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daphwritesworld · 28 days ago

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Chapter 5— How Could U Love Somebody Like Me.

a/n: we finally find out who mysteriously girl is and what happened in barca. now it’s just time for Leah to find out…and lord knows how that hot head will take it 😅

content: Top!Leah, Bottom!Reader, impact play, fingering (both receiving technically), nipple sucking, Jealous!Leah, mutual masturbation, orgasm denial, squirting, some bratty!reader just like once or twice,

warnings: public sex…like y'all get caught in 4k HD. hide the mother fuckin cameras !! walked in on while fucking oops, locker room sex, dom & sub relationship

synopsis: Leah's been giving you the silent treatment, so you recruit Keira for help.

word count: 5.0k

Series Masterlist: here.

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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It’s been a whole week since you’ve last spoken to Leah. She's been avoiding you like the plague ever since the incident. Alessia let you stay with her for a few days until you felt well enough to go back to your own home. She didn't push you for any details, but you could tell she had a million questions. You appreciate her for keeping them to herself while in your presence. Practice has been awkward, especially with everyone’s whispers behind your back. It's all becoming a little too familiar in the worst way possible. Keira has been an angel in disguise during all this. She might be Leah’s best mate, but you two have a special bond that you cultivated while at Barca. She understands why you act the way you do– she might not like it or agree with it, but she does understand. She doesn’t judge you, but she also lets you know how much you’ve hurt Leah…and that was never your intention.

She won’t even look at you. So now you find that you're one with your gaze fixated on her, and begging for just a glance in your direction. For the past three days you’ve studied her from the sidelines. She hasn’t smiled once since your arrival back, not even a crack of a grin. Her face has stayed stuck in a frown and twisted up in vexation. It feels like a fifty pound weight sitting on your chest, and you aren’t sure how to fix it. You know you have to apologize and explain everything to her, but you haven’t even accepted it yourself. How can you explain something you refuse to process?

“You want to stop for a coffee? I know you didn’t sleep much last night,” Keira snaps you out of your reeling mind. It's not that you're glad she got hurt, but she wouldn't be here if she hadn't. You know it's only till Barca gets here to play, and then she'll be back to Spain with the team. But you're still grateful for the next few days you get to spent together— even if that means you'll eventually have to face her at the game…and you know you can't do that alone.

“Uh yeah. I could use a pick me up this morning, thanks Kei.” You look at her and give a little half smile. It’s gone just as fast as it appears though, “Can we talk about something?”

“Of course, y/n. You know I'm always here for you…even when you’re being stubborn and pushing me away,” she ends it with a small laugh. “Especially then, actually.”

You start to pick at your fingers. It's an old bad habit you've picked up from when you're stressed. You find that you've lost all your confidence as your voice comes out as softer than intended, "Did you know?"

"Did I know what?" Keira's face scrunches up in genuine confusion at the question. You take a deep breath as you try to steady your heart beat and fight the constricting feeling in your throat, "About Alexia…"

The silence that ensues fills the car like a toxic gas, sucking all the air out of your lungs. You can't stop the tears from filling your waterline now, and the blurring of your vision confirms that. Suddenly the busy city life outside the window becomes your soul focus. It's not until Keira pulls into the parking lot of the cafe that you realize your lungs are burning from their lack of fresh air. "Hey— breathe! Breathe, y/n. It's okay, you're okay," She's throwing her seat belt off and turning you towards her in no time. "That's it. Take a deep breath, there you go."

She's got one hand on your shoulder and the other one locked inside your grip. She lets you squeeze it as hard as you need, anything to get you to ground yourself. After a few guided breaths you can blink the blurriness from your vision. It takes a few more to calm you down enough to speak. The midfielder feels her heart break a little from the pure brokenness of your next words, "Did you know, Keira?"

"So that's who you were seeing, huh?" Keira finds herself being the one to take a deep breath before she grabs both of your hands in hers. "Why didn't you just tell me, y/n?"

"Because I knew you would've told me it was a bad idea," a single tear ran down your face as your voice cracks, "and I didn't want you to be right."

Keira wipes the tear from your cheek before she pulls you into a hug. "Oh darling, come here."

You let your pent up sorrows finally leak out of you, and Keira is there to hold you together as you do. You stay like that for a few minutes until your loud sobs turn into sniffles. Just as she thinks you might've fallen asleep in her arms, she hears your horse voice start speaking again. "Everyone could tell she wasn't over Jenni, but I let my heart get in the way. She told me from the start it was casual, but it didn't feel that way. Especially not near the end. Just friends didn't do the things that we did or said, but she couldn't admit that…" A disgruntled sigh leaves your lips, "Or maybe I just couldn't accept that I was a placeholder to her. I saw the world in her, but she saw me as reminder of who she lost…who she really wanted beside her. I think I always knew that deep down, but I uh..I thought she could learn to love me overtime I guess. It's not her fault. I played myself, and I couldn't handle the fallout…so I pushed you away, and I ran out like a coward because I was too embarrassed to face the judgment from everyone else. I'll never be able to apologize enough for that."

A new wave of tears start rising up to your eyes, "And I never meant to hurt Leah in all this. I know you've been here for me, but she's your best friend. I know you probably want to smack me a few good times, and you totally can! I just want to fix things with her, but I don't know how. I'm not ready for a relationship yet— not by any means…but I miss her, Kei. I miss being her friend."

"Well, I can promise that she misses you, too. Step one to getting Leah to accept an apology is getting her a gift, then follow that up with some ass kissing, and after you've completed those steps we'll discuss the next ones." You can tell there's something she's holding back. It's written all over have face.

"Out with it, Walsh! Be mean if you have to— I told you that you can hit me," Keira can't help but roll her eyes with your dramatics.

"Good God— I'm not going to hit you, y/n!" She lets an exasperated breath slip out of frustration. "I just don't think there's ever been a time when you and Leah have been just friends." You go to cut her off, but she presses a finger to your lips— silencing you like a mother does her child. "Deny it all you want, but I know the truth. I never suspected you and Alexia from a mile away, but you and Leah? You can't fake that kind of connection, and you can't let it get away from you either. So stop letting yourself sabotage it like a complete wazzock! Both of you are so stubborn and stuck in your own ways! It's bloody maddening! We are going inside this cafe to get us some coffee, and you will get Leah's tea order for her. She'll probably still be a jerk even after you give it to her, but that's when you start the ass kissing part of the plan. Got it?"

She finally allows you to speak as she pulls her hand back,"Got it, Mum."

Keira lets out a defeated sigh as you guys exit her car. You can't be serious just this once, can you? Nope. Always have to deflect with humor when you're faced with the truth. At this point she just hopes you two can make up so she can get some sleep. Leah talks nonstop about you every. single. night. It's impacting her sanity at this point. She NEEDS you to beg Leah for forgiveness or she just might snap. She doesn't even need you two to start dating…just make the fuck up. This is just as much for herself as it is for you. A mutually beneficial plan.

—

"Have a nice day and good luck with Leah!" Keira calls out the window.

You laugh before turning your head around, "Thanks Mum, I'll make sure to stick to the plan!" And then you're off to head into the building. Thank god Keira picked you up so early, because it looks like only one other car is here…and that just so happens to be the blonde defender's Audi.

The beating of your heart accelerates with every step you take, and it rises till it drowns out your hearing. Just a steady thump. thump. thump. thumping that has you worried you might pass out. You're trying to think of what to say to her, but your mind is completely blanking. As you see the door of the changing room you are 85% sure you might throw up as soon as you see her. So you take a few seconds to calm yourself down, remembering Keira's words as you close your eyes and take deep breaths like earlier. When you reopen them you bite the bullet and walk in, and for the first time in a week…she looks at you.

It feels like your heart stops in your chest, and the words on your tongue suddenly get trapped inside your throat. Your eyes search hers, and then your mouth is moving before your brain can catch up. "You look like you haven't been getting much sleep."

She doesn't scoff or turn away like you expect. Her eyes just soften a bit as she speaks, "I can say the same for you, y/l/n."

Ouch. Still on a last name basis? To be fair you haven't even gotten to step one of the plan yet, so let's allow room for some grace.

"I got you a tea!" You blurt it out like an idiot, jutting your hand out towards her with a blush dusting across your cheeks.

"You sure it's not for Russo? I mean, we're both blonde and apparently just your typ—" you cut her off with a kiss.

She freezes at first, and that makes you panic. You go to pull away as you start apologizing, "I-I'm sorry, Le—" but it's her that cuts you off this time. She kisses you with more force behind it, her hands searching out for your middle. But they stop just as she's about to touch you, hovering her hands as she pulls away to look you in the eyes. "Do you think you deserve for me to touch you?"

You can feel the heat radiating off of her body. A frown etches its way onto your face as you bite your lip, "No…but I can earn it."

Leah takes the cup from your hand as she sets it on the bench behind her, quickly turning her attention back to you. She decides to take a seat on the opposite end, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she does. "Come here," she licks her lips after she says it. You walk in front of her, leaving some space until she tells you what to do next. That must be the wrong move though, because then she's reaching out and pulling you to stand between her thighs. "Now get on your knees."

You swallow the lump in your throat as you follow her instructions, setting your knees on the cold floor as you stare up at her. She lets one of her hands rest on your cheek, "Open your mouth, y/l/n."

When you follow her orders, she shoves her index & middle fingers into your mouth. I mean Keira did say you'd have to kiss ass, and if this is what she meant? Oh you'd do it all day long. You gag at first, tears gathering as you try and relax your throat around her digits. She doesn't let you get used to the feeling, removing them after about 30 seconds. You don't expect what she does next though. Leah slides her own hand down her shorts, using your spit as lube for herself. She bites her lip as she starts rubbing circles into her clit, watching you squirm as the reality of the situation starts to settle in. You stay locked in a state of shock until she slips her fingers inside her pussy, moaning out a mix of curses and your name. You start to lay kisses on her inner thighs, but you're quickly stopped by her free hand gripping your hair. "You touch me again without permission, and I'll leave you here like this. Wet, untouched, and unsatisfied. So sit there and watch like a good girl. Prove to me how sorry you are."

"Yes ma'am," the grip on your hair gets tighter, and a small smirk flashes across your face from the action.You make sure to stay on your best behavior after that. Even going as far to sit your hands on top of your thighs so you aren't tempted to disobey. She looks absolutely stunning like this. Her chest starts to heave up and down as her fingers speed up inside her shorts, and her sounds of pleasure echo off the walls around you. "Take your shorts off," she says it breathlessly.

You hesitate a little, head snapping over to the door as your fingers linger on your waistband. "I won't ask you again, y/n." You look back at Leah,"Take. Your. Shorts. Off." She exaggerates with a tug to your scalp after every word, sending jolts of electricity flying through your body. Your hands finally start shoving the useless piece of fabric down your hips and you let them pool around your ankles. "Nuh uh— all the way off," Leah rasps out above you.

Your cheeks turn a dark shade of red as you kick them off and wait for her further instructions. Your heart is speeding back up now, endless possibles about what's to come flashing through your mind. "Spread your legs," she moans unexpectedly at the sight. The wet spot on your cotton panties is what gets to her first, but soon enough she's groaning out at the little pretty pink bow that rests at the top of them. You always know just how to get her going, and wearing those? Bold choice. Truth be told you left your flat with a purpose this morning. Leah was going to see you wearing these one way or another. If she wouldn't forgive you here, then you were more than ready to send her a desperate video of you trying to get off in them later tonight.

You forgot about her hand in your hair until you're being yanked forward. "Who the fuck are you wearing these for, huh?"

You can't help the smile that slides onto your lips, "You didn't really think I only showed up with one gift to apologize, did you?"

The look in her eyes is almost unreadable, but you can recognize hunger buried somewhere in her intense gaze. "Slide 'em to the side and start riding your fingers for me," and it isn't a suggestion. The demand radiating off of her voice is what coaxes you to comply so fast. You readjust yourself to sit back on your knees, but this time your legs are spread out enough to give her a show. You let one of your hands run down your body, moving the soaked piece of cotton to the side. You're so wet that Leah can see your pussy glistening from the way it reflects off the lights. She bites her lip as a loud moan escapes her, muffling it a bit as her hips start to grind into her thrusts. "Don't be shy— ride em just like you did before," she says it with a knowing smile flashing across her lips.

You somehow blush even harder, the memory invading your mind as you look away from the girl in front of you. She'd had you like this only one time before— in Ibiza. It was on the fourth night, Leah had thought you were flirting with the waitress. So she'd made you ride your fingers and a dildo on the floor in front of the bed. She had been perched on top of the sheets with a wand vibrator attached to her clit, and an endless amount of orgasms. She of course had denied you the whole time, only granting your throbbing pussy to cum with her tongue buried inside of you.

It's only when you snap out of your foggy haze that you sink down onto your fingers. She gives a soft tug on your roots this time, instructing your eyes back towards her. "You look away one more time and I'll leave you tied up like this for the whole team to find. All pretty and dressed in some frilly little underwear— all for your Captain," you can't tell if she's just teasing you or not…but is it bad that it kind of turns you on just as much as it terrifies you?

You take that as a sign to start riding your fingers faster, and the sweet sounds of your pleasure mixing together fills up the room. Leah's thighs are shaking at this point, her eyes locked onto the sparkling of wetness covering your fingers and running down your wrist. It's mesmerizing to her. The way your body literally leaks for her, crying out for her touch in a beautifully messy way. Leah curls her fingers just right, a wave of heat crashing inside of her stomach. It's all becoming too much for her. It's been a whole week of her trying to ice you out, and make you feel a little bit of the pain you caused her. Is that healthy? No. Do either of you really care? Not even a smidge.

'M'sorry! I'll be good, Le. I promise," you moan it out as your cunt clenches down on your own fingers. You keep your eyes trained on hers, and the telltale signs of her orgasm are present on her face. "I wish it was your fingers inside me instead. Yours are so much longer and thicker," her pace starts to get erratic as you keep speaking. "I can't stretch my pussy like you can— no one can." And that's all it takes for her back to cum and the sexiest groans to tumble from her lips. She tugs on your hair so hard it keeps you locked into place. So close, yet you can't see anything. This is like torture. But still, the sight has a new gush of wetness leaking out of your cunt and dripping onto the floor below you. Leah fucks herself through the aftershocks of her orgasm, letting her breathing return to a normal rate as she keeps watching your movements.

She licks her lips before she speaks again, "If you can make yourself cum like that, then I'll fuck you before the girls get here."

"B-but I can't! I need you to do it for me," it comes out as a pouty whine. The burning in your legs isn't even that bad, but you just want her to touch you already.

She laughs before releasing your hair as she stands up, going back to changing. "Then I guess we're done here. If you can't prove how sorry you are," she bends down as she slides her shirt off. A hand comes up to pinch your cheeks together and bring your face closer to hers, "Then you don't deserve to cum at all," her grip tightens as she speaks, "So take your fingers out and get dressed, or shut up and give me a show."

You whimper out at the aggressiveness in her tone. There is no way you are backing down now. You are determined to earn her forgiveness, even if it means your legs will feel like jello for two days afterwards. So you bite your lip as you start grinding down onto your wrist, sinking your fingers deeper as you use more of your body weight to drop down onto the thrusts. Leah must take some pity on you, because after a while she starts rubbing your nipples through your shirt. It's the added stimulation you didn't know you needed.

Within seconds you're leaking even more sweet noises from your mouth, a newfound energy cursing through your veins as you chase after your own orgasm. "Good girl, darling."

It's those three words from Leah that sends you over the edge, your legs shaking as they give out underneath you. She can't still be thaaat mad if she's dropped the last name only rule. She catches you as you fall forward, helping you regain your balance as you stand back up fully. She lets you lean against her as you regather your bearings. One of her hands comes up to rub soft patterns into your back. The comfortable silence doesn't last long though, "I hope you know I'm still mad you missed our date on Thursday,"

"Oh my god!" You shove her away with a playful smile on your lips, " It was not a date, Leah! See this is exactly how we ended—" she cuts you off with a kiss once again. Silencing any and all complaints you may of had on your tongue. She's the first to pull away, but she barely moves back. You can still feel her breath dancing across your lips as yours catches in your throat. "You might not be my girlfriend, but you're still mine." She backs you up until she's guiding you into the showers, a blur of hands stripping you both with every step you take. Her hands run across your naked abdomen as she cages you onto the shower wall. "Mine to touch, mine to kiss, and mine to fuck." One of her hands moves to turn the water on, and she makes sure it doesn't touch you at first. You are the words biggest baby when it comes to water temperature. If it's not hot enough to boil you alive, then you'll whine and cry about how it's 'too cold'.

A mischievous look crosses your features just as Leah brings her face back down close to yours. "Then prove it," you use her words back against her. That causes her to smash her lips to yours, her nails digging into your hips as she pulls you closer against her body. The kiss is brutal; full of tongue and teeth as she gropes the most sensitive parts of your body. You get so lost in the feeling of her lips that you swear the rest of the world drowns out. You let out a yelp of surprise when she flips you around all of a sudden. The cold tiles pressing against your nipples has a shiver running through your body, even more slick collecting between your thighs. Leah presses some kisses to the back of your shoulder, leaving little bites every time she pulls away to give you a new one.

One of her hands slides down from the back of your neck all the way down to your ass, and she lands a heavy slap there. It causes you to jolt against the wall, your face squishing as you do so. She rubs softy to soothe the skin after, "Did you touch yourself?"

"No ma'am," you answer her truthfully. And before you can process it, she's landing another spank onto your other cheek. The loud smack getting muffled by the water.

"Does she make you cum like I do?" You crane your neck to look at her, confusion settling into your features. There's a feral look overtaking hers. She doesn't even give you time to respond before she's slapping your ass again.

You jolt once more, a small moan slipping past your lips from the impact. "W-what? Who are you even talking about, Le?"

"Oh," Leah scoffs. "Don't play dumb with me, y/n." Another spank is landed upon your ass. "Did you let Russo touch you?"

You can't help the laugh that escapes your mouth in that moment, and you also can't help but to tease her as well. "And what if I did?"

Next thing you know your face is being smushed into the tiled wall in front of you. One of her hands is keeping you pinned there while the other slides down to your ass again. She leaves two more slaps— one for each cheek. And then her hand disappears in between your legs. Leah rubs them through your folds a few times before she slips two of her fingers inside you. You gasp out at the feeling, arching your back as she starts a rough pace from the start. "Then I'll just have to remind you who you belong to, darling." She bites your earlobe as she says it, pulling it with her as she lets her lips fall back down to your neck.

You moan out at her words, your pussy clenching around her fingers. "I can feel her sucking me in, baby. Like she's begging for me to ruin her." And you know she isn't talking to you. Oh no. She's talking to your cunt.

She picks her pace up now, your ass jiggling every time her wrist connects with it. She's thrusting her fingers in all the right places, curling them at just the right time, and most of all…They fill you up so fucking good. No one knows how to use their fingers better than Leah. She mastered the art of finger fucking like her life depends on it. A skill nonetheless— and one that you very much appreciate.

"Who's the only person who can fuck you this good?"

"You!"

She pulls out and lands a spank to your ass before running her fingers through your folds, avoiding your sensitive clit at all costs.

Her voice comes out a little rougher than before, "What's my fucking name?"

"Leah!" You chant it like it's a prayer. Her name the only thing slipping from your lips as she shoves her fingers back inside you, adding a third one to the mix. It has your mind spinning and your thighs drenching from the debauchery taking place. She's turning your brain off with the pleasure, her hand on your back sliding around your front as she starts rubbing at your clit. Her breasts press against your back now, the new angle awarding you both with a sudden wave of pleasure flashing through you. Your legs start to shake and just as you're about to cum….she's pulling out. Your eyes immediately fill with tears and your mouth drops open to beg her for forgiveness. Hell you can stand the silent treatment, but you can't handle this. Orgasm denial should be classified as a type of torture when it's coming from Leah.

"Don't be a brat!" She chastises you as she turns you around, a hand coming up to brush some hair from your face. "I just wanna be looking at your face when I finally make you cum. Too beautiful to not fuck you from the front."

Your hands come up and land a light slap to her shoulder, a blush crossing your cheeks from her boldness. "Leah!"

she smirks at you as she leads you under the now hot water, her hands searching across your body as her lips find your nipples. You arch into her mouth, your hands tangling into her hair as you let the water add to the sensations. It just fuels the fire already roaring in your belly, burning and screaming to be let out. "Please Le! Lemme prove how much I've missed you," you take her hand into yours. Leading it down to your pussy, "How much we've both missed you."

She doesn't waste time— smashing your lips together as she slides the same three fingers back inside of you. It's like her body is made for yours and vice versa. The perfect puzzle pieces that always match up. She takes one of her legs and spreads yours a little more, causing them to shake once again as her pace increases. You start to wobble a little bit, but Leah's quick to wrap her empty hand around your middle to keep you upright. "I've gotcha, love. Just stand there and take it like a good girl."

You nod your head as best as you can, words all but lost to you in this state. It ends with you biting your lip trying to keep your sounds to a minimum. Even if the girls aren't here yet, you're sure some of the staff is here by this point…and you really don't need them to know what you sound like when you cum. These thoughts must be evading Leah though, because she's growling at you when she notices. "Let me fucking hear you," the fingers on your clit return now. Adding much needed stimulation to your poor neglected bundle of nerves. It doesn't take long for that knot in your stomach to build back up again. You can't help the way your eyes close this time, praying she doesn't stop because of it. But you always get a little disoriented when you haven't cum in a while, plus Leah's a little distracted by something else right now.

"Oh look, babe. We've got an audience," you can hear Leah's smirk as she says it.

Your eyes snap right back open at the words, scanning your surroundings as your hazy mind tries to make sense of this situation. It couldn't have been worse timing though…because you squirt all over Leah's hands just as you lock eyes with a shell shocked Alessia. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as high pitched whines ring throughout the air. Leah just fucks you through your orgasm, little spurts of liquid dripping down her wrist still. And Alessia is getting a front row view to all of this….

Oh. Fuck.

#bmb.daph #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso x reader #woso writers #woso x y/n #leah williamson smut #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson x you #l.williamson 6

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jayparked · 5 months ago

Text

𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝓎 | 𝒽𝑒𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓊𝓃𝑔 | 𝓂

snippet: Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

pairing: lee heeseung x female reader

genre: smut, pwp

au: roommates, f2l

rating: explicit/18+, minors dni

word count: 4.3k

warnings: there’s a deep conversation about feelings, love confessions (YUCK)

sexual warnings: masturbation (female receiving), mutual pining, begging, rule making, dirty talk, non penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), body worship, light foot worship, the entire thing is based off getting reader off, heeseung doesn’t get off :( , heeseung is kinda bossy, praise kink, heeseung calls reader babygirl, overstimulation, .001% of aftercare, moaning, hair pulling, marking, punishment kink?, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm…guilt?...sorry

The frustration builds quicker than you wanted, the groans coming from your mouth slipping out louder each time you feel your body give up on itself. You’re too god damn horny, but your body is too tired to properly masturbate.

This is probably the fifth time now that you've attempted to get yourself off only to abandon ship seconds after. Your muscles ache and sleep calls to you. Despite this, every time you try to just sleep it off, the aching, painful throb from your clit keeps you awake.

It takes everything in you to keep yourself from throwing a tantrum like a toddler.

The clock now reads just after three in the morning; you let out one last frustrated breath. It comes out louder than you intended, the grunt rising in pitch before you can even stop yourself.

Moments later, your shirtless, sleep-drunk roommate opens your door, rubbing his eyes with one fist as he holds himself up with the other hand gripping the doorway.

“Are you okay or whatever? I keep hearing groaning and other weird sounds,” Heeseung sighs, slight annoyance laced in his tone.

Your eyes are wide with embarrassment as Heeseung’s sleepy eyes jolt awake as he finally sees you.

You’re laying on top of your comforter completely naked with one hand still draped across your womanhood.

Heeseung shifts his body against the door frame, the moonlight now highlighting down his face. The shadows of your air-guided drapes chase that light, new depths illuminating across his nose and cheekbones. You’re not sure why your brain is trying so hard to think of metaphors and similes, anything to compare Heeseung to, but none of them do him justice. It would be too easy to blame it on the lack of sleep. Then again, you’ve never truly let yourself look at him in this way before and it’s killing you that you can’t read the expression on his face.

In this moment, you realize you have neither fight nor flight instincts as you lay frozen in your bed, nothing willing you to cover yourself or hide from your roommates gaze.

Heeseung’s tongue pokes out of his mouth, moving slowly against his bottom lip as his eyes flick frantically from your body to the wall across the room. Raising a hand to cover his mouth, he clears his throat and brushes his thumb against his bottom lip to wipe away the remnants from his tongue.

Clearing his throat once more, his shoulder relaxes against the doorframe, his body now leaning in a very casual nonchalant way, his eyes continue to debate where to look. “Wha-whatcha doing there?” He immediately turns his body away from you after speaking, facing the wall as he aggressively rubs at the nape of his neck, his other hand back up to his mouth.

“Oh...you know...just trying to sleep.”

There’s a brief silence- minus the light flapping of your window curtains. That, and the mental beating you’re giving yourself for trying to joke about the situation at hand. There is no hiding it. You’ve been caught red-handed.

Literally.

“Y/n…” Heeseung warns, the moonlight shifting in a way that now illuminates the tense muscles of his back.

Your heart pounds loudly within your chest. You’ve seen Heeseung shirtless thousands of times. So why is this the first time you’re realizing just how sculpted his body actually is?

Shutting your eyes tightly, your brain moves at hyper-speed trying to figure out what to do or say next. A million scenarios flood in and all you want is to pick the option that lets you keep your roommate and not have to live with exploding embarrassment for the rest of your life.

You’re about to open your mouth and just say the first thing that comes out, no matter how brainless it may be. Perhaps brutal honesty will help you out in the end. But Heeseung beats you to the punch.

“Do you...do you need help?” His back is still turned to you so you can’t read his expression, but you can’t help but notice the way his back muscles tense.

It takes you a moment to register what he’s said. You’re finally able to move your hand away from your cunt and you slowly sit up and lay your back against your headboard, grabbing one of your pillows and hugging it tightly to your chest.

“I guess talking about it might help even though you and I have never really talked about this kind of thing before. Have you ever just been so horny and tired at the same time but you’re unable to do either of those things? I’ve been struggling for hours now trying to sleep but I can’t sleep because...you know, and then when I try to do that I’m just too tired to actually do it right and-”

“No, I mean-” Heeseung cuts himself off with a sigh, quickly followed by a slow intake of air, puffing his cheeks out as he releases it and turns towards you. He pauses, still averting his eyes before he steps towards your bed. Determination and bravery are written all over his face, despite the fact that he’s still trying to respectively not look at you.

Sitting at the foot of your bed with his body facing the door, Heeseung takes a moment before turning his head towards you, his dark eyes looking directly into yours.

“I can help you.”

A few more moments of silent eye contact passes before you finally understand what he’s trying to suggest.

“Oh...OH!” You can’t help but gasp with widened eyes as it finally clicks in your head exactly what he’s offering to you.

“Wouldn’t that,” you gulp, your face feeling painfully warm, “wouldn’t that make things weird? Between us?”

Heeseung’s jaw is tight, his muscles jutting forward as he breaks eye contact and looks back towards your bedroom door. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” he says softly, “...if you don’t want them to be. I mean, I can honestly say I haven’t ever...you know, not thought of you in this way before.” He lets out another long puff of air, knowing he’s being confusing with his words, hand grasping at the back of his neck as he tries to massage the tension away.

You feel embarrassed and flattered and excited all at once. Your roommate of three years, best friend of over ten years, has admitted to thinking of you in a sexual way.

Heeseung lets you think for a moment. But it only allows you more time to realize that you can’t feign innocence here either. There was that major crush you had on him in high school or the time you walked in on him in the shower. There’s definitely been a handful of times where he’s crept into your thoughts while you were with someone else or even times when you were alone.

There are a million things that could go wrong if you accept his offer.

Or, a million things that could go right.

“Okay,” you say bravely, moving the pillow away from your body, “please, help me.”

Turning his head slowly, Heeseung finally looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes roaming every inch of your body slowly. He inhales, his jaw clenching once more as his gaze falls upon your uncovered chest.

Then, looking into your eyes, he speaks firmly and slowly, “Before we begin, let’s establish some ground rules.”

Gulping slowly, you nod your head, trying not to think about the lack of friction going on below.

"Rule number one," Heeseung starts with a smirk, "you don’t get to touch me."

"What?-"

"Nuh, uh." He interrupts you, holding up his pointer finger as he shakes his head, his fluffy brown hair swooshing over his eyes. Without looking, he picks up your bare feet and pulls you towards him, placing your legs over his lap as you now lay flat on the bed. His hands start to roam over your calves and down to your toes. His fingers are just barely lingering over you to the point of sending chills throughout your entire body. The touch of his skin on yours alone is sending the signals in your body into overdrive. That mixed with the tiredness you're feeling, it's making it nearly impossible to think straight or stay focused on the words he’s saying.

"I've been thinking about a night like this for a long, long time. Respectfully, of course," he adds quickly, looking back at you and giving you a soft smile. "I never wanted to do anything to ruin what we have. But damn, I really can't deny it. I've thought about making you cum over and over and over again so many times it was like a movie constantly replaying in my mind." Heeseung continues to stroke your feet and legs sensually as he speaks. It takes everything in your power not to pounce on him.

Instead, you bite your bottom lip and close your eyes, resting your arms on your stomach, letting the deep grumble of Heeseung's voice soothe your body along with all the places he's trailing his fingers on.

“Anyways,” he says with a quirk of his eyebrow, “back to our rules.”

His domineering tone sends chills throughout your body again and you try your best to ignore the white noise ringing in your ears.

“Rule number two: you can’t cum unless I tell you you can.”

The urge to question him again is strong, but his stare makes you shut your mouth tightly.

He knows the question is hanging off the tip of your tongue, you know that he knows. Instead of throwing you a bone, he sits there smirking at you, sitting on his high horse while also looking like he knows the punchline to the joke you’ve been waiting to get.

Finally, he beckons you closer, his pointer finger slowly enticing you in. You sit up slowly, your legs still in his lap. As soon as you’re close enough to see the dark flecks in his eyes, he leans in himself until his lips are hovering just over your ear.

“And I can be a very patient man, baby girl. We can be here all night until you finally get it right and do what I say.”

Admittedly, your first instinct is to laugh, the sheer shock of his words not fully settling in. But then, after a moment, you can tell just how much his words affected your body; your legs feel shakier, the core of your womanhood pulsates quicker, and you start to feel the dripping of your arousal moving down your thighs.

It only makes sense that your childhood friend, the love of your life, would also turn out to be the kinkiest person you’ve ever met.

It only makes sense.

“Okay...yes sir.”

The smugness on Heeseung’s face only increases.

“Good girl.”

“Are there any other rules...?” It still feels odd talking to your best friend about this. But it’s all worth it when you notice the growing tent in Heeseung’s sweatpants

Heeseung gets off the bed and moves closer to you, his hands behind his back. He appears so nonchalant and unbothered, almost like he’s ignoring the fact that he’s sporting the hardest erection he’s ever had in his life.

It makes you nervous in the best of ways.

Removing one hand from behind his back, he places it on one of your knees, caressing your flesh gently before pushing it to the side, spreading your legs open wide to expose your dripping cunt. He nods his head with approval, biting his bottom lip hard as his eyes sweep slowly up and down over your entire naked body.

It feels like the room’s temperature went up another ten degrees.

Heeseung dips his hand lower, hovering over your cunt. Each time it looks like he’s about to touch you, your vagina pulses with anticipation, only for Heeseung to deceivingly pull away at the last second.

“Please, Heeseung…please touch me, I just want to cum, I can’t take this anymore. I’ll do anything!”

With a slight chuckle, Heeseung humors you, leaning his body down closer to yours and dips one of his fingers down, lightly petting the tops of your folds.

The small touch makes you shiver, your hips bucking up towards his hand. The amount of juices he accumulates on his fingers in a short amount of time exposes exactly how needy you feel.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” And with that said, Heeseung's fingers glide past your folds with a heavenly amount of pressure, soaking in your sweet juices. Your head falls back against your bed and you wish you could sink in deeper; into the bed, the room, into him. He's murmuring something in your ears, but your mind is too focused on what's happening to your body, there's not enough mental capacity in there to comprehend words at the moment. The urge to reach out to him and feel his skin against the palm of your hand spurs deep in your chest, but not strong enough to act upon. Instead, you let your eyes flutter shut, sighing blissfully as he continues to massage and soothe your bud.

Heeseung continues a slow, sensual pace, one that you could arguably fall asleep to. It feels like every stress cell in your body slowly floats away with every stroke of his fingers.

"Just like that? Hmm?" You hear him say.

"Hmm?" You manage out, your voice sounding weak and far away.

"I just didn't think you would react to me that quickly. Or intensely."

You open your eyes and look at him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, his hand cradling his jawline. His other hand continues to make brushstroke movements in between your folds. He looks at your vagina with wonder, and like he has something more to say.

But you're too tired and enjoying him too much to ask.

Moments later, Heeseung is picking up speed, beckoning your undoing.

You don't feel ready to give up the warmth you feel with his touch, not ready to reach the top and climb back down.

You can’t take it anymore. The pressure building is too intense and you need something sturdy and stable to hold onto.

Screw his rules.

Grasping onto Heeseung's shoulder, your fingernails dig into him as you bite down on your bottom lip, fighting desperately at the orgasm crashing down on you.

"There you go, baby. That's it. Come undone on my fingers." Heeseung's sweet demeanor is long gone as he watches you with sinful eyes.

A small moan leaves your lips as you let go; your legs shake vigorously underneath Heeseung's grasp and you feel the painful twist of a muscle spasm deep in your hamstrings.

Short gasps are all you can manage in response, your mind feeling more awake than before.

And in that brief pause between ministrations, your mind increases its speed tenfold, your thoughts now clearer than ever.

This is your best friend you're laying in front of. The same guy you used to collect bugs with when you were younger, the same guy you were embarrassed in front of when he found out you started wearing a training bra.

And you just came in front of him.

"I'm so sorry, Heeseung!" you cry out, sitting up quickly and burying your face in your hands as you fight back hot tears from falling down your cheeks. "We can forget this ever happened."

Heeseung is quiet behind you as you imagine yourself shrinking into a spec of nothing.

Then, tenderly, his hand is on top of yours, coaxing it away from your face. And you let him do it.

Heeseung holds your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles before whispering, "Did I do something wrong?"

Immediately you want to scream no, but your words catch in your throat as you look at him. Heeseung’s bottom lip is jutting out slightly and he's avoiding your eyes as he continues to try and comfort you. And then you remember that this isn’t some random stranger. You know him. You know him more than anyone, hell, sometimes you know him more than you know yourself. And right now, this Heeseung in front of you is just as embarrassed and emotional as you are.

"No," you say bravely reaching out to press your palm to his cheek, turning his face towards yours, "I don't regret it at all. I'm sorry, I just-" you sigh and lean back, struggling to find the right words to say while fighting against your own embarrassment, "-I just never thought we would get to this point. And to hear you say all those things you were saying? I just don't understand. Why didn't you ever tell me? Why me to begin with?" That's when you realize where all of this insecurity of yours is coming from. Heeseung has been with gorgeous people in the past, gorgeous, successful people. And the thought of him liking you? It must feel like a step down for him.

But the way his face softens as he sighs, bringing your hand back up to his face, has you second guessing your initial judgment of him.

"It's always been you, Y/n. Ever since we first met. How could I ever for a second not want to be with you? You're my best friend, the person I go to for comfort. And because of that, I was always afraid to tell you about my feelings. Because just being in your life as your friend and your roommate, that was more than enough for me. And this doesn't have to go anywhere if you don't want it to be. But…truthfully, I want it to go somewhere. Hell, Y/n, I want to be with you. But if you don't want to be with me like that? I'll be okay."

His words swirl around your body, not quite processing into complacent thoughts. There are about a million different emotions coursing through your veins, and each one is battling to come to surface.

It feels selfish, the position he’s put you in. Because now, it’s all on you. Your choice will determine how your relationship with Heeseung changes forever. And, let’s be real, no matter what happens after this moment, things will never be the same. The weight of that realization is pushing you down into the mattress you sit on. You’ve avoided thinking about your best friend in this way for so long it’s hard to tell if what you’re feeling has always been there or just here temporarily, clouded by the high of a mind-blowing orgasm.

On the other hand, there’s excitement, joy, happiness, relief all bundled into one giant heart floating around you. Your best friend, the person you’ve been attached to for over a century now, is confessing his feelings for you.

It’s time to be honest with yourself.

You’ve been in love with him this whole time.

Heeseung waits patiently while you figure out exactly what to say, playing with your fingers and tracing unknown shapes across your hand in the meantime.

You’re too tired for words, too tired for thoughts, too tired for almost everything it seems.

Well, everything, except…

You lean forward slowly, placing your weight on your hands as you close the space between you and Heeseung and place a tender kiss on his lips.

