#all of whom had multiple drinks.

[imaginaryf1shots]

Forced | Charles Leclerc vr.

WC: 16.2K (It started as a 5K word and then I said okay 10K and things went from there)

Charles x reader

Summery: Being threatened and forced into a marriage wasn’t on your mind when you got invited to dinner by your parents.

Warnings: Cursing, forced marriage, bad parents, alcoholic parent, bad childhood, brief suicidal thoughts, half edited. tell me if I missed anything.

A.N: If you’ve read this before, no you haven’t I tried to save it to my drafts while I was at my part time job, and it showed network familiar fast-forward 2 hours and I don’t find it in my drafts, but I see it posted, It wasn’t all uploaded yet.

A/N2: If there has been a one shot I was nervous about positing, it’s this one. So many ups and downs, at one moment I thought about scrapping it but this idea has been in my mind for so long. I feel like I could’ve added so much and I have to remind myself this is a one shot and not a multiple parts series. CARLOS ver. IS COMING, not this week but I’ll start it once I have an outline.(send me ideas if you have any)

Masterlist

Charles Masterlist

Carlos vr.

In the heart of Monaco, where all the rich, glitz and glamorous people live, the sun dips below the horizon casting a golden hue over the famous skyline of Monaco. The city is intertwined with the rich sport of Formula One. Many of the world's richest people live there, and so does your family. The famous Italian Morelli family, the rich of the rich. Generational wealth, very old money.

The family has been close with the Ferrari family for decades, and so Morelli has invested in the company very early on and has been receiving the benefits for years now. All of the children of the Morelli are born loving everything about cars and racing cars. However the new generation, not so much, they're straying from the driving and going into different ventures, trying different things. Yourself included, maybe when you were young but as you got older you never found yourself interested in cars or any of Ferraris teams in any motorsport, the last time you were at a race was when you were 10 and your parents had to force you to go, after that your older brothers stopped going so you said why can't I stay like them and that was that.

You defied your parents when you went to your choice of university, if it wasn't for you grandfather they would've cut you off, and so you went to art school and graduated with honours, but your parents still weren't there. Your grandfather passed away a few months later making your dad the head of the family.

Since then you've stayed in Italy after going and finishing university there, just the thought about going back to Monaco was out of the question, you have only stayed there during breaks from boarding school in Switzerland, both never feeling like home to you.

However here you are on a plane to Monaco for a mandatory family gathering, apparently something big is happening. the Youngest daughter to the family, the polite and elegant girl of the family, the least disappointment to your parents.

Your father had a driver waiting for you at the airport, not bothering to come himself even though it's been a couple of years since you saw him. Nothing has changed.

Getting ‘home’ yet again no one greeted you at the door but the maid who took your bag to your bedroom, you sighed and walked into the house looking for any sign of your family. You didn’t have to look for long, you found your mother on the balcony nursing a glass of some alcoholic drink, it was just a little after noon, a sight that you’re used to since you were young, your mum always being borderline alcoholic. Your guess is that she turned to the drinks to cope with living with your father, whom she chose to stay with for the glitz and the glamour of being a Morelli.

”Mother.” You greeted her, her head snapped to look at you, some of the liquid spilling as she placed her drink down and stood up, coming up to you with very wide arms pulling you in for a hug, your arms lay limp by your side for a moment before you returned the hug with one arm.

”Oh my baby, I didn’t know when you’d be in.” She said and pulled back to look at you.

”I sent you the details.” You mutter and she waves her hand waving you off.

”Come, come sit down, want a drink?” she asked, walking over to the drinks set on the side, you grimace and shake your head.

”No thanks, it’s a bit early for me.” You sit down across from her and look at the view, the view from the penthouse overlooking the pier, as much as you don't like Monaco the views there are breathtaking. “Where’s father?”

”He’s in a meeting.” She mutters and sips from her drink.

”It’s the weekend.” You reply but she just shrugs, unless he changed, your father never had work on the weekends, he hated them, he hated working anyways so for him to do so is something out of character.

”Your brothers just went out, sadly they didn’t come with any of their children.” Your mum pouted and you rolled your eyes, your mum is so out of touch with everything regarding her family, or anything in general, she acts so oblivious to the dynamic of the family, how all of her children live in other countries have their businesses and don’t want to be associated with the family name, the name she fought so hard to have.

”Okay, well, I’m going to my room to change.” You say and walk off leaving your mum on the balcony, texting your brothers in the group chat that you arrived, you laid down on your bed and scrolled through social media to pass time, you didn’t want to be here at all.

Once your brothers came, they made it to your room, the eldest taking the spot beside you on the bed and the second taking the sofa. It’s been a couple months since you saw them, but they’ve been texting you every now and then. The eldest, Matteo, is 8 years older than you, the second, Marco, is 6 years older, and you’re all at the age now where this difference isn’t that big.

You’ve all lounged around, your laughter ringing in the otherwise silent house. When the sun sat down you were called by the maids for the anticipated dinner. Hopefully everything will go smoothly and you'll be out of Monaco by tomorrow night. When you got to the dining room your father still wasn’t present, but you each took your place at the dinner table, with your mum at the head of the table across from your father’s empty seat and your brother’s each taking a side to your father and you between the oldest and your mum. It didn’t take long before your father arrived, he didn’t bother with pleasantries or hellos, he just took his place at the head of the table and food was served. You all ate in silence only the sound of the silverware hitting the plates is heard, something your mum tried not to grimace at each time.

“So… why are we here?” Matteo asked when the silence stretched for a bit too long for his liking, and he as did everyone minus your father wanted to escape this dinner.

”I have something that I wanted to talk to y/n about and I thought it’s best if you’re all present, as it’ll affect everyone.” Your father said, placing his knife and fork down, he took a sip from his wine glass and ran his eyes over the three of you like a predator, no ounce of love in him, you held your breath in curiosity and dread as the air hummed with anticipation, whatever is about to come can't be good. “As you know, our family has ties with the world of cars and motorsports, and Formula 1 has been a cornerstone of our family’s legacy for decades.”

”Not this again.” Marco mutters and your father gives him a warning look that has Marco clenching his jaw but saying nothing.

”In recent years, and since you three refused to have any hand in the family business or racing of any kind, our influence has waned, our presence diminished.” Your father continued, his voice carrying over the silence with determination, he speaks like you're in mediaeval times Matteo rolls his eyes. Dread fell onto you, you had no idea where this is going since it has to do with you. “I believe it’s time for us to take action.” His gaze sweeping across the room. “To reclaim our rightful place among the elite of Formula 1.” His eyes fall onto you and you forget to breathe, Matteo looking from you to your father. “I just came from a meeting with a Ferrari representative and we’ve come to a conclusion, y/n, we’ve arranged for you to marry Charles Leclerc.” Your fork clatters ringing in the air, your siblings and you are in shock. “This union will restore our family’s honour and secure our place at the top of motorsports history once more.”

As the implication of the head of the Morelli family proposal, no not proposal, fact, words, order, yes his order sank in, a palpable tension hung in the air, uncertainty and apprehension heavy.

And then your brothers were shouting, waving their hands, rage filled them. As for you? You felt betrayal, this is a death sentence to all your aspirations and dreams. Your eyes filled with tears, your throat closing in on you, your eyes fell to your plate and hadn’t moved. You have no idea who Charles even is, you have no idea who any of the Formula 1 drivers are at the moment, you haven't been in that sphere in so long.

”Come one, y/n, we’re leaving.” Matteo says and pulls you up, you stand up emotionlessly, your father still silent as he watched, you followed Matteo when your father spoke just as you were about to leave the room.

”If you don’t agree, then you can all kiss your futures goodbye.” Your father said and he dapped at his mouth with the napkin before he placed it on the table, that stopped you in your tracks along with Matteo and Marco stopped his shouting. closing your eyes, you let go of Matteo’s hand, of course it wouldn’t be that easy, your father wouldn’t just tell you and let you refuse, he had another thing up his sleeve.

”What are you talking about?” Marco asked his glare speaking for itself.

”I mean that, if your sister refuses or if any of you say anything or try to stop this marriage, you Marco will find that your company is suddenly without business and thus you’ll go bankrupt and you have two girls at home and a wife to take care of, and you Matteo, your stocks will plummet and you won’t be able to find a job as long as I live, all your inheritance gone and no trust fund to rely on anymore.” Cruel, he’s so cruel, how can he be your flesh and blood, how can you be related to this man? He’d basically kick you all to the street and his grandchildren as well, he has no heart that’s for certain.

”You can’t do that.” Matteo said but his voice was weaker, he knows his father is capable of doing this and much worse.

”Oh but I can.” Your father said with a smirk, his eyes settling on you once again. “So what will you do, y/n, would you let your brothers go bankrupt leaving them and their families with no money or future? Could you have this on your conscience?”

