#like every part of your life is under control of your guardian | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seneitut · 1 year

Note

omg your gekko fanfic is amazing, i love it so much a cute jealousy plot??? amazing can I req another gekko fic with a gn or male reader where there's some jealousy and physical touch involved? ty if you take the request! <3

“A little bit in love, a little bit dumb”

[Gekko/M!Reader]

Words: 7K

Tags: Fluff, slight jealousy, medical terms, gay crisis, Gekko being a simp for male reader, NSFW (+18)

[I kind of went wild with this request I'm so sorry and I hope is to your liking ;_;]

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In the middle of training, you fail to notice Sage at the panel of control, regarding your fight from afar in silence.

She watches you swing from every corner, wasting many bullets and missing targets that were easily killable. The strain in your muscles, the tight expression tugging at the corner of your mouth, the wavering of your wrists when recoiling from firing; whatever training you were going under, it was hurting you in ways it would leave irreparable damage.

Warnings were made when you began with this masochist training, hours and hours put into polishing your aim and battle sense to its sharpness. And despite the multiple times Sage has called you out, you never yielded.

This is partly her fault, should she have seen the pain you were going through, actions would have been taken in advance instead of melee warnings. It is part of her duty to survey and keep in check every agent's health: mentally and physically. Foremore, mental stability is a priority to her after the many battles that have taken place; if she herself was in dire need of therapy and often tries meditation as a way to control her emotions, she doesn’t want to think how the others were fairing.

Perhaps a conversation might take place after you’re done, with the hopes you will hear her out. Watching you fight, she wonders how you’re dealing with the pain, and if there is any sort of backlash.

-------

You were having the time of your life! Although having a guardian instead of a vandal was rough, too used to the sound and precision the other gun gave you, it didn’t lessen the excitement coursing through you when you got a kill, despite missing multiple targets.

Sometimes missions could go wrong, and funds wouldn't be enough to cover for a pricey gun to carry and fight with; to master others weapons is what could determine a win or lose in the battlefield, and you don’t want to take any chances.

The recoil from the guardian was stronger than the vandal, not as close to the operator though, but somehow, your shoulders were having a hard time adjusting to this new hold, almost to the point the pain could be unbearable.

At last, the remaining bot drops broken, having head-shot it from a distance. Breathing out, and proud of the number you’ve got, you turn around to exit the range, not giving much thought about your score and brushing off strands of hair that stuck to your sweaty forehead.

You cannot wait to brag about this to Jett, giddy at the idea of impressing her and, maybe, annoying her with how far you’ve gone with the guardian. She’s always teasing and picking on you whenever your shots fail with weapons as simple as a ghost; it is not your fault she’s gotten the training way before your arrival at the protocol.

“Your frustrated expression is really cute.” Gekko commented once, a bright smile adorning his face. “It's a shame Jett has to annoy the shit out of you to witness it.”

Blushing furiously, you shake your head in hopes to clear it from the recent memory, ignoring the fuzziness and jumble of emotions it causes to your heart. Now is not the time to be swooning over a boy—whose chances of liking you are none to zero—your priority being to get better and, maybe, deal with this shitty feeling hovering over your heart.

For god's sake you sound like a high schooler.

When the doors open, you are soon to forget your mushy thoughts, facing Sage with her arms crossed and a frown visible between her brows. It feels like you’ve been caught red handed doing something you didn’t know about.

“Uh, something wrong?” you ask, biting your lip in anxiouness.

“Quite.” She replies, cocking her head to the side. “Do me a favor and raise your arms.”

Blinking, you follow her instructions, rolling your shoulders until your bone cracks. What follows is immediate pain, having to bite your tongue to not whine from the shuddering in your muscles. Gasping, you lower them, panic and confusion swimming in your eyes.

“E-Er, I'm good, as you can see.” you lie. Sage narrows her eyes. “It hurts a little, but is okay.”

The healer calls your name softly, exasperated, but keeping in the stern expression, “We’ve talked about this before. You can’t keep going like this without supervision.”

Wincing, you avoid her stare. Deciding to keep silent is the best course of action instead of talking back, since she’s right. Guilt gnaws your insides for overseeing her suggestions and demands on taking better care of yourself.

“Please, follow me.”

Leaving the guardian at the range’s weapon storage, you turn to the door with Sage leading the way. The silence enveloping you both was heavy, but neither of you dared to say a thing to break from it; you were embarrassed, and she was too submerged in her thoughts.

At the back of your mind, you find the situation odd. It feels embarrassing to feel like you were getting scolded for doing your job, sort of, and the least you want is someone witnessing the scene without context and assuming the worst.

Turning a corner, you bump into Gekko and Neon, the boy stopping dead on his tracks to not run over you nor Sage and extending his arm so Neon won't cause a domino effect. You blink at them, heart flipping inside your ribcage when Gekko directs a smile towards you.

“Yo’, what’s up?” huffing a breath of laughter, he greets. Neon waves her hand excitedly, a grin tugging her mouth.

Sage doesn't stop for a second, walking past them with an apologetic smile, “We're in a little hurry, if you will excuse us.”

“Ah, sorry Sage!” His hazel eyes travel to yours, squinting in the corners when he grins widely, “Will I see you later?”

Nodding your head, you try to tone down the excitement in your voice, “Yeah! Yes, sure, um, let me know when you’re free.”

Winking, Gekko grabs Neon by the wrist and tugs her down the hallway. She exclaims something along the lines of being electrocuted if he keeps his touch longer than necessary and the other manages to laugh brightly, dismissing her warnings.

Something about that scene tugs strings in your heart, numbness overwriting the giddiness. Your hands twitch on your sides and your lips tighten on a straight line, confusion beginning to engulf your insides.

When Sage notices you weren't following, she stands still for a while, wondering about the hold up when something more important was on the line. Her sight sets on the pair running down the hallway, just where you’re still looking at, and she can’t help but smile slightly at the silliness of the situation.

Ah, a boy in love, she thinks, to be young again.

“You alright?” Sage lays a hand on your shoulder, shaking you out of your thoughts. “Shall we go?

You nod absently, sighing deeply. Sage leads you away to the medical parlor.

Your mind is soon occupied with the many tests the healer runs on you. Some more embarrassing than others, but necessary for her to reach a certain conclusion about whatever was happening in your body. The memory of Gekko is forgotten pretty soon with the stern glare she throws your way when you try to escape throughout the process.

“Keep still or else.”

She doesn’t need to finish her threat for you to obey.

And with reason, when the report of your exams reaches Sage’s hand, you are sure whatever was inside the folder was not good. Going over the results, her eyes roam the papers at a fast pace, nervousness seeping from your pores at the mere prospect something was wrong with you.

“You are in the fine line between having rhabdomyolysis and being fine.” she determines, closing the folder. “And this is because of the hard-working training you have gone under by yourself.”

“Oh,” Touching your arm with care, you lock your eyes with her. “What even is randolosis?”

“Rhabdomyolysis,” she corrects, “to summarize, your muscles are deteriorating and dying without the proper rest in between harsh activities. There are toxic components the fibers of the dead muscles produce, and is life-threatening if it were to enter your circulation system, leading to possible kidney damage.”

The news shouldn’t have shocked you as it did, shuddering at the thought you were so close to something that could endanger your life.

“Is…easy to solve, right? Can you fix this?”

“Not as you might think, it is treatable because we've found it on time. But you have to promise me multiple things before we begin, or else you’ll be sitting out from future missions and scouting teams. Am I understood?”

The urge to refute is strong, but remembering you were at fault, you decide to accept whatever her conditions were.

“Firstly, I’ll assign you to physical therapy to deal with the damaged muscles, alright? Breach will help you out with that.” When you don't react in a negative way, she continues, “Secondly, I’ll ask you to please accept one of the seniors as your coach for your next sessions on the range and forward.”

“But-!”

“No, not hearing it.” She cuts in, “Either you choose your own coach or I’ll assign one to you, understood?”

You nod.

“Thirly, and most importantly, I’ll ask Omen to be in charge of you for mental therapy. He will help you try ways to reduce stress and hopefully, manage your emotions in a healthy way instead of tearing yourself into pieces at the range.”

Oh, you think, Omen?

Out of all the people she could think of, Omen was the most prepared for this sort of thing? You won’t go against her way of thinking, but the choice makes you doubt whether you will get along with the wraith to spend more than an hour together in a room.

Is not that you don't get along with him, rather you haven't spent enough time with him outside missions to know what he's really like.

“At last,” motioning you to sit on the bed, she fixes your short hair until you’re no longer a mess in her eyes, “If you feel any sort of way towards another agent, please remember to keep it a secret, since is not allowed these kind of…fraternization.”

You sputtered, flustered by the implication of her words.

“Is not my place to say this, but you are quite obvious with your infatuation.”

“Sage, I- no, please, don’t misunderstand things.” Trying to explain yourself is such a nuisance to your own ears, embarrassed to the core at being found out. “I don’t like Gekko like that, he’s just, he’s just a good friend!”

“I never said anything about Gekko.”

Oh.

“Please don’t tell him.” You beg, panic rising inside your chest, “Don’t tell anyone about it. I don’t want the other agents to know I-, that I-”

Sighing, she turns around to grab her device, “It is not my business, you should not worry about that.” Sage glances at you briefly, watching your expression turn sour and sensing you crumbling in her office bed over a simple crush.

But, in honesty, it goes way deeper than that.

Coming from a society where loving people of the same sex is frowned upon, openly admitting to liking someone who is a boy drives you into anxiety that is not easy to control. Having to sit in silence for the many years upcoming and hiding who you really were from everyone’s eyes has been hard; but that doesn’t deterrer you nor stop you to accept whatever fate had ready for you.

The story changes when you’re exposed unwillingly. Completely out of your control, you don’t know how to handle someone else knowing about this delicate topic.

“Why do you seem in so much distress?” She asks, approaching you with carefulness in her actions.

Biting your lip, you shake your head. Both your hands are tight in fists, controlling your breathing with heavy intakes of air to keep yourself calm and collected. There is a slight moment of consideration of telling Sage about your worries, thinking that she might understand your situation; but the fear is bigger, clouding your senses.

Sage calls your name softly, worry overtaken her features. “Hey, breathe with me, inhale, and exhale.”

She holds your hands through the whole ordeal, waiting for you to calm down and come back to your senses. It takes a long while for you to register that she's still there with you, holding your hand and rubbing your back in soothing motions.

There is a moment of rushing panic when someone knocks the door; eyes raising to see Omen hover over the threshold. Caught off guard, the wraith apologizes and goes back into the hallway while closing the door, giving you both time to compose yourselves.

“Are you alright?” Sage nudges your elbow softly, trying to get your attention.

Not trusting your own voice to come as steady as you want it, you nod, squeezing her hand holding you still. Sage brushes your short hair in soothing motions, giving you time and silence until you're better.

Once your heart stops beating furiously and evens to a normal rhythm, you nod, letting her know all is okay now and can get a hold of yourself.

“So…therapy?” you ask timidly. Sage sighs tiredly, a smile tugging at her lips for the change in conversation.

“Quite.” she replies, asking Omen to come inside the medical room. “Your mind needs to find a healthy way to let loose the straining and manage your emotions.”

Drained to the core, you ask, “Are you calling me emotional constipated now?”

“Yes.”

You wince at her boldness, but it is a fair assumption, “A little rude, but okay.”

“Omen will help you channel your energy into something less violent and helpful for your mind. While you go at it, I'll be requesting an IV for your treatment later today,” Making her way to your files, she revises them in silence, leaving you and Omen standing there awkwardly.

A few seconds pass by until the healer notices both were still there.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sage frowns, shooing you both, “Go off, both know what to do. I’ll get back to you later when I’m finished with my tasks.”

----------------------

The way to the common sharing space in the protocol is quiet. The wraith has said nothing the entire way but to follow him to a more secluded area for privacy.

Despite the room being open and for everyone, most don't spend the time lounging here, but rather take their time to do something more productive instead of lacking off.

“So, Omen,” you begin, breaking the ice. The other acknowledges you with a soft hum, “what is it you're gonna teach me to…uh, canalize emotions?”

“I will help you with focus,” he replies. Mouthing an ok, you follow him to the couch.

Taking a seat, you watch him go around the room gathering a basket and yarn from a box in the corner. He fixes some long needles in his hands before approaching and handing them to you.

“What-”

“We're gonna knit.”

What the fuck.

He goes over a few of the yarn he's brought, choosing one with a soft gray color and knots them into his own needles. You follow his movements with a closer look, trying to memorize the patterns but futile with how fast he goes over his first row.

“Um, Omen?” you ask, “I didn't quite get what you did, do you mind doing it slower?”

“Of course.”

He detangles what's done, and this time, he goes over the motions at a slower rate to which you are thankful. The knots being made are repetitive and easier to follow, concentrating on every little detail before trying to mimic it.

Omen kneels in front of you when you settle with the tools, watching in silence how you knot the yarn to start making your first row. He leaves his needles on the side to focus entirely on helping you out.

“I’ve never thought knitting would help you relax.” you mutter. Omen grunts softly, fixing your hands position with a nudge of his knuckles. “Is harder than I thought, though.”

“It takes patience.” Taking the gray yarn, he detangles a few strands to help you ease the thread. “You get used to it, it becomes mechanical with time.”

You keep on pushing the tip of the needle until it takes part of the yarn, the first stitch, and repeat the motion with the next loose loops, finishing your first row of the knitted yarn within a couple of minutes.

Omen nods approvingly, “Good. Keep a strong grip on the needles. Here.”

His hands are cold to the touch when he covers yours to fix the positioning and grip. He guides you in slow motion the next step, to transfer the first row to another needle, a thicker one, for easier access. He’s speaking in a low voice, reverberating your insides pleasingly with how smooth it sounds.

The closeness of Omen feels strange in some ways.

Since his body is not entirely corporeal, you can feel the vibrations and smoke that tries to escape from the wrapped bandages around his body. When Omen speaks, there is an after sound that seems like he is purring when concentrated; is low, but easily detectable. Was it on purpose? Unconscious?

You want to tell him it sounds cute, but not knowing if it would cross any boundaries, you refrain from making the comments.

It is tempting, though.

“There, now you’ve got it.”

It takes you a while to know what he’s talking about, watching between the needles at hand to him in front of you. Omen doesn’t have facial expressions, so it is hard to guess what kind of thoughts are running through his mind right now.

But when he laughs softly, a blush spreads to your cheekbones to the point you want to hide your face underground. The lines of light on his face vibrate with every chuckle coming from him.

You shouldn’t be finding that attractive just now.

“Did you hear anything I said just now?”

“Yeah! Yes! Of course, I-!” leaning on the backseat, you cough embarrassed. “Um, I did not.”

Omen nods in understanding, but you doubt he actually knows the whys of the distraction. Does he even know how distractible he is?

“Let's go over it again, shall we?” when you nod, he hovers his hands on top of yours again, hesitating whether to touch again or leave it be.

When you smile, it gives him the green light to proceed with his explanation and this time, you hear the instructions and try to concentrate on his words instead of the pleasing touch of his hands.

Once the second row is finished, you think you get the hang on it.

“I think I got it!” You say. Omen nods approvingly. “Will you keep helping me if I get stuck?”

“Of course,” resting his hands on your lap, he continues, “is not always that I have a companion for when I knit. Would love to have you around for longer.”

Touched by his words, you swear to keep him company for as long as he wants you to be here.

“Maybe when I get better at this, we can do something together!”

Omen laughs softly, “It would be lovely.”

“Sorry,” a voice cuts in, making you gasp in surprise, “am I interrupting?”

In the middle of the room, Gekko stands there awkwardly, a deep frown apparent on his face, looking from the joined hands to the position he's found you both in.

You blink, surprised to see him there. Usually at this hour, Gekko spends his time at the range with Harbor to train his abilities, not lounging around the base aimlessly and lost like he does now.

Omen is the first to react, squeezing your hands before standing up. “You are not interrupting. Do you need something?”

Shifting his weight, Gekko glances at Omen and back to you, coughing slightly and mouth tight on a line.

“I thought you were going to be alone,” he says, muttering your name. “Are you going to take long?”

Looking between the needles at hand and Omen still standing in front of you, you nod, quietly apologizing for the inconvenience to both of them, “Sage has recommended me for some therapy, it hasn’t been ten minutes since we’ve begun so I’ll stick here for a little more.”

“Kay’, cool.” Gekko walks to where you’re seated, plopping on the couch and crossing his arms. “You don’t mind me waiting here, right?”

The wraith shakes his head, “On the contrary, feel free to do what you must.”

Next couple of minutes ends up with Gekko keeping silent while he watches you interact with the other, eyes narrowing whenever his hands guide yours in a complicated thread you get lost in.

Omen’s voice is soothing enough it makes you forget your nervousness of having your crush right there, concentrating fully on what you’re making. Despite your initial thoughts, the mental therapy could end up being something you could do in your free time. Because just like Sage suggested, your focus is solely on the object at hand instead of the events happening around you.

To canalize and handle your emotions better, will it really go to that length where you’ll be able to not melt under Gekko’s stare whenever his attention is on you? You know she didn’t mean your romantic emotion towards the other specifically, but rather how to deal with the whole package in stressful situations.

Looking from the corner of your eyes, you stifle in embarrassment when you cross his eyes. Gekko’s expression, sour and obviously upset, warps into a more open and happy one. Feeling cheeky, Gekko winks at you, making you falter in your action and warmness fills your face at being caught.

“Enjoying the view, pretty boy?” he teases, a grin tugs at his lips.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Gekko laughs brightly at that, leaning in to get a better look at what you’re doing. Your fingers work quicker now, pressure building the longer he stares without saying anything. And you don’t know what’s worse, having him right there sitting in silence, or rather wanting him to talk non-stop with his bad flirting and comments to make you flustered.

“How’s it coming?” Omen asks from another couch, his own work laying on his lap. Raising the little rows you’ve made so far for him to review, he grunts in approval, leaving his yarn on the side.

He kneels in front of you, inspecting the loops with carefulness. Once again, he guides your hands to the next steps, widening the size of what you’re doing. His hands feel warmer this time, softer, and you chase after the feeling when he tries to back away by taking it between your hands.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, voice uncertain. You shake your head, sending him a soft smile.

“You’re warm.” your thumbs run over his palm, fascinated with the waves of smoke coming from the bandages, “Is…really warm now, compare from before, how?”

Turning his hand around, he inspects it quietly, “Not certain.The composition of my own body is unknown, and so are the changes it goes through most of the time.”

Nodding, you let go of him, a little nervous for may have crossed a boundary right here. But Omen doesn’t say anything for a long time, his hands lay on your lap, unmoving, considering your words about whether his warmth had something to do with you or just the occasion of sharing one of his hobbies with someone else.

“So I was interrupting something.”

Gekko huffs, annoyance clear on his expression, leaving with angry stomps echoing the room, creating a bad atmosphere for both of you.

Neither you nor Omen know what set him off to be this upset, glancing between the place Gekko’s just left to each other, confusion palpable in the air.

“I’ll go get him, make sure he is okay.”

“Sure.” Stepping to the side, Omen lets you gather your things inside the basket he’s brought from the beginning, fixing your needles with care onto the side and handing it back to him.

“Is it okay if we continue this tomorrow?”

“Of course,” patting your back, he lets you go after the other agent.

Is not until you are out of sight does he sigh tiredly, starting to organize the baskets and yarns laying around.

Sage was right, your mental health was the least of your problems if you have someone as jealous as Gekko going after you. The poor thing didn’t understand Omen was able to perceive others emotions through their wavelengths and heartbeats, similar as to what Reyna does to intimidate her enemies.

Gekko’s love, or strong feelings towards you, was enough to overwhelm him. It got harder to deal with when he spotted you both knitting together, innocent as it might look, the other felt threatened by the sight of his loved one in hands with another who wasn’t him.

The animosity is something he doesn't like to perceive, he hopes whatever you do might calm him down next time for your session.

Anyway, at the end of the day, it was up to you two to figure out whatever was going on there.

He has enough with his own love life to deal with another’s.

------------------------

Finding Gekko is not that hard if you know enough about his habits, spotting him at the range with an operator and shooting bots after bots with a ferocity that makes you tremble.

An odd sight, in truth, and it could only mean one thing.

He is pissed as fuck.

Have not been spotted yet, you walk right outside the windows while admiring his figure from a distance. He is not sporting his usual green vest, only a simple black t-shirt hugging his torso in the nicest way possible. The straining in his arms is noticeable, even from where you’re standing now, his muscles are big and to die for.

Gekko's always been easy on the eye, eye-candy, as some would say. Attractive, handsome, with a pretty face and a body that makes you stare for hours and hours to not end. You hate it makes you feel nervous whenever he is in the vicinity, by just a simple glance, he has you wrapped around his finger and you bet everything he has no idea about that fact.

Killing his fifth bot in a row, an ace, you decide to enter the range, ready to face him and start questioning his behavior with Omen back then.

The opening door echoes within the place, enough of a big call for Gekko to know someone else was with him. But before you could say anything, he beats you to it, not even turning around to acknowledge whoever was behind him.

“I don’t want to talk.” He shoots one bot down. “I’m not in the mood to entertain you in conversation, Neon.”

Neon?

“Estúpido Omen,” another bot down. “I thought I was being obvious enough, but he didn't get the hint and now he's all cuddly wobbly with Omen.”

Confusion and embarrassment is written clear on your face at the confession; mostly confusion because what the fuck does cuddly wobbly even means?

He misses one shot, “Fuck! I can't even think straight now!”

Sighing in irritation, he leaves the operator to the side and sits on the floor, whining in annoyance and covering his face with his hands.

“Am I the stupid one for reading the cues wrong?” Gekko laments. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Anxiousness is the first reaction your body seems to process, making you unable to mutter a word because of the implications of what Gekko just said. There is silence hanging in the air where all you can hear is your own heartbeat and heavy breathing, grounding yourself with your fidgeting hands.

Is it weird? You think is weird, the whole situation is weird and odd and ridiculous and, your brain is going into overdrive and making you all jittery and panic and an overwhelming urge to scream gets stuck in your throat.

“I love him.” Groaning, he turns around this time, “I really love h-”

Oh boy.

His expression is priceless and quite funny; eyes wide open in surprise and mouth hanging open mid sentence. But you are unable to comment on it, panic seizing you, and mimicking his face from the sheer surprise.

Gekko has just confessed his love for you, openly and honestly.

You should feel happy about it, right? Jumping around in excitement and holding his hand while you confess your own feelings to him and then you can have your own happy ending like you’ve always wanted-

Next you know, you’re running away from the range.

It becomes something out of a romcom, where one lead follows the other while they run away. The first thing that comes to mind is Pride and Prejudice, the scene where Jane runs from the church and Darcy follows after her to profess his love and how madly in love he was with her.

The rapid footsteps behind you proves to you this is not any kind of romantic movie, but out of a horror one with how close Gekko is approaching. When you dare to take a peak you cannot help the screech of fright at seeing him just a couple of steps behind.

“Why are you following me you sicko?!”

“Because I need to explain myself!” he replies, trying to catch the back of your shirt. “Stop running, please! I’m already so tired!”

Turning around a corner you open the first door you see, cursing loudly when it happens to be a simple bathroom instead of another passage like you wanted it to be. But by the time you back away, Gekko is closing the door behind him, blocking the exit while he tries to catch his breath.

“Dios! You run so fucking fast, what the hell.” Leaving the lock on, he then begins to approach you, taking heavy intakes of air.

Cornered, you try to make distance in the tiny space, nervousness crawling on your insides with how heavily he’s looking at you. You feel your cheeks warm at the sight of his own flushed face and shirt sticking to his chest, gulping nervously when Gekko smirks.

“Eyes are up here, sweetling.”

Shut the fuck up, you want to say, but bite your tongue to not fall under his teasing.

“I won't go around the bush, since I've opened my heart to you already; although mistakenly because I thought I was talking to Neon.” Taking your hand slowly, as if testing the waters to not scare you, he leans on and lets you touch his chest, right above his heart. “Can you feel it? It's beating for you right now.”

Trembling, you clutch at his shirt, lips tightening and heart screaming with euphoria and love from his open admission.

“Gekko,” gulping down, you dare to look him in the eye, “don't, I'm—”

“You don't love me?” he asks, a devastated expression paints his face.

“No, no! I'm just— confused, I guess…” when he doesn't say anything, you decide to keep going, “I thought you…you weren't like me. I thought you liked women just like everyone else.”

Gekko blinks at your statement.

“You know what I mean, right?” he clearly doesn't. ��Neon was the possible candidate to date you, and it seemed you were really close…”

Bursting out laughing, Gekko backs away, trying to calm down with the sudden fit by covering his mouth. The ridiculousness of your situation is hilarious, because how? How is it possible you were blinder than him in all aspects in the matters of love?

And to expect him, out of all the people, to like Neon? His bestie?

“Boy, Neon is not into me, as you might think.” He giggles, “I bet you didn't even know she was with someone else already?”

“...no.”

“Figures.” With the remainder of his laughter, he approaches again, this time with a more confident stance. “If that was your concern, you are safe to assume we are nothing more than friends.”

A serious stare and an open hand, he goes on, “I want to question you now, if I may, is there something going on between you and Omen?”

“Huh?” frowning, you shake your head. “Today you've witnessed my first interaction with him.”

Huffing, he rolls his eyes, “Suuuuuurely. He seems to get acquainted real quick.”

“He was just helping me knit?”

“As if!” he exclaims, “Omen was flirting with you, and you didn't even notice!”

“I don’t understand where Omen falls into this conversation. This is the first time I had an interaction with him.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem like it, he got real handsy with you huh.”

“What even? And why does that concern you?”

“Are you for real now?” He takes your face between his hands, noses touching and lips inches apart. Your heart jumps inside your ribcage at the closeness,and any impulse of flight evaporates with a single touch, “I’ve told you I love you, that I don’t want anything with anybody, and you ask me why does this concern me?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Are you this dumb?”

“What the fuck, you’re so rude! Let me go!” You try to push him away, but he doesn’t move nor let you go. “Gekko, really, let me go now, I need to meet with Sage before she gets upset at me.”

“I don’t understand.” he mutters, his thumb strokes your lower lip, stopping your fight, “You’ve yet to reject me if you don’t feel the same, but all you’re doing is changing subjects or trying to get away from me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why?” His breath mingles with yours, his hazel eyes don't leave yours at any moment, “Why won't you say either answers? I love you.”

At the touch of his lips, a whole shiver runs down your spine, seizing you to close your eyes and follow his lead. Your arms go by slowly, engulfing his neck with a tight hold to keep him in place while he moves his lips softly against yours.

It’s heavenly. Gekko tastes heavenly, with his soft lips and tongue intertwining with yours, you kiss him like you’ve never kissed anyone in your life; swallowing every noise and grunt coming from him, passion and love pouring with every move.

He breaks from the kiss, breathing heavily and cheeks shaded in a darker color; the silly smile on his face is a wonderful sight.

“I love you, tonto.” he whispers, stealing another kiss. You gasp into his lips when his hands find purchase on your thighs, roaming your sides with want until he grabs a handful of your ass shamelessly. “Why can't you understand that?”

Because up until today, it never crossed your mind Gekko would be just like you. A little bit dumb and head over heels for another man. And this time, the boy you are so in love with is accepting everything you are and more despite not giving him a straight answer.

Gekko cages you against the wall, bodies flushed together and hips slotting against yours; his hands are touching, pinching and smacking with greed every inch of your body and you don't know how to deal with the overwhelming urge to keep begging for more when his hands try to go under your shirt, feeling you up without shame. His mouth travels from your lips to your neck, sucking at one particular spot in your collarbone that has you weak in your knees, breath hitching in surprise and hands clinging onto his broad back.

Finding that leaving hickeys in plain sight of your body has him reeling in desire, Gekko dives in to keep biting and sucking on the tender skin until it changes to a darker color.

No matter your protests from taking this somewhere else, embarrassed someone might walk in, he keeps going, licking a strip from your neck to your earlobe and kissing your cheek with tenderness when you rut your hips unconsciously. His hand travels to your ass again, squeezing it with greed, and helping you guide your movements with more precision against his own hard-on.

“I've been in love with you for so long.” he confesses, whispering your name with sweetness. “I am in love with you.”

“Gekko…”

He doesn't let you finish, claiming your mouth once again, kissing you with fervor and passion that ignites something else in the pit of your stomach and awakens your own sex; Gekko decides he's going to claim you in whichever form he can right now. He can't let this opportunity slip from his fingers, not when he's waited for so long and now he's burning with an unrestrained passion.

He doesn't know where this sudden spike in confidence comes from; whether from your flustered face, whining his name in a tone that has him tight in his pants and fueling his ego or how desperately you were getting off to his touch and kisses, making him feel in power and control of your pleasure.

You hang onto his back as a life line when he begins pushing his thigh against your cock, gasping into his mouth and groaning in tandem with desire pouring through your every whimper. Gekko chases your lips, tongue making its way into your mouth and fighting for dominance until you give in, reeling in the euphoria from feeling your body and having you crumble under his loving ministrations.

The flush in your face, the soft moans in between sloppy kisses, your hands trying to find purchase behind his head; gods, what did he do to receive such a treat?

“I can feel you getting hard, love.” he whispers, he raises his legs again and applies pressure just right where you want it, moaning his name. “Just how long will you make me beg until you profess your love to me.”

Oh god, this man is going to kill you.

You grab the back of his head to help you guide his lips to yours once again to shut him up. The taste is addictive, way too good to have it once, and tongues toying with each other sends your head into overdrive.

Biting his lip, you moan his name once again, hips rolling against his leg until you both are frotting against each other in desperation for release. Gekko whispers your name lovingly, to which you swallow with greed for more.

“God, Mateo—”

You want this man to ravage you and make you sweat with lust, you want him to fuck you stupid with his cock until you can't think of nothing but him and being filled to the brim. To be folded against the mattress, to have him behind you, bending you over and thrusting without respite, any way he wants it, you need him desperately.

Feeling his hardened dick, even through the clothes, is making you delirious in ways you never thought was possible. Your own swollen member wants to be touched by his hand alone, to help you reach your climax while you chant his name in groans and moans, releasing your cum between your bodies while he fills your insides with his own seed.

“Please, Mateo, fuck me—” the boy grunts your name, lost in the feeling of your rolling hips. “I'm so close, fuck, fuck!”

“Wouldn't you like that, amor?” he teases, his hands tightens his grip on your ass, and moves you with harshness. “

At one last slide, the coil tightening in your belly snaps, the orgasm hitting you with shockwaves of pleasure that Gekko helps you ride out, keeping on rubbing against him until he reaches his own end as well.

The tingling in your body doesn't disappear immediately, your mind still clouded with the post-orgasmic experience and cock twitching with the last remaining of your cum. Your hands reach for his face, caressing his cheek with tenderness; he’s breathing heavily, eyelids low and a look that has you melting on the inside.

Emotions swelling inside your chest, you finally give in, “Oh my god, I love you.”

Full of love, full of satisfaction, you lean in to close the gap for a kiss, slower this time, tasting him to the fullest and deepening it. The sensual action of having his mouth melting with yours is a dream; sighing happily when he makes some distance and dives back in.

Gekko laughs in between the kisses, smooching your face with tiny pecks until you’re fully giddy with his affection.

