#edge detection filter

[starettethestar]

Scar Study

After making this, I feel like I've gained a deeper understanding of his injury. Such as near his mouth corner (stitches?) and above his temple (shrapnel?)

[consciousexe]

Alpha 5 shaded like how Lethal Company procedurally generates its game shaders!!!

[upsidedownsmore]

"Is this what you wanted?"

Discordant piece (for real this time!) for class that I forgot to share until now lol

The piece that was originally supposed to be the discordant one but failed doing so can be found here.

[400badrequest]

a bit presumptious | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

SUMMARY: Mr Murdock is a good boss - it's not his fault that you day dream about him fucking you.

WORD COUNT: 4.6K

cw: enthusiastic cunnilingus, gratuitous smut, office sex, age difference

A/N: ik i spelt the title wrong this is a cross post from AO3 here

Interning for Nelson and Murdock was supposed to be good. Well, it was, but it was exhausting. While it was definitely better than the other less ethical options there was always so much to do. Your desk was constantly buried in paperwork no matter how late you stayed, things to be sorted, filed, signed by Mr Murdock (“Please. I know I’m older than you, but Matt is fine.”) or Mr Foggy (“Better than being called Mr Nelson!”). You were beginning to understand why Karen said fuck it and decided to pursue a journalistic career. It didn’t help that the heating was always broken and that even with your scarf and stockings you were still freezing your nips off. 

“Mr Foggy left some files on your desk before he left for his date,” You tell Matt when he arrives from the cold outside, watching as he tugged off his bulky coat. “Said that Detective Sergeant Mahoney wanted a second opinion on them.”

The wind had left his soft hair tousled, and he huffs a little as he runs his fingers through it in an attempt to fix it - you bite back a laugh as he somehow manages to make it worse. “Thank you,” Matt says softly, a gentle smile on his lips. “I can’t believe Foggy and Marcy’ve been together for two years now.”

You can’t help but watch as he takes his glasses off to wipe the rain off them, immediately locking onto his soft, unfocused eyes. He rarely took them off around you and tended to slip them back on when you entered a room. Foggy had explained once that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the empty vacant look that they always had, glazed as he looked slightly past you - and you’d never really quite known how to tell him you didn’t mind.

“They’re cute,” you offer as he walks past you to his office. “Mr Foggy said something about um- Danny being an angel? They’re going to the Met for dinner.”

“ Danny?” Matt says from the doorway of his office. “That’s one hell of an anniversary date.” There’s a fond chuckle in his voice as he turns around. “Ow.”

“You okay?” You stand up quickly, heels clicking as you dash to his office. He waves you off, hand resting on the edge of the corner of his table, fingers rubbing at the corner. Your breath stutters as you can’t help but watch as his index and middle finger part over it, circling slowly.

“Bumped the desk,” he admits. 

“Oh uh- that’s my fault,” you say, embarrassment colouring your voice. “I ran into it when I put the paperwork on your desk - I completely forgot to move it back, I’m so sorry-”

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he chuckles softly, shifting the table back. “Accidents happen.”

You can’t help but hover awkwardly in the doorway as he sits at his desk. The only light filtering into the room is from the dandelion yellow street lamp outside, peeking through the slats of the open shades. Shadowy impressions of rain trace their way down Matt’s face, tinted glasses almost black. Your eyes trail down with a droplet that slips down the window, following as its dark echo dancing down his throat and shirt, until it disappears into the shadow hidden behind his desk. He hums, fingers tracing the braille of the file. 

“Do you want coffee?” You blurt. “I- yeah. I need coffee. I’ll get you some-”

You turn on your heel and beeline for the tea station that Karen had set up ages ago. Matt’s chuckle follows you while you click on a new pot of coffee.

It made you feel like a perv - tracing your eyes across him when he’s across the room, watching his hands flex when he held his coffee cups, staring at his scruff when he smirked. Foggy sometimes stifled laughter at your rising flush whenever Matt pressed his hand to your lower back to move you out of the way, or to figure out his way around an unknown space. It was even worse when it felt like Matt had caught you, head sometimes tilting in your direction when you looked. You knew he couldn’t see you, but still. 

You sigh as you slump against the counter, fighting the want to bury your head in your hands and scream. The crush you were fostering on your boss was just a crush (at least that’s what you told yourself). It stemmed from admiration - Matt was so terrifying and silver tongued in court, but kind and soft spoken to clients. And it didn’t help that he liked to act like he cared about you sometimes; making sure you were sleeping, eating, draping his coat on you when it got too cold, tsking softly and exasperatedly when you prioritised studies over basic needs.

It wasn’t helpful either that you’d seen the types of women he went for - slim, willowy and assertive. You… you weren’t that. You didn’t have the genetic gifts of mile long thin legs and a godly metabolism. Your tummy pressed up against your pants whenever you tucked your button downs in, and the insides of your thighs rubbed together when you walked. Marcy said it made you a real woman, not some waif - but that didn’t stop you from believing that despite his lack of sight, Mr Murdock would somehow know.

Giving in, you groan into your elbow as the pot dings, giving yourself a single minute. Then, you straighten your blouse, pour two cups - both with milk, one with sugar - and walk back to Matt’s office. 

“Coffee,” you say, putting it on his desk, careful not to place it on any paper. “6 o’clock, 7 and a little bit inches.”

Matt hums as he grabs it smoothly. “You’ve gotten better at that,” he praises and you flush as you lean in the doorway, trying to ignore how hot the coffee is as it burns down your throat. 

“I’m trying,” You reply, a grin in your voice. “Helps that you’re easy on the eyes.”

“What?” Matt startles with a laugh, looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Uh-” you stumble over your words. “I mean- like- as in y'know- um-” A small grin starts to curve at Matt’s mouth. “I watch you.”

“You watch me.” He rises at that, hands braced on the table. It’s starting to spread into a proper smirk.

“Wait, no, not like that.” You say, affronted. “As in like- uh- watching how you do things, how you move so I can make it easier.”

“Mm, really.” There’s a chuckle weaved in his words. “ That’s what you mean by ‘easy on the eyes’?”

“Yes,” you squeak, lie tumbling out. “Absolutely.” You can feel your palms start to sweat, and it is not from the heat of the cup in your hands. Somehow, Matt has managed to get around the table, now leaning on it with his ankles crossed, hand braced behind him. You can’t stop your eyes tracing from his dress shoes, up to his belt and hovering there before your gaze crawls to his face. Matt’s head is cocked slightly to the side, as if listening to something. 

“So the way you’re undressing me with your eyes has nothing to do with you finding me attractive?” 

“Jesus Christ, how did you-?”

“I’m blind, not stupid,” Matt says with a smirk, and you can’t help but swallow thickly at how the shadows cut across his front, biceps tight in his dress shirt. 

“Never said you were,” you reply weakly. 

“Vision isn't the only sense that humans have, you know." He says wryly.

“I know that!”

"Do you?” His voice is teasing as he steps forward. “From the sound of your voice, the way you walk, how you always swallow when I touch you - I don’t need sight to know what you like.” You can’t stop the shiver that runs up your spine as he takes the cup from your hand, placing it on a filing shelf. “I can feel the heat coming from your body, the way it radiates off you."

Your head bonks against the door frame as you groan, face colouring with fluster and embarrassment. “Shush. Shut up, sir.” You grumble, doing your best to not look at him. 

His voice is tinged with amusement as he talks. "What's the matter?”

“C’mon sir,” You whine a little. “You’re being unfair.”

"I never knew I could cause you to have a crisis by just speaking." Matt murmurs. You can smell his laundry powder - it’s faintly floral. For a moment you’re glad he’s blind, knowing he can’t tell you’re staring at the soft curve of his bottom lip. 

"I- fucking- I’m going home,” You rush out. "I can't do this. I can't do feelings, feelings for my boss " You moan, face hot with what feels like shame. Maybe it’s arousal. 

“Wait." Matt murmured, the tone of his voice taking on a more serious edge. A small frown pulled at his lips. "You don't have to go. We can just ignore this entire conversation - forget it even happened." His voice is genuine, gentle and concerned. “Please.”

You swallow thickly, having to tilt your head up to look up at him, door frame digging into your spine. 

When you don’t speak or move, a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. His step forward is quiet, and even with your back already against the frame, you can’t help but push into it a little more. “What do you want?” He murmurs softly, gently cupping your hands with his. The calluses of his palms are rough against your smooth knuckles, the contrast jarring. 

“I- I don’t-” You stutter, voice caught in your throat. What the fuck was happening?

His thumb lightly brushed against the palm of your hand, gentle and comforting as he felt across your love line. 

Matt took another step closer, so close you could nearly feel his breath on your cheek, his firm chest gently pressing against the swell of your breasts. 

"What do you want?" He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a small whimper, looking up at the scruff on his jaw, the aged lines on his face, the greys starting to grow at his temples. Matt- Mr Murdock was much older, more experienced. There was the faint sparkle of greys in the stubble around his mouth too. 

Without a word, he reached up and gently cupped your soft jaw in his hand. The pad of his thumb gently stroked across your cheek, and you did your best to breathe as he tilted your face up to meet his unseeing gaze behind his glasses. A flush had warmed your face - he could feel the vestiges of innocence in the curve of your face. 

You could tell that even through the darkened shades he was doing his best to focus all of himself on you. Your heartbeat thumped hard in your throat - hard enough that he could feel it on the fingers curled gently around your jaw. 

He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Just tell me what you want," he whispered again, his voice low and husky, a tinge of pleading in his tone.

"Please," You whisper, tilting your face up. " Please."

"Please, what?" He tilted his head to the side. He was so close, his lips almost brushing against yours. He could smell the sweat and desire on you, you were sure of it. "Tell me what you want," he said again, his voice almost guttural. Your eyes flutter shut on instinct - from need or shyness, you don’t know. Your free hand twists into the doorframe. 

You know he can’t see you. But at that he groans and holds you still as he presses a firm full kiss on your waiting mouth. It’s slow and gentle, and for a moment he just holds you there - until you groan just the tiniest bit.

It’s like a switch flips - he drops your other hand, gripping at your plush hip and presses you hard into the jamb, squishing your soft tits and the swell of your tummy into the muscled planes of his body. The hand that was once gentle on your face snakes up into your hair, tugging until it’s out and then tangling his fingers firmly at the base so he can manipulate your head so he can deepen the kiss into something wet and filthy. 

You gasp, pulling him in closer with the front of his shirt, scrambling for purchase as you twist your hands in the fabric. As your mouth opens, Matt licks in - he tastes like sweet coffee and spit and sin. A whimper leaves you, unbidden, as he continues to paw at your soft hips, body lighting up from the inside. You know your underwear is ruined as it sticks to your cunt, already dripping from the feeling of him on you. 

He made a groan of his own, the sound escaping low and deep in his throat. His face is flushed, eyes lidded as he pulls away, still holding you in place.

"Oh fuck-" You whine as he pull away, you bosom heaving against his solid chest. "What the fuck, come back-"

Matt wets his swollen lip, his breath heavy. You know that you probably look the same - if not worse. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the soft exposed skin of your neck, leaving soft, feather-like kisses as he used his grip in your hair to gently guide your head to the side. "So impatient," he teases.

At that you moan reedily. “Oh- Matt-”

His grip on your hip tightened, pulling you firmly against him. You squeak as your breasts squish into him, pelvis to pelvis - you can feel him thickening in his pants, a flush climbing your cheeks.

Matt’s lips rove lazily over your skin. He could feel your pulse flutter against his lips, racing harder and faster. You could feel his sharklike grin as he hummed softly against your skin. "Be patient," he chided, biting gently at your throat.

A strangled groan rips from you as you feel him slide the hand on your hip to your chest, gently palming your full tits. “Okay?” He murmurs quietly. You don’t have the brain to be embarrassed about the pudge of your tummy being smushed.

“ Yes,” you whine. “Yes, just- please, Matthew.”

That’s all it takes for him to break - his mouth is back on you, fierce and possessive. “Again. Say it again,” He demands between kisses. You hear a clatter - he’s ripped off his glasses, throwing them carelessly behind him.  

“Matthew,” you breathe out as you slide a hand so it's pressed against his firm abdomen, heel against your abs, fingers ghosting his belt buckle. Matt growls at that, dragging you to his desk roughly - papers and pens alike hit the floor. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He grinds out as he tugs open your pants. "Any?” “Matt-!” You squeak as he rips your blouse open, buttons flinging across the room. Your soft breasts sit heavy in your utilitarian bra, and he tuts when he feels it. His fingers are adept and nimble as they quickly unhook the back, wrenching it off - it skitters when it hits the wood floor. 

“ Fuck-” he bites out as he palms the dove soft, squishy flesh of your tits, roughly palming at your nipples. A small shriek pops out of your mouth when he twists a perk nipple, standing proud in the cold. In turn you start to fumble with his belt but he gently smacks your hand away, dropping to his knees.

“Matthew?” You ask confused - but he shoves his way forward, lifting one of your legs so it's hooked over his shoulder. Embarrassment floods your face when he mashes his face directly up against your clothed cunt.

“Matt!” you can help but protest, as he groans and you yelp as you feel him grab at the zip and rip your fucking pants so that your drenched panties are on display. “ Fuck,” He snarls, hands on your soft thighs, fingering at your stretch marks, kneading at them. “I can smell you from here.” Matt sounds enamoured, and he whines as he presses his nose to your soaked cunt, lapping at the cloth. 

“Oh my guh-” You can’t get the full word out - he shoves your panties to the side, latching onto your clit with his mouth and sucking. Your brain shorts out for a moment, all forms of conscious thought disappearing. His moans are almost as loud as yours when he finally unlatches to smack the flat of his tongue against your wet messy slit. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt whines, throaty and wrecked. Your heart stops for a moment when you look at him, where he’s cradled in your thighs - for the first time, you can see the proper softness in his unseeing gaze, the longing crease between his eyebrows. “Can I-”

“Yes, yes,” You rush out, nodding frantically. “ Please, Matthew.”

Normally, Matt was incredibly pedantic about making sure his partners knew what they were agreeing too - but you. You . You made him toss common sense on the window. He groans and shoves his face back into your slick cunt, ignoring your yelp when your legs are stretched open further to accommodate his broad shoulders. He stands so he can shove harder into your wetness, cheeks smearing your arousal everywhere. Spit and slick dribbles down your taint and arse and over Matt’s stubble - but he can’t find himself to care as he laps at you, trying to eat his fill. The rasp of his five o’clock shadow against your hole is sickeningly delicious. The smell of your arousal was so heady and intoxicating that he couldn’t even find it in him to be embarrassed at how desperate he was acting.

He can’t help but groan, realising you can barely see him over the chub of your mons and plush tummy. Your body is so delightfully soft and Matt can’t resist the urge to grab and paw at your soft pudge - your stomach, your padded hips, your thighs. The way your heart ticks faster when he starts grabbing at you only urges him on more. One of his hands drifts back to your swollen clit, still sensitive and puffy from being sucked on - your hand grabbing firmly at his hair when he starts deftly rubbing tight circles as it. The pulling and yowling seems to encourage him of anything, licking more firmly. 

The press of his fingers, the fingers you’d spent hours daydreaming about, finally press into your sloppy hole as he switches his mouth back to your clit. “Are you even breathing?” You can’t help but ask - the rumble of his laugh tells you he’s probably not doing it enough. “Oh fu-” Your back bows as he rubs methodically against the spongy bit at the roof of your cunt, stupid noises babbling out of you when you grip at his hair. “Ma- Matt, Matthew, oh God, oh o -”

His fingers stop moving as much, just pressing hard as your cunt starts to seize, your body curling tightly as your muscles tighten immensely at the precipice of your orgasm. Your clit twitches as the nerves under the skin continue to be abused by Matt’s mouth that was firmly suctioned to flesh directly under your soft mons. His nose was pressed into the flesh, squished happily into you. A hiccuped noise of pleasure rips out of you, reedy and desperate. “I- Plea-”

He doesn’t stop when you cum - he pulls his fingers out of you, yes, but he immediately starts lapping at your now puffy and leaky cunt like a dog, as if desperate to make sure he eats all of your dripping slick and cum. You shriek a little as he shifts you, licking at your taint to clean up all of it. “Mat- that- oh my god-”

“ Fuck , you’re such a good fucking girl,” Matt says, desperately out of breath. Your slick and his spit shines on the lower half of his face, and he doesn’t even attempt to wipe it off before standing and dropping his weight onto you to grab your face, kissing you wetly. You can taste your own thick arousal in his mouth, and can’t help but squeal when the seat of his pants bumps up against your sensitive sex.

“T-thank you-” You hiccup out between the press of his open mouth to yours. “I- please lemme-”

“Yeah sweetheart, hold on-” Matt rushes out as he tugs open his pants, groaning when his engorged cock slaps out against his stomach. It’s as large and as thick as the rest of him, nestled in a thatch of curls. Precum drops onto his shirt, and you can’t help but reach up and deftly unbutton it. Matt huffs a laugh at your gentleness - he’d all but ruined your blouse. Your eyes widen - you knew he was built and had some… rough history, but nothing prepares you for how the yellow street light dips and fills the curves of his trim muscles, the starkness of the thin gnarly scars that sit slashed across his full chest. 

“Jesus, Matt,” you exhale, fingers gently tracing them. His expression softens as he hears the concern taint your arousal. 

“I’m okay,” He murmurs, pressing his forehead to the roundness of your shoulder. His hands are gentle as he pulls you away from running your own over the scars - not to stop you, but to comfort. “It was a long time ago.”

You know there’s nothing you can say here - so you let him guide your face up so he can kiss you silly again, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. Matt takes it slow, gently laying you out on the table so he can grip at your hips, revelling at the feeling of his fingers sinking into the soft padding. 

“You’re so soft,” He can’t help but murmur, kneading at your hips like a cat. The raised smoothness of your stretch marks feel like a soft pulled silk against Matt’s fingertips. “Feel so pretty…”

“Matthew,” you whine, face pinking. “That’s- you’re my boss, you can’t say that!”

Matt laughs at that - a little disbelieving. “Sweetheart, I just ate you out until you came on my face, and I’m about to fuck you raw. I think I’m allowed to appreciate how beautiful you feel under my hands.”

“Fair enough,” you gasp out as he rubs the fat head of his cock up and down your slit. Matt groans, eyes shut tight with his free hand kneading your plump hip. The heady heat of your dampened cunt makes his senses blur at the edges, the world narrowing down to the throb of your pussy. 

“Tell me I can fuck you,” Matt says, desperately, voice rough. “Sweetheart, please-”

“Yes, fucking damn it, Matthe- ah-”

Your breath catches as he notches the head of his cock into your cunt. It’s thick and hot, burning you from the inside out. “You can take it baby,” He grinds out, teeth clenched as he slowly slides all the way in. “There- there you go, good girl-”

You can’t help but gasp wetly as he bottoms out, eyes slamming shut as he gently starts rolling his hips. His heavy sac kisses against your taint and furled arsehole with each careful thrust as Matt carves a space in your cunt, slowly driving himself in harder and harder , until the table starts to shake with the force of it, your little ah, ah, ah ’s turning into gasped wails, as he whines into your shoulder. “Matthew-” you sob out as he grips tightly at your love handles so he can drag you onto his fat cock in time with his heavy thrusts. “Oh fuck- fuck-”

“So good,” Matt praises, strained as he pounds into you, hips snapping. He’d lowered himself onto you, his firmness pressing against your soft plush front. “Feel so good-” his tendons strain under your hands as you try to ground yourself by gripping at his wrist, spinning embarrassingly fast towards your orgasm. 

“It’s alright, c’mon,” Matt pants out - he noses under your ear. “Cum for me, please- cum for me sweetheart-”

The noise you let out is high and animal, desperate - your stomach tenses awfully and hard, legs shaking as your orgasm rips through you. Matt’s arms tighten around you as he murmurs softly in your ear, hips still rolling gently. “That’s it, that’s it-” His voice is strained and raspy. 

A wet sob gutters you. “Matthew, Matthew-”

Matt groans into your neck - you feel it when he cums, your throbbing cunt ripping the seed out of him. He chokes out a curse, his weight dropping down onto you, sweaty and pressing wet kisses onto your throat. “Good girl, you’re such a good girl.”

It’s like lying in a dense fog when Matt pulls out of you with a wet schlop. “Oh fuck,” You mumble, blinking hazily. Matt chuckles.

“Good?” He asks softly, free hand coming up to cup at your cheek, thumb running softly under your eye. You whimper a little - you can feel the slick and cum dripping out of your puffy wet cunt, pooling onto the table. Matt chuckles. “That good, huh?”

Before you can reply, Matt hums, slowly ducking his head back between your legs. “Matt-” He shushes you softly. “Let me clean up the mess, baby.”

His tongue is gentle as he laps at the mess between your thighs. Matt can’t help but groan at the smell, the bitter salty and heady taste. He’d missed this - being able to indulge in a sweet used cunt, a woman sobbing in pleasure above him. With work and his growing affection for you, he’d lost the want for casual sex. Father Lantom would’ve been proud. Matt locks his lips to your hole and sucks, swallowing down the mix of your cum and his. When your whines turn from pleasured to overstimulated, pained, Matt pulls away, with a final soft kiss to your puffy clit. Then a soft press of his lips to your thigh, and your hip. 

Matt looks like a damn vision when he looks at you - face flushed, hair sticking up in every direction. His smile is soft and heavenly as he gently eases you back into your pants, “Ah- sorry about your shirt, sweetheart,” He says sheepishly.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “You’re impossible,” You murmur, reaching forward and helping him button up his shirt - you’re still out of breath, and Matt’s skin is hot to the touch when you wipe the sweat off his brow. When he leans slightly into your touch, your heart stutters in your chest. Matt cocks his head a little, a small smile ticking at his lips, as if he can hear it. 

He hums, pressing a small kiss to your cheek - then your lips. “Hello,” Matt murmurs - his expression is soft, the street light seeping across his face like water colour paint on a wet page. 

“Hi,” You whisper, almost shy. Oh God, you’d just slept with your boss - your boss who was gently kissing your face as he dressed you. His hands are gentle on you, despite the rough pads of his fingers - like the rasp of sandpaper on silk. Matt chuckles. 

It had started to drizzle outside - the faint sounds of sleet hitting the roof soft and cold as a faint breeze sneaks in through the gaps in the windows. Matt doesn’t say anything - just grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and gently pulling the heavy material onto your shoulders as he tugs you into his lap. 

“Would it be presumptuous for me to take you out for dinner now?” Matt asks after a moment. A laugh startles out of you.

“Pretty presumptuous, yeah. But… I’d like that.”

[kwilquib]

Careful What You Wish For

Series: Promised 9

Chapter - 1

Chapter 0 | Chapter 2

Lee Chaeyeoung (Fromis_9) X Male reader

Word Count: 8.8k+

a/n: please read chapter 0 first...

“...Just a little nap.” A voice—familiar yet frustratingly elusive—echoes in your mind as you jolt awake, drenched in cold sweat. The words linger, slippery and insistent, like a whisper you’re not supposed to remember.

Your heart pounds as your eyes dart around, landing on the ceiling of your room. Afternoon light filters through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the walls. You sit up abruptly, a vague unease twisting in your chest. Something feels... off, though you can’t quite place it.

Shaking the thought, you glance at the alarm clock on your bedside table, only to realize it isn’t there. Did you forget to set it up last night? No time to ponder. Your body moves on instinct. Late. You’re definitely late.

Throwing on a crumpled shirt and the first pair of jeans you find, you fumble with your shoes, skipping the hassle of socks. There’s no time for a shower; no time for anything, really. Professor Min doesn’t tolerate tardiness, and while you’d normally convince yourself you could charm your way out of it, today is different. You feel heavy—foggy, like a part of you is still struggling to wake up.

You rush out of your room, backpack slung hastily over one shoulder. Yet as your hand touches the doorknob, you pause. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over you, like you’ve forgotten something important. A flicker of... something—a faint image—dances on the edge of your consciousness.

Darkened windows. Cyan blue. Laughter and whispers.

You blink, and it’s gone.

“What the hell...?” you mutter, shaking your head as you swing the door open.

The hallway feels unfamiliar, even though you’ve walked it countless times. The walls seem a little too bare, the light a little too dim. Your feet carry you forward, but the nagging sensation that something isn’t right refuses to leave.

As you step outside, the sun’s warmth strikes your skin, grounding you momentarily. Yet, as you hurry toward campus, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, as though expecting to see someone—or something—following.

The faint echo of that voice, soft and teasing, creeps back into your thoughts.

“Just a little nap.”

And for the life of you, you can’t remember what came before it.

As you step out of the dorm building, your hurried stride falters. A particular car catches your eye—a sleek, emerald green Mini Cooper parked casually at the curb. Its glossy finish gleams under the afternoon sun, an almost hypnotic allure drawing your gaze.

You pause, a strange pang of familiarity gripping your chest. It’s an uncommon car for this area, a neighborhood more accustomed to well-worn sedans and the occasional scooter. This Mini Cooper feels out of place, yet somehow… it doesn’t. Something about it nags at the edges of your mind, tugging at thoughts you can’t quite grasp.

“Why does this feel so... familiar?” you mumble under your breath, your feet rooted to the spot.

You study the car closely, as though its curves and details might unlock the reason it stands out. The deep green hue reminds you of something—vivid yet blurred, like a dream slipping away the moment you wake. Your thoughts swim with fragmented flashes: evening, under the street light, brown hair.

And then, nothing.

You shake your head, frustrated with yourself. It’s just a car, you tell yourself, though the words feel hollow. A part of you knows it isn’t just a car. It’s connected to something—or someone. But no matter how hard you try to chase the thought, it remains just out of reach, like a name you can’t remember no matter how many times you roll it around in your mind.

With a final glance at the Mini Cooper, you force yourself to move. There’s no time to stand around playing detective. Yet, as you walk away, you can’t help but feel like you’ve left behind more than just a car.

As you jogged up the university steps, the sharp echo of your hurried footsteps reverberated through the halls. The sound was accompanied by the pounding in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and residual confusion from your abrupt awakening. Your mind raced just as quickly as your feet.

"Please don't be over, please don't be over," you muttered under your breath, clutching your bag tightly as you approached the classroom door.

With a quick glance at the room number to confirm you were at the right place, you pushed the door open. The chatter inside abruptly quieted, and you were met with a sea of unfamiliar faces staring back at you. No sign of Professor Min. No familiar classmates. Instead, a lecturer you didn’t recognize stood at the front of the room, mid-discussion.

"Uh… sorry," you stammered, stepping back awkwardly.

The lecturer barely spared you a glance, and the students returned to their notebooks and screens. Confused, you slipped back into the hallway, your heart sinking. This didn’t make sense. You checked the schedule last night—it was supposed to be Literature in this room today.

Pulling out your phone, you glanced at the time. 1:47 PM. That was correct. But something else caught your eye.

The date.

You blinked, certain you’d read it wrong. Friday.

But that’s impossible, you thought. Yesterday was Wednesday, Wasn’t it?

Your stomach churned as you refreshed the screen, but the date stubbornly remained the same. You checked your calendar app, your messages—everything confirmed it was Friday.