”This wouldn’t be on hers, it’s you, you’re doing this, don’t act like an innocent by standard when you orchestrated this, this scheme.”

”You know what? go at it, do the best you can, we’re not letting y/n marry someone she doesn’t even know, who the heck is Charles Leclerc anyways, I swear to god father if you make her do this I’ll-“

”I’ll do it.” You said and all eyes snapped to you, a tear left your eye before you whipped it away not letting another one leave your eyes.

”Wh-what?” Marco asked confused by your words.

”I’ll do it, but you have to write everything down, make a contract, that if I go through with it, you’ll leave them alone, the inheritance, the trust fund, everything.”

“No, no, y/n, what are you doing?” Matteo asked shaking his head, he doesn’t like this, he doesn’t want you to do this, his baby sister.

”I’m doing the only thing I can to keep you and your family safe.” You say to his, your eyes leaving your father’s to look at him. ”You just had a baby girl, and Marco, you’re about to have a boy, I can’t let this affect you.” You say to your brothers, Marco falls in his chair in disbelief. “Do we have a deal?”

”We sure do.” Your father says with a wicked grin on his face.

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Earlier that day in Monaco, Charles was on his way to what he assumed was a friendly meeting with some of Ferrari’s officials. His mind was somewhere else, he was thinking about the upcoming race, race strategies, how to secure a spot on the podium, he’s reached a point where he just wants to stand on the podium not win, just be in the top 3. He’s been struggling with the team the whole season and his personal life took a turn since the middle of the last season, it seemed to him that everything is taking a horrible turn. Little did Charles know that what’s about to come is so much worse.

As Charles enters the office, he’s met with a Ferrari executive whose name eluded him at the moment and a man he never met before, but a sense of unease crept over the monegasque man as he took in the seriousness of the situation.

”Charles,” Greeted, the man he didn't know, Charles shook his hand ever the polite man. “I’m Antonio Morelli.”

Charles recognized the name instantly, he knew the history of Ferrari and their ties with the establishment of Ferrari. “Mr. Morelli, it’s lovely to meet you.”

After they finished the introduction and sat down, Antonio sitting across from Charles started speaking. “Charles, this meeting has been set up because we need to talk.”

Confusion flickered across Charles’s features, his brow furrowing in apprehension, he had no idea what Antonio Morelli could ever want with him.

“Of course, about what?”

”It’s about your future and the future of Ferrari.” His heart sank at Antonio's words, this conversation is about to change the trajectory of his life. “As you’re well aware, your recent… actions shall we say, have caused considerable damage to your reputation and more importantly the reputation of Ferrari and the team’s standing in Formula 1.” A wave of irritation surged through Charles at the implication of Antonio’s words, but he had to bite back his tongue and stop the retort that threatened to spill from his lips. He knows this is not the time to argue, and it would only serve to worsen the situation further. “In light of these circumstances, and to save your reputation and your career.” Antonio held eye contact with the driver, his tone cold and unwavering. “I’m afraid I have no choice but to present you with an ultimatum, and you can choose whichever you like, it’s up to you.” Charles’s heart skipped a beat as he braced himself for the oncoming crash, he knew that whatever was in store for him wasn’t good. “You’ll marry y/n Morelli.” He stated as if he wasn’t just offering his daughter up to a man he didn’t know, yes he knows who he is but this is his first time meeting Charles. “Or you will find yourself without a seat in Ferrari and with no future in Formula 1.”

Silence filled the room as it seemed to spin for Charles, his mind is struggling to grasp what was just told to him, it felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him leaving him without air and leaving him reeling with disbelief.

”I uh- but I…” Charles stammered struggling to come up with something to say as his voice is barely a whisper.

”There are no buts, Charles.” Antonio heard him loud and clear, his voice cutting through the turmoil going through Charles and reaching him. “This is your only option to keep your seat, your only chance to salvage and save your seat and career in Formula 1.”

Charles thought about all he went through to reach where he is now, racing in Formula 1 was his lifelong dream and he achieved it, but he hasn’t won a championship yet, he still has so much to achieve, so much to do.

“This isn't just about you Charles, this is about Ferrari as well, its about the fans and how they view you as il predestinato.” The executive said and Charles felt a surge of resentment rise within him, his fists clenching at his sides. How dare they blame him for all their problems? How dare they use him as a scapegoat for their own failings? He knows it's not just about him, it's to distract the fans from the failed car, the tractor he and Carlos are made to drive every week.

But as he met the unwavering gaze of Antonio and the executive, Charles realised that there was no escaping the reality of this ‘predicament’. He was trapped, caught in a web of deceit and manipulation and it looked like there was no escape for him.

With a heavy sigh and his head bowed, and broken spirit he nods his head in acceptance, knowing that he had no choice but to accept. No matter how much it went against everything he believed in, he had to agree, his sense of pride taking a hit. And as he left the room, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his newfound burden, Charles could only wonder what awaited him on the other side of the impossible choice that lay before him.

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Matteo and Marco both took your bag and booked you a hotel room. You had set your mind to the marriage and weren't backing down as long as your father was threatening your brothers, the only family, you count, that you have left.

It took a lot for you to make them stay back when your father called you to tell you to come home to sign the contract and to tell you what the next steps will be like. You get there and the maid greets you as usual, taking your coat, before you make your way to the office. There's a meeting table with 6 chairs placed to the side in the office, used when your father has business meetings at home, so not so often.

You place your bag on the table and sit down, your father soon walks in with a man following him. It turns out to be the lawyer, they sit across from you.

“As we've talked there's two contracts, one for the marriage, you'll share with Charles and the other for your conditions. You can start with that one.” The lawyer stated and you start reading, it takes a while as you focus on every word not wanting to miss a thing. You do find yourself getting emotional as you read, this is all becoming so real, it's actually happening. It takes a lot for you not to show the tornado of emotions swirling inside of you.

“Where do I sign?” You ask meekly and the lawyer points you to where you have to. You sign all the lines and hand him the contract.

“Okay the next one.”

“I need to go to the bathroom.” You mutter and stand up.

“Let's take a break.” Your father excuses you and you head out to the bathroom furthest from the office to hide in there as you're trying to fight the tears. You're literally signing your life away, tying yourself to a man you've never met before. Closing the bathroom door behind you, you splash some cold water onto your face to calm your racing heart. But seeing how weak you look, makes you want to cry more. A few tears manage to slip down your cheeks but you pat them away, trying not to ruin your makeup. Don’t let him see how much this is affecting you, you can’t.

Charles makes it to the address sent to him, he's led to a penthouse so big and fancy it surprised him even though he's been in many expensive houses. You can tell this is owned by a billionaire, everything is a step above all the other places he's been in, yet it looked cold, unloved and un-lived in. Charles couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him, he had greed to this, this arranged marriage out of desperation to keep his career, to keep his name out of the public’s mouths, however the idea of entering a marriage with a complete stranger left him feeling uneasy. When he makes it to the office, he sees Antonio and the lawyer sitting down, the chairs across from them empty, but there’s a purse on the table. Antonio and the lawyer greet him and point him to the seat across from the lawyer, and just as he sits down, the door he closed behind him is opened, and his future wife walks in. Charles looked up the Morelli family but there weren't pictures of the adult children anywhere, when they were young there’s plenty, some at F1 races even, but after a certain point, he found absolutely nothing. What he found is the parents of the family pictured at parties and lavish ad luxuries events and trips.

Charles looked starstruck when he saw you walk in, he doesn’t know what he expected but you look absolutely nothing like your father, you look elegant, soft and so innocent. He reminds himself that you’ve also agreed to this, that you’re the daughter of the man that’s forcing him, how different can you be from your parents?

You saw him in pictures, you’ve read about him, everything you could get under your hand you’ve read. From his beginning in karting to F1, to the scandals he’s been getting into for the last year or so, how much it had affected him and his sponsors. On track he’s still doing good, the best he can in the car he’s given at least, but off track he’s living the life of a fuckboy, all that after he came out of a long time relationship. To you however he’s just the man that agreed to this marriage, to further his career to get to your family’s money, be connected to Formula 1 forever even, you don’t know but you don’t like him and dread the thought of being tied to him just like your mum is to your dad.

With heavy steps you make your way to your seat next to Charles and sit down, you refuse to look at Charles, but he kept glancing at you taking you in, your father had a smirk on his face that just irritated you to no end.

”Okay, let’s go over the key points in the contract together before you both can take it and sign.” The lawyer said. “Charles and y/n, you are both not to be seen in any romantic or intimate position with anyone but each other.” This was mainly for Charles. “The public needs to think that you’re both single for now.” Easy enough you think to yourself. “In a month's time, you’ll start being spotted with each other, but confirm nothing after about 2 months, y/n you’ll be seen at a race.” You already hated this so much. “From there you have to sell that you’re actually in love, we’ll then release a statement saying that you’re in a relationship and things look to be going good. Now, in 9 months you have to get married.”