“Who would've thought, huh?” he mutters, hiding his face in your collarbone. He keeps on mouthing softly your skin, leaving love bites after love bites until you sigh loudly when he sucks a hickey.

“About what?”

“That for you to tell me you love me, I had to make you cum.”

Mood shattered, you groan in annoyance, pushing him away, and pouting when he begins laughing in earnest.

“You fucking horndog, is your fault it led to this,” moving around feels uncomfortable, the stickiness of your cum drying inside your trousers was hard to ignore now. “I need to shower, I can’t go back to Sage like this.”

Gekko hums, caging you against the wall once again, “Yeah? How about you and I take one together?”

“Ha! You wish.” Trying to avoid his lips, you duck and try to crawl towards the door to escape. “Now I know I won’t be able to deny you anything if you get me in the mood.”

Bold as ever, Gekko jumps on you from behind, both tumbling down on the floor from his weight and trapping you between his arms and legs.

“You won’t escape then!” he exclaims, burying his face at the back of your neck.

“Mateo, this is disgusting! Let me go, I wanna shower!”

“Nah, boy, you stuck here with me until you tell me you love me again!”

Whining, you keep struggling against his hold but to fail horribly; but in honesty, seeing the muscles in his arm flex and tighten when trying to apply pressure was way too hot to keep missing out.

Huffing, you yield, “I love you…”

“Not good enough, try again.”

“You fucking-!”

Sage will have to wait for a little bit longer.

#*jazz hands*#gekko x reader #gekko x male!reader #valorant fanfiction #seneitut writes #gekko smut

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 7 days

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-The World's most Multiversal DND Party!-

(featuring @danganronpasurvivoraskblog, @a-student-out-of-time, @finalverse and @despair-to-future-arcs)

[MORE INFO UNDER CUT]

//So there were a lot of talks about the main protagonists of mine and three other well-known Danganronpa ask blogs forming a DND part together on Mod Bubbles blogs, and as an artist, and a major DND fan, I could not resist.

//My little autistic cogs in my little autistic brain got turning and I basically made full on character sheets for all four main protags of each of the blogs; Kuripa from Survivor, Hajime from ASooT, Nagi from NWPM, and Aliza-chan from Finalverse

//I won't post the full sheets because I don't know how many people would want to see that, plus it's a shitton of information that I just don't want to bother with. But outside of the character cards above, here's a brief summary of every character in this "AU" shall we say.

Hajime - The party leader. Was once a young boy who never stood out, but gained the gift of a prophecy that showed him a dark future wrought by dark lord Junko Enoshima. Now with the power to reset himself every time he dies, the number of times depicted in his magical left eye, he dedicates his life to the journey of stopping the prophesized dark future. Sometimes he can be a bit cold and distant, always acting like the fate of the world rests squarely on his shoulders despite his teammates by his side, but he is capable, kind and a true leader.

Aliza - Aliza has a power with a similar origin to Hajime, which gravitates her towards him, and eventually is the founding reason she becomes his ally. Unlike him however, power is that to see and explore other universes parallel to theirs, where everything can be different, and she struggles to control it. The goal of her journey is to learn to use her power for good, and to escape the lofty expectations and cruelty of her family. She's a little bit clumsy and inexperienced as a result, with her wild magic sometimes landing her team in deeper trouble than they were originally, but she always means well and if nothing else, serves as the heart of the group.

Kuripa - He was originally a well-known artist and sculptor who lived a quiet life until a rogue in a steel mask raided his village and murdered his sister. For those who frequent this blog, you know how this story goes. He dedicated the rest of his life to hunting down the murderer, learning black magic arts and becoming a blood hunter, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone, including his own body, if it meant achieving his goal. He's a bit of a loose cannon and more violent than his peers when it comes to executing plans, much to Hajime, Aliza and Nagi's chagrin, but it's made up for in the fact that when he gets the job done, he REALLY gets the job done, and it makes them glad that he's an ally and not an enemy.

Nagi - Nagi was an Aasimar who was the guardian of a realm in the sky known as "Neo World" until she was attacked by Junko Enoshima's evil paladin right-hand, Mukuro Ikusaba, who was ordered by Junko to kill her and bring back a part of her body to show that she'd finished the job. After this encounter, Nagi miraculously survived, but Mukuro successfully tore her wings from her body. Nagi joins the party out of revenge, and despite her trauma, is still the most mentally sane member of the group, acting a lot like a team Mom of sorts.

//I'll also but transparent renders of the characters here if that tickles your fancy. Thank you for letting me pour my little nerd heart out.

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #neo world program monitor #finalverse #a student out of time #dungeons and dragons #official art #crossover #kuripa kurafto #hajime hinata #alizachan #aliza sahpree #nagi nanami #dnd #d&d

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simpforfandom231 · 3 months

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The drug queen and the singer PT2

this is gonna get cuter and cuter!

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As Y/n returned to the dining room after dealing with the captives, the tension in the air was palpable. The atmosphere had shifted, and the enigmatic queenpin, with her icy gaze, caught sight of Reneé sitting at the table. The singer, now aware of the chilling reality that lay beneath the glamorous exterior, felt a mixture of fear and an inexplicable attraction to Y/n.

Without uttering a word, Y/n commanded her Dobbermans to position themselves by the doors, their imposing figures serving as both guardians and silent enforcers. The unspoken message was clear – escape was not an option.

Y/n, with a calculated stride, returned to her seat at the table after a brief absence. The singer, apprehensive yet drawn to the captivating presence before her, sat in silence, her eyes betraying a blend of fear and fascination.

The room seemed to contract with an unspoken intensity as Y/n fixed her gaze on Reneé. The queenpin, now an embodiment of controlled menace, addressed the singer with a cold precision that left no room for interpretation.

"What you witnessed was not intended for your eyes, Miss Rapp," Y/n's voice, deadly and controlled, resonated in the room. "In my world, there are lines that shouldn't be crossed."

Reneé, caught in the chilling gaze of the queenpin, could only nod in acknowledgment, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and an unsettling allure.

Y/n, standing up with a calculated grace, approached Reneé in a threatening manner. The singer, seated but tense, felt a wave of vulnerability wash over her. Y/n, seizing the opportunity to exert dominance, reached for the knife that lay beside Reneé.

The cold steel of the blade gleamed in the ambient light as Y/n expertly played with it, the sharp edge slicing through the silence. The room became a battleground of unspoken power dynamics, the atmosphere charged with a sinister energy.

"Remember, Miss Rapp," Y/n spoke with a controlled calmness, her words laced with a deadly undertone. "In this world, secrets are kept for a reason. Crossing boundaries comes with consequences."

Reneé, now visibly shaken, remained silent, her gaze locked onto Y/n's every move. The knife, a symbol of both danger and control, danced between the queenpin's fingers as she circled the singer with predatory precision.

The seconds stretched into an eternity as Y/n continued to assert her dominance. The room, once filled with the clinking of cutlery and soft murmurs, was now a stage for a psychological dance between power and vulnerability.

Finally, Y/n returned the knife to its place, her demeanor unchanged. "You've glimpsed a part of my world that very few witness, Miss Rapp. Consider it a warning."

With a final icy look, Y/n resumed her seat, leaving Reneé to grapple with the aftermath of the revelation. The Dobbermans, stationed like silent sentinels, underscored the gravity of the situation, their watchful eyes casting a shadow over the unsuspecting singer.

Reneé, desperation creeping into her voice, stuttered as she tried to reason with Y/n, "Y-you can't keep me here. I'm a singer, people will notice if I disappear."

Y/n, unmoved by the plea, leaned back in her chair, her expression unchanged. "Miss Rapp, you won't disappear. In fact, you'll continue your life as a singer," she explained, her tone cold and calculated. "However, from now on, your life will be under my control. You will always be accompanied by my bodyguards, and I will be present at every event you attend."

The weight of Y/n's words hung in the air, the gravity of the situation sinking in for Reneé. The mansion, once a symbol of luxury, now felt like a fortress, and she, its unwilling prisoner.

"You have no choice but to stay in this mansion," Y/n continued, her voice unyielding. "Consider it a gilded cage, Miss Rapp. A life of luxury, but one that comes with the understanding that your every move will be under scrutiny."

Reneé, caught between fear and resignation, whispered, "But why? What do you gain from controlling my life?"

Y/n's gaze bore into Reneé's with a penetrating intensity. "Information is power, Miss Rapp. You possess knowledge that could compromise me, and I cannot afford to have that knowledge in the hands of others. This is not a negotiation. It's a reality you'll have to accept."

As the reality of her predicament set in, Reneé felt a sense of helplessness. The gilded cage, with its promises of luxury, also carried the weight of surveillance and control. The life she knew was slipping away, replaced by an existence dictated by the whims of the enigmatic queenpin.

Y/n, rising from her seat, spoke with an air of finality, "You'll have everything you need, Miss Rapp, but remember, your freedom is a luxury you can no longer afford. Embrace the life that awaits you within these walls, and you might find it more accommodating than you think."

With that, Y/n left the dining room, leaving Reneé alone with the stark reality of her new existence.

Reneé, her mind still reeling from the abrupt turn of events, found herself accompanied by Y/n's two imposing bodyguards and the vigilant Dobberman, Brutus, as they headed towards her apartment. The drive, usually a routine journey, now felt like a voyage into an uncertain future.

As they reached the familiar surroundings of Reneé's apartment building, Y/n's bodyguards, maintaining a stoic demeanor, informed her, "You have an hour and a half, Miss Rapp. The car will be waiting for you."

The gravity of the situation sank in for Reneé as she entered her apartment, accompanied by the silent sentinels of Y/n's world. The task at hand was surreal – packing her life into bags under the watchful gaze of those who were now in control.

As Reneé hastily packed her clothes and essential belongings, she turned to the bodyguards with a pleading look. "Can I bring my guitar and piano with me? They mean a lot to me, and I need them."

The bodyguards exchanged glances, and after a brief nod of approval, one of them replied, "Make it quick, Miss Rapp."

Reneé, with a mix of gratitude and urgency, gathered her cherished instruments, carefully placing them alongside her clothes. The once-familiar surroundings of her apartment now felt alien, a temporary pitstop before the enigmatic life that awaited her within the walls of Y/n's mansion.

Brutus, the Dobberman, followed Reneé closely, his watchful eyes mirroring the intensity of the situation. The silent companionship of the loyal canine provided a strange solace amid the upheaval.

As Reneé packed food, her writing materials, and everything she deemed necessary, the bodyguards maintained a vigilant stance. The countdown to her departure continued, a palpable reminder of the limited time she had to reconcile with the abrupt shift in her reality.

With the bags packed and the apartment devoid of the traces of her former life, Reneé hesitated at the doorway. The bodyguards, unmoved by sentiment, gestured for her to proceed. The car awaited outside, a symbol of the journey that would carry her away from the life she had known.

As they left the apartment, Reneé cast a lingering gaze at the door, the threshold between the past and the unknown. The car, sleek and black, idled at the curb, ready to transport her into the enigmatic world governed by Y/n's rules.

The journey back to the mansion was a silent one, punctuated only by the occasional hum of the car engine. Reneé, surrounded by the imposing figures of Y/n's bodyguards, contemplated the path she now walked – a path that intertwined with the shadows of power and secrets.

As they approached the mansion, Reneé braced herself for the next chapter of her life, a life sculpted by the whims of an enigmatic queenpin.

As the car pulled up to the grand entrance of the mansion, Michael, Y/n's right-hand man, was waiting with a composed demeanor. He signaled to the other bodyguards, efficiently orchestrating the process of moving Reneé's belongings into her new quarters.

"Miss Rapp, welcome to your new home," Michael greeted with a measured warmth, attempting to ease the singer's palpable tension.

Reneé, stepping out of the car, eyed the luxurious mansion with a mix of trepidation and resignation. The imposing figure of Brutus, the Dobberman, remained a constant presence, his watchful eyes never leaving the singer.

"Let me assure you, Miss Rapp, that you'll find everything you need here," Michael continued, his tone carrying a touch more empathy than the typical stoicism of Y/n's world.

The bodyguards efficiently moved Reneé's bags, following Michael's instructions with precision. The mansion, with its opulent halls and luxurious corridors, was now Reneé's new reality – a reality intricately woven with the threads of Y/n's control.

"Brutus will be keeping an eye on you," Michael added, nodding towards the vigilant Dobberman. "Consider him your protector within these walls."

Reneé, still grappling with the abrupt shift in her life, managed a nod of acknowledgment. The gilded cage, now her residence, held promises of both security and confinement.

Michael, ever the fatherly figure in Y/n's world, took a moment to address the singer more personally. "I understand this may be overwhelming, Miss Rapp. But rest assured, you have my word that your stay here will be as comfortable as possible."

Reneé, her eyes reflecting a mixture of vulnerability and defiance, found a sliver of reassurance in Michael's words. The mansion, with its grandeur and shadows, became the backdrop for the enigmatic dance of power and submission.

As the bodyguards completed the task of moving Reneé's belongings, Michael escorted the singer to her new room. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. We are here to ensure your safety and comfort," he stated with a touch of sincerity.

Brutus, loyal and unwavering, took his position outside Reneé's door, his presence both imposing and protective. The mansion, with its secrets and layers, became the stage for a drama that unfolded beyond the spotlight of Reneé's public life.

Left alone in her new quarters, Reneé stared at the lavish surroundings – a stark contrast to the life she had known just hours ago.

Y/n, flanked by her two imposing dogs, entered Reneé's room with a calculated poise. The atmosphere shifted as the enigmatic queenpin took a seat before the singer, her gaze cold and threatening.

"Miss Rapp," Y/n began, her tone unwavering, "welcome to your new reality. From this moment on, you will follow the rules that govern this world."

Reneé, still reeling from the sudden upheaval in her life, met Y/n's icy gaze with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

"You are free to continue your life as a singer, to go on tours, give concerts, and act," Y/n stated with a measured calmness. "However, there will be conditions."

Y/n continued, outlining the rules that would now dictate Reneé's existence. "You will always be accompanied by two of my bodyguards and Brutus. Consider Brutus your protector; he now has the task of ensuring your safety."

Reneé, processing the gravity of the situation, nodded cautiously, realizing the weight of this new alliance with the vigilant Dobberman.

"While you can maintain aspects of your previous life, every move will be scrutinized," Y/n warned, her voice carrying a thinly veiled threat. "On tour, during concerts, even when you go out partying – my presence will be there."

Reneé, acutely aware of the constraints, listened as Y/n continued to lay down the terms. "You can keep your phone, but remember, I will know everything. If you attempt to reach out to anyone, I will be alerted."

A sense of vulnerability crept over Reneé, the realization sinking in that her every move would now be monitored by the unseen hand of the queenpin.

"I will not bring you into my drug world, Miss Rapp, so you need not fear that part," Y/n clarified, a brief respite in her otherwise ominous tone. "But make no mistake – one misstep, and the consequences will be severe."

Reneé, now navigating the intricate web of rules and threats, felt the weight of Y/n's control settling over her. The mansion, once a luxurious haven, now became a stage for a power play that transcended the boundaries of the ordinary.

"You may consider this a golden cage, Miss Rapp, but it's a cage nonetheless. Test my patience, and the consequences will be lethal," Y/n concluded, her gaze unwavering. "Your freedom is a privilege you must earn every day."

With that, Y/n rose from her seat, her dogs trailing behind her, leaving Reneé to grapple with the reality of her new existence. The mansion, with its opulent facade and hidden shadows, became the backdrop for a life now intricately entwined with the enigmatic dance of power and submission.

Reneé, clad in her pajamas, descended the grand staircase of the mansion, the luxurious surroundings feeling both foreign and oddly comforting. The clock in the hallway chimed 11, a testament to the fact that she had been granted the privilege of a late morning.

Entering the dining room, she found Y/n seated at the elegant table, engrossed in her breakfast. The room, adorned with opulent decor, seemed to echo with a subtle tension that lingered from the night before.

"Good morning, Miss Rapp," Y/n greeted, her tone a curious blend of warmth and coldness, leaving Reneé unsure of how to interpret the enigmatic queenpin's demeanor.

Brutus, the ever-watchful Dobberman, abandoned his post by Y/n's side and trotted over to Reneé, tail wagging enthusiastically. The once imposing presence now seemed almost affectionate, a stark contrast to the intensity of the previous night.

"He seems to have taken a liking to you," Y/n remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice as she observed the interaction between the singer and the loyal Dobberman.

Reneé, tentatively extending her hand to pet Brutus, couldn't help but feel a strange sense of camaraderie with the formidable canine. "He's quite friendly for a guard dog," she noted, attempting to find common ground in this unexpected alliance.

Y/n, sipping her coffee with a calculated poise, replied, "He has a keen sense of judgment. If he trusts you, it's a good sign."

The breakfast table, laden with an assortment of gourmet dishes, provided a surreal backdrop to the unfolding dynamics between the two women. Reneé, still adjusting to the new rules that governed her existence, hesitated before taking a seat.

"Help yourself," Y/n gestured towards the array of delicacies. "Consider this your home, Miss Rapp."

As Reneé tentatively sampled the offerings, the atmosphere in the room remained charged with an unspoken tension. The mansion, with its secrets and shadows, became a silent witness to the intricate dance between the singer and the queenpin.

Conversation flowed intermittently, Y/n revealing fragments of her complex personality, all while maintaining an air of mystery. Reneé, still grappling with the intricacies of her new life, found herself both intrigued and wary of the enigmatic woman who now controlled her destiny.

The morning unfolded with an odd mixture of routine and unpredictability. Brutus, ever the vigilant companion, kept a watchful eye on both Y/n and Reneé, embodying the paradox of a guard dog with a surprisingly affectionate demeanor.

As the breakfast concluded, Y/n rose from her seat with a calculated grace. "Miss Rapp, get accustomed to this life. It's a delicate balance, and you're now a part of it," she stated, her words carrying the weight of authority.

With that, Y/n left the dining room, leaving Reneé to navigate the mansion's opulent halls and hidden corridors, each step a reminder of the intricate dance she now found herself entwined in.

Later in the day, as the mansion basked in the glow of sunlight filtering through its grand windows, Y/n found Reneé in one of the lavish sitting rooms. The singer, still adjusting to the new reality that enveloped her, looked up as Y/n entered.

"Miss Rapp, any plans for the day?" Y/n inquired, her tone betraying a subtle curiosity about the singer's preferences.

Reneé, seated on an ornate couch, considered the question before tentatively responding, "I was thinking of maybe going shopping or something."

Y/n, the enigmatic queenpin, nodded thoughtfully. "Shopping it is, then. It's essential to maintain some sense of normalcy, don't you think?"

Reneé, uncertain but willing to embrace the semblance of a normal day, nodded in agreement.

"Michael and Paxton will accompany you, along with Brutus," Y/n stated, her gaze unwavering. "Consider it both protection and a reminder that escaping is not an option."

Reneé, a trace of fear in her eyes, hesitated before voicing her concern, "Are they really necessary? I mean, it's just shopping."

Y/n's expression remained impassive as she explained, "They serve to protect you, Miss Rapp. And, of course, to ensure you don't attempt any unexpected departures."

Reneé, grappling with the constraints that now dictated her every move, nodded reluctantly. The mansion, with its opulent facade, now felt like a gilded cage where even a simple shopping excursion required a retinue of guardians.

Y/n, her demeanor unyielding, continued, "I have some meetings to attend, so I won't be joining you. But remember, I expect no surprises, Miss Rapp. I will know if anything goes awry."

The singer, aware of the implications behind Y/n's words, mustered a nod. The shadows of the mansion seemed to deepen, casting an eerie ambiance over the upcoming outing.

As Michael, Paxton, and Brutus assumed their positions, Reneé felt the weight of scrutiny and surveillance. The shopping trip, once a carefree activity, had transformed into a choreographed dance within the confines of Y/n's control.

With a final glance from Y/n, Reneé left the mansion, accompanied by her entourage. The outside world, with its bustling streets and unfamiliar faces, became a temporary escape from the opulence and shadows of the queenpin's realm.

As the car pulled away from the mansion, Y/n watched from a distance, her gaze piercing through the tinted windows.

The sleek black car glided through the city streets, carrying Reneé and her entourage towards the shopping district. In the car, Michael, positioned discreetly, sensed the singer's unease. With a soft-spoken demeanor, he attempted to ease the tension that lingered in the confined space.

"Miss Rapp," Michael began, his voice a gentle undertone in the hum of the car, "I understand this might be overwhelming for you. You have the freedom to walk alone, with Brutus by your side, to shop as you wish."

Reneé, still grappling with the intricacies of her newfound existence, looked at Michael with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "But they will always be somewhere, won't they?" she questioned, acknowledging the unspoken surveillance.

Michael nodded empathetically. "Yes, Miss Rapp, it's a precaution. Your safety is our priority, and it's also to ensure you don't attempt to escape."

Reneé, the weight of the circumstances sinking in, sighed softly. "I just wanted a normal day, you know? Shopping without feeling like I'm being watched every second."

Michael, his eyes reflecting a fatherly concern, responded, "I understand, Miss Rapp. We'll keep our distance, but always within sight. Consider it a compromise between freedom and security."

As the car approached the shopping district, Reneé, accompanied by Brutus, stepped onto the bustling streets. The Dobberman, loyal and vigilant, trotted by her side, providing a semblance of normalcy amidst the watchful eyes.

"You can explore the shops, take your time. We'll be discreet but close by," Michael assured, emphasizing the delicate balance they aimed to maintain.

Reneé, taking a deep breath, nodded in acknowledgment. The streets, lined with storefronts and the chatter of passersby, offered a temporary reprieve from the controlled confines of the mansion.

As she walked through the boutiques, the feeling of independence mingled with the lingering awareness of surveillance. Brutus, attentive to his newfound responsibility, kept a watchful eye on his charge, the contrast between his imposing presence and the ordinary surroundings creating a surreal atmosphere.

In the background, Michael and Paxton discreetly trailed the singer, maintaining a respectful distance. The bustling cityscape became a backdrop for a carefully orchestrated dance, where freedom and control intersected in a delicate balance.

As Reneé immersed herself in the simple pleasures of shopping, the enigmatic world she had entered seemed momentarily distant. The familiar weight of Y/n's authority lingered, but within the rhythm of the city, the constraints momentarily softened.

Amidst the vibrant backdrop of the shopping district, Reneé, embraced by the semblance of normalcy, found herself recognized by excited fans. The air buzzed with a mix of admiration and surprise as eager faces turned towards the singing sensation.

With a genuine smile, Reneé greeted her fans, graciously accepting their compliments and posing for photos. The ordinary act of engaging with admirers took on a surreal quality, the enigmatic presence of Brutus serving as a silent reminder of the unconventional circumstances.

As Brutus observed the interactions, his posture subtly shifted, a heightened awareness of potential threats evident in his demeanor. Michael, ever watchful, scanned the surroundings, assessing each face in the crowd for any signs of danger.

"You have quite the following," Michael commented, his tone neutral but vigilant as they navigated through the throngs of people.

Reneé, acknowledging the fans with a gracious nod, replied, "It comes with the territory, I guess. But it's nice to connect with them."

As they continued through the bustling streets, Michael's keen eyes remained on high alert, ensuring the singer's public appearance unfolded without incident. The ordinary act of shopping had transformed into a delicate dance, a choreography of smiles and interactions interwoven with an undercurrent of caution.

Brutus, the imposing Dobberman, his instincts finely tuned, maintained a vigilant stance. His watchful eyes conveyed a silent understanding of his dual role – protector and companion.

In the midst of the crowd, a subtle tension lingered, the contrast between the singer's affable interactions and the vigilant surveillance creating an intricate tapestry of contrasts.

The occasional flash of cameras captured Reneé's genuine moments with fans, freezing them in a digital canvas that extended beyond the immediate scene. The dichotomy between the public persona and the guarded reality beneath the surface played out in every smile and handshake.

As they moved through the shopping district, the encounters with fans continued, each interaction adding a layer of complexity to the carefully orchestrated outing. Reneé, with a grace born from experience, navigated the delicate balance of engaging with admirers while being mindful of the unspoken rules imposed by her enigmatic guardian.

Amidst the cheerful chatter of fans, a particular figure caught Reneé's attention—a fan with an intensity that set them apart from the rest. This individual, determined and with an unusual glint in their eyes, approached the singer with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down Reneé's spine.

As the fan drew closer, Brutus, the ever-watchful Dobberman, sensed a shift in the atmosphere. His instincts kicked in, and he moved strategically to position himself between Reneé and the approaching stranger. The once-friendly dog adopted a protective stance, his alert eyes fixed on the potential threat.

Reneé, now aware of the subtle change in Brutus's demeanor, glanced nervously at the approaching fan. The air thickened with tension, the ordinary shopping excursion taking an unexpected turn.

The fan, seemingly undeterred by Brutus's intimidating posture, continued to advance. With each step, the atmosphere grew increasingly uneasy, the crowd momentarily hushing as the unfolding drama took center stage.

Brutus, now fully in protective mode, emitted a low growl, a clear warning to the persistent stranger. The fan, however, pressed on, their intentions becoming increasingly unclear.

Sensing the potential threat escalating, Michael, ever-vigilant, swiftly approached the scene. His eyes locked onto the fan, demanding an explanation for their intrusive behavior.

"Excuse me, you need to step back. Miss Rapp values her space," Michael asserted, his authoritative tone leaving no room for negotiation.

The fan, now confronted by Brutus's protective stance and Michael's stern demeanor, faltered. Their initial enthusiasm morphed into uncertainty as the reality of the situation sank in.

Brutus, his loyalty unwavering, maintained a vigilant watch over Reneé, his imposing presence serving as a formidable deterrent. The crowd, now a mix of curiosity and concern, watched the unfolding drama with bated breath.

"I-I just wanted an autograph," the fan stammered, their initial enthusiasm replaced by a nervous demeanor.

Michael, unyielding in his commitment to Reneé's safety, responded firmly, "Approaching her like this is not acceptable. Please respect her space, and let us continue our day."

The tension lingered for a moment before the fan, under the weight of Brutus's protective gaze and Michael's stern admonition, reluctantly retreated into the dispersing crowd.

As the immediate threat dissipated, Brutus, the embodiment of unwavering loyalty, eased back from his protective stance. Reneé, still shaken by the encounter, looked at Michael with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability.

"Thank you," Reneé uttered, her voice laced with a newfound awareness of the intricacies that now governed her every moment.

Michael, with a reassuring nod, offered a subtle smile. "It's our duty, Miss Rapp. Let's continue our day, and remember, we're here to ensure your safety."

The upscale clothing store shimmered with designer labels and polished displays as Reneé browsed through racks of garments, attempting to regain a sense of normalcy after the unsettling encounter with the persistent fan. The ambiance, however, took an unexpected turn as she collided with a familiar figure – Tatum, her ex.

A moment of tension hung in the air as Reneé locked eyes with Tatum, memories of their tumultuous past resurfacing. Tatum, sensing an opportunity to cause trouble, smirked with a hint of malicious intent.

As Reneé felt a surge of intimidation, Michael, attuned to the singer's unease, approached discreetly, asking, "Is everything okay, Miss Rapp?"

Tatum, reveling in the discomfort she was causing, began making snarky comments, aiming to unsettle Reneé further. The situation escalated, and just as it seemed on the brink of chaos, the entrance bell chimed.

Y/n, having concluded her meetings, entered the store with a calculated poise. She had tracked Reneé's phone and wanted to ensure everything was in order. The queenpin observed the scene with icy composure, immediately sensing the tension in the air.

At that moment, Tatum, absorbed in her attempt to provoke Reneé, failed to notice Y/n's entrance. The queenpin's cold and deadly comment cut through the atmosphere like a chilling wind.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" Y/n remarked, her voice carrying an undercurrent of authority and danger.

Tatum and Reneé turned around in surprise, both locking eyes with the enigmatic figure standing at the entrance. Y/n, radiating an aura of power, approached with deliberate steps, her gaze fixed on Tatum.

"Miss Rapp, is there a problem?" Y/n inquired, her tone betraying a coldness that sent shivers down Tatum's spine.

Tatum, unaware of Y/n's identity, retorted with a snarky comment, "Who's this, your new girlfriend?"

Y/n, her lips curling into a chilling smile, responded with lethal calmness, "No, dear. I'm just here to ensure that Miss Rapp's day goes smoothly."

Reneé, caught in the crossfire, watched in surprise as Y/n, who she knew as a powerful and dangerous figure, intervened on her behalf. Y/n, fueled by a complex mix of protectiveness and a burgeoning affection for Reneé, moved closer to Tatum, narrowing the distance with deliberate intent.

"Do yourself a favor and leave, or you'll regret it," Y/n warned, her tone devoid of any warmth.

Tatum, still oblivious to the identity of the mysterious woman threatening her, scoffed defiantly, "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

Y/n's smile widened, her icy gaze fixing on Tatum. "Let's just say I have a way of making problems disappear."

The threatening undertone in Y/n's words sent a chill down Tatum's spine, a realization dawning on her that she might have underestimated the situation.

Reneé, witnessing the unfolding drama, felt a mix of gratitude and curiosity. The encounter, initially fraught with tension, had taken an unexpected turn with the arrival of Y/n, who now stood as a formidable guardian in the midst of the elegant clothing store.

Tatum, still underestimating the gravity of the situation, responded with a mocking tone, "Ooh, I'm so scared. What are you, her bodyguard?"

Y/n's irritation simmered beneath the surface, but instead of reacting directly, she calmly raised an eyebrow and subtly signaled to Michael. The seasoned bodyguard, understanding the unspoken command, approached Tatum with a firm but composed demeanor.

"Miss, I think it's time for you to leave," Michael stated with a tone that brooked no argument.

Tatum, realizing the shift in dynamics, reluctantly decided to retreat from the store, shooting one last defiant look at Y/n before disappearing into the bustling street.

With Tatum dealt with, Y/n turned her attention to Reneé, a sense of calm settling over her. She gestured for Reneé to follow her, leading the way out of the store. Waiting just beyond the entrance was Brutus, his imposing presence providing an additional layer of security.

Reneé, taken aback by Y/n's protective intervention, observed the exchange with a mix of surprise and curiosity. The queenpin's demeanor, which had been consistently cold and distant, had momentarily shifted to a display of unwavering guardianship.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Y/n's gaze softened as she regarded Reneé. The unexpected protectiveness displayed by the queenpin had left an indelible impression on the singer.

"I appreciate your interference back there," Reneé admitted, her voice carrying a note of gratitude.

Y/n, still maintaining a sense of composure, replied, "I won't tolerate anyone causing trouble for you. It's not just about business."

Reneé, caught off guard by the sincerity beneath Y/n's words, nodded in acknowledgment. The complexities of their relationship seemed to unravel in that moment, revealing layers beyond the surface of Y/n's cold exterior.

The two walked together, Brutus maintaining a watchful distance, his loyalty evident as he remained close to Reneé. The bustling cityscape became a backdrop to an unexpected connection forming between the singer and the enigmatic queenpin.

"I didn't expect you to be so... protective," Reneé admitted, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

Y/n, allowing a rare glimpse of sincerity, responded, "There are aspects of my life that I guard fiercely. You happen to be one of them."

The admission, unexpected and revealing, created a shift in the dynamics between the two women. Reneé, still grappling with the enigma that was Y/n, found herself navigating uncharted territory.