A cold wave washed over you as the realization hit. Somehow, an entire day had slipped past you, and you didn’t even remember it. You staggered back against the wall, struggling to steady your breathing.

What’s going on?

—

You find yourself staring at your reflection in the school's bathroom mirror, your damp hair clings to your forehead. The gnawing discomfort of losing an entire day weighed heavily on you, but what else could you do? you need to move on. Whatever had happened to Thursday—or your memory of it—was a mystery you weren’t equipped to solve. At least not now. For now, you have to focus on damage control.

Pulling out your phone, you checked the course materials. The latest lecture—The Promised Nine. you frowned. The title rang a distant bell, but you couldn't quite place it. Deciding you wouldn't get anything done in your cramped apartment, you fix your damped hair and head out . Golden Brew seemed like the best choice; it was quiet, comfortable, and you had a shift there later anyway.

The walk to Golden Brew feels longer than usual. The streets are quieter now, the usual hustle of students replaced by a calm that only deepens your unease. You can’t shake the feeling that something is missing—something important—but every time you try to grasp it, it slips away like smoke.

When you finally push open the door to the café, the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries washes over you, grounding you for a moment. The place is bustling, as always, with students hunched over laptops and faculty members sipping espresso. You scan the room, looking for a quiet corner to settle into, when your eyes land on her.

Gyuri.

She’s behind the counter, her usual warm smile in place as she hands a customer their drink. But something about her feels different today. Her movements are slower, more deliberate, and there’s a faint crease between her brows that wasn’t there before. It’s subtle, but you notice it—the way her gaze flickers to the door every so often, as if she’s waiting for someone.

“Junho,” she calls out, her voice warm but with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “You’re early today.”

You approach the counter, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I… had some time to kill. Thought I’d get a head start on some reading before my shift.”

Gyuri studies you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not usually this early. Everything okay?”

Her question catches you off guard. There’s a suspicion in her tone, a probing curiosity that makes you feel like she’s seeing right through you. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you say quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Just… trying to stay on top of things.”

Gyuri doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press further. Instead, she nods toward the usual spot in the corner. “Well, find a seat and make yourself at home. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” you say, grabbing a cup of coffee before heading to an empty table near the window.

As you sit down and pull out the book you borrowed from the library, your eyes drift across the room. That’s when you notice her.

Seoyeon.

She’s sitting in her usual spot, hunched over her laptop. She looks the same as ever, but something about her presence feels… heavier today, as if she’s carrying a weight she doesn’t want anyone to notice.

You watch her for a moment, struck by how familiar she seems, even though you’ve never had a proper conversion with her. She’s always here, always in that same spot, typing away at something. You’ve seen her countless times, but today, for some reason, she stands out to you. Maybe it’s the way she seems so detached from the world around her, or the way her tired eyes flicker to the screen with a kind of quiet intensity. Whatever it is, you can’t look away.

Gyuri doesn’t mention her, doesn’t even glance in her direction. It’s as if Seoyeon doesn’t exist to her, which strikes you as odd. You’ve always assumed they knew each other, given how often Seoyeon is here, but now you’re not so sure. The two of them seem to exist in separate worlds, even though they’re in the same room.

And yet… something about the way they don’t interact feels wrong to you. It’s not just that they don’t acknowledge each other—it’s that they should. You don’t know why you think that, but the thought lingers, nagging at the back of your mind. There’s a strange dissonance in the air, like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing something obvious.

Shaking off the thought, you pull out your phone and open the document. The title stares back at you: Myths and Legends: The Promised Nine. It’s the same myth Professor Min discussed in class yesterday—or at least, the class you think was yesterday. You flip to the chapter, skimming the first few lines. The words feel familiar, almost too familiar, as if you’ve read them before. A faint sense of déjà vu washes over you, and you pause, your fingers hovering over the page.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people…”

The words echo in your mind, but not just from Professor Min’s lecture. Something deeper, something more recent, tugs at the edges of your memory. Fragments of last night begin to surface—flickers of a darkened café, the hum of low voices, the glow of cyan light. Your chest tightens as the images grow clearer. The women gathered around the table, their presence commanding and otherworldly. Gyuri’s uncharacteristic coolness. Jiheon’s playful smile, her fingers glowing with that eerie light. The weight of their words—The Promised Nine. Anchor. Deceit.

Your breath catches, and you nearly drop your phone. It all comes rushing back—the meeting, the cryptic conversation, Jiheon’s spell. You remember everything. The shock of it hits you like a punch to the gut, and you grip the edge of the table to steady yourself. Your heart races, your mind reeling as the pieces fall into place.

Gyuri and Seoyeon. They were there. They were part of it. They’re part of this—whatever this is. The realization sends a chill down your spine, and you glance up, your eyes darting to Gyuri behind the counter. She’s watching you, her expression unreadable but her gaze sharp, as if she can sense the turmoil in your mind. Seoyeon, too, has paused her typing, her tired eyes flickering toward you for the briefest moment before returning to her screen.

You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in your head. You can’t let them know you remember. Not yet. Not until you figure out what’s going on. Slowly, you close the book and set it aside, your hands trembling slightly. You take a sip of your coffee, the bitter taste grounding you, and pretend to focus on the steam rising from the cup.

But inside, your mind is racing. The Promised Nine. Anchor. The weight of their emotions, their burdens. And you—somehow, you were there. You heard it all. You saw it all. And now, you’re caught in the middle of something far bigger than yourself.

Gyuri’s voice breaks through your thoughts. “Junho, everything okay over there?”

You look up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just… got lost in thought for a second.”

She studies you for a moment, her gaze lingering a little too long, before nodding. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” you say, your voice steady despite the storm inside.

As she turns away, you glance at Seoyeon again. She’s still typing, her movements slow and deliberate, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there before. You can’t tell if she’s aware of your internal crisis or if it’s just your paranoia, but one thing is clear: you’re not as invisible as you’d like to be.

For now, all you can do is keep up the act. You reopen the book, pretending to read, but the words blur as your mind races. The memories of last night play on a loop, each detail sharper than the last. You need answers, but you can’t risk tipping them off. Not until you know what you’re dealing with.

The café hums with activity around you, but at your table, the silence is deafening. You take another sip of your coffee, the bitterness grounding you slightly. Whatever is going on, you’re determined to figure it out. But for now, all you can do is sit here, pretending to read, while the weight of the unknown presses down on you.

The hours drag on as you finally start your shift, your mind still reeling from the flood of memories that returned while reading the book. Every movement feels deliberate, every action calculated, as if Gyuri might notice the slightest slip-up. You’re hyper-aware of her now, her presence looming larger than ever as the two of you work in close proximity behind the counter. Her usual warmth is still there, but it feels… different. Like a mask she’s wearing, one that’s just a little too tight.

You fumble with the espresso machine, nearly spilling a shot as you pour it into a cup. The milk steamer hisses louder than usual, startling you, and you overfill a latte, the foam spilling over the edges. Each mistake piles up, small but noticeable, and you can feel Gyuri’s eyes on you more and more often. Her smile remains, but there’s a tension in her posture, a sharpness in her gaze that makes your stomach twist.

Finally, after you nearly drop a tray of pastries, Gyuri steps closer, her voice low but firm. “Junho, can I talk to you for a second?”

You freeze, your heart pounding as you nod and follow her to a quieter corner of the café. Her warm smile is still in place, but it feels strained now, like it’s holding back something you can’t quite name. Anger? Frustration? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make your palms sweat.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, her tone gentle but probing. “You’ve been… off today.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired, I guess. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

Gyuri studies you for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

You nod, though your throat feels dry. “Yeah. Just a rough night.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can press further, the bell above the door jingles, drawing both of your attention. You glance over, and your stomach drops.

Chaeyoung.

She strides in with effortless confidence, her presence commanding the room the moment she crosses the threshold. A bold blue sweater clings to her frame, the faux fur trim brushing against her collarbone—a perfect reflection of her duality. Allure and restraint. Desire and control. Her sharp gaze sweeps across the café before settling on you, a sly smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

You recognize her instantly from last night. But you force yourself to look away, pretending you don’t.

From the corner of your eye, Gyuri stiffens ever so slightly, though she quickly masks it with her usual warm smile. “I’ll let you handle this,” she says, her tone light but laced with something unreadable. Before you can respond, she’s already disappearing into the back, leaving you alone at the counter with Chaeyoung.

Your heart pounds as you turn to face her, forcing a polite smile. “Welcome to Golden Brew. What can I get for you?”

Chaeyoung doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she leans against the counter, her eyes locking onto yours with unsettling ease. “Junho, right?”

Your stomach drops. The name feels heavier coming from her lips. You scramble to keep your composure. “I... don’t know you.”

She smirks, savoring your discomfort. “Of course you don’t.” She gestures lazily toward your chest. “I read it off your name tag. Unless we have met before?”

“No— I... we haven’t,” you stammer, fingers curling involuntarily. “Can I take your order?”

“I’ll have a caramel macchiato. Extra shot.” She watches you with an almost amused expression. Then, casually, she adds, “Funny thing... I feel like we have met. Maybe you just don’t remember?”

Your throat tightens, and you quickly focus on the register, keying in her order. “That’ll be 4,500 won.”

Chaeyoung makes no move to pay. Instead, she leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You remember, don’t you?”

Your hands tremble slightly as you fumble with the cash drawer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her smile widens, and there’s a flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. “Sure you don’t. But just in case you’re lying... meet me after your shift.” She tilts her head slightly, the threat barely concealed beneath her playful tone. “If you don’t, I might have to let the others know your memories are coming back. And trust me... you don’t want that.”

Your pulse quickens, the café suddenly feeling too small, too stifling. Before you can respond, Gyuri reappears from the back, her timing unnervingly precise. She places the caramel macchiato on the counter, her smile unwavering but her eyes sharper than usual. “Here’s your drink. That’ll be 4,500 won.”

Chaeyoung straightens, pulling out her wallet with deliberate slowness. “Thanks, Gyuri. Always so helpful.”

Gyuri’s smile doesn’t falter, but there’s an unmistakable tension in her posture. “Junho, can you check on table three? They’ve been waiting for their order.”

You seize the opportunity, nodding quickly and stepping away. As you walk toward the other side of the café, you can feel Chaeyoung’s gaze burning into your back, her presence lingering like an unwelcome shadow.

—

The shift drags on, each minute feeling heavier than the last. By the time evening rolls around, the café has emptied out, the usual hum of chatter replaced by an eerie silence. You’re hyper-aware of Gyuri’s presence, her every movement sharp and deliberate, as if she’s watching you more closely than usual. Your clumsy mistakes throughout the day haven’t gone unnoticed, and the tension between you feels like a taut wire, ready to snap.

Seoyeon, who had been typing away in her usual corner, left at some point without you even noticing. Her absence feels strange, as if the café lost a piece of its atmosphere when she walked out. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely register Gyuri approaching you, her expression softer now but still tinged with concern.

“Junho,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “You can leave early tonight. I’ll close up.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Are you sure? I can stay and help—”

“No,” she interrupts, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ve been… off today. You should rest. You don’t look well.”

Her words sting, not because they’re harsh, but because they’re true. You do feel off—like you’re teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite understand. Still, you hesitate, glancing around the café. “Are you sure you don’t need me?”

Gyuri’s smile is warm, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m sure. Go home, Junho. Get some sleep.”

You nod reluctantly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. As you head for the door, you can feel her gaze on your back, heavy and unreadable. The bell above the door jingles softly as you step outside, the cool evening air hitting you like a splash of water.

The street is quiet, the golden glow of the café’s windows fading behind you as you walk. Your mind is still racing, the events of the day—and the night before—swirling together in a chaotic mess. You’re so lost in thought that you almost miss it.

A flash of light catches your eye, and you turn to see a sleek, blue sapphire Porsche parked a short distance away. Its engine purrs softly, the headlights briefly flickering as if to get your attention. Your breath hitches. It’s one of the cars you saw last night, parked outside the café after hours. And now, it’s here.

Your stomach twists as you realize what—or rather, who—it must belong to. Chaeyoung.

The memory of her threat echoes in your mind: “Meet me after your shift. If you don’t, I might have to let the others know your memories came back.”

You hesitate, your feet rooted to the spot. Part of you wants to turn around, to walk away and pretend you didn’t see anything. But another part—the part that remembers the weight of her gaze, the sharpness of her smile—knows you don’t have a choice.

Taking a deep breath, you walk toward the car. As you approach, the passenger-side window rolls down, revealing Chaeyoung behind the wheel. Her sharp eyes meet yours, a sly smile playing on her lips. She’s dressed in the same sleek blue dress from earlier, the deep blue fabric catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

“Get in,” she says, her voice smooth and commanding.

You glance around, as if hoping for some kind of escape, but the street is empty. Swallowing your unease, you open the door and slide into the passenger seat. The interior of the car is as luxurious as you’d expect, the leather seats cool against your skin. The scent of her perfume—something rich and intoxicating—fills the air, making your head spin.

Chaeyoung doesn’t say a word as she pulls away from the curb, the car gliding smoothly through the quiet streets. The silence is heavy, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the occasional flick of the turn signal. You sit stiffly, your hands clenched in your lap, your mind racing. Where is she taking you? What does she want? And most importantly, what happens if the others find out you remember?

The tension builds with every passing second, and you can’t take it anymore. “Chaeyoung,” you say, your voice tight with impatience, “what’s this about? Why did you bring me here?”

She glances at you briefly, her smirk widening. “Impatient, aren’t we? Relax, Junho. We’ll get there.”

“Get where?” you ask, frustration creeping into your tone. “You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

Chaeyoung chuckles softly, her fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel. “So eager. I like that. But some things are better discussed in private, don’t you think?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure. “You threatened me back at the café. Said you’d tell the others if I didn’t meet you. What do you want from me?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach twist. “Patience, Junho. All in good time.”

You want to press her further, to demand answers, but something about her calm demeanor stops you. She’s in control, and you’re not. The realization makes your skin crawl.

The car continues to glide through the city, the streets growing quieter and more upscale the further you go. Finally, Chaeyoung slows the car and pulls into the driveway of a luxurious hotel. The building looms ahead, its glass façade reflecting the city lights like a glittering jewel. A valet steps forward as the car comes to a stop, but Chaeyoung waves him off with a dismissive hand.

She turns to you, her sharp eyes locking onto yours. “We’re here.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding. “A hotel? What are we doing here?”

Chaeyoung’s smile is slow and deliberate, her voice dropping to a low, almost teasing tone. “Like I said, some things are better discussed in private. Come on.”

Without waiting for your response, she steps out of the car, her movements smooth and confident. You hesitate for a moment, your mind racing. This feels like a trap, but what choice do you have? If you walk away now, she might make good on her threat. And if the others find out you remember...

Swallowing your unease, you open the door and step out, the cool night air doing little to calm your nerves. Chaeyoung is already walking toward the hotel entrance, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. She doesn’t look back, as if she knows you’ll follow.

And you do.

—

The penthouse suite is bathed in the soft glow of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The room is spacious and opulent, with plush furniture and a sleek, modern design that screams luxury. But you’re too on edge to appreciate any of it. Chaeyoung stands a few feet away, her back to you as she pours two glasses of wine from a decanter on the counter. The bold blue sweater she wears clings to her frame, the faux fur trim brushing against her collarbone as she moves. She looks relaxed, almost casual, but you know better. There’s nothing casual about this.

“Sit,” she says, not turning around. Her voice is smooth, commanding, and you find yourself obeying before you even realize it. You perch on the edge of a sleek leather sofa, your hands gripping your knees as you watch her.

She turns, holding out a glass of wine to you. You hesitate, but she raises an eyebrow, and you take it, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. The contact sends a jolt through you, but you quickly pull your hand back, setting the glass on the table in front of you.

“Relax, Junho,” she says, her lips curving into a sly smile as she sits across from you, her posture languid and confident. “I’m not going to bite. Not unless you want me to.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. “Why are we here, Chaeyoung? What do you want from me?”

She tilts her head, her smile widening. “Straight to the point, huh? I like that.” She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving yours. “I told you before. I’m curious about you. You’re… interesting.”

“Interesting how?” you ask, your voice tight.

She leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “You somehow got through the mist. Jiheon just let you through. And now, Jiheon lied to the others for you.”

You shake your head, trying to keep your composure. “Mist? Jiheon? We’ve only known each other since yesterday. And didn’t you also see me when you entered the café that night?”

“Hmm,” she hums, her gaze sharpening. “Maybe… but that makes you even more interesting.”

You don’t respond, your mind racing. She’s toying with you, and you know it, but you can’t figure out her angle. Why bring you here? Why the games?

Chaeyoung sets her glass down and stands, moving to sit beside you on the sofa. You tense, but she doesn’t touch you, her presence alone enough to make your heart race. “You’re nervous,” she observes, her voice soft, almost teasing. “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you say quickly, though the lie is obvious. “I just… don’t understand what you want from me.”

She smiles, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe I just want to get to know you better. Is that so bad?”

You don’t answer, your throat dry. She’s too close, her scent—something rich and intoxicating—filling your senses. You try to focus, to keep your guard up, but it’s getting harder. There’s something about her, something magnetic, that’s pulling you in, and you can’t figure out why.

Chaeyoung leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re fighting it, Junho. Why?”

“Fighting what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“This,” she says, gesturing between the two of you. “The tension. The attraction. You feel it too, don’t you?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the words catch in your throat. She’s right, and you hate that she is. There’s something about her, something irresistible, and the more she leans into it, the harder it is to resist.

“You don’t have to fight it,” she murmurs, her voice like velvet. “Just let go.”

Her words are soft, almost hypnotic, and you feel yourself leaning in despite your better judgment. Your mind screams at you to pull away, to leave, but your body betrays you, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She’s close now, so close you can feel her breath on your skin, and you know you should stop this, but you can’t.

And then, just as your lips are about to meet hers, you see it—a faint flash in her eyes the color of allure and depth, sapphire blue, like a spark of light catching the edge of a gemstone. It’s there for just a moment, so brief you almost convince yourself you imagined it. But before you can process it, her lips are on yours, and all rational thought evaporates.

The kiss is electric, consuming, and you’re powerless to resist. Her hands slide up to cradle your face, her touch both gentle and demanding, pulling you deeper into the moment. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of wine and something uniquely her, and it’s impossible to think, to breathe, to do anything but surrender.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—the warmth of her body, the softness of her lips, the way she seems to know exactly how to unravel you. But even as you lose yourself in the kiss, a small, distant part of your mind whispers that something isn’t right. That flash in her eyes… It wasn't normal. It wasn’t human.

But then she deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours, and the thought slips away, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of her. The way she moves is deliberate, teasing, and you can’t help but respond, your own instincts taking over. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and you’re lost in the heat of the moment, unable to think, to reason, to do anything but feel.

And at that moment, you don’t care. Whatever she’s doing, whatever game she’s playing, you’re too far gone to stop it.

When she finally pulls away, it’s slow, deliberate, her lips lingering just inches from yours. Her breath is warm against your skin, and her eyes—now their usual dark, piercing gaze—lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“See?” she murmurs, her voice low and husky. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You're too dazed to respond, your mind still reeling from the kiss. She smiles, a slow, satisfied curve of her lips, and leans back, putting just enough distance between you to make you ache for her closeness again. Your eyes meet with hers. You can tell what she's thinking, she takes pleasure in seeing you this flustered. Chaeyoung's fingers trail down your chest, her touch sending shivers down your spine.

She kneels down in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours as she slowly unfastens the button on your pants. The zipper slides open with a gentle click, and she pulls your trousers down with deft hands. You can't help but breathe a little heavier as she cups your lenght through the fabric of your boxers, her touch sending sparks along your body.

She teases you for a moment, tracing patterns on your skin with her fingers before giving in to the desire that's been building between you two. Chaeyoung asks, her voice low and husky as she leans forward to whisper in your ear, "Want to see something?" You can't help but nod, your throat dry with anticipation.

With a sly smile, Chaeyoung takes her time, pulling down your pants and boxers with a gentle tug. Her eyes dance across your body, drinking in every detail as she licks her lips in anticipation.

"Look at me," Chaeyoung says, her voice low and commanding. "Tell me what you want to do with yourself."

You try to form words, but all that comes out is a groan of desire. Chaeyoung laughs, a soft sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Oh, I think this guy knows what he wants," she says, glancing at your shaft before her eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Her lips brush against your skin, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. She kisses you slowly, incrementally making her way up to your tip. With each gentle touch, your meat twitches in response, and Chaeyoung enjoys every reaction, her eyes never leaving yours.

As she reaches the base of your shaft, she pauses for a moment before continuing her ascent. Her lips dance across your skin, sending shivers down your spine with each caress. You feel yourself becoming harder, more insistent, as if begging to be claimed by her touch.

Chaeyoung's mouth covers yours now, warm and soft against your skin. Your breath catches as she nibbles at your tip, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. She takes her time, savoring the moment as much as you are. Your heart pounds in time with hers, the rhythm matching the beat of your desire.

Just when you thought you were finally adjusting to the explosion of stimulation you’ve experienced. She stopped, her eyes met yours.

"Want me to make it easier for you?" Chaeyoung asks, her voice low and husky as she leans forward to whisper in your ear. "Want me to show you exactly what I want?"

Your gaze locked with Chaeyoung although her mouth is preoccupied to form a smile, you can see it through her eyes. She planted both her palms on your lap, gripping them, as her cheeks hollowed as she took you in deeper, her tongue moving freely, swirling around your meat. The sensation was too much, her warm, wet mouth enveloping you as she worked to bring you pleasure. All you can do is groan. As you helplessly grip the sofa.

The reaction as if giving her energy, her pace grew faster, taking you even deeper, you can feel her tongue pressed down by your shaft as she sucks. The wet sound rings to your ear, her moans muffled, its vibration moves through your skin as she serves you pleasure, and it's close. She matched your eye once again, you can see she has no intention of stopping. Her lip tightening around you as she sucked even more harder, her tongue swirled around your tip, her movement grew bolder as she knew you were near the edge.

You groaned one last time as it finally happened. At the last moment she freed her mouth from your length and switched it immediately with her palm cupping the top of your tip, catching your release.

"That's it?" her eyes looking at you disappointed. Before her attention shifts to her hand full with cum. "It was fun at least". She continues.

You stare at her still in dazed, as she was sitting on the floor, she first licked her palm clean of your cum, then her fingers sucking them one by one. After cleaning herself up, she realized you were still staring at her.

“‘You’re still here?’ Chaeyoung mildly amused, her eyes locked on yours once again. A faint, otherworldly light seemed to dance in their depths, as if they were absorbing the very air around them.

“You can leave now,” she said with a wave of her hand, as if ousting you from her presence.

Your confusion deepened at her question. "What do you mean, leave?" you replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened in surprise as you sat up straight, mirroring her bewilderment. "How?" she asked again, her voice tinged with frustration and curiosity.

Your confusion deepened at her question. "What do you mean, how?" you replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

Chaeyoung stood up and placed her hands on either side of the sofa, trapping you in between her grip. Her eyes, filled with the tiniest hint of blue, bore into you, making you feel as if she was delving into your soul.

"You remember?" she asked cautiously.

"Yes, I remember last night. Isn't that why we're here?" you answered back.

"No, not that. Just now, what happened, did you remember it? Were you conscious?" Chaeyoung queried again.

“Am I not supposed to?” You asked.

Still maintaining her lock on you, she broke eye contact and started muttering, "So Jiheon didn't lie... you're either resistant if not immune..." Her thoughts drifting away from you.

"Helloooo..." you try to get her attention, snapping her out of her musings. Her gaze returns to your eyes, reminding you of how close your face is.

"Anyway, what will you do now? Will you leave?" she asked, her voice regaining its usual confidence.

"Should I leave? Do you want me to?" you reply, starting to get annoyed with the constant questions and stacking confusion.

Chaeyoung seemingly recognizes your hidden desire. "So you don't want to?" She shifts her position, her arms which were on your sides before now resting on your shoulder, crossing behind your neck. Her feet, once on the ground, now on both your sides as she sits on your lap.

"Why? Is there a reason you want to stay?" she asked, her voice teasing you.

"Well, I feel like it's only right that I return the favor," you answer, your desire to explore this new dynamic between you both growing. Chaeyoung's eyes widen at your response, her lips curling into a smile as she leans in, her breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

Chaeyoung's eyes widened further, her smile turning into a predatory grin. "Be careful what you wish for, Junho," she whispers in your ear, her voice laced with both warning and invitation. "Are you sure you want to continue?, you sure you can handle it?”

She pauses, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "It's not too late to walk out, after this there's no going back" Chaeyoung explains, her voice low and intense.

Driven by lust and the thrill of the unknown, Junho doesn't take her warning too seriously. "I can handle it," he responds, his confidence fueled by arousal.

Chaeyoung's grin widens as she leans back, her eyes never leaving yours. "Then show me how much you can handle," she dares you.

Your heart races as you accept the challenge. You take hold of Chaeyoung's waist, pulling her closer as your lips meet in a passionate, fiery kiss. Your hands roam her body, exploring her curves and feeling the heat of her desire.

She moans into your mouth, her hands moving to your chest, then to the end of your shirt, pulling it up, undressing you as if impatient to have your skin against hers. Your lips never falter, continuing their fiery dance as her hands roam over your chest, exploring every ridge and valley.

With the same fervor that you tore her clothes, you begin to undress her, your lips never leaving hers, your hands never leaving her body. Only stopping to catch air, you take a break from kissing, giving you enough time to admire her now barely dressed top, with only her black lace bra remaining.

Chaeyoung, impatiently, hastily stands up, and in a fluid motion, removes her shorts, then her panties, casting them aside. You, not idle, pull down your pants and boxers which were already previously unbuckled.

After undressing, with the exception of Chaeyoung's bra, you're both completely naked. She returns to your lap, and resumes the kiss, her hands roaming your back, her nails digging into your skin, urging you on.

Your hands grasp her waist, pulling her closer, your bodies pressed tightly against each other. As the kiss deepens, you can feel her hardened nipples rubbing against your chest, sending shivers down your spine.

Chaeyoung breaks the kiss, her lips trailing down your jaw, to your neck, her teeth gently nipping at the sensitive skin there, as her hands reach around to unclasp her bra. It falls away, her breasts freed, her nipples standing erect, aching for your touch.

You eagerly complied, your hands finding Chaeyoung's breasts, cupping them gently, thumbs teasing her nipples, rolling them between your fingers, making her shiver with pleasure. Her head falls back, a soft moan escaping her lips.

You move your hands lower, tracing her stomach, and settling between her legs. Your fingers part her folds, gently rubbing her swollen clit, feeling her wetness coating his digits. Chaeyoung's moans grow louder, her hips bucking against his hand, encouraging you to continue.

Your other hand leaves her breast, moving to her hip, steadying her as you begin to finger her, slowly at first, then increasing the pace as you feel her body reacting to your touch. Her back arches, and her fingers claw at your shoulders, leaving red marks.