”That’s not going to be believable, getting married in under a year of knowing each other.” Charles stated wanting to scoff at the stupid plan they had set up, you take the contract and flip through it reading all the conditions the things you have to do.

”And that’s why you’ll say that you’ve known each other for a long time, and you’ve just started dating recently.” Antonio said and gave a challenging look, that shut him up straight away.

“Why do I have to move back to Monaco?” You ask frowning, you hate this country, it may be small but you hate it, you’ve just gotten out of it permanently not even five years ago.

”Because this is where Charles lives-“ You cut your dad off.

”But he can move to Italy, it’s not that far.” Your dad wasn’t happy about you cutting him off but you didn't care, your life is in Italy not in Monaco. “And he races most of the year so he’s not in Monaco most of the time.”

”y/n, Monaco is the home of Formula 1, it wouldn’t make sense to move to Italy, keep your house there if you want and go there from time to time, but you will live in Monaco.” You huff but say nothing else, wanting this hell to end already. You’re both given pens to sign the contracts and before the ink even has time to dry you leave the room, leaving the three men watching after you.

Charles asks himself what he had gotten himself into, to him you sounded like a brat throwing a tantrum, because she couldn’t get the smallest thing she wanted, and now he’s stuck with you. Now your fates are sealed, intertwined. And you’re both losing hope.

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In the next month you don’t see Charles, he was off racing, and you were back in Italy, you’ll postpone your move as much as you can, your life is all in Italy, it’s where you’re living, working, that’s where your friends are.

Both you and Charles were sent booklets with all the information that you may be asked about for the other and you had to memorise it. You took the booklet and never bothered to open it, you weren’t about to make this easy, just because you signed doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing from here. Charles however read everything, he wanted to know who you are, he hadn’t gotten the luxury of finding a wiki page or an article about you.

The media and everyone around Charles notice a difference in him, he doesn't go out or sleep around anymore, but he’s also quieter and more reserved than before. Whenever he was asked about his mode or why he’s changed, he’d just deflect the question, change the subject or simply just shrug. Charles did find himself thinking about his future all the time, regret and second thoughts clouded his mind, but it was all too late now.

It was between races when you flew back to Monaco to meet Charles for your first ‘date’. In your time in Monaco you’ve booked a hotel room to stay in, not wanting to see your parents if not needed. You met Charles at the location sent to you by your father, you still don’t have Charles’ number.

It was a small and cosy cafe, where you’re both to sit and eat for an hour or so, there will be a paid photographer (paparazzi) waiting to snap pictures of you both. You arrived first and took a table near the window, but had your back to it, not wanting your face out there straight away. You tapped your fingers on the table as you waited for the Formula 1 driver to arrive. This ‘date’ to many would be a dream, but to you it had kept you up at night, dark circles under your eyes were covered by layers of concealer.

”Uh, hi.” Charles says and takes the seat in front of you, you give him a small fake smile in return.

”Hi.” You greet him back, and then there’s a long stretch of silence, that is so awkward you wanted to kill yourself, what do you say to your future husband that you’re forced to marry on your first ‘date’? Thankfully a waitress comes by and places two menus in front of you, and so you take your time flipping through, Charles has been here many times before, he knows what he’ll order so he takes the time to shamelessly look at you. He does admit that if it weren’t for the whole marriage thing, if he saw you somewhere he’d ask you out, too bad you’re a Morelli that he’s forced to marry. “Do you know what you’ll order?”

”Yeah, do you?”

”Yes.” You both order what you want before falling into silence. Charles clears his throat, searching for something, anything to break the awkward silence.

”So… how was your day?” He asked eventually, cringing slightly at his own words, you blink at him not expecting him to talk to you at all, you hesitate for a moment before you find your voice to respond.

”Fine, thank you.” Your tone is a little guarded, on edge, not trusting Charles, but you decide to play along and return the question. “How was your day?”

”It’s way okay.” And that was the end of it before your food arrived, you eat in silence both glancing at the other from time to time. This is suffocating, it just dawned on you that this will be your life from now on.

”This is awkward, maybe we can, I don't know, try to talk maybe?” You were uncertain and admittedly very awkward, but you have to get over the silence, you hate silence like this, you’re very talkative by nature, the only time you’re silent is when you’re uncomfortable.

”Okay, we have to act like we like each other anyways.” Charles muttered and took a sip from his water. “Did you come from Italy?”

”Yeah, early this morning, you were in Spain right?” You think you’ve seen that they were racing in Spain somewhere online.

”Yes, a couple days ago.” You nod to his words and fall silent again. “Nice weather today.”

You couldn’t help yourself but laugh, nothing is truly funny, but look at you talking about the weather and nonsense, trivial things, the irony of the situation is so funny. Charles smiles as he sees you laughing, he didn’t expect it but it’s his first time seeing you do more than a fake smile, you’re usually stoic, no emotions at all.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just this whole thing is just so…”

”Weird.”

”Yes.”

”Believe me I know.”

This breaks the ice a little, you still talk about trivial things, nothing personal at all, you talk about Italy he tells you about Spain, what countries you both think is better than the other, trivial, not important talk. But talk you did. As an hour came to close, you both paid for your part of the late lunch, Charles didn’t put up a fight when you said you’ll pay half of the food, he felt like you’re not at the point where he can offer to pay.

Walking outside you look up at him and give him one of those small smiles, that to him looked practiced and not genuine.

“I guess, I’ll see you at our next scheduled, uh ‘date’.” You say doing air quotes at the date part.

“Yeah, sure.” You turn to leave before Charles stops you. “Wait, let me get your number, so we don’t have to go through people to schedule something.”

“Great idea.” You mutter and take out your phone and you both exchange numbers. “Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

With that you both went on your own ways, you went to walk around and get to your hotel, the weather is nice after all, and Charles went with him in his car.

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You and Charles went on a few more ‘dates’ each one with more pictures online, no one has figured out who you were yet, something you were forever thankful for.

F1Gossip

Liked by username5, username320, and 302,582

hear me out! I think charles is over his hoe era, in the last month he’s been seen with the same girl in Monaco, Austria and Hungary. I repeat it’s the same girl.

No one knows who she is but or what she does but could this be Charles new girlfriend?

More comments

username234 honestly good for him

username20 FINALLY!! I was over him with a different girl each week 💃

username083 I wonder who she is

username72 not good enough for charles that’s for sure 🤢

username294 i bet it’s just another girl who he flies around w/ him so he wouldnt have to go out and look for one

username498 come one guys we don’t even know who she is

username903 it’s giving me gold digger vibes

username465 Charles be careful

username983 seriously these comments are not it 🙄

username438 shut up no one asked you

username983 and I don’t remember charles asking for your opinion

username438 stop asking like you know him when you dont

username983 says yyou

username474 I don’t like this 😒

username832 me neither

username094 this is whey drivers dont post their relationships because you people dont even know who the poor girl is and you’re already attacking her

username873 Olivia was better

username384 girl they ended over a year ago get over it

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You’ve seen the photos and you’re impressed with how much you and Charles managed to sell it, one thing you didn't like is the comments, you’re dreading the moment they find out who you were. You and Charles would usually meet up somewhere for half an hour, once you got the okay that the pictures were good you’d both go your separate ways. Now he has his summer break which he’s spending in Monaco, so once more you fly to Monaco to start the next part of the ‘plan’. The soft launch.

Your socials are all private, but soon you’ll have to make them public, another thing you have to change. You made it to Charles yacht in Monaco, he was already there waiting for you.

”Hi.” You greet the Monegasque, with a wave of your hand and a small smile, Charles returns your greeting and helps you get on the yacht. You settle down as Charles gets the yacht out in the water for a good spot. You brought your sketchbook with you, you’ve had a few ideas about some paintings for a gallery you wanted to be part of and inspiration just hit you that morning, so as Charles sailed for a bit you sat at the table and brought up your supplies. You’re the kind of artist that likes to sketch things out before putting them to the canvas.

”What are you drawing?” Charles asks you when he comes in.

”Just a sketch for a painting I want to do.” You say and look up at him to see him handing you a drink. “Thank you.”

”I never saw any of your work before.” Charles stated and you smile taking out your phone, you always love showing off your work. Not many people in your life were interested in art besides those you met in uni so when you find someone you just want to show them.

”I’ll show you.” Charles sits next to you and looks at the phone, and suddenly he’s seeing a side to you that he’s never seen before, your face is bright and the smile on your face is true, this is your passion. you’re explaining to him what each piece is about and what they mean, the colours, the composition, what inspired it. In the next 30 minutes he’s heard more from you than he’s heard in the last month. Charles is smiling at you when you realise you’ve been ranting for a while. “What?”

