#if in doubt read the notes on ao3 please

[visforvengeance]

Where did you sleep last night?

Requested by: no one :)

Notes: hey y’all lmao. Sinners brought me out of retirement like I knew it would. I did post this on AO3 if you’ve already read it lmao so please don’t come at me. Anyway I need Michael in a room in which there are no others…or you could all watch I don’t give a shit🫦. I do have one for stack in the works!! Coming very soon xx

Warnings: cursing ofc, sex. I think that’s it. My sympathies if I didn’t get everything. But as always read at your own risk!!

Stack x reader

You heard him before you saw him, Stack. Always loud, always smooth talking. The twins were back in the Delta, and you hadn’t heard not one word about it. You’d think it’d get back to you considering the history between you and Smoke before he left…and when he left.

You turned the corner to where the train was, and there he stood in all his glory. He was almost still the same boy from before, but colder. You knew of all the things those boys did because you were right there beside them, as much as they tried to protect you from it. Yours and Mary’s mama had been kind enough to raise them up after theirs died. Raised them with their own daughters, like their own sons.

But, something happened, and then your first kiss was with Smoke in the dead of the night. And then more happened later on. There had been just too much between you, but he still up and left anyway.

You stomped over to him angrily.

“Where’s that sorry ass brother of yours?”

He turned to you, not surprised at all to see you.

“Well, hello to you. ‘Long time no see! How have you been?’

‘Great, thank you for asking.’”

You rolled your eyes as you pulled him into a much-needed hug. You enjoyed his embrace for a minute, rubbing his back. Then, you whispered,

“I missed your dumb ass.”

He chuckled as he pulled away

He took a long, hard look at you, really seeing you after all these years. You’re a grown woman now, not some annoying ass little girl that his brother used to chase after when they were younger. He missed you. And he knows for sure that his brother does too. Smoke had been with countless women during his time in Chicago, no doubt. But none of them compares to you.

“He’s at our new spot,” gold teeth and pearly whites on display. The boys always did have such beautiful smiles.

“Whatchu talkin’ about, boy?”

“You know that old sawmill down by the way,” you nodded

“Consider it under new management. Club Juke is now open.”

You didn’t know whether to be proud or slap that stupid ass smile off of his face. Ten years, you ain’t seen or heard not a word from these motherfuckers and now they’re here opening a juke joint?

You shook your head and removed yourself from Stack’s arms, stomping to your car. Mary had accompanied him with a different version of the same argument. Stack knew that his brother was in for it with how hot the fire in your eyes burned. You were hot. Hotter than this Mississippi heat, hotter than the devil’s wrath.

You walked inside of the old, rundown building. They’d already begun setting up, gathering the old crew. The smell of Annie’s fried catfish filled the place. Sammie was on stage, strumming his guitar lazily. Grace talked with Annie while she cooked.

It almost felt like home again. Almost.

Smoke walked out of the office to see a ghost in the shape of you standing at the entrance of his establishment. Smoke was always stoic, perfectly motionless. Until he saw you. No, he couldn’t let his resolve crumble completely when he saw you. But, he did let you see the softness only a select few could muster in the only way he knew how.

His eyes. Always his eyes. Emotions swirling around like a tornado. He knew how you felt after he left; he studied you well enough to expect it. But was he prepared to face his consequences? A man who stood so tall, so fearless. Even in the face of death, he stoically stood his ground.

But seeing you here right now had him scared to breathe. Luckily, no one paid attention to the two of you. They knew better. You walked up to him. No words were spoken between the two of you, but the looks on your faces said a lot.

You walked past him and into the back room, and he followed closely behind. When the two of you were alone, you spoke up.

“Ten years. No goodbye. No letters. Nothing. Then I see Stack hanging by the train with Slim. Come to find out, you boys done opened yourselves up a juke joint.”

Silence again, this time he wasn’t looking at you.

“No hello. No ‘I missed you’. When was you gon come see me, Elijah?”

You were losing your cool. How could he just stand there?

“Could you fucking say something?” You never yelled. Loud and boisterous, of course. But, damn it you never yelled. He didn’t flinch, though. He finally looked at you.

“What the fuck do I look like coming to you after I just shot my own damn daddy? Hmm?” He got in your face, he towered over you. But that didn’t scare you. He never did, no matter how frightening or threatening he tried to be. It never worked on you, and it will not now.

“How was you gon help us? Cry to ya mama? Wait. I know. You was gon get that sheriff granddaddy of yours, huh?” He laughed. He didn’t know what else to do so he fucking laughed.

“That’s not fair, and you know it. I would’ve helped you the best way I could. But, you shut me out and made that decision for me!”

Yes, you were young. You absolutely should not have been involved in the shit that you were. But you were in love. And so was he. Still, you both are. So, what do two fucking idiots do when they’re in love? They hold onto each other as tightly as fate will allow.

“Smoke, you never did give me the benefit of the doubt. Why do you think no one came looking for you two for all those years? Even now? With the case being unsolved?”

There is no statute of limitations on murder after all..

“But, even after all of that. I didn’t deserve to know that you were leaving?”

All of this fucking silence. You couldn’t stand it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him tightly. He wasted no time wrapping himself back around you. You held each other so close and tightly, you’d think you were killing each other.

You stayed that way until the obvious question couldn’t be ignored anymore.

“Why you back here? Now of all times?”

Too much shit had happened in the time that he was gone. Clearly none of it was enough to bring him back.

“Missed it. We wanted something of our own and thought home would be the best place to do it,” he was avoiding looking at you. He did that when there was something he didn’t want to say to you. It was almost shocking to see him still so childlike in this moment.

“Elijah Moore, you hated this place with every fiber of your being. Why are you here?”

It was weird hearing his own name. He’d been Smoke for so long, Elijah almost felt like a stranger to him. But, hearing you say it made him remember exactly who Elijah Moore was. And, he was yours.

“I love you too much.”

Now he was finally looking at you. Still so vulnerable and childlike. For such a short sentence, it was beyond loaded. Somehow, you understood everything Smoke couldn’t express to you because he didn’t know how.

You couldn’t help but kiss him. It was messy, rough, all teeth and bite. His hands roamed all over your body, squeezing and gripping at whatever he could like a starving man. A starved man he was. He turned you around and pressed you against the desk.

“I missed you too much,”

His lips left kisses on your neck and a haze in your brain. You missed him, too, more than anything. You turned and pushed him back into the chair that was behind him.

“You think you gon come back after all these years fuck me like it’s nothing?” You moved to straddle his waist, pulling him into another heated kiss. His hands gripped at the fat of your ass and thighs, kneading them like dough.

He pressed you into him further, making you grind against his cock, causing the both of you to moan. He didn’t intend for you to keep grinding, though. ��I’m a big girl now, Smoke. Let me show ya.”

Somehow, the two of you ended up on the floor with your clothes thrown about. You were still on top of him. Lips kissing over every scar and mark that littered Elijah’s body.

“I missed you, too, baby,” you mumbled against his skin. You sat up straight to look at him.

“Never did a day go by when I didn’t think of you. I love.” Then, you began moving your hips. You hadn’t had sex with him in 10 years, but it was even better than before. You traded feeling the pain of splinters in your knees for the warming pain of Smoke’s cock splitting you open.

Smoke was quiet, aside from the occasional groan he let out. His eyes raked over your body. He watched the way your breasts bounced with your movement. They were bigger, not that he minded either way. Your body was softer than before, too. More to grab on to, more to hold on to, more to love.

None of the girls he’d been with (not that there were very many. They were not you and it started to piss him off eventually) compared to you in the slightest. They didn’t smell or taste like you. Definitely didn’t feel as good as you.

Now he felt like he finally knew what was missing. He’d been chasing something he’d left for 10 years.

The eye contact between you two had not wavered the entire time you’d been riding him. There was still so much that neither of you had said, but in this moment, you understood everything. He let you see the vulnerability, lust, regret, the ache he’d had the moment he left you and how it had stayed with him until he was back with you again.

You nodded to him, telling him that it was ok. It was ok to just feel in this moment with you. In which he did. He’d been holding back on cumming in you for both of your sakes and his masculinity. But that thought had passed as he released deep inside of you.

Still hard, he flipped the two of you over in missionary. Now, it was his turn to focus on your pleasure. He pounded into you heavy and rough, and you took it, like you always did. Between your moans, the skin slapping, the fucking wet sounds your pussy made. It was safe to say that you were NOT quiet. But the music that was being played and the overcrowding voices silenced you splendidly.

Once again, the two of you were locking eyes. Him fucking you knocked the breath out of you completely, but this was what you wanted. And needed. Because Elijah was back. And, maybe what the two of you had could continue. And, it goes well. Or it doesn’t. Neither of you fucking cared. Because at that moment, it was just the two of you again.

He wasn’t leaving you again. Not even through the hellish nights you’re bound to encounter.

[creamecafe]

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

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@hobinistaworld

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[salemrph]

Wine, Lies and Longing

Summary: You win a romantic vineyard getaway, a dream escape you never expected. Unsure of who to take, you impulsively invite Sylus. What starts as playful pretending, soon becomes something far more real. In the heart of the vineyard, surrounded by the sweetness of wine and the glow of moonlight, you begin to wonder: is this just an act, or the start of something you’ve always longed for?

Based on the new banner Night Rendezvous!

Character: MC x Sylus // Genre: romantic, soft, explicit sexual content // Pet names: Kitten, Sweetie // Word count: 8,827 | Reading Time: 35 min | AO3 |

A/N: This was written before Night Rendezvous officially dropped, inspired by the clips we’ve seen over the past two days. Please note there might be some errors—I was absolutely frantic about the banner while writing this! I just couldn’t get Sylus out of my head.

WARNINGS: mdni, biting, penetration, cum. Remember, fanfics are not a reliable source of sexual education. For questions about protection and birth control, talk to your doctor.

A weeks ago, after visiting your regular supermarket to pick up your usual after-mission dinner set, the kind cashier, while taking your point card, reminded you about the ongoing special raffle.

"Miss, do you want to participate in the lottery?" You looked at the display banner on the counter. The image of serene mountains under a captivating sunset, the sparkle of a drop of water on a bunch of grapes, and the faces of people happily enjoying an unforgettable moment. “Two days in a mountainous region with beautiful views” it read— a getaway promising wine, relaxation, and a fleeting escape from your daily chaos. You paused for a moment, thinking that a vacation wouldn’t be a bad idea, especially since you’d been continuously working on missions, paperwork, and grueling training sessions. You let out a soft sight, the exhaustion creeping into your thoughts. What could happen? In worst case, you would not win the prize, and at the moment, simply filling out the digital form will maybe bring you closer to a small break. Without overthinking it, you nodded, typed in your details, and submitted your entry.

Not even sure, when that happens, you blink a couple of times while checking your email. You can hardly believe your eyes. You won, you actually won that stupid getaway for two! The excitement bubbles up in you like champagne, because you never win anything. You can already imagine the fresh air, the rolling hills, the luxury of it all. You want to scream. You do a little dance in your living room. This is how it should be. Without thinking twice, you call Tara to share the news. After a few rings, she picks up.

"Hey, my favorite person!" she say cheerful like always.

"Tara, guess what?" you ask enthusiastic, you don't wait for her to answer "I won a trip for two to a vineyard! Wanna go on a girls' trip?"

"Say what?! Really? That's amazing!"

"I know! I'm really excited." you explain to Tara briefly what kind of trip it is. “Oh, we could have a lot of fun. Are you in?”

"Oh, I would love to, but… isn’t this kind of trip for couples?" You freeze, your smile faltering.

"Couple? Let me check..."

A shadow of doubt creeps in, heavy and unwelcome. Frowning, you swipe back to the email announcing your prize, it took you a moment to go trough the conditions. Your stomach tightening as your eyes land on the fine print: Only couples allowed. Your mind races, a mix of disappointment and worry swirling inside you. You stare at the screen, torn between laughing at the absurdity and groaning at your oversight.

"What should I do?" you ask, feeling a little lost.

"We could just say we’re a couple" says Tara laughing a bit.

You lean back against the couch, chewing on the idea. Pretending wouldn’t be that hard, would it? It’s not like the vineyard is going to demand proof of your relationship. Still, the idea feels... complicated. Then Tera continues with a playful tone.

"Or..." she teases, "...you could ask Mr. Skye to go with you? He has a crush on you. Maybe this is the perfect chance to level up your relationship with him."

The thought alone makes your cheeks heat up. Sylus? Taking him with you? Your heart flutters. It wouldn't be the first time with him on a trip but... on a exclusive couple trip? You remember the time you were with him in that castle, telling you that weird story to help you fall asleep, but you strangely ended up being bitten by him on the neck. Your cheeks are starting to burn, the feeling of his teeth on your skin was intense. You put a hand on your neck, it feels like it was yesterday.

“Are you there?” You shake you head, trying to come back to the conversation.

“Really? Are you serious?” feeling a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“Why not? He’s hot, you’re hot, and it’s a romantic vineyard trip. It practically screams opportunity!” Her words make you feel more nervous and you go silent again. She only wants to ship you with him. Her personal real time K-drama. "I think you should ask him,” she presses, a bit insistently. “It could be fun. Worst case? You survive the trip. Best case? You come back as a couple. Just saying"

“Tara...” you sigh. “I don't like him—"

“Bullshit!” she cuts you off, her voice cheerful and confident. “You have a thing for him, admit it! Be happy with him. You know what? I’m not going with you.” She laughs. “Ask him and have fun! And call me for the little dirty details. Byee”

“Wait! Tara?!” And with that, the call is over, leaving you staring at your phone.

You groan. The room feels too quiet, too charged with the sudden possibility. Sylus—always confident, always composed—would undoubtedly say yes. You could already imagine his reaction: that cocky tilt of his head, his dark eyes narrowing with amusement. You bite your lip. Tara is right, he is hot. Terribly hot.

You glaze on your phone, fingers hovering over the screen. Should I, shouldn't I text him? Your heart is racing. How could you wrap this up to make it less... weird? The last time you came up with a plan, it wasn’t that difficult, was it? The couple photo shoot... well, OTTO was very insistent that you take part in it. In the end, it was fun... and you had a kind of romantic moment with Sylus. Maybe you can see this as a payback of all the time he help you with stuff.

But why Sylus? You could just ask the other friend you have, right? You go through the scenario in your head, imagining how it might go if you asked Zayne, Xavier or Rafayel. I mean, the boys are cool, but bringing your co-worker/neighbour could be very relaxing. Xavier wouldn’t be interested in the wine, but he’d enjoy the fresh mountain air. Zayne... you sighed. He was always too busy to go anywhere. Rafayel could be fun, but the idea of playing bodyguard while travelling didn’t appeal to you. You're starting to feel sleepy from all this thinking, and feel like to take a nap is the right solution to not deal with this. It's early in the morning. Or should you maybe have a coffee and go for a run. You sigh. This can't be so complicated.

After what feels like an eternity of hesitation, you finally decide to at least ask Sylus first. Just as you gather the courage to type something, your phone buzzes. A call from him.

“What are you doing?” he says without even saying hello.

“Working” you lie.

“You sound tired, kitten.” he says, a hint of concern threading through his voice. „I thought you were going to take a break after all that missions”

You feel the warmth in his ton, it make you feel... good. “I'm planning too.” Thinking how to bring up the trip. “I just need to finish a few things.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again, the softness of his words taking you by surprise. “If you ever feel overwhelmed, you're always welcome at my place”. You smile like an idiot without notices it. If Tera were there she would have teased you about that.

“I will...” you try to compose yourself. “Why are you calling me now? Isn't this you bed time hour?

He laugh softly, a sound that always seems to melt your heart if you're not careful “I like to hear your voice before I go to bed. That's way I call”.

“I see...” you murmur.

“What are you planning to do?”

“Well...” you hesitate, the words feeling awkward in your throat. “I won this trip for two to a vineyard. I was talking to Tara, she doesn't have the time to come with me. And I... I know it’s a couple’s thing, but I would be a shame—”.

“Go to the point, kitten” he interrupts with a laugh.

“I wanted to ask you, if...” you close you eyes, as if that would save you the embarrassment in case he says no. “...you could come with me? I owe you for few things.”

There’s a moment of silence before he answers, his voice calm, yet with an undertone of amusement. “Sure, I’ll go. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.“ The relief washes over you, but there’s a strange flutter in your chest too. You try to ignore it. “Send me the details.”

“Alright. Sleep well.”

“Thanks, kitten.”

...

When you finally arrive with him at the vineyard, the atmosphere is perfect. The air is crisp, the vineyards stretch out beneath a sky painted in soft pastels, and the scent of fresh earth and ripe grapes lingers. The estate’s stone pathways crunch softly beneath your feet as you make your way to the guest rooms.

The room is picturesque and charming, with rustic wooden beams and a window overlooking the sprawling vineyard. But your eyes are drawn immediately to the bed. One bed. A king-sized one, with crisp white sheets and pillows that seem to mock you with their perfect arrangement. Your heart skips a beat at the sight, the reality of it sinking in. Calm down! You have slept with him in one bed, more then you want to count.

Sylus steps inside behind you, he sets your and his bag down, his usual confidence radiating from him like a second skin.

“Looks cozy” he says, his voice smooth, his smirk just shy of teasing.

You manage a laugh, though it comes out shaky. “Cozy is one way to put it.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the wall with an ease that makes your stomach flip. “You nervous already? We haven’t even opened the wine yet.”

You roll your eyes, desperate to mask the heat creeping up your neck. “As if. Just… surprised, that’s all.” He chuckles, the sound low and velvety, sending a shiver through you.

“Surprised, huh?” Then, with a playful tilt of his head. “Relax, my love” You get goosebumps hearing him say those words. The pet name drips with mockery, but the way he says it makes your breath hitch.

“You don´t have to call me that”

“Why not? This is a couples trip, doesn't it?” His smile is maddeningly confident, his tone bordering on a challenge. You let out a long sigh, trying to steady the flustered mess inside you.

“You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

He straightens, stepping closer—too close. His voice drops just enough to make your pulse quicken. “We want to make it convincing. Or do you have a better plan?”

It’s not the first time you’ve had to pretend to be couple or lover, or whatever, but somehow, this feels different. You’re not on a mission with him, not playing a part for someone else's benefit. This is personal—too personal.

Sylus strides over to the bed, his movements deliberate. He sits down with the kind of ease that suggests he owns the space, leaning back on one arm as if the room was made for him. You perch on the edge of the bed, trying to relax, but every part of you is hyper-aware of his presence—the faint spice of his cologne, the quiet rustle of his shirt as he shifts, the heat radiating from him even at a distance.

“No, I don't.” you say annoyed “I... just hope we can enjoy this.” Your words trail off as you glance out the window, desperate for a distraction. It’s definitely a super romantic place, the kind of setting you’d see in a movie. You cling to the view, hoping its beauty will steady your swirling thoughts.

Sylus looks over at you, a faint smirk on his lips.

"I’m sure it’ll be enjoyable, either way. We’re in the right place for it" he says, his voice low and confident, as if he already knows how the weekend will unfold. You swallow hard, forcing a smile.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his smirk deepening. “I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

You turn your gaze back to the vineyard, trying to steady your racing thoughts. This is just a weekend, you remind yourself. It’s just Sylus.

...

The agenda for the day is simple—nothing too complicated. Just a tour of the property, along with the other couple staying at the vineyard. Then, a wine tasting session to enjoy the local flavours, followed by a leisurely dinner under the stars. Afterwards, you’re meant to relax, enjoy the evening, and retire to bed. Easy, right?

But despite how simple it sounds. As you make your way through the vineyard with Sylus by your side, everything feels heightened, even the sound of your footsteps crunching on the gravel path. The soft laughter of the other couple fills the background, but it feels distant. In your distraction, you trip slightly over your feet. Why are you even wearing heals? You catch yourself, but before you can fully regain balance, Sylus is there—his hand firm on your arm, pulling you closer. He steadies you effortlessly, his proximity sending a rush of warmth through you.

“Give me your hand,” he murmurs, his voice low, smooth. You blink, still a little off-balance, and look up at him, confused “What?” He smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You surely don’t want to break you ankle or ruin your dress, do you?” His words are wrapped in a teasing edge. You eye him suspiciously, your pulse racing.

“Besides,” he continues in a soft whisper, his breath warm against your ear, “that’s what couples do. Care for each other.”

The heat of his hand in yours makes your heart race, his touch unexpectedly gentle, sending a shiver down your spine. You try to focus, try to shake off the unexpected flutter in your chest. But his proximity, his warmth, makes it hard to think clearly. Maybe…

The tour guide’s voice weaves through the warm air, narrating the history of the vineyard with practiced ease. But you barely register the words.

The wine tasting that follows feels like an eternity. Each sip is a kaleidoscope of flavours, yet none hold your focus for long. The richness of the reds, the crispness of the whites—they all blur together as you try to ground yourself, but it’s impossible with Sylus nearby. His gaze lingers too long, his teasing comments too precise, cutting through your resolve with the ease of a knife through silk.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice low and smooth as he swirls the wine in his glass. His dark eyes glint with amusement. “But I’ve tasted better.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “Oh, I didn’t realice you were such a wine connoisseur.”

He leans in slightly, his tone dropping just enough to make your breath catch. “I have a talent for recognising quality.”

A smile tugs at your lips, genuine this time. You can't help it. Each exchange feels like a dance, his confidence pressing against your composure in a way that leaves you breathless. Actually, you want to bite back with some sharp words, but there it is. That soft smile, the same one he had after the boxing match, under the falling snow... Your lips part, but instead of speaking, you just look back at him. Everything seems to slow down. Is the wine affecting you? For a heartbeat, neither of you speaks. For a fleeting second, you wonder if he feels it too. You eyes darts on this lips, how would they taste?

And then, just before the moment slips away, he does something unexpected. He sets his glass down, his movements fluid, and without breaking eye contact, he reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, but it lingers just long enough to make your skin tingle.

Before you can even process it, a soft tap on your shoulder pulls you from the moment. Two women approach, giggling like schoolgirls, their eyes sparkling with mischief.

They interrupt the bubble you’ve found yourself in, and the weight of Sylus’s touch vanishes as if it was never there. But the heat in your chest lingers, a faint trace of the connection that just passed between you.

“Excuse me” one of them says, her voice light and playful as she glances between you and Sylus. The other nudges her, stifling a giggle, and you can already feel the familiar mix of curiosity and dread bubbling up.

“We couldn’t help but notice” the first woman continues, her smile widening, “you two are just the cutest couple. You’ve got this… spark. It’s like you stepped out of a romance novel!”

You blink, caught off guard, the glass of wine freezing halfway to your lips. A flush rises to your cheeks, and you can feel Sylus shift beside you, his presence suddenly more commanding.

“Oh, really?” he says smoothly, his tone carrying that trademark confidence. He slides an arm casually around your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse quicken. “Well, I’m glad we’re keeping the vineyard’s reputation for romance alive.

His words, so effortlessly delivered, make the women swoon audibly. “The way you two look at each other—it’s just magical!”

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as strained as it feels. “Thanks” you manage, your voice tight as Sylus’s hand lingers on your hip, warm and steady.

“Are you two married?”

“No” you say quickly, your voice a little too sharp, too defensive.

Sylus, however, doesn’t miss a beat. He looks at you, then smiles smoothly at the women. “No but...” he says as he looks back at you. “Our soul are already bound, so is better then marriage.”

The women gasp, eyes widening in surprise. “Such a poetic man...” the first woman exclaims. “You two are perfect together!”

You blink, momentarily stunned, unsure of how to react. Sylus doesn’t seem at all phased by the lie, his calm demeanor making it feel like a perfectly natural thing to say.

“Thanks” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “We’re very happy.”

You smile politely, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up your neck. The words linger in your mind as you finish your wine, but you can’t help but feel a little more self-conscious now. They really think you’re with him. You can’t help but wonder if the lines between roll playing and reality are already starting to blur.

The women chat a little longer, their compliments spilling over like the wine in their glasses. Finally, they flit away, their laughter trailing behind them as they disappear into the crowd.

You exhale sharply, stepping out of Sylus’s hold and turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Really? Our soul are bound? Better then marriage?”

He grins, unfazed, leaning closer until his voice drops low enough that only you can hear. “What?” His gaze locks onto yours, his smirk softening into something almost tender. “Saying the true is sometime easier then coming up with some lie, sweetie”

Maybe he’s enjoying this a little too much. But if he’s enjoying it, why don’t you enjoy it too? You think to yourself, a strange thought whispering at the back of your mind. Even if it’s just for this trip, just for the moment.

The wine has already begun to work its magic, loosening your inhibitions and making everything feel just a little more carefree. Before you can fully think it through, you find yourself clinging to Sylus’s arm, your fingers lightly gripping the sleeve of his jacket. The warmth of his presence settles against you, his steady pulse beneath your touch a reminder of just how close he is. You feel the tension in your chest ease, replaced by something else, something much more complicated.

Sylus’s smile stretches wide as he looks down at you, the corner of his lips curling in that smug, almost predatory way he always does when he knows he’s got your attention.

The quiet hum of the evening settles back in. It’s as if a small door has been opened, and you’re not entirely sure what’s on the other side, but for now, you’re curious enough to stay a little longer.

Sylus doesn’t move, his arm still locked with yours, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and teasing. “Enjoying yourself so far, sweetheart?”

You glance up at him, maybe... just maybe... it won’t be as simple as you expected.

…

Dinner arrives just as the sun dips below the horizon, casting the sky in soft, dusky hues. The air feels cooler now, but the warmth of the intimate atmosphere wraps around you, drawing you closer to the cozy setting. The flickering candlelight dances across the stone walls, casting playful shadows that seem to shift with every movement. It’s romantic, the kind of dinner scene you only see in movies, and for a moment, it feels like you’re part of a story you’re not sure you want to end.

Sylus is seated next to you, his tall frame glowing softly in the dim light. He’s quieter than usual, but his presence is undeniable. Every now and then, his eyes flicker to yours, and there’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you want to jump from your chair and lose yourself in him right there.

During the dinner, you find yourself addressing him a few times as “my love” or “honey”, while taking in the large group at the table. The words slip from your lips without thinking, and each time they do, a little thrill runs through you. You’re playing the part, but in some strange way, you realize you’re not pretending anymore. You’re enjoying it, living it.

You let your fingers brushed against his hand, and before you know, you’re subtly holding his hand beneath the table. The simple touch sends warmth up your arm. The intimacy of the gesture, hidden from the others, feels like a secret shared between just the two of you. You pass him food, feeding each other bites of your meals, exchanging tastes like lovers. Each touch, each glance, each shared moment feels more natural than it should.

You’re lost in the closeness, in the warmth of the evening, in the role you’re playing so effortlessly. It feels easy, too easy, to slip into this new dynamic with him. And for the first time since you arrived, you stop questioning it. For tonight, you’re his beloved. And maybe, just maybe, you can stay like this forever.

The evening winds down, and you’re a bit tipsy, your cheeks flushed with a soft pink. You decide to step outside for some fresh air, leaving Sylus talking to the owner of the vineyard. The nice warm sun is long gone, and the coldness of the mountains is a refreshing contrast to it. The vineyard stretches out before you, bathed in moonlight, and the quiet of the night feels peaceful. You feet are hurting, you've been walking with high heels all day.

You take a deep breath, feeling good, light, and free. For the first time in a while, you realize something you hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider: You’re in love with him. There’s no denying it anymore. It’s there, right at the center of your heart, a truth you can’t shake. The way he looks at you, touches you—Every glance, every subtle move he makes, has stirred something deep inside you.

You stop for a moment, letting the breeze tousle your hair, and close your eyes. You’re here. You’re alive. And for this moment, you’re letting yourself feel what you feel, without worrying about what comes next. There’s something beautiful in the simplicity of it, in allowing yourself to just be in love with him. Tonight, you are free to love him, even if you don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

As you walk over the veranda, along wooden floor, you heels clicking, feeling the silence around you, lost in your thoughts, you hear his voice cut through the stillness.

"My beautiful beloved, where are you going?" Sylus’s voice is smooth, playful.

You turn around and give him the most sincere smile you've ever shown him. If someone else had seen the look on your face at that moment, they might have thought you'd given him your whole heart in that single expression. And if someone had told you what Sylus felt when he saw you smile like that, you might not have believed them.

You’re startled to find him so close, just a few steps behind you, his figure illuminated by the silvery glow of the moonlight. His eyes are fixed on you, that familiar, confident smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your heart race. "Just needed a moment," you reply softly.

He steps closer, his presence magnetic, his gaze never leaving yours. "I see."

The heat of the wine bubbles up in your chest, but it’s the way he stands there, close, that makes the moment feel heavier than it should. He watches you as if he’s trying to decode something, a quiet challenge in his eyes. Then, without another word, he removes his jacket, the fabric brushing against your arms as he drapes it over your shoulders.

“Thank you” you say a bit shy.

“No need.”

The silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s glaring at you. You step closer to the railing, perching on it with half your body leaning out, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. Your mind drifts, flitting from thought to thought, nowhere in particular yet everywhere all at once. You’re enjoying it more than you expected. You hate to admit it, but Tera was right. You’ll need to thank her for pushing you to this.

“You’re staring” you say softly, trying to sound playful but failing to hide the nervous edge in your voice.

“Am I?” he counters smoothly, the smirk growing as he tilts his head slightly. “Maybe I just like what I see.” Your cheeks flush, but you don't look at him. Your eyes are still locked on the scenery.

“Mm-hmm” you hum.

“You’re quiet.” He remarks after a moment, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. “Something on your mind?”

You take a steadying breath, eyes still on the horizon. “Just... enjoying the view.”

He chuckles low. “Good to know I’m not the only one. Though, as beautiful as this is, we should head back—I’ve got something prepared for us.”

You tilt your head in curiosity, trying to read his expression, but before you can ask he gently takes you hand. You suppress a sigh as he guide you to stand up from the railing. You follow him, but the moment your feet hit the ground, the discomfort you’d been ignoring flares up. The cooling evening air has made the snug fit of your pretty shoes unbearable. You let out a soft whine as you take a couple of steps, causing Sylus to stop immediately. He turns, his brows furrowing with concern.

“What wrong?” You shake your head quickly, not wanting to make a fuss.

“It’s nothing... just my feet hurt a little”.

His gaze drops to your shoes, assessing the situation in an instant. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Sylus lets out a sigh, but the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “You’re hopeless sometimes, kitten.” Without another word, he scans the area, his gaze landing on a nearby chair on the veranda. He strides over to it, picks it up, and places it gently in front of you.

“Sit” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. You do as he said then he kneels in front of you.

“What are you—?” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a knowing look.

“Taking them off. Lift your leg.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the intimacy of the moment not lost on you. You hesitate for a moment, but his steady gaze convinces you, and you lift your leg. The touch of his fingers on your ankle is electrifying. The dress you're wearing is riding up a bit. Concerned that he might catch a glimpse under the skirt, you discreetly try to lower it. Sylus doesn’t seem to notice or care, his focus entirely on your feet as he gently works to ease the discomfort you’re feeling. Still, you’re glad you're wearing cute panties, just in case something... happens? A few moments later your feet have been released from their prison, you feel relieved.

“This feels better, thanks” you say softly.

“Look at that, a second thanks I get today” he chuckles. Sylus stands up a little and leans over you. He's too close. "Hold on tight."

You feel his hands slide under your thighs and the other hand behind your back. In an instant, you find yourself lifted into his arms. You curl up instinctively, wrapping your arms around his neck, your body seeking the warmth and security he offers. His eyes flicker to your shoes, the red and black mist picks them up, placing them in one of his hand, not breaking stride as he carries you effortlessly.

“Put me down, Sylus” you say, a hint of laughter in your voice despite the situation.

“Do you want to walk barefoot?” he replies, his tone teasing but unwavering as he holds you close, his grip firm and steady. “Stay still, fussy kitten.”

With a pout you stop squirming in his arms, the smell of his perfume mixed with wine is incredible. You feel almost drunk, not from the wine itself but from the sweet and earthy mix that fills your senses, an alluring combination that invades your nose and makes your head spin just a little. You want to bit his neck.

He walks with you in his arms through the mansion, past couples lingering in the dining room. You catch a few glances from them, including the two women from earlier, who sigh at such an adorable image. A sense of pride swells inside you, and you feel almost lucky, as if you’re the center of attention in the best way possible. As you continue down the hallway toward your room, you look up, and your eyes meet his. That look again. Soft and tender.

As the door opens, you blink in surprise. The room is lit by soft candlelight and the chimney, the air sweet with the scent of fresh flowers, and a bottle of wine chilling in ice sits on the table. It feels like something straight out of a romance movie.

"Sylus, you don’t need to pretend in here" you say low, the question hanging in the air.

He meets your gaze, unfazed. "I’m not pretending." his tone very calm. You raise an eyebrow. He gently lowers you onto the bed, his hands steady and careful. He places your shoes on the floor beside the bed.

"Were you pretending before, being touchy and calling me pet names?" His question hits you like a spark.

You blush, stumbling over your words. "I..."

"It’s alright," he cuts in. “Lay down if you tried. It has been a long day” he look down, while unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles of his chest. The sight is fascinating and you can’t help but feel the absurd urge to lick every inch.

“I'm not” you feel your restraint cracking inside you, the longing for him is taking over.

“If you don't want to lie down” he continues, his voice smooth but with a hint of challenge “we can make the most of our time before dawn.” He step back, turning to the sofa for a moment. “Do you want some wine?”

This feels insane. You feel insane, but how long can you hold back? Isn’t this the perfect setup—wine, candlelight, fresh flowers, and a whole weekend for two? It’s a scene straight out of a dream. You stand up from the bed, your bare feet soft against the floor. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, desire surging within you, irresistible and raw. You walk toward him, feeling both bold and vulnerable, wanting something more.

“Forget the wine” you say, almost offended by the suggestion. Without the heels, you feel smaller in front of him, but the fire inside you pushes that discomfort aside. You place one hand on his bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingers.

Sylus looks down at your hand, his gaze flickering to yours with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “I thought you were done with touching” he teases. You don’t answer, your pulse quickening. Damn him, it feels so good. Your fingers trace the opening of his black shirt, and you notice the slight change in his breathing. It’s subtle at first, but you can feel it—the way his chest rises and falls more sharply.

Sylus takes a slow, deliberate breath, his eyes locking with yours. You can tell he's holding back, but just barely. You smile, a little smug, pushing him down onto the sofa. He falls with a loud thud, but before he can settle, you quickly sit on his lap, both legs draped at his sides. Your dress shifts up with the movement, but this time, it doesn’t matter. You want to provoke him more than ever. Your hand returns to his chest, tracing irregular lines with your finger, the soft skin beneath your touch sending a pang of pleasure through your body. You can’t stop yourself from drawing closer, feeling the magnetism between you pull tighter with each passing second. He watches you intently, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You feel alive, every nerve on edge.

Your eyes flicker between his chest, his lips, and his eyes—his smoldering, unreadable eyes. You want to kiss him. The desire to feel his lips on yours is overwhelming, and you can’t fight it any longer.

Without thinking, you place your hand on his neck, your fingers trailing up to his cheek, the warmth of his skin... why did you take so long to get closer to him? At this point, that cute black underwear you wearing is wet, soak even. The heat between your thighs almost unbearable. Does he know what you want to do next? His playful, almost knowing look in his eyes would definitely say yes. You feel his control slipping, and it makes you ache for him even more.

You close the distance, moving your hand at the back of his neck, as you pull him closer. The moment your lips meet, everything else fades away. The warmth of his lips, the intensity of his touch, it's everything you've been feeling building up to this. You melt into the kiss, your body pressing closer to his, a wave of desire crashing over you. His hands move instinctively, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, and you respond just as fiercely, your heart pounding in your chest. You pull away breathless, your chest rising and falling with each quickened breath in the silence that follows. You look into his eyes, wide with disbelief at what just happened, your mind still trying to catch up with your body. Again, again, again, please.

Sylus moves forward, his lips crashing against yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. You sigh in both pleasure and relief, feeling every inch of the tension melt away as his kiss deepens, as if it’s the only thing that matters in this moment. You feel his hand gently but firmly cup your cheek, his touch sending a shiver through you.

The kiss is fierce and consuming, his urgency matching your own as his other hand slides between your shoulder blades, pulling you against his chest. His body presses into yours, as if he can’t bear to be apart for even a moment. His tongue tangles with yours, a messy, erotic dance that sends shivers down your spine, down to your core. It’s chaotic, passionate, and you can’t help but surrender to it. All you can feel, all you can think about, is him—his warmth, his touch, the raw desire radiating from him, and the storm building between you both. You’re lost in the sensation, in the wildness of the kiss, the taste of him.

Sylus adjusts his position slightly, moving you with him as he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. He needs to be able to focus—focus on you, on your lips, on his throbbing desire in his pants that's driving him crazy. The tightness in his pants is almost unbearable. The soft material of your dress became a frustrating barrier to his touch, his hands hover over you, desperate to feel more.

„S- sylus...“ you manage to say between kisses, your voice filled with need. “Bed...“ His grip tightens around you hips. You can feel his hard dick between your legs since a while. He gives you a slow, deliberate kiss.

"Alright" he murmurs, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, your body pressing against him as he moves swiftly toward the bed. The kiss never breaks as he places a knee on the bed, shifting you to the center, and gently lowers you onto the soft sheets. Your body tingles with the need for him, every inch of your skin alive, and the way he hovers just above you makes you feel like you're teetering on the edge of something you've both been craving since the being.

His nose brushing along the curve of you neck, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. Then, the slow, intentional sweep of his tongue follows, sending a wave of electric shivers down your spine. You let out a soft whimper. Sylus hums against your neck.

He moves back, kneeling between your legs, and gently places one hand at the back of your thigh, moving down to lift you leg. His touch is careful, his eyes never leaving yours. Your dress moves up, covering barley your panties. He kiss you inner thigh, and move down to your knee.

Sylus's gaze darkens, and a small, almost smug smile plays at the corners of his mouth. His voice is low, raw with need. He pauses, lips brushing lightly over your knee before pulling back slightly, meeting your eyes again. "You haven't changed your mind, have you? Because... I just can't hold back anymore."

“No, but...”you pause, unsure where the insecurity is coming from. Sylus lifts an eyebrow, sensing the shift.

“Speak, my love” You sit up slightly, reaching for his face, your fingers gently tracing the spot where you had cut him the first time you met. Sylus gasps at your touch, the surprise in his reaction softening your own doubts.

“Am I being too greedy... if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me? He takes your hand, his grip firm yet tender.

“You always had that right.” He presses a soft kiss to your wrist. "Which means... you can be even greedier. Do you want it, kitten?"

“Yes” you smile, the tension easing slightly.

He leans in slowly “Good“ his lips capturing yours in a soft kiss, first teasing with a slow lick before diving deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hungry urgency. You fall back on the bed with him, he assaults your neck, with bites marking your skin as he has always wanted. His breath near your ear is driving you wild.

You gasp against him, your hands gripping his shoulder as you pull him closer. You find yourself not wanting to stop, not wanting to break away. The overwhelming sensation burns like fire. You elevate you hips to met his. Why is he taking so long?

"Looks like we're on the same page when it comes to not waste time." Sylus caress you cheek. You pout, turning your head away to avoid his gaze, but he’s quicker. He tilts your chin back toward him with a gentle but firm touch. "Stay focused, kitten" he murmurs playful.

Before you can respond, he moves his hand to cover your eyes "Don't look" he begins to kiss you again, his breath coming out in sharp gaps. What does he mean? You want to see him—to witness his composure faltering, to know you’re the one making him feel this way.

Sylus seems to savour the moment, his quiet sounds of pleasure against your lips filling the air like a melody only the two of you can hear. To you, it’s music—raw, intoxicating, and divine—a symphony of the gods, stirring a desire so pure and all-consuming it leaves you breathless. The weight of his body presses against yours, his movements slow as he grinds against you. The pressures of his hardness between your legs.

His long fingers trail down your arm, stopping at your wrist before moving to your palm. He laces his fingers with yours, squeezing hard, grounding you in the intensity of the moment. You melt to his touch. A soft whimper escapes your lips, and he chuckles faintly, the sound vibrating against your skin. The heat coursing through your body is dizzying, your thoughts hazy as the fabric of your fucking clothing feels increasingly stifling, an annoying barrier to his touch.

“You're not allowed to stop me until I'm finished.” he whisper, you nod. You starting to get desperate. You pull at his shirt with your other hand. Sylus smirks as he lets you remove his shirt a bit clumsy. The shirt falls finally to the floor in a careless heap, forgotten. His hands move to your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress. His fingers pressing into your skin as if staking a claim.

Sylus shifts slightly as his lips trail a path down your jaw. His other hands move with purpose, finding the hidden zipper of your dress on your back. You lean into him, your hands getting behind the waistband of his pants. Sylus smirks at your impatience, his fingers pausing briefly. The sound of it lowering fills the quiet space, mingling with the soft hum of your unsteady breaths. The fabric loosens, slipping off your shoulders.

