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itsphoenix0724 · 3 months

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All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)

Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.

Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3

The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched trees, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target.

A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you.

Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you.

Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.

You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.

The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.

Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.

“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away.

“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine.

“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul.

“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him.

But how could you not?

Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth.

So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.

“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf.

Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you.

“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try.

I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me

He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight.

“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games.

“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze.

“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core.

He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords.

He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs.

You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows.

“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours.

“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck.

You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this.

His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body.

That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.

He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.

You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention.

“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your vision turns white. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs.

“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.

He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead.

“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.

“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you

“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look.

“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement.

“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands.

You can only hope you get another mission there soon.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #eris vanserra #eris imagine #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra smut

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bas-writes · 5 months

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Out of Words

Character: Nanami Kento Reader: afab (aka reader with a vagina; ambiguous body descriptions, neutral words used regarding genitalia with an exception for word “cunt”) CW: explicit nsfw content, PWP, one shot, established relationship, plus size reader, vaginal sex Word Count: 1k Synopsis: Just Nanami asking his plus size partner to ride him. And being in awe. Based on prompt 13 from this list. A/N: The original version got deleted because I have quite...complicated relationship with this text. But encouraged by my partner I eventually decided to put it back into the wild. So, enjoy! maybe for the second time if you already saw it aklskljjhd

"Ride me."

It slips past Nanami's lips almost unwittingly, like a voice speaking straight from the depths of his subconsciousness. The rhythm breaks: the both of you are utterly confused in the best, most excited way possible, almost frozen in place for a few, heavy seconds.

He releases your wrists, suddenly realizing he held them so hard there will be bruises shaped like his fingers, then shifts his body to the side, pulling yours with himself. You squeeze thighs around his hips for leverage and balance, and he can't help letting out a little, breathy groan of appreciation. He loves the softness, the rolls forming on them flush to his body, the yet tentative moves as you're looking for the most comfortable position for your knees. It's just the beginning and he's already entranced by the feel and views.

From comfortably nestled in pillows, your legs wide open to fit his wide body in between, you're above him now, in your wonderful glory, in power and control over him. As you ease into the new situation, your weight gradually presses close to his hips until you settle on the angle you like. Nanami clenches teeth, an inch away from successfully catching a moan; he's much deeper in your now, squeezed tight by your slick, hot walls, and sentenced to obediently awaiting your moves.

The fear of accidentally hurting you, prior stirred by your wrists, fades now. He grabs your hips with all he's got for your—not to hurry you up nor to pull you closer, but to feel you, to sink his fingers into your softness and to feed his eyes with the dip of your silhouette around them.

You shift on him for the last time, balance grabbed and checked, and lean slightly to the back, your eyes closed as you sink into the sensation. You start slowly, almost too slow for the both of you, either shy or testing the new waters. Nanami holds his breath back, irrationally worried a draft of air might interrupt you; his nails scratch deep at your skin, vertical lines right next to your stretch marks. He's going to kiss them with care later, insatiably sipping on your warmth, but now nothing can peel his attention away from desiring you. He's addicted to the sway of your hips, to the bouncing rhythm you soon pick up, to the flow of your body on top of him.

Nanami can't possibly grow tired of the sight of you in your naked glory. Since the day he's been graced with it for the first time he only grows more and more hungry. He loves every inch of it, whether you love it yourself or not, and usually doesn't shy from praising and adoring it—but now, with you bouncing on his cock, something keeps his words in check. Everything he feels like saying seems inappropriate, too simple and too vulgar. All he can do is to stare, eyes wide open in wonder, lips heavy of breath, and hands full of your curves. He lets them wander at times, to knead your ass or to support you at the waist, but every time the sensation grows too strong to handle, and he returns to your hips in hurry. It can't end like this, not now, when he's still starved, when he knows you can still show him more.

A rumble of your name follows an especially bold move of yours, and Nanami claws at your thighs with desperation. You've caught him off-guard this time, with his hands out of control when you suddenly clenched hard on him, squeezing him deep in your hot slick. He has to close eyes, to spare himself at least the delicious views, but the feeling is right there—your tight cunt, your big and soft ass, your thighs tensing under his fingertips and pressing flush to his sides.

"Fuck—" He desperately tries to keep his hips in check, fights with each desperate attempt to jerk up, fails. "Holy shit—"

He's ready to beg you to slow down and show him mercy, equally ashamed of himself and turned on by the thought alone. You coo something about him squirming and twitching but he can't quite tell words from the stream of your voice. Blindly, he reaches up, hands stopping before they can reach your middle and pawing at your soft tummy. Again, you speak to him, but he's deaf in his pleasure, maybe if he opened his eyes—

He can't open them. If he does, it's the end. If he sees you, messy, disheveled, tired and so beautiful, he won't be able to last any longer. If he takes one more peek of your body bouncing on top of him, of you using him to your pleasure—

"Kento—" You beg him first, your voice drenched with ecstasy and breaking.

Nanami can't resist such a melody. He snaps his eyes open as if under a spell.

Your name dies between slurred whimpers when his hold tightens, clawing its way into your skin, and Nanami, early, way too early, caves in to pleasure. Eyes plastered to your bouncing tum and his hands sinking in it, now determined to not miss anything if it's bound to happen anyway, he joins the stuttering rhythm of your hips, just on time to push you into orgasm. A few thrusts later, stirred by the tight spasming of your cunt, he follows suit with a loud, the loudest this night, groan.

For a moment, reality around slurs too, and when he regains control over his senses, Nanami finds you in his arms, nestled on top of him, sweaty and breathing heavy. He runs hand up and down your back, smiling at the feel of rolls and softness underneath.

Your body presses his tight—and yet again Nanami reasserts himself his life truly wouldn't be the same if cruel fate ever took this blessed feeling away from him.

"One more time?" He whispers, lips pressed to the crown of your head. "I'm not quite full of you yet, my love."

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naneun-no · 3 months

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From my drafts so it’s late but:

Today’s delulu thought is that Standing Next to You has too many lyrical coincidences to not be about Jimin.

🫣 I SAID IT WAS DELUSIONAL OKAY

You are free to disagree. You probably should 🤣

I mean we know it wasn’t written by Jung Kook but obviously the version he recorded was arranged with and for JK, and “leave your body golden” can’t be a coincidence right? Like it’s the whole ass album name, plus a word that carries connotations of JK himself, which the ppl who worked with him on Seven must have known.

So if that wasn’t a coincidence… then what about:

1. “How we left and right is something we control” — a callback to both Left and Right by CP feat JK, but also a nod to Butter, a massive BTS hit and a song that he performs alongside his boyfie bestie JM.

2. “When it’s deep like DNA, something they can’t take away” — a callback to another massive BTS hit, interesting. And *delulu warning* also reminds me of JM and JK’s extreme similarities that they themselves have referred to before?? They’re wired the same, they have the same sense of humor, they live and breathe for the same shit and even though they have some very key differences, they really do seem like twin flames (even if you just see it as platonic). They are similar in ways that seem braided into the fibers of their being. Like, in their DNA 🧬 some may say. *delulu warning #2* I’m also reminded of Jimin’s Letter lyrics: “After all this time has passed will we still be the same? Just like we were when we first met.”

Also, “something they can’t take away” is an interesting turn of phrase… more on that later.

3. Okay the real meaty part:

Screaming I’ll testify that we'll survive the test of time, they can't deny our love. They can't divide us, we'll survive the test of time I promise I'll be right here

[I seriously can’t believe how closeted-couple-coded this song is]

First off, again with the Letter lyrics mirrored here with the “test of time.” Then it’s got all this drama about being ripped apart and how it won’t happen and how they’ll be next to each other no matter what and that they have “something they can’t take away.”

Not only does all that line up with other Letter lyrics, but it is so goddamn dramatic and for what?

Be for real, what straight couple in this day and age would have this much working against them?? The only possible explanations are: 1) within the fantasy world of a song I suppose this could be some sort of Romeo and Juliet/West Side Story motif, and to be fair the music video did have a kind of rival gang/crime family look to it? Sort of? With the men fighting below the stage? Idk. Or it could be 2) the fact that idols do in fact often have to hide even their straight relationships, which is wild to me. But I know it’s a thing, so. I suppose there’s that. JK doesn’t seem the type though honestly. I think he’d be even more open about it than V.

On the other hand, the lyrics seem SO fit for a couple who are a) queer, b) closeted, c) currently in/about to be in a legislatively homophobic military and country (am I saying that right? Lol) and d) internationally famous pop idols in the SAME BAND who are both widely regarded as heterosexual sex symbols and would be shunned by many people in their homeland AND internationally if their queerness were to be revealed, much less if they were truly an item and THAT news broke.

Whew. That was a lot but like… that would be a real example of a relationship that would be VERY threatened by outside forces plotting against them and trying to separate them. Not JK and a hot blonde model, not him and a Korean actress, not basically any other scenario but a queer relationship.

Idk I know he didn’t write it but like ??? What the hell is that theme? I’m dying to get inside the mind of the people who DID write it, because are they or are they jikookers at this point like?!

4. Just for fun I’ll also point out the “leave your body golden like the sun and moon” 😏 like. Okay. At this point the songwriters are watching Jikook compilations, drooling over @slaaverin edits like convince me they’re not. CONVINCE ME.

5. “Deeper than the rain”?! “The pain”?! Alright I’m not even serious at this point but ??? Rainy day fight 🌧️?!?! 🤣🤣

6. “Standing next to you” oh you mean like… for 18 months? In a companion enlistment program? Like that?

Alright alright I’m done but you get my point. What even is this song if not an anthem of jikookery?! It’s more on-the-nose than Letter, more sneaky than Still With You. It wasn’t written by JK but at this point I’m calling that the songwriters are as delulu as me.

Hope y’all are well. If you made it to the end of this thank you for donning your tinfoil hat with me and I hope you at least got a giggle.

✌️

#jikook #kookmin #jimin and jungkook #jikook theories #delulu time

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razlili · 1 year

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#psychonauts #meat circus #get me out of here #straight from the drafts into the wild

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starrylothcat · 11 months

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Handful

Crosshair x Fem!Reader One-Shot

Summary: You drive Crosshair wild in your new dress. 2300 words.

Warnings: Smut. Smutty smut smut. NSFW 18+. Minors DNI. Established relationship, consensual PiV sex. Crosshair is an ass man.

Everyone is Happy on Pabu AU. (Yes, Crosshair is rescued and on Pabu. Yes, Tech and Phee host weekly family dinners. Yes, everyone is alive and happy)

Author’s Note: Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. This is pure debauchery. I have no excuse.

I wrote this kind of fast bc I had to get it out of my drafts (aka purify myself of thots) so I apologize for any errors or weirdness. This man is haunting me LOL. This is also in honor of sundress szn starting. (Crosshair is def an ass man, change my mind). I hope you enjoy 🙈😘

It was an exceptionally tropical and humid day on Pabu. The ocean was glass, the air devoid of any breeze to lessen the heavy humidity. The only promise of relief was coming with the setting sun as it began its descent toward the horizon.

Crosshair was sitting at your shared kitchen table, pretending to be absorbed in his datapad, sweating like a Gamorrean on Tatooine. His clothes felt too tight, too constricting. He had been feeling like this all day.

The heat wasn’t the reason he was hot and bothered, though.

It was you.

In that dress.

Crosshair’s trained eyes haven’t left your backside for one moment as you putzed around the kitchen, putting dishes away and humming an unrecognizable tune to yourself, a sheen of sweat visible on your bare shoulders and neck, exposed as your dress only had thin straps holding it up on your body.

It was a new dress, thin and flowing, perfect for a scorching day such as this. Crosshair watched intently as the material hugged and highlighted all your delicious, delicate curves. The dress framed your body perfectly, especially your ass. His desire to take you right then and there growing with every jiggle of your body under the silken fabric.

Tech and Phee had invited you over for a family dinner, a weekly tradition that started not too long after you all settled on Pabu. You had just finished making an appetizer to share and were cleaning up the kitchen, due to be over at their place soon.

You bent over to put a final plate away in a lower cabinet, giving Crosshair the perfect view of your voluptuous behind.

Now this was just unfair.

You were teasing him at this point, you had to be. He was going to wait until after dinner to completely ravage you, but his mind was already made up. Crosshair was not a patient man, not when you looked like this. He plucked his toothpick out from between his lips, silently setting down the datapad.

He advanced soundlessly, quickly maneuvering up behind you like a predator to prey.

You weren’t paying attention, standing up straight now, still absentmindedly humming a tune under your breath.

Crosshair smirked, realizing you were unaware of his presence, making what he was about to do even more satisfying.

He licked his dry lips as he reached down, grabbing fistfuls of your ass through the tantalizingly soft fabric of the dress. You yelped, startled by his sudden gropes as his body trapped yours against the kitchen cabinets.

“Cross…!” Your voice came out breathier than you intended as he kneaded his strong fingers into your supple flesh.

Oh, it was divine how you felt under his palms through the satiny material of the dress, just begging to be bunched at your waist as he fucks you into oblivion.

Crosshair let out a low growl at the thought and began leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses starting at your bare shoulder, up your neck, and to your ear, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin. “You’ve been teasing me all day with this kriffing dress…do you realize how you look?” His breath was labored, his hands now snaking up the front of your abdomen, his hips grinding into your ass.

You whined and instinctually brought a hand back to grab at his head, tugging at his silver locks, now grown back from his buzzed look when he first arrived on Pabu, free from imprisonment.

His teeth nipped at the side of your neck. “C-Cross…I’m glad you like my new dress but…” You couldn’t help but let out a gasp as his fingers began playing with your nipples through the dress. A wave of fresh desire rushed through him as he realized you weren’t wearing a bra, spurring him on further.

“…if you keep this up we are going to be late for dinner…”

“Dessert before dinner never hurt anyone.” Crosshair’s voice was a husky whisper, becoming more desperate to feel your curvaceous ass against his hips as he pounds into you.

You were turning to putty under his touch as your head lolled back against him, his fingers expertly rolling your now-hardened nipples.

“They can wait. Wrecker will be late, anyway.” He grunted, his lithe body grinding harder against you, knowing you were giving in.

Crosshair grasped your waist, stepping back slightly and spinning you around to face him. His expression was intense, his eyes wandering up and down your body.

“I was going to wear this dress to dinner.” You breathed, a coy smile on your lips, your eyes now hooded with want as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him down closer to you.

Crosshair pinched your hips, a smug expression flashing across his face. “Not anymore.”

He pinned you again against the counter, this time his lips meeting yours in a fiery kiss, his hands once again groping up your ass through the dress. Crosshair groaned into your mouth as he bunched up the material, slipping his hands up under the fabric. His calloused palms squeezing and roaming up and down your backside was igniting you with lustful yearning, your blood boiling and skin impossibly hotter in the already sweltering heat. You needed to feel him, too.

Your hands shot down to his belt, trying to unbuckle it without looking. Crosshair smirked against your now swollen lips, removing his hands from their fervid exploration of your supple behind to help remove his belt.

Once the belt was off, you tugged down his pants and boxers, letting them fall to the ground as he stepped out of them, kicking the discarded clothing to the side. You saw how hard he was, precum beading at the tip of his swollen cock, showing you just how much he wanted you, needed you.

“I’m going to fuck you in this dress.” He muttered, his pupils blown with lust, his voice dangerously deep. “The way your ass looks…fuck, I’m going to make a mess of you, doll.” Crosshair’s hands quickly maneuvered under your dress again, practically ripping your panties off you, tugging them down past your thighs.

Before you could respond, he rubbed his fingers over your now wet and aching core through the dress, sending shockwaves of pleasure up your body. Crosshair’s mouth was hot on yours again, groaning as the fabric dampened under his fingertips. The material provided mouth-watering friction against your sensitive bud as his fingers worked magic over your cunt. You couldn’t help but let out a lewd moan at the sensation.

“That’s right…so wet for me…” He panted, increasing the pressure and movement of his fingers as you writhed against him, relishing in how your pussy felt through the delicate fabric. Your lips crashing together again, his free hand back to feeling up your ass through the dress, lost in everything that was you.

You grasped his hard length with your hand, the other digging into his bicep, giving him a few slow pumps over his velvety flesh as his tongue roamed your mouth. A deep growl left his chest, bucking into your hand.

Crosshair’s fingers continued their ministrations, and you could feel your release approaching, the front of your dress now soaking. “C-cross I’m…”

Your voice was hoarse, Crosshair’s lips devouring yours so ferociously you could barely think, his fingers increasing their pace of rubbing your clit through the dress. Your knees buckled, squeezing his length as you cried out against his lips, your orgasm rushing over you. Crosshair swallowed every mewl and cry that left your throat, feeling you fall apart against him. Your hand left his cock, both hands now gripping his shoulders to keep you from falling. Crosshair pulled away, breaking the kiss, both of you breathless and sticky with sweat.

“I’ll have to wear this dress more often.” You gasped, his mouth now on your neck again, biting and licking every square inch he could, his bare cock pressing up against you. Crosshair chuckled darkly against your neck.

“Yes, you should. But only for me.”

Without warning, he hauled you up, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist as carried you to the bedroom, dropping you down onto the bed.

Crosshair tossed off his shirt, wild with lust. He was on you in an instant, his hands and mouth everywhere. No part of you was left untouched by him, squeezing, fondling, rubbing. He was rutting against you, spreading his precum on your dress, adding to the already large wet spot on your front. The feeling of the exquisitely soft and thin fabric against his cock was sending him into overdrive, needing himself in you now, to feel your softness without any barrier.

“Hands and knees. I want to feel your ass as I fuck you, watch you take me. Is that okay, doll?” He hissed into your ear, moving up and off of you. You nodded, his words causing pure arousal to burn through your veins. “Y-yes…” You obeyed, offering yourself to him, sticking your ass in the air as you settled on your forearms.

He kneeled behind you, sliding the dress up just enough to show him your perfect ass and pussy. “You’re gorgeous like this, all for me.” He drawled, rubbing the tip of his swollen cock at your entrance, shuddering at your slick folds waiting to be filled by him.

You moaned softly, trying to press back into him. “Crosshair, please…” You begged, needing to feel him inside you. He continued to rub against your entrance, teasing you. “Tell me how badly you want me…” He groaned through gritted teeth, positioning himself at your entrance, not able to hold back any longer.

“Crosshair, I need you, please…please fuck me…” He let out a dark chuckle, hearing the shake in your voice, the want for him. His chuckle turned low sigh as he sank into you, inch by inch, your walls tight around him, almost overwhelming him with the sensation.

“That’s…my girl…” He uttered as he rolled his hips slowly, pulling out almost completely and pushing back in as far as he could go. Crosshair did this a few times, relishing in how you felt, in how you looked. Your dress was messily bunched up around your waist, just as he imagined. His hands roamed up and down your ass and hips, squeezing, massaging, worshipping, savoring in all that was you.