”I just never seen this side of you before.” He shrugs and you sigh leaning back in your seat, angled slightly to his side.

”We don’t know each other, I only know what I’ve seen online.” You tell him, your smile is long gone, and you find yourself needing to talk to him about the arrangement, you both have never talked about it before.

”You haven’t read the booklet?” He asked confused, he’s read his over and over again.

”Just the first page, it’s all stuff you can find online anyways, besides I bet you mine is just filled with things my parents think they know about me, but aren’t true.” Charles is confused by your words, he’s been under the impression that you wanted this marriage to happen, that this was a part of your plan. It seems to him now that your relationship with your parents is a bit rocky.

“I feel like there's a lot of things we should talk about.” Charles said as he got the feeling that maybe you aren't as welling as he originally thought.

“True, I actually hoped to talk to you.” You said and were Facing Charles fully, he also turned to face you, your knees touching lightly. “Look, I know you that we don't know each other, and that there's things that we both want to do that this marriage wouldn't allow us to do, so I have a proposal.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“I wouldn't mind you being with other girls, we'll be married in a few months and i know I'm not your type, so do whatever you want just keep to discreet.” Charles was dumbfounded by your words, he cant believe that this is what you think of him. He's also a bit irritated. But what can he say, his attractivities haven't been the most private as of late. “But, I'm Keeping my house in Italy and I'll go Monaco if I have to and nothing else.”

“Sounds fair.” Charles said and you put out your hand for a handshake, which he returned. “There's no reason for us not to be friends.”

“True, I mean we're stuck together for life now.” You say and shrug. “We should take some pictures for Instagram.”

You both go out and begin the small photoshoot you had to do. Posing and taking pictures to choose one for Charles to post on his stories.

By the time the Yacht docked the sun was nearly down, Charles got off first and helped get off.

“When are you leaving?” Charles asked as you both walked to the parking lot, you rented a car this time around.

“As soon as I find a plane, I usually don't book my return flight until I'm sure we have everything we need.” You explain and he nods. “Why?”

“Well, you see…” Charles rubbed the back of his head nervously, he didn't want to bring it up but he's been putting it off for so long. “My mum wants to meet you.”

“What? Why?” you're confused why his mum would want to meet you, unless. “She thinks this is real?”

“I couldn't tell her, it would break her heart, she would feel guilty and upset and I can't do that to her believe me I tried but everytime I couldn't.” Charles went on a mini rant, now this a side to him you never saw. You can tell how much he cares and lives his mum, you couldn't say you understand his feeling but just from hearing him you can sort of empathise with him.

“Okay, I'll do it.” You say and he stops from talking and looks at you, with wide eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah, it means alot to you, I’ll play my part.” You shrug, not thinking much about your choice. “Practice anyway, we haven’t acted as a couple in front of anyone really.”

“Thank you.”

”No worries.”

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

The next day, you got dressed and headed to Charles’s house where his family was gathering for an early dinner and a night together, enjoying the time where the three Leclerc boys had nothing to do. When you arrived, you could hear the laughter from inside, making you pause as the nerves came at full force, your hands started to shake and you had to pause before ringing the bell a few times. Taking a deep breath you pressed the bell, and waited. The door opened and you saw Charles, he must’ve been laughing before he opened the door because he had a big smile on that showed his dimples, and they didn’t dim when he saw you. You gave him a nervous smile.

”Hey, come in.” He greeted you and walked in seeing some of his family, this must be the reason behind the smile and the friendliness. Yes Charles has never been rude to you but you wouldn't call him friendly or loving or caring. Neither have you to be honest, so you wouldn’t blame him. You give Charles a quick hug and press your cheek to his in greeting. You put on your diplomatic smile that you had perfected when you were in boarding school, and look at the Leclercs, thankfully it wasn’t the whole family, just the boys and their mother. “Maman, this is y/n, the one I told you about.”

”Ah, y/n it's lovely to meet you.” Pascal comes up and pulls up in for a hug, that you clearly weren’t expecting, your eyes went wide for a bit before you returned the hug. Her smile and hug came in as a relief amidst the lies and the unknown tension between her and Charles.

”It’s lovely to meet you as well, Mrs. Leclerc.” You say in perfect french, and pull back to see her grinning face, all your words and smiles felt hollow, meaningless , you know the truth behind all this and it isn’t easy to lie to someone who’s so affected by it.

”Oh please call me Pascal, Charles didn’t tell me you speak French.” Pascal says and pulls you behind her to the living room where the other other Leclerc boys are.(after this point everything is French between the French speakers)

”Must’ve wanted to surprise you.” You say smoothly and smile as you shake hands with Arthur before you do the same to Lorenzo, who seemed reluctant, but you think nothing of it. His brother did sleep around with lots of women recently, and you’re the first one they’ve met in a while as well.

”I wonder what else he didn’t tell me.” Pascal gives Charles a look and he shrugs with a smile, he didn’t know you could speak French, it wasn’t in the booklet, it said you speak Italian, English and German.

“Maman, I just wanted you to find out from her.” Charles says and sits down next to you on the sofa.

”y/n, you’ve come at a good time, I was finishing the food.” Pascal said and went to go to the kitchen before you stopped her.

”Do you need help?” You ask standing to follow her but she refuses your help and tells Arthur to come help her instead. With a groan the youngest follows his mother to the kitchen and you’re left with the oldest two.

”So what exactly do you do, y/n?” Enzo asks, the way he said your name left a bad feeling in you, you looked at Charles and he gave you a nod in reassurance, but it did nothing to ease you at all. You’re in the lion’s den right now.

”I’m an artist.” You say with a polite smile.

”So you don’t work.” He said simply and your smile falls.

”Enzo.”

”What? I’m just getting to know your wife.” Enzo said and you freeze. His tone is sarcastic, your heart sank and your facade dropping. “Oops not yet I guess.”

“Come on, let’s eat.” You’ve only just met Arthur but you've never been grateful for anyone in your life. Enzo leaves the room first and you turn to look at Charles with fire in your eyes.

”You told him.” You hiss glaring at the Ferrari driver.

”Yes, I had to tell someone, and he won’t tell anyone.” Charles defends himself and you roll your eyes. “Your whole family knows.”

”Yes, but you know that, why didn't you tell me?” You huff, not liking how he didn't tell you.

”I just didn’t have the chance.”

”How convenient.” You walk away from Charles and to the dining room, where they were all sitting down, the polite fake smile was back on your face. You sat down in a chair and Charles sat next to you. You were back to playing boyfriend and girlfriend, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of Enzo’s eyes on you. Another thing you’ve noticed is how loving the family is, even Enzo’s anger is justified and comes out from a place of love. Your brothers love you but you weren't raised with love around you and it shows in how people act and interact with each other. You did get to know the family a lot that day, with good food, good wine, and amazing company. But at the end of the night when Pascal made Charles drive you home/hotel since he didn’t drink and you did, you sat in silence as the guilt ate at you slowly, you were looking out the window from Charles’s Ferrari watching the scenery lost in thought.

”I didn’t know you spoke French.” Charles said breaking the silence and bringing you out of your thoughts, you turn to look at him.

”Yeah, I’ve been speaking it since I was young.”

”It’s not in the booklet.” You laugh at his words and little pout he had on his face, looks like someone took reading the booklet to heart.

”Told you it’s not all true, I refused to speak French to my parents after the age of 9.” You told him and he gave you a questioning look filled with curiously, your family dynamic alway puzzling him and leaving him utterly confused. “They always wanted me to do this or that, and at home we always spoke Italian and then suddenly they wanted us to speak French, I learnt it but never spoke it in front of them, I speak six languages fluently, and know the basics of a few more.”

”SIX!” Charles is impressed, he speaks three and that was hard for him, imagine six.

”Yeah.” You chuckle at his surprise and bring out your hands to count them down. “Italian, because I’m Italian, French because Monaco, duh, German because of my school in Switzerland, English is a language everyone just learns, Spanish because I went to a trip to Spain in 8th grade and loved the language and then Dutch cause why not, and it has some similarities to German when it comes to vocabulary.”

“Wow, I’m impressed, and surprised more impressed though.” Charles says and you smile a genuine smile.

”I’m glad to impress, and if you ever need a translator you know who to find.”

Charles came to a stop in front of the hotel, he never asked why you never stay with your family when you’re here but he could only guess. “You know, you don't have to stay at a hotel, every time you're here.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” You say unbuckling your seatbelt.

”You wouldn’t.”

”I don’t know, maybe you’d have some company, I’m okay here seriously.” Charles sighed and here it is again your thoughts of him.

”I haven’t been with anyone since I’ve signed the contract.”

”Why.”

