me,” you reply softly, your gaze flickering between his lips and his eyes.

a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth before he pulls you back in, kissing you deeply, as if trying to make up for all the moments he held himself back.

rafe’s kisses left you dizzy, every touch, every movement pulling you deeper into him. before you even realized it, you were rolling your hips against his, your body moving instinctively, chasing the heat building between you. breathy moans slipped from your lips against his, and his hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements as you straddled him.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, his head falling back slightly as he leans into the couch, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “doing so good f’me,” he mumbles, his voice rough with pleasure.

his words send a spark through you, making your hips move more deliberately, the friction sending shivers up your spine. rafe’s eyes never leave you, dark and hooded as he watches you attempt to bounce on him, your movements unsteady as the overwhelming pleasure takes hold of you.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to grip your hips tighter, helping you find a rhythm. “so fucking perfect.” his praise only spurs you on, the intensity building with every roll of your hips, every moan that slips from both your lips. the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you and the heat consuming you both.

the way you were squeezing around him had rafe’s jaw ticking, his self-control hanging by a thread. every movement of your hips sent shockwaves through him, and he was trying—really trying—not to lose himself and thrust into you, wanting to keep you comfortable.

but when he couldn’t hold back any longer, his hands gripped your waist firmly, flipping you so your back was splayed against the couch. before you could even process the shift, he grabbed one of the nearby pillows, sliding it under your lower back to lift your hips, positioning you for a deeper angle.

“trust me,” he murmured, his voice rough but tender, his lips brushing against your temple as he settled between your legs.

then he started moving, his pace firm and deliberate, each thrust pushing into you with an intensity that had you crying out, your moans matching the rhythm of his movements. your hands gripped his neck for support, nails digging in slightly as the new angle sent pleasure coursing through you in waves.

“fuck,” rafe groaned, his voice low and strained as he watched your body arch beneath him. “you feel so good, baby—so fucking perfect.” his words only amplified the heat pooling in your core, your moans turning into desperate gasps as he kept up the relentless pace, the balcony echoing with the sounds of skin meeting skin and your shared breaths.

“rafe, shit—don’t stop,” you beg, your voice trembling as your legs quiver around his waist, struggling to keep hold of him as he pounds into you. every thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, your body arching into his as you cling to him for support.

he groans at your words, his eyes darkening as his hand slides up your body, finding its way to your neck. his fingers curl around your throat, applying just enough pressure under your jaw to make your head spin, the sensation amplifying the overwhelming heat pooling in your core.

“you like that, huh?” he mutters, his voice rough and dripping with control as he watches your face twist in pleasure beneath him. “look at you, baby, taking it so well for me.”

your eyes flutter closed as the overwhelming combination of his relentless pace and the pressure on your neck sends you spiraling closer to the edge. “rafe,” you whimper, your voice trembling, the sound barely audible over the symphony of heavy breaths and skin meeting skin.

his eyes stay locked on you, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and trembling body beneath him. his other hand moves to press firmly on your lower stomach, the added pressure making you cry out, your back arching against the couch as the sensation intensifies everything.

“fuck,” he groans, his voice gravelly as he watches your reactions, completely entranced by the way you respond to him. “you feel that?” he mutters, his hand pressing down just a little more. “feel how deep i am?”

you can only nod weakly, your moans turning into desperate, breathless gasps as your body tightens around him, squeezing with every thrust. rafe’s jaw clenches, his own composure fraying as he drives you both closer and closer to the edge, his pace never faltering.

“come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his tone raw and commanding. “cum for me. i’ve got you.”

his words are the final push, and your body shudders as the release crashes over you. your walls convulse around his cock, pulling a deep, guttural moan from his throat. the intensity has your head spinning, and your moans dissolve into gasps as he keeps thrusting, prolonging your high even as the overstimulation starts to set in.

rafe’s hand slips from your neck, his head dropping to rest beside yours, his breath hot against your skin. his pace falters as he feels his own release building rapidly. when your cunt squeezes him tightly on a particularly deep thrust, it sends him over the edge.

“fuck,” he groans, his hips stuttering as he spills inside of you, filling you completely. his grip on your hips tightens as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, his body trembling slightly against yours.

the room falls into a heavy silence, the only sounds the mingling of your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the crickets outside. rafe stays still for a moment, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, grounding himself before slowly pulling out to look at you, his eyes soft but unreadable.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “i didn’t mean to be rough.” his eyes scan your face intently, searching for any trace of discomfort or regret.

you let out a soft laugh, reaching up to pull his face down to yours, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. his shoulders relax, and he smiles against your mouth, the tension in his body melting away.

when you pull back, the wet sound of the kiss echoes softly in the quiet night, and a playful smirk tugs at your lips. “you’re so cute,” you tease, your voice light and full of warmth.

for the first time, you see his cheeks flush a faint shade of pink, and the sight makes you erupt into a fit of laughter. rafe huffs softly, shaking his head, but there’s a shy grin tugging at his lips that he can’t hide.

“i love you, rafe,” you say suddenly, the words falling from your lips with ease, no hesitation or doubt.

his eyes widen slightly, his expression softening as he looks at you. for a moment, he’s silent, his hand brushing against your cheek. “i love you,” he whispers, his voice rough but steady, his gaze holding yours as if to make sure you know just how much he means it.

“we’re gonna be okay,” you whisper softly, your hand coming up to caress his cheek. your thumb brushes over his skin in slow, soothing strokes, your eyes locked on his.

“yeah,” rafe murmurs, his voice dark and full of resolve, “after i kill the person who recorded you.”

your hand stills for a moment, his words making your stomach twist. you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken at the thought, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“rafe,” you say softly, leaning closer to him, your tone a mixture of caution and reassurance. “that’s not how we should handle this. i just… i just want it to go away. i don’t want you to make it worse.”

his eyes flicker back to yours, softening slightly, though the fire in them doesn’t fully fade. “no one gets to do that to you,” he mutters, his hand coming up to cover yours on his cheek. “no one gets to hurt you and get away with it.”

you sigh, leaning your forehead against his. “we’ll figure it out. together. just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

he doesn’t answer right away, the weight of your words hanging between you. but after a moment, he nods reluctantly, his hand tightening around yours. “okay,” he finally says, his voice calm, though the tension in his tone betrays him. it’s clear he’s only agreeing to keep you at ease.

later, once you’ve fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep, rafe gently scoops you up, careful not to wake you. he carries you to his bed, tucking you under the soft duvet. his gaze lingers on your face for a moment, his expression softening as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your cheek. with a quiet sigh, he turns and closes the door behind him.

but there’s no rest for him tonight. he stalks to his office, the air around him heavy with purpose. dropping into his chair, he powers up his laptop, his jaw set as he begins sending emails and messages.

personal investigators, tech-savvy acquaintances, and anyone else who might help him track down the person responsible for the video—you’re not just a priority to him; you’re the priority.

each keystroke is filled with a quiet rage, his determination growing with every email sent. rafe won’t rest, won’t stop, until he figures out who did this to you—and makes sure they regret it.

© aerialmirrorss

taglist!: @loren8818181 @cherubcameron @shookyungsoo @waywarddiplomatfarmmonger-blog @furiouscopshepherduniversity @chenslucy @superswaggycooch @ggyuslovie @mileyraes @tincanhat @pinklleemonade @stylestarkey @percysley @rrosiitas @ipromiseidk @faephoria

[ggukivrse]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 05

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, kissing, making out (?), you guys are gonna hate me lolol, reader and jk are both stupid, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 8.1k

notes: i did NOT think this would take this long, i’m so sorry angels :< as always, like, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are so appreciated!!! enjoy reading <33

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⤷ chapter five — anything

i don’t wanna talk about anything / i wanna kiss, kiss you eyes again / wanna witness your eyes lookin’

You wake up to warmth.

It takes you a second to realise it’s not the kind that comes from the sun bleeding through the sheer curtains. It’s heavier than that. Warmer. It smells like the detergent he always uses, that subtle citrus blend you used to make fun of for being “too clean.” You shift slightly; not enough to stir anything, but just enough to check.

Yep. That’s his arm, still draped across your waist.

He’s curled behind you, breathing steady, chest rising and falling against your back. One of his legs has somehow found its way tangled with yours. His grip on you is loose, almost lazy, like even in sleep, he doesn't want to let go — but he would if you pulled away.

You don’t.

Your pillow is soft, but his chest was softer last night. You remember the way he just climbed into bed, half-drunk, barely conscious, and slung his arm around you. No hesitation. No asking. Just like nothing had changed.

And maybe, for a second, you’d let yourself pretend that was true.

Now, in the stillness of early morning, there’s something terrifyingly comforting about his hold. About the way your bodies fit together so seamlessly, like no time had passed at all.

And you can feel the small ache in your chest — the part of you that misses him so much you're not sure how to deal with it.

You miss the way he sleeps like he’s protecting you from something. You miss the way his warmth settles over you like a blanket. You miss... him.

Your hand twitches, like it wants to reach for his, but you don't move — you don't want to break the moment.

So you just stay still, letting yourself exist in the space between what was and what could’ve been. Letting yourself remember, even if just for a minute, what it felt like to be loved by him without question.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, eyes half-lidded and mind floating somewhere between sleep and something a little too close to dreaming.

Eventually, his breathing shifts.

Not a lot — just the kind of subtle change that lets you know he’s slipping out of sleep. His chest rises a little deeper, his fingers twitch once at your side, and you feel the slight tension in his leg where it’s tangled with yours.

You keep your eyes closed.

He doesn’t move immediately. In fact, for a second, you think maybe he’s still asleep after all. But then you feel it: the tiniest brush of his thumb against the hem of your shirt.

You hear him breathe in, a little sharper this time. Not quite a gasp, but close. The kind of inhale people take when they suddenly remember where they are, and who they’re with.

Then his voice, low and scratchy with sleep, murmurs near your ear, “Still drool in your sleep?”

You scoff, caught off guard, and shove at his arm without really meaning it.

“No,” you mutter, voice thick, “but you still snore.”

There’s a quiet laugh behind you. It's barely there, a warm exhale more than anything else, but it vibrates faintly through his chest where it rests against your back. It feels nice, but too easy. Like a bad habit.

Then, silence.

Another beat passes, and you can feel the change the moment it happens. Like something clicks back into place for him. His arm retracts slowly, the weight of it disappearing from around your waist. He shifts back a few inches — not a lot, but enough to put space where there hadn’t been any for hours.

You feel the loss immediately.

Your skin feels cooler where he was, your body suddenly too aware of the places that were warm just seconds ago. You don’t move. Don’t look at him. You just stare at the soft curve of light on the wall in front of you and pretend you don’t miss the closeness already.

“Sorry,” he says under his breath, barely audible. “Didn’t mean to... yeah.”

You nod, still facing forward. “It’s fine.”

But it’s not. Not really.

He sits up slowly, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulls his legs over the edge of the bed. You don’t turn around, but you can hear the way he rubs at his face with his hands, the quiet sound of palms dragging over skin.

“Sun’s already up,” he says, like you hadn’t noticed.

You hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything else.

He sits there on the edge of the bed for a second, then lets out a groan. "Fuck," he mutters. "How much did I drink last night?"

You shift slightly on the mattress, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair’s a mess, flattened on one side and sticking up in soft waves on the other. It makes you smile.

“Judging by the way you came in here like a tranquilised bear? Enough.”

He huffs a sound that might be a laugh, head hanging low. “Figures.”

He pushes himself up with a grunt, standing slow like the weight of being vertical is a little too much this early. There’s a faint crease across his cheek from the pillow, another on the side of his neck where the blanket must’ve bunched up under him. He scratches absently at his jaw, eyes still droopy.

You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at you.

He just stands there for a beat, arms loose at his sides, before murmuring, “I’m gonna go see if there’s coffee. You want anything?”

You finally roll over, propping yourself up on one elbow just in time to see him standing by the door, his hair messy and eyes avoiding yours.

You hesitate. “Coffee sounds good.”

He gives a small nod. “Okay.”

The door clicks softly behind him, and you’re alone in the room again. The only evidence he was ever there is the indent on the mattress beside you and the faint trace of citrus still lingering in the air.

You sigh, falling back against the pillow.

You hate how badly you already want him to come back.

The small Hello Kitty sticker on the side of Jungkook’s helmet is still there.

It’s barely hanging on now, faded from years of sun and road and rain, peeling slightly at the edge like it's just waiting for someone to come along and pull it off for good. But no one ever has. Not even him.

You remember the day you put it there. It was in your third year of college, and he’d just bought the bike and rolled it into the lot, grinning proudly. He was already talking about road trips; about escaping the city and taking you everywhere just because he knew how much you loved travelling. You’d pulled the sticker from your phone case and pressed it onto the side of the helmet before he could say anything.

He’d groaned. You’d grinned. He kept it.

And now, here you are — arms wrapped around him as the motorbike hums down the road toward town, your legs pressed tight against his. You ignore the overwhelming urge to press your cheek against his back and just relax against him.

The wind is warm, laced with salt. You feel it push through your clothes and tangle your hair, but most of all, you feel him — solid in front of you, body moving in sync with the turns. His shirt is damp with heat, and your fingers rest lightly against the fabric, careful not to hold too tight.

But you want to.

You feel his breath shift when the town comes into view, a small stretch of painted buildings and narrow streets nestled between the coastline and the hills. It’s beautiful — chipped and colourful, with flags strung between rooftops and open-air shops spilling out into the street.

He pulls into a spot near the edge of the square and cuts the engine. For a second, neither of you move. Your arms are still around him. Your chest is still mere centimetres away from his back. The silence settles in like heat.

When you finally slip off the bike, the world feels too bright. You run a hand through your hair, trying to tame the wind-tangled strands, and glance back just in time to see Jungkook unbuckle his helmet and set it on the seat. The sticker catches the light. So does his smile — soft, and slightly crooked as he smoothens the edges.

You take a few steps toward the square, eyes scanning the little street corners and shaded storefronts. There’s a carved wooden sign hanging from a crooked beam, and beside it, a wire rack of postcards spinning lazily in the breeze.

But no sign of Ari. Or Namjoon.

Which is funny because it was Ari who had convinced you to come down here in the first place.

You’d been perfectly content by the beach, book in hand, half-asleep in the sun, but she’d tugged you up and kept begging you to come with her until you finally gave in.

To be fair, she did have a good reason; the house was running critically low on groceries.

Somehow, she’d managed to convince Jungkook too — which honestly, you're glad about because there's nothing you hate more than third wheeling a happy couple — but no one else was swayed enough to tag along.

And now, she's the one that's late.

You shade your eyes with your hand and glance further down the street.

“They said they’d meet us here, right?” you ask, finally.

Your voice is quiet. You’re not even sure if it’s meant to break the silence or just soften it.

Jungkook lifts his phone halfway, thumb tapping the screen like it’s muscle memory. “Yeah,” he says, not looking up right away. “Ah, Namjoon just texted me there. They just got here, so they’re probably still looking for parking or something. He said they'll meet us eventually."

You nod once and step away from the curb, eyes trailing the narrow stretch of market street ahead. Sunlight glints off the tin roofs. There’s the murmur of voices, the occasional clink of glass, and the low thrum of a radio somewhere playing a song you don’t recognise but vaguely like.

Jungkook falls in beside you without a word.

A couple passes going the opposite way, their hands intertwined. You glance down at yours.

“We should probably start,” he says after a beat. “Since they’ll just meet us.”

You shrug. “You have the list, right?”

He unlocks his phone again and scrolls. “Yeah. Ari texted it to me this morning.”

“What’s on it?”

He reads as you both start walking again. “Eggs, lemons, bread. Peaches. Some kind of pasta. And then she added ‘whatever fruit looks pretty.’”

“What's that supposed to mean," you say, amusement lacing your voice.

"No idea."

You break off from the main road, following a shaded lane lined with uneven cobblestones and quieter stalls. The air’s a little cooler here, less crowded, the noise of the market fading to a background hum. You walk slowly, letting your shoulders drop, adjusting the tote bag looped over your arm as it shifts with the weight of everything you’ve already picked up.

So far: a bundle of slightly overripe peaches, a paper-wrapped loaf of bread, lemons, and some fresh mango juice.

Jungkook had gone to find water in some corner café he'd spotted, and you’d just nodded and wandered a little further on your own, not really thinking about where your feet were taking you.

Now, you’re standing in front of a narrow stall tucked between a linen vendor and a rack of second-hand books, and the table in front of you is lined with jewellery.

Nothing fancy — just a board of earrings propped on the table, arranged in uneven rows on pale linen. Some dangle, some are simple studs. Silver, gold, brushed metal, the occasional coloured stone.

You scan them slowly, half out of habit. You’ve been keeping an eye out since yesterday, hoping you might stumble across something like the ones you lost, but nothing here is quite right. Too ornate, too polished, too intentionally handmade.

Though, one pair does catch your eye: small hoops with a single pearl hanging from it. They're pretty.

You don’t pick them up.

Just stand there, letting the edge of your bag dig slightly into your shoulder, the sun hitting your arms in slow patches between the slats of the awning overhead.

The vendor is older, seated on a stool in the corner, half-hidden behind a stack of folded cloth. She doesn’t greet you. Just watches, quiet and patient, a thread of silver hair slipping from behind her ear.

You tuck your hands into your pockets, shift your weight to the other foot.

The earrings catch the light when you shift your stance — just a soft glint where the pearl curves beneath the hoop. You stare at them a second longer than you mean to, thumb brushing the strap of the tote against your hip.

“Pretty,” someone says behind you.

You blink, half-turn.

There’s a guy standing just outside the edge of the stall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

You offer a polite nod.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. “You just looked kind of... focused.”

You shrug. “Just browsing.”

He steps closer.

“Any good finds?”

Your hand tightens slightly around the bag handle. “I’m just looking at earrings.”

His eyes flick to the table like he hadn’t actually noticed it until now. “Right. The pearls are cute. I could see them on you.”

You don’t answer. Just shift your weight, subtly angling your body away.

He doesn’t pick up on it. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.

“You from around here?” he asks, like he’s picking up a conversation that was never started.

You glance down the alley, scanning for a glimpse of Jungkook, but it’s still quiet — just the linen swaying in the heat, a burst of laughter carrying from somewhere across the square.

“No,” you say, clipped.

He smiles like that was the answer he wanted. “Yeah, figured. You’ve got that kind of—” he gestures vaguely. “Not-local look.”

You’re not sure what that means. You don’t ask.

“Vacation?” he tries again.

You glance back at the table, pretending to study a thin necklace you’re not really looking at. “I’m waiting for someone.”

The guy hums, still standing there.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, almost like it's a joke. Like he already knows what he thinks the answer is.

You don’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Another beat passes.

And he says, “Don’t see him.”

You square your shoulders slightly, still not facing him.

“I told you, I'm waiting for him. I don’t need company,” you say.

He lets out a little laugh. “I’m just making conversation.”

You press your lips together and turn, this time fully, eyes meeting his just long enough to say I’m done.

And still, he lingers.

But his smile falters for a brief second, almost as if he’s not used to not being smiled at. Not used to being dismissed.

“Look,” he says again, something shifting under his voice now — flatter, slightly annoyed, like he’s decided you’re being difficult for no reason.

You stay silent, eyes on the earrings, jaw tight.

For a second, you think about just walking away. Heading back through the stalls, finding a different corner to browse that doesn’t come with commentary and unwanted company. You should’ve just stayed with Jungkook. Should’ve waited by the fruit stand like you said you would instead of wandering off like this.