Maker, he needed you, more than you’ll ever know. He craved you and your softness. You were the one to help him pick up the pieces after his imprisonment, showing him kindness and forgiveness he didn’t think he deserved.

Crosshair wasn’t the best with words, but at least he knew he could show you how much he cares, how much he hungers for you, how much he fiercely loves you.

“I told you-“” Crosshair stuttered out as he increased his pace, “-I’d make a mess of you.” He watched as your hands desperately tried to find purchase in the bed sheets, your cheek pressed into the bed, hips being held up by his strong hands, your knees trembling and eyes screwed shut in euphoria.

With every snap of his hips, your body spasmed with white-hot pleasure as he drove deeper and deeper into you. Your back arched as he hit that special spot inside you, your breath hitching with every devastating thrust, ripping moans from your throat.

Crosshair was losing any semblance of control as he watched you completely come undone beneath him. With one hand digging into your hip, he snaked the other underneath your dress, rubbing at your clit with practiced ease, causing you to see stars as you tried to match his thrusts. “I’m - ah so close…” You managed to sputter out, completely succumbing to him and the pleasure he was giving you.

Crosshair could feel your climax approaching, your walls fluttering around his cock as his fingers rolled and rubbed your sensitive clit, his thrusts not slowing down as he felt his own end rushing toward him.

One, two, three more expert circles of his fingers and you were cumming hard, clenching around him, your body shaking as you cried and sobbed out his name over and over.

Crosshair wasn’t far behind, watching the bounce and wiggle of your ass with each thrust, his hands roaming again as he came undone, cursing and grunting your name through his clenched jaw. He pushed in as deep as he could, giving you all that he had. Your body was weak, the shockwaves of your orgasm still pulsating through you as his thrusts slowed.

Crosshair’s chin dropped to his heaving chest, pulling out of you slowly. You lay down on your stomach, catching your own breath, your dress sticking to your sweaty skin, completely spent. Crosshair laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms. He pressed his face into your neck, listening as your ragged breaths slowed, trying to regain control of his heartbeat, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

Crosshair lifted his head, gazing at your flushed face. You gently ran your fingers over his tattoo, cradling his head in your hands. He kissed you, gently this time, his lips slow against yours. You melted into his kiss, loving the tender side of him that he only reserved for you.

“Help me out of this dress?” You whispered. Crosshair pulled away, a smug look returning to his face. “Who says I’m done with you in it?” He rolled himself on top of you, kissing you again, more passionately. You traced his back muscles with your hands, feeling him shiver under your touch.

You were definitely going to be late for dinner.

@wanderer-six @mylifeisactuallyamess

#crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #crosshair tbb #the bad batch #crosshair #the bad batch fanfiction #crosshair tbb x reader #crosshair tbb x you #starrycatwrites #clone x reader #crosshair smut #the bad batch smut #tbb crosshair #spicy crosshair

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redishflavor · 4 months

Text

if you saw the other one no you didn't

someone's John dory ask got eaten and I can't find my previous draft on it 😔

A/N -> I'll be starting school soon again so I won't be able to write as many fanfics as right now, but still send it requests! I just won't be able to publish them as fast as before 😅

but anyways (this is way longer than my last one damn)

John dory x reader headcanons

okay let's get one thing straight

this man has been in the wild for over idk how many years

he probably is secretly touch starved

and he's probably really bad at flirting

let's say this is after the events of TBT, so he's back in society again (probably)

hes bumped into you a few times and during those few times it was just some small talk here and there

but then when he bumped into you again he decided to flirt

with a terrible pick up line

after he said that he gave a look that was like "Yep, still got it"

he does not got it

you just looked at him, looked away and snorted

he thinks it's working

it might be

without him asking, you gave him your number on a peice of paper

there was a small not under the number (yall choose idk what to put) with a small heart at the end

(ur stinky but funny ❤️) (I sorry I had to😭😭)

he didn't read the note, he js put it on his wall in a frame

he was the first to text you

just a simple "Hi this is John dory"

and you know how some people type something but not send it?

he did that

"PLEASE PLEASE DATE ME 🙏🙏" then he deleted it to respond 'normally' to your text

after a few weeks of talking to each other you were the first to ask if he wanted to go on a date

he probably has never responded so fast to someone on his life

I js had to add this but he probably lost his other glove bc Rhonda ate it

anyways back on track

the first date you two went on was at a small Cafe (idk I panicked😭)

you two talked about a hunch of stuff but then settled on the topic of bands

one of your favorite band was BroZone

his eyes visibly lit up at the word BroZone

asks a bunch on questions like "who's your favorite band member" or "what's you favorite song"

takes his SWEET TIME telling you he's THE John Dory from BroZone

so many questions from both him and you

but after that date he offers to walk you home

and that's also how he got your address

a few more dates later he's the one to make the first move

a small text saying to meet him up at the Cafe they had their first date in

hes already there looking a bit flustered

after you two sit down he asks if you want to date

and that's how yall start dating (I am so sleepy rn guys)

every now and then he would send small gifts to you like flowers, candies, anything that reminds him of you at almost any store he goes to

he likes compliments, both giving and receiving them

when he's spending the day at your place he likes to cuddle with you

or hold you in any way

hug, hand holding, any touch basically

LOVES when you kiss him

like pepper him with kisses and he's melting

grab a bucket and mop he's gone

when he first introduced you to his brothers they had many questions

when Poppy met you (probably through Branch)

you two both bonded over dating a member of brozone

as you and Poppy were fangirling over them JD just looked at you lovingly

like he almost forgot his brothers were there

he loves you too much

he also gets you free tickets and backstage passes to every single one of BroZone's concerts

you've never missed a single concert

and you have way to much merch (mostly JD's merch) (and it's signed with his signature)

I think I might end it here bc I'm running out of ideas and any longer to post this would end up taking longer to post because school starts in like 2 says for me 😭😭 anyways I hope this was good for whoever asked this and again so sorry I lost your ask! I hope you have a great day/night!!

#x reader #brozone x reader #trolls 3 x reader #john dory x reader #john dory #trolls 3 #trolls headcanons

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chogiwow · 1 month

Text

in hindsight (a broken car isn’t that bad) | sim jake

pairing: jake x gn!reader ; niki makes a cameo (reader’s brother)

genre: fluff

wc: 1.7k+

warnings: mention of a condom bUT NOTHING HAPPENS !!

summary: brother’s best friend x brother’s sibling ; where they’re stuck stranded with a dead car :>

a/n: digging things out of my drafts and changing it to different members haha idek how long back i wrote this but eh :>

what had started off as a small favour for a ride back home in jake’s car, had quickly turned into an awkwardly uncomfortable hitch ride in a towing truck, your shoulders squished against his and your legs bumping ever so often as the truck jerked and jostled down a bumpy road to what was to be your makeshift shelter for the night; a motel.

while jake was mentally questioning his entire existence, flinching whenever he leaned too much to your side whenever the truck took a long turn, that he could feel your shoulder pressing into his side, he also had this urgent desire to apologise to you for everything, but had to bite on his tongue out of sheer embarrassment that stopped him from doing it in the presence of the driver. you on the other hand, flushed giddily whenever you felt him lean into you, catching a whiff of his fading pine scent and his freshly dyed blonde hair tickling your cheeks, biting your inner cheeks at the proximity.

not how you had imagined your day to go, but if you were at all to complain, it would only be the fact that you had called your brother on speaker mode, and he had wasted no time in cackling at you and quite literally announcing your small little crush on jake in an overly exaggerated manner, with the said boy himself blinking down at your phone screen, the words in his throat stuck as your eyes darted between him and the crackling static on your phone, before promptly putting him off the speaker and whisper yelling at your brother.

“niki, you fucking idiot…”

your interjection was only received with another obnoxious laugh, and an equally annoying ‘i’m eating the last slice of the cheesecake, have fun and don't get too wild!” before you hear the beeping sound of the receiver, signalling that the call had been ended.

so in retrospect, you weren’t complaining at all, you were just fervently wishing for the ground to swallow you up whole. and erase you from existence, if conditions proved favourable.

now your brother’s best friend knew of your crush on him, and while you stubbornly kept your eyes trained outside the window, missing the smile on his face, it did not help your case that you felt his arm around your shoulder after a while, his fingers nudging you, causing you to gasp and turn to him.

if only a smile could kill, you’d be buried six feet under by the way you felt your knees buckle under you and insides melting like a pudgy cone of ice cream.

“you can rest on my shoulder, it’s going to be a long ride,” jake said, gesturing towards his shoulder while you regarded him with your best straight face you could muster, ignoring the warmth across your cheeks and consciously thaning the stars that it was dark enough for him to not notice.

nodding at his offer meekly, your stiffened body eases itself slowly in his semi embrace, biting down on your lips when his hand rests on your waist. the closeness was something you had only ever imagined, but never dared to wish upon yourself, relishing rather, in the way he would smile at you when your eyes met or wave at you when you came home to a messy living room and your ass of a brother (you were only grateful to him for inviting his friend over).

the ride is quiet, except the low hum of the engine and the occasional jerks in the road; even the driver is quiet as he steers the wheel, his eyes focused on the road while you and jake simply relish in each other’s touch. you’re tired and fall asleep, finally at ease in the way he makes it seem like there was no rush nor any immediate consequences to your revelation, even though hints of awkwardness remained in the way you both decidedly ignore the elephant in the room.

stirring you awake as he thanked the driver, who merely grunted in response, undoubtedly tired himself at the late call, jake finds himself missing your warmth once you reach your destination. he’s unsure whether this was the first time he felt your absence to this extent, or whether niki’s words had belated him to this point.

as he gazes at the rundown motel with peeling walls with some apprehension, he notices your tired state beside him, rubbing your sleepy eyes and blinking at the tacky lighting in front of the cashier, unconsciously sticking to his side and holding on to his jacket under the gaze of the cashier. he pushes you behind him gently, calling the attention on himself as he deals with the room and other requirements, blushing suddenly when the man behind the counter hands him a small packet and whispers something in his ears which you don’t catch, frowning when jake glances at you and reverts his gaze almost immediately, clearing his throat almost pretentiously.

“what was that about?” you question, and he waves it off dismissively, quickening his pace when you kept pestering him and laughing when he almost tripped on his own feet.

predictably, the one bed situation had arisen and while it didn’t daunt you as much as it had been made to seem like in books and movies, you accounted for it due to your exhaustion; you were dead tired and ready to pass out the moment your head hit the pillow. it took a few trials for jake to convince you to take a shower, and one last threat to pick you up himself and place you under the cold shower, for you to drag yourself to the tiny washroom and yelp at the cold water hitting your skin. but that was seemingly a bad idea, for the water had only woken you up from your drowsy state and now you were hyper aware of every little action and every little sound in the very little room lit only by a singular yellow lighting, it’s default brightness dimmed down such that it was merely a night light.

as you lay quite awake in the bed you were soon to share with him, the sound of shower water trickling through the closed door, you curled up even more to your side, leaving a considerably large space for him on the ridiculously small mattress. everything in this room, including itself, seemed to be small and cramped, as if it’s entire purpose was to bring people close till you could hear them breathe. you knew by the way the door clicked and the familiar whiff of pine scent, that he was out of the shower and you risked a glance towards him. rubbing his head with a towel, jake made his way to the bed, discarding the piece of cloth on the lone chair with wobbly legs that had been provided as a sorry excuse of a piece of furniture, and plopping down beside you with a groan.

how was he not affected by this? how is it that you’re so affected by this?

sighing to yourself, you will yourself to sleep, ignoring the dull clenching of your chest at his nonchalance, oblivious to the small frown that etches across his forehead when you turn your back to him, pulling the sheets up to your chin and curling in on yourself. he was hoping to talk to you, but you seemed too tired and rather unreceptive of a conversation, and he isn’t sure whether it was because of something he had done or your own weariness.

you’re starting to convince yourself that by morning you would be over this, a bittersweet ending to your unprecedented confession, and if you were lucky, you wouldn’t have to avoid his presence and he’d be willing to remain friends after rejecting you but your thoughts are halted when his voice breaks that train.

“can we talk?”

you’re pensive at the tone of his voice, turning around to face him apprehensively, only to find him already staring at you unblinkingly.

“is it about earlier? if it is, then you don’t need to worry, niki was just....well, he wasn’t joking, but if it makes you feel uncomfortable then i’ll get over my feelings for you. i’d even stay out of your way if you want, and i know you like that freshman but honestly, i was going to keep this myself until obviously my ass of a brother had to spill it, so really just–”

“(y/n), do you want to go on a date when we get back?”

“–yes of course, anything you want and i promise...wait, what?”

jake smiles at you amusedly, raising an eyebrow when you regard him with confusion, propping yourself slightly on your elbow.

“what did you just say?”

“don’t get over your feelings for me yet, i’ve been looking forward to asking you out on a date for such a long time…”

the way he looks at you so hopefully, but with that teasing lilt to his voice that trembles at the corners as if apprehensive of how far he was shooting his shot, and yet through the obvious signs of his nervousness, you sensed a genuinity to his endeavours, and you couldn’t ignore the way his expectant eyes held your gaze so softly.

jake looks like he’s got a lot to say, but he’s saving it all up for days that don’t involve a broken car and a motel room and the embarrassingly loud crinkling sound of the condom packet in his jacket pocket. there’s so much he wants to talk to you about, too much he’s had on his mind he needs to talk to you about, but somehow he knows he won’t even be able to say a third of those things tonight; not when he could be snuggling on a small bed with his arms around you and a lingering worry of getting his car fixed the very first thing in the morning.

in hindsight, perhaps a broken car really wasn’t that bad of an accident, nor was your predicament. sometimes, a broken car and an annoyingly loud brother are what you need for an awkward confession and countless dates to come in the future.

#enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #jake enhypen imagines #enhypen jake imagines #jake enhypen #enhypen #my writings

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pitviperofdoom · 9 months

Note

Jongerry prompt: reunion after one thought the other was dead?

Tim wasn’t sure what to make of the guy.

They met in an awkward almost-collision at the institute’s front door, Tim rearing back in surprise, the other flinching away from the sudden movement. He was lanky, and probably would’ve been tall without the permanent slouch to his spine. His hair was a dull shade of mousy brown, and looked like it had been hacked short with kitchen scissors. His clothes hung loose and ill-fitting on his body. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Tim took a wild guess. “Here to make a statement?” he asked.

The man grimaced. “Maybe later.”

“I’d make it quick if I were you,” Tim chuckled, holding the door open for him. “Jon was in a good mood before lunch, and those don’t tend to last long.”

Halfway through the door, the man froze. “Who?”

“Jon Sims, the head archivist,” Tim said carefully. “He’s the one who takes statements, so…”

“Oh.” The man’s face was blank. “He’s… that’s… down in the archives, yeah?”

“I can show you how to get there?” Tim offered. Whatever statement this guy had, it must have been rough.

"Sure, thanks," the guy said distractedly.

In spite of the accepted offer, the guy quickly pulled ahead, and Tim found himself trailing behind as the scruffy stranger led the way to the basement stairs. Before long, he was jogging to keep up.

That was why, when the man suddenly stopped at the top of the steps, Tim crashed straight into his back.

"Hey, what did you—"

A hand closed tight around his arm, stopping him from shouldering past. The man had gone still, staring intently down the steps. There was nothing to see except the bottom of the stairs, and the mouth of the hallway that led to the archives.

"Smell that?"

Confused, Tim sniffed. At first all he could smell was dust and old paper, but then, beneath it, as if carried on a draft, came a familiar musty, wet stench.

"Damn worms," He muttered. "We've had a bit of an infestation—dunno if you saw them on your way in—"

"I'm gonna need you to shut up and go back outside," the man interrupted. "Maybe pull the fire alarm on your way out, get everyone out of the building."

"Excuse me?" Tim demanded. The man was already releasing him and moving on, so Tim grabbed him before he could make it two more steps. "Hey, what the hell are you—"

"Listen." The man turned, deftly winching his arm out of Tim’s grip. "I have had a very long day. I was hoping it would end with a long shower, a change of clothes, and a minimum twenty-minute hug from someone who means the world to me. Instead, there's something very nasty down there that I need to deal with. Kindly piss off."

Tim's blood ran cold. "You—you mean Prentiss is—" He stopped. He had a million questions, but maybe just this once they could wait. "My friends are down there."

The man spared a moment to look, if possible, even more exhausted than before. "Great. Fine. Stay close and don't fuck me."

***

Tim's head swam with the gas. His body felt strangely detached as he heaved the fire extinguisher against the wall, again and again until he felt the plasterboard give way. His strange companion drew back as if preparing to do a run-up, and Tim hurled himself into the space and finally broke through.

His first view into the dimly lit storage room was of three familiar faces with varying levels of shock, alarm, and growing relief.

"Hey, guys!" Tim gasped out.

Sasha was already struggling to her feet; Tim was about to go in for a hug when he was roughly shoved out of the way. A gas canister landed on the floor with a heavy thunk as the stranger lurched his way past Tim.

A strangled cry broke the shocked silence, and it took Tim a moment to realize it had come from Jon. His friend was sitting on the floor, propped up against a stack of boxes, one leg wrapped in bloodstained bandages. He stared at the man in blank, silent shock.

The stranger moved as if to lunge, but stopped when Jon held up a shaking hand.

"Wait." Jon's voice broke. He was fumbling something out of his pocket, wincing when the movement jarred his leg. "Wait, just—"

"Mmhm," the man said in a strangled voice, fidgeting but staying where he was.

Jon finally wrestled his wallet out of his pocket, ripped it open, and pulled out a photo—a Polaroid? His eyes flickered between it and the man standing over him.

The wallet fell to the floor. With a sudden burst of energy, Jon heaved himself upright, and managed to stand for all of a second before his leg gave out and sent him pitching forward. The man caught him before he could fall and yanked him into a hug.

"What the fuck, Gerry," Jon choked out.

Sasha was eyeballing Tim frantically, but all Tim could do was shrug back.

"I'm sorry," the man—Gerry—mumbled, face buried in the side of Jon's neck.

"I thought—she told me that you—" Jon stared blankly over Gerry's shoulder, looking at the others without seeing them. "Where have you been?"

"Couple of hunters picked up our trail in the woods in Pennsylvania," Gerry answered. "We split up. They caught me. Didn't kill me, just… didn't let me leave either. Sorry I didn't contact you right when I escaped, I just—I was afraid I'd get your hopes up and get killed on the way home."

In the silence that followed, Martin let out a strangled "Um."

Jon jumped, and his teary eyes focused back on them. "Oh. Right. Er." He tried to pull back, without much success since Gerry was the only thing keeping him upright. "E-everyone, this is Gerry."

"You just finished telling us he was dead," said Sasha.