”Because no matter what, I’m not a cheater.”

”But we’re not in a relationship.” silence

”Have you been with anyone?”

”No, that’s not what i meant, I just mean that you can live your life how you want it.”

”Well, I don’t want to be a cheater we’re getting married in a few months.”

”Well, I’m not with anyone and haven’t been in almost a year.”

”Okay.”

”Okay, see you later Charles.”

”See you.”

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Charles_leclerc

Liked by Landonorris, Maxverstappen1, your username and 3,380,394 others

No place like Monaco ❤️

More Comments

username93 we saw the last slide charles

username24 Charles in his soft launch era 🔥

username37 does this mean the end to his hoe era for real

username76 I’m going to miss fuckboy Charles

username37 You’ll be missed charles 💔

username83 you all think its the same girl from the paparazzi pictures 🤔

username69 I think so, same hair and everything

Landonorris 👀

Carlossainz55 when did this happen?

username28 lol not even his friends knew

username86 I bet @/pierregasly knows what up

Pierregasly not this time

username08 can’t believe there’s a day where Pierre is as clueless as we are

username90 I bet she’ll be gone in a week or two

username87 Uh who is this?

username48 Charles be careful there’s a gold digger trying to leach of you 🤮🐍

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Charles posted a few more times, without bringing your face in continuing the soft launch part of the ‘plan’. you’ve met his mother another time, and like the first time, seeing her so happy for Charles and being in love with you left you with guilt that kept you up at night. Alas it was time for you to make your appearance at a race, your dad had talk to you on the phone and told you to hurry up, he also tried to arrange for a ‘family dinner’ that you’ve refused over and over again. With that being said you texted Charles and you both agree for you to go to the race in the Netherlands. You’ve arrived separately from Charles in, coming from Italy. Charles’s room was a suite at the hotel, with a big sofa and a king sized bed. Charles arrived a day before you and was already out for media duties for quite some time, you had a work obligation that you couldn’t get out of and you haven’t really tried.

By the time you arrived and were out of the airport and at the hotel it was already getting dark out, you got into Charles’s room with the key he left for you at the reception. The room was clean, you've noticed with his suitcase open on the side, the first thing you did was shower and get into some lounge clothes, it was an oversized set that you wore around the house when you had guests over usually, not the usual boxer shorts and bralette you enjoyed.

Your phone has been going for a good 15 minutes now, making you sigh and go to the balcony to get fresh air with your phone in hand as you willed yourself to pick up. It was night time, and you had only turned the side lamp on in the room, making very faint light come out to the outside. after staring at the screen for what felt like eternity and with a shaky breath, you finally muster the courage to pick up his latest call. Your heart was pounding in your chest.

”y/n, finally, I’ve been calling you for days now.” Your father’s voice rang through the line, it was laced with irritation and anger, all directed towards her, as always leaving her shaky and scared.

”Sorry, father, I’ve been busy.” Your voice is barely over a whisper, a strained silence hung in the air for a moment, your hold on the phone tightened.

”Look, I’ve been patient enough with both you and Charles, but if you keep ignoring me and not doing as I asked, then your brothers will bare the consequences of your action, or none there of.” His tone was serious and unyielding, making you feel like a child once more.

“We will, I promise, tomorrow I’m going to the paddock.” You tell him straight after, and you hate how you want to please him just to get him off your back, the fear in you not lessening with age, he still has a hold over you.

“Good, that’s good.” He hummed and you hear your mother talking next to him for a moment before he’s speaking again. “Your mother is asking when you’ll be over for dinner with Charles.”

”I don’t know, we’re both super busy and-“

”And nothing, you come here as soon as you can, I’ll have none of this busy nonsense.” Your father interrupts his tone firm. “It’s time for the excuses to stop, I’ve been letting you handle how you get it out to the public on your own, but what I say goes.”

”I’ll talk to Charles, we’ll-we’ll figure something out.” You mutter and tears gather in your eyes, you try to fight them but like always when it came to your father they just fall freely. No matter what, you have no choice but to complain with his wishes/demands. For some reason after meeting his family, the thought of Charles seeing yours is leaving you with a sense of dread and despair. soft sobs leave your mouth in waves, you look out at the view, you’re high, the street looks far away, and you wonder, just for a second, if you jump would you die instantly or would you be in pain, is that kind of pain better or worse that the one you’re in. shaking your head away from those thoughts, you turn to go inside.

Unbeknownst to you Charles has made it to the hotel room, just to catch the last of the conversation, and he’s heard you cry. He stood in the bedroom just watching you crumple under the weight of your emotions, a few times he had to stop himself form going to you and pulling you in for a hug.

When he sees you turning to come back inside he makes his way to the door of the room and acts like he just came in.

”Hey.” Charles greets you softly, he couldn’t act happy when he just saw you falling apart.

”Hey.” You put on a brave smile but he could see your wet cheeks and red eyes, your nose red as well. “How was today?”

”It was okay, tiring, but good.” Charles says and his eyes don’t leave your figure as he watched you escaping to the sofa where you practically had your back to him.

”That’s good, I’m tired as well, I think I’ll go to bed now.” You say and pull on the extra covers you found in the closet.

”Now? did you eat?”

“No, but I’m tired and not hungry.”

”Oh, okay, sleep well then.”

”Thanks, you too.”

Charles walks into the bedroom and closes the door lightly, you’re not sleeping and you won't find sleep for a while, your mind is swirling with emotions and thoughts that are hunting you down. You don’t cry but a few tears slip as you try not to think about what tomorrow will hold or all the things you have to do.

The next day, you wake up bright and early, before Charles’s alarm goes off, you don't need to shower since you did the night before, but you slip into the bathroom, and start on your makeup, and get dressed. You know that every single thing about you will be all over social media and criticised and analysed by thousands if not millions of people Charles has over 10 million followers on Instagram after all. When Charles was up, you were just finishing up your hair, the door was open. You heard movement from behind you and looked up through the mirror to see a shirtless half asleep Charles, his sweatpants low on his hips, your hands stopped mid air with your curling iron. You’re just a woman, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wonder, starting with his messy and tousled hair moving to his chest and arms and his abs.

“Morning.” His morning voice made you blink and look away, you had to swallow before you were able to regain your composure and your voice.

“Morning, I’m almost done.” You say and focus on not looking at him and just looking at what you were doing.

”That’s okay.” Charles says and goes to the second sink in the bathroom next to you and starts brushing his teeth, you both were doing your business in silence but your eyes wonder to him every few seconds, his eyes was half closed and he was half asleep still, so for you it was a blessing, being able to look at him as much as you wanted, so you admired him without him seeing.

You’re finished before him and leave the bathroom, it didn’t take long for him to be ready, dressed in his Ferrari team kit and a pair of skinny jeans, you bite your tongue not to comment on it, you’re not close for you to say anything about his choice of clothes.

On the ride to the track, you felt a sense of anticipation and excitement, your eyes looking outside the window taking in the city, after today your life as you know it will change. Every single thing you do will be under the microscope, you felt like a teen again but this time it’s not going to be just your parents watching, it’s going to be thousands of people, all with their opinions that they’re not afraid of saying, online at least.

”It’s going to be okay.” Charles said and you turned to look at him only to find him already looking at you. “You don’t have to be nervous, after we go inside, you can stay in my room if you want.”

”No it’s okay, I can do it.” You tell him with a grateful smile, as far as arranged marriages go, Charles isn’t the worst option, if you met in other circumstances you wouldn’t have gone for him simply for his career choice in F1 but you’re glad it’s not someone worse.

When you make it there and park, Charles gets out first and walks to your side opening the door, all with a smile on his face, he helps you out of the Ferrari and you get out and take your first look around, there’s fans everywhere all screaming and shouting his name. Some of his team are already waiting for him, and when he goes to sign caps and merch, one of the females introduces herself and stands with you. you ask her about her job and make small talk, while you’re waiting. She also gives you your pass that Charles requested and you put it around your neck.

“He’s signing a lot of things.” You observe your ‘boyfriend’ as he’s going from one person to the other.

“Yeah, he’s known for singing anything.” You hum and watch how nice Charles is with everyone. “We usually have to pull him away.”

They did pull him away and inside the paddock you guys went. Charles let you walk a bit behind him, knowing that photos of him will be taken and you’re nervous enough, he didn’t want to make it worse for you. it’s been so long since you’ve been at a race it feels like a life time ago, you forgot the sheer magnitude of the event, the air was alive with the hustle and bustle of people around you, creating an atmosphere that’s charged with excitement, and anticipation. After a long walk you make it to Ferrari’s motorhome, Charles introduces you to a few people who you can stick with when he’s on duty. His hand was on the small of your back when he was leading you through the crowds, but other than that you both weren’t showing any signs of affection at all. That didn’t change the fact that once he was in his race suit and it was hanging but his waist you were looking, it was today that you’ve realised how fit he is, he doesn’t just have a good face but a fit body as well.

