#‘ LETTING PEOPLE DOWN IS MY THING BABY ( IC ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inklore · 9 months ago

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the lake is for lovers.

— tyler owens x f!reader

premise: summer will always be your favorite, spending weeks at the lake house with the crew. drinking, good food, sneaking off with tyler, making love under the stars. what more could a girl ask for?

contents: unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, foreplay, coming inside, alcohol consumption, oral, weed mention, fluff, tyler’s favorite pet name is baby ok fight me, he’s also thick as hell | wc: 6k+

note: this fic started out as filth on a dock, which then turned into me making a getting d at the lake playlist, which only worsened my tyler brainrot and made me write these cluster of filthy blurbs.

There were many reasons for you to love summer.

Picnics under a favored willow tree, ice cream shops coming out with outlandish sugary concoctions that could take down even the most rambunctious five year old. The days are longer, filled with more laughs and bonfires. Fireworks—as if that had a designated season to be let off, Boone would take on anyone who thought differently.

Tornado season was over, which, depending on who you asked, was not a reason to love the overheated season.

But your favorite thing about summer was by far the weeks you and the crew spent at Dex’s lake house back in Arkansas. A lake house that had gone from his retirement home when he left a shitty corporate job to a summer sanctuary for the family he found doing what he truly loved.

So every summer, all of you loaded up Tyler’s truck, the van, and the motor home and headed to the private dwelling, where you would spend the rest of the summer swimming, napping on the dock, raiding Boone’s smoke stash, and finding the nearest field to stare up at the stars.

Or your favorite: drinking until Tyler wrangled you into the house and into bed before you and Dani took the boat out for a joy ride, or you and Lilly had another incident of lighting said boat on fire with a miss trajectory of a firework that Boone gets scolded at for bringing out when everyone was three sheets to the wind by your wrangler.

As if he didn’t love it.

As if he had not convinced you all to jump into the lake naked one night.

“Oh no,” The man himself shook his head. Placing his hand over yours, your fingers wrapped around the head of a bottle of tequila. The cart already filled with boxes of Miller and Budweiser.

“Oh yes.” Your fingers wrapped together around the bottle, pulling it halfway off the shelf before he actually used force to stop you—that force being lacing his fingers with yours and squeezing.

Moving his body so he was standing beside you, chest to chest. Your brows raise when you try to pull the bottle again, and he squeezes your fingers harder.

“Tyler.”

“Baby.”

You roll your eyes, “Boone wants it.”

“Yeah, Boone wants it!”

You both can’t help laughing as you hear the man himself yelling from three shelves away.

“Lilly wants it too!”

“Don’t be a pussy,” Dani yells as if there aren’t other people in the store with you—Tyler leaning his head back with a sigh, his mouth pulled in a smile.

If the shop owner wasn’t used to the group of you making a pit stop at the decently sized—rundown—off the road liquor store several times during the summer; you’re sure he would have kicked half of you out.

“Yeah,” you say, giving him that teasing smile, turning your head to the side. Walking your free fingers up his chest. “Don’t be a pussy.” You whisper, looking up at him. His smile turns into a smirk as he leans down, his lips hovering above yours.

“The last time ya’ll had Tequila Boone got stuck on the roof.” He is completely serious, but he says it in that voice that makes you want to melt into his hands and do whatever he wants. That stern undertone that made you want to listen and rebel—either outcome was always one you loved.

You nod. “True, but.” Your palm flattens against his chest, moving up until your fingers play with the baby hairs at the back of his neck. “If I recall, you weren’t complaining when you were fucking me sober that night. So, if anything, I think it’s a win for all of us.”

“Not for Boone.”

“Not for Boone.” You both smile before pressing your lips together, Tyler’s hand guiding the bottle into the cart, trapping you between him in the cart when his arms wrap around your middle.

“Glad you could see it my way.” You bite your bottom lip, your stomach fluttering, as he gives you that sweet smirk when you grab the ball cap from his head and slip it on yours. Pulling out of his arms to walk down the aisle, “now hurry up, so we can revisit memory lane.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The first morning you’re there is when your worst hangovers occur.

The first night of drinking is always the hardest you do, as if the steam of working for months wrangling and chasing storms has finally been let out. Decompressed of the pressures of having to worry about live streaming and fixing something on Ty’s truck.

It was a blessing that the nearest neighbor was at least five minutes away, with Tyler’s perfectly curated playlist blaring from the speakers that lined the aforementioned truck. Boone being louder than the aforementioned music, Dani and Lilly hollering when one of them loses whatever competitive thing they’re doing. Dex mixing up some concoction inside the house and insisting it’ll help with the hangover, even though you all know it won't, but damn, does it taste good.

You and Tyler occupying yourselves around the fire, his hands on your hips, holding you close to him as you sway to the music. His lips at your neck, leaving small nips and kisses along your skin until you turn around to scowl at him. His hands slipping into the back pockets of your shorts.

“You’re a bad dance partner.”

“You’re even worse.” His hand wraps around yours to press to the front of his jeans, where he’s hard and straining against them. “Can’t focus on my moves when my girl’s causin’ such a distraction.”

You smile up at him, running your fingers along the outline of his dick. “Poor boy. Should your girl take you upstairs and fix this little problem?”

“Little?” His brows raise, giving you a look that makes you laugh at the amusement on his face. “Now we’re definitely going upstairs.”

You’re laughing all the way up the stairs, Tyler grinning as he talks shit the entire way up, slapping your ass until it feels red and raw through your shorts.

And when he has you naked and pressed to the mattress, your ass in the air, thighs coated in your own slick from him, bringing you right to the precipice of your orgasm, only to keep taking it away until you started whining and he gripped your hips and flipped you over. Pulling your hips up, his teeth biting into your ass cheek.

The head of his cock runs through your folds, the wet noise that comes from him separating them to press at your entrance makes you whimper.

When he pushes in slow, too fucking slow, your fingers dig into the quilt. Your legs shaking, your body wanting to pull away from the intrusion—no matter how stretched out you already are from his fingers and tongue, the burn from the stretch of his cock never compares to it. Always stretches you out until you feel too full, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Tyler presses a kiss at your tailbone, his cock almost fully inside of your fluttering pussy. “Still think it’s little, baby?”

And after you’re coated in sweat and your throat is hoarse and raw, your legs jelly, your pussy feeling swollen and dripping from the several orgasms Tyler fucked out of you—and the come he fucked into you; wrapping your legs around his hips so there was nowhere for either of you to go while he did so; your body is limp against his chest. His fingers running along your spine.

You feel completely spent and sedated, the liquor aiding in the job of lulling your body completely. But Tyler is all smiles and wide awake—after all these years together, you still have no idea what makes a tornado wrangler tired.

He’s always raring to go, and it’s both hot and frustrating at the same time.

You groan when he moves your body gently off of his, making a quick trip downstairs. A glass of water in his hand seconds later, demanding you sit up and drink half, even through your protests. A hand rubbing at your back.

“Good girl,” he says, sweetly kissing your cheek and putting the glass on the nightstand. He’ll ask you if you want to shower because the both of you are covered in sweat and come and you’ll only reply by pulling him back down in bed with your face pressed to his chest.

His chuckle shakes your cheek when he shuts the lamp off, pulls the quilt over your shoulders, and presses a kiss atop your head.

But best believe he pulls your ass into the shower when the sun rises. Your head pounding from the shots you and Lilly threw back and from the beers you drained. Tyler’s fingers are gentle as he washes your hair. Gentle as he washes your body. He presses a kiss on each of your shoulders when he washes your back.

That space between your legs still feeling swollen from last night's activities, but his fingers still find their way between them. His palm on the shower wall as he stands behind you and rubs your clit until you’re coming.

Teeth, lips, and tongue at the back of your neck coaching you through it, “that’s my girl.” He’ll praise you like you’ve just wrangled your own kind of storm. A storm he caused.

A storm that always helps your pounding headache just a little more than the eggs Dexter places on your plate when you make your way downstairs.

“I think I’m goin’ sober for the resta’ the summer.” Boone groans between his palms. Palms that are stopping his drooping head from falling into his eggs.

“Lilly’s making flamin’ peppers tonight.” Dani grins from the head of the table, chewing on a piece of bacon. It has the reaction you all expect, Boone picking up his head, perking up, and feigning excitement.

“Really?”

You all laugh together, regardless of how much it hurts your temples.

“You’re supposed to be soaking up the heat, not staring, Owens.”

You squint from the sun as you turn your head to him, the two of you lying out on the dock. Letting the sun dry you off from your swim in the water. Something that should be relaxing.

But Tyler clearly distracted himself by staring at you.

“Can’t I do both?” He grins, lying on his side, his head propped up by his hand.

“You’re gonna have the worst farmer's tan.”

“Worth it for the view.” He kisses you, his finger and thumb lightly pinching your chin.

It doesn’t take long for his kiss to progress from a sweet peck to something more as his tongue licks into your mouth. With the way his thumb circles your nipple through your swimsuit, his hand moves down your torso to the top of your bottoms, easily slipping past them.

“Tyler,” you warn through a breath when his finger runs along your folds.

“What?” He smiles against your neck, “it’s just us.”

“Dani and Dexter are literally out on the water.”

“They’re tryna catch dinner. They’re far gone.” The pad of his finger runs against your clit in a slow circle. Making you gasp, your hips chasing the touch.

“Boone,” you swallow. Try to be the level headed one here, “Lilly.”

“Store.” He says it simply. Teeth nipping at your ear, “let me make my girl come.” His finger adds pressure to your clit, making you moan. “Please,” he whispers against your ear.

And if this man made you a sane woman, you’d pull his hand away and make him take you inside. But sanity has no room around Tyler. Sanity didn’t send you into a tornado with him. Didn’t have you riding him in the front seat of his truck after afternoons of chasing, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins.

No, being in love with Tyler Owens causes sanity to fly out the window. Made you throw caution to the wind. Made you chase that high. Made you ride it.

Made you want and beg for more.

His love was soft and ever consuming. A gentleness that made up for the intensity of everything else. It’s why it was so easy for you to put your life in his hands every single day you went out into the storm.

That’s why your legs bend and open for him, and why you let his fingers fuck you on the dock where you could easily get caught. His thumb rubbing your clit, your body burning, your pussy clenching and pulling his fingers in.

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop.” He grunts in your ear as your hips move, fucking yourself down on his fingers when your orgasm gets closer and closer until you’re coming and his hand is in your hair, pulling your mouth to his so he can swallow your loud moan. Can hold you through the euphoric high that has your body shivering even with the sun shining down on it.

His fingers slip from you wet and coated with your come. His eyes never leave yours when he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean before grinning, grabbing your jaw, and sharing the fruits of his labor.

“Hey, lovebirds,” Lilly hollers as she slams the van door. “Come help us!”

"Comin',” Tyler yells back, a smirk on his face as his eyes waggle at the double meaning.

“You’re ridiculous.” You laugh, pushing at his chest as you stand and walk down the dock. Arms wrap around you, making you both waddle down the rest of the way. Tyler kissing your cheek. You can still feel his hardness against your ass—hardness that was just grinding itself against your hip.

“I love you,” he says softly.

“More?”

“More than anything.”

You lean your head back against his shoulder, smiling. “Infinitely.”

“Unbound.”

When you two step off the last wood plank of the dock, you stop, both turning your heads to kiss each other. Your hand lifts to run your fingers through the back of his hair.

"Oh, don’t worry, we got it, ya’ll!” Lilly says sarcastically from the porch.

You smile against Tyler’s lips. “I love you. But let's go help before she refuses to share the good snacks with us.”

“Damn right, I will!” She yells as she shakes a box of said snacks in her arms.

Tyler laughs and presses one last kiss on your lips before he untangles himself from you and runs over to the van.

“Ain’t no way!”

“Pick up the slack!”

“I’m doin’ my best here!”

You and Tyler laugh as Dani and Boone argue as you both sink the white balls into their cups. Dani scowling as she downs her drink, and Boone raises his high with a frown as he does the same.

When Boone misses and Dani gets one in their next turn, the way they cheer and high five warms something inside of you instead. Brings joy to the already loose buzzing that thumps through your veins from how many sips you’ve had tonight. Your cheeks are heated and hurting from all the laughing you’ve been doing.

You grab the cup, ready to down its contents but Tyler puts his hand over the top, grabbing it from you and downing it in one gulp. Sending you a wink. Whispering in your ear when he leans over the table to put the now empty cup alongside the other ones, “I want to take you somewhere.”

It’s all the explanation you need as to why he doesn’t want you too far gone. You hadn’t seen him drink anything tonight besides the few cups Dani and Boone—mostly Dani—landed their ball in.

Some nights, he doesn’t drink at all.

Some nights he makes sure everyone goes to bed with something other than booze warming your stomachs—usually a frozen pizza he always burns at the bottom, or the infamous Ty Club Sandy, as Boone has deemed to call it. Filling you up until you are on the cusp of being sober and ready for your heads to hit your pillows.

Tyler took his appointed mother hen role even further for the rest of the night until the aforementioned heads hit your pillows.

Sitting in the caravan with Boone for hours until he exhausted himself from talking about new ideas for the channel and one of his favorite subjects: pyrophilia.

Or lounging on the couch and listening to Lilly and Dani talk about ways to make Kyro better, new elements to add for better views in the sky.

Dexter always passes out before anyone, filling his gut and waving goodnight before disappearing down the hall.

Tyler making his way up to your bedroom after everyone had gone off to bed. Cleaning himself up and crawling under the sheets with you—having sent you up to bed hours ago with a pat on your ass and plans to be ready for him when he got up there, knowing full well you would fall asleep before an hour even passed.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, face pressed into the back of your neck. The two of you drifting off to sleep. You take it upon yourself to keep his plans of being ready for him when you wake him up with your mouth wrapped around his cock.

His hips pushing up into your mouth, languid and sporadic, until he’s fully woken up. His jaw tightens before falling open when he looks down at you and watches you circle your tongue around his tip.

“Morning,” you’ll say with a smile and he’ll groan softly. Matching your smile with a grin of his own, that look of lust and desire morphs his beautiful features into something needy.

He’ll try to speak, try to say something sweet or filthy, but the words never come out. Just heavy pants and his teeth swelling up his bottom lip as he watches you—as he throws his head back against the pillow and groans.

When you pull him out of your mouth and straddle his hips, you reach behind you to guide him through your wetness, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. Mouth twitching when you slide down on him slowly. When your own eyes flutter closed from the burning stretch.

You ride him slowly, leaving marks along his neck and chest from your lips and nails digging into his skin when he tries to buck his hips up—fuck you harder. Set the pace that he craves so much when you are on top of him like this. A pace he adores, from how lost you become in pleasure, from your tits bouncing in his face, to how beautiful you look taking the reins.

But you stop your movements each time you feel his hips move. The look he gives you is pitiful and needy.

“Fuck, baby.”

You smile, lean down, and kiss his chin as you start to move your hips again, just as slowly. “I’m just tryna make up for last night.”

“You’re killin’ me.”

After the two of you have wiped the floor with Boone and Dani and they’re demanding Lilly and Dex go against them next because they know they’ll actually win this time; Tyler grabs your hand and walks you to his truck, opening the door for you to climb inside.

“Is it safe for you to drive?”

“Would I put you in a situation where you weren’t safe?” He grabs your hand and kisses the top of it.

You can always tell when he’s buzzed or drunk; his cheeks get flushed and his eyes squinting more than usual when he smiles or laughs. He’s sober.

When you finally get to the spot, you turn to give Tyler a look. He’s all smiles as he drives through a field of tall grass, turning the wheel to back up his truck the rest of the way before coming to a stop once you reach a clearing that seems like nothing but marsh land.

Until you’ve stepped out of the truck and walked around the back. Your eyes light up when you see a pond a little bigger than an EF3 filling the rest of the field.

The moon and stars shine off the water, painting it in the darkest blue you’ve ever seen. Water lilies float along the top, with pickerelweed and cattails lining the edges. The crickets and lightning bugs add to the ambience of it all.

“How did you find this?” You ask as he helps you climb up into the bed of the truck, where a blanket and pillows are already laid down.

“Dex told me about it.”

“You sap’s.” You say with a sweet smile, pulling him down to your lips.

Tyler only further proves the sap allegations when he pulls out two of your favorite bags of snacks. His back leaned against the pillows, you leaning against him, his arms around you as you shared the salty and sweet treats. Your hand reaching back to feed him as you look up at the stars.

“You’re so beautiful,” Tyler whispers against your lips when the snacks are gone, fingers licked clean, kisses pressed to lips, the mood changing until you’re naked and under him and his hips are thrusting slowly between your thighs. “So pretty,” he kisses you, runs his lips along your jaw, “perfect,” latch on the side of your neck, “my girl.” His words attenuated by his thrusts.

His fingers are in your hair, at the back of your neck, and on your chest, playing with your nipples, squeezing a hand around them, and bringing his mouth to the pert bud. Teeth nipping at your collar bone, tongue licking between the space of your breasts, grunts against your ear. Fingers at your hip, against your clit—he’s everywhere. Consuming you. Pulling you apart, putting you together, slowly, gently, with a stroke, a touch, a kiss, a bite.

Fucking you like it’s the first time.

Fucking you like he has all the time in the world.

Like he wants you to feel his love with every thrust. Every praise in your ear.

Your fingers dig into his biceps, legs lifting and pressing against his sides, pushing him deeper inside you. Your breath heavy, your moans, sweet mewls, music to his ears.

“Tyler,” you whimper against his shoulder.