Your hands moving to his belt, fumbling slightly as your nerves spark with adrenaline. He catches your wrist, stilling you for a moment. “You're truthly restless” he says with a teasing smirk, leaning down to kiss you again, as if savouring every second. He moves slightly to help you lift your dress over your head, the soft fabric slipping away easily and pooling on the floor beside his discarded shirt. You’re glad now that you picked out your favourite set—black with little red details you thought he might notice. From the way his eyes linger on you, it’s clear he does.

Your hands slide back to his waist. You glance up at him, and he gives you a small nod, his smirk never fading. Slowly, you undo the button and tug the fabric down over his hips. Sylus moves just enough to help you, kicking them off before settling back against you. Black boxer. Sexy. You bite your lips when your eyes fall on the the bulge you've been wanting to see for so long. Is pressing hard against the fabric, you can see the size and then the wet stain off precum.

Even is Sylus love to see you in you beautiful set, and would love to contemplate you more. His cock is starting to hurt, and your lascivious gaze on his good piece isn't making it any better. He puts his hand on your back again, without realising it your breasts are exposed. The bra...it doesn't matter.

He exhales loudly, he can't remember how many times he's wanted to undress you since he met you. His beloved, his heart, his curse, his everything. Make you his. Bite, lick, kiss, sweating together, feeling your pussy wet around his cock. Hearing his name while coming because of him. His mind races, each thought more urgent than the last. This is it. Finally. You’ve said yes, you’ve chosen him. You love him back, and it's everything he’s ever dreamed of. That thought ignites his desire even more, the last bit of restraint crumbling away in his mind.

His body presses against yours with a new intensity, and he can barely think past the feeling of you beneath him, in his arms.

His tongue licking over your nipple before enclosing his mouth around your breast. You whine softly, his heat radiating off you. One hand come over to your other nipple. His finger brush softly over it before squeezing it. You arch your back and whine again. The feeling of both nipple begin stimulated is making your pussy pulse in anticipation. You want him inside, now, fuck the foreplay. You're wet enough to take him in.

“Sy...” you want to say tell him, but bites down making you gasp, trailing off. You could come in any moment, you started to moan. Finally he lets one nipple free.

“So ready...” he whispers, fingers reaching your panties drenched. Sylus coos, his thumb pressing against your clothed clit to rub firm circles into the throbbing bud. You glare at him. His finger slipping beneath the fabric. Playing around you entrance, then one finger finds your warmth, you gasp loud at the sensation. At this point, your body is burning with need, every nerve begging for him. The motion of his finger, trying to find you sweet spot is driving you inside. You move you hips against his hand, trying to get more contact. He only laugh and lick again over you nipple.

A second finger is added, stretching you, you moan harder. His finger curls inside you and then...

“Sylus” you whimper, he hit you g-spot. A sharp wave of pleasure courses trough you again.

“That's it” he kiss you with hunger, while thrusting his finger inside you. You hold on his shoulder, opening wider you legs to give him more access. You don´t want to come, no yet, but if he continues like this. Sylus feels you tightness around his finger. Like he said, you not allowed to stop him. You moan and whine against his lips.

“I'm close...“ your words are a pleading gasp, your body trembling as you teeter on the edge. He smirks, his pace unwavering.

“Don't hold back“ he growls, low and commanding. You feel the pressure building inside you, the tension prolong. His kisses paired with the feeling of his other hand on your hard nipple with the frenetic rhythm of the finger is way to much.

“Sy..” you voice breaks as the tension snaps and you come uncontrollably. You body shaking in waves of pleasure. Sylus's finger still inside dragging out the last bit of release. When your breathing begins to steady, he withdraws them. His face is buried in you neck, his breath hot on your skin.

“I want to hear more of that.” Before you can even think of a reply, Sylus removes you panties and then his boxers. You gasp when you see his cock standing hard, long and thick. You bite your lips, you want to have it... Sylus stroke his cock his eyes not leaving yours. “Is time for the main course.”

He positions himself between your legs again, running his fingers over your entrance again before placing his cock. You moan as he thrusts his cock between your folds, slowly. He is so big. Your eyes flutter close, taking all the sensation in. Is overwhelming. Sylus gasp too when his cock is half way inside.

„Breath for me“ Sylus whispers, his breathing is growing heavier by the second, forcing himself to hold back from just thrusting his cock into you too hard. You try to relax your walls, you breathe out.

"Take it slowly, kitten", his voice slow and deep in your ears. He's trying to pace his breathing as well, but it feels so fucking good. His thumb stroke your cheek, and place a soft kiss on your lips. He started to move, softly to adjust in the new sensations, of being inside of you. For the first time in lifetimes. Sylus breath is uneven, hips rocking into you. Nails clawing down his back as you try to steady yourself, his face against your neck, growling, no, moaning lowly. Harder.

“Sy..Sylus” you moan. “More...”

“As you wish." He shifts and his cock hits you deeper, setting fireworks on in your brain while you moan so loud, that you swear the other in the dinning room could have hear you.

“Right... there.” Sylus smiles, capturing your lips once more in a hungry, passionate and deep kiss. Your tongues play, licking each other. The desire you feel is far beyond what you've ever felt with anyone. You feel like you could devour him, a violent thought that might even make you want to shoot him again. Tear out his heart of his chest. You discard the violent idea of hurting him.

You hug him closer with you legs, his cock slamming in a delicious rhythm. The lascivious sound that emanates through the silence of the room, the rustle of the sheet under your skin, the slight creaking of the bed as Sylus thrust his cock inside you, a symphony that you wish would not stop.

Each movement, each shift of his body against yours, sends a wave of heat through him, making it harder to stay composed. His muscles tighten with every gasp and every whimper that comes from you. Your fingers pulling at his silver hair, it's like adding fuel to the fire. And when you react, when you respond to him, it sends a surge of satisfaction and longing that almost overwhelms him. Sylus knows he’s on the edge, his cock twitch inside you, becoming even harder.

“Sy- Sylus,” you moan, pulling his head up to kiss him. He returns the kiss just as hungrily as you are. “Gonna cum...ah, pl..please”

“Come- come for me” he says brokenly. He pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck obediently, eyes closed to feel the comfort of his skin, losing yourself in it. Sylus groans. You squeeze him. You feel the orgasm bubbling inside you, the tension before the sweet fall. You want to hold on to it. “Come with me...” You open your eyes. What did he said? You meet his glowing red eyes. He pick up the pace, intensity growing inside him. Hammering into you g-spot at every thrust. You hold onto him and the sheets even tighter. A little more, just a little more.

“Can I...?” he started, driving into you more and more, near to explode in any second.

“Yes... please...” you nod eagerly. “I...” As if you had uncorked a shaken bottle of champagne, the orgasm reaches you in a bliss. Your body shakes and trembles. A few seconds later, Sylus follows you with a long growl, pressing his lips against yours, sharing that sweetly overwhelming moment. His hot cum spreads inside you, Sylus doesn't stop, he continues to move inside of you slowly. His lips pull away and he leans his forehead against yours,

When you open your eyes, the adoration in your stare was so palpable. He intertwining his fingers with yours, guiding your hand towards him, leaving a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

You two stay silent, breathing still ragged and coming out in bursts. For some reason, you still feel heat, desire in your body. It hasn't been enough. You want more. As if he could read your mind, Sylus smiled.

“We can do this as long as you like, kitten,” he says, his voice a gentle, warm promise. His eyes sparkle with amusement as he kisses your cheek. You smile at his words.

The night stretches on, the two of you lost in each other, pausing only briefly to share sips of the forgotten wine on the table. One by one, the candles burn out and with that a new day begins.

Your mind drifts, basking in the warmth of the memories from the passionate night. For a moment, you forget that you never told him how you truly feel—but that’s alright. There’s time, you remind yourself with a small, hopeful smile. This is just the beginning, and you know deep down that there are countless moments ahead to share your heart with him.

Exhausted but content, you fall into a peaceful sleep in Sylus’s arms. He stays awake a little longer, watching you with a soft, almost reverent gaze, his heart full. Only when the first light of morning filters into the room does he finally close his eyes, holding you close as sleep overtakes him.

-----

Back to MASTERLIST

[fligniuz]

a performance deserving of standing ovations

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ you have some inquiries about your boyfriend’s habits.

word count: 2.6k • nsfw • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @nephris , @mashkatzi

warnings : gender neutral reader; EXPLICIT; voyeurism; mutual masturbation; discussions of filmed sex and oral; probably poorly translated italian; starring luigi’s dislike of porn

notes : this is dedicated to @diors002 in spirit because i thought of her while writing this,, title from:

^ divider by cafekitsune

“So if you don’t watch porn, how do you get off?”

Luigi looks at you from over the lip of his laptop, eyes narrow. “What?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t jerk off, either,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Seriously. What do you do?”

What kind of question is this?

“I have a broad imagination,” he replies, still typing away. “I just use my brain.”

“Are you sure you don’t have any of those hentai sex simulator games on there?”

Please. As if he’d be caught dead with that trash. He’s almost insulted that you would insinuate such a thing, even if you’re joking.

His face remains neutral. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” You crawl up onto the couch to sit beside him. “I’ve never known a nerd to not love hentai.”

If he weren’t smart, he would tell you that he’s not a nerd. Instead, he says, “I pride myself on being unpredictable. And hentai is too…It’s over the top. The girls are always voiced by someone who sounds five years old. Huge turn off.”

“Then why do you not like porn?” you ask, propping your head up on your palm. “At least it’s grown humans.”

If he weren’t busy, he would probably give you a lecture—but that would technically be mansplaining, he thinks, so better to leave that alone. Instead…

“This is a whole conversation we could have,” Luigi says, “and I would love to have it with you, baby, really, but my mind is a bit occupied with something else right now. I have my reasons. I’ll tell you that.”

He’s got reasons for everything. Sometimes it pisses you off that he’s such a good thinker. Right now, though, it intrigues you; what does he like to imagine when he’s touching himself? Does he think about you? Doing what?

These are questions you could answer with one question of your own:

“Can I watch you?”

He glances over, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. “Watch me what?”

“Jerk off,” you say simply.

Then he blinks. Stops typing. Flushes ruddy red in his cheeks and his nose. “I’m—That’s—”

God, he’s adorable.

“You don’t have to decide now,” you tell him, gently planting your hand just above his knee and squeezing. “It’s just an idea.”

Your boyfriend stumbles over his words for a moment, makes some funny choked noises—as if he wants so desperately to find the means first, but just can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Would you like that?” he asks finally. “Like—Watching me?”

Well, you asked for a reason.

“Yeah,” you nod. “But if you’re uncomfortable with it, I understand.”

His big hands linger over the keyboard of his laptop, tracing the ridges beneath his palms. It takes some significant willpower to push the image of his fingers in your mouth out of your head.

“Think about it,” you say, patting his shoulder.

You don’t know if he does. Not for a while.

You’re in his room looking for your phone charger when you get to find out.

First you hear his keys turning in the door, his gigantic feet shuffling against the welcome mat: “Our House is a Very Very Very Fine House”. They step closer, trailing off every so often when he peeks into a room in search of you—but eventually you hear them approaching right behind you, a familiar pair of lips finding your neck.

Typically Luigi is quite blunt. Today he has no qualms about being indirect with you.

“What’s up, babe?” you ask when he wraps his arms around your torso, face buried in the warm crease of your shoulder.

And then you feel him.

Luigi is hard. You can feel his cock pressing against your backside, straining through his jeans, shockingly intimidating even after all this time of waking up next to his morning wood.

“Baby, is that you?”

“You said you wanted to watch me,” he interjects, his voice a rough and gravelly murmur in your ears. His breath is hot against your throat. “Do you still want to?”

Is he kidding?

“Fuck, yeah,” you nod, hands meeting his. “Are you gonna let me?”

He doesn’t answer you with words. Rather, he pulls away from you to settle down in his desk chair, just opposite the bed you’re now sitting on. You have to swallow your moan when he starts to unbuckle his belt—arousal rushes through your nervous system at the sound of metal clinking and pure Italian leather slipping through each loop of his pants.

You smile at the imprint of his greedy sex in his boxers. “What got you this worked up, Gi?”

His eyes relax, those long lashes fluttering. “I was thinking about you at work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s palming his erection through navy blue cotton, leaning back against the headrest of his chair. “Can’t get anything fuckin’ done. You’re distracting, you know that?”

He says that like it’s your fault he can’t control himself.

“You drive me nuts,” Luigi continues, hand squeezing and stroking at himself. “I’d quit the fucking thing if it meant I could just keep you in bed all day.”

The sound of that is nice.

“What were you thinking about?” you ask.

He takes a moment, either to formulate a response or to relish in the feeling of his hand teasing his cock through the soft fabric.

“You remember our third date?” he asks, eyelids heavy.

Of course you remember. For your third date, on a mild day in early June, Luigi took you to Kauai so you could see the Nāpali coast. June was the best time to visit, he said—tourists come for the sunniest weather, so the intermittent months when summer is still settling in are the least crowded and most tolerable. The sun was setting by the time you had made it down near the shore, and the way those glowing rays hit your skin had him feeling things that scared him and exhilarated him all in one sweeping breath; he insisted on pulling out his phone to snap a few pictures of you prancing along the coastline, your hair blowing in the wind. Your eyes were wild with joy and you squealed in ecstasy when he ran over to scoop you up in his strong arms and spin you around. For your third date Luigi fucked you in his car, parked in a lonely dirt lot just a few miles out of Koke‘e State Park, with the windows rolled down so the salty air could stream through and cool your flushed, sweating, moving bodies, his hips pounding into you from underneath. You think it’s the day he really fell in love with you; you heard him groan the words into your ear, breath shaky and words choked, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in time with his pointed thrusts.

You nod. “In your car.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, the thumb of his left hand dancing along the waistband of his underwear. “Fuck, you were so pretty that day. Sun looks good on you.”

Yes, he had made that very clear to you. He told you probably fifty times on the drive back to his apartment, thirty of which were said just before he pulled over and took matters into his own hands.

“You think about that day a lot, babe?” you ask.

“I think about you a lot.”

“Tell me,” you say. “Show me that big cock and tell me what else you think about.”

He’s pulling his boxers down his thighs—they quickly join the pool of denim at his ankles. One hand just barely lifts his sweater up, revealing a hint of his chiseled abs. The big cock in question smacks against his abdomen, the fat head of it pink and oozing pre. Your mouth waters.

“Think about fucking your face,” Luigi mutters, words slurred and hazy with titillation. His slender fingers are stroking the head of his dick, smearing slick over himself. “When you bent over the console to suck me off…I wish—Wish we could’ve been in my bed, so I could’ve just used your gorgeous little mouth.”

You can’t change the past, but you can certainly imagine an alternate universe where that did happen. He can too. He’s using his thumb and two fingers to squeeze his weeping glans, coaxing more of his arousal onto his hand and spreading it down to the base of his dick.

“I enjoyed that,” you tell him.

“Fuck, I did too,” he says, nodding. “You’re lucky it was so late and nobody was around. You had your ass facing the window. Probably would’ve given anyone walking by a pretty fuckin’ sight.”

Luigi’s loose fist continues stroking his cockhead, curls pressed back against his chair. His throat is bared to you, Adam’s apple bobbing, and your teeth yearn to touch the sensitive, stubble-dusted skin there. Every so often his thumb grazes his tender slit and punches a delicious whine from him, a sound so precious you wish you could collect it in a conch, hold it up to your ear and listen until the Earth burns out.

“I think what’s in front of me is much prettier,” you purr, leaning back onto the bed casually.

“Should’ve seen yourself,” he says. “I’m so glad I got you on camera. My brain could never conjure up the perfection of you, baby.”

That’s right. The pictures he took of you at the Nāpali coast weren’t the only documentation of that night. There was more taken later, in his car, as he was driving his hips into yours with your hair fisted tight in his hand; this video was more explicit, more revealing, a landscape shot of you riding on top, him gripping your ass ravenously. A few times you had suggested watching this particular video together—perhaps past glimpses of your voyeuristic desires—but every attempt only ended in a recreation rather than a communicative, parallel experience.

His hand begins to move lower, spreading his pre down his shaft with long, languid strokes, cupping and squeezing his balls occasionally. If you listen closely enough you can hear the wet sounds of him touching his cock. His face is pink, blatant evidence of his arousal, if the sight of him playing with himself right in front of you wasn’t enough to prove it.

“You gettin’ hot, babe?” you ask him, tone sultry.

He nods frantically.

Smirking, you order, “take that sweater off.”

Luigi has always been a good listener. His dick bounces when he shifts to pull the offending article up and over his head, curls ruffled and stomach muscles twisting. With his torso revealed to you he settles back into the chair and moves his hand to his cock again, still focused on wetting his length sufficiently (which isn’t difficult, what with how much he’s leaking at the sound of you bossing him around.) His abs are flexed and his nipples are hard, begging for a tongue to tease.

“That’s a good boy,” you murmur.

He groans, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

“Listen to me, baby,” you say, reaching for the hem of your shirt. “Stroke that perfect dick and keep your eyes on me.”

Your boyfriend nods obediently, hand moving with intent over the entire length of his cock, balls and all. His lush lips are parted, breathing heavy and moaning when his slick palm passes over the underside—his pace is slow at first, working himself up to his climax with ease.

And when his beaming brown eyes meet yours you take off your own shirt, leaving it to pile with his on the floor.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” you instruct.

Luigi whines. “I want my mouth on your nipples.”

You moan at that. Your hands glide over your chest, groping at yourself and passing over the very nipples your boyfriend speaks of. With a tightened fist he squeezes his glans, sighing with delight as he watches you move under lidded eyes.

“Il tuo corpo è arte,” he mutters under his breath.

“Yeah?” you tease, as if you understand what he’s saying. As if your flesh isn’t burning with desire. “You thinkin’ about tasting me?”

As you speak your hands migrate to the waistband of your sweatpants, beginning to pull them down.

“Fuck yes,” he nods. “You know I always am.”

In the process of getting your bottoms off you wiggle your hips around playfully, grinning at the way Luigi licks his lips and pumps his cock with each inch of skin you unveil to him. Your thighs flex and your smile grows the longer you keep your lidded eyes glued to his flushed face, lip trapped between sharp fangs. You ache to feel the point of his teeth in your skin.

“Baby, touch yourself,” he pleads. “Per favore, I want to see.”

You tut. “Patience, sweet boy. Keep talking to me.”

“Fuuuck,” he moans, compressing his cockhead with two fingers. “I love how you taste, love all the noises you make, fuck, so fucking pretty…”

“Mhmm,” you hum, leaning back on the bed invitingly. You run your hands over your chest again and smile sweetly at him, crossing your legs, uncrossing them, crossing again. Egging him on.

The tendons in his wrist flex against his Fitbit deliciously. “I want to lay you down and just make you come until you can’t stand me. Così dannatamente stupendo. You are…Shit…Tu governi la mio mente.”

You have no idea what the fuck he’s saying or why the Italian is coming out so strong when he’s this worked up but goddamn, if you were recording this…Your brain certainly is, capturing every second of his fist rubbing his cock furiously and the slick sounds of it projecting throughout the room. His wide throat pulses when he throws his head back to whine, feet fidgeting as he works, and you bite your lip to suppress your own needful impulses.

When your hand sneaks between your legs he grunts like a rabid dog.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes,” Luigi nods, staring directly at you. “I’m gonna come, oh, fuck, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

You nod with him, hand moving in sync, working yourself up quickly to see if you can meet him head-on. If he gets to watch you come while he’s climaxing you think he might explode. His veins throb as he speeds up his wrist and tenses his thighs, eyes glued on the pure arousal between your legs, spread open and on display just for him.

And then his face drops familiarly, eyelids stunned and lips parted, like he’s teetering on the edge, and you push him to the other side with a honeyed “I love you, baby,” and then he’s coming, splattering his hand and his sweat-soaked abdomen with himself. He keeps stroking the fat head of his cock for a few seconds longer and you love how he twitches and furrows his bushy brows, loudly finishing yourself at the sight of the mess he’s made for you.

“Wow, babe,” you chuckle. “You needed that, didn’t you?”

He flushes. “Whatever. You’re the one who wanted to watch, perv.”

Before he can reach for the tissues on his desk you hop up from the bed and crouch by his seat, grabbing his face. “You liked being watched. Didn’t you?”

“I—”

And before he can answer you, you reach down and scrape some of his orgasm onto your fingers, popping them into your mouth emphatically and giggling when his jaw goes slack.

“Well, did you?” you repeat with a wicked grin, licking some excess from between your index and middle finger.

His face tenses, then settles. “You’re insatiable.”

You shrug playfully.

Luigi points in your face. “And I better not hear about hentai simulators anymore. Help me clean up.”

il tuo corpo è arte = “your body is art”

per favore = “please”

così dannatamente stupendo = “so damn gorgeous”

tu governi la mio mente = “you rule my mind”

[delopsia]

heat lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 17,200 Read on AO3 Warnings/Notes: 18+ MDNI. AFAB! Reader, Alpha/Beta/Omega AU. Alpha! Rhett, Omega! Reader, friends to lovers, elements of forbidden love. Thunderstorms, violence, bar fights, semi-major injuries, blood, take note that the Reader does get punched in the face (by a random man) once. Sex pollen, mating cycles, cunnilingus, blowjobs, squirting, knotting. Eventual happy ending! Synopsis: In the back of your mind, you know what this is: the thinly veiled attempt at pretending that this is possible. You and him. A dreamy, happily ever after, where you don't have to worry about the money of a rich man putting your safety at risk. That world will never exist.

The distant rumble of thunder is what rouses you from the depths of your sleep-hazed mind, gingerly whisking away the remnants of a dream that you've already begun to forget, something about a retro hotel and a receptionist. Or...maybe he was a housekeeper. Manager? The answer isn't coming to you. Maybe if you clear your mind, you'll fall back asleep and pick up right where you left off. 

Thunder rolls again. It's closer this time; you can feel the vibration of it beneath your ear. 

No...that's not right. 

Warm breath fans out against your forehead, tickling so lightly that you only notice it when you focus on the sensation itself. A splayed-out hand rests flat against your back, a pair of firm arms rest coiled around you like a delicate vice, holding you close to a rising and falling chest.

The slightest shift of your head unveils the pitter patter of a heartbeat, stronger than the storm that lurks somewhere along the western horizon, no doubt closer than it was when you first fell asleep out here. There's no need to open your eyes to check. The new humidity in the air and slight chill in the breeze tell all that you need to know.

And even if you hadn't learned the secret tells of Wabang weather, the dull pain in your leg is never wrong about this sort of thing. Or maybe it is, and today is the day you're perfect track record shatters into a million tiny, shameful pieces. 

Rhett's hand glides up your spine, and even despite the thin barrier of your shirt, you can feel the dull pressure of his nails grazing against you, leaving invisible lines in their wake. He hums again, a grumbling noise that silences your mind entirely. 

The flimsy excuse of sleep is the only reason why you can justify snuggling closer, burying your face into him like a needy cat. Worse, his arms tighten, locking you in before you can even consider pulling away from him. A contented sigh escapes him, gently nuzzling his cheek against your forehead, prickly, unshaven face like sandpaper against your skin. 

Your eyes aren't even open, but you can feel them trying to close, drawn back into the quiet limbo of sleep. It's as if Rhett's sweet, leathery scent is warding off any other possible thought, reducing you to a sleepy mess in his arms, incapable of doing anything but hug him tighter and nap on him like a pleased barn cat. Even the aggravating sensation of his belt buckle digging into your belly is forgotten, nothing but a vague sensation that rests in the far depths of your mind. 

"Hey," it comes as nothing but a whisper, nearly lost to the breeze rushing through the leaves overhead. 

You don't react. Swallowing down any intention of acknowledging you heard him, or god forbid, reveal that you've been awake for some time now. 

But that big hand finds its way to your shoulders, working his fingers into the muscle there, like he's trying to manually draw you out of your sleep. "Hey," he tries again, "'m gonna be late if we don't get up soon."

"Then be late," the flatness in your tone has more bite in it than you anticipated.

This close, Rhett's amused chuckle sounds something akin to an earthquake. "I thought y' liked watchin' me ride?" You still don't respond, but Rhett keeps on talking. "I already forgot my rodeo bag, 'm I leavin' you here too?"

By some miracle, you manage to sit up a little bit, just far enough for you to pry your eyes open and glare at him through your lashes. The effort is lost within milliseconds, dissipated by the sudden bite of pain in your left leg. 

"Head still hurt?" Rhett asks it so sweetly that a pang of guilt twinges in your lower belly, the bitter taste of your overused white lie coming back to haunt you again.

Fortunately, he doesn't seem interested in waiting for an answer, sitting up and snaking those arms around you once more, his shoulder the perfect space for your head to fall into. And again, the world around you vanishes, the sound of the wind now a distant memory.  

"You're sure y' don't wanna stay home 'n sleep it off?" Repeating his idea from before the impromptu nap took place. "'m sure I can get Archie to record my ride, save ya from a trip into town."

"I want to go," you insist, "even ifthe storm cuts it short." 

"I don't think anything short of a tornado is gonna get them folks to shut down early," Rhett tilts his head, rubbing against the small gland on your temple, trying his damndest to wrap himself in your non-existent scent. Unless the side-effects of your suppressants have miraculously vanished without warning, the motion is entirely futile. And yet, he tries anyway, seeking out something that you've never produced before.

You're growing closer and closer to deciding that suffering through a heat cycle is worth the satisfaction of marking him. Those buckle bunnies have been closer and closer to him every weekend; it's only a matter of time before one of them makes a move before you do. 

Rhett's nose bumps into your cheek. So, so close. "Your friends are still takin' ya, right?" 

"Yes," then, jutting out your bottom lip, playing up your irritation to the highest degree. "I still don't get why you won't let me ride with you anymore."

"'Cause them folks up in town have been givin' me all sorts of hell about the whole Perry 'n Trevor situation." Maybe your pouting is working, because Rhett looks away from you awfully quickly. "I don't want them harassin' you over it too." 

"As if I can't fend for myself," eyeroll. 

"Never said you couldn't. But people do crazy things for money, and that new reward the Tillersons issued..." He doesn't finish that thought, instead staring off into the distance as if transfixed by the brewing storm. 

You know what he's talking about; it's been nearly impossible to ignore all of the signs plastered across the grocery store bulletin boards. You probably saw a dozen when you ran into town for snacks last week, scattered in thick clusters everywhere the eye could see. Five hundred thousand for any information that leads to the whereabouts and arrest of Perry Abbott.

One man fucks up, and now everyone around him pays for the consequences of the actions that he refuses to face. 

He's off in god knows where, while you're stuck here, warding off public interactions for the sake of keeping prying eyes off your back. No more of Rhett abusing his store runs as an excuse to get lunch with you, or going to out-of-town rodeos and bickering about fast food choices. You can't risk smelling like each other, can't pretend that you're cold just because you want his arm around you. 

No blurring the line between friends and creating something new. All because a bunch of no-name assholes are going to think you know something about Perry and start harassing you like they already do with the rest of the Abbotts. Cecelia can't even go to church anymore. Not after that oversized protest led the pastor to ask the family to stay away for a while, until the frenzy dies down. 

Your vision blurs, a familiar bitterness ebbing at your senses. 

God, stupid, fucking—

You shouldn't be getting emotional this quickly, never mind letting tears well up in your eyes, forcing you into a downward spiral of frantic blinking before they spill over onto your cheeks.

There are hands on your face. Big, warm things that guide you to look at him. The soft hues of blue that greet you ought to drown you right here and now, drag you below the surface, never to be seen or heard from again. A question visibly swims through his gaze, but he doesn't utter it. There's no point in asking a question that he already knows the answer to. 

You wish he could be yours.

The ban on cowbells didn't even last a month. 

For two spectacular weekends in a row, your poor ears were free of any obnoxious ringing and rattling, but now...now you're paying dearly for your fleeting sense of peace. Someone must be selling them by the truckload, because you don't recall there ever being this many. There might be one or two in the average crowd, and close to a dozen during rodeo finals.

This...is something else entirely. 

You can no longer hear the sound of your own thoughts; it's all been replaced with the ear-splitting sound of cowbells. The sound of your heartbeat could have been replaced with a cowbell, and you would be none the wiser. But the obnoxiousness of it all can only distract you for so long.

You can still feel it. The irrational conviction that all eyes in the crowd dart to you when you're not looking. 

They don't know who you are. Out of this overpacked stadium, there are probably only a dozen people from Wabang, and even then, the chances of those people recognizing you are even slimmer. And yet, the sensation of being watched sends a shiver down your spine. The whole town might as well be looming up in the stands behind you, hyper-analyzing the way you lean into the fencing and crane your neck to get a better view of the bullriders.

From so far away, it's hard to tell which one is Rhett. Clothes don't help, you don't know what color of shirt he changed into, and there are so many plaid shirts and brown felt hats that you don't even know where to start. 

You like to believe he's the one looking in your direction. 

A dull throb settles into the forefront of your head, and it's a wonder that it isn't backdropped by a cowbell, too. You should have packed a few painkillers before you headed out the door; it's already growing worse. Heartbeat pounding in your ears, the corners of your vision blurring in synchrony with it. 

This is what you get for mooching off the little medicine stash in Rhett's truck. You've become so reliant on him that you've ultimately screwed yourself. 

"—Rhett Abbott!" 

The gate has already swung open. A black and white bull kicks its legs into the air, bucking with such strength that it's as if the animal weighs nothing at all. The clock is ticking, but you can't look at it. The bull careens its head to the left, whipping its body around in a tight circle.

 Rhett's still on. You can see his hand from here. 

The buzzer sounds. Celebratory smoke explodes from the chutes.

The bull's rear end springs up. Momentum slams its nose into the ground. It's suddenly standing vertically.

And the animal tips forward. 

The booming impact echoes. A plume of dirt obscures your line of sight. The bull's legs flail in the air, trying to roll off its back. You don't see Rhett. 

Did he already jump off? 

But you don't see him darting off into the safety of the arena, and the bullfighters are running. Shouting. Yipping. The bull finally swings itself over, jumping up onto its feet and kicking once more. Defiant, unharmed by such a fall. 

A still frame lies in the dirt; Rhett. 

Air catches in your throat. He's not moving at all. Or maybe he is, you can't see through the crowd that's wedging between you and the fence. You don't remember moving, but you're bobbing and weaving back and forth. Straining to look. Rhett. That's your Rhett. And all of these nameless faces are shoving in front of you as if they know him! You squeeze forward. Someone's elbow clocks you in the ribs. A man fires a glare over his shoulder. 

The crowd erupts into cheer, clapping their hands. You jump, struggling to see. Rhett's not there anymore. A burst of pain in your leg screams at you to stop. You jump again. Figures are walking across the arena. He's moving. 

And so is everyone fucking else. Parents and cowgirls and old men who are already muttering about how they wouldn't count a score for that ride. People you've never seen a day in your life. 

For a split second, the crowd parts like the Red Sea. You're bolting through it like a deer on a busy road, squeezing and bumping between people before they have a chance to realize you're there. They're already closing back in on you. Your foot is dragging beneath you. But you hardly even notice it. Your eyes are torn between the path ahead and the arena, looking for Rhett's figure. 

There's already a new bull launching out of the chutes. He's not there anymore. And you can't see him from the back gate, either. 

A defiant piece of laminated printer paper is the only thing to keep you grounded. Rodeo contests only beyond this point. Violators will be prosecuted.

There he is. Walking across the concrete, headed toward a little red tent, perched off in a far corner. He's walking by himself now, but people still surround him, as if to catch him the moment he falls. 

"Rhett!" But someone else shouts louder than you. And another person, and another. Cheers, encouragement.

"Walk it off!" As if broken bones can be overcome by mind over matter. 

"That was a fantastic ride!" 

He doesn't hear you. Nobody even lifts their head to acknowledge the gathering of strangers. You whine like a damn animal. Is he okay? He's walking, but is he okay?  Why are the medics in a closed-off area like this? What if he's really hurt and they rush him off to the hospital? You won't even know which one they've taken him to. Why is this guy trying to push you out of the way so he can get a look?

The feeling of eyes on the back of your neck is the only thing to remind you to bite your tongue. Here you are, another one of those damn omegas that can't quit squealing at every stressful event.  

That nameless man pushes into you again, forcing you to the side. You stumble, trying to stay upright. Pain gnaws at your lower left leg, so sharp that your knee nearly gives way with it. The cold fence panels are the only thing you have for leverage, and frankly, clinging to the railing is probably the only reason why this bald jerk doesn't manage to shove you out of the way entirely. 

The buzzer sounds again. And again. And again. The announcer's voice booms over the speakers, talking about a brief pause for some barrel racing before the bullriders return to finish the night off. With it, parts of the crowd begin to split off, picking off one by one. The fascination is already dwindling; there are better things to see. 

But you're still standing here. Leaned against the fencing, precariously balancing on your right foot. Between the imminent storm and the jostling of the crowd, putting weight on it is worse than the headache chewing at your psyche. But you shouldn't be thinking about your own pain when Rhett is still somewhere in that tent. 

They haven't rushed him off to the hospital yet, you would have heard the sirens if they did, but they're taking so long to let him out that there's no doubt something is wrong. Did he retear the ligament in his shoulder? His wrist? Is it a new injury that's going to take him out of the rodeo season?

This time, nobody is around to hear your little grumblings. It's not at all the sweet, angelic noises that omegas in the movies make. No, you sound more like a dejected dog, pitifully crying over table scraps. 

"Must be a hell of a cowboy if you're whinin' for 'em."

You jump. Spinning around so quickly that you nearly fall.

Rhett. 

All six foot of him, a split lip and a gash across his nose. Dirt clings to his hair, his right sleeve his ripped from bicep to forearm, exposing miles of milky skin, marred by a large red patch that you're certain will be black and blue come sunrise. He shouldn't even be standing here. They should be rushing him to the hospital with major injuries; some kind of fracture or a head wound. 

But here he is, standing in front of you as if nothing happened at all. And all you can do is stare at him, as if the sight of him is a hallucination. 

A little bit stiff, he opens his arms, and the brush of his fingertips against your shoulder is the only indication he's real. "C'mere." 

It's like melting under candlelight, bodies colliding into one, his arms are swirling around you, and you're burying your face into his shoulder, and he's shaking. A microscopic tremble invisible to the naked eye, but as vicious as an earthquake beneath your touch. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin, and alive. 

A pitchy whine strangles its way out of your throat before you can ward it off. The arms around you tighten, a grumble rolling out of Rhett's chest like thunder in the distance, and he tilts his head just enough to rub your temples together. Sheer instinct. And like a switch has flipped, the tension lingering in your bones fizzles into nothing. 

"Are you okay?" The sound of your voice comes as a shock. When did your mouth open?

"Just some bruisin' 's all," that could be a lie for all you know, but you're choosing to believe it. "The bull landed next t' me. My lip is the worst injury I've got."

As if to prove his point, he draws back, far enough for you to see his face. The wound on his lip isn't anything you haven't seen before; bar fights have wounded him worse. Still, you can't help but raise your hand to his face, tracing a finger below the split skin. Close, but not touching it.

"Reckon I won't be kissin' anyone anytime soon," he muses.

"I didn't know there was someone you wanted to kiss," you already regret uttering those words. 

Soft eyes flicker down to your mouth, lingering, then crawl back up to meet your gaze. Those crystal blues can only do so much to distract you from the thought that visibly emerges in his mind.

You fear that he sees the same in yours. 

Another thick wave of rain blows against the bar windows, lightning flickering with a silent, unspoken warning. The blur of droplets against the glass makes for a breathtaking contrast against the neon lights hanging outside, a dazzling blur of blue, yellow, and red that merge into a picture plucked straight from a museum. 

In the reflection, you can see your friend spinning around with her newfound partner for the night, some nameless team roper that will be forgotten by the end of the weekend. Autumn's current catch is a much quieter subtype, the soft-spoken rodeo hand whose name you've already forgotten. All you can remember is that he's a beta who smells suspiciously like peanut butter.

A peanut butter man for a woman with a crippling peanut allergy. How fitting.

Any other night, you would be throwing joking looks over the rim of your glass. Whispering silly things, just to get a playful rise out of your friends. But you're no better than they are, tucked under the warm, strong arm of a cowboy, like some precious little thing deserving of his protection. 

You're too close to Wabang to be pulling a stunt like this, but...

"You're sure y' don't want 'em?" Rhett's so close that the vibration of his voice tickles your forehead, borderline too intimate for a bar setting. 

"I think you need painkillers more than I do," tapping your nail against the bottle, where the label has already begun to rub off. A few more rodeos and it'll be as nondescript as the other medications that occupy his stash.

"Doll, it's a bottle of three hundred." He spins the bottle around, but the lettering has faded so much that the number has been reduced to thirty. "I think I can spare a few."

Pressure squeezes tighter, feels as if an invisible force is trying to crush your skull. It seems the longer this goes on, the worse it gets, just like the unusual heat that has come to occupy your cheeks. 

Or maybe it's just hot in this bar. 

As if he can hear your resistance cracking, Rhett twists off the cap, spilling the little round pills into his oversized palm. Despite their identical shape and color, two stand out, and his hand remains steady as you meticulously sort them out of the bunch. One at a time, they make their way onto your tongue, washed down by greedy sips of his water. 

Before you can realize it's gone, his arm drapes over your shoulders once more, as if he thinks that you'll drift away into the chaos of the bar if he doesn't. In the back of your mind, you know what this is: the thinly veiled attempt at pretending that this is possible. You and him. A dreamy, happily ever after, where you don't have to worry about the money of a rich man putting your safety at risk.

That world will never exist, but...

You drop your head, nuzzling into the space beneath his neck and chin, where his scent has already begun to reemerge. The cheap soap from his post-rodeo shower can only do so much, reduced to nothing but a footnote in his signature leather. A low vibration greets your ear, so quiet that it's nearly lost to the vague thump of the music. 

"This isn't very 'we're just friends' of you," he says as if he's not shifting in his chair, drawing you closer with those big, warm arms. 

"Tell them I'm drunk," you can't bring yourself to open your eyes and check to see who's looking. Things will be okay if you do this once, in a no-name bar twenty-something miles outside of Wabang. 

Blunt fingertips settle between your shoulder blades, massaging into muscle that you didn't realize was sore until now. And you're melting like butter in the sun, and if his breath gets any closer to the back of your neck, you're going to start sizzling.

At some point, the bar setting comes back into focus. Neon lights and thick, dark shadows, highlighting bodies and concealing faces. The only person you can see is the lone bartender, flitting between drinks, stress visibly deepening the wrinkles between her brows. A soft hue of gold casts across her face, a bunch of cheap lights hidden in old bottles, lingering on the shelves behind her. One small part of a cluttered decor wall, full of pictures and...

A mirror. More precisely, a mirror who reflects...

you.

It feels intrusive to see things from this perspective. The angle makes Rhett look so much bigger than he actually is, draped over you like a blanket, cheek squished against your forehead. A smile occupies his mouth, so content to do nothing but look at you. 

His eyes follow yours, widening when they lock onto the reflection. That smile widens, visible for a brief second, before he turns to properly hide his face, with you as his mighty shield. But it's too late, he's already been caught.

A chair squeals, thunking against the empty table next to yours. The culprit thumps past, heavy boots and a gaudy hat, but you don't care to look at them, nor do you wish to see the two men who toddle in his footsteps. A flash of lightning illuminates their backs, and, frankly, that was more than you wanted to see.

"'m gonna run out to the truck," Rhett draws away. A piece of you might have just died of anguish. "Think I left my rodeo bag in the bed again." 

A lingering thought urges you to cling to his arm and follow him out, beg to keep this unspoken intimacy from burning out. But he's already standing up, and what remains of your dignity has glued its hands to the controls, anchoring you to your seat. 

"Yeah, it would be bad if you drowned another bag full of gear." Forcing a laugh, you push him toward the door, as if you're not a breath away from putting on a show that'll put Hollywood to shame. There's a reason why he's not yours. A reason that you agreed to. 

Something foreign builds in your throat as he slips through the door, bubbling to the surface. 

"Looks like you've got yourself a cowboy," Autumn's voice shatters your stupor. How long has she been standing there?

"I do not." Your reply is too quick for it to be believable, but you never had much of a defense to begin with.

"Uhuh," with a roll of her eyes, Autumn all but falls into the chair next to yours. The drink in her hand sloshes, golden fluid licking at the rim, but it doesn't spill over. "Like you don't come alive every time that man walks into the room."

The bar door squeaks open, cool air breezing through the gap and twisting around your feet. Rhett. That was fast—

It's just those nameless men again. Two, three, four of them shove through the threshold and out into the rain, firm faces and silent mouths, like they're reenacting an old western shootout. 

"You've got it bad," Autumn, smug as a cat. You're not doing yourself any favors here.

Worse. That old warm scent commands your attention. Notes of leather, smoke, cream, and vanilla, so absurdly sweet that one can mistake it for a stereotypical omega, if not careful. But you're far too familiar with the owner of this scuffed cowboy hat to make that mistake. 

