Summary: You’d Sworn You Didn’t Want Anything To Do With Your Father, Or With Your Family Business.

DEVOTION — jeon jungkook.

genre. a song of ice and fire au. 103 AC. smut. knight!jungkook. queen!reader.

your knight is completely devoted to you, and while it’s his duty, you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more behind his unwavering loyalty.

word count. 17.1k words (FUCK i am so sorry) warnings. this fic might be a bit confusing if you havent watched game of thrones or house of the dragon !!! misogyny. gender dynamics. seokjin and namjoon cameo hehe. forced / arranged marriage. over protective jungkook <3. cute convo between oc and her husband. violence. mentions of blood and murder. SO MUCH FUCKING TENSION. smut. two sex scenes !! dry humping. oral (male!receiving). unprotected sex (this universe takes place thousands of years ago and condoms didnt exist yet give me a break). bath sex. they almost get caught OOP. cheating (but both parties are consenting and they both openly do it to each other but they dont love each other romantically so its okay i guess) ???? jungkook literally worships her oh im sick i need him.

seven's notes. this fic ended up being much longer than i anticipated but oh my gosh i literally could NOT STOP WRITING !!! this is the longest fic ive ever written hello. this is inspired by alicent and coles relationship in season 2. sorry i hate them but this trope ??? OUUU TOO GOOD. so you know i got inspired. anyways, i love this one so much, so please let me know your thoughts <3. as always, keep your comments positive or say nothing at all xx

listening to. blue jeans by lana del rey / middle of the night by elley duhé / flawless by the neighbourhood

part of the based off film series. this one shot is based off house of the dragon.

You had always hated the idea of marrying someone you didn’t love, but you knew that marriage was not a choice — it was an obligation woven into the fabric of your destiny. Though reluctance filled you at first, you gradually came to terms with your duty, accepting the role thrust upon you with a measure of peace.

House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.

Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.

As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.

Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.

Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.

The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.

Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.

While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.

There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.

Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.

“Your Grace?”

A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.

“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”

The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.

“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.

“I suppose,” you murmur.

After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.

You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.

The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."

The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.

"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."

You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough. 

"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."

He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?

The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.

"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.

"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.

He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.

"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"

He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.

“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”

The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."

You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.

“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”

The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”

There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”

As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.

Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.

Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.

Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.

In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.

The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.

And today was no different.

As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.

Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.

His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.

“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.

“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.

He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.

The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”

Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.

You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”

The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.

The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.

“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”

The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”

The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.

But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.

“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”

The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.

“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.

“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.

You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.

It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.

Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.

You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.

“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”

The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.

“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.

Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.

Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.

After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.

Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders. 

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.

You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.

But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”

The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.

“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.

“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.

He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.

For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook. 

“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”

The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.

Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.

“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”

You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well. 

“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.

“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.

Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.

“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.

With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last. 

You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties. 

You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear. 

The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”

You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”

You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.

“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”

The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.

"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.

Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."

His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again. 

You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."

He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable. 

You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine. 

It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.

“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”

“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”

“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.

Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”

His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.

“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”

You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.

“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice. 

Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.

“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”

You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”

He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”

“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”

Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.

You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”

Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”

You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”

Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. 

He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.

Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.

You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.

But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.

You froze.

Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”

Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.

The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.

“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter. 

Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”

The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”

The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.

“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.

Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.

By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.

Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision. 

Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.

The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”

And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.

After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.

You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus’s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.

Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.

Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.

But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from. 

Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?

Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within. 

Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.

You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”

You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.

“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.

He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.

Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”

That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.

As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace. 

You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.

“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.

“Take off your armor.”

He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.

But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.

Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.

The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.

For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.

Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.

As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.

“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”

Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”

The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.

Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.

“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.

It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”

For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.

Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.

Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.

With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.

He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.

Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.

“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.

You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.

But neither of you move.

Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.

As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.

Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.

The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.

“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.

You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”

His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.

"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.

Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”

You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.

His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.

With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.

You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.

With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.

His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.

You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.

You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.

His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.

With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.

You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.

A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.

The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.

He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.

Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.

He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.

You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.

The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.

You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.

Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.

He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.

He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.

And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.

But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.

The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth. 

Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.

The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.

You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”

Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.

"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.

You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”

That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.

With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.

As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.

Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children. 

There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.

You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear. 

Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.

Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.

“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.

Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.

With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.

Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That’s all it takes.

With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment. 

Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point. 

Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you. 

You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.

He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.

Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”

His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”

His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.

You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.

The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.

He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.

“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.

You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.

His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.

He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.

Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly. 

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.

“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?” 

But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his. 

“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.

His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.

Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.

The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.

Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.

As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.

The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.

Like that one time.

You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.

Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.

Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.

"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.

Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.

"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."

Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.

"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.

The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.

Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.

Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.

“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.

Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.

The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.

Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.

He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.

In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.

Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.

And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.

As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.

And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

IN THESE STOLEN MOMENTS

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You aren't sure where you stand with Rin anymore. You just want him to be honest and tell you how he feels. It doesn't matter, though. Not when your friends have decided to have a snow day! Maybe pretending you're a kid again will take your mind off things.

ex-fiancé!rin x f!reader

WARNINGS : 18+, vaginal sex, exhibitionism, slight choking, spanking, slight overstim, slight oral (m receiving), near death experience?, arguing, blood/nosebleed, slight violence.

WORDS : 6.1k

notes : it's angsty up in here

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You couldn’t quit him.

After being with him again for the first time in what in hindsight feels like an eternity, you couldn’t quit him again. Even after he fucked you again when you showered, you knew you’d have to have him again.

He made you go to your own room after you cleaned each other. But it was hard. It was hard not being able to lie beside him and sleep in his arms. And it was even harder lying to Chigiri about it when he eventually came to bed, thankfully he passed out pretty quickly.

You could barely sleep.

All you could think about, can think about, is Rin.

The morning came around, or at least it got lighter outside. You didn’t even bother checking your phone when you decided to sneak out of your shared room with your best friend. You snuck down the hall to see your ex again.

He must have been awake, too, because he answered to your knock almost instantly.

“R-Rin, harder.” you moan, quiet and broken as he fucks into you on his balcony. You both knew what you wanted when you knocked at his door. You wanted to be with each other, like this, but you knew it came with the risk of being caught.

The balcony is freezing and covered in snow.

But neither of you care. It goes unnoticed as he fucks you so scandalously. The friction and close proximity both keeps you warm enough as he ruins you on the snow-coated balcony. It makes your vision blur as you think about how private yet exposing this is.

Should anyone wake up and decide to play in the snow, you’ll be spotted.

Your brain is goo as he churns up your insides, he forces a bent leg up onto the railing as he rails you from behind. Even in such a degrading, compromising position, you feel nothing but love.

He gently caresses your throat and offers a gentle squeeze to make sure you’re with him. You’re focused and you’re devoted to him and what he’s making you feel. It makes your tongue loll out embarrassingly as he pounds into you, lewd gushy squelching reverberates through the morning air. The sound of skin meeting skin is loud enough to scare the birds from the naked, snow filled branches of the trees in the distance.

Your body is angled just enough to be kissed by him. It’s so sloppy and heated as he gives you the hard, but attentive strokes you so greedily desire.

“I l-love you, Rinnie,” you tell him, “s’much, s-so much.” you continue, speech broken and whiny and oh so quiet. It’s a secret you shouldn’t tell but you can’t help it anymore. You’ve already told him once, there’s no harm in telling him again and again and again.

He moans into your mouth as you kiss, the pressure around your throat intensifying ever so slightly as he continues to slam into you. You yelp when you feel him move your head so abruptly, his nose brushes against your ear before you hear him whisper into it.

“I love you.” he repeats, groaning when he feels how your pussy clenches when he tells you. “L-Love this pussy, missed her s’much baby. I miss you more than anything.” he confides, and it makes your heart swell. Though a thought nags as you think about life after the cabin.

“W-What about your girlfriend?” you cavil, pouting as you think about what you’re doing is so wrong and unfair to her. It’s wrong, but you don’t really care about her. You care about yourself and what this means for you and your ex going forward. “Ah!” you yelp, feeling a painful smack land on your ass as he doesn’t relent.

“Don’t talk about her, not now.” he tells you, and it makes your blood run cold. You bite your lip as you feel him smack you again in the same spot as before. You feel tears form in your eyes as you think about her. This is temporary, things will change when you leave the cabin. He’s not yours anymore, but he’s yours for now. “Stop thinking about her.”

“C— I can’t.” you whimper, and it only makes him fuck you harder. “Rinnie! Unffff, o’my God!” you cry as you feel him battering against your g-spot. He’s going to force you not to think, no matter what. The force of his hand around your neck increases once again, and tears begin to fall as you lose yourself to him.

“Stop fucking thinking,” he demands. “Always so stubborn. Listen to me for once.”

Your hands grasp the cold metal railing. It’s a white-knuckle ride and all you can do is hold on. It’s relentless as you feel him begin to chase his orgasm, harder and deeper thrusts that have you on the brink unconsciousness.

“Fuck, princess, you’re so perfect. Gonna be a good girl and cum for me, aren’t you?” he hums, his voice gravelly and infused with a grit you know is bound to topple you over the edge at any moment. He smirks against you when he hears your little desperate whine that you were hoping to hide from him. You’re too exposed, though, you’re putty in his hand. “You can do it, c’mon. Cum on this cock.”

“Hnnng! Rini—!” his name is rushed on your tongue as you begin to feel your orgasm wrack through you. Your legs go limp and he holds you tightly. His arms wrap around your torso as your pussy gushes, the warmth of the liquid spurting around you melts through the snow. “Shit— Shit! Fuck, Rin! Ah!”

“When did you get such a dirty fucking mouth, baby?” he asks, spanking you again. You bite your lip and your eyes cross as he continues bullying his cock into you. He’s silent, save for expletives and grunts as he chases his own release.

You hum, content, as you feel him fill your walls once again. It’s so thick and warm and wonderful. He stills inside of you, huffing hard as he gathers himself. Your bodies could fuse together as his hold on you gets tighter and sweat seems to get stickier.

“Wanna blow you…” you whisper.

“Hm?” he asks, not quite hearing you as his ears ring with lust.

You manage to push him away as he releases his hold on you, moving him to the wall parallel to the balcony railing. He watches in awe as you drop to your knees in front of him, entirely dismissing the bitter cold snow on your legs as you focus on him.

His cum runs down your inner thighs as you try and keep his essence inside of you, he holds your head as your stick your tongue out teasingly. He hisses when you lick his sensitive tip, throwing his head back a little too hard against the wall.

“Shit,” he muses, but it only encourages you. He carries on watching you as you attempt to sink your mouth onto him and devour his length. You taste his cum and your own insides on him as you take more and more of him into your mouth. It’s too much for him, though. His cock starts to soften and the overstimulation is too much. “Stop, baby, enough.” he tells you, helping you to your feet again.

“Please?” you flutter your lashes, but he stops your pleading with a sloppy kiss. You wrap your arms around each other, holding each other so sickeningly close as you kiss and lick at each other like you’re animals. It’s so nasty and erotic and it turns you on more. “Need t’suck you off, please.” you beg, but he’s adamant.

“You better get back to your room before Chigiri notices you’re gone.” he whispers, kissing you again. He pulls away a little when he realises you’re decreased enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”

“… Why don’t you want anyone to know?” you wonder, sadly. “I— never mind. I’ll see you later.” you tell him, you make sure to pick up your panties as you walk into his bedroom as you clothe yourself again.

“I don’t think it’s anyone’s business…” Rin says, coming inside with you and closing the door. He tries to make you look at him, but you don’t want him to see any hurt in your eyes. “Hey, can you… talk to me, please?” he asks, and you look at him.

“Rin, ugh. I don’t know where your head is with this.” you start. “I want you back, we’ve fucked and I miss you. But you’re seeing someone else, and you won’t talk to me about it.”

“I didn’t want things to end… I’ve missed you the whole time…” he tells you, eyes softening as he looks at you for longer. Nothing scares him, not normally. But your eyes, right now, like this, terrify him. He’s back to that day all of those months ago.

You have the same eyes as you did then.

The eyes that wouldn’t give him a chance to change or prove himself to you.

It makes him pause for too long as he thinks about what to say to you. But everything is trapped, he has nothing to say. And he can see the look of disappointment in your eyes, now, as you pull on your pyjamas and go to leave.

You don’t even say goodbye as you close the door behind you, as quietly as possible so you don’t draw attention to yourself. There are slight signs of life to be heard from downstairs as you walk down the hall and back to your room. You just hope Hyoma is still asleep.

The door creaks slightly, even when you open it slowly. You look inside first to make sure you can see him, and relief hits you like a tidal wave when you see pretty rose-coloured locks spread out in all directions across his pillow.

You creep back in and slip into the bed right next to him. A heavy sigh leaves you as you are overcome with relief, even feeling a little smug when you realise you’ve gotten away with it. You managed to sneak in and out completely undetected.

“Good morning.” he greets you, calmly. Your heart pounds as you roll over to face him. His eyes don’t look tired, if anything, they look focused. “Where have you been?”

“Toilet.” you respond.

“For two hours?” he replies. Fuck. “I think you were fucking someone on the low. So? Unless you had—”

“I had diarrhoea.”

“Stop lying you bitch.” he laughs and slaps your arm lightly. “Why won’t you tell me? You know I won’t say anything… Was it Rin? Or did you mess up?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back so that you can stare up at the ceiling. He just looks at you as he tries to determine what you’re thinking, though he moves himself upright as he sees you start to cry slightly.

It’s futile, lying to him. You should have known he’d figure you out in an instant. You’re so predictable and easy to read. And now that you have him to talk to, your emotions bubble to the surface. And you tell him everything. From the kitchen counter to this morning.

He doesn’t interrupt, he doesn’t ask questions. He just nods and lets you talk. And you explain how you’re feeling and why you feel so upset. You feel stupid, and you feel hurt.

“I wonder if I’m just expecting too much. It’s just sex and he’s with someone else, it’s not like he owes me anything.” you tell him at the end of it all, but he shakes his head.

“No, no. Fuck that. He’s fucking you and telling you he loves you and you guys have history.” he corrects you, eager to make you understand that you haven’t done anything wrong. “He’s cheating because she’s a rebound. But he knows how you feel now, and he still can’t be honest, this is on him.”

“He’s probably just telling me what I want to hear while we’re fucking.” you theorize, but he doesn’t comment. You aren’t sure if it’s because he agrees or not, but it keeps you quiet for a moment nonetheless. “I don’t think he’s… the type. To use me, I mean.”

“He isn’t.” Hyoma agrees with that, at least. “He might be scared you’ll leave him again. But, you did just hook up. It’s a mood killer and maybe it was weird timing to try and talk about deep stuff.”

“Maybe… Should I go and say sorry then?”

“No, just, let’s see what happens today.” he tells you.

--

You ended up resting in bed with Chigiri for longer than intended, waking up a few hours later to see the sun fully shining through the windows rather than the pink and gold hues of this morning’s delight.

He left you alone in favour of getting himself some breakfast, while you decided to have your third shower to clean yours and Rin’s combined coupling from your body.

You got dressed, once again opting for comfort over anything before you went downstairs to see everyone. Otoya cooked alone, apparently, but Chigiri decided to help to speed the process along.

“Hungry?” Otoya asks, but you shake your head. “I’ll make you something anyway.” he shrugs, and you can’t help but smile. Even a simple slice of toast is a kind enough gesture.

“The children want to play in the snow,” Sae tells you, sitting beside you with his cup of coffee. You squint at him, and then back at the other guys in the room. “Yes, those being the children.” it makes you laugh, even Eita does can’t help but smile as he hands you your toast.

“So you better eat up so you’ve got enough energy.” Ryusei grins, putting his arm around you as he sits down. He tries to steal a slice from your plate, but Sae slaps his hand away. “What are we doing in the snow, kids?”

“Snowball fights.”

“Making snowmen!”

“Snow angels?”

There’s murmuring amongst the group as everyone decides what they want to do. The noise and positive atmosphere are more than welcome. It keeps you distracted from thinking about your ex.

“I brought my skates, can we go on the ice?” you ask, turning to Sae. You pout when he shakes his head. “Oh, why not?”

“It hasn’t been that cold, so I don’t want to risk it.” he explains, you sigh, but understand. “Something’s telling me it’ll be too thin to walk on, let alone skate on.”

“Okay, I understand!” you smile, trying to cover your disappointment as best you can.

At least there’s a skating rink in the city. That’s safe to use whenever you want. But there’s something so magical you always liked about skating on the Itoshi lake.

It made you feel like a forest fairy.

Ryusei eats beside you once Chigiri puts a plate down in front of him. It’s going to be sad to leave after tomorrow. It’s been fun despite all of the drama. Sitting down to eat with everyone everyday has been so sweet. Being with friends rather with family has been a welcome change.

It’s something you might have to do every year from now on, even if it’s just you and Chigiri.

“Has everyone wrapped their presents yet?” you wonder, pushing your empty plate aside when you’re done. You hold one half of your toast in your fingers, finishing it off as you talk to everyone.

“Mine came prewrapped.” Oliver announces. And Eita looks at him suspiciously.

“Same…” he responds.

Sae announces that he’s finished with wrapping his stuff, while Ryusei and Tabito shake their heads. You’re so excited to see what everyone got each other, even if they are silly and maybe even lewd gifts. It’ll be such a fun Christmas morning with them around either way.

“I did mine while you were in the shower.” Chigiri tells you.

“Oh!” you smile, standing up, “Where did you put the DVDs? We bought some DVDs, guys. Maybe we could watch some tonight and some for Christmas when we’re lounging around?”

“They’re in our room.” Chigiri tells you as you look towards the stairs.

You waste no time running up and locating them before you come back down. Everyone looks excited as you stand beside Chigiri and put the shopping bag in the middle of the kitchen island.

They all start smiling widely at your combined mix of good and bad choices as they work their way through the moderately sized selection.

“Oh Sae, look, your favourite.” Ryusei smiles, handing the Taxi Driver DVD to his friend. Sae’s face lights up as he holds it, excited by the prospect of subjecting everyone to it later.

Chigiri’s face drops, focusing on the movie in Sae’s hands as he comes to a horrific realisation. He turns his body, facing away from everyone. Both of his hands cover his mouth as he tries to maintain his composure. No one even realises that he’s having a mini freak out right in front of them because they’re all so entertained deciding what the movie schedule will be. Nobody notices, except you, that is.

You can’t stop smiling, it’s all you can do to stop yourself from laughing at your best friend’s expense. He sees you out of the corner of his eye, and it lowers his guard.

“What the fuck have I wrapped for secret Santa?” he whispers to you. You hold it together. You almost hold it together before you start snickering. Tears of joy and utter amusement roll down your cheeks as you keep trying to pull yourself together only to start laughing again. He warns you, urging you to stop before everyone notices and asks why you’re laughing.

“If we get the receipt and check what’s here, we can figure it out.” you tell him, and he shakes his head.

“I don’t want to know, this is mortifying.” he tells you. It only makes you laugh more. You’re doubled over beside him clutching onto your stomach. The thought of Sae possibly unwrapping a chick flick tomorrow morning and wondering what on earth possessed Chigiri to gift it to him makes your laughter increase.

“I’m gonna dieeeee~!” you tell him, voice warbling as you look up at his furious gaze only to end up laughing more.

“I’m going to bury you in the snow.”

~

Everyone finished eating and decided to bundle up warm before heading out into the snow.

Being outside is invigorating. The fresh, cold air is so crisp, it’s almost electrifying. You’d been playing outside for a few hours together. You’d lost track of how many snow people you made.

Your favourite is the one you made with Karasu after everyone demanded you added a pair of tits to it. You even went and grabbed one of your bras from your room, wanting to conceal the modesty of the exposed lady around the more perverse guys in the group.

Rin joined you later in the afternoon, sticking to the sidelines mostly before he was encouraged to have fun with you all. You were fine around him, albeit a little quiet.

You suppose neither of you feel ready to talk, even now. The sky is starting to get darker. It’s a surprising shade of fuchsia and orange that most members of the group can’t help but photograph to remember the moment later. You’re sure there’ll be an influx of Instagram stories with the exact same sky when you check your feed later.

“Think fast!” Oliver yells before pelting a snowball at Eita’s head. His reflexes are fast, but he hadn’t considered your position behind him as he decided to duck out of the way. “Fuck!” Oliver shouts as he watches the snowball hit you in the face and knock you to the ground. He runs over to you; everyone crowds around you before Ryusei helps you up.

“I’m fine!” you laugh, though you scrunch your nose when you notice it feels a little colder than it had before.

“Your nose is bleeding.” Rin tells you, cupping your face as he examines it. He tells you to keep your head back, so you do. “I’ll get tissues.” you don’t catch the furious glare he shoots at Oliver before he hurries into the house.

“Guys, I’m okay! Don’t worry Oliver.” you try and smile at him while being wary of your bloody nose. “It was an accident. Just don’t throw so hard!” you laugh.

“I’m really sorry.” he gets closer to you, giving you a hug as a show of support, he isn’t sure what else he can do to help. “Do you need anything? Can I—”

“Just go have fun, please! It’s just a nosebleed.” you assure him. He raises a suspicious eyebrow, but you tell him once again to continue playing around in the snow. You don’t ignore how far everyone runs away from where you are to make sure you aren’t hurt again. But you’re satisfied as Ryusei and Chigiri sit with you while you wait for Rin to return.

Ryusei pulls you into his side, patting your head as you carry on waiting. Your face is covered in blood and your clothes are ruined. You try to pull away from Ryusei so you don’t stain his clothes too, but he only holds you closer. He doesn’t care if you get blood on him.

He just wants to take care of you.

Rin returns from inside with tissues and a packet of baby wipes that you recognise. They’re yours. He’s been in your room. You look at him suspiciously, but Ryusei takes them without question.

“Are ya still bleeding?” he asks, and you let go of your nose. “Li’l bit.” he tells you. He takes a baby wipe from the packet and starts cleaning you up. He starts by wiping the congealed blood from your hands, making sure to get between your fingers too.

“Can I do anything?” Rin asks, there’s a need behind his words. He doesn’t want to have to ask, he just wants to help. He wants to be doing what Ryusei is doing right now. But instead, he feels helpless. He’s been left on the sidelines while his friend takes care of you.

“I got it.” Ryusei replies without even looking at him. You don’t even think about Rin as they converse. You’re more annoyed that your makeup is ruined and you’re going to have half of it wiped off when Ryu is through with you. Rin doesn’t say anything else, leaving to sit nearby to keep an eye on you.

Chigiri spies an opportunity. So, he sits beside him while Ryusei carries on cleaning you up.

“You seem in a better mood today.” Ryusei smiles, his grin only growing when he sees you smiling too.

“I—” you look over at Rin, hoping he won’t overhear. He looks like he’s too busy chatting with Chigiri, and it looks serious. “I slept with Rin.”

“Oh!” he laughs, still focusing on getting the last of the blood off your face. It’s just about gone when he speaks again. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing, ‘n I don’t think he does either. And he’s got a girlfriend so it’s… weird.” you explain. He pulls out a tissue from the plastic pack Rin handed to him. He gives it to you, encouraging you to stuff it up your nose while it continues to bleed. “A-Anyway, thank you for the other day. About the whole kiss… thing… thank you for not being weird about it.”

“I promise, it’s fine.” he assures you as he stands. He holds out a hand for you to grab and he pulls you to your feet. “It’s all good, I just—”

“You kissed him?” Rin asks, coming closer to you. You’d thought you’d been quiet enough to get away with having a private conversation with Ryusei. But clearly, you’d been too naïve. Of course he’d be curious as to what you were talking about after everything that’s happened.