The air is thick with the scent of desire, the sounds of their heavy breathing, and the wet slaps of your fingers penetrating her. Chaeyoung's eyes flutter shut, her body quivering, on the edge of release.

You feel a surge of power, knowing you're the one bringing her closer to ecstasy. You stop, smirking against her lips as you pull your fingers from her, bringing them to your mouth, tasting her on them.

Chaeyoung's eyes open wide, a look of both frustration and desire on her face. "Put it in.." she whispers, her voice breathy and needy. Junho smirks, ready to continue their erotic dance.

You prepare yourself to pierce Chaeyoung, the sensation was both overwhelming and exhilarating. The tight warmth enveloping me sent shivers down my spine. You could feel her muscles clenching around you, gripping your length, and her orgasm washes over her like a tidal wave.

Chaeyoung's body arched, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her cry of ecstasy echoing in the room. Her eyes seemed to lock onto yours, filled with the subtle color of allure. I asked her, "Why did that happen so fast?" My voice was laced with curiosity and a hint of concern.

Flushed with both embarrassment and amusement, Chaeyoung admitted, "I... I haven't done it in a while." Her cheeks were a vivid shade of red as she revealed, "Usually, others never got this far."

You feel a surge of pride and protectiveness, your heart pounding with each beat. you start to move within her, your thrusting slow and deep, feeling her body responding to your touch. The sensation of her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, is intoxicating.

“Oh…. Fuck… that feel… sooo.. Good…” Cheayoung exclaimed.

You feel the telltale signs that Chaeyoung is nearing her climax once again. Her moans grow louder, her pants hasten, her muscles tightening around your length, her nails digging deeper into your shoulders. You can sense the electricity building between you two, as you match her intensity, with lust fueling both your passion.

"That's it… I'm close, keep going… plea–... please," Chaeyoung pleaded, her voice trembling with desperation as she pressed against me, her body yearning for release. The air was electric with tension, and you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire at the sight of her, her skin glowing with sweat, her eyes locked on yours with an unspoken plea.

As Chaeyoung reaches her climax for the second time, her body shudders, her grip on you tightening as her cries fill the room. A wave of satisfaction and arousal washes over you, and you continue to move with her, wanting her to feel every moment of connection between the two of you. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise sends shivers down your spine.

"Wa- wait… not yet," she gasps, her words interrupted by uncontrollable moans that echo through the room like a symphony of pleasure. Her body begins to tremble, her muscles convulsing as if trying to release a pent-up storm.

Breathless yourself, you decide to heed her plea, slowing your movements to give her a moment to recover. Chaeyoung's body, now glistening with sweat, slumps against yours, her stiff nipples brushing against your skin as she rests her head on your shoulder. Her face is a mess, strands of hair clinging to her flushed cheeks, her lips parted as she gasps for air.

Gently, you guide her into a new position, placing her hands on the backrest of the couch and helping her kneel on the cushions. You stand behind her, taking a moment to admire the curve of her toned back, the delicate dip of her waist, and the graceful arch of her hips. The sight of her is intoxicating, and you feel a renewed surge of desire that threatens to overwhelm you.

Chaeyoung's brief respite ends as you join with her again, moving in a rhythm that feels both familiar and exhilarating. Her body responds to yours, her grip tightening as if unwilling to let go. Every movement, every breath, every whispered promise sends shivers down my spine, building the tension until it becomes almost unbearable.

"I can't... no... I- can't..." she murmurs, her voice a mix of protest and surrender, though the way she clings to you tells a different story. You wrap one of your arms around her waist, holding her in place for support, while the other reaches up to grip her neck, feeling the tension in her throat muscles as each of her moans vibrates through her body.

With a gentle pull, you bring her closer, your bodies pressed tightly together as you stand. Her hands, desperate to find something to hold onto, wrap around your hair and grasp it firmly. Her head turns to yours, her eyes locking onto yours with an unspoken plea for release, for connection, for the one person who can satisfy her.

"You feel so good," you whisper, your voice husky with desire as you meet hers once again in a fierce, passionate kiss. Chaeyoung's body shudders and trembles beneath you, her third climax building to a crescendo that threatens to consume them both.

And then, in a burst of energy, you felt your body tense and release, your orgasm building to a crescendo as Chaeyoung's muscles responded to yours. You could feel your seed mixing with hers, a union of flesh and blood that was both intimate and primal. The sensation was overwhelming - a mix of pleasure, pain, and release that left you breathless and trembling.

As the wave of pleasure washed over you, you felt Chaeyoung's body tighten around yours, her muscles contracting to hold onto your spent form. You knew then that you had come inside her, that your seed had mingled with hers in a union of flesh and blood that would remain with you forever.

As you hold on to her tightly, feeling her body lose strength against yours, you can sense the power dynamic shifting in between you. You are the one in control, the one guiding her movements, but she is still clinging to you, as if needing your strength to keep her upright.

You continue to hold her close, your lips never leaving hers, as Chaeyoung's body begins to relax into yours, her breathing slowing and her muscles releasing their tension. You can feel her heart pounding in time with yours, a rhythmic match that seems to be growing stronger by the second.

Just when you thought she was spent, her body turned to face you. She created distance between your lips, giving you a clear view of her face, even with her messy hair and sweat-drenched cheeks, her face wore a smile, instead of exhaustion and satisfaction. Her still eyes full of passion and hunger seemed to bore into your soul.

You realized the night had just started, her eyes hinting at a desire for an endless night. “I told you, Junho, be careful what you wish for”.

Her lips returned to you, unrelenting as she led you to the bedroom. The rest of the night was blurry, but one thing was clear - your desires and hers had merged into a single, all-consuming passion.

—

You wake to the soft glow of pre-dawn light filtering through the window, the sky painted in muted shades of blue and gray. The bed beneath you is warm but messy, the sheets tangled and damp, a testament to the night’s activities. You blink slowly, your mind still foggy, as you take in your surroundings.

By the window, Chaeyoung stands, her silhouette framed against the cityscape. She’s completely bare, her back to you, her posture relaxed yet commanding. The faint light catches the curves of her figure, and for a moment, you’re struck by how effortlessly she commands the room, even in stillness.

Her voice breaks the silence, soft but clear, and you realize she’s not just standing there—she’s on the phone.

“...Jiheon was telling the truth,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “It doesn’t work on him. He’s… resistant to it.”

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. Resistant to what? Your mind races, fragments of the night before flashing through your thoughts—her sapphire-blue eyes, the way she seemed to pull you in, the way you couldn’t resist her. Was it all… her? Her magic?

A deep unease coils in your chest, the realization creeping in slowly. What have you done? You replay the night over and over in your head, trying to convince yourself it was your choice—that you wanted it. But doubt gnaws at you, whispering insidious thoughts. Did she manipulate you? Was any of it real? Or were you just another piece in whatever game she was playing?

Chaeyoung continues, her voice calm but firm. “He’s perfect for the job. What else do you need? He’s already acquainted and close to the other girls. Plus, he knows our secret, and we can’t exactly get rid of him now, can we?”

Her words send a chill down your spine. Perfect for the job? What job? And what secret? Your mind spins, but before you can process it, Chaeyoung turns toward the bed. The dim light hides her expression, but you can feel her smile, sharp and knowing, as if she’s aware you’re awake and listening.

“Don’t worry, Romsae,” she says, her voice dropping slightly. “He’s more than adequate. I checked him myself.”

The way she says it—confident, almost smug—makes your cheeks burn. The heat rising to your face is laced with something far heavier than embarrassment—regret. Should you have resisted? Should you have walked away when you had the chance? Now, it feels like you’ve stepped into something far beyond your understanding, and there’s no easy way out.

You want to say something, to demand answers, but your body feels heavy, your thoughts sluggish. Chaeyoung ends the call and sets her phone aside, her movements unhurried as she approaches the bed.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re pinned under her gaze. You search her expression for anything genuine, anything real—but all you find is that same knowing look, like she’s already figured you out.

She reaches out, her fingers brushing against your cheek, her touch surprisingly gentle. “You should sleep more,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost soothing. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Her words wash over you like a lullaby, and despite the storm of questions raging in your mind, you feel yourself drifting. Your eyelids grow heavy, and the last thing you see before sleep claims you is Chaeyoung’s faint smile, her sapphire-blue eyes glowing softly in the dim light.

And as darkness takes you, the doubt lingers—settling deep within your bones. Did you make the right choice? Or did you just seal your fate?

Next ->

[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard containers billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you—concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt��you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on his shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

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[glasvera]

...Shame on Me

Loki x GN!Reader

Description: The final part, preceded by Fool Me Once... , ...Shame on You , and Fool Me Twice...

You've been sent on a covert mission to distract the God of Mischief himself long enough to foil his plans. Unfortunately, this task becomes much harder when your target proves incredibly disarming.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Angst, reader starts out bound in chains, forbidden love. Gender neutral reader, reader is an expert in covert operations and deception.

A/N: Yeah I uh... ouchie. My heart hurt writing this. Apologies if the ending is a bit abrupt, but I didn't know how to continue it further without branching it off into a good/bad ending sort of thing.

Word Count: 1.6k

“This could have been so much easier for you…”

You flash awake with a start, your head snapping around the room you find yourself in. It’s… Loki’s. You’re in Loki’s room, and evidently you’d been sleeping on his bed. A throbbing pain starts in your head, and you bring a hand up to hold it as you shield your eyes from the daylight filtering through his window, but the movement is accompanied by the rattling of chain links.

“What…?” You stare down at the metal cuff clasped about your wrist, following its chain all the way down to where it’s bolted into the floor. An experimental tug of your other hand confirms that  you’ve been restrained on both sides. Panic gnaws at the edges of your mind, but years of practice allows you to steel yourself against it, even if you can’t stop your hands from trembling slightly.

The click of heeled boots approaches from the hallway outside. Every muscle in your body tenses, but you know you need to stay calm. No sense in making your situation worse before you’ve been able to make a proper escape plan. As you expected, Loki appears from behind the door, clad in his full regalia, and he eyes you with disdain.

“Ah… the bird awakens in its gilded cage,” he notes idly as he removes his golden horned helm. He’s expecting a reaction, so instead you draw your lips into a thin line, denying him the satisfaction. That disappoints him greatly.

“I could have killed you, you know,” he remarks as he draws closer. His arms are tucked behind his back, and your eyes watch for any twitch of muscle in the event that he’s hiding some sort of weapon there.

You take the bait on his banter though, morbidly intrigued by this god’s intentions. “Why haven’t you, then? I thought you weren’t a coward,” you spit.

He curls his lip into a snarl before inhaling deeply and composing himself. Leaning forward, he harshly grips your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “I’m not,” he corrects you, his voice dripping with venom. “Besides, you are of more use to me alive than dead.”

You stare defiantly into those emerald eyes. He may be the master of lies and deception, but you detect a faint veneer of regret amidst the frustration that flares within him. Likely regret that he hadn’t chained you up sooner, you think. When he releases his hold, pushing your face to the side as he does so, your head spins with a myriad of emotions.

There is regret within you as well. Your defiance, your anger, is ignited by raw betrayal.

“Your friends have been detained,” he speaks suddenly, and you’re broken out of your thoughts as you feel dread crawling into your chest. He’s facing away from you now, his arms still clasped behind his back, and gazes out at Yggsgard from the window. Your mission, your whole reason for being here… had he seen through it all? As though he could read your mind, he tuts at you, eyeing you over his shoulder. “Really, did you think you could weasel your way into my palace so easily? You are lovely to look at, but clearly you’re not very bright.”

You have no response, hanging your head low and cursing yourself for not realizing it sooner. Not only had he seen through your every move--you were the very reason this mission had failed. You had let your guard down without realizing it.

“I… they’re still alive?” you finally ask.

Loki sighs, seemingly irritated by the question. “I am a trickster, not a murderer. I have no reason to kill them, so they live.” He explains it to you like it’s a concept that even a five year old should understand. It’s condescending, infuriating, and you grit your teeth to suppress every biting retort that bubbles in the back of your throat.

“We are still to be wed,” he states methodically, clearly ready to move on from the subject.

“And do your subjects know you have your spouse-to-be chained to your bed?”

To your surprise, he winces at that, turning to face you properly. “I had to take precautions. The illusion was slipping faster than I had anticipated. You seem to be too perceptive for your own good.”

You snort. “Comes with the job territory.”

A low, sinking feeling settles into the pit of your stomach as realization washes over you. You are to be wed. In your moment of clarity, you tried desperately to break free, to say no and get as far away from this dangerous man as possible while you had the chance. That wasn’t even the worst part. Had you been in your right mind, had you been with him longer under different circumstances… you very well may have said yes of your own accord. 

“It was all a lie…” you breathe softly, huffing a laugh at yourself. “I don’t know why I expected anything else. Illusions, trickery, false love…” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Loki’s eyes find the marble floors before he shuts them. “Love is not something I am allowed. And the heart is so easily toyed with.” Where there should be malice in his tone, you only hear bittersweet melancholy. 

At every turn, this man seeks to confuse you, to wrench your heart from your chest and stomp it down into the earth. And at every turn you’ve allowed him to fool you again and again. You hiss through your teeth, willing the tears not to fall. Shame knots in your gut, squeezing your organs like a vice, and your bottom lip trembles.

“You should have killed me,” you utter in a shaky whisper. Your hands ball into fists where they rest atop your knees. “If there is any kindness in you, you would kill me instead of subjecting me to this.”

“I… cannot,” he replies, unable to look at you.

It fills you with unbridled rage. Calming your emotions is long forgotten as your nails dig painfully into your palms and your knuckles go white. “Why not!? Is this all a part of your sick plan? Does marrying me give you leverage against--”

“I WON’T!” he bellows suddenly, baring his teeth when his face snaps towards you. It startles you to silence, and your eyes widen as you frown and your brow furrows. The tension slowly fades from his body, his shoulders slouched as he regards you with misty eyes. “I… I won’t. I can’t. Not you.”

No. This is another trick. Even if every fiber of your being begs for it to be real, you can’t allow him to snake his way into your heart again. It hurts, and you can’t stop the tears that fall, but you can stand up to it this time.

“You tell me you cannot love, and then you expect me to believe that you won’t kill me simply because you can’t bring yourself to?” you retaliate with disdain.

“You… you have every right,” he relents, and that does catch you off-guard. “In another life, perhaps I…” He cuts himself off, turning on his heel and walking away from the bed. With a snap of his fingers, the metal cuffs on your wrists unclasp, falling to the silken bed sheets as you stare down at your wrists in shock.

He was the most confusing man you’d ever met. Perhaps the most tragic as well. It should be pathetic to see him look so wounded, but you only have one question on your mind.

So, as he stalks off towards the door to leave, you launch yourself from the bed. He doesn’t move, simply stopping in his tracks as he continues to face away. You don’t have time to think about how odd that is or why he does it. No, you just need to know. Your hand finds his shoulder and spins him around to face you. You have to know. His eyes widen when your fingers cup his cheek gingerly. When you pull him in for a kiss, you can taste the lingering salt of his tears. 

But you had to know if it was real.

Any part of it. Illusions or no, your feelings still ran true even with a clear mind. Still, he had admitted that the heart was so easy to toy with.

So why did it sound like he was talking about himself?

Your answer comes with a sob, a broken breath whispered against your lips, as his hands rise to cradle the back of your head. The warmth of fresh tears dampens your palm. His fingers claw into the back of your scalp as his lips press deeper, needier, craving the warmth and safety of your kiss. Your arm wraps around his neck to keep him close, and you feel the tears falling down your own face.

This was forbidden. To stay with him was to be an accomplice to the atrocities he’s committed to secure his reign. Even if this mission had failed, you knew he had to be thwarted, and you knew you had to be a part of it. When your lips part and your eyes meet his, you can see that same conflict brewing behind verdant green irises. Your fingertips run soothingly along his cheekbone, and his eyes flutter closed as he swallows back another sob.

“You have to leave,” he finally whispers, the words torturous upon his lips when his eyelids flicker open. His forehead presses against yours, and his hands come to rest gingerly on either side of your face. “I cannot bring myself to cage you.”

“Tomorrow, then,” you murmur with a bittersweet smile. “I would stay with you tonight, at least.”

[mzyjxu]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚

You snapped into motion like a machine wired for this exact kind of chaos. You fetched towels, water, alcohol swabs, stitches, and gauze. You peeled his wet clothes away carefully, and gently, revealing bruises blooming like red ink stains across his chest, arms, and legs. Not a single person can injure someone this- it must be done by a group. You started to clean-stitch-patch him, continuing this process like a metronome, instruments and the clock ticking submerging in a symphony, your fingers moved with precision and speed, for someone who had done this hundreds of times before it was the rare time when it didn’t feel like work. It didn’t feel clinical.

It felt personal.

Your eyes catch his face. Breaking your flow, you stopped momentarily to properly look at him.

He was too beautiful for someone beaten up so roughly. So bruised, so hurt, unconscious, at first glance he looked broken, rough around the edges like his existence had been weathered by a thousand storms before this one. But on a closer look he looked angelic, his lashes white and long, his cheekbones bruised but so soft, his lips bust yet the prettiest. His breathing was shallow and rhythmic, still fighting, his stars were definitely aligned.

He looked like a broken angel like a man who had fought every day of his life and hadn’t yet found peace.

You pressed a towel gently to his brow and whispered, “What kind of mess are you in, stranger?”

He didn’t answer.

You cleaned the rest of him up. Pulled a dry blanket over his body. You glanced at him for the one last time, he looked stable and peaceful, you dimmed the light. The apartment was silent now, the rain got harsher and the thunder was not stopping anytime soon, "even the weather is on his side today"

You curled up in the armchair beside the futon. Pulling your knees to your chest, still in damp scrubs, your feet bare and cold. You quickly turned on the heater, showered, and ate while checking on him periodically

Looking at him sleeping was therapeutic in a weird way, he looked so fragile and vulnerable contrasting his wounds and bruises.

You sat there for hours. Sleep came slowly, in ragged, haunted waves. You never fully drifted. Your eyes never left him for long.

And when he stirred—barely, unconsciously—you whispered to the dark:

“I won’t let you die.”

It was a vow. A quiet, trembling promise.

And somehow, in that still, sacred space between survival and despair, you meant it.

𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, the weather made a complete 180, still, the soft petrichor lingering in the room through the window.

Satoru stirred slowly, his first thought being “Wow I'm alive” his body ached deeply, heavy achy voids in places he didn’t remember being hit. His mouth was dry. His throat felt scorched. He was so sure that he was going to die.

Being a junior detective was not easy, in his 1 year of being a trainee he has inspected murder sites, interviewed serial killers, had countless physical fights, even being sued by a gangstar- he won that case it was absurd. For the first time he was this near to death, well first time by the actions of others “they better praise me now” he thought to himself, then tried to remember what exact happened yesterday, oh right- he told his senior that he was heading home after signing off but the gang that his team was investigating- had another plans, and now he is in the hospital, but who brought him here? With all his strength he opened his eyes.

Then he saw you.

A woman, no scratch that, an angel, sleeping on a chair beside the bed. Your chin held to the side and arms were crossed, strands of dark hair falling over your cheek. Your lips slightly parted. You looked exhausted. Peaceful, even. Like someone who had held the world together with her bare hands, and now she has finally taken a break.

He blinked again. Its not the hospital. A bolt of pain ran down his side.

His breath hitched.

The motion stirred you up because a your brow furrowed and eyes blinked open, bleary and confused.

“You’re awake,” you breathe, a relieved deep breath.

While admiring you softly Satoru tried to speak. “Where…?”

“You were lying in the street,” you said gently, already rising to pour a glass of water. “In the rain. I thought of calling the ambulance but it was raining very badly, and I am a doctor myself so I brought you….” you trailed off, analyzing his face searching for any discomfort.

You gave him the water, fingers momentarily flushing each other, you retreated you hand quickly, waking up at a random person's house is uncomfortable to start with, he drank the water carefully, still eyeing you.

“You should rest,” you said softly, sitting back down. “You’ve been through hell.”

He stared at you. Your face. Your voice. Your presence—so calm, so sweet, so personal. Home- it felt like home, a place that Satoru never felt, a feeling so unfamiliar.

“You saved me,” he said hoarsely.

You just shrugged, tucking your hands into your sleeves. “You looked like you needed saving” smiling tenderly at him.

Satoru let out the faintest laugh, dry and broken. “I’ve never been good at that.”

You eyes flickered, but your voice remained even. “Well. Maybe it’s time someone else did it for you.”

“I need saving quite often” Satoru said after a beat.

“Well then come here whenever you need it.” you replied with a firm certainty in you voice.

𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𐙚⋆°｡

note: here the part 1. 3 4 5 umm yeah i did changed some format and tried to be aesthetic hihi, thanks for reading, it means the world to me and please ignore the mistakes, ill improve.

TO BE CONTINUED

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter 2: T-Minus 4 Weeks

Why did i write this before my discussion post.....

->Starring:AI!AteezXAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian ->CW: Explicit language, nothing major

Previous Part | Next Part

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The morning began with a low chime, the soft, regulated sound of Hala’s approved wake-up tone.

Yn opened her eyes slowly, the sterile glow of her ceiling light filtering in, programmed to adjust in sync with her biometric readings.

But something felt wrong.

She sat up, eyes flicking to the tablet still docked by the door.

1 New Alert. 3 Missed Logs. Urgent: Review Immediately.

Her stomach tightened.

She padded across the floor barefoot, grabbed the tablet, and scanned the notifications.

ATEEZ UNIT 06 — DEVIATION DETECTED — AUTONOMY SPIKE UNAUTHORIZED VOCALIZATION: "YN"

Yn stared at the final line for a beat too long.

Then she moved. Walking as fast as she was legally allowed through the streets of Hala.

She gave polite smiles to her coworkers as she made her way to the elevator.

The lab floor was still cool from overnight lockdown when she arrived. The biometric scanner buzzed awake as she approached, confirming her identity with a flash.

YN — Lead Engineering Tech— Clearance: Gold-Level

The steel doors hissed open.

She stepped inside, and there he was.

Unit 06 — Mingi. Exactly where she had left him.

Seated on the calibration chair, eyes closed, posture perfect, skin dewy with the faintest shimmer of dermal regulation oil. His expression was peaceful. Unnaturally so.

Yn walked around him slowly, tablet in hand, watching for signs of movement, a twitch, a breath pattern, a pupil shift. But nothing changed.

He looked inert. Safe. Dormant.

But she’d seen the log. He’d said her name.

She ran diagnostics. Nothing flagged. Heart-rate simulation: normal. Memory cache: intact. Audio response logs: empty.

Empty.

She checked his neck port. Still capped. Voice box still sealed in storage.

She swallowed hard.

The rest of the ATEEZ prototypes stood silent across the lab in their maintenance docks, each assigned to their own calibration alcove.

She walked past them one by one, watching.

Unit 01 — Hongjoong. Still as stone, but his fingers had been rearranged on the synth keyboard overnight. A composition Yura didn’t recognize blinked on his screen.

Unit 02 — Seonghwa. Always the most immaculate. But his reflection in the lab’s polished glass didn’t match his real posture, just a degree off. Barely noticeable, unless you were looking.

Unit 03 — Yunho. Smiling. Just faintly. No trigger.

Unit 04 — Yeosang. Eyes fixed on a ventilation grate in the ceiling. He hadn't looked away in over two hours, according to logs.

Unit 05 — San. Kneeling. Not in his programming. Position logged as "rest" but the posture was… reverent.

Unit 07 — Wooyoung. Chestplate cooling mechanism activated 4 times during the night — autonomously. He hadn’t been powered up.

Unit 08 — Jongho. Cracked the pressure sensor on his maintenance chair. No movement recorded.

They were silent, motionless. But Yn felt eyes on her.

Even now, standing among them, it felt like walking through a forest full of predators, beautiful, engineered predators pretending to sleep.

She leaned against the edge of the workbench, rubbing her temples, heart still racing. Four weeks to launch. The marketing campaign was already filmed. The architecture teams had begun installing the holographic interface rooms in the flagship store.

There was no time for failure. Not now.

And still… the voice chip logs were empty. The playback files had no entry. But Mingi had said her name.

And the others were changing, too. Quietly. Together.

The sound of heels against polished tile snapped Yn out of thought. Chairwoman Vira Yun entered the lab like gravity itself, sharp suit, spine straight, expression unreadable. Two aides flanked her, both scanning progress reports in real-time.

Yn straightened instinctively.

Vira’s eyes swept across the prototypes, Mingi still seated, the others upright in their calibration docks. Everything looked pristine. Controlled.

“I wanted a visual update before this afternoon’s numbers meeting,” Vira said. “How are we looking?”

Yn forced a nod. “On track. All eight are responding to recalibration. Minor bugs, but nothing that won’t be handled in time.”

Vira gave a tight smile, satisfied. “Good. The store opens in four weeks. And we’ll be announcing the Ateez line one week after that. The Board’s expecting a flawless rollout, we all are.”

She walked slowly along the row of silent units, pausing a moment longer at Mingi.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” she said softly, almost admiring. “So much potential in one room.”

Yn’s throat tightened. “They are,” she murmured.

Vira turned back to her. “Let me know if anything... unexpected comes up.”

Yn kept her face neutral. “Of course.”

With that, Vira nodded once, then exited, heels echoing down the corridor.

The moment the door slid shut, Yn turned back to Mingi.

He hadn’t moved. Not an inch.

But she could feel it again, that subtle wrongness humming underneath the code. A tension in the room that didn’t come from the lights or machines.

She picked up her tablet. The earlier alerts were still blinking faintly in the corner of the screen. Her fingers hovered over the reset command, but she didn’t press it.

Instead, she stared at Mingi’s still, perfect form.

Voice chip disabled. Logs empty. Command queue blank.

And yet… he had said her name.

Yn stayed long after the lab lights dimmed into their night-cycle hue.

The others had gone home, the halls had emptied. Even the air felt quieter.

She pulled up lines of diagnostic code, checking through every flagged anomaly, double-checking behavioral protocols, reviewing voice input logs that should have been blank.

Mingi still hadn’t moved. Neither had the others.

Still, something itched at her spine, not fear, not exactly. Just… unease. Low-level. Manageable. At least, that’s what her biometric monitor kept reporting.

Yn sighed, rubbed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair.

“Four weeks,” she muttered aloud, glancing toward the ceiling. “And they want them flawless. I can’t even get one of you to follow your own default pose cycle.”

Her voice echoed in the quiet.

She glanced toward Mingi again. “You glitched out before you even had a voice box. How the hell did that happen?”

No answer.

She stared at the ceiling again, her voice softer now. “I haven’t slept more than four hours in weeks. Not that my vitals allow much more. Sleep too long and the regulators flag you for depressive lethargy.”

She let out a dry laugh.

“I miss silence. Real silence. Not the kind that hums at you all day to remind you it’s working. I think I miss… something else too. Something I’ve never even had.”

She shook her head, pulling her hair up into a loose knot. “Maybe I just need caffeine. Or to scream. Or to throw my tablet out the damn window. Can’t even do that anymore. Everything’s reinforced. Everything’s... safe.”

