#I've been counting down the days since the announcement | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago

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Religiously

Summary: Jake’s world is turned upside down when he learns that the woman he once loved is getting married to someone else. Struggling with the weight of his past mistakes and the emotional fallout of their breakup, Jake is deployed on a mission that nearly costs him his life. What happens when he returns home to recover from his injuries and comes face to face with her?

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (No Use of Y/n)

Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Religious References, Violence related to military action and combat, Combat Related Injury, Mentions of near death experiences, Discussions of emotional and physical pain, PTSD like themes, Possible triggers related to medical and emergency situations.

Word Count: 6,664

A/N: So it's been a little bit since I posted anything. But here is a little something I've been working on for a few days. Hope you guys enjoy xx

**Flashbacks ared indicated by italics**

Jake shifted the phone to his other ear, stretching his legs out on the hard, thin standard issue mattress that the Navy offered in the barracks. The air conditioning unit rattled in the background, barely cutting through the Southern California heat.

It was late, and he was tired. But he knew he couldn’t miss his usual Sunday night call with his mom. No matter where the Navy sent him, Mama Seresin always expected him to check in.

“Your dad finally fixed the fence,” his mom was saying. “After I reminded him for the hundredth time.”

Jake smirked, rubbing a hand over his face. “Took him long enough.”

“That’s what I said, honey! But you know how he is. Stubborn as a mule.”

“Guess I know where I get it from, then.”

His mom scoffed. “Oh honey, that’s all from your daddy’s side.”

Jake chuckled, the familiar back and forth easing some of the tension in his chest. These calls were a tether to home. Something steady in a life that seemed to never stop moving.

But then his mom’s tone shifted, just slightly. “Oh, did you see the picture of the paper? Your sister said she was going to send it to you.”

Jake frowned. “What paper?”

“The Gazette. They had an engagement announcement in last week’s edition.”

He didn’t think much of it at first, just let her words settle in the background as he reached for the beer on the nightstand.

And then she said your name.

Jake’s fingers froze around the bottle. His heart punched once, hard, against his ribs.

“She’s getting married next month. Can you believe it?”

His throat suddenly felt tight and dry. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. Big wedding from what I hear. Out at that fancy vineyard in Hill Country. Her mama must be over the moon.”

Jake could only nod, even though she couldn’t see him.

You. Married.

He should’ve expected it. It had been years since he’d last seen you, since he’d walked away and let you go. But still, something about it didn’t sit right.

“Anyway, I always thought you two would end up together,” his mom added casually. Like she hadn’t just knocked the wind out of him. “Guess life had other plans.”

Jake let out a breath through his nose, gripping the bottle tighter. “Yeah. Guess so.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy with everything he didn’t say.

“Jake?” His mom’s voice softened. “You okay, sweetie?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure, honey?” his mom pressed. “You sound—”

“I’m good, Ma,” he cut in, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. He ran a hand over his face. “Just tired. Long day.”

His mom didn’t push, but he could hear the doubt in the way she sighed. “Alright, well, get some rest. And call me next Sunday, you hear?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

The call ended with a soft click, but the silence it left behind was anything but peaceful.

Jake let the phone rest against his chest for a second, staring up at the ceiling. The AC hummed steady but weak, barely making a dent in the sticky air.

He shut his eyes. Tried to push the thought of you out of his head. Tried to forget the way your name had felt like a punch to the ribs. Tried not to picture you in a white dress, smiling at some other man.

Jake sat up abruptly, cursing under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, restless. His pulse was too loud, his thoughts running too fast.

He told himself to leave it alone. To let it go, the way he had years ago.

But his fingers moved before he could stop them, unlocking his phone and pulling up his photos. He scrolled fast, past images of deployments, blurry bar nights, old squadmates.

Until he sees it. A picture of you.

The two of you, tangled together on the dock that summer. Your legs draped over his, your head tipped back in laughter. The setting sun had turned your skin golden, your hair wind-tousled and perfect. He remembered the exact moment he took the photo.

“You’re staring,” you’d teased, nudging his arm.

“Maybe,” he’d admitted, grinning. “Can you blame me?”

Jake swallowed hard. His thumb hovered over the screen. He should put the phone down. Delete the photos. Move on.

But instead, his mind pulled him under. Back to that summer. Back to you. Back to the moment everything changed.

Jake kept scrolling. Past the dock. Past the bonfires. Past the blurry, stolen moments that still felt too sharp.

And then he stopped. The picture filled his screen, pulling the air straight from his lungs.

You, standing in the middle of the river, the water lapping at your thighs. Your arms stretched out, face tipped to the sun, eyes closed like you could soak in the warmth forever. That stupid blue swimsuit he used to tease you about, the one you insisted was your favorite.

He could still hear your laugh from that day.

Could still feel the moment everything changed.

“You coming in, or what?” you called, twisting toward him, your hair dripping down your back.

Jake sat on the riverbank, forearms resting on his knees, watching you wade deeper into the water. “I don’t know. You sure it’s not freezing?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s Texas in July, dumbass.”

Still he didn’t move. Just sat there, watching the sunlight catch in your hair, the way the water curved around your legs.

You sighed, dramatically, and turned to face him fully. “Okay, fine. I’ll come to you.”

Before he could react, you lunged forward, hands cutting through the water, sending a wave straight at him.

“Damn it—”

It was too late. Cold water splashed over his legs, soaking the edge of his shorts.

Your laugh was loud and reckless. “Guess it’s not that cold, huh?”

Jake shot to his feet. “Oh, you’re real funny.”

“I try,” you quipped, grinning as you stepped back, deeper into the river. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

He didn’t think—just moved. Sprinting forward, he hit the water fast, the shock of it stealing his breath, but he didn’t stop. You yelped, spinning to escape, but he caught you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Jake. Don’t you dare—”

Too late.

He lifted you effortlessly, slinging you over his shoulder before spinning in a circle. You shrieked, kicking your legs, but he only laughed.

“Apologize,” he teased, tightening his grip.

“Never.”

“Suit yourself.”

And then he dropped you. You disappeared beneath the surface, the splash soaking him completely. He barely had a second to gloat before you popped up, hair plastered to your face, eyes blazing with mock outrage.

“Oh, it’s on,” you warned.

Before he could react, you launched yourself at him, pushing him under.

He surfaced a second later, shaking water from his face, only to find you already laughing.

You looked happy. You always looked happy, but today there was something different about it. About you.

Jake’s breath caught, something unfamiliar curling in his chest. He wanted to keep you like this. Wanted to see you like this every damn day.

And that’s when it hit him. Like a punch to the ribs.

He was falling for you. Maybe he already had.

Jake blinked, the memory dissolving like mist.

His chest ached, his grip tightening around the phone.

He should’ve told you. He should’ve said those three little words that summer.

But he never did. And now? Now you were marrying someone else.

Jake exhaled sharply and closed out of his photo album. Before he could think better of it, his fingers moved on instinct, opening his social media app and typing your name into the search bar.

The first picture hit him like a gut punch.

You standing in front of a wall of pastel balloons, champagne glass in hand. The caption read Bride to Be in swirly gold script, matching the sash draped over your shoulder. Someone had tagged you in the post a few weeks ago

Jake swallowed hard, his eyes dragging over the details.

The white dress clung to you in all the right ways. Your hair was curled soft around your face, your smile wide and effortless.

You looked happy. Really happy.

The sight of it made him sick.

His stomach twisted as he swiped through more photos. You, laughing with friends. You cutting into a cake shaped like a wedding dress. You leaning into your fiancé..

Jake’s jaw locked at the sight of the guy.

He looked…fine. Some clean cut, polished type. A little too put together. A little too perfect.

Your smiles with your fiance were poised and practiced. Pretty but forced. The kind of smile you put on when you knew a camera was on you. It was the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jake scrolled back to one of your old pictures together. A blurry shot from a summer night. You were sitting beside him on the tailgate of his truck. Your head was thrown back in laughter. No perfect angles. No careful posing. Just you, caught mid laugh, so lost in the moment you didn’t care about the camera.

And maybe Jake was just torturing himself, but he swore you looked happier then. Happier with him.

He scrolled back up, staring at the image of you in white at the bridal shower. Maybe you smiled like that now. Maybe you convinced yourself this was what you wanted.

Jake exhaled sharply and shut off his phone, dropping it onto the bed beside him like it burned. But the image of you in white was already seared into his mind.

Marriage. It was what you always wanted. Hell, he wanted it too…just not as soon as you. He told himself he wasn’t ready. That he needed more time, that he had things to figure out, that forever could wait a little longer.

But you weren’t willing to wait for him to decide that he was ready. And now time was up.

His jaw clenched. He ran a hand over his face, dragging it down to his mouth as if that could stop the ache clawing at his chest.

He should be over this by now. You were.

He stared at the ceiling, willing himself not to care.

It had been a couple of years. He’d had his share of short lived relationships, other break ups. He went through the motions. First dates, good mornings, empty conversations that never quite filled the space you left behind. Some hurt for a while, some didn’t even register, most faded into nothing more than a name or a fleeting memory.

But yours? That breakup was different. It wasn’t just another failed relationship. Yours was the one that gutted him. The one that still sat heavy in his chest, refusing to be buried no matter how much time passed.

It was the only one that still got to him. He could barely remember the details of his other breakups. Who ended things first, the reasons why, the words exchanged. They were all just echoes of something that was never meant to last.

But you? He remembered everything.

"I love you, Jake. I love you so much, but I can’t keep waiting for you to decide if you want this...if you want me."

Your eyes had been glassy, your hands clenched into fists at your sides like you were holding yourself together by sheer will alone. He’d stood there, jaw tight, arms crossed, refusing to let himself break. Refusing to admit he was terrified.

"It’s not that simple," he had said, voice rough, exhausted from the same argument you’d been having for weeks.

"It is for me," you whispered, voice cracking. "I want a life with you. A future. A family. But if you don’t know if you want that with me, then I—" You sucked in a sharp breath. "Then I can’t do this anymore."

The way your fingers trembled as you slipped the key to his place onto the counter nearly undid him. It was such a small movement, so quiet, but it hit like a gunshot. Final. Permanent.

Even then, even when you turned to go, he could have stopped you. He could have said Wait. I love you. I want this. I want you. But his own stubborn silence kept him frozen, hands fisting at his sides as he watched you walk to the door.

And everything in him screamed that he should run after you.

But he didn’t. And that was the moment he lost you.

And now, years later, the weight of losing you hadn’t lessened. If anything, it pressed down harder, knowing you’d moved on while he was still stuck here trying to pretend he wasn’t.

Jake’s thumb hovered over the screen as he scrolled, then stopped. A picture of you with a guitar.

You were sitting on a blanket in the grass, laughing at something just outside the frame, fingers curled around the neck of the instrument like it was second nature. The sight of it pulled at something deep in his chest. And just like that, he was back there.

Back on your front porch that summer night.

The cicadas hummed in the background, a lazy breeze rolling through, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and warm earth. You sat cross legged on the old wooden swing, your guitar balanced on your lap, the porch light casting a soft glow over your face.

"Come on, Jake," you teased, strumming a few easy chords. "You know this one."

He grinned, leaning against the railing with a beer dangling from his fingers. "I know it, but I’m not singing it."

"Fine," you huffed dramatically, but there was a smile playing on your lips. "Guess I’ll just have to sing it for both of us."

Your voice, soft and sweet, wrapped around the melody, carrying the words into the warm night air. And Jake just watched you. The way your fingers danced effortlessly over the strings. The way your nose scrunched slightly when you hit the higher notes. The way your eyes flicked up to meet his like you were singing just for him.

And that was the moment.

That was the moment he knew, or at least thought he knew, that he was going to marry you.

It hit him so fast, so unexpectedly, that it nearly knocked the breath out of him. He’d never believed in fate or soulmates or any of that, but sitting there, listening to you play your song under the Texas sky, he’d never been so sure of anything in his life.

But that was a lifetime ago.

And now, that life the one he thought he’d have with you, belonged to someone else.

Tomorrow he was leaving for deployment. Another stretch of time spent oceans away, filling his days with routine and responsibility. Pushing everything else, everything going on in his personal life to the back of his mind.

That was usually the easy part. But this time?

This time, he wished you were here. He wished you were the one standing by giving him that last lingering hug before he boarded the plane. The one pressing a kiss to his lips and telling him to stay safe, to come home in one piece. You used to say it with a teasing smile, but he knew you meant it with every part of you.

And if he was being honest with himself, if he let himself sink into that dangerous, aching place in his chest, he wished you’d be the one waiting for him when he came home too.

But he knew better than that. By the time he came back, you’d be someone else’s. You’d moved on. You’d found what you needed with someone who didn’t keep you waiting for him to be ready.

And tomorrow, as he stood on the tarmac, duffel slung over his shoulder, staring out at the horizon before takeoff…he’d have to find a way to make peace with that.

* * * * *

The days leading up to the mission had felt like any other. Straightforward. Jake had been briefed, run the practice drills. He knew the routine, knew the threats, knew the risks. But he wasn’t worried. He’d been through this before. He was trained for moments like this. His crew made up of Phoenix and Bob had his back, and he trusted them.

It wasn’t a difficult mission. Two planes. Simple intel. Minor threat from enemy aircraft, but it wasn’t a serious risk. That’s what they had been told, and Jake believed it.

They took off that morning, the cool January air crisp as the planes cut through it. Jake was leading, flying in formation with Phoenix and Bob close behind. The adrenaline buzzed in his veins, but he kept it steady. They had their plan, and nothing was going to go wrong. Or so he thought.

The radio crackled in his ear, Phoenix's voice cutting through the static. "Enemy aircraft, five o’clock!"

Jake didn’t see them. Not at first. Everything was too smooth, too easy. But as Phoenix and Bob called it out, the world shifted. He glanced over his shoulder just as a shadow broke through the cloud cover.

Before he could react, there was a burst of red hot fire tearing through his right wing. The impact hit like a freight train, and then… everything went wrong. His plane jolted violently, and the warning lights flashed in his cockpit.

"Shit!" Jake muttered under his breath, fighting for control.

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the sky. Phoenix and Bob were calling over the radio shouting commands, but everything was a blur of panic and noise.

The next thing he knew, the plane was spiraling, falling. And then came the gut wrenching sound of metal meeting the surface as his plane hit the water.

It was cold, too cold.

His body hit the surface with an intensity that felt like concrete.

Pain exploded in his chest, knocking the wind out of him, the world spinning around him as his plane began to sank. He struggled to keep his head above water. The saltwater burned against his skin, but it was the cold that was most unforgiving.

His breath came in shallow gasps. He could barely keep his eyes open. The pain radiated through every nerve in his body, but his thoughts didn’t linger on the physical agony.

All he could think about was you.

Your face, your laugh, the way you smiled at him like you were the only two people in the world. The warmth of your touch when he held you close. The way your eyes sparkled in the light.

God, he missed you.

It didn’t even feel like life anymore. The sun was still shining above, but it was too bright, too distant.

For a moment, Jake wondered if this was what death felt like. If the coldness of the ocean would be the last thing he ever felt.

He was there drifting, and staring up at the sky, each passing second slipping further and further from him. The world was fading. He wasn’t sure if it was the water filling his lungs or the weight of the loss that was dragging him down.

And then, in that haze of fading consciousness, a single thought pierced through the fog.

He would never see you again.

The pain from the crash didn’t compare to the ache in his chest at that thought. The empty, hollow feeling that consumed him, knowing he’d never get another chance to hold you, to tell you he loved you, to fix the mess he made.

His eyes closed again, the memory fading as darkness closed in, but not before he whispered one last time, "I love you."

Jake didn’t know how much time had passed. But suddenly the world around Jake was nothing but noise and shadows, a blur of voices he couldn’t quite make sense of. His body felt like a weight, every inch of him burning with pain, yet somehow, it was as if his mind was disconnected, floating somewhere far away.

He was still in the water. The coldness had a grip on him, sinking into his bones, but now... now there was warmth, a sensation that almost didn’t feel real. He blinked slowly, the light above him flickering, and then it was the sound of helicopters. The deep, reverberating thrum of blades slicing through the sky.

“Lieutenant Seresin!” a voice called, familiar yet distant. “Stay with me.”

He couldn’t focus on who was speaking, but the words reached him, distant echoes that seemed to tug him back from the abyss.

He heard his call sign then, as if it was the only thing tethering him to the world: “Hangman...Hangman, we’ve got you.”

A sharp pain ran through his body, and he hissed in response. His eyes tried to focus, but the world kept shifting, pulling him further under, as if the ocean itself was calling him back.

“Hang in there, Hangman!” another voice barked, this one more frantic. “We’ve got you. Just hold on.”

But he couldn’t hold on. He couldn’t keep his grip on consciousness. His eyes closed again, darkness threatening to take over.

And in that quiet, fleeting moment before everything faded, one thought echoed in his mind, louder than any of the voices around him, louder than the chopper blades, louder than the pain.

One name.

Your name.

The sound of your name coming from his lips was barely audible. But the weight of it was everything. It was the only thing his heart could hold onto.

The darkness began to press in around him yet again. But the voices around him wouldn’t let him go.

“Hangman, come on. You’ve got to stay with us.” Someone urged, and Jake could feel the pressure of someone's hands on his chest. He could tell he was being moved.

But even as he was pulled away from the brink of death, all he could think about was you. And the painful truth that you weren’t there. You weren’t going to be there waiting for him if he woke up.

* * * * *

The steady beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing Jake registered as he drifted back to consciousness. He blinked against the bright overhead light, his vision adjusting to the sterile white walls of a hospital room. His body felt heavy, weighed down by pain and exhaustion, but he was alive.

Alive. The word should’ve meant something. Should’ve felt like a victory. But all he felt was numb.

He didn’t know how long he lay there staring at the ceiling, letting the reality of everything settle in. The mission. The hit. The cold. The pain. The fact that he should be dead, but somehow wasn’t.

And you. You had been the last thing on his mind before he hit the water. The last thing before everything faded.

And now lying here alive when he shouldn’t be, he didn’t know what to do with that.

* * * * *

Jake stepped off the plane, the humid Texas air wrapping around him like an old familiar embrace. The warmth should’ve felt like home, but it didn’t. Not really. Maybe nothing would after everything.

His ribs ached from the long flight, but he ignored it as he grabbed his duffel bag and made his way through the small Austin airport. His mom was waiting for him near baggage claim, standing on her toes to scan the crowd. The second she spotted him, relief softened her face, and she rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Jake," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. "Oh, honey, it's so good to see you."

He gritted his teeth against the pain of her embrace but didn’t pull away. "Good to see you too, Mama."

She held him for a moment longer before stepping back, her hands lingering on his arms like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. Her eyes scanned his face, taking in the bruises, the exhaustion still clinging to him. "You look tired."

"Yeah, well. Almost dying will do that to a guy."

She swatted his arm lightly. "Don’t joke about that."

He gave her a tired smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Not joking."

Her expression faltered for a second, like she wanted to say something else, but instead, she just squeezed his arm. "Come on. Let’s get you home."

The drive back to the house was quiet, save for the occasional updates from his mom about family, neighbors, the latest town gossip. But Jake wasn’t really listening. He just stared out the window, watching the familiar Texas landscape roll past.

When they pulled into the driveway, his mom turned off the engine but didn’t get out right away. Instead, she looked at him carefully, her hands still gripping the wheel.

"You settling in okay?" she asked.

He frowned. "I just got here."

She nodded slowly, her lips pressing together like she was debating saying something else.

"What?" Jake asked, narrowing his eyes.

His mom hesitated, then gave him a small, knowing smile. "Nothing. Just…I have a feeling you're gonna find your time home a little more interesting than you expected."

Jake’s stomach twisted, but before he could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, she grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, leaving him sitting there, wondering why the hell she suddenly looked like she knew something he didn’t.

The next morning, the house was quiet. His parents had already left for work, leaving Jake alone with nothing but the old family dog and his own thoughts. He sat on the porch, the Texas sun warming his skin, a coffee cup resting on the arm of the wooden chair beside him.

His ribs still ached with every breath, and even the smallest movements sent sharp reminders through his body. But the worst pain wasn’t physical.

Beau, the aging golden retriever, lay at his feet, tail thumping lazily against the wooden planks as Jake absently scratched behind his ears. The dog was content. Jake wished he could say the same.

He leaned back, closing his eyes, listening to the rustle of the wind through the trees. It was peaceful, but peace didn’t reach him the way it used to. Not with everything in his head. Not with everything in his chest.

Then he heard it. Gravel crunching under tires.

His brows pulled together as he opened his eyes, turning his head toward the driveway. A car he didn’t recognize was pulling in. His stomach tightened, his mind automatically running through the possibilities. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone looking for his mom or dad.

Then the driver’s side door opened. And you stepped out.

Jake’s entire body went still. For a second, he wondered if the pain meds were making him hallucinate. Because there was no way you were here. No way you were standing in his parents’ driveway, looking exactly the same and somehow completely different all at once.

His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else.

You shut the car door gently, standing there for a beat, like you weren’t sure if you should take another step.

Jake swallowed, but his throat was dry.

You take a slow step forward. Then another. The crunch of your shoes against the gravel is the only sound between you. Beau lifts his head, watching you curiously, but Jake didn’t move. He just watches you come closer, like he isn’t sure if you’re real or if you’ll disappear before you reach him.

And then you stop at the edge of the porch. Close enough that he can see every flicker of hesitation in your eyes. Close enough that he can tell you’re nervous.

Neither of you speak at first. You just look at each other. For a moment, it feels like the whole world holds its breath.

Then you break the silence. "How are you?"

Jake almost lies. The words 'I’m fine' sit on the tip of his tongue, easy and automatic. But when he looks at you—really looks at you—he can’t bring himself to say it.

Instead he exhales, shifts slightly in his seat, and admits, "Everything hurts like hell."

Your lips press together, your gaze flickering down, and for a second, he wonders if he shouldn’t have said that. If maybe you didn’t want to hear the truth.

Then you go quiet. Your fingers fidget at your sides, like you’re debating something.

Jake watches you, waiting. And then, finally, you lift your gaze and say softly, "I was scared when I got the call."

His brow furrows slightly. "What?"

You let out a breath, shifting on your feet. "They…couldn’t get ahold of your mom after the accident. And I guess..." You hesitate. "I guess I was still listed as a contact on your paperwork."

Jake's stomach tightens.

"They called you?" His voice is quieter now.

You nod. "Yeah." A small, almost breathless laugh leaves you, but it isn’t amused. It’s tired. "I was the one who had to tell your mom what happened."

Jake stares at you, something unreadable flickering through his expression.

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to process the fact that you were the one who got the call. That you were the one who had to break the news to his mother.

And that when it came down to it, you still picked up the phone.

Jake lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he looks away. "Hell, maybe it would’ve been easier if I didn’t make it."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Jake—"

"I’m serious," he mutters, still not meeting your eyes. "Would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble. You wouldn’t have had to get that call. Wouldn’t have had to show up here now, feeling like you owe me something." He exhales sharply, jaw tight. "Would’ve been easier for you."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your arms drop from where they’d been crossed over your chest, the weight of his statement sinking deep into your bones.

"You think that?" Your voice is quieter now, but there’s an edge to it. Sharp and laced with something close to anger. "You think it would be easier for me if you were—"

You can’t even say the word. It makes you sick.

Jake finally looks at you then, and for the first time since you stepped out of your car, he sees it. The hurt in your eyes, the way you’re gripping your hands into fists like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

"God, Jake." You shake your head, blinking hard. "You really think I’d want to live in a world where you don’t exist?"

He swallows, but he doesn’t say anything.

"I don’t care what happened between us. I don’t care how much time has passed." Your voice wavers, but you push through it. "I would never, never be okay with losing you."

Jake looks away again, his throat tight, his chest heavier than it already was. He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t expecting you to still feel anything close to this strongly.

Jake clears his throat, shifting on the porch steps. He winces as the movement sends a sharp pain through his ribs. The weight of your words still lingers in the air between you, heavy and unspoken. He doesn’t know what to say or how to navigate this. So he reaches for the one thing that’s been at the forefront of his mind since you pulled into his driveway.

"So, uh...the wedding." His voice is rough, uncertain. "It’s soon, right?"

You let out a dry scoff, shaking your head. "Not anymore."

Jake frowns confused. "What do you mean?"

You cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. There’s a moment of hesitation before you say it out loud. "I called it off."

The words hit him harder than they should. His fingers flex against his thigh, his pulse kicking up just slightly. He searches your face, trying to piece it together.

"Why?" he asks, voice quieter now.

You let out a breath, looking down at the ground. "Because it wasn’t right."

Jake watches you carefully. "Did he do something?" There’s an edge to his tone now,something protective, almost territorial, that he doesn’t even mean to let slip.

You shake your head. "No. He was...he is a good man." You look up then, meeting Jake’s gaze, and there’s something unreadable in your expression. "But he wasn’t you."

Jake just stares at you, completely floored. His mind races, trying to process what you just said. You still love him. After everything. After the years apart, the breakup, the almost marriage to someone else…you still love him.

Jake watches you, waiting, hoping, praying that this isn’t just some cruel dream that he's going to wake up from.

But then you take a shaky breath, and your eyes drop to the wooden porch beneath your feet. "Something happened when I got the call," you admit quietly.

Jake tenses, his stomach twisting. "What do you mean?"

You shift, wrapping your arms around yourself like you’re bracing for something. "I was with him. My fiancé." You hesitate, voice barely above a whisper. "We were at our bachelor and bachelorette party."

Jake sucks in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as you force yourself to meet his gaze again.

"My phone rang. I saw the number, and I just…I knew it was about you." You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. "He asked me not to answer. Told me that whatever it was, it could wait. But I couldn’t do it, Jake. I couldn’t ignore it. Not when I knew it was about you. I knew that the Navy would only be calling for one thing. And that I needed to know if something had happened."

Jake’s chest tightens, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"That was the moment I knew," you whisper. "I couldn’t marry him. Because no matter how much I wanted to move on, no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I had—" You trail off, exhaling shakily. "I don't think I ever did."

Jake’s breath catches. His entire body aches, but nothing compares to the way his heart clenches at your words.

"Then let me be yours again." His voice is rough, pleading, desperate. "Please."

You stare at him, eyes wide, like you weren’t expecting him to say it. To fight for this.

Jake leans forward, wincing slightly from the pain still radiating through his ribs, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re standing in front of him, looking at him like that, like part of you is still afraid to believe this is real.

"I lost you once," he says, voice raw. "And it damn near broke me. I’m not making that mistake again."

Your breath shudders as you exhale, and for a moment, neither of you speak. The air between you is thick with everything unsaid, years of heartbreak and longing hanging in the balance.

"Jake—" You hesitate, pressing your lips together like you’re trying to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret. "I don’t know how to do this again."

"Then we figure it out together." His voice is steady this time, sure.

"I was so scared," you whisper, shaking your head. "When they called me, when I had to tell your mom-" You break off, inhaling sharply. "Jake, I thought—"

He doesn’t let you finish. He reaches out, his hand covering yours where it’s clenched into a fist against your side. Your fingers tremble under his touch but don’t pull away.

"I’m here," he murmurs, squeezing gently. "And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like this doesn’t still mean something."

Your eyes search his, and he sees the war inside you, the part that’s still afraid to let him back in. But then, slowly, your fingers uncurl. You turn your hand over, letting your palm press against his.

"Okay," you whisper.

Jake exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, relief crashing over him.

"Okay," he echoes, squeezing your hand one more time before pulling you down onto the porch beside him.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There's only the sound of the wind and the soft rustle of the trees around you. Then, without a word, Jake pulls you into his arms, his hold tight but gentle, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

You bury your face in his chest, the familiar scent of him grounding you in this moment, in a feeling you thought you lost. His arms tighten around you, and for the first time in a long time, you both breathe.

It’s like the world slows down, and in each other's arms, the years, the mistakes, the heartache fade into nothingness. There’s no need for words, no need for anything else. Just the comfort of being together again.

* * * * *

A few days later, things are still a bit new between you and Jake, but it feels right. You're taking it slow, giving each other the space to rediscover what you once had. Things are easier now, the awkwardness slowly slipping away as the days pass. Jake is at your place sitting on the couch while you make coffee in the kitchen. There’s a comfortable quiet between you, no pressure, just the two of you spending time together.

When you come back into the living room, he’s standing by the corner of the room, his fingers lightly brushing over the strings of your old guitar that’s resting in the corner.

"You still play?" he asks, his voice soft, almost like he’s unsure of how to approach it.

You give him a playful shrug, leaning against the doorframe. "Sometimes. Not as much as I used to."

Jake tilts his head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You take requests?" he teases, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You chuckle, the familiar feeling of teasing him making something warm stir inside you. "You think you’re funny, huh?"

You walk over, picking up the guitar, and sit down on the couch, strumming a few chords to warm up your fingers.

"What's your request?"

"Our song," Jake says, sitting down beside you, the familiar weight of his gaze on you.

Your heart skips at the words. You start to play, the chords coming back to you like second nature, the rhythm flowing through you like a memory you never quite forgot. The song, the one that’s always been yours and Jake's song, fills the space between you. And with every note you can feel something stirring again.

By the time you reach the last line of the song, your fingers move with a gentle certainty. It feels like this is the way it was always meant to be. The two of you here in this moment, coming back to what you never should have left behind.

When the last chord fades, Jake’s hand finds yours, his fingers gently curling around yours. He looks at you for a beat, and then without a word he leans in.

The kiss is slow, sweet, and soft, like everything that’s been building between you has finally found its way out. It’s not rushed, not desperate, but full of all the things you’ve both been holding back for too long. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, and you can’t help but smile.

"I missed this," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

"Me too," you say, heart full, the world around you fading away until there’s only Jake, and you, and the love you’re starting to believe in again.

#Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin Fanfiction #Jake Seresin Fanfic #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #Spotify

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bvidzsoo · 2 months ago

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Cherry Blossom, March Event M.list

Authors: ❀ @hongjoongspoetry & bvidzsoo ❀

Pairing: Ateez members x reader

❀ Genre: fluff, soulmate tropes, romance aus ❀ Rating: sfw ❀ Status: finished

Synopsis: Tired of all the grey weather and the relentless winter cold? Dive into the world of our Cherry Blossom event, riddled with heartwarming and sweet drabbles, here to help ease you into the defrosting spring that we have ahead of us.