"...I do," burying your face in your hands. Defeated. "God, it's terrible." 

"You're telling me," her words echo into the glass as she lifts it to her lips, already half empty. "You know you can't dance around each other forever, right?"

"I know," you groan, "we just...I don't know. We promised to—"

"Like that alpha wouldn't drop everything and move across the country if you so much as batted your eyes at him," she says it so simply that you wonder how long she's been holding onto that one. "Leaving town solves everything."

The door opens once more, and once again that same damp, chilly air rushes in, swirling around behind you like a bad memory. A shiver races up your spine. A moment passes, and Autumn shivers, too.

"Does tequila make you wise beyond your years or something?"You ask, reaching for Rhett's forgotten water. Surely he won't notice a few missing sips. 

Autumn's eyes lock onto someone across the room, widening with nondescript emotion. "No, but it does make Maria puke on shoes." You follow her line of sight, across the bar and toward the pool table. A small frame and black hair keel over, clinging to a cue stick like a crutch. Autumn looks at you, then back to Maria. "I should take her..." 

"Go, save her from herself." You're already waving her off, not about to join the clean-up crew two weeks in a row. "I'll pick up a ride with you know who."

Autumn is already halfway across the room. "Don't do anything I wouldn't!"

"That's terrible advice!" You lose sight of her before you've gotten the first syllable out, blocked off by the oversized frame of a man with an equally oversized beard. That red plaid flannel does nothing to save him from the lumberjack stereotype; in fact, it's so convincing that you've got to check his hands for an axe.

But the only thing on his hands is...what is that? It's dark. Looks something akin to mud, but it drips from his fingers as he wipes them on a towel. Sourness twists in your belly. Your attention flicks back to the door. Rhett's still not back from his truck. How long does it take to...?

Rhett forgot his rodeo bag at home. 

You don't feel your feet touch the floor, but you're already moving closer to the door, pushing it open with your shoulder. Freezing wind hammers against you, nature's desperate attempt to whisk you back into the safety of the bar, raindrops like tiny daggers. You squint, hugging Rhett's hat to your chest, the closest thing you have to a shield. 

The storm is already here, rain falling in thick white sheets that virtually erase the rest of the world from existence. All you can see is your feet and the vague silhouette of vehicles, messily parked in the gravel lot, so close to the building that they form a makeshift barricade from the onslaught of howling wind. 

"Rhett?" It's like calling out into an abyss. There's not even an echo.

You aren't sure where you're going, but you're moving, following the rapidly disappearing path. Sedan, sedan, SUV, a topless Jeep, another sedan. That truck is too big to be Rhett's; the next one is too new. An out-of-place sports car, SUV, sedan...pickup with an aftermarket light bar.  

"Rhett?" Trying again.

Thunder rumbles. Your only reply. 

But that's Rhett's truck, tucked away at the very end of the row, up underneath a swaying lamp post. It's too dark to see into the cab from this distance, forcing you to step closer, until your nose bumps against the glass. Empty. 

But where else could he have gone? 

Pain nags. The nerves in your leg already beg for the comfort of that wooden bar chair, but you can't stop moving. Guided by the will of your feet, you keep moving, splashing through puddles as you continue down the parking lot. The water soaks through your shoes, ice cold and burning your toes. 

You're at a crossroads. He could have gone this direction, or maybe he went the opposite way. Hell, maybe he's in the woods that lie beyond the lot, or behind the building. What was so important that he had to take off in the rain? 

There's a sound to your left, towards the cluster of cars parked at the side of the building. Your ears prick, wide eyes flickering back and forth, straining to see through the thick shield of white. 

Lightning flickers. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

Four times. Flipping on and off like a switch. 

Movement to your left. A blurry, gray mass, nearly impossible to distinguish from its surroundings. But it's there. The world lights up once more, and there's a second one. A third. You're moving toward it, stumbling through the gravel ocean that forms at your feet. Another SUV, a sedan, three more trucks, a sports car too pretty to be from this area.

But no Rhett.

Maybe it was in your head. You see nothing but rain, gray and black, broken apart by the white glow of another precariously hung lamp post. There's another noise. A thump, around the corner of the building—

A flash of color. Something heavy strikes. 

And you're falling. Knocked off your feet. Pain sears in your eye, the impact of something you didn't see coming. Sharp gravel catches you with the grace of shattered glass. Rhett's hat jumps from your grasp and fuck something is in your eye. 

A boot catches you in the chest. You can't breathe. 

Rhett shouts.

Rhett. Surging up from the ground, bloody hands grabbing hold of—that's the bald guy from before. 

Another figure darts into vision. Striking the back of Rhett's head with an elbow. He stumbles. There's another man. Punches Rhett in the face before he's taken two steps. Rhett spins, barreling headfirst into him. 

The fall. Another guy has him by the hair, and he's hitting him again, and—

You jump backward. Dodging a shoe to the jaw. What the fuck. What the fuck? 

"Looks like your 'mega 's here to save the day, Abbott!" You don't know who the hell this man is, but he sure seems to know who you are. His grin so big that the tobacco in his lip spills out, cascading down toward your feet. 

There's three, four, five, six of them. 

Seven, eight? 

You don't know. 

You can't see around this guy. Can't see what's happening. But there are enough of them to form a loose circle around Rhett. Laughing. Jeering. About as excited as this man is to see you, stepping forward for every inch you scoot backward. Your back hits the grill of the sports car.

Nowhere else to go.

Your teeth bare. Hot blood clouds your right eye, rolling down your face. You're feeling around, as if you'll magically find a weapon. All you have is an oversized rock. Your hand struggles to curl around it. 

"What you gonna do, omega?" He sneers, leaning down. Closer. Even through the rain, you can smell his breath. "Growl at me? Huh?" 

Lightning strikes a nearby tree. Ear-splitting. For a moment, everyone freezes, whipping around to look for where it hit. 

You jump to your feet, spinning—

The rock crashes through the windshield. A shrill alarm begins to squeal. Headlights flash. Horn honking on and off. 

Pain explodes in the back of your leg. A scream pierces your ears. And you're falling again. Face-first into the hood of the car, barely caught by your own hands. It's no use, you're still crumpling to the ground. 

But they're running. 

All of them. Darting into the maze of the parking lot like a bunch of feral cats. One darts past you, throwing a handful of bright green dust into your eyes, the underwhelming final blow. 

Rhett.

"Rhett?" Your voice is off, raw in your throat. 

Was that you who screamed? 

His weary form drags from the ground once more, stumbling forward. You push up, one foot after the other, and—

You yelp. Left leg slipping out from under you, and you're flat on the ground again. Stupid. Stupid fucking bones. One bad fall off of a horse and suddenly it's not worth a goddamn thing. You pull yourself up again, fumbling. 

Someone collides into the other. You don't know who. All you know is that you're falling again, and his arms are around you and there's blood pouring from his mouth and there's a long cut on the side of his neck, and...

"I'm sorry," he sputters, arms shivering as he tries to pull you in close. "I'm sorry, fuck, I'm sorry, I..." His heavy body smothers yours into the ground, curling around you like a shield, his face burying into your neck. 

The wind picks up, blowing his hat toward you, miraculously unscathed from the scuffle. Unwinding yourself from him to grab it is hard enough, can't bring yourself to fully let go of him yet. 

But that horn is still blaring, and you've only got so much time before the owner comes looking, or those men return for another round. And you're all out of trump cards.

"We need to go," your words waver, tongue stiff in your mouth. 

For what it's worth, Rhett tries. Audibly digging his feet into the ground and dragging himself up once again, but then he reaches for you, and his balance sways out from beneath him. Knees slam into the ground, his mouth pops open, a steady stream of crimson spilling over his lip as he tries to speak. 

His hand finds your cheek, smoothing across it and up to your eye, swiping a thumb over your brow. That must be where you're bleeding from, and you can only hope that it's not a deep gash. 

Lightning cackles as he tries to get up again, moving slower this time. You wedge beneath one of his arms, using yourself as a crutch, in spite of the aching bone that screams at you to quit putting weight on it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting back the urge to gasp and wince. 

It can wait. 

It can wait.

This time, as you blindly march through the rain, you know where the truck is, but the trip isn't any shorter. One careful step after the other, fighting the protest of your own body to wait for Rhett to catch up. His weight sways. Your knee threatens to quit. 

For once, you're thrilled to find that Rhett has once again left his truck unlocked. It's so much easier to push him into his passenger seat when you don't have to search for a lock on the door. But how you get him up there, and how you walk around the truck by yourself, is a sheer mystery. 

Lifting your right foot, you step into the truck. Simultaneously, your left side gives way, and you're falling into the truck like a damn fool.

"Are you okay?" Rhett's speech wobbles, and you don't want to know what would happen to it if you told the truth.

"I just tripped, is all," lying through your teeth. You hold a hand out, changing the subject before he can catch on and call you out on it. "Keys."

His eyes lock onto your hand, hardly reacting to it, lost in a daze that almost certainly stems from that blow to the head. Your fingers wiggle, and he twitches. Without a word, he plucks the truck key from his pocket, forgoing any stubborn attempt to insist that he's okay. 

And that might be worse than him actually arguing with you on the matter.

The key twists in the ignition, and the old beast of an engine rumbles to life, growling like a bear, waking from its slumber. You've watched Rhett do this so many times that you already know to press the button four times to get the headlights on. The gear shift lever is harder to pull than you thought it was going to be, but you've got the truck reversing out of its spot. 

"Hospital?" Asking as you struggle to press on the brakes. A futile distraction. 

"No!" His voice booms through the cabin.

The truck abruptly stops, and for a moment, so does your heart. 

Rhett's face softens, sinking back into the corner of the seat. "No, no, I'm okay," quieter now, almost meek in comparison.

Getting out of the parking lot is the hardest part about driving this ancient behemoth, but eventually, you're crawling out onto the pavement of a state road, windshield wipers turned as high as they'll go. Beneath the ocean of water and glare of headlights, the lane markings disappear, leaving you to guess about where the truck should be on the road. But you're not in a ditch yet, so maybe you're doing something right here.

A million and one questions flutter through your head, as if you haven't got enough to focus on. Who were those guys? Was that related to Perry and the Tillersons again? What even was their plan? Kill him? 

You knew they were giving Rhett trouble, but, shit, you never could have guessed it was this dangerous. Why did he lie and face it alone rather than running to the truck like last time? Is he sure that he's okay? What if he's suffering a severe concussion, or a secret internal injury that you don't know about? 

Are you sure that you're not dreaming this up? Even the ache in your skull hardly even feels real. It's glued to the forefront of your mind, but it's like watching the scenes of a movie, rather than your own personal experience. They're not your memories, but they are at the same time.

Fingertips brush against the side of your face, where you're certain a gnarly bruise is in the process of forming. 

When did you park in the driveway?

Through the thick veil of darkness, your eyes meet, instantly glued together by a wordless tension. The kind that arises when something desperately needs to be addressed, but all parties involved lack the guts to voice it.

"This is my fault," he mutters, turning his head away. Unable to look at you anymore. "If I hadn't been all over you at the bar—I...if..." 

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, trapped in silence. The longer you search for the right words to say, the more your head begins to feel like it's spinning, your vision blurring at the edges. It wasn't his fault. He may have been worried about this, but there's no way that he could have known those guys were looking for him.

"I should go," his conclusion strikes like the boot that nailed you in the chest. 

A whine slips past your lips. "But I don't want you to go," absolutely pitiful. Any attempt to save yourself with a nonchalant tone is long gone. 

Rhett's face softens, a sort of dumb shock overtaking his eyes, before that melts away, too, reduced to a meager frown. Again, he looks away from you. A moment passes, and his bottom lip begins to wobble. 

His arms open. In a heartbeat, you're in them. There's no doubt that this is hurting him, but he's stubbornly pulling you into his chest anyway, rain-soaked clothes and all. It's so easy to fall into your favorite place, ear squished over his heart, where it stubbornly pitter patters away, unscathed and full of life that has been endangered twice in one night. 

The truck is too small for this. You're about to slide off the bench seat entirely, and yet you remain glued together; if one falls, you both fall. Poetry has been written over less.

Without thought, you lift your head, rubbing the side of your head against his jaw, and for a moment, you're nothing but a dumb omega, trying to soothe an alpha. But you lack the scent for such a thing, nature's equivalent of an empty promise. You drag yourself away just as Rhett leans forward, about to do something that dissipates before you've had a chance to come back to him.

Was he about to...?

Lightning cracks its whip, and like horses, you get moving. 

From the moment your feet touch the ground, the nerves in your leg are begging for you to sit back down, gnawing away as you round the truck. Rhett is already out, stubbornly moving forward before you can fully catch up. Still, you're quicker, and his arm lifts for you to slip under it, just like last time. 

The porch lights glow peeks through the curtain of rain, a beacon in this raging sea. Heavy gusts of wind try to push you back toward the truck, determined to keep you from reaching the safety of home. You don't know you've reached the porch until you kick the bottom stair. They're impossible to see, but you've walked up them so many times that you don't need to—

Pain splits your senses. Your knee smacks into the wood. Agony crackles up your leg and into your spine. Muscles seize, winding tighter and tighter. It feels as if your leg is trying to break itself again, refusing to obey your feeble attempt to get back up, only slipping out from under you once more.

Warmth arrives from above, hands smooth up and down your back. Rhett's so close that his presence is the only thing you can comprehend, gingerly nuzzling his head against yours. Through the rain, a distinct smokiness finds you, and your buzzing mind ceases entirely. 

"'ts alright," he murmurs, rubbing his scent over you like he's been doing it his whole life. 

You've heard descriptions of this in books and tales from friends, but you never imagined it would feel like this. Every bone in your body has evaporated, tension melts until you've reduced to putty. The pain is still there, yet it's somehow an afterthought, pushed into the far depths of your mind. All from the mere pressure against glands and a familiar smell. 

So, this is why everyone is crazy about scenting. 

"C'mon, I've got you," Rhett coaxes you up. Your leg continues its protest, but your feet are steady enough to make it up the stairs, leaning against each other in such a way that you aren't sure who is holding who up.

The temperature of the house makes you feel colder than you already did, suddenly hyperaware of the frigid water that has long since numbed your skin. By the time you stumble into the bathroom, it's tingling back to life, painfully so.

"Where we landin'?" Rhett grunts, sounds like he's about to drop at any second.

"The shower," it'll be easier to clean. Better than getting a heinous stain on your light colored bath mat.

The tile is anything but a welcoming fall, but it's too late. Rhett is going down, and he's taking you with him, landing in a messy heap of tangled limbs. Your thigh is trapped under his knee, his hair is in your face, and your back is pinned to the corner of the bath. It's a welcome mess that you haven't the strength to pull out of. 

Only now do you notice the tear in his shirt, exposing mottled skin, cherry red, and faint notes of purple decorated over a milky white canvas. The pearl snap buttons pop open with the slightest tug, falling open with ease. 

Blood freezes in your veins. 

Shades of red encase the right side of his ribcage, the print of a boot painfully visible in the midst of it all. Scuffs and deep scratches across his soft belly, dried blood clings to the underside of his bucking bull tattoo. And you couldn't see the bruising peeking out from his hairline until now, but under the bright bathroom lighting, it's painfully visible.

"Who got you in the nose with the rings?" You whisper, following the small cuts from the bridge of his nose to the patch of red beneath his right eye. More of them hide below the dark mess of hair clinging to his jaw, certain to be darker come sunrise. 

"Same one who got you," he ghosts a fingertip over your wounded brow, where you can feel a freshly formed scab. 

You wonder if the mark on your face matches his. A worse version of friendship bracelets. 

Beyond the sturdy walls of the house, the storm deepens its rage. Hail clatters against the metal roof, rain growing louder in tune with the wind's blow. Thunder shakes the ground, another one of those resounding threats to terrorize everything within its reach.

"Your leg," from this mess of a position, Rhett's able to trace the surgery scar that marks the old injury. "It's been hurtin' you all day, hasn't it?" 

You don't know how to respond, but he continues talking as if you did.

"I saw it at the rodeo. When you were waitin' on me, you kept shiftin' your weight off of it." His hand is so big that it encases the area entirely. 

You're back at the ranch. 

Ass in the dirt, choking back a sputtering sob while he flutters over you, trying to find where you've been hurt. In hindsight, it was an honest mistake. Nobody could have known that the horse would spook, much less for you to fall like you did. An awkward collision into the unforgiving ground. The luck of narrowly avoiding a kick to the head coming at the cost of a horribly broken bone.

Rhett's thumb works into the thick collection of scar tissue, massaging at the tension there. "Why didn't you tell me?"

You can't look at him anymore, suddenly interested in anything but him. The faint streak in the bathroom mirror, how the counter has a piece of chipped paint in the far corner. Your vision is too blurry to read the label on your body wash. The plastic seal from your bottle of heat suppressants sits idly on the edge of the trash can.

A lime green gel substance coats part of your leg, looks like you've gotten into a fight with Jello. It's on Rhett's hand, painfully obvious as it curls around your chin and guides you to look back at him. Shades of worry wrinkle his face, collecting in the corners of his eyes. 

How strange it is that you both lie and conceal the truth in the name of protecting the other, only for it to fall apart anyway. He doesn't know that the break never truly quit hurting. You don't know how many times he's been beaten senseless behind a bar. 

Without a word, you clamber out of his lab, practically crawling to get the first aid kit out from under the sink. The handle is still cracked from its last use, the remnants of panic induced by the sight of blood waterfalling from his hand. Looking back, there are things much worse than a kitchen knife lurking beneath soapy water.

Rhett doesn't protest, quietly sits up to let you doctor him as you see fit, wiping dirt from open cuts and gently wittling away at excess dried blood. The worst of his injuries are smaller than they initially appeared, but as you work on them, you begin to realize that the bruising is the true concern here. Fuck, they're everywhere.

A cool wipe dabs at your temple. You're unsure of how you failed to notice Rhett opening one, but like him, you can't bring yourself to fuss about it. Red stains the stark white material, deepening with every swipe. There's enough of it to warrant a second wipe, gradually working from cheek to jaw, and you can't help but wonder how much of your face was covered in blood. 

Rhett's forehead thunks against yours. A soft yet jarring bump that stirs something foreign to the surface, buzzing in your veins. The only thing you can hear is your heartbeat, thumping loudly in your ears, slowly drowning into a shrill ringing. Your surroundings begin to twist, wet paint stirred by an invisible brush, blending into a mess of color. 

"'m startin' to think I've got a concussion, everything's been spinnin' since we got in the truck," Rhett's right in front of you. His nose is literally against yours, but you can't see him. 

"I've got it too." Your mouth feels detached, no longer a part of your body. 

At first, it would appear that your clothes might be the problem, soaked with rain and God knows what else, but blindly peeling them off only makes you further aware of how bizarre you feel. Cold at the surface, yet burning beneath, borderline sickening to comprehend. Patches of clarity fade in and out. Fleeting glimpses of Rhett's naked chest and little bits of his thigh.

"Lie down," speaking before you've realized there's a thought in your head. "We should lie down." 

Rhett says...something, you hear it, but it doesn't register. Whatever it was, it must have been agreement, because he's rising to his feet. It's not until you're lost in the hallway that you realize he's holding your arm until he's pulling you into the bedroom. 

At least, you're pretty sure it's the bedroom. It's so hard to see through the dancing sparkles of gray, clouding your sight like a swarm of tiny, evil bugs.

You only know you're in the right room when you fall into the bed, no care in the world for the dirt and grime you may be getting on the sheets. That's future you's problem. Rhett lands to your right, the impact bouncing you like you're on a trampoline, and you swear you must touch the ceiling. 

Being still makes it worse. The chore of undressing and walking here was enough to keep your mind partially occupied, but now, the only thing you can think about is the swirl of your senses. Someone has picked up the world and spun it. Round and round and round, gaining speed the longer it goes on. 

"It's okay," warmth finds you, pulling you across the bed and into an equally cozy chest. You're nothing but a ragdoll that rolls right into him, helpless to do anything but let him dote on you. Rubbing his head against yours, muttering little "it's okay"s under his breath, fussing over you as if he's been doing it his entire life. 

Only when it stops do you realize that you've started whimpering. Strange. Usually, you have better self-control than this, but here you are, acting like an undisciplined omega, whining and grumbling about a little bit of discomfort. All of those secondary courses, endless hours, and lectures of how to conduct yourself, gone within an instant. 

But oh, does Rhett not seem to have a problem with that. Him and his kind, wandering hands, smoothing across your naked back and rubbing at your neck. He shifts further up the bed, still insistently nuzzling his forehead into yours, intent on drowning you in his scent as he tucks you safely against his broad chest. 

You crane your head to look at him. The room lights up, courtesy of the cackling lightning. Rhett's handsome face flashes before you, more visible than he was before, but it's swiftly lost to the darkness. Yeah, maybe you should have turned on a light before you got into bed. That may have helped. 

It doesn't matter. Whatever this is, it will pass. 

You can't see it, but you can hear him move, tilting his head toward you, as if he didn't just put you down here. The tip of his nose bumps into your cheek, gradually trailing down...

His breath fans out against you, mouths brushing. So simple, yet bordering on too intimate. Thunder rumbles, reminding you of the outside world. What this may do. Through the dark, you can feel the swell of his lip. Who's to say they won't stop next time, if you're caught alone like he was. 

But...

oh, what the hell. 

Flattening your hand against his chest for leverage, you push yourself up. Your mouths fall together like a prophecy, foretold for centuries, long forgotten by most. Beneath your palm, you can feel his heart jump, and for a moment, you're still, lips caught in an unmoving embrace. Yet, the world continues to spin, and with it, all defenses collapse. 

How have you lived a life without this? 

The delicate mold of his lips, slowly dancing with yours for the very first time. The warmth of his hand resting against your nape, how he leans to meet you properly. One of you was handcrafted by the universe to pair with the other, but you blend so seamlessly that it's impossible to tell who was made for whom. 

You part, but only long enough to suck in a breath of fresh air, before Rhett's meeting you once more, drawing you in with fleeting, delicate kisses. One after the other, each longer than the last, and you've soon found yourself wondering if this is when you finally melt into one, never to separate again.

Pleasantly, the spin in your head slows to a halt. The power of a true love's kiss, or whatever those old Disney movies used to say. 

"Rhett," you utter his name like a prayer. And he answers, murmuring yours in return, to which the raging storm barks her input, striking the ground with a fury that fails to tear you apart. 

No, it's too late for that sort of thing; the world itself couldn't wedge between you, effectively smothered out as Rhett rolls on top of you. The weight of his body is delicious, properly pressing you into this old mattress, safe and hidden beneath his big, strong frame, beaten and bruised as it may be.

He tastes like beer and the cheap candy he was sucking on when you reunited at the bar, notably fruity but so artificial that you cannot identify the flavor without the help of a label. Teeth nip at your bottom lip, quickly soothed by the burn of his tongue, and you can't help but respond in kind, shyly greeting him with your own.

You don't know how they got there, but your hands are in his hair, idly wrapping those chocolate brown curls around your fingers, not sure if you want to pull on or cling to them. It doesn't matter; the twirl of his tongue around yours already has you unraveling at the seams. You'll fall apart before you can act on either decision.

Uncomfortable heat rushes up your belly and into your face, a wildfire blazing beneath the confines of your skin. A sharp contrast to the sudden chill of the room. It seems there's competition for who or what can take you down the fastest.

"It hit you again, too?" Rhett sounds a little off, missing some of his usual depth. 

"Was it something in the water at the bar?" It's the only thing you've shared tonight, but contaminated water is pretty far-fetched. But Wabang has seen odder situations, like that apocalyptic invasion of locusts a few summers back...

"May be a bug goin' around," rather than roll off, Rhett settles his weight on top of you, a big, weighted blanket, custom-made to you. The blooming nausea retreats to shallow waters, warded off by his weight. "Wouldn't be the first time we got ourselves sick with the same thing."

Yeah, it could be like that time in high school when you came down with pneumonia at the same time. You showed up to class sick, his momma picked you up right before lunch, and you walked back in together three weeks later. At least, now, you can't be saddled with a mountain of homework assignments with unreasonably short due dates.

"Maybe we share an immune system." Your hands wander to his face, feeling the outline of his cheekbones. Then, you're making your way down to his jaw, dragging against the grain of his facial hair, thick under your touch.

Rhett turns his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. It's so shockingly mundane that you can hardly comprehend how you got here to begin with. Hours ago, you were wishing for more, and now you have it. All of him. Curled up in this bed, half naked, sick and wounded as you might be. 

Sleep comes so seamlessly that you hardly realize it has arrived at all. Consciousness blends into a peaceful void, and you simply cease to exist, unknowingly passing through time as if it weren't there at all. 

The sound of the world ending is what wakes you.

Or, rather, a violent slap of thunder that seems to launch the damn house into the air, shocking you back into reality. Rhett's weight on top of you is the only reason you don't launch onto the ceiling like a cartoon cat, and even then, you jump hard enough to jostle him.

"The power just went out," Rhett grumbles, the vibration of his voice tickling your neck. An unknown thing sparks in your belly, and heat rushes down your thighs, set off by the mere sound of him.

"Again?" You're beginning to wonder if the power lines are held up by toothpicks. Every storm seems to curse you with an outage, doomed to three or four days of living like you're in the eighteen-hundreds. Minimal cell phone usage, no hot water. 

The very thought of moving has your stomach twisting sourly, oddly reluctant to get out of bed and take the three steps to light a candle. You can hardly remember the last time you felt so...boneless. Wrapped up in the warmth that is Rhett Abbott, his intoxicating scent coloring your every inhale, so sweet that you must begin to drool.

But it's so dark in here. You can't even see where he is. 

Rhett slides off the moment you begin to squirm, making room for you to get up and out of the bed. Even through the dark, you can feel his gaze burning over the silhouette of your naked frame. The smoke of it inhibits your higher functioning; it takes four tries to pick up the lighter.

A tiny flame fractures the darkness, thunder booming overhead as if to commemorate its arrival. The surface of your dresser comes into focus, a neatly folded pile of clothes that you were about to put away when he arrived earlier, a photograph of you and Rhett, asleep on the floor, dressed to the nines in tacky Christmas sweaters. 

At least in the dark, you can't see Perry's dumb little handwritten note. 'Another Christmas of wishing you would just date already.'

Shaking your head, you guide the flame to the candle wick, lingering until it catches. It's only when you put the lighter away that you realize your vision has cleared. Maybe a little fuzzy around the edges, but it's a far cry from the cluster of sparkles that it used to be. Everything has returned to normal, except...

You still feel off. 

Something has changed, but you can't put a finger on what that is. Your skin feels hot, something unusual churning in your lower stomach, and your own body feels new to you. It's like someone switched your body with an identical, fresh one while you were asleep, decked out with fancy upgrades that you know are there, but have yet to discover. 

You tap at the side of your head, wincing at the sharp bite of pain. No, it's not from being punched in the face. But if it's not that, then what is it? Are you sick?

Warm hands glide up your naked sides; a forehead comes to rest at your shoulder. Rhett's labored breath is the only sound in the room."Darlin' 's that candle got a sweet scent by any chance?" His voice deep as the thunder, rattling your bones. "Vanilla, peaches, 'n somethin' just a little earthy?" 

"It's...afternoon dream?" You don't recall those notes being on this particular candle. In fact, you chose it specifically because it hardly smelled like anything at all. "Why?"

"I think you're goin' into heat."

Through the mirror, your eyes meet. 

That...that doesn't make any sense. You know that you took your suppressants today, because you had to sit down and refill the weekly pill organizer afterward. Warmth arises between your legs, drawing your thighs to squeeze together. Fuck, you're already wet. 

How is that possible? 

Rhett's scent wraps around you, and you don't know if he's reacting to your pheromones or if you're simply more aware of it. Maybe it's always been this strong, you don't...you don't know for sure. Was that your heat breaking through earlier? You don't know the answer to that, either. What does a heat even feel like?

 "Tell me to leave." 

"Huh?" You blink. 

It takes him a moment to find his words again. A task requiring so much effort that he has to rest his forehead on your shoulder once more, unable to keep it up any longer. "'cause I think my ruts startin', too." 

In an instant, you turn around, reaching to cradle his face before it can fall. His lashes flutter, leaning in toward you, then reeling himself back in. A thin line of drool spills from the corner of his mouth, hanging open like he's trying to taste your scent. A shiver ripples through him, and...fuck, his body is beaten to hell. You don't understand how he's even standing right now. 

And yet, he finds the strength to take a step back. 

The damn breaks.

"But I don't want you to leave," whining, you surge forward, throwing your arms around him before he can take another step. He can't leave you. Not like this. You don't...you don't even know what to do here. You've never done this before. 

Rhett's nuzzling you again. Incessantly rubbing your heads together, grumbling low in his throat. He's comforting you for something that he hasn't even done yet, but you just can't seem to stop your pitiful little noises. Kisses pepper across your skin, sweet little distractions, desperate to soothe you. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmurs, drawing you in, as if he wasn't backing away mere seconds ago, "don't wanna make ya upset."

"But you're talking about leaving me!" Your voice shakes. Nerves winding tighter and tighter, squeezing around your throat. Why are you reacting like this? Is this your heat talking? Or have you always been this needy?

"I know, but this is your first..." Rhett's mouth continues moving, but for a moment, his voice is no longer present. Or maybe you briefly quit listening, you can't tell. "I might not be able to stop—"

Your eyes meet, and his sentence dies on the spot. A softness takes over his battered face, some kind of unspoken realization that you aren't privy to. Hands find your cheeks, gingerly squishing them with his palms.

"What's the matter?" He breathes. The pad of his finger strokes the thin skin beneath your eye, slow back-and-forths that ought to make you cry.

You still don't understand how your heat managed to break through, not when you've been so consistent about taking your pills. If the brand had changed its formula, then this would have happened a month ago when you started a fresh bottle. 

You didn't even have time to prepare for this! You're supposed to have blankets, sweets, a stockpile of drinks and, and toys to work through the worst of it all. Scenting bars and knotting toys to deceive your body into thinking you've been properly fucked by an alpha. Would rush shipping even get them to your door before tomorrow? Do you even want those things? 

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, so heavy and violent that your frame trembles with it, unstable on this cold floor. "I'm scared, Rhett." And your voice breaks on the vowel of his name, too weak to carry on any longer. 

"'ts just a heat, baby," he says it like its so fucking easy, but it's so hard to interrupt him when he's kissing on your cheek like that. Chaste kiss after chaste kiss, trailing up to the corner of your wounded eye. "'s nothin' to be scared of." 

You dig your fingers into his sides, trying to keep him place. "Please don't leave me alone."

"You're sure?" Rhett pulls back, just far enough to look you in the eye once more. "Baby, I truly don't know how 'm gonna act with both of us startin'." 

Pushing your noses together, you grumble at him. "I don't care." 

His mouth finds yours so softly that you very nearly question if you've hallucinated this entire conversation. With it, invisible fire rushes through your veins, uncomfortably pooling between your thighs, and your self-restraint jumps out the window. 

It's so simple. Looping your arms around his neck and downright melting into him, chasing the soft push and pull of those thin lips. Hands roam up and down your back, his thick calluses dragging against your soft skin so deliciously that your back arches. Noses bump, teeth sloppily clattering. More. You want more of him.

The room spins, and your back is hitting the mattress. Rhett's on top of you in an instant, between your squirming legs, the heavy bulge in his boxers nudging against your clothed sex. The mere realization sends a shiver up your spine. You're already bucking up against him, too impatient to wait and let the moment simmer.  

"Rhett," gasping into his mouth. Tugging on his hair. "Rhett." 

"Fuck, you're somethin' else," he chuckles, in between lazy kisses, working his way across your cheek. His facial hair prickles with every peck, scratching in such a way that it has you gasping as he nears closer and closer to the scent gland beneath your ear. 

The tip of his tongue swipes across it, lightly sucking, threatening to leave a mark there. Hell, you don't think you'd mind, even if he did. But he's already letting go of it in exchange for nibbling on the space just below it, then the one under that, making his way down your sensitive neck. 

But he's so slow.

"Rhett," grumbling his name once more. The only word that you remember how to say.

"shh, 's okay," the vibration of his words damn near rattle you."'m gonna take care of ya, a'ight?" 

And he keeps peppering his way down your neck. Kiss after ticklish kiss. His wet tongue leaving behind a glistening trail to guide him back in the event he gets lost in the expanse of your heaving chest. 

His hands rise, greedily palming your breasts, and only now do you remember that you're practically naked. No pesky clothes to prevent him from diving down and wrapping his mouth around a soft nipple, the soft suction drawing you up off the bed. That's—oh, that's so much better than your daydreams. 

You can't even believe what you're looking at. Rhett Abbott. Wild-eyed bullrider. Cowboy. The one alpha you promised not to mess with. Drooling over your chest, eagerly switching to the other side before it can begin to feel neglected. 

The needy wiggle of your hips is what ultimately draws him away, instead using his big hands to pin them down. He's trembling. A microscopic shake that the candle light concealed with sharp shadows, but painfully obvious now that he's holding onto you like this. Forcing you to remain still as he makes his way down your belly. 

"God, look at you," he whispers it like a prayer, peering up at you through thick lashes. "So fuckin' pretty." 

His fingers curl beneath the thin waistband of your underwear. Your body lifts before you can think twice about it, letting him pull your last remaining article of clothing down your legs. Where he tosses them, you don't know. Don't care to find out, either. Future you can deal with that problem, too.

It's impossible to worry about meaningless things when the short wires of Rhett's chin drag against your inner thigh, ghosting his lips over hyper-sensitive skin. He pauses, greedily sucking on a patch of skin, and you jolt. But his electric mouth keeps going, switching sides, intent on leaving another mark. 

The burn of his breath is your only warning, before he's licking a fat stripe up your cunt, groaning at the mere taste of you. It's so sudden that you nearly launch off the bed, jerking like a live wire, but Rhett's gotten hold of your thighs, anchoring you down. There's hardly any build up before the pointed tip of his tongue swirls around your clit. 

Fuck, fuck, you're so sensitive. 

Your legs clamp down around his head, and you're pawing at his forehead, not sure if you want pull him in or push him away. Neither works. And the bastard laughs, devilishly amused. His lips wrap around the little bud, lightly sucking, enough to have you jumping once more. 

Someone says his name. It must have been you. Maybe you've got a voyeuristic ghost, you don't know. Don't care. 

Just like that, he's kissing down your cunt, instead laving over your weeping entrance, and you hate how you can feel yourself grow wetter, from that alone. His tongue presses in, and he tries his best to look at you, but it's lost to his own eyerolling moan. 

"Rhett," panting like a dog, tangling your hand in his hair. 

Maybe he would respond, if he weren't fucking his tongue into you, shamelessly angling the tip of his nose to nudge against your swollen clit. A familiar tightness arises in your lower belly, and with it, Rhett rises back up, tormenting that little button once more. He's only just started, and yet you're shaking as badly as he is, a fragile leaf caught in the raging storm. You're...you're...

"There y' go," Rhett coos into your pussy, peering up with those expectant eyes of his. "C'mon, give it to me, sweet thing. Cum on my tongue for me." 

It hits you in a heartbeat, orgasm washing over in one big wave. Rhett's moan intertwines with yours, lazily licking you through the shocks, entirely unbothered by the way your thighs clench and try to crush him. Stars dance in your vision, muscles twitching, and you can't breathe. 

He draws away before the sensitivity can begin to bite, and you nearly wish he hadn't, because now you've seen it. The glisten of his mouth and chin, already soaked in you. Worse, he's crawling back up, that stupid, smug grin brighter than the lone candle that lights the room.

In an instant, you've come alive. Suddenly possessed with the strength to surge up and push him over. 

"Wha—shit!" All that cocky smugness is lost to his girlish yelp, landing with a soft thump. His eyes screw shut, sucking in a sharp breath. And maybe you shouldn't have pulled such a move, mere hours after a bull flipped over on him. 

Your apology arrives in the form of kisses, feather-light, peppering around the bruises littering his shoulder. Then, down to the ones on his chest, a peck beneath each and every one, not quite touching them, but still intent on getting your point across. The mass of red and purple around his ribcage is the only place warranting a slowdown, dancing around the giant, boot-shaped bruises. 

"What're y' doin?" Rhett's laugh is so deep that his belly quivers with the force of it.

Another kiss. This time to his belly button. "Nothing." Slowly but surely, you're following the scattering of bruises down to his hip bone, where they disappear beneath the thick waistband of his boxers. 

You continue along an imaginary path of where you think they might be, crossing down to his upper thigh, just to watch it jump away. Ticklish. But you can't help yourself, a smidge too eager to kiss across the heavy bulge in his boxers. Now it's your turn to peek up at him. 

Rhett pinches your cheek, lightly tugging on it. "God, you're the cutest fuckin' thing."

That's not quite what you're looking for. "Can I?" Mouthing at the outline of him.

"Y' can have anything ya fuckin' want from me," he breathes, downright hypnotized. Even from down here, you can see how there's nothing going on in his head, so hyper-focused on you and what you're doing that he can't process anything else.

He lifts up before you've even begun pulling at his boxers, letting you slide them down his legs and toss them into the midnight abyss, just like he did with you. And again, you don't care to see where they land. Not when his cock springs up and snaps against his belly like it does. Thick, decorated in bulging veins and a ruby red flush around his tip. 

It's so heavy in your hand, precum spilling out from your touch alone. You can't help but flatten your tongue against the slight swell of his base, dragging up, up, up, to lightly twirl around his tip. His hips tilt, desperately chasing your mouth.

"Shit," he's swearing, and you can feel the weight of him watching. 

You're not sure what your plan even is, didn't necessarily think of that during your mindless frenzy, but you've got a pretty good idea. Peppering kisses against the underside of his head, a lazy little thing that makes him twitch. 

Careful, you lift him to your mouth. Those pretty blue eyes fall closed the moment he feels your lips wrap around him, chest falling with a shaky exhale. He's so much bigger in your mouth than you expected, awkwardly loosening your jaw to accommodate the sheer girth of him. 

This may have been an ambitious mistake, but you're in too deep to turn back now. Hollowing your cheeks, you ease down on him, following what feels most comfortable. A thick vein pulses against your flattened tongue. You can't help but follow it, idly tracing up and down in tune with the shallow bobs of your head. Rhett's groan swirls around and clouds your mind; you can't help but moan with him. 

"Just like that," He rolls his head to the side, face undeniably soft. Heat swirls in your belly. "Mmh."

There's so much of him that your mouth can't cover, and he's so thick that saliva spills past your lips, running down his shaft and wetting the patch of dark hair at his base. His head bumps into the back of your throat, nearly, nearly triggering a gag. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Rationality wins over pride, using a hand to stroke what parts of him you can't reach. 

Rhett's thumb strokes the side of your cheek, a motion too innocent compared to the sloppy 'pop' of your lips breaking the suction. The tips of your ears burn, horrified by the sound. God, it's so loud. Rhett doesn't seem to even notice, his hips twitching up off the bed, chasing as you retreat and kiss down the underside of him. 

For not being able to take all of him into your mouth, you've absolutely soaked him, glistening in the candlelight. It even reaches all the way down to the subtle swell of his knot, wet under your lips when you idly kiss at it, lazy mouthings of lips and tongue. He twitches. Sensitive to the simplest bit of attention. 

Precum pearls at his tip, tempting you into kissing back up and lazily mouthing over him. The pointed tip of your tongue flicks over his slit. Rhett sucks in a gasp, his eyes rolling, and just like that, it all devolves into a mess. Sloppily sucking and kissing at him, downright drooling over the flushed cock head.

"Sweet lil' fuckin' mouth, oh my god," he's reaching for the back of your neck, clinging like he's about to lose you to the storm. Your legs squeeze together, whining from his reactions alone. You've got it bad. 

Taking him into your mouth once more, your cheeks hollow, sucking hard, and—

Pop!

Rhett's mouth collides with yours before you can realize that he's sat up and pushed you up to your knees, a messy clattering of teeth and noses and saliva that makes your head spin. It's all you can do to cling to his shoulders, unable to keep upright. 

 "'m sorry," he's talking between kisses. "'m sorry" Kiss. "But one more second of that..." Another kiss. 

"Yeah?" You. Giggling into the next kiss.

"Yeah," his arms loop around you, and just like that, he's dragging you back down with him. 

There's no way that it doesn't hurt, but he hardly reacts to the impact this time. No, he's too busy rolling you over, flipping you onto your back before you can try and do it yourself. His cock bumps against your cunt, hanging heavy between his legs, and you don't know what's more mesmerizing, the sensation or the sight of him.

Thunder slams its fist into the ground. The house rattles. Something in the hall shatters.

"'ts alright," Rhett's nose nudges at your cheek, rubbing himself against you like a cat. And like the oversized feline that you are not, you respond in kind, half-assedly nuzzling just for the hell of it. 

A quavering vibration rolls out of your throat. 

"You trillin' at me?" Rhett's little amused laugh nearly causes you to do it again, the newly discovered muscles flexing with the effort to gear up for such a feat. 