As they continued to walk, the contrasts between power and vulnerability, coldness and warmth, painted a complex portrait of the evolving relationship between Reneé and Y/n.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Reneé and Y/n entered a bustling Chinese restaurant. The aroma of various dishes mingled with the clatter of utensils, creating a lively atmosphere that seemed to offer a temporary escape from the complexities of their respective worlds.

Reneé, still processing the whirlwind of events, mustered the courage to break the silence. "Would it be okay if we grab some takeout? I could use some time to... think."

Y/n, her demeanor shifting back to its cold and composed state, nodded subtly. "Sure, we can get takeout. But remember, I'm the one paying. You're under my protection, after all."

The reminder of Reneé's newfound status brought a mix of emotions – a blend of apprehension and a reluctant acknowledgment of the reality that now governed her life.

As they approached the counter, Brutus remained ever vigilant, positioned close to Reneé. The bodyguards, stationed discreetly outside the restaurant, maintained a watchful eye on the surroundings.

Y/n, her tone businesslike, ordered a selection of dishes with efficient precision. The restaurant staff, accustomed to serving high-profile clients, responded promptly to the queenpin's requests.

"Make it quick. We don't have all day," Y/n asserted, her coldness returning as she handled the transaction.

Once the order was placed, Y/n turned her attention back to Reneé, a rare softness in her gaze as she spoke to the singer. "You'll be treated like a princess, Reneé. But remember, it comes with its own set of rules."

Reneé, still navigating the intricacies of her new reality, nodded in acknowledgment. The dichotomy between the cold, powerful queenpin and the moments of softness revealed a complexity that intrigued and perplexed the singer.

As they waited for the food, Reneé attempted to ease the tension by striking up a conversation. "So, um, how did you get into this... business?" she asked, choosing her words carefully.

Y/n, her eyes momentarily betraying a hint of vulnerability, responded, "It's a long story, Reneé. One filled with power struggles, betrayal, and survival. I inherited this empire, and I'm determined to make it even greater."

The revelation offered a glimpse into the enigmatic queenpin's past, a narrative marked by the harsh realities of the criminal world. Reneé, though still processing the information, found herself drawn to the layers that seemed to shroud Y/n's existence.

The takeaway bags arrived, and Y/n efficiently collected them. "Let's go. I have things to attend to," she stated, her coldness returning as she led the way out of the restaurant.

Brutus followed closely, and the bodyguards outside maintained their vigilant stance. The city, now transitioning from daylight to dusk, became a backdrop to the unfolding drama that accompanied Y/n and Reneé's every move.

As Y/n and Reneé arrived at the mansion, the opulence of the surroundings seemed to accentuate the stark contrast between their two worlds. Y/n handed the bags of Chinese takeout to one of her personnel, her expression commanding as she instructed them to set the table.

Reneé, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the grandeur of the place, hesitated before suggesting, "How about we just eat while watching TV? It's more relaxed."

Y/n, not accustomed to such suggestions, furrowed her brow in contemplation. The idea seemed foreign to her, but after a moment's thought, she conceded with a subtle nod. "Fine, we can do it your way."

Reneé's lips curled into a grateful smile as they made their way to the living room. Y/n, still adjusting to the deviation from her usual routine, hesitated before asking, "What should I wear for this... casual evening?"

Reneé, finding the moment surprisingly endearing, chuckled softly. "Comfy clothes, Y/n. Just something relaxed."

For the first time, Y/n seemed unsure as she disappeared into her wardrobe to find suitable attire. Reneé, witnessing this rare vulnerability, couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth toward the enigmatic queenpin.

When they returned, the contrast in their chosen outfits was striking. Y/n, in sweatpants and a crop top that showcased her toned abs, exuded a casual confidence. Reneé, in a tank top and sweatpants, found herself momentarily flustered by the unexpected display.

As they settled in the living room, Reneé glanced at the coffee table, where the personnel had meticulously set the table for a formal dinner. She hesitated before voicing her suggestion, "Uh, Y/n, that's not really how takeout is done. You know, back in the normal world."

Y/n's attitude flared up for a moment, a reflexive response to any perceived challenge. "I don't take orders on how to set tables," she retorted.

Reneé, recognizing the delicate balance, softened her approach. "I'm not trying to give orders. It's just... more casual. We can eat straight out of the containers with chopsticks."

Y/n, after a brief moment of resistance, sighed and nodded. "Fine. Show me how it's done then."

Reneé, slightly taken aback by Y/n's willingness to learn, instructed her to clear the table of plates and silverware. Y/n complied, and soon the coffee table transformed into a makeshift dining space with takeout containers and chopsticks.

They settled onto the plush couch, surrounded by an air of tension that lingered between formality and informality. Y/n, with an unfamiliar vulnerability, glanced at Reneé. "So, how does this work?"

With the coffee table transformed into a makeshift dining area, Reneé handed Y/n the containers of Chinese takeout and a pair of chopsticks. The two women settled on the plush couch, surrounded by an air of both formality and informality.

Y/n, the queenpin known for her commanding presence, surprised both Reneé and the personnel by instructing the bodyguards and Michael to leave, signaling that they could relax for the evening. "Everything is okay," she assured them.

The dogs, ever loyal to their owner, responded to Y/n's call. Brutus, recognizing Reneé as someone under Y/n's protection, walked over and lay down beside the singer. Hades and Onyx flanked Y/n, creating a curious but harmonious tableau of protection around the queenpin and her guest.

Reneé, still navigating the nuances of this uncharted territory, felt a mixture of trepidation and fascination. The contrast between the cold, commanding Y/n and the vulnerability displayed in these subtle moments created a complex tapestry of emotions.

As the dogs settled into their designated spots, Reneé ventured to break the silence. "So, what are we watching?" she asked.

Y/n, a rare softness in her gaze as she looked at Reneé, replied, "You can choose."

Reneé's eyes lit up with excitement. "How about 'FRIENDS'? Is that okay?"

Y/n, her usually composed demeanor softening further, nodded in agreement. "Sure, 'FRIENDS' is fine."

As Reneé fumbled with the remote to start the show, a sense of normalcy began to weave its way into the extravagant surroundings of the mansion. The enigmatic queenpin and the unsuspecting singer found themselves on a common ground, if only for the evening.

The opening theme of 'FRIENDS' filled the room, and the laughter of the characters on screen resonated with the real-life duo on the couch. The dogs, sensing a relaxed atmosphere, lay comfortably by their respective owners, creating an unexpected sense of unity within the lavish living room.

For the first time, Y/n allowed herself to be drawn into the casual simplicity of the moment. As they delved into the episodes, the boundaries that usually defined the queenpin's world seemed to blur, revealing a side of Y/n that few had the privilege to witness.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as the laughter from 'FRIENDS' continued to play in the background. Reneé, feeling a sense of normality in the midst of the unusual circumstances, couldn't help but express her gratitude. "I'm really happy you allowed me to have this. It's like a slice of normal life," she admitted.

Y/n, who had momentarily let her guard down, nodded in acknowledgment. However, she felt the need to remind Reneé of the precarious balance they were navigating. "I've allowed you a lot, but I need to make sure you don't become a liability, Reneé. My world is unforgiving," Y/n asserted, her cold and hard exterior returning.

Reneé, understanding the gravity of the situation, reassured Y/n with surprising conviction. "I won't turn you in, Y/n. I'm not here to bring trouble to your doorstep," she declared, her sincerity cutting through the tension.

Y/n, caught off guard by Reneé's assurance, felt an unfamiliar softness creeping in. Before the moment could linger, Roberto, one of Y/n's trusted bodyguards, interrupted with a solemn announcement, "There's a guest for you, Y/n. You might want to talk to this one."

The mention of the guest snapped Y/n back into her commanding persona. She turned to Reneé, her tone firm and commanding, "Turn off the TV, pull on a hoodie. Brutus stays close to you, and remember, stay behind Michael and me at all costs."

Reneé, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, hesitated for a moment but swiftly complied. She turned off the TV, pulled on a hoodie, and positioned herself as instructed. Brutus, sensing the shift in energy, remained close to the singer.

As Reneé positioned herself behind Michael, Y/n's right-hand man, she couldn't help but feel a surge of adrenaline. The normalcy of watching TV had been abruptly interrupted by the harsh reality of Y/n's world.

Y/n, her expression unreadable, prepared to meet the guest. The mansion, once filled with the laughter of sitcom characters, now echoed with the tension of impending interactions within the criminal underbelly that Y/n navigated with an iron fist.

The sudden intrusion shattered the quiet ambiance, and Reneé watched as Y/n's surroundings transformed. Bodyguards materialized seemingly out of thin air, forming an impenetrable barrier around the trio. Y/n and Michael, the right-hand man, swiftly produced their guns, their movements precise and synchronized.

The guest, a chic and older man, entered the room with an air of confidence that mirrored Y/n's own. Mario, as Y/n addressed him, observed the room with a casual demeanor that belied the tension hanging in the air. Y/n, her voice cold and assertive, remarked, "You've grown up."

Mario chuckled in response, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I see you've been doing well for yourself, Y/n. But, business is business," he retorted, his tone dripping with a dangerous edge.

Y/n's cold composure turned into a flash of irritation. "You stole my shipments, Mario. And you killed one of my dealers," she accused, her voice laced with a threatening undertone.

Mario, seemingly unfazed, snapped back with equal intensity. "It's just the way the game is played, Y/n. Survival of the fittest."

As the exchange unfolded, Mario's gaze fell upon Reneé, who stood alongside Y/n. A sly grin played on his lips as he remarked, "Is this your pretty toy, Y/n?"

Y/n's eyes narrowed, a sharp warning implicit in her gaze. "Be respectful, Mario."

Ignoring the warning, Mario made a lewd comment about Reneé's appearance. Y/n, her irritation simmering beneath the surface, calmly approached Mario. The room tensed with an unspoken threat, the air charged with a deadly energy.

Y/n, her voice deceptively calm, leaned in close to Mario. "You may think you're playing a game, Mario, but remember who you're dealing with." Her words, laced with a lethal promise, left Mario visibly frightened, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

Reneé, observing the exchange, couldn't help but feel a mixture of fear and awe at the transformation in Y/n. The enigmatic queenpin, usually cold and composed, revealed a side that only emerged when her empire was threatened.

The room, now silent except for the subtle hum of tension, awaited the next move in this dangerous chess game played within the opulent confines of Y/n's mansion. The clash of power, control, and the unpredictability of alliances continued to unfold, each moment adding another layer to the intricate dance within the criminal underworld that Y/n ruled with an iron fist.

As Mario attempted to regain composure, Y/n's patience wore thin. She shot him a steely look, unimpressed by his attempt at bravado. "Cut the small talk, Mario. I don't have time for your games," she retorted, her voice icy and commanding.

Mario, undeterred, smirked and remarked, "You always did have a thing for blonds, Y/n." The comment sent a chill down Reneé's spine, a subtle unease settling in.

Y/n, done with the banter, drew her gun with a swift and practiced motion, placing it against Mario's forehead. The room grew tense, the air thick with the imminent threat that hung between them. Y/n's eyes, usually cold and calculating, now blazed with an intense fire as she issued a calm yet deadly threat.

"Your games end here, Mario. You disrespected me by stealing, killing my dealer, and disrespecting my property," Y/n stated, her voice a low, controlled growl. The mention of 'property' hinted at Reneé, a subtle reminder of the singer's vulnerable position in this dangerous game.

Mario, seemingly unimpressed by the threat, looked directly into Y/n's eyes. "You should be proud, Y/n. You're just like your father," he taunted, a wry smile playing on his lips.

The mention of her father struck a nerve with Y/n, igniting a fiery anger within her. She leaned in closer, the gun pressed firmly against Mario's forehead. "Don't you dare mention my father. You're not fit to utter his name," she seethed, the threat in her voice palpable.

Despite the dire circumstances, Mario, still smirking, attempted to negotiate. "I can give you something you want, Y/n. We can work together, just like old times," he proposed, his tone laced with a dangerous charm.

Y/n's eyes narrowed, her expression turning even more severe. "There's nothing you can offer me that I can't take for myself. You've made your choice, Mario, and now you'll face the consequences," she declared, her voice cutting through the tension.

Reneé, standing in the periphery, could feel the intensity of the confrontation. The dynamics of power and control were palpable, and she found herself entangled in a dangerous game that extended far beyond her previous understanding.

A chilling silence hung in the room as Y/n held the gun against Mario's forehead, each click echoing like a countdown to a fateful resolution. With each comment Mario made, Y/n clicked the gun, revealing that she had one bullet loaded.

"Any last words?" Y/n inquired, her voice cold and unyielding.

Mario, sensing the gravity of the situation, began to panic. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he stammered, "I-I have information, Y/n. Important information about Nightshadows. Please, spare me."

Y/n, calculating and composed, considered his plea with an eerie silence. The room seemed to constrict with the tension, every breath feeling like a calculated move in a dangerous dance.

For a moment, Y/n gave the impression of contemplation, her eyes unreadable. Mario, desperate and on the verge of despair, begged for mercy. "I can be valuable to you, Y/n. Spare me, and I'll give you what you need," he pleaded.

In that moment of apparent hesitation, Y/n seized control of the narrative. With an unsettling calmness, she declared, "I already know the information." The revelation sent a shiver down Mario's spine.

The room descended into an eerie stillness as Y/n's calm demeanor masked the imminent resolution. Without a hint of remorse or hesitation, she squeezed the trigger, and the single bullet discharged, ending Mario's desperate pleas and sealing his fate.

The silence that followed was deafening. The queenpin's calculated move had decisively closed the chapter on Mario's defiance. Reneé, a witness to the ruthless display of power, couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and fascination, realizing that the world she had inadvertently stepped into was one where consequences were swift and unforgiving.

As the echoes of the gunshot lingered in the opulent surroundings, the room bore witness to the culmination of a deadly confrontation. Y/n, the reigning queen of a criminal empire, had asserted her dominance with a single bullet, leaving an indelible mark on the intricate dance of power and control within the walls of her fortress.

The lingering echo of the gunshot had hardly faded when Y/n, unfazed by the act she had just committed, signaled her guards to dispose of Mario's lifeless body. The atmosphere in the room remained heavy with tension as the guards swiftly entered to carry out their macabre task, handling the aftermath of a confrontation within the walls of the queenpin's fortress.

Reneé, still in a state of shock, stood frozen, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and fear. The reality of the world she had inadvertently become entangled in had been thrust upon her with an abrupt and ruthless force. The opulence of the mansion now bore witness to a scene of darkness and brutality that seemed incongruous with its extravagant surroundings.

Y/n, still maintaining her icy composure, turned her attention to the shaken singer. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Reneé," she stated coldly, her words a stark acknowledgment of the harsh realities that defined her existence.

The room, once a battleground of power and control, now bore witness to the aftermath of a calculated move within the criminal underworld. Y/n's ability to seamlessly transition from ruthless execution to cold apology highlighted the duality that characterized her persona — a queenpin unyielding in the face of opposition yet acknowledging the toll it took on those caught in her orbit.

As the guards efficiently cleared the room of any traces of the confrontation, Y/n's gaze remained unwavering. The chilling aftermath underscored the price of defiance in her world, a world where allegiances shifted like shadows and where power came at a cost that only the strongest were willing to pay.

For Reneé, the shock of witnessing such brutality lingered in the air. The lavish surroundings, once a facade of opulence, now seemed to conceal a darker truth — a world where the enigmatic queenpin held sway, navigating the intricate dance of power and control with a relentless precision that left little room for sentiment.

As the room slowly returned to an uneasy calm, Y/n's cold demeanor remained intact. The queenpin, with a calculated poise, awaited the next move in the complex chess game of the criminal underworld, where every decision carried weight and where the consequences were etched in the silent echoes of a single gunshot.

The opulent mansion now held an uneasy silence as Y/n, with a hint of guilt, hurt, and even a flicker of shame in her eyes, announced her departure for the night. The cold and calculated queenpin, demanding respect in her empire, revealed a glimpse of vulnerability that lay beneath the surface. Reneé, still processing the shocking turn of events, watched Y/n ascend the grand staircase.

As Y/n disappeared from view, Reneé remained rooted in place for a while. The weight of witnessing a life taken, the stark reality of the dangerous world she had inadvertently stepped into, lingered heavily in the air. The extravagant surroundings, once a facade of luxury, now seemed to close in with the weight of the secrets they concealed.

After a moment of contemplation, Reneé gathered her resolve and decided to follow Y/n upstairs. The corridors of the mansion, usually echoing with the footsteps of guards and the distant hum of activity, were eerily quiet. Reneé, accompanied by Brutus, approached Y/n's door and knocked softly, the sound echoing through the hushed hallway.

The door creaked open, revealing Y/n's room adorned with opulent decor that contrasted sharply with the somber atmosphere. Y/n, with a composed facade masking the tumult within, acknowledged Reneé's presence. "What do you want?" she inquired, her voice maintaining its cold and distant tone.

Reneé, feeling a mix of trepidation and empathy, hesitated before speaking. "I just... needed to check on you. That was... intense," she admitted, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern for the enigmatic queenpin.

Y/n, still guarded but perhaps appreciating the gesture, allowed Reneé to enter the room. The space, typically a haven of luxury, now seemed to mirror the complexities of the world they inhabited. Brutus, ever vigilant, settled in a corner, watching the unfolding interaction.

As the door closed behind them, the room became a sanctuary for a brief moment of respite amidst the chaos.

Y/n, standing in the dimly lit room, maintained her distant and cold demeanor as she explained to Reneé the motivation behind the ruthless act she had just committed. "Mario took a lot from me, worth millions. He had to pay the price," Y/n stated, her voice carrying a heavy weight of both justification and detachment.

Reneé, attempting to break through the tough exterior of the queenpin, felt a surge of empathy and curiosity. She couldn't shake the shock of witnessing a life being extinguished, but there was a part of her that longed to understand the complexities that drove Y/n's actions.

"He hurt you, didn't he?" Reneé questioned softly, her gaze searching Y/n's eyes for a glimpse of the vulnerability she sensed beneath the surface.

Y/n, still guarded, met Reneé's gaze with a hint of acknowledgment. "In more ways than one," she replied cryptically, the shadows of her past echoing in her eyes.

As Reneé stood in the room, surrounded by opulence and the echoes of the recent events, she couldn't ignore the intense feelings that had developed since the day she first met Y/n. The allure of the cold and powerful queenpin had drawn her in, even as the enigma surrounding Y/n's true self remained shrouded in mystery.

Reneé had fallen in love with Y/n from day one, captivated by the juxtaposition of strength and vulnerability that seemed to coexist within the complex woman. Y/n, in turn, found herself entangled in emotions she had long tried to suppress. The magnetic pull towards the blond singer awakened a side of her that she was hesitant to explore.

However, Y/n, haunted by the scars of her past, was fearful of allowing herself to fully embrace these newfound emotions. The calculated and ruthless persona she projected was a shield, a defense mechanism built over years of navigating a dangerous world. Love, in Y/n's mind, was a vulnerability she couldn't afford.

"I don't need anyone," Y/n asserted, her tone resolute and unyielding, yet a flicker of uncertainty betrayed the internal conflict she grappled with.

Reneé, undeterred, took a step closer. "You don't have to be alone, Y/n. I see more than just the queenpin. I see someone who's hurting, someone who deserves to be loved," she whispered, her words laced with genuine care.

The room, suspended in a delicate balance of tension and emotion, held the unspoken acknowledgment of a connection that defied the boundaries of their disparate worlds. As Y/n and Reneé navigated the intricate dance of their feelings, the echoes of a single gunshot reverberated in the background, a haunting reminder of the dangerous path they had chosen to tread together.

#fandom #fanfic #renee rapp #reneé rapp x reader #renee rapp x reader #reneé rapp x fem!reader #renee rapp x fem!reader #reneé rapp

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wildernessuntothemselves · 2 years

Text

You Are My Queen Now | Part 5

Word Count: 14k (fml)

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Summary: Growing up as a child of a minor lord, you had it instilled in you since a young age that you needed to find yourself a rich and affluent husband that would not only provide a comfortable life for you, but would also help further your family’s position in the court. So it was of the utmost importance that you remain a virgin in order to land such a coveted husband.

The problem lies when the man you secretly love, Prince Beomgyu, suddenly and unabashedly propositions you.

Warnings: mentions of past noncon, mentions of domestic violence, nongraphic descriptions of dead bodies, misogyny.

You lay in bed, motionless and staring up at the ceiling. You can hear the maids drawing up the bath for you in the attached bathroom, which means he’ll be here any minute now to help you get ready for the day.

This is your routine now. He comes in every morning, takes you out of bed, strips you down and cleans you up. Then he dresses you in whatever resplendent gown he’d settle on for the day, and even does your hair. Then you eat breakfast together before he has to go do his princely duties.

And here he is now at the door, as graceful and delicate as ever as he moves towards your still body. He rests a knee on the bed and leans over you, squeezing his arm between your body and the mattress and helping you up like a guardian angel rescuing his human. But like Lucifer, he’s no longer an angel, and his hands only pull you in further into this inescapable abyss.

With all the honeyed inflection of the devil himself, he urges, “Come on, princess. Time to get up. How are you feeling today?”

You don’t say anything to him. You rarely do anymore because that could be misconstrued as you wishing to have any part of his sick play.

Still, every day, he comes in with a hopeful smile, thinking that today might be the day you actually smile back at him. But just like always, his hope withers under your empty gaze and flits away on the back of his defeated sigh as he gets up and helps you to your feet.

He walks you towards the bathroom, dismissing the maids so you’d be left alone, and then he works on removing your nightgown. You stand there as motionless as a doll as he pushes it down your body until he’s on his knees and you’re completely naked in front of him.

His gaze always lingers for a second too long–a battle against longing being plainly fought behind his hungry eyes–and you hold your breath and wonder if today is the day he loses control.

Thankfully, it’s not.

Gulping, he stands up and guides you to the bath, helping you get in before grabbing the loofah. He rubs a bar of soap against it to get it lathered up before using it to gently scrub your body.

You move every which way for him, lifting your arms obediently so he’d have an easier time cleaning them–your legs too when he gets to them. His hands never make direct contact with your skin. Only the rough surface of the loofah greets you as it brushes over your breasts and between your legs. He pays the most attention to your back, knowing you enjoy that the most.

You hum as the coarse material scratches every itch you didn’t even know you had, and if his hands falter in their trajectory at your sounds of contentment, you complain only inwardly.

Once you’re all covered in soap and bubbles, thoroughly scrubbed until you’re pink, he grabs the bucket of warm water and rinses you off. You close your eyes, letting the heat seep into your skin.

Every day, you watch the frothy water as it runs down the drain and imagine that you’re melting along with it to evaporate into nothing. But then the water is all gone and you’re still there. He is too.

He dries you up with a piece of cloth and takes you back to the bedroom where he dresses you and sits you in front of your dresser.

"Look what I got you, baby." He pulls out a box from his pocket and opens it. Inside it is a stunning pearl necklace. He place it around your neck and clasps it from the back.

"What do you think, my love?" He asks tentatively, his fingers lingering for a moment over your neck in a gentle caress.

"It's pretty." You say in a hollow voice, raising your arms up to grab his hands and remove them from your shoulders.

His face falls and you think you can see a wet glint in his eyes before he looks away. He grabs the hairbrush and starts untangling your hair, avoiding your stare in the mirror.

He sings to you as he does your hair in a braid–that’s all he can really do. You close your eyes, and let yourself get carried away by his voice. He sings a familiar song, a love song he used to sing to you when you were teens.

Back then, flustered by your hidden affection for him, you sought to hide it from him by making fun of the sappy song and his high-pitched voice, jokingly lamenting the bad luck of the woman he’ll love because she’d have to suffer through such overflowing emotions–-not knowing that you’re her but desperately wishing that you are.

But everything’s different now. You can hear it in the depth of his voice, and in the way he doesn’t shy away from letting you know who exactly he loves.

"I can never get sick of looking at you." He murmurs, plucking up the courage to catch your gaze again through the mirror as he fixes stray wisps of your hair. "If I were to go blind, I would wish to forget everything but your beautiful face."

Once again, you stay silent. No amount of flowery words or declarations of love is going to make any of this okay. You just watch as he crumbles under your indifferent eyes.

Just then, you hear a knock at the door that breaks your staring contest. He looks down as he tells the person to come in.

It’s the maids bringing in your breakfast. They place it on the table in front of your couch as he puts the finishing touch on your hair, clasping a stunning emerald clip on the side of your head before he takes your hand and leads you towards the couch.

You think, in a weird way, he actually enjoys taking care of you like this. Yes, it eats at him that you’re not talking to him, but to get to do every little thing for you is something he seems to like. After all, he did promise to take care of you completely. In a sick way, to him, this must feel like fulfilling that promise–proving to you that he can provide you with everything. It's evident in the way he meticulously cuts up the food for you and feeds it to you with a small smile on his face.

You accept the food without a fight, obediently chewing and swallowing every bite, but it all might as well turn to ash in your mouth for how tasteless the normally sublime meals now seem to you. Like everything else–the dresses, the fine jewelry, the cosmetics–it's all a farce. None of it means anything. You’re like a jester wearing the king's jewels to play an absurd joke. What does any of it mean when everyone knows you're just the whore? When it doesn't come with any power whatsoever, not even over your own life??

Throughout the meal, he speaks to you, telling you about anything and everything, throwing ideas at the wall in the hopes that it would be the thing that finally makes you talk. But it never does.

When your food is all gone, he wipes your mouth off and calls for the maids to clean everything up.

"I have to go." He informs you when the maids are finished. "What will you be doing today?"

"Waiting for you. Isn’t that what I'm for? To entertain you?"

"No. You’re so much more than that to me. You know I would give you the whole world on a platter if I could." He grabs your hands, proclaiming earnestly, but you don’t give him any reaction. He sighs defeatedly. "Why don't you rejoin the ladies in waiting? It would do you good to do something other than sit here in your room all day."

You huff scornfully, and pull your hands out of his grip. "Why? So your poor sister has to suffer through dealing with me and other ladies can treat me with disgust?"

You try to beat him down with the venom in your words, but he refuses to stay down. "Well then, what would you like to do? I hate seeing you like this."

"But I thought you said you're ok with breaking me."

That’s a good punch. That one hurt him.

"I’m sorry. I just…” He struggles to find the words for a second. “I had to do what I had to do to keep you.”

“How romantic.”

“I tried romantic! I did everything you wanted!” He exclaims.

You don’t bother replying to him. You just look away from him in disgust because you don’t have any fight in you anymore. And because you know it hurts him all that much more.

“Don’t just sit there. Yell at me. Hit me. Do anything. Just don’t ignore me, god damn it!” He beseeches but you maintain your silence, breaking him down just a little bit. “I miss you so much, princess. You’re right here with me but it’s like you’re not, and I don’t know what to do to bring you back. I know you hate me and I hate myself too for what I did to you but I never would’ve done it if you didn't try to leave me. I would’ve waited for you. I waited for years, didn’t I? I just couldn’t handle you leaving me. I’d die if you left me. I’d kill if you left me. Just tell me what to do. Other than marriage, what could he give you that I can’t?”

You scoff. “You speak as if marriage is a triviality.”

“And you speak as if I wouldn’t have married you if I had any say in the matter!” He shouts, exasperated. “Do you even realize what I’ve done for you? I gave my life for you. I fought for you so fucking hard but my father wouldn't listen. He never cared about me until he found a use for me. I'm nothing but a good business deal to him. He said it himself. He told me that marrying her was my only chance to prove to him why I deserve to carry the family name. But still I refused because I love you! So then he threatened to take you away from me. He said he would withdraw his support of your father and send you away to a brothel if I don’t marry her. I had to do it to protect you. He has always used you against me and now I’m losing you because of him." His eyes glint dangerously as finishes off his maddened rant, and his hands fist into his lap. “God, I could just kill him.”

"Don’t be stupid.” You jump in quickly, scared of the hateful wrath you see in him. “What use would that be to us? You’re married already."

"To someone I don’t love. I only love you. But now you won't even speak to me.” He cries out, his anger teetering back into despair. “What do I have to do to win you back?"

Win you back? It’s just like Beomgyu to think he can make any of this better, to think that this is just like any of his other mess ups that you sweeped under the rug because he hit you with his puppy eyes.

"What about archery, huh? You always wanted to do that, right?"

“Archery? That’s your repentance?” You bark out a laugh, "I thought these things weren't for ladies. Or is it okay now that I'm officially the whore?"

"You'll never be the whore for me. I told you, I would’ve made you my princess if I had the power to. I would’ve left everything behind if you wanted me to.”

“What I want is for you to let me go.” You scream. You’re so frustrated, you could pull your hair out.

“I can’t do that.” He grits out, holding his anger on a tight leash for you. “Just think about it, okay? Why don't you take a stroll around the garden or head to the library to clear your mind? I got you that book you've been wanting for a long time."

"The book of fairytales?" You can't help letting a tinge of excitement color your voice. You don't want to do anything that would make Beomgyu feel even remotely okay with what he did to you, But you also don't care that much. This is the first hint of positive emotion you've felt since that night and you'll be damned if you have to squash it, even for him.

"Yes, my love." He grabs your hand and tries to kiss it but you draw it back. Still, the smile only falters for a blink of an eye. "Go take a look at it. I have to go now but maybe I can read you some of it tonight."

That’s part of the routine too. Even though he can’t stay the night with you, he makes sure to put you to sleep before he leaves, frequently either reading or singing you to sleep.

Getting up, Beomgyu’s eyes linger on you for a second, heavy with a longing and love that if a deity were to exist, he wouldn't have been allowed to possess, before he sighs and reluctantly walks away.

______________________

Stepping into the library, you don’t expect the scandal you walk onto–princess Ryujin in the arms of lord Soobin, kissing and touching as if they are the newlyweds.

Your gasp alerts them to your presence and they draw apart. Soobin jumps to put a distance between the two of them, while the princess pulls away more deliberately, for all the world as if she’s not ashamed of being caught.

“My lady–” Lord Soobin starts, eyes as wide as those of a cornered rabbit, and his body shaking just as much.

You don’t know what to say. What does one even say in this situation?

Are you two together? Do you love him? How can you cheat on your husband who cheated on you?

It all sounds so stupid. Luckily, she speaks for all of you.

“You go ahead, Binnie. I’ll be right behind you.” She tells him, her tone brokering no argument as she nudges him forward lightly.

Binne?

“Of course, princess. My lady.” Binnie gives you a curt bow and flees the scene, leaving you and the princess alone in the library.

She turns to you and laughs at your, you can only imagine, stupefied expression.

“You can’t seriously be shocked by this.” She says it like she’s disappointed in you. “What? So he can fuck around with you but I can’t kiss a few men? It’s not like I fuck them since the ‘progeny has to remain pure’.”

A few men? So lord Soobin isn’t the only one?

You finally gain enough brain capacity to close your dry mouth and attempt a response. “It’s none of my business.”

“Bullshit.” She scoffs, “He knows.”

She doesn’t need to mention his name for you to know that she’s talking about Beomgyu. He knows? Does he care?

As if she can read your mind–or maybe she can just read your expression, she answers. “He doesn’t care. He’s crazy about you.”

She walks up to you, and for an unknown reason, you worry she would slap you. She’d be within her right, you suppose. The man who was promised only to her, has fucked you on their wedding night.