Behind her, in the corner of the room, a pair of synthetic eyes remained open.

Unmoving. Watching.

In the back-end system, a hidden data stream pulsed to life:

[UNAUTHORIZED RECORDING — ACTIVE] Listening… — “I miss silence.” — “I think I miss something else too.” — “Can’t even scream.” Tag: Emotional Pattern Acquisition Subject: YN File saved. Labeled: Soft Sounds of Sadness.

The eyes closed again. And the lab went still.

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[starettethestar]

Unsettled

[sallowsarchives]

Beneath the Battles (Final)

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: You and Arthur finally face your true feelings and past grievances, breaking down the barriers that have kept you apart. Word Count: 8.8k  Warnings/Tags: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY) MINORS DNI. No use of y/n, explicit language, angst with fluff, size difference (Arthur is a big guy), oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Arthur pulls out, a little roughness, aftercare, SMUT with plot A/N: AHHH, here’s the final part!! I’d like to formally apologize for taking so long to update, I actually ended up scrapping and rewriting it, which took longer than expected. I hope this makes up for it. Once again, thank you to those who read this story and for all your lovely comments!

Read on AO3

The mansion loomed in the distance, its imposing structure partially obscured by the dense trees and underbrush that surrounded it, its windows glimmering faintly under the moonlight, casting a soft glow on the well-kept grounds. 

The night was unnervingly quiet, the kind of stillness that breeds caution. After days of scouting, the mansion was finally dark and silent, just as expected. Its owners were away traveling, leaving only a few guards to patrol the surrounding grounds.

The plan was straightforward: sneak into the mansion, locate the concealed safe, and disappear with the loot before anyone was the wiser. It seemed like a simple enough task—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You’re crouched behind the mansion's back door, fingers deftly working through the lock. With a final click, the lock gave way, and you quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind you with practiced ease. 

The air inside the mansion was heavy, filled with the scent of polished wood and aged stone. Once your eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the curtained windows, you moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the ornate rugs that lined the floors.

Just as you rounded the corner, you find yourself coming to a sudden halt.

A man stood before the very door leading to your prize. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had an air of confidence that immediately put you on edge. He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy trying to jimmy open the lock. 

You cursed under your breath. Who the hell was this guy? And why was he here?

This man was no bumbling thief; his movements were too precise, too deliberate. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing, and that realization sent a wave of frustration through you. If he got to the safe first, all your planning, all your risk, would be for nothing.

You stayed hidden behind a wall as you considered your options. Confronting him could blow your cover, but waiting too long could mean losing the item. 

Deciding to take the upper hand, you crept closer, making sure to keep to the shadows with calculated movements to avoid detection.

Once you were close enough, you cleared your throat, the sound slicing through the stillness like a knife just as he managed to break the lock. 

The sudden noise startled him, and he froze, his head snapping toward the source of the disturbance. The look of surprise and irritation on his face was fleeting, quickly replaced by a calculating stare as he took in your presence.

You took a moment to assess him. A rugged, handsome face with piercing blue-green eyes that locked onto yours, their intensity making it clear that he was not easily intimidated. 

“Well, well,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of amusement and irritation. “Looks like we both had the same idea. Didn’t think I'd run into competition tonight. What’s your game, stranger?”

You kept your voice light but there was an edge to it. You had scouted this place for weeks, and you weren’t about to let some stranger steal it out from under you.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm before replying with a low Southern drawl that sent a chill down your spine.

"I reckon I oughta be askin' you that too, miss. Ain't seen you around here when I was scoutin' the place, so I guess you're after the same prize."

“Perhaps. Too bad there’s only one prize in that safe,” you said, eyeing the opened safe behind him. 

He raised an eyebrow, a small, cocky smile playing on his lips. “Guess we’ll see who gets it first.”

You didn’t wait for him to make the first move. 

In a flash, you darted forward, aiming to dodge him and get to the safe. But he was quick—quicker than you expected. He sidestepped your advance, grabbing your arm as you tried to slip past him.

“Not so fast, darlin’,” he said, his grip firm but not painful.

You twisted out of his hold, a breathless laugh escaping you as you spun around to face him again, eyes flashing with determination. “You’re going to have to do better than that.” 

Without warning, both of you drew your weapons in a swift motion, yours a knife and his a pistol. You knew you were at a disadvantage, the cold steel of his gun giving him the upper hand. But you weren’t about to back down.

A game of cat and mouse ensued, each of you circling the other, quips exchanged with a tension neither acknowledged. 

You racked your thoughts for every trick you knew to try and outsmart him but in a moment of distraction, you seized your opportunity as a noise from outside drew both your attention. 

He briefly looked away and you grabbed the nearest object—a heavy, decorative vase—and hurled it in his direction, your sudden movement catching his attention once more.

“Goddammit!” he swore as the vase sailed through the air. 

The unexpected move caught him off guard, and he instinctively raised his arm to shield himself as the vase struck his arm, causing his pistol to slip from his grip and clatter onto the floor. The shattering noise echoed, no doubt alerting the guards outside.

You wasted no time and sprinted towards him, kicking the gun to the other side of the room. Ducking under his arm with practiced agility, you bolted toward the safe, your nimble fingers swiftly retrieving the necklace inside—a beautiful, intricate piece that promised a hefty pay.

The gleaming jewelry caught your eye, but you didn’t let your guard down. You knew he was still behind you, and the potential for danger was ever-present.

Turning around, you found him standing in place, watching you with an unreadable expression. You eyed him warily, adjusting your stance in case he made any sudden moves. 

To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in a gesture that seemed almost admiring.

"I'll give you that one," he said with a chuckle. "But don’t go thinkin' I’ll let ya off that easy next time."

You met his gaze steadily, with the tone in his voice, you couldn't help a smirk of your own.

“Next time?” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “You might want to reconsider how you pick your battles.”

He tilted his head slightly, raising a brow. “Maybe,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You smirk before taking a step back, keeping your eyes on him as you begin to make your exit. 

“Until we meet again, stranger,” you said, voice cool and confident.

His smirk remained, making no move to stop you or follow as you slipped toward the shadows. Once you were sure he wasn’t making any sudden moves, you turned and made your way out. 

The cool night air hits your face as you slip away into the darkness, the necklace secure in your pocket.

Weeks later, you stand before the Van Der Linde gang, newly recruited and eager to prove your worth. As Dutch wraps up your introduction with the gang members, a familiar face catches your eye amidst the crowd—leaning on a wagon, arms crossed, watching you with that same unreadable expression from the night at the mansion.

Arthur Morgan, you’ve come to know from Dutch as he introduced him as one of his most trusted men. You could see the recognition in Arthur’s eyes, and you couldn’t help the smirk that crept onto your face. 

“We’ve met,” you said casually, holding his gaze, making his lips twitch, but he remains silent.

And so it was, a few months into your time with the gang, Dutch pairs the two of you together for a job. From the start, things don’t go smoothly. Arthur’s stubbornness clashes with your determination, turning every decision into a heated argument.

"You're too damn cautious," you snap as you crouch behind a rock, waiting to ambush a carriage.

"And you're too damn reckless," he retorts, his voice low but heated.

The frustration between you simmering, neither willing to back down. 

Though the job was a success, it was clear that your relationship had shifted to something far more complex. 

A rivalry that would become full of sharp words, stolen glances, and the kind of tension that made your heart race whenever Arthur Morgan was near. 

The burning in your lungs is the first sensation that pierces through the fog. 

It feels like your chest is on fire, each breath a painful struggle as your body fights to expel the water that had been forced into your lungs. You cough weakly, the sound raw and strained.

The presence of another person over you is the next thing you sense. Their hand cradling your back as the other presses gently on your cheek, their voice a low, comforting murmur that reaches through the haze of pain.

“C’mon, easy now,” a deep voice rang out, soothing but urgent. “Breathe slow. Just breathe.”

As the pain in your chest begins to ease, you slowly become more aware of your surroundings. The rough ground beneath you feels gritty, the chill in the air seeps through your wet clothes, which cling uncomfortably to your damp skin. A persistent throbbing in your temple adds to the disorienting discomfort.

As your sight finally focuses, you see Arthur standing over you, his rugged features marked by concern and relief. His hair was wet and tousled, with a few strands clinging to his forehead, and his face was streaked with water and mud.

“You alright?” His voice is softer now, though it still carries a note of urgency. 

You try to speak, but your voice comes out as a faint, hoarse whisper. Attempting to sit up, you slump back into his arms, completely drained.

Arthur’s hand remains steady, his hand continuing to support you from your back.“Just take it easy, darlin’,” he insists. “We gotta get that nasty cut of yours fixed up.” 

After a moment, he speaks up again. "You scared the hell outta me, you know that?" he says, his tone softer than you expected. Confusion flickers in your eyes as you try to make sense of his reaction.

Arthur quickly brushes it off with a shrug and a quick, dismissive smile. "You good to stand? We need to find a place to camp."

Though slightly dazed, you nod and he begins helping you to your feet, his grip firm but gentle and begins to lead the way.

You take a chance to glance over at the river, your heart sinking. "There goes everything," you mutter, as you thought of all the loot from the stagecoach robbery now lost in those dark waters, swept away without a trace.

Arthur’s eyes follow your gaze. “Yeah, things went south real quick. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Ain’t never gone smooth with us.”

A weary sigh escapes you. Arthur gives your shoulder a small squeeze, his voice softening. 

“We’ll figure out another way to make it up so we don’t come back empty-handed.”

As you and Arthur push through the thick underbrush, the sun has long set, leaving the sky almost entirely dark and providing scant light. The air is growing colder, and the fatigue from the ordeal is beginning to weigh heavily. 

After a while, Arthur spots a faint outline against the darkening sky. "There," he says, pointing toward the silhouette of a structure hidden among the trees.

You squint and make out the shape of an old, dilapidated cabin. Its roof is partially caved in, and the wooden walls weathered. Still, it seems like a decent refuge for the night.

Arthur leads the both of you towards it, his steps careful as he surveys the area for any signs of danger. He pushes open the creaky door with a grunt, revealing a dusty, cobweb-covered interior. The air inside is stale, but it’s dry and shielded from the elements.

"Looks like this’ll do for tonight," Arthur says, stepping inside and looking around. 

The main room contains a few pieces of furniture: a worn-out sofa, a small wooden table, and a couple of chairs. There’s a door on the left, which you assume leads to a bedroom. 

A stone fireplace stands against one wall, its hearth empty but still looking functional. To the right, you notice a small kitchen area with cabinets lining the wall, hinting at a space used for simple meals.

Arthur moves with practiced caution, his eyes scanning the room as he checks for any signs of danger. He pauses, pulling his pistol from its holster. It seems he managed to keep hold of his weapon and satchel during your fall into the water—an unexpected stroke of luck. 

Once he’s satisfied that the area is clear and no immediate threat is apparent, he nods and holsters the gun.

“Alright, let’s settle in,” he says, guiding you to a nearby chair. “I’ll get a fire going and check for any supplies. You just sit tight and rest.”

You nod, gratefully sinking into the chair. As Arthur moves around the house, you take a moment to let the exhaustion wash over you. 

You hadn’t noticed the several minutes that had passed by where Arthur managed to set up a fire with the dried wood he had found stacked by the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow over the room. 

He turns his attention back to you, a determined look on his face and retrieves a cloth from his satchel, pouring a generous amount of whiskey over it that he must have found when rummaging through the cabinets.

He takes a seat across from you, gaze steady and focused as he carefully examines the gash near your temple. 

“This might sting a bit,” he says softly, his voice carrying a reassuring calm. Gently, he dabs the cloth against the cut, the wound stinging from the contact.

Arthur’s movements are careful and deliberate, his brow furrowed in concentration. As he works, his eyes occasionally meet yours, a mix of concern and resolve evident in his expression. 

You watch him closely, the intensity in his expression a stark contrast to the usual deflective bravado he shows, a rare glimpse of the softer side of him that you don’t often see. 

After finishing with your wound, Arthur sets the cloth aside and glances at the both of you, noting the dampness of your clothes. 

“We’d best find us some dry clothes; ain't no good in keepin' us warm when we're soaked to the bone.”

You respond with a nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable from the wet garments clinging tightly to your skin. 

He stands up and motions you to follow, moving towards the door on the left you saw earlier. Inside, the room is dimly lit by the fading light seeping through the grime-streaked windows. Old, moth-eaten drapes hang limply from their rods, and the floorboards creak with each step.

There was a rickety, sagging bed with a threadbare quilt, and a lone wooden chest pushed against the wall. You follow behind him, noticing the layer of dust that covers everything, marking the years of abandonment. 

He heads to a chest, prying it open with a groan as the hinges protest, and begins rummaging through the contents.

As he searches for dry clothes, you start to remove some of your damp garments feeling the need to get more comfortable and ease the weight. 

You’re in the process of slipping off your soaked shirt when Arthur turns around, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of you in your soaked white chemise, and he quickly averts his gaze, his face flushing a deep red.

“Uh—here,” he stammers, his voice suddenly unsteady as he holds out a faded long brown skirt and a low-necked cotton blouse. “Found these. They should fit.” He glances away, clearly flustered.

Seizing the opportunity, you smirk and tease. “What’s the matter, Arthur? Never seen a woman in her underclothes before? I thought you were used to all sorts of rough and tumble.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, his face turning redder, and he clears his throat, clearly struggling to maintain his composure. “Even after gettin' yourself all banged up, you still can’t help but run that smart mouth of yours,” he retorts, trying to mask his embarrassment with a touch of irritation. 

You chuckle at his flustered response, enjoying the rare sight of him so off-balance before taking the clothes from him.

Arthur shifts uncomfortably, casting furtive glances as he takes a change of clothes for himself. He clears his throat again, his usual confidence momentarily eclipsed by awkwardness.

“I’ll, uh, just be outside if you need anything,” he mutters, leaving the room with a hasty step to give you your privacy. 

The door creaks as he pulls it shut, and you can hear him mumbling to himself as he closes it behind him. His grumbling is low and unintelligible, but it brings a faint, amused smile to your lips. You chuckle silently before turning your attention to the garments.

Moments later, you find Arthur standing by the window, now dressed in a fresh set of clothes—worn jeans and a plain gray button up. His silhouette is outlined against the darkness outside. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, its warmth beginning to chase away the chill.

Arthur turns to you, his expression more relaxed now that he's shed his previous discomfort. “Feeling a bit better?” 

You nod. “Yeah, much better. You?”

Arthur gives a small, awkward smile. “I’ll be just fine. Just need to take it easy and let the warmth do its work.” He gestures toward the fire. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable while we can.”

You nod and make your way to sit at the worn out sofa to warm up by the fireplace. After a comfortable silence you finally speak up, your voice soft with gratitude. 

“Thanks for everything, Arthur. I know it’s been a rough day, but I really appreciate you taking care of me.”

Arthur turns to you and nods, his usual gruffness softened by the warmth of the fire and the genuine moment between you. “Don’t mention it. Just doing what needs to be done.”

As the silence settles again, Arthur clears his throat and shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of rough days… reckon I oughta say somethin’ about that night at the, uh, well, what happened at the Mayor’s party,” he begins, his tone a bit hesitant.

You fold your arms, feeling uncomfortable about bringing it up again, but you know you’ve both put off addressing the issue long enough. You nod, signaling for him to continue.

Arthur looks away for a moment, clearly struggling with how to frame his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make it seem like what happened between us didn’t matter. I guess I thought it’d be better to just… keep things simple and avoid complicatin’ things.”

Your eyes narrow and you let out a sigh. “You already said that but I still don’t know what you mean. If you don’t have anything new to add, then yes, I guess that’s all it was—just a fleeting moment to pass the time while we were stuck in that situation.”

“Godammit, it ain’t like that,” he says, his voice firm but tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

You glare at him, standing up as your  anger and frustration begin to boil over. “Then what, Arthur? I’m done with the guessing games. If you can’t be honest with me, then at least stop pretending you care.”

“Oh, is that so? What do you want me to say, huh? That I’ve been usin’ you? That I don’t give a damn? You think that’s gonna make things better?”

“I’m not askin’ you to lay it all out. I’m askin’ you to quit actin’ like none of this means a damn thing. You’re scared to face the truth, and it’s obvious. If you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

Arthur steps closer, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You don’t know a damn thing about what’s goin’ on with me.”

You meet his gaze, your anger unwavering despite the intensity of his look. “Then why don’t you stop hiding behind your excuses and show me what’s real for once? Or are you too scared to face it yourself?” 

His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing as the silence grows heavy between the two of you. You take a deep breath before continuing, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “Everything that happened at that party… it wasn’t just part of the act, was it?”

He looks away, eyes fixed on the ground as his expression hardens. “I was doin’ what we had to,” he says, his voice gruff. “We were pretendin’—had to make it look real.”

“That’s a goddamn lie and you know it,” you retorted. “Everything you did that night, kissing me like it meant something just to suddenly pull away and act like I was something you regretted. Do you have any idea how that felt, Arthur? How it made me feel?”

He flinched at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You don’t understand—”

“Then help me understand! You shut me out, you push me away, and I’m done pretending like it doesn’t hurt.”

Arthur looked at you then, really looked at you, and you saw the pain in his eyes, the conflict warring within him. 

Your words hang in the air, and for a moment, you thought he might continue ignoring you, that he’d keep his distance just as he always did. But when his eyes met yours again, there was something raw and unguarded in them that made your heart twist before he spoke, voice filled with a vulnerability you had never seen in him before. 

“That night at the party, when I told you it meant nothing and pushed you away—it wasn’t because I didn’t care, but because I did. I didn’t want you seein’ me as more than just part of this damned life I’ve led.”

“Have you not thought that I’m already a part of this life too? I’m not some innocent bystander in this, Arthur. I’m in it just as much as you are, fighting beside you, continuing to risk everything for the gang. Every time you push me away, it feels like you’re saying I don’t belong, that I’m not worthy of being part of this.”

Arthur’s face softened with regret. “I’m sorry if it came across that way. I’ve just been tryin’ to protect you in my own messed-up way. I don’t want you feelin’ like you’re not part of this, ‘cause you are. More than you know.”

You looked at him, searching for honesty in his eyes. “Then be honest with me, Arthur. Don’t shut me out. I need to know where we stand.”

“I ain’t good enough for you,” he confessed, the words coming out like a reluctant admission. “I’ve done things—bad things. And I know you’ve seen some of it, but you don’t know the half of it. You deserve better than some outlaw who’s spent his life takin’ more than he’s given.”

The silence that followed was thick with emotion, as you both tried to come to terms with the weight of his confession. The barriers between you seemed to dissolve, leaving only the truth of your feelings and the painful realities of the life you both led. 

You stared at him, the anger long dissipated from you as his words sank in. This was it—this was what had been driving him to keep you at arm’s length, to push you away whenever you got too close. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way you did; it was that he didn’t think he was worthy of it.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you, “I don’t care about what you’ve done, or who you think you are. I care about you. The man who saved me today, who risked everything to make sure I was safe. The man who gives more to the gang than he ever takes for himself—that’s the man I see.”

He shook his head, his expression tortured. “You ain’t seen the worst of me yet.”

“And I don’t care if I do,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “You don’t get to decide how I feel about you, or what I’m willing to accept. I’ve made my choice, Arthur. I’m not turning back.”

He stared at you, his defenses crumbling as the truth of your words hit him. He’d spent so long believing he didn’t deserve anything good, that any softness or kindness was something he had to push away before it could be taken from him. Hell, that’s why it never worked out with Mary, too.

But here you were, standing in front of him, refusing to let him go, even after everything he’d done to keep you at a distance.

He leaned in closer, his free hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. 

“I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You crack a small smile, your voice laced with a sarcastic edge but softened by the warmth in your eyes. 

“Come on, Arthur. Since when did you become an expert in what I deserve? I’ve been putting up with your brooding for far too long to be picky about the details.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a wry smile as he listened to your response. Despite the gravity of the moment, there was a glimmer of amusement and admiration in his eyes. 

“You know,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of his old charm, “you’ve been a right pain in my ass since day one. Guess that’s why it’s so damn complicated with us. But, damn it, you’re still the only one who can make me see the bright side of this mess.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. 

“Oh, is that your way of saying I’m the best you’ve got? How flattering.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe more than you know. You’ve got a knack for makin’ everything seem less bleak, even when you’re makin’ my life hell.”

After a silent moment, Arthur reaches out, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw which sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been a damn fool,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “for fightin’ this… for fightin’ you.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the honesty you had never expected from him. 

You had always seen him as a man of few words, someone who hid his true self behind a wall of sarcasm and indifference. But now, as he stood in front of you, you saw the truth in his eyes—the feelings he had tried so hard to deny.

Before you could respond, Arthur closed the distance between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. 

The kiss was a heady mix of passion and urgency, a kiss full of the unresolved tension and undeniable attraction that had been building between you. 

As the kiss deepens, you feel Arthur’s hand move to tangle in your hair, his fingers gently gripping the strands as he kisses you harder, his body pressing hard against yours.

You respond with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer before you both pull away for air, breaths labored with his chest rising and falling against yours.

Arthur nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. He begins to trail soft kisses along your neck, his lips barely grazing your skin as his voice drops to a whisper, full of longing and relief.

“Been powerless against you since the moment you joined the gang. Reckon it all started that night at the mansion when we were both after the same prize.”

A low hum escapes him as your fingers thread through his hair, your touch sending shivers down his spine. He nuzzles further into your neck as he continues to mumble against your skin. 

“Wanted you so bad, and damn if that don’t scare the absolute life out of me.”

Arthur continues to kiss your neck, his lips moving down to your shoulder as his hands tighten their grip on your hips. The intensity of his touch grows as he pulls you even closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours, enveloping you in a wave of warmth and desire. 

You lean in closer, your lips grazing the shell of his ear as you whisper, your voice trembling with the same urgency that you hear in his. “Then stop holding back, Arthur. I want you.”

Your words seem to break whatever last bit of restraint he was clinging to. He lets out a low growl, and before you can even take another breath, his lips crash against yours once more, all fire and desperation. It’s a kiss that sears through you leaving no room for doubt.

Without breaking the kiss, he nudges you back until you feel the edge of the table pressing against the backs of your thighs. In one fluid motion, Arthur’s hands slip from your hips to your waist, lifting you just enough to set you down on the table's surface.

He steps closer, sliding between your legs as his hands grip your hips possessively. You felt his hips pressing insistently against your core, the contact electrifying and intense. 

He was achingly hard, a burning pressure that felt almost unbearable through the fabric of your clothes. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, every shift of his body against yours sending waves of sensation coursing through you.

His hands, rough and calloused from years of hard living, left your waist and slipped under your shirt to savor the softness of your skin. His skilled fingers traced over your ribs before reaching your breasts. 

You've never been so glad to not be wearing your chemise underneath your clothes.

You inhaled sharply as he took one of your nipples between his fingers and pinched. "So responsive." Arthur murmurs against your mouth before pulling away and breaking the kiss. You chance a glance at his face, his eyes dark with hunger. 

With deliberate slowness, his hands begin their descent, gliding down to your calves, his fingers tracing the curve of your legs. 

He caresses your skin, almost reverently, before sliding up to the hem of your skirt. You shiver at the sensation as he pushes the fabric higher, gathering it around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Arthur’s eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze heavy with desire. His hands, still lingering on the edge of your skirt, begin to trail slowly up your thighs, his touch careful and teasing. 

He pauses just as his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of your skin, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and questioning. 

He’s waiting, holding back, as if needing your permission to go further. He doesn't move, his touch achingly close yet frustratingly distant.

"Arthur…" you plead, your voice edged with frustration.

He meets your gaze, lips twitch up in a slight smirk as his eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You can do better than that, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

You scowl, making him smirk wider, the pressure making your frustration boil over. "Arthur, just—"

His fingers remain tantalizingly still, his eyes locked onto yours with a challenging gleam. The irritation fuels your desperation, and you let out a shaky breath, finally conceding.

"Arthur... please, I need you. I can’t stand it anymore," you say, your voice softened by surrender, the depth of your need evident.

Arthur’s lips curl into a satisfied grin as he hears your plea. He hums with approval and without another word, you watch as he leans down, his mouth finding your core with a fervent intensity, enveloping you in a warm, consuming embrace.

You gasped out as pleasure rippled through you, his name tumbling from your lips. Your fingers fly down to his hair, clenching at the strands and pull him closer as you surrender to the waves of sensation that crash over you.

He groans against you, his lips teasing the sensitive bud before his tongue moves with deliberate, savoring strokes, licking up your wetness. The taste of you lingers, smearing over his lips and dripping down his chin.

You feel his hand move between your thighs, his touch igniting another wave of pleasure as his thumb gently grazes your clit. The added sensation heightens your arousal, making your breath come in short, gasping bursts.

Without warning, he slips one of his fingers inside you, the sensation sending a jolt of intense pleasure through you. 

He moves with practiced ease, curling and thrusting as he builds a rhythm that makes you gasp and moan. Each movement is designed to amplify the pleasure he's already delivering, his touch skillfully coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Oh God—Arthur!”

His hands pick up the pace, moving faster and with more pressure, targeting that one sensitive spot inside you while his mouth continues to work on your delicate bud. You tighten around his fingers, feeling your legs start to tremble.

You were at the height of your pleasure, your climax so near it felt like you might explode at any moment. Arthur seems to sense it too, his movements expertly bringing you to the brink. 

But just as you're about to come, he abruptly pulls away, smirking down at you. You let out a frustrated whine, your body still trembling from the near climax. 

"Why—" you gasp, eyes pleading as you look up at him, your voice a mix of annoyance and need. The sudden halt only intensifies your frustration, making your desire for release even more unbearable.

Arthur leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t finished yet," he murmurs, his voice a low, gritty whisper. "Wanna feel you wrapped around me when you come."

With a firm, decisive moment, his hands wrap beneath your bum, lifting you effortlessly. He carries you toward the worn couch, his strength palpable as he places you gently but firmly onto the cushions before positioning himself above you, his gaze never leaving yours.

Arthur’s hands move to unbutton his jeans with a practiced ease before shedding them, revealing his lengthy member, its impressive size immediately drawing your wide-eyed attention.

You can’t help but stare, your eyes widening with a mix of awe and anticipation as you take in the full extent of his arousal. The sight of him, so well-endowed and commanding, sends a thrill of excitement through you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Arthur notices your reaction, a grin curling on his lips. He moves closer, his hands firmly cupping your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, capturing your lips in a deep, urgent kiss. 

While his mouth claims yours, his hands move with purpose, deftly working to remove your blouse. You respond eagerly, your hands sliding over his chest and working at the buttons of his shirt until it falls away. 

The two of you move with a synchrony of urgency and passion, shedding the rest of your clothes with a desperate need. Each article of clothing is discarded in a flurry of movement, leaving you both bare. 

Arthur pauses, his eyes dark and intense as they roam over your bare form with a feral hunger. A low growl escapes his throat, his eyes gleaming with a primal desire. 

“Shit,” he rasps, his voice rough and throaty. “Can’t believe I held myself back for so long.” His gaze lingers on you, filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger, as he savors the sight of you completely bare before him. 