Watching FP1 brought back all your memories of when you enjoyed racing, I mean how could you not, you’re a Morelli it’s in your blood. Maybe if your relationship was different with your parents who knows where you’d be today. In effort to distance yourself from your parents you’ve strayed from a lot of things that you enjoyed that they loved or wanted you to do.

Between the practice sessions Charles took you with him to get lunch at the cafeteria, he had to stick to his diet and you choose whatever you wanted. sitting down you’re soon joined by Carlos Sainz, you haven’t met him yet, but you saw him when you were looking up Charles online and his face is everywhere along with all the other drivers.

”Hey mate, you haven’t introduced us.” Carlos said and sat down across from the two of you, Charles was telling you about what to expect during the rest of the day and the next two days before he was cut off by his teammate.

”Carlos meet y/n, y/n meet Carlos.” Charles introduced you and you gave the Spanish driver a smile and offered to shake his hand.

”Hey Carlos.”

“Hello, I didn’t know Charles was bringing anyone with him today.” Carlos said before he started eating.

“Yes, I had work and we weren’t sure if I could make it or not.” Half a lie, you knew you’d be here for a while but you did have work.

“Ah, so what do you do?” Carlos asked and he was expecting to hear a model.

”An artist.” Carlos was surprised and proceeded to ask you about what kind of art, where you studied and about living in Italy. The three if you walked back to the brahe together that’s when Charles informed his teammate that you speak Spanish.

”You know y/n speaks Spanish, she says fluently but I’m not good enough to verify that.” Charles said and you gave him a look that had him laughing.

”You don’t believe me?” You ask him and he shrugs innocently.

"No need to worry, I can verify it for you." Carlos fake comforted his teammate and turned to you. "So where did you learn Spanish?"

"I took online classes when I was in 8th grade." You told him and he was impressed, you laughed at his surprised look, you are fluent and your accent is good. "I went to Spain once and just loved the language."

"Mate, she's fluent." Carlos turned to look at Charles who laughed at the two of you, Carlos then turned and continued talking to you. Charles was needed for something and so he left the two of you talking, Carlos was asking you about where you went in Spain and if you want to go again, he recommended a few places and then he learnt you spoke six languages, and so you were made to talk to him in all of them and his face was priceless, had you laughing. He may not have understood everything but he

knows enough to know you're fluent.

"Charles, where did you find this one?" Carlos joked with Charles when he came back, and that had your smile faltering and for Charles to freeze a bit, if Carlos noticed he said nothing.

“It’s a secret.”

“Fine, have your secrets.”

The rest of the day went by nicely and seamlessly, the Ferrari boys did good, no one was beating Max but they've done good. You haven't checked your phone all day, when you made it back to the hotel, Charles went to shower and you laid on the sofa to scroll through. Your Instagram account has gained over 10K followers, you had pictures of your work more than ones of you, but the secret is out, now everyone knows you. You didn't dare check Twitter; the app always scares you.

You heard the shower turn off, when you got a call from your father you contemplated not answering but knowing this would make it much worse you just picked up.

“Hello.” you say on the phone and close your eyes tight, your head on the pillow.

“What do you think you're doing?” Was the first thing you heard, he was angry very angry at what you have no idea.

“Wh-”

“Shut up I'm not done talking, do you know what you've done, why are there more pictures of you and Carlos than with you and Charles. Do you want to ruin the family reputation, do you not take this seriously?”

“What are you talking about?” Today was good. You had fun today and you've done everything he asked you to do, yes reluctantly and you push it off but you do it nonetheless, you sit up as you get agitated. “I've done EVERYTHING you asked me to do, I was just talking to Carlos, there's nothing to it.”

“Don't you fucking talk back to me young lady, haven't done anything good your whole life, you never listen, tomorrow I better see you and Charles selling this or you'll feel the consequences to your actions.” He hangs up and you throw your phone away, cursing under your breath your body shakes with sobs, your head in your hands. Nothing is ever enough for your father, you're never enough.

Charles sighs and this time he doesn't think about it he sits down beside you and pulls you in for a hug, you let him, your face hiding in his neck. Charles shushes you and holds you, you're clutching his shirt in your fist. Charles has a good heart he

doesn't like seeing people crying and he's come to see you as a friend now, a new friend that he's getting to know. It makes him angry that a father would make their daughter cry this much and wouldn't care, he feels blessed for having his parents and makes him feel bad for you. Your childhood must've not been easy. He whispers words of comfort in French and lets you let it all out, your body is shaking for a while

before you slowly stop, when Charles looks down he sees you sleeping. He moves you slowly not wanting to wake you up and carries you bridal style, and he manages to get you to bed before you begin to stir.

"What?" you say confused.

"Hey, just sleep." Charles says and pushes your hair out of your face, you look around and realise you're in his bed.

“No, this is your bed.” You tell him and try to get up but he stops you.

“Just sleep, it can't be that comfortable on the sofa.” He says and you lay back down.

“But you have work tomorrow.” You mutter and rub your eye, it's a bit sensitive from all the crying you've been doing.

“It's fine, a night on the sofa wouldn't hurt me.” Charles says with a smile but you're stubborn, you’re not about to let a man that drives fast cars for a living sleep on the sofa and wake up with back pains.

“Well the bed is big, we can share.” You say and Charles looks at you, he takes you in, you're half asleep, your eyes puffy and bloodshot with tones of worries and things to think about but here you are wanting to make sure he's okay and comfortable.

“Okay, yeah.” Before Charles could make it to his side of the bed you're already asleep, he lays there and wonders how many times you've cried yourself to sleep, how many sleepless nights you've had, how many times you went though restless days by yourself. He knows you have two brothers, he knows they're kind to you that they're not like your parents, but they're not in your life, it seemed to him that they moved out once they were old enough and forgot about you a little, both with their own lives now.

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

The next morning Charles asks you what your father wanted and you didn't really want to tell him at first but he managed to get it out of you.

"Just tell me from now on, we're both in this not just you." Charles tells you as he drives to the circuit.

“But this is your life, and this is your career and I just don't want to be a burden or for you to have to think that you have to be stuck with me all day or something.” You tell him, angling yourself to face him.

“y/n, we're a team, okay, for this to work we have to be always on the same page and I consider you my friend now, so just let me help you where I can and you help me where you can okay?” You smile at his words, a team, you have someone on your team.

“Okay.”

When you make it to the circuit, it's a repeat of the day before, you stand to the side while Charles does his thing and he walks in front of you, but half way through he stops and holds his hand out for you with a smile, you blink a couple of times before you take his hand. When you get to the garage Charles is whisked away for debrief and you're left there, you were looking at his car admiring the Ferrari, when a mechanic sees you and walks over.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" He asks and you look up at him with a smile.

“Yeah, it's been years since I was this close to a Formula 1 car.” You tell him, there's rumours around that you're a Morelli and everyone in Ferrari knows of your family, so it takes him by no surprise that you've been close to one before. “It's so different from the ones in the early 2000s.”

“Much different, we have done a lot of changes, look…” And he begins showing you what has changed, why cars nowadays are faster and stronger, the aerodynamics and mechanical differences, some things go over your head, but you know the basics of a formula 1 car.

When Charles finishes up, he sees you talking with the mechanic. He's leaning over the halo as he's showing you something, Charles smiles and walks over.

“Do you want to get in?” Charles asks and you turn to look at him startled, and excited, giddy even.

“Can I?” You ask with a grin and he nods, one of the PR crew takes out his phone to video this while another takes pictures, you're a Morelli and you're getting into the car and Charles is now back in a committed relationship so he's back in his good boy era, all things that made them want to document this happening.

“Place your foot here.” Charles says and points to a spot, you do as he says and he holds on to your waist as you wobble a little before you push yourself up and over the halo, he removes the steering wheel before you sit down and watches you as you get comfortable in his car. His smile is big on his face as you get excited.

“This is amazing.” You say and Charles puts back the steering wheel. You put your hands on the wheel. “So many buttons.”

“Can you reach the paddle?” Charles asked amused, he can tell that the seat is a bit big for you, you wiggle your leg and shake your head no.

“You should be thankful I'm shorter or I would've taken your seat.” You tease him and a few people laugh.

“You like the view from the car?” Charles asks and you nod looking up at him, he's leaning over the halo to look at you.

“Yeah, last time I was inside one I was like 6 or 7.” You tell him and he hums to himself, always finding something new about you, you were right about the fact that the booklet had many wrong things, it missed a lot as well.

At one point in the day Fred came over to say hello to you, he like everyone found out who you were.

“Ms. Morelli, it's nice to meet you.” You shake his hand and smile at the team principal.