His arms bracket around your head, thrusts picking up when he feels your pussy tighten around his cock. “I know, baby.” His words are breathed into your ear, heavy and weak, letting you know he’s just as close. “Gonna come, you gonna take it like a good girl?” You nod, dig your nails into his back, reaching your peaks together.

Tyler stays on top of you even after your breaths have evened out. His thumb runs along your cheek as he looks down at you. His smile is soft and filled with love. It makes your stomach flutter—something that hasn’t stopped since the day you met him.

When he finally does pull out, neither of you move to right yourselves or head back. He covers you with another blanket he pulls from somewhere behind you. Your head against his chest as you look up at the sky. Tyler’s fingers playing with yours. A peaceful silence passes between you for what feels like forever, basking in each other. Listening to the bugs and frogs around the pond.

“Marry me.”

You chuckle softly, “your come hasn’t even dried inside me yet.” You joke. Don’t think twice about it; it hadn’t been the first time he had playfully asked you. Declared to the world that you would be his wife one day: in a tornado riding the high, saying he would make you his wife when you put your computer science degree to good use and ran better numbers than he could have come up with on his own. When you would have to travel home to visit family for a week and leave the crew behind, his arms squeezing you upon your return, saying the winds are dead, everything's dead when you’re not around, don’t leave again, marry me.

So you don’t chalk it up to anything but that until you feel something cold slip onto your finger. Tyler brings your hand up so the moon is shining down on it, a pretty diamond twinkling in the moonlight.

“Marry me.”

Your heart falling to the pit of your stomach as you rush to sit up. Your palm against your chest, your eyes wide, and staring down at your hand before whipping around to look at him. The smile on his face is to fucking die for.

“Tyler.”

“Baby.”

“Are you serious? Are you sure?”

He laughs, reaches out for you, and pulls you into his lap. “I’ve been sure since the day I saw you.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“Ask Boone,” he smiles. Stares down at the ring on your finger that you still have held up, “told him five months into us datin’ that I had a ring picked out.”

You chew on your bottom lip, try to hold back the tears that pool in your eyes. “That’s insane.”

“If you want somethin’, you take it.”

“You already got me.”

“And I ain’t ever letting go.” He grabs your hand, rubs his thumb against the ring on your finger. Looks at you with so much love that you think you could die from it and be just as happy as you are right now. “Will you marry me?”

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more in your life.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” He asks as if he’s surprised, his smile and laugh filled with a childish joy and happiness. Like a child finally getting a gift he had always wished for.

“Yes!”

He grabs your face, kissing you. Kissing you until you are both laughing and it’s all teeth and someone's crying, and you’re not sure if it’s him or you or who’s shaking or cheering.

“I love you,” he says. You can feel his heart pumping against the palm on his chest. His palms are hot against your tear stained cheeks. Thumb swiping loose droplets away.

“More?”

“More than anything.”

You can’t even finish your little rhyme before kissing him again. Whispering that you love him back against his lips. This man was going to be your husband. This man who has completely taken over your life and swirled it upside down since the first day you saw him.

This man who has shown you a new world. Given you new meanings of life. Given you a love that puts storybooks to shame. Given you a family that will only grow if the two of you decide on it, but is already so perfect the way it is.

You couldn’t imagine marrying anyone but Tyler Owens.

The next day, you obviously have to celebrate.

The entire crew cheered and rushed you when the two of you had come home, and Tyler lifted your hand to the sky like you just won something.

“Yes!”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ bout!”

“That’s ma boy!”

“Bout time!”

Boone spins you, Lilly is already mapping out the perfect location for the nuptials, and Dani and Dex are hugging and clapping Tyler on the back.

So the next day is one big celebratory day.

Dex prepares a breakfast so large that you all groan and sprawl in the living room while watching movies you have all seen a dozen times, aiding in your hearty meal putting you to sleep.

A nice nap that has you all waking up more rested than before and spending the rest of the afternoon out on the water. Tyler and Dex grill the fish you caught when you come home.

Your legs in Tyler’s lap, all of you sedated and full, and laughing around the table afterwards until Boone comes through the screen door with two bottles in his hand: tequila and whiskey.

“Oh no,” Lilly says, laughing against her hand.

“Absolutely not.”

“You never mix light and dark, comin’ Boone, you know this!”

"Guys, we’re celebratin’,” Boone ignores everyone’s protests and grabs the shot glasses he was keeping for safekeeping in his pockets, apparently. Filling them up with tequila when he asks the bride to be which she wants, a big smile on his face.

He slides yours and Tyler’s over to you, Tyler shaking his head with amusement written all over his face when you frown playfully and say, “Happy wife, happy life?”

He sighs and pinches your legs, teasing, and grabs the shot glass. “I’m not helpin’ you off the roof this time.”

Boone makes a face, and everyone clinks their glasses together, throwing back the liquor.

It’s the first of many shots that has you hours later playing some kind of drinking game that you forget the rules of, which then leads into Boone and Tyler accusing you and Lilly of cheating. Which then leads to the four of you settling it by seeing who can shotgun a beer faster.

“You got this!” Dani pat’s Lilly on the shoulder like a fighter about to get into the cage.

Tyler smirks down at you, “you sure ‘bout this, baby?”

“Don’t call me that. You’re the enemy!” You put your hands on your hips and step up to him. Staring up at him in the most intimidating way you can, even though he could throw you over his shoulder easily in seconds. Your voice low enough for only him to hear you say, “we both know I’m really good with my mouth.”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip. “Won’t argue with you there.” His thumb comes up and runs against your jaw, “let’s make a bet, alright? You win, I’ll show you how good my mouth is, and if I win, you show me.”

You smirk, “deal.”

Once the beers are handed out and the bottoms have been punctured, your thumb presses against the slit, and a glare shot over at Tyler. His grin never leaves his face, even when Dex and Dani yell go, and all of you are putting the bottoms of your beers in your mouths.

Your gaze locks on his the entire time. Your mouth almost slips when his hand comes up to hold your can to your mouth better, his fingers squeezing, making you swallow faster. Finish faster. You and Lilly cheering when you win.

A win that Tyler clearly aided in.

A win he was more than happy to give you.

And if you didn’t love having his mouth on your pussy, you would probably fight harder against him letting you win. But it’s hard to be mad when later he’s between your thighs, fingers spreading your pussy to give him even more access to your throbbing clit.

Your hips guide his mouth where you want it, where you need it, and how you want his tongue to move against your clit. How you want his lips to suction against you. Tyler always listening to your body.

Your fingers are messing up his hair, “why did you let me win?”

He smiles around your clit, “I think I won.” He bites your thigh before turning his attention back to the part of your body he is fucking his tongue against, eliciting whimpers and moans from your lungs. Your back arching up from the mattress.

Some nights are chiller than others.

Some nights, you give your livers a break and hangout around the fire for hours. Dex telling stories, Dani and Lilly rolling Boone’s stash into tight blunts they share amongst those who want it. Boone lying in the grass, listening intently to Dex. You sat in Tyler’s lap, his fingers running along your legs.

His fingers sometimes find the ring on yours, twisting it around. Making sure it’s still there. He smiles over at you and leans in for a kiss.

The night is filled with a lot more laughs when three out of the six of you are baked and bring out the s’mores kit’s Lilly bought for each of you.

“Six is a bit much.”

“Uh, have you seen the way Boone eats?”

“She’s got ya there.” Boone agrees as he tears into a burnt marshmallow on the stick in his hand.

Tyler roasts you one, holds the stick while you happily eat the melted sugar. “Want some?” You ask, his answer comes in the form of placing his mouth over yours and kissing you until your mouth parts and his tongue runs along your bottom lip and into your mouth.

“When you guys get married, will we see less of this?”

“More probably.”

“Less. They’ll have their own place by then.”

“Ah, what? We won’t all be shackin’ up together?”

“Boone, they’ll be married.”

“They’re basically married now!”

You laugh against Tyler’s lips, “ya’ll are losing your invites real fast.” He says turning towards them.

“What did I do?” Dex asks innocently around a marshmallow.

Some nights, it gets so hot that not even the cold from the lake can be whipped through the windows by the breeze. The trees still. The humidity heavy and sticky, making you wake up with sweat glistening on your skin.

The two fans blowing towards the bed useless.

“Tyler.” You whine softly as you push his arm from your midsection. Can’t stand to feel the warm heat of his chest pressing to your back, mixed with the humidity filling the room.

“Baby,” he says groggily. Putting his arm back around your waist and pulling you close again.

“You’re going to give me heatstroke. How are you not dying?” You groan, freeing yourself from his grip long enough to remove your tank top and shorts before he grabs you again. More awake now than before.

“The fans are goin’,” he says softly into your neck.

“They’re useless.”

He chuckles, “want to go jump in the lake?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He hums, kisses your shoulder, doesn’t care that your body is coated in a sheen of sweat as his lips move to your neck, his hand cupping your cheek. He turns your head back to his. “I can distract you,” he smirks. Hips moving against your ass, his dick hard.

“You’ll only make it worse,” you breathe when he bites the skin just below your ear.

“Ya sure?” His other hand slips between the two of you, pushing your panties to the side and pulling himself from his briefs. “I don’t gotta put it in, baby.” He positions his cock so it’s rubbing through your folds, his tip moving against your clit, making you moan into his mouth.

Ass pushing back against him, “I can make you forget all ‘bout the heat and focus on coming along, my cock.” When the slide of his cock becomes more slick from your pussy growing wetter, he grunts against your mouth. “See, your body has already forgotten about it. It needs somethin’ else.” You whine, wrap your fingers around his wrist. Moan in his mouth, “what’s it need, baby?” The tip of his cock teases with the slightest pressure against your entrance, your body bracing, craving the stretch, only for him to take it again. “What do you need, baby?”

“You,” you breathe. Look at him with hooded eyes, chin wobbling.

“Say it again,” he grunts.

“I need you, Tyler.” His mouth twitches when he slides inside of you, his eyes watching as your eyes close in ecstasy. Nails digging into his wrist from the stretch of his cock.

“It’s all yours,” he kisses you. Says your name when he lets out that shaky groan when he’s bottomed out. When your body shudders while trying to adjust. His voice a mumble against your skin when he asks you if you’re ready for him to move, if you can take it, if you want to take it, knows you can take it. Be a good girl, and take what you want, what you need; it’s yours.

He’s yours.

Infinitely.

Unbound.

Always.

His.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #twisters smut #tyler owens x y/n #twisters x reader #tyler owens fluff #glen powell smut #twisters fanfic #tyler owens fic #lauren writes twisters

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aewon · 6 months ago

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ENHYPEN WHEN YOU…put your hands in their back pockets

pairing ✧ enhypen x f!reader g: fluff warnings: kissing, cussing, pet names, pda, groping, implied shorter reader in sunghoon’s ✧ note: inspired by the no doubt choreo !

LEE HEESEUNG

you’re sitting in enha’s practice room, watching them practice no doubt’s choreo. their choreographer calls for a break and they immediately disperse. heeseung turns towards you and open his arms, wanting a hug.

who are you to deny him? you make your way to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. he sighs in content, resting his head on your shoulder. you decide to be sneaky and slowly drift your hands downwards until they’re snug in his back pockets. you hear him giggle but he doesn’t pull away, “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” you say, deciding to play with him by squeezing his butt, making him let out a curse.

“shit!”

you laugh as he pulls back, looking at you incredulously.

“you are such a menace,” he says, but he doesn’t hesitate to return the favor, making you squeal.

PARK JONGSEONG

you’re in your shared apartment, laying on the couch while jay lays on top of you. your arms are wrapped around him, holding close to you.

an idea pops into your head, and you put it into action, sliding your hands down into his back pockets.

“why are you touching my ass?” you know he’s not mad, just curious by his tone.

“it’s a nice ass, can’t help but wanna touch it,” you end your words with a firm slap to his ass. jay yelps, looking at you with his annoyed face.

“that’s not nice,” he says, but you can see a hint of a laugh behind his lips.

he wastes no time in getting up and turning you around on the couch, giving your ass the same treatment. except he hits harder, with his large palms making it burn slightly.

“ouch! i didn’t hit yours that hard!”

“don’t hate the player, hate the game.” he continues to smirk while you pout, having been outplayed.

SIM JAEYUN

you and jake are standing in line for ice cream at the park. you’re standing behind him while he mindlessly scrolls through his phone.

you decide to be mischievous and put your hands in his back pockets, the position somewhat awkward but you couldn’t care less.

you can’t see it, but you can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks, “you just love touching me don’t you?”

you hum, not moving your hands even as the line moves forward. you and jake don’t really care about pda or people seeing you in public. of course, you’re not animals, so you don’t take it too far but things like this don’t bother you or him.

“baby, what exactly is the point of this?” he asks, turning his head to look behind himself at you. you shrug, leaning into his back before taking his butt into your hands and squeezing hard. he jumps, almost comically, as you laugh quietly, trying not to bring too much attention to yourselves.

“you are so annoying! you’re gonna bruise it!”

you coo, mocking his whiney tone before rubbing it gently to fend off any oncoming injury. “better?” you ask and he hmphs, turning back around. you kiss his cheek apologetically, which makes him smile.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon is very sensitive about touch. he doesn’t really like pda but he doesn’t dislike touch as long as it’s private.

you and the enhypen members are hanging out in your apartment. jay has chosen to cook to everyone’s delight. sunghoon is standing by the entrance, watching the tv with everyone else who’s situated on the couches.

you come up to him, looking at him with a pout.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, genuinely concerned. you do nothing but hold your arms out, indicating you want a hug. sunghoon hesitates for a second because he doesn’t like pda, even in front of his members, but one look into your eyes and he’s cooked.

he wraps his arms around you, you doing the same, hugging him tightly. he rests his chin on your head and sighs softly. he could never deny you. without him realizing, your sneaky hands make their way down, down into his back jean pockets.

sunghoon doesn’t even move, either he’s oblivious or he’s ignoring it for your sake, and his. what he doesn’t expect is for you to take his butt into your hands and squeeze, hard.

he jerks forward, taking you by the arms and pulling you away from him. he looks a mix between stunned and annoyed. you start to giggle, making grabby hands at him like you’re gonna do it again but he grabs them, now smiling.

“don’t even think about it, what’s wrong with you?” he asks quietly, not trying to alert the members.

you just stare up at him before surprising him again with a kiss to his lips.

“aww look at the happy couple, i got that whole thing on video by the way,” riki says from his seat on the couch. the other members begin to crowd him, even jay coming from the kitchen after hearing the commotion.

sunghoon breaks away from you, running over to try and wrestle the phone from riki’s hands while you laugh and watch.

KIM SUNOO

you and sunoo are very affectionate with one another, never hesitating to plant kisses on each others lips or cheeks, hug or anything else.

he’s standing in front of your full length mirror, getting ready to go out while you wait for him. as you come to stand behind him, you put your hands into his back pockets. he looks at you through the glass and smiles.

“whatcha doin?” he asks, though he doesn’t make any move to stop you.

“touching my favorite part of you,” you say, laughing as he gaps in offense.

“tuh, and here and i thought it was my personality!”

“that and your ass, i love it.” with that you take your hands out and give his ass a rough slap.

he swears, looking at you with wide eyes.

“okay, you’re done. no more ass privileges for you,” he says, dragging you around so you’re standing in front of him instead of behind.

you begin to whine, apologizing and saying you won’t do it again.

“that’s a damn lie and you know it.”

YANG JUNGWON

jungwon has brought you along to the recording studio while they prepare for their next album. you’re standing in front of him, his arm wrapped around you. you turn around in his arms, smiling at him, “you sound great babe.”

“thank you,” he says, bringing you in for a hug.

you hands rub his back up and down, before making their way lower and lower until they’re hovering over his ass. without warning you put your hands into his back pockets, and squeeze almost violently.

he jumps away from you, looking at you in pure shock. “what the fuck!” he says, laughing, “don’t touch my butt!”

“why?” you cock your head to the side, “i can’t touch what’s mine?” you ask in a questioning tone. he looks at you in disbelief.

“excuse me, it’s not yours.”

“yes it is, what’s yours is mine,” you say, smiling at him.

“oh really?” he raises an eyebrow, “so if that’s the case, what’s yours is mine?” you think he’s gonna go for your ass and bring your hands around to protect it but without hesitation his hands go for your front, squeezing your chest.

you gasp scandalously, “jungwon!”

he just smirks at you, “what’s yours is mine.”

NISHIMURA RIKI

you and riki have been dating for a few months now but haven’t really escalated to touching each other frequently. whether it comes to kisses or hugs, you’re still a bit awkward with one another.

you’ve decided to take your relationship up a notch in hopes he won’t oppose you.

today finds you with riki, alone in the dance studio as he practices their choreo. you watch him in amazement. how his body moves, its miraculous and you’re mesmerized.

he pauses the music, coming to stand in front of you, “so what do you think?”

“i think it’s amazing, you’re amazing,” you say.

you know riki likes compliments, he just doesn’t like to show it. he waves his hand, like it’s no big deal but you stand up and open your arms, “hug.”

“i’m sweaty,” he says, “you don’t wanna hug me.”

you shake your head, “don’t care, hug me!”

he can’t deny you, so he moves forward to wrap you in his arms. you rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. your hands make their way down, before finding comfort in his back pockets.

“oh?” he says in a questioning voice, “didn’t know we were at this point in our relationship.”

“can’t help it, i like being close to you.”

“and being close means touching my butt?” you know he’s not annoyed or angry because he’s laughing, so you hum in confirmation. without warning his own hands slide down to cup your own butt.