You shift your weight again, about to turn to walk away when you hear the easy scrape of sneakers against stone behind you.

Relief blooms in your chest as the steady weight of Jungkook's palm settles low on your back.

“Hey baby,” he says, voice smooth, a little softer than it needs to be. “Sorry, it took forever.”

You turn toward him instinctively, letting your shoulder brush his chest, relief flooding through you.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you. His attention is on the guy, who’s already taking a step back.

The stranger raises an eyebrow, trying for a laugh. “Didn’t realise she was taken.”

Jungkook’s tone doesn’t change. “She is.”

You don’t pull away.

The guy looks between the two of you — sizing up, maybe, but the math’s already been done. He’s not stupid. He huffs a small breath through his nose and nods, like this was all just a misunderstanding.

“All good,” he says, and turns to walk off.

Only once he’s out of sight do you finally breathe. Jungkook’s hand stays where it is.

“Fucker,” you mutter, glancing back toward the street. “I literally fucking told him I had a boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles — a quiet, amused curve of his mouth, like he’s holding back more than he’s saying.

“You delivered it well,” he says. “Had me convinced.”

You shoot him a look, but your irritation is already starting to melt at the sight of him.

“I should’ve thrown a lemon at him.”

“You did buy extra.”

That pulls a genuine laugh from you, and he hands you the water bottle like nothing happened at all. His fingers graze yours — not long enough to mean anything, but long enough to notice.

You take a sip.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods once, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Comes with the role, right?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “Acting boyfriend of the year.”

You raise a brow, lips curving. “Please, you’re barely qualified.”

"Uhm, ouch?"

You laugh again, leaning into the teasing by gently nudging his side.

Jungkook shifts beside you, elbow lightly brushing yours as he nods toward the side of the stall. “You know what we should get?”

You glance over at him, the corners of your mouth twitching. “What?”

He tips his chin toward a tray tucked beside the earrings — a neat line of woven bracelets laid out in rows, some beaded, some braided, some with tiny charms strung through the middle like afterthoughts. “Matching couple bracelets.”

Your brow lifts. “That’s bold.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Just saying. That way, if someone else tries to come up to you again, you can just lift your wrist or something. Plus, it'll get Ari off your ass.”

You look down at the bracelets. Most of them are simple. Worn leather cords. Clay beads in dusky colours. A few pale shells strung on white string. The kind of thing you would’ve scoffed at years ago. Now… you kind of like the idea.

Still, you don’t let him off that easy.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say slowly, reaching out to nudge one with your finger. It rolls in place, beads clicking softly against the table. Then, a beat later, you glance sideways at him. “You know, if you want to match with me… you could just say that.”

He scoffs under his breath, but his mouth curves like you’ve caught him. “I literally just did.”

You smile without meaning to. “No, you disguised it as self-defense.”

He leans a little closer, voice low and casual like he’s letting you in on something. “Well, your safety is my top priority.”

“Sure,” you say, dragging out the word. “Let’s pretend that’s the reason.”

Jungkook holds up both hands like he’s innocent. “Hey, if matching bracelets keep weird guys away and makes us more convincing to everyone else, I think we’ve found the perfect investment.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand lingers over one of the pairs — two braided threads in muted navy and cream. His gaze follows yours, and you don’t miss the way his fingers brush close to yours when he reaches to pick them up.

He turns one over in his hand, quiet for a moment. “These okay?”

You meet his eyes. “Yeah. They’re nice.”

He pays for them — slipping a few folded bills to the vendor without looking at you — and you don’t stop him. You just put out your hand and let him tie it around your wrist, before doing the same for him.

You both linger for a second after the knots are tied, wrists side by side, the new bracelets snug against your skin. His fingers ghost over yours when he lets go.

“See?” he says, voice soft. “Official now.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugs at your lips anyway. You’re not sure if it's from the joke or the fact that he hasn’t stepped away yet.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking whatever invisible thread was hanging between you.

He pulls it out, thumb swiping across the screen. His eyes flick across the message.

“It’s Namjoon,” he says. “They’re around the corner, by that little gelato place.”

You nod, ready to follow, but before you can move, Jungkook slips his hand into yours.

The movement is so smooth, so casual, like it’s nothing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers lace between yours with practiced ease, like they’ve done a thousand times before — because they have.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t pull away.

He starts walking, gently tugging you along behind him, navigating through the narrow alley like he knows exactly where to go. His grip is firm but easy, thumb brushing once against the back of your hand as he adjusts your pace to match his.

And fuck, how you've missed this.

By the time you, Jungkook, Ari, and Namjoon made it back from town, everyone had drifted to the beach, bottles already half empty in hand. Naturally, the four of you joined in almost immediately.

Now, the sun hangs low over the ocean, melting slow into the horizon, throwing streaks of deep orange and pale lilac across the sky. The sand beneath you is warm, still holding onto the heat of the day, and the breeze smells like burnt sugar from someone’s abandoned marshmallow.

There’s a bonfire going, and everyone’s settled in a loose sprawl around it, feet kicked up, shoes long since discarded. Blankets are half-buried in the sand, and there's a speaker somewhere playing a random song no one has bothered to skip.

Seokjin and Haeun are curled together near the fire, trading sips of something dark from a flask. Taehyung’s stretched out with his head in Yasmine’s lap, sunglasses still on, despite the sun being nearly gone. Namjoon’s half-asleep, leaning back on his elbows and arguing about constellations with Hoseok.

Jungkook sits beside you. His legs are stretched out, knees bent, one arm hooked around the neck of a bottle he hasn’t touched in a while. There’s a subtle red glow along the edge of his cheek from the firelight. He’s watching the flames, brow relaxed, and you wonder if he’s even noticed how close your knee is to his.

You’re three drinks past tipsy. Four, maybe. Whatever the number is, it stopped mattering after the second time you laughed so hard your face hurt. Your skin feels flushed, limbs loose, everything a little too loud and a little too lovely.

You’re holding a glass in your hand and when you tip it back, only a lukewarm sip greets you. You shake the glass above your mouth, trying to summon more, but you only manage a few drops.

You glance around. Taehyung is still holding a beer, someone else’s drink sits forgotten near a towel, but the vodka — the one you’d claimed earlier, the one you’ve been nursing all night — is gone. Empty. Bottle tossed sideways near Kiara’s ankle.

You frown, squinting at it like it might magically refill if you look disappointed enough.

“We’re out,” you announce.

Your voice comes out rougher than you expect. The circle barely reacts — just a few shrugs, a lazy groan from someone too comfortable to care.

You push your hands against the sand and slowly rise to your feet, not bothering to brush it off your legs. The world tips, then steadies.

“I’ll grab more,” you say, already turning toward the path that leads back up the beach, toward the house.

Jungkook shifts next to you.

His voice is calm, but something in it feels closer. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

You pause, glance over your shoulder. He’s looking at you now, legs still stretched out in front of him, hand still around the neck of the bottle — but his focus is sharp. You tilt your head, expression loose.

“What, you think I’m gonna fall into a bush?”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “I’m saying I’ve seen you trip over air.”

You roll your eyes, already turning back toward the path. “I’ll be fine.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose — just the smallest huff of a sound — then pushes up from the sand with a groan. He dusts off the back of his jeans, tossing the bottle onto a towel.

“Wait up,” he says, catching up to you in a few easy strides. “I’ll come.”

You pause again, frowning faintly. “You don’t have to.”

“You’re drunk,” he says simply, meeting your eyes like that should be the whole argument.

It kind of is.

You shrug, not really fighting him on it. “Fine. But you’re carrying the new bottle.”

“Deal,” he says, and you’re already walking again, sand shifting under your feet as the last of the sun bleeds into the sea behind you.

The path up from the beach isn’t long, but it stretches just enough to make you feel the weight of your steps. You walk beside him in silence at first, the kind that’s filled with the hush of your own breath and the faint pop and crackle of the fire behind you.

He walks a step behind you at first, and you can feel the rhythm of his footsteps syncing to yours.

“Still think I’m gonna trip?” you mutter, not looking back.

“I’ve seen you fall off a curb while standing still,” he says, casual.

“That was one time.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Sure it was.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, and his mouth pulls into that crooked grin that used to mean everything to you.

It still might.

When you reach the edge of the porch, you pause to shake the sand from your ankles. He opens the screen door with one hand, letting you step through first without a word.

The air inside the house is cooler, shadows stretching across the walls where the sun hasn’t fully let go. The hum of distant music still trails in from the beach, muffled now, wrapped in layers of wood and silence.

You kick your shoes off at the door and Jungkook follows behind you.

The kitchen light is off, but there’s enough ambient glow from the setting sun through the windows to see. You move toward the counter on autopilot, stepping over someone’s forgotten hoodie on the floor. Your body’s loose, hips swinging slightly as you walk, unbothered by how your tank top’s ridden up a little from the waistband of your shorts.

Jungkook makes a soft noise behind you, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, he goes to the sink, running the tap and filling a glass.

You find the stash of liquor tucked behind the blender. Whoever stocked the place has questionable taste — peach schnapps, a half-full bottle of cheap whiskey, something unlabelled that smells like danger. But the vodka’s there, unopened. Cold from the fridge.

You pull it out with a small victorious sound and place it on the counter with a thud. The bottle’s condensation beads against your fingers.

Jungkook sets the glass of water down beside you and leans his hip against the counter.

“Drink that first,” he says, nudging the water toward you.

You groan, but reach for it anyway, your fingers brushing against his. They linger longer than they need to. You don’t move them.

“Responsible,” you murmur, bringing the glass to your lips. “Since when are you the responsible one?”

“Since you decided to replace dinner with mango juice and vodka.”

You hum at that, taking a slow sip. The water’s ice-cold, and the chill hits your throat all the way down, sharp enough to make you blink.

He watches you swallow, jaw flexing slightly.

“You’re staring,” you say, teasing, eyes glinting under the dim light.

“You’re drunk.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it again if you keep looking at me like that.”

You laugh, short and soft, setting the glass down a little too forcefully. Some water sloshes over the side and you don't even care.

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Liar.”

You tilt your head and smile, stepping closer, into his space. Your arm brushes against his. He doesn’t step back.

He smells like sun and sea and a little like smoke, and the sharpness of the scent makes your chest tighten. You lean your hip against the counter, closer now, your shoulder touching his as you both look at the bottle between you like it’s something important.

“You look good,” you say, and your voice is low — blurry with the buzz in your blood, but not slurred. Just honest.

He glances down at you, one brow raising, like he’s surprised but not really. “You’re drunk,” he repeats, gentler this time.

You shrug. “Still true.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

Not right away.

He just stands there, eyes still on yours, like he's waiting for something — waiting for you to laugh, maybe. To wave it off. Turn away. But you don’t. You stay close. Too close. The air between you is warm and still, humming with something you don’t want to name. Not yet.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way the last of the sunset catches in his lashes, turning the brown of his eyes molten — but you swear, for a second, his gaze drops to your lips.

Your heart beats harder than it should. Like it’s thinking louder than your brain.

You shift, just slightly, your hand coming down to rest on the counter beside his. Your pinky brushes his. The silence stretches, heavy and soft, and you can feel your own pulse pressing up against your ribs like it’s trying to claw out.

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

It’s quiet — so quiet you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t already tracking everything about him. The slight shift in the set of his jaw. The way his fingers twitch once, like they want to move but don’t. He’s still watching you, still breathing like he’s trying not to let it show. But his gaze drops to your lips again and you're certain you're not imagining it this time.

“You’re drunk,” he says again, softer this time. Like he’s reminding himself.

You blink, slow and lazy, like the weight of the moment is pressing down behind your eyes. But you don’t move away. Don’t close the gap.

“Not that drunk,” you murmur, and it’s not a defense. It’s the truth, or close enough. You know how you feel. Know what you want.

Still, he hesitates.

His hand lifts like he wants to touch you — your arm, your waist, your jaw, something — but he doesn’t let it land. It just hovers there in the space between you, fingers flexing slightly. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or maybe for you to step back. Like he’s giving you one last chance not to want this.

But you don’t step back.

You hold still and let the silence stretch, taut as a wire between you.

“I don’t want you to regret anything,” he says.

You tilt your head, just a little. The corner of your mouth curls — not quite teasing, not quite sweet. “Then make sure I don't.”

That does it.

Something in him cracks. Or maybe he just exhales, finally, after holding his breath for weeks, months, too long.

He leans in.

And when he kisses you, it’s soft. So soft it makes your chest ache.

His lips brush yours like he’s scared you’ll disappear. Like he’s scared he’ll ruin it if he pushes too hard. His hand finally settles at your waist, the touch almost featherlight. You let your eyes fall shut as your fingers curl against the counter’s edge, your breath catching.

You’re not thinking clearly — not really. Your thoughts are cotton-wrapped and soft at the edges. The vodka, the heat, the way his lips feel on yours — it’s all tangled together now. You should probably be more careful with this. You should probably be thinking harder, asking him the all the questions that have been clawing at the back of your throat since the moment you two ended before letting this happen.

But you don’t want to. Not tonight.

You don’t want to pick this apart or hold it up to the light. Not when it feels like this. Not when his hands are on your waist, not when your mouth still feels like his.

Not when you’re this close to feeling whole again.

So you let it go.

Just for now.

You kiss him back slowly, deliberately, mouth parting just enough to deepen it. And when you do, he melts. A little. Just enough to let you feel the want he’s been trying not to show. The way he leans into you like he’s been waiting for this, needing this, and now that he has it, he’s terrified to let it go.

His hand at your waist grips tighter, pulling you in, and your chest brushes his. You slide one hand up to the side of his neck, your thumb brushing the curve of his throat, and he shivers under it, like the touch unravels him.

He parts your lips with his again, slower this time, and you sigh into his mouth — soft and involuntary and full of everything you haven’t said — and it pull something from him.

Jungkook's kisses turn firmer — still slow, still careful, but less afraid. Like whatever restraint he was holding onto just loosened a little.

You can feel the way his breath catches when your hand slips into his hair. The way he leans into it, barely chasing your touch. His thumb strokes slow, unconscious circles into your waist, and when your lips part again, he meets you there without hesitation.

You kiss him one more time.

Slow, like you’re trying to memorise the shape of it. Like you don’t know when you’ll let yourself have this again.

Then you pull back — not because you want to, but because if you don’t now, you might never.

It’s gentle. Barely a breath of distance. Just enough to meet his eyes, just enough to remember where you are. Your lips still tingle from the press of his, and your fingers stay curled in the fabric at his shoulder, not quite letting go yet.

His eyes flutter open, dazed and soft, and your thumb brushes the edge of his jaw before you drop your hand to your side.

Your lips hover over his, still close enough to feel the heat of him. He exhales, the sound soft and staggered.

“The others are probably waiting,” you murmur, voice low, breath a little unsteady.

His eyes open slowly, gaze heavy-lidded and warm as it settles on you. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just looks at you, like he’s trying to decide if he’s allowed to want this much.

“Let them wait," he mumbles.

You soft giggle leaves your lips at his words and he can't help but smile too, and it's real and a little stupid because of course he’d say that. Of course he’d look at you like that.

Your forehead presses gently to his for just a second, and he doesn’t move, but you feel his hand twitch at your waist, almost as if he’s not sure whether to pull you in again or let you go.

And god, part of you wants to stay. Wants to forget the weight of all the unanswered questions sitting heavy at the bottom of your stomach. Wants to let this keep happening. Just him and you and whatever the fuck this is.

But you don't. Instead, you lean back a little, just enough to get a proper look at him.

He looks dazed. Soft around the edges. His lips are pink, still wet from the kiss, and there’s this look on his face — like you could pull him back in with a single breath and he wouldn’t fight you on it.

Your gaze drops briefly to his mouth, then back up to his eyes before taking a small step back.

Your hand fall from his shirt and you reach for the vodka bottle on the counter. It’s still slick with condensation, and your grip slips slightly before you adjust.

You turn toward the door, feet padding softly against the cool floor, unable to stop smiling.

Jungkook stays behind you for just a breath, before you hear the shuffle of his steps as he follows.

It’s only been a few minutes since you and Jungkook made it back to the fire, vodka bottle in hand and cheeks just a little too flushed.

Now, the two of you sit side by side on a shared blanket, close but not too close, feet stretched out toward the fire. And despite your best efforts, you keep catching each other’s eyes.

It’s stupid. So stupid.

But every time it happens, one of you looks away, smiling.

You’re mid-sip when someone sighs dramatically into the circle, long and loud and theatrical.

“I’m bored,” Kiara announces, collapsing backwards onto a throw pillow someone must’ve stolen from the porch chairs. One arm flops over her face; the other lifts her cup to the sky dramatically

“You’re drunk,” Jimin says, somewhere behind a stack of solo cups. His voice is lazy, amused. “That’s different.”

“Drunk and bored,” she corrects, lifting her head. “Which is objectively worse.”

Someone snorts — maybe Hoseok — and Haeun mumbles something about how this is supposed to be a chill night, how she’s too full to function. You agree — the fire’s burning low, and no one looks like they’re in a rush to do anything.

Except Taehyung, who perks up suddenly, sunglasses still on even though the sun’s been gone for hours.

“We should play something,” he says, too enthusiastic. “Old-school, like we used to. Come on.”

There’s a round of groans — some weak, some performative. A few “nooo”s and a “please don’t make me move” from Namjoon. But Taehyung doesn’t let it die.

“You know what I’m thinking,” he adds, already grinning. “Truth or drink.”

That gets a bigger reaction. Jimin laughs like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all night and Kiara groans and says something you can't quite make out.

Beside you, Jungkook lets out a soft sound that might be a sigh, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You lean back on your palms and squint at the fire.

“No,” you say, not looking up. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Kiara whines, bumping your knee with hers. “It’s for old times’ sake.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung adds, already sitting up straighter, brushing sand from his thighs. “We literally used to play this every other week in college. Don’t act brand new.”

You're opening your mouth to protest and complain some more when Jungkook leans in, voice casual as he says, "I'm in."

You blink, glancing at him just quick enough to catch the faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

With a sigh, you tip the last of your drink back and swallow hard. “Fine,” you say, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. “But I’m not going first.”

Taehyung cheers. Someone claps. The bottle cap twists loose, and suddenly cups are being refilled, rules half-remembered shouted into the dark.

Everyone huddles closer together, and you put out your hands in front of you, letting the warmth of the flame dance across your skin.

Yasmine spins the bottle. It wobbles across the sand, slows, then lands pointing somewhere between Ari and Namjoon.

“Ooooh,” Taehyung says, wiggling his brows. “A couple round already?”

Ari laughs, unbothered. “Hit me.”

Yasmine leans in. “Alright. If you had to kiss someone here who isn’t Namjoon—”

Namjoon throws his hands up. “Wow. First question.”

“—who would it be?”

Ari purses her lips, glancing around the circle dramatically. “Hmm… probably Haeun.”

Haeun immediately covers her face with both hands as everyone laughs, and Seokjin wraps an arm around her, pretending to shield her from further corruption. “Yah, back off,” he says, laughing.

The bottle spins again, this time landing on Jimin.

Ari smirks. “Have you ever made out with someone here and not told the group?”

Jimin lifts his cup halfway with a sigh, freezes, then drinks anyway.

You have a feeling you know who it is, but you don't say anything as Yasmine and Jungkook immediately start yelling over each other.

“Who was it?!” Yasmine demands, eyes wide.

“Seriously, who?” Jungkook adds, pointing his cup at Jimin like he’s about to interrogate him under a spotlight.

"Not telling," Jimin replies in a sing song voice before spinning the bottle.