“No, I—”

“Rin, it wasn’t like that.” Ryusei tries to reason with him. But you’ve never seen Rin like this before. He doesn’t stop approaching, but all of his fury seems targeted on Ryusei. “Nothing happened.”

“I just heard you whispering about a kiss.” Rin responds. “Care to explain?”

“I’m trying, man. Back up a little, yeah?” Ryusei insists, shoving Rin back a little and he accidentally bumps into Hyoma. You look at your best friend, concerned, but it’s short lived when Rin snaps back.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Rin tells him, shoving him harder.

“Nothing happened!” Ryusei shouts, pushing him again. They get the attention of the rest of the group, they all come over to see what’s going on. They pick up the pace when they keep pushing and shoving, the intensity only growing the longer they fight.

“Stop it!” you yell, only to be ignored. You try to break them up, but Ryusei pushes you further away to you don’t end up with another nosebleed.

“I didn’t fucking kiss her!” Ryusei insists firmly, trying to put a stop to the unnecessary squabbling. “You’re seeing someone anyway, yeah? What difference does it make if I want to fuck her?”

“You fucked her?” Rin asks, a rage like you’ve never seen flares in his eyes. The light of the sky muddies the teal lagoons that you know and love so much, and he can barely think straight as he digests what he’s hearing. “You’ve been telling me for years that we’re fucking friends, Shidou. And now you’re fucking my ex?”

“No! I was—” Rin punches him hard enough to throw him off balance. He falls back hard and bumps into you. He falls into the snow, and it crunches from his impact. “Fuck, Rin.”

Before he can even think about getting up to throw him a harder punch, everyone around him gasps. He turns around to see you on the ground. His fall forced you onto the lake, sliding almost halfway across the ice.

“Oh shit.” Ryusei speaks.

“Oh shit.” you say in a panic, realising what has happened as you manoeuvre yourself upright so you can look at everyone in the distance. Even from so far away, everyone can see how scared you are. Your heavy breaths in quick succession give you away immediately. “Rin!” you cry out, worried that this will be the last thing you ever get to say.

Nobody knows what to do, least of all you. Your eyes begin to water as you worry about what’s going to happen to you.

Fear surges through you as you hear the ice crack.

“Help me!” you scream. “I heard a crack!”

“Don’t panic!” Hyoma tells you, though he knows it’s easier said than done. “Do we go get her or—”

“The ice might break if too many people are on it.” Sae announces. “Lie on your stomach and crawl across slowly.” he instructs you.

You’re shaking but do what you can to position yourself how he’s told you. The breaths you take are slow, but noisy. They’re precarious as you worry about falling beneath the ice never to surface again.

“I’m here, princess.” Rin tells you, steeling his voice in an attempt to calm you down. He’s at the front of the group after shoving past everyone. He drops to the balls of his feet and gets as close to the edge as he can. He sounds calm, but his eyes tell you he’s just as terrified. “I’m right here!”

You nod, tears drip from your eyes and onto your bloodied coat sleeves. Fear isn’t a good enough word to describe what you’re feeling. You’re even scared that your tears are going to be heavy enough to break the ice below.

It’s quiet as you try and move across, and everyone is on tenterhooks waiting for you to get to safety. You even manage to relax a little as you feel like you’re going to make it.

But the ice cracks again.

“Rin!” you cry again, freezing in place. You can’t move. You’re stuck and you don’t know what you can possibly do to get out of this. “I don’t want to die. I love you I love you Rin I don’t want—!”

“Stop it! You’re not going to die!” he tells you fighting back tears. “I have to go and get her.” he announces, but his brother and Ryusei hold him back.

“You can’t. You’ll make it worse.” Sae warns him. “Hey, don’t stop now. You’re nearly here!” Sae tells you, hoping some words of encouragement will be enough to get through to you. He looks behind him, urging everyone to do the same.

“What about those sweets you bought, huh?” Chigiri calls out. “I’ll have to eat them all and get fat if you don’t get over here!”

Everyone laughs, and it even makes you smile a little. You breathe air from your puffed out cheeks as you try and find the courage to keep going. Everyone cheers and hypes you up, it’s the only thing they can think of to keep you calm.

“I’ll make you my hot chocolate I know you like! You can even have all of the marshmallows!” Chigiri tells you.

“We’ll let you pick the movies we watch tonight.” Ryusei chimes in.

“And you can have the comfiest spot on the couch!” Otoya adds.

Everyone keeps talking to you as you do your best to ignore the cracking of the ice. You pick up the pace, finally feeling confident that you’re going to make it.

Rin smiles. An earnest, genuine smile as he sees your confidence build. He drops to his knees and holds his hand out to you, tears spilling over his lash line as a burning need to keep you safe in his arms grows and grows.

“Come back to me, baby.” he sobs silently, fat tears roll down his cheeks as he speaks. You keep your eyes on him as you continue traversing towards him, desperate to hold his hand and be with him again. “Need to tell you how sorry I am. I need to tell you I love you, so please come back.”

He tries to reach out further when you get closer. A few of the guys help keep him secure so he can grab you sooner than he would otherwise. It’s so intense as you ardently strive to hold his almost blue hand.

And your heart skips a beat as you feel his freezing hand touch yours. His eyes light up when he feels you, clutching tightly and pulling you towards him. Everyone else sees that he’s got you and pulls him backwards.

You cry out as you feel the soft snow seep into your clothes, and you look back at the lake. Everyone does. A deep crack forks through the ice, and you jolt as a chunk sinks beneath the water where you’d just been moments ago.

Rin looks at you, chest heaving, and you stare back at him as well.

The other’s back away to give you room to breathe, most of them falling to sit down in the snow themselves after the adrenaline dies off.

“I thought I was going to die.” you tell Rin, and he nods.

“You scared me, princess.” he whispers back, laughing a little but crying more from relief. He pulls you into his arms and hugs you tightly against him, kissing into the crown of your head as he realises you’re safe with him again. He doesn’t care about Ryusei, he doesn’t care about anything. Just this. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too.” you mumble into his chest.

He frees you from his hold, only to kiss you passionately in front of everyone. Chigiri cheers first when he notices, the rest soon follow. But it’s just white noise to both of you. You can’t pull away and you think you might stop breathing if you do. But after some time, he breaks it.

“We should go inside, you’re freezing.” he whispers, his forehead rests against yours and he carefully holds each side of your head with both hands. His breathing is almost as stuttered as yours had been on the ice. Something doesn’t feel right.

“Rinnie? Is everything okay?” you wonder.

“Yeah I just,” he huffs, “I need to talk to you about something.”

--

Everyone was so attentive to you when Rin brought you inside. Each of them offered you the world in their own little ways. But Rin had no intention of letting everyone fuss over you. Not when he’d almost lost you, no. He took you to the bathroom instead, determined to clean the blood and outdoor grime from your weary body.

But you’re in his room, now. Sitting by the fireplace and wrapped in blankets that he insisted on swaddling you in. He didn’t even let you get pyjamas from your bedroom. He just gave you some of his sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Not a word is spoken for quite some time as you sit by the fire together. You just watch it crackle and flare as it keeps you both warm.

But you have to know what he meant.

You need to know what he was talking about.

“Do you love me, Rinnie? Really?” you wonder. It makes him hold you tighter against him, unsure why you even need to ask. “You weren’t just saying it because you… wanted to get in my pants or thought I was gonna die today?”

“Of course I love you, princess. Why are you asking me this?”

“B-Because you said you need to talk to me about something.” you remind him, and his gaze drops. “If it’s about letting me down easy, can we just pretend until tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to let you down easy; I want to be with you again.” he explains, firmly. Determined to not let a doubt linger in your pretty head as he tells you. “I want to be better for you this time, because I don’t want you to leave me again.”

“Well… I don’t understand what you wanted to talk to me about.” you tell him, and he frowns. “Is it your girlfriend?”

“… Yeah.” he clears his throat. “I’m scared I’m going to lose you. But I need to tell you about her.”

You don’t say anything, you just look at him with wide eyes as you wait for him to tell you. It scares you to think about what he might say. The possibilities are endless as you think about what’s going on in his mind as he searches for the courage to speak. What could he possibly say to you that would make you leave him again?

“I knew you were in the hallway when Shidou was in my room. I recognise that strawberry and coconut body cream you use, you always used it when we were together.” he explains. And you realise he’s talking about the day you’d accidentally eavesdropped on them. “I was about to tell Ryusei I missed you. But when I knew you were there, I thought I’d see if you’d be jealous if I moved on.”

“… You lied?” you ask.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, it was childish and I didn’t think things would turn out like this.”

You think about what he’s told you for a minute. But you just lay your head on his chest, sighing wistfully as you consider where you are now. “I’m not mad.” you inform him.

“You’re not?”

“No, I can’t be mad.” you tell him, moving your head again so you can kiss his cheek. “I shouldn’t have been spying, and I threw myself at Ryusei to make myself feel better but I made everything worse.”

“I shouldn’t have been so possessive about that, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s—” you stop, kissing his lips sweetly and looking into his eyes. “I’m not mad, Rinnie. I’m happy and I’m alive and I love you.”

He smiles at that, kissing you back again. “I love you too.”

“But if you want to make it up to me…” you start, moving to straddle him so you can kiss him while looking into his eyes. “I wanna watch movies with everyone tonight. And you have to come to!”

He sighs, kissing your neck and nibbling on your earlobe.

“Fine,” he agrees. “As long as you get Chigiri to make me one of his hot chocolates.”

--

© 2023 rinhaler

(𝟏) 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

ও rating. explicit

ও summary. you work for an anonymous phone sex business on campus, andyou would have never guessed that your first client would be the Atsumu Miya—most popular guy on campus who sits three seats ahead of you in calculus. and you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know you exist. | wc. tbd.

cw/ tw. college au. nerd!reader, volleyball player Atsumu, phone sex, dirty talk, mild hurt/comfort, miscommunication, fraternity parties, rough sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, strangers to lovers

ও featuring. Atsumu x Fem!Reader 

ও an. okay, i turned my self-indulgent fic into a multi-part fic:) please comment on this post if you’d like to be tagged. NOTE: the Taglist is closed | follow #📓 .one missed call for updates.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Please remember to read all content warnings before proceeding.

Part One—You get your first caller, and can’t tell why he sounds so familiar…until you do.

cw/ tw. phone sex, praise kink, pet names (ex. baby, sweetheart)

Part Two—After weeks of phone calls, you get to know Atsumu which makes pretending a little more difficult.

cw/ tw. sexting, phone sex, praise kink, pet names (ex. sweetheart, pretty girl)

Part Three—Things get even more difficult when Atsumu needs help with his homework before his next game, and who better to help him than the class tutor.

cw/ tw. sexting, phone sex, praise kink, pet names (ex. sweetheart)

Part Four—The truth always finds a way of coming out.

cw/ tw. tba…

Part Five—Atsumu confronts you.

cw/ tw. tba…

© satorini 2022—do not copy, paste, or translate my works anywhere.

play stupid games;

summary - bakugou gets drunk and bets his girlfriend, but is there a more sinister manipulation occurring? part one.

cw - cucking, rough sex, manipulative yandere izuku, no one is well behaved, blindfolds, degradation, praise, *hurt* comfort, sub drop, angst but there is comfort, light bondage, they're all a little toxic but also are well intentioned, cum eating, voyeurism, threesome healer reader.

MINORS DNI

“Katsuki,” your voice is a whisper with a hint of pain, “You bet me?” Your boyfriend shifts uncomfortably. “You, you bet me?” 

“He did,” Shindou takes a sip of his whiskey, “But sweetheart, I’d never touch you without your permission.” You shiver, the AC at the cocktail party is blasting at your back. 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou yanks you into his body, “I’m gonna beat you in the popularity poll, and whatever I said when I was drunk isn’t gonna mean shit.” Shindou watches your teeth close over your lower lip. 

“Did you really bet me, Katsuki?” you mumble, so quietly that Shindou barely catches it. 

“Do you not fucking believe in me?” Bakugou snaps at you. You stand up and excuse yourself, and he rolls his eyes before realizing you’re serious and standing, “Wait, baby, come back I-” 

“Fuck off.” You snap, and Shindou watches Bakugou weigh chasing after you, and decide to let you go. The dark haired pro hero pats Inasa on the shoulder, shaking his head before standing. He breaks from the group at the gala table and follows you down the dark hallway, finding you where you’re leaning against the wall with your eyes closed. Shindou clears his through and offers you his drink. You down it so fast it dribbles on your chin a little, you wipe it away with shaking hands. 

“He cares about you,” Shindou starts, and you roll your eyes, “He does, alright,” he brushes some hair from your face. 

“He bet me,” you simmer, “Shindou, he just, we’ve been dating for months and he just said, yeah, cool, Shindou fuck my girlfriend if I lose a popularity contest.” 

“Are you upset because you know he’s going to lose?” He asks, smirk on his lips. You look away, scoffing.

“You’re an assole.” You shake your head. 

“Newsflash, most pro heroes are. You’re a healer, you could have worked at a hospital instead of an agency.” He touches your arm softly while you chew the inside of your cheek. “Legitimately,” he moves so that he can make eye contact with you again, “I would never touch you without your permission. You know that.” You nod. 

“I know.”  You cross your arms over your chest, something else is clearly bothering you. “Shindou I, I think I’m a good healer-” 

“Maybe the best in the country.” He counters and you shake your head. “I don’t wanna see you do that shit,” he shakes his head. “Really. You might be one of the best healers in the world, you’re absolutely wasted at their agency.” 

“You don’t have to say that.” You cross your arms. “And I mean, I had a lot of offers, but I wanted to be with my friends, the people I went to school with.”  

“I know I don’t have to say that, and yet here I am, saying it.”  He touches your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean,” he smirks, “I’m not gonna make it easy on either of ya, if I win.” He leans in to speak in your ear, lips brushing your cheek, feeling you shiver. “And when I take you,” you look away from him, “I’m gonna make him fucking watch.” 

“He’s not going to lose.” You protest, gently pushing him away from you. He obliges, the hard muscle you can feel under his shirt another reminder that you spent your life at the mercy of powerful people. “I believe in him.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Shindou laughs, stepping further away from you. “You’re defending him right now?” 

“I,” you swallow, and Shindou reads the genuine pain and indecision on your face. “I had a crush on him for a really long time.” You say softly, and he nods. 

“Listen,” He shrugs, giving you a soft smile. “I can’t pretend I don’t understand what it’s like to have a fantasy of a person, only for the reality to be not what you were expecting.” 

“He’s really a very good partner,” you protest, “He is, he cares for me, he’s just, I dunno,” you chew your lip for a second before finishing, “Clumsy with my feelings.” 

“He’s immature.” Shindou shrugs. “He’s a good hero, probably a good guy. But the guy’s 22, in the most high pressure situation he’s ever been in, not a good sign by the way, that he’s dealing with that pressure by going out more with his friends, but I’ll let that stand.” You look away. “You’re a smart girl, you already know all the things you need to know.” He reaches for you, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. “If you need some time to accept them, I get it.” He lets his hand fall and leaves you, standing alone in the hallway. You collect yourself, as best your able, hands trembling. You adjust your dress, take a deep breath, and make your way back into the ballroom, sitting down next to Bakugou.

“You know I only did it because it’s never gonna happen.” He says in a low growl, leaning over to speak in your ear immediately. “I love you, and I, I was just fucking around.” 

“You don’t get to fuck around like that and keep me.” You say, barely audible over the hum of conversation around you. He stiffens, he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. “I’m not breaking up with you, but if you lose, I’m gonna sleep with him.” You don’t look at him, but imagine the way his eyes would narrow at those words. 

“You can’t- “Oh, please,” you hiss, turning to him, “Tell me what I can and can’t do, I fucking love it when you do that.” His jaw sets. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. “I’m sorry, I was drunk, and just,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I just, you’re everythin’ to me, okay, I wanted to prove to him I was serious so I bet something that mattered.” You hear his voice catch on the last word, and his hand comes to rest on your knee, you catch a familiar burning determination in his eyes. “I’ll be better. I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Yes,” you sigh, the little seeds of doubt starting to germinate in your chest. “Yes you will.” You look up, and Bakugou’s arm around your waist turns to iron as someone taps on a microphone and calls the annual hero gala to attention. Bakugou’s hand trembles as he reaches for his drink. The statistics are fairly predictable, with new agencies much lower on the list, but they’re doing alright so far. That’s when you do some quick math, Bakugou isn’t going to lose the popularity contest, but you were intimately familiar with the data on saves at the agency, despite only being the healer. They were down a hero, Mina was recovering from knee surgery for a few months. They were going to lose the ranking to Shindou’s agency in number of saves. Bakugou realizes a second later, swearing under his breath.

“I told you not to do it.” Kirishima mutters, inspecting his reflection in a silver plated fork. “I told you not to run your fucking mouth, didn’t I?” Bakugou scowls, studying the pattern on the rug. 

“Oh shit,” Denki flashes a boyish grin and touches Bakugou on the arm.. “Listen if you’re letting other guys have a piece of it can I -”

“It?” You whirl on him, “Are you fucking serious right now?” Denki shrinks, flashing his palms. 

“Bakubroooo protect me.” 

“Drop dead.” Your boyfriend snarls. Shindou clears his throat loudly from a few tables over, crossing his arms over his broad chest, smirking. 

_____ 

Bakugou walks you to the door of your apartment. 

“We okay?” he asks, knowing the answer. You laugh bitterly. 

“I’m just tired of you treating me like property.” You say, leaning against the door. “I mean, even if  you were drunk, I’m not yours to give out. We were friends for a long time before we started dating, maybe we-” 

“No,” he breathes, taking both your hands desperately, “No please, come on, I, fuck.” He screws his face up. “I’ll quit drinkin’, no more parties, no hero shit, I’ve been lettin’ dunce face and shitty hair drag me out because they need to blow off steam and I hate clubs and shit so I get wasted, and it’s not a fuckin’ excuse but goddamnit, please, please don’t end this, I’ll,” He looks so desperate that your heart melts. 

“Okay,” you glance down the hallway, unlocking your door. “Okay, um, come in, I won’t,” your heart aches in your chest. “You know I don’t want to leave you Bakugou.” You fidget. 

“But.” He says, hands trembling in his pockets. 

“But you hurt me. Again. So be better.” You reach out and touch his arm, he dives for you, wrapping his arms around your body, burying his face. 

“I will.” He vows hoarsely. “I will.” He rubs your back. 

“Come to bed, kats,” you say and he nods, so grateful you’re willing to hear him out that he nearly doesn’t see the message from shindou, his phone lighting up while you’re in the bathroom, and he’s lying in your bed. 

Shindou: I want you to be there. 

Shindou: to watch. 

Bakugou: I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out

Shindou: temper temper 

Shindou: bet she doesn’t like your mean streak 

Shindou: sweet little healer Shindou: does she like being overstimmed? I’m gonna find out but I thought I’d ask first. 

Bakugou: as if you could make her cum. 

Shindou: I have some unfortunate news for you. 

Shindou: just because you’ve been struggling with it doesn’t mean it’s hard. 

“Kats,” you call, and he barely hears you, “I’m getting in the shower, alright?” 

“All good,” he gunts, “I’m gonna crash, I’ll be here when you’re done.” He inhales deeply through his nose. It was going to be a long week. 

On Wednesday, Denki pokes his head into Bakugou’s office, looking a little nervous, not meeting his eyes directly. 

“Hey I uh, Shindou just put a meeting on our calendars?” Bakugou scowls, and flies to his email calendar. “Is it uh, is it what I think it is?” 

“Jesus fucking christ.” Bakugou rakes his fingers through his hair. “Who else is on it?” 

“Uhh, it’s me, Sero, and Kirishima. He cc’ed Deku but-” 

“What the fuck?” Bakugou stands, slamming his palms against the desk. “He cc’ed Izuku?” 

“Listen, maybe I’m off base but maybe this is a good reason not to bet your girlfriends pussy on your agency stats.” Denki shrugs, an evil smirk on his face. 

“Get out of my fucking sight.” Bakugou snarls and Denki squeaks, letting the door close behind him. He groans and collapses in his office chair, hands sparking when he gets a little chime on his computer, and a popup. Midoriya Izuku has accepted the invitation. 

“Are you going to look at me?” You say softly, as the elevator takes you up to Shindou’s apartment. “After I mean, are you going to be able to look at me?” Bakugou mashes his palms into his eyesockets instead of answering.

“I love you.” He says after a long silence. “Nothin’ Shindou or Deku can say or do is gonna change that.” He scowls. “Plus I deserve this. For bettin’ ya in the first place.” 

“You do.” You say petulantly. “Plus I’m sure we’ll have a safeword.” He nods. 

“They fuckin’ better.” The elevator doors open and he presses a kiss to the top of your head before stepping into the hallway, and leading you gently down the hallway to Shindou’s apartment. He knocks once and the door swings open. 

“Hey,” Shindou leans down and kisses your cheek before beckoning you inside. It’s a large apartment, dark wood and well stocked bookshelves. The couch is a luxurious leather, and there’s a purposefully unfinished exposed brick wall in the kitchen. “It’s pretty nice, right?” He stretches, you can see his chest muscles rippling through his thin gray t-shirt. “Don’t worry, ah,” his eyes flick to Bakugou, “A few years in the field and I’m sure you’ll be able to afford something like this.” Bakugou mutters something under his breath and the smirk on Shindou’s face widens. 

“Hi,” you hear, and  you round the corner into the living room and see that Deku’s already here, somehow already taller and broader than he was at your Yuuei graduation. “It’s so nice to see you!” He says, standing and taking both of your hands, giving them a squeeze. “You too Kacchan.” 

“Yeah.” Bakugou grumbles, giving a nod to Sero and Kirishima, who are sitting on the couch, Sero’s on his phone and Kirishima looks deeply uncomfortable. “You know you don’t have to stay, shitty hair.” 

“He wants to see y/n’s tits as much as I do,” Sero says, elbowing the redhead without looking up from Twitter, “But he’s pretending to be ashamed about it.” You swallow and Kirishima goes as red as his hair. 

“Are we just waiting for Chargebolt,” Shindou says, eyeing the nervousness easily readable in your expression. “Oh,” he coos, “Come here.” He reaches for you and Bakugou reluctantly lets the dark haired man pull you into his arms. He rubs your back, and you feel your anxiety dissipate just a little.. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna take good care of you, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry, Kacchan.” Midoriya can’t keep the hint of the smirk from his smile. “We’re gonna take perfect care of your girlfriend.” 

“Just have a fuckin’ safeword.” Bakugou snaps, crossing his arms over his chest, flopping in a chair. Deku nods.  

“You okay with the colors?” Midoriya asks, touching your shoulder, pulling you from Shindou a little. “Red for stop, yellow for less, green for fine?” You nod. 

“Gonna need you to say it for us, sweetheart.” Shindou says, and you swallow, finding your voice, but only barely. 

“I understand.” There’s a hard knock at the door and Deku lets you go, disappearing down the hallway and returning with an out of breath Denki Kaminari..

“Oh thank god,” he pants, doubling over. “I ran here after patrol.” Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest, looking anywhere but at you. 

“Nice to see you,” Deku chirps, as Denki settles on the couch. 

“Have you ever been with two men at once?” Shindou asks you, pulling your focus from your audience. You shake your head. 

“I’ve actually, um,” you bite your lip. “I’ve only been with one other person besides Katsuki. Like, ever.” 

“Awwww,” Shindou coos, “God, that’s adorable.” He straightens up, stretching a little. “Your job is easy, all you have to do is listen to us, alright, if you’re a good girl, we’ll reward you.” 

“I don’t really brat.” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them and Deku laughs, glancing at his former classmates. 