“now we’re even,” he says, grunting and laughing as you playfully squeeze his ass. and he doesn’t hesitate to do it back.

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merakidoll · 9 months ago

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this is apart of my pen pal!gojo series! warnings : nickname gogo used, riding, lactation, reader is pregnant, chubby, and a bimbo!

over the year that gojo was released from prison, your penpal quickly became your boyfriend, to now fiancé/ baby daddy! gojo was very quick with impregnating you loving how this sealed your fate to him, how now you had absolutely no excuse to be his. “go! let’s get ice cream!” you exclaimed pointing towards the small stand that had a young man standing there. he walked stiffly behind you, his much larger hand holding yours as he stood back holding your tote, and watching as you told the man exactly what you wanted.

gojo had found that with his obsession came lots of observing. he watched the man eye your large breast as he scoop the strawberry delight into the cone, his hand subconsciously pushing towards you more and wrapping around your belly. “so, what brings you here” gojo couldn’t hide the scoff that came from him, in his mind he was telling the man off, to which he knew you hated when he was rude to people.

you looked back at the large man with a pout, a soft ‘calm down i’m yours’, then turned back with a soft smile. “i wanted to see all the tables people had, we love small festivals!” you took your ice cream and handed him the bill expecting him to take it, but gojo knew he wasn’t - he knew he was gonna touch your hand, - caress your brown skin and tell you “it’s on the house gorgeous”.

now, gojo had many plans come that night. him pulling you away from the festival and to the car quickly driving home - to which he would be fuming. and the only thing that could ever calm him was you. “gogo, you’re all that m-matters to me” your pussy wrapped deliciously around him, your small bounces while he sucked on your leaking breast, crystal blue eyes shut and savoring all of your bodily flavor. he unlatched his salivating mouth and looked up at you with the sweetest eyes.

“only mine?” he bucked into your cunt, spreading your cheeks and bringing his mouth back to your brown nipple that to his eyes were screaming for attention. “o-only yours gojo, my sweet b-boyymm” at the sound of your words gojo’s angry vanished. the milk from your breast was already sizzling the fire within; but your words made him melt into a puddle. you bounceed on him, letting him hear all of your pretty sounds and the feeling of you pussy tighten around him as you came. “who’s pussy doll?” he slapped your ass, watching your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head. stimulation of him still moving as you orgasmed making you go wild.

“y-yours! y-yours gojo!” he smiled sisterly, bucking into you more, laying your head on his broad shoulder as he rubbed your back filling your pussy with his thick seamen. “mmh, and this dick is all yours baby.” he kissed your cheek becoming still and enjoying the closeness of cockwarming. he ignored the way your pussy dripped down onto him, the mix of you both combine. he enjoyed the soft snores you gave and deep sighs into the silence. all while his mind ran wild with thoughts. thoughts of when he put you into your sheared bed, after a nice bath how he’d be making a quick outing. to the man who deared try to flirt with you; especially in front of him.

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riddlesbunny · 8 months ago

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thawed out

summary: Frustrated after losing a game to your brothers’ team, you let Cregan take his frustration out on you.

pairing: Modern!Cregan x Targtower!Reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: Explicit smut, semi-public/rough sex, spit, p in v, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: Sorry it’s been a month since I’ve posted!! Watch this flop asdfghkl

Your eyelids flutter as Sara lightly dabs glittery eyeshadow onto them with her ring finger.

“Try to hold still,” she tells you, just as your reflection catches her eye in the mirror that hangs on the back of her closet door.

“Oh no,” she frowns, making note of the jersey you’re wearing, “Cregan is not going to like that.”

The jersey — all black, has no distinctive feature of any team, but it does have the name “Targaryen” etched onto the back, and 01 on the front, which is your brother Aemond’s hockey number.

Cregan is number 13.

“Targaryen is my last name,” you remind her, “and besides, Cregan is the one who wants to hide me. If he wants me to wear his jersey to games, he will have to make me more than just a fuck buddy,” you shrug.

Her lips turn downward into a frown, but she nods her head in agreement with you.

Very few people are aware of your relationship with Cregan. He’s a good guy with a big heart, the complete opposite of a fuckboy or a player. The main, if not only, reason why the two of you decided to keep things a secret was so you wouldn’t have to deal with the backlash from your brothers.

Cool air whips against your face, and tensions are high with only a few minutes left remaining of the game.

You watch on eagerly as Aegon pulls a move that is supposedly illegal, but the ref’s don’t seem to count it. Resulting in your brothers’ team winning the game.

You can’t help but wince as you watch Cregan rip his helmet off and make a beeline toward Aegon on the ice.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Aww,” your eldest brother frowns in response, “Run home with your tail between your legs!” he calls. Cregan grunts in response while the rest of Aegon’s teammates, Aemond included, howl maniacally like wolves. Making a mockery of Cregan and the rest of his team.

You roll your eyes at the scene and push your way out of the stands and through the crowd.

You pick at your fingernails nervously as you wait outside the locker room, refusing to enter until the remainder of Cregan’s teammates pass you by.

The smell of sweat fills your senses as you enter the abandoned locker room.

“Cregan,” you call, “baby?”

The locker room is quiet and dim. The only audible sound in the room is the faint buzzing of one of the poorly lit fluorescent lights.

Cregan is sat on one of the benches, his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger. You reach your arms around him.

“Hey,” you offer, “for what it’s worth, you did great.”

“I’m just so fucking pissed off!”

Cregan’s deep voice echoes through the locker room as he throws his stick to the floor. As mentioned earlier, Cregan’s a stand up guy, but his temper is a force to be reckoned with; and nothing sets it off quite like losing a hockey game.

“I know you’re upset baby,” you state empathetically as you dig the pads of your fingers into his shoulders. An attempt to massage the tense tissue, he all but grunts in response.

“You wanna take it out on me?”

“What?” He asks in a deadpan.

“Your frustration … you should just take it out on me.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows at this but he takes no time to react. He stands up quickly, his thick frame hovering over yours before he shoves you against the lockers abruptly. Gripping at your chin with force, he demands you to open your mouth. You oblige and he spits directly down your throat, you swallow obediently with a content mewl as wetness pools at your center.

A pathetic “please” is all you’re able to muster out to him as he stares at you hungrily.

He takes a seat on the bench, tugging his uniform pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles in one swift motion, exposing his cock.

His calloused hands lift you onto his lap with haste. A shiver runs through your body as he yanks down your leggings and underwear in a quick swoop, causing you to hiss as cool air fans your cunt. It isn’t long before Cregan’s warm hand is cupping you, his fingers playing in your slick.

You want to cry out when he removes his hand from you but once his hands are at your thighs again, spreading you open, you feel the throbbing head of his cock prodding against you.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, egging him on, “come on, I said, take it out on me.”

A growl erupts from his chest as he forcefully spears you down onto his cock, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes flutter shut and you try your best to suppress a moan as he begins to split you open.

He continues with unrelenting thrusts while his grip on your hips only tightens, taking full control.

“Fuckin. Targaryen’s,” he says through gritted teeth, harshly slapping the swell of your ass. Your head snaps up as you glare at him disapprovingly.

“Obviously not you baby,” he coo’s reassuringly, running his fingers along the red handprint that’s forming, soothing the pain before kneading at the tender flesh.

“It’s just— Gods, do they fuckin’ rile me up,” he mumbles as both his hands make their way to your waist again, helping him thrust into you even harder.

“I know, baby, I know” you whimper, pressing your forehead to his as he continues to fuck into you at an unrelenting pace.

“But you know just how to make me feel better, don’t you, baby?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out as he perfectly angles his cock against your cervix.

“Yeah you do, this sweet little pussy is all I need.”

You can feel the tension building in your body at his words, your breath coming out in short gasps as he expertly moves inside of you.

His fingers trail down from your hips to your cunt again, sending hot waves of electricity through you.

His intense, grey, gaze never leaves yours. With each thrust, you feel yourself on the brink of insanity. Each drag of his length has you closer and closer to the edge.

Cregan moves with determination, his body pressed hard against yours as he takes you to new heights of pleasure. His digits finally find the apex of your thighs and pinch at your throbbing bud, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Urging him on as he expertly works his fingers over your most sensitive spot. Each touch sends waves of pleasure through you. With one final pinch and a flick of his thumb, you’re cumming around him — gasping and trembling as the walls of your cunt tighten around his length.

His breathing comes labored and heavy, his eyes squeezed shut as he chases his own release. His own hips stuttered as he felt you continue to pulse around him. Unable to keep his composure any longer, he lets out a loud groan and spills himself inside of you, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuckin’ Targaryen’s,” he drawls, this time his tone is filled with appreciation.

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astroellies · 22 days ago

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˚༄࿔ taking care of ellie after patrol

inspired by @hundredandsix’s "crawl home to her"!

warnings! allusions to canon typical violence. angsty fluff that turns to just fluff?

when ellie opens the door to her garage she's quiet. no excited hey, baby. or call of your name.

she looks at you and her lips wobble. she lets you see a side of her she lets no one else, save for maybe joel, see. not tough, badass ellie, just a teenage girl in desperate need of comfort.

"hey, hey, it's okay. i'm here." you get up from your spot on her bed and wrap your arms around her. she sniffles and collapses into your touch, clinging to your middle.

you hold her for a while, rocking her as you two stand in the doorway.

"are you hurt?" you pull away to examine her, she's got blood splattered on her face but you can't tell if it's hers.

"just a bruise on my hip, i fell on some ice." she rubs at her eyes, either to try and brush away tears or from exhaustion.

“okay,” you push a stray piece of hair from her face, “you want me to run you a bath?”

“please.” she nods.

so you lead her into the small bathroom and sit her on the toilet to start the water. when you turn back to her she’s stripped her jacket and shirt, just leaving her in a sports bra. she’s leaned down to untie her shoes but the angle is clearly painful with her injury.

“i got it.” you say, already on your knees in front of her. you place her heel in your lap and pull at the knot of her shoelace.

“do you want to talk about it?” you ask, taking her shoe off and switching to the other foot.

she shrugs, “i don’t know, there’s nothing really to talk about. it’s just some runners that freaked me out. i don’t like when you can still tell they’re…people.”

“mhm,” you hum. she doesn’t need talking right now, just your comfort. it reassures her she’s not a bad person.

you stand to check on the bath and when you see it’s only halfway filled so you dampen a washcloth and take her chin in your hands. she looks up at you for a moment, olive eyes just watching you. they flutter close and you gently brush the cloth against her cheek to wipe away the blood. as you work you notice the furrow between her brows lessen. you finish and press a kiss to the mole under her left eye.

“bath’s ready, baby.” you tell her and she nods, eyes still closed.

you help her out of her sports bra and jeans and into the tub.

“is the temperature okay?”

“yeah, it’s good.” she looks dopey like she could fall asleep right then and there.

you get to work shampooing and conditioning her hair. this was always her favorite part, she loved when you played with her hair. whether it been when you two were cuddled up in her bed, hands scratching her scalp or when you cut her hair.

you take time to scrub the dried blood from underneath her nails. you catch her staring again.

“what?” you ask, trying to mask a shy smile.

“nothin’. i just love you,” she whispers, “no one else would do this for me, it’s nice.”

you grin like an idiot and pull her tattooed hand up to your lips. you kiss all over her forearm, up until where the moth ends.

you hand her a towel, “i’m gonna grab you some pjs i’ll be right back.”

when you return she’s drying her hair, very aggressively, with the towel.

“i actually don’t understand how you have such nice hair when you do things like that.” you say handing her a worn out shirt and boxers.

“like what?” she looks genuinely confused and you just shake your head giggle.

“never mind.” you take the damp towel from her and hang it up while she gets dressed. “want me to make you something to eat?”

“mmm like what?”

“spaghetti? i just picked some tomatoes from the greenhouses today.”

“that sounds so fucking good.”

and so you cook for her, and listen to her talk. a bit about patrol, how she and jesse wandered into a toy store that had loads of savage starlight trading cards and how she spotted a cardinal that made her think of you. she doesn’t tell you about anything else about the runners that upset her, but you figure she’ll tell you when she’s ready.

after she eats you two settle in her bed and turn on jurassic park but she’s so exhausted she barely makes it past the opening credits. but you don’t mind, as long as she’s safe and in your arms.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie fluff #the last of us game #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams angst #˚༄࿔astroellies drabbles

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stxxrlights · 1 month ago

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘?... 𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

headcanons of jjk men based on this ask

you set up your camera while your lovely boyfriend is laying on your bed, doom scrolling on his phone. you set up the camera, and angle were both you and your boyfriend are visible and hit record.

☆𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

"one thing you need to know about him first is that he's a big baby. so starting the call with 'hey baby', gets him swooning like a twelve year old with a crush"

"now hold on!", you're trying hard stifle a laugh as he sits up. "what are you talking about?"

"don't act like you don't like it"

"i didn't say that. it's just that how can you think i'm a bigger baby than you", he raises his brow at you, his phone now discarded on the bed.

"because you are", he rolls his eyes.

"weren't you the one who cried literal tears when you finished the ice cream?"

"that's different"

"literally, how?", he stands up and crosses his arms over his chest as you're both smiling at each other like idiots. "do not believe this girl. she is a pathological liar", he leans in and says to the camera and then turns his attention to you. "now, come to bed with me i wanna cuddle"

"look who's a big baby now"

"that's different!"

☆𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

"so basically, my boyfriend blushed so hard when i call him my little adorable pookie wookie in the whole wide-"

"Wow, wow, wow...!", he interrupts you sitting up on the bed clearly offended. "why are we lying?"

"what are you talking about?", you ask, feigning innocence. he narrows his eyes, studying your face to make sure your not messing with him.

"anyways- as I was saying. he starts blushing and avoiding eye contact-"

"what the heck! literally when have i done that?"

"can you not interrupt me! i'm trying to make a tiktok"

"uh-uh! you are lying to these people", he gets up and walks towards you and spins you around in the chair. and in one swift motion he's got you on his shoulder making you let out a yelp.

"suguru!"

"no. until you learn how not to lie, then i'm gonna let you finish your cute little tiktok", he gives your as a light smack, startling you and then throws you on the bed. "for your punishment, your gonna cuddle with me until tomorrow"

"what! but we have things to do"

"should've thought about that before you lied"

☆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

"my boyfriend is the fucking cutest sometimes. especially on call, 'cause like he gets so flustered when i say 'i miss you so much', he just starts stuttering and-"

"sorry dear, but who are you talking you?", you turn around to look at your confused boyfriend.

"i'm recording a video ken", you lean so that he can see the camera, his confused face looking right back at him.

"what for?"

"well... to let people know how absolutely adorable and sweet my boyfriend is". he bows his head down and lets out a chuckle that makes you smile. he walks up infront of you and leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your lips. "what was that for?", you ask, a stupid grin on your face

"now they'll know how much i love you too"

☆𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

"as scary as my boyfriend looks, he can be so adorable sometimes. like when i call him something like big daddy, he gets so exited"

"damn right i do!", you quickly gets up, a shit-eating grin on his stupid handsome face. he comes closer to the camera still with that smile. you roll your eyes at him trying to control your smile.

"you're so childish toji. i wanna talk to the people"

"uh-uh. let me tell you what other names she calls me; prince charming, the future father to her kids, papi-"

"okay there. slow down! when have i called you papi?"

"you haven't but you will", he raises his brows at you making you smile. "infact, why don't you call me that now"

"what are you talking about?"

"don't act like you don't know ma. you'll finish this later. right now... i need you..."

☆𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍

he had seen you. watching you from his peripheral vision. he wasn't at all paying attention to his phone. but his attention on you was pulled further when you started talking.

"whenever my boyfriend's away, he's normally the one to call me. and he absolutely adores when i call him my sweet adorable baby"

"there has to be something wrong with you. because no", he suddenly says catching your attention.

"it's the truth though", he gets up and snatches your phone, reading the text and his brows furrowed even more.

"what is this? what trends have i missed?"

"it's not a trend. i'm just sharing my experiences to the world", you cross your arms over your chest.

"so we're lying now?"

"it's not lying if it's canon"

"i do not like it when you call me-"

"my sweet adorable baby", you say in a baby voice as his ears grow pink.

"that! i don't like that!"

"your body's saying otherwise", you tease him further, laughing as he narrows his eyes at you. he steps closer to you and lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist.

"i'm gonna teach you a lesson and we'll see if you still think i'm your adorable baby"

comments and reblogs are appreciated.

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hyukascampfire · 5 months ago

Text

𝓐T 𝓢WA𝓝 𝓛AKE ﹐､﹒ c.bg ˏˋ੭ꠥ ¸ˎ

as both equals and opposites, white swan and black swan, it is paramount that you and choi beomgyu do not touch. the curse of your natures did not even make exception for incidental brushes. that was never an issue for you—not until the day the prince took it upon himself to break every rule you’d ever known. ⋆˛ ˛

⸺ listen to the playlist .ᐟ ‧˚

⸉⋆ ᧔ 🦢᧓ ･ 10.3k

𝒫airings ˒ black swan prince!beomgyu 𝓍 white swan princess!reader

𝒢 ‎⍪ smut ˒ fantasy ˒ forbidden romance

𝒲arnings ˒ smut, angst and longing, unprotected sex, lots of teasing, jealousy…, yearning and yearning, he cums on her, theyre both desperate, pathetically in love!beomgyu, shes all he wants, virgin!reader, loss of innocence, he talks her through it, he gets a little whiny… hmm i can’t remember if i’m missing anything. this is not proofread!! i’m gonna nap first.