"Yes, well." Jon managed a watery smile. "I've been wrong before."

"We had a moment about it."

"Right." Without warning, Gerry reached down and swung Jon up into his arms in a bridal carry, ignoring Jon's squawk of protest. "Let's go. We can talk later—and we will be talking later—"

"Gerry!"

"Seriously, I turn around and you're fighting the Corruption with fire extinguishers, and you're the bloody Archivist."

"Put me down, you absolute—"

"No, you've got holes in your leg." Gerry shouldered past Tim and stepped back into the tunnel, carrying a disgruntled Jon with little apparent effort. "You three coming, or what?"

#the magnus archives #jongerry #gerard keay #tim stoker #jonathan sims #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Text

Imagine You’re Sleeping in the Same Bed with Sanji & He’s Trynna Jack Off Next to You & Hearing it (NSFW)

A/N: Yeah I’m not good w titles n I don’t feel like finishing any of my drafts/request rn. Also this was inspired by an audio I heard on TT.

Black Fem Reader in Mind

You and Sanji are so close.

Probably too close for most people, but you couldn’t care less that was your homeboy.

Sanji was the mf homie to you.

Sanji was your best friend.

Sanji was your ride or die

You loved Sanji.

And he felt the exact same feelings but 10x over because you were a beautiful woman.

He loved the attention you gave him and he swears up and down you are his even though neither of you has gone as far as him kissing your hand and you kissing his cheek.

You were very close with him as well.

So close in fact you both started sleeping in the same bed.

It only started because you had a nightmare and you went into the kitchen to drink some water but found Sanji in there instead and invited him to sleep with you.

He passed out a few times from shock but 2 months later and now it’s a new expectation to feel his body beside you at night. You loved it it was so fun to have your best friend sleep with you. If you wasn’t already sleep by the time he came in he’d bring snacks and drinks and you’d both have like a constant mini sleepover!

Sanji, However started to get restless.

Not in a bad way of course. He was able to be blessed to sleep beside a sweet, soft, and gorgeous woman every night that smelled oh so nice and had a cuddly personality to fit because you loved to hold on to something most nights and that something was Sanji’s chest.

Unfortunately for Sanji it was all platonic still between you both but he really had no complaints.

He was in Heaven, nothing could ruin this—

Except his own Dick and your new sleepwear.

It wasn’t a surprise to you Sanji gets morning wood, you woken to the small rubs and poke at your thigh or bottom early in the morning. You never confronted him about it because you didn’t want him to feel awkward or embarrassed about it. It was natural and something he couldn’t help, however now since the days are longer and hotter since it’s summer you no longer cuddle with Sanji but instead you sleep in nothing, but an unbuttoned over sized shirt.

Emphasis on nothing.

You didn’t really think to ask if Sanji was okay with you being mostly nude to sleep and he didn’t say anything but he sure as hell did notice. It started to become harder for him to sleep beside you. Your pretty smooth legs fresh out the shower slightly spread apart as you sleep on your tummy, your big shirt just barely covering your lower lady parts. It was just too hot to sleep under a blanket.

You were such a tease.

“Shit.” Sanji whispered palming his hard on. Once again. He was used to having it in the morning but when he glanced over at your exhausted and warm body beside him at arms reach tossing a little noticing the jiggle of the fabric under your body he bites his lip, but quickly shakes his head mentally cursing himself that he allows such naughty thoughts to creep in his mind about you.

You were his best friend.

He really didn’t feel like getting up to take care of himself and he could have just ignored it. He could have, but you must have been having some kind of wild dream from the way you kept shifting on your side sighing and moaning softly.

It was tempting, all was needed was one more wild movement from you and your whole bottom would be exposed to his viewing. But you didn’t move any longer, you managed to find a comfortable position and your furrowed eyebrows relaxed as you did as well.

Sanji However got frustrated, he groaned lightly rubbing his cock through his shorts not facing you, maybe if he were to be really quiet he could finish himself off and just go straight to sleep? Surely you wouldn’t notice?

He spit on his palm, looking over his shoulder a moment to see your back facing him and you sleeping peacefully, he reached his hand down to slowly stroke his got with a firm grip grazing his thumb over his sensitive head.

Closing his eyes to think of a scenario to get off to since he could get his magazines he couldn’t think about anything but you.

You what you sound like, what you look like, what you feel like,

It was all innocent thoughts but he needed to cum faster before he got caught so he got lewder.

He thought about the noises you’d make cumming from his tongue alone, he thought about your beautiful skin slapping against his if he picked you up and fucked you on the wall, he thought about how cute your facial expressions would be laying under him, kissing him,-

“Fuck.”

His mind went rapid thinking of his best friend beside him. Sanji stopped being so subtle in his strokes being so loss in the thought of you he didn’t even care to notice you slowly waking up.

You stirred a little, you were a pretty light sleeper, it sort of developed when you decided to become a Strawhat and your Captain was a damn menace to society and the marines so you always had to stay on your toes, but nothing could have prepared you from the pretty sounds you were from behind you.

The bed was shifting a little on the opposite site on you, you turned to see Sanji’s bare back slightly curled. It was relatively dark and you just woke up so your eyes had to adjust but if you were a betting woman you’d bet that he was clearly doing something he had no business doing.

But you quickly turned back around. A normal person would have just asked what was he doing, but you knew and you didn’t want to stop him for the simple fact his strained moans sounded so damn hot.

You already thought his voice was attractive, but to pair it with such pretty whines and cries you felt your thighs rub a little. You tried just going back to sleep and letting him handle himself, kind of wondering why he didn’t want to do it in the bathroom, but he sounded so cute!

And attractive

And more importantly it was turning you on.

The small sounds of his fist stroking his shaft wasn’t left unheard either and it began to get louder the longer you laid there.

Curses and moans slipped through Sanji’s mouth, he sounded like he was close, very close, and so you mentally said “fuck it” and turned over to sit up.

“Whatcha doin.”

A choked out groan came out of Sanji’s throat, he felt his cheat cave in and tried throwing the entire blanket over his body to hide himself but you were too fast and hovered over his body.

“N-nothing I—“

“Shut up I know you’re playing with yourself.”

His face turned so red and hot, he should have been more quiet, this was such a bad idea! He just wanted to run out of your room totally expecting you to never want to talk to him again for almost defiling your clean sheets on her bed, but instead you wasn’t. You just smiled and turned him on his back.

“Wha—what are you doing?!” Sanji’s hands we’re trying to hard to cover his cock, you barely could see it but you knew it was big so you bit your lip a little.

“Let me see…can I see?“

“I…I um…” He was so flustered, his eyes were shining so innocently at you after getting caught and you slowly pulled his hands away from his crotch and seen his Dick still semi-hard laying on his lower abdomen. Sanji noticed the hungry tired look in your eyes and gulped harshly. He stared at your partially exposed body and groaned to himself. Your pussy was practically hovering over his cock and he couldn’t tear his eyes away at it.

“Want me to help you out?”

“Yes please.” He spoke without hesitation and much need in his shaky voice. You giggled, why not help your best friend out?

“Wanna Kiss First.” You murmured climbing up to him and pecked his lips. He was too shocked to kiss back but once it registered he firmly pressed his mouth agains yours moaning at how soft you felt and how good you smelled.

Your hand slipped down and stroked his hot, wet cock with his saliva and pre cum mixed and Sanji immediately began to buck into your hand as he kissed you.

“Y/N….please…”

“Please What Sanji?” You teased slightly pumping him, “What do you want me to do.”

“I…”

“I….”

“I want you to fuck me, please.”

You cupped his cheek with one hand squeezing it looking into his low lidded eyes as he was a panting mess under your touch.

“Of course I will…I don’t mind helping my best friend.”

#one piece #TimikosSanji #one piece headcanons #black reader #one piece smut #one piece x female reader #sanji #sanjionepiece #sanji imagine #sanji x black reader #sanji x reader #one piece x black!reader #sanji smut #female reader #x female reader #one piece scenario #black foot sanji

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 6: Retribution (NSFW!)

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your husband seeks justice.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04 for beta-ing! Thank you also to @evisnotok, @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ajthefujoshi for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, graphic violence, graphic depictions of blood and torture, graphic depictions of murder, erectile dysfunction.

He can hear you screaming the moment he alights upon the top of the stairs.

“Guards! Guards!” he roars, already running.

Bolting down the corridor, his mind whirls with terror. What will he find when he gets to your rooms? He braces himself, thoughts whirling uncontrollably. Thoughts of stained sheets and the scent of copper and death upon the air, your tear-stricken face wild and wretched with the anguish of being ripped apart by babes too small to survive, the still forms of infants in miniature, slick with blood and already greying upon the ground below you—

What he discovers is infinitely worse.

The Mallery knight is engaged in a tussle with an unknown assailant, the clash of steel ringing in his ears and reminding him of battles past. You lay on the stone floor beside a body, one of two, your face and hair and gown wet with gore. A man straddles your legs, brandishing a knife that inches its way toward your belly. Toward his heirs. You’re giving him a good showing, kicking your legs and shoving at his weight with all your might and shrieking—but you are not strong enough to sway the encroaching threat of the blade in his hand.

“Shut up, girl!” The malefactor grapples against your stubborn hands preventing the knife from reaching its target, holding it at bay. “Not ‘ere for you… just them babies in you. Hold still!”

“No!” you yell, spitting in his face. The man snarls, backhanding you. You yelp.

Daemon moves instantly, unsheathing Dark Sister and striding toward the fray with barely a second thought. The Valyrian steel slides through flesh like butter, piercing straight through the assailant’s back and up through his ribs while being careful to miss his heart.

Non-lethal, painful. I want him to feel this.

The man shouts, dropping the knife. He yanks the sword out and kicks him away from you, sneering as he watches his prey scramble through the ooze of his own life essence. He’s still alive. Daemon casts aside his sword and falls upon your attacker, taking up the other man’s blade and slicing cleanly across the jugular, just enough pressure to release a gruesome spray that wets his face and tunic. He wants this creature to die bloody.

“Daemon—”

He presses his thumbs into the cut, smiling darkly as the man thrashes and gurgles. Ichor stains his skin and fills his nostrils with the stink of metallic warmth, humanity reduced to its basest form and lashing about in its final throes—

“My Prince—ah!”

In his periphery, he catches a figure scrambling from the room through the narrow server’s passageway, Mallery falling to the ground and clutching his leg. The man below him is still twitching. He cannot let him go until he is certain he’s dead, until he has paid the price for daring to lay his hands on you.

The guards burst into the room from the main entrance, taking in the scene with shock. Fucking useless.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he growls, releasing his hold on the man below him. He’s dead. The knowledge that he has taken care of this immediate threat to your safety soothes him somewhat. And yet, not all have been vanquished. Jerking his head in the direction of the opening in the far wall, he says, “One of the attackers escaped. After them!”

They nod hastily, sprinting away with a clang. Daemon readies for the influx of more people; the Kingsguard, the servants, the nobles, his fucking brother—

“Daemon…”

Your weeping reaches his ears, little fingers brushing tentatively against his shoulder. The gentleness of the motion breaks him from his violent spiral. His gaze jerks to yours, the burning rage cooling to a simmering ember as he takes in your terrified demeanour: wide eyes and quivering lip and tears tracking through spattered crimson akin to grisly warpaint.

You swallow. “He—he—”

He is momentarily struck by fear. What if you’ve been wounded? What if your pains have started? That old urge to run at the first sign of strife rears its ugly head, but he tamps it down viciously. I am not that man anymore.

“Sh.” Pulling you bodily to him, he feels the weight of you solid in his arms and on his lap, a reminder that he has not yet lost what is most important to him.

She is safe. She is safe. The rest can wait.

He runs his bloodied hand along your jaw, down your spine, across your belly, cataloguing every iota of you as though it is the first time he has ever held you. It might have been the last. He cannot help that the movements are rougher than he’d like, frantic and desperate.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to plunge you further into hysterics. “The babes?”

You nod shakily, tugging his hand back to your swollen middle. And oh, what a moment to feel the thudding motions of his children, the first time he has been able to lay a palm there and experience the sensation himself. They are active within your womb, small thumps and jabs that are more delicate than he had expected—but they are alive.

Tears burn in his eyes, angry, boiling things that he cannot, will not let loose. Not now.

He bands an arm beneath your knees and lifts you from the ground—the cold stone is no place for his little niece, his sweet baby wife—reassured by the heaviness of you and his heirs all. Conveying you swiftly to the bed with hardly a care given to the large stains smearing across the covers, he supposes you shall need an entirely new set of chambers, what with the mess soaking the stone ground.

Several arrivals occur in quick succession. Four of the Kingsguard enter and move immediately to secure the perimeter, one breaking off to aid Mallery across the room by tamping the ichor oozing steadily from his leg. Good man. He’d have hated to have to slay your sworn shield for incompetence, but his performance had been admirable in the face of the odds laid before him. It looks likely that he will not be able to use the limb again, though.

The healer woman is the next to toddle in, exclaiming in dismay at the sight. Your lady-in-waiting—and oh, fuck, the body that had been beside you is the other, he realises—follows swiftly on her heels, immediately bursting into tears when she absorbs the carnage.

Ūlla picks her way around the debris in a manner that is almost comical. “Princess! Princess! Are you safe?”

One of the Cargylls—he can never fucking tell them apart—steps before her, blade pointed in her direction.

She scoffs. “Move, boy! Pah—are you ‘Princess’, then? Go away!”

As much as he’d love to see the ensuing standoff, now is not the time. It’d be best to have the physician verify that you and his heirs are well. No doubt the shrew will bring you a measure of matronly comfort that he cannot.

“Let her through,” he commands.

The knight steps aside reluctantly, allowing her to proceed onwards. Daemon moves away for the woman to begin fussing over you, for your attendant to step into place so as to comfort you. He is wrenched by the sound of your plaintive whimper when he has gone too far for you to reach.

But needs must—this is not over.

He rolls over each of the attackers lying dead on the ground with a foot, examining them with pursed lips. There’s a blotch on each of their cheeks. At first, he assumes it is no more than a discolouration of the skin, perhaps a curious disease or a sign of familial relation—but leaning closer and wiping some of the blood away reveals that they are in fact identical stars carved and scarred over. Seven points.

Mellos makes his way inside, no doubt summoned for Mallery. It is a rare occasion indeed to see him act decisively; he dithers in overdramatic fright but for a moment before moving along to his task.

Lord Cunttower himself appears then, accompanied by his bitch of a daughter with the King in tow.

Daemon sees red.

“You,” he whispers, or maybe he shouts it. He can barely hear anything over the pounding in his ears as he shoves his brother’s prized lackey against the wall, cursing his lack of a blade. “You’ll die for this.”

“Daemon!”

“Look at her!” he snarls.

Hands wrapped around the man’s throat, Daemon revels in the distressed gasps and choking gags as the lord’s face slowly turns purple. The snake tries to pull at his grip, but a pompous fuck from the Reach is no match for a seasoned Targaryen warrior. Viserys is at his back, pulling at his shoulder with his one remaining hand. No doubt that is the Hightower whore crying out from further away.

“Look at my fucking wife, Otto! Mark my words”—he hounds ever closer to see the panic and the fear in the eyes of a man so usually unshakeable—“if this is your doing, not even the King or the gods themselves will stop me from taking your head—”

“Guards!”

“Kepus!”

He is dragged back by the nearest of his brother’s soldiers, forced to release his punitive grip. Otto sags with a guttural heave, water streaming from his eyes and clutching at his neck. Alicent rushes to her sire, staring between him and Daemon with sheer distress painting her features. Her hands flutter uselessly over the bruise already blooming across the flesh, though her overtures are quickly batted away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Viserys asks, even greyer as he looks about the scene of your attack; the blood, the bodies, your sworn shield emitting a muffled howl through a strap of leather between his teeth as the Grand Maester cauterises the wound. “What—”

“They ca—came for the babes.” Your speech is slack and monotone now that the shock has properly set in.

I can’t fucking do this, Daemon thinks.

He nudges the healer out of the way and ignores her grumble to sit beside you on the bed, to clutch at you once again and remind himself that you’re here. You grip his hand for support, heedless of the dried gore flaking off between joined palms.

“Three of them,” you say, numb. “They—oh, gods. They killed Miriam. They killed her.”

“Sh.” He presses his lips to your head, the smell of the rose oil apparent even through all the blood. She’s safe. She’s safe. He turns to your present company, to the figures of the King and Queen and Hand, arranged in various poses of horror. “This was not an accident. These—these scum knew what they were doing. They made their way into your Keep. They meant to slaughter your daughter’s babes, and in doing so, murder my wife. This is treason, Your Grace, of the highest order.”

Viserys looks as though his spirit is about to part from his body, pallid and desolate in the face of this hidden menace. “But why?” he asks, a child at prayer.

Daemon scoffs at the naivete. Is his failure to acknowledge the wound he has let fester for so long really so great? Of all the people in this room, the King ought to know best that all choices have consequences.

“My daughter’s never caused harm to a single man, woman or child,” the King continues. “Who would do this?”

“Ask him.” Daemon glowers at Hightower, who is still covering the line of his neck with his own hand.

The man makes a noise of incredulity. “I have been ever loyal to your King and your House these many years, Prince Daemon,” he says, or tries to. His voice is gravelly, raspy in the way that belies a considerable trauma inflicted upon the area. He affects a moue of outrage, though the alarm lingers. “To accuse me of such a—grievous crime—as to engineer the slaying of the Princess’s babes is simply preposterous!”

“And to what cause?” his daughter asks, forcing an aura of regality. It does not suit her. She’s far too common to view as anything more than a descendant of wildling savages. “Where is the benefit to doing such a thing?”

This time, Daemon cannot help but snort aloud. He stands, passing you back into the care of the healer, who has gathered a basin of water and some rags with which to start shedding you of the layers of congealed blood upon your face. You do not need to hear this part, and so he strides closer to the trespassing forms before him.

This time, he directs his poisonous inquiry to the Hightower woman, finally laying the truth of the matter bare.

“Have you yourself not openly alleged that the Princess Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards, my Queen?” He keeps his tone deliberately light, though it is clear all can sense the danger lurking beneath each intonation. “It stands to reason that, to those who might be persuaded to believe such falsehoods, my wife would be her heir by right of precedence. And if my wife should bear a son? Well, that makes your son’s claim rather difficult to advance, doesn’t it?”

“How dare you accuse me—”

“Enough!” his brother say, hushing himself when he notices he has caught your attention across the room. His next words are spoken far softer. “Did I not say that such rumours would incur a stay in the Black Cells? I do not wish to hear speculation as to the legitimacy of my grandsons!”

“Your Grace.” Daemon genuflects.

His rage is a seething, smouldering thing, but he needs Viserys on side if he is to tear the capital apart to find this cunt and rend him into pieces. There are plenty who believe him to be an unreasonable beast when the fire burns through his veins, but he is more than just an unmoored conflagration; he’s a fucking Prince, and he knows how to play the game when the occasion calls for it.