It slows until it lands squarely on Jungkook.

You glance at him. He doesn’t flinch.

Jimin squints at him, letting out a hum like he’s considering a deep philosophical question. “Alright. What’s your biggest regret?”

You freeze before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. He stares at the bottle. Then at Seokjin. Then, just as calmly, he picks up his cup and takes a drink.

It’s quiet for a beat. Jimin groans. “Lame.”

“Strategic,” Jungkook replies, setting his cup down again.

Without missing a beat, he reaches for the bottle and spins.

It rolls smoothly through the sand before stopping at Kiara.

“Oh god,” she mutters, already bracing herself.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Weirdest place you’ve fucked.”

Kiara groans, but she’s grinning. “You guys are the worst.”

“Come on,” Yasmine says. “No way you don’t have a good one.”

She sighs, thinking. "Nowhere crazy, just in the back of his car.”

"Boringg," whines Jimin, and Hoseok just laughs as Kiara reaches for the bottle again.

It turns, slowly, then comes to a stop pointed at you.

You tense a little, just for a second. Kiara catches it — she doesn’t say anything, but her smile softens.

She tilts her head. “Would you ever take back an ex?”

You blink.

There’s a beat — just a flicker — where your brain stalls. The question lands soft, not sharp, but it still makes your pulse skip a little. You lean back on your palms and tilt your head toward the fire, letting the heat lick at your cheeks like it might hide the flush.

Then, without much thought, you answer.

“Nah,” you say, casually.

Your tone is light. You smile around the rim of your cup as you take a small sip, and raise your eyebrows at Kiara like it’s a no-brainer. Because, really, what girlfriend is going to say yes to that kind of question when her boyfriend’s sitting two feet away?

Kiara simply shrugs, like she already knew what you'd say and lean forward to spin the bottle. You don't notice who it stops at because you turning to look at Jungkook, a small smile playing on your lips.

You expect him to smile back. Or roll his eyes. Or whisper something stupid, like 'Really? Not even after you made out with him the kitchen?'.

But he doesn’t.

He’s looking at the fire.

His cup is loose in his grip, his thumb brushing over the rim once before going still. He doesn’t make a face. Doesn’t say anything. But there’s something… quiet about him now. Like he’s stepped back from the circle without actually moving.

You blink, puzzled for half a second, but someone’s already laughing at something Jimin said and Kiara’s reaching for the bottle again, so you brush it off and take another sip of your drink.

The fire pops in the background as the questions continue. Someone asks Namjoon what his favourite position is (cowgirl), how many people Haeun has slept with (three), what Yoongi's biggest fantasy it (he chooses to drink).

Eventually, someone mumbles something about calling it, and no one protests. The fire’s burned low, just embers now, and the ocean breeze has started to bite. Haeun's already dragging Seokjin to his feet, Namjoon’s helping Ari brush sand off her pants, and slowly the circle breaks apart.

You push yourself to your feet, arms wobbling a bit as you dust the sand from your shorts. It takes longer than it should. Everything takes longer than it should. You feel warm and floaty and kind of like a loose kite being dragged around by your own legs.

You’d only been asked the one question all night, but you’re pretty sure you’ve had enough to drink for ten.

Jungkook stands next to you. He doesn’t say anything, but when you wobble slightly, the back of his hand brushes yours. You grin down at your feet.

Everyone starts peeling off, drifting toward the cabins in sleepy pairs. Taehyung’s got Yasmine slung across his back like a backpack. Ari’s hanging onto Namjoon’s arm, swaying slightly. Jimin’s halfway through singing something that might be a lullaby. No one seems to care.

You and Jungkook trail behind, still barefoot, shoes forgotten somewhere near the porch.

The path back is quieter than before, but not uncomfortable. You’re humming under your breath — something soft and aimless — and you twirl the near-empty bottle in your hand like it’s a microphone.

Jungkook walks beside you, arms swinging slightly at his sides. He doesn’t say much, but he’s not far. Not ahead. Not behind. Just there. Close enough that your elbows bump once, and you giggle, not even sure why it’s funny.

The stairs creak beneath your feet as you climb up to your bedroom. He opens the door without a word, and you step past him. He follows you in, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The room is dimly lit, and you don't even consider changing into more sleep appropriate clothes before crawling onto the bed.

You hear Jungkook moving around — the soft rustle of his hoodie hitting the chair, the creak of a drawer, the small thud of his water bottle landing on the nightstand beside you. It all feels distant, muffled by your buzzed brain.

You roll over dramatically just as he switches off the light. The room falls into shadows, and then the bed dips beside you as he climbs in.

You grin up at the ceiling.

“This was fun,” you say, voice low but still sing-songy.

Jungkook lets out a little sound in response.

The sheets are cool. The pillow smells like the detergent he always uses. You pull the blanket halfway over yourself and nudge your foot toward his under the covers without even thinking about it.

No words pass between you.

But it doesn’t feel weird. Just sleepy. Soft. Like the good kind of tired that settles behind your eyes after a long night.

You don’t notice how quiet Jungkook’s gone. Don’t notice that he hasn’t moved since lying down. You’re not paying attention to the way he’s staring up at the ceiling, or the way he hasn’t turned toward you at all.

You just let out a small sigh and mumble, “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, voice low and barely there, he asks, “Did you mean it?”

You’re already slipping into sleep when he says it — and maybe he’s talking about the game, or something from earlier, or maybe he’s not talking to you at all. You’re too warm, too tired to figure it out, so you just hum quietly and roll over, cheek pressed into the pillow.

He doesn’t say anything else, and the silence settles again.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the question lingers, but you don’t ask.

You’ll think about it tomorrow.

< prev • next > | series masterlist | main masterlist

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t

masterlist | tip for the author?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

request: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 2.7k

chapter warnings: a lot of exposition, but trust me

chapter notes: first time writing a hybrid, let me know how i did, this will be multi-chaptered

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

When your friend had suggested you get a pet, this is not what you imagined. 

A cat or dog perhaps, even a fish would've made more sense, this whole thing started with you coming into the shelter asking for just that.

You’d asked about their cats or even their smaller dogs, but they’d all either been adopted or were reserved by potential owners.

“Have you considered a hybrid?” Those five words, and your inquisitive “A hybrid?” Is what landed you in this situation.

The lady excitedly lead you through a few different doors until you were in a room that overlooked a large spacious area.

“There’s so many of them,” you muttered to yourself, but it was clearly loud enough for her to hear you.

“Not many people want a hybrid, they prefer a traditional cat or dog,” her tone was melancholic, and a pang of guilt hit your chest. That was exactly what you’d done.

“Chances are the majority of these guys will spend their whole lives here,” she sighed sadly.

A high pitched yelp interrupted her train of thought as she perked up to see who the culprit was. It seemed to be a pink haired girl, her matching feline ears were pressed back against her head whilst another hybrid had their hand raised into a fist.

“Jinx no!” Your guide leaned over the small balcony to scold her. All the hybrid’s snapped their attention to where her voice was, but the blue-eared one slowly lowered her fist and skulked off to another corner; content that the conflict was over the rest of the room relaxed and continued what they were doing previously.

However, one pair of eyes remained on the balcony.

You couldn’t place it at first, but then you spotted him. His eyes were so piercing that you quickly avoided eye contact.

“Who’s the one on their own?” You asked quietly as if he could hear you. The vet leaned into you and the excitement was radiating off of her.

“That’s Jayce, our chocolate Labrador hybrid,” she paused for you to ask questions, but continued quickly anyway.

“He’s been with us for about 3 months, he was completely feral when we found him. He’d been abandoned by his previous owner when he was a puppy and was surviving on his own for so long,” her voice lost its usual joyful lint the more she spoke.

“When he arrived he was practically uncontrollable, we thought we’d have to separate him from the others entirely,” she paused as she realised her voice was getting louder, “But he bonded well with one of our felines, Viktor his name was, but he was adopted quite quickly-“.

The entire time she was talking your eyes kept darting back to who she was talking about.

He was sat in a chair with with his leg on his knee, away from everyone else, his annoyed gaze continuously on the balcony as if he knew he was being spoken about.

“-We encouraged them to adopt the two of them as a pair, but they didn’t want a canine, so he stayed with us. Unfortunately, some of his feral habits returned but he mostly keeps to himself now,” she finally finished her monologue.

You furrowed your eyebrows with empathy and glanced towards her, "He's lonely, like me," you commented and put your elbows on the railing to rest your chin on your palms, overlooking the space again.

His eyes were still on the two of you, you could feel it.

"Do you want to meet them?" the vet asked a little too swiftly.

The thought bounced around in your mind for a moment, contemplating if you should even entertain this idea; but as you looked around the room you felt your heart ache for them.

You sighed as a sign of conceding to the idea, "Yeah, why not?" you pushed yourself up off of the balcony and turned to the vet, waiting for her to start moving.

The smile on her face was one of relief and joy. It was clear that not many people were jumping at the opportunity to adopt a hybrid, let alone even entertain seeing them.

It didn't take long to get to the 'sanctuary' door - that's what she called the main communal area for them - she swiped her key card and the door beeped open.

For some reason your heartbeat increase slightly as you stepped over the threshold and into the room.

"Hello everyone!" she said in a slightly elevated voice, not loud enough to be shouting but loud enough for it to carry throughout the room. "We have guest today, she's very nice so don't worry," she warned them.

Although the atmosphere didn't feel hostile, it didn't feel welcoming either. The majority of them observed you from a distance.

There were so many questions you had, but you didn't know where to start.

"If we take a seat over here we can let them come to us," she lead you to a sofa in the middle of the room, but as you sat down she moved away to a cabinet to retrieve a big folder.

The time you were alone was minimal but a spike of anxiety went through you, some of the hybrids moved closer to observe you but never close enough to speak to any of them individually.

The vet returned and sat next to you on the sofa, placing the big folder onto the table, "We have all the information on the residents in here," she didn't open it but left it for you, if you felt inclined.

It didn't take long for the blue haired feline from before to bound over and sit next to the vet, "Hello sweetie," the vet said as the feline put her head on her shoulder and started playing with her hair.

"This is-" she started, but this time you interrupted, "Jinx?".

Both the vet and Jinx looked up at you when you spoke, "Yes! She's quite the troublemaker, especially with her sister Vi," she pointed at the pink-haired feline that was being bapped earlier.

"I see," you spoke slowly as you opened the folder to their joint page. 'Must be adopted together', it read in bold under their photos.

"As they're actually siblings, we can't have them separated, it wouldn't be healthy," she explained as she started to tighten one of Jinx's braids.

It reminded you of her story from before and you instinctively raised your head from the folder to where the Labrador hybrid was sitting before, he was still staring at you.

"What type of space are you working with?" you were thankful she was asking you questions, you felt completely out of your depth.

Your eyelids fluttered in surprise, he must be territorial, you thought.

"Just a one-bed apartment," you eventually answered. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the vet lean back to glace at Jayce and her lips curled into a smile again.

"Ah," the noise of disappointment, "That's not a lot of space for play, if you were to adopt it would need to be someone more relaxed,".

She leaned forward and started flipping through the folder, unclipping certain pages and laying them in front of you.

"Unfortunately, they're all a little rambunctious here, but these are who I'd recommend," she'd placed two folders on the table.

"Caitlyn', and 'Ekko", she said aloud even though their names were written down in front of you - Jinx stuck her tongue out and made a 'Bleh' noise when she said Caitlyn.

You spent some time reading their files, they seemed nice enough, two felines; but the whole time you were reading your mind kept drifting back to the one who's eyes you could feel in the side of your head.

"What about-" you started, pausing for a moment to reconsider if you actually wanted to suggest this, but before you could get the courage to complete the sentence the vet interjected with a surprised "Jayce?!".

You glanced up from the pages to ask her how she knew what you were going to say, when you realised there was a large figure basking you in his shadow.

Immediately, your heart started beating quickly again and a nervous rush went through you. "Oh, hello," your voice shook as you spoke.

Now that he was closer you could see that his eyes were a golden yellow, which complemented his chocolatey brown hair pretty well. His nose twitched as if he was also rethinking his approach, or he was catching your scent.

"Jayce, this is..." the vet started the introduction and waited for you to say your name out loud for him, which you did.

His eyebrow raised slightly as he seemed to look you over; from your shoes to the top of your head.

Before, it felt like you couldn't make eye contact with him, but now you were struggling to look away. There was a sadness in his eyes that you recognised all too well, he was lonely too.

Unsure of how to manage the situation, you stuck your hand out for him to shake. He studied your hand silently and without movement, you were starting to think you should put your hand down when he slowly took it.

His hands were large, much bigger than your own and very warm. Although he didn't move his hand, he held a gentle grip on yours and watched where they connected.

"Nice to meet you, Jayce," you tried to say as softly as possible and timidly shook his hand up and down. His brown ears twitched slightly at the mention of his name.

After a few long seconds he let go of your hand and with a quick exhale he walked away.

You blinked a few times and lowered your hand, "Did I do something wrong?" you asked the vet, she chuckled to herself "Not at all, I'm actually surprised he showed any interest at all, he normally never moves from his spot,".

"Oh," was all you could say.

After some time, the vet stood and gestured for you to do the same, leading you towards the exit, "We should leave them to it, we try not to overstimulate them with new people too often,".

Once you were out in the halls again, you asked "Why's his hair so long?". Whilst it wasn't an unmanageable length, it was certainly dishevelled and outgrown.

"He doesn't really let people near him, let alone people with scissors and a razor," she laughed, "Like I said, he still has some feral tendencies, nothing that we're concerned about but it does mean he's a bit scruffy sometimes." she explained.

You nodded slowly to show your understanding. Whilst you felt yourself being drawn towards Jayce, the more you heard about his behaviours the more you were thinking that you weren't cut out to have a hybrid.

"I don't think I’m capable of looking after someone like him," you confessed even though it physically hurt your chest to say.

The vet chuckled again, "When it comes to hybrids, they look after themselves. All you really need to do is feed them, give them a home and attention when they want it.".

She picked up the folder again and flipped through the files, "I know it might seem overwhelming, but we don't just let anyone adopt our hybrids, there's a vetting process to it," she said as she handed you another file.

"What about my apartment? It's only one bedroom, and he's quite..." you didn't know what word to settle on, "Large,".

She nodded at your concern, "Ordinarily, I'd say it was an issue, but for a canine like Jayce, he just needs companionship and intellectual stimulation.".

You took in her words, you were hoping she would agree and tell you that it wasn't possible, that it wasn't meant to be. Then you could let this go and move onto something less demanding.

"Take this home, have a read and see how you feel. If you're still interested we can set up another meeting," you took the file from her and held it close to your chest.

Over the next couple of days, that's exactly what you did.

You read the file over and over, it felt like every detail was engrained into your brain, along with those piercing yellow eyes that were so full of sadness.

He was like you. As much as you hated to admit it, he was your reflection.

"Hello?" you spoke into you phone, the voice on the other end greeted you and asked you to verify your name, which you did.

"How can I help you today?" the receptionist was characteristically bubbly, "I'd like to set up a meeting, please?" you asked hesitantly.

The line was quiet, save for the tapping of her fingers on the keys, "Of course, is that for Jayce?" she eventually said and you felt a bolt of excitement charge through you.

"Yes, please," you confirmed. A few more details were exchanged and the meeting was set, "Perfect, we'll see you tomorrow at 1pm!".

The evening went by too quickly and too slowly at the same time.

Luckily, you worked from home so you were able to be fairly flexible with your availability, despite your morning being relatively unproductive.

Instead of doing your job, you'd spent the first three hours of your shift researching canine hybrids; their needs, requirements and any medical issues.

You'd only just started researching about feral hybrids before you realised the time, 12:30.

When you arrived he was sat in the same chair as before, but this time he wore a black tunic with the sleeves rolled up.

If not for the fluffy ears and tail, you'd think he was a business man or politician of some sort.

As you approached him - with the vet in tow - he stood.

It took you by surprise and your steps faltered. He blinked a few times and his eyebrows softened slightly for a second, before putting his hand out the same way you had a couple days prior.

A soft smile came across your lips as you tentatively took his hand and shook it, he’d copied your gesture to make you comfortable. His touch felt familiar, as if he was someone you’d known for years.

Despite the gentle nature he was showing you, his eyes still bore into you like he was trying to figure out if you were a threat or not.

When he eventually let go of your hand, he sat down and his eyes looked between you and the chair opposite him. He wanted you to sit as well.

You glanced at the soft armchair behind you and side stepped until you were in front of it; before you lowered yourself down, you turned your head back to Jayce to check this is what he wanted.

When there was no change in his demeanour, you plonked yourself into the soft cushions less than gracefully, it was a lot lower and bouncier than you’d anticipated.

“He got this out when he heard you were coming today,” the vet said from behind you, honestly you’d forgotten he was there.

You’d somehow failed to notice that on the table in between the two of you was a chess set, set up and ready for a game.

“I’m sure you’ve already read his file, but Jayce here is very intelligent, he loves these types of games,” the man sounded so proud.

Meanwhile, Jayce stared at him with a displeased facial expression, like he was waiting for him to stop talking.

“I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll be over here if you need me,” the man gave you a small wave as he moved to the other side of the room.

This was the first time you and Jayce were somewhat alone, there was a spark of excitement as well as nervousness.

You just hoped he liked you.