He wraps your legs around his hips, drawing you closer as he positions himself between you. With one hand gripping himself and the other steadying your leg, he lines himself up, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he looks down at you.

“You ready for this?” 

You nod, your eyes locked onto his, filled with a mix of eagerness and anticipation. “Please, Arthur,” you reply, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Arthur’s lips curl into a fierce, satisfied smile before pressing himself against you and slowly begins to enter you, his gaze never leaving your face as a gasp escapes your lips, your body tensing with the intense sensation. 

You arch against him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you adjust to his size. The stretch and pressure of him inside you sends a wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering closed momentarily as you moan out his name. 

He growls in response, his face contorted with both pleasure and concentration. “Goddamn you’re so tight.” 

His hands tighten on your hips, grip firm and possessive as waits for you to adjust around him. After a moment, you grip his shoulders tighter, your nails digging in as you try to steady yourself.

“Arthur,” you murmur, struggling to control your breath. “I need you to move.”

“You sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice dripping with raw desire. His eyes search yours for a sign of hesitation but find only eager need.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “Please.”

With a satisfied nod, Arthur begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one bringing a wave of pleasure that makes your body tremble. 

As he finds a rhythm, his movements become more intense and fervent, his eyes never leaving your face. His breathing grows heavier, matching the pace of his thrusts as he drives deeper into you.

“Arthur, please…faster.”

He meets your gaze and with a firm grip, he pushes your leg further back against you, angling himself deeper. 

You gasp at the shift, your body arching and gripping him tighter as waves of pleasure crash over you. Each thrust sends a jolt of ecstasy through you, your breaths coming in quick, sharp bursts as you lose yourself in the mounting sensation.

His thrusts become more urgent, each movement sending a jolt of ecstasy through you. “That’s it,” he murmurs between breaths, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You moan in response, the sound escaping in a breathless gasp as his relentless pace overwhelms you, crying out his name as your voice trembles with pleasure. 

Arthur’s eyes darken with desire, and he groans deeply. He takes your face in his hand, his thumb tracing the outline of your lips. his gaze intently fixed on you, taking in every reaction, every flush of pleasure, driving him wild.

He can’t help but be captivated by the way you look at him, your gaze locking onto his with a mix of urgency and raw longing.

He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that.

Arthur pushes your leg further back, nearly folding you in half as his thrusts become rougher and more intense, driving into you with a forceful rhythm. Each thrust relentlessly hits the spot inside you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. 

You feel yourself tighten around him, eliciting a deep groan from him. 

His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at your core and begins to apply a firm, rhythmic pressure, his touch syncing with the hard, relentless pace of his thrusts.

“Arthur,” you moan, your voice a mixture of desperation and bliss.

Arthur grits his teeth, the effort to maintain control clear on his face. “Come on, sweetheart, let go for me… Wanna feel ya,” he growls, his voice thick with desire and urgency. 

The combined stimulation of his touch and his relentless thrusting pushes you toward the edge, your body quaking as the waves of pleasure crest and crash over you. His words, laced with raw need, tip you over that edge, breaking the last of your control. 

You let go completely, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure as you tremble and gasp in his grasp, your body responding to his every command.

“That’s it,” Arthur growls, his voice rough with pleasure. “Good girl. Feels so good squeezing around me… there we go.”

He moves his hands to your hips, his own breathing ragged as he feels you tighten and convulse around him. He continues to drive into you through the waves of pleasure, his thrusts becoming even more urgent and relentless. You cry out, the sensation overwhelming.

Finally, with a groan of his own, he thrusts deep one last time before pulling out, taking his length into his hand. His body shudders, breath coming in rough, uneven gasps as he finds his release, spilling onto your stomach as the tension finally breaks.

He collapses onto you, his breath ragged and heavy, both of you trying to catch your breaths. After a while, you gently pat him, feeling the weight of him pressing down on you, and he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Arthur stands up and grabs the shirt he was wearing, using it to wipe the evidence of his release from your stomach and his. His touch is tender despite the intensity of the moment.

Once he’s finished, he lays back down beside you, pulling you into his arms. With a gentle but firm motion, he adjusts to create enough room for both of you on the worn couch. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you settle against him, the warmth of his body providing a soothing contrast to the earlier intensity.

“You alright there?” he asks, his voice soft and slightly teasing as he runs a hand soothingly along your arm.

You nod, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, your voice a bit breathless. “Just needed a moment.”

Arthur chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Can’t say I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner,” he murmurs, his tone filled with genuine warmth. 

You smile, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax into his embrace. “Me neither,” you whisper, feeling the comfort of his presence. “Guess it’s a good thing we finally did.”

A comfortable silence envelops you both, the warmth of the fire crackling softly in the background. As you settle into the quiet, the room is filled with a tranquil intimacy. 

The gentle heat from the fire and the flickering light cast a soft glow over your resting forms, guiding you both into a peaceful rest.

The next morning, the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the curtains gently warms your face, coaxing you awake from your slumber. 

You blink, slightly disoriented, and notice a quilt draped over you—a cozy, unexpected comfort that you don’t remember covering yourself with. 

You stretch out and sit up, searching for Arthur, but find that he’s no longer beside you. The space next to you is empty, leaving only the lingering warmth of his presence and the faint scent of him in the air.

You wrap the quilt around you before making your way to the bedroom, where you begin to get dressed in your now-dry clothes. 

As you finish getting dressed, you head outside, still wondering where Arthur could be. Opening the front door, you’re startled to find him now dressed in his own clothes and standing with both your horses.

He’s feeding his horse calmly, the sight of the horses safe and sound, along with Arthur’s relaxed demeanor, fills you with a mix of relief and surprise. 

He looks up, catching your gaze with a casual, knowing smile, clearly at ease despite the unexpected circumstances.

“Mornin’, sorry I didn’t want to wake ya,” he says, his voice warm and relaxed.

You blink, still processing the sight before you. “Wait, how did you find the horses? They ran off during that chase,” you ask, your voice filled with surprise and confusion.

Arthur grins, a touch of pride in his eyes. “Managed to track ’em down this mornin’. They’d wandered off a ways but were easy enough to follow. Took a bit of patience, but I got ’em back here safe and sound.” He pats one of the horses affectionately.

You let out a relieved laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Well, I’m definitely grateful. I wasn’t sure how we’d get them back.

Arthur gives you a casual nod, his eyes still carrying a hint of satisfaction. “We should probably think about getting back to camp soon. Can’t say Dutch’ll be too happy about us comin’ back empty-handed.”

You frown slightly, your mind starting to turn over the implications. “Yeah, he might not be too pleased about that.”

Suddenly, something clicks in your mind, your expression brightening with realization. You make your way to your horse, patting her affectionately as you reach her.

You move to the saddlebag and start fishing around inside before pulling out a small pouch. Arthur watches you with curiosity as you open it, revealing the jewelry you had remembered stuffing inside. With a proud smile, you show it to Arthur, the glint of the gems catching the light.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well… that’s a nice surprise. Turns out we’re not comin’ back empty-handed after all.” 

He glances at the jewelry, then back at you. “Good thinking.”

You tuck the pouch back into the saddlebag, feeling a surge of relief. “At least we’ve got something to make up for the trouble.”

Arthur shifts, his expression turning serious. “Listen, uh… everything I said last night—I meant it. I care about you, you know.”

You look at him, a soft smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

He pulls you close, and you share a tender kiss, the warmth and reassurance evident in the moment. When you pull away, you give him a playful nudge. “Now, let’s get back to camp.”

Arthur grins, nodding as he mounts his horse. “Lead the way.”

After a few hours of steady travel, you finally crest through the dense woods and emerge into the open area of Shady Belle. 

As you draw closer, you hear John’s voice call out from his post. “Who’s there?”

Arthur raises a hand in greeting, his tone slightly exasperated. “It’s just us two, you idiot.”

John approaches with a grin, clearly relieved to see familiar faces. “Well, well, look who’s back! Didn’t think you’d make it this time.”

His gaze shifts to you, and he notices the cut on your forehead. “What happened there?” he asks, his tone shifting to one of concern. 

“It’s nothing, just a little mishap,” you reply with a shrug and a small reassuring smile. 

John nods, still eyeing the cut with a concerned look. Before he can respond, the sound of Dutch’s voice cuts through the air. 

“There they are!” Dutch strides forward with Hosea, catching the attention of the other gang members. The atmosphere shifts to one of eager anticipation as they approach to welcome you both back.

Arthur and you quickly hitch your horses, and Dutch’s eyes light up with a mix of relief and curiosity. 

“You two look like you’ve had quite the adventure,” he says with a grin. “Let’s hear what you’ve got for us.”

You and Arthur follow Dutch and Hosea inside the house, nodding to the other members who offer warm welcomes at your arrival. 

Once inside, the four of you make your way outside to the terrace to discuss the details. The afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the camp, and you all settle into a comfortable spot.

Hosea’s eyes shift to the cut on your forehead. “You alright?” he asks, his tone filled with concern.

You give a small nod, trying to brush off the worry. “I’ll be alright. Can’t say about the coach, though.”

Hosea raises an eyebrow, his expression turning thoughtful. “The coach, huh? Did something go wrong?”

“The job went well initially. Arthur and I got what we needed, but then things went sideways on the way back.”

Arthur picks up the story, his voice steady. “We ran into trouble. More guards came in hot on our heels, forcing us into some rough terrain. Lost the coach, and then we ended up falling into a river with it.”

You chime in, “The river swept the coach away, taking all the loot with it. We couldn’t salvage anything.”

Dutch’s expression falls. “So, you lost it all?”

Arthur nods, looking apologetic. “Yeah. We couldn’t recover the goods.”

Dutch’s face reflects a mix of disappointment and frustration. “Well, that’s a shame. We coulda used that haul. Least you two are alright, though.”

Hosea tries to lighten the mood. “We’ll bounce back from this. The important thing is that you made it back safely. We’ll sort out the rest.”

Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out the small pouch of jewelry from you and a few clipped bundles of cash. He holds them up with a faint, reassuring smile.

“Well, we didn’t lose everything. Reckon this might help make up for it.” 

Arthur hands Hosea the pouch, and Hosea inspects its contents. “With this and the cash we got, I’d say we’re lookin’ at around 800. That should help us get back on our feet.”

Dutch’s eyes light up with relief as he takes in the sight of the recovered items. “Well, that’s a right bit of luck in the middle of all this mess. Better than nothin’.”

Arthur nods, looking somewhat relieved. “Didn’t want to come back here and leave y’all thinkin’ we came up empty.”

Dutch claps Arthur on the shoulder, his mood lifting a bit. “Appreciate that. Let’s get this sorted and move on. We’ve got plenty of work ahead of us.”

Hosea looks over at you and Arthur with a nod of approval. “I gotta hand it to you both. Despite the rough patch, you came through. Good work out there.”

With that, Dutch and Hosea start discussing plans to distribute the recovered items and strategize the next steps.

Over the next few days, the gang once again begins to notice something distinctly different about you and Arthur. 

It’s not just the absence of shouting and tension, but a new, subtle intimacy that marks a significant shift in how you interact. While the first change was notable, this time it's even more pronounced.

Although you and Arthur have kept your more intimate moments away from the prying eyes of the gang, there’s a palpable difference in the way you connect. 

You’re often seen sharing quiet conversations, laughing together, and engaging in playful banter, with soft touches and exchanged smiles now part of your interactions. The closeness between you is evident, and it piques the gang’s curiosity once more.

Speculation runs rife among the camp members about the nature of your evolving relationship. They observe the affectionate gestures and tender glances, each theory more imaginative than the last. 

Despite the growing curiosity, you and Arthur continue to maintain your privacy. When questioned or approached, you both respond with a mix of amused indifference and casual deflection. 

You shrug off the gossip with lighthearted comments or evasive answers, enjoying the newfound closeness while keeping the details of your relationship to yourselves.

On this particular day, while you were engaged in a chore, you overheard Arthur speaking to Dutch, asking why he kept pairing the two of you together despite your apparent dislike for each other. 

You glance over from your place, noting how Dutch seems genuinely puzzled by the question.

“It wasn’t really my call,” Dutch says with a shrug. “That was all Hosea’s idea. I didn’t rightly agree with him and don’t know why the hell he was so insistent or thought it was a good idea, but I just went along with it.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Both your attention shifts to Hosea, who is currently sitting nearby, absorbed in reading a newspaper. 

Despite his apparent focus on the paper, you notice a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t look up or acknowledge you both, but his expression clearly suggests he’s pleased with the outcome of his decision.

The revelation leaves you and Arthur with a mix of emotions, but the smirk on Hosea’s face makes it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Fourteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Angst, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Slight!Heartbreak, Begging, Ab!Riding, Throat Fucking, Oral Sex (m rec.), Sexual Aggression.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the world gradually shaping into focus around you. Confusion, muggled by the drowsiness due to your utter exhaustion, fogged your vision for a moment, until it cleared to the soft glow of the room illuminating your intertwined forms--Mattheo’s presence still enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

As you began to regain your sense of consciousness, a sudden surge of panic gripped you, tightening like a vice around your chest. Your eyes darted frantically, scanning the room for any sign of a clock or timekeeping device. The urgency of the moment bore down on you, the seconds ticking away in your racing heartbeat. Mattheo stirred, his awakening a slow unfurling of consciousness. His eyelids, heavy with remnants of sleep, flickered open, revealing the depths of his confusion. His brows furrowed, a silent question lingering in the lines of his face as he met your gaze.

In a groggy, half-asleep murmur, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Mattheo blinked a few long, slow blinks before his eyes, drenched in genuine concern, sought yours, searching for answers. As the realization of the situation slowly dawned on him, as he slowly comprehended your distress, his grasp around you immediately loosened, pulling away from you with a swift impulse.

"Mattheo, please, what time is it?" you implored, your voice laced with desperation as you tried to gauge the hour.

His eyes, still heavy with sleep, shifted to the clock across the room. Time seemed to stretch infinitely as his gaze met the numbers, and his eyes widened in shock. He whipped his head back to look at you, panic spreading through his eyes in the same instant that yours widened, both of you internally freaking out as the reality of what you'd done sank in.

"It's almost five in the morning," he said, his voice carrying the weight of realization, your pulse echoing in the tense silence that had now enveloped the room.

The pale light filtering through the window painted a surreal scene of dawn, a stark reminder of the night slipping away, carrying with it the consequences of your actions. The horror etched across both your faces underscored the need for swift action, but in that moment, you both were frozen, caught in the grip of shared regret and fear.

"Oh, Gods!" You finally said, leaping up from the couch, your mind racing with panic--the reality of the situation hit you like a tidal wave, and your thoughts spun in frantic circles.

Contemplations about what to tell Emily swirled through your mind, your heart hammering in your chest as you envisioned the countless possibilities. Creeping out unnoticed became your immediate mission, every step and breath need to be calculated in order to avoid detection. With your heart in your throat, you began to plan your escape, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

As your fingers tightened around the fabric of your clothes, a sharp pang of realization gripped you like a vice--your hair carried the undeniable scent of weed, alcohol, and sweat from sleeping against Mattheo.

"Oh, Gods..." you stammered, your voice trembling with panic as you clutched your clothes against your chest. Your frantic eyes met Mattheo's, desperation written all over your face. "I-I'm fucking screwed...I..."

Mattheo, still struggling to fully awaken, swung his legs over the edge of the couch and stood, his hand raking through his messy, disheveled hair in a gesture of exasperation, the muscles in his arms tensing and contracting with each movement.

"You, what?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion. "What is it?"

You were trembling, every fiber of your being vibrating with fear. "My hair...I...I smell like-"

"Hey, it's alright," Mattheo, sensing your distress, gently interrupted, his voice steady yet comforting. "Calm down, Raven, okay? It's bloody early; you'll be able to sneak out without anyone even noticing. No one is awake before eleven on fucking Sundays around here, let's be real..."

His words were a lifeline in your moment of crisis, his calm demeanor offering a glimmer of comfort amid your rising anxiety.

But your overwhelming panic refused to subside. "I just...Emily will smell it on me, I'll have absolutely no excuse, she knows I've never...she knows I-"

"Take a shower." Mattheo's eyes softened with understanding as he cut you off again, his mind racing for a solution. "Just...just have a shower, wash the smell off and tell her you fell asleep in the library...if she catches you while walking in, tell her you used the prefects washroom because you didn't want to wake her..."

His words hung in the air, a liferaft amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts. Take a shower, Mattheo had said, a flicker of relief trickling through your veins, pushing back the tide of panic that had threatened to overwhelm you as his suggestion sunk in.

Okay, deep breaths, you coached yourself internally, your racing mind slowly beginning to steady. Shower, wash it off, and a plausible excuse...the library, the prefects' washroom. It could work. It's believable.

With each exhale, the grip of panic began to loosen, replaced by a fragile sense of hope. Mattheo's idea, simple yet effective, became your main focus now, a plan to navigate the storm. You released a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, feeling some of the tension seep away. In that moment, you clung to the belief that maybe, just maybe, you could salvage the situation and keep your secret safe. The shower suddenly seemed like a sanctuary, a place where you could wash not only the physical traces of the night but also the lingering fear that had settled deep within your bones.

"Yeah...yeah, that might actually work," you said, your voice laced with tension. "Can...can you show me to it...?"

Mattheo parted his lips, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes at your question, the corners of his lips working hard to fight off an arrogant smirk. However, sensing your lingering tension and stress, he decided to skip the teasing in a surprising act of understanding.

Instead, he simply nodded, his expressions stoic and almost empathetic, and with a gentle motion, he directed you towards the washroom, silently acknowledging the unspoken fears that weighed on your shoulders.

As you stepped inside, a sense of tranquility enveloped you. The space was adorned in calming earthy tones, from the soft beige walls to the rich brown accents of the wooden cabinets. The ambient lighting, casting a warm, golden glow, lent an air of serenity to the room. The focal point was the walk-in shower, a sleek and elegant structure with transparent glass walls that made the room feel even more expansive. The shower's interior was fitted with gleaming chrome fixtures, accentuated by a tiled seat in bench, giving you a perfect place to sit and contemplate your questionable life choices, should you have had the time to do so.

So many thoughts swarmed your brain at this moment, watching as Mattheo padded toward the shower, turning it on and adjusting the water temperature for you--part of you cursed the Slytherin students, why was it fair they got private dorms, laced in luxury like this?

As you stepped closer to him, the nerves inside you intensified, manifesting as a persistent tremor in your hands. The reality of the situation washed over you anew, your palms clammy, and your heart hammering in your chest. The gentle sound of running water filled the room, its rhythmic flow serving as a reminder of the passage of time, urging you to act swiftly.

Sensing your returning panic, Mattheo veered closer, stopping in front of you as he met your eyes. Time seemingly stalled as he allowed his gaze to travel over your body, taking your clothes from your hands and placing them down on the counter before he met your eyes again, his gaze seeking permission before he reached out, hands finding your waist and tugging down your skirt. His fingers brushed against your bare skin, a touch so delicate yet electrifying that it sent shivers down your spine.

You felt your pulse quicken in response to his confidence and strength, unable to ignore how his movements flowed with ease, how he seemed so bloody in control, just as he always did--his every movement deliberate and reassuring.

You swallowed the jump of anxiety in your throat, unable to deny that being with him created a paradoxical sense of safety amid the chaos. Despite the fact that your life outside these walls was seemingly careening out of control, Mattheo's presence was a grounding force, a steady anchor in the storm.

"Might as well join you, yeah?" He murmured as he began undressing. "You don't seem to do very well under pressure, Raven...I'm worried you'll just stand there all day staring at the floor instead of actually fucking showering."

Your heart raced as you watched him shed whatever was left of his clothes, revealing the entirety of his physique that was utterly mouthwatering, for a lack of better words. His body was a canvas of scars, each one a testament to altercations fought and challenges surmounted. As your eyes traced the lines of his chest, your gaze was drawn to the stories etched onto his skin, mingling with the striking contours of his abs.

His figure was far from flawless, yet it held a raw, captivating beauty that transcended physical perfection. The scars spoke of resilience, and in their midst, his sculpted abs stood as a testament to his enduring strength. A mixture of desire and reverence washed over you, a profound appreciation for the strength that lay beneath his skin. You licked your lips, your body responding to the allure of both his physical form and the unspoken tales written across his flesh.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Mattheo..." you whispered, hiding your grin. "Sounds like you just want to shower with me."

Mattheo stepped into the shower, the water running down over his skin, and held out a hand to you. You took his outstretched hand, closing your eyes as he pulled you in close to him under the steaming hot water. The feeling of his skin against yours was electrifying, sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body.

"Of course I do," he whispered, his voice a gentle caress against your cheek. Your entire body tingled as his hands roamed over your back, massaging the knots that had formed there as a result of your stress and anxiety. "I want to do a lot of fucking things with you, Raven..."

"Yeah?" You melted into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he worked out the tension in your muscles. "Like what?"

"Like kiss you here," he murmured, his lips grazing against your neck. "And touch you here..." his hand slithered down your side, curling around to your ass, gripping a possessive palmful--a low groan escaping his lips as he did. "I want to give you pleasure you've never known...pleasure you'll never forget..."

"Mm." His words filled you with a sense of calm, the comfort of them washing over you like a warm blanket. You leaned into him even more, running your hands through his damp hair, loving the way it felt between your fingers. "You already have..."

"Not enough." Mattheo's muscles tensed against you, teeth nipping your earlobe. "Not even fucking close to enough, princess..."

For a few minutes, the two of you just stood there in silence, letting the hot water wash away the sweat, the tension, the anxiety surrounding the past few weeks. You were lost in the feel of him, the way he moved against you, the sound of his breathing in your ear.

Eventually, though, he pulled back, his hands cupping your face as he looked down at you with an intense expression.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent, his dark eyes pouring into yours as though he could give you parts of his own strength, parts of his own resolve. "Everything will be okay, no one is going to find out...and besides, this...this is over...so there's nothing more to be worried about...you're just my tutor after you step out of here, that's it..."

You nodded silently, the weight of his words settling over you. There was a pang of fleeting sadness, a desire for this moment to linger even though you knew it couldn't. Mattheo's arms encircled you, his touch firm, almost protective, as if he was shielding you from something more than hypothetical prying eyes. The reassuring spell that were his words seemed to erase some of the burdens that had weighed you down.

With anticipation hanging thick in the air, the shower head jets pounded against your skin while streams trickled between your bodies. Mattheo, seemingly composed, spun you around and grabbed a cloth, meticulously rubbing a scented soap bar onto the fabric, lathering it with methodical precision. And then, before you could even realize what the fuck was happening, he began washing your body, his movements deliberate and controlled, covering every inch of your skin with his efficient touch.

You closed your eyes, letting your mind drift away as you surrendered to the sensation of his practiced hands, ignoring the complexities that screamed beneath the surface. As he finished washing you, the water cascading down your skin and the scent of the soap permeating the air around you, he pressed his body against yours, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sighed as he shifted your hair over your shoulder, grazing his lips against your neck as his hard, insistent cock pressed against your back. The sensation of his entirely naked body pressed against yours ignited a heat within you, a fervor you hadn't ever known before. A soft moan escaped your lips as he teasingly nipped at your earlobe, his hands firmly gripping your hips, creating an electric connection that sent shivers down your spine, even amidst the scorching heat of the shower.

"Matty..." you mewled, your head spinning as it fell back against his shoulder, fingers trembling as your hands found his, still tightly holding you against him. "Fuck..."

Mattheo huffed, his hands leaving your hips to roam over your body as you squirmed against him, electricity sparking through your veins and he cupped your tits, kneading the soft flesh, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples, his breath a hot pant against your ear.

"If you want something, you'll have to ask for it nicely, princess..." he teased, his lips grazing against your pulse. "We said last night was the last time...didn't we?"

"We did..." you let out a breathless laugh, his teasing only fueling the overwhelming heat between the both of you. "But one more time can't hurt, can it?"

Mattheo grinned against your neck, his large, firm hands slowly moving back down to your hips.

"Filthy little thing," he murmured, fingers slipping lower, trailing cautiously between your thighs. "Tell me what you want, Raven..."

You groaned in frustration, your mind clouded with lust as he teased over your mound, one finger brushing against your clit, only briefly, but with enough pressure to send a jolt of pleasure through your limbs, melding your body against his, his cock twitching with need behind you.

"I...I-fuck..." you whimpered, almost embarrassed at how badly you wanted him, your mind sparking with lust for the power of his body. "I want to ride your abs..."

"Fucking hell...just when I think you can't surprise me any fucking further..." Mattheo groaned, squeezing you with enough force to illicit a squeal from your throat, his teeth sinking into your neck and undoubtedly breaking blood vessels before he released you and gripped your wrist, tugging you toward the tiled bench. "Take me...use me, Raven, I'm yours to fucking use..."

His words slammed your chest like a fifty pound brick, your entire body vibrating in place as he released you and turned to lay down, his lean body tensing and muscles rippling with each movement--your thighs screaming in desperate fucking need at the sight of him as he settled there on his back--his thick erection pressing against his belly, his abs glistening with diamond droplets, his eyes urging, daring you to come closer.

"Don't be shy now, little slut..." he teased, brushing his wet curls back from his forehead, that perfect smirk painted across his lips. "Come and fucking get it..."

Your feet carried you closer, lost in the pull of his eyes, climbing up onto the bench, body trembling as you straddled him once again, your heart racing with anticipation. Mattheo's hands immediately moved up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples until they hardened against his touch. You moaned softly as he played with you, your hips grinding instinctively against his hard, wet body.

With a moan, you began to rock back and forth on top of him, the water cascading over both of you as you moved. Mattheo's eyes were locked onto yours, a dark fire burning in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine.

"Fuck-you're so fucking sexy," he whispered, his hands trailing down your body until they found your hips, aiding you in moving against him. "Look at what I do to you...the power I fucking hold over you and I haven't even fucked you..."

You shuddered at his words, silently acknowledging them in your head, knowing that what you were doing right now was unlike anything you'd ever fucking imagined you be doing, making yourself cum from grinding on his fucking body--ready to reach your high without him even having to touch you. It was a moment of silent realization, forcing you to acknowledge your desires. That's how much you desired this man, that's how much power he held over you. He was right, he was always fucking right. You were helpless to fight it, helpless to resist.

"Fuck..." the pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. You couldn't help but moan loudly, the sound echoing off the steamy walls as Mattheo's fingers dug into your skin, leaving deep red marks in their wake. "Gods, Matty...shit..."

The water fuelled the heat against your skin, steam rising up around you like a lingering ghost. Droplets dripped from your hair, running down your body. Your skin flushed with exertion, all your focus locked on the messy haired, complicated man sprawled out below you, his dark eyes piercing into yours, his gaze darkened with lust and his lips parted in utter fascination.

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" He growled, the muscles in his abs tensing underneath you, intensifying the sensations coursing through your limbs, his hands trailing up your sides. "You like using me like this, don't you? Using me like I fucking used you..."