❀ This is a collection of eight drabbles written by Mina and myself, containing individual and quite unique soulmate tropes paired with a variety of aus, which have been chosen randomly by us, then placed in a spin-the-wheel to make it all the more interesting when selecting who would write what. ❀

A/N: Hello, my loves, Mina and I are back with a little fluffy surprise for the entirety of March! We are both so excited about this little event, it's actually my first this kind of collaboration despite the many years I've been on this site writing, so I'm really excited about it, and I know Mina is too. I hope we have sparked your interest, here you can check out the event announcement. We also have a taglist for this event that you can join if you'd like! ^^ dividers

❀ Taglist ❀

3rd March - Chasing your shadows (Ariadné)

❀ Outlaw!Kim Hongjoong x Bounty hunter!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: Each day on your arm is a particular event your soulmate will face. Summary: What was supposed to be a wild chase after a bounty you had your eyes set on for years now, turns into a life changing event. You had always known your soulmate was never up to any good thanks to the words inked on your inner forearm ever since you were five years old, but you hadn't expected him to be the biggest menace known to the state...or the man you had been relentlessly chasing, trying to catch for the hefty reward promised.

7th March - Pretend You Love Me (Mina)

❀ Badboy!Choi Jongho x Student!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: Your soulmate's name is on your wrist. Summary: Jongho, heir to Choi Clothes, and you are soulmates marked by each other's names on your wrists since birth. Instead of a fairy-tale romance, you're stuck in a fake dating contract to restore Jongho's tarnished image created by scandals. As you navigate public events and play the part of a cute couple, the lines between fake and real blur together. Despite your undeniable chemistry, you refuse to take him seriously due to his reckless past. As the arrangement nears its end, you must confront the truth about your feelings and whether you can move beyond the contract.

10th March - A world in your colours (Ariadné)

❀ Daycare teacher!Kang Yeosang x Florist!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: You see all the colours for the first time when you meet your soulmate. Summary: A world through the faint hues of your soulmate's eye colour isn't the most colourful life to live. Approaching twenty-five and still being unable to see all the colours the world has to offer has you worried that you'll never meet your soulmate. Doubts and questions riddle your mind day and night, but at least you have the one thing that makes you happy no matter what, your little flowers. You can't actually see their colours, but you can imagine their vibrancy. And then, one day when you're making a bouquet for a lovely man, your whole world gets covered in an overwhelming amount of colour, rendering you stunned.

14th March - A Second to Forever (Mina)

❀ Mixed fairy!Seonghwa x Fairy!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: A timer counting down for when you meet your soulmate. Summary: The countdown on your wrist was getting closer to its end and the jitters of finally meeting your soulmate were rendering you an anxious mess. It was a moment you had waited for your entire life - the chance to put a face and name to the person you were destined to meet - and it made you think of different ways to escape fate. After a series of comedic events where everything that could go wrong, did, you met your soulmate. In that instant, everything changed. The encounter was filled with sparks of attraction, warmth and genuine connection, leading to a tender first interaction that left you both feeling enchanted.

17th March - So it's always been you (Ariadné)

❀ Model!Jung Wooyoung x Stylist!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: Whenever you lose an item, it ends up in your soulmates' possession somehow. Summary: Both young and restless, Wooyoung and you have started out your careers around the same time. As newbies in the industry, you quickly found yourselves sticking together and growing closer with each passing day. Now, many years down the line, everyone knows that you and Wooyoung are inseparable besties, who have each other's backs and will crack up at the stupidest of jokes. As his stylist, it's also convenient that whatever Wooyoung loses just magically turns up in your possession since he's known for losing his stuff often. It takes you quite the years to figure it out, but when you do eventually, everything just clicks in place, all of it making sense.

21st March - Just Another Night, Until You (Mina)

❀ Firefighter!Choi San x Emergency physician!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: Being next to your soulmate heals their and your injuries. Summary: Hectic nights at work is nothing out of the ordinary for you, but when a man is wheeled into the Intensive Care Unit with second degree burns all over his body and in the need of immediate medical attention, your life takes a turn as his body heals on his own by the mere presence of you. Shocked by the discovery, you stay by his side as he recovers and together you come to terms with your unexpected connection.

24th March - The pink and blue of your skin (Ariadné)

❀ Sunshine!Jeong Yunho x Grumpy!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: A touch from your soulmate will leave an imprint there. Summary: If there's one person you never understood, and stopped trying to, it was Jeong Yunho. Upon your first meeting back in college, you just knew he'd be a pain in the ass...and you were right. His vibrant personality matched with the constant smile on his face and sickening positivity always made you stay away from him. But much to your dismay, your friend groups mashed quite well, and years after college, you were still going strong and hanging out at any given opportunity. Much to your horror, your best friend makes you share a room and a bed with Yunho for the weekend, and that's when things change...but not for the reasons you'd first think of.

28th March - Sparks and Bruises (Mina)

❀ Boxer!Song Mingi x Real estate agent!reader ❀

Soulmate trope: Meter showing how much of a danger your soulmate is in. Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

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golden-cherry · 1 year ago

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deal - cl16 (28/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Your pillow is comfortable - just like Charles' lap.

Warnings: 18+ (dry humping, mentions of sex), fluff, tiny bit of angst, Lando is a little shit

Word Count: 4.5k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: since you were all so patient with me - you deserve this. I hope you're sat, because y/n definitely is. feedback is appreciated!

"Good morning, mon amour," Charles whispers softly in your ear before you feel a faint puff of air against your cheek. Something soft and warm presses gently against your temple. "It's still quite early. You can go back to sleep if you want to." He rests his chin on your shoulder and you feel his chest against your back. "I'd like to go jogging, if that's okay with you."

Sleepy - and confused - you snuggle further into your comfy pillow. It's still dark in the room, but through the window you can already see the horizon changing color and announcing a new day. You yawn tiredly and close your eyes again. "You're waking me up to tell me you're going jogging? Are you crazy? Couldn't you have just written me a note or a text?"

Charles exhales through his nose. "I'm sorry, chérie. There was no other way. I have an appointment with my trainer and I'm already late." He gently puts his hand on your bare hip, where the shirt has ridden up and exposed a sliver of your skin. "All you have to do is let go of my arm and then I'll be gone and you can go back to sleep."

Your pillow moves almost imperceptibly beneath you and you raise your head to examine it, puzzled. You realize that you have been lying on Charles' arm and your hand has found its place on his forearm. You suppress a smile as you lie back down and press your cheek into the soft inside of his upper arm. "Nope. Unfortunately not possible. I'm afraid your arm is too comfortable for me to let you go right now."

Charles's fingers press a little harder into your hip, but his arm stays in place. "I won't be long. I promise."

Drowsy and not fully conscious, you turn in his arms and lift your leg, only to wrap it around his waist and press yourself against him. The tip of your nose touches his bare chest. "You said yesterday that we would continue to share a bed so that I could sleep better. So you have no choice but to stay here with me." As you absentmindedly kiss his chest and press your hip against yours, you feel warm.

Charles laughs softly, but doesn't disagree with you. Instead, his arms wrap around you a little tighter. The hand that was on your hip a moment ago slides up your spine under your shirt. His fingertips dance over your warm skin until his hand rests gently on the nape of your neck, where it lingers lightly. "As far back as I can remember, I said I'd hold you in my arms if it meant you'd sleep better."

You gently lift your head from his chest so that you can look at him. Charles' eyes are closed, but a slight smile pulls the corners of his mouth upwards. "You do realize that you're digging yourself in deeper, don't you?"

He slowly opens his eyes and looks down at you. Without hesitation, he rolls you onto your back. You feel his weight on top of you as his hand disappears from your neck and rests against your thigh, keeping your leg wrapped around his waist. "How silly. Looks like I've lost now."

His weight on you, his warm breath on your face and his fingertips disappearing under the hem of your shorts cloud your thoughts. You look at him from under your eyelashes and have to swallow as his gaze darts from your eyes to your mouth and back up again. "How silly."

He opens his mouth slightly and he's so close to you that you can make out the different shades of green in his irises despite the darkness. His beard shades his beautiful face and you want to rub your cheek against it. Or feel the stubble on your thighs. Or -

Charles leans so far down towards you that the tips of your noses touch. As he licks his lips, you think you can feel his tongue on your mouth. But maybe you're just too tired and imagining it. "I'd love to stay in this bed with you forever," Charles whispers, and as his fingers slide a little higher under your shorts, almost touching the curve of your ass, you involuntarily arch up towards him. Just as you think you can feel the hardness of his abdomen, he pushes himself off the bed with his other hand and pulls away. "But I really need to go jogging." A brief moment later, he stands in front of the bed and scratches the back of his neck. "I thought I might go grocery shopping afterwards. Just text me if you think of anything else you might need."

Distracted by the warmth in your lower belly, you stare at him as he slips into the sports shorts you were wearing yesterday morning. His smell clings to you and you can't think straight as he sits down on the edge of the bed to pull white tennis socks over his feet. You push the covers off you and crawl across the bed to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Your hands rest on his warm chest. "You're mean, Charles." You brush a kiss on the soft skin under his ear and can feel his heart skip a beat.

He pauses in his movement. "You haven't called me that in days." He tilts his head a little so he can look at you.

Puzzled, you return his gaze. "What do you mean? I always call you Charles."

Slowly, his fingers wrap around your wrists so that he can wriggle out of your embrace. But only so that his arm can wrap around your waist and he can pull you onto his lap. As you sit astride his thighs, he cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger so you have no choice but to look at him.

He shakes his head slightly. "You called me Charles. English pronunciation. You've been calling me Charles since we had dinner with the others the other night."

You raise an eyebrow and squirm on his legs under his unyielding gaze. "And what did I call you now?"

"Sharl. French pronunciation." A glint sparkles in his eyes.

"Is that good? Or bad?" you ask unknowingly and innocently, running your fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck.

"What do you think?" His voice is no more than a whisper as his other arm wraps around your back and pulls you completely onto his lap so that you can barely move. Once again, his fingers slip just below the hem of your pajama shorts, fingertips almost digging into your flesh as he presses your crotch against his noticeable bulge. So hard that you might end up with bruises on your hips. But you don't care. You gasp in response. "Do I like this or not?"

The warmth that was previously spread throughout your body moves south, and you feel your arousal pooling in your shorts. The word friendship flashes faintly in your mind, but as Charles gently but firmly moves you over his hard-on and a low moan escapes his throat, you can't help but block it out completely.

"Charles," you almost whine as you rock your hips back and forth without a thought and the tip of his brief-clad cock nudges against your clit. Electricity flashes through your veins and your skin burns where Charles touches you and you close your eyes, flushed with pleasure.

"Nuh-uh." Charles's hand moves from your chin to the column of your throat and rests just at the base of your neck. "Look at me, mon amour." His voice is deep and smoky as he makes you look into his eyes. Through half-opened eyes and with his mouth open, he grinds you over his boner, his breath stumbling and warming your face as you can do nothing but surrender to the sensation.

Never in your life have you desired someone as much as Charles. Charles, exhaling as if relieved that he can release some tension, while your fingers dig into his shoulder blades to make sure he doesn't stop. The hem of your pyjamas and his boxer shorts rub so deliciously against your bundle of nerves and you moan shamelessly as the gorgeous man beneath you bites his lower lip, wishing it was yours he was nibbling on.

"Charles, please," you beg, even though you don't know what for. You want his fingers on your throat, his mouth on yours. You want to feel how soft his lips are as he slides his cock home until you fall apart on him. You want to hear him say how good you feel, how much he desires you and that he lo-

"Fuck," Charles snaps you out of your thoughts, and before you can realize it, he releases his arm from your body and leans to the side, where his phone is on the edge of the bed, ringing.

When you see the panic in his eyes, you quickly slide off his lap and cover yourself with the blanket again. All of a sudden you feel vulnerable and naked, even though you're still wearing the shirt and shorts. You interlace your fingers in your lap.

"I'm sorry, Andrea." Charles tucks his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he slips on the turquoise Puma shirt you were wearing yesterday morning. He lifts the hem once and smells it, and for a brief moment his eyes flicker to you before he hurries out of the room, leaving you alone in the bedroom. You hear him continuing to talk in the hallway.

Startled and a little repulsed, you sit on the bed. How did you let it get this far? Charles is your best friend - a fact you told Joris and which was later confirmed to you in person by your roommate.

So why did you just fall over each other like teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other when no one is looking? Why did you allow yourselves to dry hump each other when you are nothing more than friends? Why did everything Charles did and said turn you on so much that the inside of your thighs are sticky with your arousal? And why did it feel so damn right?

You run your hand through your tousled hair. You've never felt anything like you have in the last few minutes. You've never desired someone as much as the man whose touch made you turn to putty in his hands. As if your brain had been switched off, you gave yourself to him without thinking about what the consequences might be.

What would happen now? Would Charles still talk to you? Would you talk about it? Would it happen again?

Before you can think about it any more, Charles enters the bedroom again. His feet are now in sneakers and he has put on a jacket over his shirt. When he sees you sitting at the head of the bed, the comforter thrown over you and with big, worried eyes, his gaze softens. He crosses the room in three steps and sits on the edge of the bed with you before reaching for yours with one hand and intertwining your fingers.

"We're okay, aren't we?" he asks gently, lifting your chin with his free hand as you try to avoid his gaze. When you look at him, the sparkle from a moment ago is still there. "I - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it get this far. We're friends and the last thing I want is to lose you over this." He almost stumbles over his words when you don't say anything back. "We're still friends, aren't we?" You can see tears gathering on the line of his eyelashes.

You are so relieved that you want to hug him. You smile at him. "Of course we're friends, Charles. Best friends," you assure him, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. "There's nothing that could change that."

The man in front of you blinks away the tears and returns your smile before squeezing your hand twice. "I really have to go now. Like I said, if you need anything from the supermarket, please text me. Then I can pick it up for you." He releases his hand from yours and stands up from the bed. "See you later." He leans forward a tiny bit and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning until he merely smiles at you and then disappears. As the apartment door slams shut behind him, you exhale.

Everything's fine between you, you tell yourself as you unplug your phone from the charger and glance at the clock. 9:30 am. You could go back to bed and sleep, but as you lay your head on the pillow, the smell of last night's smoke creeps into your nose. The whole bed smells like a campfire, and your skin and hair smell like you've been wallowing in ashes, so you decide to wash the sheets and jump in the shower.

The washing machine makes a gentle whirring sound as you switch it on and then head to the fridge to prepare yourself a little breakfast. However, when you realize that there is nothing in the fridge that would be suitable, you hang your head in resignation. Apparently, the ingredients Charles used for the pancakes yesterday were the very last leftovers, so the fridge is empty apart from a pickle jar and a few bottles of water.

Without further ado, you shoot Charles a text to ask him to bring something for breakfast before you gather your bathroom utensils from your suitcase in the bedroom, undress in the bathroom and set the water in the shower to the right temperature. Since you have some time before Charles returns from his jog and the supermarket, you take all the time in the world. You shampoo your hair and rinse it thoroughly before leaving a generous amount of conditioner in your hair. Meanwhile, you exfoliate your body, shave carefully - and actually manage not to cut your knuckles. The lavender and vanilla shower gel soothes your frayed nerves, while you keep telling yourself that everything is fine between you and Charles, like you talked about.

You banish the feeling that his every touch felt good and right to the back of your mind and as you turn off the water and wrap yourself in a soft towel, it's almost as if nothing ever happened between you.

You focus on the fact that you have to look good today, because you are invited to Charles' mother's for dinner later, so you spend a lot of time taming your hair and picking out a nice outfit. You decide on a pair of dark jeans and a light blouse and button up the last button as your cell phone beeps on the kitchen island.

Charles: No problem. I think I'll be home in an hour. It'll be too late for a proper breakfast then, but how about some fruit and yogurt?

And indeed. It's now just after 12 o'clock and the washing machine seems to be doing its last spin cycle, because its humming gets louder before it goes quiet and only beeps a few times. You quickly put the wet bed sheets in the dryer before answering Charles.

You: You're the best. See you soon.

While you wait for your roommate to come home, you rummage through the things Kika picked out yesterday and scatter them around the apartment. You put the fake plants on the windowsill in your room and place a vase on the worktop in the kitchen. Then grab some picture frames and stand in the hallway to find out which places on the wall are suitable for which frame. Charles is sure to have enough beautiful photos from all over the world to decorate your home, because unfortunately you don't yet have any pictures together that you could hang on the wall. But that's okay. After all, you've only been friends for a few days.

When the front door opens a short time later, two men are standing opposite you, one of whom - thank God - is Charles. When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face.

"We've done some shopping," he explains, lifting the bags he's holding in his hands. Then he looks at the man next to him. "This is Andrea, by the way, my personal trainer and close friend." He walks towards you and briefly looks you up and down. "You look good," he says casually as he walks past you and glances over his shoulder. "Come on, Andrea. The stuff needs to go in the fridge.

"Don't stress me out like that," the man in front of you replies, rolling his eyes in an annoyed manner. "I'm Andrea, nice to meet you." He places one of his bags on the floor before holding out his hand to you.

You introduce yourself to him too and shake his hand. " Likewise. I wasn't expecting you to bring half the supermarket with you," you joke, reaching for the bag he's put down before you both head towards the kitchen.

"Me neither," Andrea replies, shrugging her shoulders. "Charles insisted because he didn't want you to want for anything. Now that you live here too."

"Andrea," Charles warns his friend as he puts the milk and eggs in the fridge.

"Don't play pretend," he defends himself and puts his bag down on the worktop. "I'm just repeating what you said." He takes your plastic bag from you and puts it on the worktop too. "I'll leave you two alone then. After all, you've got a lot to do today." He turns in your direction and smiles at you before planting a kiss on your cheek left and right. "It was nice meeting you, but I'm afraid I have to go. But I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."

"I guess so."

He nods briefly, turning to your roommate. "And you let me know about the trip. Then I can arrange everything."

Charles, who is putting food in the fridge with a concentration as if he were taking part in a Tetris competition, waves his hand once in the direction of his trainer. "I will. Ciao!"

Andrea leaves your apartment as quickly as he had arrived, and as the door slams shut behind him, you turn to your friend. "A trip? Where are you off to?"

"I have to go through a training camp to prepare for next season. But I'll tell you about that later." After he's put everything away neatly, he closes the fridge and turns in your direction. "I've just spoken to my mother on the phone. Dinner will be around seven, but we can come over before that, before my brothers show up, if you don't mind." He grabs a glass from the cupboard and pours himself some water before taking a big gulp. "So I'd just jump in the shower and get ready. And then we can go as soon as you're ready."

You smile at him. "All right. Do you still want to eat something small? Then I could cut up some fruit and prepare some yoghurt if you like," you offer.

He nods thankfully to you before pulling his shirt over his back and off his upper body in one fluid motion. The workout has made his muscles look even more defined than usual. Not that you waste much time staring at his naked torso.

"That would be nice. I'll just jump in the shower," he says before disappearing into the bathroom. As he turns on the shower, you hear the water hitting the floor.

You're a little surprised that your little session doesn't seem to be having any effect. The worries you had that the atmosphere between you might now be strained fizzle out and the only thing that remains is the bitter aftertaste that Charles doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that you were dry humping as friends and there was a possibility that your friendship had come to an end.

Does it really not affect him that you were both playing with fire a few hours ago? Or is he just good at covering it up and acting as if nothing had happened?

But when you remember how upset he was sitting next to you on the bed afterwards, with tears in his eyes for fear of losing you as a friend, the negative thoughts disappear from your mind. He probably wants to put the whole thing behind him because it would really bother him if you were no longer friends.

And since you feel the same way, you cut up some fruit without giving it a second thought until your cell phone, which is lying on the kitchen island in front of you, vibrates. An incoming Facetime call from - Lando?

Why is he calling you? And especially on Facetime? Has something happened to him? Does he need help?

You quickly put the knife aside and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel before answering the call. When the British man's face appears on your screen, you breathe a sigh of relief. He's apparently lying on the couch at home, the hood of his hoodie pulled up over his curls and a broad grin adorning his face.

"Hi, Lando," you greet him and lean your phone against the vase so that you can continue preparing the fruit. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Charles with you?" he asks as you turn around and take two bowls from the cupboard behind you to divide the fruit halfway between them.

"He's in the shower," you reply, tilting your head. " Why? Did something happen?"

"No, everything's fine," he says and smiles. "I was just trying to reach him on his cell phone. But when he is taking a shower, it's obvious that he won't answer."

"'Who's not answering?" you hear Charles say as he leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Single drops of water snake across his chest and down the ridges of his abs before disappearing into the fabric of the towel, which hangs quite low on his hips. You have to swallow briefly and just point at your cell phone. When Charles comes into Lando's field of vision, he nods briefly. "Sorry, I was in the shower. Have you tried to call me?"

Lando, blinking silently at the camera, nods. "Uh, yeah. I wanted to invite you both to a party. After Christmas." He struggles to suppress a smile, and even though the screen is so small, you can see his gaze jump from Charles to you. "My friend Martin is coming here to DJ at a club. If you're up for it, you're both welcome to come."

Charles, who is standing to the side behind you, rests his chin on your shoulder. After this morning, you didn't expect to find Charles back in your personal space so quickly. Whether he realizes you're holding your breath, you don't know. "I don't see what's wrong with that, do you?" The question is directed at you. As you shake your head weakly, your roommate smiles at the camera and puts his hand on your hip. "Then we're definitely in." Suddenly, you feel Charles' lips on your temple as he presses a gentle kiss to your skin. "I'm just going to get ready." With that, he disappears from Lando's sight and, as he enters your bedroom, from yours too.

The way Lando's eyes widen briefly doesn't escape you. "Great. Then I'll put you on the guest list and send you the details." As your gaze shifts from your room back to the Brit, Lando looks back at you with a grin that almost reaches his ears.

"Lando," you warn him in the same tone Charles just used with Andrea. "Leave it alone."

"I didn't say anything," he defends himself, but the grin doesn't disappear from his face. You'd love to wipe it off his cheek. "So, are you two - ?"

You roll your eyes. "We're friends, Lando. Nothing more, nothing less," you explain to him, but you seem to be falling on deaf ears, because the Brit doesn't seem to believe a word you're saying.

"Friends with benefits? Or why did Charles just behave like that?"

"What do you mean, like that?" you ask him, tilting your head in confusion. To keep your hands busy, you fill the bowls of fruit with yogurt and add some sweetener before stirring everything.

"So possessive. So jealous," he explains, as if it's no big deal. Which it certainly wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for this morning's action.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you retort snappishly, your mouth forming a thin line. "Sorry, that's not what I meant."

"It's all cool. But if you get married, I'll be the guest of honor as matchmaker," he replies, before holding his phone close to his face and grinning broadly at the camera. "And then I'll give a speech about how stupid you both were at the beginning because you didn't want to admit that you were meant to be together."

When you hear Charles' footsteps in the hallway, you quickly reach for your cell phone. "Lando."

"I'm just saying, friends don't look at each other the way you look at him. And that friends don't act as possessive as he does." He raises his free hand, puts his thumb and forefinger together before pulling it over his mouth and pretending to seal his lips with it. "I'm not saying anything more about it."

"Who says no more to what?" Charles asks as he enters the kitchen.

"Nobody to anything anymore. Bye, Lando," you quickly say goodbye and end the Facetime call, knowing full well that you're sure to get a few more messages from the Brit lovingly mocking you.

"Oh-kay." Charles sits down opposite you at the kitchen islands and grabs one of the yogurt bowls. You watch him as he shoves spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," you reply with a sugary smile and start spooning up your yoghurt too. "I'm just nervous about meeting your mom. I hope she'll like me," you try to change the subject.

"She definitely will," your flatmate tries to reassure you. "Just be yourself and then she'll love you. And so will my brothers." He reaches across the worktop for your hand and squeezes it twice. "Loving you is easier than you might think."

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #lando norris

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dilf-docs · 1 month ago

Text

Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

part: prev | masterlist | next

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips.

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest.

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do"

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline.

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #bfd!joel miller #bfd!joel #tlou #tlou fanfiction #to the devil i know series

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captain-joongz · 6 days ago

Text

Wonderful nothing

this is a part two to Deserve you <- read this part first!

Pairing: brother-in-law!Seonghwa x f!reader

Genre: smut, dark

Summary: Months later, still reeling from your experience on your wedding night, you try to go on about your life as best as possible, but Seonghwa seems to be a little too damn adamant on messing with your life. Between juggling your husband's inappropriate behaviour and suspicions, and dodging your family's over-bearing questioning, could the edge the two of you keep dancing on be getting a little blurry?

Word count: 26.3k words

Warnings: infidelity, mentions of drugging (not of MC), implied sexual harrasment and predatory behaviour towards employees (by the husband), obsessed seonghwa, so much breeding kink you guys, this whole fic is just hwa trying to impregnate the MC, deepthroating and face-fucking, fingering, degradation/humiliation kink, possibly strange physics around fucking on a table (please suspend your disbelief lmao), back-shots, a bit of manhandling?, yujun being an ominous prick, i hope that's all???

A/N: here it is, folks - finally! i've genuinely put my soul into this piece and agonised over it being as best as possible, so i hope it lives up to the expectations! i might go through it again tomorrow and edit a little more. title taken from Glass Animals' song Wonderful Nothing. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy!! <3

“I’m just telling you to prepare you,” my mother’s grating voice carried around the sitting room, and I fought to keep my eyes from rolling where I sat collapsed in a fancy settee, “She will be asking. And it’s not like the rest of us aren’t curious too. You’ve already been married almost nine months, and still nothing.”

I shook my head, cradling my glass with vodka juice closer to my chest, and doing my best to ignore the line of questions I’ve been met with non-stop for the past few months.

Why am I still not carrying Yujun’s heir?

At first whenever the topic came up I just tried to play it off, smile and laugh and tell them we still had time, that it’s going to happen eventually. Now I just pretended not to hear mostly.

“After the… display… the morning after your wedding, we all thought you’d be pregnant by now,” my mother continued musing, tone seemingly light but carrying a pang of bitterness to it, just like it always did when she chastised me for not being good enough. It didn’t use to be as often as it was now, and I suspected she felt pressure from the Parks and desperately hoped I wouldn’t embarrass our family in front of them. I stayed quiet, though.

Of course I’d never say it, but discreetly to myself I often thought the same. I was also surprised that after the night with Seonghwa I didn’t get pregnant – but I didn’t. And I wasn’t about to mention anything, because I didn’t want to bring any more attention to that cursed day. I couldn’t forget it, but I sure could still pretend it never happened.

“Sometimes it takes a little time,” I voiced out loud instead, not turning around to face her. I kept my focus stubbornly glued onto the wall where a huge Park family portrait hung, an old oil painting with a single man in a uniform standing prickly by a fireplace, face all tight and stern. I knew that fireplace – it was in a room just down the hall, in Yujun’s father’s office. When we were introduced into this room for the first time, Mrs. Park excitedly chattered off about which ancestor of theirs it was, but I zoned out and didn’t listen to a single word. Since then I wondered many times whether it was Mr. Park’s grand-father or great grand-father, and I used it as a distraction every time I found myself in this salon. Just… staring at his unfriendly face, trying not to think about bringing disgrace onto his bloodline.

“Yes, but it’s been months,” my mother stressed, and I could perfectly imagine the displeased expression on her face she wore whenever I talked back to her, “Now would be the perfect time to announce news like that. If you’re not pregnant by the end of the first year of marriage, the Parks might start to worry about your ability to fulfil your duty to your husband and this family.”

I wanted to scoff at those words so bad. I hated that dated mindset, and I hated that my position in this family was hanging by a thread because of it. If I failed to deliver an heir, the Parks would push for a divorce, and my family wouldn’t be able to survive such an embarrassment, even though we no longer lived in Joseon. This was the 21st fucking century, and yet this whole situation was still being treated as if we lived in the 1760s.

I might have as well been shoved into a rice chest too.

Sometimes I almost wished I could tell her the truth. It would be worth it for the immediate satisfaction, that’s for sure, but it would fuck over my life spectacularly. And I knew I couldn’t count on any of these fuckers to have my back.

I often wondered about how she’d react to that, though. Well, mother, of course I’m not pregnant. The last sexual encounter I had was fucking my brother-in-law on my wedding night while my husband, his brother, puked his guts out in a bathroom on the ground floor.

Clutching her pearls wouldn’t even begin to cover it. She’d probably get carried out on a stretcher. And still no grandbabies – just shameful.

And in the months after the wedding it turned out that being married to the youngest Park was just as nightmarish as I thought it would be, if not more.

He drank often, and no matter what he did he couldn’t beat out the smell that carried everywhere with him, that he was steeped in. He wasn’t unattractive by any means, he definitely had a certain young chaebol charm, but he constantly smelled of sweat, stale vodka or whiskey, and cigarette smoke. The men he spent his time with were loud and obnoxious, and the exact kind of company that would strike a pang of fear in any woman. I certainly did my best to never be alone in a room with them, and I never left my drink out of sight either.

I didn’t know the full extent of his activities, and I didn’t want to.

And he didn’t care for me either, thankfully. The only time I even existed in his mind was when he returned home drunk and horned up, pressing up against me and mumbling drunkenly things that turned my stomach with his breath smelling like garlic and pussy. It was a miracle he didn’t make me throw up on a nightly basis.

Yujun, just like me, was very aware of the ‘duty’ to have children we faced, and always brought up the topic when he wanted a quick fuck.

So I had to take matters into my own hands.

Growing up in the higher echelon of society often left you with many very useful contacts in your phone. A lot of people of the same age all grew up together through our parents’ endless parties, galas and fishing trips, or whatever else they thought of to chase away the boredom, where we watched them drink and make fool of themselves like they weren’t the people running the world. That left us with a sort of quiet camaraderie – we shared many thoughts and opinions of them, but we still had some time left before we had to go and become them.

That means that when I contacted Jeong Yunho, a son of our family’s private visiting doctor, who went in his father’s footsteps and recently finished his degree to join his family’s practice, he was more than welcoming to my odd requests. All it took was a nice check, and he was writing me prescriptions for whatever I needed.

