#Of Books and Dirty Cash

[everfaye]

Stop trying to christianize me in the Walmart parking lot!!! I’m just here for a sample platter of CHEESECAKE!!!!

[smileysuh]

dumb frat boy

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I’d ask what you want me to do to you, but I did some research last night, watched some of that Hentaid shit you were talking about. It’s a lot of bondage, isn’t it, Angel? A lot of… creampies. You’ve got a thing for being held down and filled, huh? I guess…” he lets out a small laugh, “I guess I’m a little shocked, seeing as you’re so sassy with me. Guess you just want someone to put you in your place. What is it you called Johnny? A good daddy dom? I might not always be a dom, but for you, I can make it work.” 

tw/cw. yandere/stalker sub themes, ‘unknown’ caller, he’s horny, mentions of porn/masturbation, weed/alcohol use, unprotected sex, oral (m/f receiving), deep throating, face fucking, nipple pinching/nipple worship, fingering, dirty talk, praise, hyuck has a thick cock, cum/fullness kink, creampie, etc… I pet names: (hers) Angel (his) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.1k

🍭 aus. uni/frat au, yandere subthemes, Halloween, etc…

☀️ mlist + an.  We're back in the Ghostie au! I'm so happy to be able to put out a fic for Hyuck a year after the original story captivated so many of us <3

Prologue

“I’ve got the best idea ever,” Hyuck says the moment after he’s released his first breath from the bong.

Johnny lets out a sigh, leaning back in his recliner. “This better not be another themed wet tittie car wash fundraiser.”

“Excuse me, that idea was brilliant- pairing up with our sister sorority and being horny on cars while in costumes that somewhat resembled cars from the Disney movie Cars made us more cash for the Humane Society than we’ve ever raised, so dial it down on your tone there, Ghostie.” 

The elder frat boy rolls his eyes at the nickname. When word got out about how he wooed his girlfriend last Halloween, the term ‘Ghostie’ ended up sticking, and Johnny’s never been able to let down the sexy stalker angle, even this year's pledges know about it.

“As I was saying,” Hyuck continues, “I figure I’ll take a page out of your book, and do some weird phone call thing to woo my Angel.”

“Oh, so you’re finally gonna admit your feelings to your best friend?” Johnny asks in shock, sitting up to take a better look at the younger frat boy.

“Yes, but after a week of toying with her,” Hyuck announces. “It will be fun. We all know she got her nickname Angel because she’s really more of a demon, she’s going to love this shit.”

“Well, I guess you know her better than I do,” Johnny muses. “So what’s the plan?”

“Basically, you took the best phone call stalker with Ghost Face, but I figure there are other options out there. Have you ever seen Black Christmas?” 

“Like… the one from the seventies?” Johnny’s apprehension is clear in his features, and he reaches for the bong to take another hit.

“Yeah, the one where the dude calls the sorority and is a horny fuck on the phone.”

“Isn’t there some weird incest plot and jaundice thing in the second movie though?”

“No one watches the second movie! We don’t claim the way they butchered the story with that!” Hyuck exclaims, feeling agitated already. 

“I feel like, if you called her, and did the whole Black Christmas thing, she wouldn’t know what the fuck movie you’re referencing.” 

“They did a remake in 2019,” Hyuck insists.

“Did anyone actually watch it though?” Johnny’s an avid horror film lover, and if he hasn’t seen the remakes, it’s not looking good for you to be able to pick up the references, a thought that throws Hyuck off.

However, even though he’s been swayed, Hyuck won’t give up on this idea. “Look, think of it as a Love is Blind sort of thing- I can make her fall in love with me over the phone, and then when I reveal myself as her best friend, she’ll be all ‘woah, we’re soulmates!’”

Johnny looks as skeptical as ever. “Are you sure that’s the way this is going to go?”

Hyuck scrunches his nose up in distaste at the lack of support. “Yes.” 

The elder frat boy takes in a deep breath, shaking his head. “If this is what you want to do, I won’t stop you. I just… I think your Angel would react better if you were just straight up with her. Maybe there’s a reason the two of you have never gone past the friend stage. I think the good thing about me doing this last year, was I was just acquaintances with Tiny, I made it clear off the bat that I just wanted to know her better. If she didn’t want me, then that would be fine. If you do this with Angel, and she finds out it’s you and doesn’t return your feelings, you’re going to ruin a friendship.”

Hyuck thinks about what Johnny’s just said as he watches the tall resident Ghostie take another bong hit. It’s true- In Hyuck’s heart of hearts, he knows that… there must be a reason the two of you have never hooked up, but it’s a reason he’s never been able to identify.

The cocky side of him refuses to believe it’s because you’re not attracted to him- there’s definitely sexual tension between the two of you, so it must be something else. 

He’s so tired of toeing the line, especially since you’ve always been kindred, mischievous, horny little souls.

You were with Hyuck when he pranked Sigma Veta Tau last Christmas and put glitter on their ceiling fans. You were with Hyuck when he put a rotisserie chicken in Alpha Tappa Zeta’s air vents. In fact, you’ve been present at almost all of Hyuck’s master plan shenanigans. 

There’s something going on between the two of you and he knows it. 

Last year, when Johnny had pulled his little semi-stalker Ghostie stunt, Hyuck had noted that whoever was behind the anonymous calls had some balls to hit on a girl that way, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t live up to that.

“Listen,” Hyuck sighs. “This is between us. Angel is going to try to figure out who’s calling her, and I need you to keep your mouth shut, okay?”

“Fine,” Johnny agrees, shaking his head. “Hyuck, I love you, but sometimes I forget how much of a dumb frat boy you are.” 

“You know what?” Hyuck grabs at the bong. “I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.” 

Sunday

You’re in the middle of a much-needed nap. Curled up on your fuzzy blankets, your textbook long since discarded while your mood lighting twinkles through the space, it’s the most comfortable you’ve been all term. It’s late October, the nights come early, and you’re starting to not mind the cool air that seeps through the crack in your window.

It’s because you’re dead asleep, that when your phone rings, you don’t even check who’s calling. You simply bolt up, dazed and confused, reaching to pull your cell to your ear. 

“Hello?”

At first, all you hear is breathing on the other end of the line, and you roll your eyes. You’re no stranger to dumb calls, spam calls, and the like- but then, “Angel?”

Well, this is definitely not a spam caller, they wouldn’t know your nickname if it was.

“Who’s this?” you ask, pulling your phone away from your ear to look down at your screen. It’s a ‘No Caller ID,’ and you let out another exasperated sound.  

“A friend,” the person on the other end of the line tells you. 

“A friend I don’t have in my contacts?” you scoff.

“Burner phone, baby.”

“And what would be the point of getting a burner phone just to call little ol’ me?” you sigh, relaxing against your pillows and pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance. 

“Why so serious, Angel?”

“Jeeze, dude, if you’re going to do the whole creepy caller before Halloween cliche, at least stick to your character.” You can’t believe he’s quoting Health Ledger’s Joker at you now. “Who are you even trying to be? Ghost Face is so last Halloween, we all know Johnny knocked that shit out of the park. A copycat sequel is just… early 2000’s.”

“Okay, let me drop character for just a second,” the man on the other end of the line sighs, and you giggle at how his voice modulator emphasizes his own exasperation. “Think, horny telephone guy.”

“I wouldn’t call Ghost Face particularly horny, he was just a nerd.”

“I’m not Ghost Face!” he insists. “Scream came out in the mid-nineties, think earlier than that.” 

“What, am I supposed to be some kind of horror movie expert?” you scoff. 

“Fine, I’ll just tell you,” the guy sighs. “Have you seen Black Christmas?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Well, don’t go watch it, it has some cult following but it’s not even one of my favourites- the reason I chose the dude from that movie is because he’s a horny little fuck and calls a sorority house and some shit- and also, don’t look up the second movie, I don’t claim the sequel.” 

“Wow, I love that you chose a character based purely on horniness and not if the movie is even good,” you giggle.

“Well, Johnny took the best slasher caller! What was I supposed to do? Go all ghost child from The Black Phone movie?”

“What’s The Black Phone movie?”

“Ethan Hawke? Horror veteran, who plays the hero author in Sinister, turned bad guy in the 2021 film by the same director?” 

You let out a whistle. “TBH, dude, it sucks Johnny got to Ghostie first last year, because I’d bet money you know more about horror movies than he does.”

“I one hundred percent do!” 

“Okay, so back to the point,” you laugh. “You’re calling me as this horny dude from some Halloween Christmas movie- for what?”

“To talk to you?” he suggests. “To uh… be horny… at you?” 

“And what does this accomplish? I mean- we all know Johnny’s Ghostie story from last year, he called a girl every day, told her to come to his frat party, and revealed himself there. Is that your game plan?”

“I was thinking about it, but it sounds kind of lackluster now.”

“That’s because it’s not an original idea at all,” you point out.

“Sequels aren’t always original,” the man counters. “Lots of movies have the same plot just different characters, some recurring- look, it doesn’t have to be original. The original angle to this Halloween movie is that I’m going to be way more horny than Johnny probably ever was last year.” 

“And I’m just going to allow that?” you grin. 

“Yeah, because we both know why you have your nickname, don’t we, Angel? You’re a dirty little minx, and you’re going to love this.”

“Except, what if, Halloween comes, and you’re a frat guy that I think is ugly?” you ask. “If you know me, you know I have very specific tastes. There’s only a handful of guys I’d actually be interested in, what makes you think you’re one of them?”

The line is dead for a few stagnant seconds, then, “I just am, okay?”

“Cocky little fucker,” you giggle.

“Don’t be rude.” 

At this point, you’re pretty sure you know who’s on the other end of the line. 

There’s been a few tells from your best friend, Donghyuck. For example, he’s the biggest actual horror buff in the NCT frat. He idolizes Johnny, and was always salty that Mark got the Chicago man as a Big and not himself, so he had a close eye on the events that took place last year in NCT’s ‘Ghostie’ Saga. On top of all of this, there’s an extreme familiarity in the way he’s talking to you, a preexisting natural tint to his diction. Lastly, Hyuck’s the cockiest little dumb frat boy of them all, and it’s one of the reasons you’ve always loved him… one of the reasons you’ve also always kept a bit of distance from your best friend whenever situations have had the option of turning romantic.

Well, if this is how he wants to make his move at you, so be it.

Maybe he’ll convince you that he can be more than a good fuck- you’d never risk your friendship for a one-night stand, no, he’ll have to prove that he could go all in, that he deserves you.

And if all else is just extra, you can at least have some fun toying with Hyuck while he thinks he’s the one toying with you. 

“Okay,” you sigh, stretching. “Let's do this, but we can start tomorrow, you woke me up from a nap, and I’d very much like to get back to it.” 

Monday

“I’m not waking you up from a nap, am I, Angel?” 

“Nope,” you grin, mischief working its way through your mind as you think of the best way to throw Hyuck off. “I was just watching some porn, flicking the bean, you know, that sort of thing.”

You hear him choke. “F… Flicking the bean?”

“Come on, you have to have heard of flicking the bean!” you insist. “Buddy, you’re the one who’s supposed to be calling me to be horny, this is your perfect opportunity!”

“Right, I uh…” he coughs. “How’s… how’s the bean flicking going?”

“Dude, do you know anything about seduction?” you scoff. “‘How’s the bean flicking going,’” you imitate. “Lame!”

“Rude!” he counters.

God, he’s so obviously Hyuck and you bet he doesn’t even realize it. 

“You know what, if you must ask, the bean flicking is going really well.”

“What kind of porn do you watch?” he questions next. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease.

“Tell me,” Hyuck insists. 

“Might have to get you to beg if you want to hear those kinds of details.”

“I’m the creepy phone stalker, I call the shots.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure you do, buddy.” 

“Stop calling me buddy.”

“Okay, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude either!”

“Then what am I supposed to call you? It’s not like anyone knows the name of the slasher from Halloween Christmas, or whatever. You’re no Ghost Face, friend.”

“It’s Black Christmas,” he corrects you. “And I’m pretty sure his name is Billy.”

“Wow, how sexy, Billy,” you scoff. “You really didn’t think this one through that well, did you, buddy?”

“Original Ghost Face is who? Stu Matcher and Billy fucking Loomis,” Hyuck points out. “It’s not the worst name in the world.”

“Tell me one person who refers to Ghost Face as Billy Loomis though, one person, and I’ll tell you what porn I watch.”

“The… screenwriter?”

“Jesus Christ, dude. That’s such low-hanging fruit.”

“Now tell me what porn you watch.” 

You let out a deep sigh. “All this bickering has me not in the mood anymore.”

“Weird, I’m extra in the mood now.”

“Cuz you’re a weirdo who gets off on play fighting, I bet.” 

His voice takes on a whiney pitch when he says, “Tell me what porn you watch!” 

“Honestly?” You’re tired of this conversation, but you see one last opportunity to toy with Hyuck before you hang up. “Hentaid on Porn Hub, I’m all about that alien, tentacle shit,” your voice takes on the air of a damsel in distress when you muse, “No mortal man can ever satiate me, I’m afraid.”

“Holy shit,” Hyuck whispers. “Are you for real? Tentacle porn?”

“Uh huh, now, goodnight, buddy.” You hang up on Hyuck with a shit-eating grin on your face, knowing you’ve left him something to think about. 

Tuesday

“Hey,” you say, sitting down next to your best friend in the on-campus burger joint where you spend your Tuesday two-hour period between classes. “I’ve got something to talk to you about.”

Hyuck is mid-bite of a burger, and he holds up a hand, covering his obnoxious eating style. “Just a sec,” he mumbles. 

You wait patiently, staring at your friend while he finishes up. He’s in a black hoodie, and black t-shirt, and his laptop is open next to where he’s eating his combo meal. He’s usually here before you are, scoping out a booth and food so you two can chill in peace before your shared history course. 

History isn’t your major per se, it’s more of a special interest, and the same goes for Hyuck. He’s a film major- another obvious dent in his plan to fly under the radar as your phone stalker who just happens to know everything about horror movies. 

“Okay,” Hyuck says, swallowing the last of his large bite of food. “What’s up?”

“So on Sunday, I got a phone call from some dude with a burner phone,” you explain, watching closely as Hyuck’s brows raise just a moment too late to be legitimate surprise.

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’s trying to recreate Johnny’s whole Ghostie thing from last year, but as is the case with most sequels in the horror genre, he’s kind of missing the mark.”

Hyuck chokes a little on his food, and he reaches for his Coke to wash it down. “What’s he doing wrong?”

“What an odd question, Hyuck,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “But, to answer it, he’s just… not loose enough. He feels too rigid. I gave him an in last night, if you know what I mean, and he just, fumbled it.”

“An in?” Hyuck cocks his head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“You know, an opportunity to be horny with me.”

“And you want him to be horny with you?”

“I mean, that’s the whole point isn’t it? He promised me he’d be more horny than Johnny was last year, but I feel like Johnny probably had this whole daddy dom thing down- I don’t know what this new guy is trying to give, but he’s not giving, you feel me?”

“Huh, that’s weird,” Hyuck shrugs, picking up his burger again. “Do you have any guesses who it might be?”

You shrug. “He told me it was someone I think is hot. So that means it could be Jaehyun- God, you know how sexy I think Jaehyun is,” - you’re relishing in the way you get to tease Hyuck like this - “it could be Jeno, or Jaemin- I don’t think I’d even mind if both of them came up to me on Halloween, full original Scream style- Jaemin is definitely the Stu Matcher character, though.” 

“Jeeze, Angel,” Hyuck grimaces, putting his burger down and leaning back in the booth. “Do you have to talk about two of my best friends tag teaming you while I’m eating?”

“Sorry, babes,” you snicker. “I just think this week is going to be fun, and I can’t wait for my Billy Halloween Christmas stalker to find his A-game.”

You half expect Hyuck to correct you on the movie title, and you see him bite his tongue, fighting the urge to throw his own cover under the bus in a bid to protect the sanctity of cult films. But alas, Hyuck shuts himself up with another bite of his burger, and with one last look at your friend, you pull out your laptop to actually get some work done.

Wednesday

“Hey, bud,” you answer your call with a grin, twirling your hair around your finger while your eyes skim your textbook. “What happened yesterday? You never called.”

“You looked busy,” comes a curt retort.

“Oh… did you see me with Hyuck?” you stifle a laugh, of course he’s going to play this jealousy angle, when in reality, he was probably just butthurt about you toying with him. 

“It was hard not to notice you with him,” he responds. 

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“What’s your relationship with him?”

God, Hyuck must be very desperate to be trying to get details out of you about how you feel about him, through his alter ego.

You take a deep breath, closing your book and leaning back in your chair. “We’re close,” you start.

“But just friends.” 

“Just friends,” you confirm. “I guess, I mean, obviously he’s cute. There’s no argument about Hyuck being cute. And he’s fun, he’s cocky, he’s mischievous- I guess my one concern with him is if he could do something long term. I may come off as a dirty little demon child, but in reality- I don’t want to put all my eggs in one guys basket if he’s busy collecting eggs, if that makes any sense.”

“You want a guy who just wants you, who puts in the effort.”

“Exactly.” 

“I’m putting in effort,” your ‘mystery man’ points out.

“I suppose this could be considered effort.” 

“I spent twenty five bucks on this burner phone.”

“Wow, buddy, that must have broke the bank.” 

“I have money!” he insists.

Hyuck definitely has money, it’s one of the reasons he’s probably so cocky. He comes from a large line of Lee’s, a family group that owns development all around the country. You’ve tried not to let any gold digging inklings stain your perception of the frat boy though, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Hey, friend?” you ask, choosing a base level nickname for this man who is clearly Hyuck.

“Yes, Angel?”

“Were you thinking about it yesterday?”

“Thinking about what?”

“Me, you know… watching alien tentacle porn and flicking my bean.” You try to make your voice sound innocent, but you can’t help the mischievous grin that works it’s way onto your face. 

You can hear him swallow thickly. “Hold that thought, I’m going to call you back.” 

“Wait-” before you can get an explanation, the line goes dead, and you release an annoyed huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

He’s such a little shit, leaving you hanging like this-

Two minutes go by, then five- and just as you’re starting to be really annoyed, Hyuck calls you back.

“Took you long enough,” you snap.

“Listen, Angel, I needed to get in the mood. I’m too rigid talking to a pretty girl like you, had to take some of the load off.” You can tell, even under his modulated voice, that Hyuck has most definitely just gotten into some weed.

This is so classic him- and to be completely fair, you’ve witnessed the effects of Mary-Jane on one mister Lee Donghyuck. He’s much more suave while green, less anxious, more willing to take risks.

“So, to answer your question,” Hyuck continues, letting out a breath. “I have been thinking about you. Been thinking about your cute voice, how it would sound begging, whining, whimpering- what little noises you’d make choking on cock, or tentacle-” Hyuck laughs. “I’ll be honest, I don’t have an octopus dick or anything. If you let me, you’ll have to be okay with a human style back breaking.” 

You’re shocked.

Had he really just said all of this to you?

Was weed all it took for him to pull up his big boy panties and lay some actual sin onto you?

You can’t ignore the way your pussy flutters with interest at his words, and you shift uncomfortably in your chair. “I’m sure we can make it work… what kind of tool are you packing, buddy?” 

Hyuck chuckles. “It’s thick, I think it will do the job.”

Hyuck isn’t the tallest frat boy, but in no way is he the smallest either. He’s average, and to think that he has an above average girthy dick- well, you can’t help lick your lips in interest. 

“Stalker got your tongue, Angel?” Hyuck asks. “You’ve just gone awfully quiet.”

“I’m just…” you swallow thickly. “Just thinking.”

“About my thick cock splitting you open?” 

God, your pussy is throbbing now- “How… our first few calls were so awkward-”

“I promised you dirty, didn’t I? Needed some courage first, but… I can tell you’re not mad about it.” 

You’re definitely not mad about it.

You think maybe part of you would be upset if you didn’t know your ‘mystery caller’s’ identity- but the safety of knowing, in your heart of hearts, that this is Hyuck- it changes everything, and you can allow yourself to feel the pleasure already beating through you.

“I’d ask what you want me to do to you, but I did some research last night, watched some of that Hentaid shit you were talking about. It’s a lot of bondage, isn’t it, Angel? A lot of… creampies. You’ve got a thing for being held down and filled, huh? I guess…” he lets out a small laugh, “I guess I’m a little shocked, seeing as you’re so sassy with me. Guess you just want someone to put you in your place. What is it you called Johnny? A good daddy dom? I might not always be a dom, but for you, I can make it work.” 

“So…” you find it hard to even speak because he’s so right about his assessment that it hurts. “So… you’re more of a switch?”

“I can be. Generally, I’m not about strict roles in the bedroom, but if you’re into that sort of thing, I can see what it’s about.” 

“Tell me more about being a switch?”

“Don’t want to give you too many details about myself, these calls are about you, Angel.” 

You let out a groan.

“Be patient,” he reminds you. “And tell me, are you as wet right now as I am hard?”

This time, the sound you release is really more of a moan, and it makes Hyuck chuckle darkly.

“I’ll take that as a yes… are you gonna touch yourself after this? Gonna do all the work I can’t do, not yet, anyway.” 

“Maybe…”

“I like the thought of that, two horny people, whacking off together after a phone call, different rooms, but we’ll be on each other’s minds.” 

You get the suspicion that Hyuck is going to be on your mind for a whole lot longer than simply your upcoming bean-flicking session. 

Thursday

“I’m here, I’m here! What’s the emergency!” Mark asks, out of breath, his cheeks flushed from the cold outside and having just run across campus.

“It’s not an emergency, don’t worry, just sit!” you tell him, pushing out a chair.

“Angel, you texted me, and I quote,” he pulls out his phone, “911, meet me at our spot in the library asap.”

“Well, I wanted you to come,” you shrug.

“God, you’re as much of a drama queen as Hyuck is,” Mark sighs, taking his seat across from you. 

“Speaking of Hyuck…” you grin, leaning forward and clasping your hands together, “your roommate decided to go full Ghostie this year.”

“Wait, he’s not doing Ghost Face for Halloween-”

“No, I mean, like, stalker phone call Johnny Ghostie,” you clarify. 

“What?” Mark’s expression is blank, and he looks completely unimpressed.

“Basically, he called me on Sunday, did this whole thing about doing a Black Christmas character or some shit- he’s been calling me from a burner phone with a voice modulator-”

“Jesus Christ,” Mark sighs, covering his eyes with his hand. 

“The moral of the story is, Halloween night, I’m calling dibs on your room.”

“My room?” Mark peaks out at you through his fingers.

“Your roommate has to get laid. Actually, scratch that, I have to get laid… with your roommate.” 

“This is so-” Mark groans. “I thought we were over this stalker Halloween thing to get girls. Don’t any of us have respect or standards anymore?”

“You’re frat boys, Mark, so the answer on that one is going to be a no from me.”

“Why are you even into this?” Mark questions further. “Like- what’s so sexy about any of this?”

“I mean… it shows Hyuck cares?”

“He cares enough to get a burner phone and a voice modulator and call you and be creepy and horny? Wow, what a huge chivalrous act of love.” 

You narrow your eyes at Mark Lee. “I’m not enjoying your sarcasm, mister.”

“And I’m not enjoying this,” Mark retorts, pointing between the two of you. “Fuck, fine, have my room on Halloween.”

“Last thing though, Hyuck can’t know that I know that he’s the one calling me.” 

“Wait, so this isn’t a bit? He’s committed to trying to trick you?” Mark leans back in his chair, his expression getting even more bleak. “The two of you are crazier than I thought.” 

As you open your mouth to respond, your phone rings, and you look down to see Hyuck’s burner ‘No Caller ID.’

“Heya, buddy,” you answer, bringing your finger to your lips to shush Mark.

“Watcha up to?”

“Just in the library with a friend.”

Hyuck’s tone shifts. “Which friend?”

“Mark, you probably know him.”

“Of course I know fucking Mark. Why’s he with you?” 

“Just chatting… why? You jealous?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!” You let out a laugh. “Buddy, settle down, we both know I’m not into Mark Lee, we’ve talked about this before.”

“We’ve never talked about Mark,” Hyuck responds, and you realize, you may have just betrayed that you know who he is-

“I mean, he wasn’t on my list with Jaehyun, or Jeno, or Jaemin-” you quickly cover your blunder, and Hyuck releases an annoyed sound.

“I get it, I get it,” he groans. “Fine, finish up your time with fucking Mark, then.” 

“Don’t be salty about this,” you warn.

“Yeah, whatever.” 

Friday

It’s the final day before Halloween, and if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that Hyuck is working. The SVT and NCT frats are the primary workers at the on-campus bar, Skeets, so they have a deal that NCT works the Friday before Halloween, and SVT works the Saturday. 

Knowing these details, you’re also aware that it’s possible Hyuck won’t be home till three am, so you’re a little shocked when you get a call at one.

“Hi, Angel.”

“If it isn’t my favorite stalker,” you grin, pausing your horror film- in all truth, you’d decided to watch Black Christmas, and now you can see why Hyuck told you not to bother, he hasn’t nailed the deranged attitude of the main villain at all. 

“Watcha doin?”

“Not much, you?”

“Not much,” he responds.

“Are you sure?” you counter. “Cuz something tells me maybe you’re working right now… did you get a break, buddy?”

“I’m not working,” he insists. 

“Sure you’re not,” you laugh, dropping the line of questioning. “Hey, tell me again why you chose Billy from Black Christmas?” 

“Seriously?” Hyuck lets out a sigh. “I guess I just wanted… an excuse to be horny on the phone for you, even if it’s just for a week.”

He sounds defeated, and you’re not shocked. Halloween is the busiest night of the year at the bar Hyuck works at, if anything, you’re surprised he even had a moment to dip outside and call you.

“You’re cute,” you muse. “You sound tired, so I’ll let you go, but uh… I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You will.”

“And how will I know it’s you?” 

“You just will, goodnight, Angel.” 

Saturday 

You’ve just arrived at the frat party, and already, you’re on the hunt for Hyuck.

At this point, you’re tired of the games. You feel closer to Hyuck, in some odd, sinister sort of way- closer than you ever have before. And you’re tired of hiding it, tired of this weird cat and mouse- you just want to have a conversation with him, to get everything out into the open so you can truly discuss your feelings.

You find him by the beer pong table. He’s in a full denim fit, and you can’t put your finger on who he is as you approach.

“Hey, Hyuck,” you greet, tucking into his side so he can hear you over the music. “Nice Canadian Tuxedo.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

“Uh…” You look at him blankly. “Are you talking about your denim costume? Or the way you’ve been calling me all week?”

Hyuck stares at you in shock. “Uh…” he clears his throat. “I’m Ken… you know, from the Barbie movie.” 

“Right…” you trail off, wondering if he’s going to touch on the Black Christmas side of things.

“Also… what do you mean? About me calling you all week?”

“Hyuck,” you sigh. “Please don’t try to avoid this. Just be honest. It’s you. I know it’s you.” 

He looks at you, and you can see the cogs turning in his mind.

“You told me you’d reveal yourself tonight,” you continue. “I know I kind of just threw you under the bus, maybe I ruined your master plan or something, but I’m tired of pretending I don’t know it’s one of my best friends who’s been calling me all week being horny.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice lowering. His eyes search yours, as if he’s trying to get a read on you.

“Hyuck,” you let out a laugh, “I’m not mad at all, but I think we should go to your room and talk this out a little, don’t you?”

“I guess that’s a good idea,” he acquiesces. 

“Then let’s go.” You grab his hand, lacing your fingers so you can drag him to the stairs that lead to the second floor. You don’t say anything as you move, you’re on a mission, and what you need to discuss with him is better said alone than in a crowd of horny Halloween partygoers.

You make it to the privacy of his room, and you shut the door behind you. “So?”

“So?” Hyuck moves through the space, and you notice him heading for his bong.

“Hey, don’t do that,” you sigh.

“Don’t do what?” he asks.

“You don’t need to get high to have this conversation.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t want you to be high when we do this.” 

Hyuck lets out another deep breath. “This isn’t how I planned things.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” you admit, watching him take a seat on his bed. “How did you see tonight panning out?” 

“I suppose I figured I could get some drinks in, liquid courage, that sort of thing. And then, maybe I’d reveal myself at the end of the night or something.”

“Are you really so scared of me that you need to be drinking to confess how you feel?” you ask, melting a little. You approach Hyuck, sitting carefully on the bed next to him while he faces clear inner turmoil.

“I’m not afraid,” he states, but you can tell from the tone of his voice that there’s something else going on. “I just… You told me you only want a man who can commit, a guy who only has eyes for you- and, I do, but… we both know my playboy track record, and I guess… I just worry about hurting you.”

“Do you want to hurt me?” you question, tilting your head as you try to understand him.

“No, never.”

“Do you think you’re at the point where you could settle down a little? I’m not trying to get you to stop partying, I just mean… committing to one girl, is that something you think you’re capable of?”

“If it’s you, then yeah… I think so,” he nods, finally meeting your eyes.

He looks so vulnerable, and it’s very different from how you usually view your mischievous friend.

“Hyuck,” you whisper, unable to help the way your hand raises to cup his cheek. “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are. If there’s something real here, and it’s not just you being a horny, dumb frat boy.”

“Okay, rude,” Hyuck laughs, showing you a glimmer of the him that you know and love, “It’s more than being horny… but… in all honesty, seeing you in this fucking faerie costume has me all hot and bothered.”

“Yeah?” You lean closer, grinning. Your lips ghost over his when you say your next words, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Hyuck sucks in a sharp breath, his pupils dilating- you’re so close to him, and you can make out all the pretty shades of brown in his irises. Gosh, he really is a pretty frat boy. 

His hands find your hips, and he tugs your body closer. You can feel him breathing, his gaze darting between your own and your mouth. You watch his tongue dip out to wet his lips, and he swallows thickly.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, finally smashing his lips to your own. 

It’s not gentle by any means, but it’s not necessarily aggressive either- one word to describe this kiss, is: desperate. He’s so eager, and you kind of love it, love the way he tugs you flush to his own body, one hand moving to cup your cheek- his tongue glides against your own and you stifle a moan, shifting in his embrace so you can wrap your arms around his neck.

It feels so good to be pressed against him like this- you’re actually kind of shocked at how good it feels. And his hands, exploring your body, keeping you close, fingers digging into your hips-

Hyuck is everywhere, devouring you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh,” you whisper, when Hyuck’s mouth moves to your neck. “By the way, I called dibs on your room with Mark, he won’t be bothering us.”

Your dumb frat boy pulls away from your throat, a grin on his face. “You really knew it was me all along, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle, buddy,” you laugh.

Hyuck shakes his head, reaching to lock the door before his hands ensnare you again. He pushes his body against yours, urging you to move backward until your calves hit the bed. Before pushing you down, he removes your faerie costume wings, and only once the more delicate part of your costume is discarded, does he shove you onto his mattress.

“Hyuck,” you giggle, looking up at him with starry eyes.

“You look so good like this,” Hyuck muses, tugging his denim ‘Ken’ style vest off to reveal a body hardened from Frat mandated work out brother time. He’s not too big, not too built- Hyuck still has some pudge on him, but you kind of love it. You love that it’s not a full six pack and bulging biceps- you can imagine that when this is all done, he’ll be lovely to cuddle with.

In fact, you’re not sure it would matter how muscled Hyuck is. Sure, it helps that he’s physically fit and hot, but- at this point in your friendship, you’re attracted to him for so much more than his body.

No man makes you laugh like him. No man has spent the time that he has to understand you and make you feel comfortable with him knowing you, the true you, the you that you don’t get to show many others.

Hyuck is just… he’s good for you, and he always has been. That goodness has so far been a friend capacity sort of thing, but you’re excited about the new development in your relationship. You think there’s true potential with him, and it makes you dizzy as you stare up at one of your best friends.

“I kind of want to eat you out, Angel,” Hyuck admits, one hand finding your thigh and pushing your short dress even higher up  your leg.

“Funny, I kind of want to suck you off,” you grin, lifting one foot out of your shoe to tease your toes across the front of his jeans.

“So… sixty-nine?” Hyuck asks, gently tracing his fingers across your exposed skin, setting tingles of pleasure off to erupt and skitter through your form.

“That would work, but… I guess… I kind of want to lay with my head lolled off the side of the bed, your cock in my mouth, and your fingers pinching at my nipples while I work my own clit at the same time.”

“Jesus,” Hyuck breathes, swallowing thickly as he looks up at you. “How could I say no to that?” 

“Then, when I’m close to cumming, you can eat me out, get me there, then fuck me stupid for your own release.”

“It’s funny,” Hyuck chuckles, “Here I thought I was the horny one calling you and trying to be a creep, but you’re the one with the dirty mouth and the great ideas.”

“Yeah, your whole Black Christmas thing really wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever heard,” you tease.

“How many times do I have to admit it was a shitty plan but I just wanted to get close to you?”

“At least once more.”

“Fine. Now flip around, loll your head off my bed, let me put my cock down your throat and pinch your nipples while you toy with your cute pussy.”

“How do you know my pussy is cute?” you ask. “You haven't even seen it yet.”

“I’ve been imagining, baby, and as a film major, my imagination is pretty fucking good.”

You giggle, getting into position for Hyuck. He stands near your head as you loll it off the side of the bed, and you get a good view of his bulge straining in his jeans.

“You’re excited,” you muse, cupping him through the denim.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he laughs, undoing his button, then the zipper. “Fuck, you look so good laid out like this.”

“Yeah?” You pull the top of your dress down, releasing your boobs.

“Fuuuuuck,” Hyuck groans, pausing his motions on his jeans to reach down and massage your newly exposed breast. “I knew your tits would be perfect.”

You moan at the feeling of his warm hands. His fingers pinch at your nipple and your moan turns into a whine. “Feels good.”

“You feel good,” he counters.

“Get your cock out,” you instruct, feeling impatient.

“Start rubbing your pussy,” Hyuck retorts with a laugh.

“Yes, sir,” you respond teasingly, reaching one of your hands down to your thighs. You slip it under your dress, deciding on taking your panties off alltogether. 

Hyuck continues to massage you as you pull off your thong. 

You can’t help yourself, you toss it at him, and Hyuck lets go of your breast in favour of catching it. “Fuck, these are cute,” he says, admiring your panties.

“I knew I’d be getting laid.”

His tone shifts to the darker, more annoyed side of things. “Yeah?”

“And don’t get all angsty, I knew I’d be fucking you tonight.” 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Hyuck grins, putting your panties in his pocket before he undoes his jeans, shifting them down his thighs.

The fucker isn’t wearing underwear, and you get a good view of his cock for the first time.

“Fuck, dude, you weren’t lying when you said you were thick,” you muse, licking your lips.

“I’d never lie to you about my cock,” he laughs.

You slip one hand between your thighs, stroking your wet core- it’s crazy how turned on you are from this, but part of you thinks this has been building for a while- for a week, actually.

Hyuck strokes his cock, looking down at you. “Ready for this?” he asks.

“Put it in my mouth,” you command, opening wide for him.

“If I’m going to deep, push my thigh,” he tells you as he slips his cock past your lips.

You moan a sound of affirmation around him, immediately beginning to suck on his tip, getting used to his size before you take more.

Hyuck is surprisingly gentle with how much he’s allowing you to take. If you hadn’t been pacing yourself, you’re sure he’d be pacing you of his own accord. 

One of his hands finds your breast again, pinching the nipple and sending jitters of pleasure down to your throbbing core.

You groan louder around him, sucking more into your mouth as you increase the pressure on your clit.

“This is so fucking hot,” Hyuck moans, thrusting gently into your mouth so you can lay flat and still, allowing him to do most of the work while you rub your pussy deliciously.

You can only let out a sound of affirmation as he uses your mouth.

With your eyes closed, you can focus fully on the feeling of pleasure that’s building inside of you. 

When you’d imagined fucking Hyuck for the first time, this hadn’t necessarily been a position at the forefront of your thoughts- but when he’d suggested eating you out, you’d realized this is exactly what you’d wanted. 

You want to give back to him, want to show him how much you’ve appreciated him taking the leap and telling you how he feels- even if it was in some weird, dumb frat boy, phone call kind of way. 

The way he’s pinching your thighs is actually delicious- and then, you hear him spit, and you feel the cool liquid hit your chest. This time, when he rubs his thumb over your nipple, he spreads his spit across your skin, making it even more intense.

“Part of me just wants to cum on these perfect tits,” he admits.