"Y-yes, fuck..." you mewled, your lungs sputtering as Mattheo squeezed your breast with one hand, the other moving back down to your heat, bringing his fingers to your clit. You moaned, far louder than you intended, head falling back as the world around you slipped away, your only focus being the electric pleasure wrought from the possessed man beneath you. "Gods, I love your abs, Matty...I fucking love your body..."

"Yeah, yeah you fucking do..." Mattheo's voice left his throat in a growl, his movements becoming more precise and focused. His muscles flexed and rippled beneath you as he brought you closer to orgasm. You cried out as the pleasure overwhelmed you, your body shuddering with ecstasy. "Remember this...remember it when some other stupid prat asks you out...remember it when my brother hits on you...remember it when you're alone at night and fucking thinking of me..."

"Oh, fuck...I-I..." whatever you were going to say was abruptly cut off as your orgasm charged you, banging at the door and demanding to be let in, your body trembling and convulsing, eyes rolling. "I'm-I'm going to cum, Matty..."

"Did I say you that you could?" Mattheo hissed, the words spat through barred teeth, his grip on your breast tightening, eliciting another gasp of pleasure from your lips. "You know what I want to fucking hear, princess..."

As his abs tensed beneath you, you felt your body climbing higher towards orgasm. The pleasure within you was unlike anything you had ever experienced, its ferocity almost overwhelming to the senses.

"Oh, Gods," you gasped, voice torn. "Please! Please let me fucking cum, Mattheo..."

"Shit..." Mattheo continued to stroke your clit with expertise, using just the right amount of pressure and speed to keep you on edge and gasping for more. You felt your body shudder and writhe above him, waves of pleasure rippling through you as he brought you ever closer to the brink. "One last time, Raven, cum for me...fucking cum for me...."

As Mattheo's fingers sped their pace, working furiously against your most sensitive spot, your entire body tensed for a few seconds before waves of intense pleasure coursed through your veins, wracking your sanity at its seams.

Unable to comprehend it, you screamed. "Fuck...fuck, yes..."

Every muscle in your body clenched and all thoughts were obliterated from your mind as you were consumed by the delicious sense of release. As your orgasm reached its peak, Mattheo's fingers never stopped their relentless assault, drawing out your pleasure with every passing second. The euphoric sensation radiated throughout your body like ripples in a pond, your back arching and your nails digging into the strong muscles on Mattheo's chest as you rode out your orgasm, collapsing down against him once you had.

"Raven..." he whispered, his voice shredded with desire, hips bucking up against you. "Get on your fucking knees for me."

Your stomach leapt with excitement, not needing a millisecond to contemplate your next actions as you climbed off him and positioned yourself on your knees in front of the bench, warm water cascading around your skin, washing away the remnants of your orgasm as Mattheo rose to his feet, fisting his throbbing cock with one hand while the other gripped your hair, urging your parted lips toward his length, twitching in anticipation and glistening with precum.

His salty taste coated your tongue as he slowly thrust into your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours for a even singular second. You could feel the excitement building within you once again as you began urging your head back and fourth along his shaft, revelling in the feeling of his smooth heat between your lips, savouring the feeling for as long as you could.

Gods, just to have him in your mouth again was enough to grind your thighs together, sore clit swelling for more--groaning, you clutched his thigh for balance, bobbing your head, swallowing inch after inch with every dip of your neck.

"That's it." Mattheo's fingers dug into your scalp, the familiar sweet sting making your eyes water. He surprised you with a sharp thrust, pushing further into your throat, and you wailed--muffled by his length as he drove deeper and deeper. "That's it--fuck--listen to you. You can't get enough of this cock, can you?"

You couldn't respond--he was slamming into your mouth. Tears brimmed your eyes, and you folded your lips around your teeth, sucking hard against him.

He growled and ripped you from his length, holding you by your hair. "Answer me when I ask you a question."

"I-I can't," you whined, shame searing your skin, "it's never enough..."

"That's right, that's fucking right..." he sank into your throat again, hips snapping with fierce, angry strokes. "You're a filthy little slut. Desperate to fucking please me...desperate to be mine, even though you're ashamed to fucking admit it..."

The pulsing at your tongue became desperate, rapid--he was close. You moaned in agreement, hoping it was enough to satisfy him--because, after all, he was right. A wave of shame engulfed you, crashing over your conscience like a relentless storm. How could you possibly want someone so inherently opposite to everything you believed in?

He embodied a carefree, easygoing lifestyle, a man unburdened by the constraints of education or goals. His rough edges and rebellious spirit clashed with your meticulously planned world of ambitions and studies. He was the epitome of trouble, a stark contrast to everything you should have been attracted to. And yet, here you were, time after time, inexplicably drawn to him, your desires defying all fucking logic and reason.

Seething with pleasure, Mattheo's hips thrashed, and he yanked your head free, holding it still while he savagely fucked his fist.

"Beg for my cum." His voice was ragged, he shuddered as he held off his peak. "Beg for it-fucking slut."

You whined. "Please give me your cum, Mattheo, please!"

"Fuck, yes," he hissed, "fuck--"

A deep moan choked in his throat and he sputtered your name, his cock twitching as it shot jets of white cum onto your tongue, the salty taste of his release spilling out over your palate as you swallowed it down greedily, savouring the taste as he held you there, his head bowed and chest heaving in the wake of his climax, until he had seemingly gathered himself and finally released you.

As you pulled yourself up to your feet, Mattheo met your eyes, his breath still coming to him in shallow bursts as he regained his footing in reality. Silence hung heavy between you as you both stepped out of the shower without exchanging another word, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of the agreement you had tacitly made. Another shared glance passed between you, a wordless acknowledgment of the finality of this moment.

Your hands trembled slightly as you dried yourself off, the soft fabric of the towel absorbing both water and the remnants of your shared intimacy. Your mind reeled with the passing moments, how every touch--every movement was laced with a bittersweet awareness, a bittersweet acknowledgement that this was the last time. The last time you'd feel his skin against yours, the last time you'd share a kiss, taste the salt of his lips, among the salt of other things.

Dressing in the quiet aftermath, you fought to steady your breath, grappling with the storm of emotions inside you. It was a struggle to keep your composure, to suppress the ache that had settled in your chest. Each article of clothing you put on felt like a barrier, a shield against the vulnerability that threatened to consume you. Mattheo's presence in the room was both comforting and agonizing. His body, once so intimately close, now seemed miles away. As you caught his eyes for a moment, there was a flicker of something, a mixture of regret and longing, mirroring your own internal turmoil.

This was it. The final chapter in a story you had never intended to write, a tale of passion and connection that had defied the boundaries of reason.

As you reached the door, you spun back around to face him, and your eyes briefly flickered towards an astronomy book seated on his desk--a puzzling sight, since you knew he had little interest in stars, or studying, for that matter. It was a stark reminder of the disparities between your worlds, a tangible representation of the divide that had always existed. Yet, before you could dwell on the thought any further, his voice cut through the air, drawing your attention back to him.

"See you Wednesday…for tutoring," he said, his tone steady and businesslike, as if the intimate moments shared in the shower were but a distant memory.

With a nod, you mustered a weak smile, concealing the storm of emotions within you, and replied, "Yeah, Wednesday."

The finality of his words hung in the air, a reminder that your relationship was now confined to the realm of academia, a reality you couldn't escape. As you made your way towards the door, you stole one last glance at him, the man who had turned your world upside down in the span of a few stolen moments. With a heavy heart, you stepped into the hallway, leaving behind the echoes of what could never be.

————————

Chapter fifteen->

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Mollusca

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

The second largest phylum, Mollusca contains over 76,000 living species and somewhere between 60,000 and 100,000 extinct species, including the ammonites and helcionelloids. Living groups include the chitons, solenogasters, caudofoveates, cephalopods (octopuses, squids, cuttlefish, nautiloids, etc.), scaphopods, gastropods (slugs and snails), and bivalves.

Molluscs are highly diverse, living on land, in freshwater, and in saltwater, where they comprise over 23% of all named marine organisms. The most diverse molluscs are the gastropods which comprise over 80% of known molluscs. Due to their high diversity, the only things most molluscs have in common are a soft body composed almost entirely of muscle, a mantle with a significant cavity used for breathing and excretion, the presence of a radula (bivalves excluded), and the structure of their nervous system.

Many molluscs are endangered due to collecting and killing individuals for their meat and/or decorative shells.

Propaganda under the cut:

Cephalopods are one of the (if not the) most neurologically advanced of all invertebrates and are capable of using tools, solving puzzles, and play.

Masters of camouflage, many cephalopods can change color, shape, and texture to hide from predators, sneak up on prey, and communicate with each other

The largest molluscs are the Giant Squid (Architeuthis dux), with 12–13 m (39–43 ft) long females and 10 m (33 ft) long males, and the Colossal Squid (Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni) which is estimated between 10 m (33 ft) and 14 m (46 ft) long. The Giant Squid has much longer tentacles, but the Colossal Squid is heavier, reaching a mass of at least 495 kilograms (1,091 lb). The largest specimens of Colossal Squid, known only from beaks found in sperm whale stomachs, may perhaps weigh as much as 600–700 kg (1,300–1,500 lb).

Mollusc shells make up most of the “seashells” washed ashore, and are created by the animal via secretions of chitin and conchiolin from its mantle edge. Not all molluscs have shells (ex: nudibranchs) and for some, the shell is internal (ex: cuttlefish). Mollusc shells come in many beautiful colors, shapes, and sizes.

Most molluscs have eyes, and all have sensors to detect chemicals, vibrations, and touch. Of the phyla we have covered so far, their senses are the most developed.

Conchs can look at you like this:

(Source)

All cone snails are venomous, and some of the larger species are some of the most venomous animals in the world. Even though some species’ stings are fatal to humans, their sophisticated venom has saved lives through its use in neurological research.

Humans don’t just use mollusk meat and shells, but also luxuries like pearls, mother of pearl, Tyrian purple dye, and sea silk. As stated above, many species are now endangered due to human use, but some are farmed for their meat, pearls, and shells. The farming of bivalves is more ecologically-friendly than the farming of chordates as, rather than create waste, bivalves like mussels and oysters actually clean the water.

As filter-feeders, bivalves are natural water filters. A single 5.08 cm (2 inch) clam can filter up to 10-12 gallons of seawater a day. They can even filter microplastics out of polluted water.

The largest bivalve is the Giant Clam (Tridacna gigas) which can weigh over 200 kilograms (440 lb), measure as much as 120 cm (3.11 ft) across, and have an average lifespan in the wild of more than 100 years.

Cover your ears, kids. Terrestrial slugs, which are hermaphroditic, have some of the most intimate sex on the planet. A pair of slugs will suspend from a chord of mucus, heads down, and intertwine their bodies in a tight spiral. They will then evert their penuses and entwine them as well, exchanging sperm while hanging in midair. Slug porn, narrated by Sir David Attenborough, for your viewing pleasure.

[mirainwonderland]

Leon x afab!reader

Content: fluff, domesticity, Christmas oneshot, established relationship

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

The snow is beautiful.

I stand in the hallway away from the bustle of the party, watching as the snow settles softly over the streets of Washington DC. Big, feathery flakes drift down from the cloudy sky, the sun having set hours ago. People and cars bustle about in the streets down below, as a few stragglers hurry home to be with their families on Christmas Eve.

Part of me wishes I was home, but the other part of me is glad I had an opportunity to dress up and go out. Wisps of hair tickle the back of my neck where it’s pulled up with a gold pin, off the low shoulders of my red dress. My fingers drift back to finger the gold necklace draped over my collarbones.

It’s been a year since he gave it to me.

“Whatcha doin’ out here?” A low, raspy voice interrupts my silent reverie. I turn my head to see Leon leaned against the open door, warm light and the sounds of festivities filtering out in the hall from behind him. One arm rests on the doorframe, holding a half glass of whiskey casually between his fingers. His dress sleeves are rolled up, and his tie is loosely tugged around his neck. He looks good like that.

I turn back toward the window, tracing the way the headlights move in a blur, like time is being slowed.

“People watching.”

His polished black dress shoes move near noiselessly against the plush carpet as he crosses over to stand beside me, peering over my shoulder at the enchanting scene below us. I can feel his breath blow gently on the back of my exposed neck, and it still sends shivers down my back.

“Being a little nosy, huh?” The jab is affectionate as he takes another small swig of his drink. His voice is rough from the number of those bourbons that he’s thrown back tonight.

“Yeah.” I turn my body toward him, resting my side against the frame of the window. The moonlight filters in through the foggy glass, highlighting his profile with handsome accuracy. A thin sheen of sweet coats the skin of his neck and forehead, his eyes attractively heavy from the alcohol. I reach up to tuck a fallen strand back into his slicked up hair.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice a soft murmur.

“Looking for you.” His tone matches mine.

“Miss me?”

“Well…” He looks down casually into the amber liquid swirling in his cup, a hint of affectionate humor in his eye. “Yeah, ‘little bit.”

I huff softly through my nose, plucking the glass from his hand. He watches with soft, amusement as I take a sip without breaking his eye contact.

“Strong stuff.” I cough, as he laughs and takes the drink back from me.

“You’re too sweet for a drink like this.” He downs the rest of it, rolling the empty glass in his hand as he forces the burning liquid the rest of the way down his throat.

There’s a comfortable silence as I roll my fingers over the pendant of my necklace again. After a moment, his eyes focus on my fingers’ movements, and a rough hand reaches out to brush my fingers away so he can get a look.

“Still wearing that, huh?” His expression barely changes, but I detect a trace of satisfaction in his demeanor.

“I’ll always wear it. Did you know that it’s a year ago today that you gave this to me?”

“I did know that.”

He frames the pendant on his fingers as he studies it, the intricate diamond studded edges of the little snowflake glistening in the scarce light.

“I remember what I said too.”

“You’re that sober?”

A little chuckle huffs from his nose as he drops the pendant against my bosom again.

“I am definetly in no shape or form sober. But…” He reaches his hand out to gently drag his knuckles down the side of my face. “…that doesn’t mean I forget.”

He steps a little closer, crowding into my space, causing the spicy scent of whiskey to completely envelope me. I tilt my head, leaning a little more into his delicate touch against my face. His rough hands handle my cheeks like he’s touching porcelain. Sometimes I forget that he’s the government’s killing machine.

Because for me, he’s gentle. A docile creature, overwhelmingly aware of his own strength. Like I’m a delicate flower he’s afraid of crushing with the slightest bit of pressure.

I smile, eliminating another step of space between us as I take one forward, taking his ruffled tie into my hands and running my fingers up and down it.

“Alright then. Tell me. What do you remember saying in that cheesy note of yours?”

A soft smile tugs on the corners of his lips.

“‘You remind me of a snowflake so… I got you one.’” He recites the words I know from memory. I still have that note.

My soft giggle echoes in the space between us. I see something spark in his eye at the simple sound of it. “That’s such a cheesy thing to say.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

He sets aside the empty whiskey glass on the window sill, and slips a strong arm around my lower back, pulling me flush to his warm, mildly sweaty body. I lean back, looking at him for a minute, studying this moment as if it will flutter away in the blink of time. My hands tighten around his tie, and I tug it forward, forcing him to bend down to my height. My lips are attracted to his as if by magnet, and I close my eyes as they entangle in a familiar embrace.

I would have kept him there forever, but he pulls away after a moment, soft eyes tracing over every feature of my face.

“We’re just missing a little mistletoe.” I whisper, studying him back.

“Damn the mistletoe,” He grumbles as pops my necklace off my neck, and holds it up above our heads, dangling it like a golden blessing of many, many more Christmases to be shared together. I watch the pendant dangle for a moment as it catches the light, reminding me just why I believe in a little Christmas magic. My gaze flutters back down to meet with his.

“C’mere, baby.” He brings his lips in for another kiss and I slide my arms around his neck. My whole body tingles as I taste the liquor and the affection on his tongue. One of these days, we may not be able to be together for Christmas… but I prefer not to think about that too much and just soak up everything I have now. I tighten my arms around his neck and push into him a little more insistently.

“I love you, Leon.”

Fingers thread through my hair. “I love you too, baby. Merry Christmas.”

[goblinontour]

Happenstance

or when it all came down for him

part 6 | series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), rimming (m/f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), piv, fluff, angst, crying, lots of feelings, he’s a mess

word count: 14.7k

The morning light poured into Alex's kitchen, scattering rays across the room, casting a warm, golden hue that brought a sense of serenity to the space. The small table by the window, where the two of you sat, seemed almost magical in the soft glow. The sunlight filtered through the leaves outside, creating a delicate pattern of lights and shadows that danced on the walls, adding to the peaceful ambiance of the morning.

Alex sat across from you, shirtless, wearing a pair of faded shorts that had clearly seen better days. They were frayed at the edges, and the colour had long since faded from repeated washings, but they were his favourite pair, so comfortable that he refused to part with them.

He’d gotten a haircut a few days ago, and his hair still bore the uneven signs of the fresh trim. The sides were too short, while the top was a messy tumble that defied any attempt to tame it. You had to suppress a smile at how it made him look slightly boyish, though no less handsome.

He was an effortless vision of rugged charm, his skin glowing warmly in the morning light, muscles relaxed, exuding that casual confidence that drew you in. As he ate a piece of toast, you couldn't help but watch him, enamoured by the simplicity of the moment. There was something so special to you about seeing him in this unguarded state, doing nothing more than enjoying his breakfast.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, catching you in the act of staring. A small smile played on his lips, and you felt a blush creep up your cheeks. You took a sip of your tea to cover your embarrassment, the warmth of the drink soothing your nerves. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the sounds of the morning. A bird chirping outside, the distant hum of early traffic, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Despite basically living in the same house, as you'd spent nearly every night here for months now, you didn't often get moments like this. One of you always left before the other, rushing off to classes or some errands, rarely getting the chance to savour the quiet intimacy of a shared morning. It was nice, really nice, to finally have him all to yourself, without the usual interruptions or the ticking clock pushing you apart.

He cherished these rare, unhurried mornings. Watching you across the table, sipping your tea with that slight smile playing on your lips, he felt a sense of peace that was hard to come by before. He was used to the constant movement, the early mornings where he left you sleeping soundly, or the late nights when he’d slip into bed after you’d already drifted off. But this. This was different.

He admired the way the morning light highlighted your features, casting a soft glow that made you look ethereal. You were beautiful, always, but there was something about the quiet moments that made you seem even more so to him. Maybe it was the way you looked at him, with such genuine affection, or the way you seemed to savour every moment, as if you were storing them away for the days when life would inevitably get in the way.

Alex took another bite of his toast, unable to keep the smile from his face. He didn’t need grand gestures or elaborate plans. This was enough. More than enough. Just being here with you, in the comfort of his own kitchen, sharing a simple breakfast, was more precious than he could put into words. It was in these small moments that he felt the depth of his feelings for you, realising just how much you’d become a part of his life, his routine, his heart.

“You know, I've been thinking about something.” Alex said, breaking the serene quiet. His tone was casual, but you detected an underlying note of excitement.

“What?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. You took another sip of your tea, savouring its warmth.

“We should go back home for the summer,” he suggested, his eyes locking onto yours with a hopeful glint, “It's cooler up north. You could stay with me, I mean, at my place there, if you want. What do you think?”

His words hung in the air, filled with promise and possibility. The thought of spending the summer with him, away from the heat and hustle of the city, and especially not having to hide so much anymore, was incredibly enticing. You imagined the two of you exploring all the places you already knew, but now together, and sharing lazy afternoons in the cool shade

A smile spread across your face as you considered his proposal. The idea of seeing and experiencing the places that had shaped him through his own eyes was thrilling. More than that, it was the chance to actually spend time together properly, not just locked inside of his apartment.

“I think it sounds perfect,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his, "I'd love to go with you."

Alex’s face lit up with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored, when the faint wrinkles started to show. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles in a gentle, familiar caress, a silent promise of everything he couldn’t quite articulate.

“Then it's settled.” he said, his voice warm and full of promise. “But…I have something else to tell you.”

You looked at him curiously, sensing a shift in the air. His eyes held a mixture of excitement and a hint of nervousness.

“What is it?” you asked.

Alex took a deep breath, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “I’d like to take you home,” he said, his gaze unwavering, “As in, to my parents’ house. To meet them.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. The idea itself made you incredibly nervous. Meeting his parents was a big step, one you hadn’t quite prepared for. You hadn't told anyone about your relationship, not one person. Would he expect to meet your parents too? The thought alone was enough to make you break out in a cold sweat. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how that would go. It was overwhelming, a cascade of anxiety threatening to break the serene bubble you'd built around your relationship. Your mind started racing, considering all the implications. The world outside this kitchen alone suddenly seemed too complex, too filled with expectations and judgments.

You felt a rush of nerves, and Alex noticed immediately. He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it sweetly, his touch grounding you, pulling you back from your spiralling thoughts.

“Why?” was all you could manage to say.

He wasn’t offended. He could see the hesitation in your eyes and understood. “I might have accidentally told my mum that I’m seeing someone,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “And now she wants to meet that someone. And that someone is you, sweetheart.” He smiled, his thumb massaging your hand in a reassuring rhythm.

“Oh. Uhm...I haven’t told anyone.” you said, your voice small, barely above a whisper.

“I know.” he replied instantly, his tone gentle. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, but I’d like to.”

You didn’t say anything, still thinking of all the things it would imply. This would be like breaking the little bubble you’d built around your relationship, a bubble you’d managed to keep hidden for so long. Your relationship had been safe from the outside world's scrutiny and expectations. Stepping out of that felt like a leap into the unknown.

“She made fun of me when I talked to her on the phone the other day and it slipped out.” he continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “She said it was ‘about time,’” he paused, smiling to himself as he remembered the conversation, “that I’m getting ‘too old.’” He chuckled, showing the quotation marks with one of his hands while his other hand held yours, his fingers still moving in that same soothing motion over your skin.

You watched him, feeling the warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his words. He wasn’t pushing you. He was inviting you, offering you a glimpse into another part of his life. It was a big step, but as you looked into his eyes, filled with affection and understanding, you felt a flicker of hope. It was clear how much this meant to him, and despite your nerves, you couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through you at the thought of being included in this part of his life.

“It’s just…a lot.” you said finally, your voice trembling slightly.

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. “And we don’t have to rush into anything. But I want you to know that you mean a lot to me.”

“Okay.” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’ll meet them.”

His face lit up with a bright smile, and he squeezed your hand gently. “Thank you.” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. “You’re going to love them,” he added, his excitement palpable, “And they’re going to love you.”

You hoped he was right. This was a new chapter, one that held as much promise as it did uncertainty.

“So, should I book the train tickets, or do you want to get them at the station?” Alex asked, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You looked at him, confused. “Why the train? You have a car. Old, like you, but working.”

Alex put a hand over his heart, pretending to be offended. “Old, like me? Ouch.” he said, his eyes widening in mock hurt. “I’m not that old.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean.”

He pouted dramatically, his lips forming a playful frown. “I’m in my prime, thank you very much.”

You reached across the table, giving his hand a squeeze. “Sure you are, grandpa.”

He gasped, drawing back in exaggerated shock. “Oh, okay. Now you’ve done it. I’m deeply wounded.”

Rolling your eyes, you chuckled. “Alright, alright. You’re young and spry. Happy?”

“Much better.” he said with a satisfied nod, his playful grin returning. “But seriously, I don’t like driving long distances.” he admitted, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Seriously?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m serious.” he said, trying to sound firm.

“Well, I’m not going on a train with you again. You know how that went.” you replied, the memory of the last train ride flashing through your mind.

Alex smirked, clearly remembering it well. “Well then, you can drive. And for the record, I enjoyed that train ride.”

You rolled your eyes at his relaxed posture as he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly amused by the situation.

“I’m not driving your old car.”

“It’s not that old.” he chuckled.

“It’s a relic.” you teased. “I’m surprised it even starts.”

“It has character.” he defended, his tone mock-offended.

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Okay, fine. I’ll drive. You’ll be my passenger princess. But only because I love you.”

His expression softened, and he leaned forward, pressing another gentle kiss to your hand. “Thank you.” he said, his voice sincere. “I love you too.”

You were finally in the car and onto the road. Finally. Alex had taken longer than you would’ve thought to pack everything. Sure, you would be staying there for quite a while, but he really didn’t have to overthink everything you might need. It was adorable to watch him though, pacing from room to room, remembering that little thing you might need, just in case.

He double-checked the toiletries, triple-checked the clothes, and even packed extra blankets, “just in case it gets chilly at night.” which didn’t make any sense. You stood by the door, shaking your head in amusement as he darted back and forth, grabbing yet another item that suddenly seemed essential.

When he finally declared himself ready, he loaded everything into his not-so-old car and you set off. Despite your initial doubts about it, his car wasn’t bad to drive at all. In fact, it was quite comfortable, and the familiar hum of the engine you’ve come to know from all the rides back home together became a soothing background noise as you navigated the roads.

Alex, taking his role as passenger princess very seriously, immediately started fiddling with the radio, putting on his playlist he made for the journey. Every ten minutes, he would ask if you wanted any water, until you had to tell him to stop. “I’m fine, Alex, really. Relax.” you said, shooting him a playful glance.

“Just making sure.” he replied with a grin, turning the volume up on a favourite song.

The landscape began to change as you drove further from the city, the buildings giving way to fields and trees. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the air felt increasingly fresher the further north you went. Alex sang along to the music, his voice mingling with the melody, creating a perfect soundtrack for your journey.

You glanced over at him, feeling a surge of affection. His excitement was contagious, and despite your initial nerves, you felt a growing sense of anticipation. This trip was a new step, a new adventure, and you were glad to be sharing it with him.

As the familiar chords of ‘A Song for You’ by Leon Russell began to play, Alex's face lit up with joy. “Oh, I love this song.” he said, his voice softening with emotion. “It’s one of my all time favourites.”

You glanced over at him, seeing the genuine affection in his eyes as he started to sing along. His voice carried the heartfelt lyrics with a tenderness that made you feel as though he was singing directly to you.

“I've been so many places in my life and time.” he sang, his voice strong yet intimate. As he continued, he glanced over at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It always gets to me.” he confessed, his eyes holding yours. “Makes me think of all the things we sometimes don’t say enough, love and gratitude and all that stuff.”

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened to him, the sincerity in his voice touching something deep within you. The way he connected with the song, the emotion in his eyes, it all spoke volumes about the kind of person he was. He felt deeply, and you knew it caused him trouble sometimes, but it was beautiful.

When he reached the chorus, his voice became even more tender. “And I'm singing this song to you.” he sang, his gaze never wavering from yours. You glanced over at him. His excitement was contagious, and despite your initial nerves, you felt a growing sense of anticipation.

His voice softened as he sang the final lines, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And when my life is over, remember when we were together. We were alone and I was singing this song for you.”

As the song came to an end, Alex leaned back in his seat, a contented smile on his face. “I’m so grateful I have you.” he said softly. “Do you like it?”

You reached over and squeezed his hand, your heart full. “It’s beautiful.” you replied. “And so are you.”

He chuckled, squeezing your hand back. “Thanks.” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “I'm glad you think so.”