Heeseung sighs and closes his eyes, putting your hand over his heart and completely melts into your touch.

How could you not do the same?

All of the tiredness, all of the frustrations from before Heeseung entered your bedroom, it was all worth it to get to this moment. And you’d go through it every night for the rest of your life if it meant you got to kiss him just like this.

The kiss deepens quickly, your mouths moving with an intensity you’ve never experienced before. Without thinking, you let your body take full control, not second-guessing any natural movement. So you let your hand find its way to the nape of Heeseung’s hair, delicately pulling at the ends until his neck is forced back and a moan ripples through his throat. It was so unexpected and out of character, but you like having this control.

It doesn’t last long, though. Heeseung quickly comes to his senses and knocks you onto your back, pushing you with one hand on your chest. He chuckles low and menacingly, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“What did I say about touching?” His voice is so low you swear you can feel it rumbling in your chest.

Heeseung doesn’t allow you enough time to answer. Before you can even open your mouth, his tongue is attached to your lips.

But not the lips on your face.

Your eyes immediately roll back as his tongue writes beautiful nothingness against your cunt and you desperately want to reach out and grip his hair again. Thinking there’s a possibility he wouldn’t notice, you reach and tangle your fingers in his locks. Almost immediately, your hand is batted away with a low warning growl from Heeseung as he continues to work his tongue against your sensitive bud. You groan in protest, but obey, somehow able to restrain yourself and settle for gripping the sheets instead.

The tongue movements start slow, but it seems you’re not the only impatient one here, despite what he may have said earlier. Heeseung picks up speed as he laps up your juices, his hand snaking up to insert a few digits inside you. His other hand is gripping one of your hips, his entire forearm pressing against your pelvic bone, holding you into place. His grip on you only seems to make your body want to shake more.

“You that close already, baby?” Heeseung lifts his head up for a moment, your juices glistening on his mouth, cheekbones and the tip of his nose. It seems like a sight you would only have in your dreams. It’s hard to believe this is happening in real life.

“Answer me,” he commands, eyes narrowing, but there’s a tinge of softness behind his words.

“I can’t help it.” You pant out, “Been building up all these years now. I could have come just by you touching my shoulder.”

Heeseung chuckles at this, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby. I’m not going to stop you,” he says casually.

Almost...too casually.

But you don’t think twice, you’re too tired to think twice. Quiet moans slip past your lips and Heeseung takes that as his cue. His fingers move faster, scissoring inside your body as his nose brushes against your clit.

It’s almost too easy to come undone.

White hot heat spreads throughout your body as everything around you starts to shake. Heeseung is watching you with careful eyes as you orgasm the fastest you’ve ever orgasmed in your life.

Your breathing only gets heavier as you come back from your high. But then, a blissful pain makes your thigh muscles jolt, a new wave of uncontainable cries escape you.

“I said I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to cum,” Heeseung devilishly proclaims, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you, “but that didn’t mean I was gonna stop.”

Your eyes shut tight as you pull at the sheets gripped tightly in your hands, too afraid to speak because of the moans you’re currently swallowing back. Small whimpers make it out as you desperately try to focus on anything other than the torture you’re going through.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby,” Heeseung coos, focusing almost all of his attention on your clit now. “Let it all out. I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me how good I make you feel.”

There are no logical thoughts left in your brain. All you know is that you’re desperately exhausted and it’s taking too much of your energy to fight against the natural cries your body wants to release as this overstimulation continues.

So, you let go.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, your chest rising and falling quicker than ever as the moans release deep from within you, “That feels so good! I’m gonna come again- I’m gonna- I’m gonna-”

A small scream is all you can manage as the pressure in your core finally releases. You thought your previous orgasm was intense? Nothing will ever be able to top this one.

“Damn that was fucking sexy.” Heeseung stands and wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Your legs are still trembling and it feels like every muscle in your body is frozen in place. Warm liquid coats your inner thighs and drips down onto your sheets.

“Did I just…?” You ask with shock. Heeseung chuckles and nods his head, walking towards your door. He pauses with one hand on the doorframe, looking back at you with a proud smile.

“Hell yeah you did. Have you ever squirted before?”

“No, never,” you whisper, but Heeseung is already out of the room. Your eyes flutter shut, sleep threatening to finally take over.

Heeseung returns with a towel, throwing it so it lands right beside you.

“Goodnight, babygirl,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

“Wait!” You call out just as he reaches the doorway. “What about you?” You point at his very obvious erection.

Heeseung waves you off casually, “We’ll have plenty more nights of fun in the future. But for now, sleep. Don’t worry about me.” He winks. “I can take care of myself just fine. Get some rest. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Before Heeseung even closes the door, your eyes are shut, sleep finally welcoming you into its arms.

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :] if you did please reblog and leave a comment!

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ladamedusoif · 1 month ago

Text

Laurels

(Acacius x F!Sex Worker Reader)

Pairing(s): Acacius x F!Reader; Acacius x Lucilla

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 13.5k

Summary: You met him as a young soldier, brought to the brothel you worked at to celebrate a victory. Now, almost two decades later, his return to Rome in triumph sparks memories of your time together - and the secrets you still hold.

Content Notes/Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MDNI - Sex worker F!Reader; no physical description of Reader except that she is curvy and has hair (but this can be taken as a wig, as was common in imperial Rome); spans events of Gladiator and parts of the sequel; canon-compliant but no spoilers for Gladiator II; we love and respect Lucilla in this house; Acacius is a lover boy; period-typical derogatory terms for sex workers; oral sex (M and F receiving); PiV sex; mutual masturbation; discussion of pregnancy; forbidden love; secret marriage; discussion of death and grief; implied character death; implied that Reader is more sexually experienced than Acacius when they meet; references to alcohol consumption; some uses of strong language

Author Note: I've been thinking about and sketching out this story since I first laid eyes on Acacius in those promotional pictures released during the summer, but wanted to wait until I'd had a chance to see Gladiator II three times before writing it up properly, to avoid any issues with characterisation. I hope you all enjoy it.

I've referred to him as Acacius throughout, as that's what Lucilla and everyone else calls him and because we have no goddamned idea what he's actually called. (I've used certain tags, though, to make sure people see this. Hopefully. Maybe.)

There are some Latin/Roman terms used throughout: lena is the madam or brothel keeper; cella is the part of a temple dedicated to a specific deity; meretrix is a Roman term for a prostitute; mercatus is a market or shopping area.

The cover image is entirely based on authentic Roman mosaics and interiors: top left is a 1st century CE mosaic; bottom right is a 4th century CE mosaic from Sicily of a sex worker with her client; and background is the interior decor of a bedroom in Pompeii.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Enormous thanks to @mescalpascal for beta reading this story.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

The city has resonated to the sound of his name these past weeks. A hero of empire, of conquest; the perfect role model for Rome’s young boys, already being prepared from birth for war and glory.

Or, more truthfully, for death.

Today he returns to the city in glory, to be honoured with a triumph in recognition of his role in conquering the far-off lands of Northern Africa. The crowds are already thronging the streets, trying to secure their perfect vantage point to catch a glimpse of the victor en route to be crowned with laurels.

No one notices an ordinary woman in middle age, simply but elegantly dressed in her best clothes for the occasion, discreetly slipping up the steps and onto the balcony of a tavern overlooking the triumphal route. No one pays a woman like that any mind, especially not on a day like today.

You quietly secure your spot and slip down your veil, patting your hair to ensure the style is still in place. Why, exactly, did you go to such effort, knowing you’d be at such a distance from him? Knowing how many years it has been?

You take the cheap little metal effigy you’d purchased from a street hawker from your purse, gently rubbing your thumb over the crude rendering of his handsome face.

You told him he would go far. You told him he would be feted like this, one day, all those years ago. You smiled as you imagined meeting him again, showing him the tiny metal version of himself.

“See? I told you you’d be cast in bronze, didn’t I?”

A ripple of excitement courses through the crowd and it becomes apparent that the procession is near. They cheer and chant his name in unison. A mixture of excitement and fear grips you. Why had you done your hair just so, put on your best jewellery from your meagre selection?

Just in case. In case his dark eyes found yours, again, and bridged the years with a glance.

The rumble of chariot wheels and horses’ hooves becomes more intense, the cheering of the crowd more frenzied. You grip the ledge of the balcony in nervous anticipation, the golden metal of your favourite ring glinting in the light.

For a moment, it feels like being frozen in time. He is a god among men, the bright sun reflecting beautifully off the white and gold of his special, ceremonial armour as he receives the acclamations of the crowd. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell: that nervous wave and unsettled expression giving him away. This is not his natural environment, though you suspect he has had to get used to it since he assumed his command and since his marriage.

You are unable to make a sound as his chariot approaches, overwhelmed by the sight of him, the sound of the crowd, the way he is received and acclaimed with more enthusiasm than any emperor you can remember. He is still beautiful . From here, you can see the streaks of grey that frame his handsome face now, making him even more distinguished than you remembered. His tanned skin only serves to make the white and gold armour gleam all the more. His beard, neatly trimmed, is more grey than dark these days, lending him an air of absolute authority.

But you know that behind the guise of the conquering general, battle-scarred and triumphant, lies another man: strong but gentle, intelligent and kind, a man who likes to laugh and to joke and to love .

She is a lucky woman, you muse.

He’s almost directly in front of you now, and you can see in those soft, dark eyes the brave young man you knew so well, once upon a time.

His gaze shifts. He finds you.

His expression changes to one of surprise and… joy ?

The moment lasts barely a second before he has passed by in the relentless journey to his apotheosis. But you are left with his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer as your mind travels back through the years to the time you first met.

“Acacius.”

***

War is shit. But it’s good for business when your business is your body.

When you left your rural home for Rome as a teenager, accompanied by the man you were promised to, selling yourself was not part of the plan. But there’s little a girl can do, when her betrothed reveals himself to be a liar and a crook. He left you alone, without resource or recourse, when he was stabbed to death over an unpaid gambling debt.

You had certainly landed on your feet, all things considered, and with the benefit of a few years’ hindsight. The lena who ran the place was kind and understanding, the other girls bright and friendly, for the most part, and the brothel itself marketed as a cut above the usual fare for the average legionary, brought to the imperial city after a stint killing Gauls or Goths or whoever the enemy was that week.

Besides, it was even fun , sometimes. You, with your curves and ample bosom, earned a reputation for kindness and understanding. Sometimes you wondered just how many nervous young men had learned how to please a woman from a night or two in your arms.

The night you met, the lena had gathered the free girls together in an excitable cluster, hissing about the arrival at the brothel of a group of young legionaries from various parts of the Empire.

“Some of them are absolutely gorgeous , girls! And they’ve had a recent victory - you know what that means.”

Catalina, who never lacked confidence, grinned. “It means big bonuses.”

The lena beamed. “Exactly. Big bonuses, big tippers… and who knows, maybe big in other ways?” The girls roared with laughter as she clapped her hands. “Alright, neaten up! Best behaviour, now. And as usual with the legions, you’re theirs for the night.”

You picked up a goblet of wine, and you and your fellow whores struck your usual enticing poses.

“Heroes of Rome…my finest girls, for your delectation.”

***

His eyes find yours through the slew of pairings, dark as pitch but warm as fire in the low light of the brothel’s main antechamber. He is, as your lena had suggested, gorgeous : young, beautifully handsome features, clean-shaven; the strong nose and fine jaw universally considered the epitome of male beauty, wavy dark hair curling around his brow in his neat, regulation haircut.

And then he smiles at you. And you are lost, entirely, in the way his eyes sparkle and his open, kind face beams.

The beautiful boy would surely choose one of the more beautiful girls, as was always the way. But instead he strides through the melee, broad shoulders cutting a path with ease, and stands in front of you, a soft, nervous smile on his face.

“Hello, soldier. Where are you from?”

His eyes are warm . He seems kind. You feel a wave of lust coursing through you: if he wants you, you thought, you might really enjoy this one.

“Hispania,” he answers. “But we were fighting tribes in Germania.”

His voice, like warm honey, sends a throb through your core.

“And you have been rewarded with a trip to the imperial city! You must have been really brave.”

He chuckles, a half-smile on his handsome, tanned face. “I tried to be.”

His nerves are apparent in the way he carries himself, in the little glances he gives you, seeking approval. You take his hand, thumb stroking his palm gently.

“Do you want to let me reward you tonight, soldier?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Please.” He gives your hand a little squeeze. “But tell me your name, won’t you? I would like to know your name.”

You tell him with a smile. “And yours?”

His grin is warm and genuine. “Acacius.”

***

The yellow glow of the oil lamps illuminate the murals that decorate the walls of your chamber, and throw shadows from the fabrics draped over the low couch and bed. Acacius looks around, unsure where to sit, and you gesture to the couch.

“Wine, soldier?”

“Yes, wine. Please. Thank you.”

Goblets in hand, you join him and lean slightly towards him. It is impossible to miss the way Acacius’s eyes focus on your breasts, barely covered in the diaphanous folds of your pale, loose robe.

“Do you like what you see?”

His gaze trails upwards to your eyes, and he nods: seriously, with absolute conviction.

“Do you want to see more?”

Another serious nod. You slip out of the dress for him, letting the thin, pleated fabric loosen around you until you are revealed, naked and soft, for his hungry eyes.

One strong arm wraps around your waist while the other fondles handfuls of your tits. He holds you there, mouth finding your nipples, sucking and licking them until they are pert and pebbled and glossy with his saliva.

In that instant, you close your eyes, daring to imagine that this was not a transaction but real : that the gorgeous young man worshipping at your bosom is your lover, all yours , helping himself to every inch of you before he takes you.

“What do you like , soldier? What do you want me to do to you?” You move to your knees before him, putting your hands on his strong, tanned thighs and lightly slipping your fingers under the hem of his short tunica .

He hesitates, breath hitching, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you between his legs. This isn’t his first time, you suspect, but something tells you Acacius may not be as practiced as some of his comrades in the art of love. The thought of showing him, guiding him, sends a thrill through you.

Your hands undo his undergarment and find his cock. He stammers, trying to find his words to respond.

“Would you like my mouth, hmmm?”

He nods, eyes trained on you, mouth open as you lick your lips and wrap them around the head of his cock. You move slowly, expertly; one hand holding him in place while the other caresses his balls, the way you know men like.

It’s not that you were forced into the profession, not like some of the girls sold into it - though Juno knows, you’d have preferred another line of work. But there, in the lamp-lit room with this big, handsome, polite young soldier falling apart at your skilled touch? It’s a fucking joy .

He whines and gasps as you vary the speed and movement, tongue flicking over his tip before you swallow him back down again. Acacius’s broad hand holds the back of your head as you move faster, taking him deeper. You feel his balls tighten as he falls back on the low couch, moaning and grunting with pleasure.

“I’m…oh fuck , I’m close, I’m….”

He comes in your mouth with a cry, head thrown back on the couch and beads of sweat glistening along his neck, broad chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

A discreet spit and wipe and you tuck your naked curves against his spent body, fingertips slipping under the collar of his tunic to trace the line of his shoulders, the hollow of his throat.

He blinks his ebony-dark eyes open, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His exposed cock still glistens with your saliva and his come. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly. I’m…I’m still dressed .” He grins, you giggle, and both of you burst out laughing.

“No need to apologise, soldier. We have plenty of time, time enough to go again, surely. I’ll help.” You rise from the couch and gesture for him to follow you to the bed.

“First things first - tunic off .”

You survey him now, naked, from your position on the bed. His body is taut and lean; too lean, perhaps, for his broad shoulders and long limbs. A few scars and bruises on his torso testify to his experiences in combat.

“Join me, won’t you?”

He settles close to your own naked form and his eyes move to your tits, pressed against the warm skin of his arm. You reach for his hand and bring the broad, calloused palm and fingertips to cup your breast.

You never forgot the fascination he seemed to have with your body. That first night, he traces the curve of your tits carefully with his fingers, playing a little with your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh before caressing every bit of you in turn. The softness of your belly, the meat of your thick thighs and ass, the line of your hips, the flesh of your arms and neck.

Perhaps, you think, it has been a long time since he’s been with someone. Properly, that is. Perhaps his previous encounters were a more rushed affair, skirts hitched up to fuck hastily against a wall or a tree.

Now he can take his time with you. Wetness pools between your legs, anticipating him. You bring his hand to your pussy, guiding him to the little nub of pleasure hidden in your folds as you ride his fingers.

“You feel that?” He nods, transfixed by the way your hips roll against him, the way you pant and moan as you get closer and closer to your peak. “Find this sweet spot on a woman, and she’s all yours.”

He’s getting hard again, you notice, and starts to work you more quickly with his thick fingers. He looks to you for approval, warm eyes round and earnest, and you praise him with breathless words before coming undone on his hand.

“ Gods , that was very good, soldier.” A few strokes of your hand to his cock, and you know he’s ready. “Your turn, now.”

Acacius shifts his broad body on top of yours, using one knee to push you open a little further for him. As he breaches your pussy for the first time, he leans forward and kisses you: slow, soft, tongue slipping between your lips as you hitch your knees up and wrap your arms around his neck.

The young Spaniard fucks you deep and slow, his plush lips brushing against yours as his kisses mingle with both of your grunts and moans of pleasure. Such a display of tenderness is unusual here, where most men have one thing and one thing only on their minds as soon as they enter your chamber.

There have been plenty of young soldiers, plenty of officers, plenty of Rome’s heroes in your arms, in your mouth, in your cunt. Some handsome. Most not. Some respectful. Most rough.

Acacius is…different. You couldn’t explain it, not back then. Not yet. But you know in that instant, as he moves inside you and you look into his dark eyes, that there is something special about this man.

***

He comes to you every second or third night for the remainder of his furlough in the city, to the point that the lena begins to refer to Acacius as “your soldier”. You, privately, miss him on those nights that he does not visit.

He brings you gifts: wine, flowers, little cakes and sweets wrapped in pretty cloth. “You’ll have spent all your coin,” you chide him as you sit together on the couch, drinking wine and feeding each other the treats. “What will you say, if someone asks about the money you earned on campaign?”

Acacius leans in and plots a course of kisses down your neck, culminating at the fastening of your robe on your shoulder. He unpins the brooch and watches the fabric fall with a smile.

“I will say that it was money very well spent.”

***

The lena ’s knock on your chamber door is unusually early that day - not yet noon, you estimate, as you hastily finish pinning your hair and stand to receive her.

She smiles wryly as she leans against the doorframe. “You have a visitor .”

“This early?”

“Might I remind you that I determine the opening times of this house? Yes, this early, but…he wants to take you out .” She throws up her hands in response to your confused expression. “I know, I know, but you’re paid for! Put on something respectable, I doubt he wants you to look like a whore in public.”

You dress suitably, and fix your cloak around you before emerging into the large antechamber normally reserved for meeting clients. This morning, it is silent and empty, save for a lone figure standing with his back to you in the centre of the airy room.

He was a little broader, now, than he’d been the last time you saw him, eight or nine months ago. His arms and legs had grown more muscular, his garments evidently more expensive than the simple woollen tunic and cloak he wore the first time you met.

“Acacius?”

He wheels around and that familiar smile greets you like a beam of warm spring sunlight after the long winter. After a close embrace and a kiss, he stands back to take you in.

“How have you become more beautiful since the last time I saw you?”

You shake your head and laugh, cupping his face in your hands and rubbing your thumbs against the bristling scruff he now wears. “And you seem even more handsome and dashing, soldier. You look like the emperor now, too, with this beard.”

Acacius blushes bashfully. “Perhaps…in truth, it was my commander that inspired it, as he favours a beard too.” He smiles and winks conspiratorially. “But then maybe he wishes to resemble Aurelius, no?”

With a smile you lead him back into the main hall of the brothel and towards the door that opens onto the street. “The lena tells me you wish to take me with you into the city today.”

He offers a little bow in confirmation. “I do. I would like to walk with you, away from these four walls.” A glance over his shoulder in the direction of the lena sitting at her desk, whose all-seeing, eagle-eyed gaze bores into the two of you. He speaks a little louder, for her benefit. “And I have promised to bring you back.”

He gives you his hand, you open the door, and together you step into the bustle of the imperial city.

***

“Am I correct in thinking that isn’t a native Roman accent?”

You nod, looking at Acacius from under your lashes. “It is not. I am a country girl by birth, from a farm in the north.”

He smiles with satisfaction. “I have an ear for accents. Hard not to, when you fight for an empire as vast as ours. How did you end up here, then?”

It is as if he is speaking to a… normal woman, not a whore. You swallow hard, looking at the ground as you compose yourself to answer, not wanting to sully your relationship with this man with the painful memories of the past.

“I…was promised to a man, and he brought me to Rome. But he lied, and he cheated, and he died over an unpaid debt, and I…”

Acacius holds you in his kind, concerned gaze as your words trail off. Enough , you muse to yourself, I have said enough .

“And you…had to stand on your own two feet.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze that feels as comforting, somehow, as if it were his warm embrace.

In the mercatus adjoining the new forum, he buys little cups of wine and a jar of olives for you to share as you walk together through the packed marketplace and public squares. The tall column honouring the victories of the emperor Trajan casts its long shadow on the gleaming marble pavements below.

“Perhaps some day they will build a monument to you,” you suggest, a wry smile on your lips. “A great bronze, to the great warrior Acacius.”

He raises his eyebrows in astonishment and laughs. “A monument to an ordinary centurion? I don’t think so, somehow. Now, a statue of my commander , on the other hand, would be entirely more likely and more fitting.”

“You admire him, don’t you?”

Acacius sips his wine and nods. “He is the greatest of commanders and the bravest of men. Kind, too, away from the battlefield. I… I would die for that man.” He turns to you and grins, excited. “Have I told you that he is from Hispania, too? He tells me sometimes that we’re the finest fighters in the empire.”

You give an impressed little coo. “Have I seen this great man? Perhaps he was with the rest of you, that first night…the night we met.”

“He was not.” He takes an olive from the little clay jar, a wistful look on his face. “General Maximus has a family - a wife, a little boy - and such love he has for them as I’ve never seen. He is the emperor’s most loyal general, but in truth he would give anything to return home to them, for good.”

The two of you fall silent for a few moments, each lost in your own thoughts. You study his handsome features as you walk together: his strong, proud nose, now marked with a fresh, livid scar; his fine brow, knitted in thought; the line of his pink mouth, framed by his dark beard.

“Is that something you would like, too - a wife, a family?”

He nods and smiles as he meets your gaze. “It is something I would like very much indeed.”

***

You think of him, worry for him, miss him in the long months of campaigning in far-flung corners of the empire. Without realising, you have become part of an invisible sisterhood: yet another daughter of Rome who goes about her business and makes her living, but whose heart and mind march, always, with “her” soldier. For the first time, you really see the careworn women carrying offerings and lighting candles at the little street shrines or in the temples, muttering prayers to Juno for the safe return of a husband, a lover, a brother, a son.

You try to listen daily for updates from the newsreaders in the public fora, steeling yourself for news of a defeat. Even your work provides opportunities to stay abreast of the progress of the northern legions, as you hone your small talk with clients to focus on questions of war. Though other men might have your body for a short time, your soul is always and only with him , longing for the day he’ll be in your arms again.

He’s gone longer, this time. In your lonelier moments you wonder if perhaps he has met someone else, someone with whom he can have the family life he dreams of.

He is not yours , you remind yourself as you make up your face for another night’s work. He can never be yours .

A commotion coming from the direction of the entrance hall startles you: strong, confident footsteps on the marble floor; the lena ’s voice calling angrily after someone; and suddenly, a knock on your chamber door.

“My sweet, beautiful lady.”

Acacius sweeps you into his strong arms before you have finished opening the door properly, pulling you tight to him and covering your face with kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck and giggle with joy and relief at the sight of him.

“Your soldier hasn’t paid, girl!”

The lena ’s irritation is obvious even from the other end of the hall, her arms folded and jaw set. You break Acacius’s embrace and reach for his hand to guide him into the room.

“He’ll pay, don’t worry,” you call out to her down the hallway. “He’s been away fighting for a long time and he deserves his reward, one can hardly blame the man for being impatient!”

He’s waiting for you as soon as you close the door, cloak discarded and body poised to pin you against the wall as he holds your face in his hands and leans in for a long, slow kiss. He drops one hand and you feel your garment being lifted as his thick fingers make their way between your thighs.

“Gods, I missed you. I’m so sorry I was away for so long.” He sucks on the delicate skin of your neck as you whine with pleasure, his fingertips finding the little nub of your pussy, just like you taught him. “Did you miss me, my love?”

“Mmm, I… oh, Acacius !” First one, then two fingers slip inside you, and you struggle to form a coherent thought. “I missed you, so very much, so much.”

He fucks you with his fingers there against the wall, the sound of your wetness both lewd and erotic as it mingles with your pants and little moans. He’s still in uniform , you realise, wrapping your arm around his leather-clad torso as you pull him tighter to you. Gods, he really couldn’t wait to see you.

“I need to have you here, now,” he hisses in your ear as you edge closer to your peak. “Need to be inside you, feel you again.”

He withdraws his hand and turns you to face the wall, bending your body forward a little and caressing your ass appreciatively. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, opening and stretching you as he slides smoothly into your cunt with a low groan.

“As good as you remember?” You turn to give him a sly look as he starts to fuck you, deep and hard.

“ Better ,” he hisses. A broad hand reaches for your breast while the other grips the meat of your hip, holding you in place. “Been thinking about this, about you …every day, every night …”

His beard bristles against your skin as he angles his lips against your neck and shoulder, sucking and kissing and nipping at you. He’ll leave marks, you know that, and you know you shouldn’t let him, not in your line of work. But instead you just twine your fingers through his dark curls and keep him there, revelling in the sensation as you start to fall apart for him.

Acacius mutters praise and filth into your ear in equal measure: how beautiful you are, how good you feel, how tight your cunt is, how well you take him. The fastenings and metal ornaments of his uniform press into your flesh as he fucks you harder and faster against the wall.

You shouldn’t have let him leave marks on you. And you definitely shouldn’t let him finish inside you. But, more than anything else, you want him to make you his, really and truly, inside and out. As his rhythm starts to falter, a slight arch of your back and an extra tilt of your hips sends him even deeper and makes him come. His groans of ecstatic pleasure as he fills you with his seed are music to your ears.

***

You bathe together in the brothel’s small, steamy bathhouse, your fingers tracing the scars and bruises his strong, solid body had acquired since the last time you were together. Acacius hums with pleasure as you wash his hair and rub perfumed oil into his skin, pressing your lips gently to every mark and freckle.

“I love you, you know.”

Strange, how this impressive warrior could become so vulnerable as he says the words: eyes wide, expression open and hopeful, as he reaches for your hand and kisses your palm with tender reverence.

“I love you, too.”

***

Dawn breaks over the city and the early morning light reaches through your small, high window. The night was sleepless and perfect: lovemaking punctuated by conversation, by fruits and wine, and culminating in your two bodies wrapped naked around each other in your bed.

Acacius kisses you awake, smiling as your eyes blink sleepily open.

“My love is tired, I think.”

You arch an eyebrow and smirk suggestively. “Gods, I wonder why ?”

As you cuddle against his broad chest, you spy a leather coin purse resting on the table beside the bed. The sight pierces your soft, loving cocoon like an arrow to the heart.

He pays for you.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you speak. “You don’t have to pay any more. Unless you would rather continue to buy me…”

His expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What do you mean?”

“You pay for me, but you love me and I love you and…It was different before, but now I think our love shouldn’t be bought .”

Acacius smiles and pulls you to him, kissing your forehead. “I know, my love. And I agree, but… Don’t you think your lena would be suspicious, if I stopped paying?”

“She only gets a cut, either way.” A thought occurs to you. “Perhaps we just give her the cut she’d get anyway, for appearances’ sake? And I’ll tell her you gave the rest to me directly.”

He nods, reaching for you again and holding you close against him.

“Perhaps you won’t need to worry about the lena at all, any more.”

It’s your turn to be confused as you pull back a little and look in his eyes.

“I was going to ask you anyway, I’ve been thinking about this all the time I was away… I wonder, would you be - would you consider being - my wife?”

“I could pay off any debt you owe to the lena, to this place.” He hastens to reassure you, seeing the look of shock on your face. “And I have money enough to buy us a beautiful home, some land… I have been promoted again, since I saw you last, and now we have some time together until the next campaign, we…we could marry, be together. Husband and wife. What do you say?”

Your heart says yes. Yes. Forever and always, yes , thank Juno and all the gods that brought this beautiful man to you.

But hearts don’t make the rules in Rome.

You kiss him gently, twine your fingers through his, caress the dark curls that frame his handsome face. “I would give anything to be your wife.”

He smiles sadly. “But?”

“We can’t . Even if I left this world behind for good, I still wouldn’t be allowed to marry, and -”

“I have known men whose wives were once meretrices , it’s not always so strict,” Acacius interjects.

“Were these men imperial officers with a bright future ahead of them?” you ask, as kindly as you can. “At best, I could be a mistress.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t have to be an officer forever. I don’t want to do this forever, to wage war forever. So I’ll give it up, find another occupation, use my savings…I just want you , my love.”

His thumb wipes away the tears glistening on your face as you fight the sob rising in your throat. “I want you too, I love you too, but…you are under oath, under contract, are you not? They would come after you if you broke it, I would rather die than see you hurt on my account.”

Those beautiful dark eyes are resigned now, full of pain and all too aware that there is no way for this dream to become a reality. Acacius puts his arms around you and holds you tight to his chest, silently kissing the top of your head.

When he leaves you a couple of hours later, to attend to business elsewhere in the city, you turn over and weep, sure that you will never see him again.

***

Catalina knocks on your chamber door a couple of days later, anxiously looking around her, as if afraid she might be seen.

“I don’t think there’s a rule against visiting each other in our rooms, you know.”

“Can’t be too careful, now, can we?” She lowers her voice and beckons for you to come closer. “I’ve been given a message for you. From your soldier boy.”

You move quickly to sit on the couch, afraid that your legs might give way. “He…he came to you ?”

Catalina laughs a little too loudly, and claps her hand to her mouth. “No, he did not - sent one of the other legionaries to me, just so he could get word to you. Well, not just that, we did have a good time, me and young Sextus…” A knowing smile spreads across her face.

“The message . What was the message?”

She snaps out of her reverie and sits beside you. “Tomorrow, noon. The big temple on the Capitoline, at Juno’s cella .”

You nod, taking in the information and already plotting your excuse for the lena . “Catalina, why didn’t he come directly to me?”

“Apparently he was afraid you wouldn’t see him. He’s got it bad for you, according to his pal.” She turns and pulls you into a warm hug, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Good luck. I’ll make an offering for you.”

***

He’s already there when you arrive, standing at the entrance to the main cella and dressed simply but beautifully in a tunic, belt, and dark green cloak that only serves to emphasise his strong, broad build. You cross the marble floor to join him and he immediately reaches for your hand.

“I am so glad to see you, my love.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. “But why here?”

“I wanted to talk to you, and I needed courage - so I have made some offerings to the goddess.” Acacius nods towards the doors that lead to the cella of Juno, where priests busied themselves with candles, incense, and laying worshippers’ offerings on the goddess’s altar. “I hope she looks favourably upon me.”

“And me,” you add, and he grins. “Come, tell me. What is it that is so important?”

He leads you away from the cella and guides you through the throngs of people making their way to the great temple until you reach a quieter spot under a small portico.

“I meant what I asked you. I want to marry you, more than anything. I know, too, that the rules of this empire won’t allow it.” He takes both of your hands in his. “But I wondered if we could make our own rules.”

“Our own rules?”

He reaches into the leather purse hanging from his belt, and produces a small gold ring set with a polished garnet stone.

“If we cannot marry by law, then perhaps we might marry in spirit.” He places the ring in your palm, wrapping his hand around yours.

The bustle of the city fades far into the distance. In that moment, it is just you and him.

“You wish this, even though I cannot tend your home, be a real wife to you? In spite of my… work ?”

Acacius nods, hand still cupped around yours. “You will be a real wife, in all the ways that matter to me. And in time I will find a way for us to make a home together.” He looks into your eyes and smiles that hopeful smile you love so much. “And, perhaps, to raise our children there.”

“My work, Acacius. I would still be doing…what I do, at least until then. This does not concern you?”

He shakes his head. “It is a profession, it is not you, no matter what the law says. You do not mind that I fight and kill for a living, this is no different.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t mind, but you are fighting for Rome , for an empire, not…selling yourself.”

“It is a profession .” Acacius reassures you, kissing you on the cheek. “And it is not forever.” He holds up the ring to you again.

Your smile and nod is his cue to slip the gold band onto your finger, leaning in for a deep kiss as he pulls you tight to him and whispers in your ear.

“I am yours .”

A passing temple worshipper tuts loudly at the public display of affection, and you giggle.

“And by Juno, I am all yours.”

***

The wedding feast, such as it is, is wine and sweetmeats purchased from a street vendor and consumed, picnic-style, in a quiet, secluded grove of trees near the river. He spreads his cloak on the ground, helps you down, and lays out the food before toasting you with the cup of wine he pours from a wineskin.

“You deserve a far greater feast than this, beloved.”

“This is already far more than I could ever have hoped for, my love.” You lean in and kiss him gently. “I only wish I could be a wife to you in the eyes of the law, too.”

Acacius shakes his head and strokes your cheek. “You are all I need, just as you are. Hang the law; I will find a way for us to live as man and wife. I promise.”

The dappled sunlight catches the garnet of your ring and you hold your hand up, delighted.

“It pleases you?”

“Very, very much.” You rest your head on his shoulder, both content in the quiet. Such pleasure, you think, to be here, with him - your husband , in spirit if not in law - away from the brothel, from the noise and the lena ’s eagle eye.

His hand drifts gently down your bare arm and along the line of your thigh as his lips find yours again. At your ankle, his thick fingers slip under the hem of your dress, hitching it up as his palm caresses your calf, your knee, and starts to plot a course towards your pussy.

“In public , husband?”

Acacius sighs happily at the word, encouraging you to lie back on the cloak as he moves himself between your open thighs. “There’s no one around, wife .” The bristle of his beard scratches at your neck as he nips and sucks at you, fingers already parting the lips of your cunt. “Aren’t couples supposed to consummate their marriage?”

You chuckle and writhe under his broad body as he pushes one, then two fingers into you. “Arguably we consummated this some time ago, my love,” you hiss, reaching under his tunic to undo the undergarment and stroke his cock. He whines with pleasure and fucks you a little faster as his thumb traces tight circles over that most sensitive, intimate place, smiling as you buck against him.

“What did you tell me, that first night? Find this sweet spot and she’ll be all mine?”

“All yours.” Gods , you’re close. “And I am…I am all yours.”

You come almost as soon as his thick cock pushes inside you, unable to contain the cries of pleasure. You give no thought or care to the possibility of being discovered here, of a passerby witnessing your lovemaking.

Let them see , you muse, as he fucks you hard and deep, fondling your tits through the fabric of your garment. Let them see how he takes me, fills me; how a man makes love to his new wife.

***

He comes to you every night, then, maintaining the fiction of a transactional relationship by having you give the lena her dues directly. She raised an eyebrow sceptically when you first explained the situation, but money is money, and if she suspects anything she does not let on.

In your chamber, you can almost pretend you are a normal couple. You dine together, bathe together, talk together. As he recounts his experiences with his legion, you realise the extent of his unassuming heroism and his nobility. Unlike many of the other soldiers you have encountered in this work, Acacius has a real sense of the human cost of war, of the humanity involved, whether Roman or barbarian.

“It is no wonder General Maximus has sought to promote you, my love,” you tell him one evening as you pour him another goblet of wine. “You are clearly a great leader, as well as a great fighter.”

“He has trained me well.” He sips his wine and looks bashfully at the floor. “He does not seek to waste good men like some of the other commanders; he knows the value of their lives. And we look up to him, admire him, for that.”

Your private connubial bliss must, of course, play second fiddle to the demands of the empire. One night, he arrives with a dejected air, explaining sorrowfully and apologetically that his legion is returning to the northern campaign immediately - far sooner than he had anticipated.

“I thought we had more time, my love. I am so sorry.”

You smile, shake your head, and kiss him. “We will have plenty of time to come.”

That night, the last night together before fate would make her intervention and change the course of your lives, Acacius is content simply to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to him as he sleeps.

***

The emperor is dead, and the city mourns. In the public squares and fora the newsreaders proclaim that Marcus Aurelius, philosopher-emperor, has died on campaign with the armies of the north, and succession passed to his heir, Commodus.

The armies of the north . Your thoughts turn, as they so often do, to Acacius. His commander was close to the old emperor, you remember, and the heir had a rather more difficult reputation. You walk back to the brothel and imagine your love, clad in the fur-trimmed woollen cloak worn on campaign in the north, willing your love and strength to him across the many miles.

Emperors come and emperors go, but life goes on. A months-long series of gladiatorial games is announced, to mark the death of Aurelius and the accession of his son. The lena cheers when she hears the news, knowing that the attendant surge in visitors to the city means a boost for her business.