You make a very clear sound of disagreement, and Hyuck pulls his cock out of your mouth. You’d been salivating so much that as he moves away, your own saliva drips back down onto your face from his length. You swallow thickly, finding your voice. “Need you to cum inside of me.”

“Fuuuuck,” Hyuck groans, pinching your nipple even harder. “You and your creampie kink.”

He slips his cock back into your mouth, and you greedily eat him up.

Then he leans further over your body, his fingers joining yours on your core. “You’re so fucking wet,” he muses, pushing your hand out of your way so he can rub your clit, gently fucking your face as he does so.

It’s a shallow face fucking, as he’s bent over your laid down body to access your core, but you don’t mind.

Your eyes are still closed, and you’re enjoying every sensation, bringing your free hands up to your breasts to massage them and pinch your own nipples.

“You look so sexy, want you to cum so bad so I can fuck you stupid,” he tells you, rubbing your clit even harder.

You rut your hips up toward his hand, a non verbal motion that tells him you’re close.

God, it’s like he’s been in your pants before- he knows exactly how to stroke and massage your clit-

“And you’re still sucking me off so good-” he continues. “And grabbing at your tits too, you’re my insatiable little Angel, aren’t you?”

You moan deeply around his cock, and Hyuck fucks you a little harder, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, feeling tears in your eyes.

“Shit, sorry, Angel, fuck, that just felt so good- can I do it again? Can I fuck your throat again?”

You make a sound of affirmation, shocked at how your body had reacted to his cock being fully inside of your mouth. A tingle of excitement had run through you, your nipples getting intensely sensitive, your core throbbing-

Hyuck does it again, hitting the back of your throat, and the same sensation happens. You can feel yourself getting desperately close to the edge, and you hardly have to do anything. Other than pinching your own nipples, Hyuck is the one taking care of you, and you kind of love it.

“I can tell you’re close, Angel,” Hyuck chuckles. “Fuck, gonna cum from me fucking your face and rubbing your clit, right?”

You moan desperately, wiggling your hips. Hyuck reads your cue, rubbing your clit even harder.

Now, you can’t help but pull off his cock, pushing his thigh to give you a bit of space.

“You good?” he asks, motions pausing.

“Yeah,” you tell him, swallowing thickly as you grab his cock to stroke him off. “Just keep- fuck, keep rubbing me like that, I’m so close-”

“Fuck this,” Hyuck mutters, and all of the sudden, he’s pulling away.

You let out a whine- only for him to spin you on his bed. He sinks to his knees, drawing your core to the edge where your head had just been, then he dives in, his lips immediately suctioning around your clit.

Two fingers push into your aching core and you whimper desperately, grabbing at his hair to keep him on your pussy as he works you closer and closer-

“Hyuck-” you cry out, muscles clenching-

One more slurp on your clit has you topping over the edge, entire body electrified by the orgasm surging through you.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your sounds as he works you through your high. He doesn’t quit, doesn’t pull away- he sucks your clit through your entire high, until your thighs are shaking on his shoulders and you’re on the verge of tears.

“Okay-” you whimper, pushing at his head. “Sensitive-”

Hyuck finally lets up. You open your eyes to watch him stand, pulling his fingers from your core and sliding them into his own mouth.

“You taste just like Halloween candy, baby,” he muses, eyes clouded with lust.

“I wanna taste,” you whisper.

Hyuck pushes his jeans completely off, and then he gets on top of you, smashing his lips to your own. The flavour of your pussy is hot on his tongue, and it invades your senses, driving you wild as you kiss him deeper, threading your fingers through his hair.

His cock nudges between your pussy lips as he grinds down against you, rocking his hips.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, moving your mouth to suck on his ear lobe.

“Shit,” Hyuck groans, shivering from the sensation of your tongue on his ear. “Want you naked first.”

He pulls away just long enough to tug your dress up and over your head, then he returns to his spot, his cock rutting against your core once more.

The two of you have been friends forever. Hyuck knows you have an IUD, he’d been there for you when you’d gotten it last year, when you’d just wanted to stay in bed and rot for a few days. There’s no need to discuss birth control or safety- all there’s left to do, is have his thick cock fill you in ways you’ve been wanting all week.

Hyuck adjusts, grabbing his base so he can push his tip into your throbbing hole.

“Fuck,” you whimper in his ear, clutching his shoulders as he pushes an inch into you.

“You good?” he asks, breath hot on your throat.

“So good,” you respond, locking your legs around his hips.

He pushes deeper into your pussy, and your core welcomes him in, walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock. 

Hyuck bottoms out, and you both groan deeply. He forces his lips onto your own again, and it’s a clash of teeth and tongues.

It’s animalistic in the best sort of way- like you’ve both been caged up for as long as you’ve known each other, and you’re finally letting your beasts out to do the most primal thing imaginable.

There are no thoughts in your mind as Hyuck begins to fuck you, there’s only you, him, and this intense feeling of pleasure.

You feel so connected to him- missionary isn’t always the most fun position, but with Hyuck, it feels right. It feels like this was meant to be your first time together, face to face, lip locked, breathing each other in, moaning desperately as he takes you as his own.

“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, gently biting on your lip. “Your pussy is taking me so fucking well- first your mouth, now this- how do you expect me to last long?”

“I don’t,” you giggle. “You made me cum so hard on your tongue, I’m about ready to be filled with your cum and then lay here.”

“I’m gonna cuddle the shit out of you after this.”

“You better,” you grin.

Hyuck smiles against your lips, kissing you again as he fucks you even harder.

The stretch of his girthy cock is unlike anything else- and it feels like heaven as he pounds you into his mattress.

“Rub your clit?” he suggests.

“I can’t- I can’t cum again,” you whimper, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

“I’ll have to train you to cum more after this,” he promises.

You can only grin, drawing his lips to your own again as he uses you to find the ends of his own pleasure.

His whimpering sounds are like music to your ears- fuck, Hyuck is too hot to even imagine. Had this guy really been one of your best friends for this long without you ever exploiting this?

You’re so fucking happy he’d called you and been weird all week- it was the perfect foreplay, and now, you’re completely enraptured by him.

“Shit,” Hyuck groans. 

“You close, baby?” you ask.

“Fuck, call me baby again.”

“Baby,” you whimper, “your cock feels so good in my tight pussy.”

Hyuck moans even louder. 

“Just like that,” you encourage him, tightening your legs on his hips. “Keep doing that- right there-” The tip of his cock is hitting the perfect spots inside of you, and you’re gasping from the feeling, burrowing your face in his throat and panting against his skin.

“Shit, Angel-”

“Cum for me, baby, cum in my pussy,” you urge him.

That’s all it takes for him to explode, letting out a deep groan as he releases deep inside your core, coating your walls with him.

His thrusts falter, his breathing laboured, entire body shivering-

You stroke the back of his head, cooing in his ear, helping him through it until he’s finished, coming to a stop ontop of you and breathing heavily.

“Good boy,” you tease.

Hyuck lets out a deep chuckle, and it turns into a sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“And you’d love that.”

“I would,” he admits. “Okay, fuck, I’m gonna pull out, gonna grab some tissues and sweat pants- we can head to the bathroom down the hall and hopefully clean up a little, then we’re gonna cuddle.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” you grin, laying there as he groans and gets off of you, following through with his intentions.

Soon, cum is being wiped from your pussy and you’re being helped into sweatpants.

The two of you exit his room, and you’re very pleased to see that most of the party is downstairs, leaving his floor pretty vacant. 

You make your way to the bathroom with him, clutching his hand.

Once there, you both clean up, and you listen to Hyuck splash water on his face while you pee, making sure all his cum is out of you.

The two of you make it back to his room, collapsing into bed. He pulls you to his chest, cuddling you close.

“Before I pass out… how did you know it was me on the phone?” he asks.

“Out of everyone in the frat, you idolize Johnny the most. It wasn’t a reach that you’d recreate his Ghostie thing last year. On top of that, you’re a film major, you know horror movies better than anyone else. And, you’re a horny fucker, which is something I’ve always loved about you- I just… I needed you to make a move, which you never really did, until now. It just… made sense that it was you. The way we talk to each other, I could tell it was you from the very first call.”

“Here I was, thinking I was all suave and shit.”

“You were very suave, baby,” you grin, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Happy Halloween, Angel.”

You giggle. “Happy Halloween.” 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! find my other nct frat fics (including Ghostie) HERE. I made this meme for this fic because it's so them.

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🔮 preview. “So, I’m gonna finger fuck you stupid,” he explains, pushing his digits back into you. “And then, I’m going to apply pressure, right here-” Hyuck’s hand smooths across your abdomen, even the slightest push makes you feel his fingers deep in your core, and you release a whine of pleasure. “Yeah, you’re going to love this,” he confirms with a grin. 

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral ( f receiving), pussy worship, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, overstim, squirting, dirty talk, praise, Hyuck holds the reader down by her abdomen, etc… I petnames: (y/n’s) Angel. (his) Baby. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader

bonus

You love Hyuck, you do- but sometimes (especially when watching movies) he has this tendency to… well, never shut up.

“Okay so, coming up, when the alien pops out of his body, the director didn’t tell anyone this was going to happen, so when Sigourney Weaver and the others react, it’s genuine shock and surprise-”

You love his facts too, you do… but… sometimes, they get a bit much.

“Baby,” you coo, cuddling closer to your boyfriend, “Can we just… watch the movie?”

“We are watching the movie.”

“I mean… God, I’m going to sound like a bitch, but can we get through like… ten minutes without a fun fact?”

“But… my fun facts are fun.”

“They are, baby, they are,” you assure him, patting his chest, “I just…” you sigh, “ten minutes?”

“I can think of a distraction for my mouth,” Hyuck grins.

Your pussy immediately flutters, picking up on what he’s saying. “Yeah? Don’t you want to watch the movie?”

“I’ve seen it a billion times.” His hand rubs your shoulder and he nuzzles against your cheek, breath hot on your skin. “Come on, let me eat out your pretty pussy. I’ve been wanting to overstim you for a hot minute- I think I could get three or four out of you while you’re watching.”

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

China hacked Verizon, AT&T and Lumen using the FBI’s backdoor

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

State-affiliated Chinese hackers penetrated AT&T, Verizon, Lumen and others; they entered their networks and spent months intercepting US traffic – from individuals, firms, government officials, etc – and they did it all without having to exploit any code vulnerabilities. Instead, they used the back door that the FBI requires every carrier to furnish:

https://www.wsj.com/tech/cybersecurity/u-s-wiretap-systems-targeted-in-china-linked-hack-327fc63b?st=C5ywbp&reflink=desktopwebshare_permalink

In 1994, Bill Clinton signed CALEA into law. The Communications Assistance for Law Enforcement Act requires every US telecommunications network to be designed around facilitating access to law-enforcement wiretaps. Prior to CALEA, telecoms operators were often at pains to design their networks to resist infiltration and interception. Even if a telco didn't go that far, they were at the very least indifferent to the needs of law enforcement, and attuned instead to building efficient, robust networks.

Predictably, CALEA met stiff opposition from powerful telecoms companies as it worked its way through Congress, but the Clinton administration bought them off with hundreds of millions of dollars in subsidies to acquire wiretap-facilitation technologies. Immediately, a new industry sprang into being; companies that promised to help the carriers hack themselves, punching back doors into their networks. The pioneers of this dirty business were overwhelmingly founded by ex-Israeli signals intelligence personnel, though they often poached senior American military and intelligence officials to serve as the face of their operations and liase with their former colleagues in law enforcement and intelligence.

Telcos weren't the only opponents of CALEA, of course. Security experts – those who weren't hoping to cash in on government pork, anyways – warned that there was no way to make a back door that was only useful to the "good guys" but would keep the "bad guys" out.

These experts were – then as now – dismissed as neurotic worriers who simultaneously failed to understand the need to facilitate mass surveillance in order to keep the nation safe, and who lacked appropriate faith in American ingenuity. If we can put a man on the moon, surely we can build a security system that selectively fails when a cop needs it to, but stands up to every crook, bully, corporate snoop and foreign government. In other words: "We have faith in you! NERD HARDER!"

NERD HARDER! has been the answer ever since CALEA – and related Clinton-era initiatives, like the failed Clipper Chip program, which would have put a spy chip in every computer, and, eventually, every phone and gadget:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clipper_chip

America may have invented NERD HARDER! but plenty of other countries have taken up the cause. The all-time champion is former Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, who, when informed that the laws of mathematics dictate that it is impossible to make an encryption scheme that only protects good secrets and not bad ones, replied, "The laws of mathematics are very commendable, but the only law that applies in Australia is the law of Australia":

https://www.zdnet.com/article/the-laws-of-australia-will-trump-the-laws-of-mathematics-turnbull/

CALEA forced a redesign of the foundational, physical layer of the internet. Thankfully, encryption at the protocol layer – in the programs we use – partially counters this deliberately introduced brittleness in the security of all our communications. CALEA can be used to intercept your communications, but mostly what an attacker gets is "metadata" ("so-and-so sent a message of X bytes to such and such") because the data is scrambled and they can't unscramble it, because cryptography actually works, unlike back doors. Of course, that's why governments in the EU, the US, the UK and all over the world are still trying to ban working encryption, insisting that the back doors they'll install will only let the good guys in:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/05/theyre-still-trying-to-ban-cryptography/

Any back door can be exploited by your adversaries. The Chinese sponsored hacking group know as Salt Typhoon intercepted the communications of hundreds of millions of American residents, businesses, and institutions. From that position, they could do NSA-style metadata-analysis, malware injection, and interception of unencrypted traffic. And they didn't have to hack anything, because the US government insists that all networking gear ship pre-hacked so that cops can get into it.

This isn't even the first time that CALEA back doors have been exploited by a hostile foreign power as a matter of geopolitical skullduggery. In 2004-2005, Greece's telecommunications were under mass surveillance by US spy agencies who wiretapped Greek officials, all the way up to the Prime Minister, in order to mess with the Greek Olympic bid:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_wiretapping_case_2004%E2%80%9305

This is a wild story in so many ways. For one thing, CALEA isn't law in Greece! You can totally sell working, secure networking gear in Greece, and in many other countries around the world where they have not passed a stupid CALEA-style law. However the US telecoms market is so fucking huge that all the manufacturers build CALEA back doors into their gear, no matter where it's destined for. So the US has effectively exported this deliberate insecurity to the whole planet – and used it to screw around with Olympic bids, the most penny-ante bullshit imaginable.

Now Chinese-sponsored hackers with cool names like "Salt Typhoon" are traipsing around inside US telecoms infrastructure, using the back doors the FBI insisted would be safe.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/07/foreseeable-outcomes/#calea

Image: Kris Duda, modified https://www.flickr.com/photos/ahorcado/5433669707/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[honeylations]

KIM MINJEONG x FEM!READER

Prompt: you kept your pornstar job a secret from your curious roommate, but when an abrupt incident comes up a few minutes before filming, there was only one way to solve it

Warnings/Notes: pornstar reader, g!p Minjeong, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, dirty talking

“Jeongie~ I’m off to work now. There’s chicken in the fridge if you’re hungry”

Your roommate pauses the penguin documentary she’s watching on the big screen to sit up on the couch and pout. “You’re working again? It’s like you don’t want to spend time with me”

“Of course I want to spend time with you, Jeongie! But it’s important for me to work otherwise we wouldn’t be living in this amazing apartment!” You reasoned with jazz hands as a bonus.

“Oh speaking of apartment. I have my share for this week’s rent. Did you want me to send it through your bank details or cash?” Your adorable roommate asked with her phone ready in her hand but you waved it off.

“I’ll cover your rent this week. Don’t pay me back I swear to God”

“Again?! Y/n this is the 3rd week you’ve covered for me and I don’t feel nice about it”

You shrugged. “I just got a good pay”

“Right. A good pay. What job is this Y/n”

Checking the time on your watch, you pouted cutely at your roommate. “I’m gonna be late. See you later, love you!”

Minjeong sighed and sat back into the couch, very much lost in thought. What kind of high paying job were you exactly working at to be covering rent so easily?

“The hell do you mean Yunjin cancelled?!” You yelled at the director who was panicking just as much as you.

“Look, all she told me was that it was a personal emergency. We’ve tried calling Kazuha and Minji but both girls are busy with other schedules so unless you know someone that can fill in last minute, we’re postponing this until next week”

Just as the director started to walk away, a bulb flashed over your head. “W-Wait director-nim, I know someone…Give me a couple seconds to call her okay?”

“Make it quick Y/n. I’m booked today”

Fishing out your phone, you pressed on Minjeong’s contact and she answered quicker than expected. “J-Jeongie?”

“Hey Y/n, you never usually call during your shifts. Is everything okay?”

“Jeongie I really~ need your help with something but I can’t tell you what it is until you come here”

There was a short silence from the other line. “Uh…Okay? What’s your address?”

“I’ll message it after the call. Look your best”

Minjeong stared at her phone with confusion when you hung up. Look her best? Minjeong has little to no sense of fashion other than the millions of oversized flannels and cargo pants sitting in her closet.

Thankfully already showered, she simply put on a black and grey flannel with baggy jeans before checking the address you sent and driving her way over.

Moments later she was walking into the huge building, finding you on a set that looked like a bedroom, surrounded by unfamiliar faces.

“Y/n?” She questioned almost breathlessly once she realised you were only wearing a bathrobe.

“Jeongie! Thank you for coming. Now listen, I’ll cut this as short as I can because we don’t have much time, but I’m a pornstar, okay?”

“What?!”

“That’s why I’m loaded with money. The person that I was supposed to be filming with today cancelled on me and I couldn’t think of anyone else to replace her other than you”

Minjeong took a step back with wide eyes. “Nah uh, no way Y/n! What makes you think I’m good enough to film porn?!”

You quickly took her hands out of comfort. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot last second, but this is highly important to me Jeongie..” you pleaded and Minjeong couldn’t resist.

The taller girl stared into your eyes then the pout of your lips.

She let out a heavy sigh and squeezed your hands. “Fine. I’ll do it”

You squealed and jumped into a hug, peppering her face with kisses. “Thank you thank you thank you! You’re the best!”

“You owe me big time” Your roommate pointed a finger, making you giggle.

“Of course! Now head into that room with our staff. They’ll help you prepare”

In a blink of an eye, Minjeong was in her ‘costume’ (which was nothing but a black shirt and grey sweatpants) while sitting on the edge of the bed.

You wore a white camisole with no bra underneath and baby pink panties, standing in front of Minjeong with a big smile. “Hey you”

“I feel weird Y/n. I-I don’t know if I can do this anymore” She cutely mumbled, eyes darting across the room in fear.

Minjeong felt your small hands cup her face, forcing her to look at you. “Relax, baby. I’ll take good care of you I promise”

“W-What’s the storyline anyways”

“None actually. Just a wholesome home sex video”

“Whenever you’re ready Y/n” the director called out, making you nod.

Your hands rubbed gently at Minjeong’s nape and slowly going down to her shoulders for a reassuring squeeze.

“You can do whatever you want to me” you whispered against your friend’s lips and then closing the gap to get a proper taste.

You were surprised to feel Minjeong kiss back eagerly like an expert, even sliding her tongue in as she grabbed your hips and pulled you to sit on her lap.

For a couple minutes you two were sucking each others faces.

And the next minute you were sucking her surprisingly huge cock. She had your hair fisted in a make shift ponytail, throwing her head back when her tip rubbed at the back of your throat. “Fuck Y/n, I should’ve known you were a whore”

Oh? That was new.

Your so called innocent Minjeongie dirty talking? Your cunt clenched around nothing.

Minjeong forced you off her dick to pin you down on the bed, lightly pecking the hickies she had left around your neck and collarbones. “You got me so down bad, Y/n-ie. I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop having you like this”

Whimpering beneath her, you held onto her shoulders tightly. “Have me anytime you want Minjeongie”

“Ain’t that sweet of ya” She smirked as her eyes were fixed onto your glossy ones, confusing you slightly.

Then you felt the pleasurable stretch in your pussy when Minjeong’s cock welcomed itself inside, arching your back in the process. “What the fuck, Jeongie, you’re so big a-ahh!”

“The biggest you’ve ever had, darl?” Your roommate tilted her head, trying not to let your tightness get the best of her.

“Mhm the biggest!”

“Good. Then I’ll make sure your pussy is only made to take me”

You littered Minjeong’s back with scratches that started to bleed out, clearly seen from the camera crew which they zoomed in on. The pain didn’t bother Minjeong, not when she had started pounding into you mercilessly.

She licked her lips at your boobs bouncing with each thrust. She just couldn’t resist sucking on them like a baby, addicted to how sexy they looked when wet with her spit.

“Your pussy is sucking me in so fucking good, baby” Minjeong panted in your ear.

Then she felt a sudden warmth spray all over her lower body.

You were squirting while moaning Minjeong’s name, even reaching down to ferociously rub at your clit to ride out your mind blowing orgasm.

“F-Fuck that’s so hot, Y/n” Minjeong hissed, not planning to stop her hips even after you came.

“W-Wait Jeongie—AH!” You tried to stop her but she couldn’t care less about how sensitive you were.

She laid you on your stomach, bringing your ass up and going back to destroying your pussy, feeling herself go deeper with the new position.

“Fuck! Fuck Minjeong-ah! You’re gonna break me!” You sobbed into the pillow that you were drowning with drool.

Minjeong laid over your back and drilled impossibly deeper. “Fucking take it whore. I own this pussy now”

Then you felt a sudden sting on your shoulder blade, realising Minjeong was biting down into your skin. Not hard enough to bleed, but hard enough to leave a long lasting bruise.

“Y/n…hah Y/n, I’m gonna fucking cum…”

Your insides became hot from the cum she blew into your cunt and thankfully your roommate’s hips were coming to a stop.

“Shit…Fuck that was so good, Y/n. Thank you” Minjeong whispered in your ear, kissing it afterwards.

“CUT! This was probably the best one you’ve filmed Y/n! Great job!…Y/n?” The director called but was left with no answer.

Minjeong frowned and leaned further down to look at your face. “Y/n? He’s talking to you”

You were knocked out cold. Little snores and whimpers escaping your lips with Minjeong’s cock still inside your abused cunt. “Has this happened before?” Minjeong asked the staff, and they all shook their heads.

“No, never. You must’ve really fucked her good”

“O-Oh no, I’m sorry! W-What should I do?” Minjeong panicked and made sure she didn’t move so much as you slept below her.

“Wow, you’re very different to how you were on camera. I like it. Ever considered taking this as a full time job?”

Minjeong put a hand up, completely declining the offer. “Appreciate it, but I was only willing to do this for Y/n”

Director nodded and placed a finger on his chin. “Interesting. Hope Y/n brings you over more in the future. You two can rest there for a bit longer while we pack up”

The short hair girl nodded and pulled her cock out as slow and gently as she could to not wake you up. Then she laid you on her chest with the covers covering both bodies. “Can’t wait to do this with you again, Y/n” Minjeong smiled and kissed your head, letting the sleepiness take over her too.

[hardknifeplays]

'*•.¸♡ relationship with könig: headcanons ♡¸.•*'

tags: gn!reader x könig, he's older than you, mostly domestic, nsfw-ish!

NOTE: Please do NOT repost anywhere | reblog, likes, and comments are appreciated! ♡

✧ the beginning of the relationship was a bit difficult, he was so used to the hard and rough military life. knowing he has a higher rank in his team, he treated you like you're his subordinates, not his partner.

✧ he was too commanding until you snapped and brought him back to reality one day. you told him that when he's with you he's not supposed to act and/or treat you the way he treats his soldiers in the field.

✧ that was the first time he saw you snapping at him, and it scared the life out of him. he never thought someone whose figure was so small compared to him could be THAT fiery and going against him.

✧ he was a bit pushy and almost always forced you to do whatever he suggested (about anything, really), and let's say he was not on his best behavior back then. you realized you shouldn't let a man step on you like this, especially when you're his partner.

✧ you dared yourself to be more vocal and direct to him. it worked; you told him where he was wrong and how you wanted him to improve next time. sure, he still made some slip-ups but he definitely got better.

✧ he told you he was sorry for the way he treated you, he was never good with communication. he never wanted to be mean to you, and you saw major changes within him from that point.

✧ he started to show his gentle and clingy side, you almost forgot that this is the same man who was a little too stern to you a few months ago.

✧ morning sex is a MUST, inhaling your natural scent from behind while his hips are drilling against your ass is the best way to start a morning.

✧ his love language is eating together with you. either eating some meals made by you, made by him, or even take-outs, he always wants to eat with you. if you're not hungry? well, he can tell his stomach to hold the hunger a bit just for you.

✧ this man LOVES dirty jokes and puns you throw at him. always get him all flustered and red like a fucking tomato. run your mouth, sweetheart, this Austrian giant is head over heels for you even more! ;)

✧ he's becoming more and more vocal and open about his feelings and thoughts to you, despite feeling extra anxious whenever he did so. soon he realized that you're here to listen to him, and not to judge him.

✧ the most romantic moments happens after work, you're serving him a cup of coffee or tea while he's resting himself on the dinner table. you two will spend the rest of the evening talking about your day, his day, and sometimes some gossips in your or his office. drinking tea while spilling some tea, if you will. 🍵

✧ the man is a massive science nerd 😅 he's subscribing to youtube channels like michael reeves, kurzgesagt, and NileRed. he'd love to watch science documentaries with you until both of you fall asleep.

✧ he loves it when you rely on him. need some new, exclusive collector edition books? he's here to pay, even the hardcover ones! need new lipstick or makeup? take him to sephora and make yourself pretty with his cash, darling. need new PC components? he'll spoil you and make you an amazing PC setup!

✧ besides the material things, he loves you even more when you cling to him like a baby koala when you're anxious or feeling unsafe in general. he loves being a big man for his dearest love.

✧ he's quite busy, and his line of work is highly demanding for his presence. he's a colonel, leading missions and he even goes to his office or shooting range on weekends or holidays. his hard work paid off, and he kept being promoted to higher positions.

✧ loves it when you asks him about his job. what is he doing? what is a “human battering ram”? he's willing to answer some grime questions from you, e.g. is he becoming insensitive to see gruesome death? is human blood really THAT red and fresh? is he afraid of the ghosts of the enemies he had killed? etc.

✧ sometimes he comes home looking frustrated, and it scares you a bit. worried that he'd back to his old self, the overly stern and authoritarian asshole. but then you know that his frustration is not directed at you, but rather to whoever the hell managed to piss him off at the office.

✧ you can soothe him in two ways: calm him down by talking him out through it and bathe him (unless he requests some alone time to sort his thoughts), or being his obedient fucktoy for him to release all that pent-up anger. you choose :)

✧ he'd consume you whole if he sees you with bodycon dress or any tight clothing. it turns him into an animal.

✧ always asks for pictures whenever you're away from him. say things like, "i want to see how well your dress/shirt is hugging your figure, love." ; "you'd look gorgeous with that makeup/style."

✧ plenty of nicknames for you: feisty firecracker, honeybee, sweetface, schnucki (means 'sweetie' in german), schatz, Schmetterling (butterfly), my love, my darling, my dearest angel, my sweet, ... etc.

✧ if you happen to be someone from outside of german speaking country, he'd teach you some german. mostly curses and dirty words, though. hehe.

✧ he'd love to bring you to his hometown in salzburg. he'd take you to makartsteg (lovers lock) bridge and seeing the mountains, and he's so excited to introduce you to local foods and drinks.

✧ he'd love to be your biggest motivator whenever you feel lazy to do something. got some homework or tasks you need to finish, but didn't want to? he'd say, "do it and I'll reward you in the bedroom, schatzi."

✧ if you two are already talking about marriage... he'd be so nervous about meeting your parents, especially if you have extremely different cultures as him. he's a grown man with a great income that surely can sustain you two, which you're sure that your parents wouldn't mind about.

✧ his biggest concern about starting a family with you is your safety, knowing how often he's deployed. being one of the best operators in his team meant he'd constantly be called to missions, sometimes to a region or country that you'd never heard of before. he always tell you to pray for him, so he can come back to you alive AND intact.

✧ he wants three kids. and if that's too much for you, he won't complain either. he just thinks that three is a sweet spot for him.

hehe that's it! hope you enjoy this as much as i do.

━ sincerely, hardknifeplays.

[tinysunshine]

[ Klaus Mikaelson x Stripper! Reader ]

18+ (Minors DNI)

*Female Reader, Inclusive Language

You’re a dancer at Klaus’ favorite strip club.  He’s one of your best customers, always slipping hundreds into the band of your panties or bra, although he hasn’t asked for a private room with you yet. Klaus Mikaelson is a king around this city - half vampire, half werewolf, the first of his kind. The entire city lives in fear of the big bad wolf.  But you can’t deny the curiosity you feel towards the man, the monster, that is Klaus Mikaelson. When he finally books a private room and asks specifically for you, your feelings for him change. Suddenly he doesn’t seem so bad, so scary - or maybe he still is, but every night you spend with him and with each dance, you realize you’re foolishly falling in love with a real-life monster.

*Warnings: violence, death, rough sex, mentions of past abuse

*Plot with porn, Alternate Universe, but don’t worry, Klaus is Klaus :)

Word Count: 12.9k

Kinks: unprotected sex, oral sex, face sitting, rough sex, spanking (just a little), dirty talk, dry humping, creampie, light Dom/sub, protective Klaus

___

The lights in the club are dim, and the bass from the music blasting makes it feel like the floor is vibrating, which makes it a little hard to stay steady on your feet. You’ve been working at the club for almost a year, but you’ve never quite gotten used to what it feels like to be on this stage.

All eyes on you, the heat from the lights above, music so loud that it literally hurts your ears, makes it hard to even hear the lyrics of the song playing, which can sometimes fuck up your dance cues.

On stage, you feel like you’re in a world of your own, and sometimes you don’t know if that’s good or bad. Dancing has always been your passion - although stripping was never your dream. From a young age, you were trained as a ballet dancer, with competitions and private training and practices every day after school; it was your whole life.

But things change and shit happens, and although you’re not where you want to be in life, you’re still doing what you love to do, which is dance, even if it’s not the way you imagined it.

That’s got to count for something, right?

On stage, it’s all about creating a fantasy for the people in the audience. Rich men, successful men, men with high status - they all frequent this club. It’s one of the nicest in the city, but you’ve heard from a few of the other dancers that the men here are no different than the men at the shitter, seedier clubs. It doesn’t matter what a man does for a living, you suppose, because if they’re throwing cash at a girl who’s half naked and desperate to pay her bills - it’s not like they’re a good person.

You’ve learned your lesson with men, and you learned it the hard way. Men will always be men - or whatever fucked up version of masculinity they follow that makes them believe they’re a man. Rude, crude, violent and mean.

But you’ve got bills to pay and money to make, so you do your best to give them a good show.

Especially because he’s in the audience.

Klaus.

At the thought of him, quite literally the man, the myth, the legend - a flurry of butterflies erupts in your stomach. It’s a sinking, almost nauseous feeling, but it’s definitely a feeling that’s a little more good than it is bad.

The thought scares you, that you feel this way about Klaus Mikaelson. That you could associate anything good with him. You’ve heard his name since you were a teenager, back when he first came to this city and, well…

Ruined everything.

You spin around the pole and do your regular routine, legs aching in the skyscraper heels you're wearing, tits almost spilling out of your tiny bra. Your head is pounding because the music is so loud, and by the time you’re on your knees collecting the bills thrown on stage like you’re some kind of performing animal in a zoo, you’re covered in sweat, feeling sticky and over-touched and very much like you need a drink.

You’re thinking about Klaus your entire break. It gets so fucking hot in the club, with all the people and the smoke and the movement you do. You chug some water, fix your makeup, stand in front of the fan in the back room to cool down as much as you can, but he never leaves your mind.

Because you know he’s waiting for you.

It’s been going on almost two months now, this thing you have with Klaus Mikaeslon. Although thing is a generous word for it. You work almost every night during the week, and Klaus visits the club almost every night. You’re not sure if it’s to see you in particular, but you’re fairly certain that no other dancer goes near him.

Because everybody hates him.

Klaus Mikaelson has the city in the palm of his hand. When he strolled into town years ago, what was once a bustling, wonderful place to live slowly turned sour until what was left of it was just plain rotten. Klaus brought violence, mayhem, and a harem of other dangerous supernatural creatures along with him when he moved into town, and destruction came along with them.

You’re not sure what brought him to this specific city, just that it changed life as you know it. Klaus brought death, destroyed lives, and while a lot of the things that happened didn’t come from his hand directly, he’s the cause of all of it.

Nobody wants to serve him a drink, let alone dance for him. It doesn’t matter how much he tips - the other girls want nothing to do with him. Everyone blames Klaus for all the problems in their life. Why they’re working a dead end exploitative job, why they can’t find a happy relationship, why they’re trapped in this town. It’s valid hatred, and you understand it, would be the first to preach about the way your life has changed since he moved into town.

But you think differently than the others. Because while they all see the bars of the cage the entire town is trapped in, in Klaus Mikaelson, you see your freedom. The tips he gives you, that you’ve been stashing away, are going to be your ticket out of this town. While the bartender and the bouncer need to be compelled to let him in and bring him drinks, you go to Klaus willingly.

Because even though Klaus carries violence everywhere he goes, even though he could crush this town and everyone in it with ease, even a monster like him isn’t desperate enough to compel every single person working at a strip club to give him a good time.

That’d be pathetic, and you don’t know a lot about Klaus, but you know that pathetic is the last thing you’d use to describe him.

This thing you have with him is nothing more than three dances whenever he’s at the bar. Three dances is as long as you’re allowed to dance for someone without them getting a private room - club rules. Klaus never asks for a private room, but that’s fine by you.

Usually, by the end of those three dances, you’re no less than eight hundred dollars cash richer.

It does something to you, knowing that this monster sits around the club waiting for you. Or, when your insecurity is talking, you think that maybe he just settles for you, not down quite bad enough to compel a girl to dance for him. Maybe you’re just the low hanging fruit who’s willing.

You push those thoughts away as you make your way through the haze of cigarette smoke and neon lights to the far end of the club. Klaus is at an open booth, tucked away from the others, and when you see him, you lose your breath. He’s got a calm demeanor that only someone truly powerful could have - leaning back, drink in hand, and when he sees you, his lips twitch into something between a smirk and a half-hearted smile.

“You’re late,” Klaus says, his voice low, teasing, because it’s not like you have a set time to see each other whenever you’re working, although it is a little later than you normally meet up.

But you blush, flattered by the teasing tone, but also a little scared. You might have this thing with Klaus, but he’s still an unpredictable supernatural being that can do more bad than good. You could really get hurt if he lost his temper around you.

And it’s not like anyone at the bar would be able to stop him.

It’s a terrifying thought, but you try to play it off. “My set ran late,” you explain, the stories you’ve heard about Klaus killing people for less than making him wait going through your mind.

But then he grins, and you know he’s just teasing, so you step between his open legs, place your hands on his shoulders. He’s handsome, annoyingly so, and you wonder how such an attractive man can be so dangerous. It just doesn’t seem right.

It’s hard to breathe around Klaus. Whether that’s from fear, or something else, you’re not sure. The air between you both has always been charged, thick with something unsaid. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

You’ve been trying to ignore this feeling for months, but you’re not stupid. You can see the way Klaus watches you, waits for you, the way he slips his cash into your thong or bra, with hands that are soft despite the violence they can hold, the way his gaze lingers just a moment too long even when the dance is done, or before it’s even started - like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how to do it without making a mistake. Without scaring you off.

It’s different from the way the other men at the club touch you. Different from the way they look at you, with lust in their eyes and their hands rough and selfish. There’s something soft about the way Klaus handles you, and maybe you’re just crazy for thinking so, and maybe it’s just a mask Klaus wears to hide his truly dark nature - but you’ve been dancing for him for months. Surely the mask would’ve slipped by now?

There’s something refreshing, you think, about the beast that is Klaus Mikaelson. He’s a bad person, and that’s all there is to it. There’s no faking, no lies. He is what he is.

“Don’t worry, love,” he says, reaching out and touching you. It took him three weeks to actually put his hands on you, and even then it was only for giving you your tip. He’s gotten more comfortable as time goes on, and right now he grips your hips, although gently.

You’ve gotten used to the feeling of random hands on your body, so much so that you don’t even notice when someone is touching you half the time, but you do notice when Klaus touches you. There’s no way you couldn’t. You feel it, deeper than just the touch it is, because his hands aren’t random, and the electricity that you try to ignore that he carries in each touch isn’t random either.