[outoftheseine]

- SPENCER REID FIC RECS 2 -

he is so pretty i want to cry | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief, blood. some fics have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part 1 | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

use somebody | part 2 • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @reidmania (sunshine!reader, fluff, pining, slight angst)

sharpest tool • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @reidmania (fluff, angst +18 but not smut, hurt/comfort, miscommunication)

wanted: a gentleman | lips of a gentleman | if you love me right • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @gghostwriter (very fluffy)

make you feel my love | turning tables • spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @reidmarieprentiss (hostage situation, angst, rejection, comfort)

just friends! | what a coincidence! • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @tangledinlove (childhood best friends to lovers, fluff)

never forget a face | late-night talking • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @forhappysake (grumpy x sunshine, comfort, a little suggestive, age-gap)

not our scene | part 2 • spencer reid x fem!shy!reader

↳ by @kisses4reid (fake dating, both spencer and reader are shy, fluff)

him • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @godsfavdarling (anxious!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC'S

the one with the bra • boyfriend!spencer reid x reader

↳ by @daydreamingqueen1 (fluff, little suggestive)

recharging • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @railingsofsorrow (dad!spencer, fluff, hurt/comfort)

better than revenge • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @avis-writeshq (best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slowburn, happy ending)

i'll hold your weight when you can't • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @shewroteaworld (sunshine!reader, fluff, comfort)

everytime we touch • spencer reid x gn!reader

↳ by @idmakeitbehave (5+1, fluff)

the playground • dad!spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @whiskeyghoul (very fluffy)

misletoe • spencer reid x gn!reader

↳ by @reiding-writing (flufff)

i wish i knew you wanted me • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @irndad (angst, rejection, spencer’s addiction, jealous!spencer)

yours • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @aliteralsemicolon (smut, fluff, a little angst and i think this is idiots in love?)

twenty questions • spencer reid x bau!gn!reader

↳ by @viaisms (fluff)

an “i love you” that isn’t words • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @mcondance (fluff, very domestic)

between heart beats • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @vee6lolz (angst)

not enough • spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @g0dlyunsub (angst but also fluff, hurt/comfort)

the whole world • dad!spencer reid x mom!fem!reader

↳ by @spencereid-reads (very fluffy)

i’d give you my sunshine, give you my best • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @mwahmimi (veryy fluffy)

bundle of nerves • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @gghostwriter (fluff, fainting)

down the fire escape and into my heart • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @justawhitebloodcell01 (meet cute, fluff)

call your mom • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @railingsofsorrow (exes to lovers, hurt/comfort)

amorphous • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @pathologicalreid (fluff)

your beauty never scared me • spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @auroralwriting (fluff, comfort)

all of the books beside your bed • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @tlou-reid (very fluffy)

cherry picking • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @certaimromance (mentions of sex, miscommunication, fluff)

period disturb • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @vanteguccir (fluff, comfort)

innocent love • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @cookiescribble (smut, fluff, both spencer and reader are virgin)

north star • spencer reid x uni student!reader

↳ by @parfaitblogs (post prison spencer, trauma, nightmares, hurt/comfort)

i keep you clean; you surrounded me • husband!spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @nereidprinc3ss (spencer’s addiction, comfort)

dearest friend • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @endearng (idiots in love, jealous!spencer, fluff, a little angst)

the bolter; cannibal• spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

↳ by @ophelia-is-complex (angst, comfort)

opposite • spencer reid x bau!reader

↳ by @reidsbabyhoney (angst, a little fluff)

why didn’t you tell me? • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @unequivocallyreid (smut, angst with happy ending)

heavenly • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @dudeitiskarev (post prison spencer, age-gap, smut, fluff, so so good)

stolen glances • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @justawhitebloodcell01 (fluff)

last, last time • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @sweatervest-obsessed (angst, breakup, kidnapping, tw: dv)

federal beach investigation • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @reidmarieprentiss (fluff)

the prodigy path • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @imagining-in-the-margins (comfort, a little angst, dad!spencer)

two pair • spencer reid x reader

↳ by @unlosts (sososo sweet spencer, fluff)

what do we do now? • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @anniebeemine (unplanned pregnancy, fluff)

light as a feather • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @unseededtoast (fluff, general cm stuff, comfort)

one bright morning • spencer reid x fem!reader

↳ by @unseededtoast (angst, trauma, blood, comfort, lightly suggestive)

[iamasaddie]

CATFISH [masterlist]

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings [overall, individual in each chapter]: darkfic, dub-con eliments, coercion, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], drugging, somnophilia, reader does not understand that she's being manipulated, switching POVs, various explicit sexual content. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; early to late 20s.

a/n: i don't know what i'm doing and why i'm doing it, but a silly note i found on my phone fully consumed my thoughts and now you're all gonna suffer with me. will this fic be self-indulgent? yes, sometimes. will it have a happy ending? i have no idea. so far i've got three parts planned out, one partly written. the schedule is not final, I might post sooner, or later, depends on my life. ask me about catfish!joel and i'll gadly talk about him with you. this is going to be a dark work due to the topics and individual elements of each chapter. if you're uncomfortable with any warnings, please don't read it (also don't try to express your dislike about it to me).

» AN HONEST MISTAKE » YOUNG, FOOLISH AND GREEN » LET ME CLIP YOUR LITTLE WINGS ── coming in july final amount of parts is unknown

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

part two– summary | It's a shitty situation, dependency brimming unspoken and one wrong move puts your life in danger and once again, you find yourself owing everything to Joel.

content warning | DDDNE — DUBCON, coercion, selective mutism on readers behalf, graphic depictions of violence, injury tw, attempted sa (briefly), brief mentions of pregnancy and procedures to prevent it, mean!joel, unhealthy coping mechanisms for trauma, all angst no fluff but a lot of emotion, smut (bc without it who am i), sex riding an adrenaline high after life or death situation, joel fucks you against a tree, showering together, weird domesticity, guilt-riddled joel, bed-sharing, unprotected piv, creampies, lots of progress made here i promise

author's note | part three will more than likely be out by the end of this month i promise! also thank you to everyone who's shown this story so much love, it means so much to me. this chapter is about as light as this story gets...so....sorry? <3

word count —9k

part one | part three | strangers masterlist

They argue about you like you’re not standing a few feet away.

“She needs a job,” Tommy tells him, “Rules, Joel. Everyone pulls their weight—how this works.”

“You act like I don’t know that,” Joel gripes, “but what are you expecting her to do? She don’t talk, she refuses to go anywhere without me. She sure as hell ain’t gonna be much use workin’ the stables or fixin’ fences when she’s so goddamn skittish.”

Tommy shrugs, “Patrol, then.”

Joel’s eyes narrow, “Like hell,”

Another silent standoff you were more than happy to stay out of, the nylon of your coat scratching against itself as you take a couple steps back in the fear of an impending blow up.

“Give me another option then,” Tommy argues, “You just said she won’t leave your side—”

“She ain’t ready for that,” Joel says rather defensively, your brow furrowing at his disdain over the idea, ignoring the fact you were on the run for several weeks, surviving on your own—this was different.

Admittedly, you had clung to Joel.

He was safe, comfortable, and had become a strange sense of home in an unfamiliar place.

As much as he tried to act like it didn’t affect him, he’s grown used to your presence. Though, he’s set a hard boundary with you—no touching, keep your distance, and always make yourself known. You were always quiet, eerily so, and Joel hated that.

Tommy attempts to decipher Joel, staring at his brother, “You don’t think she can do it,”

“Both,” Joel admits, both of their eyes flickering toward you briefly, expressions unreadable.

“I think she’ll surprise you,” Tommy admits.

Joel shakes his head in a lazy disbelief, not believing an ounce of what Tommy is trying to convince him of, “We’ll see—but she’s with me, no one else. Not even Ellie.”

“Figured that,” Tommy retorts, “You’re goin’ out pretty far, we haven’t hit the lodge in a couple weeks. That alright?”

Your body tenses at the mention of it, but neither of them notice. Joel’s hand curls into a fist and flexes open, a nervous tic you’ve noticed about him when he was trying to steady himself, he nods silently in response.

When you both arrive back to the Miller home, Joel begins packing his bag up, already half-stuffed and switching out a few things. He tosses you a tattered bag, old and well-loved before he’s pointing toward the basement.

“A couple pairs of clothes, extra pair of shoes, nothing that ain’t a necessity—I’ll stock your pack with the other stuff come mornin’ before we head out,”

You had a night then.

There was only one lodge near Jackson that you could remember. It was the last time you saw them.

The men in tailored gear, embroidered with a gold patch that designated their status amongst the group. 

Trackers, seekers—they handled the recruiting, though often forced. They were glorified kidnappers, taking young men and women against their will if they were unfortunate enough to cross their path, but they also managed the hunting.

If someone escaped, they never came back in one piece.

Whether that was a shattered mind or a missing limb, it was never good.

The lodge was empty when you found it, just at the crest of winter when you had snuck in, fitting yourself into a sizable gap in the flooring covered by a wooden panel.

The men had been on your tail for days, tracking you through the miles of forests behind you and into the town.

Luckily, they were unsuspecting at that moment.

Your misfortune came later, but the lodge was a warning.

They were near, always near—you had no idea if they were still searching, even after a few weeks of settling in.

It was the unknown, the looming presence, that terrified you. 

They had an obligation to follow demands but most of them did it for sport.

It was never anything but a game.

—

Sleep is fickle that night, scratching at the rusted metal of your bed frame until it was caked under your nails, the soft hum of electricity above as it moved through Joel’s house, his soft footsteps as he woke, gentle as he strolled barefoot, eventually trading it for heavy footfall as his boots went on—it was early dawn when the tap came to your door, feigning sleep as you hid under the sheets.

Joel gives you a few minutes, pacing beyond the threshold.

His patience reminds you of the kind you used to wish for back when everything was different, back when you were nothing but a prisoner—you were pushing it, though. Even Joel’s patience would wear thin, making your best attempt to delay the patrol before he’s opening the door with a click, the key shoved into the mechanism before the door creaks open.

“Get up,” he barks, “we’re already late and holding up the rest of ‘em,”

You moan tiredly, barely audible, shuffling under the sheets, only for them to be ripped back in an instant.

“You’ve got about five seconds,” he warns, snatching your pack off the floor as he stands over you, daring to pry your eyes open to take a peek at him, “or I’m rippin’ you out of that bed,”

He catches your eyes as they open and his brow is cocked authoritatively, making your body move despite your apprehensiveness for the entire situation and Joel eyes you skeptically, stepping around you as you move with little enthusiasm.

“If you changed your mind, I can talk to Tommy,” Joel says with a tone that makes your chest tighten with fear—both of abandonment and helplessness, “I’m sure he’ll find somethin’ for you to do here while I go and—”

You stop in your tracks at his words, coat on and shoes barely slipped over your heel as you’re approaching him with immediate worry, shaking your head furiously as you grip onto his bicep, eyes pleading.

He’s always direct with you now, making sure your eyes connect with his. He’s learned to read you through facial expression and emotion, settling with the fact you weren’t going to speak to him, whether capable or not.

“Alright,” he sighs, and you shrug slightly but not enough to break your hold, “then hurry up.”

His voice carries the weight of a thousand other mornings like this, where silence and glances fill the space between you. He’s grown comfortable, surprisingly. He didn’t like how normal your presence had become or how you seemed to settle into his life easily.

“Probably make a few stops along the way,” Joel explains, “I took myself off patrol duty for this,” he means you, this, the burden of your situation and disruption, “the lodge is far but usually out there we aren’t dealin’ with much, less infected in the cold and all.”

But not people, you think.

He sees you tense at the mention, coat shrugging over your shoulders.

Last ditch effort. Anything.

Just change his mind.

You reach for his palm as he extends it face up, examining you carefully.

You tap your pointer finger into the center of his palm before pointing it at the floor, the hand holding his wrist tugging insistently.

Stay. A finger into his palm.

Here. A finger to the floor.

You repeat it a few times until he seems to understand through the silent communication.

“Stay..stay,” he begins, deciphering your message, “we’re not—no we’re not stayin’ here.”

Your face falls, instincts turning to drastic measures as you drop his hand, invading his space in a way he’s been careful to avoid, hands curling around the side of his face and the soft brush of his beard itching your palm before you’re leaning forward to press your lips against his own, eagerly pulling him toward you.

Joel’s quick, though. He rips your hands away, fingers tightening around your bicep harshly.

“Don’t try that shit again,” he growls, “ain’t no fuckin’ choice in you stayin’ here.”

You try to yank away from him but it was pointless.

“Are you gonna listen or do I need to drag you out?”

Your jaw tightens and you slackening under his grip and while he could let you go, he doesn’t.

You stumble behind as he pulls you with him, up the stairs, around the hall and into the living room until you’re standing at the door and he’s releasing you to jab a finger in your face, flinching with every flick as it grows closer, making you go nearly cross eyed. 

“You give me even the slightest amount of trouble while we’re out and I won’t hesitate to leave you behind,” Joel threatens, that sinking feeling of regret swirling in his gut the moment your expression softens.

She fucking trusts you, he reminds himself.

As slippery as that slope could be, he’s got a responsibility. 

You nod shakily and the tightness of his grip pierces your soul, immediately submitting to his hold as he jerks you to face forward and reaches around to grab the knob, chest pressed against your back as you step outside.

A swirling wind greets you, whistling its own kind of warning as Joel drags you through the brittle, dried grass. Your boots crunch against the frosty ground, doing your best to keep pace with him, breath puffing out in frantic clouds. Cold air bites your skin and the crunch of your boots, now on gravel, fills the silence between you. It’s tense. 

You follow him to the stable as he releases his grip on you, to the weapon compound, close at his side as he steers the horse to the front gate, looking rather apologetic to his brother who seems to sense the situation between you and Joel and quickly averts the watchful eyes of others with his voice, calling off the list of locations and names like a roll call.

“Get on,” he orders, softer now but still edged and you oblige, feeling a hovering touch of his hand over your thigh as you climb onto the horse and lean back, making room for him to climb on.

Joel’s arms snake behind him to wrap yours around his jacket before he grabs the reins and clicks his tongue. The horse hesitates, feeling your combined weight, then lurches forward. You cling to the saddle as Joel steadies you with a firm grip, holding you close as Jackson fades from view.

The solace you’ve come to appreciate slipping through your fingers, even if temporary, made the pit in your stomach grow rapidly.

The landscape stretches out in muted colors. Bare trees reach like fingers, tendrils to the gray sky and frost clings to their branches. Joel’s silence feels like a wall between you, and you bite your lip to fight the chill that’s creeping into your bones, shrugging the hood of your coat over your head as you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, eyes peeking over.

It’s a strange kind of comfort for Joel the way you settle into him, close and warm. 

As much as he tried to keep his distance, there was always a loophole.

“You gonna explain what that was back there?” Joel asks, knowing his questioning is pointless, the roar of the wind and the bumpy ride making it nearly impossible for any type of silent communication, “I don’t want you doin’ that anymore, thinkin’ you need to act that way to…I don’t know—do whatever you’re wanting to do,”

The landscape rolls by like a somber, black and white film strip; broken fences and abandoned cars sprouting from the ground, dead infected and rotting animals, houses abandoned. It wasn’t as normal now, living in a lively place with such a dichotomy only a ride away, reminding you just how temporary your life was in this world.

“Were you scared to leave Jackson?” he asks curiously, trying to decipher what he could.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer. It was a yes and no question—safe was anywhere with Joel, but you were still weary. You don’t answer immediately, so Joel assumed that wasn’t the problem.

“Is it the weather? Don’t like the snow?” you shake your head almost immediately, uncaring for the elements, finding that dying from frostbite or heatstroke were both equally miserable.

“The lodge?” he asks after a long, drawn out silence—the ride was still long, more difficult as the snow began to pick up, falling in thick sheets, “Is there somethin’ out here you ain’t told us?”

You shift slightly, the leather of Joel’s jacket creaking beneath your cheek. The question hangs heavy, like the snow. It’s too much to explain, the knot of reasons tangled inside you. You press your face into his back again, wishing you could dissolve into him and stay there. You feel his sigh before you hear it, learning the way his body works through touch and sound. It’s not disappointment—it’s understanding. 

But, that frightens you too.

Joel makes a few short stops along the way, simple checks on smaller lookouts that don't even require you to get off the horse, keeping watch as he was in and out within a couple of minutes, eyes always on you no matter where he moved.

You can sense the way his anger lingers in his face and the stiffness of his shoulders but his instinct to protect is stronger, shoving the sturdy emotion aside to traverse through the heavy storm until, hours later, the lodge comes into view, your heart hammering in your chest.

Your fingers tighten around the lapels of his jacket and he looks down, watching the way you strangle the fabric under your grip, shifting slightly on the saddle as he slows to a stop just inside the lodge before Joel helps you off the horse and ties him, leaving you for a moment that feels nothing short of a century, frozen in your spot as you hold your bag close to your chest.

“At some point you gotta start talkin’,” his voice startles you as it comes from the shadows, jacket stripped as he kneeled down at the fire pit near the center of the room, working quickly to warm the place up, “it ain’t about inconvenience either, it could get you killed.”

You move silently and sit nearby, eyes downturned and lips pulled tight.

It’s impossible to explain, the way your throat constricts at any attempt to speak, like a knee jerk reaction as you anticipate the strike of a hand or foot, a lash at your back or the hot prick of a cigarette into your skin. 

You still felt it occasionally, the phantom pain.

Your bottom lip trembles as they part, desperately wanting to make the attempt but knowing your body won’t let you out of self-preservation. Joel doesn’t see the struggle, but he can see your fingers fidgeting, restlessness laying in wait. 

“Did you bring your paper and pen with you?” Joel asks, sounding fatherly in a way that hints of a life lived and lost, “You can’t just ask the way you did this morning for no reason, I want answers,”

You nod obediently, riffling through your bag for the items.

Joel waits until they're in your hand and the fire crackles to life before he asks his first question.

“Is it the lodge? Is that why you wanted to stay in Jackson?” he asks, watching you scribble down a swift answer.

Yes. But, more.

He leans forward on his knees and into your space to read the scribbled note, sighing tiredly.

It isn’t what he wanted, obvious in the roll of his eyes.

“Explain,” He says tensely, “Stop bein’ so damn cryptic, I don’t like that shit,”

They followed me here. I hid. 

Joel’s face contorts in confusion.

“They followed you that far?”

It was their job. Bad men, all of them. They enjoy it. I hid and they didn’t find me. That time. I was worried they might find me again. They didn’t that time.

Joel examines the concentration on your phase as you write out the words, taking the notebook as you gently shove it into his palm, large fingers wrapping around the notepad.

“Who is they?” Joel asks, “You keep writin’ they,” his fingernail scratches over the word, leaving an indent in the paper, “We’re tight about patrols out here, we woulda saw ‘em. You sure it wasn’t someone else? Maybe just some random raider? They stroll through from time to time lookin’ for shelter.”

No. Not random. They wore emblems, gold and threaded to look like an anchor. There are men we serve, higher-ups. Then ones that follow a code, like an army. The men after me were hunters. Trackers. Do you understand? Not for animals.

“Sick fucks,” Joel says mostly to himself as he reads over your writing,

Don’t leave me. Please. I will do anything.

His earlier words echo in your head, seeming to cross his own mind at the same time.

You shove the notepad at him hastily, hands trembling slightly,

“Don’t get worked up," Joel says, voice a little gruff, "I’m not leavin’.”

Safe. He writes it out underneath your own words. 

Thick. Heavy. 

He nods.

Suddenly, as Joel feels around in his pocket as he stands, he comes across an object Tommy had handed him before he left, careful as he approaches you and reaches for your hand, pressing the solid weight of the object into it.

It was your knife, cleaned up and sharpened to a dangerous point.

Joel makes a noise of warning, fingers tight around your wrist.

“This ain’t yours to keep,” Joel explains, “jus’ while we’re out here, in case you come across an animal or something, it comes right back to me when we leave, understood?”

Begrudgingly, you nod.

“Put it away,” he instructed, watching as you closed the knife and stuffed it into your pocket.

You couldn’t explain it, but the frustration in him still simmered, unsure if it was because of you or not. Joel was a sorrowful man, carrying enough guilt for a thousand men—it could be that he was just having a day, desperate for a moment to himself.

It comes a while later after you’ve both settled in and the place was filled with warmth, “Keep watch, don’t wander—I’ll sleep for a couple hours then take over, got it?”

You nod quickly, perched on the wide, open window as you watch the snowfall. 

Something about it was oddly therapeutic, looking over to watch the scowl on Joel’s face soften as he fell into a deep slumber, leaning half reclined against a wall with his jacket balled up by his head to double as a pillow.

Hours pass without incident, thankfully. Joel said two, but it was already four and he was still sleeping, snoring now as he’s slumped down into a more horizontal position, growing slightly restless as the storm had calmed and the sun was shining overhead, desperate for a few moments of fresh air now that you were here, feeling comfortable enough in the quiet and with Joel’s presence that you could step out for a moment and breathe, putting on your shoes and coat quickly as you slipped out the back door of the lodge and watched a pair of birds on a branch as they hopped beside each other, chirping quietly.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve felt this calm or relaxed, glancing over at Joel sheepishly despite his obliviousness. 

You inhale deeply, letting the crisp, post-storm air fill your lungs. 

The lodge is silent behind you, save for the faint sound of Joel’s snoring. The fresh air feels like a relief, a moment of stillness that you hadn’t realized you needed. That you deserved.

Your eyes follow the pair of birds a moment longer, chirping softly to each other.

It’s peaceful—almost too peaceful. 

A small prickle of unease creeps up your spine, but you shake it off.

It’s just quiet. 