You keep abreast of political and military developments, as usual, via the more informed and talkative of your clients. Severus, a senior aide to one of Rome’s senators, is always happy to oblige.

“Quite the news from the north,” he says one evening, as you help him unwrap his heavy outer toga.

“Is that so?” Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you steady yourself on the table before pouring him a goblet of wine. “Sit, tell me.”

“A traitor general , if you’ll credit it!” He sips the wine and shakes his head in astonishment. “Cursed the new emperor, took off and left his men. They think he went south, to his homeland. A Spaniard, you know.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you - do you know the name?”

Severus chews the inside of his cheek momentarily. “Marcus? No, that’s not it, it’s…Maximus. Maximus Decimus Meridius. One of Aurelius’s best men, they say, but off he went, revealed as a traitor.”

He puts a hand on your thigh and leans in to kiss your neck, ignorant of the stunned, horrified look on your face as you try to process this information. He does not seem to notice or care that you barely react. You move into position on the bed unthinkingly, letting him strip you and bend you over so that he can fuck you the way he likes.

You barely hear his grunts and moans, barely feel it when he pulls out and spills his come on your back. He says something to you before he leaves, but his words are a discordant buzz. Curled up on your bed, your mind races into the small hours until you drift into a fitful sleep.

***

The weeks pass, the games begin, and the blood of men and beasts stains the sandy ground of the Colosseum day after day. The new emperor, out for blood and driven mad with power, seems to want to undo the work of his father with each passing day, starting by crippling the senate.

Information about the fate of Maximus’s legions is scant and often contradictory. Some say that a new commander has been appointed and that the campaign continues, as usual. Others tell of a mutiny in the ranks, of infighting and chaos. Still more swear that the legions will come south and unite in Rome.

“He’ll come and find you, I know he will,” Catalina whispers to you as she passes in the hallway one morning. “Don’t give up. He’ll come.”

The not knowing is unbearable. You make daily offerings at the little shrines and altars in the streets, praying that you might, at least, discover Acacius’s fate for good or ill.

As you pass a butcher’s shop, you overhear a familiar name, and stop in your tracks to listen as the butcher and his assistant regale their customers with the story of the great general who has become a gladiator.

***

“Where are you off to?”

The lena eyes you up and down in the entrance hall, arms folded across her chest.

“I’m going out for some air and to buy some little cakes, for tonight. We’ve got a while before today’s games are over, I want to take advantage of it.”

“Fair enough. Be back in plenty of time, mind, we want you all fresh and perfumed and powdered!”

You navigate the packed streets, stopping at the baker’s shop to buy a selection of the tiny fruit and honey cakes you like to have in your chamber, before turning back in the direction of the brothel. Your route is a little quieter and you know it by heart, making use of side streets and alleys to avoid the crowds.

You do not notice the hooded man standing in one of the doorways until he steps out in front of you. The parcel of cakes falls to the ground as you cry out with fright, and the man immediately kneels to retrieve it. His fingers caress the back of your hand, and in an instant, you know him.

“You came back to me, my love.”

Acacius lowers his hood slightly, eyes sparkling but alert to his surroundings, and takes your free hand in his, kissing it repeatedly. “Of course, my beloved. I have been trying to come home to you for a while, but given…” He pauses as he searches for the right word. “Given everything , it has taken a little longer than I’d hoped.”

He keeps his hood up as you open the door into the brothel, pulling you back to whisper in your ear. “I’d rather it not be known that I’m here, my love. Not tonight. Here, take this purse, tell the lena I’m a foreign visitor.”

You don’t ask for an explanation. He follows you inside, hanging back in the entrance hallway as you tell the lena that this gentleman approached you in the street and wanted to spend the night.

“He’s a quiet one.” She surveys Acacius suspiciously, and you pray she does not recognise his broad frame.

“He’s nervous, is all,” you suggest, as lightly as you can manage. “First time in the big city, he’s come from a long way off. Best make it a special night, eh?”

She sighs, nods, and counts the coins as you lead the way to your chamber.

***

“I can explain everything, my love, or at least as much as I’m permitted to say.” Acacius takes off his cloak and settles on your couch, pulling you to him. You press your fingers to his lips.

“After. Explain after.”

The lamps and candles cast a soft glow on the contours of your body as you slip out of your dress and gently sit on his lap, tracing the lines of his features with your fingertips as you kiss his face, featherlight.

“I hope I’m not too heavy for you, love.”

He smiles and shakes his head, mouth a little ajar as he takes in the sight of you. “You are perfect.” He tilts his head and sucks on each of your nipples, holding you in place around the waist, as your hand slips under his tunic. A shift of your hips and you are straddling one leg, rocking your hips back and forth against his strong thigh, gasping at the sensation as your cunt grazes against the warm skin, soft hair, and firm muscle.

He watches you, enthralled, one hand resting on your ass and the other squeezing your tits. You hold his gaze, then, caught in the dark fire of his beautiful eyes as you reach your peak and come hard on him, head thrown back and body quivering with pleasure.

“Gods, you are extraordinary.” He helps you stand up and guides you to the bed, tucking a pillow under your head before he strips off and joins you. “My extraordinary woman, I have missed you so.”

His beard scratches against your skin as he kisses your body, moving from your tits down to your soft belly and generous thighs. His lips press against your mound, your pussy, tongue diving into the slick that’s pooled between your legs.

“You taste spectacular,” he murmurs, shifting forward. He kisses you, deep and slow, so that you can taste yourself as he pushes his cock inside you.

“See?”

You giggle as he begins to fuck you, pulling in and out slowly and deliberately, making sure you feel every inch of him and he every inch of you.

The worries and uncertainty fade as you make love, bodies moving in perfect harmony, mingled voices gasping and moaning with pleasure, and sweat glistening on your skin.

After . Explain after.

***

“There are legions at Ostia.”

You pop one of the little cakes into his mouth and settle against his shoulder. Ostia . You like the way he pronounces it, the inflection of his accent.

“Legions?”

He looks at you cautiously. “Legions.” His face tells you he cannot say more, and you fill in the blanks for yourself.

His legion. Maximus’s legions?

“And you rode into the city on…business?”

He nods and reaches for the cup of lemon water on the bedside table. “Business, yes. In preparation for the games to come.”

“Can you stay tonight, or must you return to…?” You daren’t name the place.

“I can stay tonight, but must leave at first light.” He puts his arm around you and lowers his voice. “My love, there may be some trouble in the days to come. I will come for you as soon as I can, but…be warned. Be ready.”

He speaks with such grave sincerity that you immediately understand the stakes involved. “I will be ready, love.”

***

The commotion outside in the streets brings you and the rest of the girls into the main antechamber, wondering what on earth is going on to cause such tumult. There is no sign of the lena , though her ledger and pen have been left in their usual places on her little table.

Althea runs a finger along the edge of the scroll and emits a low whistle. “You don’t think she’s done a runner, do you?”

Catalina shakes her head. “She wouldn’t leave the ledger behind. Or, for that matter” - she gestures to a little box discreetly tucked between a pillar and the wall - “her petty cash.”

The sound of the main door opening hushes the gathering, and the lena strides purposefully into the room.

“Suppose you’re all wondering what’s going on, hmmm? Well, ladies, looks like we’ve got another dead emperor. No-one seems to be mourning that lunatic, though, unlike his father…Anyway!” She throws up her hands and rolls her eyes in exasperation as she seats herself at the table. “Just another ordinary, quiet day in Rome.”

You and the other girls cluster around the lena , asking question upon question as you vie for information. With a roar, she silences you again.

“All’s I know is this - he died in the arena, and it was that Merciful Maximus or Maximus the Merciful or whatever in Hades’ name they call that gladiator who did it. Commodus challenged him to a duel, didn’t he?” She sucks her teeth. “Not the brightest, that one.”

“Maximus?” Your voice cuts through the gasps and mutterings of the other girls. “Maximus defeated the emperor?”

The legions. This is why they were at Ostia, to overthrow the emperor and restore the senate. You wonder if Acacius has already entered the city - indeed, if he was there to witness the fight.

“He did,” the lena sighs. “Fat lot of good it did him, he’s dead now, too. Right! Back to your chambers, we might get a few boys in festive mood now that Commodus is gone.”

Your stomach churns as you walk silently down the hallway and back to your room. If Maximus’s legions had massed at Ostia to march on the city, and were already on the move, who knew what fate awaited them now that the general was dead, leaving a power vacuum at the very top of Rome? Or perhaps, you reason with yourself, the senate will work quickly to restore order, and will not punish the legionaries who were ready to stage a coup. After all, it was the senate they were fighting for.

One way or another, tomorrow you will begin the search for Acacius.

***

Trade was as dead as the emperor that night, much to your relief. In the early hours, you lie awake and stare at the painted ceiling, thinking over and over about the places he might be and where you should start. Sleep, eventually, finds you.

You dream that he has come to you, that he is calling you by name, over and over, shaking you by the arm until you respond.

“Please, my love, wake up.”

No dream at all. He is there, real and whole, sitting on the side of your bed. His handsome face is marked with dirt and grime, hands and knees grubby, as if he has come fresh from a long journey on horseback.

You sit up and reach for his hand. “Acacius…husband. You’re alive, you’re safe.”

He nods in response, until he buries his face in his hands and leans forward, head between his legs, and gives a devastated, feral roar the likes of which you’ve never heard before. You tentatively move beside him, fingers working to undo his cuirass so that you can rub his back through the thin fabric of his tunic. His big, strong body shakes with fury and hurt under your gentle caress.

Neither of you speak for some time. You try to ground and console him with your touch, your closeness; and in time his rapid breathing slows and he raises his head to speak.

“I would have come sooner.” His voice is low and croaky, worn out by a day of shouting. “I would have come…I had to help them, had to get the boy away, get him safe.” He looks at his grimy hands, as if noticing them for the first time. “The road was dusty, I’m covered in the stuff. I’m sorry, I…”

You shake your head and nod at him to continue. Acacius sighs despondently.

“I was in the arena today. Me, a few other officers, other centurions, all loyal to Maximus, the senate, the people. We wanted to be ready, to prepare for the others.”

He reaches for your hand, cupping it in both of his and kissing it with reverent care.

“I…we…” His voice breaks a little. “He died , there on the arena floor. Murdered by his own emperor.” He steadies himself, a note of rage entering his tone. “He was a hero of Rome. A hero of Rome . And that was how his life ended. That was his reward.”

He looks at you, features set hard, eyes burning with anger. And then his face softens, expression crumples, and he cannot hold back the tears as he buries his face against your shoulder.

***

You wash him clean of that terrible day in the baths, anointing his cuts and bruises with balms, ointments, and kisses.

He watches as you apply the mixtures carefully to his skin. “I did not know you were a doctor, sweet lady.”

“No doctor,” you smile. “Just some knowledge passed from my mother and aunts, about healing plants and balms. I like to keep a few with me, just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“In case I marry a soldier.”

When he is clean, you dress him in a plain tunic from the linen cupboard and take him to bed.

Acacius rests his head on your bosom as you stroke his hair, his strong arm draped across your body. After a time, he breaks the silence.

“How can I keep fighting, if this is the fate of a Roman hero?” He shakes his head a little. “And yet, I am bound by my oath to serve.”

You kiss his forehead and stroke his cheek, tracing the line of a scar. “What would he say to you now?”

He looks up at you with those pitch-dark eyes, permitting himself a little smile. “Apart from ‘how did you ever manage to get a woman as lovely as her to marry you ’?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Apart from that.”

“He would probably say that the dream of Rome is worth fighting for.”

“I think you have your answer, then.”

He does not seem entirely convinced as he sits up beside you and leans in for a kiss. “Perhaps.” Another kiss. “Or perhaps only love is worth fighting for.”

You lie down and pull him to you, happy to feel his solid weight on top of you again. “Aren’t you fighting for love, though, when you fight for Rome?”

“If only she weren’t such a cruel mistress.” He kisses your neck, tugging down the neck of your robe to expose your breast. “Gods, I need you, my love.”

With your help, he discards his own tunic and takes off your dress. He sits back on his heels for a moment, running his big hands up your bare legs as he looks into your eyes.

“I am all yours, Acacius.” You extend your hand to him, guiding him into position. “Let me help you forget it all, even if just for tonight.”

He moves forward on top of you, holding your gaze for a few moments as he caresses your face and strokes your hair. His kiss is tender but urgent, his hand reaching for your breast as he starts to grind against you.

“All yours, my love,” you repeat, watching as he moves back down your body. “Take me as you wish, as you need.”

He tries to take in every part of you with his mouth, lips moving with desperate need and grazing over your tits, your soft belly, your hips. One, two thick fingers slip between your thighs, keen to remind you what you taught him that first night together. You writhe against him as his beard scrapes against the delicate skin and curls that cover your mound, unable to stop yourself guiding him between your legs.

”Mine. Mine .” Acacius mutters the word as he hooks his arms under your thighs and buries his face against your cunt, nose rubbing against you while his tongue parts your folds. It’s as if he wants to devour you, such is the urgency with which he sucks and laps and licks. He runs his fingers over your dripping core and drops his hand to his cock, using your wetness to stroke himself as he continues to eat you out. He laps greedily at you as you come, your slick still glistening all over his face as he shifts forward and enters you.

He holds you down as he fucks you hard, fingers twined through yours, sweat dripping from his beautiful body onto your tits. There’s a desperation to his lovemaking tonight, a desire to escape his grief by losing himself in you - in your cunt, your flesh. He comes with a roar, filling you with life as he tries to rid himself of the bloody memory of death.

***

He leaves in the early morning, following military orders to assemble at the Field of Mars in spite of his misgivings and wavering loyalty. You make love before he goes: slow, soft, congress in the dawn light.

You watch him dress, sitting up naked in bed. “Be careful, my love.”

Acacius fastens his cloak and leans in for a final kiss. “You too, love. I will come for you as soon as I can.” Before he leaves the room, he nods towards a leather pouch resting on the table.

“That isn’t payment , in case you are wondering. It is my duty as your husband - some money, should you need it urgently while I am away.” He looks as though he would rather sacrifice himself in the arena than leave. “I love you.”

That was the last time you saw him, until he appeared, a decade and a half later, as a vision in white: the triumphant hero of empire.

***

The crowds have dispersed now, the city humming with excitement at the prospect of a series of games to celebrate the feats of Acacius and his army in Numidia.

The terracotta oil lamps cast a warm, comforting glow around your small home, nestled in a side street in a decidedly unfashionable part of the city. The brothel is firmly in the past for you now, as you earn a living making medicinal balms and ointments, using recipes learned from your mother and aunts. You prepare your simple evening meal and eat it quietly, preoccupied all the while by Acacius.

He had seen you today, you were sure of it. What did he remember of you, of your love, of the secret “marriage” of spirit the two of you had entered into? Had he recognised you at all? He had grown even more handsome with the passing of time. You were not sure the same could be said of your beauty.

The little metal figurine lies on the table before you, your fingertips tracing over the outline of the man you had loved so much. With a gentle sigh, you move to the corner of the room and retrieve a plain, well-worn wooden box from the chest that holds your most precious possessions. He fits in well here, this Acacius, nestled among carefully-folded fabric you have preserved like a relic all these years.

What might have been, in another world. But you have your memories, and your relics, and the comfort of having seen him one more time, after all these years.

***

A day or so later, you are about to turn in for the night when you hear the distinctive sound of a horse coming to a halt just outside your home, swiftly followed by a firm knock. A knock on your door at this hour is not usual , but neither is it unexpected or unprecedented. People have, on occasion, come in urgent circumstances, desperately seeking this balm or that ointment.

You reach for your mantle and open the door a little. “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll get you what you need, if I have it.”

The cloaked figure at your door chuckles, turns, and takes down their hood.

"So you really do live. I am not sure one of your fine balms could fix the problems I’m facing, dear lady.”

You steady yourself on the doorframe, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or touch him to make sure he’s really there.

“Oh, gods… Acacius .” You shake your head and correct yourself quickly. “I mean, General Acacius, I… how ?”

“Acacius, please. I’ll always just be Acacius with you.” He crosses an arm over his chest in a gesture of honourable sincerity, those dark eyes warm and oh so familiar, even after a distance of nearly twenty years. “May I come in?”

You gesture towards the table at the centre of the room and close the door, still not quite believing that he is really here , in your little home. He is no longer wearing the dress uniform, you notice, spying a simpler tunic and belt under the cloak.

“I have some wine, if you would like? Nothing like the fine stuff you’re used to now, of course, but…”

“Anything you have is perfect.” Acacius moves closer to you and reaches for your hand, pressing his lips to it and smiling with delighted recognition when he realises you still wear the ring he gave you. He seems reluctant to let go, caressing your hand in both of his as his eyes take you in from head to toe. “I am so happy to see you…I thought I would never see you again. I…”

Before he can finish his sentence, you throw your arms around him and pull his beautiful, broad frame to you in a tight embrace.

***

The conversation is light, at first - small talk, mostly about the triumph, about the campaign in Africa, the sheer weight of the special armour and cloak he had worn for the procession, his relief in seeing his wife, Lucilla.

You smile when he mentions her. “You are both very lucky indeed, I think. She’s much loved, very beautiful, kind… maybe now you are home we will see more of her in the city? She is missed by the people.”

Acacius purses his lips. “Her movements are…not always in her own hands, these days.”

You nod in understanding as silence settles over the two of you.

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I came back for you, did you know that? All those years ago. I kept my word, my vow to you. But you were gone .”

He tells his side of the story simply, though at times he struggles to keep his emotions in check. After Maximus’s death, it was well over a year before Acacius saw Rome again. In the political turmoil that followed the demise of Commodus, young officers like him were deployed to various parts of the empire to secure the Roman presence - and, he suspected, to prove their loyalty to the litany of new emperors who followed in quick succession.

“As soon as I got back to the city, first chance I got, I went to find you. And everything was different - a new lena in the place.” He shakes his head at the memory. “When I asked about you, she…well, she said you were gone.”

You press your fingertips against the surface of the table. “I had returned to the family farm, I meant to come back, but…”

Acacius nods. “She knew you had gone to your family, but she told me you were dead . Said the news was that you’d died, a few months after you left Rome.”

He tells how he refused to accept your death. He searched for you as best he could, trying to piece together the little he knew about your life before Rome, before the brothel, before him . Dead end after dead end eventually convinced him, against his instincts, that you were really gone.

”I mourned you as a…a husband . Grew my hair for the period of mourning, didn’t trim my beard…” He smiles sadly. “I even covered my head and burned that linen tunic you’d dressed me in, that last night we spent together, in lieu of a funeral pyre. It was all I had of you.”

You reach for his hand, noticing the scars and callouses that were not there the last time you held it so tenderly. “I am so sorry, my lo-” The words came as easily as they did that last morning together. You checked yourself. “I mean, Acacius .”

He squeezes your hand and continues. “I kept telling myself I had let you down. Had I been here I could have helped you, made sure you were safe, protected you.” A sombre look darkens his features. “When I saw you up there in the crowd, for an instant I wondered if I was seeing things, if you were an apparition…reminding me that I had failed you.”

“You could never fail me, Acacius. Never. Not then, not now.”

You sip your wine as you prepare to tell him your side of the story.

“I left Rome a couple of months after you did, and went back north to my family. I had to go but I intended to return, because I knew you would keep your word.”

Silence, again, and you know exactly what he’s going to ask you.

“Why did you leave the city…why did you have to go?”

Another sip of wine.

“I was with child.”

***

When you were absolutely certain, about two months after he left, you packed your things and made the necessary arrangements. His money helped pay your way northwards and home - and paid off your outstanding debts to the lena .

“Don’t you have siblings who can look after your ailing mother?”, she’d said, already starting to count your coin. “Can’t be doing with losing good girls like you, these days.”

“Only my brother remains on the farm, and he cannot manage it and care for my mother at the same time.” It wasn’t a lie , not really. Your sisters were scattered, and since your father’s death the farm was your brother’s responsibility. And strictly speaking, he did have to care for your mother - even if she wasn’t ailing in the way you’d described to the lena to justify your sudden departure.

You looked carefully at every soldier you saw on the road north, hoping against hope that one of them might be yours . In a roadside tavern you even asked after Acacius, after you overheard a group of legionaries talking about Maximus, but to no avail.

At home, you were circumspect about your situation in Rome - and about the circumstances of your pregnancy. Pressed repeatedly by your mother, you told her the father was a young officer who loved you very much.

“And where is this lover boy, now that he’s got a child on you?” She surveyed your swelling belly with a mixture of irritation and resignation.

“He returned to his legion and we have had no word since.” Another not-really-a-lie.

Your mother rolled her eyes, but could not disguise the sympathy in her tone. “Tale as old as time.”

You did whatever work you could, within the limits imposed by your condition. And one day, as you rested for a few moments in the meadow, the sun glinting off your garnet ring as your hand lay protectively across your swollen stomach, you felt the child quicken in your womb.

In your lowest moments, you worried that your certainty about paternity was misplaced, given the nature of your work. With every fibre of your being, though, you knew that this child was his. It could be no one else’s.

You planned, originally, to give birth and raise the child to the point where they could be taken care of by another while you worked. At that stage, you assumed, you and your child would return to Rome - and to Acacius.

But fate dealt a very different hand

***

There’s shock and sadness and a kind of excitement, even, in Acacius’s eyes as he listens to you tell the story. Realisation dawns: he was a father .

His voice is hushed. “A boy or a girl?”

You squeeze his hand, as much for your own comfort as for his. “A boy. And your double, from the moment he came into this world - all dark eyes and curly hair and even strange little habits and gestures that I knew were yours . I…named him for you.”

“A son .” He seems awestruck. “I have a son . Gods, I wish I had known.”

“I am so sorry, Acacius, I wish I could have found a way to tell you, for you to know…but I had no idea where you were, how I could find you or reach you.” You swallow back the tears. “Truly, please forgive me.”

He shakes his head and leans a little closer to you. “You don’t need to apologise, there’s nothing to forgive.” He kisses the back of your hand again before wiping an errant tear from your cheek.

You look at him - really look at him, really take him in properly after all this time apart. He wears his age beautifully, from the lines on his face to the silvery strands of hair that frame his brow. Acacius has acquired more scars in his years of soldiering - across the bridge of his fine nose, a more livid, longer mark to his right cheek. But his eyes, in spite of all the terrible things he has seen and all the blood he has spilled, are as warm and kind when they look at you as they were the first night you met.

“I always meant to come back to the city,” you continue. “I thought we’d return once he was old enough, find you again, and somehow make a life together. And then my mother died, and I couldn’t leave my brother to tend the farm alone, and my… our boy was so happy there. You were rising through the ranks, too, and a woman and child would have been the last thing you needed.”

Acacius shakes his head, regretfully, and sips his wine.

“Did you tell him? About me?”

“As soon as he was old enough, yes. I told him all about you.” You smile at the memory of that time and tell him about your little boy’s bright eyes and dark curls, the wide smile on his face as he dashed here and there on the farm, chasing chickens and helping his uncle plant seeds. Your brother whittled him a rudimentary wooden sword, so that he could fight imaginary battles in the fields and cry out, with all the force his little voice could muster: “I am Acacius, hero of Rome.”

“He’s near a man now, I suppose?” Acacius looks around the room, as if making sure he hasn’t missed the boy somehow.

You close your eyes as another memory casts a long, dark cloud of grief and pain: a memory of fever sweeping the countryside, of the horror as your bright, clever boy fell ill overnight, of your desperate attempts to heal him. And that indelible image, the one that still wakes you at night, sometimes: your brother, tears rolling down his weathered farmer’s face, carrying the small body in its small shroud.

***

Acacius says nothing for a long time, just holds your hand on the table and stares at his cup of wine as he tries to comprehend what you have told him. He breaks his silence with just two words.

“How old?”

“He was seven.”

You rise from the table, gently squeezing his shoulder as you cross towards your wooden chest and take out the plain wooden box where you had placed the miniature Acacius a couple of nights before. Settling back beside him at the table, you remove the lid and show him the contents.

“Is this…” He smiles wryly at the little figurine, picking it up to examine it more closely.

“I told you, didn’t I? They would cast you in bronze some day, Or, if not bronze, whatever that is.”

Carefully, you take out the rest of the items you’d stored with such love since the day you lost your beloved boy. A small tunic. A pair of his sandals, still marked with dust from the farm. A wax tablet, inscribed with his rudimentary letters and numbers.

Acacius handles his son’s belongings as though they are the most precious objects in the world. He turns a little figurine of a soldier, carved from bone, over and over in his palm.

“He loved that one best.”

It is strangely comforting and intimate to sit with Acacius in this shared grief, watching him somehow try to know the little boy he never met through the few belongings he left behind in the world.

“Acacius…” He looks at you, eyes glistening with tears, and you fight the urge to embrace him again. “I think you should keep that. If you wish, of course, but -”

He nods, cupping the toy in his big hand before placing it with great care and tenderness in the leather pouch on his belt.

“I can carry him with me.”

***

Before he leaves you, you give him a jar of your very best healing ointment as a parting gift.

“For your next campaign, to help with cuts and bruises.”

He kisses you on the cheek, smiling as he opens the jar and inhales the warm, fragrant aroma of the balm. “I hope to get some respite from the battlefield for a while.”

You grin. “I’m glad to hear it. And I am so glad that you have a wonderful wife to go home to.”

His travelling cloak once more around his broad shoulders, Acacius bids you farewell and holds you in a long, tight embrace and murmurs into your ear.

“I loved you so very much. Always remember that.”

***

More games. More bloodshed. You stay at home, away from the festivities and the crowds.

Another late-evening knock to your door, and this time you decide not to answer. The games have brought a rowdy crowd to the city, and it’s impossible to know what awaits on the other side.

They knock again, firmly, clearly. Not the knock of a drunk, you muse.

You open the door to a young man, dressed in the typical garb of a servant, and a woman of regal bearing, dressed in a simple hooded cloak.

“May I come in?”

She leaves the servant outside and checks that the door is firmly shut before she takes down her hood, revealing her fine features and blonde curls as you gasp in recognition - and panic.

“Gods! I mean…my lady, I…”

Lucilla smiles that sweet smile so beloved of the ordinary citizens and reaches for your hand, attempting to steady your evident nerves. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I cannot stay long, but…may we sit?”

Dumbfounded, you gesture towards your simple wooden chairs, watching in astonishment as the daughter of Marcus Aurelius seats herself at your table. She nods towards the other chair, encouraging you to join her.

“I am very sorry for arriving like this so late in the evening, unannounced. I do hope I’m not putting you out.”

You shake your head quickly, panic and terror still written all over your face, and she chuckles gently. “Please, I meant it - you have nothing to fear from me. And yes, I know my husband came to see you.”

“He…I mean, I…I mean, we …”

Lucilla places her elegant, pale hand on the back of yours by way of reassurance. “I know. He has often spoken of you to me - and of his sorrow at not being able to protect you. When he realised you still lived, well…I simply wanted to meet the woman who meant so much to Acacius. We have a lot in common, you and I.”

For a moment, you wonder if you are dreaming. Most women would rather ignore their husband’s past loves, let alone want to visit them.

“You didn’t mind that he came to see me?”

She shakes her head, blue eyes meeting yours. “Not at all. In fact, I encouraged him to seek you out, after he saw you during the triumph.”

“I…I’m not sure I understand, my lady.”

“We’ve lived , you and I, haven’t we? When Acacius and I met, I had already lost so many people. My husband, my father, my brother…and the man who was my first great love.”

Lucilla looks away for a moment, emotion threatening her poise. She speaks haltingly, more quietly now. “And I lost my son, too. I was very sorry to hear about your boy.”

In that instant you forget all etiquette and protocol and extend your hand to hers, to comfort and to share the burden of your common grief. No more a former prostitute and the daughter of a great emperor - here, at your rustic table, you are simply two women united by the experience of loss.

“So we do have much in common, it seems, my lady.”

“We do. And that’s without even mentioning Acacius.” She smiles at you conspiratorially, and laughter fills the small room.

“It haunted him, not having been able to find you again. Not getting to say goodbye, to tell you how much you meant.” She pulls her cloak more tightly around herself and rises from the table. “I was able to bid farewell to my first great love. When we realised you were alive, well…I wanted my beloved Acacius to have that chance, too.”

Before she takes her leave, Lucilla embraces you, kissing each cheek. “Thank you for loving him so well, all those years ago.”

You nod, still not quite believing that this conversation is really happening. “And thank you , for loving him now. And for encouraging him to visit me. He…he married a very good woman.”

She pulls up her hood and moves to the door, pausing for a moment. “He has always had impeccable taste, it seems.”

A final smile and nod, and she is gone, helped onto her horse by her servant before they ride away into the night, and home to the waiting arms of a hero of Rome.

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artsninspo · 9 months ago

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"WHISKY, NEAT" - Rio X Reader

Summary: A follow up of "Baby-Girl" where the reader is Stan's younger sister and meets Rio at Ruby's place. Some time has passed and Rio shows up at your job asking for a whisky, neat.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Black Reader

Word-Count: 1.3K

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Smiling, you look up at Rio, the seemingly dangerous stranger from Stan’s & Rubys place. You’d asked your big brother about the charismatic stranger that spent his time around the core three girls and his response was ‘stay away’. It wasn’t what you expected. If he wanted you to stay away wouldn’t he have the same advice for Ruby? He’d always been a good brother. You weren’t surprised in the slightest when he became security and then a cop. Protective instincts were something he’d been born with. Wiping off the bar you glance at the clock. Twenty-five minutes until closing. Only the absolute worst patrons come in at witching hourt. You know it’s no coincidence he’s here either. He’s too cool and confident to walk into your bar twenty five minutes before closing, and on the night you work.

“What’s your poison?” You ask.

“Whisky, neat” he says and you smile reaching for the top shelf. You pour generously and he tosses a hundred onto the pine.

“What’s yours?” Rio asks.

“I only drink to get the party started. The party’s over” you comment and it comes out flirty. You can’t help it, you’re attracted to something about him. The look in his eye says the feeling is mutual.

“Look, I’d love to play this thing up with you but Stan told me to stay away. Stan doesn’t tell me what to do often so I’m inclined to listen.” You tell him drying off a glass as you begin stacking them for closing early.

“I don’t know what you think this is but I’m just here for a drink, baby girl” Rio rasps in surrender, his innocent eyes juxtaposed with his cunning smirk.

“Perfect” you nod, taking his rejection in stride and he laughs showing off pearly whites.

“I mean hypothetically, if I was here to flirt, am I your type?” He asks leaning in and you realize his voice has a lot to do with your attraction to him.

“Hypothetically?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Hypothetically” he repeats in affirmation oozing confidence.

“Absolutely” you affirm. Rio looks shocked. “I have a rule about staying away from my type. As much as I enjoy the adrenaline it’s not good for anyone involved” you speak the truth. The air sizzles between the two of you.

“Why’s that?” Rio asks, taking your rejection well and you smile, liking him a little more.

“Heart damage” you say plainly and he looks around.

“So you like dolling pain out with a smile huh? Liquor for the liver and heartbreak” Rio flirts back impressing you with his quick draw wit.

“You can take it” you wink as he takes a swig of his whisky.

“Y/N it’s quiet you can take off early I can clean up” the owner says misinterpreting the situation.

“Thanks boss,” you smile, cashing out. You make sure your money is good before turning back to Rio. “Goodnight”

Heading in the back you have an argument with the angel on your shoulder trying to convince you to do the right thing and follow Stan’s advice. Switching out of your bartender outfit you put on a sweatsuit and head out back. Security stands around waving as you head out front to meet your driver. Rio is standing against his G-Wagon as you get the text from your driver saying he’ll be five minutes late checking your watch, you remember you’re done early.

“Need a ride?” Rio asks.

You both know if you get in that car the only thing you’ll be doing is riding him into the leather. You aren’t convinced he can handle you but, you are convinced he’s packing heavy artillery. The kind that does all the work for him. With all the confidence you suspect he’s a lazy lover and if he’s as big as you assume it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Only, guys with egos as big as his don’t like to be fucked, they like the control and ego trip of loud moans and expressive love faces. It would be a face off, a clash of wills and the idea in of itself excites you.

“No” you smile, listening to the angel.

“Just a ride” he shrugs.

“You were just drinking” you remind and he walks a straight line to demonstrate sobriety.

“How many fingers?” You ask.

“Five, three, one” he responds accurately. His smug smile says his point is made. He does nothing in a hurry, all his movements are slowed like he commands time itself. His eyes sparkle under the fluorescent light and yours do too fighting temptation. Your phone burns a hold in your hand. You want to message your driver to cancel and take Rio up on his implied offer of one good night. It’s been so long you deserve it.

“Come on baby girl, let me treat you like it” he whispers, moving your hair off your shoulder as he looks down at you. As much as you want to be one of the other girls who gets to experience the charismatic, dangerous and alluring stranger you resist remembering Stan’s words.

“Why are you here?” You ask, trying to kill the chemistry.

“Kept thinking about you, did some research, found out you work here and here I am?” He shrugs. You don't know whether it's a point or a red flag.

“What do you do for work” you ask, trying to kill your interest in him.

“Entrepreneur” Rio responds.

“Why do you know Ruby and her friends, really. I don’t buy the whole soccer dad thing.” You respond, voicing your hesitations out loud.

“You don’t care” Rio chuckles, making an accurate observation. It’ll be nothing special. You text your driver you’ll be late and open the door to Rios truck getting in the car. He smiles, shutting it behind you. You open the glove box to get condoms but a gold gun shines within it shocking you. Your jaw drops as a soberingly good reason to stay away from him glares back at you. Spontaneous sex with a stranger is dangerous enough, automatic weapons that are clearly personalized is where you draw the line. Shutting the glove box you look at Rio, unable to ignore what you just saw.

“Changed my mind” you say once the door is open again, you hop down suddenly acutely aware of your surroundings. Rio curses himself punching the wheel. He needed you to run him dry. To see the strained looks on your pretty face as he digs you out. It’s been awhile since he’s had a genuinely satisfying conquest. A woman that isn’t inhibited sexually and excites him. One that gives as good as she gets.

Watching you walk away takes a lot out of him. He never chased women but was considering it. The chemistry between the two of you is too solid to willingly discard. Starting the car his pride loses to his lust as he pulls up beside you topping down the window.

“Carjacking is big, it’s for safety” Rio lies.

“Don’t make me lose respect for you now with a lie” you tell him heading to the back entrance.

“Stop storming off, then” Rio says and you stop.

“I’m not a bad guy” he says but you highly doubt that.

“Large amounts of cash, one. My brother says stay away, two. Let’s not even count you showing up here. A gold weapon, three!” You snap.

“The fact that you’re not scared tells me you can handle it” Rio says goading you. Smiling, you shake your head at how he’s missed the point.

“The name Rio is another red flag” you add. “I’m going to follow my gut, so drop it?” You tell Rio bitterly and he sighs. You continue walking away.

“Y/N, hey!” He shouts and you turn.

“Call me Christopher,” he says, making you smile. The irony is not lost on you. It’s the quintessential biblical name.

“Goodnight Christopher” you concede.

“Nite” he sighs, still turned on. Swallowing the bitterness in his throat Rio drives off heading to find Beth.

Next Part

_________

Authors note: If you're reading this thank you for all the love on Part One, its slowly keeps getting love and I really appreciate it 💖🥰. Let me know what you think - comment, like & reblog. Muah, xoxo.

#rio x black!reader #rio x you #rio good girls #rio x reader #masterlist #manny montana x reader #manny montana

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judeswhore · 1 year ago

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twenty seconds or twenty years

summary: hidden away with the love of your life is the perfect way to enter the new year

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k

notes: you can find my masterlist here. ik it’s not nye or even close but this scenario was too cute to pass up on

jude finally found you standing in the kitchen with his parents, the three of you locked in what seemed to be an amusing conversation. he'd watched you tip your head back and laugh when he first caught sight of you, his heart thumping heavily in his chest at how pretty you looked. part of him thought it was cruel how beautiful you were, his brain stopping short each time he looked at you, mouth running dry at the way your dress clung to your skin and left very little to his already overactive imagination. you looked gorgeous and keeping his wandering hands away was killing him.

his mum's eyes met his over the top of your head as he stepped up behind you, her mouth slanting into a smile when she watched his arms curl immediately around your waist. he pressed his chest firmly to your back and found immediate comfort in your your heat and softness, goosebumps rising over his skin when you brushed your palm up his forearm in a silent hello.

"what're you lot gossiping about?" his question was slightly muffled because he'd chosen that exact moment to dip his head and kiss your cheek, lips planting a second kiss to your temple before he set his chin down on the top of your head. jude knew you well enough to know your face had twisted into a half shy, half embarrassed smile, always a little unsure about his public affections in front of his family for fear of being disrespectful. he didn't care. they were more than aware of how enamoured he was with you and equally aware that physical touch was his favourite way of showing love.

"nothing that concerns you." his mum stated, sending him a look that told him he was being nosy and he rolled his eyes in response, stuck his tongue out childishly just for good measure.