Assuming a countenance as servile as he can manage, he appeals directly to his brother. “Close the city gates,” he begs quietly. “Give me the City Watch. Let me root out the last of these cu—these reprobates, street by street, door by door. Let me gift my wife the justice she is owed.” He steps aside so that Viserys can see straight to you, to the way you have begun to tremor despite the huddled warmth of the women who are tending to you, to your face streaked scarlet with the blood of others, to your hands clasped tightly against your belly in protection of your children. “Please. If not for me… then for her.”

Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls.

“This affront must not be allowed to go unpunished,” the King says, suddenly weary. “I give you leave to find this assassin, brother, so that we may learn who has placed a price on my daughter’s life.”

Daemon is one step closer to meting out punishment. He can already taste the death and destruction that awaits. Staring down the Hightowers, he says, “I will find the perpetrators, Your Grace. And there will be no mercy for those responsible.”

Let this be a warning to all who believe the Rogue Prince to be a tamed man. He is a fucking dragon, and this city will soon feel the flames of his wrath.

He gives Rollingford the orders to start the search without him.

“Thin build, dark hair, has a star cut into his right cheek. An old wound.” He rattles off all he has gleaned from his observations and yours and Mallery’s testimonies to the Commander of the gold cloaks. “Likely to be bleeding, probably limping on his left leg. I want him located. I want him surrounded until I arrive. No one is to touch him. This one is mine. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ser,” the solemn soldier says, snapping to attention jerkily before striding off with his captains in tow. He is already issuing directives as he rounds the corner.

Ser. It is easy to sink into the role of combatant, doing away with titles and courtesies to embrace the mortality and mayhem of battle—but he cannot allow the bloodlust to consume him just yet.

Though you insist in a small whisper that it is not necessary, he carries you from your (old, spoiled, defiled) chambers to the King’s rooms himself. It is a temporary respite for you and your staff until the final attacker has been caught. He chafes at relinquishing you to your father’s care—it tastes strangely of defeat—but even he cannot deny that these apartments are the safest in the city, if not the Realm.

There is a self-indulgent joy that seeps through the cracks of his fury at the sight of Viserys so flummoxed by your insistence that he remain as you are bathed and dressed in nightwear, finally free of the wash of thick crimson that had crusted in your silver hair and stained your blossom-soft skin. His brother’s own bed has been stripped and redressed for your use, a surprising concession—or perhaps not. You are one of two pieces left of Aemma, after all.

Daeron had been brought to you for comfort, and you hold him as tightly to you as you had held your dolls in gummy fists as a tot, meek and withdrawn. It makes his chest ache to see you so terrified.

He uses the very last of his patience to help the healer woman coax watered dreamwine to your lips, to bundle you in tight in the bed beside your brother, to stroke at your hair and your belly and hum some half-recollected lullaby from your childhood or his until your eyes droop, exhausted and overcome.

As he rises to depart from the room—to seek his retribution—he shares a glance with the King, one that is mayhaps a beat too long to lack meaning. In it, he tries to convey what he cannot say aloud. ‘Protect her for me. Keep her safe while I cannot. Do this for me, brother.’

It is the first time in many a year that he is united in common cause with this man. A single nod, and then he exits, the Kingsguard closing ranks and barring the door from all who may seek entry.

The air is sharp with the chill of night and the stifle of smoke wafting from lit torches, the dim orange smoulder a gloomy spotlight throwing the shadows of soldiers into stark relief. Daemon can hear the cries near and far of alarmed citizens and distressed patrons as the City Watch raids homes and taverns and storefronts. The sound is intoxicating, a pulse of vicious pleasure loosening the strain in his shoulders and the tightness of his breath.

This is what he does best—bringing chaos and cruelty to his enemies’ doorstep. It’s a reminder of the fate that awaits those who dare to cross the House of the Dragon. Until this man is found, the entire city is his enemy.

“My Prince.” Rollingford falls into step beside his horse as he crosses into the Great Square, seemingly appearing from the shadows. An impressive skill. He slides down from the saddle, absently patting the mount’s flank when he chuffs at the motion. With an arched brow, he wordlessly prompts the Commander to continue. “We have guards manning all seven gates, as well as postings along the Blackwater. The harbour has been closed and the ships at dock searched, and the men are working their way through the city.”

“Good. What of the High Septon? I want him questioned. Make use of Largent.”

“The—the High Septon?” Rollingford asks. He does his best to sound carefully blank, but Daemon can hear the underlying pitch of nervousness.

“Yes, the fucking High Septon,” he snaps. “He’s here, isn’t he? Some business with the King. Tell him that the Prince wants to know why three assassins bearing the Seven-Pointed Star attempted to murder my wife and heirs earlier tonight. If he resists—bring him to me. I care not for the wrath of his gods.”

“Ye—yes, Ser.”

He doesn’t actually believe the Faith to be responsible for the attack. Those petty worshippers have become unmanned since the days of Jaehaerys, and the High Septon is far too gutless a creature to conjure up such a scheme. He also doubts any of the man’s underlings have the capacity to act without first being thoroughly vetted by the circuitous bureaucracy of the Most Devout. But it will send a message that none are safe from his wrath, one he hopes will lure forth the real culprits.

It nears dawn when the search bears fruition. One of the soldiers—Cressey, he thinks, or perhaps Hayford—brings forth a location.

“We’ve got ‘im surrounded, milord,” he says, “so ‘e’s not likely to escape. But those nearabouts all say they saw a bloodied man with a star on ‘is cheek limp inside and not come out. That was some time ago.”

It might just be a form of irony that the answers I seek are to be found once more in the whorehouses of King’s Landing, he thinks to himself.

He retraces the familiar route to the Street of Silk—straight down the Street of Sisters, left onto the Street of Flour, right along Copper Street—the sound of hoofbeats against cobblestone overloud in the early morning. It is easy to tell which of these establishments houses his quarry, the glimmer of the gold cloaks easily recognisable even in weak light.

The men part for him as he stalks along the way directly to the heavy oak door. Curious. Run-down, moth-eaten and hosting some of the most common girls in the Realm, this particular brothel had been one of the cheaper bastions of debauchery in his youth. A fuck was a fuck no matter which way it was dressed, though, so it is not as though he had refused their attempts to solicit his coin. A good Prince is a fair one, after all. The door is new, and already he can see signs of refurbishment in the scrubbed-clean stone and the pale thatching of the roof.

Daemon barges directly inside, immediately being struck by the thick clogging scent of incense and sweat and bodily fluids. Gone are the thready chaises and faded portraits and the half-destroyed staircase. Instead, the space is dark and richly furnished in deep reds and blacks, the walls inlaid with lacquered wood and gleaming with the flicker of burning braziers.

Several whores squeal at the suddenness of his importunity, turning wide kohl-lined eyes to his form from where they sit in the laps of strangers in various stages of undress about the open foyer. He scans each of the patrons critically, seeking out one who matches the description of his target.

Bald, pot-bellied, pockmarked, old, young, yellow hair, black hair… A veritable array of men soused on drink and desperation, and yet there is no sign of your assailant.

A woman moves from the shadows, her speech carrying above the sighs and moans despite the soft, lilting cadence. “Welcome to the Gilded Doll, good Ser. What pleasures do you seek this day?”

I know that voice.

“Mysaria.” His long-time paramour smiles teasingly at his shock, flicking her dark hair over her shoulders at the recognition. Little about her has changed since their separation. “I thought you’d be in Pentos.”

He had left her there in the Prince’s palace what seems like so long ago now. It is strange to think upon the version of himself who had been so afflicted by desire for Rhaenyra. Sometimes, he forgets you have only been wedded to him for a comparatively short period. There is a settled comfort in his life with you, a conviction and dependence that still surprises him. Peace is not a feeling he thought he’d ever find in marriage.

“My place is in Westeros, My Prince,” she says. She steps closer—too close. His tense demeanour does not go unnoticed, for she wisely elects to drop the carefully cultivated mask of temptation to speak honestly. “You are not the only one who has been called back to these shores by those in need.”

He scoffs. Ah, yes—I’d forgotten about her delusions of grandeur. “And you’re doing your great philanthropic work as the madam of a brothel? I suppose it’s not a terrible advancement for a common whore.”

“Not so common, perhaps.” Her crimson lips twist, the old insult stinging still. She will accept a great many indignities, but never has she abided being regarded as someone unexceptional. “My women are well-cared-for, which is more than I can say for most of the brothels along the Street of Silk.”

He rolls his eyes, already growing bored by the conversation. He’s not here for a reunion. “Such a noble cause. Effigies ought to be built for you, I’m sure.”

“What brings you here, Daemon?” she asks.

“A trio of assailants tried to murder my wife earlier this evening,” he says, afforded some measure of privacy by the collection of sounds filling the room. Though his blood is up by the promise of violence, there is none left to fill his cock—and truthfully, he does not know if the sight of whores’ tits or the wet squelch of overused cunts or the shrill performances echoing from the second floor are even enough to elicit such a reaction now. He’d much rather stare at your tits and hear your moans and fuck your cunt. “Two have been dispatched, and the last has been tracked to your establishment. You’d do well to tell me where he is.”

She stares up at him but for a moment, something unreadable in the set of her features.

“I have a great many customers walk through these doors, My Prince,” she says, brow arching challengingly. That veiled insolence had been what had drawn him to her in the first place, when she was just an exotic dancer from Lys baring her body for him and his lackeys in the Blue Pearl. So few dared to test his famed temper, fewer still who’d let him fuck them whichever way he pleased. It rings hollow now. He wonders if her defiance had always been so trite. “You will have to describe the man to me.”

He rattles off the description in a short tone, a warning that she ought not to tarry much longer lest his malice seek out the nearest recipient. Her answer is prompt, wary: “Second floor, fourth door on the right.”

He pulls Dark Sister from its sheath in a pre-emptive motion, again startling those nearby, and makes to climb the steps.

“Daemon.” She lays her hand on his arm, stopping him briefly. “Try not to destroy the furnishings. It costs a pretty coin to maintain such luxury.”

She knows me well. He nods, and then pulls away.

The surprise of Mysaria’s return is one he discards to the recesses of his mind for the time being, allowing the ire to scald in his veins as he trudges to the far quieter upper landing. The sounds of groaning and rustling are muted, almost far-off, a mere backdrop to the thunder of his heart in his ears.

So close. I’m so close.

The fourth door does not open on first attempt. He tries again. Locked. Once more. He takes a few steps back and slams his full weight into the barricade, bursting the wood clean off the hinges.

The whore inside screams in fright, clutching her shawl to her chest. ‘Tis strange to see a clothed whore in a private room, he thinks, surveying the mousy-haired woman and her dull brown eyes and too-thin lips. How drab. That she is still dressed is a promising sign, one that suggests that mayhaps she is not alone. He looks around the room for another; there is no evidence of any company.

Then, he spots the wardrobe ajar, a slight wobble to its frame—as though a heavy being has flung themselves inside. There.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls, levelling the whore with the most vicious look he can muster. She squeaks and darts out into the hallway, vanishing from sight.

His focus affixes itself once more to that sliver of darkness, within which he is certain his mark has tried to hide. He tarries, waiting to see if the other will make the first move; he cannot help the incredulity that arises when he encounters nothing but silence.

Does he honestly believe he has successfully concealed himself from retribution?

With a baring of teeth that is more a grimace than a smile, Daemon strikes, darting forward to fling the door wide and grasp onto whatever part of the man he can reach.

“Lemme go!” your assailant yells, crying out as he is dragged free from discarded gowns and thrust onto the floor.

How… disappointing. He’s already pissed himself, and Daemon hasn’t even had the opportunity to make him regret ever stepping foot in this world yet.

“I didn’ do nuffink, good ser—”

He cuffs the man across the face, a return upon the strike so callously landed across your sweet little face. It knocks more than one tooth loose, leaving him dazed and groaning on the ground, the fight abruptly beaten out of him.

“You were in the Red Keep earlier,” Daemon says, pulling the commoner upright by the hair and dealing another wallop to the nose. An audible crunch sounds out as the bone gives way beneath his knuckles, and the man moans weakly, stunned and bleeding from his leg and his face. “Your co-conspirators are dead. Tell me what I want to know, and your end will be quick.”

He matches your account exactly—dark hair, thin, and that fucking star emblazoned in scar tissue across his cheek. There is a curious pin on his lapel, an insect of some sort rendered in metal.

“I dunno what you mean,” the wretch moans, caterwauling when Daemon steps down on his fingers and grinds them into the ground. Each digit gives way with small pops, pulverising into jagged puzzle pieces no healer is skilled enough to patch together. “I wos here visitin’ my sister, and I ain’t done nuffink in no Keep, Ser!”

I’m almost glad for the resistance.

“A pity,” Daemon says. The man relaxes at the affected resignation in his tone. His mistake. “We’ll do this the hard way, then.”

He shoves the man against the wardrobe and drives Dark Sister cleanly through the meat of his shoulder, pinning him to its surface like a butterfly on canvas. His screams are piercing, surely disrupting the business taking place throughout the brothel. The scarred star stretches grotesquely as he vocalises his agony.

“Who sent you to murder the Princess? Who?!” Daemon snarls, twisting the blade for good measure. Scarlet trickles from the wound, blooming dark down the fabric of the man’s shirt. The howl that releases itself from his throat is nearly inhuman, a drawn-out choking heave that tingles in his extremities. “Talk!”

“I—I—I’m sorry, we wos offered coin—there ain’t none to be had wif the Order—”

Pathetic. Daemon had hardly needed to incentivise him overmuch and yet the scum is already spilling everything. No wonder he had run. Cowards never change their stripes, after all.

“A Poor Fellow, are you?” he asks, angling the blade up slightly and pushing in just a little further.

Daemon had suspected as much. The Seven-Pointed Star is a sure indicator that the attackers are sworn to the Faith Militant, though it is obvious that the evening’s trials had not been the work of those particular sycophants. It seems that an attempt has been made to lay the plot at the High Septon’s door—which means the architect is intelligent.

He continues his line of questioning, manipulating the hilt of his sword to widen the wound, each press shredding fresh slices into overwrought tissue. He basks in the squalling and weeping below him, the singular sound of flesh rending apart, the rich heady aroma of fear and gore. The desire to split open his guts and feed him his own entrails is tempting, but this is not the time. He needs information.

“What price was enough to make you abandon your precious Faith and risk eternal damnation, hm? Three stags? Four? A gold coin?”

The man gasps, spasming with each shift of the blade. “Three! Three, Ser—”

Three gold coins. A wealthy mastermind, then. It narrows the field considerably. Only the nobles at court would have that kind of coin to spend on a plot with a variable chance of success.

Daemon brings his foot down on the Fellow’s knee, crunching the joint beneath his steel-capped boot. With an almighty crack, the bone gives way, its owner leaning to the side to vomit. The acrid stench of sourness permeates the air, tangling with the scents of blood and piss.

He sneers, kicking the man’s leg for good measure. It splays at a misshapen angle, bent back upon itself on the ground. The jagged edge of his shinbone has pierced clean through the back of his knee, a macabre lance of pearl-white tearing through skin and muscle.

“A measly three coins to murder a girl heavy with child,” Daemon mocks. “A Princess. Your gods must be so proud.”

“Please!” The craven weeps, spitting blood and bile from his mouth. “Please.”

“Tell me what I want to know. Tell me who ordered the attack.”

“I—I—I dunno his name, Ser. He wears a hood. Calls himself the Firefly.”

Daemon nods absently in acknowledgement, his mind ruminating over this discovery. It is not an epithet he recognises. Firefly. He’ll have to conduct a careful search to find the owner of this sobriquet.

He refocuses his gaze upon the last of your assailants, the remaining member of the trio who had so callously threatened your life and the lives of his children. As pathetic as this creature is, he has been rather valuable in providing enough intelligence to further his own search. But the man has outlived his usefulness. Daemon cannot afford for his benefactor to learn of his loose tongue.

“In the name of the Princess, I—Daemon of House Targaryen—sentence you to die.”

In a single swift motion, he wrenches Dark Sister from the place where it is embedded and basks in the vile satisfaction of hearing the man release an unearthly squall. He swings the sword in a high arc, the momentum slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew and bone and cutting the shriek off at its full. Blood sprays over his armour and across his face, the wayward Fellow’s head rolling across the floor.

Daemon removes the pin from the man’s shirt and stows it away for later examination, using one of the whore’s ruined dresses to wipe his blade clean of gore. He surveys the scene. The door is splintered upon the ground, the wardrobe soiled and defiled, the room itself a painting of crimson upon lumber and metalwork, silks and leathers.

Fuck. He’s made rather a mess of things. Restitution will have to be made.

He leaves the body where it lay, having little care for the remains now he is dead. For now, the job is done. It is with a sense of relief that he retraces his steps back to the lower level of the brothel. The whores and patrons stare at him with mingled shock and fright, taking in his red-soaked armour and ichor-stained face. At the sight of him, the whore from earlier darts up the stairs. She will find her brother dead in her rooms, his life essence puddling out upon the floor and seeping into the wood.

He turns to Mysaria, fishing out a handful of coin and holding it out to her. She takes the proffered gold with an arched brow, surveying his dirtied form with an unimpressed expression.

“For the damage,” is his gruff explanation, tipping his head in the direction of the upper landing. “Unavoidable.”

The whore starts to wail her lamentations from above.

“I see.” Her feline eyes glitter dark and mysterious, lips tipped up ever-so-slightly. She had always found his aggression captivating, and it seems such a sentiment remains unchanged. He shifts in discomfort. She leans further into his space, laying a careful hand upon the line of his arm. “I hope you found the justice you had sought.”

He grunts, making no move to encourage her.

“It is good to see you again, Daemon,” she adds, looking up at him through sooty lashes. Her body presses closer, just shy of touching. He doesn’t know if she holds back to avoid sullying her gown or if she intends to tempt him into closing the space. “You would be welcome here if you should want the company of one of my girls. Or mine.”

Her breath, wine-tart and candied, puffs against his jaw.

“I don’t,” he says stiffly. He is poised, rigid, barely restraining himself from the urge to throw her bodily from him, to backhand her for daring to touch what is not hers by right. “Take your damn hands off me.”

She is as beautiful and sensuous as ever, but she does not arouse desire in him the way she had once done. How the mighty have fallen, he thinks.

Should a version of Daemon from his youth encounter him now, he would make of himself a laughingstock for the single-minded veracity of his ardour for his own niece, a girl half his age. But how could one return to consuming boiled mutton after partaking in roast venison for the first time? Mysaria had been a companion and nothing more. You are his—niece, confidant, wife, lover, mother to his heirs. There can be no other now. That she thinks she might persuade him to wet his cock in lesser cunt is insulting.