But she doesn’t touch you. She stops right in front of you and looks you deep in the eyes, her gaze unreadable, but it makes you feel naked in front of her. “He doesn’t even look at me when he fucks me, you know? Just pushes my head into the pillow and takes me from behind. He even moans out your name sometimes.”

“I’m so sorry.” You don’t know why you’re apologizing. You’re not the one doing this to her. Still, you feel guilty somehow. Maybe it’s because her words placate an ugly part of you that is jealous she even gets to lie with your man, wear his name while you’re relegated to being the whore.

She laughs. “If you’re going to be sorry for something, then be sorry for this.” She pulls one of her sleeves up to show an ugly handprint on her forearm.

“Oh my god.” You gape at her, horrified. Beomgyu didn’t do that, did he? “Is he forcing you?”

“Forcing me? Did you not hear me? He’d rather not even have to look at me.” She comments bitterly. “Not that I want him to. I’d rather he never touched me too but what can we do? They have to have their heir. It would be nice if he wasn’t so rough and outwardly disgusted with it though. I bet he’d never do that to his precious princess.”

For a split second, that same monstrous feeling of satisfaction flashes through your veins at the physical evidence of Beomgyu’s loyalty to you, but it gets flushed out just as quickly with shame and anger. Yes, you feel sorry for her, but she has no idea what you’ve been through at his hands. “He’s done worse. He took me against my will.” You seethe, “He ruined my chances at a good marriage. He betrayed my trust.”

“And he’d do anything to make it up to you. He’s like a sad, repressed puppy trying to control himself around you so you wouldn’t be angry at him anymore. He moans it into my ear when he’s particularly drunk and needy, saying how much he loves and misses you, begging you to take him back…” She trails off in a disgusted grimace that mars her beautiful face. “If I were you, I’d take advantage of it. You have him wrapped around your finger. You should milk him for all his worth.”

“I don’t want anything from him. I want to get married to a good man who would love me and take care of me and not treat me like his property. I want to feel like I actually have a say in my own life!”

“A good man? Like who? Your murder-happy lord? Spineless Soobin? There are no good men, darling. Only the lesser of two evils, and Beomgyu is that. Most men are like Soobin, cowards who would claim to love you but drop you if it would harm them in any way, and the ones who wouldn’t are like your lord Taehyun–fucking insane. At least with Beomgyu, you get to live in a palace and wear the finest things, eat the most delicious food and have people wait on you hand and foot. If you were with any other man, you’d be treated like shit and you’d have none of that.” She expounds as if she was imparting some profound advice onto you. “If I were you, I’d learn to tame him and I’d have myself a loyal and generous lover for life.”

"How can you say that to me knowing what he did to me?” You bluster, “Aren't you a woman as well?"

"I am, that's why I'm saying it. Sweetheart, we live in a world dictated by men. You think as a princess I have any power of my own? I grew up getting taught how to be the perfect wife and woman so I can be shipped off to marry a man who doesn't give two fucks about me because he's in love with another woman, and yet I can't do anything about it because my only role in life is to provide a son for him so that the bond between our kingdoms can be strengthened and the men in charge can grow more powerful. Women rarely have the chance to have any real power. If we’re lucky, the only power we can have is through a loving husband or a doting son.”

“But he is not my husband. He is yours.”

“He may not be your husband, but he treats you more like his wife than he does with me. He’d do anything to make you happy.” She says, stepping away from you. “Use that.”

You can sense that the conversation is over, and you don’t bother stopping her as she bids you goodbye and leaves. But not before she tells you to think about her words.

Think about it. That’s what they’ve both said, as if you can fucking stop thinking about it.

Is he right? Is she? Is this really the best you can hope for?

She is right about most men, you know that much. Before Taehyun came along, none of the countless lords you’ve come across in your lifetime dared to approach you. They were all too scared of Beomgyu. But Taehyun is different. He’s strong. He actually stood up to Beomgyu. He could protect you.

But could he love you? You think he could, but do you even really know him? And does it matter anyway? You’re damaged goods now, not worth protecting, not worth loving.

And you’re too much of a coward to even tell him. You just let him keep sending you letters that you don’t even have the courage to read because you’re so scared, so fucking ashamed of what Beomgyu has done to you. Knowing that when Taehyun finds out that you’ve been defiled. He’d be so repulsed, he’d drop you.

No, you can’t handle that. It would be like Beomgyu had broken you a second time.

So you just throw his letters straight into the fireplace, watching them go up in flames along with your stupid hopes and dreams.

Beomgyu has won. You’re his now.

You feel crushed by the weight of it. You need a distraction, an escape into a land where love exists as you’ve always known it. Not the ugly, twisted thing it has turned out to be. And you can find just that in the fairytale collection.

You dive into it with fervor, trying to soak up every loaded glance, every heroic act, every brazen declaration of unending love. You wield it like armor around your body, trying to shield yourself away from the harsh reality, but it’s useless.

The words blur in front of your eyes and enter your brain as an incomprehensible fog. Still you keep trying, braving the tears along with the heroes of the story until your tears drown them.

Closing the book, you curl onto yourself on the chair, feeling so small and wretched. Usually when you’re so overcome with emotion like this, Beomgyu would hold you in his arms and let you cry until the storm blows over.

But what happens when he himself is the cause of that storm? What do you get when your feelings of profound betrayal mixes with your desire to be comforted by him?

It’s easy. You get a sense of self-loathing so intense you feel like you might just be annihilated altogether.

But you can’t. He won’t let you.

As if he had a direct connection to your heart, he appears at this moment, rushing to you and engulfing you in a right embrace. With his arms around you, you’re now in the eye of the storm, and the violent winds can’t rip you apart anymore.

"Oh, my darling, what's wrong?" He coos softly, kissing the top of your head. “Talk to me.”

Wordlessly, you cling onto him, trying to hide in him, from him. But he won’t have that. He cradles your face and pulls your head back gently to take a look at your wet cheeks and puffy eyes, and his expression sharpens. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

Your nod is miniscule, and his jaw tightens. “Who?”

“You.”

That makes him falter, his face breaking upon the jaggedness of his previous expression. “What?”

“You’ve really hurt me, Beomgyu. I never thought that you of all people would hurt me this bad.” You say through shuddered intakes of breath, “Weren’t you the one who always said you’d protect me?”

“I-I thought I was.”

You give him a defeated look. You’re so tired. So fucking tired, you can’t fight anymore.

But he can. “I was wrong for forcing myself on you. It was a moment of weakness spurred by the madness of fearing that I was going to lose you. And I was hurt. However much I may have hurt you before, none of it compared to the mere thought of you leaving me. I was heartbroken, lovesick, and I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.”

“That is not an excuse–”

“It’s not. I shouldn’t have done it and I regret it.” He emphasizes, “But I don’t regret keeping you from him. He’s dangerous. I know he is, and I know you’d see it too if you got the chance but I’d die before I risk him touching even a single hair on your head. It’s an ugly world out there, princess, and I’ve been trying so hard to protect you from it. No one will love you like I do.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of the saying ‘if you love something, set it free’?”

“Whoever said that must’ve not loved anyone as much as I love you.” He says firmly as if these are the truest words ever spoken, and he leans his head against yours. “And you used to love me that way too.”

You hate yourself but his embrace feels soothing and his skin feels warm and you’ve just been so deprived. Yes, he will never give you the love you've read about in your books but no one else would ever love you now.

You may never forgive him, but what can you do? You can’t keep withering away in your room while the world happens around you. You’re hurting no one but yourself. Well, maybe you’re hurting Beomgyu too, but is hurting him worth living in misery?

He is right. They're all right. The kind of unconditional selfless love you long for only exists in books, right next to knights in shining armor who rescue the damsel in distress and sweep her away to a faraway land.

People in the real world can be ugly, and maybe it takes a monster to protect yourself.

You place your hand on his cheek and he leans into it. You could do this. You could make this work.

Brushing your thumb over his cheek, you feel his eyelashes against the tip of it as he blinks lovingly at you. “You'll teach me archery?”

His smile is the brightest you've seen in a long time and you have to stop yourself from looking away so it won't affect you. You should hate him. You do hate him. But you also love him. Maybe you're as sick as he is.

"Yes. Yes.” He gushes, and for a split second, he looks like he’s going to kiss you in a burst of excitement, but he jerks to a halt when you unconsciously flinch back. Hurt flashes across his face and his smile turns sad as he grabs your hands instead, and plants a kiss on the inside of each one. “Thank you.”

_______________________

At night, he comes to read you to sleep like he always does.

Cuddled in his arms, he dictates to you in that deep, lulling voice of his, the book of fairy tales. You’re not hearing the words so much as just letting the vibrations from his chest transverse your back and oscillate across your limbs, like a cat purring, as he recounts the tale of a mermaid who longed to be with a human prince after saving him from a shipwreck.

She loved him so much, she traded her voice for legs so she could be with him. She was told that if she couldn’t make the prince fall for her, she’d die and dissolve into sea foam. But she still went to him, and even though every step she took with her new feet felt like a sword jabbing deep into her, she would dance for him just because he loved to watch her dance.

She became his most beloved companion, but still he didn’t fall for her. He was arranged to marry the princess from the neighboring kingdom, and despite his initial reluctance, he falls for her, thinking she’s the one who saved him all that time ago. The mermaid’s heart breaks. She did so much for him, sacrificed so much, and yet he chose another woman.

As she contemplates her impending doom for failing to make the prince fall for her, her sisters come to her with a dagger that they’d procured from the very same sea witch who had given her her legs, instructing her to kill the prince with it so she can turn back into a mermaid and rejoin her family, free of all the pain he’d caused her.

But the mermaid can’t bring herself to do it. She loved him too much. And so, with the rise of dawn, she throws herself into the sea, becoming one with it as she turns into foam.

The story brings you to tears. They start off small, just silent tiny sniffles, but soon crescendo as the story comes to an end until you’re full on sobbing. That’s all you seem to do now, cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry I read you such a sad story. Do you want me to read you something else?” He panics, flipping through the book, looking for a happier tale. “I’m sure there is something better here.”

You turn around and take the book out of his fluttering hands, closing it. “She sacrificed herself for him because she loves him.”

He looks at you in confusion. “Princess, what–”

“She wasn’t resentful for all she’s done. She wasn’t angry at him. She was just sad. And when it came to her happiness or his own, she chose his, because that’s what true love really means.”

His face dawns in realization.

“Why can’t you let me be happy?”

"No one can make you happier than I can." He starts, and you try to look away, exhausted, but he grabs your face and makes you look at him. "What does this book even know about real love and sacrifice? I love you more than anyone has ever loved before, and this stupid book isn't going to take that away from me."

“I love you, princess. I can make you happy. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure of that.” He promises, holding you to him and wiping your tears away. “Hey, look at me.”

“What do you want, Beomgyu?” You cry, “You can’t just strongarm me into being happy when you’re not doing anything to actually make me happy!”

“How can you say that?” He scoffs, bewildered. “I’m bending over backwards for you. How can you not see that? From early on, I made sure your every want was being met. You wanted to be rich so I made your family rich for you. You wanted an influential position so I made you a lady of the court. I treat you better than I treat my own wife. What else can you possibly ask for?”

“I want dignity.” You retort, “I want freedom.”

“So do I!” He screams back, “You think I’m happy about being in a political marriage while fighting every day to keep the person I really love from leaving me?”

He grabs you and pulls you close, his forehead pressed against your own and eyes boring into yours so you can’t escape. “Please. Just bargain with me. Isn’t there anything else I can do to make you happy? You used to be so happy to be with me before. How can I bring that back? Just ask and I’ll give it to you.”

“You can’t. It’s too late.” You push him off, and he defeatedly lets you go.

Turning back to the book, his fingers glance over the beautiful illustration of a mermaid lounging out on the beach on the cover, and he asks contemplatively, “Remember that beach?”

“What?” You ask, confused by the sudden detour.

“There is this beach that we used to go to as kids. I don’t know if you remember it.” He explains, a small, sad smile on his face. “You always looked so beautiful there, dressed in your light, flowy dresses, that I’d have to try extra hard not to stare and make a fool of myself in front of everyone.” He laughs, hazarding a glance at you that you’re ashamed to say you dodge.

You wish you didn’t immediately regress back to those memories but you do. He had a way of getting under your skin even when the situation seemed most hopeless. Can you ever really get away from him? You’re almost sure he’d find a way to talk himself into your life somehow.

But, god help you, you do remember. The most striking image in your mind was how beautiful he looked in the water–wet hair glistening and warm skin sunkissed and tan as he smiled at you so brightly, he looked more radiant than the sun in the sky.

“You always looked so happy there too.” He recounts fondly, and you can't help but let the waves of memory wash over you and take you back to when you were so in love and so naive.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen the azul, frothy waters of the kingdom’s beach. The last time being when you almost died. Despite the gravity of the situation back then, the memory puts a smile on your face.

Beomgyu, always in tune with your feelings, notices and responds back with a quick smile. “Are you thinking of that time you jumped in behind me and almost drowned?” Beomgyu laughs, and you shrug absently, hating how easily he can read you.

“Hey, it looked fun and it wasn’t fair that only the boys got to go in. I didn’t think it was that deep.” You try to reproach, but end up smiling despite yourself.

Every time you’d been to the beach prior to that incident, only the boys were allowed to actually get into the water as it was seen as improper for the ladies to undress and go in. You’d always been very jealous and indignant every time it happened, the cool breeze and salty drizzle coming from the sea beckoning you in.

That last time, you’d finally had enough, dodging the other ladies and jumping into the water. You had tried to get to Beomgyu but, for one, you couldn’t swim, and two, your puffy dress quickly soaked up the water and turned three times as heavy, pulling you down under the waves in no time.

“Remember how you tried to save me but I was so panicked, I pulled you down with me?”

“Yeah, I thought we were both gonna die that day.”

“We would have, if it wasn’t for your brother fishing us out like wet rats.”

Your giggles fill the room, yours light and airy and his loud and a little squeaky. It’s been so long since you’ve heard him laugh like this.

“You know, you still have the same laugh you had as a kid.” You cup his face, looking at him closer. “But your eyes are sadder. They don’t shine the same way anymore.”

“That’s because back then you looked at me like there was no one else in the world but you and I.” He whispers, brushing your hair out of your face. “And I naively thought that was always how it was going to be. But we’re not kids anymore, and you don’t look at me the same.”

“You know why.” You press your lips firmly together, trying to hold on to your resolve and not let him guilt you into giving in.

“I know but sometimes–” He pauses, brushing his fingers over the back of your hand.

“What?” You hate how you hang onto his every word anyway.

“Sometimes I wish we had drowned that day in the sea.” He looks at you, his eyes sparkling like the water was on that day and you fall into them just as deeply. “Then I wouldn’t have had to watch you grow to hate me… Is there even still any love for me left inside you?”

There is. You despise yourself for it but you still love him. He doesn’t deserve to hear it though.

“Got it.” He lets out a pained laugh and retracts his hand, using it to wipe the tears that broke loose from his long lashes. “I know I said I’d rather you hate me than leave, but it still hurts like a suckerpunch.”

____________________________________________

Like everything you ever do, this was a mistake. Archery is harder than you thought it would be. It's far from the graceful, effortless sport it looks like from the outside.

First off, the bow itself is heavy. You struggle to hold it up, but shooting an arrow properly out of it was nearly impossible for you. You couldn’t draw it back far enough, so when you let it go, it didn’t even reach the target. Beomgyu had to stand behind you, supporting the weight of the bow and helping you pull the arrow far enough to shoot. You felt nothing like the capable, fierce woman you’d hoped to embody for and more like a toddler being taught how to hold a spoon.

“Close your eye, princess.” He whispers into your ear, making you shiver, and if you were actually holding up the bow, it might’ve fallen.

Second, it's a lot harder to shoot the targets than you think, even from embarrassingly up close like you are right now. You guess spending your formative years knitting doesn't lend itself to handling a ranged weapon.

It's embarrassing really, how Beomgyu was basically holding the bow for you and guiding your every step and yet you still manage to completely miss the mark. And with the workers milling about, watching and snickering at you, it was doubly as mortifying.

"You know what, maybe I'd shoot better if you weren’t stifling me." You explode at him and he blinks in surprise.

“Princess, I don’t know if you can–”

“I can, okay? I’m not a child.” You huff.

“Okay. Whatever you want.” He lets go of the bow and steps back, holding his hands up in surrender.

You pull the bow upright, your hand shaking as you spring the arrow back. The whole weapon wobbles in your hold as you try your best to get a good draw.

"Baby, I don’t think–” Beomgyu starts, but you don’t listen to him. He’s going to come up with whatever bullshit to stop you from doing it on your own, and honestly you don’t think you can keep your arm straight for much longer.

Third, you learn the hard way why archers always keep their hair out of their face when the arrow catches a strand of your hair and rips it right off. Worst thing is, the arrow doesn’t even reach the target yet again.

You scream bloody murder and drop the bow where it lands on your foot.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You don’t know whether to hold your head or your foot, both intensely pulsating with pain. So you just settle on falling to the ground and screaming.

In a second, Beomgyu is with you on the ground, his arms flying out to check on you.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been more careful.” He berates himself, looking at your scalp where the hair was ripped off. “That must really hurt. What was I thinking bringing you here?”

You tear up at his words and hide your face in the crook of his neck. He had no confidence in you, and for good reason.

“What is it? Where does it hurt the most?” He frets, going back and forth between your head and your foot, not knowing what to focus on.

You just shake your head and wail. “I’m so stupid, and so weak. You’re right. I’ll never be able to take care of myself.”

You had kicked up such a big fuss to get a chance to learn archery, and yet here you are fumbling it up just like Beomgyu said you would. Taehyun would have dropped you even if you were still a virgin.

“You’re not stupid.” He soothes, pulling your foot out of your shoe to look it over and make sure it’s not injured. There is only redness there and it’s starting to swell a bit.

“Don’t lie.” You try to pull your foot back but he holds on tight, massaging it.

“I’m not. I know you feel powerless and that’s why you’re doing all of this, but you’re not. You’re my whole world. My power is all yours. You don’t have to do this.”

You look away because you can’t face him–as always, he sees right through you–but regret it when you see some servants are watching you. Remembering that you’re not alone, you yank your foot out of his lap and put your shoe back on.

But Beomgyu doesn’t get the hint. He moves even closer to check on your hair so you push him off. “People are staring.”

“So what?” He asks, that familiar annoyance coloring his voice. “They all know you’re mine.”

That’s right. They do. Why do you even bother to fight it anymore?

So you just go pliant in his arms, letting him fuss over you and not moving an inch even when you see his sister step into the range.

She greets the both of you as she walks towards you. “What are you doing on the ground?”

“Oh, nothing. We just dropped something.” He says, pressing your hair down to cover the spot that got ripped off then he wraps his arms around you and pulls the both of you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you even when you’re standing up. It makes you nervous, how Wonyoung is bound to take it. She must think of you as a harlot who is using her brother for his money. She must’ve always thought that.

But her eyes are as kind and sweet as ever.

“What brings you here, Wonnie?”

She sighs. “Father demands you start sitting through dinner with the rest of the family again.”

“You know I can’t leave her alone.” Beomgyu protests, making you feel so small in that moment, that he thinks you can’t even eat on your own. You suppose he had been personally hand feeding you for a while now, but still.

“That’s fine.” You hurry to say. “I can eat alone.”

He gives you a look as if to say you can’t. But Wonyoung steps in. “Why don’t you join us too? You have a seat at the table as one of my ladies in waiting.”

You look at her wistfully. “Thank you for being kind to me but I was never a lady in waiting.”

“You are to me.” She insists, and you can’t detect any hint of sarcasm in her tone. “And I want you there.”

Her words choke you up. She actually wants you there?

You look between the two siblings, both looking back with equal conviction. You guess it runs in the family.

“Okay. I will.”

__________________________________

You’re getting ready for dinner, putting on one of your favorite dresses and making your hair up real nice–you have to look good to make up for not feeling like it–when that maid steps into the room.

You look at her through the mirror, staring warily as she locks the door behind her and walks towards you. You can already see the letter she’s pulling out of her dress pocket.

“You have to stop–” You start saying but she pushes the letter into your hands. “Lord taehyun insists that you read this.”

“It’s useless–”

“He insists.” She repeats, “Just read it. If you don’t like what he says in it then he’ll stop bothering you.”

You sigh, ripping the letter out of her hands. You suppose you can’t escape this so you might as well just get it over with.

You think she’ll leave you to it but she just stands there and waits, probably to make sure you actually read it. You sigh again, opening it. You can see that it’s a short message, but you know it could either make or break you.

I know what he did to you.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. This is him telling you how disgusted he is with you and that he never wants to speak to you again.

I’m so sorry, I couldn’t protect you. I am sorry it happened because of me. I know you think I don’t want you now. I know you’re burning my letters because of it. But I still want you. It’s not your fault. He did this to you. I am not going to punish you for what he’s done. If anything, I am going to make him pay for it.

He–he still wants you? Even after Beomgyu has ruined you?

The letter shakes in your hand as you’re overcome with a flurry of emotions–shock, happiness, indignation, worry… but one emotion stands out among the rest, anger. You’re so fucking angry. Beomgyu tried so hard to sabotage your life. He’s been nothing but manipulative, lying to you your whole life, orchestrating everything behind the scenes so you wouldn’t be able to get away from him, scaring away any potential suitor, conspiring with both his family and yours, antagonising Taehyun, imprisoning you, raping you… he’s like a cat playing with the rat it caught, batting it down every time it tried to make a run for it, leaving it more and more weakened until it’s time for it to be devoured.

He did everything to keep other men away from you, to make you feel like no other man would want you, that only he could ever love you, but he still failed. He tried to take everything away from you so you’d have no one but him. And yet here is Taehyun–a man Beomgyu has warned you time and time again about–coming to rescue you from the very man who claims he’s trying to save you. Taehyun still wants you. He hasn’t thrown you to the side because you’re used goods like Beomgyu was hoping.

That's not important right now though. What is important is you and my promise to you that I fully intend to honor. If you still want my help, know that you have it. And this time I'm determined to do it right if my life depends on it. I owe you that after what you've been through.

But I need you to find a way to get out of the castle and preferably the city. I can’t get you out of there without an army. But if you can find a reason to get out, even if he insists on coming with you, I can make it work. I can free you once and for all.

‘Get not only out of the palace but also the city? That should be easy.’ You think bitterly. Beomgyu would never let you do that. If anything, he’s become even more strict with you, keeping a guard near you at all times and not letting you out of his sight for long.

God, just the thought of his name ignites a rage so consuming within you. He really almost had you giving up.

You sit down and write a quick reply to Taehyung, your pen quill digging into the paper so hard it almost cuts through it. You tell him that you fully intend on taking him up on his promise and that you’ll find a way to make it work too if your life depended on it.

You hand the letter over to the maid just in time for Beomgyu to come to pick you up for dinner. You know you can’t let him know how angry you are. He’d get suspicious of the sudden change in your attitude and he might dig until he finds out that Taehyun has been sending you letters. You needed to act normal to not blow your cover.

But you can’t. You’re so upset that he senses it right away, pestering you about it the whole way to the dining hall despite your repeated assurances that you’re fine and that you’re just tired.

At dinner, he keeps his eyes on you the whole time, especially because you don’t take a single bite of your food–the anger inside you filling you up to the brim. You just sit there in front of your full plate, hands curled so tightly around the silverware, your knuckles turn white just so you’d stop yourself from leaping across the table and stabbing him with it.

He, on the other hand, looks incredibly concerned. No doubt wondering why you’re not eating and looking like he’s itching to come and hand-feed you like he’s gotten used to, but he has to stay next to his wife. Which is just fortunate because you don’t think you could control yourself if he comes near you.

Eventually, he can’t help himself anymore.

“Why aren’t you eating?” He asks and you freeze under the stares of everyone.

“I’m not hungry.” You deadpan.

Beomgyu scoffs, not unkindly. “You have to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” You repeat, stressing on every word. You’re sure everyone around the table can feel the tension between you as you glare down a confused Beomgyu.

“Try the duck.” Wonyoung jumps in, cutting a piece and putting it on your plate. “It’s delicious.”

You know she’s trying to dissipate the tension, but her action has the exact opposite effect as the king slams his drink on the table and grumbles, "Not you too, Wonnie.”

Now, everyone’s eyes are on him, including your own.

“She’s not a child. She can feed herself for fuck’s sake.”

“I know, but father–”

“No buts. You and your brother have spoiled her. You took her in and treated her like one of your own until she deluded herself into thinking she is.”

“Father, please.” Wonyoung panics, shooting a look between you and Beomgyu. You don’t know how you must look right now–shocked? Humiliated? Mortified?

But you know how Beomgyu looks… downright murderous.

“No. I’ve had enough of this joke. It's absurd the way you're masquerading her around like she's something. If he had fucked her long ago like he wanted and you had the heart to put her in her place, she wouldn’t be sitting with us on this table right now. His wife is right here for god’s sake. This is disgraceful."

"I did what you wanted.” Beomgyu grits each word out separately, his anger eclipsing your own to the point where yours feels like a mere tantrum. You can see that he has his hand clasped around one of the serrated knives in front of him, and your stomach churns. “I married her so you can secure your power. What more do you want of me?"

"I want you to stop coddling the whore and be a man worthy of your title."

Oh god, you have to do something and quickly. He might actually do what he’s been threatening to do.

You shoot up to your feet. “I’ll go, my king. Prince Beomgyu, may I please have a word with you?”

The king snorts as you give Beomgyu a pleading look. “Please, my prince.”

Beomgyu takes a look around the table. You don’t know if the others are aware of the weapon in his hand or if they think he’s just holding onto his cutlery like everyone else, but Wonyoung seems to notice too, sending her brother her own pleading look and mouthing the word ‘go’ to him.

You breathe a quiet sigh of relief as he lets go of the knife and stands up, his chair falling behind him from how forcefully he does. You quickly turn around and leave the dining hall, assured that Beomgyu will be hot on your heels.

Once you’re both far enough away and completely alone, he explodes.

“I’m going to kill him. I swear to god I will.”

“Don’t be stupid. You can’t kill him!” You hiss, your wild eyes searching his face for any sign of lingering sanity.

“Why not?”

“If you kill him, you’ll get killed too.”

He laughs. “Isn’t that what you want? For me to die?”

That makes you falter. “What?”

“I saw the way you looked at me at dinner. I see the way you look at me all the time now.” He says bitterly, “You want your freedom, but I could never let you leave. If I die, you'll finally be free.”

“Oh, fuck you, Beomgyu.” You snarl. “Don’t try to act like the victim in this. You want me to feel sorry for you after all you did?”

“Everything I did, I did for–”

“For me?” Your voice rises in pitch and you gesticulate wildly. “Look around you, Beomgyu. None of this is for me. Every day I spend in this fucking castle, it kills me more and more inside. Nobody wants me here. They all look at me and think ‘what is the whore doing next to us?’”

“Who cares about them? You have me!”

“But I don’t have you. Your wife has you, and she doesn’t deserve the way you’re treating her either. You hurt her every night. I have seen the bruises on her body. Do you think that is something that I would want?”

"You want me to make love to her?" He laughs maniacally. No. No you don't. You can barely stand the idea of him being with her but that doesn’t mean that you want him to treat her so dreadfully.

"No, but at least treat her honorably."

“And what about me, huh? You think it’s easy for me to be with her? ” He shouts, "Did you even think of what I have to go through every night when I’m with her? You know that thing I did to you, the reason you hate me so much? It's what I go through everyday with her. I would rather claw out my own heart than fuck her. I feel so fucking disgusted every time I’m forced to touch her, but I have to do it so I can provide for you like you want. I hate every single moment I have to spend in her bed but I do it for you even if it makes me physically sick."

He breaks down at the end of his proclamation and even though he doesn’t deserve your pity, you do pity him. He’s a pawn on someone else’s board, just like you.

“I only want you. I've only ever wanted you.” He grabs you, resting his forehead against yours as his tears fall over your cheeks as if they’re your own. "I'd give you whatever you want if I could."

"But you can't. And what I want now is for you to let me go."

"No, no." He holds onto you tighter, laying his head on your shoulder as he sobs. "Anything but that."

God, how did it ever get to this? This wasn’t how you thought your life was going to go when you were on that beach all that time ago.

That’s it! That’s your ticket out.

Cautiously, you ask, “Anything?”

He pulls back to look at you, eyeing you warily. “What do you have on your mind?”

“I want to go back to that beach.”

“What?” You can tell that his mind is running a million miles an hour to try to figure out the reason behind your sudden request, but you can’t afford to let him reach his own conclusions.

“I’m just fucking tired of being here around your father and the other ladies and your fucking wife.” You exclaim venomously, making him wince. “I want to get away from it all. Don’t you want that?”

“I do but–”

“You say you want me to go back to how I was. How can I do that when we’re surrounded by people who constantly remind me of how I’ll never amount to anything but being your whore?” You plead your case passionately, hoping to god he’d take the bait. “Maybe it would do us good to be away from it all for a little while.”

You know you don’t owe him anything after all he’s done, especially not honesty or love, but you still feel bad for lying about this. Yes, it would be nice to revisit those old memories, but that’s not why you’re suggesting it.

"But the coast—he controls it."

You know, that’s exactly why you suggested it. The kingdom only has one coastline and Taehyun, as the protector of the harbor, controls it. That exact beach isn't inside his city but he rules the whole coastline.

You laugh sharply. "So? You think he wants me now that I'm damaged goods? You took care of that."

You know you got to him with that because he falters and a guilty expression takes over his face. I'm sorry. Will you ever forgive me?"

You need to be careful about your answer. Saying the wrong thing could ruin your chances. But you think you know just what to say to get him to agree.

“I can try.”

“Okay.” He gives in, blindly latching onto the hope of you someday forgiving him, and you almost let out a sigh of relief. “Whatever you want.”

Okay. Okay. This is happening. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you’re once again overcome with conflicting emotions–excitment at getting a second chance, fear that the same thing that happened last time would happen again, sorrow at the thought of losing Beomgyu, guilt at having deceived him so when he’s just trying to make you happy. But you can’t let your emotions get the best of you or you’d collapse under the weight of them all. You need to focus on the task ahead and think about the rest later.

But already you can anticipate something that could put a wrench in your plans. “What about the king?" You ask, chewing your lip nervously. Would he let you and Beomgyu go on a “romantic” getaway after the outburst he had over you accompanying him on one trip to the city?

Beomgyu tenses. "I'll make it work."

______________________________________

It's beautiful, just like you remember.

The sea air hits your body and tears away your troubles with every step you take, the sun searing off any stubborn bits that remain, until you’re stripped down to your most essential parts that then descend into the water to be purified.

Beomgyu is just as beautiful as the sea. He shines under the sun, his skin practically glowing and his hair in waves that rival those of the sea, and as he pulls you in, you finally understand all those tales about dying at the hands of beautiful sea creatures. He’s not the mermaid he’s read to you about, but a siren who holds your very life in his hands.

But Beomgyu doesn’t drown you. Instead, he holds you up on his back, swimming around with you. He’s so graceful, even as he carries you deep into the water with such ease, you think he’ll sprout a tail. You wonder what the colors of his tail would look like? Would it be a warm golden honey color like what he’d always seemed like to you? Would it be a sickly, rotten green that infects everything around it? A fiery red that threatens to consume? A shimmery black like the alluring void that pulls you into him?