Nothing’s wrong.

Then—

You feel your throat swell.

The snap of a twig.

You freeze. The birds flutter away, startled. Your breath catches.

You don’t have time to turn before an arm locks around your chest, a rough hand clamping over your mouth. You couldn’t scream even if you wanted to.

“Oh, easy, ea-sy,” the stranger coos with a sickening softness, “don’t wanna wake him up, do ya?”

The faceless attacker holds you tight, something sharp and jagged at your back as he guides you backwards, further away from Joel.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you struggle, but he’s strong. 

He reeks of sweat and damp clothes, his grip unyielding.

"You people think you’re so damn careful… but you’re just easy pickings if you ain’t watchin’,” he sounds so smug and amused, greedy as he dragged you further and further away, feet stumbling out beneath you as you fell into the snow against him, a grunt shooting from his chest but ultimately it was followed by a spine-chilling chuckle, a hand slipping underneath the material of your shirt and over your abdomen, “been camped out here all day watchin’ you both, thought you were a dime, though–couldn’t pass up the opportunity,”

You twist sharply, managing to get free, clawing at his arm as you shove it away. He grunts in irritation but grabs at your ankle, yanking you back down as you fall to your ass, silently groaning at the pain.

"Feisty," he mutters. "I like it. Ain’t much fun otherwise."

You’ve fought for your life plenty of times and this was no different.

It shouldn’t surprise you that misfortune met you at every turn, allowing yourself to fall into a false confidence only to be disappointed once more as the man looms over you, a shadow of menace. You kick wildly, connecting with his shin. A low snarl escapes him.

“Little bitch,” he hisses, shaking his leg as if to brush off the sting. 

But, it gives you a moment to scramble backward on your hands and heels, snow biting at your palms as you shoved your hand into your pocket to find your knife, watching as he stalked toward you in a pure rage, opening your mouth in a scream you know will never come, but then he’s tripping, scrambling to catch his bearings over you.

The tip of the blade slices through his guts like butter, feeling the bile rise in your throat at the sensation and the warm spread of blood over your hand, desperately trying to force his weight off of you, but his hands finds your face, thumbs reaching for your eyes in any attempt to injure you but then there’s a shot ringing out, startling the both of you.

Simultaneously, the man jerks violently, his hands going slack around your face as he falls with a gurgling choke. Blood flows down his neck and onto you, drenching your clothes in a way that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

You scramble to your knees, backing away without looking toward the gunman as you panic, wiping the blood from your skin and into the snow, desperate to rid yourself of the thick fluid before Joel’s invading your space, fingers tightening into your coat to yank you upright as he shoves you back against a tree, blinded with pure rage.

He had saved you. He was angry, sure. But, he saved your life. Again.

“Are you fucking stupid, girl?!” he asks, his tone tight and harsh, met with a meek nod.

“Wrong answer,” He snaps, “I said two hours, then you wake me. I said not to wander and you did—so answer me again, are you—fucking stu—”

He doesn’t register that sting of your teeth in his bottom lip until your hand curls around the back of his neck, tongue spearing into his mouth as his mouth parts in surprise, your fingers tangling into his hair as you pull him into the kiss. 

Thank you, it breathes.

His grip slackens for the briefest moment before turning to steel again, fingers knotted in your clothes, twisting and pulling you closer. The violence of him feels like a lifeline, like something sure and solid in this brutal world. He’s safe. 

Safe.

He shoves you harder against the tree, rough bark biting through your coat as his teeth gnash against yours, tangled breaths turning to steam in the cold.

Your head spins, heart shuddering up into your throat, and you lose yourself in the way he feels, like fury itself. His hand moves from your clothes to splay over your belly, warm and forceful where the knife was just seconds before on your attacker who lay lifeless on the snowy ground.

You can’t stop thinking. 

The coppery taste of blood lingers everywhere: on your clothes, on the dead man, on Joel’s mouth now. The snow around you is red-stained as his hands roam over you, your own hands mirroring his unspoken neediness as you tear into the belt of his jeans, feeling him undo your own in tandem, unable to look one another directly in the eye at that moment, desperate for connection by other means.

He shouldn’t be allowing this, but the urge to consume your gratitude is stronger.

His thumb fumbles with the button of your jeans, and you’re practically writhing to get them off, burning up despite the chill. You sigh internally as he manages to get them free, yanking them far enough down your thighs before he’s turning you against the tree.

The world fades around you; it’s just him, just you, each breath mingling as he frees himself from his pants. You feel his heat press against you, insistent, frenzied, somehow apologetic as it fits between your thighs.

You feel his fingers fit between your legs and spread between your folds like instinct but you’re shaking your head, hand clawing at back of his neck as you arch your ass into him, a silent plea for him to just fuck you instead, needy as you bring his mouth to yours with a distinct hunger, swallowing up his ragged breaths as he rubs his thumb and pointer finger over the head of his cock and through your slick before he’s stretching you open with little grace, mouth open in a silent gasp as your free hand grabs at his hip.

“Fuck,” he breathes into your mouth, words dissolving into a groan as he sets an unrelenting pace. The tree bark is rough against your skin, but you don’t care, the rawness of it only adds to the frenzy growing between you. Hastily undressed and filthy, the kiss-smudged blood across his face smearing into yours.

He’s practically holding you up like this, his grip slipping over your hips as his mouth finds your neck, biting down just enough to bruise or draw blood of your own, not entirely sure.

His thrusts breath raw desperation, nails clawing at bare skin as he hisses into your neck.

There’s nothing soft about it, no measured rhythm, just a brutal need for each other. 

Joel is acutely aware of the way your body is responding to him, silent sobs racking your chest as you pull him impossibly closer, “I gotcha,” he says, “I feel you, you’re gonna give it to me, aren’t ya? S’right there, I feel it,”

And he wants it more than he was comfortable admitting to himself, the satisfaction of filling the insatiable need you had craved from him.

His hand snakes over your mouth, smothering sounds that would never surface, but the gesture is heady, biting at the skin of his palm until you knew it would sting.

Desperation blurs into pleasure, and you feel it shuddering through you like an electric current and the world comes rushing in again all at once: the cold air nipping at sweat-slick skin, branches clawing at your chest like a bitter, jealous lover. It’s hard to tell, the way you both are clawing at this for dear life, but you think this is maybe as close as the two of you have ever been, filthy and frantic and burning up together as you come, feeling Joel pull out in enough time to spill into his fist, low and drawn-out grunts that had you cunt pulsing, resting dissociatively against the tree.

It was the most human you’ve felt in years.

“Get inside,” Joel says suddenly, pulling you back to reality—surprisingly, his voice is calmer.

And for once, you don’t argue.

–

Joel watches you change, trading the bloodied clothes for fresh ones and wiping you down in between, a silent but intimate gesture that neither of you outwardly address, eyes scanning his face carefully as he taps at your chin so he can wipe underneath your neck.

And you don’t speak about it.

Joel doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He takes care of the body, stays on watch despite your quiet persistence to help

But, as your hand trembles at your side as you approach him beside the fire pit, his fingers thread into your own, a heavy weight holding you down until it stops shaking. You can feel the small tremor on his own, harbored for different reasons. But, it calms him too.

You felt like there was finally equal ground to stand on.

–

When you arrive back in Jackson a couple days later, Joel relays information about the raider with some omissions, only suggesting that there be more frequent checks, but as you and Joel settle into a routine, things become almost…too easy.

He’s always expectant of your knife the moment you approach the gates, handing it over without problem, but just as easily sliding it into your own as you settle into your patrol spot for whatever rotation you both ended up on, still increasingly weary around others that weren’t Joel, you find a similar protection with Tommy, though not entirely comparable. 

Tommy only took you out so far as to teach you how to shoot and clear out infected that were a safe enough distance they couldn’t do any real harm, only swarms passing through.

Joel still hasn’t initiated any touch with you since that day, but his actions are increasingly more intimate despite his body language around you—though, that doesn’t mean he stops you.

Maybe it was how he justified his own righteousness, that he was absolving himself of the guilt that he had knowingly allowed you to attach yourself to him, almost selfishly.

With Ellie’s growing independence becoming more and more obvious, Joel leans toward your odd connection and the ease it brings to his routine.

You’re shivering over a cup of coffee one morning despite your layers and blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the chill making your bones ache.

“You can sleep up here, you know,” Joel tells you, “the couch is comfortable, s’close to the fire, too.”

You shrug nonchalantly, sipping softly at the strong brew.

“Sleep up here,” he tries again, a command, your hesitation curling around the steaming cup as your eyes connect, nodding hesitantly.

His mug scuffs the counter as his fingers curl around the ceramic, his hip settling into the edge as he leans into the surface and you meet him with an honest gaze.

“Are you only agreeing because I’m tellin’ you to?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

Joel doesn’t harp on it, though. It was a small battle won, less worry of you catching frostbite or a cold down in the basement, your presence more apparent as you move into the neutral living space, there when he wakes and when he retires for the night, quiet and somber.

Then, there was an instance with the shower that became routine. 

Your skin caked with dirt and re-opened cuts crusted with days old blood, a particularly rough run-in with a group of infected that Joel had dealt with mostly, you trailing close behind and taking out the few stragglers.

Joel always opted for privacy anymore—save the moment at the lodge when you had shed your blood stained clothes and Joel had to make sure none of it was your own, but your body was exhausted as was your mind, losing your footing as you stumbled into the sink and made a soft noise that Joel’s never heard before.

He’s never heard anything from you, really. 

Only your breathing, heavier in moments of anxiety or despair, but soft as you slept.

You were hunched over the tub and half-dressed, your head pounding as the blood rushed there, eyes squeezing shut as you bit at the inside of your cheek and Joel’s presence is there, but far, hovering near the door as he just needed eyes on you to confirm you weren’t hurt.

As the door closes and you’re pushing back to your feet, you yank it back with a similar strength and Joel watches your hand reach for him, curling in the fabric of his shirt as you silently plead for him to come closer.

Help me, your eyes plead.

Quietly, you guide the shirt over his head and his mind finally catches up, reaching behind you as he turns the water on until the bathroom was smothered with steam, his eyes wondering anywhere but you as you both stepped in naked under the stream, guided by Joel to turn away as he washed you in silence, careful and methodical, leaning into his touch as his fingers curl around the back of your neck to wash your hair.

It happens once or twice again, based around the frequency of patrols and whenever the house was empty and though Joel is hesitant to your touch, eventually he gives in, eyes usually closed as you face him, hands tugging through his dirtied hair and over his chest, a low rumble as your fingers curl a little too low, grazing over the curve of his ass before his fingers catch your wrist and his eyes pry open, shaking his head.

Eventually, his resolve fades.

He tries, but your persistence is steadfast, growing needful to his proximity in every facet of your life and the kisses are shy at first, gentle presses to his shoulder or arm, occasionally over his chest or neck, his hands hovering but never touching without necessity. 

He doesn’t like to talk, either. But, he became familiar with the scar on your lower abdomen, just above your pelvis and thick, the skin clearly marred but not like the others on your body.

You always guide his hand away out of discomfort, unsure how to explain without using words.

Though, given what you’ve told him and the behaviors you’ve exhibited, Joel can make a guess.

He blurts it out one night as you shower until the water grows cold.

“They take something from you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod slightly, hands curving over his shoulders to dig into the muscle and knead, his eyes downturned and dark, intimidating as always.

The doctors performed a salpingectomy on many, including you, unsafe and at risk of death given the environment and lack of understanding, there was no telling what kind of damage they had done, but the most important part was that reproduction was null, some sick and twisted belief to keep women obedient and available. 

You don’t remember much, but it was years ago.

Your face heats as you mimic a pregnant belly, ignoring how his hand guides over your breast with the soapy rag as you lock eyes with him, shaking your head.

His face twitches emotionlessly, nostrils flaring, “I’m sorry,” and he means it.

Joel remembers the harsh accusation he’d thrown at you, assuming your motives without understanding or knowing, but this—it gives him perspective. 

–

A few hours later, you wake from a night terror.

It was dark, pitch black and quiet, but you couldn’t move.

Your mouth opens to scream but nothing comes out, thrashing against invisible bindings until you come to, Joel’s hands locked around your shoulders to keep you still, shaking you back to reality.

“Hey, hey,” his voice is an instant drug that soothes, eyes ripping open and searching frantically until they land on his face, “breathe, kid—you’re here, not there,”

Joel knew—of course he did.

He stays until you calm, pushing up on your hands to sit up and reaching for his arm as he stands, repeating the same gesture in his palm that he’s come to understand, crystal clear.

Stay, you gesture.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, but you’re pulling him closer, fingers curling against his sides and Joel shakes his head, giving you some resistance, “nono—ain’t enough room for that, alright?”

Your grip tightens, begging.

Joel exhales through his nose in defeat, his hands twitching slightly where they still hold you. 

He doesn’t even need to ask, your footsteps following closely behind his own as he turns, padding back toward his room down the hall, slipping into his bed and under the sheets without a word, the weight of him next to you enough to settle your anxiety.

The second time you crawl into his bed, it’s after another nightmare. 

He doesn’t say anything—just lets out a tired sigh and shifts over, leaving space for you. You don’t touch him, not at first. Just tuck yourself into the blankets, facing away, the tension in your body easing just enough for sleep to take hold.

Then, it happens again. And again.

Every night, the same thing. 

You slip in, quiet as ever, and Joel tells himself it’s fine. That he can keep his distance.

But, you always end up entangled by the time you wake.

Your cheek pressed into his chest. His arm curled protectively around your waist. 

His breath in your hair.

Him, around you.

Joel knows he should stop this. 

He should tell you to stay in your own damn bed.

That it ain't right.

That he can’t be what you need him to be.

One night, he’s not asleep when you slip into his bed.

He feels the mattress dip, the hesitant pause before you settle in beside him, close but not touching. Joel keeps his eyes shut, breath steady, pretending he doesn’t notice.

But, then your fingers ghost over his wrist, then around his waist, your knee shifting between his thighs as you curl into him and nuzzle against his neck, lips pressing into his pulse point.

He stiffens. Feels you hesitate, then try again, pressing a kiss into the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Kid," he mutters, voice low, warning.

He can feel the neediness in your touch, eyes flicking up shyly to look at him as he bows his head to look down at you.

"You do everything I tell you to," he murmurs, and he’s right—voice rough with sleep. "If I told you to go back to your own bed, would you listen?"

Silence.

Then, your fingers tighten slightly where they’re wrapped around him. A slow shake of your head to answer his question and a sigh from him that follows, it shakes the room.

It’s defeat.

Your lips brush against his jaw first, tentative, testing. When he doesn’t stop you, you press again, slower this time. Then lower, over the rough stubble of his throat.

Joel lets out a slow, shuddering breath. His hand finds your waist, fingers curling tight before forcing himself to loosen his grip.

His fingers twitch against your waist, the calloused pads pressing firm into the soft give of your skin. His breath is heavy, slow, controlled—because he has to be.

“Shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he says, but it’s weak, “can’t be.”

A hollow protest. 

You don’t say anything, just tilt your head, lips tracing along his pulse, feeling it thrum beneath your mouth, slow and steady. He’s always so calm, a constant beat that never skipped or faltered.

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening. “Christ,” he breathes, head tipping forward until his forehead brushes against yours. “You don’t listen worth a damn, do you?”

You shake your head again, more deliberate this time.

His eyes flick to yours, dark and searching, like he’s looking for something—one last excuse to push you away. 

But there’s nothing—he’s guilty for the need of this too.

And then you’re pulling him down, lips pressing against his, soft but insistent, and any last restraint he had left crumbles in an instant.

Joel groans against your mouth, deep and wrecked, his hands still hesitant to touch, only allowing it as you initiate, dragging his hand to your waist and down, under your thigh until he’s hiking your leg over his hip.

His lips part, teeth grazing your bottom lip before he kisses you again, harder, deeper, like he needs this just as much as you do. Like he’s just as desperate for it.

He is.

Joel pulls you closer, his hands gripping at your waist. His lips are slow at first, searching, but when you whimper against his mouth, something inside him snaps. It’s a sound he hasn’t heard, the first he’s ever heard, surprising yourself as the sound slips out, throat immediately collapsing on itself in fear, awaiting the hands that wrap tight around your throat and suffocate.

Instead, his hand fists in the fabric of your shorts, curling around your hip as your core drags over his groin, his quickly hardening cock pressing against the inside of your thigh.

"You don’t even think twice, do you?" he rasps against your lips, his breath warm and unsteady. "Just do whatever the hell I tell you without arguing?”

You nod, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. You nod, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. With your muteness, it meant Joel’s eyes had to be on you, constantly waiting and searching for communication.

It made you feel special, the way he was attentive to you at all times.

Your thumb drags over his lip as you pause for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in.

His eyes darken, something unreadable flickers across his face, and his hands still for a moment too, resting heavy on the bare skin of your leg.

“That ain’t always a good thing,” he tell you, but he’s already leaning back in, following the push into his shoulder as you raise your leg over his abdomen to straddle him, pressing him into the mattress as you grind down into him.

Somehow you know he’ll follow, that he won’t resist. 

He’s guilty, too—doesn’t ever think twice when it comes to you. That’s what eats at him the most—how easily you give in to each other. How willingly.

Your hands skim down his chest, nails scratching lightly over the thick hair there, down to his stomach, lower—until he catches your wrist, shaking his head.

"Slow down," he murmurs, voice strained, rough around the edges as your hips moving at a leisurely pace, glancing down to admire the thickness of his shaft as the fabric hugged around him, leaving no part of him to imagination, the thick trail of hair that disappeared beyond his waistband, "You don't gotta—"

You shake your head, mouth hung open in silence as your eyes fall shut.

A groan rumbles low in his chest as he lets go of you, hands falling to his side as lets you use him, slowly realizing what this moment was for you.

A reclamation of your own pleasure and autonomy, using his body for release that did nothing to benefit him outside of the wonder that bloomed into his features as you move more frantic, fabric bunching up higher at your hips as you chase your high, working toward the crest of your orgasm that you just couldn’t reach, face scrunching up in annoyance as you start to hit as his chest with soft blows, seemingly frustrated.

Joel knows what you need, skin against skin, flush connection.

You look up at him with a pout that pleads, screaming out.

And this time, he doesn’t stop you as you shift, a fury of limbs as you remove your shorts with impatience, tossing them to the floor as you tug at his sweats, his cock bobbing heavy and free, just far enough down his thighs that you can see how his balls tighten at your touch, taking a moment to admire him this way, his face contorted into something unreadable as your thumb slides over his slit, leaking with precum and his tip a blushed red.

Joel lets out a strangled breath, his head tilting back against the pillow as your fingers wrap around him, slow and deliberate, dragging over the length of him with just enough pressure to make his stomach tense.

He breathes slowly, his hands twitching at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to touch you. 

To guide you. Teach you.

But he won’t—he lets you take what you need, lets you move at your own pace. 

You shift upwards, lining yourself up with him, the heat of your slick cunt teasing against his length, dragging up and down as you shudder at the feeling, the head of his cock sliding against your clit, the shlick of your bodies as they move against each other.

His jaw clenches, muscles taut as he watches.

Your fingers curl against his skin, nails pressing into him as you take all of him, inch by inch.

He finds himself waiting for a sound, silently begging for it, curious if you would sound as wrecked as he did, grunting when you’re seated fully, the burn mixing with pleasure so intense it makes your head fall forward. 