“I have high standards, we’ll see about that.” He glances at Bakugou. “I can’t imagine Kacchan is very strict with you.” 

“Can we shut up about me?” Bakugou rasps, bouncing his knee up and down. “Get it over with.” Deku laughs, and starts slipping your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I dunno about you,” he turns to Shindou, “But I think I’m gonna take my time.” Shindou shrugs, a smirk on his lips. 

“Fine by me.” You let Deku take your jacket fully and immediately regret the little sundress you wore for ease of removal, because you already feel bare and you’ve barely gotten undressed. “I don’t want you to think about your audience at all, at least at first.” Shindou says, taking something off of his coffee table. “So I’m gonna blindfold you, is that alright?” You nod. 

“You should get used to confirming things out loud for us.” Deku interjects, “You can just say, yes Daddy,” your head snaps to Bakugou, whose fists are white knuckled. You look back to the two pro heroes.

“Ah, um,” you shiver, Shindou’s apartment is cool. “Yes, um, yes daddy.” 

“Good girl,” Deku coos, taking a moment internally to admire his own restraint, that he managed not to rip your dress off the moment that word left your lips. He rubs your upper arms affectionately instead. “We’ll warm you right up alright?” Shindou finishes tying the blindfold over your eyes and as your world is engulfed in darkness some of your inhibitions dissipate. Deku slips the first strap of your dress off of your shoulder, then the other one. You feel it crumple to the floor. 

“You’re beautiful,”  you feel Shindou’s breath on  your ear, as he draws your back into his chest. “Such a beautiful girl.” You feel his hand on your bra clasp, then feel it fall away, you have a brief moment to wonder how long it took him to learn to do that so efficiently before you feel his hands on your chest. Shindou palms your breasts, your nipples already pebbled in the cool of the air. Your mouth drops open a little when he rubs them, pinching them gently, then harder, you suck in a breath through your teeth. Izuku gently tugs your panties down your legs and you feel his fingers on your folds, parting them softly. He stares up at you, giving your clit the tiniest kitten lick. You mewl softly, and Shindou buries his face in your neck, you feel his rough tongue on your soft skin, sucking gently then biting down, in a way you know is going to leave marks, but it’s getting hard to focus, with Izuku’s teasing touches and Shindou’s hands wandering your chest. 

“Oh,” you feel your face start to warm, as Deku slips a finger inside you, “Mm,” your moan is sharp, hummed through your lips, as your legs start to tremble. 

“Right there?” Deku asks, “Oh,” he adds a second finger, “I can tell, that’s it, right there.” You whimper again, and they all watch you struggle to stay still, hands reaching for Izuku, then flitting back to your sides when you think better of it. “You can touch me,” he teases gently. “C’mon, if you want me so bad, pull my hair, show them all how desperate you are.” You whimper again. 

“Just don’t try that shit with me.” Shindou says, before sinking his teeth into your neck hard enough to make you yelp. “You’re gonna stay nice and still while I take my turn on ya, arentcha baby,” 

“Y-yes daddy,” you breathe, and Izuku starts to kiss and suck at your clit, and your legs buckle. Shindou holds you up, wrapping an arm around your waist, locking you against his body. Your back arches involuntarily, and you gasp, holding onto Izuku’s hair for dear life as your legs nearly give out from underneath you.. 

“Holy shit,” you hear, and it’s Sero, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Oh my god,” Denki manages. Kirishima leans back, face still burning, arms still crossed, to sneak a glance at Bakugou, who is studying the carpet in front of him. You let out another whine and Deku picks up the pace, 

“Oh, oh my god,” you breathe, “Oh my god, fuck, fuck,” You squirm but Deku’s hands around your thighs might as well be iron, holding you in place.

“Are you gonna cum?” Shindou asks you, and you nod quickly, desperately. “Beg. You don’t cum without permission.” He pinches your nipples hard enough to make you gasp sharply. “You belong to us tonight.” 

“Please,” you pant, twisting in his arms so that your head is tucked right under his chin, “Please please, please, daddy, please can I cum?” A shudder rips down your body as you teeter on the edge of your high. Deku’s hands sink further into your thighs, and he barely manages to resist turning around, to see the look on Bakugou’s face as his girlfriend cums on his tongue.

“Whaddya think?” Shindou looks over at Bakugou, who looks positively volcanic, “Should she get to cum?” 

“Fuck. off.” Bakugou says lowly, and Shindou grins like a jack o’ lantern. 

“That’s a no.” Shindou lifts you off the ground by the waist, pulling you away from Deku’s touch. You tremble and struggle a bit, processing the lack of sensation, the feeling of your orgasm being ripped away from you. The pro hero pins your arms behind your back before setting you on the ground again, catching you just before you reach between your legs for some relief.

“I didn’t say-” Bakugou stands angrily. 

“This is as much a test of your ability to obey as it is hers,” Shindou interrups, maddeningly calm. “If you’re not cooperative with us, she’ll pay the price. So be a good boy,” You hear Kirishima chuckle nervously at that,  “And sit back down.” Bakugou swallows, feeling Denki, Sero, and Kirishima’s eyes on his as he slowly sinks back into the chair. “There you go. Next time, just say yes, and we won’t have to do this. Or you could, you know, not bet your girlfriend.” You twitch in his arms, making a soft sad sound and he leans down and kisses your forehead. Jealousy twists in Deku’s stomach, and he makes quick meaningful eye contact with Shindou, who releases you, pushing you towards the other pro hero as you stumble on shaking legs. 

“Sweetheart,” Deku coos, catching you and rubbing your back, “Sweetheart it’s not your fault,” you sniff, “You’re being a very good girl for us.” He touches your shoulder. “Very good.” 

“I wanna be good.” You say softly, and every man in the room takes a sharp breath. “I wanna be good, for you.” 

“You are, baby,” Deku says emphatically. “I promise.” He gives you a squeeze and moves you in front of him, before collapsing in an empty armchair and pulling you into his lap, still blindfolded, poorly balanced on his knees. “Now I know you’re not used to taking a fat cock,” he says, still speaking sweetly, the way a teacher would to a student, “But you’re gonna take mine, and I don’t wanna hear-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou snarls, unable to contain himself, “You don’t know shit about what she can take.” There’s a split second of silence. 

“Is that right?” Shindou drawls. “Hand behind your back.” You obey quickly. “I think you should see what your boyfriend’s gotten you into.” He says, slipping the blindfold from your eyes and pulling the knot out easily. Deku takes the opportunity to take his shirt off, tossing it on the ground before hooking his thumbs in his black sweatpants and pushing them to the ground underneath you. Shindou ties your wrists carefully together, letting you lean against his chest for balance while the other pro hero undresses. You blink in the light of his living room, and then look down, letting out an involuntary nervous squeak, just as Shindou secures the knot. He’s thick, and it’s long, even with prep you know the stretch will be painful. 

 “Relax,” Midoriya says, “You ready?.” You nod, and he uses his feet to scoot the chair over to an angle where you can’t see any of the men behind you, but they can see his face, watch his eyes lose focus as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance. “That’s it, just like that..” He breathes. “Good girl.” You sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he pushes farther inside you, “Let me in,” he says softly, and for a moment he can pretend that you’re alone, that you belonged to him, just like you were always supposed to. He’s pulled back to the present when you whimper. “Let daddy in,” he repeats and Shindou suppresses a chuckle, watching you sink down on Deku’s cock. 

“Oh, oh my god,” You choke out, and Midoriya makes eye contact with Bakugou he starts to fuck you, “Oh my god,” you moan this time, the pain bright in your voice. “S’so big, I’m-” Shindou reaches out and touches your shoulder, a warning. 

“It’s so big, daddy.” Deku corrects, voice honeyed and breathless, a smirk on his boyish face. 

“Daddy,” you whine, “Please,” you suck in a breath, “It’s-please can I have a second,” He nods, and rubs comforting circles in your hip, slowing his movements. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, sitting up a little and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Do you trust me sweetheart?” 

“Yes, daddy.” You whisper, and he leans farther forward, wrapping you in his arms and kissing your neck as he starts to fuck you slowly, pulling soft little musical moans from your lips. 

“I’m the number one hero,” he says and Bakugou’s nails nearly break the skin on his own palm at the genuine emotion on Midoriya’s face. “I’ll take good care of you, baby, and I would, you know, if you came to my agency, I’d take care of you.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, even if your brain had been working, sinking his teeth into your neck, letting you gasp in pain as you take the last inch of him and cry out softly. Deku moves his hands lower, holding you down on his length while you squirm. “What’s your color baby, you okay?” 

“Green,” you say, voice half protest, half pleasure. 

“I’m gonna move,” he warns and you relax against him, eyes shut. “I’ll hold your hand, okay?” You nod, and he laces his fingers with yours, giving your hand a quick squeeze before bucking his hips up into yours. 

“OH!” You spasm in his arms, not expecting him to move so quickly, it almost feels like you’re being split open, you feel him press a reassuring kiss on your cheek. 

“So,” he groans, “Shit, Yo, she’s so tight, can barely move.” Shindou rolls his eyes at the younger man, coming to stand behind him and reaching around your body, his fingers lightly vibrating by the time they touch your clit. 

“Shh,” Shindou breathes, kissing your cheek, letting you lean back against his chest while Deku fucks you, “Takin’ it so well, sweetheart, you’re doing such a good job.” At the praise, you relax a degree, and Deku can move a little, behind your back, Shindou takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“F-fuck,” you choke out, “Fuck, Deku, I-” 

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, every soft roll of his hips against yours is bringing another wave of pleasure to your mind, and you’re still sensitive from your ruined orgasm earlier, still close. 

You choke out a sob, shoulders shaking, as the sensation of being filled and toyed with overwhelms your consciousness. 

“Good girl,” Deku coos, eyeing Shindou’s closeness and wanting to take back control of the situation, “Good girl, taking this, okay, if you’re good we’ll let you cum, is that what you want, to cum for us?” 

“Yes,” you say, your voice hitched and desperate. You roll your hips against Shindou’s face, but it seems like he’s used to it, expertly avoiding your most sensitive spots, keeping the pleasure just on the edge for you. 

“I kinda,” he says, “Wanna ruin it again.” 

“You’re so mean,” Deku laughs. “She’s dating Kacchan already, hasn’t she suffered enough?” Shinou laps at your cunt, pulling another soft cry from  your lips. 

“Please,” you beg, “Just, just fuck me a little harder, and I can, I can cum, I promise I-” You feel Deku pick up the pace and tighten his grip around your waist. 

“Keep begging.” He orders swiftly and you do, broken pleas falling from your lips. 

“I mean,” Denki breathes, elbowing Sero, “Are we all gonna pretend this hot as shit?” He palms his lengh. “Sorry bro, but jesus fucking christ.”  

“She’s so fucking hot like this,” Kirishima whispers, leaning forward.

“I wanna see her cry more.” Sero grins.

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” Bakugou growls, turning to his friends. 

“I mean,” Denki says, smirking, barely audible over your pleading, “This is why you don’t get drunk and bet your girlfriend.” He shrugs. “Right, I mean, I know I’m right. Oi,” he says to Deku and Shindou, “What do I have to do to have a turn?” 

“Join a different agency!” Deku says brightly, momentarily distracted. “I invited Iida and Shouto and they were so sorry they had conflicts. I made it work.” 

“Please,” you beg, feeling Deku’s cock hit that spongey spot inside you easily with every thrust, “Please can I cum, I’m gonna,” you squirm, trying to get away from Shindou’s magically vibrating tongue, “Please, I’m gonna lose it.” 

“Can she?” Deku looks to Bakugou. “Gonna let your girlfriend cum on my cock?” 

“Please Kats,” you whimper, “Please Katsuki, please, please, I’ll be good, need it-” 

“You need it?” Shindou says, dripping in condescension. 

“Yes,” you choke out a sob, “Yes I need it, daddy please.” 

“She can.” Bakugou says, eyes all over your body, on every mark they leave, every bruise, every rough touch, and a smirk slides across his face, “Cum for me, bitch.” You twitch in their arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a knife, it’s like you’ve been thrown off a cliff, the free fall is ecstatic and terrifying. Deku fucks you even harder, Shindou pulls away to watch Deku’s cock disappearing into your soaking cunt. 

“Fuck, baby,” Deku groans, throwing his head back, “Fuck you’re gonna make me, fuck, I’m gonna cum, inside,” his voice gets deeper, darker,  “Wanna breed this fuckin’ pussy,” he tightens his grip on your hips and Bakugou scowls. “Gonna cum inside, you wanna have my fuckin’ kids, you wanna have the next number one hero, right baby?” 

“Ohmygod,” you cry out loudly, not at all coherent. “Fuck, fuck fuck,” your voice carries as you keep cumming, the orgasm is a few minutes long, Deku fucks you through it and Shindou carefully keeps you right on the edge of overstimulation. 

“You belong to him, huh?” Shindou asks, while you’re still breathing heavily, choking out little sobs, Deku lifts you off his cock and sets you on all fours on the coffee table, so that Bakugou can watch the number one hero’s cum dribble out of your pussy, thick and white. “Lick that shit up.” Bakugou looks at Shindou like he’s insane. “I’ll punish her, if you don’t.” Shindou threatens. “And she’ll take it, but it won’t be pleasant. I promise.”  Bakugou swallows, looking at the way you’re already trembling. 

“Fine.” He says gruffly, and Denki inhales sharply. “Shut the fuck up.” He says again, sinking to his knees on the carpet, all the men in the room watch you soften at his comforting touch, the way  you shiver with happiness when he rubs a circle in your thigh. “Baby,” he coos, “Baby, color?” 

“Green.” You mumble, and he pauses, mouth inches from your cunt. 

“You sure?” His touches are feather light. 

“I am.” You say. “Thank you for asking, though.” 

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for ya.” He says, leaning forward and licking a stripe up your core, pulling more moans from your lips as he laps roughly at your overstimulated, swollen hole, wiping his mouth off with his hand when he’s done. Deku ghosts light patterns on your back with his fingertips and Shindou rubs the top of your head before slipping the blindfold off of your eye. 

“Hi, baby,” he coos, and you blink, getting used to the light. “I wantcha to look at your boyfriend, can you do that for me?” You nod and he lifts you, turning you around so that you’re face to face with Bakugou, still on his knees by the coffee table. 

“I love you.” The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, just as Shindou lines himself up behind you, frowning, missing the surprised expression on your face. 

“Do you love her?” Shindou asks, the head of his cock pausing at your entrance. “Or is she convenient?” He pushes himself inside you and Bakugou watches your mouth drop open Shindou starts to fuck you. 

“I love her.” Bakugou says, staring up at the other man. “I do.” 

“Because,” Shindou throws his head back, groaning before responding, “Fuck, what a good little cocksleeve,” he slaps your ass hard, and tears spring to your eyes in front to Bakugou. “Because we both know she’s hurting,” he rolls his hips against you and you shudder with pleasure, “Her career, by staying at your agency.” 

“Fuck you.” Bakugou says. 

“I,” you choke out, “It doesn’t,” you whimper when Shindou reaches two fingers around your body and you feel your knees buckle as they start to vibrate against your bud. 

“It’s selfish,” Deku says, pulling himself out of his post orgasm haze to jump in, “To keep her there, when she has better offers.”

“What kinda self worth do you have,” Shindou says to you, touching you softly as his words rip right through your skin, “To stay with a guy who would loan you out like this, huh?” You take a shaky breath in. 

“Why,” you gasp again, trying to form sentences, as Shindou plows into you, setting a brutal pace, “Oh, oh my god,” you feel his cock filling you completely, feel the boy's eyes on your body. 

“You can touch her.” Shindou says to the men on the couch and it’s a moment before any of them reach for you. Denki’s first. He cups your breast and lets out a low whistle. 

“She’s so pretty,” Kirishima breathes, “So good,” he coos, reaching out, cupping the side of your face, stroking your teary cheek with his thumb, “So good.” Bakugou swallows, reaching within himself, wondering why he can’t offer you the same kind of validation, wondering why you’re doing this for him, why you work with him, when Deku is the number one, when Shindou does better on popularity numbers, when Kirishima was more kind, when Denki wasn’t afraid to touch you in public. You open your eyes, and see the tears in Bakugou’s, 

“I need a break.” You say quickly and all the men let you go as you leap at Bakugou, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Hey,” you say softly, “Hey baby, where did you go on me, huh?” He swallows. 

“I just,” he peels you off of him so hard that you stumble back, Deku catches you. “I just dont uh,” He stands. “I know I don’t deserve you.” His voice is barely a whisper. 

“You made a mistake.” You say, standing to meet him, cupping his face in one of your hands but he grabs your wrist and peels you off of him. 

“I,” he pauses. “I gotta go.” 

“Katsuki,” you say, your voice hitching in your throat, “Seriously I-” 

“I bet you?” He says, shaking his head, backing away. “And you didn’t dump me?” Your teeth close on your bottom lip and there’s an awkward silence. 

“I love you.” You say, and behind you Shindou pulls his sweats back up to his hips. “I love you, okay, and I-” He shakes his head, cutting you off, bile rising in his throat. 

“They’re right.” He says sharply. “You shoulda taken a good offer, and told me to go to hell.” Your eyes widen and he grabs his coat off of the back of a chair. “I’ll drop your stuff off. Don’t call me.” He nearly runs out of the room before you can summon the breath to respond. There’s an awkward pause. Kirishima stands. 

“We’ll take care of it,” he gives you a soft pat on the head and Sero and Denki nod, following the redhead out of the room. The door closes with a soft click and you turn around to Shindou and Deku. 

“Um,” you swallow. 

“Don’t do anything,” Deku says quickly, snatching a blanket off of the back of Shindou’s couch, wrapping your body in it and gathering you in his arms. Shindou collapses on the couch and Deku joins him, sitting you like that, in between them. 

“What um,” you blink a couple times, “What’s happening?” 

“Kacchan freaked out,” Deku says softly, Shindou reaches over and rubs circles in your thigh. “He’s right, though, by the way, that you sacrificed your career to work at his agency.” Your lips twitch. 

“I didn’t think I was anything special.” You mutter. 

“Oh,” Shindou says, combing his fingers through your hair, sending shivers down your spine, “You really are, sweetheart, and I could pull the stats to prove it.” You curl up in a ball on the couch. 

“Am I an idiot?” You ask, your voice is tight and small. The two men exchange a worried glance over your head.

“No,” Deku says, “No okay,” he rubs a comforting circle in your shoulder. “Listen, get dressed, and we’ll take care of you tonight.” 

“You um,” you wipe your face, turning to Shindou, “You didn’t cum, I”m-” 

“I literally don’t care,” he says, rolling his eyes, “Not to be rude but I’m a pro hero, if I wanna get laid, I get laid.” He puts a hand on your thigh through the blanket. “Stay here, okay?” He looks to Deku. “Grab her a glass of water and just take a sweatshirt from my closet.” A few minutes later you’re sipping a glass of cool water and wearing soft clothes. 

“I was pretty surprised when I heard you agreed to this,” Deku says softly, “I mean, I know you had a crush on Kacchan when you were in general studies, but uh, I was surprised he asked you to work at his agency before you started dating.” Your jaw tightens and Shindou slips an arm around your shoulders. 

“I,” you whisper, “He just, he seems so sure all the time, he’d tell me something, and I’d just believe it.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I, he just dumped me. I-in front of all of you.” The corners of your mouth force themselves downward. 

“This is sort of what I wanted to say in the hallway to you,” Shindou says, “That I know you like him, but he doesn’t,” he pauses, picking the right words, “Sorry, it’s not a problem with his personal valuation of you. It’s a problem with his professional evaluation of you.” You nod a couple times. 

“Thanks for um, taking such good care of me.” You say, standing abruptly, reaching for panties where they’re crumpled on the floor. “I should go though, I’m sure you don’t want to deal with this.” The two men stand in nearly perfect synchronization. 

“Please.” Deku says, taking a step towards you. “Hear us out.” You start looking for your panties, “Look at me.” He reaches out and cups your face, speaking with a bit more authority, and you freeze. “You’re such a good girl,” he says, and you melt into the softness of his touch, head spinning, “That’s it,” he says, seeing you relax, and he pulls you into his chest. “What if you stayed with me,” he murmurs, “And we talked about it in the morning.” 

“With you?” You glance at Shindou, who comes and stands behind you, locking his arms around Deku, trapping you between them. 

“Do you honestly have any friends who won’t take Bakugou’s side?” Deku says and your lips droop downward. 

“I don’t.” You say, knowing Mina wouldn’t, knowing Sero and Denki and Kirishima had already chased Bakugou when he’d left, rather than checking on you. The two men smell like pine and cedar, and they feel so, stable. 

“Don’t waste your time worrying about that,” Deku murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “If you wanna cry, you can cry to us, that’s fine..” You nod slowly.

“Bakugou,” your lower lip trembles, “He just left me here.” 

“He did.” Shindou says, resting his chin on the top of your head. “But we’re here.” You nod slowly. 

“O-okay, I’ll um, I’ll go with you, Deku, I,” You lose track of the sentence, still reeling. Shindou kisses the top of your head and Deku gives your waist a little squeeze. 

“We’ll take such good care of you, baby.” He says. “You can trust us.” You nod again, wiping your tears as you let them gather you on the couch. “I’ll get a blanket, we can put on a movie and order food.” He picks his phone up off of the coffee table and goes to Shindou’s bedroom. He stops, and takes a deep breath, catching Shindou’s smug expression. He just shrugs, and takes his phone out, knowing that his co workers are anxiously waiting for an update.

Deku: it wasn’t that hard. 

Iida: he didn’t? Did he?

Shouto: of course he couldn’t handle it, bakugou’s more ego than he is human being. 

Deku: kinda hate myself for suggesting this but you wanna dip early at work and come make her feel better? She’s pretty upset, and I’m worried Shindou’s gonna take our money and the healer.

Iida: it’s heroic of us, to save her from working for anyone else, but I can sense you have doubts, Midoriya. 

Shouto: she needs a caretaker. We can do that for her, keep her safe. I’m happy to ask the interns to cover for us.

Shouto: how much did we need to bribe shindou to get him to pick this fight with Bakugou? 

Deku: 10K and he can borrow her a few times a year but it’ll be worth it. We need her. 

Shouto: We do, and she needs us. She just doesn’t know it yet. 

Iida: agree. 

Deku sighs, sliding his phone back into his sweatpants pocket and returning to the couch where he tucks the blanket around you. Shindou releases you and gently pushes you towards the other pro hero. To Deku’s delight you take his hand with both of yours, leaning into him. 

“Kacchan’s an idiot.” He says softly, as Shindou gets up and walks to the restroom, tossing Midoriya a sly smile over his shoulder. You shrug. 

“I love him.” You look up at Midoriya and his heart breaks. He's never seen you this vulnerable, not in the field, not during exams, not even when someone was gravely injured. Your eyes are watery and unfocused, and your lower lip is trembling.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, hating the little string inside of him pulling him down the path of least resistance, causing his mouth to form the words he knows will make you stay. “I know how hard you’ve been trying, and he’s just not ready yet. He’s too immature.” You sniff, and remember confiding your crush to one person, and one person only, listing your reservations to a very patient Kendo Itsuka. You had no way of knowing, none at all, that Deku was standing outside the classroom listening, and that these years later he’d use your own fears against you. 

“I have been trying hard.” You warble, folding into him. He rubs your back. “I’ve been trying so hard.” Midoriya nods. 

“He never yells at you, does he?” You hear a sharp undercurrent in his voice, and feel the pro hero relax as you shake your head. 

“But even watching it, I feel like, I dunno.” You mumble, hiding. He leans over and kisses your head. 