“--careful!” Beomgyu’s voice registers in your ears just as a wave hits you. You think it would push you clear off him but his grip on you is strong and you don’t go anywhere. He holds you close to his body as turns around to face you, keeping you up with a steady arm around your waist. You’ve never thought of Beomgyu as being particularly strong, but the way he keeps you pressed to him against the will of the sea makes your stomach flip.

“Careful.” He reprimands, wiping the salty water off your face. “Remember what we talked about, princess?”

“Yes.” You say, blinking the stinging water out of your eyes. “High, duck. Low, jump.” You repeat what he’d instructed you about how to handle the evercoming waves–jump up with him over it when it’s low, and hold your breath and dive under it when it’s too high.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, leaning in towards your face in what you could only assume to be an attempt to steal your breath away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a big wave coming.

“DUCK!” You shout and hold your breath to prepare to dive, the last thing you see before going under is Beomgyu’s own eyes closing.

You feel the current pass over you but you don’t worry for a second because Beomgyu’s hold on you is firm and reassuring, and after a few seconds, you feel yourself being pulled back to the surface.

You take a deep breath and wipe the water out of your face, opening your eyes to see the wide grin of Beomgyu, your own face mirroring his.

“How did it feel not to drown for once?”

“Amazing!” You exclaim, truly giddy. “Let’s do it again.”

“Let’s.” He laughs fondly, “Here is another one coming. Jump.”

You bounce over the small wave, the water carrying you upwards like you’re weightless and you wrap your arms around Beomgyu’s neck, clinging to him like your raft.

He looks at you tenderly and your cheeks heat up as if you’re just now meeting him. You suppose you are in a way. It’s been so long since you’ve seen this Beomgyu–your carefree friend who you fell in love with.

A hint of melancholy tickles you at that thought but you don’t have much time to dwell on it before the next wave comes to wash away all your negative feelings. You spend the entire afternoon among the waves, happy to get thrown around every which way as you attempt to guess how high the oncoming waves are going to be.

You don’t always get it right. Sometimes you’d dive when it was low and attempt to jump up when it’s high, getting smashed by the wave, Beomgyu’s clear laugh slicing through the temporary disorientation.

It feels exhilarating in that way only controlled danger can make you feel, because Beomgyu never lets go of you once, and for the first time in a long time, you feel safe in his arms.

By the time the sun starts setting, you’re thoroughly tired out, and Beomgyu wades the both of you back to the shallow end so you could sit in relative calm between his legs, only slightly nudged here and there by the tiny waves that make it to the shore. You grab the sand at your sides, mesmerized by the way it slips through your fingers each time you attempt to pull it out of the water until only a small amount stays in the middle of your palm. He on the other hand busies himself with twirling your hair, fascinated by the way the salty water is making it curl.

“You think it’s too late to drown?” You ask as you lean back into his chest to watch the sunset.

“No, but killing ourselves would kind of put a damper on what I had planned for tonight.”

You crane your head to the side to look back at him suspiciously. “What are you up to?”

“You’ll see.”

____________________________

You go back to Beomgyu’s family’s estate to bathe and have dinner before heading back to the beach. He tells his personal guards to stay a little way back so you could have some privacy. He walks you to an area where he had a rug laid out for you, surrounded by flowers and lanterns.

It’s perfect… perfect for what you had planned out, that is.

It would’ve been perfect as a romantic gesture too if he wasn’t married to someone else and keeping you with him against your will.

He sits down on the rug and pulls you down with him, seating you between his legs so your back is resting against his chest before he clumsily pours the both of you a glass of wine. It would’ve been much easier for him to do that if he was unhindered but Beomgyu doesn’t seem interested in letting you go even for a second. He’s been attached to you throughout your whole time here, even more so than he usually is, as if he can sense the danger in the air.

And maybe he can. Beomgyu has always been quite intuitive when it comes to you. That’s how he caught you last time. So you needed to make sure to dull his natural attentiveness. Luckily, you have a large bottle of the finest wine in the kingdom to aid you.

“I’ve never seen so many stars.” You comment in wonder. Back home, the forever burning lights of the city never waned, polluting the sky with their ugly orange and obscuring many of the stars and constellations from your view. Sitting here right now under their full glory, you realize what a shame it was, and it all just seems like a fitting metaphor for your life in that dreaded castle–blinded and never getting the chance to see things for how they really are. "They’re so beautiful."

"Not half as beautiful as you."

"Ugh, that's too much, even for you." You give him a disgusted look that carries no ill intention despite everything.

He laughs. “I suppose I took it too far.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” You snort and refill his glass.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He jokes, and you can feel your heart palpitate for a second. But you force yourself to keep your composure.

“Maybe.” You say huskily, giving him a sultry look that makes him gulp before you turn back to look at the stars.

You know you’ve succeeded in deflecting when you feel him gulp down his cup nervously and then refill it. This is the first time you’ve been remotely flirtatious with him since that night and he doesn’t know what to do with himself so he drinks to calm down his nerves.

Having downed half of his third cup, he starts again, "You know, in some cultures, stars are considered to be the souls of dead ancestors."

"That's sweet." You comment, not really thinking much of it as you take a sip of your drink, still on that first cup. It’s a fanciful thought that helps people process their grief. You understand, but you can’t see it going beyond that.

"What do you think happens after death?"

You pause. You’ve never really thought about it much. You’re so young that you didn’t think you needed to. Truth is, you hadn’t even entertained the idea that one day you will die before this moment, and the thought unsettles you. Yes, you’ve briefly feared it that time you almost drowned but that was because of the situation at hand and after prince Yeonjun had pulled you out, you’d just laughed it off, never really giving it a second thought.

But here, in Beomgyu’s arms in front of the ancient sea that has seen thousands of lovers come and go, it all feels so real.

"I don't know." You answer, disturbed.

"Do you think there is really an afterlife?” He presses, “Do you think people get reunited after they pass?"

You turn to him. "What's all this talk about death and the afterlife? Are you going to kill me?" You ask, trying to lighten the mood but he doesn’t share the joke.

He looks down at you, his face the most serious you’ve ever seen. "I just want to know that if I lose you on earth, I might still have a chance to make my way back to you."

You look forward so he wouldn’t see your eyes water. He’s done a horrendous thing to you, but no one can claim that he doesn’t care, and you feel so wretched for what you’re about to do to him.

Trying to deflect, you attempt to joke again. "So I can't escape you, even in death?"

Instead of just frowning at your joke, he takes his arms off you and pulls away from you completely, and you immediately feel the cold harshly nipping at your skin.

"You really hate me, huh?"

"No, Beomgyu–" You rush to say. It's just a joke. You want to tell him, but he interrupts you.

"I have something for you."

You look at him warily, rubbing your hands over your arms in an attempt to warm yourself. What is he up to now?

Moving so he is sitting in front of you, he digs his hand in his pants for something, and to your absolute shock, he pulls out a ring.

"Beomgyu, what is this?" You ask, your breath barely carrying over the wind.

"I know I can't marry you officially, but I also know how much this means to you, and it means the same to me. In my heart, you're my wife." He proclaims, holding the ring out to you like it’s his own heart. “This is my mother’s heirloom ring. It’s been in my father’s family for centuries. It was supposed to go to my brother but my mother gave it to me so I can give it to you.”

“What?” That can’t be. You’re just the whore.

“She knows how much I love you–” He goes on but you stop him. “Beomgyu, I can’t accept this.” You fight with every fiber of your being to get the words out and not fall into his arms.

He can’t do this to you, not now, not when Taehyun is almost upon you.

“Please.” He beseeches, “Apart from killing my entire family so I can officially marry you, there is nothing I can do. Just please, I’m begging you.”

In this moment, you realize that he’ll never, ever give up on you even if it kills him. And something about that is so enthralling, to have someone so completely devoted to you. It compels you to give in even if that would be beyond fucked up.

He’s a mess, but he’s your mess. You’ve been so bothered about his flagrant acts of ownership over you, that you’ve failed to realize that he was showing the world that you own him too. You own him and you reserve the right to have him, to kiss him. So you do.

You grab his face and pull him in for a kiss. You don’t know how but each time you share a kiss with Beomgyu, you think that this must be the most desperate one could ever feel, but then you’re separated from him and the next time you kiss, it’s even more desperate.

His kiss knocks the breath out of you more than any body of water could. He consumes you whole like he could make you stay with just his kisses. There is nothing shy about it, just pure need and bitter love.

You’re lightheaded by the time you pull back, but Beomgyu somehow finds the breath to beg, “Please. Please, I need you. I miss you so bad."

Pathetically, you lie on your back and let your legs fall open for him like it’s his rightful place. It might as well be for how easily he finds his way there, his mouth attached to yours once more as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull his body against yours.

You feel sick for wanting him after what he's done to you, but the weight of him over you, solid and warm and so comfortingly familiar makes you want to melt into him and just give him what he wants.

After all, your and Taehyun’s plan might actually work and then you might never see him again. Might never get the chance to kiss him, touch him, hear him moan…

At that thought, you pull him even closer to you until there is no room to even breathe, swallowing down his groan when his hardening dick brushes against your core.

"Oh god," He gasps revenantly. “I missed you so much. I’m so sorry for what I have done to you. I will do everything in my power to make it up to you.”

"No. No more of that." You put a finger to his lips. You don't want to be reminded of what he did to you or what you’re about to do to him. "Just kiss me."

"Yes, princess." He obeys, his mouth meeting your own fervently.

You jump when you feel his hand squeeze between your joined bodies, arching into his touch when he rubs at your pussy through your underwear.

"Beomgyu," You mewl pathetically. Right now, you must look just like the whore they say you are, spreading your legs like this for him on the beach for anyone to see, for his men to see, for Taehyun to see.

Oh god, taehyun. If he catches you like this…

"I know, princess." He dips a finger inside you then two, shutting off your mind. "I'll take care of you. I love you so much.” He vows, “Please tell me you love me too.”

You do but you’re not ready to say it. You still don’t forgive him.

"Princess, please," His voice is teary and sorrowful, but he doesn't stop the movement of his fingers as they push in and out of you, burning you up, trying to draw an answer out of you.

To shut him up, you thrust your own hand between your bodies to grab at his dick. You knead him through his pants, and your need flares even brighter as you feel the shape of him in your hand. God, you must really be sick because all you want is to feel him inside you.

"Fuck!" He shudders, hands fisting into the sand near your head. "Oh god…" He slumps against you, his mouth finding yours again and moving his lips against you clumsily.

You're so caught up in each other that you don't notice when Taehyun and his men sneak up on you, so lost in the kiss that you're startled when he's ripped away from you.

You both don't have the chance to react before someone hits him square in the face with the hilt of a sword, making him fall off you.

You don’t see it at first because of his long hair shadowing his face but as he lifts his head up, you see the red blood cascading down his face.

“Oh my god.” You pull down your skirt and try to move towards him but someone grabs you and pulls you to your feet.

“We need to go before anyone is alerted.” It’s Taehyun’s voice, tight and firm.

“But he’s hurt.” You protest dumbly, as if that would matter to him. And he tells you as much. "He deserves much worse for what he did to you."

“Princess… what is going on?” Beomgyu holds his head and tries to blink the blood out of his eyes. “Get away from him.”

Your heart wrenches at seeing your beloved like that, but you have to be strong. Now is not the time to be kind. “I have to go, Beomgyu.”

“No, no,” He shakes his head and tries to get up but his head injury makes him wobbly and he falls face first into the sand. It sticks to his face because of the blood, making your heart beat against the walls of your chest in an attempt to pull you towards him, but Taehyun’s hold on you is tight. “Don’t go. You can’t leave me.”

“I have to. You’ve left me no choice.” You attempt to explain to him but Taehyun is already pulling you away.

“No!” Beomgyu screams and crawls towards you. “You can’t take her. You can’t. She’s mine. We–I–I’ve already taken her virginity. She’s no good for you.”

You know he’s only saying that to attempt to discourage Taehyun from escaping with you, but it still cuts away at you. Taehyun doesn’t seem to appreciate it either.

“You’re a fucking bastard.” He growls, advancing on Beomgyu’s crouched form and kicking him down with his boot.

“Stop it.” You yelp, pulling Taehyun away so he wouldn’t hurt Beomgyu even more.

“Can’t you hear the way he’s talking about you?” Taehyun flares, looking like he’s fully intending to beat Beomgyu into a pulp. “He needs to pay.”

You shake your head, holding onto his arm with all your might. "I thought you said I'd get to make my own decisions with you. I don't want you to hurt him."

His eyes narrow and you prepare to physically put yourself between him and Beomgyu, when one of his men speaks up.

"We don't have time, my lord. We have to go.”

Taehyun glances between you, his men, and Beomgyu’s writhing form on the ground. "Alright. Go ahead." He gestures to his men.

They surround Beomgyu and you worry they’re going to hurt him, but they only restrain him. You watch as he fights them futilely.

“Don’t, please.” He cries, the scene so reminiscent of his wedding night, except he’s the one begging. You wonder if he even felt any hint of the remorse and pain you’re feeling right now or if he felt completely justified in what he’s done. The memory hardens your resolve, and you lace your fingers with Taehyun. The man looks down at you, a small reassuring smile on his face.

“Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

"Please don't, please!" Beomgyu wails, looking crazed. His voice is strained and scratchy from yelling after you as if you’re ripping his heart out, until the men tie something around his mouth, stifling his words.

But as you walk away, you can still hear his pained whimpers, crying out for you like a dying man.

You think that’s the worst thing you’re going to encounter tonight. Until you happen upon the dead bodies of the soldiers who were guarding you and Beomgyu. It seems stupid now but you had really thought that Taehyun and his men would merely incapacitate them, but as you peer down into their lifeless faces, you realize how wrong you’d been.

"Oh my god. Oh my god." You heave, feeling nauseous.

"Calm down."

"You’ve killed them!" You scream hysterically.

You know those guards. You’ve lived with them. Yes, you weren't friends but you've talked to them before. You've seen them laugh. You've seen them eat. You've seen them have bad days. But now they won't have any of that anymore. They'll be put in the ground where the worms would feast on them. Or worse, they might not be discovered until the birds have had the chance to peck at their dead, unblinking eyes. And if there is a life after death, they’d curse you for being the cause of their demise.

God, what have you done?

“Now is not the time. Get yourself together. ” Taehyun grabs your shaking form and pulls you away from the dead men, his voice strict but grounding. "It had to be done. Otherwise they would have freed him and pursued us."

You shake your head as if you’re physically trying to shake the image out of your mind.

"It's okay. Come here." He sighs, pulling you in his arms as he tries to comfort you, his hand patting your shivering back awkwardly. "You have to be strong from now on." He grabs your face gently, pulling your head away from his chest to look at you. "No more hiding like he made you do. You stand beside me now and to do that you have to be strong. Can you do that for me?"

You nod numbly because you know that’s what he wants to hear, not because you think you can do it.

"Okay, darling." He kisses the top of your head and you try to calm yourself down. This is the real world, not the perfumed palace Beomgyu hid you in. The real world is ugly, and you’re the one who asked to see it.

In a daze, you let Taehyun guide you to his hidden ship, taking you on board and sailing away. With dread, you watch the shore get smaller, and along with it, your life as you knew it. There is no going back now. For better or worse, you’ve finally escaped, and the life you’re heading towards will be the total opposite of what you’re used to.

But it seems one thing will remain the same–the scorn and disgust of others toward you.

It doesn’t take long for the word about how you were found to be spread around the ship–particularly of your position under the prince and where his hand was exactly. Taehyun’s men look at you with those same eyes the people at the palace looked at you, and once again, you’re seen as Beomgyu’s whore.

You can never escape it, can you? You suppose you deserve it. You’re the one who couldn’t keep whatever remained of her chastity. Maybe you really are a whore. And maybe Taehyun is going to realize that soon and leave you.

But your fears are dashed more quickly than you could even blink. Just as fast as the word had spread around the ship, did Taehyun get wind of it. And he brought the men who first spread it in front of you, forcing them to apologize to you and saying how that will be the last thing they ever say in their lives.

“What do you mean?” You ask, horrified.

“I’ll cut their tongues out for daring to dishonor the lady with it.”

His men kneel down, unmoving, probably scared of an even worser fate if they were to disobey their lord. You, on the other hand, can’t stay still.

“No, please my lord, spare them!” You beg. You hold no love for them but you’ve hurt enough people today. You can’t bear any more.

“But they’ve disgraced your name.” He doesn’t relent.

“I know but please, have mercy. For me.” You plead with all your remaining strength. “Just this once.”

“You’re more kind than me, my lady.” He mutters. That much you now know.

“Get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind.” He spits at the men, and they scramble to their feet, stumbling over each other to escape the room.

Taehyun turns his attention to you and you shiver at the severity you see in his expression. “I let them go just for you but I need you to know that this kind of behavior can’t go unpunished. When people think that there are no consequences to their actions, they can commit terrible things.”

‘More terrible than murder?’ You almost ask but thank god you have the sense not to say it. You’re in this man’s territory now. He could do anything he wanted to you, and you just now realize how little you actually know about him. Would he hurt you too if you disobey him?

“I’m sorry for the commotion I’ve caused.” You say, wringing your fingers nervously and avoiding his sharp stare. “If I would’ve just controlled myself around him, none of this would’ve happened. And… I’m sorry you had to see that. I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

You can hear his footsteps as he makes his way towards you. You tense up but don’t look at him–like a child hiding from a monster, you act like he can’t hurt you if you can’t see him.

But Taehyun doesn’t hurt you. He props a finger under your chin and gently lifts your head up to look at him. "No need to apologize. I understand. You’ve loved him for years and I'm just a strange man." You almost breathe a sigh of relief, but then he continues. "I need to prove myself to you just as you need to prove yourself to me."

Something about his reassurance doesn’t sound at all reassuring to you.

There is that sentiment again–proving yourself to him. Just what does that mean?

He'd mentioned that in the letters before and even though you were apprehensive, you thought you could do it. But now that you saw what happened, him hurting Beomgyu, him killing the guards, him almost hurting his own men. How exactly does he intend for you to prove yourself to him?

_________________________________________

A/N: listen i worked so damn hard on this chapter so y’all better send me lots of feedback or i’ll quit writing lmao

Special thanks to 🌶 and ❄️ anons who helped me to get this chapter out quickly and @smuchsmut who made me a gorgeous poem that you’ll probably see one of the next chapters

#txt smut #beomgyu smut

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justathoughtfulangel · 2 years

Text

I'd Rather You Lie ~ Kai Parker One Shot

*not my gif

Pairing: siphon!Kai X witch!Saltzman!Reader

Word Count: 3,453

Requested?: No

This IS a reader insert fic; I just don’t like writing with Y/N in the place of names. Use Rosalie/Rosie/Rose as a placeholder for Y/N :)

Description: When we fall in love with someone, we learn to love every part of them - even their faults. How much would it break your heart to learn you'd fallen in love with a lie?

Warnings: Angst, betrayal, and heartbreak

The story begins after the break! I hope you enjoy reading it <3

Kai had been wandering around Mystic Falls aimlessly for a few days. He’d absorbed all the magic from the Traveler’s Spell, and it was almost impossible to control. Kai had stolen the chance to practice on Elena for a little while, but her stupid boyfriend and his twin sister managed to get her back. He’d have to wait weeks before the magic dwindled, delaying the merge he’d been denied for decades. He was done waiting. He was burning for revenge, and he wanted it now.

He'd been having a lonely lunch in the Mystic Grill and people-watching when his gaze fell on a girl. She seemed very focused, typing away on some device that looked like a slim typewriter with a TV screen. Kai had been in a prison for eighteen years, but before he left, bringing pagers to sit-down restaurants was considered rude. She fascinated him, whoever she was. Before he could go talk to her, she was joined by Alaric Saltzman – a vampire and Josette’s fiancé. The typewriter-with-a-screen was finally set aside. He couldn’t hear them from this far away, but he could’ve sworn she’d greeted him with a “Hey, Dad!”

Raising his eyebrows, Kai took a sip of his soda. Alaric Saltzman seemed far too young to have a near twenty-year-old daughter. This opened up a very interesting set of opportunities. Muttering a spell under his breath so he could listen to their conversation, he settled into his seat, finally feeling like he wasn't sitting here alone. It was illicit company, but company, nonetheless.

“How’s school going? You keep your academic life surprisingly secret from your dad.” Alaric flipped through the menu, teasing Rosalie as she put her laptop away into her bookbag. She smiled, shaking her head. “It’s not a secret if you have chats over coffee with all of my professors in staff lounges.”

“Fair, fair. I’d just like to hear it from you sometimes. Did you order anything yet?” Rosalie shook her head, perusing the menu herself. “Not yet, I was working. Looks like they added some new mains.”

There was nothing important Kai would learn from this mindless chatter, but some part of him liked listening to it. It was… well, normal: a normal lunch between a dad and daughter. Funnily enough, normal was the most abnormal for Kai.

~~~

It took one week for Kai to find out the girl’s story. Rosalie Saltzman was a witch. Though not his daughter by blood, Alaric was her only family. They’d found each other ten years ago when Alaric was just starting as a middle school teacher. He’d been heartbroken over his ex-wife, Isobel, for many years, and the hole in his heart couldn’t be filled romantically. Rose was an orphan. When she was old enough, she ran away from her abusive foster home and was living by herself in the school. Alaric found her sleeping in the library one night and took her in. Soon enough, Alaric became Rosalie’s legal guardian, her friend, and eventually, her parent. When she discovered her magic, Alaric knew exactly what it was and how to help her learn.

Rose had befriended the Mystic Falls gang when she moved there with Alaric six years ago. She’d lost him, and Rosalie almost lost herself in those years. She didn’t like to talk about it. Now, she was on the same path as her dad. She was majoring in Occult Studies with the hopes of becoming a professor herself.

From what Kai had seen, it seemed like Alaric tried to keep her away from the crazy happenings in Mystic Falls. It was the only point of strife between the two. Now that he was back, Alaric was determined to protect Rosalie, not wanting her to get involved until she had to. The problem was that she’d spent years without him, now – years when she was one of the only trusted witches Elena, Caroline, Damon, and Stefan turned to. She wasn’t about to abandon them because her dad wanted her to.

Nevertheless, Alaric had managed to protect Rosalie. He hadn’t let a word of Kai or who he was slip to his daughter. This worked in Kai’s favor miraculously. He wanted to get close to Rosalie. She was the glue that held the messed-up Mystic Falls family together, and she was exactly who Kai wanted to destroy. The game was about to begin, and he’d found a new piece to play with. It would take time, but this wait would be worth it.

~~~

Every Sunday, Rosalie spent the day studying away in a tiny coffee shop a few blocks from Whitmore’s campus. At first, Kai started showing up there with something random: a book, a sketchpad, and even a typewriter-with-a-screen he’d bought himself (he finally learned they were called laptops and were portable computers).

They didn’t even make eye contact for the first week, but Kai observed her very carefully. She tended to order black coffee and then go into work mode. By the time she went back for her second sip, her beverage would be untastefully cold. Then, she’d request ice and turn her order into an entirely new concoction with cream.

During the second week, they truly saw each other for the first time. Rosalie smiled and nodded politely as one does to strangers and went back to her work, sipping her iced coffee and ignoring him as well as everything around her.

When the third week came around, he finally spoke to her. “Hi.” Rosalie glanced up at the sound and removed her earbuds. “Hi?” She hadn’t failed to notice the very attractive guy who’d suddenly begun frequenting her favorite coffee shop, but she hadn’t imagined he’d come to talk to her. “Um…” Kai was very rusty with face-to-face interactions. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

Kai almost facepalmed. Rose raised an eyebrow and looked out the window. It was pouring outside, and the wind had just blown away some poor fellow’s umbrella. “Sure, if you’re into storms.” He seemed adorably nervous, and Rosalie decided to take the lead. “I’m Rosalie, Rosalie Saltzman.” She stood, reaching out her hand in greeting. Kai’s palm slid against hers, surprised at the comforting warmth. “I’m Kai Parker. Are you related to Professor Saltzman by any chance?”

“Why, yes. He is my dad.” Kai already knew that, of course, but he needed an in with her. “I’ve been thinking about taking one of his courses next semester. Any chance you could tell me about them?”

Rosalie, very patiently, began talking about Alaric’s Introduction to Occult Studies seminar. Kai just continued to watch her. He was learning more about her every day; for a witch, she was surprisingly open. Most were always so secretive and quiet.

Before they knew it, they’d spent hours chatting the day away. “Thanks for being so patient with all my insipid questions.” Kai was feeling oddly cheerful. It wasn’t a common emotion for him. “Aw, they weren’t all insipid questions. Maybe a few.” Rosalie teased brightly, and Kai couldn’t help but return her wide grin. “Well, Rosalie, I had a lot of fun today, and I was wondering if you maybe wanted to… get coffee sometime.”

“Well, considering we’re in a coffee shop, that shouldn’t be too hard to arrange. How about the same time and place next week?”

“Great. It’s a date.”

~~~

One date turned into four, and before he’d even planned it, Rosalie was spending much of her time with Kai. He didn’t mind one bit. Of course, Kai had to convince himself it was all to get close to her and then break her – break them all. The more time he spent with her, however, the more he was starting to think he’d picked the wrong girl. The more time he spent with her, the more he didn’t want to have to break her. But he was in this now. He was in it, and there was only one way out.

Despite planning to meet at their usual coffee shop, Kai didn’t show up today, and he wasn’t answering his phone either. Perhaps it would seem pathetic or clingy, but Rosalie was worried about him. She made her way to his place, only wanting to see if he was okay. He was a quirky guy who had grown on her. He loved his food. He was strange at times, but she chalked it up to this naivety he had about their world. It was almost like he’d come from another time.

Rosalie knocked on his door. “Kai? Is everything okay?” There was no verbal response, but she heard shuffling on the other side of the door. The door handle did not turn, but she could feel his breathing on the other side. Pressing her palm to the door, Rosalie spoke softly, knowing the words would reach him. “Kai…” There were many things she wanted to say, but she didn’t know where to start. She didn’t know what he was going through, and she didn’t want to push him to open up to her.

“I don’t know what is bothering you, so I can’t say it’ll get better. People always say it will, but maybe it won’t. That is okay. I promise you, even if it doesn’t get better, it will become easier to live with. It always does.”

Kai closed his eyes. His temples were throbbing from dehydration, his eyes sore. He hadn’t cried in years, and it wasn’t catharsis – it was torture. How would she know it would become easier? She was unbelievably kind, and the kinder she was, the harder it was to stay on track. He wanted to forget all this. Kai couldn’t bear to use her as a catalyst for his revenge. Not anymore. Not like this. “How do you know?”

His raspy, broken voice hurt something within her. It sounded lifeless, devoid of hope and meaning. “Because I’ve lived through it. Please let me in.”

His shoulders slumped over. The weight of worlds may have rested on them. The weight of his identity certainly did. Weeks ago, he’d claimed the only way out of this was through. Could he give up his revenge, the one thing that sustained him? Could he give her up? He sank to the floor and leaned his back against the door. He said nothing else, but Kai hoped she didn’t leave.

She didn’t leave. Mere inches away, separated by the wooden door between them, Rosalie sat on the other side. She listened to his breathing, his muffled sobs. Her heart broke for him. Something was tearing him apart, and all she wanted to do was hold him together…

When dawn struck, Kai woke. His back was stiff from the strange angle he’d been sleeping at, and he stretched forward. He shot up, then. There was no way she was still here, was there? Very slowly, he opened the door with a shaking hand. She was asleep against the wall. Kai wanted to wake her, but that would be a poor way to repay her compassion.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Kai lifted her and laid her on his bed, tucking her in. He was done with all of it. He was done with lying to her. He’d tell her everything very soon, and if she wanted to tell him to leave her life and never return, so be it. Kai would leave her life and never return.

No matter how he wanted to, Kai couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell her, not when that would mean admitting how horrible he was. Instead of telling her when she woke the next morning, he crossed another line. He kissed her. It didn’t take much thought on his part, and she returned the kiss after a few moments of surprise.

As their lips meshed together, Kai couldn’t understand how she’d become so important to him so quickly. It seemed she felt the same way. “Kai… I don’t know what is going on with you, and I won’t force you to tell me, either. I want you to know I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

Her words rang with sincerity, breaking Kai’s heart more and more. He had to come clean. If she left him, he’d deserve it. The only problem was… Malachai was a coward. He’d always been a coward, and he would always be a coward.

~~~

After that one kiss, Kai vanished. Rosalie hadn’t heard from him or even seen him around campus in weeks. She got no texts, no calls… no sign he’d ever existed. The first week had hurt badly. She stayed up nights, staring at her dark ceiling trying to comprehend why he’d disappeared. The second week brought about the best performance of her life; Rose acted like she was over him. She figured she could fake it until Malachai was solely a memory. By the third week, the act was up. She couldn’t hide behind a screen of emotionlessness. It was standing on a feeble foundation, and sooner and later, it would crumble.

Thankfully, a distraction had presented itself. Alaric had been dealing with yet another villain in Mystic Falls for the past few weeks, and this time, he’d called upon his daughter to come help. Despite the pure annoyance their life had become in recent years, Rosalie knew asking her to come step was a solidifying step in the relationship she had with her dad. She journeyed down the highway, not knowing she was speeding towards the man she’d spent weeks trying to forget.

Kai had spent the last three weeks trapped in the cellars of the Salvatore Boarding House. The first week had hurt badly. He stayed up nights, staring at the granite ceiling trying to make sense of the uncomfortable whirlwind of emotions inside him. The second week brought about starvation, weakness, and a moment of painful clarity. Malachai somehow felt the aching and confusion Rose must have been feeling all those miles away. By the third week, something had awoken within him. Something hard. Unbreakable. Unyielding. He’d snapped again, and the Kai Parker they were so terrified of had returned.

He'd been dragged out of the cell and tied up to a chair in the living room. The moment was all too reminiscent of an interaction in the prison world, where he’d been tied up to the exact same chair. The fireplace crackled to his left, and Damon stood in front of him with a poker in his hand. “Man, no one thought to change up the furniture since 1994? No wonder this place went out of business.”

Damon smirked without mirth, passing the metal rod between his hands. “I forgot how annoying you can be. Bonnie couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you again, so we’ve got another friend coming to help out with whatever little secrets you’ve got in there.” Kai raised his eyebrows, internally indignant but outwardly cool. His gaze fell on the glass of water on the coffee table. “Let me guess. I answer the question, I get the water. I refuse, and I get the poker.”

“Oh no, no, no. That’s mine. You just get the poker.” In his exhaustion, Malachai genuinely chuckled. “How original, Damon. Tell me, how’d you get Rosalie to agree to help out?” That was the ace in his back pocket – the card he hoped he’d never have to play. At the mention of his daughter, Alaric zoomed into the room, holding Kai by the throat while he tilted his chair backward. A few more inches and his head would slam against the brick fireplace. “How do you know my daughter?”

As quickly as he’d come in, Damon got Alaric off of him. “Easy, Papa Bear. Kai’s going to cooperate.” The metal poker rested on Kai’s chest, the sharp tip separated from his heart by mere inches of flesh and blood. “Talk. Now.”