And what I needed were pills that quickly knocked someone out and lowered their sex drive.

So that whenever my husband dearest came home in the mood, I slipped him some in his water, took him to the bedroom and played up our interaction until he passed out, and then in the morning I pretended we fucked the whole night.

Yujun didn’t question his lack of memory, as he himself was aware he was most probably drunk and high on all kinds of stuff, and he was the kind of man whose ego far overshadowed his intelligence, so all I had to do was pander to his delusion of grandeur and sexual prowess and he left the house feeling like a god of sex while I was blissfully left alone.

But obviously that wasn’t something I’d boast about to my mother. Or anyone else for that matter, not even Seonghwa.

Seonghwa who’d be annoyingly smug about such information. Seonghwa who’d take it as an invitation to come over and fuck me all night instead of Yujun. Seonghwa who I didn’t see much in the past months because I did my damned best to avoid him.

Seonghwa who was stepping into the room right behind his mother just minutes later, as if I summoned him with my gloomy pondering.

I immediately swallowed down the last of my drink I had and prepared myself for the fucking show, because no way we’d have to spend hours here together. My mother was already standing, a fake wide smile plastered to her face as she greeted Mrs. Park loudly – who of course wore a very similar expression. I managed barely a smile as she half hugged me, keeping a few inches between us, while she pretended to kiss my cheeks (like I had fucking rabies). It was a hilarious charade, and I’d laugh at it too, if I was a little more drunk and cared a little less about my mother’s opinions.

Seonghwa greeted my mother similarly, but to me he slowly walked up and quickly grabbed my wrist to lay a single deceptively gentle kiss to the back of my hand. He did it quickly, not lingering or making a show of it, and I was at least a little thankful for that with both of our mother’s eyes boring into us. His gaze was dark though, and I saw the amusement and twisted excitement bubbling in it, reminiscent of how he looked that night. He knew he had me where I couldn’t avoid him.

And I knew I was in deep shit.

Because this was the look of a man determined to get what he wanted. And I knew what Seonghwa wanted maybe a little too well.

“Thank you for inviting us, Yeongja-ssi,” I heard my mother say just as Seonghwa stepped away and the rest of the world snapped back into place – now that the man wasn’t sucking all of my attention in like a black hole.

“Of course, you’re family now!” came a faux cheery reply, and I prepared myself for the most boring, awful afternoon in my life.

We were currently away from the city, sitting in the Parks’ family summer residence where they apparently spent a lot of their time when they weren’t needed around their businesses. It was march now, and Mr. Park invited my father, and the rest of us by default, to join him on his first hunting trip of the year, as the residence came with a hefty amount of land primed to be the best hunting grounds.

So now I was stuck in this fucking house, looking at all the pompous architecture and interior design, while the men ran around the forest for days and shot at everything.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?” the question slipped out of my mouth before I knew what I was doing, and I realised it was the first proper thing I said probably all day. My tone wasn’t very friendly, but if the two women caught that, they said nothing – though they did turn to us curiously, watching our interaction.

The man in question grinned at me though, very amused by my somewhat hostile stance, and shifted where he sat on the dark blue sofa across from me.

“I will be joining them tomorrow,” Seonghwa answered easily, “I just got here an hour ago, and I’d like to rest for a bit.” It was a very diplomatic answer, very polite and bland. I hummed, looking at him very pointedly for a moment longer, before I turned to pour myself another glass.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Park eagerly took the opportunity to talk to me while I seemed more open to conversation, “do you have any happy news to share?”

Sighing, I settled back into my own settee with a fake smile, ignoring how Seonghwa’s eyes ignited with the mention of the topic.

This was going to be a long day.

I wouldn’t quite say I was snooping, but I found myself wandering around the house even through the spaces I definitely wasn’t allowed to, and I knew that. Like right now, where I stood in the middle of the aforementioned study, taking in the stupid fireplace in real life so I could compare it to the painting later when I was dissociating from yet another conversation about jewellery. I wasn’t interested in the paperwork laying on the desk of the office, but I knew Mr. Park would have a seizure if he knew I was so close to all his business bullshit.

That’s why the moment I heard a floor creak just a few steps away from me, I was jumping guiltily and spinning around to the door with my heart wildly beating out of my chest. The sudden movement caused me to spill some of my drink, and I felt the icy sticky fluid running down my fingers onto the floor.

When I saw who stood there though, I both relaxed and panicked further. A very different kind of nervosity took a hold of me as I breathlessly watched Seonghwa leisurely stroll into the room, dark eyes trained on me unblinkingly.

I saw his gaze flicker to the floor briefly, lips quirking up at seeing the mess, before he whipped up a cloth handkerchief and kneeled down right by my feet to wipe it away. He did it all so quickly I found myself flinching back, stumbling away from the crouched man until my back hit the table behind me, much to his entertainment.

My mind very unhelpfully supplied a mental image of the last time I had Seonghwa kneeling for me, which had me cursing myself while I fought to unclench my thighs. The man no doubt saw me squirming though, judging from the amused smirk he had as he stood up again.

He was wearing his hunting attire – looser trousers with knee-high boots and a tweed jacket over a white shirt, all in black so that the red tie popped out with the sudden splash of colour. It complimented his figure, of course it did – just like everything the man wore, and he knew it.

“Didn’t you say you were going hunting today?” I tried to bite out with hostility now that we were alone. Our mothers decided to have a last-minute shopping spree, searching for new dresses to wear at the first feast of the season that would close out this trip in a few days. I respectfully declined, though the politeness took a lot out of me, so I dedicated the rest of the afternoon to sulkily wandering the halls not speaking to anyone.

“I was,” the man answered smoothly, gesturing to his clothes, “obviously.” He took a few more steps towards me, and I couldn’t help but fixate on the wide-open door of the study. Couldn’t he at least close it if he wanted to do this right now?

“You’ve returned with your bounty, then?” I asked then, cold sweat pouring over me at that. If Seonghwa was back, that meant everyone else was likely too. More curious eyes to stumble upon this scene, which was just awesome.

“Only me,” came his swift answer, as if he saw right into my mind and read all my worries, “I told them I’m tired of the outdoors and I’m going back for a quick late lunch with mother.”

“Your mother isn’t here,” spilled out of my mouth quickly – like I was actually hoping for him to take that information and decide to leave again, “They went into the city.”

Seonghwa only grinned my way though, that beastly edge shining through his carefully constructed indifferent mask. His hands were lazily locked behind his back and it gave him an almost whimsical vibe. Like a fairy, here to fuck up my day.

“I know.”

Well, it seemed it was as easy as that.

At this point it would take Seonghwa only two more steps before he was all pressed against me, and I nervously gripped the edge of the desk I was leaning on. I fucking hoped he wouldn’t – there were always people running around here. You were never fully alone in this house, whether it was the maids, or the two servants, or the kitchen staff or even the three fucking chauffeurs killing time outside with a very bored gardener, the chances of no eyes being on you in a house like this were critically low.

Seonghwa seemed to be deliberating on that as well, because I did see him hesitate for a moment, almost turning as if to check the open door, before he ultimately threw all that out the window and swiftly moved towards me until I felt his firm sculpted chest and stomach pressed into my soft lines.

I found myself gasping, even though I saw it coming the whole time – I knew he was going to do it, and I still startled when I felt his hands grasp at my waist. His warm breath hit the crook of my neck, his cheek almost pressing to mine as he moulded himself over me just like that night in the hotel. I wasn’t sure if my heart beat so fast I could barely register it or if it stopped all-together, but I sure wasn’t breathing as my skin broke out into goosebumps at physically feeling Seonghwa release a breathy chuckle against my neck.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten what I promised you before, doll,” he whispered sensually, pressing his hips harder into mine like he was trying to remind me. As if he needed to remind me – as if I wasn’t thinking about it all the time anyway, even though I haven’t seen his face for weeks.

One of his hands smoothly glided over my stomach until it possessively rested on my lower belly, right over where my womb would be, and I finally stuttered out some breaths.

“This right here is mine,” Seonghwa’s lips brushed over the sensitive skin of my ear before he bit down gently, “and I intend on delivering.”

Just as quickly his hands suddenly slid down to the back of my thighs and before I knew it, he was pulling me up onto the table and slotting his hips between my legs hard. I floundered for a moment, hands shooting up to stabilise myself and grabbing onto his shoulders, which was probably something he was very happy about.

I wouldn’t know, I was too busy gasping at the feeling of his already hardening cock pressed tightly into my clothed sex. Not even my startled limbs stopped him from grinding against me slightly to drag out the sensation though. I felt the way he squeezed at my thigh before one of his hands flew up to tangle into my hair, tugging me to his sinful mouth.

I’d like to believe I gave in so easily because I was confused, or surprised. I’d like to say I received him so quickly because my mouth was already open on a gasp, but in my heart I worried whether those were true.

Seonghwa didn’t waste time (he never did, he was very efficient in everything he did) and immediately dipped his tongue deep into my mouth, hungry mouth kissing me all messy and wet. This time when I gasped, he swallowed it down with a quiet groan, hand tightening in my locks and pulling slightly to pry me more open for him.

Just as I fully registered what has happening, realised I was quickly overheating, a wave of staggering warmth spilling over into me from his heated form pressed so close, and I grew dizzy – and then he was suddenly gone, a few steps back and looking perfectly put together except for his wet swollen lips and wild dark eyes. He didn’t even breath hard, though his pants bulged out obscenely, betraying that he was affected by this little tryst too, just like I was.

I sat on the desk, confused and aroused, thighs splayed open wide and chest rising and falling rapidly with my laboured breaths. I felt the spit cooling in the corner of my mouth, the wet feeling bringing embarrassed flush to my face.

I felt my core throbbing too, my traitorous cunt calling out for him to come back (she remembered well) and make it all better, but the man was already walking out of the room with a pep in his step, a shit-eating grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes – while I struggled to pull myself together.

The glass I brought my drink in was overturned on the desk, swaying back and forth on its side, and the cold liquid was seeping into my pants and the carpet underneath. I wondered how I didn’t even feel the wetness, but I did have bigger problems at the moment.

With a curse I jumped down and tried to salvage the mess, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Especially not when I finally walked out of the room to find someone more qualified to deal with the ruined carpet and ran right into a red-faced blushing maid who couldn’t even look into my eyes as she rushed in to deal with the aftermath.

My heart sank, and I hoped that the staff here was as tight-lipped as ours, because I sure as hell wasn’t ready for this all to fall down on my head yet.

I didn’t see Seonghwa for the rest of the day after that – the man didn’t even show up at dinner, claiming to be too tired and needing to retire early. When I retreated to my room that night I found myself creeping through that house like a scared little mouse, paranoid that that he was behind every corner just waiting to jump me.

It was very fitting that we were here for a hunting trip – because he did feel like a hunter, only his prey wasn’t out there in the woods. It was sleeping in the house with him.

Yujun managed to stumble into the room late into the night even here, though I had no idea what could have been keeping him while we were staying in a house in the middle of the woods (maybe it was better to not know, now that I thought about it). When he clambered into the bed, for a moment I froze and laid still, waiting for what he’d do next. As every evening, I had a preventative spiked glass of water standing on the nightstand – if he as much as bumped into me, I’d be turning around to offer it to him with a sweet wifely smile, pumping it straight into his throat if I had to.

Thankfully the man seemed to be exhausted and he just shuffled around for a moment before stilling and falling asleep almost immediately. I had a sinking feeling I knew what that meant, and I could only hope that whatever unfortunate woman he had come across was alright. Disgust coiled tightly around my stomach and suddenly the idea of sharing a bed with this man was making me so sick I almost threw up. Automatically I sat up, feet hitting the floor before I even fully thought of what I was going to do.

I was just about to sneak out and leave the room to go take a breather, when I remembered Seonghwa’s predatory smile as he leisurely walked out of the study earlier that afternoon. Better not leave the room actually, not while he was in the same house at least. I cringed at that and sank back into the soft bedding.

What a fucking life I was leading. I was getting pretty sick of tiptoeing around everyone like that.

So I just turned my back to the man I married and tried to pretend he wasn’t there as I forced myself back into sleep.

I wasn’t sure when exactly I was pulled under, but when I jerked awake in the morning I was already alone. All traces of Yujun ever being there the night before were gone, and the sun was sneaking in through the folds of the curtains. The hunt has already begun.

Both my mother and my mother-in-law acted normally, and even though the one unfortunate maid that was saddled with dealing with the aftermath of my indiscretion with Seonghwa yesterday couldn’t quite meet my eyes, I assumed no one else knew. The day dragged on, painfully slow and tense, as I laughed dutifully with the older women’s chatter and ignored their little probes trying to get me to talk about my married life.

By the time the evening rolled by, I was drunk, cranky and exhausted of all the social interactions. During dinner Seonghwa kept his dark gaze trained on me, making me squirm with unease under the suspicious eyes of my mother. As I walked to my bedroom, I stopped the maid as she walked by and pressed a couple bills in her hand, avoiding her confused face. When Yujun came, I gave him his water and waited until he passed out.

Same shit, another day.

The next few days went by both terrifyingly slow and shockingly fast, like the universe was pulling me into both directions. For most of the time, I just felt strangely suspended in some cosmic in-between. I was struggling to connect to the other two women even before, but now that Seonghwa routinely made his presence known I felt even more distant from their dreary bullshit. Our fathers and my husband spent their entire day gone or butchering their bounty, and even during the night Yujun rarely bothered me – either too tired or just not in the mood ‘for my bullshit’, as he lovingly put it.

That left Seonghwa – my loyal shadow, my curse following me around, the ghoul, the phantom. He made it a game for himself to mess with me. Since the incident in the study he never got quite as close, but I saw his amused smirks whenever he brushed against me while leaving a room, or whenever his hands lingered on my body just a touch too long while no one was looking.

The man used his unfavourable position well to get his way. The invisible wall between him and all the rest of the family was even more painfully obvious the longer we spent with them, felt in all those awkward glances and stuttered half sentences. Seonghwa was always sort of falling through the cracks of the Park family, stalking the halls and rooms like a ghost of mistakes past.

Mrs. Park could barely bear to look at him for too long, and Mr. Park hated that he deserved to be respected, especially when faced with his other son’s never-ending disappointments.

That allowed him to slip through their awareness, linger on the edges of everyone’s consciousness like a forgotten thought you can’t quite get rid of, and it haunts you with its elusiveness.

Seonghwa only made his presence known when he absolutely had to, he used their niggling unease at his presence to find easy excuses to leave – to just… fade away without a trace. No one missed him when he wasn’t there – only relief was left in his absence. Their reluctance to see him and perceive him gave him plenty of opportunities to do his wrongs in plain sight knowing everyone was wilfully not paying attention. Seonghwa had it down to science.

And very rarely, I’d see his eyes flash with hardened pain. The kind that never leaves your heart, coming from wounds that cut just a little too deep to heal. In those times I found it in myself to pity the man, and I hated him for it.

But slowly I found myself realising that the same glass wall that kept Seonghwa detached from others was keeping me detached from them as well. I was caught with him on the other side, and the way we both disappeared into the background, blended into the wallpapers, was a truly disturbing experience. Like we were existing outside of their time and space.

All the burning looks exchanged, the agonising brushes of skin against skin – it all went unnoticed. And I felt so alone, so alone and left with a beast hungry for my blood, hunting me in plain daylight – and yet no one saw.

I knew Seonghwa felt emboldened by this. It was all written clearly in his wicked grins.

He liked to tease it out, play with me sweetly, but I could see he was gearing up to pounce again. His eyes sparkled with terrible excitement whenever he caught my gaze across tables, rooms and corridors, lurking by corners with dark eyes watching my every move.

By the last day of the trip I was fidgeting with unease, unable to sit still and jerking at every rash movement. It had my mother strictly reprimanding me, sending me warning glares and constantly reminding me to act like a lady. She thought it was the alcohol, and it wasn’t lost on me how she watched me disapprovingly whenever I got up to get myself a fresh glass of something – even though all of us were doing nothing but drinking and gossiping.

The men for a change spent that whole day in the kitchens to prepare their bounty for dinner, and their boisterous laughs carried through the whole house. Their great spirits were no doubt also supported by a hefty amount of liquid courage, but I didn’t see my mother casting disgusted glances their way. Hypocrite.

Seonghwa came in with a platter of cheeses and fruits, passing by me with a hungry expression on his face before he schooled it into a polite smile for our mothers. I couldn’t believe I sincerely didn’t see it before, when I was planning the wedding. Now it was all I saw, and it made me want to run.

With the evening approaching it was like I could physically feel the anticipation rise. The tension felt thick enough to cut, thick enough to taste it on my tongue every time I opened my mouth. Thick enough it got me wondering whether the others could sense it too.

I’ve never been too great with polite small-talk, so I spent the dinner quietly chewing through my food listening to whatever the topic was discussed at the time distractedly. Seonghwa was surprisingly chatty that evening, and he seemed to be in a great mood – which stupefied everyone else present at the table, as they were used to the way the man usually kept himself at a distance.

Only I knew that it meant incredibly bad things were about to go down in this fucking house.

Unfortunately once the women got tired of keeping their attention on the very male oriented conversation of their husbands and sons, they shifted their focus back to our little corner. I lasted all of three not so very subtle remarks about how a nice little retreat like this was the perfect opportunity to get pregnant before I was shooting up on my feet and excusing myself to the bathroom with a tense smile.

My mother’s eyes firmly gestured towards Yujun, but I ignored her rapidly souring expression and left quickly. What did she want me to do? Get pregnant by him right here on this table? (fate has a funny was of unfolding)

The long-haired man who was the reason for my unease in the first place was also subtly watching me, though for the first time I found his face unreadable. That unsettled me, and I basically ran out.

I stalled for as long as I could, but it ended up only buying me twenty minutes of peace before someone sought me out.

When I heard slow unhurried footsteps aiming towards the bathroom I had hidden in, I was already steeling myself for it being my mother. It didn’t surprise me – I kind of suspected she’d end up blowing up at me one way or another. If it wasn’t about my lack of children or the lack of desire to rectify it, it would definitely be about the very impolite behaviour I exhibited as it threatened to give Mrs. Park the wrong impression. Personally, I didn’t give a fuck about Mrs. Park’s impression of me – it’s not like she could do anything worse to me than what I was already involved in.

Wanting to avoid that conversation for as long as possible, I bent over the sink and scooped up the running water to bury my face in it.

I realised I was wrong about my assumption the moment I felt two strong hands settle on my waist as a wiry body pressed up against me. I knew those hands. I knew that body.

Startled, I jerked up – already knowing whose eyes I was going to meet in the mirror. In my haste I ended up barrelling into his chest. The man took it all in his stride though, and his arms swiftly moved to wrap around my waist. Shamefully, it was a touch I was intimately familiar with, even if we haven’t interacted in that way for months.

Seonghwa was smirking back at me where I was gawking at him in the mirror – and I quickly got reminded just how shameless the man was. A little further behind his shoulder I saw the door wide open, again. The loud voices and laughs carried through the hallway easily; after all the terrace wasn’t that far from where we currently stood.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed out aggressively, but did nothing to shake him off. He stared at me for a few long seconds before I was suddenly being spun around. My back hit the counter, but it was hard to focus on anything but the demanding mouth that was abruptly descending on mine. Tongue swiftly swooped inside my lips, punching a little dazed gasp of surprise.

Just as quickly he was pulling away. His hand grasped onto my jaw, keeping my head angled in a way he liked. Gaze dark, it slid across my features in an appraising way, like he was looking at a painting.

“I’m fulfilling my promise,” came his answer finally. Seonghwa didn’t bother lowering his voice, he was as comfortable as ever where he started pushing me down towards the ground. And it took me about four seconds to realise what he was doing – and promptly I started blushing.

I allowed myself to hit the floor with my knees, but as soon as his hand came back to grasping me, I started resisting. I threw a stormy glare up back at him and jerked my head to the side. A spark of arousal flashed through his eyes and I saw his lips twitch in a smirk. Anger pulsed through me.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” it came out a lot tenser, my voice low with all the frustration that has been building up in me since we got to this fucking house. That finally got a reaction out of him – for a split second it was like a shadow passed over his face, eyes darkening with something different than the anticipant arousal I usually saw painted there.

Then the man leant down, his long black hair sliding down shoulders and hanging in the space over me. His otherworldly beautiful face was twisted over me, sneering with all the emotion in the world.

“Because I want to,” he whispered, voice underlined with something beastly, “and because you’ll let me.” Then his hand was back, man-handling my face towards his crotch. I swallowed the shame that bubbled up at his words. I wish I could argue back, but even now I wasn’t pulling away as Seonghwa pushed me against himself, letting out a sigh of relief. He was right, and I didn’t want to bring more attention to it – though he felt the lack of resistance in me.

But as long as we didn’t talk about it, everything was normal, right?

With a bit of alarm I realised that Seonghwa was already hard, pants straining and tenting with his beautiful length. I remembered it well, I even remembered trying to suck it in my hazy state and Seonghwa stopping me, promising me a next time.

Well, here he was. A man of his word.

But even harder was the realisation that I could feel wetness sticking to my panties. I’d slicked up for him, and all it took was a bit of force and some mean words. Humiliation burned in me, and it was making my cunt throb even harder, already crying to be filled with something before he even started doing anything.

So instead of focusing on that, I casted another look towards the man, this one teary and resigned and aroused. Pleading. It was just as much me wanting to get it over with and as it was squirming with anticipation.

Seonghwa took one look at me and scoffed, lips curling into an arrogant grin – though the way arousal swirled in his pupils wasn’t lost on me. As always, he was a man of action. His hands made quick work of the pants fastenings, pulling the fabrics down. I was so close that the moment his cock sprang free it smacked lightly into my cheek.

Just as I remembered it, it was pretty and long, not as quite thick, but nicely curved. Seonghwa watched me with amusement flicking behind all that lust, entertaining himself by circling his hips so that the head of his cock smeared against my face. I flashed him another irritated glare, if only to see him slowly get more riled up. He was enjoying my rebellion, and as excitement slowly settled into my stomach, I worried I might too.

The door was still wide open, and our families could still be clearly heard from where they sat and conversed while the atmosphere in the bathroom felt almost too quiet. Something silent pulsed between our gazes, something almost like a secret being shared.

Seonghwa caught onto my strategy quick. I wasn’t sure if it was all written in my eyes – I found it a little scary how easily he could read me sometimes, but I could sense the change in him. The moment he decided he wasn’t going to let me play him like he wanted to play me. His hand came back to my face, grasping my jaw tightly like before. But this time his touch swiftly moved. I had only a second of warning before he was stuffing his fingers in my mouth, firmly prying it open and keeping it that way.

There was no supressing the shudder that went through me, neither the tiny moan that clawed its way out of my throat at the roughness of his touch. The man didn’t bother telling me to be quiet, not with that self-satisfied smirk on his face. I bet he couldn’t care less about the kind of mess I made, he probably wouldn’t even give a shit if someone walked straight in and saw. That thought terrified me, but like always when this man was involved – I did nothing to stop him (truly a self-fulfilling prophecy).

He must have decided that there was enough waiting though, because suddenly there was a cock sliding into my mouth. Seonghwa’s hand kept my jaw open to fight against the flinch of surprise, but I still gasped, my eyes flying up just in time to see his beautiful face screwed in relieved pleasure.

Seonghwa gave me a few seconds of calm before he was pulling back and smoothly sliding back in, the cock filling my mouth up completely. A hum of contentment escaped me on instinct and I sank into the feeling, eyes falling shut. Two or three more thrusts came in easy and soft, and then his fingers slipped out of my mouth and gripped my hair instead.

Seonghwa was a relentless lover, all powerful thrusts and rough sighs of pleasure. When he fucked you he possessed you, owned you, held you in ways that moulded you to his satisfaction. And what was more – he wanted to see you know it. This encounter was no different.

He didn’t let me pretend for long. Before I knew it, his strong grip was forcing my head back, pulling until tears pearled up at the corners of my eyes. His hips were moving in languid smooth glides, contrary to the harsh thrusts he was delivering to my mouth. I only took it for a few more moments before I was blinking open to give him another stern glare – which was much harder to do with his cock sliding into my mouth until I felt it hitting the back.

He groaned out the second our eyes met and I choked on the head, pulling back only to thrust even further in with a provoking grin. Upon my gasp a flurry of saliva spilled out my lips, dribbling down my chin and throat. My mouth was so full my head was spinning with it; I was barely breathing, puffs of air escaping me in uneven bursts, and all I could hear were Seonghwa’s stuttering quiet groans. All I could feel was the way he throbbed on my tongue, the way he tasted of salt and musk. Then he was overriding all of my senses.

As he jerked forward to sink into me once more, his hand flexed in my hair and pulled. I felt my eyes roll back into my skull as my mouth stretched open on a moan. Seonghwa’s cock slid in deeper than before and I gagged on it, feeling my mouth and throat so full of him I couldn’t think about anything else. The tears that lined my eyes before were now freely falling down my cheeks. I could see it his gaze that it was exciting him even more, could hear it in the way his breath hitched in the middle of a muted groan. He was watching me with twisted awe, dark satisfaction creeping into the sharp edges of his sneer.

This time when he pulled out he gave me a few seconds to cough and wheeze and swallow, and I felt my knees throb now that I wasn’t getting distracted by everything else. The coldness of the floor was seeping into my bones, the hardness pressing into the soft skin there. The harsh line of the marble counter was digging into the back of my head, right underneath where his hand gripped me. Clinking of cutlery against porcelain carried through the air, the easy conversation just a few metres away still going uninterrupted and creating a steady hum beneath the cacophony of the quiet huffs and groans filling the little room we were in.

We were both breathing hard, but something very different reflected in Seonghwa’s face. Something that pushed my heart into overdrive with sharp notes of unease. Something that wasn’t there the last time I was with him – something that shifted from cruel to obsessive.

When he gripped my jaw again, eyes darkening with lust, I opened my mouth automatically, which pleased him. I didn’t want to like that, didn’t want to like pleasing him – but the way my stomach fluttered betrayed me. I knew, and he knew.

Seonghwa always just seemed to know, no matter how much I hid.

Taking a little step closer he pressed up against me fully, and when his cock slipped into my mouth this time, he barely had to move. With one hand he kept my hair in a tight grip, pushing the back of my head against the counter – and the other slowly migrated towards the porcelain sink above me, gripping it and leaning on it to keep the circling of his hips smooth. On every stroke he filled my mouth to the brim until I felt his sack press into my chin, all messy from the mix of my saliva and his salty bitter precum. I felt the sticky mixture sliding down my throat into my cleavage from where I choked and gagged.

The flavour of him exploded my senses, pushing me down, deeper into the pulsing pleasure.

“Asking me why,” the man suddenly muttered, breathless and wrecked, hands flexing and hips rough, “like you don’t watch me with those begging eyes.” His hand moved from my hair to wipe away the tears sliding down my cheeks. He abruptly kicked up the pace and the hands I’ve kept uselessly buried in the fabric of my dress subconsciously flew out to grab onto his thighs. I heard his voice break off into a tight moan and answered in my own, the flames of my own arousal pulsing through me with revenge out of nowhere – my own lust catching up to me so abruptly it knocked me off my axis.

“Acting like you don’t- don’t know… deep down- …that you’re mine,” he was getting tongue-tied with the exertion, and I knew just how close he was by how chatty he was getting. The truths always rolled off his tongue easier right on the cusp of painting me with his cum.

“B-because no one else- no one else sees you-” He was getting frantic with his pace, hitting the back of my throat with the head of his cock and stuffing it as far as my body could accept it. I was trying my best to breathe through my nose and keep my throat open, but my senses were getting so overwhelmed, my head spinning and dizzy, face all wet and body shaking. My juices dripped down my thighs, cunt pulsing and squeezing, but I didn’t have the capacity to do anything about it, not with how Seonghwa overruled my every thought. I whined, deep and long and needy, and felt his cock throb and jump while he moaned high in the back of his throat. “No one else sees you- like I do.”

Cum exploded into my throat, abruptly and without any warning, thick spurts quickly filling up the whole cavity. I choked on it, but my instinct kicked in and I started swallowing, though thick globs still slipped out of my mouth and joined the mess on my chin and neck, mixing in with the shiny cooling spit. I still felt him throbbing, his whole body tense and shaking over me, quiet whines escaping him as he tried to stifle himself.

Seonghwa held me in place for several long seconds before his body relaxed, and he slipped out of my mouth with a satisfied sigh. I got all of four seconds to take notice of my wheezing breaths and wet face and neck, mouth still knotted with the thick liquid that was now dribbling down all over me. Seonghwa cared for none of that.

His eyes flashed, and then I was pulled up to my feet and onto the counter. My head still spun, mind too gone to be fully coherent, but I knew I shouldn’t even bother closing my legs – not when the man was already prying himself in between them, pushing them roughly to the side.

When Seonghwa kissed me, all I could focus on was his pleased hum at the taste, the shudder that ran through him, the way his heavy breath hit me with wanton sighs while our tongues mingled. One of his hands sneaked down to grab my thigh and the other didn’t waste any more time, plunging right where it wanted to be.

His fingers skirted around the edge of my soaked underwear for a fleeting touch and then two of them were plunged deep inside me. Both of us groaned at that, a little too loudly for the circumstances – probably way louder than we could afford, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to care and I knew Seonghwa just didn’t. His eyes were eating me up, filing the interaction away, hungrily flitting over my face slackened in ecstasy. Our faces were so close our noses brushed each other, hot breaths mingling and sounds of pleasure almost harmonising. Like they were coming from the same source, from some hive-mind that distributed this depraved indulgence equally between us both, no matter who touched who and how. The intimacy of it all, that was what tore my heart up the most – and yet I still couldn’t force myself to look away from his beautiful sharp face coloured with bliss.

The patience from before has dissipated it seemed, because Seonghwa didn’t pause to let me adjust, didn’t even let himself think about. Instead he started up a quick rough pace, ramming into me with force that always left me breathless, pads of fingers a little too happy to find that magic little spot deep inside me and rub it endlessly.

I felt like I was losing my mind, the way the pleasure rushed my bloodstream and my brain, my body could barely process the sudden onslaught of sensations and it shook, shook against him like I was going to tremble apart. Seonghwa’s hand didn’t stop for a single moment, the wetness streaming around his fingers and splattering on my thighs. The squelching sound felt so loud in that little bathroom, especially with how enthusiastic his movements were.