“It’s not that late.” He offers, and if you peek through the curtains of the huge window in the apartment you can see the last vestiges of golden light shining through. The sun has not quite set. “Shouto and Tenya are going to a bar if you wanted to come out and meet them, maybe Uraraka might come by.” You swallow. 

“I haven’t seen them in a while.” You stretch. “But I should, I should um,” You blink back tears, “Did he dump me or fire me?” Midoriya winces. 

“Both, I think.” 

“Fuck.” You rub your eyes. “I wanna actually, I want to go to my office and pick up my stuff but,” you lift your head, eyes wide, “You won’t make me do that by myself, will you?” 

“Of course not,” he says, oozing sincerity, “Of course we will, how about we rip the band aid off, I can have them pick us up here?” You nod, burying your face in his chest, heart aching. 

______

You say your goodbyes to Shindou, who gives you a warm hug and a soft kiss on the forehead, and waves your concerns away when you mention promising to return his clothes. Midoriya pockets his phone when you step out into the hallway. 

“They’re gonna meet us downstairs in a car.” he says, and your eyes widen. 

“Oh oh, that’s not necessary, I don’t need anything fancy.” You shrug. “I could call an uber or-” 

“We have drivers.” Midoriya cuts you off. “So it’s no trouble really. No trouble at all.” He offers you a hand, and you take it, letting him lead you to the elevator and through the lobby, feeling him rub circles in  your palm with his thumb. The car that pulls up is sleek and black, and Deku opens the door for you before helping you climb up into the backseat. 

“Hello,” Iida greets you stiffly, and you squirm with embarrassment as you reach for a seatbelt. “I hear you had a rather difficult evening.” You glance fearfully  back at Midoriya, who flashes his palms. 

“I spared them the details.” 

“I’m just an idiot.” You mumble, burning with embarrassment, flopping in the seat next to Shouto, who pats your knee awkwardly. 

“Well,” he considers, “You’ve made a series of decisions based on how they felt, rather than thinking about them, and perhaps that’s an experience to be learned from.” You burst into tears as Midoriya closes the car door and gives Shouto a stern look. “I, but,” he says quickly, wrapping an arm around your waist, scooting you closer to him, “You don’t have to do it by yourself anymore.” He blurts. “If you want, we’ll, we can be helpful.” 

“I think what Shouto means,” Midoriya says, as you feel the engine of the car hum to life, “Is that it might be worth it to lean on your friends for a bit.” 

“All my friends are gonna take Bakugou’s side,” you snip bitterly, wiping your face on your sleeve as Iida hands you a handkerchief.

“I don’t take his side.” Shouto says sharply. “And I’m your friend.” You perk up the slightest degree at that, so he keeps going, “I’d never,” he shakes his head, huffing, “I’d never bet you. If you were mine I’m not sure I’d let you out of my sight.” That makes you laugh, you wipe some of your tears and you lean against him. 

“Bakugou’s impulsive,” Iida says gently, adjusting his glasses, “You deserve stability, both in your workplace, of course, and romantically.” He stretches his shoulder a little and through your tears and little sobs notice the pain in his face. 

“Did you,”  you reach for him, distracted, “Did you hyperextend your elbow?” he cocks his head at you, confused. “You might have, sorry,” you mutter, wiping your face and scooting across the black leather seat towards him. “Let me just,” you take his hand quickly and energy shoots from your fingertips up his arm, pooling at his elbow. He lets out a little sigh of relief. 

“I, didn’t even realize I’d injured myself.” He squints at you. “You know, if you need to find a new job quickly, perhaps you could work for us?” You blink up at him, and all three men watch and wait as your teeth sink into your lower lip. 

“I suppose,” you look down at your hands. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” There’s a brief silence, where each man considers their own integrity, their ambition, and the mark this little lie would have on their immortal souls. 

“We could hire you,” Deku says finally, somehow managing to make it sound nonchalant, unpracticed. “On a trial basis, of course.” You look up at him eyes wide. 

“Please,” you lean forward, “I’ll, I’ll owe you forever, I, Midoriya I have rent to pay and student loan debt so I need a job.” 

“That’s what friends are for,” he says, keeping his smile light. “We’ll  help you carry your things from his office, but um, there’s the matter of where you’re going to sleep tonight?” You wince, and rub your eyes. 

“I was going to get a hotel.”

“That’s not necessary.” Shouto cuts in. “I have a guest room.” 

“We all have guest rooms.” Midoriya says, and it might be your imagination but his eyes darken just a little. “You’d be quite safe with any of us, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for someone with a powerful healing quirk to stay alone in a hotel.” 

“Of course.” Iida agrees and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance at it then put it. 

“It’s Kirishima.” You press your lips together. “I don’t want to talk to him though.” You let it ring, letting it vibrate in your palm. Iida clears his throat and holds his hand out. You give him the phone and a tiny warmth sparks in his chest. 

“Good girl.” He says stiffly. “I’ll give this back to you tomorrow.” 

“They’re all going to hate me for breaking his heart,” new hot tears squeeze from your eyes and Shouto pulls you into his chest, warm hand on your waist, much to Iida’s and Deku’s displeasure you curl into him. 

“Shhhh,” he breathes, rubbing your back. “No they won’t, and if they do, they’re idiots.” You manage an almost laugh and he lights up at the minor success. You refuse to lift your face from his chest, until the car pulls up to the empty hero office building, it’s so late now that the only people present are the cleaning staff. Your office is small, but there are a few personal items and a fair amount of books to be boxed up. The three pro heroes make quick work of it, with Deku snatching the framed photo of you and Bakugou at graduation and placing it face down in the cardboard box. Shouto floats to you, resting a hand on the small of your back. 

“I didn’t mean to imply,” he says quietly, “In the car, I didn’t mean to imply that you were wrong to trust your heart. I wasn’t suggesting alternative action.” You look up at him, suddenly feeling quite tired. “I was suggesting an alternative method of collecting data.” You nod slowly. 

“So you weren’t chastising me for listening to my heart.” You reach up and take one of your last books off the office shelf. 

“I was chastising you for ignoring your head.” He pats your back, taking the book from you and closing the box. “Is that the last of it?” He turns to the other two men, who nod. “You’re staying with me?” He says so smoothly the others barely notice it. “I assume that it might be awkward, after tonight to stay with Midoriya, and Iida’s all the way across town.” 

“Thanks, Todoroki.” You say softly, before either of them can jump in. He nods, the smallest smile on his lips. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself and the three men stand in awkward silence until the door closes behind you. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Deku hisses. 

“Inviting a beautiful woman to sleep in my guest room?” Shouto raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“I mean I’ve already,” Deku blushes a little but plows forward, “I’ve already fucked her, so I sort of assumed that was me calling dibs I-” 

“Absolutely not.” Iida interrupts. “Bakugou has also slept with her, and none of us respected that claim.” His words hang awkwardly in the room for a moment. “We can’t fight over our healer,” he says seriously, “It makes the most sense for both of you to get out of my way.” 

“Out of your way?” Shouto says, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.” 

“You’re not emotionally intelligent enough to handle her,” Iida says, with a little shrug, “And you’re too emotional and committed to being the number one hero to spend enough time with her. I’m the obvious choice.” 

“No?” Deku sputters. “No you’re not-” The door opens and you step back inside, looking a little puffier than you had when you’d left. 

“Todoroki, can we go?” You say, eyelids drooping. “I really just want to be alone.” He nods, extending an arm for you to take like a regency era gentleman, and sweeping you out of the room. He calls a separate car in the elevator with just a few taps of his smartphone, swiping away his group chat messages from his angry hero partners. 

Deku: seriously? I just assumed I had dibs. 

Iida: never assume dibs. 

Shouto: I thought dibs were “an antiquated form of dividing wealth” 

Iida: I come from a long line of people who called dibs, we just never did it so colloquially. 

Deku: we can’t let this be a problem. 

Shouto: agreed, the two of you can fuck off. 

Iida: I don’t think so. 

Deku: I also don’t think that’s the solution. 

Shouto: she’s had quite a day so I’m going to focus on her :) goodnight. 

He pockets his phone, and feels a twinge of guilt at your red rimmed eyes, but it dissipates when you sigh and lean against him as you wait for the car. Neither of you speaks for most of the drive, the silence is surprisingly comfortable. He leads you through the building,and the elevator rockets you up to his penthouse, where he takes you by the hand and sits you on his dark leather couch, taking the throw blanket from the corner and tucking it around you. 

“Sorry,” he says softly, “I have maybe an invasive question.” You blink up at him. “Have you ever, ah, I mean I don’t want to make assumptions about the nature of the activity earlier, but you’ve really folded in on yourself.” You nod, tucking your legs into your chest. “Have you, were you,” he stops himself, bringing some courage to the surface. “Was it particularly rough, generally, I-” 

“Yes.” You blurt, and he frowns, darting to his kitchen and coming back with a cool glass of water that he sets on the coffee table in front of you, before sitting on the couch next to you. “And,” you mumble, “I feel so dumb.” 

“May I touch you?” He asks, and you nod, sniffling. He sits down next to you and pulls your legs into his lap, tucking your head into his chest. “Is it incredibly rude of me to assume you subbed?” You laugh bitterly. 

“No.” You close your eyes. 

“Sub drops are uncomfortable but fairly common.” He presses his lips to the top of your head. “I’m sure you were very good,” he gives you a gentle squeeze, “Sure you were a good girl for them.” You sniff again, feeling your heart rate calm a bit. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You shake your head, relaxing into him. 

“I just wanna talk to K-katsuki.” You get out. “But he said not to call him, so I, I can’t do that.” Shouto flips his memory to the early days of therapy back when he was maybe, sixteen, finding an old rhythm. 

“What would you want to say to him, if he were here?” 

“That I don’t care,” your voice rises a bit, “Where I work, but I,” you squirm uncomfortably. It floats to Todoroki’s mind a second before it comes out of your mouth. “Did you like me, or did you need a healer at your agency?” Shouto squeezes you again. “And is that why you bet me?” Your voice gets small again, “B-because you already saw me like an object?” 

“If I were Bakugou,” Shouto says, and then clears his throat, “I’d uh, I’d probably say something like I care for you, very much, but I’m not in a place emotionally to value you like you deserve to be valued.” You laugh lightly. 

“He’d have sworn.” 

“He would have.” Shouto agreed. “You know we get fined when we do that on broadcasts, so I’ve trained myself out of it for the most part.” 

“You were the only one who cursed as much as him in school.” You snuggle against him, closing your eyes. 

“You can sleep, but have a sip of water for me.” He says, reaching for the glass and bringing it to your lips, waiting until you’ve drunk at least half of it to set it back down, holding you tightly against his body. Your eyes flutter shut, but he can’t bring himself to stop talking to you. “Do you remember when we met?” he asks, and you think about it, so much of that day now was Katsuki, when he’d yelled at you and you’d surprised everyone, including yourself when  you’d yelled back. The way Kirishima and Mina had spirited you off to their lunch table, how you’d spent the next four years living, and breathing, and studying with them. “You ah, you helped me with my wrists.” He offers and you nod, remembering. 

“You were locking them when you were fighting,” you yawn, “Repetitive stress injury.” He nods, and you take his hand, running your fingers over the callouses. The cracked skin softens and heals in real time. 

“You don’t  have to do that.” He says quietly and you shrug. 

“Consider that one on the house.” You yawn again and close your eyes, consciousness slipping from you like a wave back into the ocean. Shouto takes a minute before taking his phone out, scrolling through the group chat messages. 

Shouto: I might not feel good about this. 

Iida: so return her to me. 

Shouto: no no I mean breaking bakugou and y/n up on purpose. 

Deku: it’s what’s best for her!

Shouto: she’s quite upset. 

Iida: so don’t sleep with her?

Shouto: I really want to though. Fuck I really want to. 

Shouto: also I think she sub dropped deku way to fucking go 

Deku: ooop I was concerned about that but she did also go through a breakup like,,, mid scene so I wasn’t sure how to proceed

Shouto: She’s sleeping in my lap. 

Deku: okay so you’re welcome??? 

Deku: fucking her only made this worse she’s so sweet 

Shouto traces your outline, and you let out the softest sound, snuggling into him. He doesn’t dare move, not when his stomach growls or when the light changes in the apartment. Eventually, when the clock blinks 12AM, he touches your shoulder softly, but doesn’t wake you all the way, just enough so that you’re semi conscious as he carries you down the hall to his guest room, laying you on the clean sheets and tucking the duvet around your body. He pauses for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall easily, the creases gone from your forehead. He wracks his brain, stepping outside the room, how long had he even been aware of you? From the first moment, he decides, from that first day, when you’d touched his arm and the pain had melted away you’d been, something to him. A friend, maybe, at first, and then, someone who was kind to him. Someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity, or a pariah, or an object. 

That’s what’s on his mind as he pads softly down the hallway, and looks out over the city. It would be cruel of him, he surmises, not to take care of you, when you spend so much time caring for everyone else. 

_____ One Month Earlier: All Might Hero Agency

“Ugh,” Deku groans, rubbing his eyes and setting his phone on the table. “I can’t watch this.” 

“What’s happening?” Iida says, looking up from his takeout container. The three of them were working a late night at the agency. 

“I think y/n moved in with Bakugou.” Deku turns his phone around and shows the other two pro heroes. Iida sighs, and Todoroki frowns. “I just, okay.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ve known him my whole life, right, and he’s better, a lot better than he was. But better, better isn’t that good, still.” 

“I remember how he spoke to you our freshman year.” Iida says. “And then he had the audacity to fail the licensing exam anyway.” Todoroki clears his throat. “And you did as well, I remember.” 

“Which one of us went rogue with intent to kill,” Shouto muses, “I can’t remember.” 

“The point,” Deku says, “Is that she took his job offer, she’s moving in with him, she works for him, I mean, she’s our friend, it’s a conflict of interest, maybe we should say something.” 

“Her friends should say something,” Iida couches, “Maybe Mina, or Kirishima, they both occasionally had level heads.” 

“I’m sure he’s made her all kinds of promises,” Deku shakes his head, “I just feel like she doesn’t realize her own potential, or what she’s getting herself into working for him.” 

“I heard,” Iida says, pausing to take a sip of his water, “I heard that she took his offer without reading it, Sero told Tokoyami who told me.” 

“Without looking at it?” Shouto wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Does she know, I mean, she got other offers.” There’s a brief silence. “I know that once she started liking Bakugou she was essentially blind to anyone else,” he covers a laugh with a little cough, “Remember when Inasa met her, he,” the laugh escapes this time. “He kissed her hand and she just said, ‘Thank you’, and went to go check on us.” 

“I do remember him being quite surprised at her indifference.” Iida smiles. “But yes, I always thought maybe it would pass but she seemed so blind to his flaws, I just assumed one of them would talk her out of it.” He frowns. “I hope, I hope he speaks to her more kindly than he did in class, at least when they’re alone.” 

“Kacchan’s not a bad person,” Deku jumps in, “I don’t think he’d hurt her on purpose, but I mean, it feels, it feels wrong that we know he’s taking advantage of her liking him to get her to work at his agency.”

“Do we know that?” Todoroki asks. “Maybe he gave her a good offer.” 

“He must have.” Iida couches. “I wonder,” he trails off, “Maybe we should check in. As friends, of course, I,” a slight blush creeps up on his cheeks, “She’s quite, ah, capable. I just think we should remind her that should this for some reason fall through, that she’s not an island, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Deku nods quickly. “We could stop by, um for lunch or something, maybe bring them a housewarming gift.” He fidgets. “I, I could text Kacchan, and see what days work but, um, he might tell me to fuck off.” 

“You’re the number one pro hero,” Iida rolls his eyes. “Just show up. She’ll be happy to see you.” 

“I’ll come.” Todoroki jumps in. “If you don’t mind, I, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, and I know I spent less time with her than you but we still were ah,” he thinks about the amount of vulnerability it took for him to be comfortable with even your gentle touch, how he’d started to miss it after graduation, how he’d found himself looking forward to seeing you after a hard fight, and remembering you wouldn’t be there. 

“Ah,” Deku pauses, “I think um, we were close, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see her on my own.” He laughs, “I mean, no one spent more time with her than I did.” 

“It’s true.” Iida confirms, “Especially her first year, I had half a thought that they got us a healer specifically to keep your growth with One for All from stagnating due to your reckless nature.” Deku’s face colors. “No offense, obviously.” Iida says, looking distracted. “I did always wonder if you were ever jealous, since she was so focused on Bakugou despite how much time you spent together.” 

“She um, she talked about him a lot, yeah.” Deku says, suddenly very interested in his takeout. “But it’s not like I didn’t get it, like I said I grew up with him. He’s a big personality.” The words hang in the silence. 

“You, get it then?” Iida says, “What she sees in him, I mean, because I can’t for the life of me understand it. She’s so sweet, and gentle, and he’s loud and abrasive.” There’s a silence. Deku swallows a big bite of dinner.

“You’ll tell us then,” Todoroki says, “If you pop by their apartment, you’ll tell us how she is?” 

“Sure.” Deku says, and Todoroki is struck for the first time in a long time with the reminder of how difficult it was to tell when Midoriya Izuku was lying. 

___ 

Midoriya stands at your doorway, having rung the bell at a time he’s sure is too late for you to be at the office, but when he knows Bakugou is out on patrol. He only has to wait a moment before the door swings open and he’s rewarded with your presence, soft and sweet as you had been when you were in school. 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen with surprise, adorable. “Deku, I’m so sorry, actually Bakugou’s not here,” you step aside to let him in without a second thought, of course you do. He’d only been the number one hero for a few months, it had actually taken longer than expected, but of course you trust him, everyone did.. He’s surprised, the place you’re sharing is modest, the view is nice but it’s a one bedroom with a small kitchen. 

“I’m actually here to see you.” He says, and watches your reaction carefully. You don’t betray anything, giving him a confused smile. 

“Are you injured?” You cock your head at him. “I can’t imagine anyone could land a punch on you.” He laughs. 

“No, I mean, we spent a lot of time together in school and it just occurred to me that I haven’t seen you since graduation.” He flattens his palms on your countertop. “I wanted to catch up, if it’s a good time.” 

“Well,” you take the teapot off the stove and fill it with water, when your back is to him his eyes flick to your ass, the curve of your hips in your jeans. “I can’t believe the number one hero made time for little old me.” You set it on the stove, turning the burner on. 

“Please,” he says, “You know that without your help in school I wouldn’t be number one, hell, doubt I’d be top 50.” You shake your head, leaning against the counter next to the stove as he takes a seat at your island. 

“You were always determined, there were just times that determination took a real toll on your corporeal form.” You shrug. “I put you back together and you’d hop right back out there, it’s an honor to be a footnote in your story.” You catch his eyes, they’re slightly narrowed, there’s something about the way Midoriya looks at you that makes you feel like you’re a molecule under a microscope. 

“You really think of yourself like that?” He says softly, and he watches your eyes flick to your bedroom door, to the sweatshirt discarded on a chair that’s far too large to be yours. “You think of yourself like a footnote in someone else's story?” A sad little smile flashes across your face. 

“Sorry, Deku, I won’t unload on you.” You turn away from him again, taking two mugs down from the cabinet and set them on the counter, carefully selecting a tea bag for each of them. 

“Do you call Kacchan by his hero name,” He teases gently, “I’m Midoriya, c’mon, still the same idiot who broke every bone in his body at least once when he was in college.” That gets a laugh out of you. 

“No, I don’t call Katsuki Dynamight when we're alone.” You set the tea in front of him, and Midoriya is grateful for the distraction, shocked at the way you casually drop his best friends first name. 

“Katsuki,” He repeats, unable to stop himself, and his stomach twists as you fidget nervously. 

“It’s new.” You admit. “But I like it, honestly it suits him.” 

“Huh.” Midoriya blows on his tea. “You can, by the way, unload on me, I’m pretty strong or y’know,” he flashes you a sheepish grin, “That’s what they’re saying on the news these days.” You look at him, but he sees through your polite smile, you look exhausted. “What’s up, really?” He tries. You look back at the sweatshirt on the couch. 

“He’s working hard.” You say, nearly whispering, like he can hear you. “But he’s frustrated, and I want to help and I don’t know how to get him to let me in.” You shrug. “You know this has been his dream his whole life, Midoriya, and I know he had a lot of growing up to do. Still does maybe.” You chew your lip. “I just wish he knew how much I believe in him.” 

“Yeah?” Midoriya manages, bile rising in his throat. 

“Yeah.” You sigh deeply. “Like, I know he can be a good hero, and I get that the red tape and performative shit is hard for him, but he’s so kind, deep down.” You light up, as if you’d just remembered something. “Promise not to tell him I told you about this?” He nods, and watches you flit to the refrigerator and take something out. “He’s been making me lunch every day. No matter when he gets back from patrol, when I get up there’s a bento for me.” You squirm, like the happiness inside you is fighting to get out. “He loses his temper, sometimes, but I do really believe he cares about me.” 

“Does he lose his temper with you?” Midoriya asks, keeping his voice perfectly modulated, tinged with just the edge of concern. 

“Not usually.” You press your lips together. “I know he’s frustrated.” You repeat, and shrug again. “I believe in him.” 

“And what about you?” Midoriya presses, gently, strategically. You laugh at that, genuinely. 

“What about me?” You repeat again, but continue, afraid of sounding like a parrot. “I mean, I can’t hold up a building, I can’t win a battle, pretty sure you could pin me in less than a second.” His muscles twitch at the invitation but he stays seated, sipping his tea. “I’m always going to be there when powerful people need me.” You couch. “But I’m not deluded enough to think that makes me powerful.” 

“You’re not.” He sets the mug back on the table. “But you are important. I suppose there’s a difference, isn’t there?” You nod. “I can leap through walls, and fly, and fight, and win, but at the end of the day I need you,” he catches himself, “Or someone like you to keep me in condition to do it.” You nod slowly. 

“You’re very kind to me.” You say eventually. “You always were, Midoriya.” His mouth goes dry. “I often felt alone, when we were in school. But you always took the time to talk to me, while I healed you. I appreciate that.” 

“I consider you a friend.” He smiles at you. “Not just a healer.” He watches you process that information, watches your lips twitch downward. “What, what’s up?” He pushes, just a little harder now. 

“I don’t think,” you muse, thinking out loud. “I don’t think Bakugou thought of me as a friend, until,” he watches you remember something that clearly embarasses you, “Until um,” you laugh, “Actually the story is funny, if you promise not to be weird about it I’ll tell you.” Midoriya forces a laugh, and smiles, holding out a pinky finger. 

“Promise.” 

“He um,” you lean forward conspiratorially, “I don’t think he saw me as more than the person who put him back together after a fight until he saw someone else flirt with me and decided he didn’t like it.” Midoriya rubs his chin. 

“Oooh wait, what happened?” He keeps the excitement in his voice normal, modulated.

“It was at one of the interschool events,” you giggle, and he’s transported back in time, 

He can see the way you used to hide behind your hair when you were nervous, the way you’d look after staying up all night studying, your smiling face in the stands at sports festivals. “Do you remember Shindou Yo?” Midoriya blinks, of course, of course he remembered Grand, his face was plastered all over the center of the city right now in some cologne ad. 

“I do, yeah.” He leans forward, listening. 

“While you were all competing, he sort of pulled me aside and he was asking me all these questions about my quirk, and healing, and what you were all like, and at first I thought he was sniffing around for information about his competition but then he um, he just rested a hand on the small of my back while we were talking and I realized I was being hit on.” You pause for dramatic effect. “Didn’t even take five seconds, Katsuki was there immediately, as angry as I’d ever seen him, dragging me back to the group.” You laugh. “And essentially he hasn’t taken his hands off of me since.” 