✎୭ ashlynn's note @hmusunoo … baby you did your big one with this. i can not explain to you how excited i’ve been for this one. this is absolutely my favorite. it’s just so me, u know me so well and i think we should kiss. THANK U!

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

Around you, mist and delicate flurries sit over white, fluffy blankets. Where it sits over the lake, it turns the horizon of the lake’s expanse into an obscured uncertainty. If you hadn’t spent so much time right here, you might think that it goes on forever.

It’s a beautiful, clear winter’s morning. Sparkling air wraps you in sweet and crisp tendrils, every breath to your lungs almost bitingly fresh. But in all its lightness, your chest only feels heavier. You had hoped that coming here would be a little, momentary respite. The air is so free around you, though, the weight doesn’t float away with it—it just leaves nothing but the feeling for you to contend with. No skittish wildlife rustle the foliage, and a thin film holds the crystalline lake from lapping at the bank. It seems that not even the wind moves. Just you.

It’s not your tears that you hide here. Sadness is a soft, gentle thing; an acceptable thing for a Lady like yourself to indulge in. It’s what the people expect of their princess. The demure and always prim White Swan. Always correct, always just how you should be.

Your tears are more like scalding, molten licks of fire than the slow, darling tears that are expected of you, though. They’re angry. It clashes up against the walls you’ve built up within yourself, against the role you’ve assumed.

That’s why you’ve come here. Coarser emotions are unbecoming of you, and it’d be a shame to feel them in front of others. It’s a shame that you’re letting yourself feel it now, even. You summon a thin sigh, funneling up all the tangy bitterness on your tongue to let it fall out into the air before you.

It doesn’t do much for you, really. This—feeling like this, so beyond the reach of your usual ways to shove down ugliness—is unfamiliar. Your entire life has been this, why do you struggle with it now? In the center of you, mingling with that anger, it’s as though a blackness blooms. Like a wretched flowering of some invasive plume, or perhaps the floating of inky black feathers through your bloodstream, you feel painted dark and unpleasant.

Holding the dappled fur of your shawl closer, you decide to watch chunks of crystal white ice float on the water’s surface. Or maybe the on-and-off snowflakes that float down around you. Even tracing the lengths of barren branches, lined with white fluff so still and serene, with your eyes. Anything but delving into what that tainted tug inside is, or what it might mean about you.

Snow crunches, or maybe a branch shifting, beckons your attention. But the foliage isn’t too thick, and trees are sparse around the lake, and there is always some small winged creature fluttering between branches out here. So, you brush it off.

A tingling about your person, some sort of whispering premonition, whisps and tugs just around your form. You straighten up at another thick step crunching in the snow from behind you. This time, you can’t explain it away.

A figure greets you. Dark, raven strands of silken hair fallen over eyes of the same, his skin so stark against it, black shoulder cloak on his shoulder flowing like velvet water against his billowing sleeves all ruffled and enamoring. He glitters like the frost, twinkling silver threads and black crystals sewn in to catch the light and make a show of him. Standing there, looking at you, he doesn’t look caught or frozen.

But you are. Wholly still, all of you like a sculpture of frost, you gawk right at him. You’d never interacted with the prince, the black swan. Never even seen him. It was never in the cards. Fear like ice curls clawed fingers over your heart and grasps it.

All your life, grand warnings of terrible things of him and what might happen should the two of you ever touch fell from the mouths of those around you. It was the constitution of who the two of you are—born to be the balance to each other, never to touch. Just an incidental brushing of fingers meant turning the world’s balance over on its head. They told you that the world would begin to fray at the seams, reality would warp, and that it’d be all your fault. And they also told you plenty about who the prince was as a person, too. Not only do you fear him for the curse of your nature, but also for all the nasty things you’ve heard of him. This, meeting him, was a thing of your deepest-cutting nightmares.

And, there, he stands in front of you.

“What are you doing out here crying?” Beomgyu says, curious eyes darting over your face. Under his gaze, you’re not sure how to feel. But you feel every last bit of it, regardless.

You wipe at your cheek, where he must’ve seen the wet streaks glistening in the light. Summoning some poise up from where you keep it in handy, you say, “It’s no matter. I was just looking out on the snow.” You fix up your hair and your dress.

The prince frowns, studying your face once again. Utterly unconvinced by what he finds there, he gestures toward you. “You’ve been crying, princess,” he says. “I didn’t think that lying was in the cards for you.”

Lying? Not in the cards for you? Lying is all you do. You lie to yourself and to others more than you are honest. “Maybe, but I’m well,” you say, and then you lift the soft skirts of your dress to step without treading it in the snow. “Really, I ought to get home before the snowfall gets heavier. It was lovely seeing you.” You try and make sure to keep a good and proper distance from him as you make for where you arrived here from.

Beomgyu reaches out for you, only pulling back from grabbing your arm at a frighteningly slim realization. “Wait,” he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he realizes what he’d almost just done. “You don’t have to leave. Why is it that you cry?”

He’d almost touched you. That close—you’d come that close to tragedy in only the first moments of your meeting. Your heart pumps out sizzling, frantic energy that has you looking at him wide-eyed and shaken. “I think you and I both are the most aware why it’s best that I leave,” you tell him, keeping it curt. You hold your arms to you.

Strong brows knitting, he shakes his head and takes some big steps back. The snow, sat powdery and calf-high on the ground, creaks beneath them. “I’ll stay back here,” he says. “Just don’t go. Won’t you entertain me? It’s a gentleman’s duty to help a weeping Lady.”

You falter. The words might have you blushing and offering him a modest thank you, but the way he says it—it’s rather taunting. It’s taunting in a way that gets right up under your skin and ruffles your feathers. “And why does it bother you so?” you ask him, arching a dainty brow. You’re not even sure why he’s come out here in the first place. This is the one place that you ordain your own. It seems that not even here can you be totally alone. “They’ll have a fit if they know I was here with you.”

The prince, with his clear, ethereal features cracking into a wicked amusement that you’re not sure how to digest, says, “Perhaps they will.” He tilts his head at you, wispy strands of hair moving over his shadowed eyes with it. “But, princess, that’s the fun in it. That they will admonish you for it. Is that why you’re crying?”

Fun? Nothing about what your people, your parents, might do should they find that you’d not only been near but spoken to the black swan, is fun. You level him wary eyes. And, though sense tugs at your feet and asks you to get going, you do not. You do not know why.

“I think it is.” He’s got an obnoxious tilt to his lips. “I think that’s why you cry.”

A scoff, an abrasive and distasteful sound coming from you, falls out from your mouth. There’s that awful imprudence and temerity that you’ve heard of the black swan—everything you ought not to be. “You seem the type to know everything,” you say.

He laughs, delighted. “Is that snark?”

Pursing your lips as though confused, you spin spiced threads of patronization into your voice. “Not snark,” you say. “Just an observation.”

“Hmm.” Beomgyu slides his hands into his pockets to warm his hands. “Might I make an observation about you, princess?”

There’s interest written all over his face—you know he’s playing some sort of game. You also know that you shouldn’t indulge him in it. Still, you do. A slight raising of your brow, or maybe the interest twinkling in your eyes, too, tells him to go on.

“I think that you are too dutiful for your own good,” he says.

In a slight, testy step, he inches closer. Not so close that you worry, but the two of you are not even supposed to be in the same room. Anything is too close. You mirror it with a step back. “You don’t know me,” you say. Against your better judgement, though, your lips twitch into a soft smile. The kind of smile that is insistent, no matter how you refuse it. “So, I believe your wonderings to be entirely groundless.”

Hair blowing gently in the wisps of a winter wind and his nose and cheeks gone pink, he says, “Oh, princess. Hardly. I think we know a great deal about each other.”

Well, that’s true enough. All your life you heard of him and your curse. You’re sure it was no different for him, no matter your differences. “And what do you know about me?” you ask.

Beomgyu’s laugh falls out in a white puff of curling frost. “I know it’s been arranged that you’ll marry a superior Lord,” he says. He observes you. “Am I right?”

So fast, just with that, lightness falls from your face. You hadn’t wanted to be reminded. Your feet itch to be off, so that you can feel it elsewhere. Not here; not in front of him. Leveling yourself so that your voice doesn’t come out as stilted as you feel, you say, “Yeah. You are.”

With his eyes narrowing on you, he says, “You know, it’s weird. I’ve never seen a girl excited to be wedded look like that when it’s brought up.”

You reign in your face and shake your head. “I am perfectly excited. It’s a blessing to be married into such a family.” As much as you smooth over the furrowing of your brows, or make your expression pleasant, it’s not so easy to tame the picking of your fingers.

Anything other than excited, you might be. But absolutely not that. In fact, you are beyond yourself with anger, and you have nowhere to go with it. It bubbles hot just under your skin and demands a release that you cannot give.

Being who you are, it’s been a truth you’ve known your whole life. Someday, you were going to be offered like a shiny, silver pawn to the highest bidder. And you, as the world’s white swan, are quite the enticing thing to own. You thought you’d banished the hope for a union of love right where you’d left the sense of self behind: years ago. The time’s come now, but you aren’t as at peace with it as you should be. No matter how hard you try, you are more human than you’d like to be, and far too human to be what the world expects you to be.

If you’re going to be frank with yourself: you do not want to marry him. Living as something bought, expected to live forever as this mellowed out, poised version of yourself by the side of some man who you don’t even know or love... Of any fate you might be made to live, you think that this one is the worst.

Beomgyu begins working on taking off his jacket, a white and pretty thing with thick, winter fabric. He offers it to you. “You don’t have to lie to me about it. Maybe them, but not me.”

You look between him and his offering hand—his perfect features that are so elegant, and yet, there’s a wildness to him in those hard black eyes. If you didn’t already know so much about him, you might still be able to see the untamed in him. Who couldn’t? He wears it plainly; without remorse. You’re not sure how to interact with it, but, in a way, you envy him.

Reaching out, you accept the jacket from his hand. Tentatively, with great care so as to avoid touch, but you do.

It’s nice and soft against your frost-kissed shoulders. But it’s not enough to fix the bite against the skin on your face, so you trudge through the snow over to the sparse tree line, where the trunks might protect you better from it than the flat expanse of the lake’s surface. You press your back to a tree, and he mirrors it on the tree opposite to you. Looking over the great lake, so very serene. It twinkles with an ice film like sugar crystals atop its surface. “I guess I’m just... scared,” you say. The words come out soft and uncertain.

He nods. Listening. So, you continue. “I don’t even know him. I haven’t spoken to my betrothed once. Maybe I’ll get to know him, and maybe he won’t be bad, but...”

“But he’s not who you want,” Beomgyu says. “Not who you love.”

Licking your winter-chapped lips, you eye him for a moment. You nod slowly and say, “...Yeah. I suppose it’s selfish, but...”

Ignited, Beomgyu pushes off the tree to say, “Selfish? You give your whole life to being their saint. Maybe they think they do, but they don’t own you.”

You, not us. Frowning, you ask him, “Are you not set for some marriage of convenience?” Marrying is different as a woman, but you don’t doubt that the prince’s family intends to strengthen alliances by offering his marriage up to some optimistic, lesser family with a daughter to bargain the way yours has done with you. Every last girl and boy born as you two have been—destined to a life bigger than yourself, a force in the world as much as you are a person—have lived just the same. All of them. Each incarnation of the white swan, and you’re sure every black swan too. The people of this world paint you as embodiments of balance and life, but use you more like power plays. Even your own parents. You were born from your mother all the same as all your siblings, but as much as it aches to admit it, you are not their child. In the back of your throat, hurt and bare anger wells up thick.

He half laughs, half scoffs. “They could try. It doesn’t matter to me. They’d have to kill me before I do their bidding. Is it our fault that we were born this?” he says. “I’m going to live my life how I want, no matter what.”

You tuck your hands into your sides, where they warm between the jacket and your body heat. His words and how he looks at your lives, it’s everything you’re not. Sense of self and determination to live for more than just your predetermined role—while you’d surrendered it all, he lives thrashing and fighting against it. A product of your mirrored and opposite natures.

“Why?” you say, teeth chattering a bit under the cold’s caress. “You have a girl in mind?”

That sounds nice. Being so hopefully devoted to someone, and them to you, that you might war against destiny for it. The thought only nurses hurt somewhere deep in your chest, though. Not for you. Never for you. You could be the prettiest on this Earth, the kindest, the most disciplined, or the least even. Still, that would never be yours. You know that, so why does it taste so bitter?

A quick look, something new, passes over him. In his eyes, you see it. He looks at you for a long minute, the morning so quiet that nothing but tranquility hangs in the air for a moment, and then finally says, “Yeah. Something like that.”

Entirely intrigued, you ask, “Who? Is she a Lady?”

Beomgyu nods his head, that strange look lingering. “Of sorts,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest to lean back into the bark. “And your betrothed? Some well-off Lord?”

A smile ghosts over your mouth. “Probably. I haven’t a clue who it is; but I’m sure he’s got enough coin to spare, if my parents settled on him.”

The lines of his face gone playful, he says, “Not possibly more well-off than me.”

Your nose crinkles. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you say. A husband with money is nice. You can’t pretend that you don’t think of that, especially that none of your family’s wealth belongs to you, nor will it follow you into your marriage. Your heart revolts regardless.

Shrugging after a few beats of silent considering, he turns his attention on the lake. His face turned like that, you admire the straight slope of his nose and his eyelashes as they flutter with his heavy eyes. Like the rest of him, his side profile is a contradiction. Strong and noble, but elegant like hewn from marble. It’s perfect. With all the talk in your ears, you’d pictured something far off from the youthful, wry man stood before you. Why you’d come to imagine him brutish, you’re not sure; he’s as much swan as you. Different and mirrored all the same.

“I used to come here all the time,” he says.

“Here? To the lake?” You perk up. This had been your hideaway as a girl; where you’d come at times like this when you needed to bury something away. You thought it’d been just yours. “I wonder how we never ran into each other. I used to do the same. I guess, I still do.”

When his eyes fall back on you, they’re softer. More deep brown than black, but maybe it’s because you’re closer now. He says, “Well, I came here once or twice on my own, maybe when I was five. I didn’t really start coming back until I saw you. You were crying, all snotty, and throwing bread out for some ducks.”

Your face twists up, maybe at the memory or maybe with confusion. It seems like if he’d really come here so often, and had even seen you here, you’d have noticed. “You must have thought I was weird,” you say, the words coming out around a shiver.

“Maybe,” he says through a wry smile that’s cracked over his lips. “But mostly, I just wished I could talk to you.”

He’d watched you, because he couldn’t approach you? You were under the impression that the prince had never cared for the rules, not even one so paramount as that. But, it seems that his brashness came to him later. He stands in front of you now, doesn’t he? Maybe it was just that innocent trust that, as children, you levy out to those arounds you. Especially toward adults; and all of those had preached over moments like this. You imagine a young, curious Beomgyu, hiding himself away between bushes, itching to approach or play with you. But he never did; you hadn’t the slightest clue he’d even been there until now. Could you two have been friends, if not for the curse?

“You never came out,” you say. “Or introduced yourself?” It’s all you can really think.

His mouth twitches. “Would you have stayed?”

No. Then, you don’t think you would’ve. Even now, you’re stricken with the innate fear of touching him, no matter how surprised you are at how different he is. Different from what they said he’d be. You think you would’ve darted, should you have known who he was. For some reason, that makes your heart ache. A dark ebbing wave of ache that you are unfamiliar with.

A slight knowing smile danced over his features, eyes gone to sweet crescents that turn them, usually so dark, into something rounded. Not so abrasive. He tilts his head off to one side and says, “You’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

Cheeks long been numb, you answer, “An hour. Maybe and a half?”

“I’ll walk you home.”

You grimace. Arriving with him by your side, the man you quite literally were not supposed to even speak with, is the very last thing you should do. An awful idea. “I wouldn’t bother you. It’s probably not the best idea to show up after disappearing, with a man by my side. Especially not as a to-be-married woman,” you say. “But, thank you. Really.”

He knows what you really mean, though. A muscle in his jaw feathers. “Alright,” he says. “I suppose we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

As he begins to turn, making for wherever he’d come here from, you call out to him. “Hey, wait. Your jacket.” You pull it off your shoulders and joust it out at him. Against your skin which it had warmed, the air is bitterly cold.

“Keep it, princess,” he says, giving you a parting nod. “Get home warm.”

Today, you are to give your hand to a man that you do not know.

In the air, the rich nuttiness of fire-toasted chestnuts dance and mingle with the roar of chatter. Hundreds of familiar and unfamiliar faces line long tables with runners decorated by platters of plump, sugar-dusted plums and fruit pies. They’ve all come in their winter’s best—whites and reds and luxurious furs lining thick, velvety fabrics or embroidered with sparkling threads and studded with crystals that twinkle in the low firelight. It’s warm and lovely and all just for you.

But, you don’t feel any of that. All you feel is a heavy belly. Each smile you tug over your mouth feels like dead weight. You’re familiar with this—putting on the act. Smiling in faces that you know will turn around and have something else to say about you, pretending like you don’t know that it’s all false sweetness. You’d been trained in noble propriety since you could walk and talk.

But, considering that they’ve all come here to shower you with gifts and lovely words for a marriage in which they could really not care about beyond how they make it a profit, it’s all a bit more sour.

You’ve met your promised. The man you’re supposed to wed and spend the entirety of your life beside. You spoke with him for... what, two minutes? Two very awkward, very awful minutes. What should you have to say to each other? You’re meeting for the first time today. At your engagement feast. It’s a real conscious effort to not take your lip into your mouth and gnaw, or to not fuss over your hair, or honestly anything that might show these people that you are anything but pleased.