I tried to strain my ears to see whether the others were still entertained by each other, but I couldn’t focus on them, not when Seonghwa’s fingers curled inside me, not when his thumb pushed on my already sensitive clit, not when he dived into the crook of my neck to kiss and nibble on the skin there. I felt my thighs shake, my knees lock, as the wave surmounted, as it grew and grew until I couldn’t take a single breath without risking crying out loud enough for the whole mountain to hear.

My cunt throbbed and pulsated around his digits, swallowing every inch. I was never more aware of how beautiful and strong his hands where than that moment, when they were bringing me to heaven and back in a bathroom barely a hallway away from our families.

Seonghwa chuckled at me as he watched me slowly, deliriously cum on his hand, while I fought to keep my head on straight enough to not moan out. The tension that was mercilessly rising, filling me to the brim and making my legs shake, released in a big boom, like a star exploding into a supernova. Like a star being born. I felt like I was on the cusp of a cosmic event.

My back arched violently and I threw my head back with the ecstasy, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging wide open with a silent scream. One that I managed to swallow down with the last strands of sanity before it all drained out of me – and all that was left was just a wave after a wave of relief, all pumping out through my throbbing contracting hole.

Seonghwa’s fingers still moved gently, sliding in leisurely to prolong the sensations and to keep me full. I wasn’t ready to be empty, it would take me a while before I came back to myself and realised who I was fooling around with and where, but until then I desperately clenched on them, begging them to stay firmly lodged in.

And Seonghwa indulged me with soft croons, mouth now travelling down my throat to the crook of my neck, smiling and humming into the skin in a manner that was supposed to be calming, but I in my mind couldn’t interpret it as anything but mockery. Soft, sweet mockery that seeped into me, equal parts soothing and maddening.

When I came back to myself I was slumped into his embrace, head aimlessly lolling around on his shoulder while he entertained himself by kissing all the skin he could reach without dislodging us. My brain came back online with a few grumbles before I started slowly pulling away. This wasn’t the time or the place for gentle sweet nothings.

Seonghwa clocked in my change and moved accordingly, but as the bastard he was he took his damn sweet time pulling out, savouring each inch his fingers caressed on the way. Making me feel him till the last second. I ignored him and attempted to stand back on my feet, only to find them weak and shaking

I ostentatiously ignored him as I turned around to check myself in the mirror, but I couldn’t escape his gaze through the reflection. His eyes were like black holes, gravitational pull dragging me into them, devouring me raw. The strange glint returned to them as they roamed freely over my form, taking in my messy make-up and glossy eyes. My face wasn’t wet anymore, but I felt the grime of the dried saliva and cum still sticking to my skin.

When his eyes flitted over the carnage left behind, they sparkled with pride. My stomach swooped, falling through the floor all the way down to hell. I could barely breath under such appraising gaze.

Then they jumped to my eyes, watching me for a second before the intensity of his expression melted off into a little smirk, and he turned and left. Again. Walking through those open doors like nothing happened, like nothing was wrong.

He threw one last dark greedy glance over his shoulder and then he was gone.

I did all I could to not collapse under the strain of all that, shaky hands curling into fists by my hips while I stared at the empty space the man occupied up until a few seconds ago. I could still feel the endorphins rushing through my blood from the orgasm, but now that all was said and done all I could do was continue moving forward.

So instead of breaking down, instead of charging out of that stupid fucking room and punching Seonghwa right in the face in front of everyone still covered in his cum (which is what I kind of wanted to do) I turned my eyes to myself and did my best to salvage what I could while my heart raged in my chest.

Any thought that sneaked into my head I snuffed it out, quieting all discord before it could worm itself under my skin. Almost a terrifying clarity took over me, the silence of my mind making the aftermath of what happening feel even worse. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape it.

I did it again. I did it. Again. With Seonghwa.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Breathed slow through my nose. Tightened my grip over the cold porcelain, trying to ground myself into the density of the material. Into the solidity of the floor under my feet (solidity of the floor under my knees) where I stood (as I kneeled). I squeezed harder. It wasn’t helping.

My body felt strangely light with the absence of Seonghwa’s possessive hands grabbing onto me, and I almost swayed when I pushed away from the sink to walk back onto the terrace to finish the meal. I was stuck with the image of his dark hungry gaze tattooed onto the back of my eyelids, and any time I pushed my fingers through my hair to straighten it I wanted to tug on it as he did, to remind myself. To relive it. I was sick.

When I sat back down into my seat, it was like stepping into a parallel universe. Even my mother seemed to forget I was gone for such a long time and nobody spared me a single glance. The feast has moved on and most of them were now nibbling on a dessert, but I wanted to eat myself away from this so I reached for the leftover meat and potatoes.

God knows what the conversation was about – I certainly wasn’t listening. I clocked in the buzz and hum of it happening, I heard the sounds of plates and dishes and cutlery, of chewing, laughing, teeth clanking. But I didn’t hear.

Everything just felt so normal. I felt like melting. I wanted to melt. My mother threw me a disapproving glance when I reached for more food (so she did see me) and I ignored her as usual. No one else turned, not even Seonghwa – who was now back to quietly enjoying watching everyone else exist from a safe distance.

His eyes didn’t stray to me a single time. I huffed quietly and ate with maddening anger burning me from inside out.

He didn’t look at me again, not that evening and not the day after when we left. I burned.

It was a week and a half later when I started realising something was wrong.

Yujun begun spending a smidge more time at home, the reasons for which were a complete mystery to me at that time – and not like I cared much, since he kept out of my way for the bigger part (which itself was strange). I did notice how he seemed to watch me with a touch of suspicion though. Nothing specific, just… mistrust. At whatever I did. However I moved.

Each day a catalogue of all the things he could feel suspicious about ran through my mind. Did Seonghwa say something? Did he notice anything during the hunting trip? Did he find out about the pills? Was this about the wedding night?

There were too many things I had kept from him, too many things I did that were wrong, and the possibility of him finding out about any of them was frankly terrifying. Yujun was unpredictable and violent, and that was scarier than Seonghwa’s uncertain threats.

And when he came into the bedroom to sleep, even smelling of alcohol, he barely ever bothered me – not even once did he ask for sex, and that was completely unprecedented for my husband. The little pills I’ve grown so reliant on when dealing with him sat untouched hidden in my closet and somehow that made me feel more worried than when I used them on him almost nightly. It felt like the calm right before the storm.

I kept going on with my days, of course I did. What other choice did I have? Yujun’s eyes followed me everywhere, as soon as he got home, and shadows passed over them, darkened them (they were nothing like Seonghwa’s, nothing like his hungry dark orbs). I saw in his gaze how he was trying to figure something out. Like I was a puzzle.

Honestly, it was the most brain activity I’ve ever seen him do, and we’ve been married for almost ten months at that point.

But not knowing what it was that set him off put me on edge. I had no idea what to hide from him, what not to do. Not that there was anything to do about anything concerning Seonghwa. The man went back to his games and hasn’t spoken to me since we left their summer mansion. Not even a glance on the way out, like his fingers weren’t still wrinkled from my pussy. Not even one of his infamous smirks.

It made me strangely upset. Made my heart feel strangely heavy.

Mrs. Park has recently taken up the hobby of making very ugly jewellery, and of course, had to turn that into a ‘small home-run business’, acting as if her husband wasn’t one of the richest men in all of Korea and didn’t finance the whole thing. My own mother in her infinite wisdom thought that having to spend my days with my mother-in-law would finally pressure me into pregnancy – since there was no way she wouldn’t be asking every day, at this point I was surprised she wasn’t full on asking about her son’s dick performance and cum consistency (actually, maybe that was a good thing, because I had that kind of information about the wrong son) – but she took it on herself to rope me into helping her.

God damn me for ever telling my mother I found arts and crafts relaxing.

So now I spent my afternoons sitting in her dust pink saloon toying with pearls and pulling them on strings while listening to her complain about every person that’s ever crossed her path, and desperately ignoring all her attempts to probe into my marriage.

And even then I haven’t seen Seonghwa once.

I made the mistake of asking her about him one time and her expression as she told me he was just ‘busy’ was enough to make me not ask again. Not that I really wanted to know about him (I told myself), but just like before – his sudden disappearance after all the shit he said during our last time together was unnerving me.

What was his plan here? What the fuck did I get myself into?

With dodging Yujun, silently trying to cut out my mother’s bullshit out of my life, having to wait hand and foot on my mother-in-law and fearing what Seonghwa was going to do, I felt like losing my fucking mind. Within ten months my life spiralled completely out of control.

I was nothing but a pawn to them, nothing but a vessel with purpose. Get the family money, birth a child. Take revenge.

I lived in a house with a man I didn’t trust and feared what he could be capable of. I kept putting these misplaced feelings of sympathy on Seonghwa, when he didn’t give a shit about me any more than all the other people in my life.

He was not my friend. He wasn’t even on my side – Seonghwa was always on his own side, and no one else was allowed there. No one sees you like I do, my ass.

No, we were both alone together. That’s all that was. I was handy to him. A useful toy. And just as he said – I’d always let him. Because – just like he said – no one else saw me. So I just kept going, stewing in it all, each day almost physically feeling a bit of my sanity escape me.

And then one day I realised what was going on with Yujun.

All it took was coming home earlier from his mother’s house and going up the stairs too quietly. I knew the second I saw him staggering out of a guest room with his pants half undone – I knew. He started coming home more often because I was rarely there. And some poor maid most likely ended up paying for that.

History does repeat itself, as Kendrick Lamar once said. Sometimes it doesn’t need a reason. He hated his brother for being a bastard, and here he was – tempting the same fate.

He didn’t notice me – because of course he didn’t, he wasn’t the most aware person on his best days, and lately it’s been weird between us. I was half-hidden behind our very decorative banister too, which was just pompous and pretentious enough to hide me out of the clear line of sight while still giving me ample opportunity to peek.

Yujun disappeared into his office. I got up from the stairs and sprinted into the guest room.

I hated being right. Well, at least that day in that instance I did. She was a pretty young thing, with big fearful eyes and long straight hair, so thin I was worried she was going to faint on me when she noticed my form looming in the door like a cryptid. She looked weary though, holding onto her loosened uniform with something heavy settled in her limbs.

For her, it was a day of realisations too, it seemed. And a wife coming home just seconds after her husband fucked you, that’s a bad one. Not many great outcomes out of that one.

She looked to me with tears, the panic taking over her features as she jumped to conclusions about what I’d no doubt do to her for this. I guess that rich ladies weren’t the best clients when their husbands turned out to be cheating bastards unable to keep their hands to themselves. If I was anyone else, she’d be right to be terrified.

But I wasn’t like Mrs. Park that even after years of getting rid of her husband’s unscrupulous affairs and intimidating away poor women that found themselves in the crosshairs of their broken marriage, still ended up with a bastard child always mocking her failure.

And I wasn’t like my mother either – that didn’t speak about it, but even after all the talk she did about me having to sleep with my husband still sighed with relief when my father chose to enter someone else’s bedroom. I guess that she found paying his affair partners away easier than fucking him herself – not that I’d wish that kind of fate on anybody.

“Did he hurt you?” were the first words out of my mouth, and I saw her form tremble. She shook her head once, unsurely, and then twice more with conviction. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her mouth was glued shut with terror. I hoped my own disgust over my husband wasn’t overshadowing my judgement, but I worried for her.

“Are you sure?” This time she didn’t move, just stood there and stared at me with devastated resignation creeping into her eyes. When her lips finally unsealed, all that came out was a sob.

“Am I getting fired for this?” Her cries were getting loud enough to draw unwanted attention, so I quickly turned to slam the door shut. Yujun would now either be drinking or having his post-nut nap anyway, but I didn’t want to risk him hearing us have this conversation. It would be for the best if he didn’t even know I was home yet.

I shushed as gently as I could with the urgency that now ran through my veins, and she immediately shut up, still waiting for the big blow out. Walking closer I took her in – she really couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She was a new face too, I haven’t registered her around the house much yet, way too used to the older Mrs. Kim that worked for us for all those long, long months.

“What’s your name?” I wanted to get the most important thing out of the way first, and slowly build up to this conversation to ease her mind a bit, but I wasn’t sure how much I could actually get through to her.

“Ha-eun,” she sniffled as she said it, hand going to wipe away the mess on her face, and I handed her a handkerchief. Ha-eun still eyed me with suspicion, but she seemed to have calmed down significantly. Her uniform was still a little messed up from where my husband presumably got his hands on her, and it made for a miserable picture.

“Ha-eun, are you alright?” The girl just kept staring at me, like she expected this all to be a trap, but eventually she nodded. It didn’t seem very convincing, but I didn’t want to push her too much until she fully calmed down. Which didn’t seem to be something she was capable of in that moment.

“I can’t lose this job,” she suddenly sobbed out again, shaking hands grabbing onto me like a follower onto a messiah, praying hands begging and tugging, “my mother-“

“Ha-eun!” I raised my voice lightly and the girl stopped her crying for a moment to look at me, big wet eyes expectantly watching my face for clues. I tried to smile at her, just to be reassuring. Based on her trembling form, I wasn’t sure how successful I was. “You’re not losing your job.”

Once again she nodded and then as if the words caught up to her, she did once more, lips shaking to hold in her distress. She was a bit taller than me, so when I grabbed her shoulders to look properly into her eyes I lost a bit of the effect having to look up, but she honestly looked like a drowned kitten, so it didn’t matter much at all.

“I’m going to ask for the last time,” I didn’t try to sound threatening, but it was surprisingly difficult to word things well when we both were running on very different but definitely very intense emotions, and I didn’t want to push if it turned out she really did like him, “Did he… push you? Or pressure you?” After all, just because I’d rather set myself on fire than touch him didn’t mean everyone else thought that too.

For a few tense silent seconds I felt like the asshole in the situation. Maybe it said more about me than it did about Yujun the way my mind immediately jumped there. I guess he did have a certain charm to him (if you didn’t inspect him much closer) – I could see how he could mess with a young girl’s heart, promising her riches and comfort and a few sweet words, even though he constantly smelled like booze and cigarettes. The Park genes and bank accounts definitely did a lot of heavy lifting, but still. For a split second a certain young handsome face framed by long dark hair flitted into my mind (his fingers in my hair, his hands on my hips) and I shook my head to dislodge the claws he sunk into me, blinking the unbidden memories away.

But then the girl in front of me started crying again, and my heart broke for her.

“I- I can’t lose this job…” That was answer enough. I shook with the sudden uproar of rage taking over me. In my own home. I was sharing a bed with this man. Lived in the same house. He was supposed to be getting me pregnant (I was so glad he wasn’t – I never wanted to carry his spawn). I could scratch myself out of my own skin with the crawling feeling of being married to someone like him.

I had to put my own disgust on pause though, because witnessing my meltdown was the last thing Ha-eun needed right now.

Still I couldn’t stop a very worrying thought from fighting its way to the forefront of my mind.

Yujun fucking someone else in our house and coming to our bed already sated, not asking me to fuck him – that meant he knew to a certain extent that I had been lying to him about our sex life – since he stopped trying to get anything out of me. He probably didn’t know about the pills (otherwise he’d already make a scene) but he must have known I was somehow manipulating him. He most likely also assumed I was getting it elsewhere.

That’s why the suspicious glances. I was right – this was all going to crash down and burn around me faster than I was ready for. I had to do something – but what? That was the golden question.

I wasn’t fucking built for this.

“You’re not losing your job,” I managed to push out through the turmoil, mind half gone, and the girl latched onto that, latched onto me, like it was a saving grace. She thanked me, she thanked me for what she thought was me letting her get assaulted two bedrooms over from my own bed.

“I’ll get you a new job,” I promised, grasping onto her hands so she couldn’t pull away in shock, “a better one, away from all this.” More mistrust, two steps back after the progress we just made. Fear. But I didn’t have time to deal with that right now.

I had to figure out how to help us both.

The next few days were tense in the house, tenser than ever before. I called Mrs. Park and let her know I wasn’t feeling well and not wanting to make her sick I’d stay home for some time until I was sure I wasn’t contagious anymore. She hardly seemed to care, offering me barely a half of a sentence of reassurance before hanging up to go do her own thing. I kind of wanted to cuss her out, but her not caring was the better option of the two. She could have been showing up on my doorstep with chicken broth or some shit. Even though it stung a little, I still had to count my blessings that she wasn’t some helicopter parent.

Yujun was the bigger problem currently. Sometimes during the first two days of us awkwardly hanging around the house he figured out I found out about the affair and now was getting pissy about me cock-blocking him. He stomped around the house throwing hateful glances around like a toddler, embarrassing both himself and me. When he knew I was home, he was locked in his office. He didn’t sleep in the bedroom anymore (I had no idea how to let him know that wasn’t a punishment).

I had no idea what he thought he was going to accomplish with this, but to a man who probably always got what he wanted was throwing tantrums most likely the only way to show his displeasure about not getting his way.

The thing I really struggled with was delivering on my promise though. As I grew up, I cut contact with a lot of people I used to hang around when younger, so there weren’t many ‘friends’ I could ask for a favour and know that I’d be handing Ha-eun over into good hands. My parents were out of the question, because my mother wouldn’t let me deal with it this way. She’d make Ha-eun’s life living hell until she herself wanted nothing to do with any of us. I could never tell her why I wanted our maid to go work for them, and she’d never accept a new person without an explanation.

I messaged Yunho, as at the time he was the only person I was sure about having some manners around the circles in which I ran. He texted back within hours that their house was full, but he’d ask around. A polite version of ‘no, and don’t bother me with it anymore’.

I stubbornly ignored the fact that there was a person I knew that I was decently close to (if you could call us that) who owned a literal hotel, but where I stood right now – I’d rather chew off my own hand than to contact him. It didn’t take very long for me to get desperate though.

Yunho did actually end up asking around, which pleasantly surprised me, but most of the people around us couldn’t care less or didn’t want to get involved in a drama like this. Because a woman getting rid of a maid from her house could only mean one thing, and the fact that I was so vocal about it was seen as very embarrassing and humiliating. They’d for sure laugh about me in private, but wouldn’t do shit outside the bounds of their very comfortable lives.

I knew I couldn’t push it any further just a short few days later though, when while walking down a hallway I heard Ha-eun protesting to someone. With my hackles immediately raised, I stomped over to the room it was coming from.

Our living room was spacy, full of air and light, with minimal décor. I actually kind of hated it, but it wasn’t my house, not really – not in all the ways that mattered, and I didn’t exactly care for re-decorating, so I just let it be. Ha-eun was clearly just in the process of dusting one of the decorative bookshelves when Yujun approached her. He was standing firm and not swaying at all, which honestly surprised me to see. I couldn’t off the top of my head remember when I last saw him closer to sober than tipsy.

The maid saw me first, cause my husband was angled more to have his back to me, and she immediately fell silent, sizing me up with a guilty look on her face and reflected in her teary eyes. It took Yujun all of three seconds of the awkward silence to realise what was happening, and when he turned around he was already scowling with anger.

My gaze slid down his form. He was gripping her wrist, not very gently. As he stood there, stewing in his anger, I shot one pointed glare at his hand, and he dropped it. The room was so quiet I could hear all of us breathe, as we just stood there and glared at each other. Then Yujun just stalked off, breezing past me with a stormy expression on his face, not saying a single word.

I waited until I heard the door to his office slam shut, the boom reverberating through the whole house, before I redirected my attention to the young woman. She was shaking, holding her wrist. There were red imprints on it. I wanted to storm upstairs right after Yujun and beat him to a pulp.

“Go home for today,” I told her, as calmly as possible, and she nodded, “Don’t come in tomorrow. I’ll text you the details of your new job during the afternoon.” She nodded again, this time more fearful, but didn’t argue with me over it, something very resigned settling in her features. I figured that at this point risking losing this job without having a fall-back was the better option to dealing with the man.

The house was eerily silent while I got myself ready to leave, and I casted a few curious glances towards the closed locked door my husband disappeared behind. I was getting really fucking tired of policing everything that happened in these halls, and the prospect of this being the rest of my life made me want to burn it all down. For now though, I’d keep that in the arsenal of options.

As I was walking out of the house knowing full well where I was going, to who, and what was going to happen, I really couldn’t fucking believe I ended up having to resort to that. I kind of hated it, actually – because it felt like this was truly unescapable, like Seonghwa was right when he looked at me like he was inevitable. I hated proving him right. But if he could use me to his means, I could definitely use him for mine. At the end of the day, he did want something from me, and I could do something with that.

I haven’t been to Seonghwa’s hotel since that fateful night, but still as I walked inside the restaurant seemed almost uncannily familiar. I really didn’t want to think about that day though, so I pushed those thoughts aside and steam-rolled towards the reception.

I was worried whether Seonghwa would even be here, and what would I even tell the poor guy sitting behind the counter. How do you storm into a hotel and demand to see and speak to the owner? I kind of wished I’d exchanged numbers with him back before everything happened (though during these months I found myself grateful for not having that connection to him, I couldn’t imagine what he’d be sending me), but now suddenly asking Mrs. Park for his contact info wouldn’t go unnoticed. It’d be weird, and she’d be asking why I wanted to speak to him. No one ever wanted to speak to Seonghwa. No one ever asked for him. He just was everywhere, ready.

And it must have been some sort of black magic, some sort of a cursed sixth sense – because as I was walking up to the reception counter, preparing myself to demand to speak to him – there he was. Casually standing around talking to one of the employees. As I said – just there, ready. Like he sensed I’d be searching for him. Like he knew my life devolved into spinning in his orbit.

It was strange how quickly things could descend into madness – and I haven’t even interacted with the man for weeks at a time.

He had a small soft smile on his face, the polite kind you put on when speaking to people you didn’t know well. No matter what I thought of the man, I had to give that to him – he knew how to wear that mask. How to pretend he was human, just like everyone around him. When he looked at you with that pretty face wearing a gentle smile and spoke softly, you’d trust him with anything.

Seonghwa was what people imagined the devil to be. And I felt crazy for being the only one aware of it, like he was a blind spot. Nobody wanted to see, but I had to – I had no other choice. He showed me, he chose me to know.

The moment his eyes caught mine he was immediately tuned to me, face open and curious, painted with shock. At least I could say I surprised him once.

I walked up, and not bothering with any pleasantries just said: “I need to speak to you.”

All of the employees standing around eyed us with curiosity and interest, probably not used to their boss being spoken to in such manner. I bet most of them didn’t even know who I was, that I was technically his family. Seonghwa’s only answer was his smile shifting a little into the vaguely savage grin I was more used to, and he simply gestured for me to follow him. I did, still not saying anything further.

Seonghwa’s office was sleek and elegant, decorated minimally in mostly black and white with some warm accents to offset the emptiness. It fit him well – pretty but hollow. We both walked in confidently, acting like we were nothing more than simple acquaintances. I hoped my face didn’t betray anything, but I knew the man could probably see the anger swirling somewhere deep within me.

He knew very well what he did and what were the circumstances we parted on, it was all written into his amused smirk as he lead me down the hall.

The lock on the door clicked quietly, but I clocked it immediately, already accustomed to how he did things. This was his turf. He’d close and lock the door. No one interesting to catch the show here – quite the opposite actually. Just a bunch of people trying to make it through their shifts.

Seonghwa was already grinning as he sat down behind his dark desk, a knowing expression settled on his face. I wondered how he knew it’d end up this way. But I guess that when you have no one else you inevitably end up going to the one person you know will indulge you, no matter what.

“What can I help you with?” the cheer in his voice kind of undermined the way he tried to sound professional and business-like, and I fought off a sneer at the blatant display of giddiness. Seeing him, what I wanted to do next required to swallow down my pride, but I could do it.

It definitely wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever made me swallow.

“I need a favour,” I told him point-blank, finding no reason for beating around the bush, “No questions asked.” The man hummed, folding his hands on top of the sleek surface. He gestured for me to go on.

“What kind of favour?” I realised this might have been the only time we actually had a conversation without any sexual undertones, and the normalcy of his tone was almost weirding me out.

“You’ll employ a maid here,” I laid it out for him, giving him no space to protest (not that I thought he would, this was prime opportunity for him), “with proper rates. A good stable job.” That had Seonghwa snorting sardonically, eyes twinkling with condescension. I wasn’t sure whether it was aimed at me or Yujun, but it still made the fire within me roar with barely contained rage.

“Well, that didn’t take long,” he drawled out in that awful mocking voice, “How pregnant is she?”

“Hopefully not at all,” I glared back at him and he smirked right back.

“I see, so just preventative?” he asked jovially, white teeth flashing me with that beastly smile he so often wore.

“I couldn’t care less about what he does and with who,” I fired back immediately, feeling myself get all worked up over this again, “I’m worried about her safety.” He just hummed again, watching me for a few tense seconds, before he opened his arms wide as if stretching them.

“You know what I want in return,” he spoke it so smoothly, like it was the easiest thing in the universe. I supposed to him it might have been, because he demanded. He wouldn’t be hit with the consequences nearly as bad. I frowned at him.

“Is there ever anything else that you think about?”

“Not with you in my sight.” His expression was playful, with a small grin pulling at his lips. Was he fucking flirting right now? Under the intensity of his gaze I couldn’t help but blush slightly at the words, but immediately cursed myself for even listening to such bullshit.

“Do I though? Know what you want?” I shot back, walking a little away from the table to look at the shelves with displayed trinkets. It was mostly photos of Seonghwa with influential people and certificates and awards the hotel won, but there was the stray flower or a piece of art. “It doesn’t feel that way to me.”

To my side the man hummed thoughtfully, leaning comfortably in his chair. “I always thought I was rather clear about that,” he rumbled back, voice taking on a little more seductive tone. But I willed myself not to buckle, not today.

“There’s a lot of people to fuck and entertain you, I’m sure they’d indulge you,” I tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of my tone, and saw Seonghwa frown slightly.

“None of them are you,” he said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

And now it was my turn to scoff and laugh at him with scorn, lips curled in a way that betrayed just how he affected me, just how mad I was going. “Please,” I sneered at him, sharp teeth on display, “don’t make me laugh.”

Seonghwa looked at me wordlessly for a few silent moments, processing the rawness of my emotion in the face of his desire, and then he patted the table in front of him, leaning back into his chair and spreading his legs wide. I watched him for a moment.

“Come on, come here,” Seonghwa said finally when I didn’t move towards him. Seconds ticked by as we were locked in a stalemate, just watching each other – but I never saw his resolve waiver. He’d already become so confident I wouldn’t refuse he didn’t even seem to be worried about whether I’d come to him or not. I tried not to think about that as I finally moved towards the empty space with a sigh.

His hands were on my hips before my ass even hit the wood of the desk, where I leant on it in between his open legs. They reverently caressed my sides, sliding up and down gently and with devotion that put me off, knocked me slightly off kilter. I felt his warmth seep into me, the weight of his hands comforting in a way that unnerved me. I knew then, that I missed it. I felt too loose without him holding me, untethered to the ground.

I’d come to the realisation that I liked the dizziness stemming from his scorching touch.

I watched him as he lost himself to the feel of me under his hands, eyes glued to where he touched, half-lidded and wanting, shrouded in a mist of something almost adoring. My heart sped up under his attention, as it always did – and I was getting tired of the never-ending cycle of shame and guilt that would be no doubt hitting later.

He was either a damned good actor, or this was spinning out of control way too fast (like everything else in my life).

“What are you doing?” I asked the man, and the exhaustion came through in my voice, “What is all of this really about?” At first it seemed like he didn’t hear me at all. He sat still, hands in motion and gaze trained to them, like he didn’t register anything that happened outside of that. Then his hand slowly slid over to my lower abdomen, in a gesture that was by now awfully familiar and made my heart quiver with some sort of macabre suspense.

“Family,” he answered simply, eyes rising to meet mine slowly (so open and wide and telling), “Revenge.” He kept the eye contact, to a point it made me uncomfortable – and yet I couldn’t pull myself away from him, couldn’t break the connection that was struck up between us. “But you already knew that.”

“Revenge…” I tried out how the word tasted on my tongue. Like ash. Like heartbreak. Loneliness. I looked at the man and he was still watching me, steadily returning my gaze. His eyes almost felt hollow in a sense, and I felt that terrible surge of pity again.

“You want a family?” I didn’t even know what I was saying, didn’t know where I was steering this conversation – just that it was all dangerous territory. I should have already known by then. Give him an inch, and he takes a mile (and gets you pregnant). Seonghwa didn’t answer my question though, not really. He just leant in into my stomach, putting his weight on me. I fought off the instinct to bury my hands into his long locks, but I couldn’t stop them from gently settling down on his shoulders. He kept looking at me with those huge eyes, clouded with something I couldn’t quite name, and stayed stubbornly silent. I sighed.

“Why me?” That was the million-dollar question. Why me? This felt beyond what happened between us that first night. That was revenge. Whatever was happening now was a whole different beast.

“You see me.” Something scalding hot poured into my veins, like molten gold – and I couldn’t tell whether it was dread or delight.

Before I could process his words, come to terms with my whole world tilting starboard, Seonghwa was standing up. His body moulded over mine, nose bumping into my stomach and my breasts as he went up, momentarily burying into my neck before his face was suddenly all up in mine.

From this up close I could fully take in his striking features. The blemishless honey-toned skin, dark chocolate eyes, sharply cut cheekbones. The intensity of him burned from here, and I loved getting scorched. I loved the heat.

His hand came up to slowly, gently caress my face, and I let him. I held still for him, lulled in by my treacherous heart. This was all doomed, all of it and both of us. I didn’t even know if he was telling the truth. I never knew if he was telling the truth – that was the trade he was in. A double agent, always working towards some deeper harsher goal.

Nice words were weapons. Seonghwa knew how to wield them.

His thumb passed underneath my eye, pressed lightly into the soft, thin skin. His lips parted, tongue darting out to wet them. He watched the path of his fingers, hypnotised.

“Your eyes,” Seonghwa whispered to me sweetly, “they don’t look through me.” I sighed again.

“Seonghwa-“ But he didn’t let me speak – didn’t let me finish that thought. He was pressing in closer (I wasn’t even aware that was still possible), and our eyes met again.