At once, her seduction ceases, the veil of allure dropping and resettling into feigned amiability. He has insulted her—but why should it matter? Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

She smiles dryly, stepping aside to clear a path to the exit. “Then I wish you farewell,” she says.

There is nothing left for him here but the ghosts of a former life. It is easier than breathing to turn from her gaze, to cast her aside as a memory from long ago, to stride past her and leave her in the past where she belongs.

He departs the Gilded Doll without another word, mind already settling on returning to you.

You are still asleep when he enters his brother’s rooms.

“Gods be good,” Viserys mutters, hobbling over from his chair as he takes in the sight of Daemon covered in blood. What did he expect, he thinks in irritation, that I would sit down for a civilised meal with her attacker? “I can only assume you found him.”

“The last one is dead,” he says, unbuckling his baldric and setting Dark Sister, scabbard and all, upon the table as quietly as he can. Through the gauzy drapes, he spies your still form ensconced in the bed. “I got the information I needed.”

“Must I ask for it, or shall you tell me?” the King asks.

Daemon glances over at him. Dark circles bloom purple-grey under his eyes, the contrast to his blemished skin so severe it is as though he is looking at a human skull instead of a living man.

“Not now.” He suppresses a shudder at the malformed creature his brother has become. “I’d like to get this shit off me.”

The bath is warm, but he takes no joy in it. Now that his enterprise is concluded, he is left with naught but his own thoughts. If I had been there, she wouldn’t have been risked so dearly. If I’d refused to leave, she’d be safe and happy instead of fearful and desolate.

He tries to tamp down the maelstrom, scrubbing vigorously at his flesh and his hair as though to physically force the notion from his mind. By the time he is done, the water is pink, flecks of dried blood forming a ghastly film upon the surface.

All he wishes to do now is sit by you. He bypasses Viserys, treading barefoot through the sheer curtains and settling himself gently upon the mattress beside you. In repose, your expression holds none of the fright or devastation that had marred it so many hours ago. You are young, sweet, mouth slack with sleep and cheeks plump and rosy from the heat of the coverings over you.

His eyes burn again. I’ve failed to protect her. Stroking your wild silver hair back from your temple, he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw, over the curve of your lower lip, your throat.

“She has not awakened,” the King says softly behind him. “The boy’s gone to his lessons, but—well, I thought it best not to rouse her.”

“Good,” he murmurs, hand wandering below the sheets to feel the swell of your belly. There is faint movement, and relief blooms anew at the liveliness of the babes within your womb. Tap. Tap. Tap. He had almost convinced himself that it had been a delusion conjured up in his maddened state. “She needs to rest.”

You stir faintly, and he brings his palm to your face once more. You lip insensately at his thumb, easing back down into unconsciousness. A creak to his left makes him think that Viserys has sunk into the chair beside the bed. He can feel the stare boring into him, though he has little desire to entertain whatever it is that has his brother so absorbed.

“When you sought my daughter’s hand,” the King begins, “I assumed the worst.” He knows that. “You are not the sort of man capable of providing the care she needs: patience, attentiveness, placidity… devotion. Someone who would regard her as the treasure she is. Yes, when you asked for her, I thought all manner of abhorrent things, even if you were the one she chose for herself. I was so certain you would destroy her.”

So little trust in me, as always. There is a point to this spiel, a mellow timbre that suggests the aim is not to remonstrate—but to hear how lowly his brother thinks of him is nonetheless cutting.

The King huffs a laugh. “Imagine my surprise, then, to see her so… happy with you.” Daemon stills for a moment, then carefully resumes caressing your cheek, smoothing over the contour of your chin. “She is a new person to me now, and I regret that I was not able to grant what it is she needed to best thrive. I have many regrets… but I do not regret conferring her upon you,” Viserys says. “I was wrong, Daemon. You make a fine husband to my girl. And I am glad she can give to you what I never did.”

Oh, brother.

There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to earn his brother’s approval; when the attainment of such was a far-off dream, one that would have required him to unmake and reforge himself anew so that he might finally earn what ought to have been his all along. The denial of it had made him bitter and angry, a hot-tempered rake of a being that had terrorised nobles and commoners alike with debauchery and hostility and brutality. It is ironic that having the man finally—finally—proclaim that longed-for praise carries none of the weight he once imagined it would have.

His worth is no longer shackled to the whims of an ailing King. Perhaps it is unhealthy or even unfair to place the care of it in your hands—but for all his poisonous ambition, he knows his is not a nature meant for standing alone. The second son of a second son, he has been bred and built to seek purpose from those designed for a higher calling than he. How he had railed against his fate, once! And how very poetic it is that he has found himself so beholden to you.

He does not need Viserys anymore. But he nods and thanks his brother nonetheless, pays little mind to him as he departs from the room, and waits for you to rouse.

It normally takes time for your faculties to return to you after your eyes first open, but it comes to no surprise that consciousness strikes you with full force after the evening’s events. Your eyes snap open and you jolt, casting about for a half-moment before alighting on the form of your husband. He adjusts himself so that he reclines against the headboard, allowing you to easily wiggle your way onto his lap.

Fretful and fragile, a baby princess seeking protection in the arms of her big, strong uncle. Moisture wets his clean shirt, your face buried against his chest and little fingers clutched to his sides like you are afraid he’ll vanish. He pets over your spine and breathes you in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head, voiceless. He’ll not press you yet, not now—but there will come a time in the near future where you’ll have no choice but to recount the attack. He needs as much intelligence from as many involved as he can seek out if he is to determine the identity of the Firefly.

You are small and quiet and slow-moving as the day passes, wanting little else than to cling to him and doze. He doesn’t know what to do with this version of you. He is helpless to conceive of a way to break you from this strange trance. Guilt and fury and exasperation mingle like noxious fumes inside his body, pressing against his chest cavity and constricting around the organ there like a bloodied fist. Each hushed whisper, each tenuous tremble, each lamenting little-girl rebuff of all save him only serves to spur the tumult within.

“Is… Are they all gone?”

You finally string more than two or three words together, sat upon the edge of the bed in your new chambers. They are nice enough, he supposes, though he’s not particularly enthused by the prospect of being so close to Viserys and the Hightowers. For a moment, he thinks you are speaking of the attendants that had flitted in and out of your presence throughout the afternoon, but the uncertainty of your countenance suggests otherwise. His stomach drops.

“Those—those men?” you clarify, voice cracking.

Daemon lays Dark Sister back upon the desk and tosses down the cloth he’d been using to work away at the stray crusts of ichor, returning to you.

“Yes,” he says, sinking down upon the mattress.

You lean into him, warm and real and alive. Alive. “I was so… frightened. I thought I was going to di—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. I cannot hear it, cannot abide even the thought of it. “Don’t say it.”

You pause, staring up at him, nodding when you take in whatever expression has affixed itself on the planes of his face. He jerks slightly when you push yourself up on your knees and bring your lips to his, hot and wet and sweet. It is ingrained into the foundations of his very self to press into the kiss, to cradle your jaw in his hand and feel the throb of your pulse feed into his skin, his cock twitching in his breeches. There is no pleasure to it, but instead a disconcerting agony that prickles along his shaft and cools the fire that ought to stoke itself.

He draws away, suppressing the tremor that threatens. “What are you doing?” It comes out more abrasive than he’d like.

“Please?” you ask, mouthing at his lower lip, desperate and frenzied. “I—I just want to feel something good again.”

He understands that need. Hells, it’s a feeling that has fuelled many of his own debauched eves across the brothels in King’s Landing and the Realm beyond. Though he cannot fault you for the urge to drive away the memory of those who had nearly carved your babes from your belly (I wasn’t there, why wasn’t I there), his body is refusing to heed your wishes and rise to the occasion.

It tears at him to tilt back into you, to crowd against you and take your mouth with his own, to press his tongue to yours and pull the hem of your shift up. He drives you down into the sheets, nipping at your throat and shoving a finger then two into your grasping cunt, feeling the way the silky walls catch and ripple eagerly as he hooks into the high soft sponge of you, listening to you gasp. You writhe and moan below him, tugging at his pants and taking hold of his cock, and it begins to burst to life in your capable hand. He looks down at you and his mind flashes to the way you’d looked beneath that man, red-stained and terrified and scrabbling to save your own life, and he cannot—

He lurches away from you, from the memory of what had nearly happened. I wasn’t there. You try to pull him back down, but he shakes off your touch. “No. Stop, sweetling.”

“Why?” You pout, reaching for his shaft and making a soft noise of confusion.

Oh. Whatever blood had fought to stiffen him up has dissipated, leaving him limp despite your best attempts to coax it to rise.

“I said—” He bats your hands away, suddenly wrathful. Stumbling off the bed, he stows himself away and fumbles with the laces, whirling on you. “You almost died, and you want to fuck?” he asks, grinding his teeth and snarling at you. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

He regrets it as soon as he’s said it—even more so when he sees the bewildered tears begin to collect along your lower lashes, lip quivering and looking so, so small. Why wasn’t I there to protect her, she could have di—

The room feels like a cage, like iron bars squeezing tight against his flesh, he has to get out, he has to get out—

“Daemon. Daemon!”

He flees the trappings of your apartments, past the Kingsguard manning the doors to the bedchamber, the hall, Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving you there upon the bed alone.

Scarcely even realising he’s left his blade behind, he moves with purpose throughout the Keep. He knows not where he’s headed, only that he must find a safe haven where he might begin to pull together the edges of himself that are fraying to bits, threatening to send him crumbling.

It hurts. It hurts unlike anything he’s ever felt. The anguish only serves to wind him tighter, a maimed creature lashing out at the world for its suffering.

His steps lead him aimlessly around his childhood home, and he indulges the wanderlust. He avoids the main thoroughfares, not wishing to encounter the absurdity of courtly gossip on his day. The journey takes him past the Great Hall and the Small Council chambers and through the servants’ passages, down to the scullery and the royal cellars. He pilfers a carafe of wine from the kitchens, imbibing periodically as he trudges through hallways and up flights of stairs. Eventually, he makes his way to an old sanctuary from his youth, a lone balcony in an abandoned portion of the Holdfast overlooking the courtyard and, beyond, the Dragonpit.

Daemon leans against the edge and stares blankly at the horizon, taking steady draughts from the jug and letting the drink numb the sharp stabbing pains of his thoughts. The wine loosens him, slows the racing of his heart, and time finally starts to run leisurely again.

She might have—She nearly—

“Princess said you ran from her.”

Fuck. He ignores the healer woman as she shuffles forward, joining him in the dimming light. Her eyes bore into his side profile, but he won’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

“Said you were angry,” she croaks.

It is the truth, but it is still unpleasant to hear.

“How is she?” he asks. It is relatively easy to assume she’s ventured forth in search of him after making her customary rounds to her sole charge.

He hopes she can hear the words he does not say. Are my children well? Will they survive this?

“Good. Babe both good, too.” He despises how unlike herself she is being, how gentle and kind her tone is. It is not the way she speaks to him usually, and he wants at least one thing to remain normal and logical and sane around here. “You are very, very lucky,” she adds.

He grunts. He doesn’t feel it.

She sighs, thumping him on the back. “You are rude boy. But you are good to her. She need you now—no more hiding.”

“How?” It takes him a moment to realise it is he who has spoken, a rustle upon the breeze. That damned wine. He can no longer control the torrent that he has kept tamped down and locked away, the dogged attempt of a man long accustomed to outrunning all weakness. “How can I just—pretend?”

“Pretend?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to put into words the venom that is eating away at his insides. “That I’m not fucking—terrified.” Daemon hisses the term as though it has personally offended him.

To finally say it aloud is both a bizarre release and an epiphany of sorts. He’s overcome with the curious urge to laugh at the realisation.

Fear. How common of him. But it rings true nonetheless, and the rightness of the admission settles in his bones. How can he not be afraid? There’s an ever-present threat to your life somewhere in this place, a place that should be safe and happy and home for you. Someone has marked his children for death before they are even allowed the chance to breathe air on their own, to open their eyes and see what exists outside the safety of their mother’s womb.

And you are a Targaryen woman. In any other context, this makes you superior, a diamond nestled in amongst the coal. But he cannot help but recall those names once more, the names of your forebears who had undergone the toilsome task of childbirth and met their end there.

Alyssa. Daella. Gael. Aemma. Laena.

He will not survive your death, should it come. With the ever-expanding heft of the babes inside you, the possibility that he might have to face such a dreaded reality looms closer by the day. There is not a fucking thing he can do about it, either. There’s no physician or liniment or spell or prayer that he can avail himself of to keep you alive, to keep you with him should your body fall to the conquering force of childbed.

The woman—Ūlla—hums consideringly. “Fear is… natural. Human,”

He finally turns to look at her. Her countenance is warm, sympathetic, a tilt to the head that belies something other than the deep-seated vexation he had been sure was all she’d felt for him. She takes his hand, and he lets her. All at once, he is a boy again, clutching onto his lady grandmother as his mother’s pyre burns gold in the morning light.

“We all fear something,” she says. “It is stupid to try and push it away like it never happen. Do not waste time to master your fear, or you will forget to live. To fear is to love, boy—and you love her, yes?”

He nods. Gods help him, he does.

She smiles, squeezing his grip. “Then the rest is for later. Go to her—love. And let yourself fear. It is okay.”

The sky is darkening to deep amber by the time he is ready to return to you. He takes the long route back to your new chambers, concealing himself from public view as much as he can, for he does not wish to incite the rumour mill of King’s Landing to pass judgement on his dishevelled state.

You are almost exactly where he left you, though you’ve settled back against the pillows with a book, appearing for all the world as though it is an evening like any other. It isn’t. When you see him standing at the door, he fully expects you to rail at him, perhaps to cry or even avoid him.

Instead, your lips twist compassionately, eyes impossibly soft, and you put the tome aside. “Come,” you say, patting the space beside him.

And how can he refuse?

Daemon clambers onto the mattress, shuffling into the open space of your arms and collapsing there in your embrace. The hard bulge of your belly pushes against his chest, a reminder of everything pure and real and necessary, everything he has fought for. What I would die for.

He cannot speak his apology aloud. It sticks to the roof of his mouth, coagulating in the liminality between his body and the air. Cursing himself for his inability to perform something so simple, he buries his face into your breasts, breathing in the smell of you, the feel of you, safe and whole and alive. His eyes burn.

“It is alright, kepus. Sh.” Your palm strokes the back of his head, trailing between his shoulder blades and up again in soothing rhythm.

My darling, forgiving girl. You are everything to him, and you are here.

The tears finally fall.

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yoongsgguktae · 1 year

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paddle with me 02 | jjk

summary; jeongguk needs time to navigate his feelings. he’s strongly attracted to you—that he knows—but the torment you’ve put him through for years is hard to get over. pairing; jeongguk x reader genre; campcounselor!au | e2l | rivals | smut rating; M (18+) word count; 13.7k+ warnings; mentions of alcohol, cussing, outdoor intercourse, unprotected sex, oral sex betas; thank you thank you to @breadoffoxy and a friend of mine for reading through my first and second drafts. and thank you to @cutechim and @hobeemin for reading my outline so so long ago! i cherish you all 💜 a/n; IT’S BEEN 2 WHOLE YEARS, but it is finally here. Thank you for being patient with me, and thank you in advance for reading. I would recommend reading part 1 of paddle with me as a refresher since it’s been so long lmao.

PART ONE MASTERLIST READ ON AO3

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Jeongguk scarcely notices the images on the canvas, everything is a blur, and the movie is reduced to a low hum in the background. His sights are trained on the poorly hung piece of fabric, but he is too distracted to focus on the scenes unfolding before him. The large linen sheet he is blankly staring at sags against the exterior of the dining hall. Its corners are loose, causing wrinkles to litter the images that dance across its surface, but no one seems to care enough as the camp counselors are all entranced by the movie before them.

They are seated outside watching a film under the clear night sky, another team bonding activity Namjoon likes so much. Yoongi had set up a projector and a surround sound system he brought from home while Hoseok and Jin hung the makeshift screen earlier that evening. The celebratory movie night is well underway with popcorn, alcoholic drinks, and small bursts of laughter.

Jeongguk shifts in his seat, and the bean bag slumps with his change in weight as he moves. He has been harboring a growing boner that has become increasingly uncomfortable under the constraints of his pants. His hand unconsciously passes over his bulge as his imagination runs wild with thoughts of your legs around his waist. He is captivated by the memory of your flowy skirt riding up your thighs as you moved in front of him all day while running the seminars since morning.

He barely focused on the standard discussions about staff policies, camp schedules, and safety protocols. For one, he has attended them for the past few years, and Namjoon insists everyone must attend every year regardless, but he was also aggravated once he learned that you were leading the seminars, the ones he used to do.

He remembered his lips lifted in displeasure as he lowered his gaze to the ground when you stood up to lead the discussions. Jeongguk was close to taking off to get some air, yet after catching your remorseful gaze a few times during your presentation, he realized you were not the problem—it was him. You had apologized, and there was no reason for him to be upset with you when it was not your fault anyway. You were asked to run them this year.

Jeongguk broke from his irritated stupor when you stopped mid-sentence during the discussion to bend forward and pick up your dropped pen. His eyes immediately traveled down your shirt, staring at the exposed tops of your breasts and sucking in his bottom lip as you stood straight. His tiny bit of annoyance faded as quickly as his dick started to harden. His attention had strayed entirely from the seminar discussions before him to lusting for you again.

The movie continues to play on the improvised screen before him, yet Jeongguk is far away. He is lost in his memory of you from earlier today, one that is about you in that skirt you have been wearing. His mouth hangs open, his jaw slack, and his palm unknowingly caresses his erection while zoned out.

Jeongguk comes to, mouth closing shut as he gulps. He adjusts his posture, sitting up a bit straighter while turning his gaze to the right, towards where you are sitting, with a large blanket across your legs. His eyes move up your figure to see the faint outline of a bruised mark on your neck. One edge of his lips turn up as his gaze sets heavy on the hickey, memories of him giving it to you. The sight alone gets him excited.

You are momentarily distracted from the film when you see movement in your periphery. The slight shift catches your attention since everyone has remained motionless, entranced with the film. You do not have to think twice, already knowing who it is. Feeling a set of eyes boring into the side of your face, almost palpable with how unrelenting his stare is.

Eyes never stray from the screen; you focus on the action in front of you. Your attempt to ignore him succeeds when you sense him shift his gaze back to the film. A brief moment of relief washes over you before you suddenly feel it again.

Is there something on your face? Why is he staring so hard? This time you cannot hold back your curiosity. You peer over at him in confusion, meeting his eager gaze immediately.

He raises his eyebrows, lips parting to swipe his tongue across them sensually. Your gaze slips downward to catch the slow movement, feeling a rush of warmth flood your cheeks. You feel weak at that small gesture, your body fully aware of his intentions. Your eyes close momentarily to regroup your senses before you level your gaze back with his. Eyebrows knitted, you mouth a ‘what’.