“Please call me y/n, it's nice to meet you too.”

“It's been a while since we saw one of the Morelli's in the paddock.” Fred said and you felt Charles move a bit beside you. “haven't seen your father as well.”

“Yeah, well me and my siblings went to school and then uni and just were so busy.” You say and don't mention your father, he has a lot of influence in Ferrari. Charles has a hand on your back in comfort, it seems that after yesterday he's taken the role of comforting you, there's something that has definitely changed in your relationship, you've grown closer and you feel comfortable around each other.

“Yes of course, who knew it'll be Charles that'll bring you back.” He commented and you looked at Charles and smiled, he returned the smile with one of his own. You both knew the truth behind everything and it was killing you both to have to be lying to everyone like that, but why is it getting easier, why is it that since you've grown closer and find more about the other that it's not necessarily all lies.

The rest of the weekend went along great, you met a lot of people and as expected your name and your family's relation to Ferrari was everywhere. Those calling you a gold-digger have now turned to calling you attention seeker. You did post pictures of you to Instagram and the Ferrari team posted the video of you getting in the car, and somehow they found pictures of you in an F1 car from the 2000s, you've never seen that picture before but here it was. Charles texted you saying how you've been in a Ferrari way earlier than him, making you laugh imagining him pouting a little at the thought. After that weekend you've been texting more, talking more and just discovering everything about the other.

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

A day before Charles has to fly to Monza you've both in Monaco for the 'family dinner' you've been dreading so much. You've made it to Charles's house to meet there before you head 'home'. Charles was in his bedroom finishing getting ready and you were on the sofa scrolling through your social media and texting your brothers to see when they'll be there.

“Is this okay?” Charles asks, coming out of his bedroom you look up from your phone and see him in a tan dress shirt, a blazer with a pair of dark pants, not skinny, he has one of his watches on and no other accessories. He. Looked. HOT.

“Yeah, just lose the jacket.” You say and stand up, he takes his jacket off and places it to the side. He holds his arms out for your opinion and you smile. Oh if you were a normal couple going to see your normal family, this would've been perfect. Instead you're going to see the man that's been threatening you both. You left your small carry-on at Charles' house, planning to head back to his, so you could fly out to Italy together.

Charles drove the small distance to your family house and parked in the space that's meant for you. You got a text from your brothers Telling you they're already there.

“Are you ready?” You ask Charles in the elevator.

“Yes, are you?” He doesn't want to see your father ever again, but this is much worse for you, you're related to that man.

“As I'll ever be.” You hesitate for a second before you say. “I’m sorry for what’s about to happen.”

“you don't have to.”

“I feel like I should though.” You both don't say more on the topic, as always a maid opens the door for you, and you both step inside, you're led to the formal living room, where the guests are always hosted, can't show everyone we're normal and have normal looking living rooms, oh no what will they say about us. The looks are where formal ends, because once you walk in you smile seeing how Matteo is sat with

his legs spread, and Marco is slouched in his seat, they're both being extra with it and you and your parents know it but it doesn't mean it's not funny.

"Oh y/n, dear I haven't seen you in so long." Your mum says and walks up to you kissing both your cheeks before she moves on quickly to Charles. “You must be Charles, it's good to finally meet you.”

“It's uh, it's good to meet you too.” Charles doesn't know what he expected but it wasn't this, his eyes moved from your mother to your brothers who had their sights on him, making him a bit nervous. They're protective of you, but so is he and they might not like him for marrying you, but he doesn't like them for not taking good care of you. He shakes all their hands and you exchange hugs, you don't bother saying or doing anything with your father other than a quick hello, before you both sit on a sofa together.

It's been four months since the start of this whole thing, and here you are all gathered together, the people affected, threatened, forced and orchestrated by this marriage.

"I heard you haven't won any races this season." Marco said and your eyes snapped to him, his tone is hostel, not friendly at all.

“No, RedBull has been dominating for a while." Charles says, shaking the dig thrown at him.

“He's been on podiums though.” You find yourself sticking up for Charles, he gives you a grateful look, which you return with a smile.

“So he hasn't been winning.”

“No one has been but Verstappen.” You roll your eyes at the childish behaviour your older brothers gained suddenly.

“And you grew up in Monaco?” Matteo then asks him.

“Where are you going with this?” You ask him confused by all the questions.

“What? I'm just getting to know my brother in law.” Matteo tried to act all harmless and innocent but you know your brothers well enough to know there's more to it than that.

“No you're not, please cut it out, it's not like we're all here because we want to anyways.” Your mum gasps, you give her a look, why is she acting like this is normal? You're all been forced to be here and as innocent as she likes to act, she's always in on what your father is up to. She knows everything.

“Let's move to the dining room, why don't we?” your father says and stands up, he thrived on chaos so he's happy how things are right now, split and concur is his favourite method. Charles takes your hand in his, making you pause and look at him he mouths 'it's okay,' and you nod and try to return the smile but you’re not confident and it shows.

Your mum made your brothers sit next to each other so you and Charles sat next to each other, he's closest to your mother and you're next to your father. Food was already laid out for all of you, the start of the meal was silent.

“You know y/n, I'm so happy you're finally in a relationship.” Your mother suddenly says and you stop the fork from reaching your mouth to look at her like she's crazy.

“What are you talking about?” Did she mean you and Charles or something else?

“I'm talking about you and Charles, you silly girl.” You scoff and place your fork on the table.

“You do know that we're forced right? You were here when your husband told me.” Your father sighs not liking where this is going, he's okay with you and your brothers doing whatever to each other but for a twisted reason that is not love he hates when you speak back to your mother.

“Yes mother, and besides, Charles isn't really a golden boy to be proud of having as a son-in-law.” Marco takes the chance to bring Charles in again, he's showing him that he doesn't approve of him.

“You know if you didn't like it, why didn't you stop this?” Charles asks Marco, he's tired of being blamed and the one taking the hits when the person responsible for all of this is sitting two seats down from him.

“Because he threatened to cut us off and stop us from working.” Marco was getting agitated and angry.

“Marco shut up!” You exasperated.

“And what? You let your sister take the fall for you, so you could live happily.” Charles shot back, anger for you cursing through his veins.

“Everyone calm down.” Your mum tried to reason but everyone ignored her.

“Oh so you think you care more about her than we do, now?” Matteo sneers and you groan, this testosterone fight is only going to lead to chaos.

“I wasn't the one who left her alone.”

“Okay, you all shut up right now!” your father shouted and everyone fell silent again. “This is unacceptable, Charles and y/n will be married, and you're all going to be happy about it and that's the last I'll hear of it.”

“So now you're telling us how to feel?” The words leave your mouth before you realise, Charles takes your hand in his, and you slowly look from the plate you had in front of you and up to your father, there’s not going back now. “You've dictated our lives, and even now we're all adults you're making us do what you want, we've done

everything you've asked, but you've never been happy, we were never good enough for you.”

“Don't talk back to me.”

“No, it's not fair, you sold me to someone you don't know, I'm your daughter.” You say and turn to look at your mother. “And you keep acting like you love us, when you know everything and just do nothing, you've never stood up to us.” She takes a sip from her wine glass. “Yes, that's all you do, drink.” You stand up and throw your napkin on the plate. “Let's go Charles.”

Charles stands up and follows you out, as your father shouts after you. “You stop right there you stupid girl.”

“I'll get married, okay, I'll do it, I'll do everything in the contract, anything other than that is none of your business.” You say not turning to look at him as you spoke those words and leave your hand clutching Charles's tightly.

Charles doesn't let go of your hand, and it gives you comfort, you have someone on your side at all times now, looking at Charles you're happy it's him you'll marry and not someone else.

“Thank you.” Your voice is just over a whisper, the dinner took too much out of you.

“Why? I don't think I've made it better.”

“No, you made it all so much better.” Charles sends you a questioning look, tightening your hold on his hand. “You were by my side.”

“I'll always be on your side.” Charles says and your heart skips a beat, there, he's done it, Charles Leclerc has done it, he has your heart, it belongs to him now and there's nothing you or anyone could do to change this. Charles doesn't let go of your hand when you arrive, he just holds your hand when you're walking off to his house, not in the elevator, not until you walk in. “Come on, I think we need to talk.”

You sit on the sofa with your legs under you and Charles also sits down facing you.

“I think we should've had this conversation a long time ago.” Charles starts, your heart beats faster in your chest as your eyes meet and you both don't look away. “Why did you agree to this marriage?”

“Because my father said if I don't he’ll cut us all off, he'll make sure none of us ever find work again, and my brothers, they have families and children, I couldn't let him do that to them.” you tell him and push your hair back. “I was happy the last couple of years in Italy and then he just dropped the bomb on me, and… here we are.”

“Here we are.”