"That was me?" Since when were you able to do that?

His weight settles atop you, chests snug, rubbing your noses together with no end goal in sight. Innocent, like a pair of newly presented teenagers, testing out their newfound instincts. It's true, to an extent; neither of you has ever had the chance to do such a thing. Between the slow, decades-long dismantling of the 'just friends' label and your medication, it hasn't been possible until tonight.

Your legs curl around his waist, drawing him closer, and his cock just happens to slide against you, pushing through your folds and against your clit. Gasps break the silence. Both of you freeze for a splitting moment. 

 And again, his mouth is on yours. There's not a shred of grace to be found, all tongue and teeth, a far cry from the one you shared in a state of delirium. No, no, there's no room for enchanting dances. Not when he grinds into you, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your dripping cunt. 

The sheets will need to be changed after this; you fear that you're leaking like a faucet. The simple glide of Rhett's cock is punctuated by a squelch, obscene, wet little noises that you struggle to believe are because of you. Heat be damned, this is all your doing.

Pressure blossoms, the fat head of his cock breaches you. It's so easy and...oh, that's...Rhett freezes. And you probably should, too, but instead your heels dig into his ass, shamelessly whimpering into his mouth. Preservation of your dignity? Trying to avoid coming off as desperate? Those are concepts you suddenly know nothing about.

"You want it that bad, baby?" The cockiness in Rhett's done does little to deter you. 

If anything, it makes you worse. You've forgotten how to speak, far too distracted by the aching stretch to think about anything that isn't Rhett Abbott, much less come up with a convincing argument. All you can do is whine at him, impatiently pushing yourself up, but he's making no move to give you what you're after.

"Rhett," it comes out more as a plea, rather than the intended, frustrated bark. The wrinkle of your nose is doing nothing to help your case; you're nothing but a defiant puppy trying to look intimidating. 

Rhett's chuckle sounds like the distant rumble of thunder, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Your mouth opens to fuss at him. Pressure arises once more, and just like that, he's sinking into you. Intelligent speech collapses into a drawn-out mewl, helplessly fluttering around him. Fuck, fuck, how did you already forget how thick he is?

 "Shhh," he hums, his sweaty, oversized palms cupping your face. "Jus' relax for me."

You don't know if you can. You're trying, but, but, god, his bulbous tip is dragging against forgotten nerves, and you can't help but clench around him. He's just so...so...oh, you shouldn't have looked down. 

There's so much of him left, gradually sinking into your poor pussy, split far too wide. Are you sure you're not unconscious outside the bar, dreaming all of this up? There's no way that you're here right now, mid-heat and struggling to take your not-so-best-friend's cock. But the thumbs smoothing across your cheeks feel real, and he's murmuring your name, and...

"There," Rhett lets go of a bated breath right as you do, must have been able to feel you clenching this whole time. "Just like that, there y' go." 

Whining high in your throat, you peer up at him. He's already looking at you, ruby red dusting his cheeks, mouth twisted upward in something undeniably fond. A million, tiny butterflies take to the air, tickling your belly with their little, microscopic wings and rising up into your chest. With it, Rhett melts, crumbling down to press kisses on your forehead.

"'s it too big, darlin'?" Leave it to him to kill a sweet moment by asking such a thing, as if your visible struggle isn't enough to stroke his ego as it is. And you can't possibly argue against anything else. Not when you're struggling to take a full breath, clinging to his shoulders like you'll be pushed further up the bed if you don't.

"You can't be romantic for," you've already run out of air, forced to gasp for another breath, "half a second?"

His laughter alone ought to add a hundred years to your lifespan. "'m sorry," kissing the space between your eyes, "'m sorry. Just buggin' ya."

And with that, he's bottoming out, skin flush against yours, and you don't know how the hell you planned on taking his knot on top of this. There's not a millimeter of you that isn't taken up by him, every thought, every cell, all orbiting him and him alone. 

Thin, chapped lips find yours, catching in a breathy tangle. It hardly qualifies as a kiss, more so lips touching and panting into each other's mouths, a pair of mutts in the burning summer heat. Sweat beads at your forehead, and if you didn't know any better, you would think someone had set this little room ablaze.

Grinding devolves into a proper, shallow thrust, doing nothing more than rocking your body against the bed. Pleasure nips at your senses. A hint of something to come, a promise fulfilled on the second try. Drawing his hips further back, length rubbing against every little nerve, before pressing in once more. 

"Keep...keep doing that," breathless, pawing at his biceps. 

To Rhett's credit, he's hardly even done anything substantial, but he listens, pulling out halfway before reversing his momentum, pushing back in. A little faster now, finding a comfortable rhythm that his body can keep up with. 

"'s that how you like it?" There's a raggedness to his breath that wasn't there before. Forearms brace themselves on either side of your head, mottled in thick veins and crimson bruises, shivering under his weight.

More. You want more. 

Your legs curl tighter around his hips, trying to drag him closer, as if he could possibly go back to being just a friend after this. As if he hasn't been your alpha for the past how many years, regardless of how much you both denied—

"Ah!" Sparkles dance in your vision. 

"There it is," the corner of Rhett's mouth twists up, has the audacity to be cocky in a situation like this. 

But now that he's found it, there's no losing it. Maintaining the shift in the angle, the fat head of his cock kissing a bundle of nerves on every pass. A shiver sets into your thighs, quaking around his waist. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, fighting to maintain a silence that shatters with a snap of Rhett's hips. 

His head dips down, tongue laving over the gland beneath your ear. "Sound so fuckin' cute whimperin' under me," the tickle of his breath sends a shiver racing down your spine, arching up off the bed. 

Your eyes might cross. A wave of goosebumps prickles over your skin, down your chest, and into your ankles. The mattress squeaks, protesting the heavy motion of Rhett's body, in perfect synchrony with the little puffs of air he pushes from your chest with every thrust. Little 'uh, uh, uh's impossible to muffle. 

But oh, you try to silence them, burying your face into his scarred collar, biting at a prominent bone. A growl sounds from above, but it's hardly the correction you anticipate, more of a nibble on the shell of your ear. Maybe he's trying to quiet himself, too. And like you, he fails to stifle the airy grunts that punch out of his throat.

There's a taughtness in your tummy that wasn't there before, the shake in your legs deepening, rippling up your belly and into your arms. Shivering. Like you were in the rain. But your head is quiet, devoid of the slightest hint of a thought, and...and...

"Rhett, I—" his cock head strikes a nerve, kills your voice on the spot. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish. "Feels...feels...weird."

The room spins. Suddenly weightless. Somebody just turned gravity off, and you're about to float right up to the ceiling. Rhett tilts back. You think he's looking in the eye. Maybe he isn't. Can't really tell. A rippling contraction has you clamping down around him. One more thrust, and—

A sudden wetness gushes between your thighs. Rhett gasps. Or maybe that's you. A ringing settles into your ears. The shiver settles into an unescapable limpness. Your heads pinning around and around, and you think, you think you're cumming on his cock, but you can't..you can't...

Oh.

Horror creeps into your cheeks. "Oh my god, I'm—"

"Fuck, sweetheart," Rhett drags his attention up from between your parted legs, eyes sparkling."Ain't you just the hottest little thing?"

There's not a hint of disgust coloring his features. No furrowed brows, deepening of the wrinkles in his forehead, or a downward turn of his mouth. His smile only grows bigger with the small rush of fluid around his cock as it plunges back into your weeping cunt, that sweet laugh grounding you, his oversized hands cradling your face. Marveling at you.

You don't know what you were expecting. Didn't even know you could do that.

 "Y' still with me?" He murmurs against your lips. 

All you can do is nod, a weary little 'uh-huh' falling out of your mouth. He's laughing again, and this time, you're giggling right along with him. The room continues to spin, but you can hardly feel it, entirely distracted by Rhett and the comfort of his body and his deepening thrusts. Even the myriad of wet noises can't reach you. 

"What're you gigglin' for?" He rumbles, rubbing his nose against yours, a motion far too soft for what's going on below. "Y' need me to stop?"

"No!" You don't mean to blurt it out loud. Rhett's brow rises. "Don't...don't you dare."

"Okay, okay," soothing with a nuzzle, rubbing his scruffy cheek against your softer one. "Just checkin'."

Already, your heart is racing in your chest, oversensitive nerves twitching, tickling with every stroke of his cock. It's so much. Already bordering the limit of what you can handle. The only thing keeping you from rocketing off the bed and up the headboard is Rhett's bodyweight, an anchor in the raging sea. 

There's a growing choppiness to his rhythmic thrusts, abruptly cutting shorter and shorter, broken apart by brief returns to those long, deep strokes that make your eyes cross. Drool spills past your parted lips. You might be on another planet right now.

Lightning snaps just outside the window, lighting up the room. This time, it hardly even startles you. Can't comprehend anything that isn't Rhett and his bruised face, pretty blue eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him. The swell of his knot lightly tugs on your entrance, a reminder of its presence. 

He's getting close. 

And you are, too. 

A little coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly as he leans back onto his haunches, hooking his hands under your knees and pushing them up to your chest. His attention fixates between your legs, at the downright pornographic scene of his too-thick cock disappearing into your poor pussy. 

His head tilts back, whining all high and pitchy. All at once, he pulls away. 

But he's already pulled this trick, and you're already surging upward with a strength you didn't know you possessed. Bodies spin. Your jaw smacks his bony shoulder. 

Rhett's back hits the bed, arms flopping next to him, dumbstruck. Aching muscles in your knee scream for you to stop, but you're no longer accepting complaints. Not even the raging storm can stop you from leaning forward, planting your hands on his sturdy chest for balance. Rising up a few inches, only to sink back down just as quickly, picking up the pace he left off at. 

"Oh my god, shit!" Rhett's eyes are rolling back into his head, and he's grasping at your hips, clinging to them as if he weren't just trying to escape you. "I'm gonna...I'm gonna knot your pussy if you keep..." 

Defiant, you whine at him, determinedly chasing the high building in your lower belly. That tautness is back, growing until your thighs struggle to flex. 

But it doesn't matter, because Rhett's arms are wrapping around your waist. One harsh tug and your arms crumble out from under you, face to face with him in the flicker of a moment. There's no need to regain your leverage; Rhett's already thrusting up into you, doesn't need any further convincing.

The bulb of his knot catches, dragging just hard enough to make you gasp. And the underside of his cock is rubbing into those nerves. You can feel the slightest attention on your clit, and he's whimpering your name, and—

His hips snap up, knot popping into your cunt. The sharp twitch of his cock is all it takes, before you're cumming with a pitchy mewl that twists with his. Face buried into his chest, spasming around his shaft. His breath burns into your temple, outright moaning into your ear, and you can't think about anything else. Lost to the delicious tingle that races through your veins. 

You can feel his cum pouring into you. There's so much of it, squelching with the weak aftershocks of your orgasm, rope after rope, filling you until you worry that his knot might not hold. Fuck, you're absolutely full of him. And yet he's bucking up into you, pushing the swollen bulb impossibly deeper, instinctibely trying to get his cum as deep in you as he possibly can.  

Now it's your turn to start nuzzling on him. Rubbing your newly functional scent glands against his neck and jaw, insistent on drawing him down from the haze of his rut. A thundery grumble resounds from his throat, lashes stubbornly remaining closed. 

This calls for desperate measures.

Kisses pepper across the soft side of his neck, unexpectedly trilling in between. One little sputtering vibration after the other, working into a little melody during your journey to his lips. Like a fairytale princess, his eyes open the moment your mouths meet.

"What're y' doin, Peaches?" It sounds like he's on a different planet, all distant gazes and lazy smiles. Maybe he's visiting the same one that you did. 

But a different question appears at the forefront of your mind. "Peaches?" 

"'s what y' smell like," he says it so matter of factly that you're inclined to believe it's your only scent note. Peaches. 

His hand rises to your face, the calluses of his palm dragging wonderfully against sensitive skin. You can't help but lean into it, trilling once more, like the contented cat that you are, curled up on his chest and all. A finger swipes across your forehead, collecting...more of that green, jello substance.

"What is that?" You poke at it, watching it bounce under the slightest pressure. 

"Dunno," he shakes his head, stumped. "We had it on us in the shower earlier." 

Shards of a faraway memory collect, piecing together into a puzzle. "It looks like the sand one of those guys threw in my face." You don't remember the color, only that it was bright enough to see in the rain. 

"Yeah...one of 'em threw somethin' like this at me, too." Rhett pinches it, the mysterious green material squishing into tinier pieces. Some of it stains the pad of his thumb, lingering like food dye. "It kinda looks like that gas station aphrodisiac they keep next to the checkout counter." 

Your heat. 

His rut. 

Was that... because of this?

"Does it turn into gel when it's wet?" And where is your phone?

You don't realize that you're moving to get up until Rhett yanks you back down. You're nothing but a living ragdoll, helpless but to collapse back into his chest. 

"Careful," hissing, his eyes squeeze shut, "y' move too much 'n it's gonna hurt."

Eyeroll. "I'm not gonna break, Rhett." 

"Baby my cock barely fits in your little pussy, let alone my knot," he says it so earnestly that you're inclined to believe he isn't relishing in the sheer size of dick. It was a pretty drastic fit. "I think y' might actually break." 

But rather than break you, he's worn you out, effectively warning off the rage of your heat, and all of the clashing hormones that come with it. You can only rest on your forearms for so long before you properly sprawl out on his chest, looking for a comfortable position that only comes when he rolls you over. Settling on top of you like the blanket that he is, your very own alpha. 

You must fall asleep, because the next time your eyes, the candle has gone out, plunging the bedroom into the abyss once more. Rhett's on his haunches, gingerly drawing his softened cock from your spent body, cum gushing down your thighs in an instant. You can't help but grumble, shifting at the discomfort. 

He dips down, barely visible in the dark, his tongue greeting your sore pussy. You jolt, already reaching down to paw at his head. The soft, wet muscle lavishes over your weeping entrance, easing the muscles there, only makes more of his semen spill out and onto the bed. 

"Rhett," whimpering. A twinge of heat bites at your psyche, fighting to return once more.

"'ts okay, I've got you," he rises, lightly licking at your clit in short little strokes. It hardly takes much at all before a weak orgasm washes through you, nothing but a faint shiver and uptick of your heartbeat. 

The heat washes away before he's crawled back up, able to comfortably draw you into his arms once more. One kiss, and you're gone again. 

Morning arrives shrouded in thunder and rain, pitter-pattering against the window. The storm has yet to leave, but the power has come back on, your little lamp defiantly fighting off the dark shadows. The bed is empty.

Very, very empty. 

The comforter and sheets have long since been pulled off, probably why you can hear the washing machine running. In their place lies a nest of blankets, some gathered from the living room and the closet, others plucked from Rhett's truck. A familiar jacket tops it off like a cherry on an ice cream sundae, clutched in your sore, aching arms. 

Something clatters from the kitchen. You don't want to move, but somehow, you're on your feet. An ache blossoms between your thighs, forcing you into an awkward waddle as you make your way down the hall. A blanket hangs from your shoulders like a cape, Rhett's jacket clutched in your arms. Your only protection from whatever the hell is in your house.

Pale shoulders are the first thing your eyes land on. Sinewy muscles flexing back and forth as he fiddles with a spoon, stirring something that you can't quite see. Deep purple and crimson mar his sides, every kick to his ribs memorialized in a 'u' shaped mark, swollen enough to conceal the usual, vague outline of the bones there. He never has stored fat in his chest very well, ribcage chronically visible, regardless of weight. 

The floor creaks under your foot. Rhett jumps. 

Wide blue eyes soften, visible shock melting into something fond. His mouth lifts, smiling, looking you over, and...

"What?"

"My cums runnin' down your thighs," a shade of red tints his ears, has the audacity to be bashful after all the things he said last night. It only lasts for a moment, lost the moment he turns to pick up a glass, holding it out for you to take. 

"How did you know this was my favorite?" You giggle, raising it to your mouth. Maybe it's the lovestruck fool in you talking, but it tastes exactly how you like it. 

"Lucky guess," he steps forward, closing the gap. But something visibly crosses his mind, and he turns back to pick something up from the counter. "I suppose y' didn't hear me trip over your rug earlier."

"I might've mistaken the fall for thunder," winking. You didn't hear a damn thing. 

A familiar bottle shakes in his hand, its plastic pink lid popping open under the slightest pressure from his thumb. It's so full that you can see the little pills from here. Special formulations of chemicals designed to shut off the hormones responsible for triggering heats and production of the oils in your scent glands. 

One pill, maybe two, and you'll be back to normal. Rhett holds it out, offering to shake one into your hand. And you should take it. Retreat to the usual routine and pretend this didn't happen, maybe plan out a proper break in medication to have a proper, first heat. All of your problems, resolved with a few chemicals and a sip of water. But...

"I don't want them." Concluding aloud. 

Like a puppy, he tilts his head to the side. "No?"

"I can't go back to that," sputtering, you barely manage to set the cup on the counter. "I can't go back to...to pretending that we don't know each other, putting space between us, acting like the only thing I want is to skip town with you, hoping that it's going to do anything but make us miserable." 

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, something nameless buzzing through your veins. Rhett steps forward, arms opening. 

You fall into his chest, blubbering. "I don't want this to end."

All you can hear is the rain, dancing on the kitchen window, tapping on the rooftop. Sounds a lot like Rhett's heartbeat, thumping under your ear.

"You want to leave with me?" He murmurs.

"Of course I do!" Smacking your hands against his chest does nothing; he's far too sturdy for that. "I wanna pack up and go somewhere that doesn't know what the hell Wabang even is. A place that won't give a damn if you're mine or not, and isn't filled with people who'd rather kill you over a bunch of money!" 

Foreheads bump a little bit too hard, eyes meeting so closely that the flicker of his eyelashes makes you flinch. 

But there's that big, dumb grin, slowly but surely wrinkling his face. "You want me to be yours?" 

"Did I say that out loud?" Maybe you shouldn't have told him that part. 

But it's hard to feign regret when he's starting to kiss all over your space. Across the bridge of your nose, over your cheeks, and up to your forehead, only to work his way back down. Thunder rumbles the moment your lips meet, your very own background music.

"Well, if your thoughts were serious, then..." Rhett only pauses for dramatic effect, pretending to think it all through. "I don't mind that at all."

"You'd leave town with me?" You can feel yourself lighten, someone has pressed that damn anti-gravity button again. 

"I'll follow ya right off the edge of the planet, if that's what you're askin'," kissing you again, before that stupid smile can turn it into a toothy collision. "Where do we start?" 

"You can start by," this time, it's you who breaks the conversation for a kiss, already making good on what you're about to request, "fucking me through the rest of this heat."

"I was hopin' you'd say somethin' like that." Rhett's hands appear on your waist. 

And as easy as breathing, you fall into step, following the push and tug that guides you to the counter. His jacket strewn out in front of you, blanket cascading to your feet, the cold only briefly getting to you before he's warding it off with his very presence. 

Lightning flickers, stealing the electricity from the house once more. 

You hope this storm never ends. 

[hederasgarden]

Do you have any darker thoughts about your fav ATJ characters?

Bestie, I have so many thoughts, and I’m totally blaming @otaku-girl-ao3 for this. A few weeks ago, we spent an afternoon on Discord brainstorming what the ATJ characters would be like as dark versions of themselves and how that would manifest in distinct and interesting ways.

Just a quick note—this is quite a departure from the usual content on my blog and the type of things I typically write about. Recently, I’ve been gathering the courage to explore some darker themes in my writing (I blame BookTok for introducing me to a lot of questionable tropes). Please be kind and let me know if you’d like to see more of this kind of writing from me!

Characters: Sergei Kravinoff (Kraven the Hunter), Friedrich Harding (Nosferatu), Tangerine (Bullet Train), and Ives (Tenet) Rating: Explicit, 18+ only. Dead dove, do not eat. VERY dark, depraved, and horny thoughts direct from me to you. Not all themes are tagged. Read at your own risk.  Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

Sergei is a meticulous planner, taking his time to observe you and learn your habits. He likely comes across you by chance—perhaps while on the job or visiting his brother. It’s your scent that first grabs his attention, but it’s not what draws him back. It’s the softness and sweetness in your demeanor, the vulnerability you exude, completely unaware of the dangers around you. You’re the easiest prey he’s ever tracked, unaware even of the most basic threats. You’re always buried in a book or your phone, headphones on at full blast. If it weren’t for his quiet intervention, you would have been robbed or worse on your way home at least twice. 

He takes you because he believes you're not meant to be on your own. You need someone to care for you, to protect you from the world that you don’t fully understand. Really, it’s lucky your paths crossed. He’s certain you’ll come to see things his way in time. Until then, he’s turned his home into a beautiful little cage for you to live in, complete with an entire library filled with your favorite books, cozy blankets to keep you warm, and all the ingredients for the meals you love to cook and enjoy. He’s done his research on what you like and he’ll bring you anything you ask for. Afterall, he’s a provider at heart.

There’s no concern of you running away. You've seen the large snow leopard that prowls around outside, and the one time you made a foolish attempt to escape, Sergei was quick to show you that he wouldn't always be so gentle or understanding. As @writercole suggested, once he has you back, he’ll also end up keeping you tethered by the ankle for a while, a lesson that if you try to run, he’ll leash you.

After you recover from that experience Sergei finds you’re a much better pet, settling into your new life and role. You start cooking for him when he's home, and willingly crawl into bed beside him, seeking out his warmth on those cold winter nights. Soon, Sergei knows you’ll be ready for the next step: starting a family of your own.

Friedrich (in a modern AU) strikes me as the type who would quietly manipulate situations to his advantage, working behind the scenes to ensure things unfold just how he wants. He’d spot you working at a cafe or store he frequently visits and, from that moment, start working on a plan to make you his.

Rather than using overt force, he’d rely on subtle pressure and gaslighting, making you doubt yourself and your choices. He’d skillfully set up circumstances to undermine you—ensuring you miss out on a job you desperately need, getting you fired, or putting you in a position where you have no choice but to turn to him. When you're at your lowest, he’ll swoop in as the savior, the one who appears to protect you. His goal is to make you dependent on him alone, carefully ensuring that when the time comes for him to make his move, you're in no position to resist. Consent would be questionable, but he'd remind you every time you hesitated that you said yes, that you asked for his help, and that you invited him in.

I can also see him isolating you from friends and family, slowly pulling you away from the support system you once had. He’d definitely be the type to love-bomb you, showering you with overwhelming attention and affection, using his money and influence to manipulate you further. 

He strikes me as a baby trapper, sabotaging your birth control or tampering with his condoms to ensure you get pregnant. He believes you'd be the perfect wife and mother—you just need his help to realize that. Once he has you, he’d be the most loving and attentive husband, always caring, but beneath that sweetness lies an unshakable belief that he knows what’s best. He’s the one who makes the decisions, subtly guiding everything with quiet confidence until, over time, the balance shifts in his favor and you start looking to him for help with even the easiest things. Despite all of this, Friedrich would likely still view himself as a good person, firmly rejecting any notion that he is abusive or in the wrong.

Tangerine is on the opposite end of the spectrum, much more inclined to use brute force and physical violence to make you understand your place. He has a short temper and struggles with impulse control, especially when you don't follow his demands. There’s no slow build-up with him—he has no time or patience for romance. The moment he sees you on the street, he decides you’re coming home with him, and that’s final. Or maybe Tangerine and Lemon are sent to kill your husband but when Tangerine sees just how sweet you are, completely unaware of who and what your husband really is, he decides to keep you for himself. After all, no one's going to miss you. They’ll assume you died in the house fire with your husband. 

Once he had you he would try and spoil you with a beautiful place to live, fine clothes and decadent food. He’d want you to look and dress a certain way for him. A darker version of him would fit the profile of a classic abuser—lashing out at you in anger, only to later show up with flowers and a hollow apology, turning the blame onto you as if you were the one who provoked it.

“Why do you have to make things so fuckin’ hard, huh?” Tangerine questions, caressing your bruised skin. “I hate when you make me do this to ya luv. You need to listen better.”

He’d definitely be the most terrifying of all the dark versions of the ATJ characters because of his unpredictability. (I do not know why but I have such a strong sense he’d pop you in the mouth/back hand you with those rings on and just….yeah.)

If Ives were to go dark, he’d likely abuse his power and authority in the workplace, targeting someone beneath him—someone who wasn’t military and who he could easily manipulate using his strength and knowledge. Maybe you’re his admin, someone he works closely with, and no one questions the fact that you’re often in his office with the door closed or staying late to finish tasks together. He’d be blunt about his intentions with you, setting clear expectations for how things would unfold. His actions would be predictable—if you were a good girl, you’d be rewarded; if you misbehaved, there would be consequences. Ives would be a steady, unyielding force, confident that, with time, you’d fall into line.

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (1/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 4.1k for this chapter | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3

~

Author's Note: Probably my most insane fanfic project yet. After I successfully probed SOMEONE, aka @spencer-is-someone, into watching a Resident Evil Village gameplay, they fell in love with Ethan Winters but felt he went through too much in the game, prompting the idea "What if Loid went through all that stuff instead". And well, 32 thousand words later, here I am, inflicting this literal horror upon y'all.

I made a post about it, and the absolutely wonderful @buf309 went and made this amazing cover art, and I literally couldn't be more thankful for that. I was so amazed when I saw the first draft sketch that I went like I'M GONNA WAIT TILL IT'S READY TO POST THE FIC. Seriously, words cannot describe how grateful I am, I sincerely hope the fic feels satisfying enough for the work you've done <3

If you know how the Resident Evil Village story goes, this is pretty much the same... yes, in all of its "parts-in-jars" glory (if you know you know, if you don't you will soon), just with Twilight taking the place of Ethan Winters. There will be a few changes from the original story to fit Twilight's character, some to facilitate the adaptation from game narrative to fanfic narrative, some to fit my own tastes, and an actually hopeful ending because we were all left heartbroken after the ending of RE Village so might as well pour some healing juice to put our hearts back together same way Ethan puts his limbs back together and hope for the best.

Do take note of the warnings, please. There is one part of the story I actually had chills while writing (yes, that part for those of you who know, it will be slightly changed but the essence will be the same) and it is based on the story of a horror/survival game, so make sure you're okay to read something as intense as this.

The story is written in full, though I'm still doing small bits of editing here and there. I don't have a posting schedule, but I'm thinking of updating twice a week, or once if I see the editing is taking longer. Chapter titles are taken from track titles of the game's original soundtrack.

So yeah, long intro over, take not of the warnings, I hope you enjoy if you read on!

~

Chapter 1: Bloodthirsty

~

“Anya, don’t sit so close to the TV,” Loid said, not looking up from the counter.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He wouldn’t doubt that she hadn’t even heard him, let alone acknowledged his request.

He picked up a handful of minced meat to mould into a burger steak, deciding to give her another reminder in two minutes from now. Yor had just left to walk Bond, so it was only his direction she had to follow – and she was starting to make clear whose directions she preferred to follow nowadays.

He placed the burger on the pan as his body tensed. A split second later, the door burst open.

He jumped through the opening between the kitchen and the living room, but even that seemed a pointless blessing as thick smoke quickly covered the apartment.

He rushed through it to grab Anya, who trembled against him, but he didn’t have the time to move away from the shots.

Two silenced shots, piercing through his clothes and reaching into the skin of his back.

No blood. But they were pinching his skin, and he immediately felt groggy…

He dropped to his side, unable to move as figures approached him. One of them took Anya.

“PAPA!” she screamed at him.

He feebly raised his hand. “Wait,” was the only thing he could say, before his hand dropped.

More figures approached him, and then his vision went dark.

~

Focus, Twilight.

Don’t open your eyes yet. Don’t alert the enemy yet.

He held his breath for a moment.

He was somewhere cold, outside.

He could feel something soft but freezing underneath him. Snow?

His hair didn’t feel wet, so he mustn’t have been lying there long.

It was quiet. He could only hear distant sounds of wind and crows flying somewhere close.

He couldn’t feel anyone’s presence, so he decided to open one single eye to check.

But then both his eyes shot wide open.

In front of him stood a magnificent gothic mansion. It could be a mansion, or it could be a damn castle. It was surrounded by a thick wall, like a fortress.

He sat up. He was indeed lying on the snow, but it was the least of his concerns right now.

He had apparently been placed on the castle’s garden. Right in the middle of the winter, it was only decorated by a few naked trees as well as three scarecrows.

Those didn’t seem to do their job well enough, he thought, as crows still flew around, some even sitting on them.

He got up, checking himself for injuries. He couldn’t feel any pain or any indication of pierced skin. How had they drugged him?

It was then he realized he was now wearing his jacket.

Had they dressed him for the cold? While taking off his apron and the gloves he wore while preparing food?

What the hell?

Where even was this place?

Why was he brought here?

Where was Anya?

His attention was drawn back to the apparently useless scarecrows, and a chill ran down his spine – unrelated to the cold – when he noticed something eerie about them.

Carefully, he took a few steps towards them.

His breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to notice.

Those weren’t plain scarecrows.

Those were actual, human bodies hanging on wooden crosses.

His breath finally came out shaky, forming a cloud.

What the hell was this place?

Unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer, trying to notice for any details on the bodies, in case he recognized them.

All three seemed to be men, of ages between thirty and fifty, and they couldn’t have been dead for longer than a week or so. The cold might have preserved their bodies, but exposure to the outside would do as much more damage.

He couldn’t recognize any of their faces – or what was left of them.

Well, he didn’t even know where he was, how far away from Berlint or even in Ostania for that matter.

He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, looking around the walls surrounding the castle.

There was a huge metal door blocking the path outside. No climbing the wall; it was too smooth and covered in even more slippery ice. Climbing the trees wouldn’t give him enough height to swing himself out.

Which meant, his only way of getting answers was through the castle.

He must have been placed there for a reason, after all, and if they’d wanted to kill him they would have already done so.

He reached the entrance, and the door swung open easily.

The entrance hall was as luxuriously decorated as the outside hinted at. A lush burgundy carpet went up the few steps, leading to a wall where a painting of three young women hung.

The door closed behind him, and he didn’t miss the definitive clang as metal bars started descending right in front of it.

He turned, and for a few seconds he weighed his options.

He could break the door quickly enough before the bars descended too low, and slip outside.

But then again, they obviously wanted him in there, and again, it didn’t seem that killing him was their priority.

He faced forward, ignoring the sound of the bars trapping him in there.

He might as well play their game.

He walked to the painting. Underneath it was an inscription that wrote “Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra.”

Which one was which?

The women on the painting didn’t seem too different from each other. The painting itself didn’t seem all too enlightening, either; it looked like any common Romantic-style oil painting.

Well, it wasn’t going to give him any answers, would it?

He turned around, walking down a corridor and out into another, larger hall. He noticed how warm the whole building was, despite the freezing weather outside and the apparently old construction of the place.

This hall had hanging, lit candles all over the walls, though they couldn’t be the source of the heating. The lighting was low, but lucky for him, he’d been trained enough in low lighting for that not to be an issue.

He jerked back at the sound of a swarm of flies coming his way, then he sensed someone’s presence.

Flies, he could handle.

But then the flies started gathering together, and within seconds they morphed into three women, dressed in black hooded cloaks.

“Wha—?” he whispered.

“Looking for Anya?” a voice said, and he assumed it’d come from one of the women. Who had just formed from flies.

The absurdity of his situation almost made him forget that she had just mentioned Anya.

Which meant they probably knew where she was.

However, he was too shocked by the sight that he couldn’t move when one of the women, all of whom were cackling, approached him and pushed him backwards.

She swung the scythe she held in her hand, and he pulled his legs away just before she could bury it in his calf.

“Oh, he’s feisty!” the woman said with a wide smile.

Her arm then almost zapped through the air, and his left leg was exploding in pain before he could even register the movement.

He yelped in pain as she leaned closer to him and took a long sniff.

Her mouth and jaw were covered in blood, though her blond hair looked pristine clean.

“Mmm, man-blood,” she said.

She then leaned back and started dragging him, by the scythe embedded in his leg, as he still lay helplessly on the ground.

She was too fast. He flailed around, trying to grab at anything they passed by to make her stop, even though that would mean the scythe would rip his entire leg open, but then another woman reached his other side and buried her scythe in his right leg.

He threw his head back, biting down another yell of pain.

Could he just have one moment?!

The women dragged him down another corridor and into what he quickly realized was a bedroom. They removed their scythes, and he quickly reached to assess the damage, when he heard the blond woman say “Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” as she pointed at him with her hand.

“You are so kind to me, daughters,” came a voice of a woman who sounded older than them.

Older, and bigger.

She was sitting on a massive chair, holding an equally massive glass of red wine. She took a sip from it, then stood up and turned to him, saying, “Now, lets take a look at him.”

He raised his head to look at her.

And then raised it higher.

She had the build of a muscular woman, with curves proportionate to her height, which must have been about three meters tall. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat over her chin-length black hair, and a long white dress that reached down to her feet, though she moved comfortably in it.

“Well, well. Loid Forger,” she said. “Came looking for your daughter, I presume?”

He sat there, frozen.

They knew who he was – or at least pretended to be? And they knew Anya was also taken?

She walked closer to him, smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “For you to think you can waltz right in here—let’s see how special you are,” she nearly purred.

She threw her hands up in a sign for something, and two of the younger women said “Yes, mother,” as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

His first thought was that he was standing up surprisingly well for just having had two scythes ran through his legs.

His second thought was terror as one woman grabbed his hand, and the other produced a very sharp-looking knife.

Before he could jerk back, she sliced his palm open.

He bit back a grunt; it wasn’t a deep cut, but it would be annoying…

His last thought trailed off as the tall woman reached down, grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips… and started sucking.

Now he really was frozen in terror.

What the hell was this nightmare?

The woman pulled her head back, licking at her lips with a blood-soaked tongue.

She threw his hand away. “Hmm,” she said. “Still fresh, but only barely.”

He wrapped his hand into a fist, keeping it close to his chest.

“Then let’s devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!” one of the women said, handing a handkerchief to her.

“But I’m the one who captured him!” the blond woman protested.

“Now, now, daughters,” the tall woman said, patting at her lips with the handkerchief. “First, I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well, there will be enough for everyone.” She threw the handkerchief aside, smiling down at him. “Put him up!”

The young women surrounded him, and though he struggled, they were too strong for him as they put heavy manacles on his wrists.

A thick build, but he could break out of them with little effort.

But then, they secured a chain to them, and the chain started going up. He was lifted off his feet, and started grunting as the full force of his weight fell on his wrists.

Don’t say anything. Don’t let them take a hold of any weaknesses.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his voice from making any sounds as they headed out of the room. The tall woman had to bend to get through that door, and one of the young women – the second one who had stabbed his leg – bent down and picked up the discarded handkerchief, smelling the blood on it and laughing, as she followed them.

Breathing hard, he looked up at the manacles.

The pain was intense but manageable, though he already felt the tingling of numbness in his fingers. By his calculations, he had about fifteen or so minutes before cut blood circulation would start causing permanent damage.

Escape, first. Then you can freak out.

He grabbed the chain and dragged his body up. Though his legs were still bleeding, he brought them up so he could hold the chain between his feet.

He was gasping by the time he managed that, but at least he had less pain on his hands and a better view of the manacles.

They were old and rusty, but seemed to have a fairly standard locking mechanism. Bringing his body closer, he fished the lockpick out from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

Biting his lip, he worked through the lock of the right manacle. Just as it opened, his feet slipped from the chain and dropped down, causing all of his weight to drop onto his injured left hand.

The pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

Think! Think! Pull yourself together!

Taking in a laboured breath, he looked back up.

The lockpick had slipped from his hand and was now too far down for him to get it. His right hand was free, but he didn’t have any other options left.

Reaching up, he wrapped his free hand around his left thumb, and with a sharp pull, he dislocated it.

As his other hand was coated in blood from the cut, his wrist slipped through the manacle as soon as his thumb wasn’t in the way.

He dropped to the ground clumsily, not managing to balance his landing.

Wheezing, he looked at his left hand.

Bleeding, and a dislocated thumb.

He gave himself ten seconds.

Ten seconds to wonder where the hell he had gotten himself into, what that tall woman even was, standing at three meters tall and drinking blood, and what her “daughters” were, emerging from flies and also participating in… blood drinking? Cannibalism?

Ten seconds, and he was back to himself.

Focus, Twilight.

He looked at his legs – they were still bleeding, but he felt confident he could stand on them. Though those scythes looked sharp, they must have split a tendon or two apart.

At the corner of the room stood a vanity table, and on top of it, along with various cosmetics, lay a small green bottle with a cross on the label.

He stood up carefully, glad that his legs weren’t trembling. He picked up the bottle, carefully reading the label.

Medical alcohol.

Not one to trust this place that much, he opened the lid, and sure enough, it smelled like ethyl alcohol.

He sat down with a grunt, pulling his right trouser up. He didn’t have any clean gauze, so his only option was to pour liquid right over the wound.

He braced himself for the sting of pain, but instead, the liquid brought a cool, numbing sensation.

And then, right in front of his eyes, his wound closed then disappeared completely.

He stared at it.

Ten more seconds.

What the hell.

He looked at the bottle again. Medical alcohol, it said. It smelled like it too.

He looked back at his leg, raising his other trouser where the other wound still stood.

What the hell?!

Uncertain, he poured a little less liquid over that wound.

The wound immediately stopped bleeding as new skin seemed to form, though it didn’t heal completely.

He let out a breath. If he were honest with himself, this wasn’t really the weirdest thing to happen in the last few minutes, was it?

He turned to his mangled hand. Just how much could that liquid heal?

He poured an equal dosage to it, and was still surprised to see his thumb painlessly slide into its place, as well as the cut close completely.

Well, at least it could be useful.

He didn’t have time to worry over the supernatural. He had to get out of there, and find out where Anya was.

He took the path of unlocked doors, as he didn’t want to waste time and noise trying to break the lock of every locked door he found. Breaking the windows wouldn’t lead him anywhere – each one was sealed shut, and though he wasn’t averse to turning into a hooligan for the sake of escaping, the entire castle seemed to be surrounded by that wall.

He needed to get to a higher floor, but the safest and most silent path led him to the basement, where he found himself walking along piles and piles of dead bodies.

He had to hold his breath as he passed them by; apparently the occupants of the castle had the habit of feasting on the blood of humans, and did it so often that the amount of bodies was too big to act as decoration for their garden.

It was all men, however. As young as twenty-three, from what he could gather with a quick look.

The fly-women seemed to be confident enough in their hunting that they didn’t take away the handgun from one of the more fresh bodies. Twilight couldn’t tell if that was a police officer, a soldier, or a man aware of what he’d been dealing with, but it didn’t matter to him. He undid the holster, as gently as he could out of respect of the deceased man, and he put it on under his jacket.

He checked the magazine. Ten bullets out of sixteen.

He looked at the man. Had he shot those first six bullets right before he was killed?

The man had a shoulder bag on him, and inside was a box of bullets, a total of forty. He slid that too over his own shoulder.

He kept the safety on the gun on, but held it in his hand. He picked up a hunting knife from one of the other bodies and walked on.

As the bodies thinned out, he found a lone skeletal figure draped in a plain canvas cloak. The limbs stood out, bare, emaciated, and rotting. While other bodies were in a similar state of decomposition, they were fully clothed, at most with a few rips in their clothes. This one was the only one so bare.

And it was holding a scythe in its hand, old and rusty in comparison to the women’s scythes, but still sharp enough to do harm.

He approached it carefully, keeping both hands on the gun.

He thanked his training for that, as the figure moved when he passed right by it.

He yelped in shock, moving away from it and raising his gun at it.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t move!”

The creature, whatever that was, didn’t seem like it listened let alone register his words. It stood up, hunched over, then lunged at him with the scythe.

Not finding any alternatives, he shot right at its head.

The creature jerked back as a screech left its mouth.

Twilight held his breath.

His blood froze when he saw it still stand on its legs and try to swing at him again.

He shot again. He was perfectly certain the bullet got through its head.

Yet the creature moved again.

And he shot again.

Only now did the creature finally drop to its knees, but it was still screeching and growling.

Desperate, Twilight took the knife and drove it through the creature’s skull, three times, until he felt it stop moving.

It collapsed on the floor.

Hell knew if it would rise again. It was supposed to be dead already, wasn’t it?

He turned around and ran.

There were more creatures on the way. Some he slashed at with the knife, some he shot at, some he simply ran away from. A few managed to nick him with their scythes, and if he were honest, he was more worried about infections than the injuries themselves.

As he found a quiet corner, he pulled out the alcohol – or whatever that was. It seemed to work on the nicks too, making them close quickly and painlessly.

He supported himself on the wall, forcing his breath to calm down.

He had to get out. Now.

Holding the gun tight to his hand, he moved to leave, but then a buzzing and a voice sounded from behind him.

“Hmm. Warm, bright, red blood.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew it was the blond woman.

He made a run for it as flies swarmed around him, until he found a staircase going up, reaching into what looked like a kitchen area.

“Where are you going, little one?”

The woman appeared right in front of him, cutting off his path. She was smiling at him, surrounded by flies, her face still stained with blood.