So, you relent to their gaudy pleasantries. You listen to them tell you that it’s such a blessing to be married to a man of high society—and a wealthy one, too. They tell you that they knew your marriage would bring a great dowry; that all the white swans have. That they were watching and expecting it. All you hear is the dripping of greed; all you see is hungry eyes and fingers crossed behind backs.

You relent to it until your stomach is sick and wrought with it. And then, the older lady ahead of you singing praises of your beauty, of how she wishes her daughter might catch the eye of a husband as advantageous as yours, does something out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift behind you, her snooty, pinched features twisting up into something new. You follow her gaze.

Dark and beautiful and his eyes trained right on you, the black swan prince stands beside you. He’s lazed, a heavy cup of some thick, spiced and wintery drink in one hand, as he does. In the clear light of morning, he’d looked so out of place. But here, soft and hard planes of his face illustrated by the flickering orange firelight, he looks so right.

You blink. And then blink again. Never once had Beomgyu made any sort of appearance at any hosted thing by your family. You just stand in place for a moment, registering his presence.

“You look lovely, princess,” he says. His eyes fall up and down you. The way he says it—it’s liquid smooth, but it’s taunting in a way. “The perfect image of a bride-to-be.”

He can’t be here. He can’t be here at all. When you look to the side, the woman is already gone. You have no doubt in your mind that she’s whispering in somebody’s ear right now.

“Prince,” you say, gritting your teeth while also dipping into an elegant curtsy.

“Do you feel that way?” He raises his eyebrows at you, his gaze heavy with underlying tension. “A perfect bride? Happy?”

Making the conscious decision to not look around you, because you can already feel the burning interest of the eyes that you’ll find on you, you say, “I do. Isn’t this quite the feast?”

“I told you that you don’t have to lie to me, princess.”

You shouldn’t even be standing here talking to him. They’re all watching. Stepping back to cut conversation with something witty, you stop in the onslaught of a chorus of surrounding gasps.

Beomgyu had reached out to grab you, and only stopped himself short the same way he had the first time you met him. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he brings his hand down, curling the fingers as if to wash away the urge to reach out.

He’s closer now, too. His breath smells sickly sweet with the liqueur he drinks. A sarcastic grin over his lips, he says, “Did he pay for all this?”

You do a dance of give and take. You step back, and he meets it with a step toward you, all the way until you find yourselves in a quieter corner. “He did sponsor the feast, yes.”

“Well, isn’t that just great,” he says, voice carrying over the many layered sounds of the gathering. “And that makes you happy? You feel fulfilled by that? Is that the purpose of the lovely white swan?”

You’re not sure what he’s getting at, or why your marriage is any of his business. For some reason, though, despite those rational thoughts, some faraway memory whispers that it makes every bit of sense. “He is a lovely man.”

Barking a laugh, Beomgyu says, “Don’t make me laugh. You don’t believe that, no matter how many times you tell it to yourself.”

You curl your fingers into the obnoxious, glittering material of your dress. “Seriously, what makes you so sure?” you say. “What makes you so sure you know? This is good for me. This is the way things are supposed to go. Not everybody in this world can get away with serving only themselves and doing whatever they want. Maybe it works for you, but not for the rest of us. I’m glad your life is fun, though. Really.”

His face doesn’t sharpen into offence, though you brace for him to. You’ve never spoken to anybody like that. Ever. Shaking his head, raven locks glowing warm around the edges, he says, “Because I know. I know. Are you listening to me? You don’t have to lie to me.”

Balking at him, you don’t know how to answer. That was nowhere near the answer you were expecting from the prince, known and notorious for his chaos and fire.

“I am listening,” you say, keeping your voice measured. Thick emotion slips through the seams. “Honesty has never done me any good. This is going to happen; all honesty is going to do is hurt me. So, I’m sorry.”

His mouth opens to fire something back, but you don’t hear it. Somebody digs their fingers into your upper arm, dragging you without a word away from your conversation. You stumble, letting them take you without a fuss. This was to be expected. You shouldn’t look back. If today was already going to be the last day you ever see him, it certainly is now that you’ve been caught not only in touching distance to him, but making conversation with him.

Tossing a self-betraying glace over your shoulder, you find his figure. Hand in pocket and his lips turned down, he watches you go.

You wish you wouldn’t have. You have no explanation for the emptiness it casts into your chest.

Recently, you’ve been crying so much. You might believe that it’s because you’ve been letting yourself feel freely, but you don’t feel free.

Your palms are soaked against your cheeks, face fallen into them as you shudder with it. Their words pin and scrape in your head, forcing you to contend with them before bouncing off the walls and you hear them again and again until your stomach has gone sick. Your parents had given you an earful. That’s been your whole life; you can handle that. The moment you saw him there, intending to speak to you, you’d prepared for it. Instead, it was their contempt and sneering faces that bleed your heart like this.

In this life, you are alone. Totally, wholly alone. Who you are—your role in life—is not the blessing they claim it to be. Is it selfish to ask to be understood? For somebody to just understand, without your pleading or begging?

Maybe. It feels that way, anyway.

“Why is it that I always find you crying?”

His voice freezes you to where you sit sprawled on your floor. Spinning to him, you say, “What are you doing?”

Beomgyu shrugs, as though he hasn’t snuck his way into your room. “I felt bad for getting you dragged off. Wanted to come see how you’re doing.”

Maybe his insisting on being around you should be annoying, but right now… You think you appreciate the company, even from the forbidden likes of him. “You can’t be here,” you hiss. “How did you get in? They’ll… if they find you here…”

His boots squeak against the polished flooring as he approaches you, and then settles down on the floor with you. The fire flickering behind him, his back to it, casts an orange light around the edges of his figure. He looks terribly inviting, like this: strewn on the floor, no holier or better than you, his face not sickly sweet nor cold and devoid of love, and his eyes curious to know how you feel.

“I don’t care what they’ll do to me. I want to see you.” He tugs his jacket off, letting it fall on the dirty floor. Improper for a prince, but Beomgyu doesn’t care. That’s who he’s always been—that’s the one thing that was entirely true out of all the things you heard about him. “Who the hell cares about their approval? We don’t need it.”

You know what he means by they and we. Only a few days ago, you’d still believed that Beomgyu was other; that he was your total opposite, and that you should fear his darkness for all your lightness. All it’s taken is being around him the once or twice that you’ve been able to for you to realize the falsity that drips from that. When you’re around him, your soul, feathery and wispy in your chest and your veins and all the rest of you that constitutes you beyond what is physical, tugs. It’s impossible to ignore—it consumes you. Where your soul longs for him around the edges, like torn and searching for what’s been lost, you feel stuff that is beyond yourself.

Rather than your opposite, you think that Beomgyu is your other half. You think that they’ve gotten it all wrong.

“How do you do it?” you say, back up against a white, whorling table leg. “How do you not care? I don’t understand.”

Inky eyes shining, he says, “I did. When I was young, I believed everything they told me. It’s hard not to, when it’s all you hear. Them, telling us that our purpose is to surrender ourselves to be something Saint-like. But when you catch one lie, you begin to catch the others, too. I saw their excuses and reasonings peel. Princess, it’s all lies. Everything you know is lies.” He says it with such conviction. Each and every word reaches down into that part of yourself that is missing something. “We’re not their Saints. That’s never been our purpose. I hate that shit; I hate that they’ve made you think that this is all you’re for. Marrying him? Never doing anything, because you’re scared of what it’ll mean for you? It’s not fucking fair.” He pushes himself closer to you. Now, your criss crossed knees are so close that a stray move might mean the world’s end. This time, you don’t panic. There’s no room for that among the swarm of your other thoughts. “So, of course I don’t give a shit about what they tell me to do. I’m going to live this life the way that it’s supposed to be. I wish that you could join me.”

“This life?” you blurt. It’s the one thought that appears clear to you, so it’s what comes out. Frowning, you add, “What lies?”

Deadpanned and as though he’s not delivering something that changes the world’s fabric around you, Beomgyu says, “There is no curse. There’s never been a curse.”

Your room is silent for a few moments, and then you shake your head and laugh. “How would you know that?” you say, nose wrinkling. If you don’t laugh, you’ll begin to actually consider the possibility of that. Just the very surface of the notion makes you nauseous. You couldn’t handle exploring the thought deeper.

Beomgyu doesn’t laugh along with you. “The curse is a lie, and everything that comes with it. All of it is just excuses or justification for the hate for the other people. The whole reason that they ever decided on it was because of their hate. Maybe to the people alive now, it’s not a lie. But that’s what it started as.” His face, dark and soft as he reads your face, twists up. “Of course, we can touch. We are two halves of a whole. There is you in me, and I in you. Do you not feel it? The tug? That’s it. The black swan and the white swan were never meant to be apart and opposite. We are meant to be together. We’re meant to be the only ones that understand each other. It’s us against the world, princess.”

Your ears ring with the pierce of each word cascading out from his mouth. “Beomgyu, I don’t understand. That doesn’t… Make sense. How?” He can’t just make claims about that. Not something like this. It’s not fair.

“I know it’s hard to believe, princess. It’s all you’re ever made to believe. But you have to trust me. Do you trust me?”

Tongue darting out to wet your lips and your fingers stilling where you fuss at the fabric of your chemise, you take a good look at him. Roaming over his features, the contradiction in them and the strange familiarity that constitutes him no matter the fact that you’ve only just met, you consider it. Everything he says is absurd, and it does go against everything you’ve ever known. You should turn your nose up at him for even suggesting it; should suspect that he only has some sort of plan to coax you into bringing the world’s end.

But, you do. You trust him beyond explanation, as though intrinsically.

You nod slowly, holding his eyes in yours. “But I don’t understand,” you say. “How do you know?”

He smiles ruefully. “I saw something—had a dream when I was young. I saw us, in every last lifetime. We have lived again and again, as we are, in so many different ways. But the one thing that was always there was that they couldn’t keep us away from each other.”

The world does a few spins around you. Lightheaded, you try to stay up under the oppressive gravity of that. You want to stick your head in the ground and shake your head and yell no, but that deep tugging that has plagued you beginning the moment you’d met him, and all the emptiness before it, tells you yes.

How poetic is that? How tragic? You, two souls born to be one, made to live apart at the interests of the world around you. Made to do it across every lifetime, and yet, in each you meet. In each, the twinkling thread of fate prevails nevertheless.

“Do they all love?”

That soft smile still playing on his lips, his cheek to his knee as he looks at you with the veneration of somebody who might’ve loved you in a thousand lifetimes before, and perhaps in this one, too. “No. Some of us were secret lovers, but so many of those lived how you do for the entirety of their life. Halved,” he says. “And never did any of them touch.”

Heart fluttering with wings in your chest, you say, “So, how do you know that the curse is a lie? If it’s never been done before?”

“Let me show you,” he says. “That I can touch you.”

All the blood in your body pulls back. You trust him; you do. But is trust enough to risk a touch that could be the end of the world? Is trust enough to be so selfish to do so?

Seeing you blanch, Beomgyu’s eyes go glassy. “Please,” he says, voice breaking as if to touch you might mean more than just proving something to you. As if the weight of everything he’s ever wanted rests on the back of it working—that if this works, and the world does not fall apart around you, then he can love you how he does, and how he had so many times before. Inevitably. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Beomgyu,” you say, looking between his eyes and the twitch of his hand as it itches to touch you. “I don’t… I’m scared.” Your voice drops to nothing more than a whisper.

“It’s okay,” he says, bringing that longing hand up. Your heart jumps when he raises up by your face. “You can be selfish this once. I want to see you do something because you want to, not because it’s what you think others might want.”

Your throat burns and tightens. Every last sparkling bit of your being longs to lean into his touch—to do what you two have wanted to do so many times before, and finally bring your souls back together. “What if it happens?” you ask, your eyes soft and true like an animal turning its soft underbelly to receive affection.

“Then let it,” he says. “At least we would have touched. Just this once.”

Gritting your teeth and swallowing hard, your belly does itself up into knots. You don’t answer him, but your quiet speaks enough. His hand hovers beside your face with the weight of the world in it.

The first touch of the white swan and the black swan happens in a gentle cupping of your cheek. And, the world does fall down around you. The walls melt, air leaves, and the seams of everything that’s even been good or true are ripped out and sewn with something new and beautiful. It’s as explosive and cosmic as you imagined it, but it is not terrifying. It’s lovely.

Your breaths shudder, your lungs trembling as you look into his eyes and realize what this means.

“Fuck,” is all Beomgyu breathes. It looks as though that it’s all he can manage. His touch grows more solid as the both of you realize that the both of you are still very much here, and so is the world. Thumb pad grazing over the softness of your cheek, his throat bobs with a swallow. You think that if you were to press your hand over his chest, you might feel it thudding there to the same thunderous rhythm that yours beats to.

So, you do. Because you can touch him. His heart sings beneath your palm, even through fabric and flesh. You can’t help the wobbling of your lip and the hot tears that spill out past your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

The second touching is the bringing together of your lips. His mouth is soft and hard against yours, contradictory as the rest of him. He brings his other hand up to hold your face into his kiss. It’s not sweet and slow—it’s as ground-rumbling as the kiss between intertwined souls coming together after an eternity of being away. Each nip and lick and clash of teeth are like the claps of thunder of the storm that will end the world, his hand sliding up the back of your neck to card his fingers through the hair at the back of your head like the claws of a beast sent to ensure its end.

And, maybe Beomgyu is the beast that has come to end the world. You wonder how he’d waited so long to bring the truth to you, or if he was torn about ever telling you. What changed things, after so many years of him watching you from afar? Your engagement? Perhaps that’s what that drink in his hand had been: a thing to forget with.

It hadn’t worked. As he kisses you for all the lifetimes in which you couldn’t, you know that he couldn’t have accepted that and moved on. Of all the black swans that have lived and passed, Beomgyu must be the most stubborn and strong-willed. That’s why, out of every single life, this is the first that you touch. He would take the world on, or play with the existence of it, for this. Just for you. All for you—you’d found somebody who will do something just for you. Curling your fingers into the front of his tunic just over his chest, you pour the fire of that revelation into your kiss.

He roams his hands all over you, mapping your shape. You kiss and kiss, lips tugging and twisting against each other, and still it isn’t enough. Bracing a splayed palm over your lower back, he does not stop kissing you even as he lays you back onto the ground. The flooring is cold against your burning body. He supports his weight on one hand beside your head and straddles your hips to do nothing but run his fingers through your hair and just kiss you.

Only when your lungs are too hungry to ignore does he free your mouth. His soft black hair dangles over his starry eyes as he looks down at you with them. Lips swollen and smeared with you, his chest heaves. Bringing his free hand up, he wipes your wet cheek.

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “Beomgyu.”

Pressing his forehead to yours, he laughs. “I like when you call me that. I think I want to make you scream it—scream it until they come breaking down your doors and see that we are each other's. Until your fiancé hears it.”

Body bursting at the seams at the prospect, you nod frantically and dip your face into his neck to dust starry kisses there, too. He shudders. “I want it so bad. Can you please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to make love to you, okay?” He pushes off you, crawling back so that he’s sat squatted just before your knees as you pin them together. “Open your legs, princess. Show me how pretty you are—I’ve waited so long for it.” He pats on the outer side of your knee.

Thrill spiraling up from between your thighs like sparks, you oblige slowly. You let your legs fall open for him, and choke on your own heart as he begins to slowly work your dress up the expanse of your legs, and then your thighs, baring to him the plush and unseen skin there. He eats it up wildly, his eyes gone ravenous and even blacker.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say, voice trill and unsure. “I don’t know what to do.”

A wicked grin cracks over his features. “I know, princess.” The fabric bunches at your thighs, now. You tremble with the stifling anticipation. “I’m going to take care of you. It’s going to feel so good—I’m gonna make you feel so good. I have so many things I want to do to you. Lifetimes of things I want to make you feel.”

Doe-eyed and laying your trust in his hands, your thighs twitch and you nod. He reveals your cunt at last, finally catching the glistening sight of it for the very first time. And, he does not disappoint. The look that washes over his face—the twitching of his lips, the tightening of his jaw in a flickering muscle, and the fire razing your cunt in his eyes—is something so dreamlike, but lucid nonetheless.

“You just lay down and let me help you. Treat you how a princess should be treated.” He works on his pants, silver belt clinking and then loosening, and then he’s just as exposed as you when his length pops free. It’s hard already, tall and pretty like the rest of him, but pink and obscene at the tip. He leaks from the little slit at the top. “Look at you. You look like you want to taste it,” he says, laughing while collecting the liquid to pump himself a few times. “Next time, baby. I’d love to see the proper mouth of the world’s princess choking on my cock.”

The air is cold against the mess between your legs. It sends a chill up your spine—or maybe that was the crudeness of his words. You suppose you should’ve expected nothing less from him. When he goes to climb back over you and line himself up with you, your thighs twitch and try to snap shut.

He pins your hip to the floor. “Don’t be shy, baby. I wanna see that pretty pussy. It’s not fair to hide it from me.”

“Sorry,” you say, cheeks burning.

Taking that hand and sliding it up behind the back of one of your knees, pressing that thigh up to your torso, he laughs a teasing laugh down at you. “Don’t say sorry,” he says. He holds his length adjacent to your slit and then begins to slip up and down the length of it. “Just let me fuck you. I need it so bad.” He hisses in tandem with you. The drags of his length, harder than how you thought a cock might feel, is like undiluted liquor. “I can’t believe this… shit, princess. I’m about to fuck you. I thought I was going to have to sit here and watch you by his side.”