"well then i'm stealing my girlfriend because if it doesn't concern me, it doesn't concern her. we're a package deal, y'know?" he squeezed his arms around you a little tighter at that, felt stupidly happy when he heard the little puff of laughter you let out. his parents shared a glance, a look of mutual understanding that there was only one reason jude was choosing to lure you away right now.

"you're a menace, i know that. you'll miss the fireworks if you disappear now." but jude was hardly listening and didn't really care about the fireworks. it was almost midnight, almost a new year and he wanted to cross that line with you away from the prying eyes of his closest family and friends. he started to lead you away from his mum and dad, lifting his hand in a half wave while you apologised and told them you'd be back.

"they'll have forgotten what you were talking about in five minutes, there's no point going back." he told you, fingers threading through yours as he led you through the hallway and towards the stairs. his hand was warm in yours, so much bigger it had you grinning stupidly down at it, fingers squeezing his lovingly.

"you planning on keeping me hidden up here for the rest of the night?" you asked, a teasing lilt to your voice that matched the spark in jude's eyes when he turned his head. like you, he'd had a couple glasses of wine and the soft sheen in his eyes and glow to his skin made him look extra pretty, had a simmer of neediness hooking in your tummy.

"maybe." it was a short trip to his bedroom, one that was made longer by one of jude's friends stopping him at the top of the stairs to make some comment about being safe. the words had him rolling his eyes, expression unamused as he flipped his middle finger and tugged you a little faster towards the comfort of his room. he was quick in locking the door behind you, taking both your hands in his after. "i'm planning to keep you hidden up here for at least the next half hour."

"what about the fireworks?" you asked, although you'd pass on those any day if it meant getting to keep jude to yourself for a while. you loved his family and friends but you'd rather not kiss him stupid in front of them. jude had a tendency to let his hands wander whenever he kissed you and you didn't think his parents would appreciate watching him grope you.

hands in yours, jude lured you towards his bed, grinned a little mischievously before he was bending at the knees and picking you up, throwing you down onto the mattress with enough force that you bounced a little. he grinned at your soft giggles, leant over to pull the heels off your feet and drop them to the floor while he worked his own shoes off. with the removal of each heel he pressed a feather light kiss to the inside of your ankle, so loving and tender it made your chest ache. pushed up on your elbows you watched through lowered lashes as he crawled onto the bed and made his way towards you, pressed a single soft kiss to your lips before flopping down onto the pillow next to you. he propped himself up on one arm and nodded towards the floor to ceiling windows that covered one side of his bedroom.

"we can watch them from here. d'you really wanna go outside in the cold?" he smoothed his hand over your hip when you shifted to lay next to him, on your side so you were practically nose to nose. you could smell the mint gum on his breath. the same hand, always so warm, slid down along your thigh until he could hook it behind your knee, draping your leg over his hip in order to bring you even closer together. "when you could stay here and watch them and i can keep you nice and warm."

"suppose it's not a bad idea." you pretended to think on it but jude knew there was no way you'd say no to staying in his bed and cuddling. he knew you well enough to know that was something you'd never pass up on. a grin slid onto your lips. "d'you promise to make me hot chocolate after?"

"with double the amount of marshmallows." he told you, voice serious because hot chocolate was no joke between the two of you. the palm of his hand skimmed slowly up and down your thigh, started at the curve of your ass and trailed down to your knee before brushing back up. the movement was lazy but comforting, had you relaxing even further into the sheets. the slit in the side of your dress meant his hand was met only by bare skin and you knew jude was itching to let it shift a little further over your ass.

"guess you've got yourself a deal then, bellingham." you muttered, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. music and laughter floated up from downstairs but it was muffled background noise as you settled all of your attention on the boy in front of you. your hand raised and settled on the back of his head, nails scratching lightly against his scalp as his eyes fluttered in appreciation. his soft hum tickled your chin.

moonlight washed over one side of his face, created shadows over parts of his features and made his eyes seem even darker than usual. there was a little groove between his eyebrows, eyebrows you'd plucked yourself only last night while he'd rested his head in your lap, and you used the pad of your thumb to smooth it out. the tip of your pointer finger started to trace over his eyebrows, dropping a little lower to brush down the bridge of his nose and jude watched you intently, never once took his eyes off your face.

something warm and heavy trickled through your bloodstream, love and affection so consuming it was burning you from the inside out. there was an incessant flutter in your tummy from how closely jude was watching you and despite the fact that you were the one mapping out his features, it felt like he was cataloguing every line and mark on your own face. you traced his lips, always so plump and soft, so ready to show you love at any given moment and your heart jumped when he pressed a feather light kiss to the pad of your finger.

his hand slipped around your back and he pulled you impossibly closer, your bodies pressed so tight there wasn’t even an inch of space left. the silence between you was comforting, both of you happy to simply lay and admire the other and you couldn’t help but think about how lucky you got with him. no one had ever loved or taken care of you the way he has and you appreciated every second you got to be at the centre of his heart.

jude tipped his head down a little until he could press his forehead against yours, the tip of his nose bumping yours and you watched his eyes close for a few moments. the palm of your hand had slipped beneath his shirt, flat against his warm skin and he shivered when you scratched your nails lovingly over his side, up and down the way he’d been rubbing your thigh. he pressed a kiss to your mouth, soft and fleeting.

“you’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year, y’know,” he muttered and despite the fact you were alone, his voice was a low whisper as though he only wanted you to hear the words. the flutters in your tummy seemed to multiply, your heart thumping loud and unsteady and you wondered if jude could feel it. his eyes opened again and his gaze was so intense you almost wanted to shy away but he cocked that crooked smile and you melted into him. “you’ve got no idea how lucky i am.”

he was echoing the same words that had been dancing around your head all night and it made it all the more special. a smile tipped your own lips, your nose nuzzling softly against his cheek so you could avoid his gaze a little. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i don’t- i’ve never had anyone make me feel the way you do. y’make me feel wanted, like i’m the only girl in the room at all times.”

“you are the only girl in the room. hey,” jude used his nose to nudge your face back up, his eyes sparkling when you did, raw love and adoration staring back at you. “you always deserve to feel wanted. i always want you, all of you. even when you make me rewatch the same stupid shows over and over.” you huffed a laugh at that and jude grinned even brighter, lifted his hand to cup your cheek and brushed his thumb feather soft beneath your eye. “i’m really happy you came tonight, i know everyone’s been a nightmare constantly wanting you attention but i’m happy you’re here.”

laughter and shouts grew a little louder on the other side of the door and you realised everyone was starting to count down from ten. in a few moments the new year would be here and you’d be going into it with jude, a new year for new memories between you. it was sometimes hard to wrap your head around the fact your relationship with him started a little under a year ago because sometimes it felt like you’d known him forever. other times, like when he kissed you randomly and told you he loved you, you got so shy and nervous it felt so fresh, like you’d known him only seconds.

“m’happy too.” you tipped your head to kiss the palm of his hand. “you always make me happy.” it was sappy and wet but so true you needed him to know. it didn’t matter that you hadn’t really had a moment alone all evening because his family were more than eager to steal your attention but the fleeting smiles across the room and the soft press of his lips to your head when he passed more than made up for it. being tangled with him right now made it even better.

jude’s smile only got bigger and he rubbed his nose gently against yours, tucked his hand around the back of your neck to pull you a little closer. your mouth hovered over his, lips just barely touching but he was stealing a kiss the second he heard the pop of the first firework and the shout of happy new year. a sound caught between a sigh and moan trickled from your throat and he swallowed it eagerly with a swipe of his lips, his mouth opening a little more to slot perfectly against yours.

the kiss was slow, a soft, languid brush of lips and tongue as jude stroked his thumb over a spot just behind your ear and hummed when you ran your palm over his chest. you wanted to be closer to him, to press yourself into his skin and stay there forever while he held you and kissed you like his life depended on it. your tongue swept over jude’s with a little more meaning, a deep yearning opening up in your chest. you wanted him to keep kissing you until you forgot everything but him.

“happy new year, baby.” jude mumbled the words against your mouth, between presses of his lips to yours, his eyes opening when you whispered the words back. he watched you for a couple of seconds, the way your tongue darted out to swipe along your bottom lip and how despite such a short, sweet kiss, your lips were a little plumper. you knew he could feel the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his thumb and knew his quickly rising smile was because he was aware of the effect he had on you. “i love you.”

your smile was shy, nose scrunching a little but still you pressed forward and planted a kiss on his mouth. “i love you.” it was a whisper, a promise and a fact, three words that buried themselves into the deepest parts of both your hearts. they prompted another slow make out and once again you wished you could get lost in him. these kisses were a bit more playful, jude tugging teasingly at your bottom lip just to get you to whine.

he shifted a little so he could press you down onto your back and followed close behind to settle himself on top of you. the backs of his fingers brushed softly across your cheek, smile adoring as he used his whole weight to push you into the mattress and before you could question his actions he was dipping and attacking your face with wet kisses. the giggles you let out were his favourite sound, had him smothering you even more just to keep hearing it, his own laugh starting to get louder. you squirmed and twisted beneath him, tried to push his face away but he simply took your hands and pinned them above your head, trapped both your wrists in one hand until you pouted up at him.

“y’making me miss the fireworks.”

“gimme another kiss and i’ll let you watch them.” the colours of the fireworks kept lighting up the room, lit jude up in a serious of different colours and made you think only of how unfairly pretty he was. he threw a glance at the window before turning back to you. “gimme a kiss.”

“c’mere then.” your words had him lowering his head eagerly, his mouth finding yours once more. for the next few moments you let his kiss consume you again, let him pin you to the bed and pour his love into every touch and caress of his lips over yours. he was warm and heavy, the perfect comfort and you half hated that at some point you were going to have to go back to the party.

“dad went daft this year.” jude huffed in amusement when he finally managed to peel himself away from you. he was shuffling on the bed, sitting up on his knees and manhandling you on to your side to face the windows. he settled himself down behind you, one arm pushing beneath your head and the other draping over your waist, pulling you firmly back against his chest. from this position you could snuggle into him and watch the fireworks, something he knew you’d be more than happy about. “think he was trying to impress you.”

“he could’ve set off one firework and i’d be impressed.”

“hm, so easily pleased.” silence fell over you after that, both of you fixated on the pretty colours and patterns lighting up the sky outside. holding on to jude’s arm, you brushed your thumb back and forth in soothing motions over his skin, made little happy noises whenever one of the fireworks were extra pretty. your reaction had jude grinning, nuzzling his nose against your shoulder before he pressed a long kiss into your warm skin.

he tightened his arm around your body, moved just slightly to rest his head against yours, not wanting to leave even a slither of space between you. the steady thump of his heart was so relaxing you could feel your body sinking a little further into him, sleepiness washing over you from his comfort and heat alone. jude seemed to be in the same boat as he slotted his leg between both of yours, tangling you up even more. “m’sure no one will miss us if we stayed up here. i think it’s only fair i get at least an hour alone with my girl.”

#jude bellingham #hey jude :)#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine

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beom-pyu · 2 years ago

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truth or drink! (engaged edition): choi soobin

part 3 of the truth or drink series! <3

other parts: beomgyu & taehyun "my ex + my boyfriend edition" yeonjun "couples edition" kai "blind date edition"

slightly nsfw! (minors dni.)

welcome to truth or drink! engaged couples will ask each other a set of random questions. they can either answer the question or take a shot.

“i’m soobin and this is my fiance...”

“y/n!”

how long have you guys been together?

YOU: "4 and a half years."

how long have you guys been engaged?

SB: “going on 2 months now.”

who talked about marriage first?

SB: “y/n.”

YOU: “me.”

and how did that go?

SB: “they actually said it the first time we met at a mutual friend’s birthday party.”

YOU: “i was shitfaced and he had really cute dimples, so i told him we should get married. and he said okay!”

did you get engaged on the spot?

SB: “they completely forgot who i was by the next day, so i had to do all of the courting and work to even get them to go on a date with me.”

YOU: “it was worth it though.”

SB: “of course it was.”

SOOBIN: what was your first impression of me?

YOU: “other than the birthday incident, i thought you were way cooler than you actually are.”

SB: “am i not cool???”

YOU: “you are like… pitifully cute?”

SB: “that makes me sound like a charity case.”

YOU: “the cutest charity case ever.”

YOU: is there anything about getting married that scares you—something you haven’t shared with me?

SB: “hm… rationally, i know it probably won’t happen, but i feel like you’ll get bored of me at some point?”

YOU: “i could never get bored of you, baby. well… only your league of legends talk, but i love everything else.”

SB: “what’s wrong with my league of legends talk?”

you gently place your hand on top of his.

YOU: “everything.”

SOOBIN: what is something you want to try in the bedroom that we’ve never done before?

YOU: “bottoms up.”

SB: “hey, no! this is a safe space.”

YOU: “i think my mom is watching this, soobin.”

SB: “hi, y/n’s mom. now tell me.”

YOU: “if i say mine, you have to say yours.”

SB: “deal.”

YOU: “i want to like… tie you up.”

SB: “wait, i was gonna say that!”

YOU: “no way.”

SB: “yes way.”

YOU: “see, we’re a match made in heaven.”

YOU: on the count of three, both of us say the number of children we would ideally have.

YOU: “one, two, three. two!”

SB: “five!”

YOU: “five?”

SB: “i was going to say six, but i lowered it just for you.”

you give soobin an incredulous stare.

YOU: “i need a shot.”

SOOBIN: if you had one hall pass, who would you sleep with?

YOU: “people we know or…?”

the producer gives you a thumbs up.

YOU: “i’m gonna drink.”

SB: “wait, now i’m curious.”

YOU: “what about you?”

…

SB: “...pour me one, too.”

YOU: who proposed to who, and how did they propose?

SB: “i proposed. but it was really messy.”

YOU: “really cute actually. he had just gotten home from a month-long business trip and, if you didn’t know, he’s a really emotional person—”

SB: “i’m not that emotional.”

YOU: “you cried watching shrek, honey.”

SB: “that was one time.”

YOU: “you also cried during our first ti—”

SB: “continue on with the proposal, please.”

soobin pours another shot, just because, and you laugh under your breath.

YOU: “i was already in bed when he got home and he just got into bed and started bawling.”

SB: “i wasn’t ‘bawling’, i was sniffling.”

YOU: “you were bawling. anyways, he pulled me into his arms and was just like ‘please, please marry me, the love of my life, my entire universe, i can’t live without you, i need you forever—’”

SB: “okay, now you’re just making stuff up.”

YOU: “so you admit you were bawling?”

...

SB: “next question.”

SOOBIN: have you ever seriously considered breaking up with me?

YOU: “i wouldn’t say seriously…”

SB: “so you actually have considered it?”

the pout on soobin’s lips is prominent.

YOU: “you know work takes up a lot of your time, and i didn’t really understand where you were coming from in the beginning. so i guess i’ve thought about it once or twice, but i never really wanted to go through with it. i can’t see myself with anyone else but you.”

SB: “i think i’m the only one that can handle you, anyways.”

YOU: “woah, what does that mean?”

soobin just laughs and kisses the back of your hand.

SB: “take it as you will, baby.”

YOU: how often do we have sex, and how often should we have sex?

SB: “every other day…? i feel like that's more than average.”

YOU: “yeah, you’re very needy.”

SB: “i’m not needy. i’m just obsessed with you.”

YOU: “see, look, you’re trying to get into my pants right now!”

SB: “...is it working?”

YOU: “yes.”

SOOBIN: when was the last time you masturbated, and where was i?

YOU: “like, two days ago? and you were out with one of your friends.”

SB: “i still don’t know if he accidentally saw the videos you sent me or not...”

YOU: “doesn’t sound like you’re complaining.”

SB: “i’m the only one who can fuck you right, so i’m not worried.”

YOU: “mom, if you’re watching this. i’ve never had sex. i don’t even know what sex is.”

YOU: who or what do you picture when masturbating?

SB: “your ass. and your lips.”

YOU: “that was quick, woah.”

SB: “sorry y/n’s mom.”

SOOBIN: what’s your favorite and least favorite sex position?

YOU: “i think i like spooning the most? only because i don’t have to do a lot of work.”

SB: “i can’t believe you tried to convince me you’re not a pillow princess.”

YOU: “i’m not! i can be on top if i want to!”

SB: “isn’t that your least favorite though?”

YOU: “yes, but anything is good if it involves your dick so…”

SB: “and you say i’m the needy one.”

YOU: “it’s mutual!”

YOU: the average duration of sex for most couples is 10 minutes. how long do you think we last?

SB: “honestly, hours.”

YOU: “he has an inhuman libido. please pray for me.”

SB: “okay, ‘inhuman’ is an exaggeration.”

YOU: “no, you are like superman. i’m serious.”

SOOBIN: what is my biggest flaw?

YOU: “you only dress up if it’s for special occasions.”

SB: “i try my best!”

YOU: “will you let me reform your closet?”

SB: “as long as you’re paying.”

YOU: “...nevermind. you look sexy in sweatpants anyways.”

SOOBIN: about 40 to 60% of married couples divorce. do you think we will last?

YOU: “check back in after a year.”

SB: “woah, i thought we were going to grow old and wrinkly and brittle together? you don’t want to bump canes?”

YOU: “i don’t like the way you worded that.”

SB: “so i’m going to take that as a yes.”

you roll your eyes, but a smile forms on your face nonetheless.

YOU: “in all seriousness, you know i’m in love with you and i don’t think there’s anyone else out there that i’d even consider marrying. i’d love to grow wrinkly and old with you.”

SB: “awe, my little prune.”

YOU: “you’re so weird.”

SB: “and now you’re stuck with me forever~”

you look towards the camera.

YOU: “save me, please.”

masterlist

©️BEOM-PYU

#txt imagines #txt drabbles #txt fluff #txt smut #soobin imagine #soobin imagines #soobin drabbles #soobin hard hours #soobin fluff #soobin smut #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin x y/n #beom-pyu

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joelsdagger · 11 months ago

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let it flow || one shot

frankie morales x reader

masterlist | ao3

pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao) summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular. warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck* disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3

super cute divider by @saradika

You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath.

You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills.

Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate.

Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone.

“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.

“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.

‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.

Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”

“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.

“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests.

“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.

“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.

You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”

“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly.

“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion.

“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”

“You’re not serious?”

Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.

You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks.

“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face.

“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says.

“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch.

That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again.

To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue.

You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door.

“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.

You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better.

“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern.

“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble.

You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen.

Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face.

You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject.

You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.

After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny.

Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs.

As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband.

Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen.

You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.

“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.

“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom.

You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off.

“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.

“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his.

“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed.

“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.

“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.

“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly, his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any.

He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable.

He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath.

Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him.

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple.

His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target.

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple.

“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud.

You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”

“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-”

“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.

“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask softly.

He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.

“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise.

He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel.

His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm.

Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers.

He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard.

One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls.

He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast.

You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing.

“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.

You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast.

Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?”

He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.

You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him.

He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible.

Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick.

You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him. “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress.

“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you.

His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears.

While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple.

He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud.

Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth.

He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste.

You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand. He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again.

Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth.

Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom.

“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit.

You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit.

Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze.

Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock.

Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room.

“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly.

Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach.

“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach.

His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.”

His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.

He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen.

You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste.

“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear.

“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.

Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness.

You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.

Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.

You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck.

“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #sub!frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #noelle's workshop

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persephone-writes · 1 month ago

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A Diviner's Guide to James Potter

Chapter One: The Omen

James Potter x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Chapter Two ☆ Series Masterlist

Series Description: Being friends with Lily Evans was difficult when you were head over heels for her ex-boyfriend James. Your problems are only made worse when you begin receiving ominous omens that point to a less than desirable future.

General Fic Warnings & Tags: Marauders era seventh year, female reader (she/her/miss/etc.), use of Y/N and L/N, readers appearance is not described other than her generally being able-bodied and larger than a house elf, at some point the reader smokes cigarettes/weed/drinks alcohol (don't smoke, kids), swearing typical of an 18 year old in the UK, canon-typical violence, dueling, and first wizarding war stuff, mentions of the readers mother and father, mentions of characters getting sick after drinking but no descriptions.

Notes: hey! so just a fair warning that this is a slow burn and the first couple of chapters in are particularly plot heavy. Also, this is cross posted on my ao3 if you want to give it a read there instead :)

Word Count: 4.3k

The near silence of the library was a welcomed escape from the busy corridors and lively Common Room, which was always packed just after classes ended. Tomorrow was Friday and Gryffindor was playing a quidditch match this weekend, meaning your chance to have any amount of free time in the coming days relied heavily on some Thursday night cramming. At the heavy wooden table tucked between tall rows of books, you and Remus worked quietly. It was one of the rare times you were alone together, and his aura of calm placidity was exactly what you needed at the moment.

Despite your intentions of studying, the papers strewn out in front of you were beginning to give you a headache. If you were somewhere with a more lenient volume policy, you would’ve groaned rather dramatically in utter frustration or banged your head against the table top. It had been a long time since you’ve been this lost on an assignment, a Divination assignment, no less. Your eyes kept pulling away from the three different books laid before you, running instead along the dark shelves and bumpy leather spines. It was a treat when one of them flew from its place, skirting out of your nook and down the aisle in a blur of solid color.

You both had gotten one and a half lovely, serene hours of uninterrupted study time before your mutual friend came around the corner, plopping down suddenly in the seat beside you. Your daydreams were interrupted, replaced by an even better distraction. James smiled brightly at you, curly brown hair in a heap on top of his head. You couldn’t help but grin back, his pleasantness infectious even when you were in a sour mood.

“Hello,” you said, forgetting your work completely.

He returned your greeting before frowning at Remus over his complete lack of acknowledgment upon his arrival.

“What's got you so focused?” he whispered, glancing down at the parchment that Remus was writing on.

“Transfiguration,” he answered, still engrossed and only half listening. James shot him a funny look which caused you to stifle a laugh, though Remus was unamused.

“I can see you, you know,” he drawled.

James snickered quietly, attempting to keep up a his newfound facade as a serious student, lest he ruin his impeccable reputation.

“Why’re you slumming it here with us?” you asked James, your head coming to rest in your hand as you turned to face him. His wire-rimmed glasses began to fall, so he pushed them back up onto the bridge of his nose.

“He should be here to study,” Remus added, finally smirking to himself. James rolled his eyes, throwing his arms over the back of his chair.

“Can’t even pay your friends a visit anymore, I see.” He tipped his chair back on two legs, dangerously close to falling. After a moment of careful balancing, he returned all four legs to the floor where they belonged, his head lulling onto his shoulder. “Sirius ditched me to run off with Seraphina, and Peter and Marlene are joining forces on Herbology.”

Seraphina was Sirius’s most recent belle, but no one thought it would last much longer. She didn’t like that he smoked and he detested her revulsion to it. Before his date with her last weekend, he had to wash his hair twice and use far too much cologne, which gave everyone around him an awful headache. This may be the couple's last hoorah, as you had been with Sirius not three hours ago, each of you puffing smoke out of the window of an empty classroom.

“Why don’t you help?” you asked, referring to Peter and Marlene.

“Peter says I’m mean when I help,” answered James with a shrug.

“How awful,” you teased, watching as a large green book shot out of the shelf over Remus’ head, whipping left down the aisle. It was true that sometimes James couldn’t understand that things didn’t come so easy to everyone. Once, you had stupidly asked him for his help in DADA. Never again.

“That's all right,” James began again, “With those gits ditching me, you’re my new favorite. Not Remus, of course. He won’t give me enough attention.”

You hated when he did that: made you feel special. He couldn’t possibly be serious, as it was simply the perfect opportunity to take a dig at his friend. But Godric, did you want it to be true. Until now you had done a very good job at projecting a casual air about yourself, protecting your feelings behind a mask of mild indifference. You tried your best to regain what was left of your resolve, cracked by his stupid joke and the way he was looking so handsome today. It was criminal, really, an Azkaban level offense. You wanted to slap that lovely, teasing smile from his face and throw him under the invisibility cloak. Begrudgingly, you laughed, Remus snorting as he continued to scratch away with his quill.

“Oh, and I wasn’t before?” you said, hopefully hiding your fancy.

James rolled his eyes again, thankfully not having noticed anything out of the ordinary. You must’ve been an excellent actress, or James was an extraordinary friend, because he never seemed to catch on no matter how badly you slipped up. You weren’t sure if things were easier or harder when Lily was always hanging off his arm. Godric, had that been a tough eight months.

James then changed the subject to something less threatening to your long-held secret, much to your relief, “I’ve been running over some new maneuvers with the team. It’s taking some of the younger ones a bit to get the hang of, but we’re looking good. I don’t think Hufflepuff has a chance on Saturday.”

“That's great,” you whispered.

“Sirius came up with some of it, worked on it all day last Sunday with me. We’re calling it the Grumblesnad–”

James went on to explain, or attempt to explain, the rather complicated plays he and Sirius had invented. Half of the technical jargon you did not understand, though you were able to catch the gist. He seemed so eager to tell you that you refrained from stopping him too often, wanting to watch his eyes light up and hands wave mindlessly. You enjoyed when he was like this, entranced by his own excitement, unburdened and utterly content.

Soon after James had finished his animated explanation of the Grumblesnad, it was just about time for dinner. The sun had gone down around an hour ago, leaving the library to be lit only by the large lamps hanging upon the walls. Although the room was warm and glowing, begging you to stay just a while longer, your hunger was beginning to get to you. You and Remus packed up your things, throwing all three of your Divination books into your bag. Remus held a thick, wide tome, the cover decorated with tangled vines and pale purple flowers.

“You guys go on without me,” he said, propping up the book in the crook of his elbow like the pose of a marble statue. “I’ve got to check this out.”

Remus walked past you and James to head down the labyrinthine aisles with another word, you and James following behind. You each left the library together, Remus promising again that he’d catch up.

Your journey was in silence for a while, James’s shoes clicking against the stone floor like a metronome. There were many other students heading your same direction, a few first or second years whizzing past in a fit of laughter. You smiled at the memory of your first few years at Hogwarts, remembering for the first time in a while that you’d be leaving here for good in a matter of months. You had been so shy at first, clinging to Lily like she was a buoy out in the ocean. Severus had done the same, though as the years went on he seemed to shrivel a bit, slinking back into the shadows while Lily moved farther into the light. She had dragged you along with her, practically forcing you to be friends with those who had remained acquaintances for the better part of five years. For this, you would always be eternally grateful.

You were pulled from your shameless reminiscing when James reached out for the strap of your bag, taking it from you before you could do anything about it.

“What’re you doing?” you asked as he threw it over his shoulder, adjusting the strap a bit.

“Godric, this thing is heavy,” he said, making a show if it dragging him down towards the floor. You laughed, soon beginning to play with your tie, not knowing what else to do with your hands.

“You don’t have to carry it for me,” you said softly, feeling rather bad. Now, each of his shoulders was carrying its own load, yours unburdened.

He shook his head immediately, curls flopping against his forehead.

“I don’t mind,” he said, brushing it off as if it were nothing at all. “Besides, you’ll end up falling to the dungeons carrying this thing.”

You bit your tongue so that you wouldn’t tell him how kind he was, how much he made you into someone rather witless. You dropped your hands, swinging them a few times before they met behind your back. It was getting worse. You could tell by the way you had to keep on reminding yourself to act like a normal person, constantly having to make sure you weren't letting anything on. It was difficult to pinpoint when this change occurred, though knowing the exact date and time wouldn't really do you much good in the end. Something in you was breaking, and it scared you shitless.

“But really," James said, holding onto the strap of your bag, "what do you have in this?”

You shrugged. “Just some books, a few boulders thrown in for good measure.”

He shoved you lightly on the shoulder, throwing you slightly off kilter. You giggled, cringing at yourself as you did. Soon you could see the large doors to the Great Hall up ahead, and you ran over to them. You then made a show of opening one for him, waiting patiently for him to catch up. He smiled, and you were glad to have put it there.

“Just trying to return the favor,” you said, laughing when he passed you, feigning displeasure.

He handed you back your bag as you parted ways, you heading over to your side of the table near Lily, him with the other Marauders. Walking down the aisle, you let out a silent sigh of blissful relief, having mostly rid yourself of him for the time being. No matter how much you enjoyed his company, it was an awful amount of work acting nonchalant, particularly when he kept being so nice. It was always better when you were in a group and he was forced to split his attention between multiple parties. Currently, mealtimes were becoming your new favorite.

As you sat down in your usual spot between Lily and Marlene, you plopped your bag down on floor behind you, which landed with a heavy thud. Lily glanced over her shoulder to look at it.

“Godric, what’s in that thing?”

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The fire in the Common Room popped, sending a flurry of orange sparks into the alcove of the stone hearth. Most had settled in for the night, filling the room with a steady stream chatter and scratching quills. James and Sirius sat across from each other at one of the small tables in the back doing schoolwork, Lily and Peter beside them playing a game of wizards chess. You and Remus were reading in two of the large armchairs, you with a muggle novel borrowed from Lily.

Sirius's elbows were resting on the table, his head in his hands and mouth slightly agape. He shook his head a bit, eyes wide as he started down at his papers.

“Do you think Professor Vector dreams in Arithmancy, or it’s just a hobby?”

You looked up from your book, noticing Sirius’s paper covered with exed out numbers and messily written notes. He still wore his uniform, though his tie was undone and the top two buttons of his shirt, which was growing wrinkled, had been opened. Lily's head popped up from where it was turned down towards her game, which she was currently winning. She leaned over to peer at his paper the best she could.

“What’s the matter?” she asked kindly. Sirius only gave her a glance before looking at James, who was stifling a laugh.

“It’s your fault,” said Sirius, scoffing at his friend’s continued chortling. “You forced me to take it third year. Should’ve been like Wormtail and gone the easy route.”

You all knew he was lying, for despite all his bitching and moaning, Sirius was just as bright as James. He’d complain endlessly about Arithmancy just as he had done last year when he convinced himself he’d flunk the O.W.L, in which he ultimately scored an O. Once and a while he might even brood over such fears, tucking himself away in a dark corner of the library to study, fighting off a great deal of unnecessary anxiety.

“Hey!” Peter piped up at the mention of his name, especially due to its use in such an offending fashion. Lily made an excellent move, snagging one of his knights. Peter groaned in frustration, momentarily distracted.

“Divination is a valuable subject, one that is often overlooked by certain individuals,” you defended, glaring at Sirius before offering Peter a much needed smile.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius said, flicking his head to get the hair out of his eyes. You shrugged, turning back to your book. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you’re good at it,” he grumbled, looking back down at his papers to concentrate on the confusing array of seemingly nonsensical numbers.

“Doesn’t take much,” said Remus from his armchair, legs curled up like a pretzel. Now you were grumbling, mumbling something about his “Stupid E in Ancient Runes.”

James began screwing the cap back on his inkwell, gathering his parchment into a neat pile before him. Lily and Peter had turned back to their game, Peter taking an awfully long while contemplating his next move. He finally made one, taking out one of her rooks.

“How’d your fish thing go?” James asked, looking between you and Peter. Your most recent Divinations project, which you had been working on in the library, involved Ichthyomancy, or the helpful power of fish in the prediction of one's fortune. You were to carefully observe the fish of the Great Lake for a few hours during a “completely and utterly random time of day!” and attempt to read your fortune for the coming weeks.

Peter sighed heavily at the mention of the project, sinking further into his chair. Lily was still glancing at the game board, twirling a lock of auburn hair between her fingers.

“Well…” said Peter, somewhat sniveling.

“Not having any luck?” you asked. “No pun intended.”

Peter sighed again, shaking his head. “Just when I think I’ve got something, they all seem to swim away. I think I’m repelling them or something.”

“Not surprising,” said Sirius, still focused on his own work.

“You should be studying,” Remus reminded him, to which Sirius surprisingly obeyed. If anyone could get Sirius to do something, it was Remus. It was if he possessed an ancient form of magic no one else knew.

“How about you,” James asked. “You said you were coming along swimmingly the other day.” You could tell he was rather proud of himself for that one from the look on his face, eyes glancing between the others as if to see if anyone else noticed. Any other time you would have readily appeased him and laughed, but all your willingness to jest had drained from you the moment he asked the question.

“Well…” you began, echoing Peter. You weren’t sure if you wanted to bring it up just yet, though you didn’t want to lie either. Your head fell back against the chair as you let out a small, crippled noise. “I thought I was, but then today in the library I was trying to cross reference the meaning, but I’m getting all these odd readings.”

“Like what?” Lily inquired, moving a piece on the board. Peter let out a breath of relief when all of his pieces remained safe.

“The first thing I saw right when I got out there was a school of eight orange fish heading with the current, due north. So, that's obviously unbridled joy. ”

“ Obviously ,” mumbled Remus.

You rolled your eyes and continued, “Then, there were twelve pink ones heading across, due west, not with or against the current. However, another joined in–”

“Oh,” said Lily, catching the meaning. Peter nodded in acknowledgment as well.

“Yeah, so heartache. But, that's not even the worst of it. After a few hours with nothing much happening, I spotted a red and purple fish amongst a school of white,” you trailed off, watching Lily’s face contort in confusion, her hands coming up to the arms of her chair.

“You’re kidding!”

James perked up, glancing between each of you, who like Peter didn’t seem to have a clue what any of it meant. Remus and Sirius had now been fully roused, book and schoolwork forgotten.

“What? What?” James asked, though neither you nor Lily replied soon enough for his liking. “Come on, what is it? What's so bad about a red and purple fish?”

Lily swallowed, turning to James. “Red and purple is bad. ”

“Really bad,” you added.

“Did you catch how many white ones were in the school?” Lily inquired.

“No, I’d guess around ten, but I can’t be sure.” You shot her a pained, slightly terrified expression, knowing the less white fish the better. Ten or so was not a good sign.

Lily sighed and all fell silent for a beat, the once easy atmosphere becoming tense and suffocating. You heard Peter picking at a loose thread on his seat.

“What does it mean?” James asked.

Lily answered, speaking slowly and with great purpose, “Well, in isolation, it can predict a discovery of sorts, though accompanied by so many of the white-” she faltered, eyes dancing to yours.

“It would seem to indicate a total loss of innocence,” you finished. Sirius perked, casting you an impish smirk.

“A loss of innocence?” he repeated, slow and so bloody irritating . “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Not that kind of innocence,” Lily corrected.

“It’s more like a complete change in worldview, like witnessing the death of a loved one,” you explained. Again came silence, Peter pursing his lips and lowering his head like a vigil for your fate.

“But, uh–” James stammered, “you said you also got signs of ‘unbridled joy.’ How can you have that and the death of a loved one?”

“I said like the death of a loved one.”

“That doesn’t change anything.” The intensity of his worry was blinding. You figured he had a lot of practice between Remus and Sirius.

“I don’t know how they’re supposed to connect. That’s why I’m so confused over it.” You turned to Lily. “Do you have any clue? Any at all?”

Lily sat deep in thought, a hand coming to her face. She rubbed down her cheek, her foot beginning to tap on the carpet. “No,” she said sadly, “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Before you had told anyone, you were easily able to brush it off as no big deal. Now, with your friend’s tensed jaws and pitying glances, your fears had been confirmed. You began to loathe yourself for drawing so much attention towards your problems, wishing that Lily would do something to hide her increasing concern. You didn't like seeing her like this, nor any of the others for that matter. Remus shifted around so he could sit properly in his chair, slipping a bookmark into the pages of his novel and tossing it aside.

“Does it have to be bad, per se?” he asked.

From the corner of your eye, you saw James running a finger along the neck of his sweater.

“I don’t think so," you said finally, "but I’m not sure what sort of prediction I could make based on what I’ve been able to gather. I have joy, heartache, and a loss of innocence. When I just had the joy and heartache, I thought that maybe something bad would happen that turned out to be good in the end, or that something good would turn out to be bad. There’s a million options for that, I could have easily come up with a reading to turn in for class. But that bloody red and purple fish had to come along and spoil the whole thing.” You let out an exasperated sigh, guilty once again for your rant, although no one seemed annoyed with you. On the contrary, all appeared genuinely saddened by your strange omen.

“It can’t be that bad, whatever it is," said Lily. "You know how Divination can be sometimes. You get this awful omen and it turns out that you just break a quill or get the flu.” She leaned over towards you, face full of a profound compassion that she had worn for so many before. It reminded you of the way she used to look at Severus years ago before their falling out, when he appeared to her a small, shy kid in need of a friend. For a brief moment, your worries switched from the omen to the acute possibility you would one day be like him, mourning the loss of her friendship caused by your own betrayal towards her.

"She's right," Peter offered, giving what he could. You smiled, trying to match his and Lily's enthusiasm.

“I ought to owl my parents, make sure the house hasn’t collapsed,” you joked, though no one seemed to find it very funny.

James said your name, downtrodden and caring. “It’ll be all right, I’m sure of it.”

“You could always ask Professor Quattlebaum,” Peter suggested, voice lifting a bit.

After a moment you nodded slowly, taking a short breath through your nose. “I probably should, though it might take from my grade.”