“Just let me have this,” he said simply and then he was leaning in, lips sliding across my cheek until they found the corner of my lips and settled there gently. I had a split second to make my decision – and I did. My heart trembled and for a brief flash I thought – what about the things I want to have?

But still it wasn’t all that hard to turn my face slightly until our mouth slotted into each other, fitted like they were always meant to end up there. I was used to unyielding ferocity when it came to kissing Seonghwa, but this time he slowly dipped his tongue in my mouth as if tasting me. I matched his energy, I always did (or I tried to), and savoured him.

He kissed me like you’d enjoy fancy wines – sipping leisurely, experiencing, dipping yourself in slowly, submerging your senses in one at a time. Digging for sweetness, appreciating the sourness. I sighed and hummed into his mouth, and he swallowed that down too, like appetisers.

When his hands came up to my thighs to push me onto his table fully, I was already going myself without even needing his direction. He trained me well (history did repeat itself) – I found myself in the same position as on his father’s table all those weeks ago. But this time it was Seonghwa’s office, with his door locked and determination to see this through at an all-time high.

I also didn’t waste a second and threaded my hands into his silken shirt, pulling him with me as I used the momentum to lay down on the table. Seonghwa followed loyally, gracefully bending down to loom over me without breaking the kiss. The only evidence of the movement was the deep breath he released into my mouth as his tongue suddenly dipped deeper, and I moaned quietly into him. I felt his lips stretch into a satisfied smile, fingers digging deeper into my flesh where he clutched at me.

Feeling generous, I went with the flow without waiting for his cues, keeping him glued to me as the kiss devolved more and more into something messy and wet and loud. He shifted closer and our bodies aligned well enough for his hardening bulge to press into my core – so I did what any rational person would do in that situation. Let go of all thought and went to wrap my legs around his hips to pull him closer, feel him drag against me.

The man only chuckled in response, a light sound that carried a hint of arrogance to it (a sound I was beginning to crave), and pushed my legs away. Before I could react he was dislodging from me, pushing me into the table as he straightened and looked down at me. Excitement fizzled through me and I found his eyes easily – they read as much lust as mine must have, dripping with intent.

In a sense, it was liberating. To let go of everything, leave the world behind a door and just feel. I turned off all the things in me that related to anything in the outside world, and let him dip me into debauchery once more.

“You’re such a lazy girl,” Seonghwa whispered, teasing, “You have it too easy with me, don’t you know? I spoil you too much…” His hands slowly moved up my sides to my breasts, each grabbing one roughly, just feeling their weight. I gasped at the touch and my back arched up on instinct, pushing myself more into him. He chuckled again, this time much darker.

“Always just get on your back or your knees,” each word was underlined with a squeeze until I twisted underneath him, desperate, “Always let me do all the work. Do you think you deserve to have it so easy again?” I was barely paying attention to his words, instead focused on how his lips moved – their tantalising drawl, the way they curled so deviously, sensuously. Everything about him was so indecent, so seductive – it was enough to drive a saint mad.

And I was the farthest thing from a saint.

When I failed to respond to him, Seonghwa smirked – like that was the excuse he was waiting for – and stepped back, completely disentangling our limbs and bodies. I put all of my will into not whining for him pathetically. That would inflate his ego, and I wasn’t about to contribute to that. I already did too much for this man’s confidence.

“Get up, darling,” Seonghwa ordered, strict and no-nonsense, like a man expecting to be obeyed no matter what. And I was nothing if not eager to please. I was on my feet quickly, so quickly that my head spun for a few brief seconds and I had to clutch the table for support.

Seonghwa either didn’t notice or he didn’t care, because he was more occupied with pushing me out of the way and situating himself to sit and lay down on the table himself. With his height it was a bit of an awkward position – his feet brushed the floor in an arch that didn’t look very comfortable and his head hung over the edge on the other side, but he looked perfectly comfortable if the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by.

One of his hands swiftly patted his lap and he winked at me. “Come, climb on top, doll.” He wanted me to ride him on his office desk. I felt my cheeks heat up, but I still wordlessly undid my skirt and let it drop to the ground. Seonghwa’s sparkling eyes glided over the exposed skin of my legs, but I didn’t give him much chance to ogle before I was propping myself up on the table and settling down in his lap. His hands automatically shot out to grab onto my hips, and in this position I was directly on top of his now hard-rock cock.

Before I could stop myself I was gyrating on him, chasing the faint sparks of pleasure it provided. I was too tired that day to pretend I wasn’t enjoying myself, or to fight this out of some misplaced loyalty and shame. I spent months escaping this and here I was anyway, back in his grasp – so why should I care for propriety at this point?

I set up a nice rhythm and just let myself go, let myself drown in that tidal wave of looseness of muscles and limbs that pleasure always brought on, with my head empty of all except his hands on me.

“W-what are you even talking about?” I stuttered out, eyes closed and head thrown back, living through the feeling of Seonghwa’s hands on my hips dragging me onto his cock again and again, “See you? I ca-can barely stand to look at you.” That drew a deep rumbly chuckle out of the man, so low I felt the vibrations reverberate through me where I sat on top of him.

I didn’t know why I felt the need to return to this now, but the unfinished conversation niggled at my insides – we were so close to some monumental revelation, right on the doorstep of a revolution. I couldn’t let him kiss it away.

“That’s a lie, darling, and you know it,” he purred back at me, draping me in sweet velvet as his hands moulded me to his liking, “Your eyes can’t ever stop following me when you’re with me. It’s exhilarating, knowing how much you need to see me.”

And the thing was – he was right. I never did not look at him. As soon as he entered a room, I was aware of him from beginning till end, of every little thing he did or said, even of how he breathed. How he looked when happy, when sad, when angry, when mischievous. He was like a lure – your eyes just couldn’t pull away.

A fly in a spider’s web, spun round and round and round, dazed with poison and consumed, slowly, deliciously. That’s how it felt to look into his eyes.

And yet he was right – I did it every single time.

“Then what was all the shit during the hunting trip about?” I asked breathlessly, hips stuttering as I was getting distracted again, “All the talk you did then, about owning me, huh? You always humiliate me. Scorch me and then walk away, make me feel like a piece of shit, make me feel angry. Make me hate you.”

“Welcome to my family, doll,” he sneered at me sardonically, hurt pulling at his features. So much pain and anger in one person, it almost seemed impossible – and yet here I was, face to face with it.

He beckoned me with two fingers, and like a puppet on a string I leant in towards him, settling down on him chest to chest. The scowl disappeared as quickly as it came, melted into a teasing grin while both of his hands slowly crept up my outer thigh until he was playing with the seat of my panties with his arms wrapped around the back of my thighs.

All incentive to finish the conversation left me, burying those uneasy feelings away under the wave of desire that consumed me.

I felt my core throb and squeeze at his touch, anticipatory and already slick where his fingers met with bare sensitive skin. I shuddered on him at the feather-light teasing touch, the way he skimmed around the wet pink flesh without really committing to a place to touch to drive me insane, and I throbbed even harder as another wave of slick rushed out of me.

Seonghwa took his sweet time coating his fingers in my wetness, playing around, occasionally pressing on my clit to hear me keen into his neck. The wave of want was rising in me, nothing in me but the mindless desire to feel full of him, for him to quench that need to feel pleasure from any touch he’d bestow on me.

My hips moved almost on their own, shuffling and straining to lead his fingers where I wanted them, but they stayed ever so elusive. I heard the man chuckle into my hair and rose my head to look at him.

The look in his eyes was much darker than the playful grin stretched on his lips, and that’s how I knew he’d cave in soon. Because no matter how much Seonghwa tried to keep his cool and stay in control, I saw how easily he slipped into the haze, how he lost himself in lust when a wet pussy was presented to him.

He couldn’t ever resist the pull.

And just as I thought – the moment our eyes met and the arousal flared between our gazes, his fingers were very decidedly sliding through my folds and slipping inside. He started off with two right away, and even though I’ve been getting wetter by the second, it took a bit of work to stuff them both inside – but then he took up a slow, intense pace, stroking inside with firm motions that left me feeling how the waking fire begun licking up at my tummy.

I sighed and moaned, eyes falling shut with the surge of sensations. I let my head fall back down onto his chest, burrowing into his crisp clean shirt and drowning in his spicy woodsy perfume that overwhelmed my senses.

Relief. All I could feel was immense relief, wrapped nicely in a touch of building ecstasy as Seonghwa gradually sped up his hands, fucking into me with more and more force. My pussy squeezed around the digits, felt every inch, ridge, knob. I loved the way they reached so deep inside, and I let him know by moaning out louder every time they bumped into the bundle of nerves deep inside of me, while the palm of his hand pressed down on my clit with every thrust.

I wasn’t sure if it was by the position, where I was all spread for him with my legs splayed wide over his hips with my back arched and ass on display, or by the situation itself (or because it’s been so long since I last had him), but I could feel the orgasm building in me faster than I was used to. It was honestly kind of humiliating how easily he could break me down in the most primal and primitive way the moment he got his paws on me, with nothing but a couple of well-aimed strokes.

Seonghwa didn’t seem to plan to let me have this without him though, because as soon as he felt me tightening around him as my moans carried higher and higher, he pulled his fingers out. I raised my head immediately with a disgruntled moan and it was enough to just catch a glimpse of his self-satisfied smirk before his arm sneaked around my waist and pulled me closer to his neck.

I was confused for a moment, head buried in his hair and taking in the scent of him, when I felt his hand messing around somewhere on his lap and I realised – he was trying to open his pants without pushing me away. The dress pants perfectly hugged his waist (a man like him wouldn’t wear anything that wasn’t hand-tailored to him) so I didn’t even have the sounds of a belt buckle to go off of. I only knew he succeeded when he moved both his hands down and started shuffling around to pull the pants down.

It was actually quite funny, and I released a few amused chuckles at his struggle. Which did not go unnoticed.

Before I registered him moving, I was being pulled roughly to sit on his very naked and very hard cock, the length throbbing underneath my wet core. The moment I could get any kind of stimulation again, the amusement was long forgotten and I didn’t waste a second and started writhing on top of him, jerking my hips unevenly back and forth and drenching us both in my wetness.

A half of a strangled moan escaped Seonghwa before he caught himself, hands shooting out to grab onto the meat of my hips to stop the movement. His nails dug into the skin there with the strength of his grasp, the sting heightening the pleasure and making everything richer. For a brief moment our eyes met, his darkened with so much potent lust I shuddered, and then he was pulling me up to get me on his cock.

It took a few tries and both of us were already half mindless at this point, but when I felt him slip inside it was like finally getting a sip of cold water after wandering through the desert for days, weeks. Months. Almost nine months.

It was like coming home, and I could cry with the relief.

I went to grab onto his shoulders but was met with heated fabric instead – and suddenly came to the realisation that he hasn’t undressed again. Agitated, I started tearing into his buttons, probably taking some out with the force I used to open his shirt and slide it off his shoulders and arms until the sleeves hung over the side of the table.

Seonghwa’s beautiful sculpted chest came into view, and I remembered back to that night – when we were in a similar position and he buried himself in me, in kissing me, marking me, biting me. My hands reverently glided over the darkly flushed skin, worshipping all that deadly strength hidden under the softness and grace, and the man let me. He watched me, hands pulling me firmly onto his lap, as I was swallowed into that haze.

And when I leant down to lick at the skin, he didn’t stop me. With every tentative flicker of my tongue, every shy kiss or a shallow bite I distributed, he sighed gently and stayed still, taking my worship with impatient grace.

The room was quiet except for our pronounced breathing, nothing seeping in from outside – not through the door, not through the walls. Our eyes met, my hips jumped, he groaned. There goes the silence, I thought as I swirled my hips on him, savouring the feeling of his cock lodged as deep inside me as it could go.

The table creaked and for a split second I worried if it could take us, but then Seonghwa was using his hands to help me move in little circles, subtly pulling me faster, faster, until my brain felt scrambled at how his tip grazed and pressed on the delicious little spot all the way inside me. Neither of us said anything, but neither of us broke the eye contact either. We just moved, instinct overriding all else.

His scalding hot skin underneath my body was beginning to burn into me in such a familiar way I sighed at the sensation. I closed my eyes and let the press of our bodies speak for itself, my face subconsciously finding the crook of his neck to bury myself there and cover myself in him.

My hand slid down his side, feeling each rib on its journey. Seonghwa, for someone so bitter, was always so full of life – and only here, like this with him, I could feel all that life spill into me through our touch. I never felt quite so alive as when I felt his chest expand with pleasured breaths underneath the pads of my fingers. I heard him sigh out, and something on the table cluttered. It was a soft sound. I wondered what he saw, what he looked at.

His hands on my hips tightened before they slid up and slowly tugged off my own shirt, which I completely forgot I still had on. Instead of raising my arms (which would mean not touching Seonghwa), I squirmed and wormed until it fell down my arms onto his stomach before I quickly threw it off to the side. I was expecting him to for my bra next, but he didn’t. When his hands caressed their way back down, he grabbed onto my hips with such a force I felt his fingers dig into the meat of my ass.

His hips pressed up, and where I still held onto his waist I felt his back arch off of the table lightly with such a quiet groan I would have missed it if it wasn’t for the silence in the room. And just like that fire roared in me again, arousal pouring over me like hot summer air – pushing its way into my lungs and stealing my breath, covering me whole.

I gradually sped up, kept going with every little moan it punched out of me, every sigh of pleasure it earned from him, until I was riding him in earnest to the symphony of the table shifting on the floor and the wood of it creaking softly. Until I felt his cock slide out and then hammer back in with every new maddening swirl, especially when Seonghwa started working his hips in earnest too.

That’s when I finally opened my eyes again – when his first thrust knocked the breath out of me on a surprised moan, and I scrambled to find purchase on the smooth planes of his torso. His gaze was trained on me, right where I left it, dark pupils blown wide as he took me in while I moved on top of him.

Maybe someone would call this nothing more than cheap thrills – but there wasn’t anything that felt cheap about this. It felt like more than it should have been. On the contrary, these were very expensive thrills – expensive with consequences among other things.

We fell into a rhythm very quickly, bodies moving in tandem, thrust for thrust and groan for groan. The terrible sound of wet skin clapping against wet skin thundered through the office, but I didn’t have it in me to feel embarrassed about anyone outside hearing. Not when I heard that desperate edge in Seonghwa’s moans, not when I felt myself squeeze again and again around his throbbing length, when it filled me so good, when the pleasure was making it hard to think of anything at all.

I was blanking, mind wiped of anything other than his dark eyes boring into me. Seonghwa rearranged his grip on my hips and then he was railing into me from bellow, punching desperate moans out of my throat. I let gravity help me, pull me down onto his cock, and his hands to pull me back up, only to drop me down once more. The force of it all turned everything very loud, the quiet atmosphere now broken with how close we were to ruining each other.

Though Seonghwa would no doubt argue that he’s already ruined me a long time ago, the silly egotistic man he was.

The dark-haired man groaned very loudly, completely unabashed in his pleasure. I felt his fingers slip around with sweat, I even felt it trickling down my back, felt it where my ass met his thighs, felt it clinging to my pubes, to my arousal. I could smell it on us, in the air. Saw it wetting his hair when I finally brought myself to focus back on him.

Seonghwa glistened, and the desk shook, and our eyes rolled back, and the pleasure built. It was all so overwhelming. So close to bursting. I always felt close to bursting at the seams around Seonghwa.

One of his hands slipped down between us to bump around my pussy and press onto my clit, but it was so hard to do with the pace and the wild thrashing of our bodies, so it only served to tease me more than offer relief. I still took it, happily, needily.

“You know, though-“ Seonghwa gasped out – and here it was again. His never tired mouth, so eager to spill all those truths the moment he got his cock in me, always needing to share, to be heard. And I listened. “You know…hhhng- that you’re mine.”

The way we breathed so hard prevented me from reacting in any way except for my eyes snapping to his blown-out ones. They were wide and honest, a mockery with almost a touch of desperation. But so, so open in a way only sex could bring out.

“I don’t- belong to anyone,” I struggled to speak through the rising fire consuming me from the inside out, I could feel my climax building with every thrust, every stroke, every time his cock hit me just right. Seonghwa’s expression betrayed just how close he was getting too – not even the cocky smirk he tried to send me could hide how his lips curved into moans, or the way his hazy eyes slipped closed ever so often.

My thighs were killing me, burning and screaming with every movement, but the peak was just there, right around the corner. I gritted my teeth and ground down with determination. Seonghwa’s grip tightened and the man groaned desperately, eyes almost gone, but soon his mouth was running again.

“Y-you don’t have to wear my mark- to- to- know it’s there,” as he pushed the sentence out through the strain, his chin jerked to where my hand laid on his frantically jumping chest. The one where I wore my rings, which glittered under the light and shone with beautiful contrast to his honey skin.

I wanted silver. I liked it more. It was the only thing that went my way this marriage. The only thing in which someone cared for my opinion. I watched the diamond sparkle as my hand slipped on his sweaty chest. I could see his wild eyes trained on me obsessively from the corner of my eye, taking in my reaction.

I willed my hips to slow down, to take their time and leisurely bounce in his lap, but the intensity of the encounter still continued rising, and at this point there wasn’t anything any of us could have done to stop our oncoming orgasms. Seonghwa’s brows furrowed together and his breath hitched, but he quickly matched my tempo. The force of his thrusts were still enough to knock groans out of me on every stroke, and now with us going slower it’s like I felt his cock even more viscerally.

It was so hard to think about anything else, my mind was overheating under Seonghwa’s skilful hands. The man was too good at reducing me into a mindless animal, swaying and writhing on him with only goal in my mind – and the singular consolation prize was that he was just as gone, face flushed and eyes dazed.

“You- you k-know,” I stuttered out, pushing my brain to work so I could push this weight back onto him, to get back at him as always – cause that’s what we did, we provoked the other until we hit a truth that then couldn’t be hidden anymore, and everything became much too real. And I was about to do it again – unleash something that deep down we both must have realised long ago, but haven’t spoken into existence yet.

“You know, that even if- you get me preg-nant,” my tongue and lips were not cooperating with me, so heavy and useless with the bliss coursing through my veins I could barely stammer the sentence out, “it won’t- it won’t be your child.” It was a whole mouthful, but so was Seonghwa.

The man’s eyes ignited with something that made me shiver, that put a little bit of fear back in my heart when it started growing so comfortable with the pity he elicited. It’s like he kept tricking me into forgetting what he did, what kind of person he was. And I kept falling for it, until the wolf under his skin showed his teeth again and I knew, that I fell deeper each time.

Seonghwa’s hands came back to grip my hips, harder this time, until his fingers dug deep into the soft skin and flesh there, like he was clawing at me. I released a whimper at that, and my hips stuttered, almost distracting me from what I was trying to do with my words – and he knew that, that arrogant fucker.

He pulled me onto himself harder, slamming me onto his cock as he thrusted up, his tip ramming into the sweet spot. The room was overcome with the squelching sound of my wet pussy as he pounded away, the slapping of damp skin and my moans hitting crescendo.

This orgasm felt like a freight train, rushing towards me where I laid tied up on the tracks. I knew it would hit me with a force that would tear me apart, I knew it was inevitable and so close. My stomach tightened and cramped, pussy pulsated. I felt his cock throb too, almost bursting. Everything around me sped up, twisted around, melted and deformed. I could feel my world getting crushed under the pull of Seonghwa’s specific brand of ecstasy.

“But I’ll know,” the man under me rushed out, eyes blown wide and so, so wild. Our gazes met and it was like everything snapped into place, I couldn’t pull away from him even if I wanted to. Our bodies collided, again and again, and again. I couldn’t hold back my moans, feeling the pleasure rush through me, faster and harder, making my blood boil in my veins.

One of my hands slipped down between our bodies, desperate to give me the last push I needed, to continue where Seonghwa left off. He didn’t care for it, didn’t smirk or grin, didn’t chastise me, no smart remark or anything. His whole body shook beneath me, just as desperate as mine to finally hit that high.

“We’ll know,” he gasped out just as I felt myself slam into it, bliss pouring over me and burning me to crisp, like a lightning hitting me. My thighs shook and my toes curled, as I cried out loud enough to have the whole building hear. I didn’t care, not when Seonghwa’s gaze was still on me, still drinking everything in, hungrily scarfing down all my expressions and sounds, or the way my pussy squeezed around him in a way I knew drove him absolutely crazy.

“We’ll know,” he groaned again and finally his eyes rolled back in bliss, mouth open on his beautiful high-pitched moans. His cock twitched and spurted inside me, filling me with warmth, with life. But I still didn’t stop my hips, like I ran on residual energy and the inertia pushed me forward until I milked him of everything he had. His hips strained too, instinctually driving deeper as he spilled himself, pushing me onto him to prevent me from bucking off his cock.

The table absolutely shook under us, creaking for its damn life, before we both hit stop and fell down, tired and sweaty and breathy, a tangle of wet limbs and hair. The room smelt kind of horrendous, but I hardly cared with my faced plastered to Seonghwa’s chest that jumped up and down jerkily with every desperate breath he drew in.

I was almost surprised there wasn’t steam rising from our bodies, because the heat was encompassing, settling over us alongside the calm and stillness that overtook everything; now that all the energy was released.

As soon as I started being more aware, I realised that Seonghwa’s hands were now mindlessly caressing over my hips and back, fingertips lazily pressing patterns into my heated flushed skin. We both still tried to catch our breaths, and I found myself guiltily liking the way we rose and fell in tandem with each other, making me think back to that expensive bathroom – to the way Seonghwa’s eyes reflected so much pleasure, like I was the one touching him and not the other way around. A hive mind of bliss.

And thinking back to that time, today I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull away like I did then, full of anger and frustration. I liked the way Seonghwa coddled me after, how he held me close. Like this mattered, like we mattered. Like we weren’t two absolute fuck-ups playing with something way beyond our powers. Well, maybe not beyond his powers, but I surely felt like a fish out of water here.

Neither of us said anything, the silence stretching to a point that we both knew it was a conscious decision instead of a by-product of our little tryst. I could feel the way the dark-haired man’s fingers stilled here and there, as if waiting for me to tear myself away and march out of this room, like I would have in the past. Like I should have, really.

The position couldn’t have been comfortable for him at all, with this head and legs hanging off awkwardly off the desk, but he didn’t seem to be too perturbed by that. Quite on the contrary – there was something almost content about the way he messed with my hair and hummed under his breath more to himself, almost as if forgetting I could hear him.

Once again I got the all-consuming premonition that this was about more than just envy and revenge. Something changed. Something. During the first night, his eyes spewed hate, and his tongue spat pure poison all nicely wrapped up in sweetness. He aimed to hurt, to humiliate, to let me know just what he thought of us both and what this was about for him.

Today his hands gripped at me with air of possessiveness and pride.

That thought was what finally propelled me to get up from him, even though the way our skin peeled away from each other where it matted together by dried sweat actually made me sad to be losing that contact, and the movement only ended up pushing me further into his lap and onto his soft cock.

There was a sigh from the man, one that wordlessly spoke of the same regret I was beginning to feel over tearing the comfort away, but otherwise Seonghwa continued to hold his tongue, not losing a single sentence. He watched me though, as he so often did and as I so often tried to ignore (even though I already knew that was an impossible task).

Somewhere in the room a phone started vibrating, generating a loud and distracting hum as it skittered off over the floor. None of us looked towards it, we just sat there and pretended we weren’t casting curious glances towards each other, asking what now.

Seonghwa’s hands settled over my hips again, gripping and pushing again, and then I could feel it – his cock slowly twitching back to life, valiantly fighting to harden again. I rolled my eyes at him and scoffed, and he only grinned. It felt too light of an interaction, and that was wrong.

The last words he said slammed into me like a brick wall, suddenly and overwhelmingly, and my heart stopped for a moment when I finally found the brain power to dissect them. My pussy longingly throbbed over his length, and Seonghwa groaned lightly, but I still forced myself to move up and start climbing off.

I caught a glimpse of Seonghwa’s confused eyes before he scrambled to follow after me.

“What-“ his words got interrupted by the phone setting off again, loudly demanding attention with an incoming call. With a bit of start I realised it must have been my phone, since the noise was coming from the direction of my discarded handbag. That couldn’t mean anything good.

No one ever called me for anything good.

I ignored whatever it was Seonghwa was about to try and bend me to his will with and moved to go get it, only for him to swiftly plaster himself completely to my back, naked skin to naked skin. He must have lost the pants somewhere along the way, and his fingers were already sneaking up to undo my bra while his other arm snaked around my waist to steer me back to the table. Only now he was pushing me to bend over it, just like I was expecting him to do back when he first beckoned me to come closer.

Maybe that’s why I went so easy.

So easy, it was so easy to let myself be pushed into the wood, so easy to wordlessly spread my legs wider before he even pressed closer, so easy to clench around his thickness when he effortlessly slid back in without an ounce of resistance.

So easy to cry out softly with the first thrust and sigh under the gentle patterns his hands drew into my back and hips. Any rational thought I managed to cling onto in those precious moments between the all-consuming inferno that our interactions always devolved into, those where all gone now, pouring out through my ears while the lust and arousal flared up so intensely it choked me up. Or it might have been the way Seonghwa wasn’t pulling any punches now that he was back in power.

The phone started vibrating and humming for the third time before it fell silent for good, but all I could see behind my eyelids was Seonghwa’s face as he was cumming under me with a smart retort still hanging onto his lips. I had a feeling the way his hips rammed into me now was the new smart retort, this one very pointedly telling me it’s no use trying to run away from the pleasure.

And even now he wasn’t holding back on those sounds, letting it all flow out his mouth freely and unabashedly, like he craved the whole hotel to know just how much he was enjoying fucking me behind everybody’s back. The way he was holding onto me, pushed me into the wood, pinned me under his weight, and I just stood there with quivering trembling legs and let him ravage me, unsure whether the wetness sliding down my thighs was a new wave of arousal or his previous load. I thought to myself that he probably liked having me that way, but then all thoughts melted away and all that was left was pure bliss.

This time things were escalating even faster, spiralling into another mind-numbing climax before I even really had time to process the situation we found ourselves in. It was like I was three times as sensitive, especially to the way he clung onto me desperately, like he couldn’t handle the thought of me walking away before giving him a full chance to take me as many times as our bodies could take.

This time around Seonghwa fucked me like he wanted to prove himself to me, and I found I might have been a little too receptive to that from how fast I was ready to come around his cock again.

Then, the landline on the table started ringing, and ice filled my veins. This was no coincidence.

Seonghwa didn’t even stutter in his pace as he leant over me to reach it, and for a few seconds I fell into the wishful thinking that he was just going to decline the call. But then the click of the phone being picked up rung through my ears and I damn near held my breath.

Suddenly I was hyper aware of all the sound in the room – the still creaking desk, though it was much quieter than when we laid on it, the absolutely debauched wet squelch as Seonghwa happily pounded away into me, the way our breathing couldn’t quite hide the exertion. There was no way the person on the other side wouldn’t be able to pick up on these, but I still prayed.

“Yeah?” Seonghwa already sounded so incriminatingly breathy with that one word, and I squeezed my eyes shut while I willed myself to keep completely silent. Then he was chuckling. The phone hit the table next to me, and I was suddenly able to faintly hear the man on the other side.

“Was Y/N there today?” Yujun growled into the receiver in his usual irritable tone. My heart dropped. What the fuck was Seonghwa doing?

I flailed under him as quietly as I could without actually audibly panicking, but he only leant on me harder, keeping me still and pushed into the table as his hips took on a much harder pace, taking the time to pull out almost all the way before slamming in hard enough to have me knocking into the wooden edge in a way that elicited both a tang of pain and boundless pleasure. Stars danced in front of my eyes and my hands shot out to grab onto the opposite edge to ground myself against the onslaught of sensations, internally cursing Seonghwa to high heaven and back.

“She was,” the man in question answered, and I imagined he’d be giving me a cheeky look, lips turned into a satisfied smirk, if we were facing each other. Instead I focused on pushing my face harder into the unyielding wood, hoping to at least muffle myself a little bit. Somehow, it felt like that only made it worse though.

I was surprised Yujun didn’t notice the huskiness of Seonghwa’s voice, didn’t hear how winded he was getting, how he was fighting to not trip over his tongue, didn’t hear the panting in-between his words. Or maybe it was just me who was always so tuned in to him, who couldn’t not notice every single thing he did.

I wondered how he looked right now. What was the expression on his face. Did his lips curl in a manner that was much crueller than when he spoke to me? Did his eyes look at me like we were both in on the secret and not like I was the tool?

(How did he truly feel about me?)

“She left right after she asked her favour,” Seonghwa said next, tone as level as he could hold with his hips still wildly pistoning into me, and I swallowed down the gasp of surprise at him lying for me. I didn’t think he’d sell me out, but straight up lying that I had already left? I wasn’t expecting him to go the extra mile.

On the other hand, if he wanted me to carry his child and pass it off as Yujun’s, he couldn’t exactly have the man know this was going on.

There was a beat of silence on the line before a bit of a technical buzz carried through, along with the man’s angry inhale.

“And did you grant her the favour?”

I wished so bad I could have seen Seonghwa and not be buried head first into his desk. I tried to turn around, just enough to catch a glimpse, but he was still pinning me to the wood, now almost mindlessly that he was focused elsewhere. His hips slowed down too, shallowly fucking into me and using just enough force to tease the current of pleasure underneath the surface. For the first time I didn’t think he was doing it on purpose, not when I felt his fingers twitch with annoyance where he held me.

“Of course I did,” Seonghwa’s tone was stone-cold, cold enough to almost instinctively make me shiver. I’ve never heard him like that, he always put on his ass-kissing tone whenever he spoke in front of his family. He sounded sleazy, maybe, but never this hostile.

It reminded me of our first night, when he’d get angry with me for mentioning his brother. I guess that was just a bit of his true self he didn’t mind showing. Though, through today I’ve probably seen a couple of other parts too – oh, the privilege.

Yujun on the other side growled, frustration dripping off of him even through a phone. “Stay the fuck out of my family’s business,” he gritted through his teeth, and I imagined his handsome face all screwed up in a grimace. When he acted like a petulant child, he just had this look about him, and I couldn’t unsee it. Somehow he even looked like a five-year-old throwing a fit, it was crazy. And hilarious. When it wasn’t happening to me.