He moves his hands from your hips, slides them up to your waist, before letting go completely. He smirks. “I know you’re just giving me a chance to miss you,” he says, before reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

His touch leaves goosebumps, even when you’re burning hot.

“What did you think of my dance?” You ask, while Klaus grabs a chunky stack of cash out of his wallet. Unlike the other men at the club, who only hand you cash when they want something or want an excuse to touch you, who try to be graceful about it and look for the right moment, there’s something almost clumsy about the way Klaus handles the money. Practically throws it at you, before you’ve even done anything to earn it yet.

He stuffs them into the band of your panties on your hip, trails his hand up to your bra where he puts some more, and then looks up at you from his seat and motions for you to turn around.

“Spin around, sweetheart, let me see you from behind,” he orders, and you do as he says, ignoring the arousal you feel at his demand. You refuse to believe, refuse to even entertain, the idea that a man like Klaus Mikaelson could ever turn you on. “I thought you were brilliant, as always. You’re like a goddess up there,” he says as you turn around for him.

It’s a nice compliment, even if it does come from the terror of the town. Being on the stage, being a stripper - it feels demeaning a lot of times. Like you’re a piece of meat. But Klaus calling you a goddess, well, it makes you feel like you’re on a pedestal to be admired instead of owned.

And you needed to hear that tonight.

___

“I heard him call her by a nickname. I walked past them the other night, and he was smiling and laughing. They joke with each other. God, she makes me sick,” you hear as you get off the stage, walking into the back room to put your cash in your locker. You just had an amazing set, and your body is sore and you’re sweaty but you feel good.

Nights like these are rare. Feeling good is rare, to be honest. You were hoping to drag the feeling out a little longer, but no such luck.

Can’t say you’re surprised.

You’re trying not to let it bother you, that the girls you work with are so hard on you, seem to really dislike you, but you can’t really blame them. People caught on pretty quickly, that you’re the only dancer in the club willing to dance with Klaus, and since they hate him so much the hatred spills over onto you.

You think that some of their fear does too.

“I can hear you, you know,” you tell the girls, and they just shrug, one of them scurrying off because she’s too nervous to face you, the bolder one coming closer while you open your locker.

“I don’t care,” she says, although spits is a more accurate description. “How can you dance for him? He’s ruined our town. Our lives. Did you forget that, Y/N, or did he compel you? We’re all worried about you,” she says, as if she really gives a fuck about you or your safety.

You’d roll your eyes if you didn’t feel the same way, deep down. Because she’s right, and you know she is, but you can’t control the pull you have to this awful man.

Still, you’re defensive.

“I’ll do what I have to do to get the fuck out of this town,” you finally snap, not looking the other woman in the face. You’re mad, but you’re not brave, and confrontation has never been your thing. “I have a plan, unlike you, and if dancing for Klaus Mikaelson is going to get me there, I’ll do it. It sure beats being on his bad side,” you say, slamming your locker shut.

It’s impossible to leave town without money, but it’s also impossible to make money in a town like this. Under the thumb of someone like Klaus, controlled by his army of hybrids so nobody dares leave the borders of the city - it’s security so nobody gets out of town and spills the truth of what happens here. Klaus and his hybrids make it impossible to get ahead.

But you’re getting there. Slowly but surely. You really believe, or want to believe, that you’re going to be okay.

Because it’ll be hard to leave with money, but without it - it’ll be truly impossible.

“Whatever,” your fellow dancer says, acting as if you didn’t snap on her. “Just don’t forget why you’re dancing in Pleasers instead of ballet slippers. It’s because of him.”

You walk past her on your way out, funny enough, you think sarcastically, to go see Klaus. You always know when he arrives because the entire club is on edge, and the looks you get from the girls and the managers make it pretty obvious, what they think about you and what you’re doing with him.

When you get to Klaus, you’re upset, and you don’t waste time with pleasantries. You’re worried, that the little chats you two have, the humanity you’re starting to see in Klaus Mikaelson, is ruining your judgment of him. He’s killed half the town, has control of every aspect of this city, and you can’t forget that.

While you dance for him, on him, feel the touch of his hands and the drag of his cash against your skin, you keep reminding yourself of that. Like a mantra, on repeat. He’s a bad man, he’s a bad man, he’s a bad man. It gets worse when you grind against his lap and feel a rush of arousal, knowing that your nipples are hard against the fabric your bra and Klaus can most definitely see.

He's a bad man, he’s a bad man, he’s a bad man. But then it’s his last dance, and he’s just slipped a hundred dollar bill into the back of your thong, and his hands are running up and down the smooth skin of your thigh, and all you feel is pure, animalistic desire.

“Pretty little thing you are,” Klaus remarks, looking at you with an expression no murdering psychopathic werewolf vampire hybrid should be allowed to wear. “Absolutely gorgeous. Going to have to get one of my hybrids to rob another bank if you take any more cash from me,” he says, but you don’t laugh. You don’t know if he’s kidding or not.

Klaus hands you an extra tip when the dance is over, and he opens his mouth to say something when one of your managers walks over. Barry. Slimy and annoying and misogynistic and disgusting. You don’t see him a lot, since his business partner usually runs things, but when he is around you know it’s probably going to be a shitty shift.

“Y/N,” he says, and you freeze. What happened to using your stage name only? What happened to trying to keep a low profile, to not have any stalkers or the fucking villain of the city knowing your real name? Barry is such a fucking dumbass.

Still, you bite your tongue, ready to reply, when his hand lands on your shoulder. You’re still between Klaus’ legs, standing while he sits, and you can see the look on his face when Barry touches you. It’s strange, coming from the same guy that watches you dance for a hundred other men each night on stage, the same man that watches those men touch you and give you money just like he does.

But there’s fire in his eyes. Anger. And for the first time ever, you feel genuinely scared around Klaus.

You step towards Barry, and you know that move probably pisses Klaus off even more, even though you’re not really sure why he’s mad.

“Sorry, Mr. Mikaelson,” Barry says, totally unapologetic. Idiotic, that he doesn’t know he’s looking the grim reaper right in the face. “Someone’s requesting, Y/N. Private dance,” and Klaus just nods, but that look never leaves his eye.

You bid Klaus goodbye, thank him for his money, and follow Barry towards the private rooms. But you almost trip, only graceful on stage in these stupid fucking shoes, and Barry grabs your arm to steady you, drags you to the back rooms so fast it’s hard to even keep up.

…

A few days go by, and Barry doesn’t show up to his next shift.

Another few days go by, without anyone having heard from him.

The next day, there’s a news report for the neighboring town over, since this city doesn’t bother with its own news anymore. The body of a gentleman’s club owner was found in the lake. Body being the key word, because he was missing a head.

Barry.

You call in sick for work for the next three days, and you spend most of those days puking and shaking in your bed.

When you return to work, you’re given a locker far away from the others, and the other dancers, your manager and the bartenders all avoid you like you have the plague.

Just as well. You like your own space anyway.

___

“Why are you working here?” Klaus asks, his hand gripping your ass. You feel him slide his finger under the band of your thong, and then there’s the sharp feeling of cash poking into your skin that you know all too well.

You’re not sure how to answer that. You wonder if you should be honest, spit in his face (metaphorically, of course), tell him this job is your only chance at making enough money to escape from this hell hole of a city he created. That the other jobs you’re qualified for won’t pay enough to even make your rent.

But you know better, and most of all, you know men. Klaus thinks he’s complimenting you, by hinting that you’re too good for a place like this. Too good to shake your ass, to show off your breasts, to let some of the worst men in the city put their hands on you.

You’re also smart enough to know that even though it’s been three months since Klaus started coming in, since you started dancing for him - it doesn’t mean you’re friends. Doesn’t mean he won’t snap your neck if you look at him wrong, or have one of his hybrids follow you home if he can’t even be bothered to kill you himself.

Klaus doesn’t want anyone leaving the city, in fear that he’ll lose control, you suspect. Regardless of the special shared looks between you two, the electric feeling when you touch, you know he wouldn’t take kindly to you admitting you’re stripping to save up cash to find a way out of his dominion, because even if it’ll be hard to leave with money, the journey without it would be so much worse.

You wonder what to reply with, because you can tell he’s waiting for a response, even as you bend down and flick your hair, the smell of your perfume strong since you’re already breaking a sweat.

It’s a stripper trick, perfume under your hair, on your hairline. You notice that when you smell good, you get more tips.

Men are so easy.

You settle for something vague to answer Klaus, not wanting to divulge too much for your own safety.

“I like to dance,” you say, watching the way Klaus watches your movements. “I was a ballerina.” His eyes are on your waist, your lower back when you bend over, the way his gaze travels down your leg to your shoes. You prop your foot, in your ridiculous heels, onto the space next to him, and he runs his hand from your knee to your ankle.

It’s sensual, the feeling of his slightly rough fingers against your soft skin. Under the lights, the body glitter you’re wearing makes it look like your skin is made of sparkles, and the admiration in his gaze makes you weak in the knees. You’re literally shaking, but Klaus steadies you with a hand around your ankle, playing with the anklet you’ve got on. “Nice feet for a dancer,” he teases, catching a glimpse of the polish on your toes.

In a move more intimate than anything he’s done in the three months you’ve been dancing for him, he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right by your knee, his eyes never leaving yours.

You’re not breathing. You’re not moving. The music is blasting and it’s actually one of your favorite songs to dance to, but all you can think about is the fact that this creature - the one that’s the cause of nightmares for the people of this town, the name you used to associate with panic and anxiety, just pressed a soft kiss to your leg.

Klaus lets go of your ankle, gently drops your foot to the floor, and leans back in his seat. Legs spread, even his sitting stance powerful, confident.

Sexy.

You don’t know what to do. Luckily for you, Klaus tells you.

“Show me your best, tiny dancer,” he says, tipping his chin towards you. It’s a cheesy nickname, funny coming from someone like him, but your body heats at his use of it anyway.

“Let me see you move.”

___

“Am I the reason those girls are giving you nasty looks?” Klaus asks, and you pause whatever shimmy move you were doing while straddling his lap. It takes a second for you to understand what he’s really asking.

You follow his gaze to the stage, where there’s three other dancers standing by the edge of it, looking at you like you’re the devil himself.

Or, you realize, there’s a better chance that they’re glaring at the devil whose lap you’re straddling.

You shrug.

Because Klaus is right - he is the reason those girls are giving you nasty looks. You didn’t think he could possibly ruin anything else, but when he started coming to the club, you realized that you were so, so wrong. Because by thinking that, that you were untouchable from the drama Klaus created, you created more.

He has to know that. Hasn’t lived a thousand years by being stupid. Klaus must realize that by engaging in whatever thing you two have going on, it’s making your life at work worse, but you doubt he’d care anyway. You know it’s just a dance to him, something to kill the time when he’s not out destroying anything, but deep down -

You know it’s more. More of what, you’re not sure, but there’s something there that goes beyond just dancing. You’ve spent time with Klaus almost every night for the past four months. Keeping a thousand year old hybrid’s attention for that long has got to count for something, so you decide, fuck it.

Klaus has killed for you, and the thought gives you shivers. You can be a big girl and put yourself out there, because the honest truth?

Life really couldn’t get any worse.

“You are,” you reply, hands gripping his shoulders. He doesn’t feel like you thought he would, being a vampire and all. You imagined a hard body, made of stone, cold to the touch. Klaus feels strong and solid but warm, like a real man. The thought turns you on more than it should. You shouldn’t be getting turned on by Klaus at all.

This is a job. But never claimed to be the smartest.

“Nobody likes you,” you admit, and it just kind of comes out.

Quickly, you try to recover. “I just mean that, you know, when you came into town,” where the fuck are you supposed to go from here to save face? The last thing you want to do is upset him, make life even worse for yourself, but it still comes out. “They don’t like me because of you.”

You hold your breath, ready for Klaus to throw you off his lap. Snap your neck. Bite you with one of those deadly werewolf bites people keep popping up with around the town. There’s a waiting list, of people begging for some of Klaus’ magic, all healing blood.

Maybe you’re next.

But nothing violent ever comes. Instead, Klaus laughs.

Throws his head back, like you just told the joke of the century. You don’t need to look around the packed club to know that everyone is looking at you now, and your body heats up in embarrassment. So long, shivers of arousal.

Klaus stops laughing and looks at you, intense, and you realize it’s one of the first times you’ve made eye contact with him. Serious eye contact, beyond just looking at each other when your tits are on his face or when you thank him for the cash.

You look away first.

“You’re not like them,” Klaus says, but he says it almost like a question. You know he’s talking about the other dancers, and you agree - you feel different from them, always have. Have never quite fit in with the crowd, especially with other girls your age. You’ve always been a little standoffish - awkward your mother used to say.

You imagine what she’d have to say about you right now.

“I know,” you say back, eyes focused on the necklaces around Klaus’ neck. You’re too frozen, too nervous, to say anything else. To meet his gaze again. Something about what’s happening feels crazy intimate, which sounds insane because you shake your ass in his face most nights, but this simple conversation is breaking down walls of emotions you haven’t addressed for years.

“You’re not scared of me,” he continues, and you shake your head because he’s wrong.

“I am,” you reply.

Klaus is silent for a moment, studying your face, looking around the room for reasons you don’t understand. Then he lifts your chin, forces you to meet his eyes.

“If I get a room,” he asks, and at that, you feel your heart beating faster. It only took four months. “Can we talk?”

That’s the scariest thing he’s asked for since you’ve known him. Talk. You’re not sure you’d be a good conversationalist.

But you nod anyway, secretly wonder if he compelled you because you agreed so easily, or maybe it’s just because you’re curious. Wonder what this man could possibly want with you, what he could possibly want to say to you or hear from you.

You lead him to the private room and hold out your hand for the payment. Klaus sits down on the couch when you close the door, and he looks at you with an expression like he can’t believe you don’t trust that he’ll pay after the dance.

You know he’s good for the money, but it’s just club protocol. But something about his face, offended, makes you want to giggle.

So the legend that is Klaus Mikaleson gets his feelings hurt. Good to know.

“Jen wants it in the box before we dance,” you explain, referring to your other manager. Klaus clicks his tongue and takes his wallet out, hands over a stack of cash that you don’t even bother counting. Your mind is too caught up on the fact that the news reported another bank robbery in the neighboring town, and you wonder if that’s where the cash in your hand is from.

Wonder if Klaus is expanding his territory.

But those thoughts are all wiped away when Klaus speaks as you turn your back to him, place the money in a little box with a digital code so your manager can grab it when you’re done in the room. There’s a switch, and you turn the light on, signaling that the room is in use.

“Jen. Seems like Barry is no longer working here?” Klaus asks, his voice is dripping with humor, and even though you dont give a fuck about Barry, like, at all - it just reminds you who you’re sharing a room with. Makes you a little sick to your stomach, and you grip the counter you’re standing at to gain your composure, to take a deep breath.

Then you turn to face Klaus.

It’s now or never. It’s time to talk to him, because that’s what he seems to want. As you get closer to him, as the electricity between you grows stronger with each step, the way he looks at you, with warm eyes that don’t belong to monsters, you have to remind yourself of your mantra. He’s a bad man, he's a bad man, he’s a bad man.

But you sit beside him on the sofa anyway.

“Why did you do it?” You ask, referring to Barry, but you both know that you already know the answer. Klaus reaches out, more confident in the private room away from the crowds, you realize. But most men are. You suppose that there’s more similarities between a monster like Klaus and the average man, and that’s a terrifying thought - but one you’re not very surprised by.

Klaus grips your thigh and moves you closer to him and your breath hitches. His touch does things to you. Makes the tiny hairs on your arm stand up, makes arousal pool deep in your belly in a way it doesn’t, hasn’t, when any other man touches you.

“He grabbed you,” Klaus says calmly, like he’s telling you about his day, and not the reasons he beheaded the manager at your job. “Frankly, he’s annoying. Thought that before I saw him with you, but then I watched the way he looked at you, treated you,” he pauses, hand creeping up your thigh.

You wonder how far Klaus is going to go. With what he’s revealing by what he’s saying, and because of how close his hand is to the inside of your thigh, going higher and higher to your pussy that’s only covered by a thin layer of lace.

“But most importantly,” Klaus says, with a little shrug of his shoulders like he’s embarrassed to admit this part and is trying to play it off. “He tried to interrupt my time with you.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing. You wish you cared more about Barry’s death, but you just don’t. It’s been a long time since you cared about anything, and maybe you’re just hardened from this fucked up world you’ve been living in, but it’s not like the world would miss someone like Barry.

“Why now?” You ask, wondering why now was finally the time Klaus pulled the trigger to get a room with you. “Why wait months to get a private room with me?” You really don’t want to sound insecure, but it’s been months of just wondering.

Wondering why Klaus comes to the club only to see you - wondering if you’re his first choice or just the only choice, wondering if he feels the chemistry between you two that’s so thick you could probably slice it with a knife.

Wonders if he thinks about you when he’s not around you - because you can’t stop thinking about him.

“I wanted you to be comfortable with me,” he answers honestly, and you actually laugh. It’s funny, that the terrifying force in this city wants you to be comfortable, but his plan worked. You are comfortable with him. Comfortable with someone who some people in this city view as the grim reaper himself.

“You caught my eye,” he continues, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It’s a little ridiculous, that you’ve been almost naked in front of him every night, yet an arm around your shoulders makes you feel more vulnerable.

But maybe that’s because it’s also a step closer to snapping your neck.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a thousand years, and I wanted to get closer to you,” he admits.

Nothing could have prepared you for that.

Not for what that confession means, not for what the arm around your shoulders feels like after the words leave his mouth. There’s something safe about it, something warm - because if the boogeyman is on your side, there’s no possible way you could be hurt by him.

“There’s something different about you,” he says, just stroking over the skin of your leg. He’s so much bigger than you, and you’re against his side, and you’re feeling a lot like prey being hunted by a predator. Except this predator has already got you, and you’ve spent so much time hiding and running and just trying to survive that being able to admit defeat actually feels good.

This predator is the strongest thing on earth. He could kill you right now if he wanted to, but instead he’s complimenting you.

How can you even begin to wrap your head around that information?

“I sense it, Y/N. What a beautiful name, by the way. I guess we have Barry to thank for one thing, telling me who you really are,” as he talks, you swear you’re shaking. You don’t know how to react in this moment, have spent so much time not reacting to anything for fear of feeling anything negative, that you’re not even sure if this is a negative or positive situation.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, because that’s obviously what this is. Klaus wants something from you, because he’s a man, isn’t he? A hybrid but a man, and they never just give, whether it’s a compliment or a dollar, without wanting something in return.

But Klaus shakes his head.

“I think I’m in a better position to be asking that question, love. I have a lot to give. What do you want from me?”

___

Klaus pays for a private room three nights a week, but he stops his other visits, doesn’t watch you do your regular set anymore.

At first, you were worried, wondered where he was, because you’re beyond playing dumb now.

You like him.

Where is the line between good and evil? Klaus is bad, in every way, but he’s never been bad to you. In fact, he’s treated you better than anyone has treated you in a long time. Maybe ever. You’ve never known harm at his hands.

It’s been a month of late night meetings. An hour together in the private rooms, three times a week, where you just…talk, mostly.

Klaus asked what he could do for you, and you told him the truth.

You want out of this town. You want out of this job. You want out of this life, struggling to pay bills, scared to walk alone in the city at night for fear of one of his uncontrollable hybrids coming to kill you.

Slowly, Klaus begins to understand who you are. Where you’re coming from, even if he does tense up when you mention that your end goal is to leave what he believes to be his paradise.

You tell him that your only goal in life was to be a professional dancer. That before he came into town, you were accepted into a performing arts school for ballet. How you were so excited, ready to leave this town behind because even before Klaus came, you wanted out.

Never got along with your parents, had been hurt at the hands of men that you thought loved you. It was time for you to live your life - until the borders around the city were guarded by Klaus’ hybrids, and any chance of leaving slowly slipped through your fingers.

Dancing was your out back then, and it’s turning out to be your out now.

“Where are your parents?” Klaus asked, and you were silent for a moment, looking down at your lap. He waited, patiently, for you to answer.

“One of your hybrids killed them,” you admit, not wanting to get into details.

Klaus brushes some hair away from your face, and with no sympathy in his voice, he softly says, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything further.

You’re not sorry, but you’d never admit that to anyone. It’s hard to even admit it to yourself. They were horrible people, but they were still your parents. It’s better not to think about them at all.

You’ll never be able to forgive Klaus Mikaeslon for the horrors he’s created, the things he’s done, but you can’t deny the way you feel around him. Excited, whether that be from nerves or something better. It’s just nice to feel something at all.

So you talk during these private sessions, although he doesn’t share much. And when things get to be too much, too vulnerable and too open and too personal for the both of you, you turn on the music and dance for him.

Although, as the sessions go on, it’s not so much dancing as it is foreplay - or something like that.

You still haven’t kissed, but you’ve done almost everything else. Have rubbed yourself, to orgasm, against the roughness of his jeans. Practically humped his leg. Your panties are thin and it was easy to get there, especially with the way he gripped your hips, moved you back and forth like he was thrusting inside of you.

You still get shivers when you think about his voice while you got there, “That’s it,” he’d said, accent thick and voice so dominant it nearly snatched the whine right out of your mouth. “There you go. What a good girl. Make yourself cum like this. It’ll be the real thing before you know it, love.” Klaus has the filthiest mouth - what it can say, and what it can do.

You’re not even sure how it happens. Just that sex isn’t allowed in the back rooms so you do everything but. You don’t know how you go from talking to cumming on his leg, how you go from sharing mundane stuff about yourself to sitting on his face, but it just happens.

Like magnets. You can’t stay away.

He unclipped your bra once, while you were mid story, pulled you from the couch onto his lap and sucked your nipples into his mouth until you were begging him for something. More. Anything. Even if it was just to get him off, you needed to do it. Couldn’t just sit around desperate for him to touch you.

So he laid back on the couch, told you to climb up his body and settle on his face like the queen you were. “King of this city, you called me?” He teased, nuzzling the inside of your thigh with his face. The slight stubble on his skin rubbing against your innermost leg was delicious. “Guess my face is fit for a queen. Sit down, sweetheart. You deserve to feel good.”

He’s a thousand years old - how many women has he orally serviced? A lot, you imagine, because you’ve never felt anything quite like that. Nothing has ever felt so good, but he’s had a lot of practice.

The memory makes your pussy weep with want.

It’s still hard to wrap your head around the fact that someone who has the potential for so much hurt, touches you so softly. How someone who’s caused so much, can bring so much pleasure.

But it’s those extremes that make it so hot.

It’s so wrong, that you’re doing these things with Klaus Mikaelson. But it feels so right.

“What do you want from me?” You ask again tonight, sitting on his lap while he keeps your thighs open, plays with your pussy right there on his lap. It’s erotic almost, how gentle he’s being, like he’s just exploring you. There’s no build up, no ulterior notice as far as you know.

You’re just getting to know each other.

Klaus ignores your question completely, knuckle brushing over your clit, swollen with want. He ignores the gasp you let you.

“You know why we always meet here, don’t you?” He says instead of answering you. You furrow your brows, grip his shoulder, shake your head. Klaus answers.

“Because I don’t want anyone knowing who you are.” He means his hybrids. His army. His family.

His answer stings for a minute, for the rest of the night actually, even when Klaus makes you cum from his fingers and sucks them into his mouth to get the taste of you off of them. He tips you enough cash that your wallet literally can’t close.

But what did you expect? You’re a stripper, and he’s Klaus, and he probably does this with a bunch of girls, your insecure brain screams out.

Of course he wouldn’t introduce you to anyone important to him. What did you think this was?

He just enjoys your company because you let him touch you. That’s it.

But then you get home, to your shitty apartment, and you turn on the news. You count your cash on your bed, cold and hungry, too afraid to go out tonight and grab something to eat since you didn’t make it grocery shopping earlier these last few days.

But that’s when you realize what he meant.

Three men murdered, the news says, but you don’t hear the little details. You don’t really care, to be honest. All you hear is, Killed because of their involvement with Klaus Mikaelson, and now you get it. There’s been people rising up against him, wanting to take the city back. Which is a good thing, you know, but you’re stupidly happy about your realization.

Klaus was trying to keep you safe.

___

“No boyfriend tonight?”

A regular at the club, one whose name you don’t remember, grabs your arm as you get off the stage. Usually, there’s backup from the other girls or even a manager or security, but nobody likes you or trusts you enough to help you out.

Fuck them all.

You pull out of the man’s grasp and begin walking to the bar, hoping for a drink, but he won’t leave you alone. “I notice you’ve been hogging the private rooms. Nobody can get a dance from you,” he says, and once you’re at the bar, you sit at the barstool, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

Klaus won’t admit it if you ask, not that you would, but you know he’s the reason you always get a private room whenever you want. He compels the managers, or whoever he needs to.

You wish you had that talent.

“I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m just busy,” you tell the man, flagging the bartender down, who looks like he plans on ignoring you, just like the rest of the dancers and everyone else.

The man scoffs. You try to remember his name. Martin, maybe? You meet a lot of men. And it’s not like this one is anyone special.

“You think you’re too good for me now,” he says, which means you must’ve met him or danced privately for him before. The thought makes you disgusted with yourself.

“Ever since you became the whore of that creature, you’re suddenly too good for the rest of us. Sorry we don’t have buckets of money to hand you like he does. It’s only because he’s stolen from us and our families. Does he pay to fuck you too? I’m sure I can afford that. Ever since you got with him, you’ve even been a shitty dancer,” and he keeps ranting.

You’ve had enough.

A lot of what he said is true, But that creature comment, the dancing comment? The fact that he’d even think he ever has a chance of fucking you?

Fuck no. You just react, and before you realize what you’re doing, you toss a drink in his face.

Which is when shit hits the fan. He charges at you, throws you off the chair, is about to yank you up by the hair when he’s suddenly on the ground.

You’re scared to open your eyes.

“Up you get, love,” you hear, in a voice that’s familiar. You’d know that accent anywhere - it’s been in your ear almost every night for half a year.

Klaus.

A bar full of people claiming to be better than him, claiming to be worried about you - and not a single one of them tried to help you when you were almost attacked just now.

But the villain in their lives, the monster that has them all losing sleep - he came to your rescue.

What does that say about the character of everyone else?

You don’t care about playing cool anymore. Klaus bends at the knees, looks at you with a worried expression, and offers his hand. You take it, and once you’re standing you throw yourself into his arms.

What a fool you are, hugging this beast of a man, but you don’t care. You were scared just now. More scared than you’ve ever been around Klaus.

“Why are you here so early?” You ask, pulling away just slightly to look at Klaus’ face. Everyone at the club is cowering in the far corners of the building, and you know why.

The fuck that tried to attack you is dead. You heard the snap. Klaus snapped his neck and he kicks him aside so you have more room to stand, like he’s nothing more than a piece of dirt under his shoe.

There’s something symbolic about that, you think. You’ve never had someone stand up for you like Klaus, and you wonder what your life would be like if you had someone standing up for you like this in your past when you needed it.

Klaus doesn’t answer. He’s looking at your arm, where there will no doubt be a bruise from where Martin grabbed you. He’s red in the face, looks so mad you’re worried he’s going to burn down the bar, but the thought doesn’t scare you.

No, it brings you peace. You’re done with this place. This club. The people here.

Fuck. Them. All.

“You should go home,” Klaus says, and you nod your head, but then he pulls away from you. Walks around the club, threatening every single person in the room.

“If someone lays a hand on this woman again - if someone so much as looks at her wrong on her way out of here, I will kill you and every person you love. I’ll kill you and every person you’ve ever met,” his voice is cold, and you know he’s serious.

A good girl would feel bad, that violence is being threatened by the people here. But maybe you’re not good. Maybe it just took someone like Klaus to get you to see that. People can have all sorts of layers, all sorts of labels - but nobody is truly bad or good.

People are people, and they do bad things. Some do good things. But all that really matters, you think, is what they do to you.

And Klaus Mikaelson, hybrid savage, has been nothing but good to you.

He walks back to you and tells you to collect your things, that he’ll figure out a way to get you home. You’re not worried about anyone finding out you’re with him, what that could mean for you.

No, all you’re thinking about is how you can show Klaus just how grateful you are that he saved you.

In more ways than just the way he saved you tonight.

___

“I hope you’re not mad,” Klaus says, following you into the back room. It’s empty, because nobody with half a mind would follow Klaus after his threat. 

The peace is marvelous, even though you’re shaken up by what just happened. 

You open your locker, grab your bag out of it and make sure you still have your cash from your earlier set. When Martin pushed you, (rest in hell, Martin), the cash you had on you completely fell out. You don’t doubt that some of the greedy girls you work with probably already scooped it up. 

Truly disgusting. You can’t wait to get out of here and never return. What you’re going to do, you’re not sure, but you’re a survivor. You’ll figure it out. 

You always have. 

“Mad?” You question Klaus, zipping up your bag when you confirm all your belongings are together. You face him, and his expression reads like he can’t believe you’re pretending to be confused. He just killed a man in front of you. 

Which was an exaggerated reaction, in any case. Klaus didn’t have to snap his neck. He could’ve just beat him up, or thrown him out of the club, now that you think about it. 

But you still don’t feel bad. Like Barry, the world won’t miss a guy like Martin. 

“I’m not mad at all,” you promise, because you’re not. You’ve changed, and that much is obvious. Whether it be from Klaus, from this town, from something else entirely - you don’t know. Maybe you’ve always just been bad, deep down, and that’s why things turned out the way they did. Maybe that’s what your parents saw in you all along, why they treated you the way they did. 

Why everyone in your life has always treated you poorly. 

When Klaus stays silent, you slam your locker. “Martin had it coming. Follow me?”

Klaus is speechless, but he obeys, which is crazy in itself. The man that can’t be tamed, following you down the hall to the private rooms. You both enter, and when the door closes and you lock it behind you, you toss your bag on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Klaus questions, and for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks unsure. He hasn’t carefully crafted this moment, isn’t in control of it, and you wonder how that feels for someone like him. He’s spent the last few years, no, his whole life, trying to be in charge of every single situation. Making an entire city his prisoners, just so he can come out on top. 

The thought turns you on. You’re done pretending - because there’s nothing that gives you as big of a rush as having the big, bad hybrid wrapped around your little finger. It’s obvious now, that whatever little crush you have on Klaus, he reciprocates. And he helped you tonight, stood up for you, was on your side. 

Besides, death happens all the time in this city these days. So what if Martin is dead. He can join Barry in hell. No one has ever stood up for you before, and you’re going to ride the high, the feeling of someone caring about you, for as long as possible. 

“Thank you for protecting me tonight,” you tell Klaus, walking towards him. He’s already on the couch, and you waste no time plopping yourself down on one of his legs, your rightful seat on his lap. He wraps an arm around you, rests his hand on your hip. “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”

Maybe it’s pathetic to admit, that no one has ever cared for you as much as Klaus has, when he’s really only paid to watch you dance and talk and cum. But it’s the truth, and you think you owe him that much for what he did for you tonight. 

What he’s been doing for you, since he arrived at the club. Whether he realizes it or not. 

“I don’t like hearing that,” he says, which is not the reply you expected. You look at him, feel his fingers stroking gently over the skin of your hip like he can’t not touch you. “I don’t like knowing you’ve never had anyone to protect you before.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you don’t say anything. Instead, you drop from his lap to your knees in front of him. You’re quick as you reach for his belt, unbuckle it, go to unzip his pants - but Klaus tries to stop you. 

“What are you doing?” He asks again, as if it’s not obvious. But you know what he means. This isn’t a normal reaction to what just happened, but what about this situation is normal? Klaus is immortal, part fucking wolf, and you’re a stripper who’s about to put his cock in your mouth.

“Thanking you, Klaus,” you say softly, a strange confidence overtaking you. Maybe that’s all you needed to feel better about yourself. To be more sure of yourself. Maybe all you needed was someone to show they cared, even just a smidge. Even just an inch.

“Y/N,” he warns, even as you take his hard cock in your hand. He’s already turned on, and you realize it’s from what just happened in the main room of the club. Klaus gets turned on from violence, from hurting other people - and apparently you get turned on that violence and hurting people gets him going. 

Klaus has a beautiful cock. It’s big, thick, the perfect size in comparison to his body. It’s veiny and pink, and you can’t help it, you lick your lips like you can’t wait to get a taste. 

You can’t. You’re desperate for it, have thought about his cock and what it’d feel like in your mouth since you met him, if you’re being honest with yourself. Have wondered what it’d be like to get intimate with someone as powerful as him. Wondered if it’d make you feel submissive to be in the presence of a man like Klaus, or if you’d feel more powerful by association. 

With his cock in your mouth, you realize you feel powerful. Making Klaus Mikaelson shudder, controlling his pleasure with your tongue and the suck of your lips - the power is intoxicating. 

But it’s fleeting, because just as soon as your power started, Klaus puts a hand in your hair. He guides you along the length of his cock, and you let him, eager to please him. Drool runs down your chin, and Klaus bucks his hips up and begins to talk dirty. 

“You’ve been thinking of this, haven’t you? Fuck,” he growls, and you moan against his length. It sends shudders through his body, you realize, because you feel his dick twitch in your mouth. “My little dancer. So eager to please me. Fuck, sweetheart. Your mouth was made for this.”

It’d be degrading if it wasn’t so hot. But everything Klaus is saying is true. There’s a certain allure to his darkness, and while you suck him off, or - while he uses your mouth - you begin to make the realization that the other dancers didn’t really hate Klaus. 

They were jealous of you. They probably wanted him, but just couldn’t work up the courage to go over to him like you did. Maybe you’re stronger than you realize, you think. 

Or maybe just more stupid. 

Suddenly, Klaus pulls you off of his cock. “Up, love,” he orders, and you do as he says, wiping the drool from your mouth with the back of your hand. When you’re standing, he rips your panties off first and then your bra, like an animal, smirks when he sees your naked body. 

Your bra and panties lay on the ground by your feet, and Klaus looks at them smugly before palming your breast. “Been waiting ages to do that,” he admits, presumably about ripping your clothes off of you. Then he switches his attention to your body, and he hums, something in his eyes that almost makes it look like he can’t believe this is real. 

“You’re glorious,” he murmurs, pinching one of your nipples. With the hand that’s not cupping your breast, he rubs it up and down your waist, feeling your skin - almost like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. That this moment is real. 

You know the feeling. 

“Every curve, every inch of your perfect skin,” Klaus stands then, pulling your body to his. In between you both, so close like this, you feel his hard cock poking you. It’s so erotic, so fucking hot, and you know if he were to feel between your legs that you’d be soaking. “You’re so beautiful, Y/N. Made to be admired.”

There’s a pause while he looks at your mouth, like he wants to kiss you, and you think it’s finally going to happen - all of this, yet you’ve never kissed yet. And you want it more than anything, maybe even more than you want his cock inside of you. 

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, Klaus pulls away, gently pushing you down onto the couch. “Hands and knees, sweetheart,” he says, as if that’s not obvious, but you obey anyway. 

Of course you do, and he knows you will too. 

You hear Klaus behind you, taking the rest of his clothes off. The sound of his belt hitting the floor, his shirt being shrugged off, shoes kicked off. But when he gets behind you, your back to his chest, his arms bracketing both sides of you, all you can focus on is the feel of his necklaces against your skin. They’re cold, and they make you arch your back. 

Klaus chuckles, his dick poking at your wet entrance. “Such a good girl, arching without instruction,” and then he pauses, pulls away a little. Maybe you look nervous, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but he asks tentatively, “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Your body heats in embarrassment. Can he really see how little experience you have when it comes to sex? But you shake your head and softly say, “No.”

“Just a few men,” you clarify, and you feel Klaus press a kiss to your back. He lines his dick back up with your entrance, pushing in slowly. 

“I hope they die,” he says randomly, and it catches you so off guard that you forget to breathe when he pushes himself into you. It’s a stretch for sure, but only for a second. Because you’re so turned on, your body opens for him, and it feels so good that all you can do is whine. 

Klaus has turned you to putty in his hands, on his cock, and it’s the first time you can remember ever being able to let go of all the thoughts that have you spiraling on the daily. For the first time in a long time, you’re able to just focus on the present moment - which is, currently, squeezing Klaus’ dick with your tight little pussy. 

“Fuck,” you whimper. He’s got one arm on one side of you holding himself up, and the other gripping your shoulder, pulling you up against his body. The angle makes his dick hit such a good spot inside of you that your eyes almost roll back into your head. 

Forget the oral sex from someone with almost a thousand years of practice, you think, his dick is fucking magic.