“Or you could go fishing just kill the slimy thing,” Sirius said, making a much better attempt at brightening the mood than yours was. “That has to have some sort of effect.”

“Not really how it works, Sirius,” said Lily solemnly.

“James is right,” you began, your tone as brave as you could bear, “it’ll be fine. It’s probably like you said, Lily. It’ll turn out to be so silly, then we’ll have a good laugh over worrying about it so much.”

After brushing off a few more comments of concern, you all went back to working quietly, Remus devouring his book once more. You tried to do the same, but your eyes seemed to gloss over the words without reading them. Eventually, Lily won the game with Peter, though didn’t gloat over her victory. As the evening lengthened, students meandered out of the Common Room and to their dormitories. Sirius was the only one left with schoolwork to do, excusing himself to his room so he could “focus on the dumbest subject in history…besides Divination.”

“How studious!” James called out to him, watching as he ascended the staircase. Sirius threw up his middle finger, not looking back.

It wasn’t long after that you checked your wristwatch, noticing it getting late. You excused yourself to your room, the others likely heading to bed themselves sooner rather than later.

When you entered your dormitory, Marlene and Dorcas were laid out on their beds chatting. Dorcas had an impressive pile of candy in front of her: Chocolate Frogs, Dolly Beads, Caramel Cobwebs, Fizzing Whizbees, and various forms of glimmering marshmallows. Marlene reached across the space between their beds and grabbed a pink, rose shaped one, taking a large bite out of it.

“Oi!” Dorcas protested, though Marlene only laughed maniacally, leaning back against her headboard.

“Having yourselves a feast, I see,” you said to them, kicking off your shoes beside your bed.

“ Dorcas is having a feast,” Marlene drawled, “and being rather stingy, too.”

“You’re aware it’s a Thursday?” you said with a smile, glancing over your shoulder to see Dorcas open up a Chocolate Frog package.

“I’m aware,” she said, grabbing the leaping frog in record time. It squirmed a bit in an attempt to hop away before growing still. Dorcas took a bite of it, pulling out the collectable card from the box. "Ugh, Artemisia Lufkin again?"

When you emerged from the lavatory ready for bed, Lily had just walked into the room, untying her shoes by the door. You climbed into your four-poster, getting ready to draw the curtains when she came up to you, mouth pulled to one side.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

You had unwisely hoped that nothing more would be said about your omen, now wishing more than ever you hadn't even brought it up to begin with. You couldn't think of a way she could help you any more than she already had, hating that she was likely racking her brain for solutions.

You nodded, smiling softly in an effort to ease her. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s like you said, it’ll turn out to be nothing.”

She nodded, her eyes drifting across your face before she gave you a small smile, turning to retrieve her own pajamas and leaving you to cocoon yourself in for the night. You pulled your curtains closed to the sound of Lily's footsteps creaking on an ancient floorboard.

End Notes: at any point in this series, if you notice something that should go under the warnings/tags, please let me know! The same goes for grammatical errors. this gal is dyslexic, so as Nick from New Girl so aptly put it, I'm not even sure if I know how to read, I've only just memorized a lot of words. Misspellings don't even look wrong to me lol

Chapter Two

#james potter x reader #james potter/reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fic #james potter series #james potter fluff #marauders era #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james potter slow burn

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lomlkenji · 6 months ago

Text

༊*·˚ helping hand | luke patterson

summary : luke helps you with your outfit !! with a little suprise on the side :))

warnings : fluff!! mutual pining, mentions of nudity & luke stealing some money oops

word count : 1.2k ish

author's note: so sorry if there's typos,, my eyes are PFFT <//3

── ⋆⋅☆ main masterlist

This rarely ever happens. You always know what to wear based on your mood, the colour schemes, accessories, even what fragrance to use.

But today, something was off. You have no idea what to put on and you're already behind schedule, you should be eating breakfast right now.

You were standing at the edge of your bed, staring at the variety of clothes. With some eliminated, it came down to a total of six tops, three pants, and four jackets.

You were only in your bra and underwear, seeing that you were putting on and taking off clothes every two seconds. And a sudden a whip of air came, startling you.

"Need help?" a familiar voice sounded.

You turn around and let out a shriek as you move to grab your towel from the bed, wrapping it around yourself.

"Sorry!" Luke exclaimed as he quickly turned around.

You caught a glimpse of his rosy blush cheeks, making you chuckle. Carefully, you took a white tank top that was on the floor and some shorts putting it on.

"You can turn around now."

Luke slowly faced you, peaking his eyes open. And when he realised you were decent he let out a relieved sigh. You laughed at his shyness and turned around, continuing to look for an outfit, also to hide your burning cheeks.

"Sorry." he voice cracked, which made the boy blushed even more. He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly "Sorry."

You chuckled, "What are you doing here?" you asked, glancing at him.

He walked closer to you and shrugged his shoulders. "I was downstairs with Julie and the others but you weren't there, so I figured I'd check on you. You know if anything bad happened." he explained, keeping his gaze on his shoes.

You shyly smiled at his words and glanced at Luke. The sight of him alone is making your heart flutter.

"You said you wanted to help?"

Luke's eyes widened as stuttered his sentence, "Uh- yeah. I'm not that good at fashion but I can make things work."

You smirked and sat down at the edge of the bed. "Well, do your magic kind sir." you teased, motioning to the piles of clothes.

Luke beamed at you and started rummaging through the pile of clothes — quite difficulty you might add.

As his focus was on styling you, your focus was on him

His hands and bicep to be exact.

I wonder how his hands would feel wrapped around my nec-

"Ugh!" Luke groaned, cutting you from your unholy thoughts. You internally slapped yourself for thinking about him like that.

Someone who you can't even touch.

Why does he have to be such a damn attractive ghost? you thought.

You cleared your throat, focusing back at what he was doing. He had successfully picked out some light blue jeans, a lavender crop top, pairing it with a leather jacket.

"There! You like it?" he nervously looked at you, waiting for your reaction.

Your face broke out into a big grin, "I love it!" you thought about hugging him but abruptly stopped remembering that, well, you can't. You sighed trying to keep your disappointment unnoticed, "Yeah okay, I'm gonna change."

“Cool.”

"Do you mind?" you snickered.

"Oh! Yeah! I'm so sorry! I'll see you when you get back!" he rambled, turning bright red. His hands went to his pocket and his eyes widening a little, "Wait, before I forget,"

You furrowed your eyebrows when you saw him taking something out of his pocket.

"Can you close your eyes?" he asked, flashing you a nervous smile.

He has been feeling that a lot around you. Nervous. His unbeating heart felt like its beating faster and he can't figure out why.

When he asked Alex and Reggie, they told him that he has a crush and that stuck with him since.

Does he have a crush?

You look at him hesitantly before doing what he told you to. You couldn't feel Luke's warmth behind you, but you know that he's there and that made your cheeks heat up. You felt a cold metal chain on your neck making your hand instinctively go up to touch it.

"Open 'em." Luke whispered.

You opened your eyes, immediately looking down at your neck. There is a silver half crescent moon necklace dangling on your skin. You adjusted your hair and looked at the necklace in awe.

"Did you steal this?"

"Definitely not! I left the guy five dollars!" he stared at you with fake hurt eyes. A small smile rested on his lips when he saw you admiring the necklace. He spent fifteen minutes trying to pick up the necklace alone because of his nervousness.

"And where did you get the five dollars?" you asked cheekily, hands on your hips.

"Stole it from Bobby." he muttered under his breath. Logically speaking, some of it, is his money too, considering Bobby stole his songs.

You laughed before smiling fondly at him. Your heart beats like crazy as you rest your hand on top of the little present. "Thank you, Luke. I love it."

His eyes meet yours, "Yeah, yeah it was no problem." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

The sudden sound of someone clearing their throat snapped you both out of your daze.

"You ready?" Julie asked, smirking. She knows damn well about the crush you have on Luke and it seems to be mutual.

You rolled your eyes playfully at her teasing tone, "Be there in five I promise." you scurried to the bed picking up the clothes.

Julie's smirk turned into a full blown smile, when she noticed how they both have similar looks thrown to each other. "Fine. Luke can you.. "

Luke caught on to what she was requesting, "Oh yeah of course. See you guys later!" he waved, smiling at you guys before poofing away.

You had to bit your lip from the huge grin that was about to form on your lips.

"So... " Julie started as she crossed her arms. It's nice seeing you happy but that doesn't mean that she's not going to tease you about it.

"Get out." you quickly cut her off, knowing exactly what she was gonna talk about.

She giggled but left your room and shut the door.

You let out a breath and flopped onto bed, quietly squealing when you touched the necklace around your neck. Sitting back up, you glanced at the clothes Luke picked. You can feel your heart thumping in your chest thinking about him.

When Luke poofed back to the garage, he was practically glowing. Radiating with happiness as your smile engraved in his mind.

He definitely has a crush.

reblog for a kiss! 💋

#⋆⋅☆ hana’s writing!#luke jatp x reader #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #luke jatp #jatp luke #jatp fanfiction #jatp imagine #jatp #julie and the phantoms imagines #julie and the phantoms

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 8 months ago

Text

Shh! Pt. 1

Summary: Y/N and Dean have been overserved...what truths may come from it? Shh! Don't tell.

Pairing/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warnings: None. All fluffy silliness. Little bit of crack. Drunk!Dean and Drunk!Reader. Some mutual pining (sort of).

Word Count: 1,379

A/N: Okay, so I'm trying really hard to catch up with my requests. Thank you all for your patience. This fun request came from a lovely anon:

omgomgomg can you please do the giggly smut space with a drunk!dean and reader?? i love your work sm!

This bingo square was already filled, but I said I'd try to write something fun for them anyway. So, I had lots of fun with the silly antics of these goofballs, hope you enjoy. ❤️

Edit: This little one shot has turned into a two part mini-series.

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag List

“Shh!” Y/N hissed with her finger to her lips as she and Dean stumbled drunkenly through the bunker door. She tried to frown at her best friend and meant to scold him for his noisiness, but he was making a goofy face as he pretended to be tiptoeing towards the stairs and she just ended up giggling loudly.

“Shh!” Dean scolded her.

“Me shush? You shush!” She said, laughing as she followed him down the stairs. As they neared the bottom, Y/N lost her footing in the grating on the steps and pitched forward. Dean turned to try and steady her, but it was too late and she knocked them both to the ground.

Dean landed on his back and Y/N landed directly on top of him.

“Oof!” Dean grunted as his fall and Y/N's weight knocked the wind out of him.

“Oh my god! Dean, I'm so sorry!” Y/N felt terrible, but her drunken mind couldn't stop laughing at the way they'd plummeted to the floor.

When he could breathe again Dean groaned and started laughing too.

“Shh!” He cautioned as he rolled Y/N beneath him. “You're gonna wake up Sam.” He said in a voice that he thought was a whisper. It wasn't.

Y/N nodded and then caught Dean's eye as her giggling subsided. For a moment their gazes connected as their laughter died away slowly, so that they were left pressed close together and staring at each other.

“You know, you're so pretty.” Dean said, his words slightly slurred. “I don't think you know that, you don't know that I think that. You are.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, YOU don't know. I told you so many times, Dean. I told you that time when there was the baseball bat, and then too, where when we were at the drive-in, and…” Y/N frowned and then shook her head. “I told you all of those times. And then more.”

Dean was nodding along with her words as though he knew what she was talking about but then he burst into laughter and Y/N joined him.

“What were we talking about?” He asked as he stood up and pulled Y/N to her feet. They leaned on each other for balance.

Y/N shook her head. “I don't actually know.” She cackled, and then shushed herself. Dean joined her.

“Shh!”

They were both holding a finger to their lips and giggling like idiots as Sam walked into the war room from the direction of his bedroom.

“Shhh-ut up. Both of you.” He said, barefooted and scowling. He was wearing pajama bottoms and a dark blue t-shirt and had obviously been sleeping.

He was also obviously very annoyed. He ran a tired hand over his cheeks. “It's three in the morning, you two. What the hell are you doing coming home at this hour?”

Y/N snorted and then covered her mouth. “Sorry!” She said when Sam's frown landed on her. “You just…my mom said that when I was like fifteen. You sounded like her, for a second.”

“It's the long hair.” Dean said in a stage whisper, making Sam roll his eyes and Y/N nearly fall over laughing.

“Was your mom a really tall lady?” Dean asked as both of them fell onto each other again, and landed on their asses on the floor - the extreme hilarity taking them both out.

“Oh, Jesus.” Sam said in sleepy irritation. “I'm going back to bed. Can you both shut up and just pass out on the floor?”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Dean called with salute and Y/N followed suit.

“Drunken idiots.” Sam mumbled lovingly as he padded back down the hallway to his bedroom.

Eventually Dean and Y/N stood each other up and then wandered down the other hallway towards Dean's room. When they got there, Y/N's eyes lit up when she saw Dean's vinyl collection.

“We have to play some Black Sabbath.”

She fumbled pulling the record out of its sleeve and almost dropped it.

“Hey! Careful!” Dean protested as he took the precious vinyl out of her hands.

In the end though, it took both of them to get the record on the turntable properly, and then all of their combined coordination to successfully put the needle down without scratching it. But soon Paranoid was blasting through Dean's room, and down the hallways to Sam's as well, where the youngest Winchester growled and slammed his pillow down tight over his ears.

As the song continued, Y/N grabbed Dean's hands and got him to share in a little drunken headbanging along with the wailing guitars, pounding drums and Ozzy’s slightly monotone voice. Eventually though, he let go so he could crash onto his bed.

Y/N kept dancing, offbeat and slightly awkward. Dean watched her and smiled deeply.

“This is the other time!” He called over the music.

Y/N shook her head and turned down the volume a little. “What?”

“This is the other time.” Dean repeated.

“The other time of what?” Y/N asked, scrunching up her nose and furrowing her brow in that adorable way she had.

“The other time when you're so pretty and I'm telling you, but you're not listening.” Dean sighed, suddenly sad.

Y/N stumbled over to the bed and climbed up beside him. “Why’re you…what's wrong?”

Dean shook his head. “No, you never listen to me when I'm trying to tell you. You don't get it.” His mouth dipped into a pout and Y/N was instantly contrite.

“Oh, I wanna listen to you. I do listen. You don't listen.”

Dean stared at her for a moment and then nodded resolutely. “We should write it down. Our things, our listening things. So we don't forget. Then we have to listen to both of ourselves.” Dean's eyes were wide, amazed by his incredible idea.

Y/N nodded and wobbled over for pens and paper from his desk. She brought them back and slumped onto the bed, passing out the writing materials and grabbing two hardcover books from the bedside table.

“For writing on.” She explained as she handed Dean a book.

“M’kay. Do you wanna go first?” Dean asked. “Cause…ladies? Y’know?”

But Y/N shook her head. “We could both go though.” She pointed at their separate pieces of paper.

“Oh right!” Dean said as though finally figuring out her ever-so-complicated plan.

Then they both bent their heads to their task, but after only a few minutes, their pens stilled and their heads drooped towards each other and then banged together gently as they both fell into drunken oblivion.

Twenty minutes later Sam barged into Dean's room no longer able to take the screaming Black Sabbath. He immediately noticed that both of his drunken idiots were sound asleep and snoring, and he sighed, giving his head a shake.

He took the needle off the record and shut off the record player before he walked quietly up to the bed and rolled his eyes indulgently as he saw Y/N with her head on Dean's shoulder and Dean with his head laying on top of her head.

They’re both gonna have such stuff necks in the morning. He thought.

He picked up the papers and books from their laps. He was about to throw the pages away but then he read them. His smile grew wider and wider as he read what they'd each written.

Neither had actually finished, but they were both saying the same thing:

“Finally.” Sam whispered with an affectionate eye roll. “Friggin’ idiots.”

He took the papers and walked to the kitchen. Grabbing two strong magnets he posted the letters in plain sight where they couldn't be missed, even by two fools with raging hangovers, before he shut off the lights and went back to bed.

Part 2

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

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@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

@sexyvixen7

@nancymcl

@hobby27

@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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@leigh70

@eevvvaa

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@roseblue373

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@mrsjenniferwinchester

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

#dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fan fic #fic request #dean winchester crack fic #dean winchester

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sanjoongie · 1 year ago

Text

Arch Nemesis

For @cultofdionysusnet Mocha Madness event

🧠Pairing: Choi San x Reader (f) x ???

🧠Au: hero/villain au

🧠Trope: e2l (enemies to lovers), f2l (friends to lovers), established relationship

🧠Rating: 18+, MDNI, smut, angst

🧠Warnings: mind reading, emotion manipulation (they're superheroes, they have powers), cheating

🧠Kinks: mutual masturbation, sexual fantasies made reality, pussy slapping, deep throating, choking, penetrative sex with no barrier, oral (m), spit kink, deep throating

🧠Word count: 3,730

🧠Dedication: @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland for beta-ing, my unholy trinity partners in crime 🥰 and to @starlitmark for bouncing ideas with me and helping this plot flourish!

🧠Summary: you're a hero, one who has struggled to remain good, but what happens when you're most guilty fantasy with your arch nemesis of all people, comes to light?

“Gotta go, duty calls,” You said as you leaned over in your bed and kissed San’s cheek.

“No,” San murmured, pulling you in tightly against his body, “Stay. They can send someone else.”

You gently extracted yourself from San’s grasp. “Nice try but I can’t be your pillow all night. Get some sleep, Baby.” San mumbled into his pillow as you left your shared bed with a fond smile on your face.

You and San had been friends since college; you'd both been training then to be supe's. The two of you had been brought together because of your powers. San had the ability to read minds and telekinesis, which was the makings of a villain. And you could shoot a heart with your finger and temporarily gain control of whoever you shot. Basically, your target would be in love with you and do anything for you. Which was also seen as the potential to be a villain. The two of you had banded together as outcasts and had been friends ever since.

Considering the reason you had become friends, you had made a pact with San: to never speak on your missions, because you didn't want your professional life to ruin your friendship. You didn't know what San’s alter ego was and he didn't know yours.

It had been only recently that your friendship had bloomed into a relationship. You were happy for it. San was the perfect soft and caring boyfriend. If only you didn't have a dirty secret that involved your arch nemesis.

Your comms told you your mission was at the old Treasure Hotel. Loudmouth was up to his old shenanigans. Apparently he had used his screaming powers and made everyone vacate the hotel so he could rob the safe. Except once you got there, running through the hotel, attempting to locate Loudmouth, you found no one. It wasn’t until you burst through the door to the rooftop that you discovered him--and his long-time ally, Killjoy.

“And I’m gone,” Loudmouth announced, jumping from the top of the roof, screeching when he presumably reached the ground to halt his ascent.

You narrowed your eyes down at Killjoy. The villain was your arch nemesis, the antithesis of your life. If there was a problem in your life, he was usually the center of it all. Of course you had to pull yourself out of bed from your boyfriend to confront the one man you didn’t want to see this evening.

“What’s this about, Killjoy?” You demanded. You summoned your power, folding one of your hands into the shape of a gun and using the other to support your wrist.

The masked villain smirked, folding his arms over his well-developed chest. “You can drop the act. I know.”

You continued to hold your stance. “If you know that I’ve plans for the mayor’s inaugural, that’s pretty smart of you. I didn’t think you had it in you,” you quipped.

Killjoy smirked. “I don’t need to be smart to know that you think of me when you stuff your pretty fingers inside of you.”

You dropped your stance immediately. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Killjoy cocked his head. “You don’t think about me tucking my legs around yours to hold them in place as I ease in three fingers and you tell me you couldn't possibly take that much but your pussy takes them easily. You don’t think about me whispering how it’s so dirty that a hero could be taking my fingers so well. You don’t think about me slapping your pussy and pinching your clit and--”

“ENOUGH!” You shouted. Shame was covering you from head to toe right now. That was your exact fantasy, down to how many fingers you wanted him to shove into you. How could he suddenly read your mind when he’s barely skimmed the surface before?

Killjoy hopped onto one of the fans on the top of the building and leaned forward on his legs. His crooked smile pulled to the side, revealing a dimple. “Why just think about it when we could make it a reality?”

“Abso-fucking-luytely not!” You said in horror.

A hero? Getting finger banged by her arch nemesis? Never!

“How about this,” Killjoy suggested in a smug tone, “You show me what you do when you fantasize about me…” He took a moment to spit in his palm, “And I’ll show you what I do when I think of you.”

Your jaw just about hit the floor. “Excuse me?!”

Killjoy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think it’s possible that I think about holding you down on my dick, shutting up that smart mouth of yours, always calling me a failure of a villain?” You clenched your legs together but Killjoy didn’t miss anything. “Come on, what’s a little mutual masturbation between old time enemies, huh?”

Your body worked on its own accord, your fingertips moving to the teensy-tiny skirt of your uniform. Killjoy’s eyes are glued to the pathway your fingers follow until you’ve raised the skirt and he can see your still clothed core but…

Killjoy’s tongue came out to wet his lips. “Is that a wet spot, Loveshot?”

You pushed your lips together and nodded. “Yeah,” You let out a shaky breath.

“Show me,” Killjoy insisted, leaning forward even further, eyes glued to your crotch.

You leaned back against the rough stone of the old building, fingers hovering over your outer lips. “I--you tease me a lot,” You admitted.

“Mhmm,” Killjoy prompted you.

“Sometimes you--” You gasped when you palmed your breast and found the nipple tight already. “--you pull and pinch my nipples and call me a superslut.”

You watched with bated breath as Killjoy peeled back the lower half of his suit and you sighed dreamily as his girthy dick was revealed. You knew there was a reason you used three fingers for him in your fantasies. “Now my turn. You usually say something about how my suit makes my dick look tiny, so when you protest, I rub my dick against your face and lips, but once my dick is seated in your hot mouth, you crumble and take it all for me.” Killjoy’s hips twitched upwards as his spit-covered hand moved up and down his dick.

"Sometimes I get so wet from pretending my fingers are yours that I--" You bit down on your lip to muffle a moan.

"Who's gonna hear you way up here Loveshot?" Killjoy smirked once again, "Let me hear all your desperate noises for me."

Shame still burns in the pit of your stomach. You shouldn't do this. You had San but everything was still new with him. This dirty little fantasy you've had of Killjoy had been around before you two had evolved from friends to lovers. You needed this.

You unceremoniously slapped your cunt and your head lolled back with how delicious it felt. "You tell me that I can take anything you give me, just like you know you can throw me into any situation as a hero and I can save the day."

Killjoy let out a low moan and scrunched his nose upwards. "I imagine your muffled noises as I push your face into my pelvis, making you take all of my dick. You choke and you cry and you say that you love every moment of it."

You're so worked up at this point that you could actually cum. "I'm--" You choked on the words when you watched Killjoy shamelessly spurt all over his hand.

He opened his eyes, heavy lidded with satisfaction and gave you a slow smile. "Come for me, my nemesis."

“Killjoy!” You come undone for him, pussy convulsing around your fingers and you ride them, closing your eyes for just a moment and picturing Killjoy’s smirk above you.

"Don't do that," Killjoy groaned.

You had forgotten he was still in your head. You ripped your fingers from your cunt and wiped them against your thighs to clean them. You turned to leave but Killjoy couldn't help but get a final verbal shot in.

"Where are you going, Loveshot? You're still thinking about me. You'll think about me later, won't you?"

You threw up a middle finger as a parting gift and shifted the color of your hair and your nose. By the time you made your way to the bottom of the skyscraper, you were completely indistinguishable from Loveshot. But you were still the same person. You had just gray-area cheated on San with your arch nemesis.

Your comms buzzed and you saw you received a text you simply could not ignore:

Sannie🥺: wanna meet up? I’ll order your regular at Blue Bird.

You: just finished up, see you there

Guilt wracked through your body. If you said no San would know something was up. But could you truly sip on a sugary sweet beverage, which your best-friend-turned-boyfriend had memorized as your order, as if nothing had happened?

You stumbled into the coffee shop that you and San frequented, only a few blocks away from your shared apartment. You weren’t used to fighting crime, then having a mind blowing orgasm afterwards. Your super power wasn’t stamina, that was for sure. Your eyes sought out San immediately, who waved you over to the table he was seated at.

“Hey Babe,” San greeted you.

“H-hey,” You replied shakily.

San had his normal gray hoodie but it was barely zipped up and you could see a sheen of sweat covering his upper chest that peeked past the zipper. He smiled softly, “I couldn't sleep, so I went to the gym. Sorry, I must smell like a locker room.”

You laughed under your breath. “You smell like you just walked out of a perfume ad.”

San scratched the back of his head. “Careful, I think my heart just beat a little harder from that.”

You smiled painfully. You attempted to sit at the café table and faltered, barely catching yourself against the edge. Unfortunately for you, your abused clit took most of the weight as you collapsed against it and you made an embarrassingly loud and desperate noise.

San’s eyes widened and then immediately avoided your eyes. What did he just realize?!

“San?” You worried your teeth on your bottom lip. You managed to properly sit down and sip your drink to do something, anything.

“Where did you just come from?” He asked quietly.

“Uh… you know, superhero stuff,” You shrugged.

The two of you had a strict policy of not speaking about your cases, to not muddy up each other’s professions. It just worked better that way. But San chose today to push it. He pushed up his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shifted closer to you. “Where did you come from?” he repeated firmly.

“The subway. Hostage situation. Wrapped it up pretty quickly,” You lied.

San sat back but eased an arm around the back of your chair. “Good.”

The tension eased out of your shoulders and you leaned into San’s embrace. “I’m tired. Let’s go home.”

The two of you walked home, San’s arm still around your shoulder, you still leaning against him. You were cold and were trying to absorb some of his warmth. Not even the drink from the coffee shop could warm up the sinking feeling in your chest. Even as you got home, got ready for bed, you couldn't shake your anxiety.

Guilt is gnawing at the end of your mind and you know that there is no going to sleep like this. You turned to tell San that you’re going to wind down in the living room when he approached you from behind. His lips are like sweet caresses along the slope of your shoulder. “Come back to bed with me,” he murmured, as if he could sense you were pulling away.

“Sannie,” You turned around in his embrace, “My mind--”

San’s eyes travel over your face, a hand cupping one side. “You’re vibrating with the need to leave. Let me put you to sleep.” Gently, San tilted your head with the same guiding hand, peppering kisses along your jawline.

Your heart soared and then crashed into your guilt. You couldn't possibly--not after what you did with Killjoy… “San, I’m really tired,” You protested.

“You’re not,” San disagreed with a rumble deep in his chest. “Even if your body may be, your mind is restless. I can help.”

San swept the straps of your pjs off your shoulders and continued to kiss down your neck to your collarbones. You can’t help but moan at the feel of his lips on your skin. Was your boyfriend seducing you?

"Where are you going, Loveshot? You're still thinking about me. You'll think about me later, won't you?"

Your body became tense with the sudden intrusion. Your powers brewed on the tip of your tongue and the pads of your fingers. You’d never use your powers against San but the need to push him off, to not mingle his touches with that of Killjoy’s was important!

“I have a better idea,” You found yourself suggesting before you could stop your treacherous tongue. “Let’s watch each other masturbate.”

San’s eyes widened considerably at your suggestion. “What?!”

Now it’s your turn to seduce. You ditched your top completely, to sit back on your shared bed and lie back, propping yourself up with your elbows. “Want you to watch me while I touch myself, Sannie,” You purred, “Wanna watch you while you touch yourself.”

San stumbled, as if his feet were moving him unbiddenly, but he made it to the edge of the bed where you were. You move so that the two of you are opposite of each other, a full view of whatever the other one’s planning on doing. You massage your breasts, making them pucker in the cool early morning air. San licked his lips like he wished they were wrapped around them. His eyes move to meet yours, waiting for you to start.

“Before we got together, when we were just friends, I used to get off to the idea of you sneaking in my bed and eating me out,” You said shakily. “I would play with my nipples and put so much lube on my pussy, using one of those flower vibrators, wishing it was your tongue. I had convinced myself that you loved eating pussy and it was something I wanted you to want with me.”

San groaned and began to palm himself through his sleep pants. “We were idiots.”

You couldn't help but giggle. “We were.”

San watched with rapt attention as you pulled aside your underwear and dipped a finger into your wetness. You spread it along your clit, moving in slow, tantalizing circles, careful of how abused your clit had been just a few hours ago by your own self torture. “Sannie?” You prompted him.

San snapped out of his deep thought while watching your finger circle your clit and pulled himself out of his confines. “I used to want you to use your power on me.” His voice cracked and he had to clear it. “Make me do whatever you want me to do. I used to edge myself for hours alone on the thought that you’d never let me cum unless it was inside of you--pussy or mouth.” San’s blunt fingernails dug into his thighs but he didn’t touch himself.

You stop touching yourself and crawled towards San’s body. “Do you need some lubrication?”

San whimpered as you hovered over him, hands on either side of his hips. You spit on his cock, letting it slowly dribble downwards. You leaned downwards, almost as if you were going to take him in your mouth but instead you simply blew air on him. San’s hips thrust into the air, whining again. “Please,” he asked but you weren’t sure he even knew what he was asking for.

“Go ahead and touch yourself,” You encouraged him.

“ ‘m sensitive,” San mumbled, eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones as he blinked many times, a cute pout pulling at his lips.

You can’t help but grin at the admission. “Did you masturbate while I was out, Sannie?”

San’s body jerked backwards, a loud gasp in the back of his throat. “N-no.”

You dropped your body so that you could take San’s cock in your mouth with one quick dip of your mouth. San’s body strains at being encompassed suddenly by your warm, wet mouth. Tiny thrusts into your mouth tell you all San wants is to get off in your mouth and by the throb of your lower half, all you want is to give it to him.

"I imagine your muffled noises as I push your face into my pelvis, making you take all of my dick.

How is it that you're sucking off your sweet boyfriend and you can't get Killjoy's degrading voice out of your head?

At that exact same moment, San's hands grab both sides of your head and he began to fuck your mouth. You have no time to think, only time to make sure your breaths time with the in-and-out motion of his cock down your throat. Your nose practically buries itself into San's bronze skin, mouth coming flush with the base of his cock. San had never--

Just as quickly as he held you down on him, he pulled you off of him. You stare up at him, saliva and precum dripping from your open, panting lips. “San?”

San adjusted immediately, a dopey sweet smile pulling at his lips, making his eyes become crescent moons. “I don't want to cum in your mouth.”

You're fast to climb onto his lap, arms draped over his broad shoulders. “My baby,” You couldn't help but coo, “You really do put me first, don't you?”

San smiled shyly, scratching the back of his head. “I love you, that's why.”

Your heart burst at the admission. “I love you too, sweet boy.”

The two of you moved your hips in sync, exchanging kisses and moans, as you made love in your shared bed. This was where you wanted to be: in San's arms, drinking in his noises of pleasure, being the center of his world. You didn't want to be with--

Your climax hit you like a slow burn and the first thing that tumbled from your mouth was the name you had been thinking of. “Killjoy!” you groaned quietly.

San’s body was ramrod straight even though you could feel his dick twitching inside of you, his cry cut off at what you said. You scrambled to remove yourself from his body but San wrapped his arms around you to keep you firmly in place.

“What did you just say?” San said in a voice that broke your heart into a million pieces.

“No-nothing,” You stuttered, throat full of emotions.

“Where did you go when they called you out,” San demanded again, bringing up his question from earlier.

“I told you, the subway--!” You squealed as your back hit the bed, San pinning you down with his heavy body against yours.

San reached for your hand and squeezed it tightly, intertwining your fingers with his . “You have two seconds to answer me correctly before I read your mind, love.”

“San!” You gasped and visibly reeled back. San never invaded the minds of the ones he loved, he swore he would never.

San licked his lips, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m not asking casually.”

Your gut was telling you that suddenly your entire world depended on the answer to this question and you had no idea where it would land you. “I was on the rooftop of The Treasure Hotel.”

San cursed lowly. “Loveshot?”

Your heart was beating a mile a minute. Had San just guessed your alter ego? What did that mean?

San let go of your hand and shakingly raised it to his face. You thought he was going to rub it tiredly over his face, somehow privy to you cheating on him with your arch nemesis. “Sannie, please, it was nothing!” You cried out.

Instead, he covered his eyes and smirked. “I already know.”

Your blood chilled in your veins.

The masked villain smirked, folding his arms over his well-developed chest. “You can drop the act. I know.”

“Killjoy?” You yelled in disbelief.

And, you swear to God, San's dick pulsed inside of you upon hearing his alter ego's name upon your lips in your shared bed.

“No,” You shook your head. There was no fucking way your best friend, your boyfriend, was an evil villain?

Flashbacks to the supe's college you both attended, the way you were both outcasts, vaguely bringing up your powers as the reason. Bonding over wanting to overcome your natural abilities and prove to everyone you were good.

“Someday, the world won’t judge me,” San had proclaimed. Clearly that had not crossed over very well.

It all came crumbling down around you.

San lowered his hand and there was a glint in his eye. “If I had known…”

In some fucked up way, relief flooded you. You hadn't cheated on San; you simply masturbated with his alter ego. That was okay… right?

“Are we…” How were you going to meld the two worlds together, how could you continue to date and fuck a villain, how-- “Are we okay?”

San’s lips surged towards yours in a kiss that was desperate and messy and yet somehow full of love and adoration. “Do you still love me?” San gasped into your mouth.

You looked up at the man who was your everything. Even now, knowing he was your arch nemesis and had been for a long time, he was even more so your everything. He was your world when you weren’t working and he was your obsession when you were. Was this going to fuck up your job? Absolutely. Was it going to fuck up your relationship?

“I love you like the sun loves the moon,” You admitted. Surely the two bodies in the sky were enemies, constantly chasing after each other, constantly fighting for time in the sky.

A subtle shift of San’s hips had you gasping. He was hard inside of you. His eyes were alight with love and mischief and lust. “I love you like a villain loves a hero.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

taglist: @hijirikaww @flurrys-creativity @stardragongalaxy @mingsolo @k-pop-ology

special suffer with me braincell tag: @smallfrye

#MochaMadness:ThePerfectPairing #cultofdionysusnet #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #ateez smut #choi san smut #atz smut #ateez san smut #choi san x reader #ateez x reader #ღatz #topaz's work

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withwritersblock · 10 months ago

Text

Break Up In The End

~Break up in the End by Cole Swindell~

Author's Note: short and sweet I love this song that's all oh and as always italics are flashbacks Summary: Cole and Y/N break up Warning: none Word Count: 1,071 Cole Caufield x fm!reader

It was emotional as three years together had slowly crumbled in front of them. It was mutual as mutual could be. Sometimes those who fall in love, can fall out of love and still have so much love towards one another. It was easy to say that they firmly believed that it was the right person, wrong time.

She wiped her hand over her cheek as she met Cole’s teary gaze. “Do you-” he cleared his throat, as a smile crept onto his lips, “Do you remember when we first met?” he said as he sniffled. She smiled as she let out a huff of air.

She smiled widely as she threw back another shot of tequila. The bar erupted into loud cheers as a group of guys stepped inside. The short one in the center was smiling widely as a few of the guys surrounding him shoved him forward. She smiled as she furrowed her eyebrows towards the small group of guys. He looked familiar but it was hard to pinpoint exactly where she recognized him from.

The small group of guys stumbled towards the bar top, “Beers, we would like many beers, please,” the short handsome one said, smiling widely. She chuckled as her friend, Rosalie, sat back down beside her.

“Oh my god,” she whispered loudly. She drunkenly bumped into Y/N. “That’s-those are the-those hockey guys,” she slurred out. Y/N eyes widened, unsure of when Rosalie got that drunk.

“Do you want some water?” Y/N asked as she tried to get the bartender's attention.

“Joey’s coming to pick us up,” she said as she glanced towards her phone. Y/N nodded as the bartender walked towards Y/N.

“Can she get some water?” Y/N asked and the bartender didn’t hesitate to pull out a glass and fill it with ice water. He slid the glass towards Rosalie and she gladly accepted and began sipping the glass.

Y/N glanced towards the short handsome guy sitting on the other end of the bar top, he was already looking towards her direction. He was sipping on his beer as his eyes admired her frame. He wasn’t shy about it. She smiled shyly as she turned her attention back towards her friend beside her. The entire glass of water is now empty.

“Is Joey almost here?” Y/N asked and Rosalie nodded excitedly.

“Oh, he’s here!” she said excitedly as she stood up from the stool, “I’m gonna go, you stay here and flirt with that cute boy that won’t stop staring at you,” she slurred before she manuvered away from the bar top.

Y/N pulled her phone from her pocket to text Joey to let her know that Rosalie made it home safe.

“What are you drinking?” the voice said beside her, she lifted her head to meet the gaze of the cute guy Rosalie was talking about. She smirked as she met his light blue eyes. Her eyes drifted towards the empty glass in front of her.

“Tequila soda,” he nodded, a smirk forming to his lips. He tried to hide the smile forming to his lips by taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m Cole,” he offered as he placed his drink on the bar top.

“Y/N,”

She sniffled as she wiped a tear from her eye as she let out a soft chuckle, “You had scored your first career hat trick and you were on top of the world,” she let out. He smiled sadly as he scooted closer to her.