His smirk grows, the mischievous glint in his eyes more apparent. Jeongguk motions his head with a short nod and his eyes move in the direction of the small shed behind the group. A shed that lays untouched for most of the season until the grass needs to be mowed or when tools are sought out. It sits concealed by some overgrown bushes across the lawn, out of the way, and tucked in the corner of the main campground. A place very few people venture off to.

Your eyes widen when Jeongguk shifts in his seat, doing his best to rise without a sound. The bean bag slides underneath him, and he stands with caution. Not a single person becomes aware of his movements. You two are the only ones playing this dangerous game.

He starts to make his way toward the shed, giving you a sultry wink as he walks past you. Your face flushes once again. He wants you to join him.

Your eyes dart forward to the back of the heads of those in front of you, all too immersed in the film to notice Jeongguk leaving. A slight hint of panic rises in your stomach. You are afraid someone will discover him sneaking off, that he will be caught in the act.

After a few moments, with no one noticing his departure, you slowly get up from your cushioned lawn chair. You do not know where the confidence boost came from, but you have already committed to following Jeongguk’s example. The light blanket in your lap is abandoned onto your seat before you approach his direction with soft footsteps, proceeding to walk across the open field.

A fallen branch snaps under the weight of your foot, halting your movement as you let out a curse under your breath. The untimely coincidence occurred when the movie went silent; such terrible timing on your part. Increased awareness of your surroundings has you still, unmoving, and even holding your breath in case anyone hears. Once the movie volume picks up again, you turn around slowly with your feet planted on the ground expecting to see someone looking your way. All eyes are still on the screen during one of the intense scenes of the movie. You release a small breath and quietly rush towards the shed, not wanting to chance getting caught.

Your shadow bounces off the side of the shed. The movie illuminates a frantic and hurried outline of your movements as you swiftly head toward it. You turn the corner of the structure and make your way to the entrance. The rough texture of the rusty old door handle is hard against your palm. You pull it open while praying the hinges do not creak. With one step inside, your tongue can taste the dust in the air. It is dark and musty, clearly untouched for some time. Your vision starts to adjust to the darkness of the space.

You turn back to face the door, pulling it shut towards you. The hardware latches with a click just as an arm wraps around your front. A small yelp escapes you in shock when a hand snakes under your shirt while the other slams against the door right past your head. “You know, makeup doesn’t do much to cover that hickey of yours.” The words are close to your ears, almost like a shared whisper between two lovers, but the press of his body is aggressive.

Jeongguk has you cornered, his chest pressing his full weight on your back while he pins you against the door. His thumb starts drawing circles on your skin, sending chills up your body, his fingers slightly cold to the touch. In contrast, his warm breath crawls against your collarbone while he noses up your neck.

You lick your own lips, reminiscing how you received it in the first place. “It’s been four days and this thing hasn’t gone away.” The feel of his smile is warm as he drags his mouth over your skin. You continue, “It doesn’t help that you keep attacking the same spot either.” The hot breath of his chuckle makes you flush in excitement. It is almost like a threat, like he wants nothing more than to put you through this agony. He is having fun with this torture he is inflicting on you.

With one hand still roaming your stomach, he brings his other to his lips. His tongue spreads his saliva across his finger as he licks his thumb. Grabbing your nape with care, Jeongguk starts to rub the black and blue area you poorly tried to hide with concealer. This process is repeated before he brings you flush against his front and his mouth connects with the sensitive area once again.

A wince of pain pushes past your lips; he is relentless with his sucking. “I quite like it on you. It looks good,” he states before returning to the same spot after you crane your neck to give him more access, your body inevitably responding to his touch.

The attention to your neck has you light-headed, vision blurry as your eyes flutter shut, and the sensation runs down your body. Your head—clear of any and all thoughts—is full of just him and the feeling of his weight against you. His movements feel urgent and brazen, as if he is trying to prove a point.

Then the faint memory of this morning gnaws at your subconscious momentarily. You had glanced his way the moment you stood up. His jaw was sealed tight, probably from gritting his teeth, and he had cut his gaze from you the moment you locked eyes.

“You know it wasn’t my idea to present at the seminars this morning,” you whisper, “I should have made Namjoon give you the role of presenter since I know you’ve always done them.”

His palms graze along your body, slipping under your skirt, and Jeongguk hears your breath hitch as he reaches the curve of your ass. He gives it a squeeze, a warning to stop talking about it. His lips stop trailing down your neck, “It’s fine.” He focuses on your bare shoulder, lips grazing your tender skin.

“I could tell you were upset.”

Jeongguk huffs and his hold on you tightens, “I was not.”

He does not want to concede to your ridiculous accusations.

“Yes, you were,” you insist.

You push back against his body, and the attempt to get him to loosen his hold on you is futile. He effortlessly has the advantage with his large stature. Then again, the moment he feels your ass graze the bulge he has been carrying, he involuntarily relaxes his hold, letting out a hiss at the contact. Fuck, it is the simple things that set him off with you.

Jeongguk’s large hands spin you around, and your back connects with the door. His head lowers to your height, eyes boring into your gaze, and you cannot help but hold your breath.

“I said it’s fine. Drop it,” he spits through his teeth.

His hot breath fans across your face, and you can feel the annoyance radiating off his body in waves. He is being stubborn again, bottling up the emotions that hinder him from being honest with you. You roll your eyes with a heavy sigh. “You know, you should stop being so uptight and just accept my apology. I’m trying to say sorry.”

“Uptight?” His deep chuckle has the hairs on your arms stand on end. He rakes one hand through his hair and looks away momentarily. The sharp angle of his jaw is more pronounced while he clenches his jaw.

You yelp as Jeongguk suddenly tugs you off the door by your hips, whirling you around to shove you against the adjacent wall. One hand comes up to grab the back of your neck, forcibly angling your head to meet his eyes. “I said to drop it because I don’t care.”

You observe him while he holds you in place. His breathing has gotten more ragged, and you know you are the cause of it because of your persisting attitude. You have always been good at pushing him till he breaks, and you are not stopping now. “You are a terrible liar,” you whisper.

His eyes close shut, lashes fanning his cheeks, and he exhales through his nose. “I swear to God,” he pierces you with a maddening glare, only getting closer. He continues with his lips right above yours, “open your mouth again and I’ll walk out of here. Boner and all.”

The man is trying to have his way with you, and all you are doing is babbling. You need him just as much as he needs you right now, and there is no way you are leaving here without having him first.

Your hands grapple with the front of his shirt and wrench him forward. His lips meet yours instantly, mouths slotting over one another’s in a fervent kiss. The grip along your nape loosens as he winds his digits in your hair, and the stroke of fingertips along your scalp has you sighing into his mouth.

Jeongguk nuzzles his knee between your legs, his thigh coming to sit in the middle of yours, and caresses your clothed cunt as he thrusts it against you. Your needy moan compels him to press even harder, urging more strained pants to fill the tiny expanse of the shed while your tongues continue to entangle.

The cramped space is layered with dust and old grass clippings; it was the closest yet furthest spot to sneak away to without being noticed. There are better places to hook up, but it beats the abandoned outhouse from yesterday. He was desperate to get you away when he laid eyes on your form this morning; the skirt you have on fits your curves just right. He could not wait until the movie ended to have you since he has been restless since the seminars hours ago. The shed will have to work for now.

You let out a shaky breath at the graze of his hand creeping underneath your skirt again. The tips of his fingers skim up your thighs, briefly brushing over your pussy, making you whine until he meets the top band of your underwear. His fingers slip past the material and tug it without effort, dropping it down your legs. Your underwear falls around your ankles, lying discarded on the ground as you step out of them.

He captures your bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a final bite before he breaks the kiss. Your skin feels hot to the touch as he sets his forehead upon your bare shoulder, taking a moment to get air back into his lungs.

With your underwear gone, his focus is back on your cunt. Two fingers dip inside, and he proceeds to coat them with your cream with shallow thrusts before he takes them out to glide them along your folds. “I love the feel of your slick cunt,” he murmurs against your shoulder. Jeongguk parts your lower lips, his middle finger slipping back and forth on your folds, reaching your clit and giving it the most attention.

Your choked hum exhales close to his ear. One arm embraces his neck, and the other holds onto his bicep for support. His smirk grows wide as he feels your body slumping back against the wall, your legs growing weak at the slightest touch on your feverish cunt. He loves to see you fall apart on his fingers.

The heavy pants escalate the moment he dives into your warm center again. One, two, then three fingers pulsate against your wall. He thrusts and curls them at a leisurely pace while your breath hitches. In response, you claw his back, and he can feel your nails digging and dragging across the heat of his skin. Your markings are proof of the pleasure he gives you; he wears them like a badge of honor.

Jeongguk raises his head from your shoulder after placing one more kiss on your collarbone. He slips his fingers out, bringing them up to his lips. Your eyes flutter open when he opens his mouth to receive your taste. Lips sealing around his fingers, he sucks them clean while never looking away.

“So sweet,” he moans around his fingers. He will never stop craving your taste. “Here,” he says, moving to invade your cunt once more, “have a taste.” He plunges back into your warmth, thrusting a few more times before pulling them out.

The tips of his coated fingers lay waiting against your bottom lip. Your mouth opens instinctively to receive them, and Jeongguk’s cock jumps at your willingness to obey his command. He presses down on your tongue, and with lust-filled eyes, he watches you suck yourself off his fingers.

“You love the taste of your own pussy, isn’t that right?” he asks while thrusting in and out of your warm mouth.

You groan in response, eyes closing shut as you slightly gag around his fingers from the force of his thrust. Another jolt runs down his pulsating cock from watching you drool. Seeing the saliva run down your chin gets him hot and needy.

In one swift movement, he pulls away and kneels before you. His knees meet the dusty floor while his hands run down your body and to your thighs. He hikes one leg over his shoulder, letting the balm of your foot rest against the delve of his back as he spreads you in front of him. With a broad hand pushing your hip back against the wall, you steadily balance on one leg underneath his aiding grip.

Jeongguk presses his eager nose against your clit, giving it a small flick with a shake of his head. “You smell,” he inhales your scent with an obscene sound, “fucking amazing.”

A small whimper drips from your lips at the slightest touch. You grasp at the window frame, grip tight to balance yourself while your other hand weaves into his hair to coax him closer. His mouth moves over the expanse of your pussy. Tongue out and flat against your folds, moving slowly up down but never quite reaching your clit on the up stroke. The heat of his breath feels incredible on your skin, and you shudder when he nips your clit with his teeth.

The surprise yelp you release is cut short when his mouth encloses around it suddenly. The cruel way he sucks at the engorged bud places you in a euphoric state. It is impressive how he has learned to listen to your body, knowing all the ways you like to be handled only after a few times being together.

Your grip struggles to keep you steady as your nails scrape against the window sill, leaving marks along the old, weathered wood of the rarely-used tool shed. The wall against your back is stiff and uncomfortable as you slide down the rough surface, no longer able to hold up your weight due to the overwhelming pleasure Jeongguk’s mouth gives you.

“Oh fuck,” you let out.

The buckle in your knee intensifies as you feel the building pressure between your thighs. Even with his aid, standing is becoming too burdensome, and your legs tremble.

Jeongguk takes hold of your weakening leg, tossing it over his shoulder. With his large hands, he grabs both of your plump ass cheeks, hauling you up while he continues to devour your cunt sloppily. You yelp in shock at the sudden change in position. The majority of your weight is held up by his shoulders as your back pushes harder, digging deeper against the splintered wall.

You reach out to the nearby shelf crowded with rusted hand tools while your other continues to grasp the strands of his long dark hair. Your arduous attempt to keep steady is all for naught as his tongue persists. The sounds of his feast echo off the walls of the small shed, and you cannot help but gaze at the sight of him while he consumes your clit.

The small amount of moonlight that shines through the dusty window illuminates his glistening face. His lips, swollen with the labored effort, makes him appear divine between your legs.

Your head knocks back against the wall as your eyes flutter close in ecstasy. The volume of your moans increases with each suction of his hot mouth. Your hips start to move on their own accord, following his rhythm, and you tighten your grasp while you ride on his tongue.

The whines emitting from between your lips halt when Jeongguk abandons his endeavor. His head raises, and his eyes lift to your now open and questioning ones. “You need to be quiet,” he says.

“It’s not like they can hear me,” it takes everything in you not to call him out on his trepidation. For someone who thrives in taking risks—someone who fucked you in the outdoor showers just a few days ago—why is he acting cowardly? The faint noise of the surround sound system blaring the forgotten movie can be heard in the shed. He is being dramatic.

His hand runs up your leg and between your thighs, fingers reaching for your pussy. “Don’t talk back to me when I’m the one on my fucking knees for you,” his stern tone sends a shiver through you while he inserts a finger slowly inside.

You clamp your mouth shut the moment his thumb begins to draw circles on your clit, and you let yourself succumb to the pleasure once again. “Sorry,” you meekly respond before taking a deep breath through your nose. As you settle into his touch, the subtle smell of cut grass grounds you momentarily.

What started as a slow caress picks up pace, and Jeongguk eagerly inserts a second digit. His two middle fingers slip between your folds, his palm facing downward. The pressure of his curled fingers is unfamiliar in the position, yet the sensation has you reeling in a blissful state. Your lips part slightly, and your breath quickens.

All concentration on keeping quiet is gone when your clit is engulfed by the warmth of his mouth again. Caution is thrown out the window as he keeps up a maddening pace with his thrusts, sending you ever so close to the edge. His other hand clamps around the back of your thigh to keep you open.

With your chest heaving deeply, your body begins to unravel, every nerve erupting at once. Your orgasm overtakes you and you cum against his mouth.

Jeongguk moves his lips softly around the clit, to the labia, and around the seeping hole of your pussy. He is gentle with his licks and does his best to clean you up. He sets one leg down, then the other, and watches you slump back against the wall as he gives you time to regroup after the intense orgasm.

“You good?” he asks, rising from his kneeling position.

“Mmhmm, very good,” you sigh.

His bulge is more apparent now that he is standing. He attempts to adjust his hard-on before leaving the shed. Jeongguk steps back and reaches into his pants to fix his boxers.

Your hand reaches out to grab his wrist. “Can I?” you ask.

He stops short at his attempt. Pleasing you and watching you unfold because of him gets him off every time. He did not have any expectations from you, but even he needs his release after something as explosive as what he just witnessed.

“Yes, please,” he says.

He allows you to pull at the strings of his sweatpants, hurriedly untying them. Your fingers slip inside the waistband, circling around his waist to pull them down to rest at his thighs. You start to descend, dropping your knees to the ground before him; however, he grabs you by the elbow to coax you back up.

You glimpse up at him with eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly open to question him, but he seizes your thighs and lifts you off the floor. Your breath catches in your throat while your arms wrap around his neck at the sudden change in position, and he feels your nails scrape against the skin of his back.

Your nails only deepen as he abruptly spears you with his cock. Your wet center readily takes him in without a struggle.

Both of you grunt in unison when your back hits the wall again. Legs wrapped around his waist, his arms holding you up by your thighs, he rams inside you. The swell of your breasts peeks out from the confines of your shirt, bouncing with every thrust of his hips.

Jeongguk tugs down at the low neck of your shirt, releasing them for his viewing pleasure. With your shirt under your breasts, they are lifted and spewed out. With eyes trained on your bust, the bounce of your supple tits fuels his thrusts.

The shed begins to creak as the force of his hips rocks you. Pulling you off the wall, your hands quickly grab ahold of his shoulder. He turns on his heels, trying his best to concentrate on holding you upright on his cock without slipping out of you. His feet swiftly kick away a hammer lying on the ground while trying to maintain balance as he holds you in mid-air.

“Hold the shelf behind you.”

You loosen your grip around his neck, arms blindly searching for the shelf. Once you grab hold, Jeongguk impales you deeper with no plans of slowing down. The sound of skin slapping and your collective grunts powers his search for release.

Your tits bounce with each forceful thrust. You look mesmerizing with your messy hair, mouth slightly hanging open, and eyes brimming with tears. His hips stutter at the sight of you coming undone on his cock.

“Look at me,” he says. With eyes hooded over, you meet his. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours,” you whisper in response.

"Say it louder," he demands.

"Yours!" you shout.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk grunts. His hold tenses around your thighs. “You look stunning… fucked out on my cock like this… absolutely beautiful,” he grunts between every jerk of his hip. He sputters through his own release, warming your center, filling you with everything he had.

He rides out his high with shallow thrusts of his cock, slowly descending from the pleasure. But even so, with his mind clouded with bliss, Jeongguk’s thoughts cannot help but stray to the nonverbal agreement you struck days before.

—

Jeongguk finds himself seated in front of the sweltering bonfire again. It had been several hours since the group returned from the canoe trip and gathered for another round of drinks like the night before. Everyone is a bit tipsy, a few drinks in, and the chatter has increased while the night sky has grown darker. It is only the second day, but it has become the usual nightly routine while campers have yet to arrive.

A freshly opened can in his grasp while he recalls earlier events from the day. It is his third one of the night, and the light buzz in his head tells him he still has a ways to go until he is drunk. The goal is to forget what happened today at the river, at least for tonight—to drown his feelings.

He had witnessed you turn and walk to your bunk while he was trying to get Hoseok off his case. He did not hear from you again until dinner later that night. You sat at the opposite end of the long dining table with wet hair and an oversized shirt, freshly out of the shower. You were ignoring him, keeping your distance, and going out of your way to avoid him. You must have been hiding until dinner was ready because he did not see you for hours.

You were obviously upset at his refusal to talk after returning to camp, but it was not so much a rejection as it was a knee-jerk response to your sudden question. Can you blame him? The hesitancy to trust you comes naturally to him after all you have done. Jeongguk has spent the past few years loathing you. How was he expected to throw away the emotional wound you have left on him all this time over a single hook-up?

Despite that, the somber expression that painted your features hit him like a ton of bricks, sincerity in your eyes that he had never seen before. But he was still struggling to come to terms with genuinely forgiving you. Yes, he told you back at the river that he forgave you, but the white lie slipped past his lips too quickly. Jeongguk was not entirely convinced that you were remorseful of your past actions—not yet.

He breaks from his thoughts at the sound of your laugh.

You are sitting across from him again, with Jimin’s arm across your shoulders this time. The rise in body temperature has nothing to do with the fire in front of him but everything to do with how you are snug against his frame. Jeongguk’s posture becomes rigid at how you two are so casual in front of the entire group.

The pair are laughing along with Jin’s retelling of an interaction with a camper’s parents last year. “She saved my ass! That mom was going to wring my neck because I let her son jump off the high dive,” he explains as another round of laughs erupts from the trio.