“Really?” Midoriya shrugs. “And that doesn’t make you feel like, I dunno,” he pauses, searching for the right words, the ones that will sow the doubt he’s looking to nurture. 

“It made me feel wanted.” You sip your tea. “And I’d be the first to admit he has some rough edges, and a fucking awful temper.” You shiver despite the warmth of the room and that’s it, that’s the thread Midoriya wants to pull. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, knowing already. 

“Oh,” you wrap an arm around your ribcage. “It’s hard for him to direct his anger at a source right, something goes poorly and if you’re standing too close you’ll get caught in the explosion, for lack of a better metaphor. He always apologizes though,” your smile gets a little wistful. “We’re working on it.” 

“Uh huh.” Midoriya says. “Good for you.” 

_____ Present 

Shouto can’t sleep. It’s not natural for him, and he fumbles in his drawer for the little orange pill bottle he’d regularly relied on during school, taking one out and letting it dissolve on his tongue. He feels his heartbeat slow, remembering what his therapist said about panic, and about analysis when  you were panicked. That when his body was in fight or flight mode, analysis was pointless. He breathes out slow, and wonders if you’re doing the same, if you’re dreaming of Bakugou, if you’re dreaming of the apartment you’d shared, of Shindou’s hands on  your body, of Deku’s. He sits upright in bed, sweating, tossing his thin cotton pajama shirt on the ground before flopping backwards. Even in his medically induced sleep, his dreams keep him from true rest, he wanders through disaster zones, stumbles through fires, makes his way across ruined cities, all following the sound of your voice.

pls if you enjoyed this hop in my ask box or leave a comment/please reblog

BLACKMAIL KISS — h. ran

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a single night of rebellion against your husband, the mayor of Tokyo, in an underground Roppongi club, traps you right in Haitani Ran's web of blackmail and deceit—where every move you make could potentially be your last one.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a bonten!haitani ran miniseries inspired by hametsu no itte

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bonten timeline, fem!reader, wife!reader, reader is feminine coded (wears dresses, heels, makeup), heavy angst, heavy tones of cheating/infidelity, D@RK CONTENT, blackmail, political drama, non-con recording, drügging, mentions of alcohol & drügs, D*m/s*b dynamics, non-c0n -> dub-c0n, expl!cit photos, canon typical v!olence, corruption k!nk, unprotected s*x, n!pple play, sh/ibari, B/D/S/M, voyeurism, edg!ng training, tease and den!al, org@sm control, phone s*x, smok!ng, publ!c play, g@gs, impact p!ay, pr@ise + degradation, roleplay (forced prost!tuition), mentions of conceiving, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of m!scarriage, pet names (baby, love, slüt), collars, b0dy writing, throat fücking, d@ddy kink, sp!t play, finger!ng, or@l s*x, rindou is a simp for his girlfriend, süspension p!ay, publ!c s*x, n!pple clamps, mentions of v!brators, overstimulat!on, k!dnapping, tortüre, more tags to be added...

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bittersweet blackmail with this playlist

{{𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗}}

#1: i made another mistake

#2: the way you bend, the way you break

#3: when the curtains call the time

#4: will we both be satisfied?

#5: love's the death of peace of mind

#6: will we both go home alive?

#7: i miss the way you say my name

... more tba

{ rbs to boost are appreciated !! }

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy the concept, sentence structures and scenes without prior permission from the creator.

reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

rugby player bakugou

- random thought or headcanons? idk idc -

TALL A LITERAL GIANT WITH MUSCLES HE WORKED ON FOR YEARS

rugby player bakugou is one of the teams best player and the most aggressive strong players they have on the team

yea he comes to you with a busted lip, almost got a concussion, bloody forehead or a black eye from time to time but at least his team won!

sweats a lot ew

seeing him running for the ball, with the ball or tackling someone to the ground makes him look so fucking badass and he knows it especially because your watching him rn

never lets anyone tackle him for too long, with his strength he immediately gets back up, that fucking score is his!

or he never gets tackled at all sometimes, hes smart and knows where and how to out run bitches

rugby player bakugou always gets into a fight with someone, almost physically if it werent for kirishimas strong ass dragging him away from the soon to be under 6 feet in the ground guy

when he steps into the field he always makes sure to check where you are. he always hope your watching his game, he feels a sense of hope of winning even more because of you

dont tease him too much because if you try to run away… youll never make it💀

a lot of people want his attention, doing and wearing whatever to get him to just look at them but it never works. all he sees is you wearing one of his spare team unifroms

what the fuckkkkkkkk

For those who don't know, the Nigerian government have basically waged war on civilians in response to their protest to #EndSARS which is police brutality

This shit isn't acceptable anywhere else and it sure as hell won't be acceptable in Nigeria

Fuck the president for killing peaceful protesters and just know Nigerians are fed the fuck up and absolutely no good will come to this man for his crimes against humanity

#EndSARS #prayfornigeria🇳🇬

꒷♡꒷ STUCK!

♰ featuring: nagi seishiro + shidou ryusei (separate) [blue lock]

♰ note: thank you all so much for supporting my last work as much as you did. it really means so much to me that people genuinely enjoy my writing and my content! now, as my second-ever work, i would appreciate it greatly if you would continue to support my work by reading, liking, and reblogging! also, I tried to make their sections as even as possible, but i'm a ryusei simp so uhhh enjoy!

sypnosis: in which you find yourself stuck in a rather precarious position and your boyfriend decides to "help" you. not without proper payment first, though. wc: 3.4k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. SMUT. fem/fem-bodied reader. stuckage. shidou is a warning on his own. accidental choki abuse (nagi). dry humping. degradation. unprotected sex. rough sex. creampie/breeding. spanking. name-calling/dirty talk (ryusei). ꒷꒦

NAGI SEISHIRO.

It was a normal weekend, unlike any other. It was just before noon, and you were cleaning your and Seishiro’s shared apartment while he was at the gym with Reo. You were diligently working to remove the accumulated dust from your wooden dresser with a disinfectant wipe that had a coconut scent when, all of a sudden, your hand bumped into something rather hard.

“Choki!!”

You shrieked, watching in horror as your boyfriend’s beloved potted cactus flew off of the dresser and knocked into the wall behind it. Everything moved in slow motion, and you could only gawk in horror as the pot spun once, twice, and then tumbled behind the dresser. You grimaced inwardly, awaiting the sound of shattering ceramics and the dull shuffling of displaced dirt, but it never came. Instead, the sound of the pot sliding down the wall and "gracefully" hitting the floor was heard instead.

With baited breath, you grabbed your phone, turning it to flashlight mode. You used it as a visual aid as you peered behind the dresser to assess the damage, sighing with relief when you saw Choki, Seishiro’s child, lying almost undisturbed between the wall and the backboard of the dresser.

Now here comes the difficult part, moving the dresser.

Kicking off your fuzzy house slippers to give yourself some traction, you grabbed the back end of one side and mustered all of your strength to shove the heavy thing out of the way—slowly, of course. Choki’s life was at stake here. However, you were only able to move the heavy thing out of the way just enough so that you could slip part of your body inside to reach for the plant. It was still a very tight fit.

Getting on your knees, you maneuvered between the tiny space you created, squeezing your arms, shoulders, and ribcage between them until the tension finally gave way at your waist. Breathing out in relief, your fingertips finally managed to grace the pot’s edge, pulling it into your grasp.

“Got . . . cha . . !”

You tried to shuffle backward, but you couldn’t. Attempting once more, you would come to realize that the dresser and the wall had some sort of death grip on your hips, rooting you in place. You were stuck. Trapped. And Nagi wouldn’t be home for another 30 minu—

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

You breathed, overjoyed at your boyfriend’s sudden voice. He always had the habit of moving in complete silence, despite his massive size. You hadn’t even heard him come home.

“Sei, oh, thank god! C-Can you pull me out? I think I’m stuck!”

You could barely make out the sound of his soft footsteps padding against the wooden floor as he made his way over to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he stood behind you, yet he made no effort to save you just yet.

“How did you even manage to do something like this?”

His confused tone held an unamused lilt, one that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I was cleaning the dresser, and I accidentally knocked Choki over. They’re fine! B-But I can’t get out . . .”

Still nothing.

Was he mad? Disappointed? Since you could not see him, you could not tell. You were aware, though, that his gaze was "burning" into you. You shifted, partially in discomfort, as you made a point to wiggle your hips so that he could focus on the task at hand. As a result, you could hear him drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth. Before you could ask him what he was doing, you felt him kneel behind you. His two strong hands came into contact with the exposed skin around your hips, where your shirt was rising. He did not pull, though. The opposite happened; you felt him pressing against you, his bulge delightfully nestling against your folds through your thin pajama shorts.

“Seishiro?!”

He effectively silenced your confused warble in exchange for a surprised squeal when his open palm placed a firm smack on one of your cheeks. All the while, he shamelessly ground himself against your core, stating, “That was for Choki." You swore that you could hear the pout in his voice when he spoke.

“Removing you would be a hassle. Besides, I’m tired.”

B-But what about me?!

You wanted to protest, however, you refrained. You felt his lithe fingers pinch the fabric just over your clit as he pulled it to the side, resting it against your ass and exposing your pretty folds to his prying eyes. You heard his hands rustling with his sweatpants and boxers before you felt him tapping the pretty pink-flushed tip of his cock, which you loved so much, against your sensitive bud causing you to keen and your toes to curl.

“Wish you could see how pretty you look right now.” He mumbled, teasingly pressing the head of his cock against your entrance a few times, but never pushing in fully.

“I-If you got me out, Sei, then maybe I could . .” Your voice was unsteady as your anticipation began to build in the form of your puffy folds beginning to leak for him, the lewd sounds of it squelching around his tip echoing in your quiet room.

He answered you with silence and actions rather than with words. In one swift motion, he pushed entirely into you, and without waiting for you to adjust, he began to thrust his hips into you at a steady pace. You clenched around him, nails scratching against the backboard of the dresser, the wall, the floor—anything to brace yourself from your boyfriend’s fervent pace. Once he got started, he wouldn’t stop until he spilled entirely inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum.

“S-Sei, it’s too much!” You mewled, yet your body writhed with pleasure. You always said this, and yet, he knew you could take it. You've done it many times before. That’s why he reached further into the space you had created to bunch up the back of your his shirt and used it as leverage as though he were pulling your hair to pummel into you faster and deeper. Your ass rhythmically pounded on his pelvis, sending a lewd ringing through your own ears as it echoed off the bedroom walls. Something about this precarious situation you were in mixed with the feeling of Seishiro’s cock hitting those sweet spots inside of you, enthralled you more than usual. You were close and he could feel it.

“Gonna cum f’me, already?” He grunted as his other hands squeezed your hip, their blunt nails digging into your flesh. His moans were heavenly, a sound you longed to hear, as your walls fluttered around him. The hand that was on your hip pressed itself against the edge of the dresser, shoving it effortlessly to the side and thus freeing you from your confines. Although he appeared so unsuspecting, Seishiro’s strength, when he decided to use it, was frightening. Your lower half fell to the ground, your breasts and cheek smushing against the wooden floors as you felt his soft fingertips rubbing fast, furious circles around your clit.

“Oh my god, S-Sei, I-I’m gonna—”

“C’mon, make a mess for me, pretty.”

You did exactly that, creaming delightfully around his cock while mewing in ecstasy. Before long, you could feel Sei's hot seed bursting inside of you and filling up your pretty pussy to the brim, as well as his hips stuttering against you. Both of you were panting as he pulled out of you, your releases dribbling out of you and pooling beneath you onto the floor.

You finally managed to get off your sore knees and elbows as you turned to face your lover with trembling limbs. It was at this point that you noticed Seishiro's eyes, which were burning with something fierce and unknown, were boring into your own. His eyes resembled that hungry expression he would have when his ego started to rule him on the field.

“Let’s do it again, Y/N. On the bed this time.”

God, he was going to be the death of you someday.

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

You had a rather eventful day. Starting off leisurely in the morning, you and your boyfriend Ryusei enjoyed a pleasant brunch together before deciding to head out to the beach that day. You had to pick a spot with some privacy because Ryusei insisted he was only there to “freshen up his tan”, which required him to be in the nude, while you were there to enjoy his prescene, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, and the sensation of sand between your toes. Only a short while ago, the two of you finally arrived home. Ryusei was currently taking his own shower, as you had already finished yours.

Relaxing on the couch in nothing more than an oversized shirt and your panties, you had decided to turn on some Netflix with the intention of finding either a good or a fun-bad horror flick to watch, when all of a sudden, the slippery lotion residue on your hands caused the remote to slip from your grasp and tumble onto the floor and skid beneath the coffee table. You groaned, head tossing back with exasperation, as this minor inconvenience was nearly enough to ruin your entire night and make you not even want to watch a movie anymore. Nonetheless, you sulked off the couch and sank to your knees, searching for the offending culprit beneath the coffee table. Somehow, it had managed to slide to the other side of the room, mocking you as it lay motionless between the walkway in the middle of the coffee table and the television. Any normal person would’ve simply gotten up and walked around the table to retrieve it, however, you were not like most people. I mean, look at your taste in men, for starters. Not to mention, you’re incredibly stubborn.

Instead, you crept beneath the table's glass top and between the second shelf, stretching your slender fingers as far as they could reach until they touched the black exterior of the remote. However, it was a little too far away for you to grasp, and your touch, combined with your wooden floors, only served to push it further away from you. You swore, glaring at the thing as though it had just offended your loved one, huffing in defeat as you decided to rise and walk to the remote.

But you couldn’t.

Your brow furrowed in perplexity as you placed one palm flat on the ground and the other on the surface beneath you, attempting but failing to push yourself back. You were wedged between the table's glass top and bottom shelves, flat on your chest. The more you wiggled, the further you seemed to wedge yourself in between the two surfaces that held you taut.

You stopped, dumbfounded. As much as you dreaded calling Ryusei for help because you knew he would taunt you endlessly instead of helping you . . . you did not have many other options.

“Ah, Ryu!!” Your voice carried through the hallways, hoping that he was out of the shower to hear you yell.

“. . . Yeah, babe?”

His voice made your heart lurch in your chest. You were already debating whether you should just say nevermind and try to wiggle out on your own, or put your pride aside and ask for his assistance. In the end, the latter would be victorious.

“Could . . . Could you come here for a second? . . . Please.” Your plea was quiet, your cheeks already burning with shame as you awaited your impending doom.

You raised your gaze towards the master bedroom, where he was currently. How cruel fate was to put you in a position where you would be forced to watch him approach. Each second felt like an eternity until you heard the soft padding of Shidou's feet leaving the carpeted bedroom to shuffle along the wooden floors, only to abruptly pause.

Sheepishly, you peeked up at him through your lashes to where he stood, chest bare, droplets of water dripping from his unstyled hair and body, a towel that he used for his hair wrapped around his shoulders, and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist. His face was expressionless, his fuchsia oculars taking in the scene before them in silence. Your shy, embarrassed gaze, the position of you between the coffee table, and the cursed remote only inches away from his own feet.

“—You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

How you wished you were facing the other way to avoid seeing the way that maniacal grin that nearly resembled the Joker's formed on his face and how his cat-like eyes narrowed at you in amusement at your misfortune.

“ . . Yes.”

He barked out a laugh at you, his head tossed back in sheer, unabashed mania, much to your chagrin. Even though you knew this would happen, your cheeks couldn’t help but burn with frustration and shame. “I know, very funny. Now, could you help me out here, please? My knees are getting sore.”

Despite your whines, his mockery would continue, his large hands grasping both ends of the towel that rested on his shoulders as he waltzed over to you leisurely. “Hmm, I dunno, babe~.” He continued walking until he crouched right before you, his legs spread wide enough for you to see that he was already semi-hard beneath the fabric. Of course, he would be aroused by your misfortune. Tearing your gaze away from his manhood, which was only inches away from your face, you peered up at him only to see him grinning mercilessly down at you with mischief twinkling in his eye. “I gotta admit, I like this view of you. How’d ya know doggy was my favorite position~?”

Probably because you’ve put me in it multiple times before, asshole. You wouldn’t say that, though. You didn’t want to prolong your torment any further.

“Ryuseii.” You whined, mustering your best pitiful glance in an attempt to draw even an ounce of sympathy from your demon of a lover. “Please?” You tried with a pout.

You couldn’t tell if your attempt worked, however, with the way Ryusei’s feral grin would reduce to a playful smirk, you figured that you have gotten through to him. He raised his hand, patting your head twice and making sure to tousle your hair while he was at it. “I’ll see what I can do, cutie.”

He made a move to rise to his feet but paused mid-squat, “No promises, though.”

You waited until he was out of your view to roll your eyes at him, hands bracing themselves against the floor as you awaited to be freed from this nightmare. Ryusei sank to his knees behind you, humming aloud as though he were trying to make a big play out of figuring out how to get you out—or how you got there to begin with. His slender digits grasped at your waist, tugging halfheartedly. You knew better than anyone that Ryusei was capable of hoisting you into the air and tossing you around as though you were nothing. That being said, it was beyond obvious to you that he was obviously making a poor attempt on purpose.

“Wow, I dunno, Y/N. You see pre-tty wedged in here . . Maybe this’ll help.”

You had no idea when he had the opportunity to do it, but he had dropped his towel somewhere along the way, and you could feel him rubbing his semi-hard on against your panty-clad ass and making your clothed folds the focal point of attack.

“Ryusei—!” In frustration and arousal, you laboriously dragged out the syllables of his name. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you knew that something like this was coming.

“Mm, yeah, keep saying my name just like that, baby.” He sighed blissfully, shamelessly now humping himself onto you until he was full mast, his hardened shaft twitching excitedly between your pillowy ass cheeks while his blushed tip beaded with pre. “Hah, shit, that’s it. ‘Could cum right now, all over ya’. You want that, angel? Want me to paint this pretty ass—” He paused, raising his palm high into the air before bringing it down unforgivingly against your rear to accentuate his point. “Look at that. Ya want me to paint this pretty ass with my nut, hm?”

"Yes, please, Ryu . . ?" You said against your better judgment as your thighs pressed against one another and your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

He chuckled throatily, already pulling your panties down your plump thighs until they rested on the backs of your knees. He lined himself up with your already drooling cunt, not wasting any time to push into you with one single thrust. He bottomed out inside of you, drawing all of the breath from your lungs. His pelvis pressed flush against you, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips and ass as he greedily pulled you against him. It was almost as if he were trying to force himself further into you than he already could. You whimpered beneath your breath, clenching around his cock as you felt his balls pulsing against your sensitive clit. He had only just entered you, and already he was about to cum.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy.” He snarled through clenched teeth, picking up his pace. “Grippin’ me so tight, suckin’ me in so good, ngh—s-so desperate to be stuffed with a cock.”

His thrusts were sloppy and uncoordinated, but he did everything he could to keep bullying his cock into you, drool dribbling over his parted lips. It should be illegal for you to feel this good. It wasn't fair. He wanted to ravish you—take his time turning your cunt into his personal little pocket pussy, his perfect fucktoy, already premolded to the shape of his dick. But damn, he was about to bust, and you were approaching your climax too.

His pace grew relentless, barely giving you time to breathe or even think as he forced your hips to fuck back onto him, drawing a helpless gasp or delighted moan from your pretty lips with each impassioned thrust. You squirmed in his hold, your breath coming out in hot tufts as your end grew near.

“R-Ryu, baby, hah, mphf!!” You could barely get the words out as he fucked you within an inch of your life. “I-I’m close! M-My clit, please! I c-can’t reach it; touch me, plea—”

“No.”

His response was curt—simple, snarled out in what could only be described as a ferocious growl. His movements grew sloppier, his hips faltering in their pace as his cock throbbed heartily inside of you, ready to burst. “You cum on my, ngh, fuckin’ cock or not at all. Ya hear me, y’little cock-lovin’ slut?”

You whined in protest, to which the forward brought his palm down heavily on your already reddening cheeks from just his grip on you alone. If he could’ve reached you, he would’ve had a vice grip on your hair by now. “Answer me, bitch.” He spat with false malice, “Y’gunna cream around my cock? Make this fat dick a mess, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Came your loud, unabashed chorus of unfiltered, unadulterated moans of sheer bliss.

Neither of you could hold back anymore. Ryusei spilled rope after rope of his hot, sticky seed into your abused cunt while your pretty folds creamed around his shaft in a way that could only be described as tantalizing. Silence, aside from both of your spent keens and blissed panting, filled the air around you. Once he was certain you were plugged full with his cum, Ryusei effortlessly snatched your body from between the coffee table, causing your exhausted body to collapse into his lap. As exhausted as he was, he made sure to cup your head so that it didn’t hit the ground too hard. He was always the sweetest when his post-nut clarity hit him. He took in your expression, noticing that your eyes were half-lidded and glassy with fat tears spilling from your waterline; your drool-covered lips were plump, red, and raw with the faintest of indentations along them from your pearly teeth; and your body convulsed and twitched ever so slightly from the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Not to mention the utterly fucked-out and euphoric look on your face.

. . . Ah, shit. He was hard again.

“Still with me, princess? . . Good. Come suck this cock clean and let me ruin that pretty face of yours even more~.♡”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

MONSTER (m.)

neighbor!simon riley x reader

tags: zombie apocalypse au, neighbors to lovers, afab!reader, no pronouns, hurt/comfort, smut, NO MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

cw: description of corpses, simon is aggressive towards you, but also very soft!simon, protective!simon, violence, simon does murder someone, lots of kissing, wet&messy sex, multiple orgasms, edging (simon), missionary position, mating press, fingering, cunnilingus, creampie, breast play, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, pet names, eye contact, praise, teeny bit talkin u thru it

note: i think that's all the neccessary warnings but if u think smthn else should be added, let me know. please enjoy this MONSTER fic!!!

; you find yourself hiding out in your apartment as the undead begin walking. luckily, you have a well-trained military operative as a neighbor who is more than willing to keep you safe.

16.5k

“Residents are advised to remain in their homes. Authorities are unsure what is causing the severe aggression in people but the military has been called in nationwide. Please stay tuned as more information becomes available.” 

That was the first news broadcast. They reported  people getting sick-- airborne is what they had said. Stay inside, and stay away from other people. 

So you did just that – stayed hidden away in your apartment, glued to your television for every possible news cast that you could get. 

It was only a week later that the whole story had come out. 

The airborne strain is what caused the first swell of infections. Anyone who was susceptible to the infection would have already become sick by now. But those who were infected by the airborne strain turned…feral. They became like wild animals, barely human. Their skin rotted around them while they were still alive. Their brains died but their hearts remained pumping. They were walking corpses that had a vicious hunger for human flesh. 

The bites are what caused the following wave of infections. Something in their saliva turned you into whatever they were. 

You were scared. When you looked outside your window, down just a few floors to the ground, you could see hordes of people stumbling around, shuffling and shambling. 

Sometimes you would hide in your bathroom as the sounds of gunfire filled the city. It was the worst when it was the middle of the night. 

You weren’t equipped to deal with a disaster of this level – humans turning into disease spreading killers. You were having to ration your food, waiting for the day that there would be an announcement that it was safe. 

You wanted it all to be over. 

Then the news broadcasts stopped, cell service dropped, and the populace was left in the dark. 

You kept the lights off in your apartment, scared that the wandering hordes outside would see it and find you.

You had no idea how long you had been hiding in your apartment, spending most nights with your knees to your chest as you watched the static on the TV. You held out hope that the news broadcast would come back, but it never did. You spent the days and nights in mundane monotony, hopelessness settling in. 

The only interruption was a heavy knock on your front door, practically making you jump out of your skin at the sound of it. You hadn’t expected anyone to actually approach your apartment in search of you. It terrified you that anyone could be out there at a time like this.