“Klaus,” you moan, fingers gripping the arm of the couch. You dig your nails into the fabric, but then Klaus reaches forwards and smacks your hands away so you’re holding onto nothing. You’re worried you’re going to fly away in pleasure, only able to focus on the feeling of his cock going in and out of your tight, wet heat. It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s -

“Focus on me,” Klaus orders, instructing you to keep your hands in front of you. You hold them together while he holds you both up, knees on the couch like you’re a pair of animals rutting against each other. It’s feral. “Focus on my cock inside of you, Y/N. I know you’ve been waiting for it. Tell me how it feels.”

How can you even begin to describe the sensation? 

“Good, it’s,” but then he hits that spot again and you moan, losing track of all your words. Klaus pulls out and thrusts back in again, and in a move that surprises you so much you actually gasp, he smacks you on the ass. 

“That’s not a full sentence, doll. Try again.”

Bastard. Monster. Fucking ass. 

But you try again anyway. 

“It feels good, Klaus, so good. You’re so big and I’ve wanted this for so long and, and,” you can’t say anything else. All the build up that has led to this moment is causing you to break down, and when he moves his hand from your shoulder to the front of your body, past your tits and to your pussy, presses down on your clit when he cups your cunt in his hand, you lose it. 

You’re going to cum, and the pleasure is so overwhelming, you feel like you’re going to cry too. 

Klaus must notice this, or he feels the same, because his thrusts get sloppier and then he lets you go, so you’re back to being bent over on your knees, his solid body using you to make himself bust. “Touch yourself for me,” he orders, more out of breath than when he snapped someone’s neck, and you wonder if that’s because he’s working himself out - or if he’s holding back some of his strength. 

“God, these fucking shoes. I always wondered if you’d keep them on while you were getting fucked,” and just like that, Klaus’ stripper fantasy is revealed. You’re flattered. 

You reach a hand under your body and rub your clit, hand cramping, arm at an awkward angle, but it’s worth it. You feel so good, and it’s not just sexual. It’s everything. So much all at once. 

It’s Klaus, and with that thought in mind you cum, feeling your pussy pulse arouse his cock. 

He doesn’t cum at the same time as you, but he does let out a growl so deep you worry it’s a full moon. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he moans, gripping your hips so tight they’ll leave bruises. “I could fuck you forever,” and you hope he does. But then his thrusts get faster, and you know he’s about to cum. 

Klaus buries his face in your hair, breathing you in, pressing kisses to the back of your shoulders and the back of your neck. “Tell me you won’t forget me when you’re gone,” he says, before letting out another moan. “Fuck, I’m cumming.”

It’s so sudden, both his release and his comment, that you don’t say anything at all. You just feel the heaviness of his body on your back, the way he fills you up with his cock and his seed, leaking out of you as he pulls out, and the feel of something rough cleaning you off a second later. 

He’s using your ripped up panties to wipe you off. 

You don’t plan on bringing up what he said as you get dressed. Maybe he said it in a moment of pleasure, but the truth is - you can’t get it off your mind. If he means what you think he means, that you’ll be leaving town soon, then why do you feel so disappointed at the thought of leaving him?

You put on a pair of pants and a sweatshirt from your bag, no longer a sexy vixen, and you know Klaus has never seen you like this. You hope it doesn’t change his view on you, but there’s literally nothing else you can wear. 

This was all you brought. 

“You never answered me,” Klaus says as you put on your shoes. You’re so happy to take the heels off, and your feet scream in relief when you slip on your boots. They’re flat, they’re comfortable, and you feel more like yourself than you did just a second ago. 

You’re not sure if that’s good or bad. There was something kind of nice about the armor that was your stripper outfit. You could pretend to be someone you’re not, almost like a mask, even if it sounds stupid because you were almost naked in the outfit. 

“How could I forget you, Klaus?” You say, but you mean it in more ways than just in regards to the connection you share. How could you ever forget the man that burst into town all those years ago, who disrupted and destroyed so much for so many people? 

But you think he means promise you’ll remember me as something more than a monster, and if that’s the case, you want to tell him that you will. 

Of course you will. 

“Where am I going?” You ask for clarification, because you know what he means - it’s something you’ve talked about before. You just never knew Klaus was really listening. 

You want him to say what you think he’s going to say. 

Klaus walks towards you, necklaces tangled around his neck. The buttons of his henley are lopsided and his jeans are wrinkled from when they were on the floor while he was fucking you. He looks utterly distressed, and you realize it’s because of the conversation you’re having. 

He doesn’t want you to leave, and that scares you as much as it warms your heart.  

When he reaches you, he grabs your hands in his. Whatever you two have - it’s complicated, and you can tell that it’s taking everything in Klaus to do the right thing right now. 

“You’re going to leave town. You’re going to that performing arts school you’ve put off for a few years,” he smirks at that, and then you realize he’s making a dark joke. Like you’ve had any choice in putting off school. 

“Klaus, I,” but you don’t know what to say. You should be screaming yes. Should be running out the door to go home and grab your money from the safe under your bed, should be offering to suck Klaus off again just to guarantee your freedom. This is what you’ve been wishing for and wanting forever. 

This is your golden ticket. 

Yet you find yourself saying, “I can’t.” 

Klaus looks at you like you’re crazy, and maybe you are. But you think you see a little relief in his eyes too. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, because it’s not like you can stay for Klaus. There’s no future with this. No future for this. For you both together. 

This is it. It’s the beginning and the end of something, and the thought fills you with so much emotion you don’t know what to do. You’re not sure what the emotion is, think that it could very well be love, but you’ve never known love. It’s a stranger. All you know is that you feel. 

You remind yourself that at the very least, Klaus Mikaelson is the reason you can feel again. 

“I hoped you’d say that,” Klaus laughs, and then he looks at you, and suddenly you blank out. 

You can hear it, it’s registering in your brain, but you’re not totally conscious of it. It’s almost like someone’s talking to you from another room, like you’re half asleep. All you hear is his voice, telling you, “You’re going to leave town. You’re going to that performing arts school you’ve put off.” He holds your hands so tight, you’re worried they’ll be bruised when he pulls away. 

He’s trying to compel you, you realize, in the back of your mind. He tells you he’s already got you registered, did research on your name and your background because he can do things like that, that there’s someone waiting at your apartment to take you across the city border, and your money is safe. You’ll be okay. 

Money won’t be an issue anymore. 

You go to do as he says, but just as you head to the door, he comes to you. Turns you around and grabs your head, looks you over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, Y/N, for the dances,” he says. It’s a strange goodbye. “Remember me as someone good.”

You don’t tell him that his request is unnecessary. That there’s no reason to compel you to think of him like that. 

Because you’ll always remember him as someone good. 

Good to you.

___

9 Months Later

It’s the end of your first show, and you’re on top of the world. 

You’ve been practicing for months, and you’re proud of yourself for how far you’ve come. When you first arrived, you had a lot of practice to catch up on, as was expected. It was overwhelming at first, turning back into a ballerina, but your instructor told you that she can’t believe you took such a long break from dancing. 

She always compliments you, tells you that whatever practice you were doing at home kept you in shape. That you must’ve been born a talented dancer, if this is how you dance with a lapse in years of professional training. 

She’s sweet.

If only she knew. 

The show, recital, was a success. You’re leaving the auditorium, ready to shower back in your campus apartment and change your clothes to meet up with some friends. Your new life is so normal, so fun, it’s hard to believe what your past used to be. 

You never really think about it. You’re too busy to think about it most days, with all the dancing and new friends and normal life shit you’ve become adjusted to. You never thought you would get to this place, literally and figuratively, and you know you only have one person to thank. 

It’s hard sometimes, reasoning with yourself if your thoughts go back to Klaus Mikaelson. He was the cause of some of the worst years of your life, but he was also your savior. Where, how, do you come to terms with that? Where does blame start, and when does forgiveness begin? 

Is a good deed still a good deed if the only reason the deed was needed was because of something bad they did? 

Believe it or not, you’re not a philosophy major. Just inquisitive, with a lot more time to think now that you’re not in survival mode all the time. Maybe you just want an excuse to think about Klaus when he crosses your mind, but the truth is, long thoughts and morals aside -

It doesn’t matter what he did, because you forgive him. People do bad things all the time and never make it right, but Klaus - he did right by you.

That’s got to count for something.

You’re heading up the stairs that lead to your apartment when you…see him? 

Is it -

No, it couldn’t be. Why would he be here? 

Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. 

But it’s not. In front of your apartment door, holding a bouquet of red roses, is Klaus Mikaelson in the flesh. 

You wonder if you’re just experiencing psychosis from lack of sleep - it’s different from what you used to experience back then. Your lack of sleep now is from studying and hanging out with friends, late night dance practices. Not hunger and anxiety and insomnia.

“Y/N,” Klaus says, and it's weird. This is weird, but if he’s talking that means it’s real.

What is he doing here? 

And why does your heart speed up like it did back when you first saw him at the club? 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, but your tone isn’t mean. You’re happy to see him. There’s no explanation. It’s chemical - you just are.

You’ve avoided the news about your former city like the plague. It’s easy, in all honesty, because you still don’t have a phone. It doesn’t matter to you, because the past is the past. You don’t want to know, and you’re scared, that if you think about it too hard, the past might suck you back in.

You were given a golden ticket and you’d be stupid to look back. 

But, strangely enough, the part of your past you don’t mind thinking about is standing in front of you. He looks proud, and he smiles with something like shyness behind it. 

You feel silly, in stage makeup and another sweatshirt. You still can’t wrap your head around it, who Klaus is and what he’s done and what he’s done for you. Maybe you never will. 

He hands you the roses and you thank him. It’s silent, while he looks you over, and you him. Handsome as always, because he doesn’t age, looking far too expensive to be standing in this apartment complex. 

Money isn’t an issue anymore because someone anonymous (cough, Klaus) paid for the entirety of your tuition at once, and also gifted you enough cash that you deposited into an account that could feed you for years - but you’re frugal with your money. Could live somewhere nicer, but you just want to be careful. 

You never know what could happen. Good or bad. Best to stay safe. 

“I’ve never missed a performance, and I don’t intend to start now,” is all Klaus says, and that does something to you. 

He’s never missed a performance, you think. Never at the club, even when you thought he wasn’t there. Which is how he protected you that night, against Martin. Klaus has always been watching, protecting -

And if that’s the case, it makes sense that for your first public performance tonight, he was there. 

Nobody has ever been there for you like that. 

You’re so much different now. You’re not so insecure, not so nervous - you don’t worry so much. You can actually joke around, laugh a little bit, take things as they come instead of letting trauma run your life. 

So you’re not the shy, damaged girl you were back when you left Klaus at the club that night. Which gives you the confidence to say this. 

“You never kissed me,” you blurt out, and Klaus laughs. Steps closer to you, so close that you can smell his cologne. Woodsy, warm, maybe a little mint? Your body heats up at his closeness. 

“Maybe that’s for the best, love,” Klaus says, with a tinge of regret in his voice. You know he’s right, but you can’t help but slip down the trail of memory lane with him. Standing this close to him, stage makeup on again, his stupid necklaces on display. 

The only physical difference from back then are the clothes you’re wearing and where you are. But there’s so much else that’s different, it’s almost like Klaus is visiting from another world.

“What did you think of my dance?” It’s the same thing you used to ask him every night at the club. Nostalgia is a dirty liar, because there’s something that makes you miss that. 

Miss him. 

You have to look away. 

“You’re a goddess. Now. Then,” Klaus reaches out, pushes some of your hair behind your ear. “Always. But I have to say, the heels were a little hotter than the slippers.” You grin.

Sharing history with this monster. Smiling with this beast. Only Klaus doesn’t feel so much like those descriptions anymore. 

At least, he’s not the monster of your story. You know a handful of people that could fill that role. 

Klaus Mikaelson is your savior. 

“Good to see your compulsion is still working,” he says, and you wonder if he means to say it out loud. You quirk a brow, but it’s now or never. 

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. 

“I’ve been taking vervain for years,” you admit shyly, opening the door to your apartment. His compulsion never worked on you. 

“Do you want to come inside?” 

[youngtacoes]

Strangers, no more

Cooper Howard aka The Ghoul x f!reader

Author's note: this is a long one !! i've had this scenario in my head for a long ass time and i just had to get it out on paper. cooper isn't as cruel in this one, sorry if that's not your thing, but he can be soft sometimes too! fyi: reader is 18+ and everything is consensual! If you're only here for the smut you can skip toward the end.

Word count: 6,8k

Summary: Cooper is a bounty hunter struggling for caps and you need to be transported safely across the wasteland in "good condition", luckily it pays well. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ Mentions of r*pe, impregnation & torture, religious cult, angst, virgin!reader, losing virginity, graphic smut

~

It was getting bad, really damn bad. Days of good-for-nothing bounty jobs, vial after vial, cough attack after cough attack. He needed the caps desperately if he was to keep himself from turning feral anytime soon. He’d been taking small jobs here and there, just enough to keep himself at bay for a few days, but he knew he couldn’t keep going at this rate for much longer. He needed a bigger job, a bigger cash prize, a bigger bounty, but every time he stopped by the wall of people with prizes attached to them, he found himself disappointed in how low the numbers were. That is until he notices a fresh face staring back at him, hidden behind newer posters, large letters displayed across. "BIG JOB", and this one has an even larger number attached.

He steps forward, pushing the other posts away and rips the new face off the wall to study the number closer. Yup, he read it right.

Five thousand caps.

"Well, I’ll be damned," he muttered.

A young girl, maybe in her 20s. She looks well put together, innocent, and has a sincere smile on her face. For the first time in a very, very long time, he found himself wondering what her story was and why she was worth so damn much, but he didn’t like to dwell on it for too long. A job is a job, and this was going to be worth every damn cap.

On the poster, it states that she was to get picked up at the coordinates provided and to keep her in "good condition". Well, shit, that might just be the hardest part. The ghoul had never been one to take care of his captives, and most often he preferred if the poster stated "good dead or alive". This was definitely going to be different, and if it wasn’t for the "good condition" detail, he’d almost think it was too good to be true. Perhaps even think it was a trap.

~

It’s midnight, and you’re seated by your desk with a pen in hand, drawing carefully and concentrated on making art on this dirty sheet of old newspaper, but it was good enough for you. You drew flowers and insects from an old pre-war book about nature and their hidden treasures. You were always fascinated by the pre-war times, and though you will never know what it was truly like, you liked to imagine who you would’ve been back in those times.

It’s your way of forgetting about the current state of your life and the predicament you found yourself in. You were born in the wasteland, to a mother who did her best to protect you, but in the end, she had been brutally murdered by a group of raiders who attacked your farm, and you were taken captive by them at the age of 9. You spent a few horrid days with them before your current group found you and bought your freedom from them.

To be fair, you’ve been treated quite well by this group, and you thought you had a family in them at one point. That was until a few months ago when they decided you needed to be isolated from the rest for reasons you still didn’t quite understand. The leader of the group, Margot, had carefully selected you for a special assignment, and made sure to tell you the isolation was for your own good. Apparently you needed special treatment before a long journey to a sacred place called Halfway that was waiting for your arrival.

Your fellow peers would come and visit you to show their excitement, though you didn’t quite understand it, it must be something good with all the positive buzz that’s surrounding you. So your head got filled with all sorts of scenarios and dreams of where you were going and what luxuries you were to experience on this assignment. Though you had your doubts that it was all just a coverup for something else, you didn’t have any reason not to trust your group. They had been nothing but kind to you as long as you’d been there.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by heavy knocks on your locked door and a command shouted from behind.

"Lights out!"

You sigh at the command. "Yes madam!"

You don't bother packing up your drawing supplies, you'll be continuing with it tomorrow anyway, and the day after, probably. You find your bed and blow out the nearby candles.

Every night you can't help but wonder when your assignment and journey would begin. You had all sorts of feelings and questions about it, but every time you tried talking to Margot, she would give you answers that didn’t really answer anything at all, so you gave up on trying to figure it out a long time ago.

~

The next morning you’re awaken rudely by the guards coming into your room and practically dragging you out of bed in your dazed state.

"Wha- HEY-" you try to muster what’s going on, but before even getting a word out, you’re on your feet and Margot stands before you with her hands on her back.

"Morning lucky one. It’s time, the day we have waited long for is finally here," She's so serious in her delivery, it almost frightens you.

It’s happening.

"We’ve hired someone to transport you safely across the wasteland for your assigment, they’re here and won’t be kept waiting. Get ready in 5 and say your goodbyes, quickly."

Suddenly it feels like it’s all happening too fast, and a slight panic rise inside you. Margot must've notices your panicked stare, cause her features soften, and she steps closer to you.

"You’ve come so far, and I’m so proud of you,» She smiles at you with encouragement, "This is your moment, and I know you will succeed and make us all proud."

Her words give you enough to calm down before the panic escalated. And you give her a nod that you indeed got this. You can do this. You’ve done hard things before, this shouldn’t be any different.

"Yes madam," you say smiling back at her. She flashes you one last smile and a wink before turning and walking back out.

Outside you find everyone from your group waiting in the corridors. They smile at you, some coming to greet you, give you kisses on the cheek as you’re led out of the main building by the guards. It’s all a bit much, but this must be pretty big deal. Margot waits for you by the gate to your commune, but she's not alone. A dark figure stands just outside, looking impatient.

You’re filled with scepticism as you walk up them, but you have to put your trust in her. She notices you and takes a hold of your hands with a smile.

"You will do great," And the wave of panic that had a hold of you before, washes off of you completely. You nod confidently now, and you start believing that this is actually gonna be totally fine.

You feel the dark figure moving closer to you, his hat covering his face just enough to keep him anonymous for the time being. He still looks terrifying, but you have to trust this man is here only to protect you on your journey to Halfway, and that he will do his best to do so.

Margot shoots the man one last look, "Good condition," the man still doesn’t show his face, but he nods.

"Yes ma’am. Let’s go princess," You realize he’s talking to you, and you’re startled by the nickname at first, but you decide not to fuzz, at least not yet. He’s already started walking away, so you find yourself running up behind him, waving back to your leader for the last time, only she doesn’t wave back, she doesn’t even flash a smile. She stares back at you with a stern look as the gates to the commune come to a close.

It doesn’t give you the best feeling, but perhaps she was feelings sad you were leaving and didn’t want to show any emotions. Either way, you try to push the sight out of your mind, doing your best to follow the stranger. He doesn’t say a word for a long time, and you find that maybe it’s best we keep to ourselves for the time being, but as an hour or so go by, you find yourself a little curious.

You clear your throat, "Excuse me, sir?"

He doesn’t reply, but shoots a quick look over his shoulder to indicate that he’s listening.

"How long do you think we’ll be walking for?"

Given that Margot had given you absolutely no information about this journey, you figured it was worth a shot to ask your new strange companion.

"Couple’a days, if we don’t get sidetracked," His voice ragged, western, serious.

"Oh," not really sure if you dared asking for further details. You’d prefer to keep it peaceful for as long as possible, but you find the courage to ask anyway.

"Sidetracked by what?"

You hear him sigh, "Unnecessary bullshit."

‘Whatever that means’ you think to yourself. He doesn’t seem like the talkative type, but after months of isolation you find yourself rather desperate for someone to talk to, and if you are to spend days with this man, you figure it’s worth a shot trying to get to know him for whatever time you have to spend together.

"I see.. I’ll be on the lookout for that I suppose."

You can barely believe your ears when you hear a chuckle coming from the stranger in front of you.

After that positive feedback, you find yourself braver.

"I didn’t catch your name?"

His posture changes after the question left your mouth.

"I didn’t give to ya,"

"Well, I’m Y/N, but everyone calls me Lucky. It’s a bit of a recent nickname though. You see, I just spend 6 months in completely isolation-"

You get cut off abruptly when you find yourself crashing into the strangers back, realizing he's come to an complete halt. He turns around, his figure towering slightly over you. His hat is no longer doing it’s job to cover his face, and utter horror washes over you as it's fully visable in the golden hour light.

"Listen sweetheart, I’m here to do this goddamn job. I don’t wanna hear your whole life story, and you sure as hell won’t be hearing mine. How about we keep our histories to ourselves and try to get this over with as quickly as fucking possible. That sound good to you?"

Your eyes aren’t able to leave his face. His sunken eyes, skin looking like it's been melted by the sun, an obvious nose missing. A ghoul, a ghoul is transporting you. You’ve not met a ghoul before, and those you’ve heard stories of have been grotesque. Fair enough they had been feral, but who’s to say this one won’t turn?

You get the gist of what he’s saying, and simply nod in agreement, not wanting to make this trip any more uncomfortable than it already is.

His eyes bore into your own, and he’s a lot closer than you’d prefer. For a second you think his eyes dart down to your lips before he turns around to keep walking, but that would be crazy, and very disturbing.

~

Nightfall comes fast, and you’re finding yourself worried for where you’ll be sleeping for the night. You really don’t wanna ask the ghoul, but your steps are getting shorter and slower, and you think the Ghoul have noticed cause he starts walking off track and leads you to a broken down abandoned house off the road.

"Stay here," he says before entering the house, gun up, ready to shoot. You do as he says and wait patiently for him to clear the coast. It doesn’t take long before you hear squealing and two shots being fired. You’re not sure whether to go in or run, but it doesn't matter anyway cause you freeze up completely in these situations. All you can do is hope that the ghoul knows what he's doing.

He comes back to the door a few minutes later, gesturing for you to come in, you’re hesitant, but you do. It's not like you have much of a choice anyway, "What was the shooting about?"

In his left hand he holds a dead radroach, and you find yourself wondering why he’s holding it. That's so fucking gross.

"You should be grateful. I got us some lunch the road," he says, flashing you a smirk. It's almost like he knew you’d be repulsed by it.

"Uhm, y’know what? I think I’m good, for the time being." You try to be nice, but you feel like you might not have a say in the matter. This might be the only food you get for a while.

"Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make a fire and we’ll put it on the grill."

You want to roll your eyes and complain, but you force yourself to give him a smile and if anything, show some appreciation. He did in fact just catch you a meal.

You’re able to swallow some of the grilled radroach, but after the fresh foods you had grown accustomed to from your commune, you found this hard to stomach.

Nightfall has fallen completely now, and you’ve done your best to make a comfortable sleeping spot by the fire. The ghoul sits nearby keeping watch, and you find yourself very curious of his past and who he is, or who he used to be. Thinking back to his speech earlier about keeping your histories to yourselves reminds you not to ask, but he didn’t say anyting about asking about where you were going.

"What do you know about Halfway?" You watch him closely for any hints he migth give away, "Is it as grand as everyone makes it out to be?" You lay on your side, arm resting under your head.

He doesn’t look at you, eyes fixated on the fire. "How about you get some rest, alright?" he avoids your question. How annoying.

You turn to lay on your back with a puff of annoyance. «Nobody wants to tell me anything,"

"Maybe there's a reason for that."

You turn to look at him, his eyes still not meeting yours. "What is that supposed to mean?" By the sound of it, nothing good.

"Look it's not my job to inform you of shit, and if your leader wanted you to know, trust me darling, she would've told ya."

His eyes flicker up to look directly at yours this time, and it catches you off guard. Not knowing what else to say, you decide to turn to your side, away from him. This whole thing is giving you a really bad feeling.

You’re back on track the next day. Your legs sore from the day before. Having been in isolation for 6 months will do that to you, you guessed, but you'll manage.

The ghoul hasn't said a word yet today, and though you didn't exactly get the answers you were looking for last night, you refused to give up completely.

"What did Margot mean when she said good condition?"

He doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. You sigh,

"Look, I don’t mean to be annoying. Truly, I’d just like to know what is waiting for me. That’s all, and I really don't see the harm in that." Still nothing.

"Hey! It’s not kind to ignore someone when they're talking to y-" The ghoul quickly turns, a rope firm in his hands. Where did that come from? He grabs your hands, tying them together before you’re able to protest.

"Hey- what’re you doing!?" You look at him in disbelief, anger and panic all in one.

"Trust me, it’s for your own good," You laugh at that, yeah right. Before you’re able to mock him, he takes out a piece of cloth and wraps it around your head, specially over your mouth, and it's keeping you from saying what's on your mind. For a second you’re actually fearing for your life.

"Listen, gorgeous. We’re about to pass through some dangerous territory, and the people in these parts would do a lot to get their hands on a pretty litte thing like yourself. You follow my lead and keep your mouth shut, can you do that for me?"

You look for any lies in his eyes, but you genuinely believe him. It’s not like you can argue against him anyway, but you put your trust in him and give a nod in response.

You walk for a short while longer before you actually start seeing other people on your path. They seem rough around the edges. Hostile, but not aggressive, yet anyway. You walk past a few who seem to be intrigued, but not interested enough to take their chance at battle with the ghoul. That is until a few of them start gathering in front of you. Four men stand before your path, making it impossible to keep walking without confrontation.

"Gentlemen, how do you do?" The ghoul seems to do his best to keep it friendly, not wanting to create an unnecessary conflict with precious cargo at risk.

"What’ve you got for us ghoul?" As you observe, you can tell some of them are clearly on heavy combat inhancing chems, might be a harder fight if it comes down to it.

"Delivery, to Halfway. Can’t lose this one I’m afraid." He says it so confidently, completely standing his ground, but still keeping it non threatening. The men seem intrigued, and even exchange laughs between themselves. You wonder what they find so funny.

"That religious sacrifice place? What a lucky girl,"

"Seems like she’s up for a hell of a good time,"

"Fellas, if you don’t mind, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule," The ghoul tries to interrupt their 'friendly' chatter, but to no avail.

"They only take virgins up there don’t they? That’s like their whole point?" One of the guys ask the other three.

"Yeah, it’s some crazy religious cult. They torture them and impragnate them for like 10 years or something, or at least that’s what I’ve heard."

You freeze at their words. That can’t be it. That’s not what’s been told to you. They’re joking, making it up to scare you. It’s not true.

"Crazy rich though, you must be getting a lot of caps for this huh?" Suddenly their tone is not so friendly anymore, but the ghoul doesn’t budge. He keeps his hand on his holstered gun, the other holding the rope that binds your hands.

"Lucky for you, we’re not looking to take her off your hands. This time anyway," They laugh once more, patting the ghoul on his shoulder before walking off, letting you pass. He pulls on the rope to shake you out of your frozen state, and you jolst forward, trying to keep up with him. But you're disassociating, not paying a single mind to anything around you. You're too much in your head about what was just said, and you'd like to say you didn't believe a single word, but for some reason you do.

You keep walking in silence, time becomes irrelevant when you're all up in your head. You don’t notice the radstorm closing in, nor the rain that has already started pouring. If anything is in your favor, it's that you pass by a town with an abandoned pre-war hotel that offer a room for 100 caps a night. For whatever reason, the ghoul decides to do that for you. You don’t ask questions, you don't care to.

Soaked, shivering and your legs just barely keeping you up anymore, the ghoul places you down on the couch in the room given to you. You let him guide you, and for once, you're glad he doesn't have much to say. He lowers himself down in front of you and starts taking off the disgusting saliva soaked cloth from your mouth.

You wipe your mouth your hand, "Thank you."

He keeps his mouth shut and starts working on untying the rope from your hands. You watch him crouched before you, he's being gentle when removing the knots. A horrifying reminder of what you won't be experiencing at Halfway, if the men from earlier was telling the truth that is. This thought is what breaks you, and the tears start trickling down your tired face. There's no point holding it back anymore.

He's looking at you, so clearly trying to hide the concern on his face as he stands up and walks to the door.

"I’ll head down to the square to look for some food,"

Whatever.

Your silence is making him uncomfortable, so he leaves. You stay seated, replaying the words spoken between the men from earlier, over and over in your head.

Everyone you knew had made Halfway seem like such an amazing place. That you were lucky to be going, you were chosen. The thought makes you want to throw up.

You don’t register that the ghoul is back, fresh mutfruits placed in front of you on the coffee table, and though you are starving, you can’t bring yourself to even eat one.

"Eat," he says sternly. You just shake your head.

"M’not hungry," you sniffle, drying your tears with the palm of your hand.

"It’s not nice to lie, sweetheart. You haven’t had anything to eat since the damn radroach. Eat," He's trying to act concerned, but you don't believe it for a second. You scoff and look up to meet his eyes, and he’s looking right back at you, an annoyed expression on his face. You can’t believe this guy.

"Why do you care if I eat or not? Let me be," You're so tired, and all you want is to sleep. Gradually rising from the couch, you head towards the bed.

"Please," his plead makes you stop in your tracks.

"Please eat, you're really gonna need the strength," he seems desperate, almost.

You turn around to see him standing motionless by the coffee table, clearly attempting to compose himself.

"No," you're stern in your reply.

He's growing increasingly annoyed, angry even, because he knows he can't force you or harm you in any way.

"Whatever good condition means, I’m sure they'll be pleased as long as I’m alive, right?" Your voice gradually getting louder. "Being that their plan is to torture me for 10 years and all, they must have lots of stimpacks around to keep me alive enough to birth their whole next generation of psychos, don't you think?" Tears start falling.

"Don’t make me beg again," His eyes are shut, as if he's trying to block out your words, as if they affect him somehow. what a fucking joke.

"You’re so afraid you won’t get your paycheck. Well fuck you, and fuck the caps they’re paying you for this," you say it with so much pain and hatred, and you’re sure you’ll regret it later but you don���t have an inch of fuck to give at the moment.

Suddenly you see his angry features fall, and he catches himself in a cough. It's grotesque, and it seems to be getting worse with each one. He looks at you with disrepair, and you can tell he's struggling to catch his breath. You don't know what to do, but you're getting scared for him now. It looks horrifying, but before you're able to come to his aid, he scurries out the room.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. What just happened? A part of you wanted to run after him to make sure he was okay, but at the same time you wouldn't mind too much if he left and never came back. Shaking, you decide to tuck yourself into the left side of the bed. Trying not to think about how dirty it is, you curl yourself into a ball and cry out every last drop.

You’re never able to fall asleep, the tears just keep coming. You thought about running away, but knowing that the ghoul was getting paid a lot for this job, he would likely find you again in no time. What would be the point?

Your sobs are suddenly interrupted by the door opening, and you quiet yourself down to listen closely to every sound. The sound of the ghouls boots scraping the floor as he makes his way to the couch, his coat and gear getting thrown down on it. You decide to pretend that you’re already asleep as you hear him make his way to the bed. Feeling it dip slightly as he lay down in it.

But your cover is blown when you sniffle from the snot in your nose. You damn yourself as a sigh from the stranger fills the room, and you start feeling embarrassed about the way you treated him earlier. It’s not him you should be angry at, if anything it’s Margot and your group. The ghoul is just doing his job, to collect a price which he must need desperately, you can’t really blame him. He owes you nothing.

"Cooper," his raspy voice turned soft for a second.

"What?"

"My name is Cooper, some call me Coop. Whichever rolls of your tongue the best."

You feel awful now, "I’m sorry," Wiping away the tears and the snot to the best of your ability.

"For what sweetheart?" He sounds like he already knows what you’re apologising for, but decides to ask anyway for his own amusement.

"For cursing you out, it’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t blame you," You say, already feeling better for apologizing.

You both stay silent for a while, only sniffles from your nose filling the room. It’s embarrassing, you feel like such a child.

"C’mere darling," He says it in such a soft way. You can barely believe your ears. Looking over your shoulders you see him looking at you, only the dim light of a burning candle nearby to light your surroundings. He’s on his back, gesturing with his hand for you to lay in the crook of his arm. You contemplate it for a second, but it doesn’t take much convincing if you’re being honest. You’d take any form of comfort to make you forget this whole thing, even for just a night.

You turn around, inching closer under the sheets, finding a comfortble spot in the crook of his neck, your head resting on his arm. You’ve never been this close to someone except your mom when you were younger. It’s scary in a way, being this vulnerable and intimate with someone you barely know.

Your breaths are shallow, thoughts racing through your mind and it’s making your heart is beat so fast. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, his body doesn’t give anything away.

You lay like this for a while, just a few dry sniffles and breaths heard between you. You recognize the closeness of him.

But you want to get even closer. You want him wrapped around you and have him absorb your whole being. It may come from having learned that you have extreme trauma waiting for you, and you can’t help but want to experience something good and genuine before that.

Your breaths become heavier, deeper, and you feel yourself wanting something; wanting him. This could go terribly wrong, but what exactly do you have to lose? Fuck it. You push away the what if's and inch your face closer to Cooper’s neck, your hands find themselves carefully making their way to his chest. He doesn’t react, and from what you can tell, he doesn't seem to mind.

You see his breathing stop, and you’re feeling brave. So you test the waters, gently sliding your hand up to his chest, letting them glide across his shirt. While your lips carefully grace the rough skin on his neck. You hear him puff out the air he’s been holding in while curiously letting letting you wander, but he doesn’t seem to resist.

When he doesn’t stop you, it’s easy to find the courage to keep going. Your hand wanders further down his chest, stomach, but he catches your hand right before it reaches the hem of his pants.

"What do you think you’re doin'?" He doesn't sound disappointed, more so curious. You feel a bit embarrassed, but you stand your ground, like you've already stated, you’ve got nothing to lose.

"Please Coop," just a whisper in his ear, "Please show me what it’s meant to feel like", a plea, practically begging.

He can’t help but let out a low growl, obviously turned on by the thought. "I’m meant to deliver you as a virgin, sweetheart."

You want to cry again, a sob brewing deep in your throat. "Please, they won’t know- They won’t find out," Your lips find his neck again, leaving trails of kisses up to his jawline, tongue swirling along the rough surface. You never thought you would find yourself in this position 2 days ago, but here you were, begging for a bounty hunter, a ghoul, to take your virginity.

Lucky for you, he seems to be out of fucks to give and lets go of your hand after only a few seconds of thinking it over. You don’t hesitate to let your free hand go under his shirt to feel his skin. It’s so textured, but you don’t mind. You’ve never touched anyone this way before, there wasn't much to compare it to.

Your hand travel lower until it finds a buldge. Being that this is your first time being intimate with somone, you’re startled by the unfamiliarity of it at first. But it doesn't take you long to realize that you were the reason for his cock hardening, and that turned you on more than anything.

Cooper, who's been laying still for some time now, has clearly been contemplating if he should stop this whole ordeal or not. He wants to touch you so bad, show you how good he can make you feel. Have you shaking with pleasure because of him, but he seems to let you be in control for the time being. You didn't mind, and it gave you some reassurance that this wouldn't be rushed, nor that he would force you to do something you didn't want to.

Your hands are shaking at this point as you try to unbotton his pants, and Cooper can't help but to give you a hand in your already broken state. You’re eager, and waste no time removing your own.

"Get over here darlin'," he says with that gentle voice again, gesturing for you to straddle his hips. His length is exposed now, and you feel yourself getting nervous with anticipation. You find it hard to believe that he's gonna fit inside you, it seems impossible.

Yet, you gain the confidence to sit up and make your way across his lap. You're not sure where to sit specifically, but you want to study him further and therefore straddle his thighs. His cock in view in front of you, laid across his stomach, stiff and drooling. Cooper doesn't say anything, but he watches you carefully, wondering what your next move will be. You don't pay attention to him for now.

You do however find yourself curious, and grab the length in front of you. It's warm, and you circle a thumb across the top where it's drooling a clear liquid. You hear him hum under you, an approval of the gesture you just performed. Butterflies take over your stomach, and you feel throbbing in your lower area. You want his cock so desperately inside you now, just to hear those sounds from him again.

"Sit up for me'," the gruffness of his voice draws your attention to him. You obliged without hesitation, "Scoot closer," and you do, of course you do.

He stretches a hand down between your thigs and you're on your knees straddling his hips. Rough fingers run between your folds and they run smoothly.

"Well fuck me, you really want this huh?" He's teasing you now. You nod frantically.

"Use your words sweetheart," He inserts a finger in your untouched hole. You gulp at the sensation, "Yes- yes I do-".

He hums again, moving the finger inside you, bending and stroking. It feels strange, but not painful. "I know you do honey, but I need to make sure you can handle me first, alright?"

You nod frantically, you knew already that you were prepared to do anything he wanted. "Yes, sir,"

Without warning he adds another finger, and it's starting to sting a little. You try to control your breathing as he starts moving them in and out of you, "I know it hurts baby, but it's only for a lil while. You trust me, don't you?"

You nod again, "Yes- Fuck!" He was getting agressive with it now, but he's hitting a spot you didn't know existed and it's sending you to other dimensions in your mind. Your eyes are rolling back while his fingers work hard between your thighs. It's unlike anything you've felt before.