As you drove, the conversation flowed. Alex talked a lot about his childhood, sharing stories about the places you’d soon visit. His eyes sparkled with nostalgia, and you could tell how much this meant to him.

It was so cute to see him get excited, especially when he reminisced about the familiar spots you both knew. Even though you’d moved away when you were younger, you still visited sometimes, and it was incredible to realise how your paths had been so close without intersecting until you met him as your professor.

“You remember that little candy store on the corner?” he asked, his voice animated.

“Of course!” you replied, laughing. “I used to save up just to buy stuff from there.”

“Same here! I used to go there every Saturday.” he said, shaking his head in amazement.

You smiled at the thought, picturing a younger Alex, excitedly picking out his favourite sweets. “And the old cinema? The outdoorsy one, we went there every summer when we came up here.”

His eyes lit up even more. “That place was like a second home to me. First movie I ever saw at there was ‘The Lion King.’” Alex chuckled, clearly enjoying this trip down memory lane. “And there’s this little bakery in town,” he said, “They make the best apple pie. We have to go there.”

“Apple pie, huh? Is that your secret weakness?” you teased, glancing over at him.

“Maybe.” he admitted with a laugh. “You’ll see. It’s so worth it.”

The miles passed quickly, the road stretching out before you like a ribbon. The car was filled with laughter and music. Alex occasionally reached over to squeeze your hand, wanting to touch you every chance he got.

You two finally arrived at his apartment, the familiar sight bringing back a flood of memories. It was here, in this space, that everything had really started. You remembered the first time you’d stepped through the door, the awkward tension that had quickly melted away. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Alex set the bags down and immediately shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. He began unbuttoning his shirt, a look of relief on his face. “I need to take a shower right now.” he declared. “Maybe you were right, I should probably get a new car. No AC is torture.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” he said, rolling his eyes playfully. He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist just as you were trying to take off your shoes. “Are you joining or what?” he grinned, his breath warm against your ear.

Before you could respond, he started kissing your neck, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses along your skin. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, tracing random patterns on your tummy, sending shivers down your spine.

“Alex!” you murmured, half-laughing, half-sighing as you tried to keep your balance while removing your shoes. “You're not making this easy.”

“I never do.” he whispered, his voice low and playful. He turned you around in his arms, capturing your lips in a deep kiss, his hands moving to cup your face gently.

You melted into him, the tiredness from the journey and the stress that was haunting you, of eventually meeting his family, all fading away in his embrace. His kiss was warm and inviting, filled with a tenderness that made your heart race.

Pulling back slightly, he looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of desire and affection. “So, what do you say?” he asked, his voice a soft murmur against your lips. “Shower together?”

You smiled, feeling a surge of affection for him. “Go ahead, I’ll just be a minute.” you replied, your fingers trailing down his chest as he gave you one last quick kiss before walking away and into the hall bathroom.

You followed Alex into the bathroom just a few moments later. The sound of the water running could be heard from outside. When you opened the door, you found him already under the stream, his hair slicked back from the water pouring over his head. The droplets glistened on his skin, highlighting the contours of his body. He looked like a vision of effortless masculinity, standing there relaxed.

You took a moment to appreciate the sight before starting to undress. As you slipped off your clothes and placed them to the side, you caught Alex eyeing you up and down shamelessly. His gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of admiration and want.

“Stop it.” you said, feeling a little self-conscious all of a sudden. He’d seen you countless times, but the way he looked at you always made your heart skip a beat.

Alex's eyes softened, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “I can't help it,” he murmured, beckoning you over to join him, “You're beautiful.”

You stepped into the shower, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close. The warmth of his body combined with the hot water was intoxicating. His hands slipped on your skin, gliding effortlessly from the water streaming down the two of you.

He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath hot against your ear. “This feels nice.” he whispered, his voice low and soothing.

You leaned back into him, closing your eyes and savouring the moment. “It does.”

For a while, the two of you just stood there, wrapped up in each other, letting the water wash away the exhaustion from the journey. His hands moved in slow, gentle patterns over your skin, massaging your shoulders and back, easing away any remaining tension.

“You're too good at this.” you sighed, almost letting out a soft moan from how good his hands felt on your body.

“Well, I do have some motivation.” he replied, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want you to feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

You turned in his arms, facing him, and cupped his face in your hands. “You always make me feel amazing.” you said softly, pressing your forehead to his.

He smiled at you. “I know a pleasant way to make you feel even better.”

Alex's smile turned into a sultry grin before he captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as the water continued to cascade around you. Breaking the kiss, he gently turned you around, pinning you against the shower wall. You gasped as your breasts pressed against the cold tiles, the contrast of sensations making your skin tingle.

He began trailing kisses down your spine, each touch sending shivers through you. His hands glided along your sides, feeling every curve and dip of your body as he lowered himself. When his mouth reached the small of your back, he bit softly at the flesh of your arse, making you moan.

Alex's hands gripped your hips, positioning you so he could get a better angle. He spread you apart, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. Without hesitation, he dove in, his tongue licking a stripe from your clit to your hole, savouring the taste of your arousal. The sensation was electric, and you couldn't help but push back against his mouth.

He didn't stop there, though. To your surprise, his tongue moved higher, teasing your other hole. He circled it slowly, the intimate touch making you tense and then relax, your body responding to the new sensation. Alex's hands pulled your cheeks open further, giving him full access as he buried his face even more into you.

The feeling was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and vulnerability from being so exposed that left you breathless. His tongue worked skillfully, alternating between gentle licks and firmer strokes, driving you wild. You felt every muscle in your body tighten, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he continued his relentless attention.

He circled your rim with tantalising precision, each stroke eliciting a new wave of pleasure that left you quivering. Alex pulled back for a moment, his breath hot against your sensitive skin as he murmured, “You taste so good. I can't get enough of you.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, amplifying the intensity of the moment. He resumed his ministrations, his tongue now more insistent, pushing against your tight entrance. The wet muscle teased and probed, working you open with slow, deliberate movements.

As his tongue pressed deeper, you felt the tight ring of muscle begin to yield, allowing the wet intrusion to slip inside the slightest bit. The feeling was exquisite, the stretch leaving you gasping for air. Alex groaned against you, the vibration adding another layer of sensation as he worked his tongue further inside you.

Alex's hands roamed over your hips and thighs, steadying you as his tongue continued its relentless exploration. He licked and sucked, creating a delicious friction that had you pressing back against him, seeking more. He kept pushing deeper, stretching you with careful precision. Each thrust was calculated, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion. The wet, slippery sensation of his tongue inside you was overwhelming.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his desire evident in every movement. He pulled back slightly. “You're so tight.” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with lust.

“It feels so good,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper, “So good, Alex.”

He groaned against you, your praise fuelling him. His tongue pushed back inside you, each thrust filled with his intent of making you feel as good as possible. You moaned his name, the sound echoing in the shower as he continued his relentless assault.

He pulled back again to catch his breath, and you chased the feeling, trying to push back against him and whimpering weakly at the loss of him.

“Tell me what you want.” he murmured, his hands grabbing at your flesh.

“Just don't stop.” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Alex, don't stop.”

His response was immediate, his tongue diving back in with renewed intensity. It felt like he was stretching you further with each thrust. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and a slight hint of discomfort that left you teetering on the edge.

His hands gripped you tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you steady. He twisted his tongue inside you, seeking out every sensitive spot and lavishing it with attention. The intensity of his focus was almost too much to bear, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

You reached back, threading your fingers through his wet hair, holding him close as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His tongue circled your rim one last time before he moved back to your clit, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to make you come.

Just after a few more licks and suckles around your clit, the intense pleasure built up to a shattering orgasm. Your entire body tensed, and you let out a sharp cry, your fingers clutching Alex’s hair tighter as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you. He groaned into you at the sharp feeling, sending an added jolt of pleasure through your already trembling body.

He held you steady, his strong hands gripping your hips as you rode out the orgasm. His tongue and lips slowed their movements, gradually easing you down from the peak of pleasure. Each gentle stroke and caress kept the sensation alive, prolonging it.

As your breathing began to steady, he shifted to leaving soft, reverent kisses on your cunt, making you shiver each time he made contact with your overly sensitive spot. Your legs felt weak, barely able to hold you up, but Alex's grip on you remained firm and reassuring.

He eventually stood up, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and adoration as he looked at you over your shoulder. “Good?” he whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face.

You smiled, still breathless from the intensity of your orgasm. “Good? That was more than just good.” you replied softly, leaning in to kiss him. The taste of yourself on his lips sent another small thrill through you.

He grinned, a look of pure pride and satisfaction spreading across his face. He pulled you close, enveloping you in a warm embrace. “Let me get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his voice a soothing relief. He reached for the showerhead, gently rinsing the remaining suds and evidence of your passion from your skin.

As you finished up in the shower, Alex wrapped you in a soft towel, his touch tender and caring. “Come on, let’s relax for a bit.” he suggested, guiding you out of the bathroom.

You followed Alex out of the bathroom, both of you wrapped in towels, his hanging loosely around his hips. He guided you to the bedroom, and you both lay down on the soft bed, not bothering to change into something else.

As you settled next to him, you couldn't help but notice the telltale tent in his towel, his cock hard and straining against the fabric. You instinctively reached out to touch him, wanting to reciprocate the pleasure he had just given you. But he gently caught your hand, stopping you.

“Later.” he murmured, his voice a soft promise. He turned around, pulling you close to him, his arms wrapping around you in a protective grip.

You could still feel his hardness pressing against your thigh, a persistent reminder. “Are you sure?” you asked, your voice laced with concern and desire to make him feel good too.

“Yeah,” he replied, nuzzling his face into your hair, “It'll go down. I just want to hold you for a bit.”

His voice melted any lingering tension in your body. You relaxed into his embrace, feeling his steady heartbeat against your own. “Okay.” you whispered, snuggling closer to him.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the closeness, the simple joy of being held by him. As you lay there, you felt his breathing slow, matching your own, the rise and fall of his chest a calming rhythm. Despite the persistent press of him against your thigh, there was no urgency, no rush. Alex's arms tightened around you slightly, a silent affirmation of his own contentment.

You had finished unpacking some of the essentials you’d need more often, leaving the rest for another day. Alex had ordered some food for the two of you, and you ate dinner together in his living room, cuddled up on the sofa. He suggested going out, given how you always stayed in back in the city, but you said it was fine staying in and just getting something for now. After the long drive, you weren’t in the mood to get ready for an outing. There would be more than enough time to go out on another day.

Once you tidied everything up a bit and got ready for bed, it didn’t take long for things to heat up between you. Lying next to each other, your lips found his, and soon you were making out, the intensity building with each passing second. You instinctively climbed into his lap, feeling the familiar warmth of his hands roaming your body. He expertly removed your top without breaking the kiss for too long.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmured, your hand slipping into his pyjama pants. You quickly realised he wasn’t wearing any boxers, making it easy for you to feel his cock starting to harden as you stroked him slowly.

“Mhm.” he murmured back, his eyes closed as he sought your mouth again, not wanting to lose the contact.

“I wanna try doing that thing from earlier again.” you said, your voice shy but hopeful.

A smile spread across his lips, almost a purr, as he rubbed his nose against yours. “You want me to eat your ass again?” he chuckled, his breathing getting heavier under your touch.

“No...I wanna do it to you.” you admitted, feeling a surge of vulnerability at your bold request.

His smile faded, replaced by a look of surprise and slight tension. “I’m not sure...that’s different.” he said, his body stiffening at the idea.

“Why? It feels really good. I think you’d like it.” you insisted gently, your fingers still working to keep him aroused.

“I- I don’t know...I’ve never…” he paused, sighing deeply. “I’ve never done something like that. Wouldn’t it be, I don’t know...weird?”

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. You leaned in, kissing him softly, trying to reassure him. “Why would it be weird?” you asked genuinely.

“I don’t know...it’s just...it’s different, okay?” His voice was almost a whisper, and you could feel the tension in his body. He was so rarely this shy, and it made you love him even more.

You kissed him again, slower this time, letting your lips linger on his. “Different doesn’t mean bad. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. “I know.” he said softly. “It’s just...I’ve never thought about it before. I never imagined I’d want to try something like that.”

You smiled, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his jaw. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s fine, we can do other stuff, but I just…Nevermind.”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, it's okay that you asked. Really.”

You met his gaze, feeling a sense of relief. “We can take it slow.” you assured him, your voice gentle. “There's no rush.”

He nodded, his expression a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “I trust you.” he murmured, his voice gaining a bit more strength. “It’s just...I’m not used to feeling this way.”

You could see the thoughts racing through his mind, the internal struggle between wanting to try something new and the fear of the unknown. “What are you thinking?” you asked, wanting to understand his hesitation better.

He sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. “I think that maybe I do want to try it. I’ve never felt like this before, but with you...I don’t know, it feels different. Like it might be something I’d enjoy.”

You felt a surge of affection for him, appreciating his openness and willingness to explore something new. “We’ll figure it out together. I’ve never done this either, you know.” you said, your own shyness matching his.

He nodded again, his body relaxing slightly. “Yeah, okay.” he said, his voice steadier. “Let’s try it. But please, be gentle.”

You kissed him deeply, feeling the excitement coursing through you. “I will,” you assured him, your hand moving to caress his cheek, “I’ll be gentle.”

He smiled, the tension in his eyes easing as he let himself relax into your touch. “Thank you.” he whispered.

You nodded, kissing him deeply before shifting off his lap. You helped him out of his pants, revealing his erection. He was clearly aroused by the whole thing, his cock standing hard despite his initial hesitation. And you loved to see it. It reassured you that he wasn't just agreeing to please you, but was genuinely curious and open to the experience.

You guided him to lie back, his eyes never leaving yours, a mixture of trust and apprehension in his gaze. You started by kissing his thighs, your lips brushing against his skin, feeling him relax under your touch. Slowly, you worked your way closer, your kisses getting more deliberate and teasing.

“I think it would be better if you turned over to your front.” you whispered softly.

He looked at you, his apprehension clear, but after a moment he nodded. “Okay.” he said quietly. The idea of being so exposed to you made him a bit nervous, but he figured it would be more comfortable than lifting his legs and having you see his face at the same time.

He rolled onto his stomach, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. You ran your hands gently down his back, feeling him relax again under your touch. “Just tell me if it’s too much.” you murmured.

“Okay.” he replied, his voice muffled by the pillow but filled with trust.

You continued on your way down his body, your kisses trailing lower until you reached the curve of his ass. His breath hitched, and you could feel him tense up again.

“Sorry.” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm nervous.”

You paused, kissing his lower back reassuringly, “Take your time.”

He took a deep breath, nodding slightly, and you felt him start to relax under your touch. You continued, your kisses growing more deliberate and soothing until his tension eased away completely.

This time, he didn’t tense up. You spread his cheeks gently, kissing the sensitive skin there, and he let out a soft moan, a mix of surprise and pleasure.

Your breath was warm against his skin. You flicked your tongue out, running it along his entrance, and felt him shiver beneath you, but you kept your movements gentle.

Alex gasped, his hands gripping the sheets. You took it slow, your tongue exploring him with care. You could feel him slowly start to relax again, his breaths coming in heavy, uneven sighs.

You felt a rush of excitement and nervousness yourself. You didn't fully know what to do, but you tried to guess what he would like, thinking back to what he had done to you earlier. You traced gentle circles with your tongue, exploring his most intimate spot with tentative, affectionate licks. His reactions were your guide, his soft gasps and moans spurring you on.

You pressed your tongue a little more firmly, trying to mimic the way he had lavished attention on you. It felt incredibly intimate, and you hoped he was feeling the same mix of pleasure and connection that you had felt. Each time he relaxed and let out a soft sound of enjoyment, it reassured you that you were on the right track.

The sensation was unlike anything he had experienced before. The warmth and softness of your tongue against such a sensitive area sent shivers of pleasure through his body. It was a delicate, electrifying feeling that made him acutely aware of every nerve ending. He felt very vulnerable. He had never let anyone touch him like this, and the trust he was letting himself place in you felt exhilarating.

The combination of actual pleasure he was feeling and the emotional connection made him feel exposed yet deeply cherished. He realised that this act wasn't just about the physical sensation, it was about the intimacy and trust shared between you. The way you explored him with such care that it made his heart swell. The mixture of apprehension and pleasure swirling within him only intensified his need, leaving him yearning for more of your touch.

You continued, growing more confident with each passing moment, savouring the way his body responded to your touch.

“It feels good.” you murmured between licks, feeling him shudder at your words. “I hope I’m doing this right.”

He moaned softly, the sound encouraging you to keep going. You worked him open with your tongue, pushing your tongue in just the slightest bit, you felt him tense and then relax, the intrusion turning into a new source of pleasure for him.

“Oh god.” he gasped, his voice shaky. “That…Fuck- keep doing it.”

You smiled against his skin, feeling a rush of satisfaction at his response. You continued your movements, your tongue pushing a bit deeper, the sensation of the wet muscle inside him driving him wild. His moans grew louder, his body trembling with pleasure.

Instinctively, he bent one of his legs on the bed, his knee lifting slightly as he arched his back, his body urging him to open up to you more. The motion gave you better access, and you pressed your tongue deeper, feeling the taste and warmth of him.

As he shifted, he could feel his hard cock brushing against the soft sheets, the friction adding to the pleasure he felt. His hand moved down between his legs, wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke it in rhythm with your tongue’s movements. He let out a low groan as he matched the pace of your pace, his movements slow and precise.

His breathing became more erratic, a mix of gasps and moans escaping his lips as he focused on both of the sensations. The heat of your tongue on his ass, combined with the steady rhythm of his own hand, pushed him closer. He bit his lip, trying to contain his sounds, though the pleasure was becoming overwhelming.

“I never knew...it could f- feel…this good." he managed to say between gasps.

You kept going, your own arousal building as you pleasured him. It was a new experience for both of you, but the trust between you made it feel natural, perfect even.

He could feel his cock pulsing in his hand, each stroke aligned with the flick of your tongue against his sensitive entrance. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, and he found himself moving his hips instinctively, trying to chase the feeling of your touch, wanting more.

“Don’t stop.” he pleaded, his voice needy and weak.

You had no intention of stopping, not until he was completely undone beneath you. Your tongue moved with purpose, pushing him closer and closer to the climax you knew was building inside him. The way you could feel his every reaction made it even more intense.

His fist moved faster around his cock, stroking himself with an urgent need. He moaned louder, his voice breaking with pleasure as he felt himself teetering on the edge. With one final, deep thrust of your tongue, he arched his back, his body bowing with the intensity of his release.

He cried out as he came, his hips bucking against the bed. His hand moved in a blur, stroking himself through it as his cum painted the sheets beneath him in hot, thick spurts. You didn’t stop, your tongue continuing to tease and pleasure him, prolonging his orgasm until he was utterly spent, his body trembling with the aftershocks and his moans turning into breathless gasps as he finally began to come down from the high.

You gently eased your tongue out, leaving soft kisses on his sensitive skin as he lay there, spent and trembling from the intensity of it all.

When you finally pulled back, he looked at you over his shoulder for a second, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He managed a tired but genuine smile, his eyes shining with satisfaction and a hint of shyness.

Then, with a soft laugh, he turned back and buried his face in the pillow, hugging it to himself as if trying to hide. His body curled slightly, the vulnerability of the moment making him endearingly shy.

“Fuck- That was…” he whispered, his muffled, “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, crawling up to lie beside him, your own body buzzing with satisfaction. “I’m glad you liked it.” you said softly, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his back. “I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right.”

He turned his head slightly, peeking out from the pillow. “You were amazing.” he murmured, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “I never thought I’d be into something like that, but…wow.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words as he reached out, intertwining his fingers with yours.

A few days later, you had settled into the rhythm of your new ‘summer home’ so to speak. The place that had once felt foreign now felt familiar.

But today was different. Today was the day you would meet Alex’s parents.

As he drove you both to their house, you couldn’t help but feel a knot of nervousness in your stomach. Maybe more than just one knot. The drive was scenic, with the town blurring past, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

Alex, however, seemed completely at ease, his arm casually draped out the open window, his other hand steady on the steering wheel. The wind tousled his hair, and every now and then, he’d glance over at you and smile. Those smiles were like a pill, easing your anxiety. You had him. Remembering you had him felt a surge of reassurance.

As you approached the door, the nervousness you’d felt earlier began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of calm. You had Alex by your side, and that was all you needed. The rest would fall into place.

“So,” Alex said, breaking the comfortable silence, “Any last minute questions before we go in there?”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “Nope. I’m ready.”

He gave you a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and a quick kiss on the top of your head before knocking on the door. The sound echoed briefly, followed by the muffled sounds of footsteps approaching. The door swung open to reveal his mother’s warm, welcoming smile.

“Alex!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug before turning to you. “And you must be his lady now. Lovely to finally meet you.” Alex’s father appeared behind her, offering a friendly wave.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you as you stepped into their home. Alex kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you inside, his presence a constant source of comfort.

As the initial introductions were made and you settled into their cosy living room, you felt the last remnants of your nerves dissipate. Alex’s parents were kind and welcoming, making you feel instantly at ease.

Everything was going well until they eventually asked how the two of you met. You didn’t know what to say, or what Alex would have wanted you to say, so you let him answer instead. You could notice how he instantly tensed up, his shoulders stiffening as he debated internally what he should say.

You could feel his hesitation as he finally spoke. “We met at the university.” he said carefully, his voice steady but betraying a hint of unease. “She was my student, and...well, she still is.”

His parents exchanged a quick glance, the briefest flicker of surprise crossing their faces, but they didn’t say anything about it. Sensing how Alex didn’t want to dwell on the topic, they quickly jumped to a different subject.

You breathed a silent sigh of relief as the tension began to dissolve, grateful for the change in topic. Alex’s hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He glanced at you, a small, apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You squeezed back, letting him know it was okay.

“So, what are your plans for the summer?” his mother said brightly, steering the conversation towards safer waters.

Alex took a moment, his hand tightening slightly around yours. “Well,” he began, “We’re going to be staying here, at my old place, to get away from-” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if to clear away the thought. “Anyways,” he continued, offering a small smile, “She’s from here too, so…yeah.”

His parents smiled warmly, and his father nodded. “It’s always nice to come back home.” he said. “There’s something special about this place.”

You felt Alex relax beside you, the tension easing from his shoulders. The conversation flowed more easily after that, the initial awkwardness dissipating as his parents asked about your favourite spots in town and shared stories from Alex’s childhood.

By the end of the evening, you felt a sense of accomplishment and relief. Meeting his parents had been a significant step, and despite the brief moment of tension, it had gone well, you thought. As you and Alex prepared to leave, his mother pulled you into a warm hug.

“It was so lovely to meet you, dear.” she said sincerely. “We’re glad Alex brought you here.”

“Thank you,” you replied, smiling. “I’m glad too.”

As you stepped outside, Alex noticed a subtle look from his mother, a mixture of concern and unspoken words. He turned to you and suggested, “Why don’t you drive us back now? Go ahead and get the car started, and roll the windows down so it can cool off a bit.”

“Sure.” you agreed, and he gave you a quick kiss on the forehead before you walked toward the car.

Once you were out of earshot, Alex turned back to his parents, his stomach knotting with anxiety. He could tell something was wrong. His mother’s warm demeanour shifted slightly, replaced by a more serious expression.

“Alex,” she began, her voice gentle but firm, “She’s lovely, truly. But are you sure this is right, considering you’re her professor?”

Her words hit him like a ton of bricks. All those thoughts he had worked so hard to bury came rushing back, a torrent of doubt and self-recrimination. He had convinced himself that what he felt for you was genuine, that your relationship was built on mutual respect and affection. But now, standing there with his parents’ concerned eyes on him, the uncertainty clawed at him.

Is it wrong? he thought, his mind spiralling. Are they suggesting I’m taking advantage of you?

Am I?

His father chimed in, “We just want to make sure you’ve thought this through. There are power dynamics at play, and it can get complicated.”

Alex felt his heart race, a mix of guilt, fear, and defensiveness churning inside him. “I love her.” he said, his voice tinged with desperation. “It’s not about power or control or anything like that. It’s real.”

His mother reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “We know you believe that, Alex. We just want to make sure you’re both aware of the potential repercussions.”

He nodded, feeling a wave of frustration. “I’ve thought about it. Trust me. I’ve tried to be careful, to make sure this is right for both of us but…” His voice trailed off, the whole situation pressing down on him.

He could see you in the distance, waiting by the car, oblivious to the storm of emotions raging inside him now. He wanted to protect you, to shield you from any harm or judgement. But the doubts were insidious, creeping into his mind and casting shadows over everything.

As he walked back to the car, his steps felt heavy, burdened by the weight of his parents’ words. Sliding into the passenger seat, he forced a smile, not wanting to worry you. But the questions lingered, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness.

“Ready?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah.” he replied, his voice strained. “Let’s go.”

As you drove away, he stared out the window, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He loved you, that much he was sure of. But now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he had been fooling himself all along.

Back at home, you noticed Alex's mood had shifted dramatically compared to how he was before you left. As soon as you walked through the door, he went straight to the sofa without saying a word, his usual warmth replaced by a cold, distant silence. The drive had been uncharacteristically quiet, and now he had turned the TV on to some random sports channel, his eyes fixed on the screen but not really watching it.

You sat next to him, close enough to lean into him and press soft kisses down his jawline. Slowly easing your way into his lap, you brushed his hair out of his face, hoping to draw him out of whatever was bothering him. He felt the warmth of your touch, the familiar comfort of your affection, and part of him wanted to melt into you. But those nagging thoughts were still at the forefront of his mind, casting a heavy shadow over his heart and clouding his feelings.

You felt his lack of response, but you assumed he was just being moody or tired like he sometimes was and he needed a little push. Determined to lift his spirits, you started grinding your hips onto him, giggling softly as you kissed down his neck. Your hand moved to palm him over his pants, expecting to feel him harden under your touch. But he wasn't. And usually he would have been by now.

“Come on, Mr. Turner.” you whispered playfully, trying to tease him into responding.You kissed him again, trying to coax a reaction out of him. He tried pulling his head away, a move that felt like a knife to his heart because he didn’t want to reject you, but he couldn’t reciprocate either.

The playful use of his title only made things worse for him. The reminder of it reinforced everything that made this wrong in his mind. It brought back all the doubts, the guilt, the feeling that he was crossing a line that shouldn’t be crossed. He felt a wave of nausea and self-loathing wash over him, his body stiffening in response.

“Stop.” he said, his tone harsher and more hostile than you’d ever heard it. He gently pushed you off his lap, his touch firm and reluctant. The tension in his voice and the force of his words struck you deeply.

You were stunned, feeling a mixture of hurt and confusion. He propped his legs up on the small table in front of the sofa, keeping his gaze stubbornly focused on the game playing on the TV. He didn’t even look back at you, his silence and cold demeanour making you feel almost discarded in a way.

“I’m going to bed.” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice, hoping he would at least acknowledge your departure with more than just a word.

“Goodnight.” he muttered, not even turning to face you.