Joel’s breath stutters. His hands find your waist with your guidance, squeezing tight, like this was your attempt in trying to get him to ground himself too. He doesn’t move, doesn’t thrust up into you—just lets you adjust, lets you take him however you want. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice wrecked. “You feel that?” You nod, biting your lip, rolling your hips experimentally. A pleasurable ache growing in your gut. He groans, low and guttural, his fingers digging into your flesh. “That’s it,” he breathes. “Take what you need.” 

And you do.

You start slow, your hands braced against his chest, feeling the taut muscle beneath your palms as you roll your hips, testing, searching for something you’re not sure of. The stretch is deep, almost too much, but it’s what you want—what you need.

Joel’s hands grip your waist, like he’s holding himself back, like if he lets go, he’ll take over. 

But he doesn’t. He just watches, dark eyes hooded, jaw tight as you find your rhythm.

He exhales through gritted teeth, watching the way you move, the way your body trembles every time you take him deeper, your breasts shifting under your shirt as you bounce, finding himself speaking before the words filter, like his pleasure has a mind of its own.

"You always listen so well, don’t you?"

Your breath hitches at the praise, the smallest whimper slipping from your lips, and Joel's fingers tighten on your hips, not guiding you, but steadying you, anchoring you to him. You’ve never made sounds like this before, not even by accident.

With him, the fear of retaliation has begun to ease. Each noise that slips isn’t met with anger or rage, but astonishment, eyes widening in wonder.

“You like that?” he asks, voice rough, like it’s been dragged down a gravel road, "Doin’ what you’re told?"

You nod frantically, grinding down harder, desperate for more.

For him, you think. Only for him.

Give me safety. I’ll give you everything.

He curses under his breath, his restraint fraying at the edges. "Fuck—look at you," he groans, his fingers digging into your flesh now, a warning, his own control slipping. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ good."

A shudder runs through you at his words, your walls fluttering around him, making him hiss.

"Keep goin'," he murmurs, lifting up slightly as he settles on an elbow, the thumb of his free hand stroking your skin, the tension in his body betraying how much effort it takes to stay still, “I feel ya, how bad you need it,”

Your fingers reach for him, prying his grip from your waist and guiding his hands up, over your body, pressing them against your breasts, your stomach, anywhere you can, until he gets it—until he stops holding back. He rises to meet you, arms wrapping around your waist similar to how you had cornered him on the couch in the basement, but the implication is different.

A deep, guttural groan escapes him, and then his hands are moving on their own, sliding down to grip your ass, to spread you wider as he thrusts up into you, slow but deep, pushing a broken moan from your throat.

"Yeah?" he rasps in surprise, voice strained. "Is that what you wanted?"

You nod helplessly, nails scraping over his chest as you try to keep up with his pace, but Joel doesn’t let you. He takes over now, fucking up into you with long, deliberate strokes, each one dragging a whimper from your lips.

More sounds, he needed more sounds.

"You gotta tell me," he pleads, his grip almost bruising now. "I need to hear it."

You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a breathy gasp, your head falling forward against his shoulder, and Joel growls, wrapping the arm around your back tight to keep you pressed against him.

"Say it," he demands, voice thick with need as he looks up at you, "Tell me what you need. I know you can—you’re doin’ so good," It was such a stark contrast, the praise.

Your lips part, voice shaky, barely above a whisper and broken, your voice foreign to your ears as it leaves your mouth

"You."

Joel freezes beneath you, stilling for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face before it’s gone, replaced with something darker, something deeper.

He wants to fucking ruin you and build you back up watching as the tears form in your eyes, knowing what the action meant, the energy and bravery it took, he doesn’t push it aside.

His chest rises sharply against yours, breath stalling like he’s not sure he heard right. His fingers twitch against your skin, gripping tighter, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You feel the weight of it, the shift in the air. 

His pulse hammers against your palm where you press against his throat, his body locked beneath you like the words had cut him deeper than any knife ever could.

Your voice.

You’ve never spoken before.

Not to him. Not to anyone.

And now, with your body wrapped around him, shaking, desperate, it’s him you ask for. 

Him you need.

His name is on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t say it. 

You just press closer, urging him with slow rolls of your hips, hoping he understands, hoping he doesn’t make you say it again—because you don’t think you can.

And then, Joel moves.

Slowly. Carefully.

His hands roam, sweeping over your back, your waist, fingertips ghosting over the curve of your ribs like he’s memorizing you, feeling you breathe. His touch is softer now, reverent, as if the moment itself has changed, evolved into something neither of you expected.

You nod to an unasked question, pressing your lips against his cheek, his jaw, anywhere you can reach, trying to coax him back, trying to keep the moment from slipping away.

His hips snap up, slow but deep, dragging a soft, broken moan from your throat that makes his grip tighten. A noise barely audible.

"That’s it," he breathes, his voice thick with something you can’t explain. His hands guide you now, steady but unrelenting, moving you with him, driving deeper, harder, every roll of your hips pulling another sound from your lips, another shudder from your body.

He drinks in every noise, every gasp, every trembling sigh like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Collecting them all and committing them to memory.

"Keep talkin’ to me," he mutters, voice ragged, desperate. "Let me hear you."

But, you can’t.

The pleasure is too much, coiling tight, pulling you under, and all you can do is cling to him, gasping against his throat as your body starts to shake through your orgasm. The energy it takes to speak, the courage bleeding you dry. You’d lost your voice again.

Joel feels it—your unraveling, your breaking, the way your walls flutter around him—and it undoes him completely. Your hands cradle your face, tilting his head back so you can see him, his dark eyes burning into yours as he thrusts up hard as he spills inside of you, not entirely thinking as he does it.

"That’s it, baby," he praises, “Keep squeezin’ me, I’m right here,”

And for a long moment, neither of you move. 

The only sound is his ragged breaths, the pounding of your heart.

His lips brush your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

"You," he murmurs to you, soft, like it means something to him too.

Maybe it does, you weren’t sure.

–

He reaches you this way, through connection and touch.

Sex or something similar, the intensity of the moment clouding your thoughts and relaxing your worry, and his too.

It was a give and take with each other, distracting Joel from his constant stream of troubling thoughts and worries, still never approaching you—it was always under your guidance.

Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s wrong. But every time your hands find him, every time you press yourself into his space, silently asking for comfort, for connection, he gives in.

The moment you touch him, the constant, gnawing dread in his mind quiets.

Just for a little while. And selfishly, he needs it.

Your fingers trail up his chest, light, uncertain, tracing the scars like a map. Joel watches, his breath slow and steady, his muscles tense beneath your touch—but he doesn’t stop you.

He never does.

You cornered him in the kitchen this particular night, his hands curled over the edge of the sink with his head hung, chest heaving like he had just woken up from his own nightmare, sneaking out of bed but not quite enough that you wouldn’t notice.

When you press your lips against his skin, soft and searching, he exhales like he’s been holding it in for too long. 

Like you were the answer.

"You sure?" he asks, his voice rough, low, but there’s no demand in it. 

No expectation. 

Only restraint. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, between the constant time spent together and the nights spent inside of you, allowing your greediness to take hold.

He pushed his own aside, stuffed until it was boiling over.

You nod, and that’s all it takes.

His hands find your waist, pulling you against him, guiding you the way you he needs, the way he knows you need too, his grip firm, like he’s holding something fragile—something breakable.

That's what this was, after all.

A delicate balance. A silent understanding.

You give each other this, and in return, he gives you himself, as do you—fully, completely, no barriers, no walls.

When he moves it is slow and deliberate, when his mouth finds your throat and his fingers grip your neck, guiding you against and up on the counter, fingers spreading underneath your top before it’s torn over your head, it was all the same. His palms curve around your neck, pulling you toward him as his lips capture yours in a surprisingly tender kiss, lips parting immediately as his tongue licks along your own, mirroring his touch as you spread your legs to make room for him. 

You don’t need anything else but this.

Only this.

Only him.

Only you.

But, there’s that gnawing in Joel’s chest that makes him out to be the monster he knows he can be, taking advantage of your trauma and pushing your limits, using you like you’ve been used before.

He’s no better, he thinks.

If anything, he’s worse.

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part two!

PEARL NECKLACE

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summary: Uncle Tommy gives you everything you want for your twenty first birthday.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, stepcest, age gap (reader is 21, Tommy in his mid thirties), size difference, praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, begging, dom/sub undertones, tommy yearns bad in this one, a bit of angst mixed in, alcohol overconsumption, reader is made uncomfortable by someone at a bar, references to being drugged (but doesn't actually happen), allusions to addiction, reader gets a facial

note: if you haven't heard yet, i'm turning this into a little mini series!! you can let me know here if you'd like to be added to the taglist. thank you to everyone for the support on this one, I'm so glad you all love uncle tommy as much as i do. let me know what you think of this chapter, i love love love talking to you guys and i promise there's more to come!

wc: 10.8k

[series masterlist] [main masterlist] [AO3]

Tommy Miller is a high functioning addict.

Self aware enough to admit it, hedonistic enough to only manage it. Has been that way for as long as he can remember.

He likes the head buzz of nicotine and the dizziness of liquor and the adrenaline rush of a real bad decision. His favorite high, though, is you. His favorite sound, his favorite taste, his favorite sight. 

His favorite girl.

After that fateful night in his apartment, the two of you get good at the balancing act. The push and pull. You ride the line of too much and not enough religiously. Have gotten it down to a goddamn science.

But the problem is that an addict never knows when to quit.

He does well for a while. Truly. Learns that it’s a whole lot easier to manage his longing with witnesses around, and goes out of his way to avoid being in an empty house with you. He interlocks his fingers together and squeezes when the urge rises in him to touch you. To cradle your pretty face, to run his thumb over your mouth when you make some filthy joke and smile up at him. He bites the inside of his cheek when you’re sitting beside one another and turn to whisper something in sync, bringing you face to face, so overwhelmed with a craving for the taste of your tongue that his heart hammers against his sternum.

For what it’s worth, Tommy tries. Loses sleep over it, even. Stares up at his ceiling for hours, warring with what he wants and what he knows is right. 

The right thing would be to wean himself off of you. Cut back a little at a time. Day by day, until eventually the thought of you becomes less persistent. Until he stops smelling the faintest trace of your shampoo in his sheets, until he stops transferring that half-smoked cigarette with cherry lip gloss on the filter from pack to pack.

But then, sometimes, he catches this look in your eye when you’re listening to him speak. He could be talking about something shitty that happened at work or telling you about a song he heard on the radio that he thinks you’d like, and you just stare at him like he hung the moon in the sky.

He’s important to you, and you make him feel it. And it’s this, this that he can’t give up. The way you trust him so completely, the way you love him without a trace of doubt. 

You say it once, in passing. Everyone’s sitting in lawn chairs in the backyard, enjoying the nice weather before the rainstorm moving in from the west hits. You’re sitting next to Sarah, but your feet are resting in Tommy’s lap.

Sarah’s talking animatedly, telling everyone about her college English professor and how they’ve been playing matchmaker all semester. On three separate occasions, they’ve paired groups together, and couples have emerged from them. Sarah thinks it’s intentional, but your mom and Joel aren’t so sure.

Tommy stays quiet for most of the conversation. But then he says, “Definitely a little weird. But, uh…anyway, I wanted to let everyone know I’m a changed man. Dropping the whole blue collar act and going back to school to study English.”

Everyone laughs, and you kick the side of his thigh lightly with a shake of your head. Through your giggles you say, “I fucking love you,” and it fills him with so much warmth he’s overflowing with it.

He rides that high for days. Gives you shit for it, even. 

When he steals your half finished slice of pizza right out of your hands and you call him a dickhead with a smile on your face he says, “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

You don’t deny it, and even that makes him feel special. Tommy takes every crumb of affection you throw at him and eats it up with a fork and knife like it’s the most delectable meal he’s ever had. Consumes your sweet words and your closeness so thoroughly, it’s almost comical. Like he’s a dog with a bone, desperate for it, because he is.

He stays balanced, though. Never lets it go too far. Can feel right when his desire begins to cloud his judgment and knows when to call it. 

But things change one night at the dining room table.

You and Joel sit beside each other. He‘s in front of that shitty laptop he bought decades ago, trying to write an email that sounds both professional and assertive without using the words asshole or fucking idiot.

He’s grumbling and typing with his two pointer fingers and a single thumb on the keyboard, shaking his head as you explain, “You have to capitalize her name, Joel. You’re not sending an email to your friend, she’s a CEO.”

“Yeah, well, capital letters are meant for people. Not for corporate lizards trying to fuck with my company.”

You catch Tommy’s gaze from across the table, making you both snort and fall into rambunctious laughter, earning you a glare.

“It’s not funny,” Joel says sharply. “Stupid I even have to do this. I don’t know why people don’t just leave well enough alone.”

“Everyone wants a piece of the pie,” you explain. “You’re making good money doing good things, and she wants to be a part of it. You guys keep taking on more projects this year, and inquiries like this are just the beginning.” 

“It’s a good thing, ain’t it?” Tommy shrugs. “Means you’re doing somethin’ right.”

“Exactly,” you agree. You lean across the table and swipe the glass bottle from his hands to take a sip. 

Tommy knows you don’t like beer and isn’t surprised when you cringe at the hoppy flavor, wrinkling your nose at him. He thinks maybe you drink it anyway not for the alcohol, but to put your lips to the same place his were seconds ago. He tries not to let the warmth that idea elicits in his chest spread too far. 

“Well, I don’t need some uppity lady who works in an office telling me how to do my damn job,” Joel adds.

“So say that,” you tell him. He starts typing on the keyboard again, so you lean in close, peering over his shoulder. “Oh my God. Not word for word. You have to paraphrase.”

Joel throws his hands up in the air and groans in frustration. “How do I say fuck off in a nice way?”

You and Tommy both laugh again, which only serves to piss Joel off even further. It’s not funny, not really; it’s just the dramatics of it all. And, truthfully, Tommy finds everything funny when he's with you.

“You write it,” Joel says, pushing the laptop towards you. 

“That’s not gonna solve anything,” you say, shaking your head. 

“What if I pay you?”

“Then you’ll be in the same situation next time. You’re gonna have to learn how to be a business owner, Joel. Not just a contractor.”

“Okay, so make it permanent, then,” Joel says, shrugging. “Like a…a receptionist. Come work for me and quit that coffee place. They don’t even offer health insurance.” He says it with such disdain, and Tommy knows exactly why.

They’d discussed it on the way home from work one afternoon. Too god damn smart for a place like that, Joel had said, and Tommy could do nothing but agree.

“I can’t quit my job to write your emails for you,” you argue.

“Not just that,” he says. “Can be in charge of payroll and schedules and the licensing bullshit. All the things I’m bad at. Weekends off, whatever hours you wanna work. I’ll pay you double what you’re makin’ now, and you get health insurance.”

Hesitation shows on your face. Tommy knows his brother means what he says, and he thinks you know it, too. But it’s a lot to consider. A big change.

“You’re good at talkin’ to people,” Joel continues, closing the laptop. “An’ it would mean a lot to me.”

That’s what does you in, Tommy knows. The nail in the coffin. He sees it in the way your shoulders drop and your eyes soften. Selfless girl, he thinks. Always taking care of the people you love. “What if I don’t like it?”

“You will,” Tommy answers. Because he knows Joel will take care of you, too. Make sure you have everything you might need. But more importantly, Tommy knows you. And even though he can sense the way it threatens his balance on that already thin line between safe and depraved, he knows you’ll enjoy it.

And he’s proven correct on that very first day.

Joel sets you up in the air-conditioned trailer they haul from job site to job site. Mostly, they use it to cool off during lunch, everyone piling into the small space for half an hour before going back out into the Texas heat.

The two of you spend most of the day going over all the contacts Joel’s acquired over the years, and how to schedule a consultation, and where to order materials. He gives you all of his passwords and clears off the cluttered desk that never gets used. 

Everyone on the team is awfully eager to meet you, and Tommy’s no fucking idiot. He knows exactly what goes through their heads as they shake your hand and introduce themselves and stare a little too hard at the shadow of red lace beneath your thin white top.

They conveniently wait until Joel’s out of earshot before the comments start pouring out of their foul mouths.

Pretty little thing, ain’t she?

Joel’s got that livin’ under his roof? Christ. Poor old man.

You see the way those jeans fit her?

Is it too early to start callin’ Joel ‘pops’?

Tommy wonders briefly why they feel so comfortable saying shit like this in front of him, knowing who he is to you, but then realizes he’s said far worse in the past about girls half as pretty. They feel comfortable because in any other situation, he would be joining right in.

Noah’s the worst of it. Takes things a little too far when he says, “Stepdaughter videos ain’t number one on the hub for nothin’.” 

Tommy clenches his teeth. Keeps his head down. Tries and fails to fight his smug ass smirk when you come grab his truck keys a little after four and return to the trailer wearing his Carhartt hoodie, the one he’d left in the back seat a couple days ago.

Later that night, Tommy follows you up to your room. Door wide open, with Sarah just across the hall and Joel and your mom downstairs. Not that he has any intentions other than checking in after your first day. It’s just…precautionary—an added layer of security to prevent a backslide.

He flops back in your unmade bed, hands folded behind his head, and watches a little too closely as you bend over to unlace your sneakers. “Well?”

You unclasp your necklace and drop it into a ceramic bowl on your dresser. “I loved it,” you admit. “It was a little stressful, but…I don’t know. I liked feeling like I could make a difference. Like I’m not just going in there to do my job and go home, I felt like I was being productive. It was nice.”

Tommy’s pleased to hear it. Loves the way your voice sounds in his ears. Happy, satisfied. He knows right then and there that he needs to set a firm boundary with Noah because you’re never going back to that coffee place, and Noah’s not going anywhere near you. “Said you’d like it, didn’t I?”

With a roll of your eyes, you sit beside him and pull your legs close to your chest, resting your chin on top of your knees. “Joel’s kind of a hard ass.”

It makes him laugh because it’s true. Can’t count on both his hands just how many times his brother has nitpicked the way things are done. He can only imagine the pressure you'd felt in that trailer, likely being told how to talk to this person or that one. “Only the beginning, darlin’,” Tommy says. 

The sunlight leaks in through your bedroom window, sheer lace curtains casting rays of gold over your skin. You’re beautiful, Tommy thinks. Painfully so. Sometimes he’ll catch you at a certain angle, just like this one, and it makes his heart rate stutter.

In another world, Tommy wouldn’t let you out of sight fucking ever. Would accompany you whether you were going to a nightclub or if you were just going to the corner store. Because he knows from experience that all it would take for a man to fall to his knees before you is a single look from those pretty eyes. In another world, one where he wasn’t your Uncle Tommy, one where he could just be yours, he’d make damn sure you’d never need anything from another man. 

Never need a door opened for you, never need to pay for a meal, never need to confide in anyone else. He’d take care of you. Do it all. Satisfy you in every way of the word because it’s what you deserve. He wants to take care of you, wants to be a provider. 

Tommy supposes it’s what he’s always wanted, despite his actions reflecting the opposite. He wonders if maybe he’s just been waiting for you this whole time.

You ask, “What are you thinking about?” 

And he doesn’t lie. “You.”

With a scoff, you playfully pinch his side. A sliver of his abdomen is exposed where his t-shirt has ridden up, and feeling you there is a shock to his nervous system. 

And when your touch lingers, his body tingles, and his brain becomes foggy. Tommy Miller has never wanted anyone the way he wants you. Is reduced to the simplest, most carnally driven man just at the feel of your delicate fingertips on his skin.

Your attention is centered on your hand as you slowly move it across his soft belly, eyes hooded and filled with desire. 