"There we go.. You're gonna be so good for me aren't you, princess?" His words barely register as you find yourself gripping his arm and holding on for dare life to not lose your balance.

"Mhm- y- yes," and before you knew it, his hand is removed from between your folds and you're left heaving for your breath and trying to focus your vision again.

"I think you know what to do, darlin'," You need him badly now, even more now that you know what pleasures are waiting.

You place yourself over his cock, and Cooper watches in patiently as he puts his hands on your thighs, stroking them gently.

You grab his length and place it under your opening, ready to lower yourself on him. "Slow now," he warns as you as his tip meets your entrance, before letting it slip in just an inch. You both hiss, him with pleasure, you with pain.

"That’s it, doll," He keeps his eyes on you as you wince in pain. Taking deep breaths as your hole adjusts itself to his full size, but you’re feeling impatient and start pushing yourself even further despite the burning sensation. You figure it’s better to get it over with as fast as possible so you can actually start enjoying this.

Cooper hums, "Patience sweetheart," you lock eyes with him, and he genuinely seems to care. He lets you have complete control over this, not pushing any limits, and it makes you feel even more aroused, being in charge; seeing his eyes roll back with edged pleasure, yet doing nothing to force his way in.

You feel comfortable enough to start moving now, and you do your best not to squeal when you feel it burn and sting. Finally your skin touch, your ass gracing his thighs, and though it’s still stinging a bit, you can feel his whole length inside you, and it drives you mad.

"Just like that, princess," You hear his soft grunts below, and it reminds you to start moving. Slowly easing yourself off him, just to lower back down again, trying to find the right pace and angle for it to hit the right spot. It doesn't take long before you feel Cooper bucking his hips just ever so slightly to help you out, and he does. He knew exactly how to thurst his cock to give you the extreme pleasure you were searching for.

"More- please," you moan, your hands find his chest to lean on. Nails digging into his already ragged skin.

"God, you feel so fuckin' good around me, darling," His hips buck into you again, pulling himself almost all the way out before slamming himself back inside you. It's rough, and his hands have found your ass to grab to help move you to his rhythm. You're dazed, eyes barely open from sheer pleasure radiating deep inside you. It's making your breath hitched, and your moans spurt out in cries.

"My- fuckn'- god-" you struggle to draw a proper breath, your vision is blurred and rolled back, barely open.

He’s grunting with pleasure beneath you, seeing you completely lost to the way his cock fills your tight cunt, the next time rougher than last. You both sense that you're getting closer to an edge, and that’s when you realize how lightheaded you are, probably from the lack of food you’ve had today, and Coop notices how your figure slowly droops with exhaustion.

"Woah easy darling-" You feel him sit up under you, and without much effort he sits up and holds you tight to his chest, flipping you over on your back in a swift motion.

You would act surprised, but you’re too lightheaded and close to a climax that you don’t react at all. You feel his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavy and groaning into your ear as he pushes himself deep and steady inside you. Your moans are soft, almost silent, barely there, not enough energy to show him how good he’s making you feel. But you think he gets it, if anything he can see it in how your eyes roll back, how flushed your cheeks are, and feel how your walls are squeezing tightly around him.

"You gonna be a good girl and finish all over my cock, princess?" You feel a hand reach under your chin, placed firmy on your throat, a tight squeeze is applied as you feel his hot breath on your cheek. Sloppy kisses, and a traveling tongue, licking off all your sweat and tears. Having him so near and in control of your breathing makes you feel unbelievably hot. He could kill you right now, right at your high, and you wouldn't mind at all.

"I think I'm- Coop I'm gonna-," you’re whisper in his ear, and it only fuels him more.

He lifts your leg higher, hooking it over his free arm as he goes even deeper. "Show me how fuckin' good I make you feel, sweetheart,"

And with that you think you’re about to pass out, but instead you’re hit with the intense feeling of something combursting inside you. Your head slams back, and your hands reach up to grab the headboard of the bed, your knuckles turning white from the grip. You're dazed, exhausted, feeling the lingering pleasure from your orgasm still present inside your throbbing cunt. Cooper helps you ride out the orgasm in a slower pace while coming up close to his own.

"There you go doll, it's all right," His hand leaves your throat and he unhooks your leg to find your waist, placing them on each side. He's leaning back on his knees as he pumps himself into you, softly, slowly. Soft groans leaves his lips in heavy and hitched breaths as he gets closer.

Seeing you so beautifully dishevelled and limp beneath him, he starts guiding your exhausted body with his hands, pulling you onto his cock, using it to finish himself off. You allow him, cause you enjoy watching him his chest rise with every breath he takes. His eyes rolling back with pleasure from feeling your walls pulsate with each thrust, and with one last squeeze from you, he reaches his own climax.

His hands are grabbing your waist so tightly you can feel the bruises forming already, but all you can focus on is his heaving chest, and his exposed throat as his head is thrown back. Soft grunts and curses filling the room, and you imagine his eyes closed with painfully pleasurable bliss, all caused by you.

He rides out his own orgasm and tries to settle his breathing before he lifts himself off you. He doesn't look at you, but climbs tiredly out of the bed to readjust his clothing. You’re so sleepy, greasy, smelly, but you don't care. You're high, and happy.

You watch him at the edge of the bed, and you utter a soft 'Thank you', just to let him know you're grateful for risking the success of the job. You were meant to be delivered as a virgin after all.

You hear him chuckle from the foot of the bed, you guessed he’d never gotten a ‘thank you for fucking me’ from anybody before, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

"Close your eyes and get some sleep, alright?" Hell, he doesn’t need to tell you twice.

"I think that’s a good idea," You’re not really sure if the words ever left your mouth, being that you’re practically half asleep already. But you do notice the bed dipping slightly next to you, and how you’re gently being pushed on your side. Followed by something warm pressed up against your back, and gentle kisses being placed along your exposed neck.

What tomorrow brings doesn't matter in this moment.

Part 2?

[hai7ani]

Haitani Rindou is known to not be a very serious person.

There is nothing serious about him at all. He liaises with a bored look on his face, doesn't really attend executive meetings unless Mikey is there, and spends the rest of his days at his own club drowning in the girls, the music or the alcohol, and maybe letting off some steam by snatching away Sanzu's job.

But he is serious today. Angry, even.

The air is tense and it reeks of expensive European cologne when he steps one foot into the room. Briefcases filled with illegal substances welcomes his sight on the coffee table and tall stacks of cold, hard cash residing on his desk.

A man sits with one dirty shoe on his favourite British-imported sofa smoking a cigar, and Kokonoi Hajime on the opposite couch calm and collected.

There is also a girl crawling on all fours with a hot pink leash on her neck, tighter than a dog's collar.

Her skin glimmers under the dim lighting 一 with hints of blood that he could still recognise across her arms, but mostly with sweat. Her lips are pale, wobbly, and tears are pouring out of her sockets. Hurt and fear evident in her eyes.

She is you.

The dress that he got you 一 handpicked for you delicately 一 all ripped and torn and it barely clings onto your body anymore like it did all the time. You look like you're about to pass out anytime soon.

Haitani Rindou is filled with rage.

"Ah, Haitani! Just the man that I was looking for. Come, have a seat." The man invites with a huge menacing grin on his face, as he puts out the cigar on his expensive sofa.

It's my fucking office, you motherfucker.

Mario Ricci 一 he thinks it was, pauses counting the stacks of cash in his hands when Rindou does not move as he says. "Hmm?" He follows along his gaze which turns out to be stuck at you on the floor. His Italian accent is thick and heavy when he speaks, almost sounding like an ancient bard.

"I was passing through your halls and I saw this wonderful beauty standing right there, and I thought," he pauses, bending down slow to look at you.

"She'd be a perfect little mutt."

He tugs on the leash looped around his left hand, hard. His cologne fills up your nostrils from the distance and it is the only thing you can breathe in. More tears pool around your eyes as you cough 一 your throat is sore and the skin around it hurts. The buckle pushes hard against the side of your neck and he tugs another time.

"You wouldn't mind if I took this one home with me, yeah? You have plenty of sluts in your establishment already." There is a teasing glint in his eyes when he finally lets go, only to reach down and drag on your disheveled locks of hair.

He guides you like that 一 impatient and harsh 一 while you struggle with movement because you cannot look down at your hands, as you carefully crawl against the carpeted floor with your scalp red and painful.

You start sobbing again when he pulls away, and you lock eyes with the man that owns you, standing by the door.

There is fire in his eyes when he finally sees the picture that Mario painted for him. You're kneeling between his legs with two palms flat on the floor, catching your breath with uncontrollable drool dripping off your tongue.

Like a damn dog.

"God, she'd make a damn good slut. But I'm sure you already are during your time here, yeah, baby?" He taps on your cheek and swipes the drool away.

Your gaze is cloudy when you stare into Rindou's eyes. You're broken and battered. Your eyes no longer bright and shiny as when they used to admire him in the night, in his bed, when you'd draw your fingers along the lines and curves of his tattoos 一 they're filled with fear and you are so tired. You're shaking all around and you're so cold. You're a lot colder than what he's used to letting you feel. His fists tighten any more, deep in his pockets.

But he can still read you like an open book.

"This is a five million dollar deal." Kokonoi cuts in. "Can we be fucking serious? Just take the slut for free, Ricci. She's yours. We have more important things to talk about."

A quiet mewl escapes your throat when Mario grins, very satisfied with Kokonoi's words. You start to cry, begging, when he wraps a hand around your chin and bends down to give your cheek a wet kiss, disgustingly. You don't look away from Rindou the whole time.

Please don't give me away.

The sound of a gun clicking catches everyone's attention. You look him dead in the eye and he can hear you loud and clear.

"Fucking let her go."

Haitani Rindou isn't serious about a lot of things.

"Or I'll put a bullet through your throat and it'll be no deal for all of us."

But he is serious about you.

His own slut.

His favourite girl.

Sequel ⚕ Main masterlist

[xerotiny]

2 AM Call // Our Precious #1

2 AM Call (Our Precious series #1)

M.list ┃Next Part

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: dom!yunho, sub!reader, suggestive, sexting, phone sex, a lot of dirty talk (seriously, really filthy), masturbating, etc...

Note: if any of the above-mentioned topics trigger you then you can click off. :) also, do not proceed if you're below 18.

An Extra Note: this is a mini - or - a long series, and I'm too lazy to make a different book for it. Hence, I'll be adding all the planned/written chapters of this series in this book. It'll be in second person pov, but instead of writing [y/n] — cause I'm too lazy, really — I'll be writing Angel. So, the reader's name is Angel for this series. This series revolves around polygamy, which means the reader will be involved with ot8; the chapters will unfold slowly from the beginning and follow a storyline.

Gist: being in your sophomore year of college, you meet a very cute and handsome bookstore clerk. You happen to exchange numbers and on the same night, he's all you can think about. When you decide to ring him up, it's 2 AM and both of you have different things on your minds.

Word Count: 5,471

Lehninger.

Lehninger.

Albert Lehninger.

Principles of Biochemistry.

         You grumble under your breath, shifting your eyes chaotically around the shelves of hardcover books aligned in alphabetical order. The wooden shelves feature biochemistry books, and out of all these, you needed only one, which apparently was too hard for your eyes to search. Scorching sun outside is far less preferable than the air conditioning of the second-hand bookstore you were in, so you decide to stay in and pass a few more minutes looking through the books.

Maybe, you could find something worthwhile in store, perhaps something other than textbooks and thesis unrelated to your university work. Sighing, you bend over slightly to grasp the titles inscribed on the spines of several other books.

"It could be here, maybe." you thought to yourself.

"Hi, how can I help you?" a cheery yet raspy voice cuts through your thoughts, "are you looking for a specific book?"

Your attention turns towards the humbly speaking man, and once your gaze falls onto him, and his smile, you hold your breath. He was...ethereal; clad in a beige coloured cardigan and a white turtleneck under it, the man's demeanour was stoic and poised yet friendly and warm. Towering over and looking down at your petite stature, he smiles widely, politely waiting for you to reply. You take a minute longer to stare and notice all finer details on his face; his porcelain skin, pretty pink lips, a straight nose—almost sculpted, and his innocently shaped doe eyes just boring into yours.

There it goes without saying, you were drooling over him. He was attractive, no doubt, but the way he offered you a benign smile made your heart lurch a bit was far more beguiling than his looks. In all seriousness, it had been more than a minute or two since you had been silently checking him out; you had failed to notice the heap of books he was holding in his arms before, but now that you do, you mentally groan at his bulging arms with prominent veins on the back of his hands.

"Hello—"

"—yeah, no. I mean, I was actually looking for...Lehninger—um, biochemistry?" you stutter and ramble, lastly stringing your words into a question.

"Oh, wait. Give me a minute, I'll check it in our database." Carrying the books in his hands, he nudges you to follow him with a nod.

You do cluelessly follow him but enjoy the view of his rear; you really needed to snap out of it! He guides you to the front desk where the cash register was situated, and a computer was stowed away on the other side of it. Thump the books go, having been put down on the desk by him before he leans over the computer to type. Standing on the other side of the desk, you watch him do the work, with your arms folded over your chest.

In the heat of the moment, you're reeling back to checking him out; silverbluish hair styled in a mullet, the puffy strands kissing the collar of his turtleneck, his eyelashes batting every two seconds at the blaring computer screen—you bite down on your lip when libidinous thoughts swarm your mind. His hands, those sleek fingers pressing down the keys on keyboard...how good would those feel as they're pumping in and out of your cunt.

"Oh, okay. Got it!" he squeals softly, turning to you, "looks like we've got one copy of the sixth edition. Would that be alright?"

You flinch, snapping from your thoughts and realising you really needed to get laid, at least to get your mind straight.

"Ah," you take some time to comprehend his words, "sure. I don't mind, to be honest. Only need it as a reference for my assignment."

"You could've issued this book at the university library, why didn't you?" he asks, stepping out from the counter and guiding you back to the wooden shelves.

You look at your feet, stumbling behind him, unsure of what to say. "I believe it's better to have a personal copy instead of issuing it from the library since I'm going to need till my senior year. Couldn't afford a new one, so I thought why not invest in a second-hand."

He heaves out a gentle chuckle, halting his steps in front of a shelf. "That's fair. So, Horizon University?"

"Yeah," you mumble. "Got a scholarship and everything...how did you..."

"It's the only university close by, and I'm in my senior year there, well, at the end of it—only one more month left till I graduate." he starts rummaging through the racks in the shelf to find your book. "Dance major."

"Sophomore year here, zoology major." he hums, looking at you and pulls out a thick book from the shelf. You continue in a hushed voice, "I've still got two years left in that hellhole."

"You don't like the university?" he questions, as a matter of factly.

"No. Not really. Not that I know I can't make friends for fucks sake," you state.

"You haven't met the right kind of people yet, it's fine. You will soon." he flashes you a toothy grin. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good." you whisper, "I'll hopefully vibe with someone soon, can't be alone all the time."

"Like I said, you will. Hang in there," he reassures you with his smile going deep in his cheeks, "I'll ring this up for you, come on."

By the cash register, you pay the respective amount while he puts the book in a paper bag having the store's name printed on top of it.

As he hands you the bag, he chimes, "there you go."

You take the bag in your hands, but don't leave just yet; you didn't want to leave him. Drawn to his charismatic presence, you stay behind for a long second. You're staring into each other's eyes, intently lingering onto the disguised inklings in either of your minds. The space around you seems so suffocating, heavy and laden with thick air. In the pit of your stomach, there's an urge you want to act on, you want to tear your gaze away from him and continue on with the rest of your day.

But you can't.

And your heart doesn't want to, thinking there's a possibility of you engaging with him on a romantic level.

From the corner of your eye, you watch his lips twitch into a tiny smile; he scurries his hand on the desk and pulls out one of the store's business cards. He has a sharpie ready on him, and scribbles something on the back of the card.

"Just in case, here's my number. Give me a call, or a text. Would like to hang out with you some time," he slides the cards across the desk to you, "I'm Yunho, by the way."

You take the card and slip it in the pocket of your dress; yes, you wore a clingy summer dress with pockets because pockets are a lifesaver.

"My name's Angel."

"I look forward to hearing from you, Angel."

And you did find something better in there, other than books.

The day rolls by as smoothly as it should, after leaving the bookstore you make your way back to your dorm room in the university to keep the book in your room and grab your laptop as you decide to spend the rest of your morning in the campus cafe. Musty notes of coffee linger in the air while you save Yunho's contact into your phone and work a little on your assignment. All your lectures, you whiled the time thinking about Yunho—his face, his voice, his fingers, his body—you were starting to realise how reprehensibly had this man taken up every fraction of your mind.

You weren't complaining, though. But it was proving to be very distracting amidst your lectures. Coming back to your dorm room, lethargic from the humdrum day of lectures and practical work, you lay in your bed. Mindlessly, you pick your phone and go through your socials, especially Yunho's. He has to have an Instagram page at least. And to your surprise, he does. You come across a public account with few of his photos. You didn't get to see much of him however, as the photos were mostly of him either looking away from the camera or hiding his face behind his hands. Heaving an exasperated sigh, you lock your phone and go on about the rest of your day.

As night dawns in, you're back in your bed after eating dinner. You've done all of your nightly routine and are freshly showered. You wear a dark brown cardigan over your black lingerie; really not in the mood to change into sleepwear because of the buzzing heat of summer. Again, mindless thoughts pop in your head and you grab your phone to check any texts from your nonexistent friends. It's not like you didn't have any friends, you didn't prefer to make friends—regardless, you did have one friend in the entirety of your university. He was a bunny-eyed man with deep brown hair, and a baby yet stoic face; Choi Jongho. But you spoke to him occasionally and only interacted when needed to.

Opening the messaging app on your phone, you almost make sure to have a double take when you see Yunho's name at the top with very recent messages from him. Yep. It was him. You checked it twice only to be sure and it was his contact number. Stifling a squeal, you open your chats.

Yunho: Hey! Just wanted to make sure you got to your dorm room safely. And how's that book working out for you?

[Sent 22:39 pm Read 1:06 am]

So, he needed an excuse to text you. How adorable.

You: Hi Aren't you quick to text me? ^^ It's alright. And... The book makes me want to hit my head against a wall.

[Sent 1:07 am Read 1:07 am]

Yunho: Ouch :( I have no idea what works in biochemistry. Sadly. But hang in there! And ofc Thought I'd keep you company since you're a loner.

[Sent 1:09 am Read 1:10 am]

You: I have friends, mister!

[Sent 1:10 am Read 1:12 am]

Yunho: Yeah You do Imaginary friends don't count.

[Sent 1:12 am Read 1:13 am]

You: I do have a friend! Don't underestimate me.

[Sent 1:14 am Read 1:15 am]

Yunho: "a" friend I'm not tbh But who's this friend?

[Sent 1:16 am Read 1:17 am]

You: He's in my department We've got couple of classes together

[Sent 1:17 am Read 1:18 am]

Yunho: well then I'll let you talk to him

[Sent 1:19 am Read 1:19 am]

You felt a pang of pain bubble in your chest, but your mind couldn't figure out why you were hurting over his response.

You: Why do you sound mad?

[Sent 1:19 am Read 1:35 am]

Yunho: I'm not :)

[Sent 1:35 am Read 1:36 am]

You: k.

You roll your eyes and blink away the weirdness. Now, your silly anguish had been replaced with anger and frustration. In fact, you wondered why you felt so silly about this ordeal when he was the one to initiate texting you. They say men have a golden rule of texting, that is, they'd wait three days until texting. But it turns out Yunho was little too eager to talk to you. Shaking your head, you sit up straight in your bed and puff your cheeks. Your eyes glaze over your reflection in the full-length mirror in front of your closet.

An idea sparks your curiosity, and you smirk to yourself. Bringing your phone back in your hand, you angle it at a specific point to get your entire body in the frame. You take a mirror selfie, perched by the edge of the bed, your cardigan loosely hanging over your shoulder to expose your lingerie and a good amount of your cleavage, your hair flowing down on one side of your shoulder, and your eyes remain emotionless. Having no perceivable clue of your behaviour, you slump yourself back in bed and purposely send the picture to Yunho. You wait for a minute to pass when you text him back.

You: *sent attachment*

You: Oh god! Didn't meant to send it to you. Can you delete it, please?

[Sent 1:45 Read 1:45]

Yunho: Oh ... Well I saw it. And it's only fair if you... *sent attachment*

[Sent 1:46 Read 1:47]

You feel the buzz in your head, upon checking out the attachment he sent you. Thinking it'd be a normal photo, you didn't pay too much attention to it, but maybe you should have, and you did exactly at your second take of the photo. It was him, obviously; he was sitting in a gaming chair, legs widespread, wearing his loose sweatpants under a haze of dim lights of his room. One of his hands held his phone as he clicked the picture, while the other palmed his crotch. And then you saw it, his boner, protruding from the sweatpants. You mentally tried to gauge his size by the pronounced outline on his pants. And you were impressed.

The heaviness in your head grows when you notice his sly smirk in the photo, and the bulging veins on both of his hands; he wanted to rile you up, just the way you did. Though, if there could be a difference, you did it out of spite and he was doing it to get back to you. Squeezing your thighs together, you tried to control your urges, the same stupefying urges you got when you saw him in the bookstore this morning. The suppression of your desire leads to you heaving out a deep breath, wanting to get back at him for ruining your peace with that photo.

You: someone's all worked up. what were you thinking about?

[Sent 1:50 am Read 1:51 am]

Yunho: Just something Or someone

[Sent 1:51 am Read 1:52 am]

You: I wouldn't mind taking a peek in your head ;)

[Sent 1:53 Read 1:53]

Yunho: Do you really want to know what I'm thinking about?

[Sent 1:54 Read 1:55]

You: Yes Unless you don't want to.

[Sent 1:56 Read 1:57]

Yunho: I'd be the one to ask you that Are you sure you want to know?

[Sent 1:57 Read 1:58]

For some reason you could picture him with a conceited smile on his face, still sitting on the chair and his legs wide apart while he rubs his cock through his sweats.

You: You like teasing don't you?

Yunho: Oh I love it

You: I'll tell you what. I've been thinking about you since the morning

Yunho: Hmm Likewise I've been thinking about all the things I'd do to you if you were here with me

You: and what would you do?

You draw in a sharp breath, chest heaving up and down when your mind fogs with the thoughts of him doing filthy things to you.

Yunho: For the starters... I'd gently kiss your lips While ripping the buttons off your sweater Taking it off Letting my hands roam your body

Reading his texts, you pull at the buttons on your sweater, one by one and eventually shrugging it off from your body. You tremble slightly as you proceed to text him with one hand.

You: Go on...

Yunho: I'd pin you to the bed Make sure your hands are above your head Kiss you so hungrily. use my hands to feel all of you. And take off whatever that's remaining on your body Id tease you a hell a lot Fukc Ferl your bdy shuddre under mine when I drg my fingerss down to yor wet pussy Pusj my fingers deep in you knuckles feep Make you mewl as my fingers pumped in and out ... Fuck I want you so bad

That was the point of no return for you, you were deeply invested in this game, in this stupid act of desperation where all you could think about was his texts. It brings your colourful imagination to mind, visualising his texts as you rub your fingers on your now-aroused cunt through your dripping wet panties. you noticed the typos in his texts, probably from him typing with his one hand while his other remained busy. 

Taking a deep breath, you rest against the headboard of your bed, your legs spread a little to make it easier for your hands to rub you. You bite your lip, thinking more of him, thinking of his sleek fingers sawing you out while he's knuckles deep in your cunt.

You: I want you too So so bad I want your fingers in me I want you to loosen me up nice for your cock to pound into me

You finally decide to push your panties to the side, while ghosting your fingers over your clit before you let them submerge in your heat. Your arousal coats your fingers as they slick back and forth, at a steady pace, in your cunt. Your mind is already long gone to the end where you were only yearning for him to make you feel good. Noticing how your phone hadn't buzzed for a long time, you shift your attention to it and instead of his texts, you see him calling you. Hesitation knocks at your door, but you're too far gone from rationality to think about it. As you answer his call and press your phone to your ear, you hear his ragged breathing. It brushes your ear and tickles you, springing up goosebumps on your skin, as though he was right next to you in your bed.

"You really know how to make a man all worked up, don't you?" he hisses, "don't worry, princess. I'll make you feel good."

You take in another deep breath through your mouth, bringing your fingers out of your cunt. Hovering them over your chest, you push the cups of your bra down and grope your breasts; you pinch your nipples, fondle and knead your tits to get yourself in the mood. He doesn't know about it, but your fantasies run wild—with him as he fills his hands with your tits, groping and fondling them, maybe even more.

"What is my Angel doing right now? Are you touching yourself at the thought of me pinning you down to the bed and fucking you relentlessly?" he asks, and your mind pictures it word to word.

"Yes. I want you to—I want you to fuck me foolish—make me—make me see stars—while—while your cock rams into me..." you stutter, struggling to strip yourself out of your lingerie.

"Pretty filthy thoughts for a beautiful face like yours, Angel." His tone is teasing as he continues, "wanting a stranger you just met to do all these vile things to you...you're a cum-slut aren't you?"

Dirty talk was never your cup of tea, it made you cringe internally but there was something about Yunho's deep and sultry voice that made you wet, insanely wet. You bite your lip, conscience half gone to the sound of his trembling breathing, and rub your clit—the sensation only brings butterflies in your stomach, because in your mind those were his fingers and not yours. In your mind everything you did to yourself was replaced with him, and it was enough to get you started.

Biting back on a moan, you reply, "yeah...I want you to—I want you to do all the vile stuff to me."

You hear certain shuffling in the background alongside a long pause and then, your ears catch up on his soft little grunts. Nothing prepared your imagination for what you were thinking; him in his bed or just in his gaming chair, with his cock out, stroking himself at the thought of you.

"Your—your wish is my command," he growls, his deep voice resonating in your ear, "would love to finger your tight little cunt, drawing out these pretty moans from your mouth..."

You slide one finger down your slit, and eventually ease it in your hole; it brought discomfort at first, a little, but when you started moving it deep within you, you felt your walls clench slightly around it.

"Fuck...yes, I want you to spread—spread me open with your fingers."

He did not need to know that you were fingering yourself, your voiceless grunts and whispers were enough for him to imagine it. Picturing you plunge your fingers into your cunt, he increases the pace of his hand stroking his cock; though, he keeps himself steady. He couldn't really help himself and gradually increases the rhythm of his movements.

"Add another finger, baby." he mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning back against his chair.

You oblige, adding another finger in your hole.

"How does it feel?"

"Good—feels good, Yunho." You mewl his name, scissoring your fingers inside of you.

"You're doing great, princess. Now, curl your fingers..." he manages to squeak out in a whisper, pumping his cock with busy motions.

His chest rises and falls rhythmically to your moans, and you do as he says; curling your fingers inside you, you feel a certain warmth lingering in your stomach. You were getting close to your climax, without even having to anything more—the knot strikes a jolt of tightness in the pit of your stomach, and you moan out loud. Really loud.

"I want you to feel me, Yunho." you breathe out, aroused. "I want to feel you too—feel your cock sliding in and out of me—fucking me good with it."

"Oh baby," he goes silent for a second, focused on stroking himself, "I'll fuck you good—I'll fuck you till you're begging for me to stop..."

"Ah fuck," you arch your back off the mattress, trying to chase your high.

Your fingers plunge in and out, increasing tension in your stomach and gut; your tightness was gradually easing up, and so you decide to insert another finger in. The stretch stung, however, pleasurable, making you whimper his name out loud.

"Yunho...!"

"Yes, baby, I know." he winces in diversion. "Hold on a little longer, I'm close—I'm close too."

He breathes out, increasing the pace of his hand; his cock slick with his precum and it spreads along the shaft as he continues to pump himself. You could hear the strain in his voice, indicating you, he indeed was close to his own climax; you were too, knowing your fingers were hitting your sweet spot every time they thrusted in you. Keeping your phone on loudspeaker, you set it on the nightstand and use your other hand to rub your clit. You increase the pace of your fingers, flesh squelching, your juices lightly lapping against your fingers—the knot tightens delicately in your stomach as your tempo remains constant.

Yunho bucks his hips into hands, composing himself as he thrusts his cock into his hand, thinking about your tight cunt. He has a colourful mind too, picturing himself rocking his hips so that his cock hits all of your deepest parts. His lungs convulse, fighting the urge to moan but it breaks out of his lips anyway. He moans your name, shaking and struggling to hold his phone next to his ear—he does the same as you, sets his phone aside while keeping it on speaker.

"Such a dirty little slut, fingering herself to the thought of my cock thrusting into her," his voice gives you a push, fuels your soul with the fire it lacked. In retrospect, he needed something too, to tip him off his edge as he fucked his hand. "Fuck...needs my cock to make her happy..."

"Yes, please," you cry, tears rolling down the side of your face as your fingers do their work.

Your high was approaching you, so close, almost there. The limit to hold it in was past the point, he could say something and you would be riding down your orgasm—you needed him, his voice, his words. On the other hand, Yunho's patience was running thin, he wanted to finish it off—feeling the warmth of his hand pushing him to his edge, he smirks to himself and throws his head back.

"Are you close, princess? Cause I am..." he grunts.

You nod your head, pursing your lips together to make a gentle sound of humming. You didn't realise it yet, but you were bucking your hips to your fingers, letting them curl and slip in deep inside you; grinding your hips against your fingers, you let out a satisfied groan—the tightness in the pit of your stomach comes undone. Rummaging your hand to hold the headboard behind you, you brace yourself as your high washes over you with a vehement intensity. You let our shaky breaths, well beyond being breathless, as your fingers slowly make their way out of your heat. Your chest rises and falls, tremors spread under your skin with your juices dripping down your inner thighs.

"Fuck, princess..."

His groan is a little static, coming from your phone as it leaves your imagination to run wild. You picture him slumped in his chair with his load spurting out to stain his lower abdomen and clothes. In reality, Yunho breathes through his mouth, letting it fall agape when his high comes crashing down onto him. He had never felt such rush of satisfaction by only indulging himself with you on call; he had never felt himself cumming so hard for anyone with any real action, but here he was, panting and shaking, stroking off his climax as he grimaced at his hand full of his cum.

There's a long moment of silence between you two, and in that silence, the post-orgasm clarity sinks deep within you. The thought of you being so indecent with a man you met in the morning, not even knowing him for more than a day, brought some coherence to your mind. Though, the best is to let it go and keep it in your bounds of inadvertent thrills of late night.

Your body feels languid, and tired; wondering the same for him.

"That was..."

"It happened in the moment," Yunho breathlessly pronounces, "we're just two strangers who have nothing to do with each other, right?"

"Well..."

You sit straighter in your bed, staring at your phone as you bite your lip; you were waiting for him to speak.

"Well what?" he mumbles, a sly smile stretching his lips.

"I thought...never mind. I'm way over in my head." You shrug it off, pulling the sheets over your body as the embarrassment drowned you out. "It's fine, we'll pretend this never happened."

"What? Are you crazy?" his voice is much clear now, with the obvious tone of bewilderment. "Gosh, Angel. You don't know how hard I came for you. I can't pretend this never happened; instead, I wouldn't mind giving us..."

He trails, dragging his words in a whisper with hopes of you completing him. "...giving us a try, like just keeping our relationship exclusive to sex?"

"If you're down for it." he mumbles, "I don't want to do anything that you're uncomfortable with."

"I'll think about it."

You smiled to yourself, thinking about that possibility. When the sun rose to a new day, you found yourself pondering. Not exactly in the 'deep venture' of it, but you just kept your mind busy with Yunho's proposal and thought of the consequences if you were to ever agree to it. Friends with benefits with a soon-to-graduate hot senior? That sounds tempting, a lot, it also fuels your infatuation with him. But on the other hand, you didn't want to go down that road with him. There were second thoughts in your mind, of course there'd be—you maybe, sort of, liked this man, after all, he does give off the vibes that he'd be a great boyfriend. You didn't want to ruin that possibility with him.

The rest of your day goes as scheduled, you attend a few of your lectures in the morning. Currently, it's afternoon and you have last of your classes to attend. Amidst all the excitement and stress, your friend, Jongho texts you, asking you to get him your lab-coat for his practical class. You find him standing in front the chemistry department, smiling and engaged in a chatter with someone else. And upon noticing it from afar, the person who he was talking to was Yunho. It was such a contrast, both were happy-go-lucky kind of guys, but Jongho seemed more innocent than Yunho (after the night you had spent with him, it was hard to picture him being anything but innocent). You could make it out from his tall built, and silver-bluish hair styled in a mullet, regardless with his back facing you. Hesitation stricken, you somehow manage to make your way to him; because Jongho had already noticed you even before you turn around and run away.

"There she is!" Jongho glees, and Yunho turns around, meeting your eyes. "Thank you so much for bringing it, I really despise prof. Yuen when he gets all judgmental about 'forgetting' to bring a lab-coat to his practical class."

"Hey, no worries," you smile at him, handing him your lab-coat. "I have his practical class day after tomorrow, till then the coat is yours." You laugh it off, awkwardly glancing at Yunho.

Jongho notices the out-of-ordinary ogles you made at Yunho, chiming in, "oh right, Angel, this is Yunho. I live with him and six other guys. But that's not important and ummm.." he looks at Yunho, scratching the back of his neck, "she's Angel, my only friend in this university."

Yunho smiles warmly at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he does. "Oh so, it's her you can't stop chattering about?" he chuckles lightly, "and what do you mean 'your only friend' aren't we your friends too?"

Jongho rolls his eyes, "you guys are nothing but a pain in the ass. Just today, in the morning Wooyoung and San drank all the milk and kept empty containers back in the refrigerator. I had to crunch on cereals before heading out for my morning classes."

"So, are you tainting all others because of those two individuals?" Yunho retorts.

You purse your lips together, ineptly crossing your eyes between them; you were aware of Jongho's living condition, but you could have never expected Yunho to be one of his flatmates. It was true, Jongho lived with seven other guys from the university, some of them having a full time job, and at times he would complain about them to you. Though you never really focused too much on what he had to say, or even catch their names.

"Uhhh..." you trail, offering them a tight lipped smile.

"Angel, come on, back me up." Jongho grumbles.

"I can't say anything about your flatmates, Jongho." The chestnut-haired man rolls his eyes, and you continue, "but I've always listened to your rants."

"I bet you're a good listener, Angel." Yunho taunts you, "and an even better friend to him."

"She is," Jongho breaks out in a smile. "Hey, you should totally come over on Thursday. We've got a game night planned."

"Uh, Jongho, I don't think I'd want to play board games with eight guys." You mutter under your breath.

"Who said we play board games?" Yunho says, drawing his brows together. "Though, it'll be fun for a while, having a girl over."

"Yes, Angel. You should consider it. Just—just think about it okay?" the enthusiasm in Jongho's voice isn't hard to ignore. "Now, I've got a class, so I'll see you in a bit."

With that he disappears, leaving you and Yunho stranded alone with nothing to talk about or a lot to talk about.

"What a lovely coincidence," Yunho begins, smiling at you, "the girl he talked about was you all along; well, he painted a pretty picture of you in our heads."

"I see Jongho as anything but more than a friend." you pout, "and this game night, should I even consider coming?"

"Well, it depends on you, princess," he smirks, "it depends on whether or not you could keep your hands to yourself. Because I'll be there."

"Oh, don't put yourself on a high pedestal, mister." You roll your eyes, "I'll think about it."

"Don't you have a lot to think about already?" he steps closer to you, towering over you as he leans close to your ear, "I don't think I can go on without touching you for the entire time you'd be there, so really do think about it."

He straightens up and mumbles one last time before leaving you completely high and dry.

"And if you do come, I will really fuck you senseless."