You take your lip into your teeth when he pushes in. It stretches. You bring your hand up to cup the back of his neck and the other to dig into his tunic, mewling softly.

“It’s okay, princess. Hold on to me, you can take it, right? You cunt was built for me. Everything about you was made for me. Your heart, your pretty hands for me to hold, your sex, all of it. Do you feel how I fit right into you? How I was made to?”

You do. When he finally is balls-deep, his cock nestles exactly where it should. Not an inch too deep or an inch too scarce. The two of you were sculpted by something holy, fit just for each other. “Yes,” you breathe.

He can’t even linger sitting still in you. He begins pulling himself out, all the way until the tip of him threatens to pop out lewdly, before shoving back in right up against that spot. He doesn’t even have to search for it. Head falling into your chest, he licks and bites. “The taste of you,” he says. Then, he presses his tall nose right over that spot in your neck where your heart’s gone wild. “The smell of you.” Wincing, he lays into you with more vigor, hips slapping against your skin. “The feel of you. You drive me up the fucking walls. How was I ever supposed to live without this?” he says. “I refuse.”

Your belly begins to tighten in a way that you’ve never known. Tears prick the corner of your ears, clinging to him as he fucks you into the floor like he’ll never have to opportunity to have you like this again. The wood cradles your back and the back of your hips, receiving each of his thrusts. You curl your toes and will back the lewd cries that threaten to spill over with each.

His voice is taut and wobbly. “Feels good, huh? I know. It feels… so good.” Dropping your thigh to cup your face, he says, “Cry. Cry for me. I said I wanted you to scream.”

Face burning and squirming against the hardwood behind you, you shake your head. “I can’t, gyu…”

“Yes you can,” he says, face twitching. “I want you to start letting it out, or I’m gonna stop. Do you want me to stop?”

Covering your face, with the back of a forearm, you grit your teeth through each punctual and yet sloppy grind up into you. Your bodies sweat and meld, and you’re sure that anybody walking by your quarters would know just by the hollow smacks of skin and grunts that you’re fucking a man. You, an engaged woman, are letting the prince turn your brain inside out.

But, there is nothing you want less than for him to stop. So, you let your mouth drop open and allow the sweet mewls to come with each rut.

“There we go. Louder.” He braces himself, digging his feet into the floor, and then he really starts driving into you. Sparks fly in your belly—each yellow and glowing and scalding. “Do I need to fuck you harder? C’mon, louder, princess.”

Thighs squeezing his hips so tight that they ache, you squirm. You struggle against your sounds—turning from sweet moans and mewls, you groan and gasp and your voice breaks. Each collision of your bodies breaks your sounds.

Curling your fingers into his silken hair, you grit out, “H—hoooh fuck, Beomgyu, Beomgyu, I feel… like…”

Bangs sticky and his eyes growing wilder, he knows something you don’t. The knowing, taunting grin on his mouth says enough. “Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Just stay—stay right there, and I’ll give it to you. No running from it; it’s gonna feel so good.” His muscles go taut, and he doubles down on his efforts, panting through his nose and his neck sheened. He drops his head into your chest. “Fuck. Fuckkkk, I love you so much, princess. Thank you—thank you, so much.”

You don’t know why he’s thanking you. You don’t have the cognitive function to worry about that. Your mind has gone to two things: the growls and whines that rumble and tear from his chest, and the frightening tightness that only goes more dangerous. Your chest tightens—it feels as though, if he feeds that hungry beast gnawing deep down in your belly with any more of what he’s doing now, it will snap and take you down in its wake. Warbled cries crawling up your throat, you arch your back up into his chest to try and dig your hips into the floor, away from the bliss and the power of it.

“No,” he says, cursing. “No—don’t run from it. Don’t… Baby, please take what I’m giving you. It’s gonna be alright.”

Pushing back on the dark throes of the tide as it creeps up over your shoulders and sends shocks through your body, the hair on the back of your neck rising with the effort, you choke. Beomgyu takes a hand down the seam of your bodies and rolls your aching clit. They’re succinct and intentional—pressure right on the sensitive underside, sending your belly rippling as he pairs it with a few more sharp, more meaningful thrusts.

You see white. It’s white and hot. You are the sun, beaming and writhing like stardust. You curve off the floor once more, raking nails down the lengths of his back. Are you even making sound? You don’t know; you can’t hear it past the ringing piercing sharp in your ears. You shake beneath him, cunt gripping him frantically with flutters of your walls.

He grunts, voice strained and shaking as he begins to follow his own release. “Holy shit—look at you. You’re so f-filthy. So pretty, cumming on me.”

You bare each brush of his cock against your still twisting walls, trembling as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your thighs jump and your toes curl, and it’s all too much, but not enough. He needs to come tumbling over the edge right along with you—if he comes with you, it doesn’t seem so hard. You chant his name, smooth voice gone hoarse.

Stilling inside you, he whines, “Shi—it.” A war wages behind his eyes for a long second before he slips his cock from you with a wet, squelching pop, strings of your release breaking as he lays his cock on your belly. His stomach goes tight, and with one last slide of his length, slick with your mess and staining your belly, his cock jumps. He shoots all over your skin, pretty glistening spurts like ribbons a milky white.

He sits back on his haunches, slowly rubbing himself off to give you some more and come down. Your room is quiet now, aside from your heaving chests and the buzz of something new in the air. Letting his head fall back, wet strands of spiky black hair dangle around his neck, a bead of sweat catching light as it rolls down it.

“Feel okay?” he says, looking down on you with softened eyes. He pulls cloth from his pocket, unfolding the fine fabric, and he wipes himself off your belly.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, leaning into the palm he cups your cheek with. “I’m okay.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “The world didn’t explode, did it?” he says.

You share a stolen laugh with him, feeling every last honey wave receding from the spot between your thighs. The world hadn’t ended, and yet, in every way, it had. Savoring the abated rises and falls of his chest and the content sagging of his shoulders, your belly tightens anew.

What happens now, when everything else has been a lie? When you don’t believe that you can survive that lie for any longer?

So many hands work on you. One of your ladies in waiting laces you up in the back, and another works on your hair even while you stand, and one bounces a wintry, snow-kissed rouge over the plush of your cheeks.

Yesterday, your world changed. And today, you’re expected to go on living in it.

When Beomgyu slipped out from your room last night after hours of holding each other under the covers, indulging in your ability to touch, you let your heart crack in two. You shouldn’t have. Why had you let yourself think that it was going to end up anything other than like this? You, getting prettied up to be sent away with your expecting husband, and the dreams you’d let build up to the clouds in the prince’s arms all shattered on the floor at your feet.

What else can you do? Loving Beomgyu freely is out of the question. Your parents would laugh right in your face, or maybe lock you away and make even more sure that you never get to see him again.

You try to burn the image of his eyes into your memory. Black, big and round and cunning all the while. You commit the broadness of his shoulders, and the pretty straight line of his nose in profile, and the pink plushness of his lips, and the little freckles you’d discovered yesterday, and the sound of his voice in your ear, and the feel of his touch on your skin, too.

“We’ll leave you until it’s time to come collect you,” a Lady says, bowing at the waist to you as the others finish up, tying the fastening of your dress up quick and sprinkling their final touches over you before following her out.

Your room goes utterly quiet. More quiet than it’s ever felt.

Dragging your limbs over to your bed, you let yourself fall onto it despite all the care they’d taken to get your skirts right. Resting your cheek to your palm, you let your eyes fall closed as you memorize the feel of your own bed, too.

When you flutter them open, there’s something peeking out from the pillow across from you. You furrow your brows and reach for it.

The paper is folded up with haste, torn from the edge of somewhere else and scribbled on with a quick hand. How long has that been there, without you noticing? Pushing yourself up from the bed, careful to at least maintain the smoothness of your hair, you unfold it.

ℳ𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝓉 𝒮𝑤𝑎𝑛 ℒ𝑎𝑘𝑒.

Your soul comes back to life and seeps through your bloodstream. Sitting there for a few moments, idle at the largeness of what you’re about to do, you loose a breath.

And then, you curl your hand around it, shove yourself up in a flurry of white, crystalline skirts, and you go.

The curious faces of the palace hands you pass do not stop you, nor does the morning’s bite as you find your way outside, nor does the almost-slip over ice, and absolutely nothing else stops you as you run. Is he still going to be there when you make it?

God, please let him be there. Don’t let this be almost.

Fists full of the abrasive fabric of your skirts and darting by barren bushes and trees, you do not stop until you clear the little tree line and the lake stands vast and frosty ahead of you.

When Beomgyu spots you, and you spot his figure against the background of the lake crisp in the morning, the sweet cooing of the birds and the rest of the bustle falls away. None of it compares.

“You came,” he says, dragging his feet through the snow until he’s right in front of you, his features elegant once more in the clear morning haze. “I didn’t think you would.”

You reach up to dust away snowflakes resting on his hair. It’s an excuse to touch him—that’s all you find yourself wanting to do, now. Brows pinching, you say, “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… was scared.”

“No, no, I came,” you say, feeling now the bare expanse of your arms. You run your hands up and down them. Heart in atrophy all the while feeling full just being here with him, you add, “Why did you want to meet here?”

The world is serene for a few long moments as he just looks at you, his gaze searching. “Don’t marry him. Don’t leave with him.”

You know where he’s going with this already. Letting your dress fall from your hands, the one they’d fashioned you in to do exactly that, you say, “And do what?”

“Be with me. Marry me. Be my wife,” he says, the lines of his face solemn. “Let’s elope and find a corner of the world that’s just ours, so that we will never have to hear another word from them again. Let’s just… be together. Finally.”

Chest swelling with something so hopeful that it’s painful, reality comes with its pin point and pops it. “Is that really what you want? You’ll take me, even though I’m promised to somebody else?”

His lip curls as though the thought were detestable. “What the fuck is a dowry to this? To the approval of the fates? The world could try snuff that fact out with whatever they’ll try, and a man could offer your parents a dowry of all its money, and still, you’d be mine. No matter what, our souls belong to each other.” His hand is frozen against your cheek. He’s been out here waiting for you for so long. “I’d take you, promised to another man. I’d take you no matter how you are; in a thousand different lives, I’d have you each time.”

That’s all you need to hear: that you are cherished for more than just your nature, but for yourself. That he loves you unendingly and undyingly, and all you have to do is leave by his side. You’ve already left it all behind—thrown any attachment to the wind, because truly, what is that to this? You don’t know where you’ll go, and you think Beomgyu hasn’t a clue either. But you’ll find that somewhere together.

Together, your half sings. His answers with a thrilling beat.

“This time,” he says, eyes blazing with conviction. You know he feels the tug, too. “We got it right.”

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lologoinsolo · 2 months ago

Text

Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Cats and Their Men Masterlist,

The coming week has been filled with a rush of pet parents wanting their dogs to be bathed. You do the best you can by helping the grooming salon and when you have down time you head up front. Managers haven’t hired anyone and you have a sinking feeling that they won’t. The week would’ve been more stressful had Kyle not shown up twice.

The first time showing up, he looked beat up, you thought the worst but he brushed off your worry. “Just doing a job, love.” That didn’t ease you, what kinda job gives you a bruising on your cheek? You assumed he’d be longer but all he said was that he was “in an out, didn’t need to stay long like the other two.” His reasons for coming though was something you could handle a little better.

“Need a good vet for my girl,” he looks more worried about his baby than over his bruises. You can respect that to an extent but you still want him packing ice on them. “I think she’s mad at me cause I left so quickly. John’s been pulling doubles.” He grins just a little, “maybe I worried her but she’s not eating.”

“Sometimes when routines are changed it can cause cats to not eat.” Cat behavior is more complex than people like to think it is. They see a cat hiss at them and think the cat’s an ass when really the cat was giving signs to not be pet or picked up. “The store has a vet but…” you look to the front, “I’m not a fan of them. Here.” You tug him to the salon. Grabbing some printer paper and pen, “my sister goes to this one and she raves about the vets. You can get Marina seen very quickly at this one.” And added plus along with, “her chihuahua likes her vet’s too but that little dog loves anyone.” You hold it out to him.

He takes it, reads the number and name to memorize quickly as he then pockets it for later use. “Thank you, don’t know where I’d be without you, love.” He stands just a little closer to you and you almost reach to touch his bruise when the next client of poodles comes barking happily in. Kyle pulls back from you, “I’ll let you know how Marina’s feeling if something changes!” Yelling over the noises before he leaves.

You notice the slightest limp in his walk and you pray that however hurt him, gets hurt worse. Your attention leaves to greet the poodles and you trudge through the rest of your day.

You didn’t think you’d see Kyle again but he came back two days and looking much more happier than he did last. Your break was just about to be taken coincidentally. “Kyle?” Punching out and taking your smock off. “Marina’s doing okay now?”

He sighs in relief. “My poor Marina, she just has a very sensitive stomach.” He tugs a bag that he’s been holding to the front. The ones used for cats that have a more sensitive pallet. “No wonder she’s had a hard time eating.”

“And you thought it’s cause she missed you,” poking fun as he gives the most dramatically sad look his brown eyes can muster.

“I’m hurt that you’d say that to me,” he pats a free hand over his chest, “wounded even. The deepest kind of scarring.” He trembles on and you can’t help but laugh more. He notices your smock in hand, “going on break?” His brows perk up and you squirm a little under his observing eyes.

Rubbing the back of your neck, “yeah, finally.” Getting lunch has been hard to do since every pet parent wants their dogs in now. You don’t get commission like the groomers do and you’ve wondered about moving back to the front.

“I know a good burger joint nearby?” Oh? Your brows raise and he stammers, “I mean if you’d like to go— with me? I mean with me.” He murmurs a small curse under his breath. He takes a breather, “I’d like to take you out for lunch. My treat since you’ve been helping so much.”

Heat warms your cheeks and you nod, “yeah… yeah, okay? I could go for a burger. Let me just,” you nod to the breakroom to grab your hoodie. It’s still cold out and you really don’t want to freeze your bits off. “I’ll grab my things.”

He smiles that charming smile, standing a little taller as he waits for you to come back. Once your hoodie is on and you pay your cheeks to cool’em, he goes to the front and pays for his cat’s food. His car is nothing fancy but it’s sleek and sturdy. You can tell that he’s put a lot of character and love into it. Maybe you shouldn’t get into a strangers car so quickly but there are cameras at your store… that and Kyle isn’t a stranger anymore.

You chat away to fill the space and he keeps up with you and what you say even if you think it’s dumb. The drives quick, like he promised, and he opens his door to run around to get yours before you could grab it. “Ladies first,” he even holds a hand for you to grab— and you do take it. Your cheeks will never know peace when he holds your hand in a gentle firm grip. He lets go only when he shuts the door and he walks right beside you when the burger joints in view. “Makes a mean mushroom Swiss.”

“Oh? I like mushrooms too. They’re pretty fun-guy’s.”

He groans and rubs his nose to hide his smile. “That was horrible, love. This is egg-xactly why I hate puns.” He stops in his step to turn towards you.

You look at him and he looks at you as you both snort a laugh. “Well, lettuce stop then.” His grin widen even more and you find that you like his smile the longer you look at him. He waits for you to walk first and then he smalls his movement to match pace with you.

He walks a little closer to you. Mumbling offhandedly about how “he’s gonna love those jokes.” And you have half a mind to ask who but you get to the front of the line. “Hey, Netty,” he leans up against it and an old lady with a kind smile starts to roll her eyes.

“Back again, Kyle?”

He shakes his head, “not just me,” she looks from him to you. Her brows move up a little and you give a sheepish grin.

“She deserves a better date than a burger joint, Kyle Garrick.” Her tone heavy with a scolding.

You sputter and stammer, “no— no, this is not— we—“

He leans more forward, “I know, shame on me.” Looking from Netty then back to you and winks, your cheeks burn like a furnace now. “But,” he tilts his head back to the older lady, “you do make the best burgers and my best girl should get just that.” You feel like you might die on the spot. Butterflies are jumbling from your stomach and beats against your chest. “Two mushroom swiss and chips, please.”

“Mhm, remembered your manners, now is it?” Netty takes his card from him and swipes it. It dings and then she hands it right back, “be right up and here,” she hands a soda to the both of you for free.

“Thanks, Netty.” He smiles at her and motions for you to come sit. His fingers twitch around the sodas and he doesn’t bring up why he said what he said and you… you don’t either. The burgers come out neatly wrapped and when Kyle goes to grab it he stops and speaks to Netty just a tad. A small brown bag is handed from her to him and he pockets it.

“You wanna eat here?” He asks slowly, though he sounds a little quieter. “Or I… I could take you back to your job, if you’d like?” You pat the table and he sits down quickly. Giving you your burger and chips and he finally speaks up after a moment of silence. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that, love.” He bites on his full lip and his shoulders are more rigid than you’ve seen it be. “I shouldn’t have agreed to what she said. I just—“

“It’s…” you swallow a bit, the cold out hasn’t cooled your warm cheeks. “It’s fine, Kyle.” You’ve dated a few but no one’s called you their best girl the way he did. The butterflies in your stomach seem to get worse, you should be mad about it. You don’t think he intended for that to happen or say what he said. Maybe he played along with an old lady’s musing… you don’t know if you should be hurt or mad that maybe it was a joke.

“I,” he takes a breath, “I meant what I said…earlier,” he looks down to his cooling burger and then back to you. “You deserve the best, love.” He coughs a little, his bruisings have gone down only a little and he hasn’t limped once since he’s walked beside you. “And I would like to take you out on a—“

“I,” you cut him off suddenly, “t-the food,” you stammer, his face contorts slightly to sadness. “We should… I need to be back soon.” Your hands tremble as you start picking up your burger to eat. He nods and gives a soft “okay, love” before you both eat in silence.