Tommy knows that look now. Knows the filthy thoughts invading your brain, knows exactly what you’re reminiscing about. He knows, too, that the balance is skewed. The longer he lies here with you, the closer he comes to caving. “Your turn,” he says. “Spill your guts.”

When you speak, your voice is quiet. A barely-there whisper. “It would be so easy, you know.” 

He does. Has rolled the idea over in his head a million fucking times. “S’the problem,” Tommy explains. “Can’t stop myself twice.” 

“Then don’t,” you say simply, continuing to run your fingers over his skin. He sees his favorite troublesome smirk begin to form on your sweet mouth and has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep himself from finding too much joy in it. “Could do it right here. Bet they’d never know.”

The edge of your pinky finger dips just below the waistband of his jeans. Barely there, but Tommy notices everything you do, and this is no exception, hyper aware of your every movement. He lets out a slow, shaking breath and swallows hard. He can’t bring himself to move or push you away like he knows he should. All he manages are two, hesitant words. “Ain’t right.”

Your response is quick. Honest and true. “I don’t care.”

It only makes his will to abstain that much harder. Knowing he isn’t alone in his longing, knowing you’re suffering in such a similar way…it hurts him just to think of it. But it’s different for you. Easier. Because you’re just at the beginning of your life, while he’s nearly halfway through his.

You have time to bounce back from this. To choose someone your age who’s a lot less twisted. Someone you don’t have to hide from the people closest to you, who you can kiss out in the open without shame.

And Tommy’s…well, Tommy knows there will never be anyone else for him. Has sat with that fact for quite some time. Accepted it by now, and considers himself lucky just to have had that one, stolen night.

Slowly, you move further down the mattress. The same one he once slept on that now belongs solely to you. You slot yourself between his strong thighs and his cock swells as you look up at him through your lashes.

There’s an experiment here, Tommy knows. The two of you are just alike. So similar that sometimes it frightens him. He can see the challenge in your eyes, testing the waters, seeing how far you can go before he pulls you back. 

You lean forward, bracing yourself with your hands on his hips. And when you press your lips to the bulge in his jeans, Tommy bites back a moan. 

This is too far, he knows. Way too fucking far.

His heart hammers in his chest. The door is still wide open, and everyone is home. All it would take is one person to walk down the hallway, and it would all be over. 

But it would be easy. Quick, too—Tommy’s never had much control when it comes to you.

With a quick flick of your thumb, you pop open the silver button. Saliva gathers between your parted lips, mouth watering for a taste of him. 

Tommy Miller is weak. Corrupted. Sick and twisted and perverted and— “Beautiful, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking…Christ. You got any idea how fuckin’ pretty you are?”

He gently strokes your hair, and when you smile up at him, he grins right back. His cock is already hard but then you pull his zipper down with your teeth and Tommy thinks he might die without relief.

Sarah calls your name from across the hall.

You scramble away from each other, sitting at opposite ends of the bed seconds before she rounds the corner. 

“Do you remember Summer? That girl from my biology class?” Sarah pays Tommy no mind as she sits beside you.

It’s not out of the ordinary for him to be in your room, after all. He’s the first to lend a helping hand when you get the urge to move your furniture around and has carried up your laundry from the basement countless times.

“Yeah, of course,” you say. “The one you…”

Sarah flushes a deep crimson. Her eyes flicker between your face and Tommy’s, and he’s smart enough to read the room.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he says, standing from the bed, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt.

You grab his hand as he walks past. Just briefly, but it turns his insides molten. One more lingering touch before he leaves. A way of saying, I don’t want you to go, but I know you have to.

Once out in the hallway, Tommy zips up his jeans and takes a few long, deep breaths before he goes downstairs to say goodbye to your mom and Joel. The two of them talk briefly, and Joel asks how you felt after your first day.

He says, “An’ I know you know that girl like the back of your hand, so don’t lie. She like it or not?”

Tommy isn’t quite sure why the words leave him feeling dizzy, but they do. He likes that he knows you so well and likes even more that the closeness you share is so visible. If he can’t outwardly call you his, if he can’t outwardly be yours, then he’ll take whatever this is. “She likes it.”

Joel’s shoulders sag in relief. “Good, cause she’ll make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

The next morning, Tommy stops by at seven to pick you and Joel up before heading to the job site. You carry a steaming travel mug in each hand, and before you climb into the back seat, you poke your head through the open driver's side window. “Just milk and sugar,” you say. “Right?”

He doesn’t know why you ask when you know the answer. “You didn’t have to do that, darlin’,” he says. But he happily takes the coffee anyway and takes a careful sip. It’s the perfect ratio. Tommy’s not surprised. 

There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you say, “I usually take mine with cream, but we were all out. Thought maybe you could supply me with some.”

He laughs hard and shakes his head. “Un-fuckin’-believable,” he says through his mirth. He glances over the top of your head to see Joel locking the front door behind him.

You uncap the lid. “Well?”

His face burns, but Tommy thinks he’s never had such a perfect start to his day. “Get in the truck before you start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

“But that’s my favorite thing to do,” you whine, pushing your bottom lip out into a dramatic pout. You listen, though. Replace the lid and climb into the back seat behind him.

Tommy scoffs and says with a grin, “Don’t I know it.”

It doesn’t take long for you to get awfully good at your job. That first week alone, you manage to slice their payment for materials in half just by haggling with the lumber mill Joel’s bought wood from since the nineties. You accompany him to a handful of consultations, learning what to look for in a client and how to pick and choose which jobs are worth taking.

You convince Joel to buy a mini fridge for the trailer that you keep fully stocked with bottles of water. And when you bring in those electrolyte drink mixes, it’s all anyone talks about for days.

Noah says, “The peach one is my favorite. Wanna taste hers next.”

Everyone finds humor in it but Tommy.

The words come out sharper than intended. “Quit sayin’ shit like that, man.”

Noah laughs. Like it’s funny. “You’re telling me you don’t want a piece of that ass?”

“What I’m telling you is to shut your goddamn mouth,” Tommy answers. He stops digging through the sand they’ve been moving for the last hour, left hand squeezed tightly around the red handle of his shovel.

“It was a joke, Tommy. Lighten up.”

“Don’t care what it was,” he says, staring Noah in the eye. “I hear some shit like that again and I’ll fuck you up. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

Noah sizes him up, and for a split second Tommy thinks he just might be brave enough to step. But Noah just sneers and returns to the task at hand, an awkward silence lingering between the group of them.

But Tommy doesn’t care. Sits in that silence happily knowing he won’t have to listen to anyone speak about you like that anymore.

Joel cares, though. And on the way home, he says, “Mike told me about you giving Noah a hard time today. You two gonna have a problem?”

“Wait, what happened with Noah?” You slide to the center of the leather seat in the back of the cab.

“Nothing,” Tommy lies. “Ain’t gonna have a problem.”

Joel narrows his eyes in warning. “Good. 'Cause that’s the last thing we need right now. Behind enough as it is.”

He thinks that’s the end of it.

But then you say softly, “He asked me out the other day.”

“He what?” Tommy and Joel say it in perfect unison. Equally floored and equally irate.

Joel turns almost completely around in the passenger seat.

You raise your hands in surrender and look at Tommy through the rearview mirror. “Said he wanted to take me to dinner, and I told him I’d rather starve.”

“Listen to me,” Joel says with that stern, no bullshit dad voice he sometimes still uses on Sarah. “I don’t want you anywhere near those boys. Ain’t a single one worth a damn. Liars and cheaters and fucking criminals. All of ‘em.”

A crease forms between your brows. “So why the fuck did you hire them?”

“Cause they’re good at what they do,” Joel explains. “But that don’t make them good. Deserve better than that. You hear me, kid?”

“Yeah, I hear you. Keep it professional with everyone,” you say. “Except for Uncle Tommy.”

He chokes. Tries to cover it up with a cough, but it doesn’t work in the slightest. His hands pale around the steering wheel.

“Exactly,” Joel says.

Later that night, Tommy is smoking on the back porch when you step outside to join him. It’s the first moment he’s had alone with you all day. “You tryin’ to get me killed or somethin’?”

“Or something.” You lean back against the siding and shrug. “Kinda sounded like Joel’s blessing to me.”

“You’re fuckin’ trouble, girl.” Tommy chuckles and passes you his lit cigarette when you reach for it. “Joel wasted all that breath warnin’ you about those boys when he should be warnin’ them about you.”

“Yeah, probably. But you love it.” 

Tommy can do nothing but agree because it’s the truest thing he’s ever heard. “Your birthday’s comin’ up soon,” he says, watching as you take the nicotine deep into your lungs. “Twenty-one. Anything you want?”

That too familiar smirk forms on your face, and Tommy knows what you’re going to say before you even open your mouth. Can see all those filthy thoughts behind your eyes, can almost hear whatever dirty joke you’ve got locked and loaded on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t even fuckin’ start with me,” he warns, a playfulness to his voice. But there’s no weight to it. Your inability to take anything seriously is one of his favorite things about you. 

Your lips part in a mockery of surprise. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t have to,” he says, plucking the cigarette from between your fingers. “Give me something realistic.”

“Okay…” You tap your index finger against your chin, contemplating. “What about…a pearl necklace,” you say with the sweetest, most innocent smile.

Tommy laughs. Can’t help himself. “Alright, you know what? I take it back. You only get gifts if you’re good.”

He thinks the sound of your giggling might be the only thing that’s ever truly brought him peace. Finds comfort in your joy, in knowing you’re happy. But when your laughter dies down, there’s a sad sort of look in your eye. A melancholic longing. 

Then you quietly say, “I just want you.” And Tommy’s ears ring.

This is what hurts him the most. The heavy truth of it. 

He’d known that taking your closeness to new heights would change him in irreparable ways. Known that nothing would ever compare, and he was ready and willing to live the rest of his life with that dull ache in his chest. Welcomed the haunting of emptiness with open arms because it was you and it was him and that one fucking night was yours.

But Tommy wasn’t the only one who’d been changed by it. Wasn’t the only one to suffer in the aftermath. 

He wants to comfort you. Wants to take your hands in his and kiss each of your knuckles until his lips turn blue. He doesn’t move, though. Not even an inch. Because he’s never felt nearer to a relapse than he does when you look at him like that. Like you see him. Like he’s all you see.

“I’m right here,” he says. “Always will be.”

Tommy means it. He thinks he would follow you anywhere just to feel the faintest warmth of your affection.

It seems to satisfy you. For now, at least. You give him the tiniest smile, a half effort, but it soothes the sting for him, too. Just a little. 

Your birthday falls on a Friday. Tommy gets up early and stops at a bakery before heading to Joel’s, and is pleased when he uses the key under the mat to find that the house is quiet. Still.

He creeps up the stairs and slips soundlessly into your room. The day is just beginning, and the light of dawn spills through your cracked window. Tommy sits on the edge of your bed and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

When he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, you stir and stretch out your limbs. Your voice is tired and filled with sleep as you ask, “Uncle Tommy?”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers. He cradles your face in his hands and strokes your cheek with his thumb as clarity slowly finds you.

You smile up at him with starry eyes, and Tommy’s stomach flips. You’re so good, so perfect that sometimes he wonders how the fuck you’re even real.

“C’mon,” he says. “Sit up for me. Got you somethin’.”

Tommy holds your hands when you reach for him and pulls you forward. You push yourself up the rest of the way and fold your legs over one another beneath the blankets.

It’s only at that precise moment that Tommy realizes you’re wearing one of his t-shirts and the sight of it steals the air right from him. He likes it—loves it. Loves that a piece of him lives here with you. In your closet, in your room, in your sheets.

He’s not quite sure how you ended up with it, though. Thinks he might’ve left it on a lawn chair after spending an afternoon in Joel’s pool, or missed it in the dryer when the ones at his apartment were out of order.

But then you say, reading his every thought, “I stole it.”

Tommy laughs. “Think you’re supposed to ask before you take things that aren’t yours.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You lean forward, lips an inch away from his ear. “And I know I’m not the only one with sticky fingers, Uncle Tommy.”

His face burns. He thinks of your cherry lip gloss on his bathroom sink and your tank top on the right side of his bed and your lace panties in his nightstand. Tommy thinks he should know better than to hide things from you anymore. You’re too close, too similar. “Caught me,” Tommy mutters.

And then he digs his lighter out of the front pocket of his jeans and lights the ten cent candle he’d found at the back of Joel’s junk drawer. He sticks it into the center of the cupcake he’d picked out just for you—lemon flavored, with vanilla frosting and lime colored sprinkles. 

He holds it between you and says, “Make a wish, birthday girl.”

The flame flickers as your gaze darts between Tommy’s eyes and his mouth. You smile widely, and he can’t resist mirroring your joy. Feels it as thoroughly as if it were his own. Tommy’s never cared much for his birthday, but he feels overwhelmed with gratitude for yours. Thankful.

You close your eyes, make your silent wish, and then blow out the candle. He unwraps the wax paper for you, crumbs sticking to his fingers, and laughs when you take a bite and let out a blissful moan. “Holy shit,” you say.

Tommy feels pride bloom in his chest. Thinks pleasing you might be his favorite thing on the planet. “S’good?”

“It’s fucking amazing,” you answer. And then you turn the cupcake towards him. “I’m not kidding. Try it.”

He does. Leans forward and takes a careful bite right from your hands. You’re not wrong, either. The lemon is refreshing, and the vanilla buttercream is the perfect sweetness. Tommy nods as you take another bite. “Christ,” he says. “Worth every damn penny.”

You touch your thumb to the corner of your mouth. “You’ve got frosting on your face,” you say with a teasing grin.

Tommy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I get it?”

“More to the left,” you instruct. But when he tries again, Tommy knows it’s still there when you hold in your laughter. And then you say, “Can I…?”

Tommy doesn’t understand right away why you even ask. You’re always laying your head on his shoulder or draping your legs over his or running your hands through his hair. This is no different, nothing out of the ordinary. 

But when he nods, you lean forward and lick the frosting off his bottom lip. 

It freezes him in time. Seconds feel like minutes as they tick by. He can feel the wetness of your tongue on his mouth, and you linger. Close enough that he can taste the sugar on your breath.

His morals hang in the balance. Sobriety threatened. Tommy Miller wants you so badly that he starts to wonder if you’re some fucked up form of punishment. Karmic justice for all those hearts he’s broken in his youth, just to be denied the one woman he’s ever truly wanted.

When you speak, it’s breathless. Nearly inaudible. “Kiss me.”

It is your birthday, after all. 

He fights the intensity that batters against his every impulse and instead presses his mouth to yours gently. Unhurried. So much different than the first kiss you’d shared. Your lips move against his in sync, one soul split into two bodies, whole again for the first time in months. 

Tommy thinks it’s just instinct when his tongue meets yours. You taste just as he remembers. A little warm and a little honeyed and a little like opium.

When you pull away, he feels the loss like a knife.

But then you cover your mouth with your hand and laugh, elation spilling through your fingers, and it’s like a balm to his heart.

Around another mouthful of confectionery, you insist, “Here. Have some more.”

Tommy sits there with you, waiting for the sun to rise, and the two of you share your birthday cupcake before the rest of the world wakes. You close your eyes and drop your shoulders as if it’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten, giggling between each bite.

It’s such a soft, quiet moment. Only the two of you. For just a little while, you have nowhere to be, no one to perform for. It’s just you, and it’s just him, and when you take the last bite, Tommy licks the frosting from your fingertips.

Joel’s alarm echoes down the hallway, and Tommy taps the tip of your nose, delighting in the pretty way it scrunches in response. “I’ll see you outside,” he says. “Happy birthday, darlin’.”

On the way to work, Joel asks about your plans for the weekend, and you tell him about how your friends are taking you to that new bar that just opened up downtown. He warns you to be careful, tells you it’s been packed full of people every time he’s driven by it, and says to call if you need anything.

You promise you will. 

For dinner, your mom makes all your favorite foods, and Sarah gifts you a handmade pony bead bracelet. She wears a matching one on her wrist with the colors inverted, and they both say 4EVER in little black letters.

When Tommy returns to his empty apartment that night, it’s with a deep sadness. He tries to drown it out. Showers off the sweat of the day and watches something mind-numbing on television. But the main character in the sitcom rerun makes a dirty joke, and he can almost hear you laughing at it beside him. 

Everything reminds him of you.

He thinks about calling one of the women he’s hooked up with on and off throughout the years, but the problem is that Tommy knows how that ends. Knows he’ll ask them to leave halfway through, and he’ll lie there, unsatisfied and painfully in love with a girl he can never have.

His longing chokes him until he’s devoid of breath, of life. Just a shell of a man without you. 

This is the wretched low he pays for those highs, Tommy knows. And he pays it without complaint because the highs are heavenly. Fucking spiritual.

He goes to sleep every night without regret. This emptiness is oppressive, but his love for you is transcendent.

His phone rings a little after one in the morning.

Your voice is slurred when you speak. “Uncle Tommy?”

Something’s wrong. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. Can hear it in your voice. “Where are you?”

There’s faint music in the background. “That new bar on Sixth Street. Can you…I’m sorry. Can you come get me?”

He’s out of bed and pulling on his jeans before you finish asking. “I’m on my way, baby. What happened?”

You say, “I’m not…I’m not sure,” and Tommy’s heart sinks.

Because whatever it is is bad. Can feel it in his fucking bones. “Are you alone? Who’s with you, sweetheart? Where are your friends?”

“No, I…I’m just really—I had too much to drink, I think. There’s just so many people and I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

The new bar is halfway across town, but Tommy makes it in six minutes. It’s at capacity, just as he’d anticipated, all the townsfolk trying to see for themselves what all the hype is about. Tommy might recognize a few faces if he gave anyone but you half a second of thought, but he doesn’t.

He makes a beeline for the women's restroom at the back of the bar and ignores the scowls he receives from the two girls touching up their makeup in the mirror. He calls your name and finds you in the very last stall, sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around your legs.

Tommy breathes a little easier when he sees you. Knows that with him, you’ll be safe. He kneels at your side and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You let out the softest whimper. “Uncle Tommy,” you say, voice filled with affection. “You came.”

“Course I did. S’alright. C’mon.” He tucks his arms beneath you and pulls you to your feet. Supports your weight almost entirely as he leads you out of the crowded bar and back to his truck.

When he leans over your slumped frame to try and buckle your seatbelt, you start peppering the side of his face with sloppy kisses.

He says, “Okay, alright一would you just一sit still一”

But he doesn’t mean it. Not really. You’re a giggly mess of a girl, reaching for the hem of his t-shirt and sliding your cold hands over his too-warm skin. “You’re just.” Kiss. “So.” Kiss. “Fucking cute.” Kiss.

Tommy’s smiling hard, but pushes you away as much as he hates to. “Cute, huh? Don’t know about all that, sweet girl.” He finally latches your seatbelt and quickly rounds the truck to the driver's side.

You're reaching for him the moment you can, arms outstretched and fingers grabbing for him. “Hold my hand,” you say, and of course he does. Kisses your knuckles as the engine roars to life.

Tommy says, “Let’s get you home.”

And you respond sleepily, “You’re my home.”

He tries not to read too much into it. Knows you’re just sappy and drunk. You don’t mean it. Not really. Tommy’s seen you trashed before. Has covered for you countless times and has all those drunken texts you’ve sent him memorized. You’re always like this. Loving and overly affectionate, a happy drunk to your core.

But you’ve never said anything that moved him quite this much.

Home.

What a perfect way to describe it.

But he just shakes his head. “How much have you had, kid?”