Jeongguk stretches the knot in his neck, irritated. He has been ignored all night, yet you easily socialize with everyone around him while continuing to act like he does not exist. One would think he would be used to it after all this time, that he would prefer it this way, but something has changed for him. It stings.

“She should honestly be the one to handle parent complaints. They all love her,” he continues to say about you.

He would usually be irked with Jin’s praise, but that is not the issue tonight. He observes how you lean closer into Jimin's body as you laugh, your hand slaps his thigh, and Jeongguk catches your gaze mid-chuckle. You waver, sitting motionless like you were caught in the act. He scoffs to himself before raising the forgotten can to his lips, the beer still cold on his tongue. What is going on with him?

The way he downs his beer has the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. Suddenly Jimin’s arm around you feels heavy as Jeongguk holds your gaze over the rim of the can. He lowers it down in his lap again, using the back of his hand to wipe across his wet lips.

His clenched jaw is evidence of the anger you gather is raging within him. This is the moment he would typically stand to leave, to escape. You are waiting for him to get up and storm off, but he stays unmoving, his attention not straying away from you in the least. Your face flushes with warmth, and you avert your attention down to the can in your own hand, flicking the tab to keep yourself busy, focusing on the sound it makes as you drown out the people around you. The sound of their voices becomes muffled in the background.

You used to gush under all the praise, soak it in and flaunt it outwardly on purpose in front of Jeongguk. But things are different now. You no longer want to be in the spotlight after learning how much he despises you because of it. The desire to mock him ceased to exist the moment he carried you into the water after the most mind-blowing sex you have ever experienced.

The way he gently cleaned you, took care of the aftermath of your escapade, had your stomach churn with desire. A desire to be wanted by him beyond a physical way. His act of tenderness made you believe he wanted that too.

But you were left a fool. His rejection hit you hard, a big slap to the face you were not expecting, and took you by surprise. You were, and still are, confused at how Jeongguk has shown interest in you but then seemingly wrote you off when you arrived back at camp. As if it meant nothing.

It is embarrassing to think you gave yourself entirely to a man who expressed no interest in you as soon as reality hit him. You have concluded that he made a mistake, that he probably regrets everything because it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you afterwards. It is humiliating how you thought he may have wanted more when his actions say otherwise.

Avoiding him since you got back has been your only escape from heartache. You cannot bear the thought of another rejection. The time between now and when you arrived from the canoe trip was spent hiding in your bunk, but then something shifted in you when you laid eyes on him during dinner. As you locked eyes with him, you became angry and irritated. How dare he use you like that and act as if nothing happened.

You sit here now in front of the fire, him just on the other side, and you want to scream and tell him off.

The group around you start to rise out of their seats, pushing you to take a deep breath to settle the rising anger. You did not notice how long you were stuck in your head and how much time had passed. People were yawning and collecting their empty cans; it was late.

“I’ll grab some water to put out the fire,” you say out loud while the others start to head to their bunks. Grabbing the water jug from behind your seat, you walk to the lake's edge. You squat, setting the jug in the still and cold water. The sound of frogs in the distance keeps you company as the liquid spills into the container. The water fills to the brim, so you tip the jug to dump some back into the lake. The sound of footsteps behind you is masked by the sound of the water dribbling into the body of water before you.

You stand startled as you feel a presence behind you, heart hammering in your chest and turn only to find Jeongguk stalking towards you with long strides. Glancing past his shoulder, you realize everyone has left, and it is just you and him. Well shit, there goes avoiding him.

His hands reach out, fingers brushing your grip around the handle. “Give it to me. I’ll put the fire out.”

“No. I can do it myself,” you spit, shaking your head and huffing from the exertion. The jug full of lake water takes a lot of effort to carry, the weight of it heavy under your drunken grasp. You swing it into your other hand, switching arms due to the burden. He reaches for it another time. “No, I got it.” You step to the side and continue walking toward the bonfire.

Jeongguk sighs and spins to your retreating figure. Needless to say, you are struggling with the heavy load, but you are being stubborn about it. He takes steps to reach you and extends his hand again. “Just give it to me,” he says as he grabs your hand. The jug slips from your hold as you yank it away from his reach the moment his skin touches yours. It meets the ground with a hard thud, the water pouring out of the container and into the soil.

He meets your irritated scowl. “Can you fuck off?” you bite in his direction. Your shoulders stay tense as you grab hold of the jug again, heading back towards the lake to refill it on his account. Jeongguk rolls his eyes and kicks at the sand beneath his feet. None of this would have happened if you could stop being so stubborn. He was merely trying to help.

He hangs his head while you walk past him, taking a deep breath before turning in your direction to catch up with you. With his hands in his pockets, he strolls by your side as you return to the fire again. “Why are you being like this?” he questions.

You scoff in return, your steps not faltering in the least as you continue to walk with him beside you. “Why am I being like this?” You return his question with one laced with sarcasm, and he has to hold himself from rolling his eyes again, a quick-witted response on the tip of his tongue before you continue. “Honestly, I’m a little upset that you completely blew me off earlier.” You move the jug to the other hand.

He glances at your side profile, baffled by your accusation as if he did not hear you correctly the first time. “Blow you off?” he stammers. His hands come out of his pockets, raised in the air. “How could you expect me to have an answer so quickly after what happened?”

You two reach the bonfire, the flames' gleaming light across your skin as he meets your glare. “I need time to sort it out in my head first. I don’t know what else you want me to say,” he reasons. He has never felt so conflicted before, and now you think he hates you.

“Well, I don’t know. You responded pretty quickly to my kiss and fucked me without any hesitation.” His face reddens at the statement, involuntary jerking in response to your words. “Didn’t think it would be hard to get an answer from you,” you continue.

Before Jeongguk can respond, he follows the rise of your arm as you lift the container above the flames, tipping it over and allowing all the water to spill over the raging fire. The sizzle of the wood increases as the fire goes out before only minor strains of the dying fire are heard. A cloud of smoke surrounds you two briefly, but your eyes never drift from his.

“You and I both know that wasn’t planned,” he says, looking away while the smoke settles. He clears his throat, aware that you continue shooting daggers in his direction. “We were both caught up in the moment.”

The container falls from your grip, the loud impact startling Jeongguk and making him face you again. You stand straight with clenched fists and ask, “So you’re saying you made a mistake and weren’t thinking straight?”

His eyes go wide momentarily. “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Shit. “I’m saying that I need time to sort out my conflicting feelings.” He winces immediately as the words come out of his mouth. Your eyebrows pinch together and the corner of your lips turn down, the pain across your face evident.

Before he can apologize for his poor choice of words, you cut in. “Conflicting?” you look off to the side, hands coming up to fold in front of your chest. “Whatever. Go ahead and take your time to figure out your conflicting feelings. Then get back to me.” Refusing to hear yet another excuse from him, you sidestep him again and make your way to your cabin, accidentally kicking the empty jug in the process.

His choice of words hurt you, and he should not have said it that way. It made it seem like he was not interested in you, but you were making assumptions about him that were incorrect and unfair. Jeongguk steps around the container, nearly tripping over it as he follows behind you again in a rush. “Are you really going to act like a child until then?”

You turn your body to face him, your feet continuing to move backward in the direction of your bunk. “You know what, Jeongguk,” with your hands raised, “yes, I will. I will act like a child until you figure your shit out.” You spin on your heels and climb the porch of the cabin.

He scurries to catch up, taking the steps two at a time. His hand grasps your arm before you can open the cabin screen door, tugging you softly and turning you around. “What do you want from me?” he huffs, hand running through his hair roughly. Despite his curt tone, his eyes are soft, and the wrinkles around his brows pull together in worry.

“I would like for you to be honest with me, Jeongguk. Your actions tell me one thing, but you verbalize something else entirely.” You can hear the way your voice sounds defeated as you utter what has been bothering you since the canoe trip earlier that day. You have to force yourself not to pout, to put on a false bravado while maintaining eye contact with him.

He looks away, face taut and lips tight before replying, “Our relationship isn’t really conventional, is it? We’re not exactly friends. We’re the opposite, honestly.”

Another stab to the heart. Does this boy not know how deep his words cut you? “Then why did you kiss me back there if you hate me so much?” you sneer, the quiver in your voice apparent, unable to hold it in this time. You curse yourself for showing weakness, briefly shaking your head while gazing down at your feet. Damn him and your inability to keep your emotions in check.

“I’m attracted to you, ok?” He almost yells, his voice intensifying as the confession stumbles from his lips. The air hangs heavy around you two, and you witness him tugging at his brown locks in frustration. He breathes, lowering his voice to continue, “But I don't know how I feel beyond that. I'm still trying to figure out my emotions. It’s not every day that I have sex with someone just for the fun of it. I’m not that type of guy,” he explains.

“You're attracted to me?” you whisper. Your fingers reach for the edge of your shirt, grip tight around the fabric. You must have heard him wrong, tricked by an over-active, sleep-deprived, and twisted imagination. You should feel elated to hear such words from him, but it simply makes your stomach sink.

He furrows his brows. “Well yeah. I thought that much was obvious.”

For a fleeting moment, the panic you have been feeling returns to your chest, and you feel utterly bare, as if he could see right through your facade and that he would call you out on it. You scoff, “Yea, because you saw me naked. Why else would you be attracted to someone like me?”

The memory of your previous relationship comes forth, an ex-boyfriend who made you feel worthless and insecure. But before you can fall back into that dark place you fought hard to escape, Jeongguk steps closer, pulling your attention back to the present.

Your back meets the cabin door as you retreat from his approach. “Can you stop playing stupid?” he spews with hot cheeks and nose flaring. His blood is boiling at your foolish response.

He observes how you look down at your feet, struggling to maintain eye contact with him after what you said. Your vulnerability is strange to witness. In his eyes, you are the most fearless and assertive woman he knows, but to have you standing silent in front of him while making self-deprecating comments in jest has him stunned. This is not like you.

He can see it now, see the hurt he has caused you over how he handled what happened earlier that day. He brushed you off too quickly, and now you have conjured all these negative narratives about his behavior. Since you walked away after returning to camp, you have had the entire night to create this false sense of insecurity for which he is responsible.

He did this to you. He pushed you away.

Jeongguk spans the distance, reaching for your face. One palm cradles your cheek while the other grasps your nape, fingers gently threading through your hair. He angles your head to meet his gaze. His heart pumps erratically in his chest while you grab onto him. Your soft fingers curl around his wrist, and you lean into his touch. “Please. Please don’t talk about yourself like that.” His voice is soft in contrast to moments ago. The need to comfort you, to erase the doubt that runs across your features, is the strongest emotion he has felt towards you yet. This frightens him.

The warmth of his mouth finds yours without warning, making you gasp in surprise. Jeongguk’s hold of your face slides down to your hip, pulling you tight against him as you kiss him back with eyes fluttering shut. Since the canoe incident, he has yearned to taste you, a secret he would never admit to you—a secret he has not even admitted to himself until this very second.

Your desire does not go unnoticed by him as your hands reach for his shoulder to bring him closer, urging your body against his and erasing all distance. Your body's heat feels so blissful that his fingers curl deeper into your skin, making you moan against his mouth. That sound, your sweet and breathy moan, goes straight to his dick. He has never felt so hungry for someone the way he is infatuated with you.

He moves to explore deeper into your mouth, tongue darting out to flirt with yours while he presses you further into the door, his hard cock pressing into your body as he leans into you. Your hand wanders into his long hair as you respond desperately to his kiss with a whine, tugging softly. He deeply groans in approval at every swipe of your tongue on his.

He draws your bottom lip between his teeth before pulling away and meeting your forehead with his, stepping back to give you room. Both of your breaths are haggard, chests rising erratically as you two try to regain air in your lungs. Jeongguk opens his eyes to see yours slowly flutter open, lust swimming in the depths of your gaze.

The certainty that you want him just as bad is evident in the way a mix of sighs and whimpers involuntarily spill from your lips when Jeongguk moves to kiss the expanse of your neck, and you arch your head to expose more of your neck to him. His lips trail down to your collarbone to leave wet, open-mouth kisses. “Can I have you again?” he whispers into your skin as he continues to run his lips along your shoulder.

Your hands meet his firm chest, compelling him to step back. A sudden moment of panic washes through him as you push him away. Did he read your signals wrong? But you stun him when your hand grasps the front of his shirt and opens the cabin door behind you. Your pull on him almost knocks him off his feet before he finally follows your steps inside your private bunk.

—

You cannot help but feel your stomach drop while you fixate on how he hastily pulls his sweatpants over his hips. His large hand moves to tie them in place after laying around his ankles during your hook-up in the shed.

Hook-up.

You must remind yourself that this is all this is—this exchange of your bodies and pleasure is not laced with any emotions. At least, that is what you have to keep telling yourself. After another round of sex following the confrontation a few nights ago, you two have been discreetly meeting for sex almost daily. It was not an arrangement per se. It just happened. Nothing would have prepared you for this. For one—his stamina is incredible, and no one told you how hard it would be to have casual sex without it getting messy. You can see yourself falling but do not know how to stop it.

Jeongguk’s muscles strain as he reaches for his shirt on the floor. He pulls it over his head and pats away the collected dust. You are simultaneously putting your skirt back on and fixing your shirt to busy yourself. You feel self-conscious every time, never knowing what to say after all the dirty things he whispers in your ear as he spears you with his cock. These exchanges are becoming more frequent, yet you still have not figured out how to make it less awkward post-sex.

He finds your underwear hooked over the lawnmower's handle, grabs it, and shoves it in his back pocket before you have the chance to ask for it. You look at him in question. “I’m sorry, do you want to wear your panties that were on the dusty lawnmower?” he asks with a slight grin and one eyebrow raised.

A flush creeps across your cheeks. Returning to the movie without anything underneath your skirt while his load slides down your inner thigh makes your face feel impossibly hot. How his eyes twinkle with mischief makes you realize how much he enjoys this. “It’s fine. I can wear it.” You reach your hand out, waiting for him to hand them over.

He shakes his head, that smile never leaving his lips as he grabs your hand and pulls you to him. His head coming down next to yours and his mouth near your ear. “Raise your leg,” he commands, his hot breath fans your neck. You place your hands on either of his shoulders for balance as you do as you are told.

Jeongguk retrieves your underwear from his back pocket. He plucks away a piece of grass and holds them before you, encouraging you to step into them. You raise one leg, slip it through the opening, and then the other. You feel his hands brush your legs as he helps slide the thin fabric up your thighs, over your ass, then securing them around your hips.

His hand cups your cunt suddenly, long fingers fondle your engorged folds, and you immediately let out a whimper at the touch. “You’re dirty in more ways than one now,” he snickers before pulling back with an even bigger smirk. He turns and heads to the shed door, opening it wide so you can pass through first, but you are rooted in place.

You are thankful for the darkness as you feel your face flush.

“Come on. We got to be back before the movie ends,” he reasons, laughing at your shocked state.

Feet finally moving, you walk past him and through the opening. Jeongguk follows shortly after, shutting the door quietly behind him. With light steps, you two head back to the makeshift outdoor movie theater; everyone is still too engrossed in the film to notice your arrival. You sit back in the seat you had abandoned, picking up the blanket that had since fallen on the ground during your absence. Luckily, an intense fight scene is playing, masking the sound of your return.

Jeongguk takes his respective seat just as he catches Taehyung slightly turning his head to make eye contact with him. The corners of his lips rise, a knowing smirk plastered on his face as he raises his eyebrows suggestively. Jeongguk curses under his breath, the tip of his ears turning red in response. He focuses back on the screen before he glances to see if Taehyung is still looking at him.

He catches his gaze again. This time, Taehyung shakes his head with the same smirk and turns back to continue watching the film. He takes a deep breath, embarrassed for getting caught, yet he is thankful that it is Taehyung, of all people. Any other person would give him shit, probably stop the movie and make a scene.

The film ends, and the clean-up crew stays behind to take down and deconstruct the theater. Jeongguk observes you heading back towards the cabins with Yoongi and Seokjin in tow while he waits to help dismantle the screen. If he is honest with himself, he was hoping you would turn around to mouth goodnight or even a wave, but you continue with the guys and head into your bunk for the night.

A tap on his shoulder grabs his attention, and he turns to find Taehyung creeping close. “So, how long has that been going on?” he asks under his breath.

Jeongguk’s fingers tighten around the fabric, visibly wincing in embarrassment. Again, he finds himself in a predicament that he cannot escape. He glances around him, gauging to see if anyone else is listening or paying attention to them. They are all busy packing away the sound system or moving the chairs back into storage.

“It’s nothing serious. We uh,” he looks around and continues under his breath, “We’re sort of just hooking up.”

“Oh?” Taehyung says too loudly. “It’s about damn time.” His hand comes down to pat him on the back, congratulating him.

Jeongguk folds the sheet in his hands, smoothing it down and setting it on the table. He clears the doubt creeping up his throat. “Yea, but it’s not as simple as you think.”

He has been struggling to understand the way he feels about you. These emotions are repeatedly brought up following your hook-ups; after it is all said and done, he wants more. But that is just it—more of what?

“Hmm,” Taehyung looks beyond the cabins and into the woods, “Do you want to go to our spot and talk about it?”

The tension in his body releases at his words. What a relief it would be to talk to someone about how he has been feeling. Immediately he takes him up on his offer, nodding in response. Taehyung jerked his head toward the direction of a large boulder at the edge of the lake that had become their designated spot. Abandoning his task, Jeongguk follows behind his friend.

The boys take the small dirt path through the woods, a testimony to how frequently they have visited this site over the years. Taehyung walks ahead and reaches the boulder first, climbing up the side. Jeongguk mirrors his actions and sits perched at the top, facing the expanse of the lake with Taehyung right beside him. The camp is no longer in view, the light of every cabin dims between the trees, and they are secluded.

Jeongguk sighs, his hand coming up to ruffle the hairs on the back of his head while he sits crossed-legged. “I’m assuming you know what happened during the canoeing trip four days ago?” He peers over to Taehyung, thankful that the sun has settled, and he cannot see his face flush with humiliation.

Taehyung laughs, leaning on his hands as he throws his head back in amusement. “Of course I do. That’s all everyone talked about for the next day or two.”

“Great.” He rolls his eyes. Of course, the whole damn group would know about it. Hoseok and his big mouth. He should not be surprised at how quickly the news had spread among the camp counselors. Nothing is kept secret for long.

“Yeah. Namjoon had informed us of his plan to put you two together that morning.” Jeongguk’s head snaps to gape at his friend. “We knew something, good or bad, was bound to happen.”

This was a complete setup. The boys went behind his back and planned this whole thing without telling him. “You couldn’t have warned me?” He looks at Taehyung intrusively and shakes his head as his friend laughs. “Whatever dude. Thanks for the heads up.”