“I just want to find Anya,” he managed.

“Aw,” she said. She then pushed him back and he fell on the ground. She lay over him, reaching at his neck and biting.

Yelling, he took the gun and fired twice at her stomach.

She reached up, laughing as fresh blood ran from her lips.

He shot at her head.

“Your bullets cannot harm m—”

Her voice cut off when another of his shots passed through her and hit the window behind her.

The glass cracked, and it quickly shattered as a cold gust of wind blew into the room.

The gust threw the woman’s hood off her head. Twilight tightened his hold on the gun when he spotted a massive, fleshy scar on her temple, a bald spot from her long hair.

The woman shrieked, then growled. Her skin, already pale as it was, seemed to start cracking and turn grey. She looked at her hands, still gasping in pain, and then turned to him, yelling, “You stupid man-thing!”

His mind finally picked up the pace. The cold made her weak?

He stood up, raising his gun at her.

“How dare you bare your teeth at us!” she shouted, then lunged at him with her scythe.

He managed to block her attack, pushing her back, and he shot at her face.

She groaned, still standing, but she said, “What? My body—it’s breaking…”

He kept his gun up. “Just let me go,” he said.

A wild rumble came from her mouth as she turned to attack him again. She reached him, and he could only block her at the last moment, his arms taking the full blow of her scythe. “Give up!” she said, reaching back for another swing of her weapon.

He shot twice at her head, and she yelled again.

The flies seemed to drop in numbers, and her skin cracked more and more. He barely managed to avoid two more of her attacks, and then she fell on him, ready to bite his head off, he supposed in the split second it took him to kick her off of him.

He shot two more times.

“This can’t be,” she said, weakly now, her body swaying.

“Let me go!” he repeated, taking two steps back.

She screamed and reached back with her scythe, and he shot again.

And then a sizzling sound came from her body, as she started swinging wildly, not reaching anything. She groaned and groaned, and her body transformed.

It seemed to calcify into gravel, as she slowly stopped moving, her hand still up in a pose of attack.

And then it broke down.

Whatever it was, it cracked into small pieces, and what started as the form of a woman was now a pile of something on the ground.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back on the wall behind him and slid down to the floor.

His hands were trembling, his feet felt like water.

What the hell was all that?

Were was he?

Why was he brought here?

And where was Anya?

What were those creatures…?

He closed his eyes. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds to freak out.

He just had to get out. Find Anya and…

He opened his eyes, his throat tensing.

Did he really have to find her?

As far as he was concerned, right now she was a liability to him. He had to prioritize his safety first.

It wasn’t like there were piles of bodies of dead girls around, was it?

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood back up. The woman had managed to hurt him a little, but the healing liquid was in short supply and he could handle those injuries up to a point.

The woman. Who was now a pile of ash.

Calm down, Twilight. Get yourself in order and find a way out.

The castle proved massive, and he couldn’t find any viable exit paths even as he seemed to reach what looked like hallways reaching into bedrooms.

Then, a mournful scream sounded from a floor below.

“What have you done to my daughter?!”

His blood chilled. If the “daughter” had been that vicious, he didn’t want to face whatever her mother had in store for him.

[intrepidacious]

make up for lost time

summary: Months after your last encounter, you meet James again … and this time, that precious tension between you snaps.

pairing: james norrington x f!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: smut (18+ only!!), bathing, body worship, oral sex (f receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), light breeding kink 🤭 underlying angst; infidelity with permission? it makes sense in context; i was ovulating while writing this and it shows; please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: you all can blame thank @wildlivelychild for this one because i hadn't planned on writing another part for when reality sets back in but here we are 😌🫶🏼 this can 100% be read as a standalone since it's mostly just me being feral. bon appétit.

masterlist | read on ao3

Reasonable happiness, you thought, wasn't made for people like you.

You, who preferred life in extremes, ecstatic highs and heartbreaking lows, your days filled with so much emotion you were left breathless. Instead, you got what society preferred for women of your station: the mediocre hum of social obligations and daily errands.

That made you lucky, of course. Not many were afforded a comfortable life. You knew countless young women who would’ve killed to fill your shoes, and you were content, really, just … secretly, foolishly, you’d allowed yourself to hope for more.

You tried not to think of James.

Even with your husband talking about the Caribbean, you tried not to listen, not to let your mind wander to the eve of your engagement banquet. Not when the talk of London society had exploded with a certain Commodore’s disgraceful resignation from His Majesty’s Navy only shortly afterwards.

You’d tried to reach out to him when it happened, but you never knew whether your worried letters still found him at his family’s adress. No response ever made it back to you. Like everyone, you supposed him lost at sea, helpless to find out anything more lest you draw any unwanted attention to yourself.

As it was, you felt like you were living in limbo; waiting for something you knew would never happen.

Until that night.

Months had passed at that point, and you’d all but given up any hope that your husband would show renewed interest in producing an heir. Your nights were spent alone, huddled up under several blankets against the shocking London cold. It was getting harder to fall asleep like this; your memories kept chasing sleep away from you.

It was because of this that you didn’t know at first if you were already dreaming when you heard the knock on your door.

After hearing your yawn of assent, your maid slipped into the room, lighting the candle on your bedside table with the one she was carrying.

"There’s a man downstairs," she whispered. "Mr Dalton found him in front of the gates, carrying this."

You blinked sleepily at the note in front of you, your husband’s wax seal closing the paper. He’d been away on his political campaign for a little over a week now, and you hadn’t heard from him since his departure. This message, delivered by a mysterious man at such a late hour, was more than unusual.

You sat up in bed and cracked the letter open, blinking at the words as they sent a wave of shock through you.

Take care of him, darling. T.H.

There was no longer any doubt in your mind that you were awake, after all, because your heart was beating so fast you could feel it in your toes, because a couple of things became clear to you instantly. One, you knew without a shadow of a doubt who the man downstairs was. Two, that despite his frequent absences, your husband was a lot more attentive than even you would’ve given him credit for. And three, that with only a few incongruous words, he’d given you a blessing you would’ve never dared ask for.

All this you realised at an instance because of one single, undeniable truth: Your husband had never once called you darling.

"Go to bed, Mina," you said, slipping into your dressing gown. "I’ll see to this."

The floor was cold underneath your bare feet as you slipped out of the room, almost in a trance. You weren’t certain whether to hurry down or to take a moment to compose yourself, your thoughts impatient and loud and alive.

You felt like you were breathing for the first time in months.

Still, there was a second where you believed there’d been a mistake, after all, because you barely recognised the man in your entryhall. His hair was wild, his clothes rugged and dirty, like he’d not changed them in weeks.

You’d know his eyes anywhere, though. They watched you carefully as you descended the stairs, a tether leading you straight towards him.

They always had.

"James," you whispered, and he lowered his head at the sound of your voice.

"Milady," he said. Nothing else.

He kept his back straight, but he held his arms stiffly at his sides, a shadow of the confident man you once knew. A million questions demanded to tumble out of your mouth; what had happened to him, where had he gone, was it true what they said, what did they do to him?

Instead, you took a step closer. "You must be exhausted," you said, keeping your voice soft; he deserved as much.

James didn’t reply, but when you reached for his hand, he let you, following you upstairs.

It was too late to ring for hot water, but your tub was still filled. He stared at it blankly, not comprehending.

"Do you need anything?" you asked.

The door was closed behind you. You’d never, you realised, been entirely alone in a room with any man but your husband, let alone led him to your private quarters. Still, you couldn’t find it in you to feel anything but right about what was happening.

James stared at you for a long while, as if trying to decipher your actions. "… Why?" he finally said.

There were a thousand reasons that you could give him, a lot of them completely innocent. But you weren’t in the habit of lying to James Norrington, and so you settled on the most honest one.

His fingers were still curled around yours, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and so you lifted his hand to your lips and pressed a kiss to his palm. Slow, lingering. A poor expression of everything you’d never been allowed to say.

"You know why."

His eyes were dark when you stepped in front of him, but he made no attempt to move. Gently, your hand shaking, you reached for his jacket, easing the dirt-crusted sleeves off his shoulders. It pooled at his feet.

You hovered over the buttons of his waistcoat, glanced at his face again to find him frowning, but not objecting as you undid them one by one. Next, his belt fell to the floor with a heavy thud. You eased his shirt out of his pants and he helped you in pulling it over his head. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

There were scards and bruises scattered across his torso, remnants of battles and fights that the good people of society would tell grand tales about. In his skin, they were real, though, not just mere stories but lived memory.

How did one not linger on that?

You knelt to undo his boots, one by one, and when you looked up at him, James was staring at the ceiling, his chest falling heavily. His hands flexed at his sides in a way that seemed to you near painful.

You went to tug at his pants and he caught your wrist with a hiss. "Darling …"

There it was again, that little endearment that had always been his. Heat bloomed in your chest at the sound of it.

"It’s all right," you whispered. "We’re safe."

"Your husband—"

"Knows."

The word shifted the air between you. Apprehension still clung to him like a second skin, but something in it cracked.

You were still on your knees, and he didn’t let go of you for a long while before he caught himself.

"I should …"

You nodded as he turned around to swiftly strip off his pants and underthings and step into the tub. He shuddered at the cold, his his back muscles rippling.

Any other time, it might have let you feel powerful, seeing him naked mere inches away from you while you were still in your night clothes. Not this, though.

There was an intimacy to this moment that transcended such notions.

The water splashed as James washed himself with quick, methodical movements. Even if you’d tried, you probably wouldn’t have been able to look away. Finally, he dunked his head in, staying under the surface for such a long time you started to grow worried. But then he emerged again, his hair sticking to his forehead, and you reached out to push it aside. To your surprise, he leaned into your touch.

You reached for a wash cloth and dipped it into the water, using it to gently scrub leftover grime off his beautiful face. His eyes held yours the entire time, unsure and yet burning.

Oh, those eyes. You still wanted to drown in them.

Almost without noticing, you leaned in closer, watching him for any sign of hesitation. There was none left; only that sweet, unspoken thing that had been cautiously granted room at last.

No words were exchanged. This had been such a long time coming.

Your lips brushed his, barely a kiss, barely a touch at all. You moved back to look at him and found his eyes had fluttered shut.

You gently bumped your nose against his before kissing him again. Slowly, these delicate touches deepened, until James groaned softly into your mouth and you let him in.

He kissed you like it was a dance, carefully orchestrated without a push too close, meeting you halfway. Your hands moved to his chest, and you could feel his erratic heartbeat under your fingertips. The sensation was enough to make you dizzy, but you were in no rush to speed things along. You’d waited your entire life for this.

Gradually, his kisses grew more intense, his tongue pushing deeper, wanting, craving. He wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer, swallowing the gasp you let out when water seeped through your shift. Desire pooled in your belly, growing until it sank into your very bones, every thought consumed by James.

You caught his lip between your teeth and there was a loud splash of water as he surged.

"We should," he started, trailing off again, his eyes dilated as he took you in, your chest soaking wet and practically transparent. He shivered and you smiled, reaching for a towel.

"Let’s get you warmed up, Commodore."

Mina must’ve noticed the cold in your rooms, because there was a gentle fire crackling in your bedroom. The curtains were drawn and you locked the door behind you, leaning against it as you looked at James. He took it all in with a tick in his jaw.

"What is it?" you asked.

"I just …" He shook his head, gesturing towards the room. "You deserve this. Whenever I think about what a fool I’ve been, I remind myself that you would’ve lost everything as soon as I did. And I’m glad." He stepped up to you. "Even if we’d never met again, I would’ve been glad because I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d brought you ruin."

Your heart was pounding wildly and you reached out to cup his jaw, gently tracing the rough beard.

"Oh, James," you said quietly. "There’s no ruin in loving you."

When he kissed you again, there was a new hunger to it, an unleashed sense of wanting. His hand came up to protect your head as it fell back against the door, the other helping you to untangle your dressing gown, undo the fastenings of your chemise. His fingertips traced every inch of your skin as it was revealed to him, reverently, like he was mapping out the shape of you by touch alone.

Soon, his lips trailed down your neck, your collarbone. You gasped when they latched onto one of your nipples, gently sucking while his hand cupped your other breast, teasing the little bud until you trembled.

Lower and lower, until finally, he was the one on his knees blinking up at you, his eyes dark and questioning.

You threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him in.

A broken moan left your lips when his tongue swept across your sex, like he was sampling your taste. Your legs widened to grant him better access and he moved even closer, trailing open-mouthed kisses along your folds, your mound, teasing your entrance. His beard rubbed deliciously against the most delicate parts of you, his attentions so close to where you needed them most.

This was torture.

"Please," you whispered, and he looked up at you, your slick glistening on his chin. There was a dazed look to him, like he was witnessing something beyond his comprehension.

"Show me," he urged, and you dipped one finger inside yourself and then rubbed it over your clitoris, quick circles that made you shudder with delight. When you looked at James again, his eyes were fixated on your every movement.

Without hesitation, he took your finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue across it like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. It released from his mouth with a gentle pop, and for a moment you couldn’t help but trace his swollen lips.

When he moved in again this time, he immediately found your clit, carefully flicking it with his tongue before sucking it between his lips. You gasped and he repeated the motion, applying just a little more pressure. You felt his fingers play at your entrance, probing softly before slipping inside. Your hips jerked against his face and he groaned, the sound a low vibration against your cunt that made your head spin.

In no time at all, he’d learned the sounds of you, expertly licking and rubbing until it all became too much. You slapped a hand across your mouth to stifle a breathless whine as you came, legs shaking, your release soaking him.

You trembled as you clenched around his fingers, the sensation too much and not enough at the same time. When the pleasure subsided, he was still languidly lapping at your cunt, his hand rubbing soothing circles against your thigh.

You tugged on his hair until he gazed up at you through half-hooded eyes, his cheeks hot and pink, his breaths heavy. You stumbled against him, lips crashing. The taste of yourself on his tongue made you moan.

You weren’t sure how you made it to the bed. You only knew the weight of him on top of you, your back arching into the mattress as his cock was trapped between your bodies, hot and leaking.

"James," you sighed and his hips stuttered against yours like he hadn’t expected to hear his name from your lips. "I need you."

He stilled coming up on one elbow to look at you, really look at you; maybe for the first time tonight, or ever. You felt yourself grow flustered under his earnest attention, squirming underneath the weight of him.

"Are you certain, darling?"

Four words that warmed you even more than his intense gaze.

"I want you more than anything else, James Norrington."

He groaned as he kissed you again, blindly adjusting your positions. He rubbed against your entrance and you wanted to cry with need.

"Look at me," he said.

You did, desperately, and he pushed inside you.

Your eyes wanted to roll back but you kept them on his face. There was so much emotion displayed on it; admiration, want, disbelief, awe. You’d never been looked at like this. You felt so full.

Again, he rocked into you, his pace picking up as you warmed up to the feel of him. Your mouths met again, open, breathless. One of his hands cupped your cheek, gently carressing it.

"God, you’re perfect," he murmured against your lips. "I don’t think I can—"

Your ankles locked around his back and you both groaned as he sank even deeper into you at the new angle. Each of his thrusts rubbed against your clit in the most delicious way.

"Inside," you panted. "I want you inside."

What a polite way of saying that you were going to die if you didn’t feel James Norrington spill into you. It was unlikely that anything would result of your encounter but you were suddenly desperate to try fate.

"Can we …?"

You would never find out if there was a second part to that question or whether he was simply asking for permission, because you clenched around him and he lost his thought with a broken groan. He thrust into you a couple more times before he came, swearing and praising you, good, so good, oh shit, please, so god-damn beautiful, my beautiful girl.

You were so close to the brink just from witnessing him come undone above you.

Finally, his praises slowed, as did his movements, and he pulled out of you with a last moan of pleasure. You whined at the loss of him, already mourning your orgasm.

James sat back on his knees, enthralled by the sight of his seed trickling out of you. He pushed it back inside with his fingers and you thought you would lose your mind. He kept fucking into you with his fingers, your slick mixing with his cum. You’d never felt so sensitive in your life, every new touch filling you with fire. You were flailing until you felt his other hand on your stomach, holding you down.

"Gorgeous," you heard, and then his tongue flicked over your clit again, torture in a different way.

This time, you came with a loud cry, his hand the only tethering you to the bed, to reality.

He collapsed next to you, gathering you in his arms, kissing your face, his beard tickling you until you smiled.

"You know, I really don’t recall the last time I’ve seen you quite this satisfied," he said, and you laughed.

For a few precious moments, the world was perfect.

Then, you remembered that there was more to it than just the two of you.

"How long do we get?" you whispered, listening to his heartbeat.

James pressed another kiss to your forehead. "There’s a ship to take me back across the Atlantic."

You tightened your hold on him. "Do you have to take it?"

"According to Thomas, it’s that or the Tower."

"I’ll come with you."

His thumb kept rubbing circles into your skin. "No, darling. You won’t."

And despite how much you wanted to protest, something inside you knew that he was probably right. You’d only make him more of a traitor in the eyes of good British society.

"How long?" you said again.

"Three days."

"Three days …" Not a lot when you wanted lifetimes. Eons. But you weren’t going to waste them wishing for a different ending when he was right there with you. "I suppose we should make the most of that."

He looked at you, like nobody else ever had, and then he smiled.

as you can tell by the existence of this piece, leaving comments on the things you enjoy can really pay off 😌 either way thank you for reading!! for more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications. yo ho ho my loves 🫶🏼

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

Trojan Horse (crime boss AU: part III)

Natasha gets sent on her most dangerous mission yet: go undercover in the drug operation of the biggest crime empress in the world and take her down. But as they grow closer, she starts to forget about the mission more and more...

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova) second pov on Ao3 • Wordcount: 6.1k (no wonder it took so long to write lol) • Warnings: PLEASE READ: murder, torture (detailed), gore, blood, dead bodies • A/N: we finally get to see Katya as you expect her to be (the warnings give it away) Masterlist Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

Something was wrong. 

Trouble. 

Hushed whispers, frequent meetings in Katya's office, weapons shipped out, girls secretly leaving the compound at night, armed to the teeth—signs that something serious was brewing.

It all started after that mysterious phone call Katya got, two days ago. Whatever news it delivered, it triggered all this ruckus. 

The air in the compound felt heavier. People were on edge, tense, waiting for something. Katya locked herself in her office. The girls from her inner circle pretended that nothing was wrong, but they moved differently. Stiffer. Conversations didn't flow.

Nobody said anything. The problem existed only in the shadows, hidden from anyone too oblivious to notice the shift in the atmosphere, the secrecy. 

But Natasha's eyes were always stuck to the shadows. 

She spent her nights lurking through the curtains of her small bedroom, making notes of everything in a small notebook she hid under the floorboards—the shipments going out, the people sneaking around—trying to piece together what was going on. 

With a business like this, the list of possible threats was endless. Ranging from anything like nosy cops to an all out gang war. 

Though Natasha doubted that Katya was this nervous about a couple cops, she was feeling increasingly restless herself, anxiety bubbling underneath her skin every waking moment. If she was in danger, she needed to know, and she wasn't used to being on the outside.

Lina, Aika, Salmah, Paola, and Ana—the woman Katya hooked up with a week ago—were people she kept a close eye on. They made multiple trips to the house, day and night, and barely interacted with anyone but each other. They were also Katya's longest serving and most loyal Ghosts. If anyone knew anything, it was them.

But straight up asking what was going on was not an option. Natasha had never spoken to them, and it's not like they would tell her anything to begin with. She hadn't earned the right to know secrets. She was just a rookie, someone insignificant until proven otherwise.

Her only option was to do what she did best; spy. Make herself invisible and come close enough to gather information the classic way, by using her ears and her eyes.

That wasn't easy in a place where everyone knew everyone. Where guards walked their rounds day and night, their eyes peeled for suspicious activity. Where even in the dark, every corner was well-lit and provided no cover.

It required a perfect balance of risk and patience. Something Natasha mastered through all her years of undercover work. But never had the stakes been so high.

On a dark, moonless night, three days after the phone call, Natasha first left the safety of her bedroom. The same things as in the past two nights had been happening outside; trucks pulling up, gear loaded in, women gathering around. She'd already written down everything she could see from a distance—which wasn't much—and so in order to know more, she needed to get closer.

Braiding her hair down her back and slipping on her jacket, Natasha snuck out of her room, armed with nothing but a knife hidden in her boot. The building was exceptionally silent, her footsteps bouncing off the white walls and orange tiles as she passed rows of bedrooms, filled with sleeping Ghosts. The outer door creaked when it opened. Natasha cringed, quickly shutting it and putting as much distance between it and herself as she could.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she rounded the back of the building. She was near the front of the property now, only a few rows of trees and bushes separating her from the tall fence and front gate. Slowly, she crept closer, pressed against the wall, leaning forward enough to see around the corner of the building.

The fountain, located in the dead center of the square, was blocked from Natasha's view by two cars. Black SUV's, tinted windows. Multiple women were busy loading them, communicating mostly silently by hand gestures and nods that Natasha couldn't decipher. 

From her point of view, she couldn't see what they were putting in the back of the cars. Too many legs were in her way, and the car was parked with its nose in her direction. She also couldn't make out if Katya was with them. A quick headcount gave her seven women, the darkness hiding most of their identities.

Natasha clenched her jaw in frustration, shifting her weight back to conceal herself again. This wasn't a helpful stakeout at all. Way too much risk, way too little results. She was going to need to find another spot.

A sharp branch of a bush nicked her neck when she crawled backwards. Cursing quietly, she straightened up as soon as she could, brushing dirt off her knees and hands as she quickly walked to the other side of the building, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. 

Having to relocate was a bad idea. If she were any smarter, she would have called her plan off. Her new spot lacked cover, and was twice as bright as her previous one had been. 

Instead of some bushes, she was now standing between the building that housed the sleeping quarters, and another building. Dressed in all black like she was, her figure showed up against the white walls around her like an ink blot on paper.

But curiosity and anxiety gnawed at her chest. This was too good of an opportunity to let slide. So, she pressed her back to the wall and shuffled to the edge, gravel grinding beneath her boots.

In the time it took her to move, nothing significant changed in the square. She still counted seven women, surrounding two cars. But the backs of the vehicles were now pointed in her direction, the trunk doors open wide.

Squinting through the faint light, Natasha tried to make out the shapes and boxes in the back. They weren't unlike the boxes they loaded in the past two nights. Hard shell, black, standard. Probably weapons. She couldn't be sure without reading the letters on top. 

Next to the boxes were large duffel bags that could be holding anything. Clothes, money, drugs. She couldn't rule anything out with Katya. The woman had her toes dipped in so many different types of crime.

Then there were more things scattered around, but it was too dark to make out what they were. Probably more war related things. Tech, maybe. The Ghosts kept blocking Natasha's view, their voices too soft to make out any actual words, the surroundings too dark to read lips.

Time continued to tick away. This wasn't the high risk, high reward night Natasha was hoping for. So far, she'd gotten no rewards, and taken too much risk. If only she had some of SHIELD's tech at hand. A listening device or a GPS tracker that she could stick to one of the cars.

Just as she contemplated her next move, a boom of thunder sounded behind her. 

Natasha flew backwards, but she was too late. The sound had drawn the attention of the women in the square, turning their heads in its direction—Natasha's direction—before the redhead could hide.

"Hey!"

Natasha had to make a split second decision. She couldn't be sure if they saw her face, and she didn't know how they'd react to her presence here, but she decided to take a chance. She was desperate for information, and had hit a dead end by just watching from a distance.

When she stepped out of her hiding spot, one of the women from the group, Paola, was already stalking towards her with big steps. Her scowl made even Natasha falter in her plans. For a moment, she felt like a kid who got caught pushing over their little sister. 

When faced with these situations, Natasha did what she did best; act innocent and small. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be nosy, but I heard noise, and—"

''What are you doing here?'' Paola demanded, one of her hands pressing against the machine gun at her hip. She was tough, firm, one of those people allergic to bullshit. Her eyes bore into Natasha.

''I couldn't sleep, I– I just wanted to go for a walk to clear my head," Natasha stammered through her words.

''You seem to go on night walks a lot.''

Natasha glanced at the floor, making herself look small. She shifted in her spot. ''I have a hard time sleeping. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that truck.'' She clenched her fingers into fists. ''It's—''

''Paola, give her a break." 

That calm, controlled voice… 

Tension fell off Natasha's shoulders. She looked up, Paola glanced over her shoulder. Katya emerged from the dark, her fingers wrapped around the gun holster around her chest. 

It was the first time in three days that Natasha saw her, and she looked nothing like she expected. Katya's relaxed posture didn't reflect the nervous activity in the compound at all, as if she wasn't worried, but her outfit signaled that something was indeed going on. 

She'd traded her heels for flat boots, her silk blouse for a simple t-shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Functional. A simple handgun sat snuggled against her left breast, held in place by the holster. She may look in control, but she expected trouble, or a fight.

Natasha swallowed harshly as Katya's eyes found hers. Under her gaze, she felt exposed, strangely vulnerable. While she stood here as Nadia, she couldn't help but feel like Katya saw Natasha instead. It scared her less than it should.

"The transition isn't easy, but you seem to be handling it well," Katya complimented, tilting her head as she studied the redhead before her. Natasha grew slightly uneasy. That look usually meant people had plans for her. "Why don't you come with us tonight?''

Natasha's eyes widened. Part of her surprise wasn't faked, and neither was Paola's. ''What?''

A flicker of amusement flashed across Katya's face. ''I'm going out to handle a problem in one of the warehouses. You should see what it is that we really do.''

Just like that. Paola's expression turned sour. Natasha didn't blame her. She acted weird and suspicious, and Katya basically handed her a promotion.

''Okay,'' Natasha agreed, taken aback. This was working out way better than she could have planned it herself.

Katya gave a satisfied nod. She looked over her shoulder, calling out a name. ''Marta.'' A stern-looking, tan woman with a short, dark ponytail stepped over to her boss. ''Nadia is coming with us. She's your responsibility tonight. Get her ready.''

''Yes, ma'am.'' Marta nodded. She beckoned Natasha to follow her, and the redhead politely pushed past Katya. 

The back of the truck was full of weapons and gear, exactly like Natasha thought. All neatly organized, locked in black boxes and secured onto the wall. It was the first time she got a glimpse of Katya's arsenal, and she let her eyes travel over everything as Marta gathered some stuff together, cataloguing it, calculating numbers.

Machine guns, shotguns, sniper rifles, grenades, knives, night vision goggles, helmets, bulletproof vests…the list went on. An impressive range. Intimidating, and undoubtedly only a fragment of the whole collection. Enough to take out a village.

Marta helped her into a bulletproof vest—like Natasha couldn't put one on in her sleep—and then equipped her with the same machine gun Paola had on her. She gave no instructions on how to use it, but shoved an extra magazine into the back pocket of her jeans. 

"So, what am I supposed to do?'' Natasha asked. 

Marta slammed the trunk door shut and turned to her with an expression so severe that Natasha truly felt like a clueless rookie. ''Our objective is to keep the boss safe. You stay with her, at all times. Shoot back at anything that shoots at us. Understood?"

Natasha nodded. "I understand." Keeping Katya alive was also high on her own, secret to do list.

"Good. Keep your eyes up, stay sharp. Danger can linger anywhere."

Everyone seemed to be ready. Bulletproof vests were on, guns were loaded. There were nine of them in total, now. Natasha wasn't sure where they were going or what they were going to do—only that it involved a warehouse of some sort—but nine people were not enough to fight a gang war.

She had a feeling that these eight Ghosts mostly served as protection. Protection in a place where things could go sideways in the blink of an eye.

"Let's move!" Katya called out. Everyone filed into the cars, engines starting up.

"You're in the back," Marta ordered.

Natasha nodded, turning to the backseat, and stiffening when she saw who was already in there. 

No time to hesitate. She climbed in beside Katya, sandwiching her between herself and a woman named Gianna, and shut the door.

The SUV looked spacy from the outside, but the backseat of any car would always be cramped with three people on it. Katya's thigh pressed against Natasha's, sending tingles through her leg where their bodies touched each other. Natasha shifted as far away as possible, her hip digging into the door as the car began to move. The right side of her body burned.

They drove through the gate and into the dark woods—the first time Natasha left the compound in a little under three weeks. It's when every tree started to look like a threat that she realized how safe she'd felt inside those gates. With the security it had, she'd only had to worry about the threats inside the walls, and those were incredibly low so far.

She didn't ask where they were going. Marta sat in the front, stoically staring through the windshield, and Katya had pulled out a tablet, reading through things Natasha couldn't make out. The car was too shaky and the text too small. 

The forest was so disorienting that she had no idea how long they had been driving for when they pulled up to another guarded gate. Two heavily armed women walked up to the car, doing a quick scan before letting them pass. Behind the gates seemed to be nothing but more darkness, but Natasha made out the faint shape of a building.

She tried not to show how on edge she was. This outpost, or whatever it was, was in none of the files. New territory she hadn't prepared for. Aerial pictures she hadn't studied. She went in blind.

The cars stopped. Everyone filed out of them, and then someone finally turned on some lights. 

A helicopter.

So that's how Katya could be places so quickly. Natasha understood why nobody had ever seen this place on satellite imaging. The trees were still huddled together here, the roof of the hangar hidden underneath the blanket of leaves. There was only a gap wide enough to fit the helicopter, and nothing more. 

The vehicle itself was military grade. Long, dark grey, and held space for twenty people in the back. Or twenty crates of drugs.

Natasha followed the others inside, unsure if she was supposed to stay at Katya's side, but a spot was left open for her, so she took it as a sign to do so. They strapped in and rose into the air a minute later, filling Natasha's ears with nothing but the sound of the engine and the blades circling around above her head. 

Katya's perfume burned in her nose, the glow of her tablet illuminating her face as she read and tapped and swiped on it. Natasha wanted to ask her where they were going, but something stopped her from doing so. She had to trust her not to lead them into a situation too dangerous. The woman was too smart to do so.

They flew for a while. Natasha's guess was around fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. She tried to recall a map of the area, but without knowing which direction they went, the possibilities were useless. Eventually, they lowered to the ground, and she stuck to Katya's side when the door slid open.

The helicopter had landed in a field in the middle of nowhere. Three cars waited for them a short distance away, same make and model as the SUV's they left behind earlier. Each one had two women flanking it, their hands wrapped around some serious looking machine guns. Ghosts.

Katya didn't hesitate to approach. One woman peeled away from the other five and met her halfway, their hands meeting in a formal greeting. Katya's eyebrows pulled together with sorrow as she addressed her. "I'm sorry for your loss."

The woman bowed her head. "Me too."

The interaction only fueled Natasha's confusion. She went wherever Katya went, so she ended up beside her in the back of an SUV again, looking out the window as they drove off the field and started down a road. 

Pretty soon, the first buildings showed up, and Natasha finally knew where they were; the large city—a metropolis—that bordered the forest which housed Katya's compound, sixty-two miles away. 

It was known for its poor communities that formed a ring around the rich city center. The slums were dirty, dangerous, but twenty-five percent of all inhabitants of this city lived in it. It was breeding grounds for crime, drugs, and gangs. 

At least it used to be.

"I have warehouses in places like this all over." Katya's voice startled Natasha. She hadn't spoken or acknowledged her for an hour, but now Katya looked straight at her as she started explaining. "Fragile, poor communities with no prospects. I sweep in, clear their streets of petty crime, provide them with basic necessities like clean water, electricity, jobs and good education."

"In exchange for?" Natasha asked.

A cunning smile tugged on Katya's lips, difficult to see in the darkness. "Money, of course. Rent, and protection." 

Natasha hummed in acknowledgment. The scenes outside the car weren't new to her. She'd been in slums like this before. Colorful but small houses, made of plastic, wood, and poor pieces of metal, huddled together and stacked on top of each other on the hill side. Trash was everywhere, holes so deep in the road that it would break any car's suspension. 

She hated the atmosphere in these places the most. Despair and hopelessness with an underlying tension.

"About eighty percent of the adults in these areas are dependent on some sort of substance. Tobacco, alcohol, cannabis, heroin, cocaine, you name it," Katya continued, her eyes skimming the dark street outside. Everyone ducked away when they saw the cars coming, eyes watching them pass from behind dark windows and tight alleys. "I monopolize all of it; take over the businesses and dealers so only my product is available. At a good price, of course." 

Natasha didn't have to look over to see the smirk on her face. It was a cruel business. Katya preyed on people's weaknesses and left them no choice. They had to buy her products, or they had nothing. They had to pay rent, or she'd kick them out of their houses. 

And, undoubtedly, if the whole neighborhood resisted her rule, she would take away the things she'd given the community, leaving space for crime again. 

As long as they did what she said, there was peace; she protected them, she provided for them. 

"Do they ever resist?"

"Sometimes. Usually, the normal folk are so eager for better living conditions that they gladly trade one evil for another." Natasha looked at her. It was the first time Katya had called herself evil. Did she agree, or did she simply echo what others called her? "But the local gangs like to struggle."

Something dark passed over Katya's features. The temperature in the car seemed to lower, a cold shiver running down Natasha's spine.

"They're dumb idiots, protecting their territory and their honor, or some shit. Giving up their power, especially to a woman, is the last thing they want to do." Katya's voice had a bite to it. "But they're not too stupid to see that they can't win. Men act tough, but the moment they look death in the eye, they cower back fast."

Natasha could only agree with her there. "And then they stay down?"

"Usually. Sometimes, they try to retaliate. Nothing serious. Small groups that we easily put back in line." Katya paused, her eyebrows knotting together. "But in this area, gang activity is still strong. I tried to root them all out, but they went underground, scheming. Three days ago, they tried to raid the warehouse. We held, but a few containers with products were set on fire."

The call she received.

"Two hours ago, they tried again." She clenched her jaw, visibly upset. Natasha had only ever seen her confident and strong, but a sadness burned in her eyes. "We lost three of our own. A few others are badly hurt. They said there must have been over thirty men. Only ten of my people guard the warehouse at all times"

Natasha may not agree with this lifestyle, with the crime and the violence, but she would never be able to turn her feelings off over dead people. "I'm so sorry," she muttered, once again surprised by how much Katya cared about her employees. 

In the grand scheme of her operation, three people was nothing. She had hundreds ready to replace them. Even the products in that warehouse couldn't matter too much. What was a million dollars on a billion?

But a fierce anger replaced Katya's sorrow. "They made a really, really big mistake," she growled. "I'm gonna hunt every last one of them down and break all their fingers before putting them in the ground."

Natasha's heart skipped a beat. 

From the outside, the warehouse looked calm. No activity, no big red lights or blaring alarms. The gate was open, and the three cars pulled up right to the building. 

Only when Natasha got out, and the large roll-up door opened, pouring light from inside the warehouse to the small driveway in the front, did she start to see signs of carnage. Blood stained the concrete beneath her boots, shell casings lying all around. Barrels had fallen over in the corner.

As Natasha followed Katya inside, things only got worse. Large pools of blood glistened underneath the fluorescents, blood splatters covered every surface; crates, barrels, boxes, walls. Things had fallen over, thrown around and blown apart. A suspicious looking substance slowly poured out of one of the crates, white dust piling up on the floor. 

It's like a tornado raged through the building.

Multiple Ghosts were on the floor, either sitting or lying down, with bandages covering different parts of their bodies. The only person not wearing black—a woman in her early fifties—tended to their injuries, her hands stained with blood. Probably a doctor from the hospital nearby, bought with drugs money. She was busy sewing a bullet wound shut on one of the Ghost's legs.

Katya went straight for them, asking the doctor for the details on all the injuries. Everyone would be fine—only two were transferred to the hospital by ambulance—but it was clear that most of these women wouldn't be working for a few weeks.

Katya put on a strong front as she stopped by every single one of her employees that was hurt in the attack. She spoke to them, calmed them down, and gave them her condolences on the loss of their colleagues. They looked glad to see her, giving her sad smiles that she mirrored with one of her own.

When she'd talked to all of them, she could no longer ignore the three dark blue pieces of tarp on the floor in the back of the room. Pain crossed her face as she crouched by the first one, slowly pulling the plastic back to reveal a young blonde woman with pale, grey skin. Someone had closed her eyes, but that didn't make it any better. 

Natasha watched with a mix of interest and sadness how Katya placed her hand on the woman's head and closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath before opening them again. She looked at the lifeless face a moment longer before sliding the tarp back in place. Then she stood and repeated the same process with the other two bodies, like a ritual.

Natasha felt like she was intruding on something, but she couldn't look away. The gesture was so gentle, so human, and she saw that these deaths truly touched Katya, the untouchable woman. 

"Marta," Katya looked straight at the woman who had been next to Natasha the entire time. "Get a few people to put these women into a truck. They'll be given a proper burial at home."

"Yes, ma'am."

Katya waited until she was gone to turn to the woman whose hand she shook in the abandoned field. "Where are the others?" Her voice had that angry edge again.

"Around back. Eleven bodies." Those must be the gang members these Ghosts had managed to kill before the rest of them fled. Not bad.

"Dump them in the river," Katya ordered coldly. Natasha's stomach flipped around. The other woman didn't flinch or hesitate, so this must be business as usual for them. 

"We kept one of them alive for you. He's in the back."

Katya's tense expression lightened up like someone had just given her the best news ever. A predatory, hungry look filled her eyes. "Nice work." The woman walked off, leaving just Natasha and Paola. "You two are with me."

A metal door led them to a smaller room in the back of the warehouse. It looked like a break room of sorts, with chairs and a few tables that were now pushed to the side to make room for a single chair in the middle of the space. Two Ghosts kept watch over the bloody, broken man tied to the piece of furniture, rope digging into his wrists from where they were secured to the armrests.

"Has he said anything?" Katya asked them.

"Not a word."

Malice flashed across her face as she stepped up to the man. Controlled, slow, radiating the confidence Natasha had gotten used to. If she were him, she'd have peed her pants, but he didn't even look up when her boots stopped right before his chair. 

"Eleven of your buddies are being tossed into the river as we speak. Don't get your hopes up—you will follow them, whether that's in one part or in little pieces."

The man scowled at her, blood dripping down his face and neck, staining his black shirt and pants, but he didn't speak. Katya slipped her hands into the pockets of her pants, pulling her shoulders back.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not a very patient person. I'm used to getting what I want, so I'm only giving you one chance to come clean." 

She slowly started to circle his chair, like a predator would its prey. He tried not to show his unease, but he stiffened in his seat when she passed behind him.

Katya bent forward when she stood in front of him again, pressing him back into the seat with her aura alone. Her eyes were cold, unforgiving, as she demanded calmly; "I want names. All of them."

For a long moment, they stared at each other, the man squinting through his swollen eye. He wore an expression of pure loathing and hatred, and if he wasn't tied tightly to the chair, he probably would have lunged at her. Natasha kept her hand securely on her gun.

She knew this man wasn't going to speak without some encouragement. He was too proud to concede, too loyal, even after being beaten to a pulp.

Without warning, he bent his head and spat at Katya's feet. A thick splatter of saliva and blood landed on her boot.

Before Natasha could react, Katya backhanded him across the face. So hard that he fell over, chair and all. A strangled cry fell from his lips, more blood pouring out of his nose. With a wave of her fingers, Katya signaled the girls to put him upright.

"Enough," she said harshly, leaning over him again, her face only inches from his. She reached into her belt and pulled out a knife. "No more playing nice. I want names, now."

Adrenaline pulsed through Natasha's veins. She would never admit that she was enjoying this, but she was.

The man's chest heaved. From pain, from being slapped around, from anger. Blood stained his lips as he opened them to speak. "Fuck you."

A bone chilling scream rang through the air. Natasha's eyes widened. The man's pointer finger, previously snugly attached to his hand, now lay on the floor by his feet. Katya's expression hadn't changed.

"Let's try that again."

This. This was the Katya that Natasha had expected from the beginning. Merciless, violent, cruel.

She should feel disgusted, shouldn't she? Repulsion? Katya had just cut off a man's finger without blinking twice. An action that was far from humane. And Natasha didn't doubt that she would go—and had gone—so much further than that.

But the reality was; Natasha wasn't the purest either. Her hands were stained too. Was she honestly in any position to judge? Were her own actions justifiable, just because she did it with the right intentions? Because she worked for the "right" side. In Katya's eyes, she worked for the right side too. 

It was all a matter of perspective. And as Natasha watched the scene before her, she came to the realization that she felt something way stronger than aversion; a twisted form of admiration. Again. Katya crossed all the lines to protect her business and avenge the people she cared about.

Natasha couldn't look away. She told herself that it was to keep her cover intact, but the truth was; Katya captivated her. She was, by far, the most intricate, fascinating person she'd ever met.

The man thrashed in his chair, struggling against the ropes to get free. Blood dripped from his hand, down the armrest, onto the floor. He wanted to kill Katya, but he could only sit and drown in his pain. 

"Names," she demanded. 

The only thing that came from his mouth were muffled cries of agony. He wasn't focused on her, only the pain radiating up his arm.

With a sigh, Katya switched the knife from one hand to the other. He didn't have time to protest before the knife slashed through his other pointer finger, the bone cracking satisfyingly.