Seonghwa wasn’t as amused as me though, that much was clear from the shaky inhale I heard behind me. His hips even jerked forward with that sudden rush of anger, and I bit my lip until I swore I could feel it tear to stop myself from moaning out loud.

I fucking couldn’t understand how he kept his composure.

“Your family’s business? I’m family too, Yujun, be so kind to remember it,” Seonghwa spit out with vitriol I haven’t witnessed from him yet – I was slowly beginning to realise that what I thought was his worst behaviour might have been him being nice, actually, “And it’s good that I took care of it, before it became a problem. Who do you think would end up having to deal with it anyway once your mother caught wind of what was going on?”

But those words were fighting words, and they had the stick in Yujun’s ass on fire real quick. With the sound of violent movement on the other side of the line, I was pretty sure that had this been a face-to-face conversation, he’d be throwing a punch right about now. My husband just was that way, always hitting first and thinking later. And Seonghwa just seemed really good at pushing the wrong buttons.

“You? Family? A fucking half-blooded mutt off the streets?” now this was real anger in Yujun’s voice, coming from a deep dark ugly place inside him, a place that grew from being coddled too much while being hated at the same time. “You’ll always be beneath me, Seonghwa, you better remember that.”

All the tension and air I’ve been holding back released in a barely audible gasp at the turn of the conversation. Seonghwa behind be grinded to a halt, like the meaning of the words took a second to truly catch up to him. Silence took over, deep uncomfortable tense quiet that settled over us like a blanket made of sharp rocks, and for a moment nothing moved. I didn’t even dare to breathe.

“I would have dealt with it myself.” My husband’s grating voice cut through the atmosphere, completely oblivious to the bomb he set off on my side of things. A conceited arrogant little tiger, pissing into a dragon’s river.

“I know what it looks like when you ‘deal’ with things,” the dark-haired man’s response was scathing in tone, condescending and full of scorn, but it did set him back into motion. I didn’t realise the intent behind his hips in that second, but I knew exactly what he was trying to do a moment later when suddenly they barrelled into me with such force I felt my entire core squeeze down and ignite through the torrent of painful pleasure.

Even the best trained soldier wouldn’t be able to keep that moan from clawing its way out of their throat. It rang through the room, loud and clear and desperate, as my head spun with barely contained delirium, followed by a quieter drawn out whine when the man took the opportunity to grind his hips into me and torture that sweet receptive spot even more.

He himself released a little pleased sigh, like he was also finally more attuned to the burning need for stimulation after teasing it out for the both of us to fight with his fucking brother over the phone.

Mortification set in, rapidly growing into anger like I haven’t felt in a while. That fucking dick did that on purpose. He wanted to get back, and he fucking played with both of our lives – I could even almost remember the exact moment he decided what he’ll do out of pettiness – when he took a breath right before speaking.

I wanted to turn around and hit him, to push him away and scream at him, to pull his beautiful fucking hair and spit on him, but Seonghwa did no longer care for the phone call and pounded away, chasing that rush and unabashedly groaning at every squeeze my cunt gave him. And all that came out of my mouth instead of screams were angered moans.

“You fucking pig,” I heard Yujun spit out in disgust, his voice buried under the hum in my ears, the crackling of pleasure overriding my brain, head stuffed full of cotton and no thoughts beyond finally getting that second orgasm.

I didn’t even notice when the line started beeping, signalling the call had been ended, not when Seonghwa was suddenly pressed into my back, cackling like a fucking maniac – like he didn’t just gamble with everything for the cheap satisfaction of pissing off his brother. My lips pulled into a grimace, teeth snapping through the groans as I was so mad, so mad I could cry, burst out, but I just couldn’t stop chasing that high.

I would have fucking died for the bliss he offered.

“What kind of a husband,” Seonghwa gasped into my ear gleefully, “doesn’t recognise his wife’s moans?” There was a murmur of something more, but I couldn’t make it out through my insides melting under him.

“Yujun- Yujun’s never fucked me,” I gritted through my teeth, words moulded around moans and sighs. I felt the table move and shake under us, especially since Seonghwa’s been just gaining speed and power, pounding away until I was so overwhelmed with all my senses I fought to just get those words out. “O-only you, only- you-“

I had no idea why I felt the need to emphasise that – out of all of the things I wanted Seonghwa to hear, the ones that would make him even bolder definitely weren’t the ones that should have been falling from my lips. But then he gasped behind me, growling so low in his throat it sounded like a prattling purr, and I was lost to my spinning head once more.

I felt his hands tighten around my hips, felt his burning body, sweaty chest melted into my back, muscles on his thighs jumping with every thrust that sent them hitting into mine. His winded breath in the crook of my neck, slick lips sliding over the skin in a messy half-kiss.

“O-only me,” the words sounded like they were punched out of him, and he pressed closer, desperate to merge into me, make us two parts of a whole – something no one else in our lives ever gave us before, something no amount of discount affection could buy – something only him promised with the fire behind his eyes.

I arched under him, presenting to him and pushing back into his thrusts, eyes rolled back and a continuous ringing sounding through my ears.

“Only me!” he might have been shouting, but it felt like a whisper against my overloaded senses, I felt it more than heard it, before the orgasm was slamming into me violently and robbing me of the last breath I had left. I registered my mouth opening on a wheezing scream, I felt my toes curl where they dug into the floor, hands clasped into the wood of the desk where I had to be leaving imprints and scratches at this rate.

My whole body seized as ecstasy exploded over me and everything went white for a few seconds. I distantly registered Seonghwa’s hips jerking as he pumped me full of his cum for the second time, his damp breaths hitting my back where he laid his sweaty face onto my shoulder blades.

I felt melted. When the waves of the climax finally started mellowing, leaving me standing on shaky legs with my fingers hurting and red from how hard I gripped the table. I was sliding on the smooth surface, feeling an immense heat coming from inside, while my skin started feeling the coldness of the air in the room.

Where Seonghwa touched, everything felt even more amplified, but I was relieved to hear he was just as wrecked by this experience. It was easy to tell – the man that was all about composure and staying in control was crumpled behind me, panting heavily and mumbling something I was too fried to comprehend.

It took us a long time before either of us felt composed enough to talk – at some point Seonghwa gathered enough wit and energy to move us into his chair, and I found myself in his lap, back to stomach, heart to ribs, mouth to ear. And we just sat silently, soaking in the atmosphere.

I knew something heavy was about to be said. Or done. A world was about to crash down, and we sat there, naked and blissed out, careless and cruel and stupid. His fingers curled in my hair, pushing the strands around gently. I didn’t know Seonghwa was capable of gentleness, not true gentleness at least.

I didn’t want to look at him, I didn’t want to see the expression he wore on his face. I wasn’t sure what it would be, but I knew seeing it would change something in me, and I didn’t want that. I was quite comfortable in my well, but what laid beyond the walls – that was all wilderness, all Seonghwa. He prowled those parts, like a hungry desperate wolf.

But maybe I had more dog in me than I thought.

Maybe he was right, and maybe he saw the same beastliness flash in my own eyes when he looked at me. Maybe that’s why he never looked away. Even now, I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, always so starved of attention.

“That was more than reckless,” I whispered finally, breaking the pattern of soft breathing that was filling the room with at least some presence, “that was dangerous, Seonghwa. Stupid.” I felt something clawing at my throat, some emotion I wanted to swallow. Desperation and disappointment – that for every revealed truth, there was an act of madness, for every inch given a mile was taken.

The man rumbled beneath me, but otherwise showed no indication that my words even reached his ears. My heart sank. If my life became the equivalent of being stuck on a deserted island, why was this the man that had to sink with me?

“He’s never fucked you?” he asked only, something almost proud shining through in his voice and I sighed.

“No.” Petulantly I didn’t want to give him more if he didn’t even work for it a little bit. I only got a chuckle in response.

“He’s been bragging about it, you know? About fucking you almost every night,” Seonghwa stated, hand now idly tapping small rhythms into the meat of my thigh. Something bitter crept into his voice. I rolled my eyes.

“Of course, that’s what he does,” I spat out, not giving a shit about censoring myself about the kind of feelings I had when it came to my husband. After all, if there was anyone who’d understand, it would regrettably be Seonghwa. “He’s never even come close.”

I stilled a little in his arms, deliberating. The words sat at the tip of my tongue, the admission of what I’ve been doing ready to slip out, but I hesitated. Seonghwa sat beneath me, patiently waiting. But really, what was one more leap of faith?

“I give him pills,” I confessed, for the first time putting my actions into words and speaking them out into the universe, “they knock him out. Then I just lie in the morning.”

A beat of silence, and then he was laughing – slow and disbelieving at first, but gradually gaining in volume and mirth as the words set in. I felt him shake whole, vibrating with joy. I did feel a bit of shame, but mostly at admitting something so embarrassing to him. His hand came up to caress at my cheek, and I let him.

“My my, you’re definitely very resourceful,” something to genuine happiness shined through his tone, and the warmth it spilled into my chest legitimately surprised me. This wasn’t that kind of affair, never would be. Still, even those feelings opened a pool of acid in my stomach, I couldn’t make myself move, to pull out of his willing arms.

Everything felt so different from our two other encounters, and I was so confused. I couldn’t even tell if this was real, or if I was just dumb and desperate enough to fall for anything.

I didn’t try to chastise him again, I knew there was no point. He’d only hear what he wanted to hear, so I just let it go and swallowed my feelings down. Like I always ended up doing.

Seonghwa chuckled, purred, and I spiralled.

When I got home that evening, it was with an achy back and an armful of shopping bags just in case. I doubted Yujun really cared about where I was, but since I was ignoring his phone calls the whole afternoon, I wanted at least a bit of reassurance I’d have an alibi to fall back on.

Coming back to a silent house knowing it wasn’t empty was quite depressing. The tension was thick in the air, the unsaid words painted all over the walls, soaked into the carpets and carved into the wooden furniture. They’d most likely find their way into my ears, if not today, then definitely later – throughout my very long, very unhappy life and marriage.

Shockingly I found Yujun sitting in his office. All I saw was a glimpse of his angry face through the open doors as I passed on the way to the bedroom, and I already knew tonight wasn’t going to go very well. I took my time changing into comfortable home clothes, ignoring streaks of dried cum coating my thighs, or the way I could still almost smell and taste Seonghwa on my skin.

I needed a shower. I needed to not feel him anymore.

When I walked out, Yujun was already waiting for me leaning on the doorframe of his office, watching me darkly. It wasn’t a suspicious gaze, I had no reason to suspect he knew, but I still felt my heart stutter and my palms grow clammy.

It was impossible to hate Seonghwa when he was with me, but it was impossible to not when I was faced with the consequences of his rashness. His eyes haunted me, flashing through my mind that last tender look as I was walking out of his office, the one that almost sold it to me. The one that almost felt like…

Yujun cleared his throat, and I pulled my attention to him, willing my eyes to look and see him, and not his brother.

“So this is how it’s gonna be now?” I turned my head to him fully, cocked to the side like I was trying to figure him out, like his anger was puzzling to me.

“What exactly are you talking about?” I tried to respond as neutrally as possible, giving the man an unimpressed look. He didn’t like that very much, it turned out.

“You have no right to stick your nose into my business,” he seethed, taking a few threatening steps towards me, finger in the air pointing my way. His words sounded suspiciously close to what he told Seonghwa, but I buried the memory away as soon as it appeared. I stumbled a couple steps back, heart palpitating in fear, but I doubted he’d actually do anything. “If I knew you were gonna be a fucking cockblocker, I’d be having way less fun where you could see. Funny, I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

That had my hackles rising too, real quick, and I barrelled the few steps I took back towards him, my own face screwed up in a grimace.

“I don’t give a shit who you fuck, Yujun,” I spat at him, pointing right back, “I don’t give a shit where or when or how you do it. But I’m not going to stand by when you harass our staff. Our staff! If you want to be a fucking pig, do it outside!”

To this, he said nothing. He just stared at me, his red angry face twitching as I refused to back down. Seconds ticked by tensely, like sand trickling through an hourglass, so palpable and concrete I could feel it physically. We were closer to each other than we’ve probably ever been, and I was not enjoying myself. But thankfully, neither seemed to be Yujun, cause only a couple moments later he scoffed and walked away without a single word. It was only when he reached the door to his office that he turned around with a scathing look and said: “The only thing I’m curious about, my dear wife, is who you’re fucking.”

Then he was gone with a slam of the door, swallowed by the room in a blink of an eye. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest, beating so hard I was having trouble catching my breath where I felt it pounding against the bones. I was dizzy, barely able to tell up from down when I stumbled back into my bedroom.

I thought that Yujun must have had his suspicions, but this felt like a warning. And my husband felt reckless in a way that Seonghwa couldn’t rival either – it always felt more chaotic, like he could take out anybody without a single care. There was at least a semblance of order in what Seonghwa did, even if it made sense only to him. With Yujun though, once he got that look in his eyes, anything could happen.

And I didn’t know if he was warning me because he wanted to scare me, or because he had found out. My only consolation was that if he did know, he’d probably blow up all our lives for it. Petulantly angry Yujun, silent treatment Yujun, those were positive signs.

The following weeks didn’t treat me very kindly. The constant stress of the tense atmosphere in our house was taking its toll on me, even though my husband went back to spending most of his time elsewhere and only returning home to sleep off hungovers or to be a cloud of misery and scare off our personnel.

I constantly felt sick, shaky and tired. I barely slept, I was paler than usual and found myself frequently lost in thoughts. My mother kept getting upset with me over it, so at least something in my life hasn’t changed.

Seonghwa disappeared again.

Yujun hasn’t entered the bedroom since I first found out about the maid, and while I viewed that as something positive, it turned out – fate and life aren’t as easy as that. You should always remember. Whenever you least expected, even the best of things can turn around and fuck you over.

A little over a month after this encounter, after a month of a silent home, tense angry glares, hate and spite, my nausea kept escalating until I was forced to visit a doctor by my mother, who was worried that if I was seriously ill, my chances of pregnancy would decrease even more drastically. Always so lovely to know your family cared for your health.

That’s why she was there though, that fateful day.

Not wanting to die just yet, I did go to my doctor at her insistence and asked for complete bloodwork tests to be done. I had no idea I was about to step into the biggest trap of my life, when I walked in a week later, mother in tow, mumbling something under her breath – something no doubt very not nice or polite, knowing her – and so I ignored her.

When it came time to enter the office, I reluctantly let her tag along as my doctor gathered the needed documents. In those few last moments of quiet and calm, we both shuffled around the room looking at the displayed posters and models, trying our best to not converse with each other.

Then the doctor walked back in, and something in her wide blinding smile already put me on the edge. Bad premonition settled into my stomach, further aggravating the sensitive organ until I almost felt I might need to go throw up right there and then. I took that feeling of sickness and clung onto it, keeping it rolling through me to remind myself why I was here – because I was tired of feeling ill all the time.

Still, in that moment, irrationally I couldn’t help but think of Seonghwa and his fascinated eyes when he watched me get bred by him, and I felt my heart squeeze with anxiety. I shook it off and took the offered chair, my mother still leisurely walking around the room for a moment longer before she found the appropriate amount of attention was on her and sat down.

The doctor just watched us happily for a moment, happily shuffling the papers around, before she energetically clapped her hands together, making me jump slightly in my seat.

“Congratulations, Miss Jang,” she exclaimed cheerily, and I felt like I got sprayed with a bucket full of ice cold water, all at once freezing in my chair completely. My mother still hasn’t caught on, thinking she might be congratulating me for being healthy, but I knew. I walked in with a bad feeling, I walked in thinking of the man who talked about nothing else but getting me pregnant – I knew already what she was going to finish her sentence with.

“It must be very happy news for you, since I see here that you got recently married!” the doctor continued full of joy, completely oblivious to the two very different reactions going on in front of her.

“Oh!” my mother blurted out, finally catching on to what the doctor was trying to say in the most elaborate way ever, “Oh, Y/N!” For the first time in months true joy spread through her expression, and it made me feel sicker than I already was. I guess two people were getting what they wanted, then.

“Yes, congratulations,” the doctor repeated, again, and finally said the quiet part out loud, “You’re pregnant! It might be a recent development, I’ll make you an appointment with our clinic’s gynaecologist, he’s the very best in the game.”

At this point my mother was excitedly prattling off something, looking at me with relief as she took the news in. She started asking something about that doctor, but I could barely comprehend what was going on.

All I saw in front of my eyes was Seonghwa. What would he say? How would he react? Christ, what about Yujun – he knew we hadn’t slept together in weeks, maybe he even started suspecting it’s been months. He alluded to me having an affair. He’ll fucking kill me once he finds out.

This was the moment I realised I was sitting in a car just about to drive off a bridge. Time stopped, and I just stared over the edge, to the abyss below. In my mind I was there, tasting the damp air on my tongue. Everything was caving in. I felt my chest squeeze tighter and tighter until I couldn’t breathe.

My mother tugged at my arm and said something, but I didn’t hear a single word, so I just nodded. She smiled and pulled out her phone, almost instantly excitedly running her fingers over the keyboard. Great. God.

What was I supposed to do now?

As I sat there and watched her shoot a message after message, press call and boast to everyone, only one thought dominated my mind.

I had to speak to Seonghwa. As soon as possible.

thank you for reading, darlings! let me know in the comments/reblogs or through asks if you liked the story! i love reading your opinions and general screaming into the void haha!

♡ master taglist ♡

@afangirl91 @bear-hugs-and-kisses @luuucifer-writes @anjoellamorte @ami7-12bts

@thenaverse @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @karinaever @anaspectoflife @luvly-angel

@sousydive @goldietigers294

#kpop smut #kpop fic #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez fic #ateez x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa angst #seonghwa fic #seonghwa x reader #ateez #seonghwa

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strawberries-and-summer-days · 1 year ago

Text

"The Dare"

Pairing: Show!Luke Castellan x demeter!fem!reader

Summary: You and luke have been best friends forever but after the incident things have been awkward between the two of you. Until you're forced to spend the night together...

Contains: percabeth, angst?? (i think? idk bro), swearing, fluff, kissing, ONE FUCKING BED TROPE

Word Count: 2223 did i get carried away? yes.

A/N: Im back bitches! yes i disappeared there lol, but i've resurfaced with my luke obsession (its never going to end). i've always had a small obsession with living in buses and so from that came this. i have little to no idea what im writing here im going off a random idea while half sleep deprived :)

You roll your eyes and grumble as you follow Annabeth out of the apartment.

"This is stupid," you groan. "I'm serious. Are we really going through with this shit dare?"

Annabeth just smirks, shaking her head. "Yes, y/n. We're not going to be chickens and back out," she turns around and eyes you. "It's one night, besides, Percy and I will be there."

You roll your eyes and grip the strap of your bag a little harder. One night with Luke Castellan? After the incident? No way. Nuh uh. You'd rather step on a lego than that.

"Annabeth," you groan.

"Y/n," she looks back with a dead serious look. "I will drag you there if I have to."

"It's a bus!" you almost shriek, but noticing the few people who turn their heads at you, you quiet down and pocket your apartment keys. "I'm serious. Where'd they even find a damn bus? It's a bus!"

"I know!" Annabeth grins, clearly ignoring your bad mood. "I've never stayed in a bus before. This is going to be so cool!"

"Who the fuck hires a bus out to live in?" you grumble clearly pissed.

"Percy-fucking-jackson- that's who," a voice in the distance yells. You look up and fight the wave of panic that overcomes you when you see Luke and Percy walking towards you both.

"I found the two best buses in the area!" Percy announces dropping his bag at his feet. Luke stands just behind him with a forced smile on his face.

"Wait two?" you ask suddenly, your face scrunching up.

"Yeah four of us couldn't fit in one so I hired two out," he says. "The guy was really chill about it and they're parked right next to each other!"

The cab pulls up and all four of you clamber in. Percy in the front, Luke, you and Annabeth in the back. Annabeth being squished between you and Luke.

"this fucking bet," you mutter to yourself, trying to ignore the palpable tension in the cab.

Luke was basically sweating through his t-shirt. He was so glad to have a sweater on, covering his nervousness.

When the four of you had arrived at the bus guys house two pieces of news reached him. One; that while buses look big, they can't fit more than two people. Two; he was going to be sharing a bus with y/n.

Y/n.

The girl he's been desperately in love with since the day she showed up at camp.

This was either going to be really bad, or really bad. He sighs as he picks his bag and climbs into the bus you're both staying in.

It's got a nice crisp, white interior with flashes of wood throughout it. Luke drops the bag on the sofa that runs along the edge of the bus meeting with the kitchen counter.

He sighs when he hears you enter the bus. You awkwardly shuffle past him and put your bag on the bed. The bed. There is only one bed.

Motherfu-

"Y/n!" Annabeth calls out to you climbing inside and dragging you out. "They have connecting rooftop decks!" she cries and pulls herself up onto the ladder. Chattering to herself about how cool this place is, and even though you can't help it you let a smile slip onto your face.

You think you see something inside the bus but it's just Luke's back.

Sighing you clamber on behind her trying your very best to forget the fact that there is ONE BED. ONE BED. Oh gods. You smirk seeing Annabeths cheeks turn bright red when Percy whispers in her ear.

"Am I interrupting anything?" you laugh when you see her whip her head around and blush even more.

"So have you changed your mind about the buses?" Percy eyes you.

You roll your eyes and move your shoulders in what you think is a half shrug but it just ends up making you look like you're trying to do a weird dance move.

"Ahh, so you think it's a dance worthy bus?"

"No that's not what I meant-" you start but Percy jumps up and starts to shimmy.

"I'm actually gonna push you off this roof," you mutter when a presence comes up behind you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It's him. You suck in a breath and force a smile.

"So what's for dinner?"

Three hours later you are all sprawled out in Percy and Annabeth's bus with boxes of pizza and containers of blue ice cream (courtesy of Percy, thank you) around you all.

"I'm not getting up ever again," Percy groans from his spot over the table next to Luke.

"Well, to make sure Percy dies in peace let's play truth or dare!" Annabeth smirks.

"No!" you and Luke both burst out at the same time.

"Relax, babies," Annabeth teases, and pats Percy on the head before groaning and pulling herself up off the seat. "I'm not going to put you through all that again," she says, picking up the boxes and putting them in the small bin.

The tension in the room suddenly increased. And you swore you could hear a pin drop. Silence descended and you slowly peel yourself off the seat. "I'm gonna go."

You slip out of the bus breathing in the night air trying your best to not blush.

Luke watches as you walk out of the bus and groans when he sees Percy and Annabeth's knowing looks.

"You couldn't be cool about it could you?" Percy asks Annabeth.

"What?" she shoots him a look. "They've got to get over it sometime! It's Luke and y/n. They're best friends. I feel like a grandma helping the two bozos get over whatever happened that day. Nobody even knows what happened!"

Luke sighs and collects himself. "Right I'll leave you two, and go deal with this incredibly awkward night by myself."

Annabeth starts to say something but Luke cuts her off. "I swear to god Annabeth! Please don't make this worse than it already is, I'm trying my very best to not focus on the fact that its weird between y/n. So please, please don't say anything to her that'll scare her off. I want to talk to her first."

Annabeth just smirks and nods pushing you out of the bus as Percy wraps an arm around her waist. "Of course lover-boy."

Luke rolls his eyes and walks over to his bus and clambers inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him. He makes his way over to the back of the bus.

You're sitting on the bed on top of the covers, in beach themed pj's (thank you again Percy) and playing with a small flower crown you'd made. Luke falters slightly when he sees you. You look so calm and at peace that he can't help the small smile that slips onto his lips.

Luke has been trying his very best to talk to you ever since the incident a few weeks ago - when this dare was made - but you've been avoiding him, scampering off whenever he tries to talk to you.

You still haven't noticed him and a bright grin lights up your face when you add some daisies to the crown. Luke's heart warms and he clears his turning around to dig in his bag for sleeping clothes.

Your eyes shoot up and your smile wavers. "Hey," your voice is meek. "Do you... uh want," you clear your throat. "Uh... um, which side of the bed do you want"

Luke spins around. "Uh, I'll take the couch. Don't worry about it."

You sigh, stifling your nerves. "Luke, it's a bench seat with padding. Just choose a side of the bed."

Panic flits into his eyes and you're reminded of the way he acted the night of the incident. It's been rocky ground ever since then and you've avoided him as much as you can. Being hopelessly in love with the Luke Castellan is clearly not an easy task.

"Choose Luke."

Luke nods to the left side of the bed and you move over letting him sit on the edge of the bed. His presence calming you while at the same time putting you on edge.

"G'night Luke," you mumble and he smiles at the sleepiness of your voice. "But don't you dare come on my side of the bed."

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you're warm. It's cozy and you just want to snuggle into the warmth more.

The second thing is that you're lying on top of Luke's arm. If you roll to the right you'll fall off the bed and if you roll to the left you roll into him. Him, Luke. The reason you're so warm right now.

Pulling yourself up you try to move away from him but his arm wraps around your waist and you freeze. "No stay, sunflower," he mutters in a sleepy daze.

Sunflower. Luke hasn't called you that in a long time and it always makes your insides melt.

"Sunflower?" you whisper and Luke's head whips up.

"Y/n?" he says softly.

"Luke?" you whisper back.

"What are we doing?" he asks, noticing his arms around your waist and the fact that you haven't instantly pulled away.

You look up at him. His dark curly hair tousled by sleep and the focused look in his eyes making you very tempted to stay like this forever. But remembering the night of the incident you pull away and clamber out of the bed, cheeks flushing.

"Y/n," your name comes out of his mouth almost tortured.

You ignore him and continue to walk down to where the drapes aren't shut, peaking out to see if Percy and Annabeth are awake yet. And judging by the fact that it's first light.

A blanket wraps around your shoulders. You turn your head to see Luke standing there- shit, he's shirtless. Your eyes trail down his body in a daze. Woah.

Holy Shit.

Now you've seen him shirtless before, but this, this feels more personal somehow. You look up at him, an amused smirk gracing his lips.

"I'm going up onto the deck to watch the sunrise," you say, not looking at him. "Let me know when Annabeth and Percy are awake so I can get out of this dump."

You open the door and climb on to the roof deck, dragging the comforter up with you because yes, as much as you want to be all tough shit and all its freezing and you want the damn warmth - besides it smells like Luke as well.

Luke follows you outside after he puts a shirt on and plops down on the deck next to you. Without even thinking about it you open the comforter for him and he wraps it around himself as well.

"Sunflower, we need to talk."

Here it comes. The inevitable rejection.

"Okay," your voice is small.

"About that night..." he starts trailing off.

"Look," you cut him off, wanting to save yourself the embarrassment. "You don't have to say anything. I get it. That night I kinda jumped on you and I'm sorry. I get it, you were on the spot and then I started acting really weird. But I get it. You don't feel the sa-"

You feel a kiss press gently onto the corner of your lips. What? Pulling back you look at him in shock. "No, please don't humor me on this Luke." A lump forms in your throat.

"Humor you?" Luke asks, puzzled. "Sunflower, I'm not humoring you. I'm serious. That night... I freaked out, I was so surprised when you told me that you liked me, that I froze. Hearing the one thing I'd been dreaming about for years, shocked me," he looks at you, his eyes full of adoration.

"So you don't hate me?" you ask.

"Hate you? No Sunflower, I love you."

Your eyes flit up to his and in the few seconds you take to try and think of something to say Luke presses his lips to yours, pulling you close. You gasp and meet his lips with force.

Luke wraps his arms around your waist, laying you down on the deck, him hovering above you not breaking the kiss once. You wrap your arms around his neck and part your lips, moaning when he slips his tongue inside your mouth. The comforter, forgotten beside you both.

Luke kisses you as if he's never seen the sun before and you are the bright beams shining on the earth for the first time. He kisses you adoringly and groans when you slip your tongue into his mouth. He gently bites your lip and pulls back, gasping for air.

"I love you, Luke," you heave catching your breath. Luke's face breaks into a grin and he presses a soft kiss on the end of your nose.

"Love you, Sunflower."

"Love you, Luke."

He sits you up and wraps the comforter around you both. Resting your head on Luke's shoulder you settle in next to him wrapping an arm around his waist. You swear you can hear Annabeth and Percy cheering in their bus.

"I'm gonna kill them," you mutter.

"I got some ideas," he chuckles back.

#luke castellan #percy jackson #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan pjo #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson fic #fanfic #fanfiction #emma writes ₊˚⊹⋆

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yamysunmoon · 12 days ago

Text

Give it to me

Pairing: jenna ortega x fem!reader

Summary: Jenna has a secret desire she's never told anyone. She knows it's not that big of a deal, but still scares and fascinates her by equal parts. She'd only trust her deepest wish to you, her dom, of course.

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: dom!reader, sub!jenna, use of a plug, strap-on!reader, rimmering, masturbation, ass fingering, oral (J receiving), spitting, sextape, rough(?) sex, referring to the strap as "cock", begging, praise, overstimulation (a lot), both J's and R's first time doing anal.

Part 2- "Gentle"

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts since January. It's finally yours <3

MASTERLIST

The gentle sunlight of a new day slips through the cortains of Jenna's bedroom, making you blink and stir in her arms.

Fluttering your eyes open, you find Jenna's peaceful asleep expression in front of you. One of her arms is drapped across your waist and she's using the other as a pillow, cupping her neck.

She looks so serene like this, when the stress of her busy life isn't bothering her. Yesterday was her last day on set for the next three days, and she invited you over and asked you to spend this days off work with her.

You smile, remembering her flirty yet shy voice over the phone when she gave you the news, dropping in the information as if you were supposed to suggest the three days date instead of her.

You graze the side of her face with the back of your fingers, her eyes flutter and squeeze as soon as your touch is on her.

She opens her eyes, offering you a drowsy, glassy gaze. "Hi" she murmurs with that husky, sleepy voice.

You smile sideways. "Morning..." you lean in to kiss her forehead. "Slept well?" you look down at her as you ask, leaning back, and she stares back at you, her look thoughtful.

"I want to tell you something" she announces softly, withdrawing her arm from your wais and sitting up.

You frown, worried by her tone and shift in her demeanor. "What is it?" you sit up too, putting your hands on your thighs as you cross your legs and settle in front of her. You slide one hand closer to her, but then you stop yourself, hesitant.