Next Part ┃ M.list

[bunny-jpeg]

wrestling au 🤼 - starring task force 141!

simon 'ghost' riley -

oh, big scary ghost. the masked heel of the little association he was apart of. he took in the sounds of people's booing, and he fought without much remorse. he tried not to make it look too real, by that he meant not messing up his opponent too much. the last thing he wanted was to get his ear talked off by upper management. there was a routine to follow, even if it ended in bruising, simon still had to follow it. or else everything could be thrown off. his hulking size made him a wall of an opponent, and the story lines where he won were always a crowd favourite. he loved being the big baddie of the ring, he loved to be the monster they booed at. because no matter how loud they got, simon would always walk away with the title belt.

he fucked like an animal though. you were the daughter of his trainer and boy did he love to take you for a spin after he got nice and sweaty. when your father was in his office cashing the cheque for the monthly payment for his services, simon was servicing something else. your back on the wooden bench of the men's locker room. simon's cock splitting you. he used his size to his advantage, while he couldn't do too much damage in the ring. you sure as hell could take a sexual beating. the numerous amount of times, simon had you twisted up as he fucked you. in the locker room, in the back of his car, even that time over your father's desk when he had left early. you were good stress relief and even when the crowd booed him, you were in the back happily cheering for your big, beefy lover.

john price -

face turned heel, a seasoned veteran with the aches and pains to prove it. his knees cracked if he tried to go to low and it usually takes him an extra few days to recover from it all. when he was clean shaven and younger, he was the pretty boy from liverpool. now in the twilight years of his career, he loved to be big, bad, price. he was the kind to play 'dirty', the sort of wrestler to throw last ditch effort tricks to win the match. he got his fists bloodied. he laughed when the crowd booed him, he basked in the feeling of being the worst of the worst. alongside his right-hand man ghost, they were destined to take the title from the pretty faced good guys. he looked good in the books and the 'shorts'. anyone close enough to the ring could see price's bulge. it was the type of be circulated on social media. he was hairy, a little different than the normally smooth wrestler. he smoked on stage and antagonized the audience. he was a hefty man who loved to get his opponents down on the mat.

but even at his age, he likes to sink his teeth into the competition. and what's better than the fresh face they got in the women's division. oh, you look amazing under him. price got into the ring with you a few times, the he had you bent in certain was that made you blush. you almost moaned when he had you basically in a ball with his barely covered crotch up against your ass. he even barked the words, "guess it's time for me to find a missus! what do you think? could our new starlet be the wife of the big, bad price?" which only earned hollering from the crowd. he liked it rough outside the ring, when he had you pushed into storage closets. when he got to tear your underwear off of you and sink into his prize. that was his cunt, don't you forget. if he sees you talking to another male wrestler, then there would be hell to pay. you better pray that the pill works, or you'll be in the stands a lot sooner than you expected with price's hefty baby in your arms.

john 'soap' mactavish -

face, face, face! but the face you hate to love! his story lines are always so good. he was cocky, loud, his laughter was like a bark when he got the microphone. he was the good boy from glasgow, even had saint andrew's cross across the ass of his shorts. he was the most flexible, often having the heels of the organization bend him in ways that most others couldn't. while he wasn't the broadest (he was still fairly big), he made up for it in endurance. one time he was asked how he could keep up for so long even if he was bloodied and bruised, he simply laughed and said, "well, ya bed enough bonnies. you can keep goin' all day and all night with the likes of these guys. sadly, the girls tap out before i'm finished." he felt like he teetered between being a heel and a face, he only became more cocky when he won the title from price. when he got the older man on the mats. it was only right for a face to have the title, for a heel to have it was wrong. but yet, there was a cockiness to him. even was he stripped price of the belt and gave the shiny metal a heated kiss. the man from the highlands was on top!

but of course the man on top loves to have his woman on top. and who exactly was the lovely woman to be with mister mactavish? well, it was the ceo's daughter of course! and the stamina he had in the ring bled into your experiences with him in the bedroom. johnny was a cervix bruiser, the kind where you'd feel it for days afterwards. when you sat at lunch with your father, you'd wince and pray that no pained expression crossed your face. like price, johnny was a breeder. with a stamina like a rabbit, of course he was shooting loads into you on almost a daily basis. you'd lie to your father about you whereabouts, you said you were at the library studying for your upcoming final. meanwhile johnny was pouring shots of liquor down your throat then messing up your pretty face with his cum as you sucked him off behind the building. insatiable, with the title around his waist only making it worse. he had the title in his hands and the ceo's daughter's lips around his throbbing cock. but don't worry, johnny isn't the type to tap and leave. no, no, finishing in you is a promise. a promise that you'll be mrs. mactavish very soon. after all, his kids weren't going to have your father's last name.

kyle 'gaz' garrick -

a very clearly a face. his gimmick is the sweetheart next door who can handle himself in the ring. a real knight in shining armor, it was hard when the story called for his defeat. but, in the end he always came back to secure his title. there was a bravado to him, and a real charmer. while some had a face that others wanted to hit, no one wanted to mess up that perfection that was kyle garrick. he did play it up a little bit, sauntering as he entered the ring, letting the crowd get excited for what was to come. he had more than a few fans, but he was always respectful. a real gentleman. he even had a trick where he'd give roses to female fans as he walked towards the ring. his smile gleaming under the bright lights.

of course, the sweetheart of the ring has the perfect love story. the woman who had been with him since his early days. while his fellow wrestlers got into all sorts of trouble, he enjoyed the company of his dear wife. but, don't get it wrong, your sex life was not boring. while price was screwing newbies, kyle was on his knees in the bathroom of the pub you all went to after the match. your back up against the sink of the single stall washroom. your pants around your knees and his large hands on your thighs. his tongue lapping at your pussy. your sweet, muffled moans kept kyle wanting more. his cock throbbed in his jeans, the rush of the match was still abuzz in his system. he loved the taste of his wife, how could he not? even after all these years together, tasting you was like biting into a ripe apple at the peak of its season. the kind of fruit that had a price tag that would make the average person shudder. you were the apple of his eye and the love of his life. of course he'd worship you. there was still an electricity between you two, a fire that couldn't be tamed. if he gave a rose to a fan as part of his gimmick, then you got a dozen. if roses made you allergies flare up, then he'd give you fake ones. so they'd never wilt, like his love for you.

[ifiguredyoudloveme]

Book Boy

timothée chalamet x female!reader

summary: ever since timothée saw you at the store, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you. once he finally sees you again walking down the street, he can't help but ask for your number.

warnings/tags: 18+, nsfw, sub!timmy, dom!reader, bondage, p in v, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing, cum makeout (?), dirty talk, use of the word mommy

words: 3,198

a/n: i haven't posted in so long but timmy's look as marty sparked some very ungodly thoughts and i just had to write something. (this is far longer than i intended it to be.)

Timothée wanders into his favourite book store one rainy afternoon, searching for something romantic, and well...sexual. He feels like he's being spied on as he skims through the romance section, looking behind his shoulder as if anyone knows, or cares, what he's searching for.

Upon walking in he was greeted by the store owner – an older, chubby man with a large, grey moustache – and asked whether he needs help finding anything, to which Timothée replied, “Just browsing, thank you,” in a tone far higher pitched than he was going for.

He pulls out a book from the shelf and flips it around, skimming through the blurb on the back. His eyes widen, and he quickly hides it in his jacket. He nearly jumps out of his skin when a girl speaks over his shoulder.

“I've read that one,” she says in a friendly, innocent tone. “Oh, shit. Didn't mean to scare you,” she giggles.

Timothée turns around to face her, the book still hidden in his jacket. “What one?” He asks stupidly.

She giggles again, pointing at his jacket. “The book hidden in your jacket..?” She crosses her arms. “You're not planning on stealing that, are you?”

“Oh, this?” He says, pulling the book out. “Of course not.”

“Good,” she smiles, and turns her attention back to the shelves.

Timothée stands next to her awkwardly for a moment, swaying back and forth on his feet.

“Is it good?” He asks, voice cracking. He fakes a cough into the back of his hand.

She turns back to face him, her eyes looking into his with a glint of something he can't quite place. “I guess it depends what you're into.”

Timothée gulps. “Okay. I'll– I'll get it,” he croaks, before turning and walking back towards the front of the store. He places the book in front of the kind man and he gives Timothée a knowing smile before placing the book into a brown bag. He quickly hands the man some cash and rushes out of the store.

That night, Timothée lays on his bed, stomach down, and reads the book. The first page alone is a sex scene, and he's already humping his mattress. He can't help but imagine the woman in the story is the woman he saw in the bookstore and the man is himself.

The man gripped her breast lightly, so as not to hurt her, and teased at her soft clit with the tip of his tongue.

He imagines her reading this and his hips speed up.

She arched her back from the bed, the warmth from his mouth too much to bear. But only when his finger slid inside of her did her breathing halt and her body convulse, the eruption of orgasm flowing through her and out of her as a moan.

He cums, shaking, his face buried in the pages, the scent of aged paper filling his senses. He wonders if this is the exact copy she borrowed.

Out of it, he throws the book at the wall. The book itself is unarousing, he realises. Far too formal. He'll return it tomorrow.

Later, after cleaning himself up, he walks outside on the balcony of his apartment and lights a cigarette. Leaning on the railing, he watches the bustling street below, still erupting with life despite midnight.

That's when he sees her – in the same outfit, only with a jacket this time, wandering on the other side of the street. He immediately opens his mouth to call out for her but realises he doesn't even know her name.

So, he bolts inside, grabs his own jacket, and rushes out the door, making his way down the windy stairs and finally, into the night. He looks around frantically before spotting her again, turning right at the end of the street. He runs.

Once he's in front of her, walking backwards, he can hardly catch his breath. She looks at him with that same adorable smile.

“Book boy,” she says, pointing at him.

“Yep,” he responds, adjusting his glasses. “I saw you from my apartment and I—”

“Did you read the book?” She interrupts, that same glint in her eyes again.

Timothée gulps. “Uh, yeah. A little.”

She teases her bottom lip with her tongue, then stops walking. They stand still for a moment, facing each other, before she takes a step forward. She's so close to him he can feel her soft breaths against his face.

“Were you thinking about me when you did?”

Timothée's jaw goes slack. He can only nod. She smiles, then steps back. She fiddles through her purse for a pen, the takes Timothée's hand in hers and scribbles her number onto his palm, and under it, her name.

Then, she walks off into the night.

Timothée reaches out, goes to call her name, but decides against it. He turns, smiles, and walks back to his apartment.

In the morning, after writing her number and name from his palm onto a sticky note then drifting off to sleep, he immediately calls her number.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, naked, chewing at his fingernails, he waits for her voice. The call connects after three rings and he almost drops his phone in nervousness.

“Hello?” she says politely.

“Uh, y/n? It’s me…” he’s about to say his name but realises she doesn’t know it, “...book boy.”

“Oh!” she exclaims. “You called.”

“Of course.” He stands and starts to pace around his room, a smile growing on his face. “I was, uh– I was wondering if you’d like to meet for coffee today. At noon.”

“That would be lovely,” she agrees. “I’ll come over to yours.”

“Oh, but I—”

“Shh,” she giggles. “I know where you live – don’t think I didn’t see you on your balcony.”

Timothée clears his throat. “Alright, that…that sounds good. I'm in number 106. However my apartment is quite small and in a mess—”

“So is mine,” she says.

“Okay, good,” he replies, cringing at his response. “So…noon?”

“I'll be there. Bye!”

The call ends and Timothée lets out a deep breath he didn't realise he was holding. He checks the clock on the wall. Eleven a.m., it reads. His heart jumps; he hadn't realised he'd woken up so late.

He rushes into the bathroom and runs the shower before grabbing his toothbrush and squeezing a generous amount of toothpaste onto it. He scrubs his teeth and hops into the shower, the warm water temporarily calming his nerves.

Leaning his head back, the water wets his hair and he scrubs a thick lather of shampoo into it. He smiles as he imagines his hands are hers, massaging his scalp, and he almost starts purring like a cat. He shakes his head and wrinkles his nose, embarrassed by himself, and takes his hands off his head in shame.

Once he's done, he dries his hair vigorously with a towel before sprinting into his closet and fetching his nicest suit. He pulls on his clothes and nearly trips while putting his pants on, then rushes into the bathroom to do something about his hair. It looks ridiculous, all spiked and wet, so he picks up a comb and combs it into a somewhat presentable style.

He places his hands on his hips and stares at himself in the mirror loathingly. The doorbell rings, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Breathing deeply, he steps out of the bathroom and walks to the front door. He lifts his hand to the handle, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

All his nerves go away the moment he sees her, and all he can think about is how beautiful she looks. Her hair is tucked behind her ears with white hair clips, and she wears a beautiful silk light blue dress paired with white gloves and white heels.

“Wow,” is all Timothée can say, and y/n grins widely.

He moves out of the way for her and she steps inside, her heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. She looks around the place as he closes the door.

“It's lovely,” she says. “I expected piles of trash and inches of dust but this…” she runs her hand along his red sofa, “...is gorgeous.”

Timothée scratches his cheek. “Well, thank you, I– it's home,” he smiles. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” she says, sitting on the couch and crossing her legs. “I have three sugars with mine, if that’s alright. I have a sweet tooth.”

Timothée nods as he brews the espresso. “So do I,” he says flirtatiously. He has no idea where his sudden confidence has come from. Catching on, she blushes.

After he's made their coffee, he places them on the coffee table and sits beside her. Being so close to her zaps most of his confidence away, and he falls shy again.

She picks up the mug and takes a sip, moaning at the flavour. Timothée gulps. “This is great, thank you,” she smiles, before leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. He nearly has a heart attack.

“Are you going to drink yours?”

“No, I don't– I don't like coffee.”

She gives him a funny look and laughs. “So why'd you make yourself one?”

“I'm not sure,” he replies honestly, shrugging his shoulders. She laughs harder, and he laughs along with her.

Once they stop laughing, she places her coffee down and leans back, facing her body towards him.

“I like your glasses,” she says.

Timothée feels insecure at this. He's only ever been made fun of for them.

“Really? You'd be the first,” he says self-deprecatingly.

“What do you mean?” she asks genuinely. She reaches out and places her hand on the side of his face, lightly swiping her thumb under the thin metal. “They're very attractive.”

He bites his lip and looks at his lap. “You think so?”

“I do,” she replies sweetly, leaning back again.

She observes him once again. He feels exposed, as if she knows all of his secrets, as if she can read his mind. If she could, she'd know how desperately he wants to reach over and kiss her, run his hand over her smooth thighs…

…his cock begins to harden.

“You're drooling,” she says.

He chokes on his own spit and coughs into his arm. “Pardon?”

Laughing, she leans her elbow utop the back of the couch and rests her head in the palm of her hand. “You're not very good at hiding it, you know. You wear what you're thinking in your eyes.”

“Do I?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“Mhm,” she hums with a nod, picking up her mug. She looks into his eyes as she takes a slow sip, then places it down again.

Picking up his own mug, he attempts to repeat her actions but gags the second the lukewarm dirtmilk – as he calls it – hits his tongue. He shakes his head and wrinkles his nose, placing the mug back down. She laughs again, her hand gripping his shoulder.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a moment while she finishes her drink. Timothée can't help but look at her – her gorgeous face, the way the silk of her dress hugs her body, her smooth legs – and undress her with his eyes. He thinks back to the book that now lays on the floor of his bedroom and how, just last night, he was breathing into it in orgasm, thinking of her.

She places her mug down, empty, and as if on queue, says: “Where’s that book?”

Timothée shakes his head, stumbling out of his explicit thoughts. “Hm?”

“The book you bought yesterday. Where is it?”

“Oh, I– shall I get it?”

She nods, so he stands, striding to his room. He retrieves the book from the ground and inspects the mark that throwing it had left on the wall, before returning to the living room.

He hands the book to her quickly, shyly, and sits back down. He watches her as she pulls off her gloves and flips to a very specific page, twenty-three, and hands the book back to him.

Taking it from her curiously, his eyes meet the page and his heart immediately beats at a faster pace. He looks at her with wide eyes. She only smiles, innocent.

“Read it,” she whispers.

So he does.

“‘The woman—” he croaks. “‘The woman sunk down onto his cock. The tight– The tight soft walls of her cunt encased him wholly and he tried, through the ropes tight around his wrists, to reach out and touch. Muffled moans through the gag in his mouth signified something he had tried so desperately to shove away; that he was hers, but she was not his. Lust given into to the shame of God. A forbidden love. The—’”

Timothée's breathing quickens as she crawls over and straddles him, her soft lips against the side of his neck. He holds the book in his right hand and wraps his other around her waist, not taking his eyes off the page.

“‘The bondage rubbed against his skin painfully and he hoped that it left permanent marking, a reminder of this night, forever. Fuck God, he thought. What a horrible thing to think. He should be slapped. Smack! Her hand against his cheek as if she'd read his mind. What a rewarding thing to think.’”

Her lips connect to his and he drops the book. His eyes close. He drinks her in, his hands running up the back of her thighs, her ass, her back, pulling her dress up as he goes. Their lips part for only a moment as he pulls her dress over her head and onto the floor, then their tongues find each other again. She pulls off his jacket and unbuttons his dress shirt, discarding them somewhere.

Before his hands can touch her skin again, she grabs onto his wrists and pins them over his head. She smiles against his mouth then pulls away, her hand falling from his wrists to his belt. Timothée makes sure he doesn't move his arms. She frees the belt and crawls off of his lap then instructs him to face away from her with his hands behind his back. He does so without a second thought, as if by nature.

After tying the belt around his wrists securely she asks him to sit back down, and of course, he does so immediately. It's as if he's in a trance, willing to do anything and everything for a woman he only just met. She could demand he lick the ground that she walks on and he would, happily, oblige.

As she gets on her knees in front of him and begins unbuttoning his pants, he stares at her like an obedient puppy, waiting for a treat. She grips the waistband and pulls them down. In his hurry, he'd forgotten to put any underwear on – she grins up at him, delighted.

A shuddery breath escapes his lungs and his fingers flex in their restraints as she grips the base of his cock and licks at the head, lapping up his sticky wetness. He's fully hard – painfully hard – and the tip of his cock is a deep reddish purple.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groans as she, without warning, swallows him down to the hilt. He leans his head back and his back arches and he wants, desperately, to free his hands and run them through her pretty hair. His forehead, neck, and chest are already glistening with sweat, his abs flexing and rippling as his tip repeatedly hits the back of her warm, wet throat.

The sounds of spit and soft gagging fill the room and he has to bite his bottom lip to stop himself from cumming. Spit dribbles down and coats his balls, pooling under them. He gets close, too close, and impulsively places his foot on her shoulder to nudge her away. She falls softly on her ass and his cock springs free with a pop, slapping lewdly against his stomach.

His muscles relax, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“Was it too much?” she asks, crawling onto the couch beside him, snuggling into his shoulder.

“‘m sorry, y/n,” he says quietly. He almost called her mommy. “I was so close.”

His brain feels mushy. He doesn't know what it is, but he likes it.

She connects her soft lips to his and wraps her hand lightly around his cock, stroking it up and down rhythmically. Their tongues dance together and Timothée moans in both arousal and contentment.

“Are you ready to feel my pussy, baby?” she asks after pulling away from his lips and standing, towering over him. He can only nod, unable to speak.

She reaches behind her back and unhooks her white lace bra, dropping it onto the floor. Her tits are perfect and plush and a line of spit trickles down Timothée's chin. He's actually drooling.

Then, she hooks her thumbs through the waistband of her panties – white and lacey like her bra – and pulls them down, stepping out of them. He stares at her pussy that's covered in a neat blanket of hair and whines, a somehow deeper hunger erupting through him.

“You like what you see?” she asks, smiling, and he nods quickly.

Straddling him again, she grabs his face and kisses him deeply. His cock throbs pathetically between them and she grabs it, sliding his length between the lips of her wet pussy.

He struggles in his restraints. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?”

“Need to feel you, please—”

With that, she sinks down onto his cock, his length filling her up like a hand in a glove, a perfect fit. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he bucks his hips upward without meaning to, letting out a desperate, guttural groan.

She rides him, her hands in his hair and her head thrown back in pleasure, the speed of her hips increasing by the second.

She leans down and kisses his lips repeatedly. “You're so fucking big, baby. So fucking big. Gonna make me cum. Gonna make mommy cum.”

The way she called herself mommy almost makes Timothée faint. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat and he doubts he can hold on for any longer, his orgasm being drawn closer and closer as her warmth tightens around him. He can almost see stars.

“Fuck, fuck! I'm cumming, I'm–”

She quickly climbs off of him and ends up on her knees again, jerking him off, his tip on her tongue. His vision goes black, his entire body tenses, and he releases, coating her tongue in sticky white mess.

Once he finishes, and before he knows what's happening, she connects their lips, swirling her tongue around his. His own tongue is now covered in his cum as they make out, exchanging a concoction of spit and release.

Their lips disconnect after a moment and she collapses onto his shoulder, their chests rising and falling. His own cum is dripping down his chin. He swallows.

“A forbidden love,” she whispers.

It's only one in the afternoon, and she doesn't even know his name.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Chic Magazine interview with the Good Omens cast and crew by Keeley Ryan, August 2023 :)

'It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together'

There were plenty of miracles, mysteries and mayhem when Good Omens returned to the small screen for a second season.

The PrimeVideo series, which was originally based on Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's best-selling novel, is heading beyond the source material this season.

The six-part series highlights the ineffable friendship between Aziraphale, a fussy angel and rare-book dealer, and the fast-living demon Crowley.

And while the duo put a stop to the apocalypse last time, there are the sparks of a new mystery that will take viewers from before The Beginning, to biblical times to grave robbing in Victorian Edinburgh; the Blitz of 1940s England to the modern day.

The cast includes David Tennant and Michael Sheen as Crowley and Aziraphale, Jon Hamm, Maggie Service, Nina Sosanya, Miranda Richardson, Shelley Conn, and Derek Jacobi also star in the series.

And Michael Sheen told how the Good Omens "world has grown" with season two - and opened up about his first day back at Aziraphale's bookshop.

In an interview conducted before the SAG strike, he said, "It was lovely to be back in the bookshop after having seen it burnt down the ground.

"Clearly I had managed to save a few books! Actually, it was extraordinary - your brain does a double take - my desk, the cash machine, the record player - everything is all so familiar even though it is a totally different location.

But we have expanded - there is much more of the world of Soho here including Aziraphale's favourite the magic shop and my favourite the pub - our world has grown."

The actor also praised Neil Gaiman's writing, noting how there's "something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary."

He said, "His writing has such a breadth of reference and yet is so accessible and entertaining even when taking on big epic or philosophical issues.

There's something about the way Neil sees the mundane that is extraordinary. When things filter through his imagination they emerge in an entirely unique way and yet it feels like it's always been there.

Add in the sprinkling of the imagination of Terry Pratchett and cocktail has been created - utterly familiar."

Producer Sarah-Kate Fenelon told Chic how the second season of Good Omens is "building on the universe" - and how they had been "sowing the seeds of a second season without anybody knowing" last season. "

She said, "I work with Neil Gaiman and know in part that Gabriel, who is played by Jon Hamm, his character is not in the book of Good Omens - but it was included in the first season. We were sowing the seed of a second season without anybody knowing.

"That character was written by Neil and Terry as a potential second book. They never got to write it, but now we're able to tell Gabriel's story. It's kind of a lovely evolution, where we're just expanding the universe.

"A lot of locations on the set are locations from season one. We've also been able to explore new shops, like we've got the record shop and we've got The Dirty Donkey pub, which we go into - it was in season one, but we never got to go into it.

"Season two is just building on the universe."

The Wicklow native added that it was "wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together" for a second season.

She said, "We were lucky that a lot of our crew and creative talent were able to come back for a second season. But also, we had our cast return. Miranda Richardson plays a totally different character this season and we have a new Beelzebub.

"And then obviously, we've got Maggie and Nina playing themselves, Maggie and Nina, as written by Neil. It was wonderful to get the Good Omens family back together again."

Noel Corbally, who works as an associate producer on the series, recalled how they marked a special anniversary of the first season's release while prepping for season two.

The Irishman said, "We went for dinner that night to relive the celebration, happy to be back again.

"Even now, it's been more than a year since we wrapped and to be able to come back into the studio that's just been frozen in time with everything wrapped up — we had a week to turn it back to life, have it be a live street again.

"It's been a week. But it's been amazing. We had our original lighting team come back, our original art department — and they've just done a fantastic job."

And while there are plenty of easter eggs for fans to spot throughout the six episodes, the pair shared their favourites.

Noel shared, "I think that my favourite easter egg is actually in the record shop. It's a song that we play in the background. It's so subtle, but it's from the musical Happy As A Sandbag.

"Maggie's character Maggie runs the record shop, which was owned by her grandfather in the story. But the musical, Happy As A Sandbag, Maggie Service the actress - her mother and father met on the musical and fell in love. Having that was an homage to them for bringing us Maggie."

Sarah-Kate said, "I quite like the easter eggs in the title sequence. If you look really closely, there is a Gabriel or Jim in every shot, which people tend not to notice. It's like Where's Wally?"

Rob Wilkins, who manages Terry Pratchett's estate and serves as narrative EP, told how he was "elated" for the second season to be out — and about moving beyond the book's source material.

He explained, "There were lots of nerves, because there is no source material. There's no book. I went through the whole of season one with the mantra that we've got a beginning, a middle and an end.

"And at the end of season one, which was the only season at the time, I felt very relaxed - we're all grounded through Terry and Neil's words, and that's fine. We know where we're going, we've got the novel to refer to.

"And so with season two, of course there's going to be nerves — there's no source material.

"But Neil is 50% of the creative team that brought you Good Omens, so in him we trust. And we genuinely do, from the bottom of my heart - of course we do.

"There's excitement about what Neil is going to bring from the page and from the page to the screen, but trepidation as well — I'm a fan as much as anybody else, I want to know where the stories are going."

Rob added that some of his own favourite easter eggs within the second season include a nod to Terry in The Dirty Donkey pub - as well as a special sight in the bookshop.

He said, "I love the fact that in the bookshop, Teny's hat and scarf are just hanging there. Terry, as a huge patron of bookshops around the world, he just left his hat and scarf in there and moved on one day and left them behind.

"That's a lovely one for me, as well - it means more to me, I think, than anything else."

Rob opened up about the success of the first season - and why it was something that he didn't necessarily expect.

He continued, "There's the Terry Pratchett fandom, there's the Neil Gaiman fandom and push them together and there's a big crossover. But what we created with season one, we created Good Omens fandom from the show.

"People came to Neil's work and Terry's work through the show. It created something entirely individual of its own making, and that freaked me out because I didn't see that one coming.

"I didn't see that as a thing. I thought the fans would be rooted in Terry or Neil. I didn't realise that the ineffable husbands in all of that - I love David and Michael, but I didn't realise the love people would have for them as our demon and our angel.

"I shouldn't be surprised. It's just my admiration for them as actors and for what they do, and for people getting it I think that that's the thing that's meant a lot to me, that people have understood what we tried to do."

Costume designer Kate Carin told how having the opportunity to join Good Omens' second season was a "gift" - and opened up about why it was impossible to pick a favourite scene.

She explained, "When you see the whole show - you think, when you're watching episode one, you're like, 'oh my god, that's the best'. But then you watch something in episode two and it's like, 'that's awesome!'

"I would say that I'm a disciple of the show now. I didn't know the book when I was approached about the job. I'd obviously heard of it, and I'd seen season one — as a punter, I watched it.

"To get the opportunity to come and work on season two, it's a gift for a costume designer.

"You do fantasy, you do period, you do contemporary and all of the wavy lines in- between - you're given a lot of rope to play with."

The character of Shax, played by Miranda Richardson, was a "really fun character to design for" - as Kate told how plenty of ideas jumped to mind after reading the description.

She said, "When Neil writes on the page that you have a 50s inspired female demon, that gives you a lot of scope to play with. "

And when I started drawing her, I actually had to stop myself because I kept coming up with ideas."

And with the series jampacked with magical moments and settings, set decorator Bronwyn Franklin told how there was one particular shop that has a "certain magic'!

She said, "I actually think the magic shop is my favourite shop. The bookshop used to be, but now that l've done it twice - it's still beautiful. It is Aziraphale's home. It feels more magical because Aziraphale lives there, and there's the whole angelic side.

"But this one, it really has a certain magic. From a set decorator's point of view, it's a joy. Will Godstone, he gets to sit there and he's got his little cash register and if he's got no customers, he can sit there and have a little cup of tea.

"You just have to feel that person, live that person and think that it's yours. I always come into a space like this and think, 'how would I like to be?' Because if it makes me happy, it'll make the cast member happy, it'll make the viewers happy."

Michael Ralph, who is the series' production designer, told how while it's impossible to pick a favourite set, the bookshop is "one that will resonate most'.'

Aziraphale's bookshop contains more than 7,000 real books and Michael noted that it was important for the setting to feel real, not just for the audiences at home but for the cast and crew.

He said, "There's not a fake book in here. Couldn't do that. In a way, if you look at any bookshelf - I spent almost a day just moving books around, to make the bookshelves look like they're real. They could be flat dressed, and then they're not real. But this is real, when they're just moved around a little bit; or people have pulled them out and put them in incorrectly.. .that's what's real about a bookshop."

[silentglassbreak]

ok bestie I have a request for my delulu self mwuah

my scenario:

Noah’s your hot neighbor, lives in the apartment across the hall. you’ve really only spoken in passing— to exchange pleasantries and phone numbers, just in case— but you did have takeout with him and his rowdy group of guy friends (Folio, Ruffilo, and Jolly, who else?) when he was first moving in. a thank you for moving one single box (that’s all they let you touch before one of them was grabbing it out of your hands). Noah mumbles something about him not about to let “his pretty new neighbor carry his shit.”

one night you touch yourself to the thought of him, you might moan his name 🤭— he’s not even home half the time, what are the chances he’d hear you? except he does. because he’s home and the walls are thin. and your phone dings with his text.

want some help, sweetheart? ft. Noah sleeping over please!!!

preferably anonymous other than x fem!reader but I like pet names!!! sweetheart, baby, angel are my favorites <33

I know it’s a lot of details, you don’t have to include them all, it’s more so to give you an idea of the vibe 💖💖 utterly filthy but still he’s still a softie and a sweetheart

thank you this is actually so cool of you mwuah

Mmmm we love a good hot neighbor trope, yeah? What a cutie patootie he is, eh?

Mkay, let’s get into this.

After Writing Notes: This man will be the death of me…

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, Noah being an absolute munch 😜

Skin

“Good morning, Angel.” His deep voice rings in my ears, and there he is, as he always is, sitting on his balcony, joint in his hand, guitar perched against the rail. He’s likely writing again, but Christ, does he have to always be out there at 7AM? I hate being up this early, and am never in the mood to speak to anyone.

I just want to sip my coffee, clear my cobwebs, and mentally prepare for my workday. The shop is packed, and my books are completely full, my first session starting at 9AM. I don’t have time for his early-bird antics today, nor the patience.

“Morning.” I grumble between sips of steaming hot coffee.

“Sleep well?” He pushes his joint out in the ashtray, careful not to damage it, obviously saving it for later.

“Mmph.” Is all I can muster while leaning back in my chair, pulling my sweater tighter around me. The crisp October morning has brought about hues of orange and amber in the trees surrounding the building. My favorite time of year.

“Busy day today? Must be if you’re up at this hour.”

I sigh heavily, eyes darting to him. His pale yellow hoodie and black beanie look so perfectly placed.

Noah is attractive, there is no arguing it, but he’s annoying. He’s always so positive and chipper. His friends are always over, as upbeat as he is. They’re in a band, and to be fair, they aren’t bad. They just like to start practicing at 10AM, on Sundays, which are the only days I get to sleep in.

I like them. On occasion, they’ll invite me over for pizza and to watch hockey, which I usually accept. None of them have ever been creepy or made a pass at me, which is so refreshing.

Noah does some mild flirting, using pet names instead of my actual name. Nick let it slip once that it’s because his ex has the same middle name as my first name, and that bugs him. He would rather not associate me with someone like her. I suppose that’s fair, so I’ve let it go. They’re all sweet, non-provocative names anyway.

“All booked today.” I slipped out.

He nodded. “I plan to schedule with you soon.”

I rolled my eyes. “You say that every week, Noah.”

His guitar was now dutifully placed on his lap, his fingers strumming a slow melody. “True, but the struggling musician lifestyle doesn’t exactly come with a wad of cash.”

I smirked. “Told you I’d discount you.”

“Discount as in…free?” I chuckled.

Despite hating his early routine, he usually did manage to perk me up in the mornings.

I stood up, opening the sliding door and slipping inside. “Keep dreamin’, champ.”

-

The day had been absolutely brutal. My wrists were still vibrating from holding my machine the entire day. I had hoped my last client would be done two hours earlier, but he had to keep taking breaks. Because of that fact, my hands were extra tired, and there was no way I could finish my sketch in preparation for tomorrow’s client, so I had to wake up early again.

Slinging my bag over the back of the couch, I huffed out a groan as I slumped down onto it. Days like today were becoming more and more frequent, and I was exhausted. I needed to clear my books for a week and have a staycation. Do nothing and see no one.

Heaving myself up, I made my way to the bathroom, taking my hair out of the tight bun it had been kept in all day. My fingers scrubbed at my scalp before I turned the water of the shower on.

I let my wrists and hands sit under the scalding spray for what felt like hours, just trying to loosen the joints. Afterwards, I massaged a brutal amount of lidocaine cream on them to ease the tension.

Pouring myself a glass of red wine, I stepped out onto my balcony with my favorite sweatshirt and the latest book my sister had recommended to me. It was a love story with very light smut, so she figured I’d enjoy it. If only she had known the types of stories I read regularly.

Still, I humored her.

Flipping on my porch light, I leaned back on my chair and pulled a blanket from my basket over me, covering my bare legs.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I startled, nearly spilling wine all over the pages.

“Jesus Christ, Noah!”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me.”

“No, gosh you almost gave me a stroke.”

His eyes peered over the separating railing at me. “Whatcha reading?”

I snorted, taking a gulp of my wine. “Some romance novel my sister keeps bugging me to read.”

He nodded his chin at this, not verbally responding. I noted the beer in his hand, and his eyes peering out at the city below.

I didn’t know Noah well at all. In fact, I knew so little that it was almost freaky, given that I saw him all the time. That’s the price I pay for being closed off. I do, however, know that he doesn’t drink much at all, and typically only does when something is bothering him.

“You okay?” I closed my book around my fingers so as to not lose my place.

He didn’t look up at me or respond, just took a pull from his beer.

No quips or witty remarks? This was even more unlike him.

“Bad day?”

He nodded.

“Want to talk about it?” He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say anything. He just sighed heavily. I pursed my lips, watching as his eyes stayed trained on the lights flickering off in the distance of Los Angeles, entranced in his own mind.

Then an idea sparked. “Oh! I know!” I set my book down, and stood up. He looked at me, finally. “Stay there! I know what you need!”

He quirked an eyebrow and took another swig from his bottle. I ran inside, grabbing the grocery bag inside my work tote, the goodies still untouched from my way home. When I came back out, I reached in the bag, pulling out the yellow package.

“Catch.” I chucked it at him, which he caught one handed. He scanned the bag, and smiled.

“All pink and red Starburst.” He looked back up at me. “You know what I needed.”

I smirked, pulling my other candy out of the bag, Sweettart Ropes, and began munching. He popped the bag of his own candy open and began unwrapping the tiny cubes.

“Now do you want to talk about it?”

Looking down at the wrapper balled up in his hand, he sighed hard, chewing the soft candy.

“We met with our label today.” His beanie from earlier was still on his head, perfectly placed. “They want us to join a tour.”

I chewed my ropes, speaking around the candy in my mouth. “And that’s bad? I thought that was part of being a band? Isn’t that how you make good money?”

He nodded, drinking more of his beer. “It can be, but I’m nervous. And they’re pressuring us.”

“What do you have to be nervous for? You’re super talented.”

He looked over, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “When have you ever heard our music?”

I scoffed. “Every Sunday morning through the paper thin walls.”

This made him laugh, which was a nice sound in comparison to his previously somber tone.

“I just recently started working on my vocals. Our early stuff was mostly all screaming. This last album has singing, though. I don’t feel ready to perform that live.”

I nodded. “Well, you practice, I know that.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that simple. I’ve got to know I can do it. I can’t second guess myself or I fuck up. I know it.” He sighed hard, setting the candy and beer on his table, and pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Mm,” I swallowed my candy. “is it a crowd thing?”

“I’m not really sure.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I feel like it’s a being put on the spot, thing? I don’t know.”

I mulled this around. “I see.” I played with the idea in my brain before speaking. “So sing to me.”

His eyes shot up. “What?”

“Sing to me, Noah. Right here, right now.”

“The fuck? I can’t just do that.” He looked bewildered.

“Why not? It’s about being put on the spot. So sing to me.”

Noah stared at me as if I was insane. “What do I even sing? I don’t know any Taylor Swift songs.”

I scrunched my nose up at that. “Gross. No thank you.” He chuckled at that. “Sing me something of yours.”

He shook his head. “You won’t like our music.”

“Sure I do! I know you sing one about lions? Sing me that one!”