He screamed out, blood gushing from the stump. Suddenly, he could speak, profanities in a thousand languages flying off his tongue. He trashed harder, reminding Natasha of a leashed feral dog that had its prey in sight. 

Pain had taken over his brain, taking away the rational part of him. All he saw was red while his face turned more and more pale. Katya took a step back, letting him rage for a while. When she stroked the blood off her knife, Natasha noticed her hands were steady as ever.

"Someone get something to write the names down," she said. Nobody questioned her. She waited until he had calmed down to approach him again. His body was slumped, sweat shining on his forehead, only half aware of reality.

Katya didn't place her knife on a finger this time. Instead, she stood behind him, her free hand grabbing onto his hair to keep his head still, while the other placed the knife on the skin where his ear was attached to his head. 

She pushed down only an eighth of an inch from the top, but the searing pain was enough to shock him back to reality. He cried out again, his blurry eyes focusing. "Stop! Stop!" 

Katya didn't stop. "Start calling out names, and maybe you'll be fast enough to spare your ear."

Natasha realized her heart was pounding in her ears when she had trouble hearing the first names he called out. Paola dotted them down rapidly, but Natasha couldn't be of any help. She couldn't look away from the psychotic calmness that was Katya as she sliced the man's ear off.

He wasn't done naming his crewmembers when his ear fell onto the floor, so Katya moved onto the other as motivation. In some miracle, he didn't pass out. Every inch of his skin was covered in blood. A puddle had collected underneath his chair by the time the second ear joined the first.

"That's all! I don't know any more! I swear!" He begged, his body shaking with weak sobs.

Katya believed him, or she figured that fourteen names was enough. She let his head go, and it slumped forwards onto his chest. She buzzed with energy when she rounded the chair, pulling her gun from her holster. He didn't see her point it at his head and click a bullet into place. 

"I'll tell your friends you said hi."

The gunshot rang out. His head snapped back, the life draining from his eyes until they were nothing but empty voids. He'd served his purpose.

The silence that followed was overwhelming. Nobody spoke as Katya holstered her weapon, stunned by what had happened. They all just stared at the body, the drops of blood falling onto the floor.

Natasha's thoughts went in a million different directions. Part of her brain analyzed the situation from a SHIELD agent's perspective. She'd witnessed Katya torture and murder a man; the evidence they needed to pin her down. She could add a whole list of characteristics to Katya's SHIELD file from just her behavior today.

And then there was the part of her brain that couldn't think about missions and government agencies right now. What she'd just witnessed was too real. It wasn't a game. Her whole body was alight with adrenaline. And for the first time, there was a flicker of doubt. She pushed it away before she could name it.

"Nadia. What are we going to do with the body?"

She startled out of her thoughts. Katya stared at her, expectantly, curiously. She was gauging Natasha's reaction to what she'd just seen. It was test.

Natasha wrecked her brain for everything she knew about gang wars. There were no rules. Cruelty was expected, not an exception. Nobody was spared, and fear was used as a weapon. The most inhumane murders she'd seen were at the hands of gangs. Slit throats, cut off hands and heads, carved up torsos and backs. They worked as an example.

An example. 

"Leave him in the street for all to see."

Approval glistened in Katya's hungry eyes. "Where?" She asked eagerly.

Natasha's heart beat out of her chest. Not from nerves. From the thrill. She felt sick with herself. 

"Isn't it a Sunday tomorrow?"

The body wiggled back and forth in the back of the pickup truck as Paola drove through the tight streets. The cool, midnight air blew over Natasha's warm skin as she pressed a foot to the covered body to keep it still. She felt sweaty, and a little uneasy to be dragging a maimed corpse around, but Katya loved her idea. So here they were.

She felt people's eyes on them as they passed dark houses. Their destination wasn't far, but danger lurked everywhere in these parts. Natasha was glad to see the building Katya described emerge in the truck's headlights. 

Unlike the houses, it was made of brick, and twice as high. Yellow, with a painted cross on the front. People were very religious here. Sunday morning church visits were almost mandatory, and attended by people of all kinds. 

It wasn't Natasha's intention to stain anything sacred. She just needed the busiest place in the neighborhood to make the most out of this statement of hers. It just so happened to be the church.

Paola stopped the truck and helped Natasha pull out the body. There was a stone bench right in front of the building. They rolled the man out of the tarp and propped him up against it, adjusting his hair and hands so it was obvious what was done to him. Then, Paola pulled out a rose and dropped it in his lap.

Everyone would know who did this. Let it be a warning for people who had delusional dreams of overthrowing the woman who ruled these streets.

"Let's go," Paola said. Natasha didn't protest. She was tired, and the night was far from over. They had the whole journey back to the compound to go. 

She climbed into the front of the truck and let Paola drive, her heart calming the further they got from the church. If she ever made it out of this, she had one hell of a story to tell Clint.

[tinyluvs]

⁺‧₊˚ piercings 𖤐 swiss&phantom ˚₊‧⁺

❥ summary; swiss and phantom have fun with their piercings, that’s it, that’s the fic. based off of ꒰꒰ this ꒱꒱ post i made heheh ❥ warnings; piercings, dick&tongue, a very messy blowjob xo ❥ authors note; it appears i’ve forgotten how to write, sorry lol ❥ wc; 2.5k ₊˚⊹♡⁺‧₊˚𖤐 read on ao3; ˗ˏˋ ꒰꒰ here !! ꒱꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𖤐˚₊.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

all swiss can do is watch in anticipation. he knows what phantom is going to do, swiss probably knows the smaller ghoul and his body better than he does and yet, all he can do is watch and wait 

phantom doesn’t appear to be in any great rush though, his body shifts, getting comfortable on his knees while his hand travels up and down the length of swiss’ cock. he moves slow, his fist far too loose to really do anything, a lazy drawn out handjob that swiss doesn’t really mind, he’s just waiting for what comes next. unfortunately, he’s just a little impatient. 

“show them to me,” swiss asks eventually, his voice low, scratchy and rough, the result of leaving his jaw hanging while he watched everything phantom was doing to him. phantom cocks an eyebrow, a tilt pulling his head to one side, “please,” swiss finishes, rolling his eyes 

“is it really that hard for you to say please?,” phantom asks with a whine. he drops his hand from swiss’ cock, ignoring the way the bigger ghoul grunts, to cross his arms over his chest and sit back on his calves

before swiss can reply, something witty and full of cheek no doubt, he hears one of his favourite sounds. in theory, it’s not a great sound, a little metallic clink, clink, clink, as phantom knocks his piercings against the back of his teeth, but, it excites swiss to no end 

over exaggerated and in true swiss fashion, swiss asks, “please,” long, gravelly and drawn out, bending slightly at the waist to hover right over phantom, “lemme see them,” and in true phantom fashion, he does, the thought of saying no to swiss never even crossing his mind once

he tilts his head back, giving it a little shake to clear his hair from hanging over his eyes, stares directly up at swiss and then, like something out of an adult film, he sticks his tongue out, exposing his piercings and swiss keens

“fuck bug,” swiss groans, reaching down to slide his fist over his cock just as a thick bead of pre bubbles from his tip. phantom blinks up at him, feigning innocence as he curls the tip of his tongue upwards, showing off the little spit shiny metal balls sat on either side of his tongue 

phantom doesn’t really know how he got his snake eyes piercing, it was just there when he got summoned, a bar pressed horizontally through the tip of his tongue, a little stud on either side and almost immediately, swiss had gone feral for it. so, phantom never took it out 

“lemme see yours,” phantom whispers, the metal in his mouth tapping against his fangs as he talks. he straightens his back and leans forward, sticking out his tongue just underneath the head of swiss’ cock to flick upwards against swiss’ piercing 

swiss shudders as the movement wiggles the piercing through his cock. he has one silver ball nestled in his slit and the other sat against the underside of his cock. swiss wasn’t summoned with his piercing, didn’t actually have any when he got topside but he’s ended up with more than he can count on his own fingers

he threads his fingers through phantom’s messy hair, gripping hard enough to keep the smaller quint still as he presses his cock down over phantom’s mouth. slowly, swiss traces phantom’s lips with his cock, running the bottom ball from side to side over soft, wet skin 

“fuck,” swiss breathes, dragging the word out while he watches pre dripping from his cock and over phantom’s mouth, mixing with the spit bubbling between his lips until it’s dripping slowly down his chin, “messy,”

phantom hums in agreement, the vibration rumbles down, and through, swiss’s cock violently, the action earns him a loud gasped moan from swiss. phantom flicks his tongue out quickly, licking up the mess he made, that’s dripping down swiss’ length to his heavy balls, until there’s no mess left

swiss pants unevenly, once again stuck watching as phantom teases him, his tongue swirling around and around the head of his cock and on every pass against the underneath, phantom wiggles his tongue over the metal

there’s not really any way for swiss to describe what it feels like, a metal bar through his tip being forcefully nudged from side to side should feel weird, painful even, but to swiss, it just feels good, too good. phantom could, and has, managed to make swiss squirt just from doing this but swiss isn’t going to allow him to do it this time, he has other plans 

“stick your fuckin’ tongue out,” he grunts, pulling his hips back to move his cock away from phantom’s mouth. a movement that’s supposed to urge phantom to do as he’s told quicker, definitely not solely because swiss will spill embarrassingly fast if phantom continues his teasing 

“say please,” phantom lilts playfully, licking slowly over his bottom lip so swiss can still see his piercing but doesn’t yet have any chance of touching it, so close, yet so far away

he’s not really sure what he was expecting to happen but swiss pulling his hair hard, yanking his head all the way back maybe wasn’t it, “please,” swiss growls, chest rumbling with the noise and just to drive his point home, he smacks the head of his cock against phantom’s parted lips 

in any other circumstance phantom would tease him further, tell him to say the whole sentence again, to ask him properly but swiss doesn’t appear to be in the mood for his teasing right now, so, phantom just lets his tongue loll out of his mouth 

“good boy,” swiss hisses, partly sarcastically, his head twitching to the side just barely as he says it. phantom nods though, no doubt in his pretty little head that he is in fact, a good boy. swiss won’t argue with him either, not yet anyway

phantom’s eyes flicker from swiss’ face, downwards. the multi ghouls hips stutter forwards, his cock rubbing just right over phantom’s tongue. a gentle stream of moans spills from swiss, his head tipping back slightly as he finds a rhythm 

except, he doesn’t fall into one. phantom goes a little cross eyed, trying to focus on swiss’ cock sliding over his tongue. uneven little humps of swiss’ hips barely create any movement, swiss’ tip staying right over the end of phantom’s tongue, right over his piercing 

“y-you know i ca-, fuh-fuck, feel it, right?” swiss stutters through a moan. he presses his cock down further onto phantom’s tongue and then, it clicks in phantom’s mind. swiss is rubbing right over the bar that runs horizontally through his tongue and oh, oh, no he didn’t know that 

it’s never even occurred to phantom that swiss can feel it, he can feel it when he accidentally bites his tongue but knowing others can feel it, that, opens up a whole new load of ways for phantom to tease 

“you can?” phantom asks, slurred and garbled by swiss’ cock still laying heavy on his tongue, but he’s not really looking for a reply. as swiss opens his mouth to answer, moan out that he can feel it, phantom moves quickly. 

phantom dips down and forwards slightly, pressing the tip of his tongue, where the bar is, right into the base of swiss’ cock before quickly dragging it upwards until the bar is catching underneath swiss’ fat head 

swiss howls, nothing intelligible, and the sound makes phantoms own hips jerk forwards, chasing any sort of stimulation he can get to his own stiff cock. his hand ghosts over the front of his pants, not enough to really give him any pleasure but enough to calm the ache 

“t-there, right fuckin’ there,” swiss grunts, gripping a handful of phantom’s hair, the burn against the smaller ghouls scalp should hurt, instead, it makes his cock leak profusely, soaking a large wet spot into the front of his pants 

as swiss rocks his hips, keeping the bar pushed right up under the head of his cock, phantom does his best to press his tongue up, pushing hard until the bar is biting against swiss’ sensitive skin

for a little while phantom just becomes a toy, simply there for swiss to use to get himself off while the multi ghoul pours copious amounts of pre and slick down his throat, coating the inside and making it feel thick and heavy 

spit and drool drip from phantom’s outstretched tongue, long strings of it snapping and splashing onto his thighs and the floor underneath him, a messy state of affairs all around it seems but phantom sits sweet through it all, just letting swiss take and take and take, until it’s suddenly not enough 

“suck,” he orders, pressing his hips forward until his cock is sliding past phantom’s lips and into his mouth, not giving the smaller ghoul a chance to ask him to say please but, phantom frowns and refuses to close his lips around his length until he does, “please,”

the second swiss hisses the word, phantom closes in around him, the warmth and wetness of his mouth enveloping around swiss so nicely, all he can do is groan, the sound vibrating off of the walls around them with how loud he does it 

phantom pulls back until just swiss’ tip is sat between his lips and as he looks up at swiss, all wide eyed and cute, he slowly traces his tongue over swiss’ slit and furthermore, the piercing ball sat against it 

the metal waggles from side to side as he does it, tasting entirely of swiss’ thick pre and phantom groans as it slips down his already coated throat. swiss groans in unison, the feeling of it all making his cock throb until his hips are shoving forwards accidentally 

as swiss’ cock pushes all the way into phantom’s mouth, phantom gags a little, the sudden bump to the back of his throat surprising him. his hands shoot to swiss’ thick thighs, blunt nails digging into solid muscles too hard, he’ll look for bruises later 

“sorry, f-fuck, sorry bug,” swiss pants but makes no attempt to withdraw his cock, the feeling of phantom’s throat tightening around the head of his cock, in a gag, makes his balls draw up

tears collect along phantom’s lash line, threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment but he also doesn’t make any move to retreat. instead, he takes a second to breathe through his nose, nestled right against the soft thatch of hair at the base of swiss’ cock, and then starts to bob gently 

swiss’ piercing rubs against the back of his throat, the metal slightly colder than his cock, a stark contrast to everything phantom is feeling and somehow, someway, it feels right 

“lucifer, ‘m so close,” swiss grits out between clenched fangs, willing himself to look down at phantom and oh, he’s a sight to behold. fat tears slip down his face, his loose curls fall in front of his eyes and his cheeks are dusted red, he looks gorgeous, and completely ruined, in swiss’ opinion 

a soft whimper bubbles out of phantom’s throat, being stuck under swiss’ gaze forces that reaction out of him often and swiss loves it, loves knowing the effects he has on the smaller ghoul, “pretty little bug,” swiss purrs, warm and smooth like honey, phantom nearly chokes

so, he decides to get his own back. he pulls air into his lungs until they expand and burn and then pushes his tongue out between his bottom lip and the base of swiss’ cock 

he laves at the soft skin at the top of swiss’ sack and over the pulsing vein at the bottom of his cock all at once. swiss hisses as the metal through phantom’s tongue drags over his skin, also slightly too cold, chilled from the cool air surrounding them 

there’s a wet, slick, garbled sound as phantom works his tongue, and piercing, against swiss, pushing the bar as far into swiss’ skin as he possibly can, all while trying his hardest not to choke from the intrusion in his throat 

“oh, oh, shi-fuck,” swiss rambles as his fingers twist further into phantom’s hair, holding him still and close, needing the smaller ghoul to make him spill, just like this, “s-so close,”

swiss’ entire cock twitches in phantom’s mouth, almost bouncing off of the inside of his hollowed cheeks. phantom hums, whimpers, swiss doesn’t really know but he knows phantom is urging him on, sending him hurtling towards his orgasm at a speed that feels very unnatural 

the breath in phantom’s lungs starts to run out all too fast. his eyes pinch shut, forcing fresh tears down his cheeks. his fingers dig deep into swiss’ thighs, though the multi ghoul barely feels the slight amount of pain, the euphoria coursing through his body outweighs all of it

phantom slips his tongue, a little too fast, from side to side, nestled right between swiss’ drawn up balls, bumping them from side to side and it should hurt, or ache at least, with how sensitive they are. but, it forces swiss over the edge before he even knew he was falling 

“oh, f-f-fuck,” swiss shouts, his thighs quivering underneath phantom’s hands. he tugs hard on phantom’s hair, dragging him all the way off of his length

as it turns out, phantom is a good boy. before he even tries to suck in a breath, fill his lungs with what they need, he sits back and sticks his tongue straight out. his eyes still stream with tears as swiss jerks himself off, once, twice and three times before his cock kicks and he spills 

thick beads of cum erupt from swiss’ tip, bubbling out around the metal ball in his slit. hot strings drip from his cock onto phantom’s tongue, pooling in the centre of it and while phantom does his best to keep all of it, wave after wave of cum splashes from swiss’ cock and some of it gets lost, slipping off of his tongue and down his bare chest 

“oh my-” swiss trails off into a deep growl when his cock stops spitting and phantom finally pulls his tongue into his mouth to swallow, swiss barely getting a glimpse of the piercings covered in his cum before he’s dragging phantom upwards, “s’fucking good,”

phantom whines as swiss backs him up against the wall behind him and no sooner has he gasped at his body hitting the solid foundation, swiss is kissing him. there’s nothing gentle or smooth about it though, just a harsh collision of fangs as swiss devours him 

desperately, phantom presses his tongue through his lips to swipe quickly against swiss’, still coated with a thin, filthy, layer of swiss’ cum, making the multi ghoul groan into the kiss 

swiss shoves his hips forwards against phantom’s, pressing the quint’s painfully hard cock against his hip. phantom gasps and his head rolls back, bumping against the wall, “i’m hard, swiss, m’so hard,” he rambles, sniffling through his tears, “help,”

and well, swiss is about to shove his hand into phantom’s pants anyway, stroke his cock until he spills over his fist but before he does, “say please, bug,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! & comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah! send prompts to my ask box!

𖤐 ghouls masterlist

[yummyrevivalfluid]

What Wouldn't Senku Do For Science?

Summary: What was supposed to be a journey to Treasure Island gets interrupted when a storm has the Perseus sail off course.  The kingdom of science finds itself landing on a mysterious island inhabited by the people of Flora Village. Imagine Senku’s surprise when he is face-to-face with the Queen of the village who has a necklace made of platinum around her neck. Surely Senku wouldn’t try to charm you into giving up your necklace in the name of science?

Chapter 2: Finders Keepers

Read Chapter 1 HERE Read on AO3 HERE

Warnings: Mentions of sickness and death.

Word Count: 6,476

Senku was too invested, too excited at the discovery of platinum that he didn’t give much thought to his choice of words, or the off-putting expression on his face. With a wicked smile and excitement in his eyes, he loudly exclaims, “I need their Queen.”

“WHAT!?”

It’s an uproar on the Perseus. Noisy villagers watching over the outsiders can hear the chorus of shouting even from a distance. The shouting from the Kingdom of Science startles the guards stationed outside the ship.

Nearly everyone is losing their minds. Their mouths drop wide open, staring blankly at Senku’s boldness. Those close to Senku sweat and laugh awkwardly, familiar with his antics. Others who aren’t as close at least know that Senku doesn’t hold back on what he wants, often finding themselves hard at work in labor for his scientific endeavors. But to be this bold? Especially for something that isn’t science?

“If this queen excites you, then I desire her as well!” Ryusui exclaims with a snap of his fingers, and his booming laughter trails behind. His commentary only adds to the chaos on the Perseus.

“Senku, dear, please elaborate why you need their queen,” Gen asks nervously, with an awkward laugh. He hopes that Senku won’t continue to make poor word choices.

“When I was speaking with her, I noticed something,” he pauses briefly. Everyone is leaning forward lightly, anxiously anticipating his following words, “She’s got a shit ton of platinum around her neck, and I need it.”

With just one sentence, everyone was reminded of what kind of man Senku was, effectively destroying all the excitement. Senku looks back at everyone, puzzled- their faces are dejected, their excitement stripped away.

“Platinum is basically a cheat code for revival fluid,” Senku explains. He looks around him, and nobody is giving him the reaction he wants. “Once we obtain platinum, we can use it as a catalyst in the revival fluid process. Making revival fluid will be ten billion percent easier!”

There’s an uproar again. Cheers of excitement overtake the Perseus, once again startling the noisy villagers and the guards. Their switch in tone confuses them even more.

“Do you think the sorcery got to their heads?” an elder villager whispers to another.

“No doubt.” The other responds, shaking their head, walking away from the chaos.

“But I suspect the platinum necklace she wears holds some deep importance to this village, so we need a plan to make it ours…” Senku says this with an innocent tone in his voice, accompanied by a childish smile on his face.

“Nothing is ever easy with you…” Ukyo deadpans.

“Let me handle it!” Yo grins, patting the gun on his side. “I can yank the chain right off her neck!”

“I say we take her by force! Then we can have this whole island for ourselves.” Magma boasts, trying to one-up Yo.

“Idiots! The two of you.” Nikki grimaces as she bangs their heads together and pushes them to the ground.

“What do you suggest we do?” Kohaku asks.

“This whole village looks down on science…it’s different from Ishigami village,” Senku notes. Chrome, who would dabble in science despite the villagers’ dislike for it, was still welcomed within the village. His use of sorcery to attempt to cure Ruri was still accepted. Senku doesn’t think this is the case for this village. If it were, the rules you went over with him wouldn’t be so focused on keeping anything regarding sorcery away from the village.

“So, we can’t convince them with the power of science.” Chrome adds.

“Not exactly…” Senku mutters. No matter how much he tries to run through ideas on how to convince you to give up your necklace, his mind keeps going back to science. But he can’t risk using science. You were clear on your rules.

“If there are any reports of you practicing inside the village, your kingdom will be asked to leave.”

“I have a feeling that their queen is a hypocrite.” Senku crosses his arms as he paces the deck, his brows furrowed in concentration as he recalls the events of Chrome’s Rainbow Bridge. “She knew exactly what color the flames would turn before Chrome threw in the sulfur.”

“Lucky guess?” Chrome suggests.

“Unlikely. She wasn’t shocked or scared like the other villagers.” Everyone watches as Senku continues to pace around, a smirk forming at his lips as he recalls your reaction. “She was amused…Chrome’s Rainbow Bridge might have just been a basic elementary science experiment to her, for all we know.”

Ryusui's laughter cuts into everyone’s ears, his mind catching onto where Senku is heading. “You want to use her desire for science against her.”

“Exactly,” Senku exclaims, with a sick smile creeping onto his face. “If she is into science, as I suspect, we just need to do to her what we did to old man Kaseki.”

 “Taunt her with the power of science!” Chrome cheers.

“Why stop at just the necklace?” Ryusui suggests this with a smile that matches Senku’s. “With Gen’s skills, we can even go further and convince them to allow us their mines.”

“In the name of goodness and righteousness,” Senku drools at the thought of what’s hiding in your mines. What other valuable minerals are you hiding from his grasp?

“We’re going to hell…” Gen sweats at Senku and Ryusui's reactions. Knowing the bad luck that follows Senku, it isn’t going to be as easy as they believe.

  

.

.

“This isn’t funny.” You say through gritted teeth. You're attempting to keep your smile as villagers bow before you. The villagers continue with the festivities; no outsiders will stop them from partying. They spent weeks preparing food, working hard to ensure they had more than enough wine, and they wanted to indulge in their efforts.

Daisy is latched onto your side, laughing manically as tears spill down her face. “It is though…” she wheezes between laughs. “The chancers are low but never zero.” She’s throwing your own words right back at you.

“My dream man is not aboard on that…ship,” you argue back. Your mind is drifting back to the interaction with their leader, Senku. He was odd, but there’s something about him you can’t get out of your head. Something inside was telling you to avoid him. “Besides, even if my dream man were aboard on that ship…nothing would happen. It would be seen as treason.”

“Aw man…” Daisy whines as the fantasy she was playing in her mind is destroyed. The teasing and bickering between you continues until someone coughs to grab your attention.

“Queen.” A man named Alder bows before you. “You’re looking beautiful as ever.”

“Alder,” you greet, your smile dropping at his presence—the village womanizer, the epitome of everything you did not want in a man. “Charming as ever.”

“Only for you.”

Doubt it- you remark to yourself.

“I wanted to be the first of many suitors to ask for a dance from the lovely Queen.” He says with smoothness in his voice. He grabs your hand and places a kiss on the back. You’re doing everything in your power to hold back the bile rising from the back of your throat—your smile forced.

“How sweet.” You say as you force your hand away from his grasp. “But I’m afraid I already promised my first dance to someone else…besides you’re number 23?” you say with uncertainty as you pretend to count the number of suitors on your fingertips.

“What?” his smile drops. “Who?”

Before you can answer his question, there’s a chorus of your name being chanted.

“Queen! Queen! Queen!” The voices are small and pitchy. They knock Alder down from his knees as they swarm around you, not caring that his face is pushed into the dirt. Their small hands grabbing onto the ends of your dress, while others attempt to hold your hand. You kneel to the level of the village children. Laughing at their antics.

“My children.” You sing as you attempt to hug them all. They push against one another, trying to be the center of your embrace, and you laugh along with them. “Who is ready to celebrate?”

“Me! Me! Me!” they chant as they whisk you away from Alder. The laughter from the children is contagious as you follow them to the center of the festivities.

You were grateful to them; they unknowingly served as your shield from the village men. The number of them surrounding you steered the men away. Even for the brave few who tried to ask, the boys would push them away. If that didn’t work, the girls would tease them about their appearance, effectively forcing them away. The children wanted your undivided attention.

You sat at the center of the festivities, watching as everyone enjoyed themselves with food and wine. From the looks of it, everything was going smoothly. You didn’t need to worry about potential suitors thanks to the efforts of the village children. The spark of fear you had about something going wrong was quickly extinguished. You were finally able to let your guard down, relaxing and enjoying the laughter and harmony in the air.

As you enjoyed yourself, you didn’t notice a green, round object bouncing towards you until you felt the kids tugging at your hand.

“What is it?” they ask curiously, quickly surrounding it and poking it with a stick.

“A melon?” you say, unsure. Before you can approach any closer, a body emerges from its casing.

“I’m Suika!” a small girl announces with a twirl. With her unorthodox introduction, your shield is effectively broken. The kids run towards her, excited to have a new friend. Without a moment to spare, the lurking and scheming eyes decide to act quickly.

“Such eauty-bay!” Gen announces as he approaches you from behind, startling you momentarily. He grabs your hand and plants a kiss in the same spot that Alder did before.

“Thank you.” You say as you pull your hand from his.

As a self-proclaimed mentalist, he notices right away you aren’t falling for his charm. You weren’t weary of it either.

She’s going to be a tough nut to crack- Gen thinks to himself, quickly thinking of ways to change his strategy.

“Is there some sort of celebration that we intruded?” he asks, keeping his distance from you, standing beside you as he observes with you.

You’re hesitant to answer his question- he notices. You didn’t like the feeling of being interrogated. His eyes felt like he was analyzing you as a whole. You were afraid to answer.

Would answering truthfully show the weakness of your village? That, not even a day has passed since you were named Queen.

Would his kingdom see it as weakness?

Would they see it as an opportunity to attack?

“We are celebrating my coronation.” You answer truthfully. It wouldn’t matter what you said, you were sure that he would overhear it from someone else at some point.

“My condolences.”

You snap your head towards him. His response differed from everyone else. You’ve been getting nothing but congratulations from the villagers, often forgetting what came before for you to be crowned Queen. But the outsider beside you was the first to give condolences.

“Thank you.”

There’s a silence between you two, that is, until he speaks up again.

“I want to apologize for our poor choice of entertainment.” He says as he places his hand towards his chest, tears welling up in his eyes. “We meant no offense! I swear.” His voice breaks near the end.

“No, no, no!” You wave your hands, attempting to soothe his worries, your voice frantic. “You meant no harm!”

“Besides, it seems your sorcery had led you far, am I right?” you say to him as you place your hand on his shoulder, attempting to soothe the emotional man.

‘Senku was right on the mark!’ - Gen thinks to himself. Whether you are aware of it or not, you are giving in to his charms, and with it, everything he needs to know how you feel about science. It appears to him that while everyone else looks down on it, you see it as an opportunity for advancement. The only thing holding you back is everyone else. ‘Senku is going to like this!’

“The people of this island are lucky to have someone as kind and sweet as their Queen!” Gen exclaims. “Such generosity to allow us to intrude in such a day as this! On the other hand, our leader can be so-”

“So what?” another voice challenges as they approach from behind you and Gen.

“Senku!” Gen greets as he claps his hands together. “I was just about to tell her how we have such an intelligent leader!”

You don’t notice the signal Gen gives to Senku—your attention is too focused on the scientist approaching. You feel uneasy about him, mainly because of the altercation that occurred a few hours prior. Gen notices your change in demeanor and is quick to act on it.

“Some would even say he is knowledgeable, a real know-it-all!” Gen repeats the information he gathered about your dream man. Unfortunately for you, you were unaware of how much of a blabbermouth Daisy gets when she has had too much to drink, especially if a certain mentalist uses his charms for his gain.

“Is that so?” you ask, your eyes squinting at their leader.

“It is.” He smirks, proud of his capabilities. “I got this whole island beat.”

You hum at his words, rolling your eyes at him. “I’m sure you do.”

“This is a very lovely island you got here.” Senku whistles as he keeps his space from you, trying his best to keep his eyes off your necklace, not unless he wants your palm to greet his face again. “Flora Village…it suits this island.”

You remain silent, searching for Gen, pondering when and how he managed to leave without a word.

“It appears that your village has prospered to the point where survival is no longer the primary concern.”

“What gives you that impression?” You ask.

“It’s the way your village uses its minerals and vegetation.” He states, eyeing the villagers of the islands as they walk by.

All of them are adorned with jewelry, even the children—gold, silver, lapis, amethyst, and more. The women he walked by were even wearing makeup created from crushed minerals and the vegetation found on this island. It even appears that there are signs of the beginning of a culture on this island, utilizing flowers and jewels in various designs of clothing beyond the bare essentials.

“I would be using it for a different purpose than earrings, but I guess it doesn’t matter when you have an abundance of it.” Senku doesn’t realize it, but he’s rambling. He elaborates on the minerals he has noted on this island, their abundance, and their significance.

Even though some of  Senku’s words don’t quite make sense to you, you listen. He loses you in words foreign to you, yet you still try to follow along. His fascination with your village’s resources resonates with you. You feel pride that he is fascinated by your village’s prosperity.

“Iron can also be used for things other than just jewelry. It ha-“he stops, startled by your touch on his shoulder.

“You talk a lot.” You say as a hint of a smile played on your lips.

Senku is stunned. It’s been a while since he’s been able to ramble science jargon without being shamed for his obsession. And yet, you let him ramble, listening until you had a comment of your own. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t find a moment to speak. You’re so passionate about sorcery.”

“I’m passionate about Science.” Senku corrects you.

“Sorcery.” You refute.

“I-” You hesitate, regretting the thought that came to your mind, but your curiosity is getting the better of you—an urge, an impulse in your mind that constantly seeks more, the need to know more. You’ve never been good at suppressing it, and being crowned Queen doesn’t change anything.  Your voice lowers, just enough for Senku to hear, “If I show you some minerals, would you tell me their names?”

“Tired of referring to them based on their descriptions? Tired of calling it the shiny blue rock?” he teases, mocking what he assumes the conversations are like.

“I can kick you out of this village anytime I want.” You threaten him, but the smile on your face contradicts the seriousness of your words. “Remember that.”

.

.

“And this one?” you ask him as you hand him a blue rock.

“Lapis.”

“And this yellow one?” you ask as you hand him another.

“Gold.”

While you search for another mineral to name, Senku looks around the small hut you brought him to. It appears to him like a small craft room. Jewels, feathers, and fabric adorn the walls, while impure minerals lie on wooden work benches. There are baskets filled with ores, separated by color. Your village's wealth in ores only fuels his need to see what you have in your mines.

He's looking around, searching for anything remotely like platinum.

“What are you looking for?” you ask him, growing suspicious of him again. You see the way his eyes dart around the room, no longer in the way he was admiring before; he is searching for something.

“Nothing.” He lies, walking back towards you, ready to name whatever mineral you have prepared for him. He glances at your necklace around your neck, the distinct shine of platinum capturing his attention. He looks back up at you, and you’re glaring at him- he recognizes his mistake too late.

He expects you to march right at him, slap the petrification marks from his face, but you don’t move, you’re not looking at him. Only glancing down at your necklace, your fingers playing with the thin chain. His body freezes when you finally choose to move.

There are a few inches of space between the two of you; the closeness of the two of you is the last thing on your mind. However, you might regret it later. You lift the necklace enough so that it no longer touches your skin, yet remains securely around your neck.

“What’s the name of this mineral?” you ask, holding the necklace up so he can touch it. You notice he’s reluctant to, his fingers moving back and forth until they finally decide to hold the chain.

“It’s platinum.” He tells you honestly, his fingers move up and down the chain. You shiver when his knuckles lightly touch you. 

You can see the sparkle in his eyes, the look of something much more than just pleased.

Attachment?

 Passion?

 Fondness?

Love?

“Is it special?” you ask as you move his hands away from your chain, letting it rest once again on your skin.

“No.”

You’re silent and squinting at him, attempting to read him. “Then why do you keep staring at it?”

Senku panics, quickly saying the first thing that comes to his mind,  “I can’t keep my eyes off your chest.”  

-Slap-

You don’t tell him that you know he’s lying. You keep your observations to yourself, including that his eyes were locked onto the necklace, never once straying to peek at your chest.

“Pervert.”

.

.

“She thinks you’re a pervert?” Ukyo asks, a sweat mark dripping down his forehead as he watches Yuzuriha treat the welt forming yet again on Senku’s face.

“It’s not ideal, but I can’t let her get suspicious of our intentions.”

“That brain of yours couldn’t think of anything else but being a pervert?” Kohaku questions.

“I don’t give a damn what she thinks I am. It was the quickest and most logical option at the time.” Senku mutters in irritation. “Did your team find anything useful?”

“You said we have full access to anything in the woods, right?” Chrome gushes, trying his best not to ruin the surprise.

“Anything in the woods and the shore is ours to roam freely,” Senku repeats the rules you had given him. “Their mines that they have guarded are off limits.”

“WE FOUND OUR OWN MINE!” Chrome shouts as he dumps out the minerals he found in his expenditure.

“It looks like it once was in use, but it appears abandoned,” Ukyo adds.

“Not only that! There was a shed next to it, stacked with minerals! This is so bad!” Chrome exclaims, shoving the minerals to Senku’s shocked face. Senku doesn’t voice it, but he has a feeling he knows who it belongs to, or at least used to.

“Finders Keepers.”

.

.

It’s been days since you interacted with the outsiders. From what you heard from the villagers, they have kept to themselves since their arrival. Although they haven’t interacted much with the village, they have not been quiet. Every so often, you can hear groans of disappointment from the shore. Other times, you can hear faint, and short screams of what can only be described as agony. Their odd noises did not help ease the villagers' worries about them.

              “These outsiders are wicked…” an elder woman whispers to her friend, quickly ushering from the screams of pain.

              “I’ve heard their sorcery tortures their body…”

You’ve been busy with your duties, so you have not had time to interact with the sorcerers. Curious about their progress on their ship, you walk along the edge of the ledge overlooking the shore. You see a group of men working away on lumber, no doubt going to the repairs of their ship. You look around, and nothing appears to be out of the ordinary until something catches your ear.

“WOW SENKU!” the voice, it’s whiny and weak. You recognize it as one of the frequent screams you hear. “A SILVER SPEAR FOR ME!”

You take a step back and try to find the source of the noise. Your eyes scan the shore, doing your best to act as naturally as possible until they finally locate the source. You see Senku looking at you, smug. It’s not his attitude that grabs your attention, although it does irritate you; it’s the group he is surrounded by. They are also dressed from head to toe in jewelry, the shine blinding you with the help of the sun. Without a second to waste, you march down to Senku.

“I said the mines were off-limits!” You shout at him, fuming with each step.

“Huh?” Senku asks innocently, a finger to his ear as he pretends not to be aware of what you’re referring to. “We haven’t been to your mines.”

“Then, where did you get the minerals to create your jewelry? I doubt you would use your limited resources for attire! You said it yourself!” you point to the jewelry of his companions. “You haven’t stepped inside the village since the day you arrived, and the villagers are too afraid to even get near the shore. They think you’re torturing people!”

“We found our mine in the woods,” Senku answers, his eyes locked on you, waiting for the moment you expose yourself. 

“There is no mine in the woods…” Your voice is confident until the end, when the realization of what he might be referring to. Your eyes widen, and you make the mistake of matching Senku’s gaze.

It can’t be…

“You did say anything on the woods and shore were ours to use freely.” Senku mocks you, throwing your words right back at you. “Besides, I would keep an eye on your villagers. I think you might have somebody delving into sorcery in the woods.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff, crossing your arms, pouting. “Sorcery is forbidden.”

“You won’t believe what we had waiting in the woods for us.” He’s taunting you, his smile wicked, waiting for you to crack. “It looks like it was made for us sorcerers.”

You want to smack his face again, yank the stupid necklace he’s wearing around his neck, choke him with it—anything to wipe the silly grin off his face. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind, your finger raised to point, your stance ready to counter, that is, until your eyes fall behind him.

You don’t think, your curiosity gets the better of you once again. You shove Senku to the side without much effort, strolling to the contraption that captured your eye. You keep your distance, despite the voice in your head urging you to move closer and touch the unknown contraption.

“What is t-” Your words are cut short, lost under the shout of your name. Your aunt is shouting for you. She’s standing at the top of the ledge overlooking the shore, her arms crossed, and she is glaring, but not at you. She waits until you are far from them and close to her before she voices her thoughts to you.

She holds you deep in her arms, pressing you closer to her while she lovingly pats your hair. “You’re as fragile as a flower,” her voice sweet and soft, “ but you’re gullible and naïve…I mean all of this out of love, honest.” She squeezes you tighter, rocking you side to side as she continues uttering her concerns. 

“Keep your distance from them. Ruffians, thugs, sorcerers, the lot of them!” she sneers, looking down at the outsiders. She doesn’t hide her disdain for them. She makes direct eye contact with Senku, snarling at him, accompanied by a frown, her hand on your shoulder guiding you away from them. “Stay close to me so I can protect you! The closer you get to them, the stronger their corruption.”

There isn’t a need to defend them, but you want to. Deep down, despite the actions of their leader, you know they aren’t what your aunt says they are.

Sorcerers?- There is no doubt, but…

Ruffians?- How can they be when their leader gets excited over rocks? They are passionate people.

Thugs?- Unlikely when they’re always hard at work, fixing their ship to get back on the sea. Go further out than your people have accomplished. Adventurers is more fitting.

“Promise me you won’t fall for their sorcery.” She whispers to you, her hand squeezing your own. “Sorcery has done nothing but destroy us.”

You want to argue, but you don’t. In a way, it’s true. You’ve heard about the time when this island embraced sorcery only to become a cautionary tale.

‘Sorcery is dangerous.’ - You nod your head in compliance as you are guided away from them. You don’t do anything but listen to your aunt as she goes on and on about the trouble they might bring if you do not keep your distance.

It’s the dead of night, and you know you shouldn’t be thinking of it. You should be thinking of your duties. Thinking of ways to prosper your village further, but it’s consuming your mind—his smug smile, the jewelry that he adorns to mock you.

‘HE DOESN’T EVEN CARE ABOUT HIS APPEARANCE!’ - You scream into your pillow, rolling around as you try to rid your mind of him. ‘HE SAID SO HIMSELF’

He’s doing this to spite you. You are sure of it.

…‘And it’s working'— you angrily tell yourself as you carefully sneak out of your chambers.  The moon is high in the sky, and the frogs and crickets sing their song. The torches that lit the night sky have since been put out.

‘I’m only going to clear my consciousness…no sorcery' - you chant to yourself.

You were only going to scratch the itch in your mind. For your sanity, you needed to know if the mine they found in the woods is the one you used to experiment in. Your heart wanted to know if the jewels they are flaunting aren’t from the ores you collected over the years.

Hiding in the dark of the night, you follow the route engraved in your mind. Years of sneaking away led you to build a map of the forest in your head. If you were to ever fall for the fuzzy eye disease, you know you could navigate the forest with ease.

As you near the area of your haven, you become more aware of your surroundings. Your ears perk up to listen for unusual noises, your eyes scanning for signs of life, looking for anything left behind to indicate someone else besides you was here.

Your steps slow down as you approach the entrance of the cave up ahead. There were no signs of anyone, and this pleased you.

‘Maybe there is an abandoned mine in the woods,’- You think to yourself.

“I knew it!” a voice laughs in the dead of silence, startling you. “You’re a god damn hypocrite.”

“Youuuuu!” you shout as you lunge at him. You’re quicker than Senku—before he can even turn to run from you, you have him tackled to the ground. “THIEF! Give me back what you stole!”

“FINDERS KEEPERS!” Senku seethes, slapping your hands away from his hair.

“That is not how that works.” You argue back, yanking the ends of his hair.