She notices the doubt in your moves, and smiles sheepishly. "Oh don't worry, it's nothing bad. I'm just a bit nervous" she explains, reaching out to hold your hand.

She holds it with both hands, fondling the back with one hand and the palm with the other. Her fingers grazing yours, intertwining with them and caressing you so tenderly immediately calms you down.

"Okay" you whisper. You clean your throat, realizing how nervous you've got all of a sudden. "Just say it, love."

She takes a deep breath in, steeling her nerves. She looks down at your hands together as she speaks, "Lately I've been thinking a lot about something."

You tilt your head down slightly, looking at her intently even if she's not looking at you. "About what?"

You witness her cheeks flush a pale pink. "About... A fantasy of mine" she offers, warily. She glances up very briefly, her cheeks go a little darker when her eyes meet yours.

You scoot up your eyebrows in amused surprise. You were taking the situation in a very different way. "Oh" you let out, still very much oblivious to say something else, "well, what's it about?"

She ducks her head, her bangs hiding her eyes. You wait patiently, but she stays silent for some long seconds, playing with your hand between hers. You decide to give her some reassurance.

"You know I'm not gonna judge you, right?" you pause, gauging her reaction. She doesn't move much, but you know she's listening.

"We've done some pretty freaky stuff already, and I absolutely love to try new things with you. I think it helps us bound more, and it's definitely fun and hot as fuck. You don't have to worry."

You pause again and bend forward a little. Your hand was meek between hers, but now you move it a bit to caress her forearm.

She sighs and whimpers quietly, her shoulders scoot up a bit when she inhales deeply. "Okay" she breathes out, emptying her lungs.

She finally looks at you and you offer a soft, encouraging gaze. "There goes nothing, then" she murmurs and then winces, immediately regretting her words.

You smile gently and nod, supportive. She tries to keep eye contact, but her gaze ends up drifting nervously between your eyes and the features of your face as she explains.

"I've been... Picturing you— inside me."

You tilt your head, curious. "Okay...?"

"But not where you usually... Are."

She looks at you intently, hoping you get the hint.

Understanding dawns on your face, but your eyes narrow with suspicion and you smile mischievously.

"What do you mean?"

She observes you, then realizes you're just playing. She blushes violently now and looks away. "Don't" she grumbles, flush spreading down her neck and up to her ears.

Her adorable reaction makes you chuckle lightly. "Oh, come on" you tease, "all this mystery and you can't at least say it?"

She pouts, stubborn. You scoot closer to her, your knees graze and your voice comes out softer now. "We can't even attempt to do it if we can't talk about it openly."

Her pout deepens for a moment, but then her expression relaxes as your words sink in. She sighs once again, knowing you're right.

"Okay" she concedes, looking at you. Her eyebrows were still frowned, but your gentle body language and attentive attitude move her.

"Okay" she repeats, lighter. "I'd like us to try pegging."

You smirk, satisfied. "I thought it was called that way only when a woman does it to a man."

"Oh, shut up" she rolls her eyes and waves her hand, but you both chuckle a little, the goofy joke easing the atmosphere.

She taps at your thighs, scooting closer and looking down at your lap. "Okay, so..."

You engage in a playful yet honest conversation about how you'd approach this fantasy of hers. She explains how she's pictured it and her concerns about it, given its fame of being painful and uncomfortable.

You soothe her, pretty confident about it all because of the endless conversations you've had in this regard with your male gay friends, who have given you plenty information about it.

You suggest a specific sex toy to try on before moving to the strap.

"Plugs are small and smooth. Their characteristic shape helps accomodate to it gradually, and I've heard they bring a one-off feeling once it's inside."

Jenna takes in your words, considering your suggestion with thoughtful nods.

"OK, so... Since I have a couple days off..." her hands slide up and down your thighs as she looks at you with a glint in her eyes, much comfortable now. "What if we try it... Today?"

You smile as she leans closer, her eyes on you and her breath mingling with yours.

"That's perfect by me" you mutter.

Her lips curl up in a shy smile, and she gives you a peck. "I'm gonna make an order then. I know a very discreet sex shop that can make the deliver for us to have it in the evening." She kisses you again, making you feel a bit dizzy. "Also, I'm gonna douche as well, I don't wanna feel all self-concious mid scene" she adds in a whisper.

Her honesty makes you grin. "Whatever, okay. I don't mind that much..."

"You've said you wanna try rimmering" she interrupts you, poking your nose, "I ain't letting you do that without the douche situation happening."

You laugh out loud, your eyes crinkling at the corners, causing her to smile fondly.

"Okay, okay" you concede, blushing slightly and waving your hands in dismiss. "Deal."

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

You're wearing nothing but your underwear -boxers for women- and a bra. She's wearing sport shorts and a loose shirt

The box is resting on the table in front of you two. Jenna steals glances at you, yet her eyes remain mostly fixed on the object.

"Should we open it already?" she mutters anxiously.

You look at her, exhaling air you weren't aware of holding. Emptying your lungs, you nod.

"Yeah. Let's open it."

Jenna doesn't hesitate and opens the box, revealing several plugs of different sizes and two bottles of lubricant. She opens one of them, of neutral taste and smell.

"I prefer this one" she whispers, handing it to you. Your eyes flicker between her and the bottle, realizing how breathy her voice already has become.

Jenna is so excited, with no need of you doing anything in particular.

Just the thought, the reality, of doing this with you; of finally experiencing this fantasy that's been in her head for way too long; has her bothered enough to be already trembling just at the sight of you holding that bottle.

You inspect the bottle, sniffing. You pour some of it on your index finger, then brush it against your thumb.

Distracted as you are testing the product, takes you some seconds to glance at Jenna, feeling her strong, needy stare.

When you finally look at her, you find her intense, longing stare fixed on your fingers, then snap up to your face. The sparkle in her eyes, the gleam that lights up her entire face with a hint of deep yearning, almost pulls a moan out of you.

She doesn't prevent that same reaction from happening within her, and so she does moan. A ver weak, quiet whimper reverbing against her lips, right before her jaw relaxes dropping slightly, her tongue sticking out slightly to sweep her bottom lip in a wet gesture.

The tension could be cut with a knife. She's standing there, silent, waiting for your orders in a freezed yet more than available stillness. She's waiting for the gun shot, she's expecting the signal.

You lick your lips yourself, in a deliberate way that makes her frown her eyebrows slightly, clearly doing a big effort not to complain. But she looks too adorable waiting for your instructions like this, so you decide to be benevolent and give her some sort of direction.

"Bend over, princess. Over the table."

Your voice is almost soft, almost polite. It drives her insane when you use that tone on her, as if your words were a suggestion, an idea. As if she was gonna consider not doing what you ask her to do, even for a second.

Also, the nickname gives her the mark she needed. When you call her princess, you both know it's all started. The game begins.

She obviously complies, presenting herself to you. Her hands fumble on her sides, she hesitates about where to put them. And so you give her a hint, how helpful of you.

Settling the bottle on the desk, you run your fingers along the length of her arms, finally reaching her hands. You cover the back of her hands and curl her fingers with a gentle caress, molding her body as if she was clay.

Her hands end up holding the edge of the table, over her head. This position allows her to arch her back and stretch her body, presenting herself even further.

"Hmm, that's right... You look so sexy, princess" you coo in a husky murmur as you gently grind your hips against her backside.

She stifles a high-pitched whimper, and turns her head to rest her right cheek on the table. You notice how blushed she's become, how the rosy flush is taining her cheeks.

She's nervous, you can tell. She wants it, you can also tell.

She pulls her hips back, pressing herself against you boldly. Then she nods, eyes fixed on the wall. She's too shy to glance at you for now, but her body language and head gently tilting tells you everything you need to know.

Hooking your fingers on the waistband of her shorts and panties underneath, you pull it all down.

Grazing her smooth skin on the way down, you squat between her legs, facing her ass.

She kicks off the clothes ragged on her ankles, throughing them away in a fervid movement. This makes you smirk.

Splaying out your fingers, your hands easily envelop her buttocks, You give her two playful, testing squeezes. She whines again, this time you catch her looking at you over her shoulder.

You two share a stare. Your is joyful, shinning with excitement and the unquestionable pleasure of control. Hers is pleading yet patient, the vivid image of trust.

That look in her eye is what makes you slip you digits lower, sliding between her folds to spread her already gathering wetness all over her slit.

She breaks eye contact, rolling her eyes as she turns to look to the front, but it doesn't take her long to throw her head back, blessing you with her always sultry, tempting pants.

You've decided to start by something she knows, a sensation she's used to. However, it always feels like the first time with Jenna.

Doesn't matter how many times you've masturbated her in the past months, doesn't matter how many times she's felt your fingertips circling her clit, the length of your fingers covering her slit, gently warmed by her pussy lips.

Doesn't matter to her, doesn't matter to you, because she's never failed to throw her head like that, to squirm wiggling her hips invitingly, to whisper silent pleas for more. Each and every time.

And so you get your wrist to work, touching her in that side-to-side motion that causes her arousal to soak your fingers, spreading it all over her core, keeping her nice and wet for you.

Her breath is labored as she grinds against your fingers, and you can feel her weight, her body relaxing under your touch.

Your other hand has never stopped gropping her ass, experimenting with the patterns and pressure. But then something shifts. Guessing she's ready, you use your fingers to spread her cheeks.

She inhales sharply, pausing her grinding for a moment. She squints at you, then her eyes wide as she realizes what's about to happen. You look at her intently, seeking any sign of discomfort or withdraw.

You find none.

Instead, she pushes her hips back again, then rolls forward, brushing herself against your hand bluntly.

Her cautious restlessness has always been your weak spot.

Leaning forward, you start by spreading kisses all over her buttcheeks. She whines louder, encouraging you. And so, you use your teeth.

Nipping gently, you map out her entire roundness, deliberately ignoring her hole for now.

She grasping onto the edges of the table lively, and although she doesn't complain for your languid teasing approach, her adorable whines let you know she's getting impatient.

But here's the thing, there's nothing you desire more than to push Jenna's buttons; than to drive her to a mindset where she'll do anything in exhange of the vigorous, wrecking touch she knows she can get from you.

After leaving her buttcheeks with faint reddish marks, you finally dart out your tongue.

Trailing a spiral drawing of open-mouthed kisses that gradually gets smaller, you finally reach the tight hole.

At this point she's distracted by your attention and she grinds against your hand absentmindedly. She can get like this sometimes during a scene; where her mind is focused in too many things, too many sensations, and this can lead her to feel overwhelmed and anxious at the end.

That's why you withdraw your hand in a tender, thoughtful touch.

"Thanks" she says in sotto voce, letting go a soft sigh.

Now, both of you are utterly focused in the stimulation at task.

Now that you have both of your hands at your disposal, you grab her fullness and spread her cheeks purposefully, revealing her pink tightness.

You are able to notice her pleasure dripping down her outer lips, but quickly drift your gaze to her hole. You've got other things to care about right now.

Leaning forward, you make contact with her most intimate part for the first time.

She lets out a curious noise, something between awe and doubt as you press your lips against her. But she gasps the moment your tongue makes its appearance; swirling around the area.

Reaching for the lube, you lean back slightly and pour a generous amount there, quickly being spread by your skillfull tongue.

With soft bobs of your head, you flutter your eyes shut and focus on the sensation of her cheeks against your face, your nose gently brushing her coccyx, your hands fondling her round cheeks.

She's tilting her head, uneasy, trying to get comfortable in her contained eagerness. She follows the bobbing of your head and rolls her hips backwards, pressing herself against you in a languid, sultry dance.

Her fingers clutch the table, she starts to bounce deeper, moving her body back and forth in a way that makes you moan against her flesh.

Your tongue swirls and laps slowly and determined, and you can feel her twitch against your touch, gently giving in to your attention.

You're curling your fingers rhythmically, squeezing her buttcheeks, pushing them against the sides of your mouth or spreading them wide.

Your game makes her squirm more, rolling her hips back and forth and to the sides, unruly. She's slowly losing control, the smoldering desire taking control of her body and thoughts.

When you handle her like this, you have a very clear purpose- to make her lose it. To use her trust in your advantage up to a point where her mind is blank, completely yielding to your wishes; utterly giving herself, body, mind and soul; to you.

She's jerking, pushing her hips against your face, shamessly grinding her backside against your lips, your tongue, your hands. So when you lean back she whines miserably, obviously disagreeing with your choice of actions.

"Why...?" she moans, looking at you over her shoulder.

But the question gets trapped in her throat when she takes in the sight of you looking at her as your index finger presses against her hole.

A shuddering sigh leaves her lips and she arches her back. Like a work of magic, her hole cedes to you, her muscles gently stretching around your digit.

With the lube having soaked your hand completely -task you took care of while she was busy complaining about your mouth no longer on her-, you have enough confidence in yourself and in her body to push your finger a little deeper.

A couple of inches slide in, and she frowns in a mixture of faint pain and a hint of pleasure.

You pause, awaiting for feedback.

"Go... On" she gasps out, hesitating.

You slide a little further, then pull out only to bump those couple inches over and over again, slowly.

She flutters her eyes shut and squeezes her eyes, sweaty creases on her forehead as she gets used to the fresh intrusion and gets to know the new pleasurable sensation.

Gradually, her hips start to move again, her body bouncing gently as she parts her lips to exhale soft gasps.

"Yeah? Feels good?" you breath out, transfixed by the intimacy and the sensuality of it all.

Locks of hair fall gracefully over the sides of her face, and they wiggle gently with each bounce. They tremble even more when she nods fervently.

"Yes..." She moans quietly, her cheeks painted with a fresh new wave of flush, "So fucking good, baby..."

You can see in her face that she's lost in the pleasure. She's pushing back at your finger as if she'd been doing it for years, her muscles twitching and pulsing around you.

You pound into her more firmly, curling your digit experimentally with each thrust, exploring her. Eventually, you find the perfect angle that makes her quiver and whisper urgent pleas.

"More... Please, baby, more..."

Before you know, you're fingering her knuckle-deep, sliding your finger in and out so comfortably it's obscene.

The strong smell of her arousal hits your nose, she wiggles uncontrollably, desperately seeking more, and her aching neglected pussy pulses insistent.

You almost feel sorry, but this new phase of her pleasure gives you free pass to the next step you're eagerly willing to discover.

In a swift move, you reach the smaller plug. She looks at you askance, a hint of defiance in her eye.

"I can take more" she murmurs in a husky voice, and purposefully impales herself on your finger.

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head in amusement.

"I'll be the judge of that, don't you think?" you coo.

She hoffs, but immediately inhales deeply as you withdraw your finger, using both hands to spread lube on the toy, preparing it for her.

She doesn't retort, secretly relishing on the bliss of the mocking way you always take care of her.

The way she inhales sharply when you insert the object urges you to plant a soft kiss on the small of her back.

"You're doing so good, princess..." you murmur, slowly sliding it in.

As you anticipated, her inner muscles relax in its wake, her body not betraying her at all. Instead, she starts grinding shortly after.

"God..." she exhales in a dry, low moan.

"Ain't no god implicated here, sweetheart" you quip, stading up behind her once the toy is comfortably inserted in her.

"Just me" you add feidging modesty, and that's when she feels your thighs caging her ass, hips rolling to increase the sensations of the toy inside her.

She gasps in surprise and agreement, pulling back against your thrusts, the toy shifting inside her.

"Oh my oh my oh my" she chants in a trembling whisper, feeling herself getting closer and closer.

You reach for her mound again, your fingers easily finding her bundle of nerves, and you gasp when you feel it swollen and damp.

She jolts urgently, her whole body at your disposal, violently grinding against both your hand and your hips pullings the toy inside her with the delicious rolling of her hips.

Your free hand explores her back, fingers trailing up her spine till you reach the back of her neck, which you hold in a firm, tender grip, wrapping your fingers on either sides.

She lets out bated breaths and breathy whimpers, and she shifts giving you better access to her neck.

She's pliant yet incredibly restless, her wetness coats your fingers letting you know how close she is.

"Can I... Can I please..." she moans desperately, bucking harshly against your hand and hips.

You rock your hips against her mercilessly, the flat base of the toy slamming deliciously against the fabric of your underwear, gratting you with a pleasant friction.

"Can you what, princess?" you coo, sliding your fingers into her hair, gently scratching her scalp.

This makes her shiver and throw her head back toward your touch.

"Come on, speak your mind... Tell me what you need..." you encourage her, your tender voice a deep contrast to your firm shoves and circling on her clit.

She lurches vigorously, rubbing her cunt against your fingers and swings her hips towards you, the toy shifting inside her.

"Can I... Can I come, please?" she coos at last in a husky, whimpering voice. "Please, let me come... I need it so bad..."

Her thin hoarse pleading voice does something to you. You can feel your heart slamming in your chest and your stomach twisting.

The way she asks for it, the way she begs for it, sinks you into the urgent wish of meeting her needs.

"Oh course, beautiful" you say out of breath, "show me what you've got."

Her movements turn more erratic, frenzied, and she cries out your name as she pulls back and forth, desperately rubbing herself against your fingers on her puffy clit.

You press your hand against it, granting her with more pressure than what she can reach for herself.

She inhales sharply and her body goes stiff, arching her back beautifully. This causes her ass you rise up, and you move your hips in circular motions, the toy provoking undescriptable sensations inside her.

With a final, air-piercing wail, she lets go. She grinds avidly as she comes undone, her body jolting and writhling with overstimulation, but she still shoves relentlessly against your hand, milking it for all it's worth.

You watch her in awe. Her hair falls down her back like a courtain, your hand slips down to her lower back, which you pamper soothingly.

She finally snaps her head forward, her forehead softly hitting the table. Jenna lets out trembling sighs, trying to gain some sort of control.

"Don't worry about it" you whisper, your hand caressing her slower, in a shallow touch, your hips slowing down, "I've got you, princess. You don't have to think at all."

She whines, plunging her hips against your touch. But she jolts involuntary, her body trying to tell her it's too much. She rolls her hips again, stubborn.

"Shhh..." you reach for her hair, stroking it lovingly. "You need a moment, sweetie... Don't be hard on yourself..."

She whines louder, in complain. She turns her head, resting her right cheek on the table. "But... I want more..." she whimpers in a husky, vulnerable thin voice.

"Oh... Don't worry about that, pretty girl. I'm not done with you, not at all" you say in a smug yet soft tone, causing her to shudder visibly.

"Not even remotely."

Your hand roams from her hair to her blades. You splay out your fingers and apply a little of pressure, while you gently withdraw your hand from her core and pull your hips back.

As your hand trails down her spine, she stands up and looks at you over her shoulder, following your movements like a puppet.

Her lips part releasing soft pants, and she looks at you through a hazy expectant gaze.

Your hands meet her hips, you hold her securely as she leans back, her back pressing against your chest. However, you make sure she doesn't press her backside against your mound.

The deep trust in her eyes moves you, and you lean in to press a soft kiss to her lips, which she welcomes placing her hands over yours.

You attempt to lean back, but she brings up one hand and cups your cheek, parting her lips to deepen the kiss, tracing your bottom lip with her tempting tongue.

You realize she needs this. She needs the comfort, the tenderness, after the good care you've taken of her and her body.

You tilt your head and part your lips as well, giving her access to your mouth. You both groan quietly as your tongues meet, displaying an erotic, languid dance.

She melts into the kiss, blessing you with soft whines that die in your mouth, her hand sliding to trace your jawline and cup your neck.

After a long minute, you break the kiss tenderly, leaning back. She whimpers pathetically, earning a wry smile from your behalf. Her gaze finds your eyes, and she frowns in adorable confusion.

Smiling fondly, you grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up. She helps you, and once the fabric hits the floor, you need a second to take in the sight of her fully naked before you.

Without taking your eyes off her, you point at the bed with a swing of your head. "Lie down." Your voice gets back its usual something, that mix between gentle suggestion and hoarse command.

Something in her eyes shift, and she returns to her subspace in a matter of seconds.

She wobbles her way to the bed, you watch her as she struggles yet complies eagerly, stifling soft whines her way there.

It`s just a couple of steps, and once her thighs touch the edge of the bed, she turns around facing you, and sits down. Keeping eye contact and with her lips parted with soft pants leaving them, she leans back and props herself up on her elbows, ogling at you.

You reach her and walk your hands along her legs, making her gasp and hold her breath. You grin.

"It's okay, princess, breathe."

Your hands catch her knees, and you cup them from the back and make her bend them up, so that her feet rest on the bed and she's more spread.

Your gaze goes down, relishing an unobstructed view of her puffy drenched folds, swollen clit and plug buried in her.

You glance briefly at her, finding her cheeks flushed in deep crimson, grossy eyes looking down at you.

Usually she'd complain when you get like this, all snoopy and nonchalant, just staring at her body like that. She gets shy and self-concious when you look at her with such attention, squirming and urging you to touch her already.

Nonetheless, this time she doesn't say a word. She just leers at you, awaiting. At first you assume she's just being more obedient today, but as you gape down at her, mesmerized, the answer is before your eyes.

She's sensitive as hell. One squirm and the toy will shift inside her. Her previous release is dripping down her outer lips onto her inner thighs, and judging by her bated breathing you can tell she's still worked up.

And eventhough you know she isn't ready yet, her stare and restless body language let you know how bad she needs it anyway.

And so, you deliver.

First comes the sharp inhale. Then, she squeezes her eyes shut, frowning in bliss and a glimpse of pain. She squirms, adjusting to the sensation. She's barely registering the feeling of your tongue on her cunt when she starts bucking.

You grin against her flesh, because even if her legs are trembling as you hold them firmly, even if she can't find a rhythm because her body is unwilling to cooperate, she still bucks eagerly against your mouth.

As she rolls her hips, the toy obviously shifts inside her, causing her thighs to tense against your temples, her instincs telling her to close her legs.

However, her fingers are lost in your hair, tangled, scratching your scalp and urging you deeper.

She's so avid, you think to yourself.

It doesn't even take you that long. She tries to delay it, because she loves it when you put your tongue on her, but not even her deep breaths in and steady sighs spare her from losing control.

She jerks and rocks her hips greedily, and her legs stutter, her weak moans coming out in shuddered gasps. With a final loud moan, her back arches off the bed and she comes hard in your mouth.

You lap at her eagerly, not giving her even a moment to catch her breath, earning weak whines seeking mercy.

"P-please..."

Once you're satisfied with your performance, you give her one last long lick from her entrance to below her swollen clit, chosing to be benevolent with the manhadled bundle of nerves.

"T-t-thanks" she stammers beautifully, barely above a whisper.

You climb up, leaving feather-touch kisses on her mound, lower stomach, midriff. She quivers each and every time.

"Oh you're being so good this evening, princess. I wonder how far we can take it, huh? How far you're willing to take it."

Your soft coos hiding a sultry threat always get into her. She's far gone in the real life fantasy you're both creating, in the risky yet safe mindspace you get her in.

"Much more" she breathes out, visibly trembling as you level her, pressing your breasts against hers ever so slightly. She inhales.

"I can take more."

Looking directly into her eyes, you find nothing but raw trust and deep desire. It bathes you in an intense feeling of affection and pride.

You both gasp quietly as you grab the base of the toy and carefully withdraw it from her. She lifts her hips, helping you, and she grasps onto your shoulders for anchor.

"There you go" you purr in a whisper, "you're precious."

She blushes again, her lips parted and plump. Your gaze drifts down to them, and she does the same, staring bluntly at your mouth.

Throwing the toy somewhere onto the lower bed, you lean in and kiss her passionately, feeling her arms wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you down.

She finds comfort in the kiss, and lets out a contented sigh as she feels you gently grinding against her, keeping some sort of contact between you and her aching, intimate parts.

After a heavy make-out session, she is the one that leans back this time, her head gently hitting the pillows. She gives you a hazy half-lidded glance, her chest heavy as she tries to catch her breath.

You smirk. Leaning in again, you avoid her lips and instead go for her neck.

Choosing a particular sensitive spot, you wrap your lips around it and suck firmly, gradually harder, hearing her whine and her throat vibrating until you release the flesh, watching proud as a more than visible hickey forms on her skin.

She slides one hand into your hair and strokes it lovingly. "You can mark me all you want" she murmurs with that vulnerable, sexy voice of hers.

You stare at your handiwork, brushing your thumb across it wiping off the saliva. You sit up, catching her off guard. "I'm gonna take a picture" you say as you fumble for Jenna's phone on the nighstand.

Kneeling between her spread legs, you hold the phone with one hand and you put your other hand on her cheek, gently pulling down to make her turn her head the other way. The tendons tense on her neck, making the hickey stand out.

"Gorgeous" you mutter, earning a soft lids fluttering from her. You smirk as you take the picture— seems like she'd do anything for a praise.

After taking several pictures, you put the phone down but your smile fades as you look at her, your expression turns thoughtful.

No longer feeling your hand on her cheek, she turns her head and looks up at you, curious. "What?" she asks breathier than intended, already sensing you've come up with a new way to ruin her.

You swallow, wondering if you're about to overstep. This is not something you two have ever discussed, and for a moment you fear the faith she's put in you will vanish.

But she looks up at you with such adoration, that you can't back down.

"Can I record you?"

Her eyebrows scoot up, and she sits up against the headboard. She looks at you with curiosity, rather than judgement.

"Doing what?"

Obviously, she's used to having cameras on her, but this is different. It's all different with you.

Now that's where the trick hangs. You swallow hard this time, and then dare to continue.

"I'd like not to tell you."

She frowns, confused, and for a moment you think she's gonna say the safeword.

"It's nothing that crazy" you rush to clarify as she was taking a breather. She halts, willing to listen.

"It's just, uh... It's..."

"Okay" she interrupts.

You stop mumbling and look down at her, hopeful. You find her smirking. Your slightly nervous behavior and need to reassure her is all she needs to know.

"Go ahead."

You hit record before you can think it through. Angling the lense towards her, your gaze moves from the screen to her. And you hope the camera is catching the vulnerable, tantalazing smile she's giving you.

Reaching for her chin, you make her tilt her head slightly. Her smile remains, giving you a perfect view of her profile side and the big hickey on her neck.

"You like it?" you coo, brushing your thumb over the mark again.

"Yeah" she purrs, "it's a bit sore and you make it tickle" she teases squinting at you.

You let go of her face, instead you trace her jawline with the back of your fingers. She turns her head slowly and glances at you, she bites her lip.

Her eyes are glinting with mischief, obviously enjoying the banter. She's looking at you, but her eyes flicker to the camera from time to time, making sure it catches the perfect frame of her seductive expression.

Her lip is still trapped between her teeth, she's got a smugly stupid smile on her face, and so you brush your thumb along the hidden bottom lip, and you press and pull down the skin. You watch the pale white skin turn rose as she releases her lip, coming out red.

You slide your thumb along the swollen lip, and she doesn't hesitate even for a second before slowly throwing her head forward, sucking on your digit.

With a skillful suction, she sucks your thumb up to the knuckle, then leans back, peeking up at you. A thin thread connects your thumb to her lips, and she gives you a knowing smirk before taking in your thumb again.

She bobs her head, naughty, and glances at you occasionally as your finger disappears and reappears, over and over again.

She's giving you a show.

Her cheeks hallow with the suction, and she raises her eyebrows each time she looks up, making you feel light-headed.

You can't take your eyes off her. Mouth ajar, you let her play with your digit as if she was giving you head, feeling her stretched lips around your thumb, her saliva soaking you, she's even drooling a little.

After a minute or so, you pull your thumb out, catching her off guard. She was with her eyes shut in bliss and so she looks up at you whining in protest.

Even in your stunned state, you smirk. There it is, that eagerness.

But as she looks up, she notices what you're doing. She sees your cheeks hollowing a bit as well, your jaw moving, your lips pressed together.

Realization dawns on her face as she finally gets why you wanted to record.

"Yes" she hisses, enthused about it. "Do it, please" she whispers, "spit in my mouth."

She relaxes her jaw letting it drop, pliant, and sticks out her tongue. She throws her head back a little, the perfect angle. She looks at you with hooded. yearning eyes. She's already panting heavily.

The whimpering, beautiful little mess she is.

You cradle her chin, pressing your fingers against her jawline, with your other hand firmly holding the phone.

Then, she closes her eyes, and you feel her hot breath against your fingers.

Bending your body a little as you do it, you spit directly in her mouth. A trikle drips down from your lips to her tongue.

The camera catches the view of her side, her inviting mouth and warm tongue, her eyes shut and the tiny whimper she exhales, the tip of her tongue curling up just enough.

She gasps when she feels it, and she opens her eyes ever so slightly, looking at you with heavy eyelids as she closes her mouth instinctively and swallows it without further question.

She makes you whimper in longing when she behaves like this. So willingly, so mischievous, reading your mind and doing what you want her to do even before you know it.

There's no need to ask.

She looks at you relishing on your expression of astonishment with a pleased smirk on her face, licking her lips.

A sudden rush runs through you.

The insatiable need to own her.

You stop the recording and block her phone, putting it on the nighstand with an anxious move. She goes rigid, holding her breath, watching your every move.

You scoot back on the bed, giving her some room. Then your voice comes up dry, not leaving any room for argument.

"On your knees. Now. Facing the headboard."

She complies eagerly, sinking her kness on the matress and giving you her back, clutching the edge of the headboard to steady herself.

"What are you gonna...?" she mutters, incapable of finishing her sentence as she hears the creak of a drawer opening.

She inhales sharply, her body tensing in expectation as she awaits your next move.

"You'll have to be a little patient, princess."

Her fingers curl slightly, holding the wood as she feels the bed sinking slightly with your weight when you climb onto it.

"So... How are you planning on behaving, sweetheart?" you murmur, adjusting the strands around your hips.

Her breath hitches, instantly recognizing the tickling of the belts being tied.

"Good," she retorts anxiously, "really good. I promise."

You can see her fidgeting, pacing her weight from one knee to the other, restless. She moves her head a little, but prevents from looking over her shoulder. She knows it's not allowed.

"Oh yeah?" you tease in a breathy, low tone. That specific voice she'd do anything for. "Are you certain about that?"

You watch her head moving, she nods fervently. "Hundred percent sure" she hisses, rubbing her thighs together.

"Well I hope you keep your sweet promise, because we're about to have so much fun, princess. But I'll need you to trust me and be good for me, can you do that?"