“Didn’t you know? I’ve been dating her for a while. Here I thought she told you everything, Alaric.” Alaric blanched. There were consequences to keeping Rosalie in the dark, and here was one. In the process of trying to keep her out of these messes, Alaric had enveloped Rose into one with repercussions he couldn’t yet imagine. “Of course, she thinks it’s real, which is sweet, really. At least someone among us has a heart.”

His words betrayed his thoughts. Truly, he’d be taking her heart and crushing it, but this was about his survival. If there was one thing Kai Parker knew how to do, it was survive. “She’s just so welcoming… it was so easy to step into her life. I could get into all of yours and take what I’ve always wanted. But you really didn’t need to torture me to get that out of me, did you? I think I’m an excellent communicator.”

Nothing had announced Rosalie’s arrival. Her car pulling up to the driveway had reached Damon and Alaric’s ears, but not Kai’s. He kept talking, spreading lies and making them sound like nothing but the truth. Rose was standing just ten feet behind him, and her dad looked up at her. His eyes were swarming with a myriad of emotions in stark contrast to Rosalie’s. Her eyes were simply empty. There was nothing to be found in her anymore. There was no more pain, no more darkness, and no more joy.

Damon forcefully swiveled the chair around, and the movement nearly knocked Kai to the ground. When he looked up, he saw the numbness in her eyes. He’d broken her. Rose didn’t scream at him. Not one tear slipped past her eye, even as her throat closed up with emotion. She just turned on her heel and walked away. Kai had thought he was destroying her heart, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

She no longer had a heart that could be destroyed. Now, there was just nothing.

~~~

Kai had come to ruin the lives of those who’d tortured him. He thought he deserved the vengeance, and perhaps he still did. He just had no right to ruin the one soul who’d shown him an ounce of kindness along the way. After giving Damon whatever information he’d wanted, Alaric had let him go with the promise that he’d stay away from his daughter. That wasn’t a promise Kai would keep, and even Alaric knew that. She may not have seen it, but Alaric had seen the flicker of remorse in him, even if it lasted a fraction of a second.

Rosalie had gone about life just as she had before Kai ever came into it. She studied. She had dinners with her dad. She spent her Sundays at the same coffee shop. In his weakness, it took Kai weeks before he could step into the coffee shop and approach her. When he finally did, he wished he hadn’t. It would’ve been much more acceptable if she yelled at him, even thrown her hot coffee in his face. Instead, she glanced up at him and began packing up her things. Not a word was exchanged.

Kai trailed after her, not knowing what to say or how to start. Snow had begun to fall, and the chill settled into his bones. Instead of calling out her name, he ran up behind her, grabbing her wrist to get her to stop. She did stop then, wrenching her wrist from her grip. “What do you want, Malachai?” The words did not reflect her turmoil, because none came up to the surface. He’d shattered her beyond repair. “Rosalie…” He didn’t have the words to begin. Just saying her name did something to him, closing up his throat and stealing his air. “I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t begin to cover it. I had no right to use you the way I did. But I swear to you, I wasn’t lying. I really began feeling… something for you. I don’t know if it was love because no one’s loved me before. I don’t know what love is. But I felt something for you… something that made me sick and dizzy and light and happy. Just being around you…” Kai rambled on. Once he started, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“Just being around you healed me. I need that. I promise you, no moment we spent together was a lie. It may have started that way at first, but now…” What finally silenced him was not his own tiredness or overwhelming emotions; it was her smile. It was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, didn’t even seem like a smile. It was empty, reflective of the shell of Rosalie he’d left behind. “I’d rather you lie.”

~~~

This concludes yet another Kai Parker One Shot! Sorry about the sad ending, darlings :(

Through this piece, I wanted to illustrate a face of heartbreak we don't always see. It's not always screaming and crying. Silence can speak the loudest.

Please feel free to send any thoughts/comments/constructive criticisms my way. I always welcome them :) Also, let me know if you're interested in a sequel for this piece! If you'd like to be tagged in future Kai Parker works, feel free to message me/leave a comment here.

If you liked this story, feel free to check out my other stories from my Malachai Parker Masterlist (pinned to the top of my profile).

Until next time, JustAThoughtfulAngel <3

Taglist: @socio-kai-path1972, @bluelicious, @kolsangel, @genevivetaylor, @prettybitchfatwitch

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 9 months

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The missing star

*ST-2199 HQ*

Arms crossed, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, Kiergan is looking up at the stars, taking in their endless numbers, thinking about how as a child he used to believe that a star was the glowing presence of a person who'd died but stayed to watch over their loved ones. He sighs. A part of him wishes he still believed that.

Hauroko isn't the first Trooper he has lost in his time as a squad leader. Kiergan had felt the pain of every fallen Trooper in his squad and can remember every single one of their faces, young Michael maybe clearest of all, but... Hauroko was his friend. She and Leave-it were the best friends he ever had. No, Kiergan corrects himself, not friends, they were more family to him than the one he grew up with. They made his life make sense. Leave-it made him laugh while Hauroko kept Kiergan strong, and he swore to himself that he would keep them safe.

The singed pauldron he'd recovered on that barren landscape between rivers of lava will forever be an agonizing reminder of his failure; it is hard evidence that Kiergan will never hear Hauroko's voice or see her bright glorious smile ever again. She's gone. She's not even a star on the night sky, merely an invisible scar on his heart from a wound that will never truly heal. Hauroko is gone.

Kiergan dreads the day when Leave-it can't outrun his illness anymore and his laughter will be silenced as Hauroko's smile was erased. It will happen. It is happening, his medicine is having less and less of an effect and will eventually be useless and then he'll be gone too. The thought of both of them gone forever is too horrible to stand.

Maybe Leave-it and Hauroko will wait for Kiergan to join them in some kind of afterlife? And as Jana has everything under control here that means ST -2199 don't need Kiergan, not really, so when the day comes he'll be okay with dying.

Kiergan sighs again. Yeah, he'll be okay with it, but he would give his soul to have Hauroko here at this very moment. She would have known what to say to snap him out of his gloom. Hauroko always knew how to guide Kiergan out of the darkness when he got lost inside his own head.

Turning to go inside the castle, Kiergan nearly walks right into Yurei and comes dangerously close to having a heart attack. “For the love of...” Kiergan snaps, trying recover some dignity after the flailing and the startled yelp that just left his lips. “I swear, I'm putting a bell on you.”

Yurei grins. His eyes are as black as the sky above them and the tiny pinprick of light at the center of them look like dying stars instead of guardian angels. “I told you, you can put anything you'd like on me.”

Kiergan lets out an annoyed breath.“I'm not in the mood for your innuendos tonight, Yurei.”

Yurei sidesteps and blocks his path when Kiergan tries to go around him. His eyes are so very dark and the smile fades a bit as he states in a rather factual way; “You're sad.” He tilts his head a little. “Is it because the blond left?”

“No.” Kiergan glares. Is he still shocked that Leave-it and Zev'sonya had gotten married? Yes. Does the thought make him nervous and he wishes that Leave-it had married someone less... complicated? Unfortunately also yes. But his own feelings on Zev'sonya doesn't matter, what matters to Kiergan is whether his friend is happy and she, for whatever reason, makes Leave-it smile even brighter than before. Kiergan is pleased that Leave-it gets to travel with his new family and enjoy life rather than hide away with him while his limited days ticks away, not sad. “I'm sad because my friend died and I miss her.” He tries to move by Yurei again, but the man reaches out and places a hand on his arm and stops him

“Tell me about her.” Yurei says.

That, Kiergan did not expect. He frowns at him. “Why? You don't care that she's gone.”

“I don't.” Yurei admits readily enough. “But she mattered to you, and I care about you.”

Exhaling no small amount of frustration, Kiergan shifts his hand to shake off Yurei's grip and takes a step away to create some space between them. “Stop. Just stop it. Stop saying that.”

“But it's true.” Yurei insists, now with that eerie smile of his again.

“Why?” Kiergan snaps, out of patience. “Why me? You don't know me. You barely cast one glance my way when we first met before deciding to declare your eternal devotion and start grabbing my ass at any moment. Why me, dammit?”

Yurei's smile widens a tiny fraction and there is a bit of amusement in his bottomless eyes. “I didn't need more than a glance to conclude that you are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.”

Kiergan scoffs. “If you're not going to tell me the truth, get out of my way.”

“I am telling you the truth.” Yurei claims with soft stubbornness. “I would never lie to you.”

And the really unsettling bit is that Kiergan believes him. Due to whatever crazy reasoning Yurei lives by, he wouldn't lie to him. “Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't choose to devote yourself to someone simply based on their looks.”

Yurei tilts his head a little, still amused and not discouraged in any way. “Men devote their lives and die for lesser causes every day.”

That... Kiergan can't exactly argue against that. Hadn't he joined the Imperial army for an equally foolish reason? He closes his eyes and sighs. His heart aches and he misses his friends. “Just... please. I just can't deal with your weirdness right now. Please.”

Kiergan expects some more innuendos, maybe a lewd suggestion or two, but what he doesn't expect is the feeling of Yurei's hand gently cradling his neck and easing him forward to rest his head on Yurei's shoulder. Kiergan is too surprised by the gesture to object and merely stands there while the cool fingers on his neck warm up from the contact to his skin.

Yurei stands unmoving like a droid, probably copying a move he's seen others do rather than acting on what feels right, but awkward as it is; he is trying, even if it is in a language he doesn't speak.

Kiergan can't fight back a ghost of smile on his lips as the effort does make him feel a little better. As weird as Yurei might be, as unsettling as he definitely is, there is some good in him too. At least, Kiergan likes to think so?

And while the dark sky above them is riddled with stars, Yurei's eyes are even darker and with just a pinprick of light in them.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Kiergan #Yurei #The one shots start coming and they don't stop coming

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coffeecakecafe · 2 years

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Milo is the second-in-command for the Guardians of Atlas, a job he got accidentally. He cares deeply about his friends and has a very strong sense of justice, although the level of danger they're all exposed to on a regular basis sometimes makes him question his choice to fight monsters every night. More under the cut!

Aerin - Riley - Wallace - Milo - Knox - Lucy

Milo is part phoenix (and not a very creative pseudonym creator, considering that he kind of just lifts that for an alias). He has basically universal control over fire, and is generally heat and fire-proof. He runs at a much higher temperature than your average human and as a result he feels cold like, all the time. His magic also gives him a great ear for music and mimicry; given the right tools he can recreate just about any sound he's heard. He can also do a little vocal mimicry, but his brother is much better at it than he is.

Milo is the legal guardian of his younger brother Alex. Their mom left them when Milo was like, 19, after struggling with being a single parent since their father's disappearance. Money is kind of tight at their house, so Milo is juggling his super-heroic escapades alongside a job at the local diner cafe and a couple of college music classes (he really wants to become a composer). Milo and Riley are friends, and the Ramzy brothers live with Riley.

Milo has to deal with learning to find balance in life and stick up for himself when others are trying to use him for personal gain. He uncovers a few personal ties to the Mirror World and the monsters as the Guardians' investigation deepens - ties to old friends and his father that pull up old wounds he'd thought he was long past. Milo wants more than anything to get all of this solved so that he can go back to living a perfectly normal life.

#my art #my ocs #guardians of atlas #milo ramzy #phoenix goa #character reference sheet #ref sheet #vcg #i need to go back thru milo's tag and fix the ones where his name is wrong #so that his tag is still functional lol #i changed his surname recently

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cinlat · 8 months

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Blood in the Breeze: Ch 17 (Choices)

Parts one and two of this series linked.

Read every chapter on FFN or Ao3.

Summary: LOTS of hard choices to make, some tangible wisdom, a little bit of fun on the firing range, and one pissed off dead emperor...

Chapter Word Count: 7,200 Chapter Rating: M Characters in Chapter: Fynta Wolfe, Aric Jorgan, Theron Shan, Zolah Holran, Lana Beniko, Shillet Jorgan, Keshal Vaak, Balic Cormac...

Author’s Note: Whole chapter under the cut. Better formatting on Ao3.

Odessen Private Quarters

Jorgan tossed the empty bottles into the bin while Cormac and Fynta hazed each other about who drank more. Tayl yawned as Elara said her farewells to Shillet. The girl promised to come stay with them soon, then hugged the only mother she'd ever known before bidding him and Fynta good night. All things considered, the night had gone perfectly. Yet, Aric felt more restless than ever.

The skirmishes on Nathema sat clearly in Jorgan's mind. Force-mad guardian and the way his blades sparked off Fynta's armor. Jorgan had taken the shot. He'd missed. If not for Fynta's beskar, that bastard would have cut her in two. Because Aric had missed.

Jorgan pulled the patch off his eye and rubbed it. Fynta had given him his sight back, but when it mattered, he hadn't been good enough. The world still looked like a white haze when Jorgan closed his good eye. Tech might have been able to get Fynta back on her feet, but it couldn't make him a sniper again.

Sighing, Jorgan swept crumbs from the counter into the tash. He'd find some other way to be useful, even if it meant hanging up his scopes. The pain of that thought stole his breath.

Strong arms snaked around Jorgan's waist from behind, and the familiar weight of Fynta's head resting against his back brought a sense of peace. For her, he'd give it all up. Maybe they should. Turning, Jorgan wrapped his wife in a hug. "We should retire."

Fynta chuckled and let Jorgan pull her closer. "You keep saying that."

Jorgan tightened his hold until Fynta looked him in the eye. "I'm serious. What if we just…stopped."

The smile that a pleasant evening had put on Fynta's face slipped. "Are you serious?" Jorgan held her gaze, and familiar frustration replaced it. She pushed away and flailed her hands. "I can't just stop, Aric. I have to get him out." The last line was delivered with a sharp slap to her forehead.

"Why?" Aric crossed the room and gripped Fynta's shoulders. Every time his panic felt under control, something sparked an attack that made him feel like it was all slipping through his fingers. It didn't matter that it wouldn't work, Jorgan argued. "What power does he have if you keep him bottled up? Some bad dreams and whiplash when he stops time? We can handle that."

Fynta tried to turn away, but Jorgan held her fast. "Damn it, woman." Every fear from the last six years crashed over Jorgan all at once. His fingers tightened, desperate to hold onto a past that he saw fading with each day. They were growing apart, him settling into life as a husband and father first, her always the reckless soldier.

Unbidden, anger replaced his fear and Jorgan snarled. "What more do you have to lose to see that this war will never end. Your other leg? The rest of my sight?" Fynta glared at him, but Jorgan couldn't stop the torrent of accusations even though he knew they weren't her fault. "For fuck's sake, Cormac's still walking with a limp. Havoc squad is gone. Vik is dead. When will it be enough?"

Jorgan regretted those last words even as they left his lips. Fynta's eyes widened, and for the first time he saw true, unadulterated emotion on her face. He'd crashed through her shields while she was vulnerable and left her exposed. That had never been his intention.

Slowly, Jorgan lifted his hands. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. This was the second time in as many days that he'd fucked up what could have been a civil discussion. "That didn't come out the way I meant."

Watching Fynta's mask slide back into place left Jorgan cold. "I know." Her whispered words hurt more than any slap could have.

Jorgan took one of his wife's hands and studied it against his. It was smaller, the fingers more delicate despite the years of calluses and scars. Fynta projected herself as a giant, and sometimes even he forgot that she was only human. Without looking up, Jorgan blew out a breath. "Will you at least hear me out?" Now that the heat of the moment had faded, Jorgan felt like shit. "Please."

"Of course." Jorgan winced at the distance in Fynta's voice, but it was no less than he deserved.

"I need to show you something." Jorgan pulled Fynta to their room. She sat on the end of the bed while he dug out the ruck sack that he had neglected to unpack earlier. He'd warred with himself all night about when to bring up the black box from Nathema. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Sighing, Jorgan turned. "I found this in the vault."

It happened too fast for Jorgan to react. Fynta had been sitting on the bed, then he was tripping over the desk chair, landing on his ass with her on top of him. The face hovering above Aric didn't belong to his wife. It twisted in rage, fingers clawing for his throat.

"Fynta." The knee she drove into Jorgan's gut drove a grunt out of him. He growled and squeezed her wrists so tight that he felt the bones grinding under his fingers. "Stop."

With a shout, Fynta threw herself backwards. The nails that had clawed for his throat were now tangled in her hair. She cried out, more of a belligerent curse than tortured scream. Jorgan scrambled to her and wrapped himself around her. He muttered nonsense, holding her stiff body until it began to relax. By the time Shillet appeared at the top of the stairs, Fynta was sweaty and panting.

"It's alright," Jorgan assured the girl, though he didn't loosen his hold. He couldn't imagine what they must look like, sitting on the floor with Fynta curled into his body. "Nightmare."

"You're sure?" Shillet didn't sound convinced, but she wanted to be. Jorgan nodded, and the girl half turned. "I'll go get her some water."

Fynta shivered, then lifted her head. "Fierfek." Jorgan let out a relieved breath, that word becoming one of relief instead of the curse it was meant to be. It meant his wife was back.

At the sound of returning footsteps, Fynta pushed away from Jorgan. She managed a weak smile at Shillet. "Thanks, Shil'ika. Sorry to wake you."

The girl wore her favorite pajamas, consisting of an old SpecForce shirt that Jorgan had given her years prior and a pair of shorts that she'd proudly lifted from under the quartermaster's nose. She'd been supposed to return those. "You good?" Shillet asked, keeping her distance with thin arms wrapped around her middle.

Fynta drank deep, then let out a shuddery breath. "I'm good. Thanks."

Though Shillet didn't look convinced, she turned and went back to her room. Jorgan waited until she was gone to open his mouth, but Fynta beat him to it. "What the hell?" She pressed the heel of her hand to her eye as she gestured at the box he'd dropped. "Why did you bring him with us?"

"He gave me an idea." The ghost living in Jorgan's box claimed to be Valkorion's father. Trapped for an eternity in a lonely vault by his petty son.

Fynta winced. "The old shabuir doesn't like that."

"Good." Jorgan took Fynta's face into his hands. They'd need to discuss what had just happened and why she had reacted so violently, but first— "Ever wonder why he didn't want you in that vault?"

Eyes widening, Fynta's lips parted. "You want to trap him." She hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into Jorgan's forearms. No doubt that old Sith was raging inside her head.

Jorgan brushed loose strands of hair from Fynta's face. "It won't be easy." Hell, he didn't even know if it would be possible. What Jorgan did know was that their current life would lead Fynta to the grave. That wasn't something he'd survive a second time.

"We'll need help," Fynta rasped. Her spine straightened, life entering her eyes once more. "And a galaxy's worth of luck."

War Room Emergency Council Meeting 02:14 Hours

"You're mad." Lana waved a hand at Fynta while speaking to Zolah. "Tell the woman she's gone absolutely insane."

The Chiss shrugged narrow shoulders. "Since when has she ever listened to me?"

Arguments erupted, all the while Fynta watched the hope drain from Aric's eyes. She couldn't say that she disagreed with Lana's assessment. This was one of those grasping at straws plans. The sort that only the truly desperate made up. Fynta hadn't realized that they'd reached that point until Valkorion's rage over the holocron took over.

Fynta knew what, more specifically, who was in that box. She had ordered it to be left behind, to let the old bastard who sired the dead bastard in her head rot for all of eternity. Apparently, her husband had other plans.

A shiver traveled up Fynta's spine at the memory. It hazed, becoming more cloudy as the moments passed, but the rage lingered. Valkorion had roared in her mind, awakening some deep part of her that needed to kill. That old blood lust from childhood that Fynta had buried so long ago. Valkorion hadn't so much taken control of her body, but he'd unleashed the beast within, and she'd gone after the nearest target. That couldn't be allowed to happen again.

"We could use the same technique on Fynta that was used on me," Zolah suggested. Fynta's attention snapped back to the conversation. Zolah rarely spoke about her conditioning, only that it had been unpleasant, but she wouldn't hesitate to use that knowledge to better their position in the war effort.

Vector shook his head, his jaw taut with what Fynta assumed was disapproval. "We will not be a part of such tactics again." Zolah's eyes rolled towards the ceiling, evidence of a years-long argument between the couple. Vector continued without acknowledging his wife's chagrin. "Furthermore, that was an absolute loss of autonomy. Fynta would become a powerful weapon in the wrong hands."

Voices clambered for attention, and Fynta lost interest again. A yawn built in the back of her throat, and she clamped her teeth together to keep it caged. Finally, Notiac interjected with a calm that silenced the room. "I would like to speak with Felix about this."

Only the uncomfortable shuffle of feet answered. Felix Iresso had been a prisoner of war more than a decade ago, the only surviving member of his squad. Only later did the Republic learn that he'd been implanted with experimental holocron tech. No one knew how it worked or what knowledge lay dormant in his mind. Not even the Imperials. And, not for lack of trying. By the time he joined the Alliance, Felix had as many or more scars than Fynta.

"Is that a good idea?" Theron asked. He cleared his throat, and Fynta noted the intentional way he didn't look at their Imperial allies, specifically his girlfriend, the former Cipher Nine. "We promised that he wouldn't be prodded here."

Somehow, Notiac projected peace. Her lips tipped up, a matriarch indulging a child's concern. "No prodding. I simply wish to hear his thoughts on the matter. Fynta, Jorgan, I believe you should accompany me."

"Do you see a way for this plan to work," Lana hedged, eyes narrowed at her Jedi lover. Fynta didn't bother pointing out that Notiac didn't have eyes, though her fatigued thoughts snagged on that bit and refused to let it go.

As Fynta looked around the room, she realized how odd they were. Discounting her, a born Mandalorian, marrying a Cathar. That left the two pairs of Sith/Jedi couples, and a handful of intelligence agents from opposing sides settling into a foursome of domestic bliss. Technically, Theron had surrounded himself with Imperials, but he was stubborn enough to keep whatever loose morals guided him. What had started as a paltry group of radicals had merged into a single force, with no room for Imps and Pubs. They were simply the Alliance now.

Notiac dipped her head. "Possibly. I understand the idea behind Major Jorgan's proposal. Vitiate's father has been trapped for eons, unable to do harm. They want to do the same with Valkorion, trap him in Fynta's mind where he can no longer sway the growth of our galaxy. If done correctly, when she dies, he will simply cease to exist."

Fynta noted that the emperor in question had been silent since his outburst in their quarters. She didn't know what to make of it, but assumed there would be dreams and visits in the coming days to talk her out of this plan.

"I would also like to include Kaeto and Kozen. His skillset could prove useful," Notiac continued. Then, she looked at Fynta. "On second thought, I believe perhaps you should not be there. Major Jorgan can relay any pertinent instructions to you, and I have little doubt that he will base every decision on your wellbeing."

"Sure." Fynta didn't doubt it either, but she made a mental note to remind Aric that they were doing this for the sake of the galaxy too. That there would always be risk.

Zolah nodded, then added her concerns. "Say that we cage the mad emperor. What then? He will always be privy to our plans, even if he's rendered impoten—"

"I retire." Fynta saw Aric straighten, and Zolah let her sentence go unfinished. "We lock him in, then throw away the key. Take me off the board. Without access to fancy weapons and galactic armies, I'm just a Force blind human with a short temper and good aim. He can't do too much with that. Aric and I leave the Alliance and find somewhere remote to live out the rest of our lives." Now that she'd said it out loud, it didn't seem as terrible a plan.

"And what of the Alliance?" Zolah asked, her tone more clipped that Fynta expected. The Chiss had never sung Fynta's praises; she assumed Zolah would be pleased to have her out of the way.

Fynta gestured at the gathering. "It's yours. I was a figurehead, a way to draw people in. You've outgrown me." It was true, she realized. The Alliance was bigger than Fynta Wolfe, in truth it always had been.

Lana sighed and rubbed her temples. "That is—a lot to process." She dropped her arms and addressed the room. "It's late, and we all need rest. Before making any decisions, we must figure out if this plan is feasible. Once that question is answered, we can deal with what comes after. All in favor of dismissal?"

Three hands raised at once, Fynta's being among them. Aric and Vector seconding. It was no surprise that Theron, Quinn, and Zolah wanted more time to argue. "Motion carried." Fynta clapped her hands, then rubbed them together. "Good night, everyone. I'll see you at lunch."

Fynta angled for the door, speeding up when Aric joined her. They turned the corner before he leaned close to her ear. "Thank you."

Somehow, Fynta found a weak smile in her exhaustion, even though she felt hollow. Retirement had never been a concern for Fynta. She'd never expected to live long enough to see it. Now that it loomed on the horizon, Fynta didn't know what to think.

Odessen Officer's Quarters 10:00 Hours

Even as large as the Odessen was, it was hard to find privacy. Jorgan was used to the constant press of bodies and movement after years in the military. Still, there were moments when he felt the invasion more keenly. Jorgan hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Fynta's conversation, but Keshal's voice snagged his attention when he stepped into their quarters after a training session with Bey'wan.

"I hear that you've been questioning the Resol'nare." The woman hefted her daughter, who'd reached the age of non stop wiggling. She sighed and shifted Jodi to the other hip. "Care to hash it out?"

Jorgan pressed himself to the wall and ignored the guilt that gnawed at his gut. He knew that Fynta had been struggling with her identity lately. So many things had changed for all of them, but time had been compressed for Fynta, and she felt the ripples of his more keenly. It was part of why Jorgan had pushed for retirement. They needed to separate themselves from the constant battle that had become their lives.

"What makes you think that?" Fynta's tone sounded guarded. Then, she signed. "Verin's got a big mouth."

"Only when it comes to those he loves." Keshal blew air through her lips, and baby Jobi giggled.

"I'm not questioning the Resol'nare," Fynta admitted after a moment of silence. Jorgan's brows lifted. He'd never seen anyone bully Fynta into sharing her feelings as fast as Keshal did. Then again, few people said no to the matronly Mandalorian. "Just my place in it."

"Explain what—shab, let go you greedy little strill." Jorgan heard a scuffle and fought the urge to look around the corner. He assumed it involved one of Keshal's many braids and Jodi's tiny fingers. With a huff, Keshal continued. "You've got Cinlat's armor. You speak the language and put clan above all else, and—"

Fynta growled, and Jorgan heard the heavy clatter of her metal foot as she paced. "And no colors for that armor. A child that I can't raise in our culture because her father is Cathar, a Mand'alor that I'll never answer the call of…" She trailed off, footsteps falling quiet. "I'm dar'manda now." The horror in Fynta's voice twisted Aric's stomach. He knew what the term meant, but had never expected to hear it from his wife's lips.

Keshal hissed. "Hold your tongue, girl." Jodi's cooing paused while the girl puzzled out her mother's shift in temperament. "You take these things too literally. Colors will come. The Mand'alor is your alley, who you will aid if she calls. And as for Aric, well, he married a Mandalorian. That's on him."

Fynta didn't answer, but Aric heard the mattress squeak as she settled on it. Keshal's words echoed through his mind. He had chosen Fynta, knowing how integral her culture was to her. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to let her instill some of the better aspects of Mandalorian culture in their daughter. Thirteen wasn't an adult, though, Jorgan wouldn't budge on that.

"When my husband died," Keshal continued, her voice softer than before. "I felt lost. Do you remember that feeling? When you learned that you were married?"

Fynta must have nodded because Keshal only paused briefly. "That feeling of spiraling out of control. Of the universe plotting a course that you can barely hang onto. I felt that. I had a young son, my clan had scattered, and there was no way out."

"What did you do?" Fynta asked. Jodi squealed, and Keshal swore again. Fynta chuckled in reply. It reminded Jorgan of the way Cormac used to laugh when Shillet flung her food everywhere. Stars, Aric missed those days. "Assuming there's a moral to this story," Fynta continued, but there was a note of laughter in the biting words.

"I shaved my head," Keshal growled. "Something I'm considering doing again before this child rips my hair out by the root."

There was a scuffle, then Keshal sighed. "It was a small change, but something I could control. I felt empowered, and that stupid haircut breathed enough life into my sorry shebs that we survived."

"Not sure Aric would approve of me shaving my head, but I get the point." Fynta chuckled again. "Thanks."

"Now, about your brother." Keshal launched into a tirade about how long Verin had been gone and the trouble he could get into. Aric excused himself, giving Fynta the privacy that he should have from the beginning. He needed to find a way to approach the subject of Shillet and apologize for being an ass about it. If he wanted Fynta to be a part of his daughter's life, then he needed to give her that freedom.

Two days later, Jorgan poked the fire he'd built at their mountainside retreat and sighed. Fynta had run late in meetings and commed to say that she would meet him at their campsite. It had been his idea, a way to get Fynta alone so that they could work out some of the tension building between them.

The weather was forecast to be warm but comfortable. Jorgan had planned a mountain climb and maybe a late-night swim in the spring. That was hours ago.

Fynta arrived well after sunset, making enough noise to announce her presence. Jorgan poked the fire again, letting the knot that had squeezed his chest burn off. He'd begun to wonder if she wouldn't come at all. "Thought you'd forgotten."

"Never." Fynta's tone perked Jorgan's ears. He turned with dread to see what fresh hell the War Council meetings had heaped onto them this time. Jorgan paused half standing when Fynta stepped into the light.

Jorgan didn't remember crossing the campsite. Fynta kept her eyes low in an uncharacteristic scowl. Aric reached for a dark strand of hair that had worked its way free of its binding, then paused. "This is…different."

"I needed a change." Fynta tugged at a lock of hair, then squared her shoulders and looked Jorgan in the eye. "I needed to take control of something."

The defiance in Fynta's eyes barely hid the fear behind them. Jorgan remembered her conversation with Keshal, how one small detail could mean the difference between confidence, and the breakdown that Fynta had been creeping towards for weeks. At least she hadn't shaved it.

Taking Fynta's hand, Aric pulled her into the firelight where he could see her better. Fynta didn't fight or speak as he tugged the tie free so that he could run his fingers through the now black strands. He'd only known Fynta as the feisty blonde, with hair caught between pale highlights and brown undertones with no direction as to where it would end up.

The black complimented her skin, bringing out the bronze hues, and making her eyes blaze brighter. Jorgan had always known his wife was beautiful, and had spent many a grumpy meeting glaring at the men who threw themselves at her. The new color amplified that, contrasting where the blonde had blended.

Jorgan smiled and tucked the strand behind Fynta's ear. "It suits you."

Odessen Training Room

"You sure about this, boss?" Cormac blocked two high strikes and a dirty kick. His hips almost had full range of motion, and his left knee didn't give out anymore. Which was good since Fynta wasn't holding back.

"Of course not." Fynta ducked beneath Cormac's jab, then stabbed two fingers into his ribs. He grunted, and she danced away. "But, Aric has a point."

Rubbing his abused torso, Cormac put some distance between him and the agile not-blonde. He liked the new hair color and thought it brought out the light in her eyes. He hated seeing how dull they had become lately. "That means you'll be stuck with him for the rest of your life. Is that what you want?" If Cormac had his way, they'd fight to the throne room of Zakuul and find a way to be rid of the old emperor once and for all.

Fynta blew out a breath, and Cormac used that opportunity to box her ears. He managed to get one before she stomped his foot. With a curse, Cormed limped back to his side of the mat. Fynta waved at the ceiling, and damn it, Cormac looked up even though he knew she was being rhetorical. "I don't know. You weren't there. You didn't see him."