“I don’t give a shit!” Senku spits at you. His hands find the ends of your hair and pull at it, giving you a taste of your medicine. “I know what you are, a hypocrite! You've got the mind of a scientist.”

“No, I don’t,” you cry out. You let go of him and crawl away from him, creating distance between the two of you. “I want what’s best for my village, and sorcery…it’s dangerous.”

Senku’s glaring at you, rubbing his head to ease the stinging pain you inflicted on him, “It’s science, and it’s not dangerous. It’s because of science that I ended up washed up on a different island from where I started. While your village probably can’t get past the ocean current.”

“It’s dangerous! It’s going to come back and bite you!” Tears are streaming down your face, and you don’t understand fully why. You don’t know why you’re getting worked up over it as much as you are.

 “My village tried to embrace it a long time ago…there’s a reason why my people ventured off from the main island. Even after witnessing the horrors that sorcery brought, they tried to embrace it again, hopeful that history would not be repeated…and it did not turn out how they wanted it to.”

“I’m getting the feeling you don’t trust me enough to tell me what happened all those years ago, so I can’t comment on what might’ve happened.” He mutters quietly, his tone understanding. “But science isn’t dangerous. There’s always going to be trial and error.”

You don’t say anything, wiping your tears away while looking at the ground below you. You can hear him approaching you, but you don’t shoo him away. You don’t argue back at him.

“I think it’s best if I tell you what happened 3,700 years ago.”

.

.

.

.

“You either have the wildest imagination ever or you’re the world’s greatest liar.” You sneer at him. “Trains? Cars? Planes? Robots? How gullible do you think I am?”

“It’s the truth!” he shouts at you. He grabs your shoulder and pulls you back. “Why don’t you be-,” but the sight of you drowning in your tears stops the words in his mouth.

“I want to believe it, I do…but if it’s true, then that means my father could’ve been saved, right?” You don’t care that it’s Senku - you just needed someone to hold you. You sob into his chest while his hands awkwardly hover over your back. “Science could’ve saved him from his sickness, right? I just wasn’t smart enough to figure it out…Please be honest with me.”

Senku doesn’t answer you right away. Will he lie to protect your feelings, or will he tell you the truth despite the pain it may cause?

“I don’t know what diseases or illnesses your father had, but…” he hesitates, rethinking his choice. “…there is a chance that there might have been a cure.”

It’s a moment of silence. Senku lets the reality of his words sink in, awkwardly holding you while you cry into his chest.

He doesn’t know how much time passes until your sobs turn into sniffles and you finally speak up, pulling away from his embrace.

“Will you teach me everything there is to science?” you ask him, but it sounds more like a plea.

“I can…” he says, moving his body so that there's little space between the two of you. You watch as he moves his hand upwards. You think he’s going to hold your face, his fingers inching closer, but instead they brush against the skin on your neck, his fingers tugging on the chain. “But I want this necklace in return.”

“I can’t.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you take his silence as a no.

Despite your request being rejected, you know you have more power over him. There is something about the necklace around your neck that he needs to have; you don’t know what it is, but it wouldn’t matter to you. The necklace is your people’s heirloom. Before it was yours, it belonged to many generations of men in your family line. This heirloom is the last thing you have of your father; you aren’t going to give it away, especially not to him.

“You need me more than I need you. I can live without science.” You don’t know if it’s the truth, but you say it as if it were. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

.

.

You find it hard to sleep with how things ended. You felt like you just learned the secrets of the universe, but you can’t do anything about it. Everything always feels like it’s out of reach. You don’t know what to do with yourself.

‘I could’ve saved you…’-You think about your father while you hold the necklace to your lips. Years of practicing sorcery, and you weren’t good enough to save your father. You let yourself get lost in your thoughts, torturing yourself mentally as you blame yourself for everything you couldn’t do.

You don’t hear the soft knocks on your door until they’re pounding, snapping you from your depressing thoughts. You’re unsure whether to open the door or not, especially at this hour, but then the worst scenarios come to your mind.

‘What if it’s a village emergency?’

Your steps are urgent as you jump out of your bed and race for the door, pulling it open in a hurry, only to be met with the person you least want to see.

“What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be on village grounds when the sun is not out!” you reprimand Senku. Afraid to be seen with him, you pull him inside your room and close the door behind him. You cross your arms at him, tapping your foot impatiently, waiting for his answer.

“I’m here to offer myself to you.” He states it as if it’s the most obvious thing. As if you’re supposed to know why he is standing before you, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck, wearing an awkward smile. As if his words fit a situation in the dead of night, alone together in your bedroom.

Your eyes widen at his choice of words. You frantically take a few steps back, holding your hands out in an attempt to hold him back if he were to move closer to you. The back of your knees hit your bed, and you tumble back, a gasp escaping you. You look up to him in disbelief.

 “What?” You ask in shock. You sit up on your forearms as you kick your feet onto the bed, further crawling back, away from him.

“What makes you think I want you?” you shout in a whisper.

You feel unnerved by his stare, his eyes squinting as they roam over you. He takes a step forward, and another sound escapes you. A tiny squeak reaches his ears and stops him in his tracks. You feel your body suffocating in a warmth you’ve never felt, and you’re unsure why.

Senku looks at you questionably, unbothered by the skin you unintentionally reveal to him. His eyes analyze you as they run over your body in an attempt to understand why there has been a sudden change of mind.

“I thought you wanted to know more about science?” There's an awkward beat of silence between the two of you until he hears you scoff.

“Do you not think before you speak?” you ask in disbelief. You scowl at him despite finally relaxing in his presence. The tension in your body is leaving.

Senku looks back at you questioningly, trying to understand where the misunderstanding was. Then a smug smirk creeps onto his face.

“Oh, so your mind went there?” His tone was teasing. He shakes his head as he begins to laugh at you, your reaction finally making sense to him. “Such a perverted imagination for a queen.”

You begin to stutter, unsure of what to say when all you can hear is his snickering. He walks closer to you, standing at the end of your bed while you sit a bit further up. He makes a point to click his tongue as his eyes roam over your exposed skin. Your legs were still a bit parted from when you tried to scramble away from him, your nightgown doing little to hide your body from him.

“No need to cover up. We both know I’m not interested in that.”

“Then why are you here?” you hiss at him, glaring as you cover yourself despite what he says.

“It’s like I said, I’m here to offer myself. Offer the knowledge I hold, here.” He says as he taps the area on his head where his brain would be.

“What do you want in return?”

“Nothing, I had a change of heart.” There was no change in heart, only a change in plan. He’s going to have to conspire with Gen, he needs more than just science to get what he wants. “So, what do you say?”

You are suspicious of his intentions. There was no doubt he was going to be scheming to get the necklace off your neck, but you don’t want this opportunity to go to waste. All you needed to do was be three steps ahead of him in whatever plan he’s got.

“I need time to think about it.”

You’re stalling, and he knows it. He knows the answer is going to be yes; a scientist's curiosity always wins.

Curiosity is the wick in the candle of learning.

[florencebirdsong]

Sink or Swim

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2024 - Day 4

summary: you're caught stealing from captain harkness. She's kind enough to offer you a choice: walk the plank or learn how to use your quick fingers for something else

tags: pirate au, fingering (a receiving), finger sucking, oral fixation, light hair pulling

authors note: i’m aware of the historical and clothing inaccuracies shhhhhhhh stop thinking about it you’ll ruin the immersion

ao3 | masterlist

The yelling has stopped. You’re pretty sure they were lowering the anchor but the swell of the waves tell you that you’re far from a dock. Your stomach sinks. Pirates stopping in the middle of the ocean can mean one of two things. They’re raiding another ship or they’re getting the plank out. The lack of fighting sounds tells you which it is.

The captain kicks the door open. You scramble out of the way as she marches in. Agatha Harkness. The most wanted pirate in England. Finally, you have a face to the name. Not that it will do you much good out here.

She raises an eyebrow expectantly at you, looking unfairly good in her uniform. You aren’t sure what she’s waiting for.

“You stole from me,” she says when she finally gives up waiting.

“Sorry?” you try.

It’s not like you knew it was her. There’s few who’d risk stealing from Agatha Harkness. But the lack of her portrait is her whole schtick and it’s what turned a tiny bit of thievery, a week in the slammer at most, into a walk-the-plank situation.

She huffs a laugh and walks further into the room, sitting on the single chair. You don’t bother making for the door as it falls shut, unlocked. The ship is crawling with her crew and you’re no doubt far from shore.

“I almost didn’t notice you,” she says. Is that a good thing? You look slightly to the left of her. Not sure if she’ll see it as a challenge if you look directly at her or rude to avoid her gaze. “You’ve got two choices,” she says. Well, at least there’s some hope. “Walk the plank or learn to use your skilled fingers for something more useful.”

That makes you look at her. Hard labour over a cold, terrifying death? Yes please.

“As a deck hand?” you ask hesitantly.

Her lips quirk. “No,” she says and doesn’t elaborate.

“Bookkeeper?” you try again. “I know my numbers.”

“Not even close,” she says and gestures at the floor in front of her, which doesn’t clear anything up.

She points down and you slowly sit in front of her, waiting for her to laugh and tell you to do something else. She doesn’t, if anything her focus on you seems to grow.

“Knees,” she says and you start to have an inkling of where this is going.

Since you don’t want to end up in the freezing nothingness of the ocean you obey. It has nothing to do with how shockingly attractive she is.

“Can you guess where this is going next?” She asks as she spreads her leather clad legs. You nod, mouth dry. “Well?”

You hesitantly place your hands on her knees, a small part of you worried you’ve read this wrong. Her expectant expression doesn’t change. You slide them up her thighs. She leans back in her chair. You don’t look up as you unbutton her pants with shaking fingers but you can feel her gaze on you.

You make yourself meet her eyes when you’re done. They’re blazing with heat. She raises her hips and you slide her pants down her legs, trying not to show how the reveal of her skin affects you. You decide to be brave and hook your fingers in the waistband of her briefs, pulling them down at the same time. Her lips quirk up and warmth begins to glow in your chest. 

Your eyes drop down to find her cunt wet. It makes you pause. She’s enjoying this. Obviously, she’s enjoying having someone at her feet. That lines up with everything else you know about her character. What gets you is that you’re the one affecting her. You’ve made her this wet. You swallow and you lean closer but hands grip your hair.

“I believe I said your fingers,” she gives you a challenging look when you don’t back down. 

You look back down at her glistening pussy and decide not being able to touch her at all is worse than not getting your mouth on her. It’s also probably best not to antagonise the woman who just threatened to shove you overboard, but that thought is far from your mind.

You lean your head against her thigh as you run two fingers up her wet slit, coating them before finding her clit. You start with gentle circles, unsure of what she prefers. You glance up but her eyes are closed, head tilted back slightly. You continue until she directs you to do something else.

“I’m not seeing much skill here,” she growls, her breath slightly uneven.

You slide your wet fingers back down to her entrance. She’s soaked, but you aren’t brave enough to say it. Instead, you slowly push one finger inside of her. Her hips raise slightly and you can see the way she clenches her jaw to stop any noise escaping. Deciding you don’t want that, you slip a second inside of her and scissor your fingers apart. She makes a surprised noise, a slightly higher pitch than you’ve heard her voice go, and you do it again. Her hand tightens in your hair. It’s your turn to make a small noise. Her eyes slide open and she turns her dark gaze on you. Her pupils are blown. She tugs your hair and your pace stutters.

“You need to be able to multitask on my crew,” she says, her voice rough.

You desperately want to use your mouth but you obediently use your free hand to play with her clit. Her eyes slip closed at the new sensation but she doesn’t let it distract her for long.

“Not what I meant,” she says and nudges your lips with two fingers. You part them, curious. She slips two fingers in. You wrap your lips around them and suck as they gently tease your tongue.  “Good,” she says, voice rough.

It’s almost enough to distract you from fucking into her. Almost. The feel of her wet heat wrapping around your fingers is too enticing for you to be distracted long. Even when she presses down on your tongue. You scissor your fingers again in retaliation, if she doesn’t come before you go stupid she’s going to throw you overboard.

Her legs begin to tremble around you and you increase your pace. Her fingers leave your mouth to grip the arms of her chair and your gaze gets caught on how they glisten. Just for a moment. The way she gasps and throws her head back as she comes steals your attention. Her hat tilts off-centre, her chest heaves and her walls squeeze you so tightly you wish you had your tongue in her.

You don’t stop until she eases but even then you only slow down.

She eventually waves her hand at you and you cautiously lower your hands. She slumps back against the chair and closes her eyes, breathing deeply. It’s a moment before she speaks again.

“Passable,” she says like she wasn’t panting two minutes ago. “We’ll see how well you do for the next few days before revisiting the plank.”

You nod and pretend like you aren’t throbbing with need.

Day 5: Vampire AU

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter II

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter. we delve a little bit into their backstory now (gladiator II is set around 211 AD). feel free to let me know if you are interested in reading how these two get to where we picked up before <3 i also have a little acacius playlist that fits the vibe of this fic very well. feel free to check it out here!

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house palla - a traditional mantle for women paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials

Chapter II

209 AD

The domus sits just on the edge of Palatine Hill, on the side opening towards the Forum Romanum and Via Nova. You have passed below it more times than you can count, though you have rarely walked the small street that weaves up the hill and leads to the edge of the property.

Many of the neighboring houses are too harsh for your taste, with columns twice as wide as your body and barely a shrub of greenery in front of them. A supposed sign of strength, no doubt. But when passing the house with the large garden, you like to take as much time as you dare, occasionally catching a whiff of the lavender that grows all around it.

It reminds you of the shadowy figure you often saw walking those same gardens after dark, many years past. A bereaved woman, shrouded in dark cloth, keeping her head down as she tended to the plants with dainty fingers, decorated with a thick gold ring that framed a green stone. You remember lingering too long on your way past the iron fence once, fascinated by the way her dress flowed in the wind. She had called out to you, beckoning you towards her.

Lucilla was not a terrifying woman but you knew that every misstep could cost you, especially in your position as a vestal. She had knelt down in front of your trembling form, brushed your hair out of your face and looked at you with an expression you did not understand. But she had whispered words that you did. Asked you not to collect the water after dark, to stay with the older vestals. Then she had offered you a small bundle of lavender.

You stuffed it under the linen of your bed later that night, breathing in a scent that felt like a world where a woman could freely roam her garden and the city beyond, who did not have to be afraid.

The guard at the gate gives a small bow of courtesy when you reach him and moves to the side, allowing you to tread the stone path that leads up to the house. “The General is inside. Please, knock.”

A gentle “Thank you” escapes your lips as you reach to lift your stola just enough to not step on it. The torches lining the way are extinguished, not needed during the day. A short glance down the hill allows you to spot your own home, right beside the rounded building that is the Temple of Vesta.

When you reach the wooden door, you raise your hand and will yourself to knock with enough force to make it heard.

You can hear someone calling out from inside and a few seconds later, a man with broad shoulders opens the door. His gaze flies over you briefly–taking in your white tunic and the palla wrapped around your shoulders. The thin veil attached to your headdress and all the linen of your clothes tucked neatly into place are usually enough indication for whoever is stood in front of you to understand your status.

“General Acacius?” You ask softly, your eyes taking in his brown eyes and the curve of his nose, one that looks like it belongs on a statue rather than a living man.

“Vero, that is me. Please, come inside.” He gives a small bow, gesturing past himself and you nod at the invitation, gracefully stepping into the house and finding yourself in an atrium that renders you speechless. The columns that line its sides are slightly worn, flowers stretching along them towards the upper floor. Stone basins and pots holding a variety of plants stand at almost every corner of the open space, making it feel more like a garden than the stuck-up room you would have expected in a Generals home.

Acacius’s hand hovers behind you, guiding you past the fountain that holds a few orange fish and to the opposite end of the open room, though he never actually touches you. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” you repeat your earlier words, lowering yourself onto the chair he indicated.

“Would you like some wine? Perhaps some grapes too?” He waves to one of the servants, who promptly places two glasses on the table, though Acacius takes the carafe and dismisses him with a small nod as he begins to pour you some of the dark red liquid. You make to reach for your glass to hold it steady but he shakes his head quickly. “Allow me. Please.”

You nod at that, leaning back and waiting politely while he pours himself a drink as well. It allows you a moment to take in his form up close, the white tunic and his red paludamentum wrapped around his body. A cloak fastened with a gold brooch, one that–similar to your headwear–makes him a respected man no matter where he goes. You wonder if he feels the same about it, that some days it's more like a heavy curse weighing one down. Then again, he is a General of Rome. You are a priestess of Vesta. Your paths may cross today but you are certain they look very different from one another.

He sits down across from you, a small sigh leaving his lips as he toasts in your direction and takes a sip of his wine. Then, he leans to the side and produces two rolls of parchment. “I had to make some adjustments to my will. It was kept by one of the other priestesses, but I believe she has finished her service with the Vestals since I last saw her.”

You give him a small smile as you take the parchment from him, nodding. “Yes, she left the year before last. But of course I will be just as happy to keep the will for you.”

His eyes fly over your face briefly and he gestures to the rolls on your lap. “I crossed out the old version. I married, you see.”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding a little too quickly. “Of course. Yes, I–The lady of this house I presume–” You break off, realizing your mistake. If he indeed married Lucilla, he is now the head of this house. “What I meant–” you add hastily. “–is that it is your house now. And the house is beautiful, I mean–” It’s the second time you stop in the middle of the sentence. But this time, it is because you have dared to look back over at the General. And he is not even trying to conceal his amusement.

You bow your head in another silent apology and he tuts softly. “You are quite right, you know. As far as I am concerned, she is the woman of this house.” A smile plays around his lips. “And I would not have it any other way.”

It’s clearly not his atrium that surprises you. He is not what you would expect a General to be. Especially not one that is about to entrust you with his will. “I give my word that I will see it is stored safely,” you reassure him, carefully taking another small sip of the wine.

Acacius nods. “I appreciate that. You have my thanks.” He pauses briefly, his gaze darting around the atrium for a split second before landing back on you. “You seem uneasy. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. No, of course not, General.” It is not a lie, per se. But you are all too aware that it sounds like one.

“Is it your first time taking a will?”

You do not know how he does it. He seems to have read you so easily–or he is just very well connected to know such a thing. “Yes. It is, but I promise–”

“I trust you,” he states almost casually while reaching for the grapes and offering you some as well. You politely decline.

“Forgive me but … you met me mere moments ago. How can you know I am trustworthy?” Your eyes catch his and this time you hold his gaze, not missing the small glint in them.

“All of Rome trusts the Vestals. If not you, who would we put our faith into?”

“The gods. You should put your faith in the gods,” you say quietly.

“I prefer to put my faith in people,” Acacius responds, though his voice is slightly lowered as well. “The gods do not fight our wars.”

You stand up so abruptly that you almost drop the scrolls. “I should go.”

He seems perplexed for a moment but quickly catches himself and nods, standing up before leading you back the same way you came. You allow yourself a quick sideward glance at his face and are met with a professionally neutral expression. At the door, you turn towards him, giving a last, small bow. “My General.” His title falls off your lips like the silk they sell at the market, flowing effortlessly. His brown eyes lingering on you as you address him–even if normal custom–as yours, make your stomach clench slightly.

Acacius lets his hand hover beside you again, never quite touching you. Yet you almost seem to be able to feel his touch. “I did not mean offense.” His voice is much softer than it was when he greeted you.

“Of course.” You force yourself to smile and step away, shaking your head at the brief moment of confusion you allowed yourself. He is a General, you are a Vestal. He has sworn his vows and you have sworn yours. And both include promises that are enough to keep you at a few feets distance for several lifetimes. “Please, call for me if you ever need to make adjustments to the will. And–” You force yourself to smile a little wider. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You turn around before he can speak again, suddenly wanting to put some distance between yourself and the house you so longed to see from inside–until you did.

***

211 AD

“You have to go, dulcissima.”

Acacius' voice is quiet, the back of his head resting against the stone pillar as he watches you drag the chaise lounge across the atrium, muttering under your breath when you have to maneuver it around the small fountain in the middle of the space.

“Please.”

You shake your head just as you reach him, gesturing for him to sit down. His begging breaks your heart–it always has. But the thought of leaving him here with open wounds is worse.

“Let me see your arm.” He doesn't move, forcing you to become a bit more stern. “Acacius. Let me see the arm. I am not leaving until you do.”

A curse slips out under his breath but he does as told, sitting down and allowing you to inspect his wound. The rustle of the chain on his ankle breaks the quiet as he moves and you pointedly ignore it as you crouch down in front of him.

You let your hand hover above his skin for a moment, taking a small breath. It is still difficult to break the rules you have been taught for so long sometimes. You tell yourself that this is not even a sin, that you are merely caring for a wounded Gladiator. It tricks your brain enough to lower your hand onto his skin. You do not believe it tricks Vesta.

“He should not have fought you,” you mumble quietly, thinking back to how Lucius was swinging away the moment he entered the arena.

“He did not understand. And it is how the Colosseum works, you know this.” Acacius mutters back, tensing slightly when you run your finger over the cut the sword left on his arm. It doesn't seem too deep but you know Acacius must be in much more pain than he lets on.

“I hate that place,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the force of your words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you stiffen when you feel a calloused hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing over your cheek.

“Oh, sweet,” he mutters, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I am fine. I made it out, see? I promised I would.”

“They were going to shoot you,” you choke out, trying and failing to hold back the tears now slipping down your cheeks. You feel his lips touch the crown of your head briefly.

“But they didn't. Now, please, I will take care of this. But you have to leave.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and shake your head again, blinking a few times to clear your vision and shift your attention back to his wound. “How would you take care of this? They have sentenced you to death. The Emperors have called for it, in front of the whole empire.”

“I can talk to them. I have things to offer, even now. They do not know how to lead an army. But they need someone who does. And–”

“You would sell your soul to stay alive,” you whisper as you reach for a piece of cloth and begin to wipe down the crusted blood.

Acacius sighs. “No. But I would sell my soul to stay with you.”

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[shadowkoo]

Just Dance It Off

→ Summary: You're over the moon when you land the female lead in the end-of-semester show. It feels like your hard work has finally paid off, everything is going great. Well, until you learn who your partner is…

↠ jimin x f.reader | 9.5k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, angst, fluff, ballet dancers au, enemies to lovers, performing arts college au

→ Warnings: explicit and unprotected sex, jealousy, masturbation, alcohol consumption, underage drinking, use of fake ID, mild exhibitionism, creampie, hair pulling, angry sex, nipple play, degradation, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, multiple smut scenes, heavy teasing & banter, edging, orgasm denial, light choking

→ Moodboard: view here!

→ Author Note: This is a rewrite of an old 2019 fic of mine, so I hope you enjoy the newest version! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! Also a biiiiiiig thank you so Sarah @caelesjjk for beta editing this for me. Go show her some love if you aren't already following her! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

“Oh, no,” you hear one of the dancers behind you whisper to another, “Look who’s walking in.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you as you casually stretch, your eyes betraying you by glancing over your shoulder toward the door, dying to see who they’re talking about. You recognize him almost immediately and the whispers continue to grow about the slender male who is walking across the room to set his stuff down.

Park Jimin.

Of course, he would be auditioning for this show. It’s his final semester, and you really should have seen this coming. Especially since you knew he was bound to get whatever position he was auditioning for. That’s a given.

Park Jimin always gets whatever he wants in life; whether that be a specific role in a performance, who his performance partners are both on the stage…and in the bedroom, that sort of thing. He’s the most pretentious person you’ve ever met, seeing as he acts like he is God’s gift to the dance world, and you’re already dreading any interaction you’ll have with him.

Rumor has it that his daddy, former dancer and sponsor, paid his way into Juilliard, but as much as you hate to admit it, he (unfortunately) happens to be very talented and you doubt the school didn’t already have something lined up for him, regardless of who his family is. Unlike you, who was on the waitlist for two months and had to take out a loan worth more than your life to attend this school.

Your eyes meet his and Jimin does a once-over before moving onto the people to your left. What a prick.

“Y/N!” a voice yells from the entryway. Your familiar, freckled, redheaded best friend is quickly prancing towards you.

“I’m so happy to see you here,” Catalina squeals before hugging you tightly. “What part are you auditioning for? Please tell me it’s lead. God, I miss you. It sucks that we don’t have any classes together this semester. How are you?”

You hug your petite friend back, “I miss you too! Please tell me that you’re not also auditioning for lead, I don’t want to be judged against you. Your pirouettes are perfect compared to my lousy ones.”

Her laugh echoes through the room. “Apparently you didn’t hear about my recent tumble,” she jokes, bumping her shoulder into yours. “I’ll gladly be in the background after my solo-gone-wrong.”

“Alright, everyone!” One of the male judges calls out, walking past the lineup of dancers to collect everyone’s entry form. “We’ll start with the routine you were required to memorize as a group, and then it will be individual evaluations after. Make sure your numbers are secured and let’s line up outside the door.”

After taking your place and getting into position with the rest of the packed room, you wait for the cue to begin. The routine is short and simple, and years of practice have made some of the required moves second nature.

Before you know it, the judges are escorting people out the door for the individual sessions.

You're about twentieth in line, right behind Cat. That makes you a bit nervous because, even though she’s not auditioning for the lead role, her impressive skills might land her a more prominent part than the one she’s aiming for.

Everyone else is quietly chatting in line while you do your best to relax, working through your routine in your mind. This is one of your pre-audition rituals. It always helps with easing your nerves.

By the time you finish running through a couple of full-outs in your head, you’re second in line. You wish Cat good luck as she’s ushered into the dance studio. Her five minutes go by almost too quickly, but she exits with a happy smile.

“Hey, good luck! Kill it, okay?”

You nod, quickly following after the woman who calls your name next.

“Miss Y/N, it says here that you’re auditioning for the female lead. As a sophomore?” Mr. Jenson, one of your dance professors and judge, questions. You prepared for this. It’s very uncommon for an underclassman to try out for such a prestigious role.

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.” You hold your head high.

“Well, I have to say I’m quite impressed with your confidence. Whenever you’re ready.”

You wait for the familiar beginning notes of Tchaikovsky’s Waltz Of The Flowers to play before flying effortlessly through your well-practiced routine. You’re banking on the emotional state of your dancing along with the technical moves you’ve included to impress the judges, and based on their faces when you finish, you figure you did just that. You can’t help but grin widely as you watch the four of them scribble furiously onto the sheets of paper. That’s a really good sign.

“I have to say, I was a little thrown off in the beginning by your song choice since it’s so, hmm, how do I say this, so amateur. But I was very surprised by what you chose to express and the level at which you dance,” the first judge says.

“Yes, the lines you created with your body were very exquisite,” another praises.

You nodded, taking in their advice and criticism.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N, you may exit.” Mr. Jenson says with a smile.

As soon as you step out the door and exhale, you feel a sense of relief. The excitement of your successful audition courses through you, filling you with good energy.

You find Cat stretching in the warm-up room next door.

“Oh my god, you got it. Didn’t you?” She squeals the second she sees your face.

“I don’t know…” You have a pretty good idea based on their responses and comments but aren’t positive.

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “That’s your ’I just nailed my audition’ face. You totally got it.”

“I hope so. God, wouldn’t that be so insane? When was the last time an underclassman got the lead?”

Someone behind you scoffs; you look over your shoulder and see that it’s Jimin. Your eyes narrow at him, but Cat turns you back before you go off on him. “Not worth it, the rest of us seniors think it’s great that you’re trying for a top spot. How about we go get a drink from the vending machine while we wait?”

You nod before grabbing your warm-up bag and follow her out. “I can’t believe him. He’s so stuck up,” You grumble once you’re far enough away that no one but Cat can hear you.

“He’s always like that, just be thankful that you don’t share any classes with him.”

You’ve heard that Jimin is usually the center of attention in class, whether it’s his choice or not, so you can’t imagine being stuck in one with him. It sounds like it would be impossible to get good feedback if the teachers only care about him.

After you both buy the drinks that you want, you head back. The line is smaller but it will still be at least a half-hour until everyone has had their turn. You sigh impatiently and head back into the warm-up room.

Deciding to sit along the mirrored wall, you rummage through your bag to find a pair of headphones and put your favorite playlist on shuffle while you wait. Even though it feels like half the day goes by while you’re sitting there waiting, it’s really only been about an hour.

Everyone’s attention lands on Madam Jamie, one of the contemporary dance professors, when she asks everyone to re-enter the audition room.

“Okay,” she starts once everyone gets in line, “Those whose numbers I am about to call, please step forward. Dancers eleven, one fifty-three, one forty-seven, seventeen, thirty-eight, twenty-two, and one ten.”

Cat gives you a concerned look as she steps forward without you.

“Seventy-two, fifteen, sixty-eight, thirty, thirty-four, eighty-two, one twenty-one–” you step forward and sigh in relief once she spoke your number. Tuning out the rest of the numbers called, you smile at Cat as she reaches for your hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Everyone else, I’m sorry to inform you that you have not been selected. Thank you for your time,” She finishes, resting her clipboard against her chest.

Those who didn’t make the cut are escorted out as Mr. Jenson stands up to make an announcement.

“I have everyone’s part listed here,” He shakes the paper in his hand. “It’ll be left on this table for you all to look over. However, I want to first congratulate you all. We are excited to have this much talent for the semester’s exhibition show. We have some great things planned and cannot wait to get started with you all. Please take note of our rehearsal schedule. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Eight to noon. Most of you should not have conflicting schedules as all dance classes are held in the afternoon anyway, although if you do have a problem just stay after and we can work it out. Madam Jamie and I will see you back here Monday morning. Dismissed.”

You and Cat both wait until more people clear out of the room before you have the guts to read the paper.

Catalina Wilde - Corps de ballet

Your eyes wander across the page as you search for your name.

Y/N - Lead Female Soloist

Turning towards each other, you squeal “Oh my god,” at the same time.

“I can’t believe it. We both got what we wanted,” you excitedly rush out.

“I know, this never happens. Oh, I’m so excited!” She reaches for your hand and squeezes it again, picking up the paper with her other hand.

“Oh, no.” She turns the paper towards you, “Look who your partner is.”

Park Jimin - Lead Male Soloist

You huff, “Of course, I’m not surprised.” You turn your head and search the mostly-empty room for him. You have a feeling he’s still here, it’s like you can sense his presence.

“Cat! You coming?” the group of dancers near the door asks.

“Shoot, I’ve got to head to my next session. I’ll see you later, okay?” Cat says, giving you a quick hug as she runs out the door.

Leaving just you and Jimin.

Deciding to let go of your prejudice against Jimin, you figure the best move would be to congratulate him on getting the part he auditioned for.

He watches blankly from the mirrored wall as you walk towards him.

Once in front of him, you stick your hand out. “Hey congrats, I’m looking forward to–” you begin before he rudely cuts you off by holding up his hand.

“Yeah, whatever,” he sneers, “We need to take this extremely seriously so I expect you to be at our rehearsals an hour early so we can get in extra time,” he looks you over again, “From what I can tell you’re gonna need it.”

“Also,” apparently he isn’t finished, “I expect that you’ll be taking care of your diet from here on out since I’m going to be lifting you and I don’t want my arms to give out, or worse, snap.”

“Well, you can always go to the gym and work on that yourself,” you say defensively. What a jerk.

“So can you, sweetheart.”

“Uh, wow. Okay…” Here you are trying to congratulate him and here he is treating you like dirt. “Guess the rumors are true,” you mutter as you shift your duffel strap further up your shoulder, turning to leave.

“Excuse me?” Well, shit. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part. You look him in the eyes without showing any regret for your previous statement.

His eyes narrow at you, clearly not liking your RBF, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Sorry.” However, you aren’t.

“You know,” he remarks, “I don’t care about what you’ve heard about me or what you think about me. I care if you’re going to be too immature for this role and if that’s the case I’ll have no trouble replacing you.” He follows you out the audition room.

Oh boy, you’re pissed now. You turn around and get right in his face.

“What the fuck? In case you haven’t noticed, you aren’t in charge here. Just because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore doesn’t make you any better than me,” you bark while shoving a finger in his chest.

“Secondly, I don’t need to believe the rumors because you’ve just proven them to be true. You’re an ass to all of your partners to the point that they don’t want to dance with you so you can,” you lift up your hands to finger quote this next part, “Pick who you think is good enough.”

You scoff, “Well, here’s a fun fact dickwad. I’m not going anywhere. The judges chose me and I fully intend on dancing as the female lead in the show. So get the fuck over yourself ‘cause you’re about to be seeing a lot of me in these next few months. Got it?“

"Fine,” he huffs, pushing past you.

“Fine!” you snap, turning away from him and heading towards your next class. Now that you're thoroughly annoyed and not in the mood for your next class, which happens to be a two-hour lecture on the history of interpretive dance, you sigh and get moving before you’re late.

The first two weeks of ‘rehearsals’ are spent training, just at a higher level than you’re used to. However, you hide it well. You’ve been making sure to keep up with the upperclassmen because you know that you are, unfortunately, replaceable if Madam Jamie or Mr. Jenson deems it necessary.

It doesn’t matter that your thighs feel like they are on fire, or that your calves might be ripping at every bend and arch you make. You’re going to complete the one hundred pliés just like everyone else without a single complaint.

Jimin must have taken your last conversation to heart, or he’s exceptionally good at masking his feelings if your words bothered him, because he’s been an excellent partner all week. Although, you know you aren’t going to grow a typical relationship with him as you did with all of the other partners you have had over the years. You’ve been friends, good friends, even, with your previous partners, something you know is never going to happen with Jimin.

He doesn’t do small talk. He really doesn’t have much to say at all other than pointing out when you are making a mistake. No good comments, nor praise–not that you’re expecting any–but it would have been nice to hear him say that he is impressed with how well you’re keeping up with him.

It’s Friday of the second week, which means that it’s the last day of the training period aka hell week, thankfully. You’re dying to get started on learning the actual program. You aren’t looking forward to Jimin’s request of showing up an hour earlier than everyone else this next week, but even though you hate to admit it, the extra time will end up benefiting you.

Today also happens to be the day the choreographer is coming in. You’ve heard the whispers throughout the school this week, everyone trying to guess who it’s going to be.

And after seeing who Madam Jamie walks into the studio with, you’re so happy to see that they were all wrong.

“O-oh my–ohmygod,” you bumble and did a double-take. It couldn’t be, could it?

The brown curls hung gorgeously on the tall man’s head and you internally drool at how much better looking he is in person. He’s so tan, so fit, so delicious–

“Can you concentrate?” Jimin grumbles in annoyance, pulling you out of your slightly inappropriate thoughts. You’re doing partner stretches, which does require some level of focus, but not enough that you have to look away from the literal Italian God who stood a mere six feet away. “What’s your deal anyway? We’re supposed to be preparing our muscles for the toughest training session yet and you’re over there stuttering like a fool.”

You scoff at him and lower your voice, “Don’t you know who that is?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Does it look like I care?” He mutters, pushing the backside of your thigh towards your torso.

“You can’t be serious,” you exasperate. “That’s Luca Black! You know, one of the most famous choreographers in the dance world right now. I can’t believe you don’t see how big of a deal this is.”

“The only thing I care about right now is making sure your hamstrings are loose so you don’t kick me in the face when we’re dancing.”

Now there’s an idea…

“Alright, everyone! Front and center please,” Mr. Jenson announces as he walks in the door, right on time as usual.

“Dancers, I would like you to meet Mr. Black, your choreographer. I expect you all to treat him with the same level of respect that you give me and Madam Jamie.”

“Oh please,” Mr. Black says, stepping forward, “You can all call me Luca.” His smile hits the heart of every girl in the class, and even a few of the guys. “I am looking forward to working with you all to make this performance one to remember. Can we get into a lineup to start?”

Everyone moves into the typical sequence based on each person’s position of where they belong. Which meant that you and Jimin were dead center with Luca’s eyes right on you.

You swallow slowly when he walks towards the two of you. “You must be Y/N. Mr. Jenson has told me quite a lot about you. I have to say, I am most excited to work with a dancer like you.”

Jimin is perplexed that Luca went straight to you. If anything, he’s the better dancer here and he doesn’t quite understand why a sophomore is getting so much attention. He’s nearly sick to his stomach listening to the nauseating conversation that you two are having.

“It’s an honor to have you working with us Mr. Black,” you say in awe as you shake his hand.

“Luca,” he corrects before lifting your hand to kiss it, “And the pleasure is most definitely all mine.”

“Sorry,” you pant, rushing through the door. “I know I’m a couple of minutes late. I couldn’t find parking. Why is it so freaking busy? It’s barely seven.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Jimin says ignoring your question. You bite your tongue and get straight into your morning stretches.

“What do you want to work on today?” you ask, knowing what he is going to say after you’re warmed up. For the past three weeks, you and Jimin have been dedicating extra time to perfecting scene two's Pas De Deux.

It’s the only section of this scene where you’re both completely alone on stage and Jimin is dead-set on making it nothing less than perfect. He reasons that just because you are the only two people on stage doesn’t mean that the audience’s attention is a given, you need to earn it.

Which is a very on-brand thing for Jimin to say.

“Do you really need to ask?” He snickers with a playful smile plastered to his face.

“Nevermind then,” you banter back, joining him as he finishes stretching.

You’ve surprisingly gotten pretty comfortable with Jimin after spending more time with him. Dancing with him is mostly fun, besides when he calls you out on your mistakes…repeatedly. But even then, you know he tries to mean well. You both have to be the best or the other will end up looking like a fool–which (you assume) neither of you want to happen.

Knowing that you’re almost halfway through the semester is a little terrifying. All the dancers have been making great progress and everything is coming together seamlessly, but you can’t help but feel the nervousness set in.

You take a deep breath and clear your thoughts, getting nervous right now will do you no good. Thankfully, when you start dancing your mind settles and you’re able to concentrate on your performance. 

Well, that is, until Jimin drops you during the lift. You might have understood the mistake if he hadn’t done it three times prior.

“Get up.” He holds his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet. “We need to get this number down, you know how important it is.”

“I’m aware of that,” you hiss. “But it would be nice if you weren’t letting me fall every two seconds.” You rub your aching side and stretch to see if that helps ease the pain.

“Just dance it off, you’ll be fine.” Jimin walks over to his stuff along the wall, before bending down to grab his water bottle.

You scowl. “Stop being ridiculous and hold me properly. I don’t have teeth anywhere down there,” you say motioning to the space between your legs. “You can put your hand where it belongs without worry, you know.”

Jimin blushes as soon as he hears your words, he turns away quickly before you notice. Yes, it’s technically his fault that you keep falling. It isn’t intentional, but he can’t help it. Especially when he can feel the warmth of your center from where his hand is resting when he goes in for the lift.

The thought of other parts of him being this close to your heat is driving him crazy and yeah, he may have faltered, which yeah, may have caused you to crash down once…twice. Okay, maybe three times. Or four?

It doesn’t matter. He’s so hyper-focused on why he’s thinking about you like this at all. You’re attractive, he already knew that. But this new-found thought of wanting to take you hard and fast, right here in the studio is something else. It comes from deep within, and he can’t decide if he wants to squash the idea completely or let it lead to something wild.

Jimin shakes his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts just long enough for you to both get through these next ten minutes before the rest of the crew arrives for rehearsal. “Alright, let’s go again.”

You get into position, Jimin falling behind you. You try to hold still but his breath tickles your neck while you wait for the music cue.

The motions are practically natural to you at this point, and you take a deep breath, preparing yourself in case you fall again.

You rapidly suck in air when you feel Jimin’s fingers press deep into your inner thigh this time as he lifts you. They are incredibly close, much closer than they were last time.

You won’t ever admit to it, but your mind is overflowing with dirty thoughts of Jimin’s fingers somewhere else. Particularly somewhere that would have you writhing within seconds.

Those thoughts are distracting, and you’re late for your cue to jump down. And somehow instead of jumping, your body twists around in a weird way as your head dives down toward the ground below you. Tensing, you brace for the impact that doesn’t come.

Unexpectedly, Jimin manages to catch you before any damage happens, and he quickly pulls you up, as if you were never upside down to begin with. His arms are wrapped right below your butt, causing your head to be directly above his. How on earth it got there, you have no idea.

But you aren’t questioning it. Adrenaline runs wild through your body, and you cling to him as if your life depends on it. Your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, scared that you still might fall somehow.

Your faces are only a few inches apart in this position, which allows you to see how soft and smooth Jimin’s lips look. You slowly lick yours as he lowers you down to the ground, keeping the same amount of distance, or lack thereof, between you two. The realization that it would be so easy to kiss him right now has set in and you swear Jimin has the same mad thoughts; especially when he’s gripping your hips this tightly.

What you both don’t realize is that outside of the main doors, the rest of the dancers are watching with wide eyes and shocked faces. If it weren't for the unmistakable red hair you see in the mirror's reflection, who knows what might have happened? You don’t think about it, instead, you pull away and play it off before heading toward your bag to grab a drink.

“Morning everyone! What are we all waiting for?” Luca says from behind the dancers, “Let’s go in and get warmed up.”