With wide eyes and trembling hands, you grabbed a kitchen knife off of your counter and tiptoed towards the front door. Peeking through the peep-hole, you let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

Throwing the door open, you were faced with the familiar balaclava of your neighbor across the hall.

“Simon…” you whispered in relief. 

He wasn’t lunging nor did he have the milky-white eyes of the undead that you had seen on the news. He was normal. 

“What’re you planning to do with that?” he asked, eyeing the kitchen knife still in your hand.

“Oh!” you gasped, quickly placing it on the table by your front door, “Sorry, you– you– startled me when you knocked. Would you like to come in?”

His lidded, brown eyes gaze around your apartment behind you before landing on you again, “You have anyone else in there?”

You blink and slowly shake your head, “No, I’m alone.”

His brows furrow at that, “You’ve been by yourself this whole time?”

You shrug and nod, “What else was I supposed to do? The news reports said to stay inside…”

He hums, “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” you respond quickly, “Why?”

Suddenly there’s a hand on your forehead and you realize he’s checking your temperature. You remain still and allow him to do it before he's shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets. 

“Fever’s the first symptom,” he explains, “I’m goin’ door to door to check on everyone.”

“Oh!” you gasp, smiling, “That’s very nice of you, Simon.”

You knew that Simon was in the military. He was often out on long deployments and sometimes he had tasked you with keeping an eye on his apartment since you were right across the hall from him.

He was a nice enough guy, if not a little cold and blunt. He was tall and broad, clearly well built despite the fact that he usually wore a hoodie that hid his biceps from view. You’d gotten glimpses of his tattoos when you had knocked on his door one evening and asked him if he knew anything about water heaters because your hot water had been out for nearly a month in the dead of winter and the apartment manager hadn’t done anything to help you.

Simon had kindly come to your apartment, even though it was nearing midnight, rolled his sleeves up and fixed your problem within the hour. You had baked him cookies as a thank you that following weekend. 

“How is everyone doing..?” you venture to ask, leaning against the doorjamb as a breeze flows into your apartment from the open door.

He casts a glance down the hallway, almost like he’s thinking before sighing, “Few people are sick. They’ve been…” he hesitates for a moment, “Quarantined.”

“Probably for the best,” you respond, “Keep them from hurting anyone when they…turn.”

It feels so surreal to be talking about confining people to keep them from literally eating the healthy people. But it seems that’s where you’re all at now. 

“I’m going to barricade our floor,” he says suddenly, “Keep anyone from comin’ in that’s not supposed to come in.”

“What if we need to leave?” you ask, concerned, “We’re only going to have finite food and resources between us. The power’s also going to go out sooner rather than later, Simon.”

“I know,” he sighs, “But we should stay indoors for as long as possible. When the power runs out and we run out of supplies, we can figure out what to do next,” he explains, “The military was on the ground here last I heard, you’ve heard the gunshots. I don’t believe they’ll last much longer but it’s not wise for us to go out while they’re tryin’ to eliminate as many of these…undead as they can.”

“I guess that makes sense…” you whisper before his words finally settle on you, “What do you mean you don’t think they’ll last much longer..?”

He levels a hard stare at you that makes your heart race in anxiety. Simon was always a serious individual by nature but this is how you imagine he looks when he’s on duty, “Hundreds of thousands of people are sick out there. The airborne strain no doubt got to hundreds of the soldiers meant to be protecting the civilians. Eventually, they’ll eat each other from the inside out –literally.”

“You mean even the military is going to collapse..?” you ask, horrified. You try not to let the tears fill your eyes but Simon’s words fill you with a dreadful sense of hopelessness. 

“Communications are cut,” he says finally, “Radio’s been silent all day. Not sure what’s goin’ on but it’s not good.”

The tears quickly began to fall down your cheeks. Before you could wipe them away, a calloused thumb was doing it. You sniffled and looked up at him.

“I-I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you confessed softly, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive, Simon.”

“Don’t you worry about that, love,” he whispered, grabbing your chin gently to make you look up at him, “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

“I don’t want to be a burden…” you explain, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I took care of you,” he joked, though it held little humor, “You won’t be a burden. I’ll teach you what you need to know, alright?”

“You will?” he nods when you look up at him hopefully and you smile, “Thank you, Simon. I don’t really want to die by getting eaten by walking corpses.”

He chuckled under his mask, brown eyes crinkling around the edges a bit, “It is pretty fuckin’ mad, isn’t it?” You laugh, the first genuine smile you’ve cracked since before that first news broadcast, “Why don’t you come across the hall and stay with me, yeah?”

“Is that okay..?” You can’t deny the idea of being with company sounded more appealing than anything. You were definitely beginning to feel the ebbs of loneliness creeping in on you as the days of silence passed. Plus, Simon was…safe, “The news said not to…mingle in case of the disease spreading.”

He scoffed, “Rules like that don’t really apply anymore, love,” he mutters softly, “Plus, neither of us is sick so it’s not like we’ll spread it anyway. I can teach you some knife work and how to use a gun easier if we’re together, yeah?”

“Okay,” you smile, excitement surging in your chest, replacing the painful void of hopelessness you had, “Let me just get some things together and I’ll be right over, okay?”

“Sounds good, love,” you can tell he’s smiling under the mask. He gives you a pat on the shoulder before stepping away, “Just knock when you’re ready.”

You stand in your doorway until he disappears into his apartment. Once you’re alone, you cast a cursory glance around your living room, eyeballing everything you need to take before you dash into your bedroom. From the back of your closet, you grab a duffle bag that you have stowed away in the back of your closet from when you first moved in.

Navigating in the dark of your apartment was a bit of a challenge but you managed to stuff all the essentials into the bag. After slinging it over your shoulder, you step out of your apartment, making sure it was locked before knocking on Simon’s door. 

He opened it quickly, still wearing the same hoodie, jeans, and balaclava as before – his hood still up as well. He stepped aside for you to enter.

Unlike you, his apartment was illuminated by lamps – but his windows were covered with blackout curtains so no light would seep outside. It was pretty plainly decorated, just the essentials and a few photographs on the walls; upon closer inspection it looked like him and, you assumed, his comrades. 

You went to place your bag down but he stopped you, “I cleared out a drawer for you to put your clothes in for the time bein’.”

“Oh…” you gaped at him, surprised to hear that he had done something like that for you, “Thank you, Simon.”

He led you to his bedroom, standing in the hallway while you walked in. His bedroom was darkly decorated, black out curtains on the windows, navy blue sheets and a black comforter on his bed. His furniture was all dark toned as well. 

It suited him, you thought.

There were two drawers open and empty, letting you know that those were yours for the taking. You knelt down and opened your duffle bag, carefully folding and placing your items inside. When you got to your undergarments, you cast a glance towards the door to find that he was no longer standing there. Breathing a sigh of relief, you quickly filled the top drawer with all of your delicates before closing the drawers and standing up. 

Flicking on the light to his en suite bathroom, you placed your toothbrush and toothpaste alongside his, the sight making you blush before you went to add your belongings into the shower as well. 

Realistically, you knew that the water was going to go out sooner or later but you planned to enjoy it for as long as you possibly could until then. 

When you ventured into the living room, Simon was in the kitchen, the cabinets open as he scanned over all of his belongings.

“Is something wrong..?” you asked softly.

“Thinkin’ of how to ration,” he replied quickly, “Have you got any stuff over at yours still?”

You nod your head, “It’s not much but I have some canned food and like...rice and stuff if you want that.”

“Yeah, it’ll be good to consolidate all our supplies in the long run,” he explained, “You got your keys?”

“Yes!” you pull your keyring from your pocket and drop it into his open palm.

“I’ll be right back love, make yourself at home,” he gave you a gentle nudge towards the couch before leaving you there. 

You took a seat on the couch, realizing just how tired you were. You hadn’t realized how tense you’re been for so long on your own. Now that you were safe and with company, you could almost feel the tension sliding right off of you. You rested your head against the back of the couch and closed your eyes, intending to just rest your eyes and enjoy the peace you felt. 

You were startled awake by the sound of the door slamming shut. You nearly jumped out of your skin, wide eyes finding Simon’s who looked a little sheepish.

“Sorry, love,” he whispered, “Didn’t realize you’d be sleepin’.”

“Didn’t mean to…” you confess, standing up and stretching, watching Simon lug a bag of food into the kitchen.

“Haven’t been sleepin’ well?” he asked, his back to you as he began to stock up the cabinets. 

“Not really…” with a sigh, you lean back against the counter with your arms crossed over your chest, “I’ve been stressed about this whole situation.”

“It is…” he pauses in his words, placing a bag of dried beans into the cabinet, “Nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“Society is really collapsing around us, isn’t it?” you bravely ask, although you were scared to hear the answer.

“Yeah, darlin’,” his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it and that brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

“This is so fucked up,” you cry, burying your face in your hands, “Thank you, Simon. You didn’t have to offer to help me and I really owe you a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he closes the cabinet, the bag he brought finally empty before turning to you, “I’ll make sure you know everything you need to know to survive.”

“I doubt I’ll be as good as you,” you joke, a crooked, wobbly smile on your face. 

He steps forward and cups your chin, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “No one’s as good as me, sweetheart.”

You chuckle softly at his words. 

This is what you needed – someone by your side to keep you sane as society collapsed and everyone that you knew died. 

That night, you slept better than you had in days. Simon had given you his bed, offering to take the couch. You had argued, telling him that you couldn’t take his bed like that. 

“I’m up most nights anyway, love,” he had assured you, “At least someone around here can get a good night’s sleep in that bed.”

When you woke up, fully rested you might add, Simon was already awake, drinking some tea. You sat down beside him, enjoying a nice quiet morning.

“How do you feel about learnin’ some basics today, love?” he asked when he was cleaning his mug. 

“Sure!” you agreed, “I have to warn you though, I really know next to nothing…”

“That’s alright,” he chuckled, waving to you to follow him to the living room, “I’m a good teacher, I promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you watched as he stood up and went to a closet in the hallway, pulling out an assortment of bags and carriers.

He placed them down beside the couch and took a seat next to you. “I think it’s best if we start with you gettin’ comfortable with the feeling of holding a weapon in your hands,” he explained, pulling out a knife bigger than any you’ve seen, “This is a hunting knife.”

He handed it towards you, his fingers confidently gripping the blade between two fingers. You wrapped your hand around the handle, testing its weight in your hands. It was dangerous and nerve-wracking, holding a weapon in your hands. 

“I know it’s scary,” he assured, “But when you’re comfortable holding knives then you can learn to use them properly to protect yourself.”

“What about guns..?” you find yourself asking, still gripping the knife in your hands, turning it over and adjusting your grip just to desensitize yourself to it. 

“We’ll tackle guns when you get used to knives,” he replied.

“So you have guns?” you ask, letting him pull the hunting knife from your hands.

“Of course I do,” he reaches into a bag by his feet, pulling out a pistol. 

Your eyes go wide as you watch him handle it effortlessly, checking the chamber and moving it around in his hands like it wasn’t a dangerous weapon.

“When you’re ready, I’ll teach you to properly use one so you can use it in case of an emergency,” he explained, placing the pistol on the table carefully.

“I’m going to have to kill other people…” you mutter to yourself.

Simon pulled out another knife, passing it into your hands, “Combat knife,” he supplied simply, “And you’ll have to kill them but…I don’t think they’re people anymore, love.”

“I guess that’s true…” you mutter, holding the knife with a firm grip, “I’ve only seen them on the news before it stopped broadcasting. What about you?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em in person either,” he replies with a shrug, “Some of my…teammates,” the words seem awkward coming from his mouth but he continued, “Were givin’ me some information before they went radio silent.”

“What happened to them?” you couldn’t help but ask.

A brief flash of sadness flashed over his eyes but he quickly sobered up, leaning back against the couch with a sigh, “Not a clue. I guess there’s no way for me to know. I just know it was getting bad. Dangerous.”

“I’m sorry about your teammates,” was all you could find in supply of an answer.

Simon didn’t respond, simply letting his gaze fall back on the knife, “Let me show you some handling techniques for you to practice.”

Realizing that he didn’t want to talk about the world outside anymore, you let him lead you through a crash course on knife handling and knife safety. He took the time to teach you the different kinds of knives in his possession and you nodded along as best you could but if you’re being honest – it was primarily lost on you.

You’re not sure if Simon knew that but he seemed to enjoy teaching you, so you let him ramble on to his heart’s content. 

By the end of the day, you were confident enough in at least not accidentally cutting yourself on the sharp blades. 

In order to repay him, you made dinner for the both of you – though, really, it was just some heated up canned soup-- and did the dishes for him so he didn’t have to.

By the end of the night, you both found yourselves on the couch, watching a movie he had put on. With there being no way to watch anything else, you were grateful he had a collection of movies to his name – you simply streamed your favorite shows and movies and called it a day. 

It ticked late into the night and before you knew it, you were falling asleep on the couch, leaned against his shoulder. You could feel him shift and knew you should open your eyes, but the tugs of sleep at the edges of your subconscious kept you from doing so. Suddenly, you felt the soft beat of his heart against your ear and the heavy weight of his arm laid across you. You briefly registered that you were now wrapped in his arms before the final tug of sleep pulled you under.

When you woke up, you were in bed. 

And Simon wasn’t in the apartment. 

“Simon..?” you called, looking around everywhere for him – to no avail. 

You ventured to the door, carefully pulling it open and stepping out. You looked down the hall towards the stairwell before you heard a grunt of effort from the other end. 

“Simon!” you called, making him look up.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, pausing in his task of pushing a large bookcase towards the elevator. 

“You weren’t inside…” you mutter, wandering down the hall towards him, “What’re you doing?”

“Barricading this elevator,” he replied, giving the heavy object another push with a grunt of effort. 

“Oh, right, you mentioned you wanted to do that,” you mumbled, taking a moment to look over him.

He wasn’t wearing his hoodie for once, instead wearing a tight black t-shirt that was sticking to his skin with sweat. He wore his jeans with a holster and gun on his hip as well. 

“Do you need any help?” you asked but he shook his head.

“No, you can’t help with this, love,” he grunted, giving the bookcase one final, heavy push before it was flush against the elevator doors. 

It was then that you noticed the straps nailed to the wall. He took them and secured them to the other side of the elevators, making sure the bookcase was fastened firmly. 

“Enough people push this and it’ll come down but at least it’s secure enough,” he explained, giving his work a final once over.

“Do you know where the others are?” you find yourself asking as he makes his way to the other end of the hallway

He pauses at that, seemingly thinking of his next words carefully, “I checked door to door. Most of our neighbors got the hell out to go see their families when everything went to shit. A few…were sick and turned in their apartments so I had to…put them down.”

You cringed at his wording, you knew he was trying to phrase it delicately for you but you weren’t sure if you would have preferred him to just say he killed them. ‘Put them down’ made it sound like they were rabid dogs and not people you once knew and smiled at in the halls. 

“Found some notes in some of them,” Simon said suddenly, waving you to follow him back to the apartment – to safety, “Guess we can only hope they made it to their families in one piece.”

“I hope so,” you muttered optimistically, slipping past him when he opened the front door for you.

You quickly realize how difficult it is to tell how much time is passing with Simon’s blackout curtains, which he refused to allow you to open for fear of attracting any unwanted attention. With there being no more news broadcasts or anything on TV, you didn’t even know the date anymore and you were too scared to ask for fear of knowing how long you’ve been living like this. Your food rations were slowly dwindling but neither of you talked about it. 

You know you’re still waking up in the mornings and sleeping at night – Simon seems to run on an extremely specific schedule. When you asked him about it, he told you it was from the military, which made sense. Either way, you were grateful to him for helping you keep on track.

The water and power were both still on, but Simon kept telling you not to keep your hopes up about it lasting long. 

You spent your days learning knife etiquette and practicing stabbing various targets that Simon made for you. You’ve grown much more confident. Of course, you would be no match for your teacher himself but against a bumbling walking corpse? You were sure you would be able to at least buy yourself time to escape if you needed. 

Eventually, Simon decided it was time to move onto what you were most scared of – guns. 

“I’m going to tell you a few things before I let you hold this,” he said, eyes hardened to show how serious he was as he held a pistol in his hands, “Are you paying attention?”

“Of course,” you breathe, wringing your hands in front of you as you eye the weapon.

“You can’t be scared of your weapons,” he advises, “You need to be confident and sure with every movement you make. It’s not a toy.”

“Hard not to be scared of it…” you confess, “What if I hurt someone with it or…I don’t know.”

“That’s why I’m teaching you all this,” he says, “You’ll get confident and less scared the more you handle them. We’re startin’ you off simple and you can build up to bigger and badder guns. For now…pistols will do.”

“Okay,” you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Tell me what I need to know.”

“That’s the spirit,” he praises, holding the pistol up for you to see how he grips it, “First, never put your finger on the trigger unless you’re going to shoot. Just rest your finger on the side like this, see,” he turns his hand and lets you see the way he keeps his finger hovering beside the trigger rather than on it. 

You nod your head, “Got it.”

“Take it,” he says, “Carefully.”

You stare at the offered weapon for just a moment before you reach out and delicately take it from his hands, “Next, never point it at anyone you don’t intend to shoot. Whether it’s loaded or not, keep it pointed away from people and yourself.”

You mimic his grip, grimacing when you realize it's actually much heavier than you thought it would be. It was definitely going to take practice before you built up the ability to hold it for long periods. You follow his instructions and keep it pointed to the ground – albeit awkwardly.

“Here,” he suddenly steps behind you.

You feel your heart catch in your chest when you feel him press against your back. He’s incredibly warm and firm as you lean against him. He carefully takes your hands in his, supporting your hands and holding the gun eye level.

“Just practice lining up your sight and lookin at a target,” he says.

His face is so close to yours, his voice right in your ear, deep and gravelly with that heavy accent. You struggle to process his words, hoping to god he doesn’t hear how fast your heart has started racing.

You close one eye and focus on aiming at a photo on his wall, a small picture frame. His large, gloved hands dwarf your own and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him. He smells like cigarettes and the body wash you may have taken a quick whiff of when you used his shower for the first time. You find yourself wondering when he has time to smoke since you’ve never actually seen him do it. 

Your mind is blank beyond anything other than him. How big and warm he is, how safe you feel with him wrapped around you, how good he smells and how much you love his voice as he utters tips and commands into your ear – sickly sweet in that way he always seems to talk to you. 

If you focused too much on it, you’d slowly come to the realization that you may have a crush on him. But you quickly dash that thought from your head and focus back on his gun lesson as he teaches you how to eject a magazine with ease. 

This is about survival. Neither of you have time to dwell on a silly crush. 

A few days later, you’re standing in the eerie hallway with him. He had offered for you to just stay in the apartment and relax while he did the work but you honestly didn’t want to be alone so you opted to sit with him as he worked.

Your back was against the wall, sipping a cup of instant coffee you had made. Simon was silent as he worked on barricading the door to the stairwell. You both agreed that it was best if it was still accessible just in case something happened, but you didn’t want any unnecessary visitors making their way into the safe little haven you’ve both made for yourselves.

“We should think about looting the empty apartments,” you said suddenly, trying to keep your eyes off of his bulging biceps as he yanked on a strap that was attached to the doorknob to keep the door from being opened. 

“That’s a good idea,” he grunted, stepping back to admire his handiwork when he finally finished testing its durability, “Let’s do it.”

He offered his hand and you smiled, taking it and letting him pull you to your feet. You brushed off imaginary dust in an effort to hide how flustered just holding his hand for that brief second made you. 

You started at the other end of the hallway from your shared apartment. Simon displayed a disturbing aptitude for opening up very locked doors. You chose not to comment on it, instead silently being thankful that he was able to do it at all. 

“How about we make a loot pile in the hallway so we can bring it all inside when we’re ready?” you suggest.

“Alright,” he responds, eyes scanning over the cabinets in the kitchen, “Food is our main priority but it wouldn’t hurt to have some medical supplies.”

You agreed and started helping him pick things out, filling your arms full of canned goods and pill bottles which you then deposited in the hallway by your apartment. 

The two of you made it through a handful of apartments, securing a nice resource pile for the two of you. You were feeling good, hopeful, as you stared at your future right there in the silent hallway.

It wasn’t until you opened one in particular— it belonged to a shy, college kid, you remember— that it seems everything changes for you. He couldn’t have been but 18, away from home for the first time and living in his first apartment on his own. 

Simon is busy looting the kitchen, you can hear him placing cans on the counter, consolidating whatever it is he chooses to bring with him. You check the bedroom, looking through the drawers and pocketing a bottle of aspirin and nausea medication before you move to the bathroom. 

The second you push open the door, you’re met with the force of another person shoving into you. You cry out as you hit the ground, the person falling on top of you. You panic and scramble out from under them, their coughing and wheezing forcing you to look at them. 

It’s the kid who lives there. He’s deathly pale, dark circles under his eyes which are bloodshot. His lips are crusty and dry, seemingly struggling with finding something to say.

“Pl-” he starts to whisper before you see movement in the corner of your eye.

“Simon, wait!” you cry when you see the knife.

But it’s too late, the hunting knife you had held with your own two hands more times than you could count, is embedded in the kids skull, spraying blood all over you. All you can do is make a pathetic squeak, fear and panic rendering you unable to say anything as you watch his now lifeless body flop onto the ground beside you, his still warm blood soaking into your clothes as it runs out of the gaping hole in his head.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?!” Simon suddenly shouts, storming over to you and yanking you to your feet roughly.

You stumble up, bumping into him as you stare at the dead body on the floor, “He..He was alive…I…”

“He was sick!” Simon snarls, roughly wrapping his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him. There was a fire in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before, making you cower, “You’re lucky he didn’t bite you! Fuckin’ hell, are you stupid?!”

“H-He was talking, he was just sick, Simon!” you argued, tears filling  your eyes as you stared up at him, “W-We could have given him medicine, could have–”

“He was a dead man walking,” he shouts, the volume making you flinch, “He was going to turn. Are you a fuckin’ idiot? Thinkin’ we could save him?”

The tears you were holding fell down your cheeks at his cruel words and you glared up at him, “I-I’m not stupid, I just…h-he talked to me!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Simon’s eyes narrow, “He was a threat. A liability. Don’t fuckin’ worry about him, worry about yourself.”

He releases you with a rough shove, taking out some of his anger on you. He continues to glare at you for a long minute before turning his back on you and stalking out of the room, muttering about how stupid it was that you could have killed yourself over some random kid. 

Your eyes fall on said kid, no more blood coming from the wound, simply coagulating on the floor around him, “Y-You’re a monster.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, quiet and shaky. But Simon hears them clear, freezing on the other side of the doorway, in the hall. 

“I’m a monster..?” he asks, voice suddenly eerily calm. He turns around, his large body taking up an obscene amount of the doorway. You can tell he’s intentionally trying to intimidate you, a punishment that makes your cheeks heat up in anger, “I’ve been breakin’ my back to keep your stupid ass alive and I’m a monster? Because I put down some fucker that was gonna turn rabid in a day?” he glares at you, squinting through the mask and drawing his dark eyebrows together, “You think it’s easy for me? I’m doin’ everything I can to keep you safe!” he shouts so loud that your ears ring and you flinch from the sound alone, “But if you can’t appreciate that then maybe you should be on your fuckin’ own and see how long it takes before you’re ripped apart by those feral bastards!”

He storms off at that, loudly slamming the front door, indicating his final exit from the apartment. You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks only for more to replace them and you sniffle, casting a sorrowful glance at the dead kid before creeping out of the apartment yourself.

Simon is nowhere in the hall but the supplies you both gathered are still there. 