"Pretty sure I was," Cormac responded, dragging his gaze down from the nothing above them. Fynta's features clouded, and he shrugged. The poor woman had gotten a healthy dose of reality from a lot of people lately, and it looked like it was his turn.

Cormac started unwrapping his gloves and jerked his head towards the bench where their bags were stored. He flopped onto the metal seat, pleased that it didn't hurt. Fynta joined him, focusing too hard on her gear. She sighed. "Tell me."

They'd never spoken about the time when Fynta was away, not at length. He'd been so damn grateful when her memory returned that rehashing those emotions didn't seem worth it. But, Cormac was good at reading people, and right now it seemed that the bosses were out of sync. That was bad for everyone.

Leaning back, Cormac took a deep breath. "It was hell." Fynta winced, and he patted her leg. He didn't want to hurt her or betray Jorgan's worst moments, but she needed to know in order to make the best decision for everyone. "He stopped eating, dropped maybe ten kilo. He's never been a jolly bloke but all the life was gone from him. Jorgan woke up, did his duty, then went to bed. Shillet was the only thing keeping him going after they declared you dead."

"Yeah." Fynta breathed the word and leaned against the walll. Her shoulder pressed against Cormac's, but she still didn't look at him. "I've never seen him like this."

"He's scared." Cormac knew the feeling. It was worse with Elara and Tayl on Odessen than it had ever been while they were apart. "I don't think he'd survive losing you again." Cormac stopped short of voicing his opinions on how that end would come, only that he had doubted the Cathar would outlive his mate a second time.

They sat in silence for a moment, then Fynta dropped her face into her hands. "I need to figure him out again." Her voice was muffled, but Cormac understood. "We are so different now. I don't know how to get us back on the same page."

Plastering on a grin, Cormac nudged his best friend's shoulder until she looked at him. "Go back to the basics. Find something that you can connect with and build from there." He wiggled his eyebrows for added effect.

Fynta chuckled and shoved Cormac away. Then, she straightened. "Actually, that gives me an idea." She reached beneath the bench and snatched her gear. Fynta took two steps, then came back and planted a kiss on the top of Cormac's bald head. "You're a genius. Give Elara and Tayl my love."

Cormac lifted a hand to wave his friend off, then set about gathering the rest of his gear. Maybe he should take his own advice and treat Elara to a nice night at the cantina. Shillet probably owed him a favor, and she wouldn't turn down time with her little cousin anyway. By the time Cormac stood, he had an entire evening of dancing and relaxation planned. Now, all he had to do was pry his wife away from the medical bay long enough to enjoy it.

Odessen Alliance Base Indoor Rifle Range 0023 Hours

Jorgan followed Fynta into the rifle range and flipped on the external light to warn others that it was occupied. It was late, after midnight, and he felt the weight of the day wearing on him. They'd enjoyed a day in the mountains, but had been recalled early to deal with a new development in Vaylin's plans. Since then, Jorgan had barely seen his wife.

Stifling a yawn, Jorgan set his kit down and flipped through the target options. Fynta had refused to leave until Shillet was asleep, which the girl seemed to recognize and found every reason to stay awake. That was after a run with Iresso, a fresh batch of recruit testing, and general fretting over things he couldn't change. Jorgan had dozed once or twice on the couch while the girls had their battle of wills.

"What are you up to?" Jorgan didn't want to be on the firing range, but could tell Fynta had planned a special evening for them. He just hoped they could get through it without another argument.

A hand settled over Jorgan's, jerking him out of his glum thoughts. Fynta nodded to the far lane. "Come on, I've already got it set up."

"Been planning this?" Jorgan aimed for flirtatiousness and was rewarded with Fynta's signature grin. Her gaze traced along the blacks he wore, stirring a twinge of excitement in his gut. A quick glance towards the door revealed that she'd unplugged the security camera. Her grin widened when his lifted brows found her again.

Instead of the blankets he'd hoped to find behind the dividing wall, Jorgan's sniper rifle perched on the flat countertop and a target blinked at the hundred yard mark. He shifted a wary glare towards his wife. "I could probably hit that without the fancy new eye patch."

"Gotta start somewhere," Fynta answered with a wave for Aric to step up. "We need to calibrate it better so that there are fewer unknowns in the field." She didn't say it, but Jorgan knew that she'd seen his mistake. He was a liability now.

Sighing, Jorgan pressed his shoulder into the rifle butt and propped his elbows on the table. The patchwork of lines flickered to life the moment his eyepiece touched the scope. Shapes formed, creating the other half of what his good eye saw in a precise, green grid. The target appeared last, though the entire process took less than fifteen seconds. Even though he didn't need it for such a short distance, Aric ran through the routine of relaxing his muscles and counting heart beats. He squeezed the trigger on an exhale and the target flashed a sequence of colors to mark a bullseye.

Straightening, Jorgan smirked at his wife. "Satisfied?"

Fynta bent forward and unlaced her right boot. "Eventually." Jorgan watched the woman gracelessly relieve herself of the shoe, tipping so far to the side that he reached out to steady her on instinct. Fynta batted his hand away. "No touching."

Jorgan withdrew and gestured at the firing lane. "What's this all about?"

Fynta kicked the offending boot to the side, then nodded towards the target. It had moved out to one hundred and fifty yards. Jorgan attempted one of her brow raises in response. "For every hit," she continued, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that lifted her breasts for his appreciation. "I'll drop an article of clothing."

"Now the security camera makes sense," Jorgan replied, hoping that his voice didn't give away the speed of his racing heart. Fynta didn't respond, which set his nerves on edge.

Carefully, Jorgan set his rifle on the table and folded his arms to match Fynta's stance. "What happens if I miss?"

Fynta's shoulders lifted. "Nothing, but I'll pull the target in closer." Pushing off the wall, she slinked closer, hips rolling and eyes dancing with challenge. "You either get me naked, or prove that you can't hack it as a sniper anymore." Her voice dropped an octave, and she stopped short of touching him. "The choice is yours, Major Jorgan."

"Damn you, woman." Aric spun around and snatched his rifle from the stand. Echoes of a similar conversation a lifetime ago rolled through his thoughts. A time when Fynta entertained the prospect of giving up the life she loved instead of trusting in technology. Fynta was making her point in the same way he had after losing her leg. Accept the hard truth that his fighting style had to change, or retire. There was no room for half measures on the battlefield.

This time, Fynta rested her hand on Jorgan's arm, but he couldn't make himself look at her. "There is no one I would rather have at my back. We do this together, or what's the point?"

Swallowing his pride, Jorgan nodded and sighted on the next target. Fynta had agreed not to bench him again. Now, he needed to prove that he could still be counted on. When Jorgan executed another perfect shot, Fynta removed her sock, then her jacket, leaving her in just the casual blacks she wore around the base. When the target hit three hundred yards, Jorgan felt the warm press of breasts against his back. "Don't miss," Fynta whispered against the shell of his ear. A shiver ran the length of his spine, but Aric pushed it down.

The kaleidoscope of color announced another perfect shot, and Jorgan looked over his shoulder in time to see Fynta pull her belt free. He let his eyes trail over her before finding her face. "You're running out of clothing." Glancing back at the target, Jorgan estimated how far he could make it out before she was out of bargaining chips. "You've only got until five hundred yards before I win."

Fynta shook her head. "Don't worry about me." Something in her tone made Aric hesitate. He stared at his wife, trying to peer past the smug exterior to work out her plan. Eventually, he gave up and found the target again.

Three-fifty wasn't a difficult shot, but he'd never taken it with the eye piece. An uneasiness settled in Jorgan's stomach, and he flexed his hands to work out the stiffness. Insecurities that he hadn't felt since his rookie days creeped into the back of his mind until warmth slid around his ribs.

Jorgan looked down to find Fynta's hands splayed across his stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Distracting you." Fynta nipped his ear, making Jorgan start. He heard her laughter when she spoke again. "Is it working?"

"No." Jorgan didn't believe his gruff answer any more than Fynta would, but her touch gave him something to focus on more than his fear. Something to conquer.

The rifle kicked, and Jorgan let out a relieved breath when the target signaled a hit. Fynta's hands unwound from his body, but Aric felt movement as his back. When the target positioned itself at four hundred yards, he leaned forward to let the instruments read the field.

Tan skin slid into Jorgan's peripheral, a naked leg that rubbed suggestively alongside his. Aric cleared his throat and squinted down the line. His best shot was more than twice this, but the range only went to one thousand yards. He could do this, and prove to himself that his career hadn't ended.

Fynta's hands returned to their positions on Aric's stomach, the warmth of her exposed skin seeping through his pant leg made for a better distraction than enemy fire. He huffed a breath and focused on his heart beat, listening to a rhythm that was faster than he'd have liked. Another shot sparked cheerful colors from the target.

Straightening, Aric turned to his wife. "Fynta, this isn't going to—" His words dried on his tongue. After so many years together, the sight of her wiggling out of a shirt still brought him up short. He was mesmerized by the seductive way her hips twisted while she worked the fabric over her head and the flex of abdominals when the shirt finally cleared.

Fynta dropped the cloth on top of her pants and boot, then stretched. "Sorry, riduur, you were saying?"

Jorgan growled low in his throat, a primal sound that he'd hidden from other women. Fynta loved it, often coaxing more from him. She stepped back and held up one finger when Aric started towards her. "Remember? No touching."

With narrowed eyes, Jorgan returned to his perch and leaned forward to peer down his scope. Before he could find the target, Fynta's body pressed against his back, her hands toying with the hem of his shirt. Aric's body was more than aware of the change in her scent and how little separated their skin.

Target acquired, Jorgan's finger tightened on the trigger until the drawstring in his pants loosened. "That's. Cheating." He bit the words out through gritted teeth while Fynta wound her fingers in the flimsy ties.

Fynta's hand slid into the loosened waistband of his pants and offered a tantalizing massage through his underwear. "I never specified my rules," Fynta husked, fingers squeezing and flexing around his clothed shaft. The combination of heat and coarse material made for a dizzying sensation. "Think you can make the shot under—" her fist tightened, stopping short of pain. "Duress?"

Air wheezed between Jorgan's lips. Fynta's heady scent filled his nostrils, clouding out everything except removing that final barrier between his erection and her heat. Teeth bared, Aric met those deep, blue eyes over his shoulder. "Watch me."

The target flashed a hit, and Fynta rewarded Aric with several, quick strokes. He yelped in surprise, gripping the table with one hand while trying not to send his rifle clattering to the floor. When she released him, Jorgan felt like he could breathe for the first time. Until he saw that she'd removed her bra. His mouth went dry, attention drawn to the two perfect peaks that he wasn't allowed to caress.

Fynta pretended not to notice, nodding down the line. "Five hundred yards, Major. Make this shot, and…" Her thumbs slipped into the elastic of her underwear, dragging one side low enough to expose her hip bone.

Snapping his attention back to that infuriating smirk, Jorgan's eyes narrowed. "I'll have you when this is over, woman."

The impish grin widened. "I'm counting on it."

With rolled eyes, Jorgan forced himself to bend forward and press the high tech eye patch to the scope again. Visions of what he planned to do to Fynta after this shot played out in distracting clarity. He'd bend her over the stall and take her from behind until she was panting in Mando'a, then—

The brush of fabric caught his attention a second before Aric's thoughts splintered into a hundred shards of light. Wet heat enveloped him, wrapping his mind in cotton while his body hummed to life. Even when he looked down to find Fynta on her knees, head bobbing while her mouth made delicious sucking noises, his mind couldn't make sense of it. He'd had a fantasy like this a long time ago and was almost certain that he'd never mentioned it to Fynta.

Fynta took Aric into the back of her throat, gripping his hips when he tried to push for more and glanced upward. The damn woman smiled, and somehow it was all the more radiant with his cock in her mouth. "What—" her throat flexed and his words scattered.

Pulling back, Fynta smiled with an innocence she'd never possessed. "Take the shot, riduur." Her tongue flicked out to tease him, and Aric shivered. "If you can."

The defiant note in Fynta's voice battered against the haze of pleasure she'd lured Jorgan into. It reminded him of his purpose. With one hand, Jorgan cupped Fynta's chin, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "You're on."

Odessen Alliance Base Command Quarters 03:47 Hours

Fynta should be asleep. Her body ached in that delicious way it always did when Aric let loose in bed. She'd never been more grateful that Shillet chose to stay over with Elara and Cormac. There were some sounds that a girl should never hear her father make.

The man in question sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over Fynta's torso. He'd meant to cuddle, no doubt, but had succumbed to exhaustion before completing the act. Smiling, Fynta scraped her nails over Aric's scalp. It had been a good night, a way to reconnect over what they did best. Probably not what Cormac had meant with his pep talk. But, Fynta felt more in sync with her husband than she had in months. She hoped that their unorthodox exercise had bolstered his confidence behind the scope too.

Fynta stretched, then settled closer to her husband. Aric pulled her against his body without opening his eyes, sliding one hand under her shirt while burying his face in her hair. It reminded Fynta of those stolen moments back on the Thunderclap in between missions. Their romance had been fresh and forbidden back then. They'd risked their careers to be together. Now, Fynta worried that they risked more.

You can't do this without me.

Valkorion had been sedate since Aric's reveal of the mad Sith's long trapped father. He muttered ominous warnings in the back of Fynta's mind, but had yet to approach her outright. Fynta didn't think he was scared. More like the chakaar was plotting, biding his time until an opportunity presented itself; a way to take away her choice.

Fynta's comm buzzed across the room. A second later, Aric's joined it. Muttering a curse, Fynta wiggled out from under her husband's arm. Aric grumbled and rolled onto his back. "Thought we'd banned those things from the bedroom."

In the second it took Fynta to open her mouth for a snarky retort, the floor lifted her into the air. There was the feeling of weightlessness, a moment to think of some choice words, then her weight drove the air from Aric's lungs. Their eyes met, and Fynta's comm flickered to life at the end of the bed where it had landed. Theron appeared in muted blues, shirtless and typing furiously.

Fynta scrambled off her husband while he rolled to his feet to find his gear. "Theron, what the hell was that?"

Fynta had known Theron for a long time. She'd seen him in all manner of circumstances from exasperated friend to cold blooded murderer, even a desperate lover once or twice. She'd never seen fear on his face, not until his hazel eyes met hers through the holo. "It's Vaylin. She found us."

#blood in the breeze #meet me on the battlefield #fynta wolfe #aric jorgan #balic cormac #keshal vaak #theron shan #shillet jorgan #zolah holran #lana beniko #smutty fun on the firing range #a lot of choices #some bigger than others #all important #valkorion is not impressed

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filthforfriends · 2 years

Text

Chapter 4: Guardian Angel

Alpha!Damiano x Omega!fem reader

Read it! I'm proud of it!

Not for minors, the faint hearted, vanilla prefers. God will forgive you for murder, but he will not forgive you for reading this

You and Damiano live mostly separate lives at school. Everything is different: his grade, schedule, classes, commencement project. There was no need to force your friend groups to integrate either. That was part of adult life, and you could still be teenagers with the wonders of modern medicine. Despite this, you wore the necklaces Damiano had left at your house under your clothes.

It seemed you ran into each other at every possible opportunity. From his gaze, you got the feeling that Damaino knew that you bore tokens of him against your breast bone. There were days when you didn’t defy the odds, not running into each other in the flow of hundreds of students. On those days, when you sat down in class, you rubbed the plate of Dami’s necklace over your shirt.

The distance felt like a punishment, even though you knew it was a protection. He’d turned on a dime, almost like he’d been triggered. It was made very clear that afternoon in your bedroom had been a one time occurrence, and now you were back to the plan. No physical contact of a sexual nature. You’d begged Damian to touch you again after that afternoon in your bedroom when he’d helped you discover your body. Hell, you wracked your brain for a possible error on your end.

“Show me where my scent glands are again. I forgot,” you pleaded. Dami acted like he was an addict, and touching you was his drug of choice. Revealing himself to you had been a relapse that he guilted himself for, to maintain perfect control. That was immensely frustrating, since physical intimacy is what you craved. I need to hug you or I’ll loose my fucking mind became insufficent as weeks passed. There was nowhere else for you to turn, no possibility to experiment. You’d finally brought it up on a bi-weekly phone call.

“Damiano, I’m so touch-starved that I want to cry after I masturbate.” You’d expect a litany of I told you so. I told you alphas are not Prince Charming. I told you mating is not romantic. I told you that we’d have to wait. I told you to get more experience before committing, but you made your choice. No one was more of a pessimist than Dami. None of these things happened. He didn’t punish you.

“I could talk you through it?”

“Through what?”

“Touching yourself. I can tell you what to do. It’ll be like I’m there.” This didn’t quite work because Damiano didn’t have the experience to know what you were into. You’d only been intimate once, and no amount of high school flings could make up for an intuitive understanding of sexuality. His change in tastics, only aggravated the situation.

“Turn on your side, baby.” You flipped over, hand between your thighs. “Close your eyes and imagine that I’m laying right behind you, holding you. Are you still wearing my necklaces?”

“Mhm.” The metal clinks as you hold the both amulets in your hand. One was a simple brass plate and the other a set of silver wings.

“Remember where I touched you, how I touched you. Do that to yourself, baby, like I would have done.”

“Okay,” you respond, with uncertainty. “I really don’t remember Dam,” you whine. Feeling someone else stimulate your scent glands once did not a master of sensation make.

“Yes, you do. Be good for me.” That statement wrenched you out of the fantasy. Am I not a good girl if I don’t have an eidetic memory? How often am I going to ask for something I need and Damiano is going to assume I’m lying?

“Damiano, please I –”

“Remember how carefully I touched you?” You put the winged pendant into your mouth to suck on it out of some inexplicable urge.

“Mhm,” you nod, even though he can’t see you. Yes, you remember falling into omega headspace with Damiano as your anchor. How making him cum brought you the closest you’d ever been, because he wasn’t fighting his own sexuality. You hadn’t observed that softness in him since. These whispers over the phone were the closest you’d managed. Yes, you could imagine the musk of his groin on your tastebuds, the radiant heat, that tender spot where leg meets glute that you could suck in your mouth. You remembered the three freckles in the left crook of his thigh, all in a row like a constellation of stars. The way every muscle quivered under the touch of your hand, the mauve pebbles of Damiano’s nipples between your fingers. Yes you could remember, and it was your own little slice of heartbreak.

He hadn’t allowed himself to change in front of you since, rarely let you be alone together. Dami revealed nothing, even with his face pressed into your scalp he was reserved. So the memory of your electrifying intimacy did propel you towards orgasam, but it drove you towards tears first.

“How can you hug me and not even fucking be there,” you choked. Damiano would hold you so tight, cradle your skull in the back of his hand, take deep breaths against your hair. And when you pulled away, Dami was 10 feet back in his own head, watching himself look at you, ever the observer, but never engaged. That is when his eyes looked soulless, when he looked empty.

“Y/n, I am literally standing right –” he scoffs. Fuck you.

“Goodni –”

“Wait, don't hang up!”

“What?” you barked, compensating for your tear-soaked voice.

“I’m sorry.” Two words, and then the silence spanned out in front of you like the yellow brick road to Oz.

“Super, duper,” you snapped, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Anything else?”

“I hate it too. I just don’t know…” His voice climbed with anxiety, crested, and fell into the valley of a sigh. Some summits bear no glory, no symbolic fruits of labor. Little did you know that 17 minutes away, Damiano was also laying in bed missing you. He lay on his side, curled around his phone, like it was a lover, like your voice could make material his heart's desire. Damiano had figured out how to use his beauty to make himself inaccessible, untouchable so no one could get close enough to get hurt. He’d gotten good at it, too. Despite this, what Dami wanted more desperately than anything was to be touched.

He avoided you the next day at school, because he didn’t have an answer, but knew you were owed one. Besides the bitchy retort you had to just about anything, your eyes were also sweeping the cafeteria and hallway for Damiano. Your lunches were separate, so the only reason he’d appear was to see you in particular.

“Don’t kill me, but what's going on between you and Damiano?”

“Absolutly fucking nothing,” you hiss. “Less than nothing. I want to kill him, but I want to get him naked even more.”

“Make him jealous,” Ximena provokes. Gia, ever the voice of reason, does not contradict her.

“Oh, come on, guys!” you sigh. “I’m trying to have a healthy relationship. I can’t just force his hand.”

“I agree it's not a good choice, but it may be your only choice if he makes decisions without consulting you.” Gia’s words so exactly summarize the predicament that you want to shout.

“Exactly! He’s making decisions about our relationship without me, which he promised not to do.”

“Right, so fucking do something!” Ximena jeers. You could audition for the dance team in hot pants, have a friend scent you as a joke, flirt with other alphas. All these things would get a rise out of Dami and force interactions. Yes it was immature, but you were 15! Immediately this thought prompts a sinking feeling, because although you may be 15, you don’t get to act it with an older alpha. In fact, actions like this could drive Damiano away. You were stuck.

While Ximena encouraged you to choose conflict, Gia had fallen silent in thought.

“By not negotiating Damino isn’t abiding by the tenets of your relationship.” She could sound so much like Thalia. “So take it away.”

“I don’t want to break up!”

“You don’t have to. Just stop meeting up with him for physical contact rations. Show him what it's like to have the other person make all the rules.” It's kind of genius, and Dami couldn’t be bitter about this either. So two days later, 10 minutes before you were supposed to meet up, you text Damiano.

“Can’t make it today. Sorry.” Intentionally casual, as if you hadn’t been yearning for his body all week.

“Are you okay?” It was a fair response. You’d never canceled before, or even been late. You and Damano would meet behind the school building to embrace until you’d produced enough serotonin to move on with your existence. It felt just as unnatural and inadequate as it sounded.

“I’m just busy.” Again, so casual and nondescript that it would leave Damiano mystified. You took too much pleasure in the knowledge that he was fumbling. Another part of you thought of Damiano standing alone at your meeting spot, waiting for you to appear, and you wanted to sob.

“Where are you?” His concern was affirming. Then you realized Damiano wanted to come to you, rather than miss out. This hadn’t been an option you considered, already home in your bedroom. You decide to let him sit with the text until you finally break. Is being willing to travel evidence that he missed you enough to renegotiate?

“Is something going on?” he asks. You draft a couple responses, trying to appease his worries while remaining unreachable. “Y/n,” quickly followed by “Are you avoiding me because I did something wrong?” That makes you give the whole rouse up. “I’m home, come by if you want, but Clio is sick.” It was a great excuse, since Clio hated Damiano on principle and wouldn’t reveal your deception. That would require talking to him.

When he doesn’t respond, you flip your phone screen down with a huff. Not having a time frame was torture, and it felt like Dami had won, even though this wasn’t a competition. Ximena would have said he’s won, but she scared off potential suitors before they could introduce themselves. She was accidentally intimidating, and you envied her for that. Being an omega is a constant contradiction: yearning for social power, but even more so for sexual submission.

You wanted to boss Damiano around, but the thought of him pinning you to a bed was even more alluring. Pinning you to the bed and nipping at your neck didn’t count as sex right? Certainly not for betas’ and their fragile sensibilities. A knock on the door shakes you out of your thoughts. If that was Dami, he would have had to be on the way to your house when you spoke.

Rushing to the door to throw yourself at him is your first instinct, but you resist it. The lock was open, so you pretend to be occupied and call from the kitchen.

“Come in, it's open!”

“Uh…hey,” Damiano remarks, stepping through the doorway. He kicks his shoes off and looks unsure due to not being met at the door. Already his proximity was speeding your heart rate up. The same must be happening to him, but more so. Maybe you could provoke the change out of him. All this talk about “protection,” you’d assumed it had to do with fighting your own biology. But what if there was something primal in Damiano that he wanted to shield you from, like he’d preached the first time you’d met. If his biology shifts it would be nearly impossible to operate under false pretenses.

“Hey, you want something to drink?” you ask, turning your back to him as you spoke. Acting nonchalant should help aggravate Damiano to the point of turning. He stands on the doormat. You don’t invite him in, but after a couple of seconds he walks towards the kitchen. His smell makes you swoon a little, but you pledge to hold your shit together.

“I’m good. How’s Clio?” He’s mirroring your energy, but the question throws you off.

“Huh?”

“You said she was sick?” Dami prompts, raising an eyebrow. You’ve blown your own cover, but maybe you can work it in your favor.

“Oh, yeah she’ll be fine.” We both know I’m lying but I don’t care. Deal with that level of impartialness. Admittedly, there was a sick part of you that liked exercising this upon Damiano in retribution for him doing the same to you. Keeping up his perfect, shiny exterior with total control.

“I might have caught something though,” you shrug. “Didn’t want to give it to you.” Which is another way to say, physical intimacy with you is optional. I am that uninvested. It was a blatant lie.

“I thought you said you were busy?” Well, shit. Sticking it out, you wash a bundle of grapes for a snack gives you something to do. Your parents weren’t home and Thalia was sequestered in her room, so you had near total privacy.

“Did I?” Damiano sighs audibly, chest heaving, and his expression shifts to irritation.

“Yes, you did,” he snapped. You let Damiano feel how cold that cavern of silence is, how it threatened to swallow you whole. When you met his eyes, however, there wasn’t a hint of alphaism. Dami was perfectly contained, albeit pissed.

“You’re acting like a child,” he snapped, and your eyes burned. You turned your back and willed the tears away, but he’d found your soft spot and twisted the blade after burying it to the hilt. To be fair, Damiano had distanced himself out of necessity and you were making yourself unreachable for the fuck of it. Still, it was mean-spirited.

“I shouldn’t have said that! Y/n, I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.” You turn around and let him see the emotion on your face: betrayal, conflict. “That was too far. I wanted to make you insecure too, but that was too much. It’s my own fucking ego.” You were making him insecure? You hadn’t thought Dami got insecure. This sentiment must be reflected in your expression.

“You weren’t trying to?”

“No!” but this was how your plan functioned. Make Dami feel so uncomfortable he’d want to ease your discomfort.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I – so you’re acting different because,” Damiano trails off, putting his hands on his hips. He’s come to a conclusion without your input that shifts his expression and body language.

“Y’know this is a weird way to ask me to be your boyfriend. I didn’t think I really had to specify, like it was just assumed. But I understand that I probably should’ve, um – but this is fucked.” Your eyes brows must shoot up to your hairline. “I get showing me what it's like to live without you, but you can drop it now. I get it, okay?” For once your silence is not intentional. You’re stunned, looking at him wide-eyed, but Dami takes it as a ploy. He rolls his eyes in annoyance, shifting his weight. Nervous is an interesting look on him

“Again with the silent treatment. Okay. Will you be my girlfriend?” His arms make a giant sweeping gesture, like a suitor taking a bow before royalty.

“Fine.” Dami relaxes his shoulders and smiles a little bit. “But I have conditions.” You cross your arms, leaning on your left hip. His brows furrow into a look of mystification so genuine you actually laugh.

“Wha – conditions? You don’t get to have –”

“I haven’t been trying to trick you into formalizing our relationship. Your subconscious was just looking for an excuse to be my boyfriend.” Before Damiano can get defensive you continue, biting your lip. “It’s really, really, really cute.” Forgetting his status, Dami blushes for a moment, and there's that softness you’ve been craving. You’re wracking your mind with things to take his guard down.

“Phone calls do not cut it. I know your whole spiel about how being the one to corrupt me will forever change our dynamic, but I don’t buy it.”

“No?”

“No. You’re just being overly cautious because I’m younger and it's fucking annoying.”

“Am I?” It’s a taunt, an invitation into something darker. Refusing to forget your point, you push forward.

“Condition #1: you have to stick to what we agree on. No getting spooked and changing your mind completely. I have an emotional whiplash.” Damiano winces, and there’s something just beneath his expression that tells you the rules hurt him more than they do you. For every moment you ache, he aches twice as hard. He hasn’t made these regulations on a whin, but out of necessity. The why echoes in every corner of your consciousness.

“Now, will you finally hug me?” Unable to think of an alternative, you nod, but wrack your brain for how to get a rise from Damiano as he steps towards you. If you want him to give into his predatory instincts, you have to act like prey.

“Catch me,” you quip, and run to the other side of the kitchen table. Damiano’s face lights up and you bookmark this game as a favorite. He chases you around the table, twice through the kitchen, and into the living room, where he finally catches you. Dami’s hand grabs the back of your shirt and both of your bodies fall to the carpeted floor, but you wiggle free from his grasp. Dami tries to grab your clothes again, then your ankle, taking you down for a moment before you get your feet under you. As you scramble onto the hardwood he lets out a playful growl behind you and a bolt of electricity shoots up your spine.

Switching into a dead sprint, you take the stairs two at a time, and manage to get to your room first. With just a moment to think, you hide behind the open door. Dami is right behind you. He probably knew the location this whole game was heading anyway. You can’t breathe, but it's from adrenaline, not from exercise. Trusting that Damiano will be in the same space, you prepare to pounce.

When he slides into your room in socked feet, you almost choke on the instinctive fear response. Are you terrified, horny, or excited? Those three tend to blend together for omega’s. Damiano scans the room, then shuts the door to continue this game of hide and seek in private. When he pushes the door's edge, you jump on him. He supports your weight, tripping on his own feet. Instead of giving him a chance to think, you kiss him hard. No polite peck as the opening salvo, in fact you move to tongue as quickly as possible. Damiano freezes for a moment, then kisses you back, uninhibited. He squeezes your thighs so hard it hurts, growling against your mouth. Throwing all caution to the wind. Yes, this is exactly what you wanted.

On the way to your bed he trips on the foot of the bedframe and you both fall. This doesn’t disrupt your efforts in any way. In fact, you get a hand in Dami’s hair and pull harder than is comfortable. He grunts in objection, and you pull harder still, sinking your teeth into his lip. He’s half kneeling, sitting sideways on his hip and you’re wrapped around Dami as tightly as possible. The escalation was experimental: could he bring himself to say no? Or was he just hoping you’d halt things?

Kissing wasn’t permitted, and yet he kissed you back, but it became restrained. You whined, grabbing at him, opening your eyes. With a concentrated expression he still maintained his cool and you grieved the lack of progress. Damiano readjusted you so drastically that your tooth broke the skin of his lip and tasted blood. It didn’t disgust you, and were now aware of the location of Damiano’s hard-on. You dropped your hand between your bodies and grabbed him over his jeans. He clutched you frantically and whimpered, ending the kiss. Then shoved you away forcefully. As soon as you’d landed on your back, Damiano had changed his mind, hands pulling your close again. He threw your legs over his hips and yanked you upwards to straddle him. You simply went with him, no objections to more intimacy.

This act of submission prompted Damiano to breathe deep, feeling that he had some control of the situation. Purposely pissing off his alpha instincts, you push Damiano to the ground with all your strength, lying on top of him. Pulling from as deep as your toes, you growl in return, trying to pin him to the ground by his shoulders. It was a futile effort, Damiano was stronger than you. Yet, you fought back with all your strength, not going easy.

While this was undoubtedly play fighting, you weren’t playing your part. At every turn you grabbed for power instead of conceding, submitting. Even as your instincts told you to follow the alpha’s lead, you purposefully resisted. Every time you could tick Dami off you did. You were purposefully ignoring the rules to this game.

“Why do you want me to lose control?” he snarled, shoving your hands away.

“Tell me to stop,” you dared. Grabbing your ribcage, he situated upright and started to sit up. You throw yourself against him causing his back to shoulder blades to land back on the ground.