“You had just gotten promoted,” he said with a wide smile. “You looked so beautiful,” he mumbled as he pressed his lips together. He met her eyes as she squinted as she felt her lips quiver. “Still do,” he mumbled as he hesitantly wrapped his arm around the center of her back, pulling her towards him. She rested her head onto his shoulder.

“I’ve been crying,” she said while rolling her eyes.

“A beautiful crier,” he offered as he ran comforting circles up and down her back. “Or what about when I kissed you for the first time?”

“It was the same night, Cole,” she said with giggling.

Her back was pressed against the far wall in the bar, it was late. They should’ve gone home several hours ago but he looked so pretty looking towards her like that. His jawline looked more defined in the dimmed lit bar as he clenched his jaw. He rested his hand on her lower back as his other hand rested beside her head.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked as his gaze lingered on her lips. She hesitantly smiled as she watched his gaze climb back up to meet her eyes.

“I don’t usually kiss guys the same night I met them,” she whispered.

“Lucky for me, we met before midnight,” he muttered, he leaned towards her ear, “Not the same night, Darling,”

She smirked as she delicately ran her fingers across the base of his neck as he leaned towards her, kissing her urgently.

“What about when I brought you to meet my parents?” he questioned as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. She took in a sharp breath as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “That was the first time I realized I was in love with you,” he mumbled, his eyes tearing up.

Her lips curled upward, ever so slightly, “What are you doing, Cole?” she asked softly. He tilted his head back as he licked his lips.

“I would do it all over again, you know that? I would go up to you in the bar, drunk off my ass. I would kiss you again,” he paused as his gaze looked down towards her lips. “I would love you all over again, you know that? I don’t regret a single thing about us,”

He paused as his hand stopped doing circles on her back. His eyes were looking into her eyes with so much intensity it felt like he was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room.

“I would do it all over again. I would feel like this all over again if it meant those three years were the same,”

“Me too,” she let out before she leaned towards him and kissed him. It was as if a weight was lifted off of her chest as their lips remained connected.

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holy-puckslibrary · 1 year ago

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━ 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗

pairing(s) — (soft)dark!QUINN HUGHES x gray!reader word count — 4k

note — i am so sorry for this (not really)

recommended viewing — sorority row (2009)

bingo squares and additional content warnings under the cut.

bingo squares —orgasm control, non-consensual voyeurism (+ pictures taken) and implied past mutual masturbation (dubcon — you’ll see) additional content warnings — dom!reader + subby-as-hell!quinn (ngl he’s kind of a pathetic loser here, but that’s why we love him), m!receiving oral (perhaps too much idk you tell me) + cum play x2, quinn rendered dumb and speechless by his raging humiliation kink and his need for degradation (and an itty bitty bit of praise — quinn: new kink unlocked), i have been plagued w ball play as of late so im subjecting yall to it, mention of edging and orgasm denial, oh and just some pheromone kink bits and a cute lil oral fixation moment or two, nothing to see here!

QUINN HUGHES WAS ENAMORED the moment he saw you.

Three rows from the front. Laptop cracked, but more for show than anything. All your glittery, coveted attention fixed on the cellphone resting in your palm while you tapped away, your lips loosely draped over the pen you were gnawing on.

You were positively mesmerizing.

He briefly contemplated sliding into one of the open seats beside yours, but a gaggle of your insipid "sisters" beat him to the punch.

As if he would’ve been able to capitalize on the golden opportunity anyway; it took half the semester for him to form a full, coherent sentence in your vicinity.

Ironically, Quinn was far more comfortable when you weren’t looking.

Or, rather, Quinn was more comfortable when you didn’t know he was looking.

He didn’t interact much with anyone outside of his coding cohort and the club team—athletic prowess only garners state-school clout when your sport is top dog, and this was a football school, through and through. As such, and at the hands of his tragic awkwardness, he rarely spoke to women, if ever.

And he never got face time with any as effortlessly beautiful and interesting as you.

Discovering that your large bedroom window faced the secluded side street he took to get home from practice each night felt like a sign. He’d struck gold, and it would be a shame not to put the knowledge to good use.

In his own shadowy domain, he could be whatever and whoever he wanted; he could be the guy who got the girl.

It was exhilarating, really.

Quinn supposed some of that rush should be attributed to the feeling of unbridled control his daily routine sorely and consistently lacked. He hardly, if ever, felt like an active participant in his own life.

But in the privacy of his own head—and the safety of the very curb he’s stood on now—there were no alpha douche-canoes to eat up your finite attention or loud airheads to crave your tutelage.

Between sundown and sun-up, you were his and his alone.

— Even if you were none the wiser.

As benevolent as you may appear, he knew you would never give a guy like him the time of day. Quinn was a lot of things, but stupid's never been one of them.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence if it weren’t for your shared smaller sessions on Thursday mornings. Just you and him… and ten other students, with the occasional appearance of your slacker TA—how romantic.

And if he couldn’t even get a moment alone with you, he definitely wouldn’t get a night inside of you, either.

So, he settles.

Quinn puts up with the bugs and tolerates the bushes, swallowing his pride (and his mortification), and takes what he can get.

He's accustomed to maneuvering in the dark—this stretch of pavement in particular—but he stumbles through the dimly lit street like he’s got two left feet that only grew in yesterday.

If you were privy to his impromptu audition for Bambi, you don’t mention it.

And if you clocked the obnoxious bulge tenting his jeans, you don’t acknowledge that, either.

Quinn isn’t entirely sure this is happening in his real, waking life; it’s far too good to be true.

This is not at all where he thought the night would go when your name flashed across the screen.

When he hesitantly clicked ‘accept’ and brought the phone to his ear, all while still palming himself to the memory of your head tossed back in ecstasy—the way it was before the lights went out abruptly —Quinn assumed he’d soon be gripping steel bars.

“H-How’d you get this number?” he asked after hearing his name.

You whispered it so ardently he could almost feel your breath on his cheek. It made him shiver and, momentarily, forget he’d likely been caught red-handed—literally.

“You made the group chat for our section, silly.”

Instinct compelled Quinn to chastise himself, but knowing you remembered that minute detail—a nothing of a fact, really—was enough to override the urge entirely.

And the complete lack of ire in your voice lured him into a false sense of security yet to be disproven.

He gulped and willed his hand to stop moving. “Oh, right. Uh, is there something you need? Did the outline for next week not go through? Because if not, I can just re-send it ri—”

“Meet me at the same door as last time,” you sliced through his rambling with a tone that was neither foreboding nor comforting.

Then, the line went dead.

For once, Quinn was grateful to be so eager to please. If not for that zeal, he couldn't have walked up to the service door of Delta Nu.

Risking the wrath of your underlings was never a goal of his, but considering how quickly they turned up their plastic noses at him when he came by to drop off notes from the class you missed, Quinn couldn’t imagine worse circumstances for Round Two.

When the backdoor swung in, you spoiled him in all your glory and the assurance of an empty house.

Out of pure exhaustion—and in his excitement to resume his ritual after a long week away—it slipped his mind; tonight is the best and biggest Kappa Tau rager.

Hence the ghost town

“Do you stand out there all night, stalker?”

Quinn’s head bobbed despite the apt insult. Then, he remembered you couldn’t see his reply, given that you were leading him up a staircase.

“M-Most nights, yeah.”

At that, you spun on your heel. Quinn shook like a leaf as you stepped forward. Gripping the railing, a hand on either side of his shrunken form, you invaded his personal space for the sole purpose of degrading him further.

The sneer hadn’t reached your eyes, but it speared him just the same. “God, you’re fucking pathetic.”

Quinn launched into an attempt at groveling, but his own verbal clumsiness rendered the effort futile.

However, his sputtered half-thoughts and litany of sentences that went nowhere were brought to a screeching halt by a single, manicured finger. Unable to process the touch and the wicked grin on your otherwise cherubic face concurrently, he froze.

His predicament worsened when you gently breached the tight seam of his lips to rest your interruption against his tongue.

You stepped closer; he saw stars. “I like that.”

It was at that moment Quinn realized you came straight down to the side-yard...because he could taste you. As you massaged his tongue with the pad of your finger, effectively rubbing your essence into his body, it took every ounce of strength to keep himself from busting right there in your foyer.

Still, he managed the mortification he sought to avoid.

“Are you… Are you humping me?” you barked with an incredulous snort.

Humiliation blurred his vision as you backed away from him; it wasn’t his fault your perfume elicited a Pavlovian bodily reaction.

You kept your finger in his mouth as you bit back genuine laughter, but that just made him harder.

“Y’know,” you hummed, contemplative. You paused to watch your pointer finger slowly thrust in and out of his needy mouth. Your smirk was noticeably wider when you spoke again. “My last boyfriend couldn’t even text me back—or remember that he was in a monogamous relationship.”

Quinn blinked. “Your last boyfriend?”

The question was garbled by your finger—and his own sucking. It didn’t matter, though. His reply wasn’t necessary.

At least, not yet.

“Mhmm, my last one.”

You repeated yourself as if you were speaking to a child and not to the grown man whose boner was digging into your skin.

It made him whimper. Your condescension was his kryptonite, apparently.

“But...I know my next one will be different; you’re too devoted to hurt me.”

He wasn’t given time to respond because as soon as you got your desired reaction—mewling akin to a bleating lamb and the whites of his eyes—you were dragging him up the remaining stairs and into the president’s suite.

Quinn’s spent countless hours wondering what your bedroom looked like, and even more fantasizing about what might happen if he ever saw it firsthand. His mouth splits after working up the nerve to compare the reality of your space to his mental notes, but before he can shove out any words, you’re backing him across the room with a devious glint in your eyes.

“W-What are you doing?” he asks when his back hits glass.

Right now, he’s pressed against his standing window into your most private moments. It feels wrong to be on this side of the wall.

Quinn gets none of the bubbly warmth he assumed he would if he ever found himself here. Instead, he feels unbelievably small as he drowns in a sea of poor choices.

“I think a little exhibitionism would be good for you, Hughes.”

"I-I don’t understand…”

You smile. His stupid heart flutters.

God, love’s fucking embarrassing.

Again, you crowd his space. This time, though, until there’s barely enough room between the window pane and your body for his wilted one. You press a single, fleeting kiss to his pulse point, your breath fanning over his clammy skin. His hitches in his throat.

“I want you to see things from my point of view.”

The words seep into his neck. Your intentions slam into him like a semi-truck going full speed. Anyone walking on the path—his path— would need only to venture a peek at your window to know exactly what was happening.

It would be too easy to watch him the way he’s watched you for weeks.

A taste of his own medicine.

The candy-coated threat shouldn’t have the effect that it does. Given how emotionally charged the air’s become—for him, at least—it makes sense for his body to get some wires crossed; the same sticky emotion causing him to wither in fear should not be making him harder than ever.

He isn’t expecting you to kiss him, so it takes Quinn’s mind a beat to catch up. Still, he melts into the affection like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Though, as soon as Quinn regains enough composure to actually participate, you kill the kiss as swiftly as you brought it to fruition.

He chases after your mouth, much to your amusement.

“What, sad there was no tongue?” you tease as if you weren't the one to ruined the moment.

Quinn doesn’t find you very funny right now.

“We’re going to play a little game.”

Your lips brush his as your hushed words march out, but he remains still. He knows better now than to ask questions prematurely. You hum in acknowledgment, satisfied.

Quinn beams. He's always been a quick study.

You take him by the wrist and guide him into the space you just vacated.

Physically, he knows he’s stronger. It wouldn’t take much to overpower you, but that means nothing in the face of your mental sway. Quinn can’t move because you don’t want him to—because you haven’t told him he can.

And any hope of gaining the upper hand crashes out onto the concrete the moment your bare knees hit the carpet.

Quinn knows he’s a dead man when your hands coast up his thighs.

“Put your hands on the window sill.” He does without hesitation. “Keep them there. You move, I stop. Understand?”

“Yes, I-I understand.”

“Good boy,” you say.

It’s more of a taunt than true praise, but his bulge twitches all the same before your eyes. The slight betrayal announces the internal chaos in the wake of the unexpected praise.

Quinn knew he liked that, but he didn’t want you to know it, too. What little control he managed to horde dissipates.

The delight on your face confirms the worst; you plan to do with that information what he hoped you wouldn’t. “God, I am going to have so much fun with you.”

It's an uphill battle, trying to keep his eyes open and his hands where they are supposed to be.

Quinn tastes nirvana when you finally flick the tip of your tongue over his cherry-red tip, the skin having adopted a luminous intensity courtesy of the few street lamps nearby. Glowing, after too much teasing.

Normally, he veered toward edging and denial JOI content, especially if the voice actor sounded anything like you. Tonight, he’s never hated a concept more. Still, he's making sure he behaves because he knows you’ll reward him handsomely.

You can be sweet when you want to be.

Like right now, for instance. You’re snuggling your face into his body, generously nuzzling his painfully stiff length with your cheeks. Whenever the friction mounts to anything substantial, you pull back to decorate his hips and inner thighs with little pecks.

They're reminiscent of the chaste parting kisses you’ve given his cheek in the past just to make him squirm.

You lap up what you can of the escaping arousal, hungrily drinking down all he has to offer. You do your best, you really do, but there’s just too much. The successor to each puddle arrives faster than you expect, and quicker than you can keep up with.

So, you stop trying.

You’re both so desperate, anyway.

Quinn bites back a scream when your dominant hand loops around the base of his cock; the cruel, beautiful beast only settling once the middle finger finally reaches the accompanying thumb. The pressure is light, but encompassing enough to make him dizzy.

So dizzy, in fact, that he actually appreciates your one rule.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what torture you enact next.

Blinking up at him, you rub the leaking tip over and between your lips. With one hand braced against his bare thigh and the other unchanged, you gently tug downward as you suckle the bulbous head.

The sensation is unlike anything Quinn has felt in his limited experience, which he wears like a scarlet letter. The little huffs that make him feel like a dog panting in mid-July remind him that while he's gotten a blowjob or two before, they were nothing like this one. They weren't from you. It might be unfair to lump those instances in with the magic of your mouth.

You can’t compete where you don’t compare.

So, Quinn showers you in soft, airy whispers. Even when you pull back until only the ridge preceding the tip rests past your spit-stained lips, he goes on and on about how good your mouth feels and how much he adores you.

And, if he were slightly more coherent, maybe he would’ve caught the obvious squeeze of your thighs at his flushed cheeks and the reciprocal effect your lazy teasing.

His hips go rogue when you try to swallow him a little deeper, jerking forward and sending the firm tip to the back of your throat. Naturally, you lose your grip and gag around him, your eyes watering more and more with each subsequent unintended impact.

Quinn is bashfully apologetic, but you’re quick to remove him from your mouth.

“Shouldn’t you already know I like to choke on it?” your raspy voice goads.

You shoot him a wink before hollowing your cheeks to accommodate his wide girth, your tongue flattened and pressed tautly to the underside.

The shallow movement triggers images he shouldn’t have, bright and flashing through his head: of you, on your knees like this for that jerk-off ex-boyfriend of yours—of you, from a distance and fuzzy, forever immortalized in a single film unit pinned to the back wall of his closet.

Quinn does know you like to choke on it. He knows you like to be choked, too.Quinn knows a lot of things about you—likes, dislikes, sleep patterns, study habits… sexual preferences.

Your bizarre reaction to his Peeping Tom antics makes him wonder what you might know about him…

He’s given no time to fall down that rabbit hole on account of your nose brushing his public bone once more. Quinn cannot fathom how his length disappeared down your throat so smoothly, and it's useless to try, given how thoroughly muddied his head’s become with your tongue gently petting the delicate skin of his sack.

With your lips stretched around the base—and your thumb tucked into your palm to subdue innate reflex—you begin massaging what you can. Until you realize quinn has absolutely zero volume control. As crazy as his loud and breathy moans make you, you’ve come too far only to get this far.

Viscous, glasslike threads hang between your withheld mouth and his anguished cock in the lower fringe of your vision. Above you, Quinn is struggling, whimpering like a lost puppy caught in a storm.

Lips parted ever-so-slightly, his forehead rests against the frame, limp. He's white-knuckling the historic, but recently refurbished wood, trembling in your barely-there hold because he’s that aroused. Mindlessly teetering on the border of “too much” and “not enough," all the while mumbling unintelligibly between choppy breaths.

You could get drunk on those pretty sounds; you’re sure of it.

Maybe next time, you will.

“I know I said everyone was out, but I don’t think you want Ms. Patty busting through the door before you have a chance to.”

The thought of your sixty-year-old, strict-as-fuck house mother catching him with his pants around his ankles is just horrific enough to coax him a bit closer to the ground.

Quinn bites his lip in a show of good faith.

“Good boy,” you hum your approval while stroking him. “Now, tell me what you want. Tell me what you need to cum in my mouth, Quinn.”

“I need—f-fuck!” he grumbles, at war with himself. Ultimately, primal need overpowers the fickle social invention that is a shame: “I need you to play with… with my b-balls again—please.”

Delaying his wish, you wrap your mouth around him one last time. You need to elicit that one-of-one sudden, uneven intake of air—the giveaway gasp, the tremor of truth. Insatiable, you fill your throat to the brink. The distinct, thick scent of the day’s natural musk swirling with the sheen of hard work on the ice keeps you there until your vision blurs and drool pools under your tongue.

Motivated by a sticky, overdue reward and a whine bursting from deep in Quinn’s throat—the sweet sound of total surrender—you succumb to your own desire to make him feel the best he’s ever felt.

You lick at them gingerly at first, and with a doughy, flattened tongue. You meant to test the waters, to take things slow and drag out his orgasm, but a string of colorful language tumbles from his pretty, pink mouth to derail your plans.

With the dam crumbling, you have to suck one into your hot, wet mouth.

His reaction does not disappoint.

Your spit-soaked hands rise to his recently abandoned length as you devote equal attention to the pair with your mouth. Quinn swells and heavies on your tongue and everything is throbbing.

Including the tight heat between your knees, pulsing around the mere thought of him fucking you there instead.

“S’close, ‘m gonna c-cum soon—Shit!”

Amidst the drawn-out expletive, you detach in order to aim his release on his behalf (though very reluctantly), knowing full-well Quinn is far too gone to be capable of anything.

His eyelids flutter seconds before snapping open, intent to watch you watch him fall apart.

Oh, and fall apart he does…

Crude and ear-piercing, and over faster than either of you would’ve preferred, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little flattered by it. You enjoy how easy he is—how pliable.

His hips jerk too easily and his hands wander aimlessly, and you can’t bring yourself to chastise him, entirely consumed by the show unfolding at your hand. It's like he can’t help himself; can’t help but twitch and drip, can’t help but whimper and beg for anything and everything.

He won’t even let you pull away to catch your breath without whining. At one point, whether by accident or designed to keep you from retreating, Quinn’s knees squeezed together, effectively caging you in from both sides.

A messy concoction of cum, spit, and tears paints the lower half of your face. Quinn’s chest heaves as he watches it collect and drip down your neck and into the valley of your chest, soiling your delicate pajamas beyond repair.

Unfazed, you leave the emotionality to him while you lick your fingers clean. Once you’ve finished, you mop up the dissenter spray on your cheeks, chin, and décolletage, and greedily swallow it down, too. It's when you delve between your tits to scoop out the remainder of his spill that Quinn just about keels over.

He falls back against the window, and you shift back into your heels.

He rights his pants, and you wipe your mouth with the corner of your bathrobe.

For a while, you observe one another, having not been this close—or alone—together before.

That’s not to say you didn’t notice him, though.

You actually struggled not to, and it drove your now-ex insane. His enmity toward Quinn came to a head this afternoon. Unable to deny your raging, juvenile crush, you finally pulled the trigger on something that was a long time coming—and for reasons beyond that not-so-unfounded jealousy.

“C-Can I have a head-start before you call the c-cops?” Quinn asks.

He’s so timid, you can’t help but laugh. He blinks down, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he rifles through yours, searching for malicious intent or knotted strings—fury behind an unspoken threat.

You let him look; this is a conclusion he needs to reach without you holding his hand.

When the investigation runs its course having turned up nothing dubious, he slides down to the floor beside you. He’s reverted to avoiding eye contact, unfortunately. Quinn watches the tremor in his fingers instead.

“I am sorry, y'know, about… Well, uh, you know.”

You find the way he dances around committing a felony (repeatedly) weirdly endearing.

While you very well could put him out of his palpable misery—you can actually smell it on him—there's no fun to be found in that. As such, you force Quinn to wrestle with his words a bit longer.

Eventually, you offer him a shrug that isn’t the least bit pacifying.

“You’re going to make it up to me, don’t worry.”

His eyes snap to yours just as you knew they would. His throat quivers in the wake of a sharp gulp.

The nervous tick cracks your nonchalant demeanor. You roll your eyes. “If you’re going to keep watching, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Quinn’s eyes narrow, perplexed. You grin in anticipation.

“My vibrator’s dead, and I can’t find the right charger. Time to get your ass off the bench, Hughes.”

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julianalvarez9 · 2 years ago

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you are in love / christian pulisic

author's note: saw @dinonuggiesforliferz asking for some fluffy christian and thought that i could try to write something to unlock my writers block so here we go 🤭

summary: the four times he wants to say that he loves you, and the one time he finally does.

word count: 1.9k

01.

christian and you had been dating for almost two months now, after having met through mutual friends. you had nothing to do with the thrills of the fame he had been so accustomed after all these years in the spotlight, and he couldn't be more infatuated by the breath of fresh air that your presence brought onto his life. today was the first time you came to the bridge, after a bit of begging and a few failed tries from your boyfriend. of course, he understood your motives and why you didn't want to risk being seen there, due to the spark of rumors it would light up, so he didn't push you to it: but you knew he really needed your support for this match, and you couldn't say no to that.

the adrenaline that comes with the win fills your veins, and you rush to the tunnels following the team a few minutes after they finished clapping for the fans that came to support them. you wait for christian outside, making small talk with the people that were at the box with you, other girlfriends and families from the players. one by one they start to come out: you see them greeting their loved ones, some even rushing out to leave the building for some well deserved celebrations after today's achievement. you don’t quite know all of them yet, but you can quickly recognize mason, ben and kai, some of christian's most close friends, and they kindly join the conversation you had going on while waiting on your boyfriend.

the first time the the sensation comes, christian feels it on his cheeks, and the way that they warm up at the sight of you talking so freely with his mates. he doesn't get it at first, why he can't contain the smile that's painted on his face and the wrinkles of happiness adorning his soft eyes. he walks up quickly to you and embraces your figure from behind, lips coming to kiss your temple: an indirect form of saying the three words without actually verbalizing them. you hum at the warmth his body brings, and reach your cold hands into his hot ones to find some kind of heat in the cold london weather. even if christian doesn't quite understand what he feels yet, mason smiles at the sight of you two, because he knows.

02.

the day had been sunny to begin with, prompting christian and you to take a walk to the park near his home. the stroll was peaceful, not a minute of uncomfortable silence between you two while he talks about his day and how training went, and then the conversations drifts into your studies and your family. at first, you hadn't sensed the little rain droplets kissing your skin, and when you became aware of it, it was too late. you should have seen it coming, already familiar with the changing weather in london, but you're too busy trying to catch christian, laughs and agitated breaths filling the empty streets after everyone had seemingly looked for refuge from the pouring storm. even if you did it as quickly as you could, matching his pace had proven to be rather impossible due to him being a literal top athlete, and the two of you reached the final destination completely drenched.

your boyfriend quickly hurries you into the bathroom so you could take a warm shower, and even when you tell him that you wouldn't get sick if you stay in your wet clothes, he has already closed the door before you can say anything else. christian leaves a change of clothes for you to use, and you sigh contently when you can recognise the smell of him in them. by the time you go back down, the rain has already stopped and he's wearing nice, dry clothes, eliciting a smile that you can’t help but show at the sight of the man in front of you, drying his wet hair with the towel at hand.

christian feels it again, now on his chest. the view of you swimming into his clothes way too big for your figure tugging at his heart, pleading him to say the three words he's been forcing to keep to himself. he shuts the thought quickly, before it can cloud his judgment and convince him that muttering his feelings would be the right thing to do at the moment. it's not like he's purposely hiding them from you, but he fears it's still too soon, and he doesn't want to risk it. "you look good," he forces himself to say instead, drowning out the other three words he wants to let out. you snort at his compliment, blurting out "you only say it because i'm your girlfriend" and stopping yourself right before saying the remainder of the sentence. you only say it because i'm your girlfriend and you love me, you want to conclude, but neither of you had categorized your feelings into love previously, and since you don't want to assume, you have to remind yourself that it's only been three months. don't scare him off.

"i say it because it's true," christian finishes, planting a kiss on your forehead and closing his eyes in the process, pouring all his affection into the little gesture.

03.

it's one of the few weekends he's got free, and you had invited christian to spend the afternoon at your house, watching movies and cooking dinner together. the evening had proven to be just what you two needed after a few weeks of not seeing each other due to his busy schedule and the hectic exam season you had in college. unfortunately, you were still sleep deprived after days and nights of studying nonstop to ace your tests, so after the delicious dish you two had made from scratch and the second movie of the night, you fell asleep on christian’s arms. he noticed almost instantly that you had dozed off when you failed to comment about the last dumb joke that the protagonist had said, and at first, he debated about what he should do; whether to let you sleep it off or wake you up. he also didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, being the first time that he would stay the night at your house, so he decided that the best choice was taking you upstairs, to your bedroom, and he would sleep in the living room.

christian feels it on his fingertips, digging softly into your skin while carrying your figure up the stairs. when you notice the movement, still drowsy with sleep, you protest against it, murmuring something about being too heavy for him to carry but he denies, tucking you tighter against him. when he finally reaches your bedroom, kicking the door softly so he can make his way in, he lays you carefully on the mattress. christian looks at you adoringly, eyes full of love at the mere sight of seeing you so peaceful on your bed, and that's when he feels it slipping past his lips, the three words he's been trying to say for a while now.

“stay,” you mutter, voice almost inaudible, before he can say anything. your eyes are still closed, but you show signs of consciousness while holding his hand, the one he had been previously stroking your cheek with. “i don’t want to sleep alone tonight”.

04.

christian was never one to enjoy going out if it was just him. he was always dragged by his friends, who had recently found out that if they convinced you to go too, the probabilities of chelsea’s number 10 to be at the bar increased by 100%. he doesn't really like to drink or dance either, but just being seated by your side with a beer in hand doest it for him. hearing mason and ben speaking nonsense and making everyone around laugh definitely helps, even more when he gets to hear you giggling too.

he doesn’t remember a time where he had seen you drunk, but he’s amazed at the sight. the inhibitions that made you appear shy to others were melting off by the alcohol, and you were cracking jokes that made everyone around cackle with laughter. it doesn’t last long, though, and christian finds out that you're the cuddly type of drunk, but he doesn't mind it either. he finds it funny how you insist on telling him that you're only a bit tipsy, and even if he pretends to believe you, the giggles that escape your lips at hearing the dumbest puns only confirms your slightly intoxicated state to him.

christian feels the three words at the tip of his tongue while you two hop onto the car that will take you back home. he doesn't say them this time, because he wants you to know that he really means it, and it's not a result of the alcohol cursing through his veins. tomorrow, he promises to himself, and hides it back where it came from, the soft spot on his heart reserved for you only. the words linger at the back of his mind, living there as a form of reminder for his sober self. you kiss his cheek on the back of the cab while giggling softly like a schoolgirl with a newfound crush, and the soft gesture only reassures what he already knows.

05.

the rays of sunshine are the ones responsible for waking christian up the next morning. he doesn’t feel quite as bad as he had thought he would, but still, he curses himself for not closing the blinds the night before and making him wake up way too soon. it takes a second for christian to remember that you’re lying beside him, and he slowly turns around to see your beautiful face once again. except, you're not there, and the sheets beneath his fingers feel cold, making him frown in confusion. had you gone back home without waking him up? were you gone?

he hears sounds coming from the kitchen while he’s making his way downstairs, and the brightest smile shows on his lips when he sees you plating what he guesses is breakfast. when you lift your eyes you see him, leaning against the doorframe, his perfect dark curls everywhere only accentuating the fact that he had just woken up and instantly left the bedroom to look for you. “i made us breakfast,” you shyly say after coming close to his figure and getting on your tiptoes, planting the softest kiss on his lips. christian feels it lighting up his brown eyes then, warming them into a caramel shade, only for you to see. that’s when he feels the words erupting from his pores, and realizes there's no point in hiding them any longer. "i love you," he says, warmth spreading all over his body not only due to your own, tightly pressed against his, but for the relief he feels after finally mumbling the three little words he's been trying to say to you for way too long. he has finally said it, and though he doesn't expect you to say it back, his heart grows twice its size when you actually do, the three words muffled into his chest, where your head rests.

"i love you more, sweetheart".

#football imagine #football imagines #football x y/n #football x reader #football x you #christian pulisic x you #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic fluff

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

Text

throttle - jjk | five

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jk and yoongi showdown (by showdown i mean they just glare at each other a bit), THE BUSAN CHRONICLES BEGIN!!! anyone who has read throttle know how important busan is for these babies he he, depictions of sex that aren't smut (i'd argue?), hair pulling, she's on top, existential crisis thoughts during it all, unprotected sex, creampie, HELLO KIM TAEHYUNG, he's a sleaze, ANGST, cc watches jk wank himself off <3, a lil mutual masturbation moment, cute kisses <33, cums on her tummy <3, character insight! backstory! ugh! i love the busan chapters! i'll upload the rest of the busan chapters now too

word count - 18.5k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook has a face straight from a nineties rom-com. Boyish charm, eyes that linger; teeth that nibble on thin lips, and a smile that breaks like sun through a thunderous sky.

You're convinced that if he actually was a movie star, you'd watch every single film he was in - twice, at the very minimum. Maybe one would even become your comfort movie, for the days when real people felt like too much to handle; solace through the silver screen.

His nose slopes and points so delicately at its tip, that you always find yourself staring; marvelling. Wondering how an angle so simple could have you at such a loss for words. Eyes are wide and dark, they're like a vat of melted down dark chocolate, slowly hypnotising you with every stir of the rich delicacy.

It's when he smiles, though, that you really find yourself lost in everything he is. It's radiant, the way those plunging, round eyes of his crease at the sides, a deep line forming beneath them. His brows raise, and the dewy skin on his cheeks begins to tighten as they apple, and then his teeth - pristine, you think, ignoring any imperfection - are on show. You're home.

Home in his laugh, in his happiness, in the way that he always seems to be like this around you. Home in how he always finds an excuse to be touching you in some capacity, home in the sanctuary of unspoken words, and home in the hopes that maybe one day, he'll be brave enough to say them.

Hope is a funny thing, though. So much to gain and yet so much to lose - but if you never really had it, can it be considered a loss at all?

You're musing about this when Yoongi comes in through the side door, palms slick with motor oil, a few streaks staining his face and his shirt from where he's been a little bit careless. He cocks a brow, and throws you a cautious, coy smile.

"What are you doing here?" He angles his body away from you, almost as if he suspects you're about to throw something at him. His tone is slow, reserved, a little bit accusatory, if you do say so.

"My job?" You question - but you know exactly why he's asking such a thing.

You're always getting Jieun to cover you these days. He thinks you've barely worked enough shifts to cover the rent this month - and he's right.

He just doesn't realise that you have money sitting in the bank from stocks and bonds that had been purchased in your name when you were just a few months old. Rich people shit. Shit you wished you didn't understand, but were thankful for nonetheless. You may not be on good terms with your family, but you're not ignorant of the fortune you've had as a result of their choices. Having the ability to run from them is a privilege in itself.

"You still remember how to do it?" He teases. "Don't forget to offer the customers a receipt, and make sure you always pull up the right pump tab. Don't wanna be charging a soccer mom for some asshole's jeep tank."

"I remember, Yoongs," you say with a roll of your eyes and a narrowly hidden smile. He likes this smile of yours; the one you don't want to give but can't help but deliver regardless. "Thanks for the crash course, though." You thread your fingers together and stretch them in front of you. The way they click together has Yoongi looking at you like you've just shagged his dad. "Sure you don't wanna work my shifts all the time?"

"I'm sure," he nods. "Not a chance in hell I'm covering for you again."

And then there's that look on your face; the one he can never resist indulging in.

"Don't you dare," he says.

But you've always been up for a challenge.

"Yoooongs," you sing, voice high and sweet, like a hit of coke up his nose and down to the back of his throat, washed clean with Ribena. He knows what's coming, and he knows he won't like it - but he does like the way you bat your lashes for him. "Watcha doing this weekend?"

There's a resistance, but the invisible string that tugs on his lips is stronger than he cares to admit. He smiles, and you know he's where he's always been; wrapped right around your little finger.

"Why?" he deadpans, not hiding his infatuation well. "You asking me out?"

He laughs as if it's not what he wants more than almost anything in the world; as if he doesn't know it's the last thing in the world you'll be asking.

You laugh too, but it's to cover the guilt that weighs down on you. You thought he'd be over it by now.

"Not exactly."

"You should really start dating someone who respects your work schedule," Yoongi jokes, but it's kinda totally not a joke. He doesn't say it, but he'd always respect your work schedule. Would never ask you to make compromises for him; would never ask you to prioritise him.

But Jungkook doesn't do that, either. It's your choice.

"I'm not dating anyone," you say. It's childish because even though you aren't technically dating Jungkook, you're not exactly not dating him either. The 'what are we' talk hasn't happened yet. You're not ready for it. He won't ever be ready for it. You don't know this though, so you just think you're at the same stage, which is a whole lot more comforting. Think that things will progress naturally. Fall into place when they need to.

"But you're about to ask me to cover for you so you can go on a date, no?"

"...No?"

I mean, you're not.

You're not going on a date with Jungkook. You're going to his childhood town. So you're telling the truth - no dates involved.

But fuck, he'd held your hand as you stood beneath his shower together, telling you all about how he was going to take you to his favourite places, and you'd giggled when he told you that he'd force you to go swimming in the ocean with him, even if it was below zero.

You'd told him that it was fine, that you love winter beaches, and then you'd challenged him to a race from sand to shoreline. He'd agreed, of course, and then your laughter had dissolved into the pitter-patter of his shower, the warm water running over your body like a poor imitation of his hands, which were preoccupied elsewhere.

So no, you're not going on a date.

You're not dating Jungkook, full stop.

But you are existing together. Most nights these days. He works a night shift here and there, and sometimes you just need a little alone time - but more often than not, you'll head to his after work and wait until he finishes whatever he's working on. Your toothbrush has moved from the bathroom cabinet to the pot by the sink.

Your presence is undeniable, even if you are in denial.

Feels like you're lying to everyone, including yourself.

Especially yourself, actually.

Yoongi's back stiffens, his soft gaze that once was on you hardening as he glances out towards the forecourt. He nods curtly to his line of vision, and you know. He doesn't have to say anything because you can read Yoongi like a book.

His eyes look green in this light.

Beneath his breath, he mutters, "Speak of the devil."

And what a devil he is; dressed down in a pair of dark jeans with a black raincoat pulled over his head. You're down so bad that you're enamoured with the fact he's dressed for the weather, as if he's not a fully grown man very much capable of making such choices.

You think it's cute, and imagine him looking out the window as he was getting ready, heading back to his wardrobe for the anorak upon seeing the rain.

By the time you turn back around to tell Yoongi to fuck off, he's gone; snuck out the back to finish whatever work he was doing. He's not interested in watching you play happy families with some fucker he knows isn't worth your time. Jungkook could have been a brain surgeon, a charity worker, a fucking saint, and Yoongi still wouldn't have cared.

And by 'wouldn't have cared', he'd have been internally seething and ignoring the very existence of him, regardless.

"Just can't stay away, can you?" You say as you turn on your heel to walk away from Jungkook as soon as he enters the store. You're getting around to the cashiers' side of the till, creating distance.

Not because you want it, but because you think it might make him want you more.

It does.

"The cashier at Kang's ain't half as pretty," he flirts, and you swear that smile of his might send you to an early grave.

"Checking out other women, are we?"

"I'm here, aren't I? Not at Kang's?"

You want to argue with him just for sake of the flirt, but that anorak is really doing a number on you. All you wanna do is squish his cheeks and tell him how cute he looks in polyurethane-coated nylon.

"Touche," you grin, but it's muffled as he rests as palm on the kiosk and uses his other hand to pull you closer and steal a kiss. It's a risky move. Something he shouldn't really be doing. Not when there are three windows behind him.

He's on display like a puppy in the pet shop windows downtown. Anyone could drive by. Pull in. Anyone. Daegu ain't as big as it likes to pretend to be.

"So, I'm lying," he says, voice sweet and low. "I actually do have an ulterior motive."

"Mhmph," you breathe through your nose, rolling your eyes. "You're a boy, Jungkook. I know you didn't drop by just to ask how my day was."

"Okay, one - ouch. And two - I always want to know how your day is."

For a chronic liar, he's refreshingly honest when he wants to be.

"But?" You encourage, not wanting to skip the flirting, but anxious of the outcome for whatever it is he's here for.