You toss your head back and laugh like it’s the silliest question he ever could’ve asked. “Too much! That’s why I called!”

Still holding tight to his hand, you roll down your window all the way. The air is cold but fresh, filling the cab of his truck with the scent of the early morning dew. You lean your head against the leather frame and close your eyes.

Tommy’s not quite sure when you fall asleep because your hand remains in his, squeezing tight even in your unconsciousness. He checks on you every couple of seconds, monitoring your breathing and the soft, slumbering noises you make.

He hates to wake you, but does it anyway when he returns to his apartment. You groan in defiance when he makes you stand, and it takes everything in him not to give in and carry you. 

“I know, baby, I know. But I need you awake for a little while longer,” he says. “Gotta get some food and water in you first, okay?”

You fight him each step of the way. Defy Tommy’s every instruction, once bubbly demeanor now replaced with agitation. But once he’s got you inside, he lets out a sigh of relief. He lays you on the couch and disappears into the kitchen for only long enough to make some toast and fill a tall glass with icy water. 

He holds your head up with one hand and tilts the cup against your mouth with the other, doing everything for you apart from the actual hydrating. You eat the toast slowly and argue between each bite, but he persists.

While you sleep, Tommy sits on the floor beside you. Half monitoring, half admiring.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for a single second. Even though exhaustion weighs down his limbs, Tommy is more concerned about you than he is about himself. He spends the night stroking your hair and making you drink a little more water each time you stir in your sleep.

A few times, you wake up completely, turning over to try and find comfort. You whine and sniffle, and Tommy repeats the same tender words until you fall back asleep. “You’re alright. I’m still right here. Uncle Tommy’s got you.”

It’s late by the time you sober up, almost noon. Tommy’s back aches from sitting on the hardwood for so long, and he needs a coffee or a nap or both—but the important thing is you. Always you.

You smile when you see him, and it’s so warm. A kindness that he’s only ever received from you.

It’s a visceral reaction, his mouth pulling up at the corners. Like he just can’t help it. He sees your happiness and feels it, too. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you say. And then you grab his big hand and press it against the side of your face. Tommy can feel your joy, can feel the way the muscles strain as you fight off your sleepy giggles.

He runs the pad of his thumb gently over your cheekbone. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like my head’s going to explode,” you say, voice filled with so much faux cheer that it’s comical. 

Tommy chuckles and stands to his feet, knees cracking. “Let me get you some aspirin.”

He’s not at all surprised when you follow him to the bathroom, never far for very long. While he sifts through his medicine cabinet, you sit on the edge of the tub. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always,” Tommy promises. He dumps two aspirin into his palm and hands them to you.

It takes a second before you speak. You turn the little pink tablets over and over in your hand, eyes downcast. And then you say, “I was too drunk and overwhelmed last night, but that isn’t what scared me. Noah was there.”

Tommy’s heart sinks to his feet. His jaw clenches, his knuckles turn white. 

“He kept…I don’t know. He wanted to take me home, and I was dodging him all night, but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Followed me for an hour, trying to change my mind. He didn’t…didn’t do anything, but it freaked me out.”

Tommy thinks he’s never wanted to hurt another man so badly in his life. He takes a deep breath, makes sure his rage isn’t fueled by any rash decision. And then he leaves the bathroom and finds his shoes. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Wait—Tommy, please don’t.” You follow, clawing at the back of his t-shirt. “Please.”

The fear in your voice stops him. He thinks maybe you don’t quite understand the gravity of the situation, so he tries to explain. “Can’t let this one go,” he says, shaking his head. “Not—Christ. Not this. He doesn’t get to make you that uncomfortable and get away with it. Fuck no.”

“I love that job,” you reason. “And I promised Joel—!”

“He’ll be just as pissed when he finds out—”

“I don’t want him to find out. Please, don’t.”

Tommy takes your hands between his. “Do you understand how much worse it could have been?” Tommy feels sick, thinking back on all those times Noah had made jokes about roofies and Tommy had just discounted it as dark humor. “Ruined your fuckin’ birthday,” he grumbles. 

You say, “He didn't ruin it. I got to spend it with you, didn’t I? That’s all I wanted.”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Tommy can’t hear such sweet words when he’s like this—hot and angry and murderous. “No.” He shakes his head. “He doesn’t get to—”

“If Joel fires me for this, I will never forgive you,” you suddenly say, voice holding a cutting edge.

Tommy doesn’t understand. “What? Sweetheart, he’s not going to be mad at you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. Joel will understand why I have to do this. He’s going to be mad at Noah, baby, not you.”

“Who I swore not to cause issues with!” Tears well in your wide eyes, and Tommy feels something inside his chest crack wide open. He’s never seen you cry before, not like this.

He pulls you into an embrace. Holds you tight against his chest, arms wrapped around your shoulders. His hands shake, unable to get a handle on either his anger or his despair.

Against his shoulder blade, you murmur, “Promise me you won’t tell Joel.”

And Tommy does. Swears to keep this as far away from you as possible. He refuses to make matters worse for you and, Christ, the sight of you crying makes him fucking miserable. He’s never hated anything more.

Once you sniffles subside, you lift your head and say, “I smell fucking awful.”

Tommy laughs, tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Go shower. I’ll find you some clothes.”

He picks out an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring, sets them on the bathroom sink and decides to make you breakfast. But Tommy notices quickly that his eggs are expired, and the box of cereal on top of the fridge has gone stale. He has nothing to offer you, and he’s not sure why, but the realization leaves him feeling hollow. 

Eternal bachelor with nothing to his name. You can never be his, and Tommy knows this, but he thinks maybe if he were…better, somehow, that maybe you could be. But you’re too good for him. Too sweet, too lovely, too you.

And Tommy’s…well. He’s Tommy. And just because you look at him like he puts the stars in the sky doesn’t mean he actually does. He’s not like Joel, never has been. Has always gotten into trouble, doing things he knows he shouldn’t. Fighting or drinking or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tommy’s never had his shit together a day in his life, and you deserve someone who can take care of you. Someone less disappointing.

Someone who can make you breakfast, for fucks sake. 

He feels you before he sees you一your warmth at his back. Tommy’s eyes flutter closed when you slip your arms around his waist and lay your head in the space between his broad shoulders. 

You say, “Thank you for always keeping me safe,” and Tommy wonders how the fuck you always know exactly what to say. Like you’re in his brain, somehow—a sixth sense finely tuned precisely to him. 

Emotion bubbles up in his throat. Thick and smothering. He loves you, Tommy knows. Has never and will never love anyone like this again.

“You make me so happy.” There’s a tenderness in your words, soothing his every ache. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Tommy turns in your embrace. Cradles your face in both hands and promises, “You’ll never have to find out. M’always gonna be here for you.”

You kiss him, and Tommy lets you, even knowing he shouldn’t. It’s a little different than the one you’d shared at dawn in your bedroom. A little more heated, filled with clear intent.

He can sense it. Feel it in your every movement. Knows just what you want, what you need, and slips his tongue into your mouth when your lips part anyway. Let's you tilt your hips against his, feeling the growing hardness there, and swallows up your moan as he slots his knee between your legs. 

His breath comes fast, and he’s aware of just how wrong it is, but you make him feel so important. Like you really, truly want him. Not for the things he does but just for him—flaws and disappointments and all.

An addict who always craves your fix.

You rock your hips against his knee and breathe a sigh of relief into his mouth. Tommy helps you, grabbing at your soft thighs and pulling you back and forth to increase the friction. 

It’s too much. Too far.

This isn’t a drunken night. It’s the morning after. Stone cold sober, inexcusable.

“We should stop.”

“I know,” you say. But neither of you takes your own advice. He only kisses you harder, soaking up all of your benevolence for as long as he can. You slide your hand between your bodies and palm his cock through his jeans.

The surety of your touch is dizzying. You want him. It’s clear as day, but he wants to hear you. “Say it.”

You don’t hesitate, reading him like an open book. Tommy suppose, for you, he is. With sugary sweet words, you admit, “I need you, Uncle Tommy.”

He’s never been good at denying you anything. “I know, baby.” In one swift movement, he lifts you off your feet, and your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. He kneels down and lays you back, right there on the kitchen floor, and tugs your borrowed sweatpants down your thighs.

You kick them out of the way, and he pushes your t-shirt up over your breasts. “Touch me,” you sigh.

Tommy presses his mouth to the center of your chest. Inhales deeply, taking the familiar scent of you into his lungs. He cups your breasts in his big hands, the rough pads of his thumbs grazing over the peaks of your nipples.

He kisses and licks and bites down the center of your belly, leaving shallow indentations in the shape of his teeth on each of your hips. When he presses his mouth to your pubic bone, Tommy leans back just enough to get a full look at you. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

A soft flush crawls up your cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much,” you say.

Tommy understands. Even though he’s been right here, right by your side, he hasn’t been completely honest until this very moment. Not with you, and not with himself, and not since that night in his bed.

It’s like being unclothed. Bare boned. You both know the truth of it, know that he’s your Uncle Tommy and that it’s corrupt and perverted for him to be here, kneeling between your legs. But he’s here anyway, and his mouth is watering, and he fucking loves the sounds you make when his slides his tongue through your slit.

He licks up the wetness that has gathered, groaning at the heady taste of you. Your hands tangle in his hair when he circles your clit with a pointed tongue, drooling down his chin. 

With one arm wrapped tightly around your thigh, keeping you in place, Tommy uses the other to gently press his two middle fingers into you. The sight of your arched back is extraordinary; the kind of goddess-like beauty the poets write about. Your pussy clenches around his fingers when he twists them inside of you and pushes firmly against that spot that has you writhing.

“That’s so一” You inhale sharply. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

It pleases him to hear it. Loves knowing that in this, he can never fail you. Tommy sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue flicking over the sensitive nerves, and thrusts his fingers a little faster. He thinks he’ll never grow tired of this. Of the way you taste, the way you sound, the way you call his name.

“Oh, God. Please don’t stop, please.” He wouldn’t dream of it. Your body shakes beneath him, thighs trembling in the grip of his rough palm. He can feel your walls pulse around his fingers, and Tommy knows you’re close. 

When he pulls his mouth away, he slides his thumb easily through your folds to swipe it over your clit. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your soft belly. “Your pretty pussy always get this messy?”

You shake your head and say brokenly, “No, it’s just…just for—hmm—just—oh my God—”

“Shh,” he coos, chuckling lowly. “S’okay. I know it’s just for me. I know how much she likes it when Uncle Tommy kisses her like this.” He angles his hand and pushes it deeper inside of you, cock throbbing at the way you soak his fingers. “Give it to me.”

With a stuttering breath, you let out a salacious moan and your orgasm hits you hard. Your hands tug at the curling strands of his hair, your every muscle tenses, and your spine bends off the linoleum. His name falls so fucking beautifully from your sweet mouth, and Tommy wants to taste it. 

So he does. Slides up your body and presses a kiss to your lips. You whimper into his mouth and he swallows down the sounds of your bliss like fine wine. “There you go,” he whispers tenderly. His thumb on your clit doesn’t slow until he’s sure he’s pulled every last drop out of you. “S’that feel better, sweetheart?” 

You nod and giggle softly, a wide grin stretched across your face. The moment is filled with such happiness that it warms him from the inside out. 

And even though his cock aches, Tommy thinks this alone is enough to satiate him. Enough to curb that craving, just seeing your pupils blown wide and the pretty flush on your face. Knowing you’re fulfilled and content and that he’s the one who’d brought you to that high does wonders for his confidence. 

“You’re so good at that,” you say, and it makes him laugh. 

“Can’t get enough of you,” he explains, kissing you hard. “Could eat you all fuckin’ day and still feel hungry.”

Tommy laughs when you turn your head to press your face into your shoulder, hiding the way your nervous smile grows. 

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now, darlin’,” he says, pressing his stubbled cheek to the side of your throat. He presses his lips to the curve of your jaw and grins when goosebumps form on the back of your neck. “Uncle Tommy just had your pretty pussy in his mouth. Least you can do is look him in the eye when he tells you how fuckin’ good it tastes.”

He can feel the way your spine bends, pressing your body firmly against his. But you’re a giggling mess beneath him, squealing at his filthy words as if worse hasn’t come out of your mouth.

“S’alright if you ain’t got nothin’ more to say,” Tommy tells you. “Gonna have to start from the beginning ‘til you learn to use your words again.” His mouth moves down the column of your throat, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone.

He’s slow in his pursuit, listening to the way your breaths become shallower and shallower as he lowers his head to the valley between your breasts. When he makes it to that sweet spot just below your navel, he stops.

“Wait,” you say, and he does. “I want…more.”

Tommy knows. He knows, and yet still, he urges, “Tell me, baby.”

“I want you.”

He thinks suddenly about the conversation you’d had on Joel’s back porch. The last time you’d admitted that you wanted him, that he’s all you wanted. Tommy doesn’t understand it, in truth. Will never understand what the fuck you see in him or why you not only give him the time of day but why you seek him out.

But what he does understand is this.

Tommy sees your need and matches it. Exceeds it.

You slide your hand down your body, fingers slipping through the wetness between your thighs. “Want you here,” you say. “I need it, Uncle Tommy.”

He knows he shouldn’t.

But you want him. And that’s the best high of all. 

“M’comin, sweet girl,” he promises. He leans back on his knees and grabs his shirt by the back of the collar, pulling it over his head. You watch him with half-lidded eyes as he undoes the button of his jeans and pulls down his zipper, and Tommy watches you. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, shoving the denim down around his hips just enough to take his heavy cock out. 

You take him in your delicate hand and press his tip to your clit, sliding it slowly through your slick folds. Such a gentle movement, but it has his breath stuttering already, and Tommy has no fucking idea how he’s going to make this last. “Go slow,” you say. “Wanna feel every inch.”

Tommy notches himself at your entrance and does just as you ask. Pushes into you so carefully it’s almost painful. His every instinct urges him to surge forward, to split you open and bury himself inside of you. But the whimpers you make as you adjust to the stretch he creates keep his head on straight.

It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever seen, watching your sweet pussy greedily swallow up his cock. You’re so wet, dripping for him, and it makes these obscene sounds with each pressing inch that has Tommy’s heart beating hard against his sternum.

“Shit,” he hisses. “You feel so good, baby.” Once he’s fully seated inside you, his waist pressed against yours, Tommy rolls his hips, and the movement has you gasping. He can feel your walls clamp down around him, and it only spurs him on more. He does it again, a gentle pressure at the deepest part of you he can reach.

“It’s so—so big,” you whine, fingernails clawing at the back of his shoulders.

Tommy only smiles. Kisses your mouth tenderly and says, “You can take it. Hm? My perfect girl. Made just for me.”

One of his hands slide up the back of your thigh, hooking your leg around his waist, while the other comes to circle your clit. He can feel your body’s reaction, can feel the way you squeeze tight around his cock.

You nod frantically, the beginnings of tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You breathe out the word, “Yours,” and he feels his orgasm threatening already, building at the base of his spine. “I’m all yours.”

Tommy circles your clit and sets a steady pace. Fucks you slow, fucks you deep. Just how you need it, delighting in your moans. He presses his mouth softly to your temple, your cheek, and spends a little extra time with his teeth at that spot just behind your ear. “Look at me, baby,” he says, nudging his nose against yours.

When you do, your eyes are all starry in that way he loves, filled with awe. You’re the only person to ever look at him like that, with not an ounce of disappointment. It’s like you’re just happy he exists, and Tommy feels emotion build in his throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you say, and so he quickens his pace, circling your clit faster. “Don’t stop, God, I’ve—I’ve missed you so bad, Uncle Tommy.”

It’s the most dizzying thing he’s ever heard. It nearly tips him over that edge. But he needs to feel you first, needs to make sure you get everything you need. “Yeah, I know it,” he says tenderly, thrusting in deep. “Missed my baby, too.”

He thinks it’s an understatement. Feels wrong, saying he’s only missed you when he’s thought of nothing else.

Tommy knows you’re close, can feel the way you pulse around him, breathe stuttering. “That’s it,” he mutters. “You gonna cum for your Uncle Tommy? Hm?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m—”

“S’good, baby,” he whispers against your mouth, keeping his rhythm. “So fucking good for me.”

Your moans echo off the walls as you reach that peak, thighs trembling around his hips. He can feel a rush of moisture against his cock and he tears a low sound from somehwere deep in his chest.

He doesn’t stop, chasing his own high, even when you start to squirm beneath him. His fingers stay circling your pretty clit, ratcheting the pleasure higher and higher until—

“My face,” you suddenly say. “Want you to cum on my face.”

Tommy thinks you’re going to be the death of him.

Perfect, filthy girl. 

He pulls out of you quickly, orgasm dangerously near. You prop yourself up, palms against the kitchen floor behind you, while Tommy takes his cock in his hand and squeezes. “Goddamn,” he groans. “Ask me nice.”

With the prettiest, most innocent smile, you say, “Cum on my face, Uncle Tommy. Please, please, please.” You stick out your tongue and look up at him, and that’s what does him in. The fucking love in your eyes.

Tommy cums hard, stroking his cock over top of you. Sticky, white ropes of his release coat your face, leaving splotches on your cheeks, your chin, down your chest. It’s disgusting. Easily the worst thing he’s ever done in all his life.

But when he’s finished and his cock begins to soften, you swipe the mess off your chin and push it onto your tongue and moan. Like it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. And any remorse he once had vanishes into thin air because how can he be sorry when you look so happy?

You giggle and say, “Guess I got that pearl necklace after all,” and Tommy has to look away to keep from laughing too hard.

He cleans you up with a hand towel and water from the kitchen sink, shoulders a little lighter. And once you’ve got his borrowed clothes back on, Tommy watches with reverence as you move around his kitchen as if you belong in it. 

You open the freezer and go right for the half empty carton of mint chip ice cream. It’s your first choice. Not expired eggs or stale cereal. 

Seeing it gives him a flicker of false hope. 

Because he knows he can’t be what you need forever. Knows he won’t keep you in the end, knows that whatever this is isn’t sustainable. But maybe he can just…keep you happy to the best of his ability. Just for now.

You only grab one spoon but offer him the first bite. “Mint chip is the best flavor by a fucking mile,” you say. “And anyone who says otherwise is delusional.”

“Keep that up when Sarah finds out it’s your favorite,” Tommy insists. “Cause she’ll fuckin’ tear you apart. Believe me, I know from experience.”

Laughter falls from your lips when he hands you the spoon. “Oh, I know. Was a victim of her chocolate chip cookie dough defense monologue, too.”

Tommy’s phone rings on the kitchen counter, and he swallows hard when he sees Joel’s name flash across the screen. When he answers, there’s a trace of alarm in Joel’s voice as he asks if he’s seen you. “Just a little concerned is all. Figured her phone’s dead or somethin’ but…haven’t heard back since last night. Just wanted to make sure she got somewhere safe.”

He’s never lied to Joel in all his life, and Tommy knows he would sense it the minute he tried. So he tells as much of the truth as he can. “Yeah, she uh…called me early this morning. Picked her up from that bar an’ let her crash on the couch. I’ll be bringin’ her home in a minute.”

You gather your things, and Tommy tries not to let that sliver of emptiness trickle in too fast. You’re still here, still with him, and this moment still belongs to you even at its close.

Like always, you sense his gloom before it’s even fully hit. And when he pulls into Joel’s driveway, you thread your fingers through his and say, “Stay for dinner. I miss you already.”

Tommy knows he shouldn’t. Knows that feeling lightheaded just from your words alone is a real problem for him.

But he’s never been good at telling you no.

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[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]