You're spreading lube along the shaft of your toy, and she's about to answer when she hears it. The wet, squelching sound of fingers wrapped around your cock, stroking it.

"Oh my..." she whines miserably, throwing her head forward for a moment, resting her forehead against the headboard.

You notice her hips moving, bucking against nothing, her butt tensing and relaxing with each move.

You stroke yourself vigorously, shamelessly showing off, provoking her with an image she can only enjoy in her imagination while you solely give her the chance to hear.

"Hmm..." you groan, enjoying yourself, rubbing yourself against the base through your underwear.

She stifles a moan. How she loves hearing you make those noises... She's already feeling dizzy, intoxicated. And utterly at your mercy.

"Well?" you purr, deliberately jerking in a way that makes the squelching noise even louder.

She nods effusively, locks of hair gently swaying over her beautiful back.

"Yes" she whispers, grasping onto the headboard for dear life, her thighs rubbing together, "Yes, my love. I trust you. I'll be so good, I promise" she keeps whispering, a deep longing tainting her words.

You crawl closer to her, and you hear her breath stucking in her throat as she notices your closeness, the warmth of your body enveloping her, your energy all over her.

She loves it so dearly, she's obsessed with it. She turns her head ever so slightly, but at the last moment she closes her eyes, giving you a perfect view of her insane profile, with her eyes shut and eyebrows frowned.

You stroke yourself harder, just at the sight of her. Her jaw drops slightly, letting go sweet gasps as she realizes she is the cause of your now faster speed.

"Touch yourself, gorgeous" you whisper, and she jolts a little when she realizes how close you are, your warm voice puffing at her shoulder.

She nods firmly and turns her head to be looking at the wall.

"As you please" she mutters in that husky, shy voice of hers; the one she uses when you command her to do something she desperately wants to do, yet she wouldn't if it wasn't because you told her to.

You watch her hips roll as she starts to fuck her hand slowly, dry pants leaving her lips. "Like this?" She breathes out, desperate to earn your approval.

You tilt your head, grinning. "A little faster" you tease, stroking yourself in a exaggerated motion just so that she can keep hearing it very clearly.

She whimpers, squirming slightly. You know her and her body enough to know that she wished she could do it slower, because she's already close and she knows she has to hold it back until you tell her to let go.

Touching herself faster is risky, which also turns her on even more.

She nods weakly, and you see her arm moving faster, her hips bucking following that rhythm.

You chuckle quietly, now you stroke your toy slower but very firmly, hitting the base with your fingers, creating a splashy thud each time.

She whines, turning her head a bit. She wants to follow your own pace, touch herself imagining you're inside of her.

But instead, you've got her ignoring her own instincts in favour of your desires.

"Slow down..." Your low voice interrupts her desperate thoughts, and she lets out a whine of relief as she pulls her hips down slower.

She grasps onto the headboard with her free hand, her fingers curling in helpless need.

You crawl a little closer and graze her lower back with the tip of your wet toy.

"Ah...." She whimpers very quietly, jolting at first but then pushing her ass up, arching her back.

"Faster"

She follows your lead, circling her clit vigorously, releasing hoarse, high-pitched moans.

Her whole body is glowing in a thin layer of sweat, she's writhling and her legs tremble, she's struggling to hold herself, both physically and mentally.

If it was for her, she'd be leaning against your chest, letting you use her as you please, relaxing completely onto you, not bothering to use her hands on herself.

But instead, you torture her beautifully. You force her to listen to her body and ignore it at the same time, she touches herself not like she'd like to, but as you tell her to.

"Slower"

You reach her wrist and shift it a little, making her stimulate her folds too, not just her clit. Her fingertips also graze her entrance, teasing herself.

Watching her from behind, you can see the muscles in her ass tense as she rocks her hips.

You give her forearm a soft caress, a deep contrast to how you're handling her.

"More pressure, princess. And fast."

You wonder how long will it take for her to loose it completely, for her to either plead you to pound into her or to come undone on her own fingers.

You decide to test her even further.

"Are you close, doll? Is my princess feeling needy for something else?" You coo, your arm moving fiercely, stroking your toy faster, finally meeting her own pace.

She nods, her bottom lip trembling as she whispers, "I'm... I am. I'm trying for you."

Her voice is so breathy, the words coming out quivering, barely above a whisper.

You arch one eyebrow, and for a moment you feel sorry for her. Not enough, though.

You pull your hips forward, tracing iddle patterns on her back with the tip of your cock.

"Trying what, gorgeous? I can't understand you when you whisper like that."

She stifles a moan, and even if she's visibly trembling, she still manages to push herself against your toy. "T-trying... not to..."

She mumbles and chokes a whimper when you slide your toy a little lower, walking it across her cheeks.

Her stammering makes you laugh softly, and she blushes and turns her head with her eyes closed. You look up, and by her expression you can tell she's both embarassed and excited by the way you're kinda mocking her.

"Oh, yeah? That close you are?" You purr, trailing lower.

She whimpers pathetically when she realizes you're not gonna slide the toy inside her stretched ass. Her reaction makes you bite your lip harshly, a primal need flooding in your veins.

She nods again.

"P-please... What do you need me to do? I can do it" she blurts out in a rushed whisper, her fingers moving frantically.

"N-need you s-so bad..." She hisses, "I'll do anything..."

You tilt your head, releasing a sharp gasp.

Oh, even in her current state, she knows how to push your buttons. She knows how to get what she wants.

She turns her head a bit more, the tendons in her neck tensing tantalazingly, and her parted plump lips let go tempting promises in hot whispers.

"Anything you want...."

"Haven't I been good...?"

"Whatever you need..."

"I wanna please you..."

Finally, you loose your patience.

"You're such a greedy girl, you know that?" You breath out, grabbing her hips firmly.

She gasps, her eyelids fluttering, wishing to open her eyes but still deliciously obedient to your orders.

"You just can't wait, can you? It has to be your way" you reach down to grab the base of the roy, your hand trembling as you place it on her entrance.

She arches her back immediately, giving you the perfect view of her ass up and pink folds spread and dripping. She's been ready for a while now.

She nods fervently. You didn't expect that. "Yes" she hisses, leaning against your chest a little, but still not touching you. "I'm so needy for you. I'm so sorry, I just can't bear it anymore."

You clench your jaw, your gaze hiding a smoldering raw desire.

You love this game. The back and forth, the tempting, the way you blame her as if it was her fault, as if you're about to use it because oh, look what she made you do, as if it was a way to show her who's in charge.

She's obsessed with it. She's addicted to following your orders like a docile, perfect patient girl, until her movements and words became so needy, so desperate, that she starts whispering these words to you, knowing that if she gently asks you to move forward, to hurry up a bit, she'll wake up the sleepy beast in you.

She's a sucker for the un-rushed, built up tension. She's grown really experienced in handling your commands that well, to follow your rhythm.

But she's also addicted to manipulate you with her husky, sexy voice; to suck a bit of your power and throw it back at you in the shape of her irresistible proposals.

"Open your eyes" you murmur.

She flutters her eyes open and looks at you over her shoulder. The mere sight of you makes her move her hand faster between her thighs. This makes her jolt, her body sensitive and needy.

Your gaze darts down, "and stop that" you say in a dry whisper.

She gasps and stops at the moment. Her lips are parted in awe, her eyebrows frown in pleasure and bliss, knowing something has shifted within you.

You clench your jaw, your gaze darkened and hard. Her eyes flicker between yours, the silent exchange being an unspoken question.

"You can do ir" she mutters before you can even formulate what you're trying to say.

She can see the deep, crude wish in your eyes. She can tell you're dying to ruin her. But she also can feel your brief doubt.

To highlight her words, she pushes her backside further, and whimpers hoarsly when the tip of your toy brushes her entrance more purposefully.

"Do it" she murmurs again, looking deep into your eyes. "Give it to me."

Her whisper turns into a sharp whine when you roughly shove the toy inside her, filling her completely.

"F—" she doesn't even have time to accomodate you before you start thrusting deep, thoroughful.

She reaches back one hand tangling it in your hair while the other squeezes your waist, and she pushes her hips back, meeting each of your thrusts.

You dig your nails into her flesh, dragging them along her skin, leaving red marks leading to her stomach.

You grope her midriff, breasts and back. You slide one hand to hold her by her neck, her moans vibrating against your fingertips as you bottom out, merciless.

Your other hand trails down until you reach her swollen, manhadled bundle of nerves, and you circle at it insistently.

She squirms, "Mmmph—" she mumbles, unable to even complain.

You can tell she's drowning in overstimulation, you can feel her body surrounding to every plunge of your hips, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around your cock, you can feel their tension when you push your pelvis against her cheeks.

She tilts her head back, resting it on your shoulder, and her body bounces and her breasts jiggle with each move, her lips parted and eyes half-lidded, taking you beautifully.

She glances at you through her eyelashes, deep trust and adoration glazing the watery deep brown stare.

The sight of her looking at you like this, wearing your hand around her neck like a collar, with her hands all over you, pulling you against her even more, with her body bouncing and writhling, dying from overstimulation but still craving more, drives you to the edge.

You slide your hand from her neck to the back of her head and push her forward, her forehead rests against the headboard and she arches her back, her hands clutching the edge of the headboard desperately.

Grabbing the back of her neck and with your other hand circling her clit, you rock your hips faster, harder, rougher.

"Mmph— ah— ah—!"

She moans and whines desperately, pleading, her mind foggy, eyes rolling back and eyebrows frowning.

She turns her head, pressing her cheek agaisnt the wood giving you a perfect view of her ravished state, thin drool coming out from the side of her lips, dripping down her chin.

You can't take it anymore. "Show off for me, princess" you groan between heavy breathing and sharp pants.

With her puffy lips twitching and swallowing your toy with eager willingness, her entire body convulses and she releases deep groans and high pitched wails as she finally lets go, coming hard.

With the dual stimulation of your hand on her clit and your cock insistently rubbing against her G-spot, she squirts profusely, her cum gushing out and coating the entire length of your toy while you continue sliding in and out of her, drawning out her orgasm.

"jesus fucking christ..." She whines with her voice trembling weakly as you finish against the toy, rolling your hips and using her just a little more to get off.

"ugh, fuck!" You groan and moan, releasing a final sigh before you crumble on her.

You both stay there for a moment, just panting heavily. She turns her head and meets your lips weakly, whimpering quietly against your mouth.

You let out a breathy chuckle, kissing her back. Even now, she stills needs you all over her.

She whines in return and wiggles her hips, silently reminding you to pull out.

"Oh, yeah" you murmur in a giggle, gently pulling back.

She nods and offers you a sated smole, and her eyelids flutter as she feels every inch coming out of her.

She loves it when your demeanor shifts after a scene and suddenly you turn into an almost shy, panting dom who treats her with care and love.

You lean back and look down, watching the toy come out of her.

Is in that moment when you notice her state.

Her cheeks are swollen and red, random marks all over them. You've left red lines all over her ass and back, and probably on her stomach.

She's literally dripping, a damp big spot tainting the sheets right below her.

You gasp, too much emotions mow you down like a tidal wave. You need a second to catch your breath.

Jenna was smiling, but she turns slightly to you, frowning as she tries to gauge your mindset.

"Baby...?" She murmurs warily.

You snap your eyes back at her, concerned. "Jenna" you breath out.

Her eyes drift across your face, now concerned. You calling her by her name instead of 'princess' lets her know that the scene is over, and your specific tone also lets her know something's off.

"What is it?"

But you feel your knees crumbling, your chest aching with a mix of emotions you can't quite comprehend.

Without saying a word, you let yourself fall on your knees onto the mattress, defeated.

She turns around completely, facing you. She puts her hand on your shoulder.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

Taglist: @ijustlovemaths @babyhumanoidpsychicnerd @ortegalvr @2thamax @oxt3n @aroooheartzzz @lailathegayqueeeen @freestarfishdinosaur @lightningirlz @bellward3456 @avaseye @christinaliner69 @dequiem @bbygrl008 @red1culous @bella423 @jennassamoanwife

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #d/s #d/s dynamic #lesbian #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega imagine #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x reader

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airybcby · 3 months ago

Text

જ⁀♡⊹｡° please don’t ruin this for me

♡ a/n — for my childhood friends to lovers series!

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — eita otoya x fem! reader, fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, SPOILERS FOR the NEL arc, goes from childhood to NEL, mentions of cheating ( both otoya and reader ) , slight nsfw ( mentioned but not explicit ) , slight playboy otoya, miscommunication, longest thing i've ever written, lmk if i missed anything!

♡ synopsis — Whether you were together or not, you'd always been eita otoya's. And he had always been yours, no matter what.

The first time Otoya told someone you were dating, you were seven years old, sitting on the swings during recess, kicking your legs back and forth as he proudly made his announcement.

“We’re in love, duh,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His hand, warm and slightly sticky from the juice box he just finished, was firmly holding yours.

You didn’t question it. Instead, you nodded along enthusiastically. “Yeah! We’re gonna get married and have a big house and eat candy for dinner every night.”

Your teacher, overhearing the conversation, sighed as she handed back your coloring pages. “That’s… nice. But please sit down now.”

It was silly. Just one of those things kids did after watching too many fairy tales and dramas.

But a week later, Otoya made a big show of breaking up with you during lunch.

“I don’t wanna marry you anymore,” he declared, arms crossed like he had thought long and hard about this decision.

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “Fine, because I don’t wanna marry you either!”

The kids sitting around you both let out a collective, scandalized gasp, as if they were witnessing a tragic romance unfold before their very eyes.

You didn’t speak for the rest of lunch. Both of you sat in exaggerated silence, chewing your sandwiches in a way that made it very clear you were upset.

For about five minutes.

Then Otoya nudged your arm. “Wanna play tag?”

“…Yeah.”

And that was that.

You were still best friends, still inseparable, still attached at the hip.

That was how it always was. No matter what happened, Otoya always found his way back to you.

Until one day, he didn’t.

By the time you both entered junior high, the jokes about dating slowly faded away, replaced by real relationships.

Just never with each other.

Otoya had girlfriends now. A lot of them.

It wasn’t surprising—he was easygoing, charismatic, and could make anyone laugh. Girls naturally gravitated towards him.

What was surprising, though, was how effortlessly he let them go.

None of his relationships lasted long, but he never seemed heartbroken. If anything, his exes didn’t even seem bothered by their breakups. He’d flash them a lazy grin the next day in class, crack a joke, and just like that, everything was fine.

You never once saw him cry over a girl.

And for the first time since you’d met him, you were just his friend.

There were no more playful declarations of love, no more jokes about getting married.

Maybe you’d outgrown all of that.

Or maybe, just maybe, it had stopped feeling like a joke.

The first time you kissed Otoya, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

It was an accident.

Or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe.

It was late. His soccer practice had run long, and he had shown up at your house afterward, climbing through your window like he always did, flopping onto your bed like he owned the place.

You had been talking about everything and nothing at all, laughing over some dumb inside joke, when suddenly, he leaned in.

His gaze flickered to your lips for just a second before he closed the space between you, pressing his mouth to yours in a way that was soft, slow, and entirely too familiar—like he had been waiting for this moment forever.

When he pulled away, he grinned lazily, his voice just above a whisper.

“That was your first kiss, huh?”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. “…Yeah.”

His expression softened. “Guess we just made a good memory together.”

That was how it started.

A kiss turned into two.

Two turned into nights spent tangled in sheets, your hands in his hair, his mouth tracing patterns against your skin.

When you finally gave yourself to him completely, he had laughed against your collarbone and murmured, “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

Good friends did this, apparently.

Good friends walked home together after his soccer practices, hands lazily intertwined.

Good friends fell asleep in the same bed, limbs tangled like it was natural.

Good friends still slept together—even when Otoya had a girlfriend.

And everyone thought you were dating.

But you weren’t.

At least, not officially.

Then one day, one of Otoya’s nameless girlfriends pulled you aside after school.

“You need to stop hanging around him so much,” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly. “It’s pathetic how you just follow him around like a lost puppy.”

You blinked, startled. “I—”

She scoffed. “You really think I don’t notice? Every girl who dates Otoya knows about you. We all know we’re just fillers until you decide you actually want him.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but nothing came out.

Because deep down, you weren’t sure she was wrong.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Maybe this wasn’t normal. Maybe, in trying to feel something, you had hurt people in the process.

So you stopped.

No more late-night visits. No more whispered secrets.

And strangely, Otoya didn’t stop you.

You thought maybe he’d notice. That maybe he’d say something.

But if he did, he never said a word.

And the girls beside him kept changing.

The first few days without Otoya were… strange.

You told yourself it was normal—people drifted apart all the time. This was just a natural part of growing up, right?

But the silence was loud.

There was no more tapping at your window late at night, no lazy texts asking what you were doing, no sudden arms slung over your shoulders as he teased you about some random thing.

It was quieter.

At first, you thought you were the one keeping the distance, that it was your choice. That if you ever wanted to hear from him, all you had to do was reach out.

But weeks passed, and you didn’t hear a word.

No texts. No calls.

Nothing.

Then, one afternoon, the realization came crashing down in the most mundane of ways.

You were in the school bathroom, washing your hands, when a girl burst into the stall next to you, her voice thick with frustration.

“He just left for some soccer training camp—‘Blue Lock’ or something! Didn’t even warn me,” she cried, sniffling.

Your stomach dropped.

“What?!” one of her friends gasped. “Wait—like Otoya? He’s gone?!”

The girl let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Yeah. Just poof. Didn’t even bother saying goodbye.”

Your breath caught.

The cold water from the sink ran over your fingers, but you barely felt it.

He left?

Your mind raced. There was no way that was true. Otoya wouldn’t just go without saying anything. Right?

You fumbled for your phone, hands shaking as you scrolled through your messages.

His name sat there, undisturbed, with your last conversation from months ago.

And suddenly, it hit you—

You hadn’t noticed.

He had vanished from your life, and you had been so convinced you were choosing the distance that you didn’t even realize he was already gone.

You gripped the edge of the sink, feeling sick.

This was Otoya. The boy who had been with you since childhood, the boy who was always by your side. How had you not seen it?

Had he even wanted you to notice?

The thought made your chest ache.

Because if he had, he would have said something, wouldn’t he?

And yet—he hadn’t.

He had left without a word.

Without a goodbye.

Like you didn’t matter at all.

Blue Lock was exhausting.

Physically, mentally, emotionally—it took everything out of him. But Otoya thrived in chaos, so he never let it get to him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But sometimes, in the rare quiet moments between matches, when the adrenaline faded and there was nothing left to distract him, he’d find himself scrolling through his phone, staring at your contact.

The urge to text you was unbearable.

Should he?

Would you even care?

He thought about the last time he saw you—the way you had started pulling away, the way you had stopped looking for him.

Had you already decided he wasn’t worth keeping around?

That thought made something bitter settle in his throat.

Maybe this was for the best.

Maybe, if you had wanted him in your life, you would have noticed he was gone.

So he locked his phone, tossed it onto his bed, and pretended it didn’t bother him.

That you didn’t bother him.

That the ache in his chest wasn’t loneliness, but just another part of the game.

And in the end, he never pressed send.

You didn’t even know why you were here.

Well. That was a lie.

You knew exactly why you were here.

It wasn’t for the game, and it sure as hell wasn’t for Japan’s future in soccer.

You just wanted to see him.

Even after everything, after months of silence, after the way he had left you behind without a second thought—

You still wanted to see him.

The moment the match started, your eyes found him instantly.

Otoya was different.

Stronger, faster, sharper.

But more than that—he belonged here.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe this was why he never looked back.

Because he didn’t need to.

The game was intense. You barely processed the score, the plays, or the tension in the stadium. All you could do was watch him.

And then, it was over.

Your breath was unsteady as you weaved through the crowd, pushing past people, trying to make your way down to the field before you lost sight of him.

And then—

You saw him.

Standing there, laughing, his expression relaxed and carefree as he spoke to a red-haired girl.

She was smiling, leaning close.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

You stopped in your tracks.

You shouldn’t have been surprised. Otoya had always been like this, right? Easy. Charming. He moved on from people without a second thought.

And yet, it still hurt.

Because while you had spent the last few months feeling his absence like an open wound, he didn’t even look like he missed you at all.

Your hands curled into fists.

You weren’t going to do this to yourself.

You turned on your heel and walked away, not looking back.

And this time, you swore—

You were really going to leave him behind.

Time did what it always did—it moved forward, dragging you along with it whether you wanted it to or not.

You went to university. You got good grades. You found new friends, new routines, new ways to keep yourself busy.

And somewhere along the way, you convinced yourself that you had moved on.

You weren’t the same girl who spent sleepless nights staring at her phone, hoping for a text that never came. You weren’t the same girl who walked away from that stadium feeling like she had lost something she didn’t even realize she still wanted.

You were fine.

And you had a boyfriend now.

He wasn’t Otoya—he wasn’t playful or reckless, didn’t make your heart race with a single look—but he was steady. Reliable. Safe.

And for a while, you told yourself that was enough.

But then came the nights when you found yourself alone, flipping through channels until you landed on an FC Barcha match.

And every single time—without fail—your eyes found him.

Eita Otoya.

Older now, sharper, wearing that signature smirk like it had never left his face.

He moved across the field like he owned it, like he was made for this. And watching him, you felt the same ache in your chest that you had buried for years.

You were fine.

That’s what you kept telling yourself.

But if that was true, then why did it feel like your heart stopped every time you saw him on the screen?

The night Otoya came back, it was supposed to be simple.

You had movie plans with your boyfriend. He was supposed to come over, bring takeout, sit next to you on the couch, and pretend not to notice when you inevitably got distracted by your phone halfway through.

But when the knock came, and you opened the door—

It wasn’t him.

It was Otoya.

And he didn’t say a word.

He just stepped inside, grabbed your face, and kissed you.

Your heart stopped.

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing—

But your body betrayed you.

Your fingers curled into his jacket, pulling him closer as his hands found your waist. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like he was trying to make up for every lost second, every wasted moment spent apart.

And you let him.

You kissed him back like he was oxygen, like you had spent years trying to convince yourself you didn’t need him—only to realize, in this moment, that you still did.

That you always did.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was lower now, rougher, like he had spent years trying not to say those words. “You don’t even know how much.”

You felt dizzy.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But before you could say anything, before you could even think—

“What the fuck is this?”

You froze.

Otoya’s lips left yours, his gaze flicking over your shoulder.

And there, standing in the open doorway, was your boyfriend.

The takeout bag in his hand was slipping, forgotten, as his face twisted into something between disbelief and rage.

“What the fuck, Y/N?”

Your stomach dropped.

You hadn’t even heard him come in.

Otoya didn’t move.

Didn’t look guilty.

Didn’t even seem bothered.

He just blinked lazily, like he was barely interested in the whole situation, and then—

With absolutely no hesitation—

He walked to the door and shut it.

Right in your boyfriend’s face.

Then, just as easily, he turned back to you, smirking.

“You don’t need him,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over your jaw. “You have me now.”

And when he kissed you again, you let him.

Because the truth was—

You had always been his.

slight comeback but really just bc i had to get this out of my brain

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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prettycalla · 1 month ago

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|| in ruinas ||

Pairing: Geta/Empress!Reader

Summary: You interrupt Geta's plans for you, but he's rather good at improvising.

Tags and warnings: Smut (not overly explicit, but it's still very obvious what's going on), exhibitionism, Geta is even more of a nuisance, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

Word count: 1.4k (approx.)

(My Emperor playlists are entirely at fault for me writing this. I guess this is set in the same world as my last fic? I've proofread it like three times, but I'm tired, so hopefully it reads okay!)

Masterlist

“We do not have time, beloved,” you had said as your husband had sleepily tried to pull you back into his arms.

This morning had been the first in a while that the two of you had been able to enjoy each other's presence for more than a brief moment, and Geta had clearly intended to make the most of it.

“You would deny me,” he replied, his voice still thick with sleep.

“The games begin today,” you told him, slipping yourself free from his grasp, though not without some measure of difficulty. “Are you not excited?”

Geta dragged himself upright, rubbing his hand over his face in an attempt to rouse himself.

“I am,” he replied groggily, “Though it is for another reason entirely.”

A laugh escaped you at his words. How sweet in his depravity he is.

It was then that Caracalla had all but burst into the room, brimming with excitement about the games, and no more was said about it.

You are certainly regretting your actions now.

He had been on his best behaviour throughout the entire day - exchanging pleasantries with the guests, bickering no more than usual with his brother, and as always, he had had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand when the Master of Ceremonies had announced the arrival of the Imperial party.

His little plan this morning had been forgotten about. Or so you had thought.

As is your custom, you sit close to him in his ornate throne in the Emperor’s box. There had been talk of crafting a chair of your own, but Geta had quickly dismissed it. He likes having you close like this, and you certainly do not mind. There is enough room for the pair of you to sit comfortably - not that Geta ever keeps his distance for very long.

As if on cue, his arm winds around your waist, pulling you close to his side. You briefly lean your head on his shoulder affectionately before casting your gaze to the arena below. While you were never particularly fond of the bloodshed of the gladiator games, you understand how important they are to the people of Rome, and while he may not necessarily agree with your stance, Geta has become a little more merciful to the fighters since your union as husband and wife.

Your attention is soon drawn elsewhere, however, as your husband’s hand begins to wander from your waist. Innocently at first, along your hip, down your thigh, your knee, where he begins slowly inching the fabric of your stola up.

“Husband,” you chide, lightly swatting at his hand.

He stops, if only for a moment, before continuing what he has started. His hand slides under the fabric, fingertips grazing against the bare skin of your thighs.

“Geta,” you hiss in exasperation, your eyes wide as you turn to look at him.

Geta, however, seems entirely focused on the arena below, even as his hand continues to make its ascent.

You try to slap his hand again, harder this time, but he is persistent and you are weak to his touch.

His hand proceeds further, further, until-

You let out a shrill yelp. Fortunately for you, one of the gladiators lands an impressive blow upon the other at that very moment, and the crowd erupts in a thunderous roar, drowning out the embarrassing sound that has slipped free from your mouth.

You glare at your husband. He is grinning. To the unknowing eye, he is the very image of a man enjoying the excitement of the Colosseum. But you know better.

His hand moves again, tracing precise little patterns against you, and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to escape you. Even with his attention distracted, he still knows how to play you like a lyre.

You hazard a brief glance to your right, praying to the Gods that you do not have an audience. Fortunately for you, Caracalla is entirely enraptured by the battle playing out below, not letting his gaze wander elsewhere for even a second. For that, at least, you are grateful.

You turn your attention back to your beastly husband as you attempt to arrange the skirts of your stola to hide what he is doing if someone were to happen a glance in your direction.

“Geta, you cannot do this. Not here,” you plead, attempting to reason with him.

At that, he stops. You breath a small sigh of relief, until you realise that his hand has not moved from you. He leans in close to you, breath tickling your ear.

“You will continue what I have started,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear him.

Just as you thought the situation cannot possibly worsen for you.

“What?” you gasp.

“You heard me.”

He looks at you then, gaze unwavering as he takes your hand and places it over his. His pupils are blown wide, and you are at least relieved to know that he is not as unaffected as he has been acting.

“Show me," he says, demanding.

You tilt your head, looking down the length of your nose at him in an attempt to gain even a little leverage.

“I have had enough of this,” you tell him sternly.

Geta laughs at that, soft and low, the sound sending a shiver through you.

“Have you now?” he asks, his tone mocking.

“Yes. I have,” you insist, though you have made no attempt to remove his hand from where it lies hidden.

“Tell me to stop,” he commands.

He watches you closely, like a lion circling its prey.

“Tell me to stop," he says again, "and mean it."

You open your mouth to speak, but words have failed you.

“As I thought,” he murmurs. "You are enjoying this."

He grips your hand then, not enough to hurt, but certainly enough to send another little shiver through you.

"Do not keep me waiting, wife."

The little whine that escapes you is entirely involuntary, and you would continue to believe so until your very last breath. Geta is no stranger to leaving you at a loss for words, but now... It is as if something has awoken in him. Something untamed, feral.

You do not dislike it.

Daring to let your eyes fall closed, you continue where Geta had keep you waiting, guiding his fingers against you again, his movements drawing little waves of pleasure from you that gradually become more and more intense with each passing moment.

“What would happen if they knew, I wonder?” Geta asks, his voice pulling you from the heady fog you had fallen into.

You open your eyes to look at him. He nods towards the crowd, their attention captivated by the violence below.

“How would they feel if they knew what their Empress was letting me do to her?" he asks. "That she was enjoying it so."

The smile on his face is downright devilish, and you wish you had the capacity to scold him as he so deserves, but those little waves are quickly becoming a tidal wave, ready to crash down and sweep you away at any moment.

“Geta, I-“

The rest of your words become caught in your throat in your desperation. He knows.

“Sing for me, little songbird,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping passed yours and pressing against you just so-

You tightly clap your free hand over your mouth as he brings you to release, pulling you over the edge again and again. Only when you are squirming and overwhelmed does he finally, mercifully, stop.

A wave of dizziness threatens to overcome you as Geta removes his hand from beneath your stola. He keeps his gaze focused on you as he brings his hand to his mouth, running his tongue over his fingers.

Before you can say anything, your attention is drawn elsewhere.

"Brother!" Caracalla is calling. "They await our decision."

Decision?

Geta smiles at you, then, with such boyish innocence that you think no one would dare believe what he has just done to you.

“Will the Emperors show mercy?” the Master of Ceremonies theatrically cries to the eagerly waiting crowd.

Geta rises to his feet, then, waving grandly as he takes his position next to his brother to rapturous applause.

As the rest of the Colosseum leans forward with rapt attention to hear what the Emperors will decide, you quickly find yourself slumped in exhaustion.

Your husband will most certainly be the death of you. And what a glorious death it will be.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

#emperor geta x reader #geta x reader #emperor geta x you #geta x you #emperor geta #geta #prettycalla writes #angie writes

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supernotnatural2005 · 3 months ago

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The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking.

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line.

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job.

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them.

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else.

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there.

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous.

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect.

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him.

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages.

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time?

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that.

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep.

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth. Shit. Because now you could feel it again. The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life. Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual. It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer. Yeah. You were so screwed.

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