He all out laughed then. “The one about lions? Are you kidding?!”

I joined in on his laughter. “It’s the only one I remember.”

He groaned. “You’re serious?”

I sat back in my chair, chewing my candy, silently making it clear I was dead serious. He rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Hang on.” He disappeared inside. I took a large gulp of my wine, and waited.

He returned a few minutes later with his acoustic guitar, the one he usually had in the mornings. He also had taken off his beanie and sweatshirt, his tattooed arms and freshly cut hair on display. Were his arms always so muscular? No, he had definitely been working out.

“Alright, I’ll play you the one about lions, but please don’t laugh if I go off-key?”

I leaned forward, glass in hand, giving him my full attention. “Never.”

He sighed, and strummed the opening riffs of the song. It was slower, and sadder than when I had heard him practice it.

“You set me up as a villain, but you never mentioned the root of the problem. Took what you wanted and flipped it, but you won’t be dragging my name to the bottom.”

Noah’s voice was melodic, perfectly on key.

“So much unsaid. Left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

The song sounded more powerful in this style.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

His fingers stopped strumming for a beat.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said, but I’m going to make you wish you did.”

I smiled at the chorus, now remembering why I remember the lions.

“Jump to conclusions, they fall for illusions, but you weren’t there trying to stop them. You’re going low at the end of the road, but that won’t be the path that I follow.”

I finished my wine, setting the glass down and intertwining my fingers.

“So much unsaid, left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

He stopped strumming again, and I noticed he had his eyes closed. He hadn’t opened them once.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. But I’m going to make you wish you did.”

The chord progression changed leading into the bridge.

“I’m holding on to this until the scale’s untilted.”

He stopped, his pitch rising.

“Well everyone’s listening, and they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses, but you’re pushing my limits.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh-whoa.”

I leaned back in my chair, thoroughly enjoying this private show I was receiving.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should now I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh God, I’ll make you wish you did.”

He strummed the final chord and opened his eyes. I was smiling from ear to ear. I clapped my hands together, which made him blush.

“Oh stop.” He set his guitar down, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his beer.

“That was fantastic, Noah!”

He shook his head. “It was okay. I wasn’t on key the entire second chorus.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you always this hard on yourself?”

He smirked. “Always.”

“Please tell me that song is called Lions.”

This made him genuinely laugh. He shook his head. “It’s called Limits.”

“Mm, close enough.” He smirked at me.

“You really liked it?”

I nodded in response. “I did. It was really beautiful.”

His eyebrow raised and his thumb traced the rim of the beer bottle.

“You’re really beautiful.”

My stomach dropped clean out of my body, and my expression stilled. He didn’t waver, however, staring at me with a stern expression.

“Thank you.” Was all I could manage to say.

He nodded in acknowledgement, throwing back the bottle and tossing it into the trash can next to his table.

“Well, it’s past my bedtime. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I smiled. “Bright and early.”

He grinned back. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Noah.”

-

I tossed and turned in bed, sleep being the farthest thing from me. I had to get some rest, as I had to be up in less than eight hours, but even the wine hadn’t been able to wash the day off of me.

To be honest, the melody of the song kept ringing through my brain, the image of Noah strumming his guitar flashing past my eyelids.

His arms are so big. He’s actually kind of…buff? He didn’t look like that when he moved in. As much as I loved his long hair, the short hair was so fitting on him, falling loose by his ears.

Before I could stop myself, my hand was snaking down into the waistband of my shorts, fingers ghosting over the top of my clit. An orgasm should help me sleep, right?

As much as I know my rose would make quick work of this, the idea of having another vibrating object in my hand made my wrists ache. I opted to just take my time, fingers circling my sweet spot, and let myself indulge in the idea of my hot neighbor, fingers running over the string of the guitar. Arms flexing when he moved his hand up and down the neck. Throat constricting as the lyrics flowed out of his plump lips.

I could feel myself getting into the idea, my body sinking comfortably into the mattress. Lips parting, I pictured him on the other side of the walls. What did he look like shirtless? Was his chest as muscular as his arms? Did his tattoos spread all the way to his chest?

My fingers applied more pressure, making me squirm, and a soft breath left my lips. I wanted to be quiet, but I was alone. Did it matter?

Noah is likely sleeping, so I doubted that he would be able to hear anything.

I let a moan escape, letting one finger dip between my lips and feel how the moisture had built up at the thought of him. My pussy ached at the idea of his hands, long fingers pressing into me. I would bet he could hit my sweet spot with the first knuckle. I gasped hard, my hips bucking at the thought.

“Oh fuck.” I groaned, my mind drifting even further.

If his fingers were that long, how long was the rest of him? Did his cock size up to his gargantuan stature? What would it feel like? Would it hurt? Would it stretch? Likely, given I hadn’t been intimate with anyone for at least eight months. Would riding him be possible?

“Mmm,” I licked my lips at the image. “God, Noah.”

His name slipped out, and for a split second, I almost blushed, until I remembered it was just me.

That is, until I hard my phone chime on my nightstand.

I groaned, stilling my hand and growling. I was so close, and now it was gone. I snatched my phone, but my body froze when I saw the text on my screen.

Noah: Having fun over there, sweetheart?

My brain melted, completely mortified. Why was he awake?! He went to bed an hour ago!

I couldn’t respond, wishing I could sink into a hole in the mattress and disappear.

His type bubble appeared, and my heart rate sped up.

Noah: You’ve been at it a little while. Sounds like you may need a hand?

What do I even say to that? Am I okay with that? The heat between my legs screamed at me, telling me to take him up on his offer, but my brain put the brakes on.

We are neighbors. Did I want to change that dynamic? Did I want to tempt the fates?

I’m not, and have not been, in a place where I wanted to be in any kind of relationship/situationship/friends with benefits agreement right now. What did inviting him over mean?

Or was it that deep? Did I need to think about it that hard?

Me: Back door’s unlocked.

My finger hovered over the send button for a good 30 seconds before finally getting the nerve to press send. Once I had, I practically threw my phone across the room in hysteria.

What had I done?

After a moment, I heard a sound of a mattress creaking and shifting, and the sound of his sliding door.

Holy fuck.

My room was pitch black, so the light trailing in to the room from the moonlight was disrupted when his tall silhouette appeared. The door slid open smoothly, and he stepped in.

Instinctively, I reached over and tapped on the lamp on my bedside table, propping myself up on my elbows.

There he stood, hair just slightly messy from his pillow, shorts hanging low on his hips, and no tshirt.

Well, that answers my question. His chest and abdomen were covered in colorful, beautiful tattoos. Behind them, his muscles were chiseled and tight.

“You good, angel?”

He stood, and leaned his back against the wall, arms behind his back.

I guess my expression had been confusing, so I shook my head.

“Yeah, just a little embarrassed.”

This made him smile. “You shouldn’t be.”

“No? How much did you hear?”

With this, he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps to the bed, sinking down on the edge next to my leg.

“Oh, not too much.” His hand reached out and his palm ran over my duvet. “Just you moaning my name.”

His eyes flicked up at me from under his lashes.

That was it. I was dead. My face turned a deep crimson and I threw my head back, pulling the pillow over it, praying it would just suffocate me.

This made him chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s humiliating!”

He snorted. “I find it extremely flattering.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” My words were muffled by the pillow.

“You know, you could’ve just asked me to come over.”

I pulled the cover from my face and scoffed. “Oh sure.” I put my hand up to my ear to mimic a telephone. “Hey Noah! I know we’ve never had any kind of sexual contact - ever - but would you by chance come by and help me get off so I can get some sleep, since I can’t seem to quit thinking about you?”

“Sounds good to me, I don’t see the problem.” His smile was so mischievous. I couldn’t help but sheepishly grin.

“Noah-“

He cut me off. “How many times have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

My mouth hung open. “This is the first time…”

He nodded, his hand sliding along the blanket and closer to my leg underneath.

“What changed?”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve lived next door for six months. Why are you attracted to me now, all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always found you attractive.”

He smirked, his hand slipping up over my calf, applying a small pressure. My skin tingled.

“Then the feeling is mutual.” He sighed, looking up at me. “But tonight was different?”

“I just…” I shrugged, rolling onto my side, which pushed my body closer to him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you singing. Playing the guitar.”

His hand moved up, sliding to my hip and resting there. “Ah, okay. So I serenaded you, and you couldn’t resist?”

This made me giggle. “Gosh, you’re such a dork.”

He snickered, scooting himself closer to me. “Mm, maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that you were thinking about me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Suddenly, the air was thick, and he was leaning closer to me. I leaned my head back, giving him full view of my face. When he was close enough that I could feel his breath brushing across my lips, his eyes searched mine.

“This can just be a one-night thing if you want?”

I bit my bottom lip, and nodded gently.

I felt the skin of his lips press into me as my eyes closed, and I molded, form-fitting to him easily. He shifted, his body laying sideways next to me. Noah’s hand reached up and grasped the side of my face, pulling my body in closer to him.

I couldn’t feel or hear anything but the sound of his soft breathing against me, and the pressure of his hips pressing directly against mine.

His hand fell from my face and grabbed my leg by the back of the knee, hiking my leg up to hook on his hip, pulling my body into him even further. The press of his erection behind his shorts provided the sweetest friction against my pussy, still clothed by my shorts.

He groaned into my mouth, and I bucked my hips against him, begging for more contact.

Making out with Noah was more fun than I had imagined. He licked at my tongue, and I tasted the mint toothpaste he had used right before bed. His lips made the most delicious sounds when they sucked and pulled on mine, it had my head twirling in so many different directions.

All of my fantasies were replaying in my brain. His hands, his arms, his chest. My hands began wandering down his body, feeling every last ridge of muscle he had. I felt the ripple of his skin when he flexed, his body so warm and inviting.

He pulled his lips off of mine to look down at me, eyes dark and full of what had to be desire.

“What do you want me to do?”

What kind of question was that? Wasn’t it obvious?

“What?” I felt as though I was missing some hidden meaning.

He shifted, his body now looming over me, and I laid back flat on the bed so I could look directly at him.

“What…” He leaned down to kiss my lips. “do…” Kiss to my jaw. “you…” Kiss to my throat. “want me…” Kiss on my collarbone. “to do?”

I was panting, my need to feel him against my skin causing a hot burn everywhere I couldn’t.

“I, uh” His lips were attached to my neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of the tattoo etched there. “I don’t know. I just need to feel you.”

He pulled back, eyebrow raised, and smirked.

“Well,” He huffed a breath, running a finger down the skin of my chest above the tank top I wore. “I could pull this off of you.” His hand palmed over my breasts, his thumb tracing around my hard nipple. “Suck on these until you’re begging me for more.”

His eyes glanced up at me, and I just stared at him, eyes blown wide, trying to beg with my stare.

“Or…” His hand lifted off of my chest, and swiftly reached down, grabbing hold of the waistband of my shorts. “I could bury myself between those thighs,” My legs shook at the thought. “and lick you until you’re begging me to stop?”

My hand tightened on his sides, my hips pressing up toward him.

He leaned down again, licking a stripe up my throat. “Then, when you’re a hot, shaking, whining mess, I could fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

I moaned, his hand slipping down to tangle in the small patch of hair I had above on my pubic bone. “How’s that sound, baby girl?”

“So fucking good.” I felt his lips smile against my throat.

“You’ve made it easy for me. You’re not even wearing panties.”

I huffed out a small laugh, letting my eyes fall closed. “Yeah, well maybe I was hoping this would happen.”

“Is that right?” His kisses were moving down my body, his hand pulling my breasts free from my shirt. “Knowing you were over here thinking of me had me so fucking hard, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea.”

Noah’s tongue began circling around my left nipple while his hand massaged the other, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

He only focused on my chest for a moment before moving downward, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down my stomach, leaving a particularly hard one on my hipbone.

“So fucking sexy, angel. I won’t lie, I’ve thought about you before.” His fingers pulled my shorts down and off with no hesitation, his body settling between my legs.

“I’ve touched myself, dreaming about this gorgeous fucking pussy.” Noah placed a soft, gentle kiss on my inner thigh. “I can see how wet you are from thinking about me, baby. I hope you’re fucking ready.”

I didn’t have time to question what that meant, as his lips were now attached to my clit, the tip of his tongue circling it expertly while his lips sucked hard. My back arched off of the bed, the sensation nearly knocking me sideways.

“Fuck!” I screamed out, hand burying itself in his dark brunette hair. “Oh my God, Noah.”

“That’s it, gorgeous,” He licked at me, lapping up the fluid pooling between my lips. “fuck my face, pretty girl.”

My hips rutted forward, pressing myself into his lips harder. His arms circled my thighs, locking me into place while his mouth absolutely ravaged me at my core.

My entire body was vibrating, my eyes locked on his beautiful face, eyes closed and so focused.

I could feel myself beginning to crest on the edge of my orgasm, and his name came out as a string of prayers off my lips.

“Ugh, Noah…Noah…Noah…”

Without warning, he lifted me hips off of the bed, bringing himself to kneel on the mattress, so only my upper back and head were left on the pillows. The angle brought an entire new level of sensation. His tongue assaulted my clit, flipping back and forth from kitten licks to long, flat strokes, making me dizzier with each repetition.

“Noah, I’m going to come.” I breathed out, and his eyes opened, looking directly at me. His head began to move back and forth ever so slightly, him now locked onto my sweet spot. The ministrations sent me so far over the edge, I felt as though my entire body was floating.

“Oh fuck! Noah! Jesus fuck!”

He didn’t stop, however. Although he was licking me carefully through my climax, he didn’t show signs of slowing down…

“It’s sensitive. Please, I can’t take anymore.”

He disconnected from me for a second to smile deviously. “Sure you can.” And he continued.

“No, please, it’s too much.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

He pulled off of me, laying me back down, with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “The safe word is lions. Use it if you need it.” And he was back to it, making my vision go white.

“Noah, oh God, I can’t handle it, please!”

“You can, and you will.” His voice was factual, leaving no room for argument.

Just as I was about to protest again, I felt his tongue stop, and a sinfully long finger pressed into me, bringing about an entirely new sensation.

“Jesus Christ.” I was struggling to breathe.

“That’s it, baby. You’re so good, taking it all the way in. You’re so fucking perfect.”

My walls tightened around him at his words.

“It’s so fucking tight, baby. I’m almost worried it’s going to hurt when I fuck my name out of your mouth…” He looked up again, pressing a second finger in, a burning sensation pulsing through me. “…almost.”

My chest heaved, my breathing erratic and unstable. It was too good. It hurt so perfectly. His hand began pumping in and out of my body, causing loud, wet sounds.

“Going to make a mess, baby? I’d hope you’d wait until you were in my bed for that.” I couldn’t feel anything but his fingers inside me, driving me to insanity. “Thats alright, I’ll clean up. Go ahead and let go, honey. Come for me.”

An ear splitting screech ripped out of me, my body being rocked by another hard orgasm. His hand slowed, his fingers slipping out eventually.

“So fucking pretty. You got me all wet, I can’t tell you how fucking hot that was.”

I laid, eyes closed, working to bring myself back down to Earth. I wasn’t given much of a chance before I felt his tongue lapping at me again, making me squeal and jerk away from him.

“Nope.” His hands pulled me back to him. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The tears in my eyes were running. “Noah, please. Please!”

“I haven’t heard the safe word.” His face was buried in my folds, tongue pressing inside me. “You can do it baby, just one more, okay? I need one more.”

My head fell back on the pillows, savoring the soft, slow swipes of his tongue against me. It was almost…relaxing? He wa easing me through it, building me back up.

“Okay baby, you ready for another?”

I didn’t dare look at him, only nodded my head.

His fingers slipped back in, curling at the spot that makes my toes curl, and latched onto me again, his lips sucking hard on my clit.

This orgasm came quicker, washing over me like ocean waves hitting high tide. This time, I only managed to sigh hard when it hit me, feeling so wonderfully exhausted.

“That’s my girl. Perfect.”

I felt him lift up, but I still couldn’t make eye contact. My eyes were so heavy, and I couldn’t even fathom movement.

The bed dipped down next to me, and I cracked my lids to see him smiling. He reached down and kissed my cheek lovingly.

“Still there, Angel?”

I smiled a sleepy grin, and nodded. “That was…” There were no words. They didn’t exist.

“I’m glad you enjoyed.” I felt the blanket being pulled over me, and I opened my eyes in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled lightly. “You need to get some sleep, beautiful. I know I talked a big game, but you’re exhausted. That was the goal.” He smoothed a hand over my stomach. “Help you get some rest.”

I rolled on my side, pouting slightly. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be just fine.”

His hand reached over and switched the light off on the nightstand. He moved to stand up, by my arm came out to grab his. He turned his head and looked at me.

“Could you…” I cleared my throat. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Even though it’s just one night?”

I smirked, lifting the blanket for him to crawl under. With his own grin, he did so, lifting his arm so I could tuck in, head laid on his chest and arm falling over his stomach.

“Maybe it's more than just one night.”

[charliedawn]

Hello i really like your fanfics about the slashers and I have a request as to what if the nurse one day walks in with a baby in her hands and the slashers think it's hers but not knowing she was just babysitting

(If you do not want to do this request I understand I was hesitant when I wanted to ask this😭)

Warning: Reckless babysitting involved

Freddy: "That thing yours ?"

Freddy is cash.

He ain’t gonna beat around the bush.

The moment he sees a baby in the hospital, he’ll ask himself two things: first, who shagged and brought that thing to life. And two, why is it looking at him like its gonna suck his nonexistent soul out of his body ?

And since there aren’t that many women in the hospital and you were the one holding the baby, he would automatically assume that the pink fleshy thing is yours. He would then be relieved to find out that it wasn’t yours. (Not because he doesn’t think you would be a great parent, but because he kinda sees you as the mama bear of the asylum and could get jealous of not receiving enough attention.)

Freddy *proceeds to carry the baby and puts shades on him and moves its little arms to make it dance on the table*

The baby *stares at Michael*

Michael *stares back*

Michael didn’t really care who’s baby it was. He just stared at it. It was such a funny thing to find in an asylum and he just kept staring at it. But then, he thought about who would be irresponsible enough to leave a baby unattended in an asylum with cannibal clowns ? He hence took it upon himself to take the baby and protect it until the mother or caretaker would arrive…

The baby will be safe if given to Michael.

"Oh ! Nursy laid a child overnight ! Didn’t know your species could do that !" Penny joked as he found the baby.

He did have the craving to take a bite at first, but then he realised the baby was under your care. And as he does respect you to an extent, he decided to spare the child. Besides, the child wasn’t ripe enough for him…It wouldn’t be as nutritious as it would be if it were 4 or 5. He would hence say that he would wait until it is older. He would however observe it and smile at it or do funny faces at it when you’re not looking. He would also throw it in the air (giving you a small heart attack in the process) and giggle as he managed to successfully catch it each time.

The baby *crying his lungs out*

Pennywise: "Give it here."

You *suspicious* : "Why ?"

Pennywise : "Do you want it to sleep ? Give it."

You then witnessed Pennywise use his powers to sing the baby to sleep. Pennywise would lull the child to sleep by singing him a song. Pennywise is older than Penny and has hence a greater repertoire and remembers…everything. He would find a song to make the baby sleep and be extra gentle with it. Unlike Penny, Pennywise is much wiser and careful. He understands the fragility of a baby and would know best what to do with it, even more since Pennywise used to have 7 siblings growing up when he was still human. But, do not leave the kid unattended for too long with Pennywise because after all…old habits die hard and unlike Penny, Pennywise isn’t fussy about the food he eats.

"…Ew."

Patrick Bateman is NOT a baby person, he isn’t a person person on a regular basis, but babies ? They are the worse in his book.

Loud, dirty and can’t do business.

What are they even for ?

The only baby he would get along with would be boss baby. But since he is a character in a cartoon, they would never meet. So the very real baby will stay FAR away from him and he wouldn’t even touch it. He would mildly be interested if the baby is yours, but not a lot more…

You: "Jack. You were a father, right ?"

Jack: "Yeah. Why are you asking ?"

You *dump the baby in his arms*: "Here. I’ll be back in 5."

Jack *momentarily stunned and then calling after you.*: "Hey hey ! No ! Nurse Y/N ! Come back here !"

Jack finally sat down on a chair while the baby was just chilling in his arms and staring at him.

Jack *looks down at the baby and huffs* : "What are you looking at ?"

Him and the baby proceeded to chill all afternoon.

You *forgot the baby in a room*

The baby *chilling on a table and about to roll off said table*

Bo *uses his unexpectedly big brother superpowers and catches it before it falls and then looks down at it…wondering what the hell he just did and why*

The baby *giving him the most baby smile ever*

Him *smirks* : "Well…Ain’t you an absolute sunshine, huh lil’ ugly ?"

Also him *carries the baby to the garage* : "Don’t worry, uncle Bo’s gonna take good care of ya. Lemme show ya how to fix a car now."

Brahms would be happy to take care of it, but he would be clueless and would be afraid to hurt it. Brahms is strong and sometimes he doesn’t even realise how strong. He could involuntarily crush the child. So, he would just sit in front of it and be on guard duty. He would make sure no danger gets near the child and keep an eye on it until you are back. He would then ask if the baby could come back when it is a little older so they can become friends and play tag together.

Brahms *making puppy eyes at you and keeps asking when is the baby going to come back*

[vallification]

In My Heart You Pay No Rent

Pairing: cowboy!gojo x reader

TW/CW: historical inaccuracies, smut, outdoor sex, first times, mention of guns, alcohol, MDNI

Too obstinate and infatuated with a dastardly outlaw to bend to the will of your father, you head to town to find the target of your distant affections, a sharp-tongued cowboy with a long list of charges decorating his reputation.

This work is part of the "Slow It Down, Cowboy" AU, a collaborative effort with @slutshamethesquirrels. Read its sister work, "All The Sweet Tea In Carolina" here.

The wild, wild west was aptly named, given the plethora of things bound to go awry in the massive stretches of empty land between each isolated township. Terrain, storms, animals, vagrants, vagabonds, money-hungry city folk swarming in droves to strike oil, and, of course, outlaws. Some days you’d see well-groomed, mild-mannered, decent gentlemen dressed to the nines strolling to the bank to make a deposit, and others you’d see sweat-soaked, sharp-tongued, wild cowboys dressed in grimy leather storming out of that bank with those gentlemen’s cash. Of course, the township’s staggering number of law enforcement officers (three)(including the sheriff) would chase after those slimy vandals, but that always ended in either a sprained ankle, a see-through hat, or a funeral. 

However, as the surrounding communities began to flourish into cities, you began to see less and less of those outlaws. Daddy would mutter something about how it’s damn time, how sick to bastard death he was of those ruffians hanging around your good, decent town, how lucky you were that one of those good-for-nothin’s never thought to heave you up over his shoulder and ride off with you, because you still weren’t married, and had no one but your old Daddy to keep you safe. 

Suitors, courtship, marriage, suitors, courtship, marriage, babies, suitors, courtship, marriage, babies, lawfully wedded and married and holy matrimony and blah, blah, blah. He raised you right, you were ladylike enough, you looked just like your mother, why were you so hard to marry off? You were so damn tired of that conversation, and you had begun to make it known, remembering the first time you turned your nose up at a potential romantic proposition like it was yesterday. Your poor old Daddy called you to the porch, and you were sure he’d pop something by the way he turned so red. 

“The banker’s son’s coming from town tomorrow,” He mentioned, passive and gentle as he puffed on his cigarette. 

“So?” You said, hip jutted out to rest against the doorframe, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Daddy shot you a warning glare, but as his one and only little girl, you knew it’d only ever be just that: a warning.

“He wants t'marry you. He’s got a good daddy, a good mama. Some money. More money ‘n us if you can believe 'at,” Puff, “He can take care of you.” 

“I’d rather wear a potato sack on m'head than marry that man.” 

It only took two more times for him to throw his hands up in defeat. There wasn’t anything wrong with any of those men, they were decent enough, and they did have the means to take care of you, but it didn’t matter. No, you weren’t keen on marriage, or babies, or domesticity; what you were keen on was your every-other-monthly ride to town, snug in your nice go-to-town dress, much to Daddy’s dismay. 

Technically, you weren’t doing anything wrong when you went to town. What was so wrong about waiting at the edge of town by the dirt road, under the big southern live oak, nose faux-stuck in a book, aching for a glimpse of that white head of hair hidden under the brim of a black cowboy hat? Was it a sin to watch his tall, broad, strong frame saunter down the road and into the bar? Was it a sin to imagine what his sun-tanned, dirty, sweaty skin looked like beneath his grimy, baby blue cotton button up? 

Sometimes it felt like a sin, given the way you’d hide your face in your unread book to bite your lip and blush when he looked in your direction. You still lie awake at night, face flushed pink and hands over the blankets, reminiscing about the time those dangerous blue eyes flicked up and down your figure before they gave you a wink. That was the only time you felt brave enough to push Daddy’s limits to let you ride back to town early the next morning, under the guise of helping one of the elderly ladies with her cleaning, when in reality you were scoping the outskirts of town for his shiny black horse. If you saw it, well, that meant he stayed in place for at least one night. Sure enough, around the backside of the homely little inn, that black stallion stood tied. 

You weren’t sure why you did it, at least not at the time, because it wasn’t like you’d ever get the chance to do anything with that information. He was a stranger, named a troublemaker in the paper, too, and you were locked away in that ranch house 5 miles down the beaten trail like a knightless, wild-west princess. 

… That is, until Daddy’s got overnight business to tend to. With a bad storm rolling over the endless sea of grassy prairie, and some pretty sleazy cowhands, he forbids you to travel the 150 mile round-trip alongside him to help drive a fellow rancher’s cattle further uphill. You tut, whine, roll your eyes, and stamp your foot in protest, but oh, no, it’s just no use, sweetheart, Daddy says. It’s a miracle that little trick still works on him, or else he might’ve remembered it’s nearly time for your ride to town. 

With a shotgun shoved in your hands and a kiss pressed to the top of your head, you watch Daddy ride off, standing barefoot on the porch. For the first time in forever, now grown and far braver than you were the last time, you’re by yourself; you’re freer than the summer breeze blowing through the trees, freer than a bird, freer than the water trickling in the crick at the other end of the pasture. It’s a secret, sweet victory, and in your glee you almost go running off the porch before realizing it’s probably a good idea to put the gun down first. 

—

It’s close to 10 o’clock when you trot into town on your dark bay horse, Ace, dressed in the prettiest non-fanciful dress you own. Compared to your usual attire, with bustles, corsets, undercoats galore, it almost feels like a nightgown once you’re in the realm of the rest of the town folk. You figured it was better to dress down than up, though; if anyone was to spot you riding into town, your go-to-town dress would be your first identifier.

Daddy’s not the type of man to drain his money and life away in such a grimy place, and neither are his friends; well, maybe one, but he’s done so much money and life wasting in that saloon that you doubt he’ll recognize you. Or, if he does, you doubt he’ll remember. However, you find yourself hesitating to leave your horse, once he’s tied up next to the saloon. 

The lively music playing from the shabby little building is so loud, loud enough for you to hear from where you stand… outside. Inside, people are yelling, laughing, singing, shouting, swearing, and you start getting the feeling that you really shouldn’t be here. 

“God, ‘ve gotta piss like a fuckin’ racehorse.”

You snap your head in the direction the voice came from, but it’s too little too late. In the dim moonlight, you watch the man stumble ‘round the corner of the saloon, drunk hands popping open the button of his thick, canvas pants. “Don’t look, Blackjack, got my dick ou— oh, shit!” 

“Wh— I-I, um,” Stammering, you whip around and squeeze your eyes shut (although it’s far too late for that to do anything), your legs immediately carrying you back to your horse’s side. There’s no mistaking the snow-white hair peeking out from underneath the brim of that black hat, and you’re utterly mortified. 

“Woah, sweetheart. Hang fire,” The stranger drawls, the sound of fabric rustling behind you as he haphazardly tucks his shirt back into his now-buttoned pants. “Y’look awfully familiar, y’know.” 

“I don’t believe I do,” You mutter, your back still turned to the outlaw as you work at the knot securing your horse to the wooden hitching rail. If you weren’t so flustered by the man’s presence, and the eyefull you got of what’s hidden in his pants, maybe the knot wouldn’t take so damn long to come loose. 

“I said hold it, miss,” He emphasizes, hooking a finger into the ribbon at the back of your dress and tugging you away from the hitching rail. Without 100 feet of distance separating you, you realize just how much he towers over you, dwarfing you in comparison… However, you’re no regular, resigned, reverent little girl, and you’re not about to let a stranger—no matter how handsome—ragdoll you around. “‘S no mistakin’ you.”

“You’d better get your grimy hands off'a me, mister, or else,” you bite back, praying for his soul should his grip tear the bow off of your dress. He’s not pulling on it anymore, but he’s still got his finger crooked into the baby blue silk. 

“Ooh, yer a mean ‘un, huh?” The man sneers, snorting at your pitiful attempts to wriggle away from him without ripping the shiny, delicate fabric. Bending down to meet your ear, he lowers his voice to something just above a whisper. “Or what?”

“You’ll find out, that’s what. Let go'a me.”

“Say, yer th’girl who sits under ‘at tree over there, ain’t ya? Watchin’ me?” Pointing a long, deathly still finger at the live oak tree, he turns his head to look at your scowling face.  “Well, ya don’t usually look at me ‘at way, but y’sure are her. I’d recognize ‘at hair anywhere, sweetheart.”

“If you don’t turn me loose m'gonna blow that finger clean off your hand, sir.” One final warning. He lets you go, not because of your threat, but because he wants to. It’d be a shame if he spoiled his fun so soon. Plus, the only person capable of blowing a finger clean off of his hand is himself. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, glaring up at him when he returns upright, reaching behind you to make sure the ribbon is still tight, neat, and secure against your back. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leavin' now.” 

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, his voice yet again a smooth drawl, grinning ear to ear as he follows each of your steps back to your horse. “Y’can watch me for months but ya can’t gimme th’time t’introduce m’self?” 

“Will you stop with that?” Punctuating your question with a hand planted on your hip, you look at him incredulously, using your other hand to jab a finger into his chest. Although your cheeks are bright pink in embarrassment, the night sky acts as your ally and disguises the girlish glow. “You— If I’d’ve known you were such a— a bastard I’d’ve saved m'self the trouble!”

“A bastard? Y’got quite th’mouth on ya, huh?” He laughs, his hand coming up to pick the hat off of his head as the other smooths his sweaty white hair back, bringing his hat to his chest so it doesn’t fall to the ground. “Quit yer caterwauling ‘n let me introduce m’self, please, ma’am, or I’ll hafta show ya a real bastard.” 

From what you can tell, he is a real bastard, just the most charming bastard you’ve ever had the privilege of running into. The outlaw holds out his rough, calloused hand for yours, which you hesitantly give. 

“Six Eyes Satoru Gojo, ma’am, ‘s a pleasure t’meet ya,” Satoru greets, bowing to place a kiss on the soft skin of your knuckles, only serving as fuel to the flames burning on your cheeks. You quickly take your hand away from his and hold it close to yourself. “But if ya’d like t’call me bastard, at’s okay too.” 

You give him a once-over, humming in some semblance of approval at the newfound half-properness in Satoru’s behavior. That won’t last long, but you’re a lady after all, a lady who has been treated nothing but properly your entire life, which is exactly why you find yourself subconsciously wishing he’d get back to his dastardly act. 

“Well, Six Eyes Satoru Gojo, I’ll be leavin' now,” You say flatly, trying to offset the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger already. It’s no use giving into the idea of staying, things have already gone further than they should have, and if you stay any longer you’re not sure you’ll know when to say when. Gathering a handful of your dress, you slip your foot into the stirrup at Ace’s side and heave yourself up into your saddle. 

“Oh, for th’love of— After I introduced m’self s’ sweetly?” 

Clop, clop, clop, is all Satoru hears in response as you back your horse away from the hitching post, throwing your hair over your shoulders and out of your line of sight. 

“Awww, don’t leave m’lonely already, sweetheart! C’mon, I ‘on’t bite,” he calls to you as you slowly start your way back in the direction of your house. The back way, the way you came, just for extra insurance that you won’t be seen leaving the saloon.  “Not ‘nless ya want m’to, at least!” 

All he gets in response is a grin over your shoulder, and the same clop, clop, clop of Ace’s shoes against the dirt. Well, shit, Satoru thinks to himself as you ride away, almost walking back over to the doors of the saloon, but he’s found himself far too interested in the way your body shifts up and down in tandem with your horse’s steps. He takes one step towards the door, then swivels over to Blackjack, then the door, then Blackjack—

“Fuck, still gotta pee.” 

After relieving himself, this time without flashing anyone, Satoru makes quick work of the knot tying Blackjack to the hitching rail and slings himself up into his saddle. No mind is paid to the poor waitress still waiting for his return in the dingy saloon, who’s eyeing the double-doors for his reappearance; no, he’s dead set on following your path into the horse-high grass, pulling Blackjack into a higher gear with the reins in his hands. 

If you cared, you’d chastise yourself for walking the line of inappropriate behavior as an unwedded woman with a man you just met. If you cared, you’d scold yourself for taking your sweet time, for the slow trot you’ve kept Ace at when you could have hauled ass home. But you don’t care, not when you can hear Satoru’s horse almost pick up to a gallop behind you. 

With one hand keeping his hat from flying off his head and one on the reins, Satoru races to close the gap between the two of you till he’s about 100 feet from you, slowing Blackjack to a trot. He hangs behind you once he’s caught up, matching your pace, watching you ride, pulling a cigarette and a match box from his stash in shirt pocket. Once it’s lit, he pinches out the match, tosses it over his shoulder, and pulls a drag from the cigarette between his lips.

“For bein’ s’hellbent on gettin’ away from me, y’ain’t very fast,” Satoru comments, smug as ever that he’s caught you—as if you weren’t trying to be caught— blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. He’s still watching the up down up down up down of your body in the saddle. “Y’got a name?” 

“Not one y'need t'know,” you reply coolly. Somehow you can feel the weight of his blue gaze on your back, a type of audacity you’ve never experienced in all your born days, and it makes you blush. You’re glad he’s watching you from behind, not just to satisfy your itch for his attention, but also so he can’t see the girlish grin you can’t seem to fight off. 

“Stubborn,” he tuts around his rolled cigarette, only tearing his eyes away from your backside to shake his head. “Sweetheart’ll work, then. How’s ‘at?”

“Inappropriate, really.” Another cool reply. Both of you know your feigned unaffectedness isn’t going to shoo him away; if anything, it’s pulling him in closer, making him more interested in getting you to drop that nonchalant act with each short, clipped comment.

“Where we goin’, sweetheart?” Satoru asks, tugging the reins till Blackjack gets him right beside you. He pulls another drag from the cigarette dangling between his lips before leaning over to you, pointedly blowing the smoke in your face. 

You fake cough, bringing a hand up to erratically wave that damned cloud of cigarette smoke away from your mouth and nose as he laughs. Satoru shakes his head as his laughter subsides, freeing a hand to wipe at his teary eyes. 

“We are not goin' anywhere. I am goin' home, Six Eyes,” you sass, punctuating your words with a hmph. All that serves to do is wind his laughter back up and lean back in the saddle, making Blackjack stop in his tracks. Ace keeps on trotting. “What’s that even mean? Why do people call ya that?” 

“Whew, ‘s fun t’wind y’up, y’know ‘at?” Satoru says once he gets Blackjack to catch up to you again, killing the smoldering end of his cigarette before flicking it away. “I’ll tell ya th’story when we get t’where we’re goin’.” 

Huffing at the way he overlooks your I, not We statement yet again, you instead focus on the view of your ride. Bright, silvery light of the near-full moon shines off of the smooth live oak leaves, illuminates the wide expanse of tall grass where the trees don’t grow, and kisses every square inch of the crop fields in sight. The clear sky seems to go on forever, wrapping its dark arms across the horizon and on, highlighting each star in the sky. It’s warm, humid from the system of storms not too far off, the epitome of a perfect mid-July night. 

A perfect mid-July night that you just had to take advantage of. Despite the serenity of the view, internally, you’ve spent the last three miles flip flopping between excitement and anxiety. On one hand, you’ve taken action, and that’s something to be proud of; on the other, you’ve taken action to do this, with him, who’s enough a bastard without the criminal record to make any good lady’s father bust a few vessels. God, you think about your poor father, how he loosened his reins after keeping you on a tight, protective leash, and you wonder how he’d feel if he found out. His one and only daughter alone with an outlaw, a dirty, grimy, criminal cowboy, in the face of all the kindhearted, decent suitors you turned your nose up at. 