“You never would have agreed to it in the first place. Of course, it had to be kept a secret.” Taehyung sits up. “But hey, looks like it worked out in the end. No?”

Jeongguk stays silent, mewling over the rhetorical question. He cannot deny that things have been going well since then in terms of extracurricular activities.

“Do you regret it?”

He picks up a lone branch off the boulder's surface as he considers the question. The atmosphere around the two is getting more serious now that they’re talking about feelings and all, something Jeongguk has a hard time with. He twirls the branch in his hand as he responds, “No, but it’s more of what happened after that caught me off guard.”

His shoulders slump forward while Taehyung stays quiet, waiting for him to continue wordlessly. He has always been a great listener and never pushes the conversation, which he appreciates.

“Well, first and foremost, she apologized to me. But it was what she said after we got back,” he sighs, glancing at Taehyung before gazing back at the lake. “She asked me where we go from there. About us,” the branch in his grasp snapped in two, “and I didn’t have an answer for her.”

“You left her hanging?”

Jeongguk throws the broken branch into the lake, watching as the ripples race across the surface. “I asked her to give me time because I’m not—or at least I wasn’t entirely over the bullshit she’s pulled on me for the past couple of years. It’s difficult to overcome my hatred for the stuff she put me through. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m attracted to her, that I like the feel of her lips on mine.”

Sounds of crickets, frogs, and the occasional fish breaking the surface, fill the silence as he processes that last sentence. The hairs on his arms involuntarily stand on end as he ruminates about your kiss, how soft and delicate they were. However, he cannot help but feel an unsettling churn in the pit of his stomach.

“The only time we spend together alone is when we're fucking. We sort of agreed to this arrangement in the meantime.” Jeongguk shrugs. “We both have admitted being attracted to one another, and it’s been nice and all, but–”

“To be honest, it sounds like you're leading her on though,” Taehyung cuts in, picking up a small rock and toying with it in his hands.

Jeongguk sighed deeply at the thought. “Yeah, I'm realizing that now. I'm starting to feel like I want more,” he admits aloud, speaking this truth for the first time. He has been struggling with this idea for the past few days. The more time he spends with you, albeit it is typically all physical, he finds himself looking forward to the next time you two get to be alone. This time, not only for pleasure.

However, an inkling of doubt still passes through his mind when he considers what a relationship with you would be like. “I’ve never dealt with someone like her before. Someone who would challenge me. I’m used to people being fake nice to me, using me for my status. To have this girl, who doesn't know me or my upbringing, challenge me in every aspect—it intimidated me, to be honest.” He places his head in his palms. “God, I could never let anyone know about that. People would think I'm weak.”

“No, it doesn't mean you're weak at all. She is intimidating.” Taehyung laughs. “She’s a strong woman, and I think that allures you. It’s what attracts you to her.”

He raises his head, hands passing through his hair before bringing them into his lap and relaxing his shoulders. “Yeah, you can say that.”

Again things go quiet around them, while an owl in the distance hoots in the middle of its nightly routine, Jeongguk ponders on that notion. Perhaps Taehyung is right. Independence and assertiveness are qualities he admires in you. However, it was not like that before. He felt replaced when you first stepped into the picture, and he struggled with his jealousy over the attention and responsibility you took away from him.

Taehyung throws the rock he has been playing with into the lake, inevitably breaking the silence. “You should talk to her soon. Especially before the kids arrive on Sunday.”

“Yeah, I will.” He needs to resolve this problem soon. Things would only get messy once the kids arrived.

Taehyung turns to look at him, meeting his eyes with sincerity. “While we can’t control what memories stick with us or not, we can control what we choose to focus on,” he begins, “We can choose to focus and ruminate about past wrongs committed against us, or we can move on from it and make new memories.”

Jeongguk slowly nods, taking it in. He brings his knees to his chest and looks out onto the lake while Taehyung’s words repeatedly play in his mind.

Taehyung rises, wiping the dirt from his rear and stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s head back?”

Jeongguk looks up at him and motions a hand up to him. Taehyung grips his hands and helps him onto his feet. The pair climb down the rock, taking the same path back to the campsite.

—

Jeongguk finds himself alone in the same spot the following evening, on top of the boulder and eyes fixated out onto the lake as he sits with his thoughts. The sun has long since gone down, and the moon is a tad brighter than yesterday, glistening on the lake’s calm surface.

The counselors had called it a night after an exhaustive hiking trip earlier in the day, and he was the last to get out of the shower. He had made his way to his own cabin to follow suit, but Taehyung’s words rang through his head the entire time he lay in silence, and he felt restless, unable to sleep. He had slipped out of his bunk after tossing and turning for over half an hour before he reluctantly got up to get fresh air.

Jeongguk’s gaze would meet your figure as he observed you throughout the hike. He saw how you interacted with others, in awe of how social and outgoing you are. You get along with everyone around you, this he has always known, but he has been more attentive lately. His stomach fluttered when you approached him and wordlessly shared your trail mix with him; the smile on your face when he accepted your offer made his ears hot.

The small action affected him tremendously, and he has not stopped thinking about it since. He is finding that these types of gestures are easy to appreciate coming from you and that it is not difficult to push aside the past resentment he had harbored for years.

He has often caught himself thinking of the possibilities of your friendship had he not been so envious of you. Many ‘what ifs’ have plagued his mind since last night’s conversation.

Taehyung is correct; making new memories is far more effective than continuing to mull over the past.

The rock beneath him begins to feel uncomfortable as he has been sitting out here for some time and not realizing how late it has become. He contemplates heading back and trying to sleep, but the sound of someone setting a canoe in the water catches his attention. From his position on the boulder, Jeongguk can see the camp’s dock extending far into the lake and witness someone climbing in there.

The person begins to paddle to the center, the movement creating ripples along the water’s surface. Who would be out here this late?

Jeongguk stands, stretching from his stiff position, and begins to head back to try and catch some sleep. Whoever that is must want some time alone, and he does not want to intrude. He clears the woods after walking the path back to camp and glances one more time out to the lake to observe the figure in the canoe.

The moon’s light illuminates your figure; he can see your face more clearly from where he stands now. He stops in his tracks. What are you doing out there? He thought he saw you head to bed after he got out of the shower and that everyone was sleeping by this time.

Curious to know what you are up to, he takes light footsteps towards the dock, where several empty canoes lay anchored in the water. The opportunity to discuss the chaos in his mind, the ones he started to unpack with Tae the night before, presents itself at this moment.

You sit idle in the middle of the lake, a place of isolation and room to think. The temperature is warmer than expected; you expected the air to be crisp without the nightly bonfire. Removing your sweatshirt to get more comfortable, you move to sit in the hull of the canoe and use the piece of clothing as a pillow while you lay back to admire the night sky and mull over the current status of your relationship with Jeongguk.

Relationship? It is nothing close to what you would consider a relationship, more like a nonverbal understanding between two people who cannot openly communicate their real feelings. You know this, and you have acknowledged it, but juggling your emotions around him is becoming exhausting. With every touch of his lips on your skin and the roam of his fingers along your curves, you are falling deeper and deeper into something beyond lust.

Yet, you have never felt so lonely, ironically enough, because he may not feel the same way. It is simply an exchange of pleasure; he probably enjoys getting his dick wet and does not want anything beyond a physical relationship. He never gets too intimate, there is little to no kissing between you, and he never spends the night. An unsettling feeling always drops in the pit of your stomach every time he starts to fasten his pants back on. His boundaries are clearly set without having to be voiced.

Jeongguk’s demeanor changes around others. He typically stays on the opposite end of any group activity, as if he is trying to put the most distance between your bodies when around the counselors. He never sits beside you, walks beside you, and avoids talking to you directly. The limited interaction in a public setting is a big contrast to when you are alone. He is all over you, engulfing you in his stature, and you have his complete and undivided attention.

Sex. That is all it is to him.

It sucks. You want more, and it is starting to hurt whenever you get together, but you cannot seem to stop taking the opportunity to have him at every chance. You do not know how much longer you can take this exchange before you regret ever giving yourself to him, waiting on the day he admits not wanting anything more beyond the hook-up.

“Hey.”

Frightened by the sudden voice, the canoe rocks beneath you as you jolt and sit up, startled. “Holy shit,” you almost scream. You meet eyes with Jeongguk’s familiar, nearly obsidian ones. His lips' ends are curled into a soft smile, suppressing a laugh.

His attempt is futile as he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Sorry for startling you.”

Gripping the edges of the canoe, you pull yourself up from the hull and onto the seat as you collect yourself, trying not to outwardly cringe at your obnoxious screech. The blush across your cheeks feels hot while you glance at Jeongguk, only to see him rotating his boat to sit parallel to yours. He sits opposite you, both on either end of your respective canoes, facing one another in the middle of the lake alone. The moon is high in the sky now, signifying how late it is.

“I wasn’t expecting someone else to be in the middle of the lake at a time like this.” You tuck some hair behind your ear, trying to settle the frantic heartbeat in your chest.

Jeongguk places his paddle down before turning his attention back to you. “I saw you paddling out here by yourself. I thought I’d leave you alone for a bit before coming to interrupt.”

“What are you doing outside your bunk so late at night?” you ask.

He shrugs. “Same as you. Thinking. Clearing my head.” Jeongguk pushes a sigh past his lips, a hand running through his hair.

You nod, looking down at your hands and picking at your cuticles while a silent pause settles between you two. Everything around you goes quiet except for the occasional sounds of frogs croaking in the distance. You wonder what he means by clearing his head and why he seems troubled by it. Is he tired of you yet? The topic of his ‘conflicting feelings’ clouds your mind.

“I think it’s time we talk about us,” he says, breaking the heavy silence.

And there it is.

Your eyes immediately move to him in shock, but you quickly divert your attention to the woods behind him, not able to look him in the eyes. With no audible response, you nod for him to continue while you clutch your sweaty hands.

“I want you to know that I don’t regret that day.” he pauses, a blush creeping on his face. “You know, the day out on the river.”

The hazy fog of your first hook-up briefly passes through the front of your mind; now you are also blushing. Your flitting gaze shifts to your hands, the lake around you, and the camp close to shore—you are looking everywhere but at him.

“And all the times we’ve been together since,” he rushes out his words as if reassuring you.

Your ears feel like they are on fire; you want the world to swallow you at this very moment.

Jeongguk coughs, clearing his throat before drawing a breath that releases the tangled knot of words in his heart. “But more importantly, I want you to know I’ve forgiven you. Forgiven you for all the bullshit.”

Your head jerks in his direction. “I—” you start and stop suddenly as he raises his hand to halt your train of thought.

“You don’t need to explain yourself. You’ve already apologized, and I heard the sincerity in your voice. I’m ready to move past it all,” he explains. “I also acted like an ass towards you, and again I apologize for it.”

“I know. I don’t blame you.”

The relief you feel, you feel like a heavy weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Can I ask you something?” you question. He nods, motioning you to continue. “That night last year, when it was just the two of us. Do you remember?”

He nods again. “The last night of camp.”

“Yea.” You pause and look away. Maybe you should not bring this up. Perhaps you are reading too much into it. Your mouth feels dry, and the fluttering feeling in your stomach builds as you contemplate the following few words. You return your gaze to him to see him watching you intently, hanging onto your every word. “Why did you let me in? Telling me about your home life, family, and so-called friends. You hated me, yet you opened up that night.”

Jeongguk regards you solemnly as you go back to fiddling with your fingers. That kind of hurt, being reminded how he openly hated you. “Because I overheard you complaining about your mom earlier that night. I empathize with you.”

That night was when he realized that you’re just a regular person. Beyond his hatred, he could see that you also hurt.

“Oh.”

Jeongguk explains further, “I know what it’s like to have unrealistic expectations put on your shoulders, and I thought it could comfort you knowing you’re not alone.”

With your arms cradling your midsection, you look down at your feet. “And it was comforting. You were comforting that night.”

Your mind immediately goes back to that moment your gazes met while talking. That was the first time his eyes were not full of hatred or anger; they were soft and relaxed. He spent the entire summer sending you scornful looks and scrutinizing your every move, but at that moment—the end of camp—you finally saw him like other people did.

The following few words leave your lips without much thought while you lift your gaze back to his face. “If we’re being honest, I wanted to kiss you then,” you tell him, looking down at his lips quickly and then back to his eyes.

“Yeah, I know.” Jeongguk mirrors your actions and peers down to your lips, ones he has become obsessed with lately. They pinch together in haste while your brows crease together in confusion.

“You knew? What—”

“Because I wanted to too. I just didn’t have the balls to actually do it.” He sees the ends of your lips lift, then he realizes what he said. Poor choice of words on his part. “Shut up.” Jeongguk chuckles.

The curve of your smile rests in a straight line after a few moments of shared laughs. With a small voice, you tell him, “I wouldn’t have guessed with the way you greeted me when I arrived at camp.” You look away for a moment, out onto the lake, before you continue, “I thought perhaps we could have reconnected, but you were so quick to insult me that I thought that night meant nothing to you. That what we shared meant noth—”

The words fail to leave your mouth when he grips the edge of your canoe to pull you forward, dragging you closer to him. Your body jolts, but he grabs your hand to balance you.

“I’m sorry for my brash response to you that day. It was extremely immature of me.” He was trading insults with you not long ago, going at each other with no remorse or sympathy. Now he is holding your hand, thumb gently sweeping along your knuckles. “Isn’t it strange to think that just a while back, we were always fighting?” he asks.

“Like cats and dogs”, you quip, “I didn’t ever think we’d be here like this.” You brush your hair off your shoulders and sit up straighter. He can see your mind running, overthinking like you always do. “Where do we go from here?” you whisper.

This moment feels like déjà vu, bringing him back to the day of the canoe trip. This time, he will not leave you hanging as he did.

“Come.”

Jeongguk grips your hands, drawing you to get up as you shakily stand in your canoe, moving one leg at a time to climb over into his. He lets go of one hand to grab your hips, never dropping your hand as he helps you over by carefully pulling you forward, grip tightening as both your feet land steadily in front of him.

Effortlessly he brings you towards him, craving to have you near. Hands moving down from your hip to the back of your thighs to pull you onto his lap. Once again, he finds you straddling him in a canoe. The hairs on his arms stand on end as you snake your arms around his neck for balance. Your fingers feel cold to the touch, making him shiver in your embrace.

Your body is close but he pulls you closer with his hands on your lower back, fingers moving under your shirt to feel your soft skin. The bit of light shining from the bright moon allows him to gaze into your eyes. The silence is comfortable as the abandoned canoe slowly starts to drift away.

Taeyhyung’s words echo in his mind. Leading you on was never his intention, and he only realizes now that he was doing precisely that. All along, he has been thinking about himself and how he may not be ready for a relationship in his final year of school. His life responsibilities will only grow after graduation. Being in a relationship was at the bottom of the list. The next few years are already mapped out for him by his parents; adding a girlfriend onto that would only serve as a distraction.

But everything changed in a span of days. His routine summer camp job did not start like any other ordinary summer; things were different this time. His priorities have been slightly altered after that incident on the riverbank a few days ago. The idea of a relationship is not so bad anymore.

At this very moment, while your warm breath fans across his face, Jeongguk has arrived at the conclusion that he has come to develop feelings for you—that much he is sure about now. He lifts his hand, fingertips brushing against your skin as he sweeps back a strand of hair behind your ear. Maybe whatever he feels is not seasonal; perhaps he wants to have you this close beyond the few weeks of camp.

You feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach the moment he clears his throat. You have been anxiously sitting in his lap for some time with nothing but crickets in the distance, waiting for him to say something as you were too nervous to speak up.

He is playing with the hem of your shirt, diverting his gaze. “I don’t know what the future holds once camp is over,” he begins, “but for the time being, I would like to be with you.”

A wave of euphoria overcomes your body in an instant. Your heart hammers in your chest while your breath hitches in your throat. This time you heard him loud and clear.

“And I don’t mean just sex. I want to actually get to know you better. Like your favorite color, or what type of music you listen to, or where you—”

You cut Jeongguk’s rambling short by reaching for his face. Cool palms against his warm cheeks to pull his jaw upward, so he faces you, eye to eye. The feeling of his hands shaking against your lower back is obvious, he is nervous. “I would like that too,” you say.

Your hands drop to his shoulders now that you have his full attention. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes big and full while he takes in what you said. You take your time to run your fingertips against his skin, up his forehand, playing with the baby hairs along his hairline.

Jeongguk’s hand clutches your wrist, halting your movement. He leans in and captures your lips. You have never kissed him like this before, soft and gentle. You melt into his embrace.

He pulls away, “Also, I’m sorry for being so possessive over you yesterday. I shouldn’t be claiming your pussy—”

“Jeongguk.” You throw your head back, a loud laugh escaping your lungs.

—

The screen door shrieks as Jeongguk nudges it open. He steps out of your cabin, closing the door behind him while you sleep soundly in your bunk, wrapped under your cozy blankets. It has only been a few hours since you two went to bed, but he wanted to leave your cabin before anyone else woke up.

That idea quickly goes down the drain the moment his feet land on the steps, and he hears the sound of someone whistling from afar. Looking up, he glances at the picnic table across the row of cabins. The rest of the group is already up and eating breakfast together, all huddling and scarfing down food, but their attention has strayed from the meals in front of them and to Jeongguk striding out of your cabin.

He makes his way over, shyly walking with his head down and face hot as they continue to holler suggestive comments. The tips of his ears turned hot with every step.

“We all know you’ve been fucking for the past few days. Yall aren’t as sneaky as you think,” Yoongi says. Hoseok snickers and reaches over the table to high-five him as Jeongguk shakes his head and sits on the bench across from Taehyung.

Namjoon slams his cup of orange juice on the table and points directly at him, trying to suppress the ends of his lips from curling. “Once the kids come on Sunday, you two need to be more discreet about your rendezvous.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, grunting and leaning over the table with his arms crossed and head down. This could not possibly get more humiliating. But it does as the group continues with the smart-ass remarks and taunting behavior for the next few minutes.

The chatter around him dies down. With full stomachs and chores to do, the camper counselors get up to start their day, leaving Taehyung and him alone at the table. He peers up to see Taehyung come closer, elbows on the table and leaning forward with one eyebrow raised and a smirk etched on his face.

“I see the talk went well.”

He coughs, pulling at the collar of his shirt with his face and neck feeling incredibly warm. It is hard stopping the corners of his mouth from rising, a smile that he cannot hold back. Yeah, he could say the talk went well—really well, but he’s keeping those details to himself.

Their heads snap in the direction of your cabin at the sound of the door swinging open and then slamming back shut. You take the steps down quickly, feet meeting the ground before you look over to them and meet eyes with him, a small smile appearing on your face as you head towards the dining hall for breakfast.

Jeongguk finally responds to Taehyung's observation, his gaze never dropping from yours. “We’re going to take the summer to get to know each other.”

—

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