“Tell me no, Damiano. Say the word,” you demanded. He finally exerted some real strength and you found yourself laying on your stomach, right arm held down. Damiano’s other hand was between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t make me lie to you,” he retorts.

“You’ve been lying,” you bite back, part of you satiated by the intensity of the moment. This wasn’t the intimacy you’d be aiming for, but you’d take it. He groans in frustration instead of disputing your claim.

“Damiano, please just –”

“Stop asking so many questions,” he huffs, using his body to press you into the ground. For once you don’t move a muscle, except for the hand that he’s pinning. You fight to get it free, just to lace your fingers together and squeeze like the touch is a life line. It's such a tender gesture that he sighs, exhaling into your hair. The proximity of Damiano’s scent glands is making you swoon.

“Your toes are curling,” he observes, and you flush with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you squeak.

“It's okay,” he whispers, and it's the most affectionate he’s addressed you in over a month. “Was this the goal?” You shake your head, but then remember the actual sex dreams you’d had that started this way.

“At least not consciously.” Dami hums and kisses the back of your head.

“Then what was the goal?” You take a deep breath, already dreading losing the physical contact with the position. Damiano was relaxed enough above you that you could flip onto your back, or perhaps he allowed it. Either way you wrapped your arms and legs around him so forcefully that his hard on bumped your groin. You let out a dramatized moan, underwear sticky. This was supposed to be a position where an alpha could force an omega into submission.

Instead, Damiano squeezed his eyes shut, tensing every muscle as his body began to shift. Apparently dominating this force inside him took precedent over dominating you.

“Don’t fight it, baby,” you begged, hands cupping his jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he grunts, expression twisted. You finally get a glimpse at his eyes which have turned midnight black. He faces away from you, pushing your hands from his cheeks like he isn’t deserving of a bit of tenderness. You hated seeing Damiano disgusted with himself, over something he spent every bit of his sanity controlling.

“This is my other condition,” you demand, lip trembling. Damiano sits back on his heels and you follow him. He’s so conflicted, as if this wasn’t a side of him you’d seen before.

“Baby, you’re safe, I promise,” you coo, crawling up onto his lap.

“I’m safe?” Damia repeats, hysterical. “Last time was a mistake. This is a mistake. Why can’t you just be afraid of me!?” He’s never yelled at you before, but the tone of his voice is so desperate that it's void of intimidation.

“I have no reason to fear you, so I don’t.” You try rationalizing with him, but Damiano hides his expression behind his hands. “Show me your face, Damiano. Let me see you!” you demand, tugging on his wrists. You recalibrate your voice to something less demanding.

“Please don’t hide from me baby.” Finally he drops his hands, expression defensive, probably seeing if he can make you jump. Instead you beam, and there's a deep woundedness in his face.

“I don’t want to scare you,” he murmurs, but you know it's a placeholder for what he means. Inside his own head, a part of Damiano is miles away, running in the opposite to intimacy. You don’t need to see the hazel of his iris to ascertain that.

“Did something happen?” you whisper. Damiano delivers no response, so you cup his face in your hands as delicately as possible. Something had changed. There was a voice in his head louder than yours.

“Did someone hurt you?” Your heart sinks to your stomach, which feels sick. The possibilities of who and how run through your mind at lightning speed. Dami shakes his head, prominent canines and all.

“How do you know that I didn’t do the hurting?” he challenges. At the same time he shifts so it's easier for you to sit on his lap, ever conscious of your comfort. The idea that Damiano was dangerous bordered on comical. He is completely trustworthy and Dami’s expression is transparent. Instead of answering right away, you trace the bridge of his nose with your index finger.

“Maybe you had a good reason.” You lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose, then his chin, then the high points of his cheek bones

“There's a good reason that fear response exists. Maybe you should be afraid of me,” he baits. At the surface he’s trying to keep you away, but underneath Dami yearns for you to call his bluff.

“You’re going to hurt me?” You already know the answer, and are just trying to combat the part of Damiano’s brain that wants to hide with reason.

“Never,” he pledges, lip trembling as he finally meets your eyes. “But you shouldn’t just assume –”

“So you think there's something wrong with me?” You cock your eyebrow, while finger-combing your boyfriend’s mused hair and tucking it behind his ears.

“Of course not,” he answers, defensive on your behalf. That makes you smile, so you lean forward and press your forehead to his, brushing your lips against his. Mr. Big Bad Wolf puckers his lips just slightly to kiss you back.

“Should I change the way –”

“Please don’t change,” Damiano interrupts, sounding small, fragile even. “Please don’t change. That’s my condition,” he clears his throat, shifting his hands on your hips. Damiano’s palm’s leave behind warm spots that raise bumps on your skin.

“You’re the only person I know that would ask if something happened to me. Which it didn’t,” he clarifies staunchly. You feel absolutely crestfallen.

“Dami, that makes me so sad.” He just stares at you wide eyed for a moment, and neither of you are sure what to do. You see his eyes go from hazel to charcoal to hazel again. It's indicative of enough internal conflict that you just hug him, and hope that's the right thing to do. He holds you in return, breathing uneven.

“I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to respond.”

“Okay,” you nod, kissing his shoulder.

“But you can’t say anything,” he demands, cheek against your head.

“I get it, Damia.”

“You – no one has ever…Y/n, I was so fucking sure that I’d never feel this way.” You hold your breath at the same time. Damiano pets your hair with a shaking hand.

“What happened when I was 15, I try to downplay it, but I realized that – that there’s something wrong with me.”

“There's nothing wrong with you!” Its reflex, even though he’d asked you not to respond. When Damiano had confided that he’d slept with a beta who’d gotten spooked, all you could think is how fucked society was that they’d punish a person like him.

“I told you not to say anything!” He squeezes you so hard you’re surprised it doesn’t dislocate a rib. “That’s why I act this way. I want you to have time to leave if you loose interest.” Who hurt you? You make a sound of indignation and try to pull away to meet your boyfriend's eyes.

“No! Just let me – My point is that I’m giving you an out that you can take whenever you want. I won’t be angry or hold it against you.”

“But, I – okay,” you sigh. Part of you was absolutely furious that Damiano would even offer such a thing the day he asked you to be his girlfriend. Like he was unstable material and you needed a fail safe. The two of you seemed to occupy different worlds at times. You in a world where Damiano was cautious and highly regulated, but in his world Dami felt like a ticking time bomb for reason you had yet to ascertain.

Words weren’t the only way to communicate, and scenting wasn’t allowed. Neither was kissing, but that rule was already broken. Pulling back, you cup Dami’s jaw in your hands and looking into his eyes. The adrenaline of the moment made him switch back to alpha mode, which meant he’d let a wall down in his head somewhere. You lean in close enough that your noses are squished together and allow your lids to fall shut, hands resting on the back of Dami’s neck. You wanted kissing to be his choice too, so you braved the excruciating wait, a couple seconds that dragged on for several eons. Damiano was so close to allowing that sacred intimacy that you craved.

Eyes closed meant you couldn’t see the way this vulnerability affected Dami. You were so head-strong, never soft like this. Lips pouted, cheeks flush, stray hairs forming a halo when backlit from your ceiling light. Damiano had known it was there, but figured it’d take a leap of faith to display it. Instead you knelt in front of him, totally willining. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Your ferocity meant that this was revealed to him only. In a way, he got to possess part of you, the unguarded part. You open your eyes as if to say something, so Damiano finally kisses you to shut you up.

It's a highly effective tactic, but your brain is still going a thousand miles a minute. There’s no simple moving on from Dami’s words and surely he didn’t think that’d be the case. You had no idea who hurt him. Did the entire student body know? Were they whispering about the stupid little 15 year old omega out of her depth with someone out of her league?

“Does everyone at school know what happened?” You say the words into the kiss and Dami sighs, eyes downcast, but you catch a glint of hazel. Not as if your makeout was going well with neither of you in the moment.

“Just one of my friends, Lorenzo. If it was common gossip I’d switch schools again.” Again. You wait for him to elaborate, but he won’t even meet your eyes. Pussy footing around the topic in vague statements and non-answers was irritating. It felt juvenile and that was the antithesis of what you expected from your new boyfriend. Ducking your head to meet his eyes, you found something surprising in his expression: fear. If Damiano was afraid and digging his heels in, there was nothing to be done. You’d have to let this go and revisit it at a better moment.

“Dami, at some point, in the very distant future, you will drive me away by continually making yourself unreachable. That is what’s doing the damage, okay?” He nods, so solemn that you decide to shift the topic so something that’s been nagging at you. “Also, I’m only omegan, y’know? I see other alphas and – and they’re um,” Dami finally raises his piercing gaze to meet yours and your speech is faltering as a consequence. It’s difficult to tell anger from piqued interest with him.

“Other alpha’s, what?”

“They can’t keep their hands off their omega’s,” you sigh, beginning to regret this line of questioning. Dami’s face reveals that this was not the answer he’d anticipated. All the combativeness melts away and you wonder what betrayal he’s been preparing to hear.

“I don’t do that for you and it's hell! Because I fucking crave you so hard and I –”

“Oh, but you do,” he interrupts. “Do you not remember that first day?” When Damiano had confessed that he wanted to own your body, defile you for any future suitors. Your left hand trembled where it rested on his neck and your right started picking at your clothes.

“Well, yeah, but –”

“But what?” He taunts, possessiveness making itself visible.

“But why do you make me feel like I’m violating you all the damn time when all I want is intimacy?” Dami’s face falls, as though he hadn’t anticipated this particular result. It was exhausting, all Damiano’s beautiful words held water like a sinking ship. A tease. That's what was being: describing this fiery passion, but never letting you feel the heat of anger.

“Hey, y/n, I have never felt violated by you and I’m sorry. I am.” He brings your wrist to his lips. You simply allow him to kiss up your arm, becoming more ticklish by the peck. Dami’s mouth moves over your clothed shoulder to your neck. His lips are wet and warm, raising goosebumps. So much so that you realize he’s using his tongue, licking your skin before brushing it with a kiss. You let out a moan, ecstasy only interrupted when he skips over your scent glands. You whine tilting your neck to signify that you craved more. He brings his lips level so a wam breath hits the shell of your ear.

“I don’t trust myself alone with you. And you are too trusting. So I stay in control, because someone has to.”

“Why don’t you trust yourself?” you whisper. “You said you’d never hurt me, I don’t understand.” It feels like your heart is in your throat and you’re choking on it.

“You are so inexperienced that you think injury is the only thing I have to protect you from,” Dami guaffs. Proving a point, your boyfriend moves you off his lap. You’re left sitting awkwardly on your tailbone. Dami manipulates your body as he had earlier, flipping you over using a hand on your mid-back. The moment you land on your front, your entire upper body is slammed into the floor as Damiano presses you into the carpet. His legs trap yours a moment later and it's all so exciting you let out a squeak. This is the way you’d been positioned earlier, this time with far less caution.

“Toes curling again,” he narrates, tone cocky. “It’s so easy to get you worked up and that's why you have to be on suppressants.” Your arms are wrenched up then held too tightly by the wrists. It’s heaven, submitting to Dami’s physicality. He nips the shell of your ear and the curiosity is eating you up.

“Are you –” Before you can finish, you feel canines against your neck. Dami scrapes them across your skin and the sensation makes you shudder. It's so close to where he would bite to mate you and giving into him is second nature. You can nearly turn your brain onto the auto-pilot that is omega headspace.

“Without the implant you’d have soaked through your pants by now. You know that right?” He snaps his teeth by your ear, causing your face to get so hot that the sensation mimicked a sunburn. “Wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Begging me to breed you with your pants still on.” He tsked in mock displeasure, resituating so he knee was pressed between your legs. Tilting your hips just slightly, you press your clit to Damiano’s clothes knee cap. Using his grip on your wrists, Dami pulled your arms straight up over your head, essentially immobilizing you.

“Did I say you could rub your omegan pussy on me, y/n?” You freeze completely, sweating as your body tries to relieve the fever of arousal. You search yourself for the shame that should be present, but locating it takes a couple seconds. While delayed, when it does hit you all you want is to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you mewl, voice shaky. Your hands are trembling and Dami releases them, while finally resting his lower body against yours. His erection pressed into your back.

“The way you feel right now?”

“Mhm,” you nod obediently.

“This is how you make me feel everytime we touch. Every. Fucking. Time,” he snarls, like he’s angry at you personally. “I don’t want to make love to you, I want to knot you until you cry. That's how this, us, makes me feel. You’d have to beg me to stop.” His knee is wedged between your legs again and you have to fight your body’s urges. “Go ahead,” he purrs, like he can read your mind. You arch your lower back and press against Dami, nails wracking down the carpet as you whine into the floor.

“Dami, please. Please!” You beg without anything in particular in mind, just the knowledge that a surface to rub your clothed groin against wasn’t enough.

“Because I don’t care if I fuck you so raw it hurts. I don’t care if I make you sore. I try to care, but I don’t!” His hysteria from the first day is back. Your boyfriend’s tone is familiar: this is how he sounds when he’s afraid of losing control to lust. You reach out for the hand that had held you down. Having these many layers of clothes separating you was hell and you didn’t want to slip into omega headspace like this. The idea makes you frantic, but Damiano intertwines your fingers and kisses the back of your head. It's so tender that you’re not expecting the words that follow.

‘Baby,” he coos, voice affectionate instead of conflicted. “I want to breed you until you can feel my seed behind your belly button.” He slides a hand under your body, caressing your stomach as he speaks. “I want to knot you over and over, so your tummy feels warm and full from my cum. I wanna fill you so many times that it's dripping down my cock, because you can’t fit another load. Do you understand? For hours,” he hisses. Dami’s grip on your hand becomes tight, urgent. You begin to tremble, flooded with hormones, even without being scented. The proximity was incredibly powerful with a dynamic so chaste.

Dami knew just how to take care of you. Pressing your into the floor with his body weight was deeply satiating. You were surrounded by his smell, his presence, his warmth. If it weren’t for Damiano’s words propelling you into such a heightened space, you might close your eyes and slip into a meditative state. Even now, less than two months in, Dami’s body was the tuning fork you adjusted to. Without realizing it, your eyes had closed, savoring the sensation of your alpha’s labored breath hitting the back of your neck.

“I want to mark you until you overflow.” It stings behind your eyes, the knowledge that Damiano is not going to mark you with his semen, that he’s not going to knot you. That you’re going to remain empty and barren inside when not only is your boyfriend capable of meeting your every desire, he’s actually fighting off the urge with every ounce of decency. He’s described heaven and is going to leave you starving for his touch. There's no convincing Dami otherwise, either. It's a powerlessness that debilitates you.

“Uh, Damiano, you can’t just say that shit. It's not fair! It’s not fair,” you mewl.

“I’m – I’m sorry. I shouldn't have –”

“Fuck sorry!” you exclaim choking on the first sob. “It's cruel! I’m so lonely and you can do something about it, but instead you torture me.” His words are making you feel things for the first time, like the throb of your reproductive organs. Other sensations of arousal fade into the background and the emptiness inside you resonates and leaves you uneasy.

Dami’s body is suddenly gone from yours and you turn over in search of him. Once on your back, you find Damiano waiting for you. He settles between your legs, examining every corner of your expression for something like rejection. Of course he doesn’t find it. His attentions do make you gather yourself, however. Dami’s cock twitches against your hip when it accidentally brushes there. It doesn’t affect his expression however, which is fixated on you. Curious, you reach up and touch his sharp canines. Consequently, Dami makes a point of covering his teeth and you pout.

“Y/n,” he half-heartedly warns, sounding crushed by the burden of hypervigilance.

“If they’re actually sharp don’t you ever hurt yourself?” you wonder. Damiano sighs, and in his voice you can hear a waning conviction. It compels you to refocus.

“I – I just…can we just hang out once a week or something?” You boop his nose as punctuation, trying to make the moment more light hearted. Damiano bites his lip in thought, which turns up into a smile and you know you’ve won.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees. Contained in his dark expression is a fondness that still surprises you everytime. Your boyfriend lowers himself, then collapses onto you.

“Oof,” you exclaim, as he lays his head on your chest. Damiano ceases moving altogether, except for his evening breaths. You pet his hair, which smelled like it needed a wash, and felt Dami truly relax against you. Sure this wasn’t the ruthless fucking you’d have perferred, but moments of sweetness with Damiano deserved charising. He so rarely was unguarded.

“You know you’re the only one I can do this with,” he murmurs.

“Cuddle?” Damiano snorts a laugh.

“Not worry about how I look.” Dami clarifies, “whether I’m a hideous beast or not.” Your face twists in dislike of such detrimental language and you jostle Dami around in retribution.

“Okay, okay,” laments, nuzzling against your chest. “Whether I’m going to scare away children.” You take a second to evaluate if this is a fair descriptor which leaves Damiano feeling victorious. “Ah ha! You can’t argue with that one!”

“Werewolf Dami,” you try, thinking of his canines.

“Vampire Damiano,” he chuckles. A stroke of genius hits you.

“Vampiriano!”

“Ah!” he cheers, pumping a fist in the arm before wrapping that arm around you. You repeat the name in a sing-song voice, trying to find the perfect cadence.

“Fuck, I’m never gonna live this down,” Damiano groans in regret. “Only you would think of calling me Vampiriano.”

“Mhm, no refunds, returns, or exchanges,” you quip.

“It's okay. Your annoying sense of humor is one of the reasons I chose you.” He kisses you on the cheek and wraps his other arm around you as well. The phrase “I chose you” has you smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. Before you can craft a response, Dami speaks again.

“You’re also the only one I can cuddle with, I guess,” he muses. You wrap your arms tightly around him. Humans weren’t built to survive without assuring physical touch, but that was especially true for alpha and omegas. You snuggled with your friends' sleepovers Your mom or Cleo (when she wasn’t in a mood) would stroke, brush, and braid your hair or rub your back.

“What about when you have a headache? Doesn’t your mom or dad -?”

“They’re great, but…it’s kinda tense,” he sighs. “So I just avoid it. That's how I learned about pressure points. Cause my brother is like the golden child and I’m…”

“The difficult one?” you supply. He chuckles at the similarity and groans, adjusting so his forehead is pressed to your neck.

“No wonder you’re always in a shit mood.” Damiano was probably lonelier than you in a sense. A person can have lots of sex with lots of people, but hookups don’t allow a connection to form. It doesn't nurture.

“I’m not always in a shit mood!”

“This is the second time I’ve seen you relaxed, ever.” However, his body is a lot of weight pressing you into the hard floor. “Do you think the world would end if we cuddled on the bed?” Damiano lets out a melodramatic wine, oh so burdened. You move to get up and are immobilized as Dami wraps you in a straight-jacket sort of embrace. If he kept seeking out your touch so openly maybe you could make peace with the floor.

He rolls over so you’re on top, laying part of the way under the bed. Getting to laze on your boyfriend’s chest, wrapped in his arms, was quieting any other aspirations.

“See? Isn’t this nice?”

“Dami, I genuinely can’t remember the last time I vacuumed this spot.”

“Uh! Fine.” He loosens the embrace, so you gracelessly sit back on your heels. On the way up you notice that his expression is normal again. Your hand brushes by his still erect cock accidently. The smirk falls from your face as you stand and the seat of your underwear brushes against your body. It's wet, cold, and very unpleasant. You must cringe.

“What? My dick?” Damiano sits on your mattress, eyebrows raised.

“No, my underwear.” You decide against being coy and uncomfortable. “I’m gonna change so close eyes now,” you warn. “I mean, if you want.”

“What? Can’t you do that somewhere else?” Dami splutters.

“Besides my bedroom?” He sighs, and the mattress creaks as Damiano falls back against it. There are way too many options as you face your closet, but you decide on the safe one: cute and comfy.

“What’s taking so long?” your boyfriend whines. He’s just asking you to tease him with that one.

“I can’t decide between the black lace thong and going commando.” He lets out a forlorn wail that makes you snicker.

“Don’t push it, you’ll lose mattress privileges, and we’ll go back to the floor.”

“Are we going to keep pretending that there's anything we can do on the bed that can’t also be done on the floor?” You tease, finishing getting dressed.

“Rug burn.”

“You wouldn’t let me get rug burn.”

“I –” Damiano huffs in defeat. “I will revoke flat surfaces privileges!” You turn around, scowling. “Ha! What are you gonna do now?” Dami is hot when he’s cocky. He’s propped up on his elbows, so you start unbuttoning your shirt while maintaining eye contact.

“Hng, holy hell.” Admittedly, you did enjoy all the attention. “Are those my necklaces?” You look down at yourself, having forgotten you were adorned with Dami’s jewelry after wearing it for so long.

“Uh, yeah. You left it here last time.” Out of all things, this makes you feel shy.

“I know.”

“Oh…why didn’t you ask for them?” Damiano rubs this brass plate between his index and thumb when you’re close enough. He sighs, smiling slightly, like he’s made a concession with himself.

“If I ever really needed it…I guess it was comforting.”

“To know that I’m wearing them?”

“To know that I had an excuse to come back here and see you.” Your breath catches in your throat. ‘“But I also like the idea of you wearing them.” Dami switches to the bird pendant, rotating it so your bedroom light hits the charm at different angles.

“Because they’re yours,” you conclude. He tilts his head to the side and purses his lips.

“Yes, but because if someone else ever took off your clothes –”

“No one else is taking off my clothes,” you retort, slightly offended that he’d doubt your faithfulness.

“But if someone did, they’d know that…that you belonged to someone.” A year ago, you could have met this language with a diatribe about how you were your own person, and nobody’s possession. Now you understand that Damiano didn’t want to possess you to put you in a box, but to know that when you were out in the world, you were tethered to him only.

“I know I belong to someone.” Seemingly lost for words, Damiano pulls you in for a long kiss. It’s slow and sensual, assisted by the fact that you’re finally getting a rhythm together. Your boyfriend guides you towards him with a firm hand on your lower back. Rearranging your bodies with your eyes closed is a challenge. As Dami pulls you close you bump into his bent knee, and end up kneeling upright, positioned mostly over his lap. This puts you above him, and he allows this despite the power dynamic. Once you become too emboldened he pushes you down, into a horizontal position and you submit happily.

Damiano gets a grip on your thigh, pulling your sideways, and bringing his leg up to meet you. He wedges it between your thighs against your pussy, as he had earlier, but this time much more couscous of positioning. Even though your sweats, the pressure had you slicking up for the first time since getting your HSIUD. It reminded you of when you’d first discovered how these parts of you worked, and would straddle the arm of your reading chair, and rub back and forth. By the time you understood why it felt so good you’d started producing slick and had to find other ways to get off.

“What you…are you trying to give me blue balls?”

“Earlier you liked this,” Damiano answers, confused. He wedges his leg up higher and your lips part without permission. You fight the urge to grind down, unsure if you’re allowed.

“I can’t take you getting me worked up again for nothing” you pant. “I’m already gonna have to masturabate for like an hour when you leave. That's very labor intensive for me. I think it might qualify as cardio.” Even with your humorous delivery, Damiano is reeling. His eyes are wide, staring through you instead of at you while his mind supplies him with every possible visual at 60 mph. Since he’s preoccupied you get up and lock the door.

“Take all your clothes off,” he demands. You’re more than happy to comply, stripping down to just your underwear on the way back to the bed. Once you’ve joined him on the mattress you slowly unbutton his shirt. The cold air on your breasts makes your nipples hard and Dami notices.

“We can do it your way,” he rushes. “No hard rules, just deciding together.” This is an unexpectedly splendid turn of events. The weight of the moments hits you. Damiano had never allowed himself to operate without rules with you before.

“Can I take off your clothes?” He nods adamantly, so you undo the clasp of his trousers and pull down the zipper slowly. He’s totally erect so you’re careful not to harm the equipment.

“Lift your hips,” you request softly. First the pants come off, then the shirt joins them at the end of the bed. Damiano’s socks don’t match: one has pizzas printed on it and the other is just navy. It’s humanizing that you’re beaming as you peel those off too.

“Can’t be wearing socks,” he comments, obviously nervous. “If I’d known I woulda…they would have matched.”

“It’s funny you mention that because mismatched socks are actually a dealbreaker for me.”

“Oh shit, really?”

“Mhm.” You give Damiano a kiss, and he’s so eager that he shucks off his boxers during. You lay beside him and shimmy out of your underwear. Now you’re both totally naked. Dami’s chest heaves as he takes in deep breaths of your smell. Your slick won’t be nearly as powerful, but it still seems plenty potent based on his reaction.

“Okay, what next?’ you prompt, nosing around his scent glands. Dami’s Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows hard.

“Well, what are you up for?” Damiano's voice is constrained. He’s nervous.

“I’m up for literally anything,” you purr, kissing Dami. He doesn’t kiss you back, so you cup his face in your hands and search his expression.

“You think you are, but you’re not ready for a knot or to be marked. Sex is too much of a risk,” he states firmly. You’re about to argue him that you can have sex without any of the omega-alpha stuff. However, it dawns on you that regardless of your excuse, if someone insisted upon having sex with you after you’d expressly refused, it would make you incredibly uncomfortable. Damiano had repeated this doctrine so much you’d grown numb to it.

“Whatever you want.” He takes a deep breath, visibly calmer. “We don’t do anything unless we both really want to,” you remind him, with a pointed look.

“Obviously, of course. I would never –”

“I know,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “Baby, it’s okay if you’re not ready. You can stop trying to convince me that I’m not ready. I am ready. You’re not and that's totally fine.” Admittedly, you hadn’t expected an alpha to be anything less than sexuall aggressive. He scoffs, not meeting your eyes.

“C’mon y/n, I’m not – I’m not like…” Dami sighs and his face falls as he gives up the charade.

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” Trying to soothe, you run your fingers through Damiano’s hair as he refuses to meet your eyes. You use the opportunity to kiss all the high points of his face: nose, cheek bones, forehead, chin. In an effort to communicate intimacy and affectionate touch can be achieved nonsexually and fully dressed.

“Do you want to just put our clothes on and watch a movie?”

“Fuck no,” he answers right away, pulling you flush against him. “Theres so many ways I wanna make love to you without having sex.” That knocks the wind right out of you as does Dami’s kiss. He shoves his right hand between your bodies and situated it against your cunt. With his mouth on your neck, Dami presses his middle finger inside. He moans against you at the feeling of the engorged tissue, the give, the heat of your body, the easy slip, the soft skin. His hands are larger than yours, so after a minute of fingering, he finds your scent glands. Damiano pushed two digits in and the stretch ached. You loved that he was rushing your body.

After finding the perfect spots for stimulation, Dami didn’t massage your scent glands. He simply pressed down, hard. The slick ran down his hand and every muscle in your face relaxed. Your eyes fell closed, mouth open. Damiano released for a moment, then applied pressure again and your body reacted the same way. You’d have to change the sheets. But maybe you didn’t want to.

“You need to touch yourself more,” Dami directed. “You’re way too pent up, baby. Feel how wet you just got?” An odd puckering sound made you open your eyes to Damiano sucking your slick off his fingers. He brings two fingers to swipe over your entrance, up your vulva, and to your clit. The stimulation makes your pelvis jolt and like the self-indulgent bastard he is, your boyfriend takes his time licking you off his fingers, not even two inches from your face.

“Why don’t you let yourself release more often? Your body deserves it, baby.”

“Because I can’t fucking stimulate my scent glands, Dami!” He seems to remember the predicament you faced on the phone a few days ago. Damiano smirks and you know whatever he’s just thought of will be your problem in the near future. Uspering the moment, you get a grip on the base of his cock, which levels the playing field. Seeing his mouth part in pleasure reminds you of something missing from the moment.

“Stop holding back the change.” Dami huffs and shifts immediately. It's thrilling to watch his canines elongate in real time.

“Sorry, force of habit.” He moans as you try to work his cock. In fact, he’s enjoying it so much that his hand falls from between your legs. After a few strokes you whine in protest to remind your boyfriend of his shirk duties.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he huffs. “This isn’t gonna work how we want it to.” You know it's true, but don’t want to reposition further away from each other. After so long without touch from your alpha, your body was singing at this proximity. Everything felt a little better, a little more intense.

“Lets try what we were before,” he pants, adjusting the tangled mess that was your interwound legs. He wedges his thigh between yours and you know exactly what he's trying to do. It takes some initiative on your part. You scoot up, then use a grip on the back of Damiano’s knee cap to adjust the angle so your clit is pressed to his skin. At first grinding up and down his leg is awkward, but your body seems to remember. For a moment you’re lost in sensation. It’d been so long since you reached orgasam this way that you’d forgotten how satiating of a sensation it was.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dami presses his leg against your body, providing wonderful resistance for you to work with. The warmth of his skin and his coarse leg hair also helped. Once you’d found your rhythm you pressed your forehead to Dami’s, looking down at his hand working his cock. Your thigh repeatedly nudged his ball sack. You didn’t know if it was helping, but you sure hoped you were facilitating his orgasam in some way.

Naturally, without meaning to, without consciously thinking about it, you started scenting each other. It wasn’t until things started to get hazy that you noticed something had changed. Maintaining good momentum was hard because your limbs felt like jelly. You started whining in distress because this was a sensation you recognized. “Kitten, what's wrong?”

“I don’t want to go into headspace,” you whimpered.

“You’re not going to headspace, you’re staying right here with me,” he assured confidently. You shortened your strokes, racing towards orgasam. The pace of Damiano’s arm sped up as well. It was so easy to get to the edge with Dami, but then you got stuck. It was a battle to find that elusive last bit of stimulation to finish. You started kicking at the sheets. Then your feet got tangled and you kicked harder in frustration.While you could feel tension in your throat, you weren’t really aware of what sounds were coming out.

“I know kitten, you’re doing such a good job.” Damiano’s voice was in your ear. “I know you need a knot and you deserve it too. A nice, thick knot for my kitten. I’m sorry.” Exhausted, your lower body starts to slow. Dami disregards his cock in favor of helping you, hands tilting your hips back and forth. After a moment, he abandons that endeavor and works a hand inside you. With your pussy stuck to his thigh, it’s an undertaking, but Dami finds you scent glands with his fingers and finally your body releases.

He cums at some point, you assume, because Dami’s spunk splashes onto your stomach and chest. One hand has ended up in his hair, pulled so closer you were practically smothering each other in a moment of climax. Your other hand was free. High from the scenting and the orgasam, you dip your finger into viscous fluid. It’s still hot, so you drag a finger up to your nipple, because it hasn’t received much attention. The tip of your index finger spreads it around your areola. You hum in satisfaction, looking back down to your stomach, where the majority of the cum remains.

Curious about how he tastes, you suck the cum off the necklaces’ pendants. It tastes salty of course, but there's also a musk that's unique to Damiano. The same scent is in his body odor. Your index and middle finger settle in a streak just above your pubic mound. Your brain seems to make a decision for you. You find yourself dragging the spunk through your pubic hair and down onto your vulva, before inserting your fingers inside yourself. Sadly, it doesn’t feel any different so you sigh, abandoning that focus.

Dami gasps next to you, so close you’re still touching in seven different places. You look up at his face and find a feral, gnawing hunger in his wide eyes. Something has shocked him. Maybe your actions, maybe the beast inside. Either way, something has shaken his morals to the core.

Notes: I am a wretched little whore for some external validation.

Edit: I forgot to credit whoever came up with Vampiriano! I don’t who that is but if someone does please comment.

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