“You’re nothin' but trouble,” You say, softer than anything else you’ve said to the man beside you. Anxiety has outweighed your excitement, and it’s written all over you in big, red, capital letters. Satoru could sense it before he saw it, and he’s getting the feeling you’ve never done so much as come home late. 

“Aww, ‘at’s not true,” He says, feigning hurt with a pout, his pink bottom lip pushed out. Maybe, he thinks to himself, he can tease the nerves out of you. Playing with you is far too fun to give up. It’s a shame you didn’t come up to him earlier, maybe you wouldn’t be so nervous if you had. “Want me t’show ya how good I can be, sweetheart? Y’got a lil’ sneak peek earlier.”

“You’re gonna get me in trouble! This 's hardly appropriate, and I hardly know ya outside of your charges listed in th'paper, and if my daddy finds out he–he’ll have me arrested, or somethin' like that. He’ll put a hole right through your head!” 

Now, that just makes him laugh, which he knows will do nothing to soothe you. “I’d love t’see ‘em try,” Satoru snorts. However, knowing a sliver of your temperament from experience, he doesn’t want to push you too far yet. He’s got a secret weapon in his saddle bag, and it isn’t another gun to aid the two on his hips. “Y’know what, I got somethin’ ‘at’ll help calm those boil over nerves’a yours. Ev’r been down south’a the border, sweetheart?”

– 

Cold iron warms in the heat of your drunken hands, the shiny metal revolver gleaming in the moonlight heavy in your inexperienced grip. 

“Atta girl– now, look right down the top’a the barrel ‘n line ‘at iron sight up,” Satoru instructs at your side, knees bent so he can see what you see. The scent of gunpowder, cigarettes, tequila, and sweat floods your senses with him so close, the amalgamation sure to stick to your dress, but you can’t bring yourself to find it anything but good. From the corner of your eyes, you take a lingering look at his face, and notice a dimple on his cheek you hadn’t before. The gun. Right. 

“The metal things? I’m nervous,” You mutter, fingers adjusting and readjusting their position before realizing it’ll take a while to feel comfortable wielding such a weapon. 

“The metal things, yep. Ain’t nothin’ t’be scared of, sweetheart. Y’got it?” Moving behind you, Satoru now has his strong chest pressed to your back, muscular arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours just as he warned you he would to make up for the recoil of the shot.

“Mmmm.. mhm. Now fire?” Focused eyes line up the metal fin at the end of the barrel with the ‘O’ on the ‘No Trespassing’ sign posted in the grassy field at edge of your father’s property, all the while you’re mentally preparing yourself for the explosive force and deafening noise of your upcoming shot. The physical contact, so foreign to your previously untouchable body, doesn’t help your preparation in the least, proving infinitely more distracting than the tequila. 

“Go ‘head, sweetheart. I gotcha.”

Deep breaths. All you have to do is put your finger on the trigger. Before you can move your index finger, Satoru gasps dramatically and grabs your sides, making you flinch and squeal in fear. You’re cowed down, hunched over with a hand slapped over your eyes and another still aiming the gun at the sign in fear when you not only hear, but also feel him start laughing. That bastard. 

Ramming an elbow back and hitting him square in the ribs is all you can do in this position other than throwing him a scolding glare. “Don’t scare me when I’ve got a gun in my hands!”

“Sorry, sorry– Had t’do it.” Glare. “I ain’t gonna do it again, I promise!” Squint. “I swear I won’t.”

Resuming the position, chest pressed closely to your back, hands clasped tightly over yours, chin comfortably rested on your shoulder, Satoru hushes his laughter in favor of letting you gather your bearings. He watches the way you squint one eye as you realign the iron sight, and the way you stick the tip of your tongue out of the side of your mouth to focus, and the way you visibly go through a mental checklist before you put your finger back on the trigger, and he’d be eternally damned if he said it wasn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Something so common to him was so foreign to you, and that sentiment could be held for more than guns. 

When the gun fires, you squeeze both of your eyes shut, lean back into the solid body behind you, and the world goes silent. Your eyes only open when your ears start ringing, Satoru’s impressed whistle filtering through the muffled sound snapping you to attention.

“Well, I’ll be damned. ‘At was a damn good shot, sweetheart, almost ‘s good ‘s me,” he praises proudly, standing tall as he examines the bullet hole in the sign, almost emptying out the ‘O’ entirely. “Y’got five more bullets. Wanna try yer hand at five more shots?”

The next five shots take over an hour to fire, and the last two leave no trace other than a knick in the side of the otherwise swiss-cheese sign. Each shot was sandwiched between mouthfuls of tequila from the bottle and drunken fits of laughter, both overshadowing your target practice in the end, leaving the decorative glass and revolver empty. 

Raising your wobbly frame up onto your tiptoes, you snatch the black cowboy hat off of Satoru’s oddly compliant head and place it gently atop yours. It’s a little big, and it’s hot, and it smells like campfire smoke, but you wear it all the same. With the hat settled on your head, you clumsily spin his pearl-grip six shooter around your finger and strike a pose. “Who’s Six Eyes Satoru Gojo now, hm?”

For the first time tonight, Satoru says nothing. Instead, he’s just looking at you, strong arms crossed over his strong chest, expression unreadable if not for the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“Well, how do I look?”

“Real pretty, sweetheart… real, real pretty. Y’wanna know what they say ‘bout takin’ a cowboy’s hat? Puttin’ it on like y’got mine on ‘at pretty little head’a yours?” Satoru drawls, his low voice dripping a sweet, dangerous kind of venom that sounds like the gospel to your drunk ears. Slow, sauntering steps kill the distance between you, till he’s so close you can feel the body heat radiating off of him. Eyes growing wide as you tip your head back to look up at him, your hand holding the cowboy hat on your head so it doesn’t fall off, you finally decipher why he looked like he caught you earlier. When he answers his own question, he drops his voice to a smug, deadly whisper. “Y’wear the hat, y’ride the cowboy.”

Sober, it would be hard enough to gather yourself to say anything at all, much less something so on par with Satoru’s energy, but drunk? That liquid courage, drank by the messy mouthful, is aptly named, coursing through your veins stronger than the deep-rooted conventions of the world around you. With scanning, studying eyes, you further analyze the look etched into Satoru’s suntanned face, and you figure that this is why you haven’t left the thought of him alone since you first saw him. You don’t cower away from his blue haze, not this time. This time, your eyes meet his, locked on them in a manner akin to a standoff. 

“Ride the cowboy, huh? Do they say that?” You whisper back, slipping the six shooter in the black leather belt hanging off of Satoru’s hips, letting your hand drag against the holster one second too long. It makes him shift, his baby blue shirt barely concealing the hints of moving muscle beneath. 

“Mmmmmhm. Don’t tell me ‘s yer first rodeo, sweetheart,” he teases, his euphemism enough to make you blush if not for your already flush-drunk cheeks. 

“I bet ya wish it was, Satoru. It ain't my first rodeo.” Oh, but it is. And if he were talking about kissing you, it’d still be your first rodeo, save for the sweet cheek-kisses you’d given a boy when you were six years old. However, you’re no longer in the realm of backing down, and you won’t give him the benefit of knowing he’s deflowering you. 

“Oh?” Satoru doesn’t believe that for a single second— not when you were tripping over yourself about all the trouble you’d be in if anyone found out about you doing so much as riding alongside him. That devilish set of dimples dip so deep as he grins down at you that you’re sure it’s hurting him. “Y’not ev’n a little scared t’get bucked off?” 

“I ain't scared at all,” You muse, initiating your first touch of the night by placing a flat palm against his clothed stomach. Satoru’s heavyweight cotton shirt offers little padding between your hand and his skin; he might as well be shirtless, because you can feel every contour of his impressive abdominal muscles. 

Something shifts in the air when you touch him, as if that single action changed the charted course of your world in an instant. The change is palpable, it’s audible, it’s visible, it’s so refreshingly different from all you’ve known and you’re going to chase it, even if it kills you, and it very well might should your father find out. Screaming cicadas and chirping crickets, trickling water and whistling breeze, all of which buzz around you in the night air seem to drown in the noise of Six Eyes Satoru Gojo. 

“Yeah? Call my bluff, then. Prove it.” 

It’s a dare, an invitation to dance with the blue eyed devil himself, and you’re taking it without a second thought. In the blink of an eye you take hold of his shirt collar, yanking him down to crash your inexperienced lips into his, and the world around you as you know it comes down crashing and burning with him. Satoru uncrosses his arms and plants two firm, rope-worn, calloused hands on your waist, pulling your eager frame flush against his. 

The kiss is rushed, open mouthed and sloppy, and if not for your plush lips it might hurt. Each passing second against your lips is chock full of proof that you have no clue where to start or where to stop, proof that you’re running on nothing but instinct to both satiate yourself and call Satoru’s bluff. Headstrong and obstinate as ever, you urge him backwards, back, back, back in sloppy, tripping steps till there’s enough of a rise in the terrain to stop him from moving without taking a step up. 

Satoru takes the reins from your imperious hold to ease the two of you to the ground, bending and hinging one joint at a time till you’re both close enough to fall to your knees in the dry grass. He’s still got one hand on your waist, traveling until it finds purchase on your hip, while the other flings the bulletless gun from the right holster away with reckless abandon. The other revolver lays aside within arm’s reach, just in case, but Satoru’s more focused on getting as far as you’ll let him go. Without the possibility of being poked, prodded, or shot, he shifts from his knees to sit flat, hauling you into his lap with a single arm wrapped around your waist. 

By the time you’re in his lap, you’ve pried his shirt off, but there’s not much of the night left to waste for you to sit and admire him as you’d like to, the two of you instead working overtime at getting you undressed. You’re breathless, he’s panting between each kiss of your lips, so soft, so sweet against his that he has to fight the urge to rip off the remaining clothes you’ve got on, consisting of nothing more than your linen chemise and cotton underwear. It’s only now, almost exposed under the silver moonlight in this cowboy’s lap, that your nerves start to get the better of you; it’s not that you want to stop, because you’d rather die than stop him from just touching you, but it’s all so fast that your head is spinning and you’re shaking like a leaf. 

Beneath you, where your hips sit atop his, you can feel how hard he is through the thick, rough canvas of his pants. It’s not smart to take them off— not outside, anyway— but there’s a part of you that craves to have your bare skin against his. Maybe that’s naive, but tequila doesn’t care about naivety. 

After all the teasing and taunting he’s put you through tonight, Satoru won’t make you say it. He won’t make you admit that this is your first time, nor will he ignore the fact. Instead, Satoru’s strong hands slide up the sides of your thighs, under that thin, white underdress, settling on your hips with a soft squeeze before pulling you down to grind against him. The friction, the drag against that wet, sensitive, aching place between your legs makes your breath hitch in your throat and cling to him, arms thrown around his neck. 

 His black cowboy hat is back on his head where it belongs, tipped back enough to let you see his face, and those blue eyes you’ve come to know seem to glow up at you. They’re lidded, heavy in a way you’ve never seen before from anyone else, and now that he’s looking at you like this you’re not sure you’d want anyone else to. Another roll of his narrow hips and you’re whimpering, nothing more than putty in his hands for him to mold and shape however he’d like. 

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Satoru whispers, placing a searing kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder, scattering goosebumps across your sensitive skin. You can feel his cock twitch from its confinement beneath you, and although your ability to gauge his size is obscured, he’s big. He’s a big man, with big hands and big shoulders, but you didn’t expect all of him to be so big. “Feels like yer shakin’ ‘n I ain’t ev’n done anythin’ yet.” 

The right words seem impossible to find, much less to say, all of them so vulgar and explicit that they make your face burn with such a vibrant shade of red it’s visible even in the low light of the moonbeams. He grins against your skin at your inability to speak, knowing such phrases have never left your pretty plush lips, relishing in the fact that your headstrong nature has been reduced to nothing by his touch. In a bashful whisper, you manage to whimper out your incomplete request. “I… um, I want you to…”

More tempting words than those have never graced his ears in all his born days. 

“Yeah? Y’want me t’do somethin’, baby?” Satoru murmurs, continuing to chip away at your resolve with his open mouthed kisses to your neck, his low voice rumbling against your skin, each action setting you aflame with every precious, passing second. You moan when he calls you baby, and again when his lips reach that place just under your jaw, and you want so badly to claw at his back but your hands feel so weak. 

“Do y’want me t’touch you? Right…” As he trails off, so does his bruised, nicked, calloused hand from your hip, stopping when his palm is pressed smooth against your lower stomach. Barely, feather-light, his thumb grazes your clothed clit. “… Here?” 

“Yes— yes, please,” You plead, your hips pushing into his touch, your eyes squeezing shut to splay your lashes over your cheeks, your body tensing at the touch; it’s so foreign, so forbidden, but you’d trade your spot in heaven for more of it. 

Satoru doesn’t make you beg, no, but he stops touching you to hang his fingertips on the waistband of your offensive underwear and slide them down your legs. Only after they’re discarded in the dry grass does he offer his merciful touch again, spreading your soaked folds to gather your slick on the pad of his thumb before slowly circling your clit. Each circled swipe over that shiveringly sensitive bud pulls a shaky, breathy moan from your throat, a sound so rewarding that all he wants to do is flip the two of you over and take you right there. 

“Relax, sweetheart. Feels good?” He asks, hungry eyes dropping to watch the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, then lower to watch the way you chase his touch with your hips, and then lower to watch you toy with the buttons of his pants, your hands just brushing against his solid cock. It’s not on purpose, but it feels like teasing nonetheless, making his cock jump against the thick canvas restraining it. It’s starting to ache. 

The strength to speak is so hard to gather, even more so when one slick, thick finger dips past your entrance, slowly sinking into you one sweet centimeter at a time. Your pride, your ego, your purity, all the aspects of your mind that have been built up like walls to protect you come crumbling down instantaneously, rendering you defenseless against Satoru’s masterful touch as he curls that finger inside of you. Pure electric bliss radiates through your shaking body from the gentle pressure against that newfound spongy spot, and again when you feel him slip second finger into you, the new addition offering a slight stretching sensation to the pleasure. Something in the pit of your stomach feels like it’s coiling up, warm, tense, tight, and you’re unsure whether you should run to it or from it.

Each curl of his fingers pulls winds that coil up further, pulls you closer to that feeling, and overtakes your control, leaving you feeling close to tears and on the brink of something unknown. All of your pride has been stripped away, finding yourself no longer above begging and taking.

“Satoru, please,” You gasp, in an attempt to fill your pleading lungs with air as he just keeps on pulling you apart. Desperate, shaking fingers start grasping at the buttons keeping you from what you want, clumsily popping them open till you can dip your hand past them and free his cock in one swift motion. It’s thick, so hot to the touch, tip red and weeping from watching you fall to pieces in his hands. “I-I want more, please, I really want it ‘n I feel so… s-so good, please.” 

With no clue what to do, you just do what feels right, swiping at the mess of precum gathered at the tip of his cock with the pad of your thumb before letting your grip drag slowly down his length. Satoru swears under his breath, words so vulgar you’d only heard them once or twice before, but from his mouth they sound like the damn gospel. His head drops back in awe of the relief your soft, soft touch offers, only snapping back up to watch your hands slow strokes up and down his aching cock. The glorious sight is enough to violently rip the thought of enjoying this from his head and kick him into a higher gear.

“I’ll give y’whatever ya want, sweetheart, y’don’t hafta beg me,” Satoru says, his voice low, breathy, laden with lust and hymnal in your ears. Slowly, he slips his digits from your cunt, his palm and fingers coated with your slick and shining in the silver light. There’s no time to waste, not when you just begged him for more, not when nights don’t last forever, but he wants to taste you so bad that he brings his soaked fingers to his lips and licks them clean, savoring the sweet, sweet flavor of you. Watching him lick his fingers clean of you is enough to make you whimper. 

In no time he’s pushing up your chemise to rest on your hips, reaching around to find purchase of a handful of your ass to steady you as he pulls you higher on your knees. You’re hovering over his hips now, the tip of his cock nestling against your slick-coated folds, your shaking hands resting on his broad shoulders, and you are so completely overcome with anticipation that it hurts. 

“Promise‘ll be gentle, sweetheart. Y’ain’t gots t’worry over ‘at, I swear,” He whispers against your lips, pulling your body flush against his own. Mumbling pleads for him to hurry, you want him, you want this,  you beg him to make his move, and Satoru can’t deny such a pretty girl asking him so nicely. Mercifully, he lines himself up with your weeping entrance, and allows you to take control. 

With shaking legs, you lower yourself down just until the tip of his cock is snug inside of you, suddenly halting. It hurts…  but it feels so, so, so good. You lift yourself up to try again entirely, staring down to where the two of you meet, and lower yourself again. This time, you don’t stop for that burn, that intrusion, that stretch, wincing while sinking down so slowly that you can feel every single inch of Satoru’s hot, fat cock drag against your walls until you’re so full you can’t go down any further. Once you’re still, you’re panting, whimpering, and clawing at the lifestyle-built muscles of Satoru’s expansive shoulders. 

Below you, Satoru’s in awe, his grip on the flesh of your ass so tight that his knuckles are white, his breath tortured, ragged, desperate. If he could manage to focus on something other than maintaining his self-control he’d let every nasty, vulgar, explicit thought of his at the sight of you pour from his lips, but he can’t. Inside of you, you can feel him twitch, a non-verbal, involuntary request to move from your position flush against his hips, but now that you’re so full of him you’re not sure you can. Whimpering, you open your hazy, pleasure-stricken eyes and meet his, finding them busy drinking every inch of you in his lap. 

That’s all he needs to take the reins, he knows what you’re saying with nothing more than the way you look down at him: you want him to move, you want him to help you. On the brink of losing all composure, he pays no mind at all to the snarky little comments he could be making about so much for the rules being “you ride the cowboy.” Satoru wraps an arm all the way around your waist, one hand holding your side and the other still holding a handful of your ass, and he pulls you to rest against his chest so he can take care of you. It’s a small change in position, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, eyes batting shut once again and jaw falling slack around a pretty little whimper. With you tucked so sweetly against him, head between his jaw and shoulder, Satoru slowly draws himself out of you and so shallowly pushes back in. 

“‘S ‘at alright, sweetheart?” The outlaw murmurs, your whine of a response swiftly hushing his concern and care and making him go that much more crazy. Another gentle drag of his cock out, another slow thrust of it in, the bliss of the disappearing burn making way for the delicious stretch seeping into your muscles. Then, as Satoru finds a nice, shallow, beginner-friendly pace, the tip of his cock catches on that wonderful spongy spot decorating your walls and you moan, loud and involuntary, his name leaving your lips like some sort of praise. You can’t help the sound spilling from your mouth when he finds it again, and you want to beg, plead, cry, anything to chase that feeling, anything to get Satoru to fuck you like he means it; you’re so stripped of your defenses and your self-control that you don’t realize that you are begging, pleading, crying for him to go deeper, harder, more more more. 

Such filthy words leaving lips as precious as yours should be a punishable offense, he thinks, especially when they sound so good that the sweet nothings he’s whispering into your hair are cracking off at the end into broken, wanton whines. Satoru’s grip on you grows impossibly tighter, entranced by your words, your warmth, the otherworldly grip your cunt’s got around him, and if he focuses, the soft squelch of how sopping wet you are each time he pushes up into you. He keeps his pace despite your pleas, he doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t want to push you too far, because although he’s a grimy, sorry sleazebag of a cowboy, and you’re a hotheaded, ornery brat, you feel like a china doll in his arms. Breakable. 

“Please, for th'love of God, Satoru, just— just fuck me, already!” You cry out, desperation kicking your respectability out the door, almost reduced to tears as you cling to him like you’re going to fall off the face of the earth if you don’t. Where was the bastard who grabbed you by the bow? The outlaw with a pistol on each hip, a cigarette in his mouth, blood splatter on his shirt? Six Eyes Satoru Gojo? That’s who you wanted now, that’s who you needed, and you appreciate the sweetness, the care, but by God it wasn’t sweet anymore. It was torture. 

“Y’want me to fuck you, huh? ‘At’s what y’want, sweetheart?” God, there he was. Compared to those sweet nothings he was whispering, it sounds like a threat, his low growl of a voice rumbling through his chest while you babble yesyesyesyespleaseyesyes. Satoru almost pulls out of you entirely, leaving only the tip to nudge into your messy cunt before snapping his hips up, burying his cock inside of you in one fell swoop, slamming into you so deep that it feels like he’s trying to bruise your insides. It hurts, it elevates the drool worthy stretch of your cunt around his cock, it makes you sob his name in a way that Satoru’s sure will burn into his brain and haunt him forever. “All ‘at talk earlier, now look at ya. Beggin’ me t’fuck you,” He tuts, but his near-scolding words are draped in adoration. “‘M gon’ fuck you s’good ya won’t want ‘nyone else to.”

Not the second time, or the third, but on the fourth vicious ram of his cock into you, you find yourself trying to match his pace, rocking yourself up when he drags himself out, sinking yourself down when he slams himself in, all with shaking legs and pitifully weak knees. The sound of skin hitting skin, the gushing sound of how wet your pussy was for him, the pleasured, guttural swears moaned from the man beneath you, all of it in tandem with the way his impossibly thick cock abused each and every tender spot inside you was addictive. Everything he offered, you took, and you took more, and he watched as your manners, your upbringing, and your conditioning flew out of the window with reckless abandon, entranced by the way he’s unraveled you to reveal a woman of pure need. 

Both of Satoru’s hands are settled on your ass, now, his white-knuckle grip sure to leave it’s mark when this is all over, but you don’t care. You’re too busy pushing yourself off of him, planting both hands on his strong chest, riding his cock like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do in this world. It’s sinful, he thinks, the way your hips meet his in the middle, the way you cry out his name, the way your jaw has fallen slack around each of your filthy babbles of how good you feel. 

“Atta fuckin’ girl, sweetheart! Look at ya,” He praises, something primal, something venomous, something paradoxically needy coating his gruff voice. Inside you, that coil from before is wound so tight that you’ve got tears in your eyes, but you want it, you want whatever feeling comes after so bad that you’re begging for it. Satoru’s praises only serve to urge you on, his ragged, tortured moans only pulling you closer, and closer, and his fat cock slams into you one more time and you’re done. “Let go, sweetheart, y’can do it, jus’ let go, alright? Atta girl.”

Your orgasm tears through you like bullets; hot, forceful, sudden, and searing, those tears falling down your cheeks as you cry out, desperately grinding your hips down into him so you can chase the pleasure radiating from that sweet spot inside of you. Satoru tips you forward to crash his lips into yours, swallowing your beautiful cries of bliss, still fucking into you so brutally through your orgasm in pursuit of his own fast-approaching climax. The gush of your cunt around him, the way you clench down so tight, so rhythmically, god, it’s too much, and he’s swearing as he pulls out of you swiftly at the very last minute, his hand flying to his freed cock to catch the cum spilling from the tip before it can stain your linen underdress. 

As the two of you still, panting against each other’s lips, a pile of sweaty, strengthless bodies, the sounds of the night around you fill the world again. Your sense has yet to return, because you should be gathering yourself and your clothes, but instead you rest atop the outlaw’s heaving chest. 

Satoru takes care of getting you back home, despite a nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him he doesn’t do this, it’s not smart, it’s something a sap would do, not a travelin’ man. But you’re tired, and he’s tired, and all he wants is a nice, warm bed to lay his head down for the night. By the time the two of you lay down between your linen sheets, your dress and all its fixings are laid over the chair in the corner of your room, his grimy ones are thrown on the floor in  another, and his boots are hidden beneath your bed. One strong arm is trapped beneath your head, and your sleepy, mumbled half-protests are met with one thing before your lights are out: 

“Cain’t leave ya out here by’n yer lonesome, I’ll stay till yer Daddy gets back.” 

And he does. 

The next day starts wrapped up in each other in the golden, pink-painted morning light, a sobering repeat of the love made a few hours before out in the grassy field. Any thoughts of your daddy, what he’d say, or what he’d think are nowhere to be seen when you’re in the presence of Satoru, the bastard cowboy who’s taken your affections hostage. You wash his filthy clothes and yours, hang them out to dry, and stow Blackjack in the luxury of the barn next to Ace till Satoru needs him. You sweep away the dirty footprints his boots left on the porch. You rinse his smoke-soaked cowboy hat till it smells new again. 

Satoru feeds the horses, the chickens, and the cows, all of which were your chores to do while your daddy was gone to drive cattle. He helps heave you up onto Blackjack’s back, the black stallion far taller than your own horse, and he lets you sit in front of him to take the reins. None without the fair amount of teasing, which didn’t seem like a fair amount to you; at several points in the day, you’d hop off Blackjack’s back and try to storm back to the house, but somehow the outlaw always reeled you back to ease you up into the saddle again. 

When the sun starts to hang heavy in the west side of the sky, you draw him a bath, to which he doesn’t protest. Nice baths are hard to come by when you don’t stay in one place for very long, and when you spend most of your time on the run, in places so  wild, so untouched as the West, they’re a godsend. Warm water and soap washes him clean, soothes his sore muscles, and makes him new again, but he doesn’t want to leave the bliss of the tub so soon. As he soaks in the suds, you enter the bathroom in your dressing robe to sit on the lip of the tub, simultaneously admiring him and admonishing him as the two of you bicker back and forth. 

“I think your clothes’re dry, bastard,” You tease, head resting on your shoulder as you balance yourself to sit on the edge of the tub. It’s a little urge for him to get out, because you feel you’re just as filthy as he was and you need to bathe. Satoru keeps your eyes with his, sinking lower in the tub till his shoulders are submerged and knees are poking out over the suds, reaching a wet hand to the string keeping your dressing robe shut. He draws it slowly, eyes still locked on yours, till the knot comes loose and each side falls open to expose your bare body beneath. It makes you fluster, wanting to slouch and hide yourself, but he grabs your hand as if to say don’t. You huff. “Come on, you’re hoggin’ it. I’m filthy.” 

“Get in,” Is all he says at first. Before you can protest, he speaks again. “C’mon. Get in.” 

You hesitate, but stand nonetheless, slowly letting the robe slip off of your shoulders and into a heap on the floor. Not once does he stop staring at you, not even when you can’t meet his eyes, not even when you’re stepping into the tub. All he does is grab your arm and yank you to rest against his chest, back to front, not caring about the water splashing over the sides as a result of his forceful repositioning. If not for the way he settles his strong arms around you, you’d scold him for wetting your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to get onto him. 

“When’s yer daddy meant t’be back, sweetheart?” 

“Tomorrow night.” 

“Alright.”

The two of you sit in that water so long that it’s ice cold by the time you step out. 

You find yourself wishing the sun would stay still in the sky, but it doesn’t; it just keeps on moving westward, like the unusually quiet outlaw dressed in a pair of your daddy’s nightclothes at the end of your bed. As the last few hours of daylight passed over the plains, Satoru became gentler, quieter, more tender than his usual dastardly manner. It struck you normally, if not pleasantly, knowing that such a wild, sharp-tongued man spoke to you so softly, so sweetly. It wasn’t lost on you that this would be your last night in his arms for a while, but you let yourself daydream that he’d be back in another month, and maybe he’d even knock on your window in the dead of night to make love to you again. 

At the end of the bed, dressed in your oblivious daddy’s nightclothes, Satoru finds himself unpleasantly surprised at how bad he feels. Feeling bad wasn’t something he felt often, having seen so much death, violence, crime, and corruption, not to mention having committed those acts with his own hands. It was a rotten feeling, knowing that he’d been your first, that he’d taken you in a field, in your bed, in your kitchen, and in your bathroom, and it was a rotten feeling, knowing that he was about to shatter any semblance of faith you placed in him. Your obstinacy, your petulance, your temperament, none of these things about you changed the fact that you were too naive to realize the fact of the matter, which was that you were just another girl to him, and he would be gone before you knew it. 

The guilt was unsettling. It was eating at him. It was blooming under the soft touch of your warm hand on his arm, urging him to come up to lay beside you in your stark white nightdress. Satoru looks back at you with a halfhearted grin, traversing the soft expanse of your bed until his head meets the pillows and he can slip under your covers, tangled up in you again. Your soft laugh, your hair on the pillows, your keen eyes; all of you will be different soon, so he drinks it in while he can. Maybe it’s a fucked up thing to think, but you have been one of his favorites. 

“Will y'wake me up in the mornin’? Before you go?” You whisper, sleepy and warm from where you lay your head on his chest. The outlaw has you gathered in his arms, pulled halfway over his body, holding you so comfortably while you fight the tiredness that threatens to lull you into sleep. If he wasn’t preparing himself to go, he’d notice how you fit against his side like two pieces of a puzzle, a perfect fit. His voice rumbles through his chest when he replies. 

“Sure, sweetheart,” Satoru whispers back. 

“You’d better, you bastard. ‘M gonna be cross ‘f you don’t…” 

As sleep takes over, you trail off, the blow of your threat softened by your rhythmic breaths. Through your window shines the silvery light of the moon, creating a soft glow around your peaceful, sleeping form, and Satoru looks away. 

It’s four awake, dragging, guilty hours before he moves you off of his chest. He’d stay all night if he didn’t get a move on now, when you’re sleeping so deeply that you don’t react to the loss of warmth or his weight shifting the bed as he stands up. Satoru shimmies out of your father’s nightclothes and folds them as best he can, laying them on the surface of the mahogany nightstand beside your bed before dressing himself in his washed, pressed, clean clothes. Grabbing his spurred boots from beneath your bed, his leather belt holster, and his pitch black cowboy hat, he quietly makes his way out of your bedroom, but he stops in the middle of the doorway. 

One last look. That’s all he lets himself have.

One last look at your sleeping face that he kissed countless times in the past two days, that he blew smoke at, that he admired when you didn’t look and even when you did. Your sleeping body that he viewed, touched, held. Your hair, your hands, your breathing… Soon enough, it’ll hopefully all melt into the sea of women he can’t remember the names or faces of. It’ll be a while before he sees you again, and he plans to forget you before he does. You still hadn’t told him your name. Maybe that will help. 

Satoru slips out of the front door silently, slipping on his hat, boots, and belt, but before he makes it to the stables he realizes he’s only got one gun holstered on his hip. He’s not one to misplace his guns of all things, not when they’re the driving force of his survival given the path he’s chosen, so he books it to the stables and tries to retrace his steps. 

“Bar… No, definitely had’m then… not th’ride out here’n either. Had’m both in th’pasture…” Ding ding ding. Satoru purses his lips, and Blackjack huffs beneath him. Of course, now he remembers throwing the revolver into the grass, far too busy with you all pretty and pliant in his lap to take care of his own belongings. Sighing, he gives his horse a gentle spur to get him on the move. 

Once he’s far enough from your house to know you won’t hear him, even though you’re curled up dead asleep, he picks up to a gallop till he reaches that fated field of grass. The spot where Satoru had taken you was flat, but other than that there was little differentiating where he would have thrown the damn thing. Moonbeams would shine off of the smooth metal surface if the grass was shorter, but it’s no dice trying to find it that way. He finds it his next best course of action to hop down off of Blackjack’s back and search for it that way, but all he finds in the hour he takes is the empty bottle of tequila and that pretty, baby blue ribbon you had been so protective of. They don’t call him Six Eyes for nothing, so the fact that he can’t find the goddamned-piece-a-shit-good-fer-nothin’ revolver, mounted on top of the disgusting feeling of guilt eating at his insides, has his temper a building to a height he can’t control. 

Satoru shoves the ribbon in his saddle bag and launches the bottle at the “No Trespassing” sign you used as target practice. Milky white and blue glass shatters against the wooden sign, falling in a heap of shards beneath it, the broken, jagged pieces shining like diamonds in the light of the big, white moon. The clatter of the impact makes him curse, it’s too loud, it cuts through the peaceful sounds of the night, and it’s not as cathartic as he thought it’d be. Not at all. 

Nights don’t last forever, though, and the way a soft blue decorates the eastern horizon lets him know it’s time to go whether he’s got two guns, one, or none. Defeated, pissed, and swimming in guilt, Satoru hops back into the saddle and gives three gentle pats to Blackjack’s neck before spurring him on again. It’s shorter to cut through the endless acres of your father’s property, but he wants to take one last look at your house. One last look at the house you’re sleeping  so peacefully in. One last look. 

One last look until he rides off and doesn’t come back, not until you’re nothing more than a fuzzy memory.

[zeroseuniverse]

Princess Treatment

WC: 910 Pairing: Yunho X reader

“Can I have three powdered donuts, please?” She asked sweetly, the worker almost beaming at the sweet face ready to serve her quickly. 

“Right away miss.” He bowed, rushing to put together the order.

The quaint shop was seemingly empty, but she couldn’t help but notice how homey the decor was, warm tones with odd accents here and there to make the place more inviting, magazines and books littering some of the tables making it look lived in. She found herself quite comfortable in the shop, that was until she heard the bell chime behind her, the clerk parking up to see the new customer while she idly avoided turning to face the newcomer.

“Can I help you sir? "The older male asked sweetly.

“Just give me her bill please.” The deep voice rumbled behind her, his body coming up to almost pressing against her before he spoke again. “Can you not run off like that again?”

“Can you stop letting women flirt with you?” She snarked still not turning to face the man, instead setting her eyes on scanning the variety of candy for sale in the small shop.

“Here you go, miss.” The clerk smiled, bringing her the box of sweets and taking her partner’s card to ring up the bill.

“She wasn’t flirting!” Yunho protested, earning an eyeroll from his girlfriend who turned on her heel to face him, slipping a hand into his pocket to grab the spare cash before heading over to the tip jar.

“Here sir, have a wonderful day.” She yet again offered a sweet smile as she dropped the large wad of money into the tip jar and grabbed the card after the transaction was completed. She turned to her lover who was watching her with a shocked face before yet again turning on her hell, only this time heading to the car instead.

“You sure do have your hands full with that one.” The clerk commented as he came to stand near Yunho to hand him back the large sum of money.

“Keep it, she knows a safe place when she sees one. She wouldn’t have left that money if she didn’t see value in your shop.” Yunho sighed, making a mental note of the shop’s name so he knew where to check next time she ran off.

“A sweet face and fierce personality is a dangerous combination.” the clerk said, placing a wrinkled hand onto Yunho’s shoulder with a wry smile.

“Yea.. Wish me luck.” Yunho said with an airy chuckle at the end before walking to his car quickly to not leave his lover waiting. Heading to his sleek black car he climbed into the driver side, instead of starting the car though he looked over at her with exasperated eyes. 

She was eating a donut while scrolling through her phone, not bothering to clean up the sprinkled powdered sugar all over the seat of the car. 

“Can we talk about this please?” He sighed, watching her sip on her drink she had gotten on their date to wash down the donut. 

“She was flirting with you.”

“No she wasn’t.”

“She literally touched your hair.”

“I had food in it because SOMEONE threw a piece of bread at me.”

“She literally called me immature.”

“Well you’re acting like it right now love.”

“She bad mouthed your girlfriend and you’re agreeing with her?”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to say anything before you took off.”

“You smiled at the comment.”

“Sarcastically. I was about to ask for a new waiter, can you calm down and stop stress eating now. I know you’re feeling bad and that you think you’re overreacting, you’re not, your feelings are valid and how you handle those feelings is valid as well. I’m not upset, I just wanted you to hear what actually happened before you got too hurt by your own mind. I love you and everything about you, even how jealous you get.”

“So I dirtied your car up for nothing.” She said quietly looking up at him with watery eyes as guilt hit her. She had purposefully gone out of her way to break his no eating in his car rule, to try and upset him. Only for him to be the perfect boyfriend he always is.

“What do you mean?” He asked confusedly, tilting his head slightly, almost resembling a puppy.

“You don’t like people eating in your car, that’s why I got the messy donuts to get you as upset as I was. It’s petty and ridiculous. I'm sorry. I’ll clean it the second we get home.” She rushed out an explanation, hurrying to put away the trash.

“Now hold on.” He said almost sounding offended as he stared at her incredulously. She froze in her actions before looking at him wide eyed. “That rule never applied to you, and it never will. And when we get home, you’re going to sit your pretty butt right there and I will carry you inside, we will have a nice warm bath and I’ll do your skin care and your night routine with you, then we will snuggled up in our warm bed and handle the mess tomorrow first thing in the morning. Let me show you how much I love my princess.” He grinned, starting the car and quickly taking off before she had the chance to protest. 

He’d give her the princess treatment whether she wanted it or not.