He pokes at the bagged sweets like he so often does, his tattooed fingers gently prodding and pushing them about with no real purpose. He appears distracted, but he's anything but. You know this now; know it's just a Kookism.

"Buuuut," he takes his time, dragging out the word because he knows it will drive you insane. "I was thinking why don't we just head over to..." he pauses. Suddenly feels uncomfortable declaring the plans you have so publically. What if he hadn't noticed someone behind a shelving unit? What if your coworker is listening in? He carries on as if he didn't skip it, but waffles so much you don't have a chance to interject. "Straight after work? We go straight from here? You finish round about now, don't you? I know we were gonna wait till the morning, but I got itchy feet, baby. Wanna get outta this place."

You nod as his questions pour out like a broken faucet. You don't have to worry about your shifts, 'cause Jieun's already swapped with you. You'd struck a deal to work her typical early shift that day in return for her covering you over the rest of the weekend.

Truthfully, you weren't going to ask Yoongi to cover for you earlier - you were just going to ask if he'd watch the shop for 5 minutes until Jieun arrived so that you could escape a little earlier than you were meant to. He'd only just started his shift, opting for a later rota than usual. Weird, but not weird enough for you to question it too hard.

"Lemme just get changed," you smile, having come straight to work from Jungkook's apartment that morning.

The way you're always in each other's company, it's as if he'll suffocate without you around - which admittedly does feel like it's true, but it's more so that he's scared of what could happen if he's not there watching over you. Scared that someone will interfere with what he's doing. Scared the rug will get pulled from beneath your feet before he's gotten a chance to scatter pillows on the ground beneath you.

Running late, you'd skipped dropping by your place that morning. You weren't feeling all that fresh, despite the shower you'd had at his that morning, thanks to the second-day clothes you'd arrived in, so had opted for the uniform spares in the back rooms. The sizings were all off, and you're pretty sure you felt filthier in them than your own clothes, but it was rare for you to ever feel all that hot in your work uniform.

Jungkook is left alone in the shop as you head to the backrooms. He figures your colleague will be out soon enough to man the tills, so goes about looking a little busy. Eyes up the stale pastries that are definitely past their best in the cabinet next to the till. Reads the magazine covers, and wonders why the fuck people care so much about celebrities.

It's as he's flicking through a copy of Drivers Weekly that he hears a cough. "We prefer it if people don't read the magazines in the shop."

His eyes land in the direction of the voice, towards a man who is shorter than stature than Jungkook, but somehow feels taller. Broader. Stronger. A better man. Competition.

"You must be Yoongi, right?" Jungkook nods, voice a little hoarse. He's on edge. Doesn't like the way Yoongi is looking at him as if he can see straight into his soul - not that he'd find much there.

That's the trouble that comes with making a deal with the devil; he'll eat you from the inside out. It won't be long before Jungkook implodes, bones caving in on themselves. He's got a little while left to go until then, though. Maybe some major organs left to harvest. A little bit of liver for all the soju he's gonna need to drink to get over this, and the tiny sliver of his heart that belongs to someone else.

To you.

"Heard a lot about you," he continues.

Yoongi laughs. It isn't kind. "Funny. I've heard fuck all about you."

He stays stoic as he watches Jungkook purse his lips; shoulders rising ever so slightly and dipping again as he nods, letting out a scornful laugh. "Right."

Despite all he's done, all the stupid little mistakes he's made, Jungkook isn't dumb. He knows how to read people - and currently, Yoongi is a pair of burning red capital letters: F. U.

A petty remark rests on the tip of his tongue, one that could spark and ignite the dry wood of the bridge between the two men. There's no water beneath it yet. Jungkook would incinerate the entire structure.

Best not to. Not yet, at least.

"Hey babe," he calls instead, loud enough for you to hear, and direct enough to crawl beneath Yoongi's skin. You muffle a response to let him know you're listening. "I'm just gonna wait in the car, alright?"

"Okay!"

"Don't keep me waiting too long," he flirts, but he's looking at Yoongi. He's smirking. Eyes narrow. Winning. "We've got a hotel room to check into."

It's childish and he knows it, but he wants Yoongi to know exactly who's gonna be making you cum that evening.

You're cringing, knowing that Yoongi will be mentally imploding, but you also think that Jungkook is none the wiser. "Go wait in the car!"

"There's a place just off Gwangalli," Yoongi says, his attempt at looking unbothered fairly convincing - but not to Jungkook. He's convinced that everyone wants to fuck you just as much as he does, so would have always figured Yoongi was jealous. "A shoreline hotel. She really loves it. Maybe you should book a room there next time."

The insinuation is clear; Yoongi knows where you like to stay. For all Jungkook knows, maybe he's even stayed there with you.

But Busan is Jungkook's old stomping ground, and funnily enough, he does actually listen to you. He knows all about the hotel you love, and the fact you've never actually stayed there. Just dreamt of it; bridge views over the harbour, sleek marble coating the walls.

He also knows that it's overpriced and that there's a far better hotel just a few blocks up that doesn't get half as much attention. It's the place he's booked - 'cause fuck taking you home to meet the family - for the weekend.

Apart from the final night.

He's got you the hotel you love for the final night.

He'll say goodbye to Busan with you, just as you feel like you're saying hello.

There's an acute awareness that things between the pair of you won't always end happily, so he's trying to make the memories sweet. Giving you happy endings to daydream about when you forget that you hate him, as you inevitably, eventually will.

He's so caught up thinking about it that he forgets to reply to Yoongi. His train of thought is interrupted by Yoongi once more, his voice low this time. He's trying to avoid being heard by you.

"Just... be careful with her."

Silence in the wake of Yoongi's request deafens them both. His words are weighted. Jungkook knows Yoongi is telling him to take care of you, but part of him can't help but wonder if it's a warning. Maybe he should be careful of you, instead.

He's not the only one with secrets. Naive of him to assume he is.

"Thought you were waiting in the car?" You smile as you finally emerge.

Jungkook's eyes are on you immediately, and suddenly you're not the only one with a chime in your stomach. There's one in his too, and it's humming to the beat of his heart.

He'd already figured that you'd stolen one of his shirts before he woke, thanks to the fact your dress was hooked over the back of his desk chair that morning. It's grey and faded, a billion sizes too big, resting just below your midthighs. You're wearing tights again, because of course you are.

He knows, within about a second, that he isn't gonna be able to make it to Busan without being inside of you at least once. There's gotta be a side lane close by that you won't get caught in. Shit. Maybe he should just take you in the back rooms right now. Yoongi'd get over it, he's sure.

Cheeks a little hot, Jungkook is cringing at himself as he feels the blood rush to his cock. He can't be getting a semi in a GS-fuckin'-25. Wouldn't be the first time, but-

"Kook?"

"Sorry," he says with a smile, and pretends as if he was listening all along. "Was just talking with - sorry, what was it again? Yooji?-"

"Yoongi," you correct sweetly, eyes so smitten that Yoongi thinks stabbing himself in the eye with a motor oil dipstick would be less painful.

"Yeah, that. Didn't really how much we have in common. Both love our cars, real penchant for good soju..." Both wanna rail you so hard you forget your own name. "Interesting guy."

You look over to Yoongi, and it's clear as anything that he doesn't agree with a single word of what Jungkook is saying -but you think Jungkook is trying, and that only makes those eyes of yours even drunker in lo-

"You not have a hotel to get to?" Yoongi grimaces.

"Pollution's bad today, baby," Jungkook mumbles softly into your hair, ignoring Yoongi. It's said out of concern for you, but also for himself.

It's easier for him if your face is a little obscured; easier to deny that you're the one he's holding onto for dear life as he leads you out of the shop. You think nothing of it, pulling up the mask that had been resting below your chin before the cold wind gets a chance to hit your face.

He's not wrong - the midday skies are clouded, a thick smog obscuring the mountain peaks that you love to look at so much. You love the winter sun, but it has you wishing for rain. It always clears the skies a little more; brightens the world up.

Daegu is dreamy, in the obscure, nightmarish kind of way that made you eat cheese before bed as a child. The best kind of dreams were always the ones that made you feel something - and as Jungkook starts up the pony, you're terrified.

It's not a big deal. Going to Busan is casual. But being invited into a world that is exclusively his? Well, that's not casual at all.

It's weighted and deliberate, and intentional. He wants you there. Wants you in every aspect of his life, and yet you haven't even had the 'what are we' conversation yet.

You wait until Jieun arrives, just a minute later, before you make your departure. She says goodbye with a knowing look, and Yoongi is already out back working on breaking up a written-off car that came in for parts earlier that morning.

Jungkook's hand is on your back as he guides you out, the mask he had insisted on you wearing for air pollution purposes obscuring your face. It doesn't stop his eyes from darting all over the place, making sure he hasn't missed anyone lurking. He knows he's getting sloppy; that he could trip up at any point, and fall at the feet of the men who had sent him into your shop all those weeks ago.

But as the pair of you pull onto the highway, your dainty hand resting at the top of his thigh, nothing but the open road ahead of you and the smell of your perfume wrapping around his senses, he doesn't care.

He'd do it all again, he thinks.

In fact, he thinks he'd kiss you sooner, just to get a few more in. Your days are numbered. He knows you're not gonna last long enough to see the cherries blossom, and maybe it's better that way.

When he got into this mess, he was in search of a spring day to break; the seasons to change, and life to renew. The deeper he gets, the more futile he realises that dream was. You're the only thing he wants to see bloom, these days.

Such a shame he has to cut you from your roots, and watch you wilt instead.

────────────

Jungkook doesn't know what 'home' feels like anymore, and hasn't done for quite some time, now. He doesn't know what it feels like to be completely content, nor at ease, within his own body.

Sometimes, though, when he's behind the wheel, the balls of his feet pressed to the pedals, he thinks it might feel close.

When the scent of gasoline seeps through the vents, and a toxic combination of burnt rubber and wiper fluid clouds the atmosphere behind his tinted windows, it seems like he could have a grasp on what it means to be 'home'. Or to have one, at least.

Maybe that's why he clings to the idea of you so much, and the way that your hair smells like gasoline.

It's a trick of the mind; a subtle deception that perhaps you could feel like 'home', too.

He thinks of this as his car rolls onto a street he hasn't visited in what must be years, by this point.

He's silent, glancing over to where you nap peacefully in his passenger's seat. Light scatters through the branches of trees which are yet to bloom, refracting as it hits the pale stone in your necklace. The underside of your chin is painted in rays of rainbow light. Your throat, too. Impossible, he thinks, for someone to be so ethereal without even so much as trying. Thinks that you're magic.

But magic isn't real. He knows that deep down, beneath the scent of your hair and the taste of your rainbow stained skin, you're not real, either.

You're an illusion; a projection, just like that refracted light.

Still, he smiles as you begin to stir, neck aching from the uncomfortable position you've had it in for the last thirty minutes.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he teases, while you squeak and stretch your body out at far as you can. Palms on the dash, your head feels all stuffy and horrible, the nap only serving to make you feel even more sleepy. You bring the back of your hand to cover your mouth as you yawn, brows raised, eyes closed.

"We here?" you mumble, turning to face the road, only to find the view is obscured by cargo lorries ferrying things to the harbour.

The shipping container next to you is a deep navy blue, its history etched onto the corrugated steel with white chalk markers. It rusts at the joints, paint flaking off and scattering into the atmosphere. It's remarkable, you think, how even things built to sustain the most brutal of weathers can still have areas of weakness.

"Just about," he nods, turning the radio up a little louder now that you're awake. His phone is plugged into the aux for once, but it sounds like it's still your playlist going. It's not. He's been crafting his own, taking note of the songs you like, and adding his own into the mix. Subtle integration of you into his life, perhaps. "About 10 minutes away from the hotel."

You hum a response as you sit up a little straighter, a frown on your face. You hadn't meant to sleep through the journey, but late nights with him and early starts at the gas station have really been doing a number on you.

Jungkooks thinks he's benefitted from your sleepiness, as it made you so bloody endearing that he found himself wanting to let you sleep, instead of pulling into a vacant side-road to sort out the awkward hard-on he's had since the moment he saw you in GS25 earlier on that day.

There had been a brief moment, when the pair of you had stopped by your place to pick up your travel bag, that he'd considered making a move - but you were excited to get going, and so was he.

Why waste time in Daegu? He wanted out of there. Wanted to be elsewhere, anywhere. Wanted to hold your hand in public, with your mask off and your hood down, just to watch the way other men would double-take you.

Maybe because it's unknown - being with you, without fear of getting caught - or maybe it's because his intentions with you have changed in recent weeks. Whatever reason it is doesn't matter, though. The outcome will still be the same.

You watch as the cargo trucks begin to roll into gear, and then you're chasing the sun, heading towards your destination. Jungkook hasn't told you anything about where you're staying, just that he thinks you'll like it. Part of you hopes it will be that hotel you love along the shoreline, and as he takes a right onto the next road over, edging closer and closer to the shore, you think you might be in luck.

These hopes are short-lived, though, when you see a sign with the branding you know so well - even if you've only ever seen it online - and watch it disappear in the rearview mirror.

Funnily enough, there's no disappointment that follows this realisation. You couldn't care less where you stay. All you seem to care about is who you'll be staying with.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips when his indicators begin to tick, and his hand, flat against the wheel, begins to pull clockwise. The place he's turning the car in to is nice. Too nice. There's a surface level car park, for starters, not one tucked beneath the first floor of a drive-in motel, like you'd half been expecting.

The exterior walls are finished with European style red bricks; purpose-built and not in keeping with the dated architecture of its surroundings. There's an attitude to the building; attention-seeking without trying, refined yet unassuming. It reminds Jungkook of you, in a way. Reminds him of how no matter what you do, his focus always seems to be on you.

"Had this place on my bucket list," he says. "Opened up around the time I left town. Always said I'd stay here if I came back with someone else."

His last comment is unnecessary. He doesn't need to tell you he'd never brought anyone home to Busan, and yet he does, because it somehow feels important.

A hotel resident swings through the front door as you're getting out of the car, and you can't help but notice that the chime is eerily similar to the one of the GS25 door. Identical, almost, to the one in your stomach.

"Pretty," you muse, adoringly looking at the ivy that trails up and down the side of the building.

"Prettier in summer," he says, taking your luggage from your hands and tilting his head forward as if to say 'ladies first'. "There's another vine running through it that blooms like nothing I've ever seen before. It's too cold for it to flower, yet, I think."

You smile as you listen to him talk, enamoured that a man so brash and bold can be so delicate and gentle when he wants to be. Mindless chatter fills the space between you as you enter the lobby, and wait for the concierge to check Jungkook's booking on the system, just to find out there's been a free upgrade.

"Wish she hadn't announced that," Jungkook mumbles in your ear as you head towards the elevator. "Totally would have pretended I'd splurged out on the upgrade instead."

You laugh, and tell him that he's stupid - and that you also saw the room rates by the front desk, so in your eyes, even the standard rooms are a splurge.

He shrugs, and insists he got it cheaper online thanks to some bullshit discount he can't be bothered to lie too deeply about. He wanted to experience this hotel, and he wanted to experience it with you. He'd have paid the price, whatever.

Chances are he'll be making the money back in a weeks time, thanks to you, anyways.

Thanks to you. Because of you. In spite of you. Whatever. Same difference.

Same disgusting guilt that coats his skin like oil and drips from his body. Dare you strike a match, he's sure he'll set fire. Ablaze with the glory of whatever the fuck he feels for you; the flames of his failures smoking him to suffocation. Failure to act quick enough, failure to control himself, failure to do wrong by someone that feels so right.

He shakes the thoughts from his head, his guilt steeped stomach a constant aide-mémoire.

"613," he reminds you of the room number as you reach the sixth floor.

It's not quite the top floor, but it's far enough up that your view of the harbour will take your breath away, you're sure.

He laughs when you squeal in response, thankful for the fact you don't try and downplay your excitement like he knows you would have done when he first started seeing you. He assumes you're comfortable now. Assumes you trust him. Assumes you feel safe. Assume, assume, assume. You're rubbing off on him, it seems.

He's got a rucksack on his back, and your own bag hooked is over his shoulder, yet he still uses his free hand to hold onto your waist as he walks behind you. He's so desperate to keep you close; fearful of what could happen if you ever were to part. His fingers grip a little tighter when you take a stride further than he anticipates, and he doesn't shuffle back when you finally reach the door. He rests his chin on your head instead, and watches the light on the door handle flash green when the room key taps against it.

The pair of you walk into the room in the same position, your back pressed to his chest, his strides wide behind you, so that he can walk in time with you. It's clumsy, and awkward, and hard to synchronise, but both of you are laughing so much that you're almost distracted from the view that floods in through the wall-length windows. Almost.

You stop in your tracks when you see it, gasping at the sight. Jungkook looks up from your hair, his arms tight around you, to see what you've noticed - and then he notices it, too.

"Holy shit," you say, unable to articulate anything else.

The ocean in front of you spans for miles; endless upon the horizon, with nothing but Gwangalli bridge standing in its way. Boats dapple the vast expanse, tiny and delicate, obscured by the incredible distance between you.

It's blue. Blue, blue, blue; the skies, the sea, the way you feel sorrow in your chest from never having seen anything so beautiful before.

Jungkook is smug as he whispers into your hair, "Boy did good?"

You've not even looked at the crisp white sheets, yet, freshly laundered on a queen size bed, nor the decadent hotel decor that you're sure will be identical in every single room. The other rooms don't matter to you, though; just 613, and the boy with bleach blonde hair who had driven you to Busan in his bright red pony.

The stuff of fairytales, some might argue.

"Boy did good," you whisper back, turning your head to steal a kiss. He smiles into your lips, your body his to move as he pleases, as he begins to walk you to the bed.

A soft puff of air blows around your body as it lands on the outrageously fluffed duvet. He crawls onto the bed with you, one hand on your cheek, the other laced with yours above your head.

"View like this and all you wanna do is waste it?" You grin into his lips, voice as sweet as his touch.

He's quiet as he presses his lips to your throat, slow as he trails his tongue down it.

"Not a waste,' he says, as his teeth graze ever so gently. The firmness of his crotch is devastatingly erotic as it presses against you. "And fuck the view. Rather look at you."

You go to argue against him, but he's adamant you're far prettier. Tells you if it means that much to you, though, he'll be willing to take you from behind so that you can look at the view - which is how you end up wrapped in a duvet, hair a mess and mascara a little smudged half an hour later.

You're sat together on the floor, backs against the side of the bed, looking out at the view as his arm drapes around your shoulders. His lips are nestled into your hair, because it seems to be his happy place, but neither of you are talking. Just existing, like you so often like to do together.

There's an unspoken understanding that this is an unusual occurrence for the both of you.

He doesn't do romance. He doesn't really do anything that would ever indicate a shag is more than just a shag. He'll compliment, and he'll charm, but he'll never say any words of actual worth. Not like he does with you. He doesn't cuddle, doesn't snuggle, doesn't kiss outside of the realm of a fuck. Again, not like he does with you.

When you turn to face him, catching the countenance in his eyes as he looks at you - chin, nose, eyes, lips, eyes again - you know that any kiss that could follow would be fatal.

It would seal the deal that neither of you have been brave enough to make.

There's hesitation. His breaths are heavy, prick still a little plump beneath the sheets that covers his modesty, but he's not hard. Not horny. It's not what's leading his thoughts, nor his actions.

And then, suddenly, but somehow also so perfectly predictable, he kisses you.

It isn't simple. It isn't just because he can - but it's also not for any ulterior motive, either. It's soft, his lips not as hard against yours as they usually are. They squeeze your bottom lip, then release. And then he does it again. No welcome intrusion of his tongue. No hands roaming to your chest. No smile as he does it.

But why would he be smiling when he's terrified?

He just kisses, and kisses, and kisses. He makes no further moves, not even when you let the sheets slip, nor when you hook your leg over his lap and move across to straddle his thighs. You're so incredibly wet, his touches minimal, yet so deeply intimate, that he can feel you leaking all over him. His cock is flushed, stiff, and stood to attention, resting against the base of his abs.

Still, he doesn't really touch you. His wrists are resting on the top of your thighs, but his palms aren't lying flat. They're open, not balled into fists, and you can't quite figure him out. You feel shy and insecure, because why isn't he touching you? Doesn't he want you?

But then you go to pull away from his lips, and he whines and shakes his head.

Come back, baby, he wants to say, but it gets trapped in his throat, and all he can get out is a little grunt.

He knows he's being pathetic. Knows that he must look like a fucking weirdo.

Part of you wants to laugh; wants to ask where the man who ate his own cum out of your pussy and spat it into your mouth is.

Most of you, though, is consumed by the sheer terror that's encompassing him. You feel it too. All of this is so unfamiliar, and scary, and alarming and yet so... safe.

His palms finally lay flat, prowling to your ass, where he squeezes as if to say hello. Eventually, he pulls you further up his lap. You're raised above him, the heat of your pussy so warm, and welcoming, and inviting, that he simply can't hold back any longer.

No words are spoken, you simply nod.

You aren't kissing anymore. Just looking at one another. He doesn't drop his gaze when he lines himself up with your entrance.

It's only when you sink down onto him that his eyes close, as his head leans against the corner of the mattress. The expanse of his throat is pristine, not a hickey in sight, and you like it this way. It - you - somehow still feels like a secret. One shared, but one that is safe. Just for you. Just for him. For one another.

Jungkook lasts longer inside of you than he thinks he will. The silence is only broken by hushed whines and dulcet groans. Your hands rest on his shoulders, and stay there the entire time. It's almost like you're both petrified that changing position will change the way that you're feeling. You look at one another like you're holding hands across a tightrope, dependent on one another to stay alive.

If he falls, so do you.

But it's not the falling he's afraid of. Not really. He's been enjoying the freefall for the past few weeks, now. It's the inevitable crash and burn that scares him.

There's something about the angle, the way he's got you deep and slow, that has the tightrope tying itself in pretty little bows around the bell that lives rent-free in your stomach.

Jungkook sees the way that your brows begin to furrow. He grunts as your lips rest ajar, restless gasps shying away, hiding in your throat. His hips keep at the pace he's set. He knows what's happening, and even though he's spent the last couple of weeks desperately trying to not let happen, he knows he's gotta let you come undone.

He wants you to. Needs you to. Needs to know that it's not just him that can't control himself.

It's euphoric when it happens. His arms wrap around your back, pulling your chest to his, and only then does he realise how hard your nipples are; how much your entire body has begged him for this. He squeezes you so tightly that your back clicks, but he doesn't really worry because you're shaking on him, muscles out of control as the orgasm he was fucking into you finally cascades over your body.

You're thankful for the way he's holding you close, your pussy so tight that Jungkook finds himself whining into your neck; and then he's kissing it, pressing his teeth to your skin, holding them there as his muffled moans vibrate against you.

'Shouldn't-' he thinks, even his thoughts stuttering and getting all confused. 'Shouldn't do this. Gonna end in tears. Gonna end - shit. Gonna fucking end. Shit. So good. So fucking good.'

Pussy so good he swears he'll fuck it forever, and then his thoughts catch up with him, and he's spiralling all over again.

'Fucking disaster. Heaven in human form. Temptress devil dressed as an angel. Shut the fuck up, Jungkook. The fucking audacity,' he begins to scold himself. 'Prick. She never fucking lied -' And then his head is battling against itself. '-but she did though - she didn't - did-'

"Shut the fuck up."

He doesn't even realise he's said it until your laboured breaths and spent body seem to falter, but you fail to muster up anything more than a "Hmm?"

You're sure you must have heard him wrong.

"Nothing. Not you," he husks in your neck, though he can't really get his words out 'cause he's seconds away from spilling into you. "You sound so good, baby. So good. Gonna make me cum so fucking hard." He knows he shouldn't be encouraging it, but he can't stop. "Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me know how good I feel."

You hum a laugh, so sweet and saccharine that Jungkook thinks you must be laced in some kind of addictive substance. It's the only way to explain how he feels. He's an addict, hooked on you.

The moans that roll off your tongue aren't fake, but you let yourself be a little louder for him.

"Like that," you tell him. You're already done, spent, but you want him to feel just as good as you do, even if his size has you feeling a little sore by now. You encourage him, knowing that it'll become painful if he doesn't finish soon.

It almost feels like there's something holding him back, though. You think he's just edging himself. You don't notice the way the lines in his forehead crease together in such a way that they almost spell out words. You'd have studied them, if you had noticed. Would have convinced yourself that you could read 'trust,' in the lines, and not 'traitor,' instead.

You move your hips against his, ass bouncing against the top of his thighs in a way that you haven't done for the entire session. He's been working so hard for you that it's about time for you to return the favour, it seems.

The way his neck stretches back, eyes shut, lips pouted and perfect as he fails to formulate anything other than "fuck, baby," lets you know it's appreciated.

'I'm going to fucking hell,' he tells himself. 'When I die, which seems like a sooner rather than later kinda thing, I'm going straight down to the pits. Pussy like heaven, so fucking good that it's a sin. Angel. Angel, angel, angel, baby. Gotta have you. Can't let anyone else have you. Fuck, no. Shouldn't. Shouldn't have you. Fuck it. Need you. Oh, god. Like that. Like that.'

He pulls on your hair so that you're sat up straight as he rams into you, your fucked out face the only thing he wants to see when he finally succumbs to your body. He nods at you, as if he's trying to say something that you don't quite understand. Letting you know he's close? Letting you know that he feels the same way, too? It's unclear, but you're in no position to ask - so you just nod back, and let the rapture happen.

"Shit," he all but whimpers, and then he's in purgatory; heaven and hell meeting at some kind of divine intervention as he spills all that he is into a vessel of freedom that he isn't sure he can afford anymore. "Jesus Christ," he chokes, the mess of his load leaking from you and down his shaft.

The lines in his forehead have smoothed, now, brows open, eyes half-closed. He laughs, once, twice, unable to stop himself. He forgets it all in the wake of his orgasm; his turmoil, your troubles, the turbulent path he knows he's about to go down.

All he can think about is you, him, the present, the physical. The right now. The way that you're in Busan, and how the dreary streets of Daegu can't hurt you.

Rather foolish of him to think that little deaths would have you falling in love, when he's the one whose head feels like cotton candy, heart beating like a butterfly bursting from its cocoon.

The screen of his phone is alight on the dresser, again. You had noticed it earlier, but neglected to say anything; mainly because you didn't want to lose the moment, but also because you feared that whoever was on the end of the line could have you losing him, too.

The freedom of your arrangement, the unspoken boundaries, affords you great comforts, but also leaves you with lingering doubts. You aren't naive. You know that men his age - men in general - aren't ones to be trusted with your heart. Platonic, romantic, familial. Not a single man has ever deserved to hold it in their hands, and any that you have given the chance to have dropped it at the first hurdle. It's a death sentence, you think, giving Jungkook your heart.

So you simply won't.

But in the comedown of a fuck that really didn't feel much like a fuck, more like a meeting of minds, bodies, consciousnesses - fuck it - hearts, you find yourself thinking that maybe it would be nice to try.

You're still in his lap when he stands, his cock inside of you, even if a little soft, now. He's gentle, and slow, taking you with him, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his hips. There's comfort in his silence as he leads you to the bathroom; familiarity in his feverish need to shower.

His phone continues to ring out on the dresser, silent and sinister, the glow of his screen the only source of light other than the moon that pours in through the windows. He clocks it as he turns to close the door, while you let your body become acquainted with the pressure of the shower on your skin.

And then, he presses the door firmly shut. The world can wait just a little longer, even if only for a night.

Tonight, he's yours, even if you never asked him to be.

He's yours, because he knows that come next weekend, you really will never ask him to be.

But you're just as much his.

He'll wrap you up in a fluffy white towel, and lay down with you in white sheets, that are creased only by the illustrations of your entanglement. He'll give you a tissue, white, to clean yourself up with, after he loses himself inside you once again. He'll laugh with you, teeth on show, white, as you talk into the early hours of the morning. He'll watch the moon reflect in the ocean waves with you, white, until you both fall asleep.

And you'll feel all pink; rosy cheeks, blushed lips, bubblegum heart and peachy pigmented skin from his kisses that bloom like posies. Pink like the early dawn skies over quiet ocean waves, and pink like your favourite wine that can get you tipsy with just a few sips. Pink and pretty like his lips that pout even when he's asleep. Pink like the pads of your feet as you tiptoe to the bathroom to get a glass of water as quietly as you can. Pink, like the faint light next to the plug socket where his phone is plugged into a charger. Pink, like the tiny light at the top of his screen to let him know he has a flurry of unread notifications; missed calls.

Except it's not pink at all.

It's red.

Your eyes are just tired, and you're deluding yourself. Just like you have been of every single red flag that Jungkook has presented to you so far.

But when you look at the mess of blonde hair that belongs to the man hidden in the white sheets which have kept you warm all night, everything is pink again.

"Sleep," he mumbles as you crawl back into bed, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close. His lips rest in the crook of your neck, a lazy kiss delicately finding its home there.

"I'm sleeping," you whisper, the white lie nothing more than a joke that you're both in on.

"Promise?" he sleepily humours you, to which you smile.

"Pinky."

────────────

There's a magic to sea air.

It's not quite Disney, and definitely isn't Hogwarts, but it's something. It makes you feel all excited, and giddy, and like the world is at your feet. If you say the right words, or swish and flick a little bit of driftwood in the right order, then maybe you'll find that the world isn't all that hard to acquire.

Because maybe it's not the sea air that's magic. Maybe it's just what comes with being beside someone like Jeon Jungkook.

You quickly learn that there's a side to him you never knew. It's one that's incredibly mundane, but just as refreshing as the peach teas he points out to you on every cafe menu, 'cause he knows how much you like them, and doesn't want you to miss out on the opportunity to indulge in something you find such simple pleasure in.

Jungkook smiles.

He smiles a lot.

He smiles at the harbour views, at the elderly as they walk past, and at the market stall owners who charge him far too much for a stick of strawberry tanghulu. He smiles when you ask him about his life in Busan, and he smiles when you get distracted by every single dog you walk past, regardless of the conversation you've been engaged in.

He smiles when you tell him you fancy Italian for dinner, instead of engaging in an awkward back and forth of 'what do you want?', 'no, what do you want?'.

He smiles when you reach the halfway checkpoint of the Igidae coastal trail. You're leaning on the wooden bannister, clearly out of breath but pretending to look at the view instead - and it's a beautiful view, at that. Clear blue skies, waves that crash and mellow within the same second, and an endless cerulean sea.

He thinks about all the possibilities out there, and half-wonders if maybe he could just get on a boat with you and say goodbye to the choices he's made.

The only choice he's been sure of lately is you, and when his horizon is blocked by your sloping shoulders and claw-clipped hair, he's pretty sure you're the only opportunity he wants to experience from now on.

He's never walked this trail before, but he wanted to show you the best of Busan, hoping it would convince you that you're also seeing the best of him. As he pulls on your hand, pointing out the little numbers some poor soul had scribbled on the stairs to reassure other hikers how many were left, you're positive that you'd walk the trail a thousand times over, just to be met with his smile at the end.

Because Jeon Jungkook smiles.

He smiles and he smiles and he smiles.

He smiles over dinner, in a tight little hole-in-the-wall pizzeria, that at least attempts to make pizza authentic, even if they do have '+corn, 500w' next to every single option. He smiles when he tells you to put your card away, 'cause it's on him, and then he smiles when you trip on the ledge between the restaurant and the street.

You don't fall because he's holding your hand with a grip so tight you swear your fingers might actually fall off.

"One beer and you're legless," he teases, his hold on your hand tightening as he loops his arm over your shoulder. It's a warm embrace; one that fills your nose with the scent of his aftershave, and plasters an equally large smile on your face. He's infectious, it would seem, and not once has he insisted that you wear a mask since you arrived in Busan.

"Fuck off," you laugh, walking down the street together as if this is how it's always been.

Not a single person gives you a second glance, not even the middle-aged men sat drinking outside of the bar at the end of the street. It's dark, lamposts and decorative fairy lights guiding you home, the city alive with the hustle and bustle of whatever happens after dark. The noraebangs in the area are all hostess bars, and the actual bars are packed, so home is where you're headed. There's no company you'd rather keep than one another's.

"I love this place," you muse. There's a vibrancy here that you've been missing in Daegu, but if you were to take a moment to think about it, the cities have nothing to do with it. It's the boy, and the lack of distractions from him, that you really enjoy.

"Home sweet home," he replies nonchalantly. "Ain't nothing like it."

"You miss living here?"

Your question is met with silence. You leave it a moment, thinking that Jungkook is just debating his answer. Perhaps it isn't something he's ever given much thought to before. That seems like a safe assumption to make.

The answer would reveal a truth that Jungkook isn't quite ready to admit to just yet - but he wants to admit it. Wants to tell you everything.

All the things you should know, and all the secrets he wishes you'll never find out.

It's inevitable that one day you will find out, and he wonders if it would hurt more coming from his tongue. Regretfully, he thinks it will. To lie is to be merciful, or so he tells himself.

"You're so-" he begins so decidedly that it's almost a surprise, yet he cuts himself off. It's like he shocked even himself with the outburst. He glances down to his hand - the one you're holding onto - laughs, and then gazes back to the end of the street, where the dark tide is rolling onto a shallow beach. With a shake of his head, he says 'fuck it' to his reservations, and tries out a little honestly. "You're fucking with my head, you are."

There's a smile on his lips despite the accusation, and it has you smiling, too. You think nothing of it more than flirtatious banter.

"Oh yeah?" You toy. "How so?"

He knows this tone of yours, and knows you've taken it well; knows that all he can do is play along, so as to not raise suspicions. He doesn't mean to be so erratic with his thoughts, and in turn, his words - but he isn't kidding. You really are fucking with his pretty little head.

"How are you not?" He flirts back. "Can't think straight when I'm around you."

He watches as you drop your head, your nose all scrunched up, in the same way his own nose scrunches up whenever you're too kind to him. The only difference is he doesn't believe he's being kind at all.

You deserve more than he can - or is willing to - give you.

There's untapped potential between the pair of you, that will sadly remain that way. He figures he should make the most of this while it lasts; hold your hand as much as he can, get lost for days in the scent of your hair, and make you laugh for hours on end. He knows he'll miss hearing it when it all ends.

You don't know it yet, but you'll miss it too.

Maybe you'd do things differently if you knew that your time was limited.

"You're stupid," you reply rather childishly, because it's the best your bashful brain can think of. "Is that why you nearly hit me that night on the bridge? When you were racing? Too distracted by how much of a mindfuck I am?"

"You have any idea how much easier my life would have been if I had just hit you?" He muses, looking down at you.

You wait until he's finished his words to look back at him, but you wish that you hadn't, 'cause there's a look in his eyes which makes you think he isn't lying.

It should scare you - but like an uncomfortably awkward damsel in distress from a vampire movie, crushing on a bloke who is definitely a little bit too creepy for anyone's liking - it doesn't.

"Far easier," you guess, not letting your smile drop. "Waking up next to me must be torture."

"Waking up next you," he nods. "Sharing my aux with you, paying my water bill after learning just how much you like showers hot enough to kill a lobster. Hate it all."

"Oh god, me too," you say quickly before his lips cut you off for a second, only to let you finish a moment later. "Hate it so much. So glad we're on the same pa-"

This time, it's not the lips of the boy you like a little too much cutting you off, but the voice of a boy you're sure you could grow to like just as much, if ever given the opportunity.

"Well I fuckin' never," a voice booms from across the street in your direction.

You ignore it, not really thinking anything of it - just some rowdy lads who are talking amongst themselves after a few too many beers, you assume - until Jungkook's head snaps in the direction of the voice.

His expression is startled, but quickly softens to his usual boyish disposition. There's a defensiveness, though, to the way his hand tightens around yours - until he drops it altogether.

"Kim Taehyung," Jungkook beams, adjusting his posture so that you're partially shielded from the man across the street, who's checking both sides to make sure it's clear before he crosses.

He's handsome, in a way that's entirely different to Jungkook. His broadness isn't exclusive to his shoulders, but the way he carries himself, and the sleazy smile that rests on his lips where a cigarette fits snug. He exhales, and crosses the road, the grin on his face only getting larger.

"Jeon Jungkook," he nods, greeting him with such familiarity that you feel all embarrassed.

You've no idea who this man is. His name has never been mentioned before. In fact, no names have ever been mentioned. There's little you know about Jungkook.

Sure, you know how he mindlessly fidgets, and how he whines when your tongue strokes against his taint, but what do you really know about him? Nothing of any value. Nothing that signifies you're��of any value to him.

"And who's this?" Taehyung asks, but Jungkook's reply only further confirms your assumptions.

The question is addressed to you, Taehyung looking just as dangerous as that cigarette in his mouth is. He's a slow burn, you think, the kind of boy who'll grow on you, and before you know it, you'll be just another victim of his charm. It's unsurprising that he would be acquainted with Jungkook. After all, the company you keep is a reflection of yourself.