You carefully open the door to Simon’s apartment and peek inside, finding it completely silent and still. You’re not sure where he went but you decide to busy yourself with loading all your looted items into the kitchen and sorting them all for when he returns.

You’re not sure how long you take to finish but Simon still isn’t back and you become worried.

He had said you should be on your own but surely he didn’t actually just leave the building, did he?

You wander over to his supplies and find a handful of his weapons gone. Your heart shoots into your throat and more tears prick at your eyes before you’re dashing out of the apartment once again.

The door to the stairwell is no longer held shut, indicating that Simon had, in fact, gone that way. You curse yourself. If you had checked sooner then he would have at least been somewhere close but if he really left, he would be long out of the building by now. 

You creep towards the door and slowly push it open. You hadn’t even left the floor since before this whole thing started. It was eerily quiet, but if you listened close you could hear some muffled shuffling from somewhere. 

You crept out, quickly realizing how dark it was. You pulled out your keychain which held a tiny flashlight that you used to navigate when it was dark in the apartment. 

You crept down the stairs, holding your breath with every step until you finally reached the floor below you. You can hear muffled sounds from beyond the door and slowly push it open, flashing the light down the hallway. 

It's too small and weak to penetrate the stifling darkness. The power was not on on this floor for some reason and that immediately set you on edge. You could still hear some shuffling and strange, raspy noises from within the darkness. 

“Simon..?” you call into the impenetrable, oppressive darkness. The noises stop for a moment and you swallow around the nervous lump in your throat, “Simon?” you call again, louder.

The noises return, shuffling, heavy footsteps advance on you. You strain your eyes to see past the weak illumination that your flashlight provides. You’re breathing heavily, you realize, anxiety making your lungs feel constricted as the footsteps get closer and closer.

All of the sudden, a disgusting, rotted face appears in your sights, arms outstretched towards you. You scream out in unbridled terror as it grabs you, its bony, sickening fingers latching onto your shoulders. You attempt to push it away and run but you trip over your own two feet in your panic. Your flashlight flies out of sight, its dim illumination casting down the hallway, leaving you to push at the undead corpse as it collapses on top of you. Its weight is more than you thought it would be, leaving your arms trembling as you struggle to keep it from falling on top of you. It fights your resistance and chomps its disgusting teeth at your face, attempting to get a bite out of your flesh. 

It reeks, you realize, like the smell of a dead animal you pass by on the street. It makes your stomach turn and you fear you’re going to throw up from the smell alone. The rotting skin of its chest slips and pulls away from the bone and muscle and you gag, tears coming to your eyes as you realize the very real and terrifying danger you’re in.

You have no way to get out of this. 

As you look down the hall, where the light barely pierced the inky depths, you can see more figures emerging from further down the hall, shuffling and rasping in interest at your fight with the one on top of you.

Tears fall down your temples and a sob bursts from your chest as you slowly come to terms that this is how you’re going to die. You can’t hold the sheer weight of the undead above you for much longer.

“S-Simon…” you call out, weak and strained. You know even if he’s nearby he won’t hear you. You have to try harder, get your voice out, shout for him. You swallow around your tears and panic, taking a full breath before shouting, “Simon! Please! Simon, help me!”

You don’t even register the door opening behind you. But you do notice when the weight of the corpse is gone, a knife stabbing into its skull before a large hand grabs you by the back of the shirt and drags you back into the stairwell. The undead follow after you, slamming themselves against the door as soon as it slams closed. 

You’re trembling and unable to blink or breathe as the shock of what just happened washes over you. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” Simon all but screams, grabbing you by the front of your shirt, dragging you onto unsteady feet that can’t hold you up before slamming you against the wall. You can still hear those zombies slamming against the door. Your ears are ringing and you barely register Simon shouting at you. 

He shakes you and it finally draws your attention to him. His eyes are wide, irises darting back and forth over your face. He doesn’t look nearly as angry as you would expect. Instead he looks…concerned. Scared.

“Simon…” you whisper, the tears not stopping as they fall down your cheeks. He’s the only thing holding you up right now, hands balled in the material of your shirt, keeping you pinned to the wall, “I-I was…I was looking for you…”

He’s panting, shoulders rising and falling as he struggles to compose himself, “Lookin’ for me?”

“Y-You said you were leaving and I…” you whimper, “I-I didn’t want you to go so…I went to find you…I didn’t think that…”

You see his jaw tense through his mask before he slowly lets go of your shirt. Your knees tremble under your own weight and your hands find purchase against his chest.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he mutters, stepping away from you with a heavy sigh, “Just don’t…do that again, got it?”

You nod your head, sniffling as you feel your tears slowly come to a stop, “Th-Thank you, Simon…for saving me…”

“Yeah,” he grunts, turning his back to you, storming back up the stairs to your floor. 

You unsteadily follow behind him, still a shaky and anxious mess. When you get into the apartment, Simon is in the kitchen, barely sparing you a glance.

“Go take a shower,” he orders you.

You linger in the doorway for a moment, hoping that he’ll look at you even for a second. But he doesn’t and you hang your head, skulking off to take your shower with a heavy heart. 

The night rolls around and Simon hasn’t said a word, putting you more on edge with each passing minute. He sits, manspreading on the couch with a glass of Kentucky bourbon in a glass, sipping on it and watching some old movie that he put on play. Usually, he asks you if you’d like to watch with him, but this time he didn’t and that just makes your heart ache even more. 

“Simon…” you venture to ask, casting a glance at him. His hard gaze doesn’t move from the TV, “I-I want to apologize–”

“For what?” he asks, the first words he’s spoken to you in hours. They’re cold and make you wince.

“F-For what I said…” you mutter, tucking your legs underneath you as you turn to look at him, “I…I was mean. I know you’re doing all you can for me and it wasn’t fair of me to get angry at you…I was just…startled, I guess.”

“You were naive,” he snaps, finally looking at you with a harsh glare, “You had no fuckin’ idea what those monsters were and you almost got yourself killed because of it.”

“Y-You’re right…” you whisper, feeling the tears pricking your eyes for the millionth time that day, “I’m sorry, Simon.”

He doesn’t respond, simply throwing back his glass of bourbon, downing it all before he stands up, “Sleep on the couch.”

The last thing you hear from him is his bedroom door slamming shut. You lay down that night, quietly crying into the pillow until you finally fell back asleep.

“Wake up!” a barking voice is what draws you out of your slumber. 

Still shaken up from yesterday’s previous events, you sit straight up, wild, fearful eyes looking around before your gaze falls upon Simon. He stands in front of the couch, dressed in full tactical gear. Even his balaclava is different, with a hard plate in the shape of a skull covering the front. He looks intimidating.

“Wh-What’re you doing?” you ask, turning yourself so your feet are on the floor. 

“We’re trainin’, get up,” he commands and you have no choice but to follow.

You find yourself following him out of the apartment and into the dimly lit hallway. It’s eerily quiet as always and you feel more intimidated than ever standing before him in nothing but some flimsy pajamas while he wears full gear. Even his gaze is different through that skull mask, hard and cold, looking down at you like you’re insignificant. 

It’s so different from before. He was so kind and patient with you before and you can tell that now he’s going to really train you. 

“What’re we doing today..?” you timidly ask, wringing your hands in front of yourself.

“Escaping,” he responds.

“Escaping?” you parrot back dumbly. 

His glare narrows down at you, “You’re going to try to get away from me and make it towards that exit.”

He points to the other end of the hallway, to the stairwell. You glance up at him, where he stands between you and your exit. 

“Okay…” you lick your lips nervously, “Do you want me to just run past you?”

“For now,” he drawls. He sounds almost bored, hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest.

You take a deep breath and attempt to bolt past him but his reflexes are frighteningly fast. His arm shoots out before you even realize it, catching you around your middle and halting you immediately. 

The air is punched out of your lungs from the force of his arms and you stumble back with a groan. 

“You’re goin’ to have to do better than that,” he says, looking down his nose at you like you had offended him with your poor attempt. 

You brace yourself again and attempt to run past him. This time, you attempt to fake him out and run in the other direction but it ends the same with his arm grappling around your middle and you still not any closer to the exit.

“Again!” he barks and you can’t help but wonder if this was how he was when he was training recruits in the military. 

You try again and again to run past him, duck under his arm, avoid his reach – everything to no avail. After several attempts, you’re left panting and frustrated. Simon is still as cool as a cucumber, staring at you in pure boredom as he awaits your next move. 

You run again, making rough contact with his arm once again. But this time you start fighting against his hold. You push with all your might, shoving at his arm and his side in an attempt to slip past him. 

“There you go,” he says, though it sounds more condescending than proud, “Fight me.”

You slam your fist down over his arm, successfully knocking it out of the way and giving you a chance to bolt past him. You have a clear view of the stairwell door and you can almost taste the success. 

But you’re stopped suddenly when a rough hand grabs the back of your shirt. You cry out in shock when he yanks you back towards him, carelessly tossing you to the floor. You hit the rough carpet harshly, the coarse material skinning your hands and knees and you cry out at the pain.

“Simon!” you chastise him, glaring up at him when he comes to stand in front of you, “That fucking hurt!”

“Oh, it hurt?” he sneers, squatting beside you, behemoth form still dwarfing your own as he gets down on your level, “It’s not supposed to feel good. This is training. You’re supposed to try and survive, not whine and cry because you fell on the floor.”

You sit on your burning knees and glare at him. He glares back at you, neither of you backing down. 

“Get up,” he commands, standing up, “Go again.”

By the time he allowed the training to be called off, your body was sore and bruised from the amount of times you’d been thrown to the floor. Your knees burn and ache from where the skin had been rubbed off and you fight back tears as you watch the dried blood crust on your skin. 

Simon is no more rough for wear than he was before – all your hitting, kicking, pushing, and biting hadn’t deterred him in the slightest. He wasn’t even winded. 

Worse more, you hadn’t made it anywhere near the door. 

You weren’t sure how Simon felt about it. If he was mad or disappointed, he didn’t say. As soon as you got into the apartment, he went about making dinner after ordering you to wash up. 

When you got out of the shower, he tossed a first aid kit to you and silently sat down in the kitchen to eat. 

Usually, you would sit with him but you found yourself deciding to eat on the couch by yourself. A sense of loneliness settled upon you that you hadn’t felt since before you had moved into this apartment with him and you find yourself hiding your tears in your food. 

Once again, you’re sleeping on the couch. You wouldn’t have minded it if it didn’t feel so much like a punishment. You felt like a dog banished to sleep in the dog house and you can’t help but curl in on yourself at the cold, empty feeling that it causes. 

The next morning follows much the same with Simon startling you awake with a barked order. Your body aches and your wounds sting with every movement you make as you drag yourself behind him to the hallway.

“Do we have to do this again today, Simon?” you ask hopelessly, “I’m really tired…”

“Do you think those undead freaks are going to care if you’re tired?” he snaps at you, arms crossed, making him appear even bigger than he already was, “You’re goin’ to learn how to escape from holds.”

“Simon…” you start to complain but a sharp look from him has the words dying on your tongue and you hand your head in defeat. 

He’s no more gentle than he was yesterday with you, rough grips and manhandling you around to fit his needs. He barks in your ear, ordering what you need to do and when to break various holds that he has on your body. 

He feels so much stronger and more powerful than those zombies had. At least they were mindless and slow. Simon was fast and smart. 

“Put your hand under mine to break the hold!” he shouts, clearly frustrated the more you fuck up breaking his holds. 

“Not like that! Are you daft?” he grits through clenched teeth, “You’re goin’ to fuckin wind up dead if you keep this up!”

You feel your heart rate speed up and you find yourself almost panicking under his completely oppressive energy. His shouting only sets you more on edge and the tears begin to prick at your eyes once again. 

“None of those fuckin’ tears,” he snarls, tightening his hold on you when you squirm and attempt to rid his body weight off of yours, “Do what I told you! You can break the hold if you just fuckin’ focus!”

“Simon, I-I don’t want to do this anymore!” you cry, the tears tumbling down your cheeks as you cry out the words. Your cheeks feel hot and you can barely catch your breath as you weakly punch at his chest.

“There’s no tappin’ out,” he snaps, tightening his grip on you even more. Your body aches where he holds and you know you’re going to be feeling those bruises for days to come. 

“Simon!” you practically screech, freeing one hand and harshly slamming your fist down over the hard faceplate. 

It seems to startle him enough into loosening his hold and you manage to kick back away from him in your panic, foot hitting him square in the chest in an effort to propel yourself away – putting as much distance as fast as you can between the two of you.

“Simon…” you whimper, voice wobbling, “I am not one of your soldiers. You need to stop trying to train me like I am!”

You watch him adjust his jaw through his mask before he pops his neck. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and every hair on your body stands up in pure fear. 

He’s on top of you before you even have the chance to say another word. You cry out when the force of his body forces you back and your head cracks harshly against the floor. Your vision blacks out from the force and you groan in pain but he doesn’t stop, a rough forearm pinning against your throat, cutting off your air.

“That was good,” he says, voice cold and devoid of any emotion, “You managed to escape, now do it again!”

Your hands push weakly against him, but you’re worn out and your head is starting to hurt like hell. You open your mouth to say something but his hold on your throat ceases any words from escaping. 

You reach up to his face and his cold gaze narrows at you, “You already tried that. It won’t work again.”

But instead of hitting him, your fingers wrap around the face plate and you attempt to push it off – hoping that it’ll obscure his vision enough but he shakes you off with ease. 

He catches your gaze and what he sees gives him pause. Wide, teary eyes, red rimmed and filled to the brim with fear. Tears wet your cheeks and he finally notices the way your entire body is tense and trembling beneath him. 

“P-Please,” you finally find your voice when his weight eases a bit off of your throat, “I-I don’t want to do this anymore, Simon, please.”

That has his own eyes widening and you take his slackened hold as an opportunity to run away. He watches you scramble up from your spot on the floor and stumble back to the apartment, disappearing within with a slam that makes him flinch. He looks down at his own hands and finds that he can’t conjure up any thoughts that aren’t about you.

You hear him enter the apartment, his heavy footfalls pacing around the living room. You’re hiding in the bathroom, leaning against the door with your knees against your chest to muffle your cries. 

He enters the bedroom and pauses, no doubt looking for you before he approaches the bathroom and you feel a brief ping of fear that he’s going to open the door but instead he softly knocks. 

“Will you come out so we can talk?” he asks, voice holding none of the cold, harshness that it had for the last few days. 

“G-Go away, Simon,” you sniffle.

You can hear him sigh before he follows your request and steps away from the door. You can hear him linger in the bedroom for several more minutes, kicking his boots off before he’s quietly closing the bedroom door and leaving. 

The silence and loneliness sinks in once more and you find yourself sobbing into your knees all over again. Your head kills and you feel almost nauseous through your cries from the headache but you can’t stop yourself. 

You have no idea how long you cry for but before you know it, the bedroom door opens once again and you can hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he approaches the bathroom door once again.

“I made something for you to eat,” he says through the door, “Figured you might be hungry.” At the idea of food, your stomach growls, “It’ll be waiting for you at the table when you want it.”

You listen to him walk away and you know this is his way of luring you out of the bathroom. Part of you desperately wants to spite him for being so mean to you and refuse his food but the growling in your stomach is too much to bear and you can’t help but clamber to your feet and quietly pull the door open. 

When you reach the living room, Simon is facing the TV, giving no indication that he realizes you’ve come out of your hiding place. You sneak into the kitchen to see a bowl of soup sitting nicely at an empty spot. You take a seat and quickly devour the entire bowl, barely taking a break to breathe before it’s completely empty. 

You place it in the sink and carefully sneak back out of the kitchen, intending to slide right past him but in your haste you fail to notice that he’s no longer sitting on the couch. Instead, you come face to face with him sitting at the foot of his bed, clearly waiting for you. 

You freeze when you see him and all too soon that headache comes racing back to the forefront of your mind. 

Simon’s no longer wearing the skull plate and instead wears his usual black balaclava with the skull print on it. He wears a t-shirt and sweatpants, obviously having let himself get comfortable while you hid in the bathroom earlier. 

He looks up at you the second you step into the room and the two of you halt in a stalemate, simply staring at one another while you wait for the other to make the first move. 

You’re the first to break eye contact when a heavy throb goes through your head, making you close your eyes and bring your hand to your head until it passes. You hear the bed creak when Simon stands up before his hands are cupping your cheeks.

“You hit your head, didn’t you?” he asks, soft and gentle. 

You can’t stop yourself from glaring and snapping, “No thanks to you.”

His gaze softens as his hand finds its way to the back of your head, ever so softly prodding at the sizable bump that’s there, “I’m sorry, love.”

“If you’re sorry then why did you do it?” you find those damned tears returning all over again as you continue to glare up at him, “I told you I didn’t like it and I wanted to stop.”

“I know…” he whispers, hands once again cupping your cheeks, thumbing your tears away.

“What was your problem, Simon?” you tearfully ask, sniffling pathetically, “You hurt me. You were scary – scarier than those stupid zombies downstairs. Why did you do that?”

“I got…I was…” he struggled to find the right words before he stepped away from you with a troubled expression, “I was angry— scared. I just—I don’t know.”

“You were scared?” you scoff, “I’m the one who got attacked.”

“You think that wasn’t scary for me?” he asks in disbelief, “You almost got eaten alive on my watch.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” you sniffle, angrily storming over to the bed, letting yourself flop down on the comfortable mattress for the first time in days.

“I know,” he whispers, “Just let me explain, okay?”

You lay there silently, listening to his weight shift where he stands. You take notice of how his scent lingers much more on the blankets now that he’s slept on it. It smells good, you note, musky and delicate. He doesn’t wear anything that smells particularly overpowering. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “Ever since this shit happened, I’ve been driving myself crazy. I lost contact with my team, my friends. I’m not able to get anymore information on what's goin’ on outside. I’m worried about you, I’m trying my hardest to make sure you can go out there and survive on your own if you need to. I feel like I’m going crazy and I’m scared because I’ve never felt this out of control before.”

You sit up and turn to face him, “How long have you been feeling like this, Simon..?”

“A while,” he mutters, turning his back on you when your gaze starts to feel like too much, “And then you called me a monster and I just…” he trails off, seemingly unsure of how to explain his feelings properly.

“I’m sorry for that, Simon,” you mutter sincerely, reaching out to grab his arm, urging him to turn around, “I never should have said that. And I didn’t mean it, really.”

“Well, you were right, weren’t you?” he scoffs, “I am a monster. Fuck, look at what I did to you – how I treated you. I was punishing you and I never should have.”

“We both made mistakes,” you compromise with a wobbly smile, “We’re dealing with a lot, right? The fucking world is ending and we’ve been trapped in this godforsaken building for who knows how long. It’ll get easier.”

He stares at you for a long moment, lashes fluttering as his gaze softens. You can’t find it in yourself to break eye contact. After a long moment, he seems to decide on something before reaching up and yanking the mask covering his face off. 

You feel your breath halt in your chest as your eyes widen, taking in every inch of his newly revealed face. His soft, brown eyes are a juxtaposition to the rest of his ruggedly handsome face. You stand up, never letting your eyes stray from him, a feeling of pure awe coming over you.

“You’re so handsome, Si,” you whisper, reaching forward to brush your fingers over a scar that cuts through his eyebrow to his eyelid, “It’s nice to finally see you.”

“I wanted you to see the real me,” he whispers, “Not the asshole soldier I was.”

“I’m glad you’ve trusted me with this,” you let your fingers wander along his skin, feeling the stubble on his jaw that he hadn’t yet shaved. 

“I need to tell you,” he sounds breathy, reaching up and catching your hand in his, pressing your palm flat against his cheek, “I was so scared when I heard you callin’ for me. I thought I was goin’ to be too late and I’d watch you die. I was terrified that I would lose you.”

“Simon…” you whisper in awe, watching how his soft, brown eyes display every tumultuous emotion that he experiences, “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything to worry you again.”

“I want you by my side for as long as you’re able,” he whispers, throat moving as he swallows.

“I won’t go anywhere,” you agree, stepping closer to him, “I promise.”

He leans in at the same time as you, meeting you for a sweet, tender kiss. It lasts only a second before you’re both pulling back to look in each other's eyes. Then, you’re both surging forward for a hungry, heated kiss. 

His hands grip your waist, squeezing there as he deepens the kiss. You whimper under his touch, standing on your tip-toes to match the intensity of his kiss. 

He moves you backwards, your knees hitting the edge of the bed, causing you to topple down. Simon follows, catching himself on his hands on either side of your head. He only breaks the kiss for a moment to move you further up the bed, easily manhandling you so your head is in the pillows before he’s kissing you all over again.

His hands are rough as they travel over your body, slipping your shirt up just enough to let him touch your bare sides. You quickly realize you’re still wearing your sleep clothes and that you don’t have a bra on. 

Clearly, Simon was aware because his hand quickly cups your bare breast with a rough, callused hand. His thumb finds your nipple, flicking over the bud as you whine into his mouth. 

He pulls back suddenly, cheeks flushed before he’s fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

“Arms up, sweetheart,” he coos, sickly sweet. 

You follow his orders and eagerly lift your arms up for him to tug the fabric of your shirt over your head. Once your breasts are bared to him, he’s leaning down to wrap his lips around one perked nipple while his fingers busy themselves with the other.

You cry out at the feeling of his teeth nipping at the sensitive bud, hands tangling in his soft, curly hair. He groans against your breast at the feeling of your pulling at his hair before he pulls back just a bit, breathlessly whispering, “Such perfect tits.”

“Simon…” you whimper, letting yourself relax into the bed as he switches to mouth at your other nipple, leaving the other to harden in the cool air before his hand travels down your stomach to your shorts, easily slipping underneath the fabric.

“Simon!” you call out again when you feel the heat of his hand cup your folds through your panties. 

“Shh, just let me do the work, love,” he mumbled, muffled by the fact he refuses to part from suckling on your nipple. 

His tongue drags over your breast, nipping and sucking marks into your skin. As he works the muscle, his hand in your panties remains stationary, just letting you feel the heat of it against your core. The teasing presence only makes you pulse and drool into your panties. You’re positive the fabric must be sticking to you by now from how wet you’ve become from playing with your breasts. 

“Your tits are so sensitive,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “Does it feel good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, arching your back to offer up your chest to him all over again.

He grins, a crooked little smile that makes your heart flutter. It was so nice to finally see him smile. 

But instead of mouthing at your breasts again, he leans back on his heels and pulls his hand from your panties. You whine at the loss but it’s cut short when he hooks his fingers into them and tugs them down your legs. You lift your hips to assist him but find yourself wincing when an ache goes through your body.

He notices and gently runs the palm of his hands up your thighs, urging you to relax.

“You sore, love?” he asks, voice filled with what you can only call guilt.

“A little…” you admit, biting your lip, “My thighs are killing me, actually.”

He shakes his head at himself and leans down, pressing a kiss next to the scrape on one of your knees as his hands slowly begin to knead the sore muscles in your thighs. You sigh and let your eyes flutter at the feeling. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t realize he leans down until you feel a hot, wet tongue slide from your pubic bone to your sternum. Your cunt clenches pathetically at the feeling. When you open your eyes, Simon’s pretty, brown eyes are half-lidded and his tongue hangs out of his mouth. You can’t resist cupping the back of his head and pulling him for a kiss, whimpering and moaning against his mouth.

“Fingers or tongue?” he asks, muffled and messy against your lips. 

“What?” your hazy mind can’t quite comprehend what he’s asking of you.

“Do you want my fingers or my tongue?” he reiterates, “I want to make you cum.”

You whimper at that, “B-Both!”

He scoffs, full brows furrowing, “Greedy.”