He drives you back in silence and you pick at your fingernails. When your job is in view he parks his car, steps out and goes to open your door just like before. He holds his hand out and his smile’s a little smaller than it was. “See you around?” A hopeful look that makes your heart squeeze tightly.

“Yeah… Kyle… I’ll see you,” you walk quickly and your heart hammers against your chest. You punch back in, heading over to the back of the salon and you place your hands over your face to scream into it. Some of the groomers notice but shrug their shoulders. Someone offhandedly mentions “stress of the job” but it’s not that. It’s you realizing that you probably ruined something good before it could even start.

#lolowrites #141 and their cats #kyle gaz x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x you #gaz x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #Gaz #cod mw #cod mw2 #girl what are you doing??#I say as I type it out with the grinchiest grin I can muster

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adelliet · 2 months ago

Text

Joel Miller X f!reader

Drunk Desires

Summary: Joel hadn’t had any intimate contact with a woman for a long time, until he unexpectedly stumbled upon you. He saved you, and then rewarded you with an irreplaceable gift.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, weird creeps annyoing reader, alcohol consumption, strong language, age gap, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, ...), multiple orgasm (come on it's Joel Miller), fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex (p i v), pull-out method, short aftercare

A/n: Hey! So, it got a little longer, sorry, I really got into it… I also apologize if some phrases or parts aren’t grammatically correct or don’t make sense, English isn’t my native language! <3 Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

As handsome as Joel is, he hasn’t been with many women in his lifetime. Before the apocalypse, he was fairly active, but now? That part of his life is a mess. If anyone asked him how long it had been since his last time with a woman, he probably wouldn’t even remember. And honestly, he was fine with that.

At least, most of the time.

When he moved to Jackson to live near his brother, a small part of him hoped he’d reclaim some of his old self, that despite his age, he might become a “sex dragon” again. But things didn’t quite turn out that way. Instead of spending his days fucking, he found himself helping Tommy with hunting trips or organizing events for the local kids.

Not that he minded, far from it. In fact, he loved being able to focus on something other than survival, on something that didn’t revolve around whether he’d live to see another sunrise. But the truth was, he was alone. Sure, he had Tommy, and through him, a sense of family, but that didn’t fill the quiet spaces.

Most evenings, he ended up at the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl as he idly played with it. It wasn’t exciting, but it had become his favorite pastime. Boring, maybe, but his.

And tonight was no different. He sat alone in the corner, quietly observing, and if he was being honest, judging, everyone around him. Every time his eyes landed on a couple, even the young ones, his chest tightened, and he had to look away. He hated to admit it, but he was jealous.

The only thing that dulled the sting was the whiskey in his hand, dark and bitter, with two cubes of ice slowly melting into it. He took a slow sip, feeling the burn trail down his throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest.

He leaned against the wooden wall, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of the bar, whiskey, cigarettes, and the faint musk of old wood, wash over him. It was comforting in its own way, allowing him to relax. Or at least, as much as he ever could.

Still, his mind refused to stay quiet. It wandered, spinning thoughts and fantasies about what it would be like if he had someone. A woman. Pretty, smart, independent, but not too proud to accept help when she needed it. He pictured them together, imagined the warmth of her touch, the way it would feel to hold her close, to kiss her, to-

A sudden, unnatural loud noise cut through his thoughts like a blade. His body tensed immediately. Snapping out of his daydream, he scanned the room, then stood up, instincts kicking in.

It sounded like two male voices cutting off a softer, more hesitant female one. Joel furrowed his brows and followed the sound, his instincts already telling him something was off.

As soon as he got a clear view, he understood the situation instantly. A young woman, pretty, clearly uncomfortable, was pressed against the wall in a booth. One of the men kept sliding closer to her, invading her space, while the other sat across from them, grinning like an idiot, chuckling under his breath. They both looked like creeps.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

“Any problems?” His voice was low, rough, predatory. The kind of voice that made people pause.

The entire bar seemed to hush for a moment as both men turned their heads toward him. And then there was you. Your eyes met his, wide with uncertainty at first, but then, hope.

“Fuck off, dude,” one of the creeps spat, barely sparing Joel a glance before turning back to you. You were still trapped, squeezed between him and the wall, your body tense, your eyes darting between them and Joel.

Joel’s jaw tightened. “I will,” he said, voice calm but firm, tilting his head slightly in your direction. “As soon as you leave her alone.”

The second man scoffed. “How about you mind your own damn business, huh?” he muttered, leaning in close enough that Joel caught a whiff of his breath, rancid, like cheap beer and rotting teeth. Joel nearly gagged.

And then, after a beat, he laughed. Loud. Deep. A laugh that wasn’t friendly at all.

Both men turned their attention back to him, clearly irritated now. “Hey, you shit, we’re telling you one last time, go to hell-“

The guy barely finished his sentence before he made the mistake of stepping closer. The second he was within reach, Joel’s hand shot out, gripping his jacket and yanking him in until they were nearly nose to nose.

Joel’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to something cold and lethal. “Leave,” he growled, eyes burning into the man’s like a wolf sizing up its prey. “And never, ever, touch her again. Or I swear to God, you won’t have those eyes or that pretty little nose left. Understood?”

The creep’s head shook in pure fear, and the moment Joel released him, he bolted out of sight. Joel then turned his attention to the other guy, the one still frozen next to you, his face pale with shock. He didn’t even need a warning, within seconds, he was gone too, disappearing as quickly as he had slithered in.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he watched them scramble. “Wretches,” he muttered under his breath before finally turning to you.

The relief in your eyes was unmistakable, and the way you looked at him, grateful, warm, made something inside him shift. Your eyes really were something else, he had to admit. Actually, you were something else.

“Are you… okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded quickly, offering a bright smile. “Yes! Thank you so much!”

Your voice was soft, elegant, so unlike the rough world around you. Joel wasn’t sure why, but hearing it sent something strange through him. A deep, twisting sensation low in his stomach. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Alright.” He gave you a small nod and was about to leave you be when you stopped him. “Wait!” He paused, glancing back at you.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Joel huffed a quiet chuckle. “No, thank you-“

“Please,” you insisted. “It's the last thing I can do.”

You looked so earnest, so determined to repay him, that he hesitated. Any other time, his answer would have been obvious. A beautiful young woman offering to share a drink? Hell, in the past, he wouldn’t have thought twice.

But now… now he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a young man anymore, and sitting across from someone like you, fresh-faced, full of life, felt almost wrong.

Then again, those eyes of yours had a way of convincing people. After a moment of silence, he sighed and gave in, sliding into the booth across from you, making you jump a little from excitment.

“So, what do you like to drink?” you asked, your voice brimming with energy.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just… looked at you. Studied you. Every little detail. The glow of your skin, the way your long lashes framed your eyes, the soft curve of your lips. Your hair looked impossibly smooth, the kind that begged to be touched. You were perfect, almost too perfect, like you didn’t quite belong in this world.

And somehow, he was sitting across from you.

“Hello?”

Your voice snapped him out of it. He’d been staring too long. Too long for it to be normal. He needed to be more careful, or he’d start looking like one of those creeps he’d just chased off. Clearing his throat, he straightened up, forcing himself back to reality. “Whiskey.”

You nodded, pursing your lips thoughtfully. “Ah. Bitter.” Joel gave a small nod, his usual unreadable expression in place, except for the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across his face. Almost invisible, but it was there.

“And something else? Maybe something to eat or-“

“Whiskey is enough. Thank you,” Joel cut in smoothly, lifting a hand in a small, polite gesture. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, subtle but real.

You nodded and got up to head to the bar.

Joel exhaled, settling into his seat, but his gaze naturally followed you. Again, his eyes moved over you, taking in details he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

The way your tight black jeans hugged your legs and ass perfectly. The cropped brown jacket, fitted just right, didn’t reveal much from the back, but it didn’t need to. The curve of your body already told him everything.

And that’s when it hit him. He was checking you out. Like a damn teenager.

Joel clenched his jaw and quickly looked away, clearing his throat as if that would clear his thoughts, too. But it didn’t matter. You were like a magnet. And God help him, he was already getting addicted.

Joel let out a slow breath, trying, really trying, not to look again. But his eyes had a mind of their own.

You were leaning against the counter now, arching your back just enough to push that perfect, round ass out. It wasn’t on purpose, at least, he didn’t think it was, but damn, it wasn’t helping him one bit.

A heat started building in him, low and persistent, the kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not like this. Shifting in his seat, he tried to get comfortable, but even his jeans were betraying him now, getting tighter in all the wrong places.

Shit.

It was almost unbelievable, hell, embarrassing, that just from looking at you, he was already hard.

But here he was.

An old, grumpy bastard sitting in a booth, shifting uncomfortably, grateful that the table at least covered his lap. And waiting. For you.

A woman so far out of his league, it wasn’t even funny. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face, as if that would snap him out of it.

Get it together, Miller.

“Everything alright?” you asked softly as you sat back down, sliding the glass of dark gold liquid toward him. Joel exhaled slowly, nodding as he took the drink into his hands. “Yeah… thank you.”

But if he was trying to steady himself, you weren’t doing much better.

Your eyes flickered down to his hands, big, strong, rough in all the right ways. It was almost impossible not to imagine what they could do. What they could feel like.

And then there was his face. Sharp, rugged, pretty in a way that men his age weren’t supposed to be. Sure, your friends would call him old. Maybe even tell you he was too old. But you? You found him more attractive than half the boys your age.

Because unlike them, he wasn’t just handsome, he was experienced. In every way.

And definitely in that way.

Your gaze drifted to his eyes, dark and unreadable, full of secrets you desperately wanted to unravel. What was he thinking about? Did he, maybe, want you, too?

The heat between your legs pulsed stronger, making you shift in your seat, pressing your thighs together in a poor attempt to dull the ache.

“I’m Y/N, by the way…” you coughed out, desperate to break the thick tension settling between you.

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, having just poured the whiskey straight down his throat. His gaze flickered from your face, just for a moment, before dropping lower. Your chest. And then, just as quickly, his eyes snapped back up.

“Joel,” he finally said, his voice low, gruff. That name hit you like a punch to the gut.

Joel.

It planted itself deep in your brain, burning itself into your memory. You knew, right then and there, that you’d never forget it.

“And… thank you,” you added, suddenly feeling shy. “For, um… saving me.”

Joel gave a small shrug. “No problem…” He almost left it at that, like he had with every other response, but after realizing he was barely stringing two words together, he forced himself to continue.

“Those assholes needed to learn their place.” You nodded, fully agreeing. But deep down, your mind wasn’t on those men anymore. It was on him.

“And how do you live here, in Jackson?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Joel took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes momentarily drifting away before meeting yours again. The connection was instant, like a spark in the dark. For a moment, you both just melted, caught in the pull of each other’s gaze.

It took you a second to catch your breath, your thoughts scattered. His eyes… they were so damn beautiful. “It’s been a few months now, I dare say…” He paused, watching you closely. “What about you?”

You struggled to find your words, your throat tight from the intensity of his stare. “I… I moved in just a couple days ago…” You swallowed hard, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you felt.

“A newbie, I see,” Joel said with a small scoff, his lips curling into a half-smile. You nodded, trying to play it cool, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. You could feel your cheeks burning, the redness spreading across your face. It was like your body had betrayed you.

You quickly looked away, hoping the blush would fade, but there was no denying it. You were shy. Suddenly, you were aware of every little thing, how your hands were resting, how your legs felt, the way your breath hitched when you thought of him.

Despite that, you thoroughly enjoyed his presence, and even though Joel didn’t show it, he enjoyed yours as well.

A lot.

After a long and tireless conversation, where Joel spent most of the time just listening to your excited stories and experiences, you were now walking side by side. Not too close to invade each other’s space, but not too far either, so you could still hear each other if one of you spoke.

Right now, though, you were both silent. The darkness around you was beautifully illuminated by the warm glow of street lamps. Above, the stars shone brightly, guiding your way. The snow fell gently, blending seamlessly into the white carpet beneath your feet, your boots leaving soft imprints as you walked. A faint breeze whispered through the night, barely noticeable.

It was perfect. Neither of you spoke, yet the quiet felt comfortable. More than anything, you felt safe, something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Joel, on the other hand, finally didn’t feel alone. He was grateful for the company, especially because the company was you. It almost felt unreal, walking beside the sweetest, most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Like a dream.

Still, a part of him braced for the inevitable. He knew that, sooner or later, you’d probably stop talking to him. Maybe you’d acknowledge him with a polite wave or a nod when passing him on the street. But eventually, you’d move on. And he’d be just another face in the crowd.

For a fleeting moment, your fingertips nearly brush against his, a spark of electricity passing between you, silent, but impossible to ignore. It’s what finally compels you to speak.

“It’s really nice…” Joel’s brows knit together in mild confusion, unsure of what you mean.

“The weather,” you add quickly, prompting a soft exhale of understanding from him.

“Yeah… the town at this time of night is definitely something.”

You nod, your gaze drifting over the quiet streets before inevitably settling back on him. Just looking at him sends your heart into a steady climb, warmth pooling beneath your skin.

Joel gestures toward a small brown cabin a few meters away. “That yours?” You hesitate for a beat before answering, the words carrying a weight of something unspoken.

“Oh… yeah. That’s mine.” A faint trace of sadness lingers in your voice, too subtle to explain, but not enough to go unnoticed.

With each step closer to your house, the inevitable goodbye loomed nearer, a moment you weren’t ready for. Neither was Joel.

After years of relentless stress, of running from clickers and worse, the weight of it all had been suffocating. But now, standing beside him, everything felt different. Life felt worth living again. Like it was always meant to be. You didn’t want to give up this feeling, this moment with Joel.

“Well… looks like this is the end,” you exhale, suciing your lips together awkwardly, as you both stand at the door of your house. Joel nods. “Probably,” he murmurs, glancing down, bracing himself for the hollow feeling to return, for life to feel meaningless again.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and uncertain, before an idea surfaced in your mind, one that could either be the best or worst decision of your life.

“Maybe I’m being silly for even asking…” Joel’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours, searching, waiting. “But um… don’t you wanna come in? Get something to eat… or drink, again?”

The moment the words left your mouth, regret crept through you. His expression shifted—hesitation flickering across his face. But it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. No, he wanted to. More than anything.

The problem was the voice in his head, the one that never let him rest. This is a bad idea. Someone could see. The neighbors were nosy, and people talked. Something could happen. He didn’t want to bring trouble to you, didn’t want to hurt you.

But God, he wanted you.

“Or if you don’t want to, it’s totally fine, I just—”

“Sure.”

His voice cut through your nervous rambling, firm and certain. Your eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise. “I’d love to.”

A quiet giggle slipped past your lips, as you quickly checked your pockets for your keys.

This is a terrible idea.

The silence in your kitchen grew heavier with each passing second, broken only by the occasional sound of you or Joel sipping your drinks. It wasn’t that there was nothing to say—you simply enjoyed the quiet. Though, if you had to choose, you’d much rather hear Joel’s crusty voice.

Then, an idea popped into your head. “How about we play a game?”

Joel’s eyes met yours the moment you spoke. “What game?” he asked, clearing his throat and raising an eyebrow. “Maybe a board game? Or cards… poker, maybe?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he looked down. Memories flooded back—late nights at the pub, playing poker with Tommy and the rest of the guys. Good old times…

“We don’t have to, I was just thinking—”

“Sure. Poker sounds great,” he interrupted with a smile. You never thought someone so tough, with such an intimidating look, could smile like that.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a quiet giggle escaped your lips before you jumped out of your seat and headed to your bedroom to find the cards.

Meanwhile, Joel took another sip of the coffee you had made. It was delicious. His gaze wandered around your home. So warm, so inviting. Compared to his place, yours looked so much better… and cleaner. He could get used to being here. Hell, maybe even living here someday. But that was a massive leap into the future.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away, and focused on the moment. Right here. Right now. Sitting in your chair, in a beautiful kitchen that smelled like heaven, enjoying a cup of coffee while waiting for an amazing girl to play poker with.

He couldn’t be happier.

…Actually, no. If he had the chance to touch you, to feel you, he would be definitely much happier.

He couldn’t stop the thoughts. Didn’t even want to, if he was being honest. His mind wandered to you in the most sinful ways, imagining everything he’d do to you, everything you’d do to him.

He pictured his hands exploring your body, tracing every curve, memorizing every inch of your soft skin. He could almost feel the way his fingers would slide beneath your clothes, slowly peeling away each layer as his lips claimed yours in deep, lingering kisses.

At first, he’d be gentle, taking his time, making sure you felt safe, comfortable. But the second you were both bare, he wouldn’t waste another moment. His hands would be all over you, grabbing your ass, squeezing just hard enough to leave dark marks on your skin. He’d bite your neck like a damn monster, his teeth sinking in just enough to make sure everyone in Jackson knew that you were his.

Meanwhile, you were upstairs, searching for the poker cards. It took you quite a while, long enough to make you question your own memory, but in the end, you found them. A satisfied smile spread across your lips as you grabbed the box. But just as you were about to close it, something else caught your eye. Another set of cards. A completely different game.

Drunk Desires.

The sleek black packaging practically screamed its purpose without you even needing to look inside. Still, curiosity got the best of you.

You sat down on the bed and opened the package, dumping the cards onto the sheets. There were two colors, white and black. Frowning, you picked up a white one and read it.