You look to Jungkook, who looks over his shoulder back to you. He's not really looking at you, per say, not how he does when you're alone. When he turns back to face Taehyung, you see the way his cheeks rise to smile, and you don't mind his coldness all of a sudden.

But then he opens his mouth and you think if you weren't such stone-cold bitch, you'd cry.

"Just a friend from Daegu. No one special."

It's humiliating, granted, but any reaction would only serve to embarrass you both - so you simply keep quiet, and smile. Your brows lift a little, eyes on Taehyung, who takes a toke as he looks between you and Jungkook.

He's smirking as he exhales, like he knows Jungkook is full of shit.

"Well, fuck me. I gotta find myself some friends in Daegu. Taehyung," he says as he holds his hand out for you to shake, with a look on his face like he hasn't eaten for a week.

There's something about him that's refreshing. He's an asshole, yes - undeniable - but at least he doesn't pretend not to be, like Jungkook does. He's undressing you with his eyes in the same way that Jungkook does with his hands. And for what Jungkook just said? You're pleased. Maybe you should let Taehyung take you home instead - after all, according to Jungkook, you're just a friend from Daegu. No one special.

"Uh-uh," Jungkook shakes his head. He's teasing, but he steps further in front of you, blocking Taehyung from your vision. "I know what you're like, Tae. Hands off this one."

The way he's talking makes you wanna turn on your heels and walk all the way back to fucking Daegu. Whoever it is that's currently shielding you from the danger of a fuck boy isn't Jungkook. Not the Jungkook you know at least.

"I'm just a friendly guy," Taehyung jokes back. "You know me. What brings you back home? Haven't since you since the wake. Been a while."

Jungkook's back stiffens, but Taehyung doesn't notice.

"Just some family stuff. Thought I'd make a weekend of it." He tilts his head back towards you. The movement has Taehyung's eyes on you again. To feel so unapologetically desired is thrilling, but it kind of makes you sick. You want Jungkook to hold your hand. Signify that you're his. Tell Taehyung that he doesn't stand a chance. But of course, he doesn't. "Thought I'd show her around. Visit some old haunts. How have you been?"

"All good," Taehyung replies, not really interested in what Jungkook has to say. It's formality, really. If he cared that much about what Jungkook had been up to, he would have made more of an effort to keep in touch. "Saw your brother yesterday, actually."

God, it's like one sucker punch after another. A brother? You've no idea who this man is.

"Seeing him tomorrow," Jungkook nods, and again, it's bloody fucking news to you. "He good?"

"Baby's keeping him up all hours apparently, he looks fucking exhausted. Met the baby yet?"

"Nah, nah, tomorrow," Jungkook says, and you're surprised by how... mundane the conversation is. You can't tell if they're friends, or if there's something more troubling at play. Everything feels coded, but you're struggling to read into it. You're too fixated on how much of Jungkook's life you're unaware of.

"Oh, nice," Taehyung replies. "You should come by the boxing club while you're in town. Be good to see you. I'm sure the boys would be pleased to see Busan's finest back where he belongs." He looks over Jungkooks shoulder to you, again, and smiles in that sultry way you're sure enables him to never go without a bed to sleep in. "Bring your friend with you. Think we could all do with a new friend."

The way he talks is crude. It's unapologetic, and if it were any other man, you'd probably be repulsed - but you're too busy being pissed off with Jungkook to care.

"Think I could do with a new friend, too," you hum back, lips pouty, chest a little pushed forward. "See you there?"

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Taehyung almost fucking moans.

Jungkook presses the pad of his thumb across the tops of his fingers, one by one, clicking them in their sockets. His frustration is evident, but the grave he's in is one that he dug himself.

You may feel like you don't know him, but he knows you. He should have anticipated that you wouldn't play nice after he said something like that.

But oh, on the contrary - you think you are playing nice. Very nice. For Taehyung, you'll be the nicest girl in the world.

And that's all Jungkook can think about.

It's intrusive, the thought of just how nice you can be.

He's thinking of your hair, all nice and tied up in a ponytail, and how Tae's hand could wrap around it. He's thinking about your pretty little knees, and how good you look when you're on them. He's thinking about your chest - God, he fucking loves your chest - and how it stands to attention when you're cold. And of course, you'd be cold, 'cause he's imagining all of this happening in the back rooms of the boxing club. At least you wouldn't be able to come, but he's barely been making that happen lately, anyways.

If there's one thing he hates more than the idea of you with Tae, it's himself.

Taehyung says his farewells, and lets his gaze linger on you for far too long, and says "you've got a look about you, friend from Daegu. Something familiar," before heading back to where he came from. The gaggle of lads he was with are still waiting for him. It seems as if he's in charge; the ringleader of sorts.

It intrigues you.

But he doesn't entice you the way that Jungkook does.

There's no softness to him, not like Jungkook with his big, round, chocolate button eyes and ever-scrunched nose.

You're mad at him now, though. Pissed. In fact, you begin to walk away as soon as Taehyung is gone, because you simply don't want to be around him any longer. You're even thinking about booking yourself in for a separate hotel room. Fuck his gestures, and fuck the effort he's made. Means fuck all, now.

Who the fuck does that? Who brings you to their hometown - into their life - and turns around and dismisses what you are to them so cruelly? He'd paid god knows what for that hotel, driven the pair of you to the city, paid for everything despite your protests, and asked for nothing in return.

You know full well that if you'd have gotten back to the hotel before the Taehyung incident, and had been too tired to fuck, or just not in the mood, Jungkook wouldn't have cared. Even sex wasn't something he seemed to think he was owed. Not like most guys.

He'd have probably stroked love letters onto your back with the tip of his index finger until you fell asleep, instead.

See, there are - or at least there were - no expectations with Jungkook, which is probably what makes this all so disappointing for you. Foolishly, you thought you had a good one in him.

He's a man, though. How good can they ever really be?

Heels clicking against the pavement as you walk, you sound far more powerful than you feel. You want to take your stupid fucking shoes off and launch them at his stupid fucking head. How dare he reduce to nothingness.

"Hey," he calls after you, as if he hasn't just torn your heart out, hands all bloody while he toys with it. "CC! Hold up!"

There's a trail of blood as you walk that leads to the hole in your chest, and so he follows it like a bloodhound in search of its prey.

He repeats his call when you ignore him, catching up with you far too easily for your liking. You don't like getting caught.

"What?" You snap, arms folded across your chest, but you keep on walking. A gaggle of girls walk by, far too drunk to be in heels that high, and they coo a little bit as they clock Jungkook. You find yourself sneering. "Oh look. Some more friends for you to make."

"Hey, c'mon," he reaches out for you but you shake him off, so he tries again, a little harder. It doesn't hurt, and if you want to, you can pull away.

Shamefully, you can't bring yourself to. Those with the power to hurt are also apparently those with the power to heal - and all you want is for him to put your heart back where it belongs and kiss it better.

"You know I didn't-"

"Didn't what?" You fight, because that's all you're really good at. "Mean it? Mean to say it? Or didn't think that this actually meant anything?"

"Fuck," he seethes a little, teeth gritted and jaw sharp. He loosens his grip on you, and rubs the pads of his fingers against his jaw instead, tongue pressing into the side of his cheek. His nostrils are flared, and there's bite behind his bark. "Don't turn this into something that it isn't."

"I'm not turning it into anything," you say so calmly that it's almost unsettling. "But turn it into what? A lovers tiff? No worries. We're just friends, babe. Can't turn it into one of those."

"You're being unreasonable."

"I'm being perfectly reasonable."

"CC-"

"I've got a name," you remind him. "Maybe use that, instead. CC feels a little... I don't know. More than friendly? And we wouldn't wanna blur those lines, would we?"

"Christ. Can you stop?" he pleads, the frustration he feels overwhelmed by the desperate need to control the situation. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I don't think you know what you meant, Jungkook," you shrug, because fuck letting him think you're hurt. "You just let some guy fuck me with his eyes, because according to you, we're just friends. You saw that, right? You saw the way he was looking at me like a piece of fucking meat? And you let him."

Jungkook doesn't say anything for a moment. His body is stiff, as if he's rebooting; calibrating to find an answer. Yes, he had let Tae do whatever the fuck he liked, because it was easier than explaining the truth of who you are to him. Safer. In his eyes, it had been a lesser of two evils, but you're seeing Jungkook as the only evil.

Your chest is beating so hard in your chest that the thump, thump, thump has drowned out the chime that's usually there.

"No," he tries again. "It's not like that. I know what I said, but it's not what I meant."

And then you do that thing again. You calm yourself, your voice so serene and superficial that it makes his skin crawl. He can tell how angry you are, and yet you're so fucking pleasant. It's psychotic - but how can he complain about your anger when you're fucking smiling at him like he just saved a bird from drowning?

"You don't have to explain, Jungkook. It's cool"

"No," he protests, but it's met with vacancy behind your eyes. "I do."

"No," you say, tone firm and assertive. You don't need to be let down gently. Your feelings don't need to be spared. "You know what I'm like. I need to stop making so many assumptions."

Ouch. He can practically feel the dagger you have for a tongue slicing at his heart.

"Well what did you assume?" He asks, because playing along seems like the only way he can get you to engage in conversation with him.

"My assumptions are mine," you say quietly, walking closer towards him, until your index finger can tap against his chest. "Maybe if we were friends, I'd share them with you. But I don't share with people who only know how to take. From the look in Taehyung's eyes, it seems like he knows how to give a thing or two, so who knows, Jungkook? Maybe I'll share with him."

Jungkook is silent.

It's a threat. He fucking knows it's a threat.

All those missed orgasms seem like a terrible idea, now. He thought he'd been helping, thought that you'd just think he was an idiot, like any other guy who didn't know where the fucking clit was. Thought it would help slow the feelings that are developing regardless.

But you knew he knew.

He's a fucking connoisseur. He's had you coming undone in ways that no other man has ever gotten close to. For him to suddenly forget how to make you tremble on his fingers was laughable.

You'd chosen not to mention it, because foolishly, you thought that you were the issue - but if he's gonna hurt your pride, then you're gonna hurt his right back.

You shake your head, and walk to the curb, raising your arm for the taxi that's hurtling down the road. There's a screech as it comes to a stop, almost like a reset button being pressed.

You feel a weight being eased from your chest, glad to have finally put him in his place for the no-gasm issue, but a new weight is just as heavy on your feet. You open the door, think about getting in, but can't. For some reason, the idea of leaving without him has you close to tears.

Asking the driver to wait just a minute, you turn to find him fixated on you, those soft chocolate eyes of his so warm as they stare you down. His brows are lifted, mouth firmly pursed shut, but you can see from the way his chest is beating that he's breathing heavier than his lungs can really manage.

You've never seen him cry, but you think you might tonight.

"C'mon," you eventually say, knocking your head to the side. You've a lot fight in you, but far more fear. You don't know what you mean to Jungkook, and you're not gonna kid yourself and pretend like you feel secure in it - but you know what he means to you. The idea of him staying elsewhere has you feeling all feeble and pathetic. You don't think he would, but you know that he could. "It's late. Let's just go back to the hotel."

He stuffs his hands into his front pockets and looks down, the usual confidence he wears masked by a thin layer of shame. It has a sheen to it; a stain. He's not the man that he wants to be for you, and he knows you're starting to wise up to it.

"Kook," you encourage, but he still resists.

He doesn't deserve this; doesn't deserve you. Doesn't deserve the olive branch you're extending, when he knows he should be on his knees begging like a dog.

He could do that for you. Beg like a dog, in his own, fucked up, kind of way.

On his hands and knees. Begging.

In fact, he thinks it's the only thing can do for you right now.

And so he gets in the taxi as you ask, and stays quiet.

The drive is silent, but taxi rides often are, so he tries to ignore it. When you go to pay, he holds your hand back, and offers up his card instead. The grip he has is gentle, but it burns like the heat of a thousand matches, and when it leaves, you're left smouldering. You don't want to lose the heat, no matter how much damage it can do.

Silence permeates, and dulls the chime in your stomach that you'd expect to hear in a hotel elevator with Jungkook.

So much silence.

Silence as the door to your hotel room clicks open, and silence as you kick off your shoes. Silence when your bag is tossed on the bed, and silence when Jungkook's shoes join your own.

There's silence as he walks to stand behind you while you look out onto the midnight sea, and there's silence when he presses a kiss into the crook of your neck.

There's silence when he whispers your name, and silence when you hum in satisfaction from the way his lips feel against the expanse of your throat.

Silence so loud that you want to scream.

Silence so loud that you wouldn't be able to hear the scream regardless.

Silence, silence, silence that is so fucking loud, you must be deaf.

But you can hear the small intakes of breath that he takes between the kisses he peppers on your skin. You can hear the click of his lips, and the way he whispers 'I didn't mean it,' as if it would eradicate the hurt caused by such a simple exchange of words.

And then his hands of fire are creeping beneath your shirt, and you're all warm and pliable for him.

You so desperately want proof that he didn't mean what he said, and if there's one thing you're sure of, it's that he doesn't fuck you like you're just a friend.

So you think you might just let him.

He can tell you're apprehensive and he knows why, and that he has to prove himself to you. Moonlight pours in through the window, and you're bathed in it like some kind of ethereal goddess that will surely disappear when dawn breaks. He has to make this last.

He strips you of your clothes, and funnily enough, it isn't the most vulnerable you've felt in the last few hours. In fact, you feel confident, now. You know what you're doing when it comes to matters of the body. Matters of the heart? Not so much.

Your capabilities for either of those aren't required now, though. This is all on him.

He encourages you to the bed, so you sit by the foot, and wait for instruction.

"Lie down," he says, eyes remarkably on yours, and not your tits instead. It must be a first.

It's curious how softly he looks at you; almost like you could break.

Maybe it's because he knows he has to be extra careful, because he's the only one capable of breaking you.

And so you nod, because maybe, just maybe, he could fix you, too.

In fact, when he gets to his knees and grips his palms around your ankles to drag you closer to the end of the bed, you can almost feel your heart swelling. Healing.

Y'see, it's familiar, and safe, and certain; Jungkook will fuck you, and you will mistake the way he kisses you when he cums as a declaration of something more than what it is.

For now, though, he's only thinking about ways to get you off. Anything is on the table. He'll do it all. Do whatever you ask. Do things you're too afraid to ask.

He spreads your legs apart, and spends longer than is normally comfortable staring at you. He's appreciating it; the way your lips slowly part, a little damp and so delightfully warm. He loves your scent. Wishes he could bottle it up - but for now, he'll settle for drinking from the source.

When his tongue strokes against you, it's slow. The pressure behind it feels intentional, the warm studs of his tongue piercing making your toes curl from just one touch. He exhales against you, then inhales because - fuck me - you smell divine. His tongue licks again, languid and flat, his head nodding ever so gently. The change in movement has your hands gripping onto the sheets, a shallow affirmation of 'fuck, Kook, yes' spurring him on.

He hums against you, and you swear it's better than any vibrator you've ever had. It's almost as if he's saying something, but can't get his words out - which would make sense, given the fact his mouth of full of your pussy. His tongue points, as his palms rest on the underside of your thighs to angle you a little better for him.

He pushes his tongue into your entrance, and it has you mewling. Wetness seeps into his mouth, sweet and musky, just how he fucking likes it, and he's doing that thing where he whines against you again, and you swear you might just cum right there and then.

It's noticeable, though, how your grip is on the sheets, and not him.

Your heels are digging into the duvet, not pressing against the top of his spine, and your fingers aren't in his hair.

Still, your pussy is leaking onto his tongue, and arguably, he could be fooled into thinking you've let down your guard for him.

But you haven't really.

He can see this; the way you've detached sex, and the pleasure that it coexists with, from the emotional intimacy he's fostered with you.

It's like he can touch you, but you're scared to touch him. You're using him - and he knows he deserves it.

When he pulls away from you, clear strings of slick connect his mouth to your core. The sheen covers his lips, his chin, the tip of his nose. Moonlight drenches him, and in turn, so do you. He watches how your chest heaves as his fingers come to replace the pressure from his tongue on your pussy.

Your body may be his, but you're not.

'Touch me,' he wants to say, but he's embarrassed by how badly he seems to have fucked up the one good thing going for him - and so he pushes his fingers into you, hoping that he'll be able to get you forgetting about the fact he's no good for you; get you wanting him like you used to.

And you do.

Oh god, you do, so badly.

There's nothing you want more than to have your fingers tangled in his hair, have him hissing when you pull a little too hard, keeping him locked in position against the mess he's made - but you're embarrassed. You fear that by taking any kind of leading role, you'll be forcing him to play along to something he isn't really all that into.

As much as you could pretend like you don't care about what happened earlier, it's chewing you apart, inside out, making it harder for you to get there.

Your body keens for him, though. The sounds of his fingers working your pussy are lewd, and only amplified when he spits on it in that way he always does. It drives you insane, but even now, you're floundering.

"Hey," you whisper, and your hand finally comes to rest against his hair. He leans into your touch, heart stiff in his chest as it appears to stop beating altogether. How a touch so simple can have him so damn wrecked is beyond him. He hums a response, and is met with a gentle tap against his bleached ends. He looks towards you to find you looking back, and the stillness of his heart is replaced with a beat so loud he swears it sounds like a thunderstorm is hurtling across the ocean. "Stand."

Your voice is soft, and Jungkook is confused, but he doesn't question it. He does as he's told, because quite frankly, he'll do anything you want at this point. He'd get on his knees, on his back - fuck it, he'd even get face down, ass up, if that's what you wanted - but you don't. Not now, at least. Maybe another time.

Right now, you want him as vulnerable as you feel.

When he stands, he keeps his fingers inside of you. He's gentle, massaging, making sure the movements aren't too rough. You've never shied away from things getting a little heated, but there's a time and a place for that. You don't want it hard. You want soft. Soft, soft, soft, like his eyes.

"Clothes," you say, almost timidly, unable to string your words together in a way that makes coherent sense. He knows what you mean, though, and slowly pulls his fingers from you, not caring to wipe them off. You're pristine, in his eyes. He couldn't care less about how dirty you could make him. He'd wear it like a badge of fucking honour.

He takes his shirt off first, eyes never leaving yours. He can see the way your heart is beating beneath your chest, and decides pretty quickly that he needs your tits in his mouth at some point before the night is done. His favourite fuckin' feature of his favourite fuckin' person - when he's horny, at least. He could list a million things he likes just as much, but his brain kind of just short circuits when he can see your chest looking all heavy and pliable and like it belongs in his mouth.

There's a clang, the metal of his belt tapping against itself, his tattooed fingers working quickly to rid himself of all his constraints. He pulls it from the loops of his trousers, tossing it on the bed just in case he'll need it later.

Your lips rest ajar, but you close your legs a little, watching him unbutton his jeans. He lets them drop, revealing the white of his Calvins.

He usually wears dark boxer briefs, which are always welcomed by you - but there's something about the white that has you salivating.

The outline of his cock is thick. He's stiff, and there's a tiny tell-tale mark of precum leaking from his tip. The contrast of his honey skin against the crisp white is the kind of visual you'd expect to see on a Hollywood billboard; not in your hotel room with you.

He'd worn them deliberately, expecting this kind of reaction, but had anticipated a far different feeling in the room.

The look on his face doesn't match the confidence that his strong body oozes. His wide eyes are just as vulnerable as yours. You both look like you're gonna fucking cry, which is actually kinda funny, when you think about it - but you don't laugh.

Perhaps that would be the most vulnerable thing you could share with him, and he with you: tears. There's a heaviness between the pair of you, the weight of unspoken words, hidden truths and deceptive intentions, which have led to the cluster fuck that is the relations of which you engage in.

It's just fucking, but it's also not. Not really. If it was just fucking, he'd be railing you right now, just like he did on that very first night you spent together.

But instead, he's cautious as he asks, "Where do you want me?"

You have to bite your tongue and stop it from saying 'inside me.' You're trying to keep your heart safe. Distance is needed. You're scared he's gonna steal it if he gets too close.

Pulling your legs up, cross-legged in front of him, you give him a look that he doesn't understand, but one that he knows means no harm.

He thinks you're asking permission to move, so he nods, and is proven right. You crawl a little further towards him, on your knees, until you're at the end of the bed. You sit up on your knees, shorter than him still, but the height is more matched than it is when you're standing on solid ground.

You give him that look again, and so - of course - he just nods. He's yours. You can do whatever you fucking like to him. He'd take anything you'd give him, pleasure or pain. He's stoic in the way that he stands, but you can see his jugular vein beating like he's just gone three rounds in the boxing ring.

Hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his underwear, right where the V of his hips meets the fabric, your eyes are on his.

It's torture, knowing you could be watching his thick, swollen cock spring free, but this isn't about the sex. Not really.

He bends a little, pushing his underwear to his ankles, kicking them off to the side and resuming his position in front of you. You still haven't looked at his cock, even though the thought of it has slick wetness seeping onto your inner thigh.

Your hand finds one of his, and pulls it to his cock. It throbs as you wrap Jungkook's hand around it, nodding at him, before retreating.

He's stood at the end of the bed, naked, hand tight around his fat, leaky cock, eyes on yours as you sit by the pillows. Your legs are crossed, knees up, covering your chest, light from the moon washing over you both.

He looks heaven-sent in this light. A white halo whisps around his fluffy blonde hair, the thick lines of his tattoos defined, his body carved from marble. And yet there's still a softness to him. It's in his eyes. Big and round; home in human form.

And so, for all the fear, for all the ways he has you scared about his intentions, for all the sheer instances of turmoil you put your heart through, none of it really matters.

In this moment, you feel safe.

"Wanna watch," you say quietly. You can see the way he swallows, his chest doing a terrible job of hiding the fact he actually seems to be a little bit nervous.

"Watch?"

You nod. "Wanna watch the way you get yourself off."

The request is simple, but it feels more complex than that - and it is. You want him vulnerable. You want him weak. You want him falling apart all over you without even so much as a single touch from you.

In his heart of hearts, he knows all this.

He knows, and still, he wants to do it for you.

There are sins to repent, and this feels like a start.

"Wanna see the way you touch yourself when you think about me," you continue, because you like the way his eyes look so pure and chaste at such a request.

There's a shadow to his face, the moon only illuminating half of his body, but it runs deeper than that. Divine feminity is a gift from the celestial body that watches over you, and it overcomes him, too.

Despite the hardness of his muscles, the metal of his piercings and the stiffness of his cock, he's so, undeniably soft for you.

Soft and velvety, just like his eyes. Soft and timid, like the boy who cried wolf and finally got caught. Soft, and softer still, when he says your name in such a hushed tone it barely reaches your ears.

"You do that, right?" You ask, though the answer is granted by how utterly enthralled he is with you - or at least, your body. "You think of me when you touch yourself?"

He nods, licking a slow stripe across his lower lip, before biting down on it.

His tight fist begins to roll up his cock, slowly bringing it back down again to the base of his shaft. There's a hypnotic quality to the way his foreskin retracts, exposing how red and flushed the tip of his cock is. There's desire burning through it, and he needs you - your pussy, your mouth - to soothe it.

He knows he isn't getting it, so instead, he revels in the pain that comes with being refused your body.

He's tepid as he starts, but his pace quickly builds, and so does the way he's moaning. It's a miracle you can even remember how to breathe. His torso is tense as he lets the pleasure run over his body, head tipping back, the expanse of his throat thick and wide, just like his cock.

He hums, imagining the way your pussy is leaking as you watch the show he's putting on for you.

He's not a performer, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the way he moves his body has you thinking that maybe in a past life, he could have been. You'd pay good money to watch him on stage. You'd devote yourself to him. Watch from the crowd as he sold himself to a thousand people every night. He'd be the main event, the headlining act, and maybe if you were lucky, he'd stick around for an encore.

What a shame, you think, that he never took advantage of his boyish charm and deliriously handsome face - but more fool him. You're the one who gets to reap the benefits, as you watch him now, free of charge, front row seat.

And yet, somehow, he seems to adore the crowd more than the crowd adores him. It fills your ego. Has you convinced that you've ruined this poor boy's life. Maybe you have.

"You're gonna think of me for the rest of your life," you tell him of your conclusion from your perch up by the pillows.

He so often talks in definitive certainties, that it's only fair you return the favour - but, remember, you're just friends, according to Jungkook. Best not to get ahead of yourself.

You find yourself prowling down the bed on all fours, stopping just beyond his reach. There's something primal about his gaze now. Predatory - but you aren't his prey. You're not going to get caught.

"Give it twenty years," you simper, rolling onto your back so your ankles are by the pillows, eyes on his cock as you tilt your head back. Kneading one of your boobs, you let your other hand dip between your legs. "When you're married, and your poor wife can't get you hard anymore, it's gonna be me who you think about."

"Shit," he hisses, both hating and loving what you're saying. Hating it because you're probably right, but loving it because, again, you're definitely right.

"It's gonna be me," you repeat. "When you get hard in your car, 'cause another girl has put her hand on your thigh. It's gonna be me you're thinking about."

He wants to protest. Wants to tell you that there'll never be another girl. He'd be lying, probably, but fuck knows why he'd ever give you up. Would have to be insane, you think, or something like that.

You know just as much as he does, that symbiotic energy like yours doesn't occur all too often.

"When your couples therapist asks what you think could be done to spice up your dead marital bedroom, it's gonna be me - gonna be this, right now - that you think of."

"C," he husks, unable to even get the full term of endearment out. There's a clammy sheen to his body now, his arm jerking at such a pace his veins are all engorged and pretty, just how you like them.

"It's gonna be me," you say again, barely a whisper, but it's enough.

And he agrees. "It's gonna be you."

Victory and defeat all in one blow; you're his forever, but it's likely he won't be yours.

He senses the heaviness behind his words, and the weight they've put of your chest, so he tries distraction as a method of easing it.

"Open your legs," he husks, the final syllable catching in his throat. When you do as you're told, he fucking whines.

The slickness pooling around the top of your thighs is sticky and hot, strings of clear fluid connecting your legs - all of you - together as you spread yourself for him. He nods, and it's your turn to obey, now.

Your fingers begin to rub at your clit, and Jungkook almost just give himself upright in that second. He swallows back the saliva that's pooling in his mouth, his cock growing hotter and heavier in his grasp. The way he's pumping himself is gonna have him finishing far quicker than he'd like, but he can't stop.

Not when you're looking up at him like that. Not when you're matching his moans.

"Don't stop," you almost beg as you see him begin to ease up. Returning his eyes to yours, his lips are parted. His hand continues to jerk, just a little slower.

"I gotta," he whines, but does as he's told, his grip a little looser than it had been. The muscles in his abdomen are tight. His balls, too. You want them in your mouth.

He watches as you turn, resuming the position you'd been in earlier.

As you wrap your arms around his neck for support, Jungkook finds himself grunting, picking his pace back up. He can smell you, your gasoline hair and sweet pussy, and it has him unable to think straight. Unable to do anything other than jerk himself off for you, because it's what you want.

The world. He'd give you that. If you wanted it, he'd give you it. He thinks he'd give you anything. Everything. Whatever he could.

The only thing he can't give you, not really, is himself.

And so he'll settle for everything and anything else your heart could ever desire.

But as your lips meet his, he knows that he's fucked, and that the only thing you really want is him.

Your kisses are slow, and tepid; a stark difference from the way his hand is working his cock, but it's everything he needs. How selfish, it is, that he still gets what he wants.

Unaware, you pull away, pressing your foreheads together, lips brushing his as you say, "you're gonna cum for me, now."

He tries to ask where, but you just kiss him instead. You kiss, and you kiss, and you kiss, and he's so fucking consumed that he barely notices when he starts gasping against your lips. His body begins to stall, muscles mirroring the way he begins to stutter, and then it's happening.

The tip of his cock is pressed against your stomach as he begins to unload himself, once, twice, and then he's sensitive, and trying to pull back, but he's still coming and - "Oh, fuck, babe" - he's painting you white with the innocence of the way he feels about you.

It's everywhere by the time he's done; your tummy, the underside of your breasts, dripping down to the mound of your pussy. He can barely fucking breathe, so caught up in the way it always feels to have you kiss him through his orgasm.

His hands grip your jaw, pulling you in for more, because he needs to distract his mouth from the words he's scared are gonna tumble from it. You both ignore the fact they're covered in the seed that's just spilt over onto them. It's nothing new, after all.

It's not like he's gonna declare love, or anything fucking ridiculous like that, he just doesn't know how the fuck he feels - and that's dangerous.

Unpredictability only leads to messiness, which it could be argued is what's happening right now.

Still, Jungkook hooks his hands beneath your ass and moves onto the bed with you, and thinks it's a pretty nice problem to have.

His cock is firm still, nestled in the warmness of your pussy as your legs wrap around his hips. Neither of you care about his cum, and it's interesting how often you seem to be covered in one another, with no desire to rid yourselves of it.

He didn't make you cum, but it was your choice, this time.

It's funny, because you're one who is scared now that an orgasm could have you falling in love. You don't want to give him that power back. Not yet, at least.

Your kisses dissolve into light pecks, the pair of you unable to hold back from worshipping one another. But you must, for it's foolish to idolise mortal Gods.

"This doesn't seem very friendly, Kook," you whisper.

Your chest feels uneasy as you joke. He closes his eyes, hanging his head in shame against yours, knowing that it was him and his inability to ever say the right fuckin' thing that had you refusing to fuck him that evening.

He's not stupid. He knows you stopped him from making you cum. He knows why. And he hates himself for it.

He presses a kiss against your cheek, once, twice, and works his way to your lips. It's goofy, the way he's planting little seeds of love all over your skin, but only time will tell if he'll water them. For now, you think you'd quite like to imagine the wildflower garden that could bloom in their wake.

"It's cause it's not, CC," he admits. "It's not very friendly at all."

And then, you just can't seem to help yourself as you tease, "Even if I'm just a friend from Daegu?"

He smiles, because he knows you're trying to soothe the burn of his words. Naked, spent, and vulnerable, Jungkook rolls off of you, repositioning himself so that you can rest your head on his chest. Still, neither of you care to get cleaned up. There's no disgust, nor discomfort.

More fool the both of you for thinking that this isn't love.

"You're my only friend from Daegu," he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. It's not strictly true, but he sort of wishes that it was. Wishes he knew you before he knew them.

"What about your other friends?" You ask gently, because maybe it's your fault you don't know more about him. Maybe you just haven't been asking the right questions.

Jungkook pulls the comforter over your body, 'cause he can feel how hard your nipples are against his torso, and guesses that you aren't exactly still horny now that you're asking him shit like this. Again, there's zero care for clean up just yet. Zero care for anything but one another.

And then you tack on an extra little question that has Jungkook mentally groaning.

"Who's Taehyung?"

Convinced that you're snug like a little comforter-human-burrito, Jungkook holds you tightly. He's still stark bollock naked and doesn't really care to be covered, but he wants you warm. Wants you happy.

And knows that your happiness, now, rests on open communication.

"I knew Taehyung in high school," he eventually admits. "We were both on the boxing team, and we were friends, but -" he stops, and laughs a little. "Well, I kept beating him. So on the days I'd stay behind and work on my form, shit like that, Tae would..." Jungkook sighs. And then he laughs again. "This is so embarrassing." He gently shakes his head, and then thinks fuck it. You deserve the truth, so the truth is what you're gonna get. "I started going to club more often, thought about going pro. I was pretty serious about it. Got to the point where Tae couldn't compete with me - but one thing he could do, apparently, was fuck. And I didn't know, but apparently, he could turn that into a competition, 'cause on the days I trained alone, he'd go hook up with my girlfriend."

It doesn't upset Jungkook anymore. Not really. Annoys him a little - and means there was no way he was letting Taehyung think you meant anything more to him than just casual sex.

"Shit," is all you can say.

"Yeah," Jungkook sighs. "Went on for like, 6 months. I didn't know till my dick started fucking burning. Turned out he'd given her chlamydia from someone else and in turn, me."

"Bastard."

"Right? At least wrap it up if you're gonna fuck about. Anyways, after that, it was rare for him not to pursue any girl I was interested in," Jungkook finally admits, and it feels good to get it out. Good to share. Fucking fantastic, actually. "Me saying what I said... It was a defence mechanism more than anything, and I'm sorry. I just didn't wanna give him any reason to try it on with you."

You nod slowly, because there's a lot to unpack. "What happened? With the girl?"

"We broke up," he says honestly. "That was the nail in the coffin, really. He's done it with a few other girls I've dated or fucked since then, to the point where it's definitely a pattern of behaviour, but I tend to avoid serious relationships. If I'm being honest, I haven't had one since."

"Since high school?"

God, it's mortifying, he thinks. "Since high school."

Heartbreak is a funny thing, though. You're similar in that regard. Neither of you ever want to give another person the power to break the one thing keeping you alive. It's just asking for trouble.

Then again, every single fucking thing about your 'friendship' is asking for trouble. Maybe it's fitting.

"I'm sorry," you say, because you're not sure what else to say. He squeezes the comforter bundle you're in and shrugs.

"Don't be. Just please don't have sex with Kim fuckin' Taehyung."

You laugh, because such a thing feels absurd - but it would do. You trust Jungkook. You care about Jungkook. Care for him. Care for his opinions, his well-being.

Would be a shame if that ever were to change.

But that doesn't feel like a possibility right now, so you simply don't think about it. Instead, you ask the question that you've been holding back, because you wanted to at least look a little compassionate before you got ahead of yourself.

"So what you said to him about me," you begin, and he rolls his eyes, 'cause he knows exactly where you're going with this.

"So what I said about you."

"You lied."

"I lied, CC."

The way he whispers it back to you has you all giddy and docile for him. He's dangerous, in the most delectable way.

"You like me," you accuse, and you're met with a shallow kiss, his lips curving upwards because he can't help but smile at how fucking smitten you look.

"I'm terrified of you," he smiles. "The way you make me feel scares the living daylights out of me, CC. This isn't... I'm not good at this. I mean, hello? Been out of practice since high school."

"Mmmm," you interject, questioning his statement. "You've fucked plenty of girls since high school."

His eyes roll again, because he knows you're just trying to get him to be specific.

"What do you want me to say, huh, CC?" He nudges his nose against yours, his grin prevailing as he sinks them down into a kiss. "That I spend my whole entire fuckin' day thinking about you? You stay at my place all the time. My Netflix account reckons I'm halfway through season one of Gossip Girl." You smile. It's a guilty pleasure. You watch it at his place when he leaves early for work, or on the days you arrive before him. "There's a spare toothbrush by my sink, and it's yours."

The way he emphasises 'yours' has the chime in your stomach ringing like a church bell.

"I haven't been serious about anyone since high school, so yeah, I'm a bit out of practice. I don't wanna put labels on things or move too fast or say things I can't take back. I just know it would really fucking sting if you slept with Taehyung," he smiles, attempting to lighten the fact he's basically just put his heart on the line for you. "So please just... don't."

The issue is, Jungkook's forgetting himself.

He's forgetting that you're not just you. He's not just him. The way you met wasn't organic like you think it was, and he's letting himself get wrapped up in the idea that the pair of you are just normal people who found one another despite all odds.

The thought creeps into his mind, but frankly, he wants it to fuck off. So he kisses you. Slow and deep. Just him, and you.

If he'd have met you under different circumstances, he'd have probably already asked your father's permission to-

And then it hits him. The reminder that he can never have a happy ending with you, all thanks to your fucking father.

Jungkook asked you to come to Busan for a reason. There are things you need to see, things you need to understand before it all goes to shit.

"I want you to come somewhere with me tomorrow," he husks against your lips, your noses stroking gently against one another. "Somewhere important. I've got some errands to run, and I'll see my family alone, but after that, I wanna show you something."

You nod to confirm that it's okay. Of course, you don't mind him seeing his family alone, and you could do with running a few errands yourself, so it works out well. He's opening up. Sharing. And that's all you can ask for.

It has you thinking that maybe you should do the same for him.

"Thank you," he whispers.

It's a loaded phrase, and you're not sure which part he's thanking you for, but you accept it nonetheless.

This is progress, you think.

Funny, 'cause Jungkook's the blonde one. If anyone should be a dumb bitch, it's him.

But the blonde is fake, and he's smarter than he should be after all those blows to the head in the boxing ring.

You're private school educated. Could have been anything you wanted. Could have had the world. Your daddy worked hard to make sure of it.

But as Jungkook leads you to the bathroom, stripped of everything except for the stain of his sex, you think you already have the world.

You think, for once, you finally have something good that isn't the result of nepotism or political fear.

Your daddy worked hard. He worked real hard. He gave you the world, and then some - but the world doesn't come for free, and there's a little collateral that he never counted on caring enough to fuck with his self-made solar system.

Yeah, your daddy gave you the world.

But it's Jungkook's job to give it back to its rightful owners, whether he wants to or not.

And so, as the shower begins to heat up, and the pair of you are doing what you do so well, his phone begins to buzz in the bedroom. It goes unnoticed. It's not Jungkook's priority anymore, which leaves him in quite a predicament.

The outside world can wait for a moment. He's letting himself indulge in the fantasy of you one final time.

What a brilliant, intangible fantasy you are.

But fantasy is just that;

a lie.

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