You find yourself blushing at that but he doesn’t deny your request. He sinks down your body, peppering kisses down your body on the way until he kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed. 

He grabs your hips and effortlessly yanks you down so your legs hang off the edge of the bed. 

He spreads your thighs apart and you find yourself holding your breath, watching through your lashes as he trails kisses up your thigh, getting closer to where you want him the most. You’re trembling under his attention and it makes you clench pathetically around absolutely nothing. You’re sure he can see the way your cunt drools and leaks with every small kiss he peppers against your skin. 

Just when he gets close, he pulls back and kisses back down towards your knee. The teasing has you wound taut, feeling as if you’re almost on the edge without him ever properly touching you.

It feels like hours that he does it, kissing up and down your thighs. Occasionally, he nips at the skin there, swirling his tongue over the burning marks he leaves behind to soothe the sting. Finally, he moves his hand and you think he’s going to finally give you something but all he does is spread your folds apart with two fingers, exposing your hole and clit to the cool bedroom air. The action makes you whine but he pays you no mind. 

He carries on kissing your thighs and nipping at your skin. No matter how much you rut your hips, hoping to entice him into touching you and giving you what you really need, he ignores it. He ignores your whines and the cries of his name, ignores the way your cunt clenches and drools around nothing, clit twitching from how much teasing you’re enduring. 

The little bud aches, throbbing as it begs for anything – any little touch that he has to offer. He could blow air upon the nub right now and you’re sure you would explode in pure pleasure. 

When you sob his name, broken and needier than you’ve ever heard yourself, he finally looks up. His eyelids are heavy, concealing half of his iris and it makes him look positively fucked out. 

“Look at me,” he commands, licking his lips slowly, “Right in the eyes, let me see you properly.”

You force yourself to meet his penetrating gaze, almost struggling to compose yourself. You find yourself trapped in the eye contact, almost paralyzed under his intoxicating gaze. He holds you there for what feels like minutes but in reality is probably just a few seconds. 

His fingers finally hone in on your clit, pressing against the twitching, hardened bud. You cum immediately, still locked in that intoxicating eye contact. You cry out, hands slapping against the bed as he draws the orgasm out of you with slow circles on the little bud, sticky clicking sounds filling the room and mixing with your wild cries of pleasure. It seems like the high never stops, more and more cum gushing from your cunt and dripping down to stain the comforter beneath you. 

Simon watches you with keen attention, taking in every expression you make as he makes you cum against his fingers, the bud throbbing wildly until the orgasm finally dissipates. 

When you finally sag against the bed, your thighs fall completely open as the post-orgasm exhaustion quickly hits. You’re left trembling and twitching through the aftershocks, pretty pussy still drooling with every clench of your walls.

Simon takes the opportunity of you coming down to strip himself. He tugs his shirt off over his head and lets his sweatpants drop the floor, carelessly kicking them away. His gaze never leaves you, never leaves that twitching little cunt between your legs.

There’s a slick film of your cum coating your folds and his mouth fucking waters. 

Your eyes fly open, not even realizing that you had closed them, when he suddenly cups the back of your thighs and pins you wide open for him.

“Simon…” you pathetically coo, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair when he comes within reach.

“So sweet for me,” he coos, kissing your thigh once again and you’re scared that he’s going to tease you all over again, “A good orgasm got you nice and sweet, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mutter, dazedly looking at him as you feel his breath on your sensitive cunt. 

That alone makes you clench around nothing. You nearly whimper out loud when you see his tongue fall from his mouth, glistening with spit before he licks a slow, wide stripe between your folds. 

When he comes back up, he holds his tongue out and lets you see the creamy mess of your cum left behind. He makes a show of swallowing every drop in his mouth, making your cheeks flush in pure embarrassment at such a lewd display. 

You had no idea Simon would be so fucking filthy in bed but the way his eyes roll back at your taste tells you all that you need to know. 

He loudly slurps your clit between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sloppy bud as he whines and groans into your cunt. You tug harshly at his hair at the overwhelming feeling of having your clit doted on so expertly. 

His hands keep you pinned open, allowing him to slip his tongue inside you, occasionally taking a moment to visibly swallow every drop of your slick so you can see the way he absolutely savors your taste.

He swirls that offending tongue around your clit again, slurping it back into his mouth before two fingers are prodding at your entrance. You clench against him, the excitement of finally being filled with something making you whimper. Just the sound of you so eager makes him almost want to cum completely untouched. 

Your cum generously coats his face and he absolutely loves it. He pulls away suddenly, dark eyes locking onto your face as he pants from how lost he was in eating you out. He slowly presses two fingers inside you, letting them slide in, hugged by the plushness of your walls.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet, love,” he coos, moaning sympathetically when you cry out from the feeling of being stretched on his fingers, “And so warm too, fuck.”

He decides, in that moment, that he doesn’t care if the world is ending outside, he feels nothing but bliss with you. He never wants this to end, he wants to get completely lost in the pure intoxication of you. 

He leans down, flattening his tongue against your clit once again. The feeling is heightened now that he’s got his thick fingers stuffed inside you. You clench around him at the feeling of his tongue on the sensitive bud once more. 

He suddenly crooks his fingers and your legs helplessly kick in the air at the overwhelming feeling of him pressing and prodding against that gooey little spot inside you. Your hips rabbit up and you practically wail at the overwhelming sensations he’s attacking you with. You squeal his name so sweetly before he finally backs off a bit, letting you sink back into the soft cushions of the bed.

He’s completely drunk off of you, off the creamy cum you gush out for him to lick up, off the lovely sounds you let out from how good he makes you feel. His cock is so painfully hard and he wants so badly to wrap his hand around himself but he knows he’ll blow his load the second he does, so he refrains. 

To distract himself from the ache in his cock, he doubles his focus on you and making you feel good. His fingers crook upwards again, prodding your g-spot again with renewed vigor. You cry out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he sucks your clit into his mouth, the suction making your thighs tremble. 

“I-I wanna cum!” you cry out, fingers still tugging harshly at his hair. 

He groans against you but doesn’t dare to part from you, too focused on bringing you to your high to actually goad you into it. His fingers move inside you, fucking you nice and deep, making sure he’s working that sweet little spot inside you as he continues to suck on your clit. 

It doesn’t take long before your entire body stiffens and you toss your head back. The choked out cry is music to his ears and his own eyes roll back when he feels the way your walls tighten around him, soaking his fingers generously. Your clit throbs in his mouth before he releases his suction on it, instead choosing to lick the pulsing little bud with the flat of his tongue to gently ease you through the high. 

You’re pushing his head away long before he’s ready to part but he willingly backs off nonetheless. His chin is wet with your cum, even dripping down his neck and the sight makes you flush. There’s a loud, squishy noise when he slowly pulls his fingers from the hot clutch of your cunt. 

“Scoot back for me, darlin’,” he commands you, slurring a little before he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean of the mess you left behind. 

You do as he says, shakily pushing yourself back so you can lay your head in the pillows. With Simon standing at the foot of the bed, you finally get the chance to take a look at him. 

He’s obviously incredibly well built, broad and firm in all the right places. Most notably, he has numerous scars, some that looked like bullet wounds and others that were long and thin. 

“Are all those from the military?” you find yourself asking as he carefully crawls onto the bed, jostling you as the mattress moves under his weight.

“Yeah,” he breathes, leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You let him handle your body as he pleases, spreading your legs so he can comfortably situate himself between them. His cock, hard and heavy, rests against your folds and you find your eyes going wide at the sight of it.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he chuckles, like he can hear what you’re thinking. 

“That’s not going to fit,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze off the twitching, fat length of him.

“‘Course it will, love,” he breathes, pecking your lips again, letting his lips trail down over your jaw, “I worked you open real good, all you gotta do is relax and let me in.”

With a minute adjustment of his hips, the tip prods your entrance. He grips the base of his length, carefully pushing forward, mouth dropping open as he feels your hot, wet walls spread around the head of him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts, “Jus’ let me do the work.”

Your hands fly down to grip his forearms, nails biting harder into the skin there the deeper he sinks into you. The middle of his cock is the fattest, giving you an almost painful stretch that makes your face pinch up in a way that Simon doesn’t like.

He brings one hand to his mouth, licking his thumb before carefully pressing the digit against that sensitive bud. You whimper at the feeling, cunt clutching tight around him, easing more of his length inside. He circles your clit a few more times, watching your face for any clear signs of discomfort. Before long, his hips meet yours, filling you absolutely full to the brim in a way no one ever had before. 

He plants both hands on either side of your head, abandoning your clit in favor of simply rutting his hips against yours. His large body hovers over you, shielding you from anything outside of him and you find yourself completely lost in everything that is him – how full he makes you feel, how nice he smells, how safe you feel trapped beneath him like you are. 

Your hands wind around his neck, pulling him down so his chest presses against yours. Your breasts squish against his chest and he finds his eyes flickering down just to look at them. The sight makes you smile despite yourself – it’s cute, you think.

Tangling your fingers in his soft curls once again, you bring him down for a kiss. He’s still slowly, carefully rutting his hips against yours, his lower abdomen sliding against your clit as his cock stirs inside you, stretching you and hitting every sweet little spot inside you. 

You whimper into his mouth, gasping at the way he makes you feel so full and good while he barely does anything. Your knees bracket against his ribs, squeezing him so tightly you wonder if it hurts but he just continues to kiss you and circle his hips. 

“Wanna feel you cum around me,” he whispers, barely parting from your lips to request it, “Just like this, cover my cock. Be good for me.”

You knew you wouldn’t be able to disobey even if you wanted to. With the way he stirs you up and drags against every tender spot inside you all while grinding against your clit the way he is, you don’t stand a chance. Your third orgasm creeps up on you and your back arches just as it washes over you.

Simon groans at the feeling of you cumming around him for the first time – the tight, wet clutch of your cunt feeling better than he ever could have dreamed. As he watches you writhe in his bed, moaning and whimpering his name, he’s overcome with a plethora of feelings that just melt his heart. 

He can’t resist pulling you in for another kiss, cupping your jaw as he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock remains buried in your cunt. You’re still working on coming down from the orgasm he just gave you but he’s greedy – he wants to feel it again. He wants to fuck the orgasm out of you, make you ride it out and gush all over him.

He needs to show you how good he can be for you, hoping that this alone can get across just how much you mean to him. He’s never been the best with words, so he can only hope that this is enough for now.

Your hands press against his chest, aimlessly pushing at him from the overwhelming way he fucks you. You’re so sensitive, pushed into cumming more times than anyone had ever made you before. But he doesn’t show any signs of slowing or stopping. He’s a machine, built for stamina and he’s on a fucking mission now – to make you feel as good as he possibly can. 

You’re attempting to push him away, to give your poor, overstimulated body a chance to come down. But he’s having none of it. 

“Hands off, love,” he commands breathlessly. But you just stare up at him with dazed, teary eyes, panting and sweaty. He clicks his tongue, “You ignorin’ me, sweetheart?”

He grapples your wrists in his one hand, pulling yours away from his chest and pinning them above your head. He uses this new hold as leverage to really fuck you, pulling back and sinking back in as deep as he possibly can. His tip kisses your cervix, making your thighs tense up at the twinge of pain that comes with having him so deep. 

But the pain mixes so addictively with the pleasure that you find yourself getting completely lost in the slow, deep rhythm that he sets. Every time he sinks balls deep, his hips slap against yours and he rubs up deliciously against your clit. The pleasure on your bud doesn’t last long before he’s pulling back again, never allowing you to fully build up to another delicious high. 

Simon is lost in the way you whimper and whine. He can swear that he’s never heard anything as incredible as you being denied the pleasure he had been so generous with so far. He likes the desperate look in your eyes; it makes him feel amazing to know that you need him to make you feel good. He’s in charge of your pleasure in that moment and he finds himself relishing in that feeling of control over you. 

You look so sweet beneath him, pinned and helpless with teary eyes looking up at him. Your pupils are blown wide from the pleasure his cock brings you as he continues to fuck you nice and deep. 

Usually, Simon is a fast and rough kind of guy, but he finds himself thinking that he could definitely get used to a pace like this more often. As long as it’s you that’s underneath him. 

It doesn’t take you very long to break, those pretty tears falling down your cheeks as you breathlessly plead with him, “Please, Simon,” your voice cracks so cutely, “I want more!”

He chuckles under his breath and leans down, pressing a tender kiss against your temple before whispering, “What’s stoppin’ you from takin’ more?”

That seems to set you off. You’re bracing your feet on the bed, rutting your hips, rocking yourself against his cock. A moan rips from his chest at the sight of you using his cock like that. His heavy balls press against you and the feeling makes his cock throb, making him realize how badly he needs to cum. But he doesn’t want to give up this little show you’re putting on for him so soon. 

You’re so, so wet that he can feel how your messy little cunt squishes around him. You shamelessly soak every inch of him the more you work your own pussy on his fat cock. You tug your hands free from his grip and he’s left clenching the pillows in his fist when he watches your fingers descend.

He thinks you’re going to go for your clit, to push yourself over the edge like you so deserved for being so good for him. But instead, you reach for your own tits. The breath punches out of his lungs as the sight of you meanly pinching and tweaking your nipples as you continue to rock yourself against him.

Simon feels his balls tighten at the sight and he almost thinks he’s going to cum but he suddenly pulls his cock out. You wail in complete misery at the loss, tearfully watching him wrap his hand around the base of his cock, pinching off the impending orgasm.

You flop back down onto the bed, sniffling pathetically as you glare at him for ruining the orgasm you were so beautifully working yourself up to. He smiles crookedly at you, cupping the backs of your knees, crudely pinning them to your chest so your pretty, wet cunt is open and vulnerable to the way he suddenly stuffs himself back inside. 

With you completely pinned beneath him in a press, you can’t do anything except cry out and wail in pleasure as he finally fucks you fast and hard. His balls slap lewdly against your ass, your arousal dripping off of them. 

His eyes are locked on the way you’re stretched so wide around the girth of him. You’re creaming around him, a milky ring left in your wake every time he pulls out. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe or collect yours, simply fucking you with everything he has. It’s loud, wet, and fucking messy. 

“F-Fuck,” he chokes on the word, voice breaking as it comes out. He’s so close that it hurts, “Play with yourself for me, love, rub your clit.”

Your hand flies down to do as you’re told without a second thought. It only takes a few, quick circles around the hard little bud before you’re cumming with a cute little squeal. Your feet kick helplessly in the air, toes curling from how hard you cum around him. 

Simon groans at the sight and feeling of you losing yourself on his cock. You continue to swirl and tap at your clit, forcing yourself to cum harder and harder until you’re squirting around him with a choked off sob of his name. 

Simon’s hips never still or falter, fucking you fast and deep to work you through the orgasm. Your cum splatters across his hips, thighs, and chest. It makes his eyes roll up into his head before he lets his head fall back. His jaw opens and he moans, loud and deep as his own orgasm finally washes over him. 

His pace falters as you lay there twitching and crying, a few trembling thrusts of his hips as his cock spits rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums longer and harder than he has in a very long time. He continues with short, aborted little thrusts on his sensitive cock as he continues to cum.

Even when the orgasm dissipates, he finds himself fucking into the creamy mess drooling out of your twitching cunt. 

“S-Simon-!” you choke out, nails clawing down his shoulders, “S-Sensitive!”

“I know, love,” he pants, almost deliriously, “J-Just one more. G-Gotta fill you up again.”

You can’t do anything but lay back and let him use your cunt as he works to force another orgasm out of his overstimulated cock. He’s gasping and whining as he moves his hips, pulling his cock out only to stuff it back inside. A mixture of your cum and his drips down, soaking his cock, pelvis, and balls. It’s a heady, lewd mess that he can’t bring himself to worry about now but he knows it’ll be a pain to clean up later. 

You’re trembling and twitching with every one of his movements, tears dried and new on your cheeks. He feels a pang of remorse for you, you’re tired and overstimulated but he just needs to wring this one last orgasm out and then he’ll let you rest.

“You can be good for me, huh?” he coos sweetly, “Just be sweet and let me, fuck, use this pretty little cunt, yeah?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, nodding your head as your eyelids flutter in exhaustion.

Simon leans down, pressing his lips against yours. You both get lost in the kiss, with your arms wrapped around his neck. He loves how it feels to have you stuffed on his cock while your pretty, sweet body twitches and trembles beneath him. He knows it probably hurts by now and the fact you’re just laying there and letting him use you like this has him reaching his second high. 

He chokes on a moan, gasping as he cums for the final time. It’s much more lackluster than his first one but he still fills you up just like you both needed. His cock twitches almost painfully inside you as he slowly rocks his hips, wincing at the overstimulation. 

After a few, still moments, he pulls his length free from the soft plushness of your cunt and rolls off of you. You’re both panting, laying on your backs on the bed as you come back to yourselves.

You’re the first one to move, rolling onto your side and wrapping yourself around him. Simon finds himself smiling when he feels the sweet way you snuggle against him, seeking his comfort automatically. 

You start shivering, the mess of cum and sweat on your body causing you to become cold. He urges you to sit up despite your protests. 

“Let’s take a shower and sleep,” he offers sweetly, supporting your shaky body to the bathroom.

He continues to support you and hold you close through the shower. He finds himself grateful that there’s still hot water because you both certainly need it after such a messy tryst in his bed. 

You’re the first to fall asleep, tucked against his chest with your arms wrapped around him like a little koala. His hand strokes up and down your back, just staring into the inky blackness of his bedroom. 

Part of him feels like it’s all a dream, to have someone so sweet tucked against him, offering him comfort and feeling safe as they snooze peacefully. A sense of fierce protectiveness washes over him as he finds himself going through plans in his head – what the future may hold.

He’s torn from his thoughts when you shoot up from your deep sleep with a gasp. Your head wildly turns, looking around the room. His hand finds purchase on your back, making you jump before relaxing immediately in recognition.

“Bad dream?” he asks, tugging you gently to lay you back down against his chest.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I dreamt that I was trapped with them in that hallway again.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, wrapping his arms tightly around you to make sure you feel secure. You go still for a long time and he thinks you fell asleep again but then you ask him a question that surprises him.

“Who are those people in the photos?” you quietly question, “In your living room.”

He hums, rubbing a rough hand up and down your shoulder and arm, “My teammates. Friends, I guess.”

“You guess?” you chuckle.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “Task Force 141; Captain John Price, and Seargets John ‘Soap’ MacTavish and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.”

“Soap is a silly name,” you comment, grinning up at him, resting your chin against his chest, “What about you?”

“Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley,” he responds with ease. 

“Do you know where they are?” you ask.

It’s an innocent question but it sends a pang of hurt to his chest. If he were a weaker, less trained man, he may have felt tears pricking his eyes, “I don’t know,” he pauses for a moment before continuing, “I was in contact with Soap when everything started goin’ to shit. Lost contact with him though. He’s a tough bastard though, I’m sure he’s fine somewhere out there. I don’t know where the other two were or are.”

“If they’re even half as good as you, I’m sure they’re all fine,” you offer optimistically. 

Simon hums again, reaching a hand up to brush a stray flyaway off of your forehead. His big hand cups your cheek, stroking his thumb over your lips which you offer a gentle kiss against. 

“All I’m worried about now is you,” he confesses softly, “As long as you’re safe, I’ll be happy. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you smile, laying back down to nuzzle against his chest, “I’m okay as long as you’re here.”

He wraps his arms around you again and closes his eyes, letting himself sleep peacefully with you held safe against him.

It’s not even a week later that you’re sitting on the couch with him, peacefully watching a movie with a full belly after cooking a quick dinner with him, that you hear a loud, mechanical thump and you’re plunged into complete silence and darkness. Your heart jumps and races in your chest, mindlessly grappling onto Simon’s arm as he sits still beside you.

“What happened?” you ask, whispering as if you’re scared to speak any louder.

“Power went out,” he responds, not sounding the least bit perturbed, “Knew it was comin’. Water’s probably out now too.”

“What do we do?” you ask, the tremor of fear in your voice practically breaking his heart. 

He stands up and you whimper in fear when he’s out of your reach. You can hear him moving around in the dark before a bright, blinding light lands on you. 

“We can’t stay here for much longer,” he responds, “We’ll have to move out and find somewhere with more resources.”

“How long have you been planning this?” you ask, getting to your feet to follow him down the hall to the bedroom.

“Ever since the news stopped reportin’,” he responds, grabbing a large backpack from the closet, “Let’s pack up.”

You linger beside him and he looks at you with a raised brow, “I’m scared, Simon.”

His gaze softens and he walks up to you, cupping your cheeks tenderly, “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, “We’re goin’ to go out, find a small place to hunker down. We’ll look for a generator or a vehicle and get somewhere safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod your head, “Of course I do.”

“Good,” he smiles, kissing your forehead, “Now take this backpack and fill it with what’s left of our canned food, alright? I’m goin’ to pack everything else we need, don’t worry about a thing.”

He offers you a flashlight, which you gratefully take and click on. You’re glad that he gives you an easy task to focus on. You take the smaller backpack he offers you and make your way to the kitchen. You only have about 5 cans of food left and you carefully place them inside the bag before opening the refrigerator to pack a few full bottles of water that you have stored in there. You make sure to toss in a can opener just in case before you place the backpack on the couch. 

Simon emerges from the room with the large, military backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You get it all?” he asks, taking a seat to shove his boots onto his feet.

“Yeah and a couple water bottles,” you respond, approaching him slowly.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, looking over at you, “You should go get dressed. Jeans and a hoodie. Put your sneakers on and make sure they’re tight, got it?”

You nervously do as you’re told, disappearing into the bedroom to quickly dress yourself under the flashlight. You can hear Simon moving around in the living room, heavy boots thumping against the floor with every step he takes. 

You toss the hoodie over your head and make your way back to Simon, who stands in the living room, looking out the window. The sun is just beginning to come up over the horizon, casting a dim amount of sunlight to come through. 

He turns to look at you when he hears you approach. 

“There you go,” he hums, pulling the hoodie up over your head and tightening the strings, “Keep your neck covered. We’ll find you some better clothing somewhere along the way.”

You nod your head and take a glance over his shoulder out the window. You can barely see the ground from your position but you can see people shuffling around on the streets below. A pang of fear goes through you as you realize that they’re most definitely not normal people – the streets are crawling with those undead freaks. 

Simon leads you to the door and unsheaths a weapon for you – a machete he had taught you to wield with relative ease. You grip it in your hands, nervously twirling it around until you find a comfortable position. Simon nods his head and pulls out a combat knife, holding it low at his side before opening the door. 

The descent to the lobby is relatively easy, you walk over the undead that have already been taken care of in the stairwell.

“I took care of these already,” he explains without you even having to ask, helping you jump over a pile of 3 zombies at the foot of the stairs. 

“You got more kills under your belt than me,” you comment, mostly in jest to lighten your mood.

Simon huffs under his breath, slowly pushing open the door to the lobby, “You have no idea.”

You squint and turn off your flashlight when you step into the well lit lobby. The sun is now above the horizon, allowing you to see with ease once again. 

Simon remains in front of you, making your way to the double front doors. You peek around him, heart racing in your chest as your grip on your weapon tightens.

“Are you ready?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“No…” you confess, shuffling closer to him.

“Everything will be okay,” he promises firmly and you actually believe him. 

When he pushes open the door, the groans of the undead fill your ears and you find your eyes darting frantically around the streets that you can now see with terrifying clarity. 

Hundreds of undead swarm the streets, stumbling and groaning as they shuffle around aimlessly in search of food. Simon reaches down and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You know it’s going to be the fight of your life but with Simon by your side, you have faith that you’re going to make it through and find somewhere safe together.

 property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.