“Drink if you’re the best kisser.” Your eyebrows furrowed. What even is this game? You flipped through the rule card, hoping to make sense of it.

“DRUNK DESIRES is a drinking game for couples who want to spice things up. The physical edition contains 50 cards: 28 dirty (black) and 22 flirty (white).”

You blinked, surprised that you even owned something like this. Where the hell did you get these? Your curiosity burned hotter, so you picked up one of the black cards. As soon as you read it, a shiver ran down your spine. Absolutely not.

You quickly shoved the cards back into the box and grabbed the poker set instead. But just as you were about to leave, your gaze drifted back to Drunk Desires.

You bit your lip, hesitating. Which one should you bring? There would definitely be consequences. Side effects. This could end very badly if you bring the black ones…

“Hey, hope you didn’t fall asleep!” you said cheerfully, walking back down the stairs to sit across from Joel, who was still holding his cup. “Not yet,” he chuckled.

“So, um… unfortunately, I couldn’t find the poker cards,” you said, watching his face fall slightly into a look of disappointment, followed by a small “tsk, aww” sound. “But I found these instead,” you added, placing the box in the center of the table.

Joel leaned in to get a better look. “Drunk Desires?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Yeah… you ever heard of it?” Joel shook his head, then leaned back into his chair. “Oh… well, we don’t have to play it,” you said quickly. “What is it?” He motioned to the cards, eyes locked on you.

You swallowed, a dry lump in your throat, before trying to explain without making it sound too awkward. “It’s basically truth or dare… with alcohol,” you said, a bit unsure.

Joel gave an almost imperceptible “aah” and nodded, understanding. It was, after all, just another version of truth or dare… right?

“Then let’s start,” Joel said, surprisingly eager. He placed his coffee cup down and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation.

You were momentarily stunned by his sudden excitement, but quickly snapped back to reality. You stood up and headed to the cabinet to grab something strong. Vodka was the first thing your eyes landed on, and you didn’t hesitate.

“Alright, so you pick a card and read what it says. It’ll say something like ‘drink if…’ or ‘or drink…’ well, you’ll see. Let me start, I’ll show you,” you said, trying to explain the rules as best as you could.

You pulled out a card, thankfully a white one. You read it aloud:

“Do a squat with your partner on your back, or drink.” You both laughed as you immediately grabbed a shot glass and poured in the vodka. “Come on, I think you’d do it” He teased.

You just shook your head and downed the shot, the strong liquid burning as it slid down your throat, making your face muscles tense up.

“It’s… quite strong,” you said, half-opening your eyes, glancing over at Joel, who was grinning widely. Something told him he was going to enjoy this game.

“Alright, my turn,” he said as he reached for another card from the small stack. He read the text to himself, his eyes widening, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You immediately started to worry, regretting that you hadn’t just picked up a deck of poker cards instead.

“Take off one item of clothing…” he read aloud, still staring at the card he was gripping tightly. A shiver ran down your spine. Maybe this was a bad idea. No, definitely, this was a bad idea. A man you had just met was playing a game meant for couples, there was no way he’d want to see you again after this.

“Alright,” he said, standing up before casually slipping off his shoes, all the while keeping his eyes on you with a playful smile.

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, lips parting slightly as if you wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

When he sat back down, you were caught off guard. Not really by Joel’s bold move, but by the entire situation itself.

“Are you gonna play or just stare at me all night?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you let out a small giggle before reaching for another card.

Neither of you had any idea how much time had passed. By now, you were way too drunk for this. The game had turned out to be a lot more fun than you expected, and you definitely didn’t regret bringing it anymore.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of vodka and bursts of laughter. The neighbors were probably pissed, but you didn’t care.

Joel hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. And hearing him laugh made your heart feel warm. His voice was just so comforting.

But being drunk made your senses and desires a lot stronger. You started noticing his big hands more often, the way his muscles were tightly wrapped in his collared shirt, and your naughty imagination kicked in, making your panties wet Joel wasn’t much better. He couldn’t stop staring at you, at your body. Every time he tried to look away or focus on the cards, his eyes would automatically fall back to your breast. He blamed the alcohol for this, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t just the vodka that made his jeans feel so tight all of a sudden.

“So…” Joel pulled another black card, smiling at you before reading aloud what it said. “Do your favorite sex position for one minute or drink.” You laughed, shaking your head. At that moment, you found every bullshit ridiculously funny.

You obviously expected him to drink, so you poured some vodka into his shot glass. But instead, Joel put his card back onto the table and slide away from the table, still sitting. You froze, staring at him, full of anticipation.

“I’m gonna need you for this,” he said, patting his lap lightly. Your eyes widened, and your heart stopped. Was he for real? His dark, hunting, intense gaze gave you all the answers you needed.

You stared at him for a moment, questioning your own consciousness, was this really happening? After a few seconds, you finally stood up, painfully slowly. It wasn’t just nerves holding you back; the alcohol in your system wasn’t exactly helping you see straight either.

You took a hesitant step forward, wide-eyed as you approached Joel. He watched your every move, his gaze trailing over you like you were the most mesmerizing sight he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Oh, that was the last thing he could be worried about. You had thought about this exact scenario, sitting onto his lap and riding him a million times over, despite the fact that you had just met him.

Without another word, you carefully settled onto his lap as he spread his legs, making room for you, making sure you were sitting right against his crotch.

The advantage of being this close? You could finally take him in, all of him. Every little detail of his rugged face, each strand of his graying beard, the way his thick, dark eyebrows framed those hungry, unreadable eyes. His lips, so full and tinted a soft pink, looked almost too inviting. But what burned the most was the intensity behind his stare. There was something hidden there, something much darker than just hunger or desire.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Not without your permission. After all, this was still just part of the game. He glanced at his watch, counting down a minute in his head. Trying, desperately, to focus on the time.

But the second you shifted, adjusting yourself just slightly in his lap, he was done for. He’d been holding himself back all night.

His gaze flicked back to yours. Eye contact, sharp and unyielding. The air around you thickened, tension pressing into every inch of space between you.

“Y-you’re not watching the time,” you whispered, breathless.

“Do you want me to?” His voice was low, rough, aged like fine whiskey. It sent a pulse straight to your core, making you tremble against him.

You shook your head, your heart pounding against your ribs. You wanted him, desperately. You wanted to rip his clothes off, feel his bare chest, his stomach, his muscles tensing as he held you close. But Joel was waiting. Patient. Even though you were making it nearly impossible, he wouldn’t be the one to break the barrier first.

But the eye contact alone made your legs weak.

You could feel him hardening beneath you, pressing right where you needed him most. The unbearable ache between your thighs grew stronger with each passing second, each torturous moment you sat on his lap. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to make the move.

Shifting yourself against him, you rolled your hips slightly, pressing down just enough to make him groan. His eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, and he let out a low, rich laugh, gravelly and deep. His hands still hadn’t touched you.

“Stop…”

It wasn’t a warning. It was a request. A request you knew damn well he didn’t want you to obey. He liked this. God, he liked this. But the fact that he couldn’t touch you made it so much harder.

“Or what?” you breathed out, voice teasing, dripping with need.

And then, you really moved. Rocking your hips against him, dragging yourself along his clothed cock, feeling every inch of his length press against you. This wasn’t just subtle shifting anymore.

This was dry humping.

He curled his fingers into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white as the rough denim of his jeans trapped his aching dick, holding him prisoner. Every roll of your hips, every delicious bit of friction you created, made it harder for him to keep his hands off you.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The dull throb between your thighs was unbearable, the friction sending little sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. This was the only way to get some relief, to grind yourself against him, to take what you needed.

“Fuck…” Joel exhaled, his voice rough and strained as he threw his head back, staring at the ceiling like he was begging for strength. You were a real torture.

Your eagerness for him had long surpassed its limit. Without a second thought, you placed your hands against his broad chest, fingers curling slightly against the firm muscle beneath his shirt as your hips began to move faster. Your breath hitched, coming in shorter, more desperate gasps as you chased every bit of friction you could get.

And that…that was enough to break him.

Joel’s restraint snapped like a frayed thread. His large hand shot up, wrapping firmly around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, just claiming, before he pulled you down into a kiss. Sloppy, deep, starved.

You gasped against his lips, but he didn’t give you a second to recover. His mouth moved hungrily over yours, devouring, tasting. You tasted sweet. Too sweet. Like a ripe, juicy strawberry, one he couldn’t get enough of. And just like strawberries, once Joel had one taste, he needed more.

His impatience revealed itself through the deep, guttural growls rumbling in his chest. One hand remained wrapped securely around your throat, a constant reminder of his control, while the other wandered, exploring every inch of your delicate body, frustratingly still covered by fabric.

When his rough palm finally found your hip, he sqeezed it, fingers digging in with a possessive force that made you gasp, a soft, breathless whimper melting into the kiss.

Joel only smirked devilishly, his lips curving against yours before he kissed you even harder.

Your tongues tangled, battling for dominance neither of you truly wanted to win. Your spit mixed, your lips clung to each other with a desperate kind of need, like they simply couldn’t exist apart.

Your hands moved naturally, gracefully, into Joel’s soft curls, fingers threading through them like they belonged there. Every time he squeezed your hip, you retaliated with a sharp tug, drawing a deep, hungry groan from his throat.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

You were a drug, an addiction he never wanted to break free from. He needed to feel every inch of you, every detail, every imperfection that only made you more perfect in his eyes. He didn’t want to rush it, he wanted to savor you, but fuck, he had been waiting for this moment far too long.

After what felt like an eternity of heated, desperate kisses, ones that left both of you gasping, moaning into each other’s mouths, Joel finally acted.

Like a true gentleman, he let his hands slide down to your ass, gripping you firmly as he lifted you with ease. He placed you onto the table, making sure you were steady before he reluctantly pulled away, his eyes searching yours.

“May I?”

His voice was low, as he shot you those damn puppy eyes, fingers hovering just an inch from the zipper of your jeans. You barely managed to nod, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it.

With a sly smirk, he lunged not only for your sore lips, but also for your jeans. He took them off in a second without any problems, making you pleasantly surprised how expertly and majestically he took off your pants and panties. His huge palms traveled to your thighs, closer and closer to your throbbing core, that was screaming to be filled.

Gently, he brushed his middle finger slightly on top of your wet folds, making you deepen the kiss and tug Joel's hair. God he loved it. It took a few more brushes, before he inserted his finger in, making you gasp in satisfaction. Joel smoothly found your neck and sucked on the sensitive spot, while adding his thumb to circle around your clit, deadly slowly.

You whined his name as you instinctively move your pelvis against his hand, craving for more friction. He noticed it quickly, so he went deeper as another finger joined to make you cum.

"You're so wet, sweetheart" he groaned against your ear, his chest moving up and down as the heat between his legs grew way too fast.

"Joel- I am gonna-" you wanted to warn him, but he knew. Damn well. Your whole body tensed, your core clenched against his fingers as your jaw dropped. You shudder, before you release yourself and cum all over his fingers. He was still curling his fingers inside you, making you overstimulated, until he carefully pulls them out, immediately sucking on them. He moaned, rolling his eyes as he tasted you.

"You taste amazing..."

He whimpered, looking deeply into your eyes. You smile, goosebumps appeared all over your body. You were a little embarrassed at how quickly Joel brought you to orgasm, but before you could process it, his head was hiding between your legs. You leaned against your elbows, checking what was he doing.

"Relax baby" his wolf, hot voice makes your core throbbing around nothingness, again. He observes you for a while, teasing you, before giving your puffy labia a gentle kiss. And another one. And another one. His needle-like prickly beard scratched and tickled you at the same time, creating a mix of sensations you couldn't name. The only thing you were sure of was, that it was fucking pleasurable.

You found his hair quickly and threw your head back, as his mouth burried fully into your vagina. It was a vicious circle, whenever you pulled his hair he would howl, sending a strong vibration through you, forcing you to tug his old hair.

In addition to obtrude his tongue inside you, he never stopped watching you. He analyzed your every little movement to find out how and what you liked the most, without even asking. He was a master at this, because all it took was a few experiments and you were back at your edge.

His tongue picked up pace and speed. His nose bumping into your clitoris without intention, as his smooth tongue flicks in and out of your core, that started closing around him, again.

"Fuckkk..." you moan, throwing your head back and tugging Joel's hair, really hard this time. It was a miracle you didn't pull some of them out. You though it's impossible, but this absolute monster, whom was still working on your core, led you to another unforgettable orgasm.

When you came back from your high, breathing hysterically, he finally let go of you and stood up. He watched you and his dick hardened even more at your sight. You were exhausted, sweat was pouring off you, your chest was moving up and down rapidly and your cheeks were all red. You were beautiful.

The best part was that Joel had gotten you into that state, just with his fingers and mouth. He couldn't wait any longer and exist with just an imagination what his cock would do to you. He had to find out himself.

He let you rest and catch your breath, while quickly taking off his belt and shirt. You were lying on the table, your legs still slightly shaking from the shock, but you loved it. You had never felt anything like this before. It was new, everything.

You already started missing Joel's lips and fingers, but behind his mischievous grin, you sensed that he was far from done with you.

The moment his shirt and pants touched the ground, revealing his full form, your mouth naturally filled with a load of saliva. Joel's godlike body was truly...divine. How can someone with these massive muscles be single?

Your eyes were scanning him from head to toe until you stopped. You swallow an imaginary saliva, as you saw his full length. It was massive. The veins, the sparkly tip, everything was just perfect. You couldn't wait to feel him, and so did your pussy.

When you were done admiring him, he leaned over and grabbed your ass, this time more roughly. He sat back down on the chair with you, the cold wood chilling his bare ass, but your wet hole was keeping him warm. It was faultless balance.

He sat you down in him, so that his penis was resting on your stomach and he hadn't entered you yet. His lips immidiatley found yours again. The kisses were rough, sloppy and messy. Joel's wrinkly fingers tangled in your long hair, while his other hand carefully unbuttoned your shirt. It takes you longer to take off your shirt, but Joel done it in a flash, even without looking. He really has magic hands.

You cooperated and together, you took off your shirt with your beautiful lace bra, which Joel fell in love with, but he admired your boobs way more. The moment he got the oportunity, he immediately cupped them and lightly squeezed them, making you gasp and jerk in place.

"You look amazing, you know that?" you shyly giggle and look down. He really knows what to say in every situation. Where has this man been for so long?

Finally, the time you've both been eagerly waiting for has arrived: Sex. Joel helped you lift yourself up and with a soft hiss, you slowly pushed him in. "That's it...good girl" Joel proudly supported you. You could clearly hear in his voice that he was already on the edge, even though you had just the tip inside you. "Yes, take it all in" he didn't rush you anywhere. His words really helped you relax and loosen up, so after a while you simply slid in.

You both exhaled loudly, your voices syncing up, helping to create a sexy atmosphere.

“Well done baby”

He let out a tired chuckle, as both of his hands found your weist, helping you to move. You were quite out of energy, from the last two orgasm, so it was obvious that Joel helped you.

At the beginning, you moved your pelvis gracefully back and forth, warming yourself up and touching his body. You still couldn't believe it and sometimes you doubted that this was reality. Joel's sighs were harmony to your ears, kicking you up and energizing you to a faster pace.

"Fuck you're-damn it" Joel's jaw clenched as he threw his head back, despite the fact he wanted to look at you and admire your satisfied face. But he couldn't take it anymore. Not with so tight pussy you had.

His breath was cracking, his grip slowly loosing its strength, but you were gaining it. You rested your hands on his muscular chest for balance and started jumping. It was exactly what you needed. At this pace, with this speed and position, you knew you would cum for the third time in a few seconds.

Joel's tip was hitting your g-spot frequently, as if you were made for each other. Your tongue knew no other words than his name, which you growled countless times.

"Princess I-" Joel tried so hard to hold back and not cum too soon, but at his age with your body, it was nearly impossible. Still, he didn't want to end this moment, so he decided to switch positions. He quickly grabbed you and placed you back on the table, thrusting into you with no mercy.

The wet sounds started to surround the whole kitchen, after a while, the whole house. Every time Joel pushed into you, you cried out, it was an endless circle, again. His nostrils were big, his brows furrowed and his pace was at the highest speed he could get. Your boobs synchronizing with Joel's pounding. He desperately tried to catch up his orgasm, until he finally did.

Just a second he was about to fill you up, he pulled out and squirted his semen all over your stomach, along with a loud husky groan. You came just the moment he pulled his dick out, so your thick sweet juice slowly poured onto the table.

You were both recovering, catching your breath. You were seeing double but you weren't sure if it was the result of third orgasm and overstimulation, or the alcohol. Probably both.

Joel's sweat was dropping on your warm body, his hands resting on the table, trying to keep his body from falling on yours. This was too much, you really woke up something wild in him.

"You did so good" when he was finally sufficiently rested, he complimented you appropriately and placed a reassuring kiss on your stomach. Of course, on a spot where his cum hadn't spilled. You smiled, your eyes keep tightly shut. You wanted to see him, but seeing him twice and then throwing up was an unwanted choice that you didn't even want to try.

"Let's get you cleaned up" he took the rest of his strength and went for the nearest napkin, using it to gently wipe your stomach.

It tickled a bit. Hearing you laugh made Joel's heart warm. He loved your smile. He...loved everything about you. You were his lost muse, his last hope, and you finally showed up. He definitely didn't want to lose you. At this moment, you were his and only his, and he wouldn't let anyone touch you.

You have regained comfort and protection, a personal bodyguard who will love you for everything you do. And of course, who will give you three orgasms in a row every night.

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