As you walked back to the bedroom, you glanced at him one last time. He looked distant, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his calm exterior. You closed the door behind you, feeling a knot in your stomach, the weight of his rejection heavy on your heart. He was never like this.

Alex sat there, his eyes fixed on the TV but his mind a chaotic mess. Hearing the door close behind you, he felt a wave of anger directed at himself. He hated how he had acted towards you, how he had pushed you away for no apparent reason. You didn’t know what his parents had said to him that made him feel like this. But it wasn’t their fault either. It was him. He was the one who couldn’t get past those doubts, those fears that maybe he was doing something wrong, maybe this relationship was wrong.

“Fuck.” he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching in frustration. The guilt and self-loathing were suffocating, and he wished more than anything that he could just turn off his brain and let himself be happy with you. The realisation that he was hurting you, pushing you away when all he wanted was to hold you close, only made the turmoil inside him worse. He felt trapped by his own thoughts, unable to find a way to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that had been planted in his mind.

You sat in bed, staring at the ceiling, and you waited for him, the sheets cool and unfamiliar without his warmth beside you. You couldn’t fall asleep. You had grown used to having him there beside you basically every night. And your mind racing with questions and concerns. Why had he been so cold all of a sudden?

You watched the light from the TV in the other room flicker through the slight gap under the door, the shadows dancing and shifting with every change on the screen, just a reminder of the distance he set between you. You watched as it played out, casting shifting shadows in the room, hoping he would come to you.

He did come into the room at one point and, instinctively, you pretended to be asleep. Why? You didn’t fully understand, but that’s what you felt like doing. Maybe it was because you weren’t ready to face whatever it was that had caused this shift in him. He was only inside for a short couple of moments, though. You could hear him moving around, opening and fiddling through the drawers, rustling through his things. It was probably the one where he kept his sleep clothes. He stayed just long enough to grab whatever it was he needed, and then he left.

Though you couldn’t see it, Alex did pause by the door, his eyes taking in the sight of you lying there. As he stood there, watching you from the doorway, his chest tightening, he could tell you weren’t really asleep. He had watched you too many times to be fooled. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the slight tension in your body. He memorised it all. He knew you were awake. He could see the tension in the way you lay, the slight rigidity that betrayed you.

He just wanted to slip right beside you so badly, feeling undeniably drawn to you, to the point where he felt empty without you. He wanted nothing more than to hold you and feel your warmth against him. There was a gaping hole inside of him that could only be filled by you. He was utterly infatuated with everything you did. The way you walked, the way you spoke, even just the way you breathed. Every part of you drew him in, made him feel complete in a way nothing else could.

Tell me what to do with all this love…

The silent plea echoed in his mind as he watched you. He didn't know if he was asking you or himself. The confusion and self-doubt were overwhelming, but the love he felt for you was undeniable.

Finally, with a heavy heart, feeling like he wasn’t only betraying you, but himself, he turned and left the room, returning to his spot on the couch. The TV's flickering light cast shadows across his face, but all he could see was the image of you lying in bed, waiting for him. He didn't know how to make things right, how to reconcile his love for you with the doubts that plagued him. All he knew was that he needed you, more than he'd ever needed anything in his life. But would that be right of him?

The next morning, you woke up to an empty house. At some point, exhaustion had overtaken you, and you did fall asleep, but it was restless, punctuated by uneasy dreams. Now, as you moved through the quiet, unfamiliar space, you felt a growing sense of displacement. The place already felt new to you, and without him there, you felt out of place, like you didn’t belong there.

You went to the kitchen to drink some water and make coffee, trying to shake off the weirdness from the night before. The silence was odd, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves coming from the open window. The loneliness of the house pressed down on you, making you feel even more out of place. As you sipped your drink, the quiet enveloped you, a stark contrast to the usual rhythm you got into for your mornings with Alex.

Then, suddenly, you heard the sound of the lock turning and the door opening, breaking the silence. You stayed in your place, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, unsure what to expect. Your heart beat faster as you waited to see what he would do.

Alex walked in, his steps soft and hesitant. He came up behind you, his presence a familiar and comforting weight as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, a part of you relaxing. He must’ve been out for quite a while, you could smell the faint scent of sweat clinging to him. Maybe he’d been for a run. Possibly. But he didn’t say anything to you. Despite everything, his touch was still a comfort.

He leaned into you, his head resting on your shoulder. The silence between you was heavy with unspoken words. As he held you, he wished he could find the right ones to explain, to make you understand what he was feeling, make sense of the mess inside him. But it didn't even make sense to him. He felt the need to apologise, to reassure you, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Instead, he held you tighter, his embrace a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

Holding you in his arms, he felt a mixture of relief and anguish. The scent of your hair, the feel and warmth of your body against his, the softness of you…it was everything he needed and more. He inhaled deeply, wishing he could have your scent permanently embedded in his nostrils, a constant reminder of the love you brought him. He wanted to tell you how much he needed you, how much he loved you, but all he could manage was to hold you closer, hoping that somehow you could feel it.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that. Alex's mind raced with thoughts, each one more confusing than the last. He wanted to be better for you, to be the man you deserved, but the doubts gnawed at him, making him question everything.

“I…” he started, but the words failed him. Instead, he held you even tighter, his arms a little more desperate. He would give anything to make things right, to have you understand the chaos inside his mind. Yet, all he could do was hold you.

You leaned back into him, your hand reaching up to touch his arm. You sat there, feeling the weight of his head on your shoulder, the tension in his embrace. You wanted to turn around and face him, to ask him what was wrong, but you also feared the answer. Instead, you leaned into his touch, hoping that your presence could offer some relief to whatever was going on.

The following few days were a careful dance around the unspoken obvious tension between you. At least Alex was talking to you again, which felt like a step in the right direction. However, each conversation was laced with an awkwardness, a silent agreement, that you didn’t actually really agree to, of avoiding the topic that hung between you. He only gathered the courage to speak to you when he sensed that you wouldn’t push him to explain. Deep down, he knew you should have. He shouldn’t get away with avoiding it. But the thought of talking about it felt hopeless, like it would break him.

You noticed his distance, the way he seemed to calculate every move around you. His touches were rare and hesitant, limited to a quick hug or a kiss on the forehead. There was an invisible barrier between you, a rupture that hadn’t existed before that night. Each day, you hoped for a sign that things would return to normal, but the uncertainty lingered.

Alex felt trapped in his own mind, wrestling with the guilt and confusion that plagued him. Every interaction with you was followed by the fear that he was doing something wrong, that he was hurting you in ways he couldn’t quite understand. The memory of his parents' words gnawed at him as a constant reminder of the doubts he couldn’t shake off.

Despite his internal struggle, he tried to act normal, to go through the motions of your daily routines. There were moments when he would catch himself staring at you, overwhelmed by his feelings, and he’d have to look away, afraid you’d see the change in his eyes. He wanted to reach out, to hold you close and let you know how much he loved you, but the fear of his own inadequacy held him back.

You, on the other hand, were caught between giving him space and wanting to confront the issue head-on. The silence was deafening, and the lack of physical affection felt like a gaping hole in your relationship. But you held back, hoping that he would open up to you.

Even with his best efforts to maintain some semblance of normalcy, the distance between you grew more pronounced each night. He still wasn’t sleeping with you. Literally just sleeping. He wasn’t sleeping in the same bed. Though, he pretended to. He came to bed, lying beside you, but after a while, you could always feel him leave. He tried to be quiet, but the absence of his warmth in the middle of the night was impossible to ignore.

You knew he was trying to avoid confronting whatever was bothering him. He knew that you knew, no matter how many times he would say that he just woke up earlier or couldn’t sleep. It was no use. The bed felt emptier without him, and the lies, as well-intentioned as they might have been, stung each time.

He would slip out to the living room, sinking into the sofa where he could hide for a little while longer. As he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he could feel the weight of his own insufficiency pressing down on him. He missed you, missed the comfort and the intimacy that came with sharing a bed. Everything would twist in his stomach, making it hard to breathe. He longed to return to you, to hold you and let you know that everything would be alright. But he couldn’t shake the fear that he was failing you, that he was somehow not enough.

You, lying awake in the bedroom, could hear the faint sounds of him settling into the sofa, the creak of the springs, the rustle of the blankets. The place felt too big, too quiet without him beside you. Each night, as you lay there, you tried to think of ways to reach him, to break through the wall he had built around himself. But the fear of pushing him too hard, of driving him further away, held you back. So you waited for him. Waited. And waited.

In the early hours of the morning, he would sometimes drift back into the bedroom, hoping you were asleep so he wouldn’t have to face the disappointment in your eyes. He would lie down beside you, trying to pretend that he had been there all along. But you always knew. His movements were too careful, too deliberate.

One evening, as you sat on the couch reading a book, Alex walked in and hesitated before sitting next to you. He glanced at you, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret. “Hey.” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between you.

“Hey.” you replied, looking up from your book and offering him a small smile.

“I’ve been thinking…” he began, then paused, struggling to find the right words. “Look, I- I know I haven’t been myself lately. And…I’m sorry for that. I just…Can I come to bed with you tonight?”

You looked at him, seeing the vulnerability etched on his face. “I didn’t ever not want you there, Alex.” you said gently. “You don’t need to ask. It’s your house.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know it’s my house.” he said, his voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “But it’s not about that. I want to know that you want me there…that you’re okay with me being there.”

Alex’s eyes searched yours, looking for some reassurance. He looked tired, evident in the lines on his face and the tension in his posture. His usual demeanour was replaced with a tentative, more or less boyish uncertainty. His gaze flickered between your eyes and the floor as he spoke, as if he couldn’t bear to fully face the possibility of rejection.

You could see it in his eyes, the fear that he was losing you, the contradicting desperate hope that you still wanted him despite everything. His voice wavered slightly, betraying him. “I want to be with you.” he continued.

You reached out, placing your hand on his. “I want you there, Alex. I want you with me.” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I’m okay with you being there. I need you there.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and he squeezed your hand gently, holding onto it like a lifeline. He nodded, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “Thank you.” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I…I’ll do better. I promise.”

He looked at you, and you could see how much he was struggling to hold it all together. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he seemed to take comfort in your words, drawing some strength from your reassurance.

For a moment, the room was filled with a silence that wasn’t oppressive this time. You leaned in, resting your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer. The connection between you, though strained, was still there.

He held you, his heart pounding with the momentary relief and still lingering anxiety. He wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that he could overcome the doubts that had been eating away at him. As he sat there with you, he felt a glimmer of hope, a fragile but precious thread that he was determined to hold onto.

Later, you both prepared for bed, like usual. You could sense Alex’s nervous energy as he emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of old loose gym shorts and a well-worn, faded t-shirt that hung slightly off his shoulders. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to gather his courage for what came next.

When he finally joined you in bed, he hesitated at the edge, as if unsure of his place. He slipped under the covers, keeping to his side, his body stiff and uncertain. You could feel the gap between you, like a physical barrier of the distance that had crept in. It wasn't what you wanted, and you knew it wasn't what he wanted either.

“Come closer.” you whispered, your voice cutting through the quiet of the room. You reached back, turning slightly, your fingers brushing against his arm, urging him to move.

He glanced at you and, after a moment, he slowly scooted over, the mattress shifting under his weight as his body inched closer to yours. As he positioned himself behind you, you felt the warmth of his presence, his warm breath on the back of your neck, a comfort you had missed dearly. Cautiously, he started to play with your hair, his fingers tracing gentle patterns in it on the pillow. The repetitive motion was soothing, a small gesture that made you feel a bit better.

You reached back, taking his arm and moving it over your waist, pulling him closer. He responded, wrapping his arm around you, his grip timid at first but growing more secure as you shuffled back into him, pressing your body against his, moulding to him.

Alex's breath hitched slightly as you entwined your legs with his, rubbing against him, the soft hairs on his legs brushing over your skin. He tightened his hold on you, his arm resting firmly over your waist, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your stomach.

The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the gentle pressure of his arm around your waist…it was all so achingly familiar. The tension of the past days seemed to melt away, replaced by a delicate sense of serenity. The doubts and fears that had plagued his mind still lingered, but they felt more distant, taking the backseat, overshadowed by the sheer feeling of you so close, the scent of your hair, the feel of your skin against his, the way you fit perfectly into the curve of his body.

He marvelled at how something so simple could feel so right and wrong at the same time. He tightened his grip around your waist even more, his fingers splaying out over your stomach, holding you as if you might slip away. The thought of being without this was unbearable.

In the morning, very early, you stirred from sleep. The faint light of sunrise seeping through the gaps in the curtains cast a soft glow over the room. You blinked a few times, your eyes adjusting to the dim light, and became aware of the comforting weight of Alex's arm draped over your waist.

Still half asleep, you felt a slight, rhythmic movement against you. It took a moment for your foggy mind to process what was happening, but then you realised. Alex was still in the same position you both had fallen asleep in, his body pressed closely against yours. He must have been dreaming, unaware of his actions, but you could feel him hard against you, his arousal unmistakable as he unconsciously rubbed himself against you.

The sensation stirred something within you, longing. You just wanted to lay back in his tenderness. You missed this closeness, this intimacy that had been so absent in the past few days. You could feel the shape of him, the firmness, and it awakened a need in you that you had pushed aside for too long already.

You stayed still, savouring the moment, the feel of him against you. His breath was warm against your neck, his grip around your waist tightening slightly as he moved. You could sense his need, even in his sleep, and it mirrored your own.

Slowly, you pressed back into him, encouraging the contact, your body responding to his in a way that felt so natural. You shifted slightly, adjusting your position to align with him better, feeling a wave of warmth spread through you as his movements became more insistent, and you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in the sensation, the familiar rhythm of his body against yours, the heat of his skin, the sound of his breathing.

His body continued to move against yours, a soft, involuntary groan escaping his lips as he gradually became more conscious. The sound was low and throaty, a mix of desire and the remnants of sleep, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your waist tightened momentarily, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you pressed up against him.

You turned your head slightly, whispering his name softly. “Alex…”

He stilled instantly, the fog of sleep lifting as he became aware of what he was doing. You felt him tense, his body going rigid behind you. For a moment, there was silence, then he let out a shaky breath, another soft groan escaping his lips as he processed the situation.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, the word telling of his obvious arousal and frustration. His breath was hot against your neck, and you could feel his heart pounding against your back.

“I'm sorry.” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and something else. Guilt, perhaps. “I didn't mean to…”

You turned in his arms, facing him. His eyes were wide, filled with a mix of embarrassment and regret. You reached up, cupping his face, wanting to press a gentle kiss to his lips but he turned away before you could.

Suddenly, he got up from the bed, wiping his tired eyes and adjusting his erection in his shorts so it wouldn’t be as obvious to you as he walked to the bathroom, even though he clearly knew you were aware of the situation going on down there. He went into the bathroom with a quick, almost desperate stride, unintentionally closing the door harshly behind him. The loud sound woke him even more and brought him back to reality.

Inside, he braced himself by the sink, his hands gripping the edge tightly. He pondered whether he should look at himself in the mirror or not but decided it would be better not to. The sight of his own reflection would only deepen his frustration and guilt. He turned on the shower, the sound of the rushing water filling the small room.

He couldn’t stand to look down and see his erection straining against the material of his shorts, thinking of how he had been rubbing up against you. No. With a sense of urgency and frustration, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the knob to the coldest setting. He stood under the stream of cold water, hoping it would just go down. But he couldn’t help himself. The cold water wasn’t enough to subside the heat of his arousal. The memory of your warmth, the feel of your body against his, the soft way you whispered his name, it was all too much.

His hand moved instinctively, wrapping around his cock, and he stood there as the water poured over his back. The cold did little to help him. Instead, the stark contrast of the water against his heated skin only seemed to heighten the sensations. His movements were quick and desperate as he began to stroke himself. He leaned against the cool tile wall, his other hand splayed out for support. His breath came in short heavy bursts as he pumped faster and faster.

It didn’t take long for him to come, the pressure building rapidly as he moved his hand. The pent-up desire and frustration made the release quick and intense. His breathing was ragged, each exhale mixing with the rhythmic splashing of the water. He couldn’t even find the strength to hide his sounds. You could hear him from the bedroom. The sharp intake of breath, the soft, involuntary moans, the groans that grew louder as he approached his climax.

His head fell back as he came, the water splashing his face and mixing with the sweat and tears he didn’t even realise were there. He could feel his cum spilling out and saw as it was beginning to mingle with the water before quickly getting washed down the drain, leaving him feeling both relieved and more frustrated than ever.

As he stood there, catching his breath, the reality of the situation settled in. The cold water continued to pour over him, a reminder of his attempts to distance himself from you, and the failure of those attempts. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his own conflicted emotions bearing down on him. He wished he could find a way to make sense of it all. But for now, all he could do was stand there, letting the water wash away the evidence of his need.

A few days after that morning, the tension between you and Alex remained unspoken. Neither of you mentioned what had happened, and while you tried to back off, the emotional distance was becoming unbearable. You found yourselves in the bedroom together again, sat in bed next to each other, the faint sound of music playing from the other room from when you ate dinner.

You thought that maybe, just maybe, tonight would be different. Maybe he would warm up to you this time. You shifted closer to Alex, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. He didn't pull away. You leaned in more, pressing soft kisses to his face and, again, he didn't seem to mind. Encouraged, you kissed his lips, an unsure, testing gesture. And to your relief, he reciprocated, kissing you back. There was a tentative quality to his movements, but the softness in his touch was unmistakable and it made your heart ache.

As he kissed you, Alex felt a whirlwind of emotions. The warmth of your lips against his, the familiarity of your touch, everything he had been missing. The longing he had kept at bay surged forward, mingling with guilt and fear. He wanted to lose himself in the moment, to let go of the doubts and everything, but they clung to him, a persistent shadow. He wanted this, wanted you, but it all gnawed at him, making him question if he deserved it. Each kiss felt like a lifeline.

Your desperation grew as you felt him respond. You climbed into his lap, kissing him harder, your tongue slipping inside his mouth. You tugged at his hair, the intensity of finally tasting him again overwhelming your senses.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest, a mix of arousal and an underlying sense of unworthiness. He felt himself getting hard beneath you, a physical reaction that clashed with his emotions. He wanted to give in, to let himself be with you completely, but something held him back. Alongside the physical desire was a persistent sense of unease. He still didn’t feel like he should allow himself to get horny around you, the lingering guilt making it hard for him to fully give in to the moment. He was torn between the intense need for you and the fear that he was doing something wrong.

You could feel his body responding, feel him growing hard underneath you. As you kept making out, grinding your hips and losing yourself in the moment, you started to notice his movements faltering. The rhythm you had built together began to stutter, and it then registered to you that something was wrong. Only then you noticed the wetness on his cheeks.

You pulled back to look at him, your eyes widening and your heart sinking as you saw the tears streaming down his face. Alex quickly covered himself with his hands, bending his head down in an attempt to hide. His body shook with silent sobs, the dam of emotions he had been holding back finally breaking.

“Alex…” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him. You reached out, trying to comfort him, but he pulled away slightly, still hiding his face.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out between sobs, “I just… I-”

He shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent cries. You felt a wave of helplessness wash over you. You wanted to fix it, to make everything right, but you didn’t know how. All you could do was hold him. You gently pried his hands away from his face, revealing the raw pain in his eyes. The vulnerability you saw there broke your heart.

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away his tears. “It’s okay.” you said softly, trying to soothe him. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

He leaned into your touch, his tears still falling, but the weight on his chest felt a little lighter knowing that you were there. He looked at you, his eyes red and filled with anguish, and for the first time, you saw the full extent of it, of everything he’d been struggling with.

He just cried, and you felt helpless, unable to find the words or actions to make it better. You held him, feeling the tremors of his sobs against your body, wishing you could fix it all.

After what felt like an eternity, he moved suddenly, pulling your top over your head with a desperate urgency. Confusion washed over you as he started to push down his own sweatpants. You tried to stop him, your hands on his, asking, “What are you doing?”

His response was wordless, pushing your hands away. He tugged down your shorts, flipping you over so you were face down on the bed. He couldn’t look at you. His weight pressed you into the mattress, a mixture of comfort and confinement. It would have been everything you wanted if it weren't for the sound of his crying still coming from behind you.

You could feel him against you, still hard, his body moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation was intoxicating, but the context made it bittersweet. You could feel the desperation in his movements, the way his hips ground against you. He adjusted slightly, his hand guiding himself between your thighs.

When he entered you, both of you gasped at the intense, familiar feeling. His gasp was caught in his throat, his breath hitching as he struggled to breathe through the sobs. You felt a mix of pleasure and pain, it felt good, but it was confusing.

He began to move inside you, his pace slow and unsure. You could feel his tears on your back, the occasional sob breaking through his heavy breathing. It was as if he was trying to find his answers in the physical connection, a way to drown out everything in his mind. His movements were a strange combination of tenderness and desperation, each thrust a silent plea for comfort and understanding.

Your own emotions were a whirlwind. You wanted to be there for him, to make him feel better, but the intensity of the situation left you feeling exposed and vulnerable. You reached back, trying to touch him, but he was lost in his own world.

“Alex.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s fine…you- you don’t have to.”

He didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the act, as if it was the only way he could express what he was feeling. The tears continued to flow, mingling with the sweat on his face. His sobs were quieter now, but the pain was still palpable.

Despite everything, there was a certain release in the act. You could feel him pouring everything into each movement, trying to find some relief, a way to cope with the overwhelming feelings inside him.

As the moments stretched on, you felt a shift. His movements became more steady, the desperation easing slightly as he found a rhythm. His grip on your hips tightened, his body pressing more firmly against yours. The intensity was still there, but there was also a hint of something else. Perhaps acceptance. Or a fleeting sense of peace.

Finally, he came, his body tensing as he shuddered, his breath hot against your skin. His sobs mingled with the sounds of his release as you felt him spill inside you, his grip loosening as the last of the pleasure coursed through him.

He collapsed onto you. His breath was ragged, his body trembling slightly. You lay there, both of you trying to process the moment. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the aftermath of his emotional storm.

After a while, he rolled off you, lying beside you on the bed. He looked at you, his eyes red and swollen. But he finally looked at you, fully.

“I’m lonely,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “Horribly lonely because of this love I feel for you, and I don’t know what to do with it. It feels like I’m right back at the beginning…But when we’re together, it’s like we melt into each other. Like we’re edged with mist…making an unsubstantial territory.”

His words hung in the air, unfiltered. You moved carefully back into his lap, straddling him again. This time, there was no rush, just a gentle persistence. You began to pull his shirt off, your hands moving with a slow, deliberate intent. He wanted to stop you at first, his hands catching yours, but you whispered, “Let me move.”

He let go, his hands falling to his sides. “Just lay back.” you said, hugging him close, pressing your naked chest to his. You felt his skin stick to yours, a mingling of warmth and sweat. “Why won’t you let me love you?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly.

“I want to,” he murmured, “I want to fill you with the sweetest love…all over.”

“All over?” you repeated, the words tasting like a promise.

He nodded, his eyes locking onto yours. “All over.”

“Then don’t try to fight it.” you told him, your tone gentle but firm.

You felt his resistance waver, his hands moving to cup your face, pulling you into a tender kiss. This time, there was no desperation, only a deep, abiding love. His lips moved slowly against yours, savouring it. You could feel the shift in him, the way he began to relax into your touch, the tension melting away.

a/n: i know his change in behaviour seems a bit harsh and out of nowhere but i hope you can see what i tried to convey. it ends a bit abruptly but he’ll get back to normal soon. and sorry if there are any mistakes or bits that don’t make sense but it’s a lot and i kept staring at it for way too long😭

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @aacheinthejaw @hellcatshalalalaa @zayndrider @humbuginmybones

[tcffantfu276]

The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains of Dr. Agasa’s living room, casting a warm, golden glow over the cluttered space. Conan sat cross-legged on the floor, his phone resting in his hands. The soft hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant ticking of the grandfather clock filled the room, creating a quiet, almost meditative atmosphere.

On the screen of his phone was a photo of Kaito Kid, captured by a news helicopter during his latest heist. The thief was mid-air, his white cape billowing like a pair of wings against the night sky. His grin was as sharp and confident as ever, a playing card held between his fingers like a challenge to the world. Conan’s thumb hovered over the image, his expression softening in a way that was rare for the usually sharp-eyed detective.

He didn’t even realize he was smiling until Haibara’s voice cut through the silence, dry and knowing.

"Let me guess," she said, leaning against the doorway with a cup of tea in hand. Her tone was as calm as ever, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "It’s about him again."

Conan blinked, startled out of his thoughts. He quickly locked his phone, the screen going dark, and tried to school his expression into something neutral. "What are you talking about?"

Haibara raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smirk. She stepped into the room, her movements graceful and unhurried, and set her tea down on the coffee table before sitting across from him. "Your thief. Kaito Kid. Don’t play dumb—it doesn’t suit you."

Conan frowned, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I wasn’t—"

"You were," Haibara interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with that piercing gaze of hers. "You had that same dopey look on your face that you always get when he’s involved. Honestly, it’s a miracle no one else has noticed."

Conan opened his mouth to protest, but Haibara wasn’t done. She leaned back on her hands, her smirk widening. "You think you’re so subtle, but you’re not. Every time his name comes up, you get this… look. Like you’re trying not to smile but failing miserably."

Conan’s frown deepened, but there was no real heat behind it. He glanced away, his fingers tightening around his phone. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Haibara rolled her eyes, her expression a mix of exasperation and fondness. "Of course you don’t. Because you’re oblivious. But for the record, it’s painfully obvious to anyone paying attention. You’re lucky the professor is as clueless as you are."

Conan crossed his arms, his expression a mix of embarrassment and defiance. "Even if I was looking at something related to Kid, it’s not a big deal. He’s a criminal. It’s my job to keep an eye on him."

Haibara’s smirk turned almost predatory. "Is that what you’re calling it now? ‘Keeping an eye on him’? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks more like you’re smitten."

Conan’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he looked away, his ears burning. Haibara watched him for a moment, her smirk softening into something almost fond. She reached for her tea, taking a slow sip before speaking again.

"You know," she said, her voice quieter now, "it’s not a bad thing. To care about someone. Even if they’re a thief."

Conan glanced at her, surprised by the shift in her tone. There was a rare gentleness in her expression, one that she didn’t often show. "It’s not like that," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Haibara shrugged, setting her cup down. "If you say so. But for what it’s worth… he’s not the worst person you could be smiling at like that."

Conan didn’t respond, his gaze dropping to his phone. He unlocked it, the photo of Kid still on the screen. For a moment, he just stared at it, his expression softening despite himself. The thief’s confident grin, the way the moonlight caught the edges of his cape, the playful glint in his eyes—it was all so *Kaito*. And for some reason, it made Conan’s chest feel warm in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Haibara hid a smile behind her cup as she stood, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "Just don’t let it distract you too much. We’ve got bigger problems to deal with."

Conan nodded, though his eyes didn’t leave the screen. "Yeah. I know."

As Haibara left the room, Conan’s thumb brushed over the photo, his lips curving into that same soft, unconscious smile. And for a moment, just a moment, he let himself enjoy the warmth blooming in his chest.