He opens the door and sees you and Jimin at opposite ends of the room, each taking big gulps from your water bottles. Interesting…

Cat walks in and sets her stuff down next to Jimin’s and silently watches him. His face is flushed but she can’t tell if it was because of the intense moment you two just shared, or from the strain of the lifting sequence. She was the first to notice the look you two shared before the crowd outside the door, and she has a weird feeling about it.

Last she knew you were still fighting with Jimin during your pre-practices, although she’s very aware of the saying ’there’s a fine line between love and hate’. Cat makes a mental note to ask you about this morning’s situation later.

The first half of practice is weird, to say the least. Jimin is treating you like nothing happened. And while technically nothing happened, something almost did and you don’t know how you felt about the something.

Needless to say, you aren’t on top of your dance game today. It’s hard to concentrate with your head filled with empty-answered questions and even more confusion.

“Okay, everyone,” Luca echoes, stealing every dancer’s attention, “Let’s take five. When we reconvene we’ll do a recap of Scenes One through Three with no breaks. If we can get it down we’ll move onto the beginning of Scene Four today.”

You and Jimin happily turn in opposite directions, grateful for some space.

“Y/N, can you stay back? There’s something I want to go over with you,” Luca calls out, stopping you from heading in the direction of Cat and some of the other girls.

Oh no. That’s never a good sign.

“Don’t worry, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he says after seeing your smile falter. “I just see a little room for improvement with the last sequence before the song changes in scene three.”

He gestures for you to get into position in front of him, which you do without hesitation.

Luca moves closer to you and rests a hand on your lower back, “Tighten here and stretch.” He shows you how to position your body to make it look more elegant and elongated. “See how much longer you look now?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Hold yourself like this through the rest of the dance. Trust me when I say you’ll notice a difference. So will everyone else.”

A blush creeps up your neck when his hand slides across your hip before he steps away from you, “Thank you for the tip.”

His eyes burn into yours, and you feel the heat growing in your lower stomach. “Anytime, Y/N.” His lips turned into a small smile, which you returned.

Jimin stalks silently as Luca touches you, his anger bubbling deep down inside him. Fuck, he doesn’t exactly want you, but he definitely doesn’t want anyone else to have you either. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Luca touching you like that or giving you those looks; looks that have disguised intentions with ulterior motives behind them.

He wants to tell Luca where to go and how to get there, but he knows better. Not only would it be unprofessional as hell, but Jimin would probably be screwed out of a lot of future events if he tells one of the best choreographers to fuck off.

He forces himself to look away and takes another deep breath, calming down a little before part two of rehearsals starts.

The second half of rehearsals ends sooner than expected, and Jimin storms off before you even have the chance to talk to him about this morning. You sigh, your eyes trailing his fast exit.

“Y/N! I’m heading to the vending machine for a granola bar, want to come with me?” Cat asks. You’re sure that her question has a hidden agenda too, but you go along with it anyway since you’re starving and need to eat something small before your next class.

“Sure, just give me a second to switch out of my pointe shoes.” You don’t like to wear yours for walking since they’re new and still stiff.

“So,” Catalina begins, watching you put the money into the machine. “What was that this morning? And don’t you dare try to say it was just dancing, because I’ve seen 'just dancing’ with Jimin and that was not at all what I saw earlier.”

You groan internally, not wanting to deal with her interrogation. Cat isn’t the type to judge you if you told her that you would’ve fucked Jimin right then if it wasn’t for the fact that you noticed her (and the rest of the dancers). But you don’t want to admit it to yourself.

Saying it and thinking it are two very different things, and you aren’t sure you can come to terms with saying that you want to fuck Jimin. Hell, you have no idea if you will feel the same way in an hour. So you choose to keep it to yourself for now.

“Did something happen between you two?” she asks bluntly.

“No, nothing happened between us.”

“And is that a good or bad thing?” she questions next.

“Good,” you huff, “I think…”

It’s been another busy few weeks, and things have been going great…until today. To be honest, this is probably the worst dance day you’ve had in years.

“I’m sorry guys, let’s start from the top,” you apologize again for messing up. The scene you’re going over today isn’t complicated by any means, it’s only a transition scene. But your head is elsewhere which, in turn, makes you mess up every couple of seconds.

You're not getting many approving looks from the room. Luca is a little worried, Madam Jamie has pursed lips, and the dancers are severely annoyed with you.

“No, Miss Y/N.  Stop before you hurt yourself.” Mr. Jenson lets out a frustrated sigh. “Kyra, would you stand in for Y/N and show her how it’s properly done?”

You’re embarrassed that it’s gotten to this point. What is with you? You’ve done this sequence perfectly with Jimin this past week, hundreds of times at least. Now with the extra dancers on the floor, you seem to be forgetting it all.

Taking soft, shallow breaths is the only thing keeping you from crying in front of everyone. But they wouldn’t notice. All eyes are glued to Kyra, a senior who had also auditioned for the same role as you, as she dances with Jimin.

They dance beautifully, you can’t deny it, even if you want to. You can’t help but wonder if she would’ve been the better choice for the female lead.

“Thank you, Kyra. Everyone back into position now.”

Kyra walks past you and smirks. You know she’s thinking the same thing that you are. She probably also thinks that she’s capable of sweeping in and stealing your position. Like hell if you’re going to let that happen.

Even so, it’s not your decision to make and you know if you keep screwing this up it’s more than likely to happen.

“Hey, are you okay? What’s your deal?” Jimin whispers once he lines up with you again. The last thing you need is for him to make you feel worse for fucking up.

“I don’t know, it’s not a good day for me,” you whisper back as your eyes fill with tears. You’re completely exhausted, defeated, and disappointed.

“Just dance it off, we all get days like this. Follow my lead, okay? I promise I won’t let you mess up again.”

You nod, blinking back your tears. This is a different side of Jimin than you’re used to. He’s caring and knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.

After shaking off the earlier mishaps, you get yourself together and push through practice, making sure that the first official run-through of the program is a total success. It makes you feel a hell of a lot better than two hours earlier. You can tell that the rest of the group is just as ecstatic as you and Jimin are.

“That was great, Y/N!” he says, pulling you into a comforting hug. “See, all you needed was a little reassurance.”

You’re slightly sad when he pulls back, the warmth of his body is no longer felt. “Thank you for today. I would’ve completely fallen apart without you.”

“Hey don’t worry about it, make sure you get some rest this weekend. See you Monday!” He smiles softly and waves bye. Who knew Jimin had more to him than what everyone else saw?

“Hey, Y/N!”

You turn your head and see Madison, one of the upperclassmen who’s also in the show, walking toward you.

“What are you doing tonight? Some of the girls and I are planning on going out to celebrate our first successful run-through of the show. We’re wondering if you’d like to come?” She leans in a little closer, “We have a fake you can use to get into our favorite club, Wander. We’d love for you to let loose with us.”

Usually, you would turn down any interaction that involves alcohol, especially since you’re underage, but you don’t want to disappoint your potential new friends. Plus it does sound like a lot of fun, and after the practice you just had, you deserve to let loose and relax.

“Yeah, totally! I’d love to come.” Madison smiles and you both trade numbers.

“Okay cool, I’ll text you my address later. We’re gonna get ready at mine before we head out. See you later!” She gives you a quick hug before heading out the door.

You’re secretly excited to hang out with the older girls since you don’t have many other friends in your year. Especially not now with all your free time taken up by rehearsals.

Jimin stands outside the dance studio’s side door, slyly eavesdropping. He makes a mental note to accidentally run into you later. He isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he doesn’t want to go without seeing you for two days.

You intrigue him, and after your almost-kiss, Jimin wants to know what your lips feel like for real this time, not just what he has been imagining.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks over the pounding music. You have no idea what to ask for; you obviously don’t drink and ordering something from the bar is a little out of your comfort zone since you don’t know what you’re doing.

Madison catches on and takes over. “Five shots of tequila for our group!” she yells while leaning over the bartop so he can hear her.

Oh boy, you don’t know much but you know enough to feel safe assuming tonight will be wild if you’re starting with shots, of all things.

With about a month left until the show, deciding to let loose with the girls is exactly the kind of break you need. Dancing, drinks, and good friends. Looking around, you’re happy to see that you have all three. It’s all a part of tonight’s plan.

What you don’t plan for, however, is seeing Jimin in the middle of the dance floor with Kyra all over him. After practice today, this is a total slap in the face.

You aren’t sure if the progress you’ve been making with Jimin is just one-sided, or if you had been imagining it this whole time. It feels like you’re both taking two steps forward in the right direction and then something like this will happen, sending you ten steps back.

Your eyes are glued to Kyra’s body as she dances with him, her hips moving at the perfect speed. You can’t help but be jealous of her. Not only is she gorgeous and a great dancer, but she also has a way of demanding everyone’s attention in any room she graces. Although, there’s only one person’s attention you want right now, and from what it looks like, you doubt you’ll be getting his anytime soon.

“Oh my god, is that Luca?” Catalina asks with a surprised tone, pointing towards the opposite end of the bar, “No way, it can’t be.”

“It is,” you laugh nervously before looking away. You’re a little worried that he might remember that you’re under the legal drinking age, only by a year, but still. How embarrassing would it be for him to get you kicked out…

“That’ll be $42,” the bartender drones, pushing the over-spilling shot glasses toward your group and happily taking whichever girls’ fifty-dollar bill in return.

You lift your glass along with the others, “Here’s to letting go and having fun!”

The tequila burns the back of your throat but that doesn’t stop you from hollering, “Let’s go dance!”

You pull Madison and Catalina onto the dance floor, coming to an abrupt stop when your back collides with someone., “Oh my gosh, I am so sor–” You pause and stare at the dark-haired man, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi ladies, I hope you’re not getting into too much trouble tonight,” Luca jokes with a wide smile displayed across his face. He looks gorgeous dressed in all black, the leather jacket tops off his outfit.

“Oh of course not, Mr. Black,” Catalina giggles playfully, “We’re all good girls here.”

He raises his eyebrow which makes each of you giggle, “I’m not so sure about that. Can I buy you all a drink? Or is that a little weird?”

You look around at the girls; they do the same.

“Uh, sure? Madison finally says, breaking up the awkward silence.

Cat and one of her friends entertain Luca’s conversation while they wait at the bar. You slyly peek over your shoulder while dancing, looking for you-know-who. You can’t find him, but you’re happy to see that Kyra has moved on to her next man of the night.

"Hey,” Luca says, walking towards you with an extra drink in hand. “Here you go. Shhh, it’s our little secret,” he says humorously.

You thank him for the drink, nervously swirling the ice with the slim black straw in your cup.

“I’m happy I ran into you,” he begins, “Can I talk to you for a second, alone?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” You nod to Cat, silently saying that you’ll catch up with her later. He smiles and pulls you aside from your friends.

“What’s up?” You ask tensely while Luca grins, running a hand through his hair.

“I just want to tell you how impressed I’ve been with your progress so far, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you at rehearsals.”

Oh my god.

“Really?” You gape.

“Absolutely,” he reaches for your hand, bringing you closer to him before bending down to plant his lips on yours. You freeze as he kisses you gently, entirely unsure of what to do in that situation.

He quickly pulls back after reading your body language, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Luca,” you say curtly, taking a step back, “I appreciate your tips in class and kind comments, but I think we should keep things professional here. You’re the choreographer and I’m a student...”

“Of course, I apologize again. How about I walk you back to your friends and we forget this happened?”

“That would be perfect.” You’re thankful that things don’t seem too awkward, and you only hope things will stay that way when you see each other Monday morning.

Jimin’s fingernails dig into the flesh of his palms as he clenches his fists. Fucking Luca Black. He was heading your way to say hi, but Luca led you in a different direction than the one your friends are heading to. He should have known better, but he follows behind slowly. And what he sees when he finally turns the corner doesn’t sit right with him.

Luca’s hand on your cheek as the two of you kiss. Jimin isn’t exactly sure who initiated it. And even though it’s eating him alive, he doesn’t want to know because it pains him either way.

He watches as Luca pulls away, and takes note of your stunned face. Jimin wants to believe that was because you didn’t enjoy it. He can’t hear what you’re talking about, and he truly wants to believe that Luca is making you uncomfortable based on your reaction to the kiss. But that hopeful thought is squashed as soon as you smile and take Luca’s hand, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Jimin is still trying to process what he just witnessed even though you’re both long gone. He steps out of the shadows and throws his drink at the wall, ignoring the sound of the glass breaking behind him. Grumbling under his breath, Jimin takes the closest exit and slams the club door behind him.

He heads home with the hopes that a cold shower will ease his rage, but the cool water running down his back isn’t doing much for his boiling blood, nor is it getting rid of the image of Luca’s lips on yours. And inevitably, he can’t get you out of his head either which in turn results in him masturbating to those thoughts of you … which is anything but calming.

Jimin closes his eyes and imagines that it’s him kissing you, not Luca, and that he’s the one who has you pushed up against the wall. He can practically hear your soft whimpers, the ones you make when you’re doing partner stretches that always have him close to losing it right there in front of everyone at rehearsals.

But it isn’t him who’s stretching with you. His length quivers in his hand as he speeds up, trying to change his thoughts to you aroused in the club bathroom, his hand sliding underneath your dress and slipping into your panties. Jimin throws his head back at the image of you getting all worked up, but once again, it isn’t him that’s driving you wild. It’s Luca.

After the fifth attempt and still failing to picture himself with you, Jimin gives up. He groans, looking down at his length’s angry red tip that’s aching for release. And there’s only one thing that will give him that. You.

But not an imaginary you. The real you. The real you wanting him just as much as he wants you. He doubts that you ever will, not when you can have Luca instead.

Meaning that Jimin is basically screwed.

Monday is a killer. Jimin has been hateful to you all morning, and you genuinely have no idea why. He seems to be fuming now at the end of rehearsals, compared to the quiet angry vibe he was giving off earlier this morning.

“Hey, great job today Y/n. You’re doing phenomenal. I can’t wait to see this all come to life next week. See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks! Yes, see you tomorrow Luca.” You wave bye while he rushes out of the room, leaving just you and Jimin behind.

Jimin waits until Luca is out of earshot before saying anything. He’s been annoyed all day by your and Luca’s behavior after witnessing the two of you making out in the hallway of Wander.

He’s disgusted, even more so by the afterthoughts of Luca bringing you back to his place and taking advantage of you. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep much this weekend.

“God, you’re such a suck-up,” he criticizes, failing to hold back his evil words. “How special do you think you’re going to feel when the paid help you’re boning doesn’t remember your name the second he moves on to the next school and finds a new student to seduce?”

“Excuse me?”

“You can pretend all you want but I saw you Friday night. With him.”

Oh god…

You shake your head, “Jimin, I can explain–”

“Whatever, waitlist. I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He turns around and internally grimaces, upsetting you isn’t what he was going for. He’s pissed and unfortunately, you’re the only person he can take it out on. It’s a dick move to say things like that, especially since you deserve to be here just as much as everyone else.

Jimin knows he should just let it go, but he can’t help it. It’s been eating him alive all day. He’s pissed that you’re acting like a damn fool because of Luca’s attention. Luca’s eyes hadn’t left your body the entire day.

Fucking perv.

Jimin is more pissed that it’s bothering him so much. He shouldn’t care, he doesn’t–or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

Jimin’s words stung, and you’re shaking out of pure anger. “What the fuck is your problem? I can handle the normal stick-up-your-ass behavior but it’s on a whole new level today. Chill out, okay? It isn’t what you think. Nothing happened after he kissed me. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but it actually made me, like, super uncomfortable and he apologized directly after. We both agreed it wasn’t professional, so piss off Jimin. And even if I did decide to take it further with Luca, it wouldn’t concern you. So stay out of it.” You’re near him when you finish, with crossed arms and eyes glaring.

It’s unbelievable Jimin would make such a comment; the last thing you need is for him to start telling people what he saw.

You know you would be harshly reprimanded for using a fake ID to get into a club, but also for accepting a drink from someone who is a teacher, and especially for kissing that same teacher.

Jimin is just as heated as you are. So his intuition was right that night. His anger only grows, wanting to punch Luca over and over again for making you uncomfortable like that. How could Luca not tell that you weren’t actually into him, but rather idolized him for his contributions to the dance world? How dare he use that against you to pull a move like that?

“Fine,” he growls in your face, totally furious at the situation, and furious with himself for caring this much about it–about you. You’re driving him crazy, even now when you’re pissed with him. It turns him on how strong and defensive you always are, and fuck, he wants to do something about it.

“Fine,” you snap back, taking another step forward as your eyes subconsciously lower to his parted mouth.

In a matter of milliseconds, your lips collide and your hands are all over each other’s bodies. He lifts you into his arms and slams your back into the mirrors. It’s a miracle that they don’t shatter from his force.

You gasp at the contact and Jimin takes the opportunity to shove his tongue further into your mouth. Your legs lock around his waist while you continue to explore each other’s mouths and bodies ravenously.

Jimin pulls away and tugs your leotard down your arms, freeing your breasts from the tight compression.

“You’re so fucking annoying, do you know that?” He snarls before leaving a line of rough kisses along your neck and down your chest. You whimper at the sensation and run your fingers through his hair.

“You’re so fucking loud, do you always have to say so much?” You moan in response.

Jimin is starved for your taste and can’t wait any longer. His hands travel down your side while his lips close over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

You mewl, crashing your head back against the glass from the sheer amount of pleasure.

Jimin abruptly pulls away and brings his face back in front of yours. “What? Do you have something to say?” he asks with fire in his eyes. But with his lips replaced by his fingers, twisting and tugging, you’re helplessly tongue-tied.

He moves one hand lower and another soft moan escapes your lips, his middle finger dancing dangerously above your panties before dipping into your slickened folds.

Jimin knows exactly where and how to touch you, causing your head to spin. He feels himself hardening watching your face contort in pleasure, and nearly coming in his pants when you slowly lick your bottom lip, pulling it in between your teeth and letting out a long moan in the process.

“Mmm, Jimin,” you cry, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Jimin notices this and instantly pulls away. You don’t get to come that easily. Even though it makes him super fucking excited to see what his touch does to you. God, this is so much better than what he imagined.

You whimper at the loss of his touch, “What the fuck?”

“Turn around,” he demands, his eyes flooding with lust and a dash of something dark. He undresses you rather quickly, leaving your tights and leotard wrapped around your legs.

You decide you aren’t going to let him have all the fun, sneaking a hand back behind you. Jimin grits his teeth in pleasure as your hand slips into his pants. His length twitches in anticipation of feeling you wrapped around him. You pull his member out and lead him between your damp folds, moaning deliciously at the contact.

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room and Jimin can’t hold back any longer. He wants to fulfill his fantasy of taking you hard and fast, right here in front of the mirror. Without a warning he slams himself into you, causing you to lose your breath.

Your back is against him as he relentlessly pounds you from behind. The force of his thrusts are hard and you use your hands as leverage against the mirror to avoid being crushed by him, even though it would certainly be worth it.

Jimin brings a hand up around your neck and holds your head straight so he can watch when you come. You’re close and he knows just what to do.

“Say my name,” he demands, using his other hand to pinch your clit. “Look at me and say the name of the man who’s making you come like you never have before.”

“Jimin, oh my-” The waves of pleasure wash over your entire body, every inch of your skin tingles. You pulsate around him, but he’s not done with you yet.

“That’s damn right.” Jimin twists you around again, lifting you against the reflective glass. He keeps his fast pace, with a fistful of your hair held between his tightening fingers.

“You’re such a fucking slut. Look at you losing it over my cock,” he snarls with a clenched jaw, “I’m gonna fuck you like this until the rest of the class comes in.”

Jimin rams into you with twice the amount of force as before. “I’d make that fucking Italian bastard watch as I take you hard and make you feel this good.” He brings his lips up to your ear and whispers, “He could never,” before harshly biting your ear, sending you completely over the edge for a second time. 

Jimin watches you unfold, your beauty completely mesmerizes him. Your entire body is on fire from oversensitivity while Jimin’s fingers rub your throbbing nub. You watch, completely hypnotized, as he brings his soaked fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Oh, don’t think we’re anywhere near done yet,” he smirks devilishly, moving his thumb back to your clit and rubbing in crude circles. Your eyes squeeze shut at the sensation, and you can’t catch your breath. It’s too much.

Jimin hisses when your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Fuck, Y/N. You’re so tight right now.” It isn’t long after those words leave his lips that he’s shuddering inside of you, his release shooting into the depths of your heat.

Your insides coil as you reach the peak of your third and final orgasm. Jimin holds your legs steady as you come hard over his cock, and swallows your moans with his mouth.

He slowly retreats out of you and presses his flushed cheek against yours. You can feel his heartbeat thumping out of control while you both catch your breath.

After a moment, he draws back and lowers you to the ground. You both chuckle at the state of your appearance. “I think I have a towel in my bag, one sec.” He says while tucking himself back into his pants as you readjust your hair, trying to make the whole ’i just had sex’ look a little less obvious.

You’re still breathing heavily when he returns to wipe you clean.

“Mmm,” you hum in total satisfaction, and still a little out of it - if you had to be honest. “I should piss you off more often.”

He gives you a look, “Hurry up and get dressed before anyone sees you.”

You’re the one to smirk this time, “I thought you wanted people to see me?”

“Haha, very funny.”

“Hurry up, you’re taking too long,” you whine while Jimin attempts to undo his stage pants as fast as he can.

“I’m trying,” he mutters, silently praying when his zipper finally works, “There we go.”

He lines himself up to you and pushes into your center.

You bite your lip to avoid making any noises as he stretches you out. The two of you are in the small storage closet behind the stage; there’s only about an hour or two until the opening night show starts.

Jimin thought you had to be joking at first when you whispered how badly you needed him after you both were dressed and ready to warm up with the rest of the dancers. But much to his delight, you weren’t kidding.

Hopefully, they won’t notice your absence. Who are you kidding, they probably know that you two are fucking. Plus, it’s kind of obvious when both lead roles go 'missing’ at the same time.

At first, he was torn between following you into the tight space–wanting to be in another tight space–and doing what he normally would call the right thing, which was preparing for tonight. But after seeing the look on your face, Jimin was quick to follow you into the closet.

“Shhh, you need to stay quiet,” Jimin grunts quietly with a hand over your mouth, silencing your moans.

You grip his shoulders as he quickens his pace, bringing you both over the edge.

“Holy fuck,” he quietly whines, the sensation of your inner walls clenching his length is addicting. It isn’t long after your sweet release that he’s quivering. He pulls out, knowing you can’t dance with his release filling you. He shudders one last time, his come shoots out and onto the wooden floor below.

You giggle, “Good thing we’re in a place that can clean that up.” you say referencing his load.

He rolls his eyes at your joke and leans in to give you a quick kiss, “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

“Yes, typically.”

You flatten out your costume and zip each other up, leaving the closet one at a time. You first of course, since you needed to touch up your makeup now. Leaving Jimin behind to clean up his mess.

About fifteen minutes later you meet Jimin backstage to practice, stretch, and chat along with everyone else. The jitters are bouncing off of everyone and you can’t stand still from excitement, a little nervousness too. But mostly excitement.

“Jimin, are you feeling okay? You look a little stiff and tired if I must say…” Madam Jamie mentions after watching him practice a few scenes.

“Nothing to worry about Madam, had a tiring warm-up is all. Not to worry though, I am more than ready for tonight.”

Madam Jamie reminds him how important rest and lots of water are when practicing hard before moving along to the next student.

“Hmmm, what is it that you usually tell me?” You begin, giving him a coy look, “Oh right. 'Just dance it off.’ That should fix your issue, correct?” You look down at his crotch, and back up at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, daring you to go on.

“After our vigorous warmup, I’m sure you do. But we’re going on stage soon. So suck it up, sweetie.”

He can’t wait to make you regret that statement when he teases you later tonight. He had big plans to celebrate. And knowing you, you would love them.

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[bi-bats]

18 + jaytim for the drabble ask? or any prompt you wish you were sent!

Wow it's SUCH a good thing that I kept a note that had all the actual prompts in them 😂 Thank you for waiting so patiently for this!!! And if you're on ao3 please reply with your link so I can gift it to you! I hope you enjoy 💚

Prompt: This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.

Keep reading on ao3 or below the cut:

“Okay. Our target will be entering the theater with his date sometime between 5:28 and 5:42. Research indicates that he likes to be in the theater long enough to see all the previews, and his date likes to have time to acquire snacks. I’ve seen the movie three times already, so even though the tickets say the movie starts at 6, it’s actually going to start at 6:14, and lights will go down for previews at 5:55. We’re going to enter the theater at 5:54 — question?”

“What if I want popcorn?” Jason asks, lowering his hand back down into his lap. 

Tim scoffs and rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the map of the theater. “I’m not answering that—”

“—We’re going to sit through a two hour movie that you’ve already seen three times, I want snacks.”

Tim’s lips press into a thin line as he glares at Jason. 

Jason raises an eyebrow at him, and the standoff continues as Tim assesses his opponent.

The air between them is so tense, it’s sort of surprising that a tumbleweed doesn’t blow right through the nest. 

Tim breaks first, with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Fine, after a cost-benefit analysis in which the cost is adding time to buy snacks and the benefit is you not intentionally sabotaging our mission, I have determined it is in my best interest to add time for us to buy snacks.”

“The cost is also the actual snacks, you know,” Jason adds. 

Tim very graciously decides not to throw his laser pointer at him. 

“Focus up, Jason, this is a mission.” 

Jason scoffs and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, looking incredibly bored, but he nods at Tim and redirects his attention to the map of the theater.

“We will be entering the theater at 5:54. You’re going to laugh at something I say right as the lights are going down, so that I can shush you and draw the target’s attention. Then we’re going to find our seats, which are here—” Tim points the laser at a pair of seats two rows in front of the seat with a target drawn neatly on it, “—so that he sees us, but doesn’t have time to corner us. After we sit, you’ll put your arm around me — what is it now, Jason?” Tim sighs at Jason’s raised hand. 

“Why don’t we just tell them we’re dating?” 

Jason thinks he sees Tim’s eye twitch. 

“Are you insane?” 

“Are you? Look at this fucking plan, Tim.” Jason waves a hand at the map of the theater. “You saw the Barbie movie three times for this, and you’re going to see it a fourth.” 

“This is Dick’s eleventh time seeing it.”

“He’s Dick.” 

“Yeah, but it’s worth it! And I actually think you’ll really like it too, it has excellent commentary on—”

“—Not the point, baby,” Jason interrupts, shaking his head. 

Tim scoffs, getting that tilt to his mouth that only comes out when he’s really irritated. 

“So what, you wanted to sit them all down and tell them?”

“Ugh, no!” Jason huffs. “I figured we could just, like. I don’t know. Kiss after a briefing or something.” 

Oh, Tim’s eye is definitely twitching. 

“In the Batcave. Where we can be locked in?” 

“Oh, fine, yeah. I see that, alright. After a mission, before the briefing, then?” 

“So you want to be interrogated publicly.” 

“We can run!” Jason scoffs.

“From Dick, Damian, Stephanie, Cass, Duke, Babs, and Bruce?” 

“Well, Duke might not be there, we might have a chance if—”

“—Cass.” 

In the following silence, Tim crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at Jason. 

“Fine. Fine!” Jason sighs, “Not that. One at a time, then?” 

“You want to have the same conversation six times?” 

“Why does everyone think I hate talking about feelings?” 

“Because you do hate talking about feelings,” Tim says, looking slightly amused. 

“I value my privacy, there’s a difference. Plus, in this family, you give an inch and they take a mile.”

“Fine. Let me walk you through what happens if we don’t do my plan.”

Oh, here we go, Jason thinks as he spots that one look in Tim’s eye that he gets whenever he’s setting a trap.

“Where do you suggest we start?” 

“Oh god, Bruce last.” 

“Fine, give me the order you would want to do it in.” 

Jason tilts his head to the side for a second, before settling on: “Duke, Cass, Dick, Steph, Damian, Bruce.” 

Tim opens his mouth, a glimmer in his eyes, and Jason adds, “Actually, switch Steph and Dick.” 

If anything, that malicious look in his eyes only gets worse. 

“Okay, fine. Starting with Duke is smart. Since he has the whole ghost vision thing, he probably already knows. He’ll have some questions, and he’ll probably tease us a little, but it shouldn’t be totally unbearable, right?” 

Jason winces.

“Next, Cass. She definitely already knows, but she’s been waiting for us to tell her because either she’s being kind, or because she’s also waiting for the opportunity to tease us. But again, we can take getting teased by Cass.

“Now, switching Steph and Dick. Either way, we’ve already fallen into a trap, because Steph will be offended if we tell Dick first, and Dick will be offended if we tell Steph first, and either way, both of them will be offended that we told Duke and Cass before them. Steph already knows we were sleeping together—”

“—What?”

“Oh, yeah, I told her ages ago,” Tim says, swiping a hand through the air like he can just wave away Jason’s surprise. “So us dating probably won’t be news, strictly speaking. But she’s going to squeal and hug us and be excited and so happy for us—” he drops his voice back down from the higher pitched tone he’s been using to mock his best friend, “—until she finds out that we’ve been hiding it from her for three months, and then this is going to be an actual, physical fight.”

“No, it won’t,” Jason scoffs, kicking at the coffee table. 

“Jason,” Tim says, crossing his arms over his chest. “She hit me in the face with a brick the day we met. She is going to punch you, and it is going to hurt.”

It wouldn’t hurt that much, Jason thinks. But he knows better than to try and stop Tim now that he’s really going, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets his head fall to rest on the back of the couch.

“Now, Dick. He’s going to be so emotional. He’s going to be so happy for us he could cry, and he might, and he’s also going to be indignant that we didn’t tell him first. And once he gets past that, he is going to have a thousand questions, some of which are going to be invasive and personal and deeply uncomfortable. And he’s not going to understand that they are invasive and personal and deeply uncomfortable! It’s going to be an interrogation, Jason. One where he asks us about our sex life.”

Jason refuses to wince at that. He does sigh, if only to voice his displeasure with everything about this situation. 

Well. Everything except getting to date Tim.

That’s been pretty great.

“And if we ever escape Dick, then we’ll have Damian. He does care about us and he will find a way to shovel talk both of us, but he probably won’t care that we waited so long to tell him. He is definitely going to be mad that he was the last to know, though. Actually, no one is going to be happy about not being the first to know. But revisiting shovel talks, Bruce.”

“Hey, I’m actually dying to see the look on his face when he finds out,” Jason says, a malicious grin pulling across his face. “That vein in his forehead is going to pop out, it’ll be funny.” 

“Oh?” Tim raises an eyebrow, stepping towards the coffee table. His palms press to the table as he leans down to look Jason in the eyes. 

The whole thing would probably be as intimidating as he was going for to someone who hadn’t seen imprint of bedsheets pressed into the side of his face this morning as he tripped on the sheets getting out of bed. 

But he’s a professional, so he carries on like Jason hasn’t noticed the intimidation isn’t working. 

“It’ll be funny? It’ll be funny when Bruce handles it by telling us we need to break up because he doesn’t have any time to process what it means for us and not what it means for the mission?” 

“He’s not going to do that, Tim.” 

Tim narrows his eyes at Jason.

“Are you sure?” 

Suddenly, Jason’s throat feels a little dry. 

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “B doesn’t always respond well to emotional situations under pressure. But he won’t demand we break up—”

“—No?” Tim interrupts. “Then what, we’ll get a lecture on how we’re endangering ourselves and each other and everyone else with our feelings?”

“We won’t—”

“Even if we don’t, you think Dick’s interrogation was going to be bad? That’ll be the warm-up for Bruce. He’ll take each of us into his office alone and ask a million questions, and if, if he approves, it’ll still be exhausting and uncomfortable and—”

“Okay, okay!” Jason stops him, putting his hands up in surrender. The motion makes that one look ripple through Tim’s eyes that he gets whenever he wins, the one that’s always a little bit of a turn on when it’s not Jason who’s lost. “You made your point. We’re not going to tell them all individually.” 

“And you still want to tell them all together? You want to handle all of those reactions at once?” 

“Not really,” Jason sighs. 

“Okay. In that case, hear my plan out: We let Dick see us on a date. He starts to suspect that it’s a date, and he follows us. We get dinner after the movie and let him follow us, and then you take me home, and we let him see us kissing through the window. He won’t interrupt because then he would have to admit he was spying on us, and he won’t want to walk in on us, but that’s key, because it gives him time to process it. And because he’s a horrible gossip, he’s going to tell everyone for us. And he’s also going to tell everyone to keep it quiet and not say anything to us, because he doesn’t want us to know it came from him. And that is going to give everyone else time to process it. And eventually Dick is going to get sick of trying to subtly ask us questions and he’s just going to blurt out a question about whether or not we’re actually dating, and we’ll say yes, and then he’ll be so smug about having ‘figured it out’ that he won’t ask half of the questions he would have if we’d sprung it on him, and by then he’ll have figured out that he doesn’t actually want to know the answers to those questions.” 

“One flaw in your plan.” 

“No, there isn’t,” Tim scoffs.

“Everyone’s going to be mad we hid it for this long anyways.” 

“But we did hide it for this long, so it’s a little too late to avoid that. And if anyone gets mad, we just tell them that we were worried that they weren’t going to accept us and that’s why we didn’t tell them, and then they’ll stop being mad because it won’t look good for them.”

“That’s kind of manipulative, Tim.” 

Tim shrugs at him. “And? Look, are you in or not?” 

“So, your plan is to let Dick see us on a date at the Barbie movie and then let him follow us home so he can see us kiss?” 

“Yes. Weren’t you listening?” 

Jason sighs and rubs his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. “This is the stupidest plan you’ve ever had—”

“—Hey!—” 

“—but yes, I’m in.” 

“That’s more like it. But for the record, it’s not stupid. It’s incredibly well thought out.” The little red dot of the laser pointer circles around the map of the theater, as if Tim’s proving his point. 

“That’s what makes this so stupid, baby. This is way too much work. You saw that movie three times for this.” 

“You’re going to want to see it again, too, Jason. I promise.” 

“Wait, wait, one last question, though.” 

Tim sighs, “Yes?” 

“We are actually going to fuck after Dick sees us kiss, right?” 

Jason ducks just in time to dodge the laser pointer soaring over his head as he cackles at Tim. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

The last of Jason’s laughter dies down as he fishes the laser pointer out from behind the couch and tosses it back to Tim.

“Every day, baby. Aw, don’t pout, come on. You can walk me through your plan again, if you want.”

“Fine. Now pay attention, and hold all your questions until the end, please.” 

They make it about as far in to the plan as they did last time when Jason raises his hand again. 

“Yes, Jason, what now?” Tim asks. 

Jason smirks, mischievous and playful. 

“What kind of snacks are we getting?” 

[willofthequill]

We're Gonna Fly To The Sun

Did someone say it's Father's Day weekend!?! I am a sucker for a DILF. A good father is such a turn on! (Down girl! This isn't that kind of fic!)

Here is a short and sweet story about the day that Kyojuro Rengoku became a father. I hope you enjoy the fluff!

Author's Note: Happy Father's day to all the Dads, Papas, Father Figures, God Fathers and all the other types of Fathers out there :)

If you prefer to read on AO3 please click here!

WC: 1200+

CW: It's pretty much just family fluff - the first few hours of a baby's life, Fem Reader, new born baby, mention of having a c-section, mention of incision, mention breastfeeding, mentioned new mom self doubt, mentioned reader is in discomfort

Divider by @strangergraphics

The day had been an absolute whirlwind from start to finish. But it was all worth it in Kyojuro’s eyes. To be sitting here, in the dimly lit hospital room, one hand holding yours as you slept, the other holding his newborn son to his chest. 

He carefully withdrew his fingers from yours to soothe the little man who was starting to squirm in his arms and suck at his bottom lip. He carefully got up and set the baby down in the clear bassinet. He got the bottle ready - pulling it free from the package, putting the nipple on and shaking it. He set it down on the side table and turned back to the baby.

He smiled down at his son, leaning forward to take him in again before he set to changing the diaper. He was careful to keep certain parts covered, remembering what it was like to change his younger brother many years ago. 

He carefully scooped the little noise maker up, grabbed a burp cloth for his shoulder and settled back down into the chair. It took a little work to get the little man to accept the nipple but once he did, he settled against his father and happily began to eat. 

Kyojuro felt so much love and pride well up in him as he watched his son take the bottle. His head of soft blonde hair, his little old man face and the little rolls on his legs and arms… His son was absolutely perfect. 

He blinked back tears. He really was now someone’s father… And he was going to be the best and most supportive, loving father he could be, he silently promised his son that. “There ya go, Kaijuro… You’re doing great, little man…”

A soft knock on the door caught his attention before the nurse walked into the room and headed over to your bed. She smiled at Kyojuro as she charted the numbers on the beeping monitor.

“The other nurses were not kidding! That little guy already looks just like you,” she chuckled as she typed in your chart.

“Why thank you!” He said, reminding himself to control his volume. The little man did not quite appreciate it yet and he truly feared your wrath if he was to accidentally wake you after all you had been through.

She came over to squat down in front of him and check on the baby. “He’s sounding good and looking great. Any stool yet?”

“Yes, there was in fact!”

“Not black or watery?” She asked, smiling as the baby’s face screwed up in displeasure as the cold stethoscope touched his skin. Kaijuro was so expressive already with those dark little eyebrows.

“None. He had what my wife described as… ‘butt cheese’,” Kyojuro was not the biggest fan of that description, though it did amuse him and was entirely accurate. 

The nurse chuckled. “That's what we like to hear. Was the other nurse correct in saying today is your birthday as well?”

“Why yes, it is!” Kyojuro nodded, looking down at his son again, just so madly in love with the little guy already. “I think he is the best present I have ever gotten.”

“He’s absolutely precious! Happy birthday to Papa and little man!... And it looks like Mama will be discharged on Mother’s Day if everything goes as planned,” the nurse said. “Sounds like you guys will have to have a little celebration when you get home!”

“Yes. Most definitely,” Kyojuro glanced at you as you shifted in your sleep and let out a soft whine of pain. “She deserves one.”

“You’re so sweet. She’s a lucky lady! Let me finish checking Mama out and you can all get your rest.”

Kyojuro nudged his son’s mouth with the nipple, making sure he latched onto it before he turned and watched as she went over to lift the blanket and check your incision. 

“Yes! I am feeding him right now, my beloved. The nurse is just checking your incision,” he watched you closely, concerned you were masking just how bad your pain was. 

He pressed his lips together when he heard you whine in pain again. You had been through hell. 19 hours of labor, 5 hours of pushing and then an emergency C-section.

“Is Kaiju okay?” You asked sleepily, not quite sure what was going on. You only knew for certain you were in pain and the baby was not in the clear bassinet.

“Okay, good.” He watched your shoulders relax.

“His name is Kaiju?” The nurse asked.

“No, it's Kaijuro. We just decided to love name him Kaiju,” you gave the nurse a tired smile. Your tone proved him right about the masking. “Hey… Miss Lady Nurse?” 

“You can call me Kira. But yes, how can I help you?” The nurse moved up towards your head to be able to look into your face when she talked to you. 

“I know… that breastfeeding is the best… but… he’s taking the bottle… and I really fucking hurt… Am I a bad mom if I ask for something to help?” 

Kyojuro could hear the tears in your voice and he was about to speak up when Nurse Kira did. She took one of your hands in hers and held it in hers. With the other she took a tissue out of the box on the hospital table next to you and wiped away tears as they started rolling from your cheeks. “It does not make you a bad mom. Not at all. A mother must take care of herself to be able to take care of her child. He is still being fed. His father is here taking care of him. You need to take care of yourself. It's not being selfish or bad. It’s being a human who just went through a major surgery.”

“I mean, I was only almost disemboweled." 

Kyojuro chuckled at your dark humor. He said your name and got your attention. He gave you a smile filled with so much love it almost made you start crying again.  “Beloved, please, ask for something. Kaijuro and I just want you to be comfortable and okay. He’s got my appetite and he is enjoying the bottles! I can tell in his mind he is already saying ‘Tasty!’”

“You know… I wouldn’t doubt it,” you laughed. It was probably already imprinted on Kaiju’s brain from his father saying it so many times while you were pregnant. You would not be surprised if it was your son’s first word. You looked at the two of them together and felt your heart swell. 

Fatherhood looked damn good on Kyojuro. He sat in a reclining chair gently burping the chubby cheeked baby on his chest. His hair was a mess. A wild mane of fiery tendrils falling haphazardly around his handsome face. He wore a tank top that left much of his tan, muscular body uncovered to be devoured by the eyes. He wore his favorite cartoon pajama pants and his ridiculous stuffed tiger slippers that Senjuro had bought him for Christmas. He had two days worth of a beard and had opted for his glasses over his contacts.

And he had never looked sexier. You smiled at him and he smiled back. You looked at how gently Kyojuro’s large hands cradled his son and you knew your husband had it covered. Everything would be okay.

You turned to the nurse and said, “Nurse Kira… Give me a double of the strongest shit you’ve got.”