“Why did you agree to it?” You've had your theories at the start of this relationship, but as you've gotten to know Charles you realised how wrong you are.

“I know you've read all the articles about me, it's a long story but I've been with my girlfriend for almost five years when I found out she was cheating on me.- Charles said his voice soft, making you take his hand in yours and give him a squeeze. “I spiraled after that, other than racing which isn't going great, I was always drinking and sleeping around, it affected me her cheating more than I thought it'd ever way, it just shocked me and left me not knowing what to do, my reputation was going down and the sponsors were getting anxiety so your father told me if I don't agree to this I'd kiss my dream goodbye, no future in Formula 1, and I couldn't, it's been my dream and I promised my father I'd do everything I could to be world champion and..."

“You haven't made it yet.”

“No, not yet.” You smile before you laugh, Charles looks at you like you're crazy and you shake your head. “Sorry, it's just so messed up, this whole thing is just so messed up.”

”It is.” Charles chuckles and you sigh, this is all a bit too much. “But I’m glad it’s you.”

An involuntary smile makes its way to your face, you just melted, heart skipping a beat and butterflies in your stomach. the whole shebang.

“I’m happy it’s you too, Charlie.” Hearing you call him Charlie makes him smile, your gaze not straying from the other, basking in the moment, a moment you could ignore everything and everyone, a moment that’s just between you too. Maybe this whole arranged marriage thing will be okay in the end.

➳➳➳➳➳┄┄※┄┄➳➳➳➳➳

Next day you both fly out in Charles’s private jet with his family and team, Lorenzo is still standoffish, but now that you know that he’s in on everything you don’t blame him. He’s not rude to you at all, but he’s cold, something that you attributed to how he was raised. Even though he knows his brother is forced into it, he hasn’t been rude after the first time you met, when he just found out the truth.

The plane landed in Milan where you live, but you went with the family to Monza for the race, promising to take Charles to your studio after the weekend.

The first two days, media and FP1-2, go like how all the other races go, this time you’ve met more drivers, you met Pierre and Kika are one of the ones you met and was found talking to. You and the model exchanged details and followed each other on Instagram, you all went out to have dinner after media day, and you and Kika sat together talking all the time, with Charles and Pierre sat on each side of you not understanding how two people who just met could have this much to talk about and how you talk about everything.

pierregasly posted to their story

caption[ I think i lose my girlfriend @/charles_leclerc]

Charles_leclerc reposted to his story

Caption [looks like it mate]

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Lorenzo was watching the both of you with hawk eyes, he felt like things have changed between the two of you or you’ve become better actors, because why does Charles have his hand on the back of your chair, why is your hands laced together a lot, why are you leaning into him, are do you have inside jokes and share those knowing looks. You’re having deep conversation, a closeness and ease that hasn’t been there before. So he takes the moment you went to Charles’s driver’s room to leave your bag there and took his brother to the side.

”What’s going on with you and y/n?” Enzo asked Charles, his brows furrowing.

”What are you talking about?” Charles asked, his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding, he’s been denying his growing feelings for you, but it seemed like his brother picked up on it. “We’re just trying to make the best of a… difficult situation.”

Lorenzo wasn’t convinced he knew Charles, he knows there’s more to it.

“Don’t lie to me and don’t lie to yourself, Charles.” Lorenzo said his tone leaving no space for argument. “I can see the way you look at her, the way you care about her, you like her, and I think she likes you too.”

For a moment Charles was silent, his mind racing with emotions and he’s thinking about the time you’ve come to share together and how he’s been enjoying it. he had spent so long denying his feelings for you, burying them down, he tried to tell himself that no he doesn’t find you the prettiest most beautiful woman he has ever met, he hates when you go on rants about the things you love, he hates that you’ve picked up on so many habits he has and have come to understand him, he hates how you’re passionate and warm and kind and soft and elegant, he hates it, he just hates it. But here he is standing in front of his brother, the walls that have been down for a while are just made apparent to him, he just realised them. He nods, and a smile slowly appears on his face.

”Yeah, I do, I do like her.” Charles says his eyes are not meeting his brother’s as he’s lost in thought, his brows move slightly together and then he’s shaking his head no. “No, actually I love her.”

Lorenzo’s expression softened at his brother’s admission, a sense of understanding coming over him. “Then just embrace it, and let her know.”

”I just wish we met under different circumstances.” Charles confessed, his voice tinged with regret. “But either way, I’m just glad that fate brought y/n into my life.”

And as they stood there in the hustle and bustle of the garage, Charles knew that he’s ready, he’s ready to tell you what he feels and maybe start dating for real this time, have a samples of normality in your relationship before you get married.

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After Sunday, Charles’s family flies back to Monaco and the Ferrari driver comes with you to Milan.

“Promise me you won’t judge.” You say to Charles after you turn to look at him, your studio’s key is already in the door waiting for you to twist it.

”I promise, mon amour.” Charles says and your face lights up at his pet name, you couch and turn to face the door.

”Didn’t have to say that.” You mutter and feel your cheeks turn pink, you open the door and lead Charles in, the big windows let in so much light but you go and turn on the light as well. The studios was spacious with high ceiling, paintings where leaning on the wall, a couple were covered, there was pain stains on the ground on the walls, there was a small kitchen to the side and a bathroom, there’s a pull out sofa against one wall with a few chairs littering the place and table with wheels, a table with no wheels, drawers of supplies and easels. This place truly looked like an artist's dream, it was messy but organised, it was all you.

”Wow.” Charles says and walks to the wall that had paintings on it, you follow him, keeping your eyes on him as you take in every little reaction he has. “You’re so talented y/n.”

”Thank you.” You reply softly. “You can flip through the paintings if you want, I'll make us tea.”

Charles has seen a lot of your work on your instagram and you’ve shown him a lot but seeing them in real life he realised they weren’t given justice with the photos, there’s so much detail in the work you’ve done, each brush stroke pressed with intention. Charles moved to the two covered ones, they were on the big size, his curiosity got the best of him and he pulled the fabric down.

”Wait Charles-“ It was too late, he saw them, his mouth hanging open as he stared at… himself.

“That’s-that’s me.” You sigh feeling embarrassed, your face turning red.

”Yeah.” You mumble and cough.

”Fucking hell, mon amour.” Charles turns to look at you and you’re looking away refusing to look in his direction, his eyes soften at your embarrassment. Charles walks up to you and you’re refusing to look at him, so gently cups your cheeks and your eyes meet his, getting lost in the shades of blue and green in his eyes. the shades you know from memory, the colours you painted and brought to life on your canvas. Charle’s breath gets caught in his throat, the words he was planning to say slipping from his mind, so he just presses his lips to yours, you gasp a little before following his lead, your hands clutching his shirt. It’s a moment of vulnerability, the product of simmering feelings that bubbled to reach the surface. your kiss deepened, becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing moment, as you’re trying to pour all your pent-up feeling, emotions and desires into this single electrifying moment. You move closer, your bodies pressed together, holding to each other’s curves, the intensity bordering on desperation.

When you broke apart, gasping for breath Charles’s hands are still cupping your face, his eyes ablaze with fire that threatened to consume you both.

”I love you, y/n.” He whispered, his voice raw with emotion, your heart swelled with joy at his words, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reaches up to caress his cheek.

“And I love you Charles, with everything that I am.”

With a shared understanding and longing and love you sealed the moment with another searing kiss, letting together us a oissionate embrace that seemed to stretch on forever. In that moment, amidst the quietness of the studio, you were no longer bound by a contract, but by the pure and unadulterated love for each other. In each other’s arms you’ve found the only solace and sanctuary you’ve ever needed or wanted.

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It’s not to say that everything turned out to be what you wanted, in a couple months and while Charles was on his winter break your wedding was set. There was no talking your father out of it, but you weren’t dreading the moment anymore. You know that fate was going to bring you together in the end, one way or the other. Yes you’d still be dating, but in the end you’d get engaged and then married. Speaking of engaged, Charles did propose to you, it was a private event, only the two of you on his yacht away from prying eyes, with soft music playing in the background. The monegasque got down on one knee and asked you to marry him. Ignoring the fact that you’re bound by a contact you agreed instantly, tears in your eyes and a smile on your face.

But here you are now standing across from Charles, your eyes locked in a silent exchange if understanding, the weight of their circumstances hung heavy in the air. The officiant, cleared his throat and said his words singling to you to start your vows.

Charles took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he spoke his voice steady yet laced with emotions.

”y/n, I know that our beginning is not the one we would’ve liked for each other, but I’m glad that it did. But I know that fate has intertwined our future together, one way or the other I would’ve made my way to you. In you, I have found a companion, a confidante and a source of strength. I vow to stand by your side through everything that may come our way, to support you, to cherish you and to love you with all that I am, for as long as we live.”

Your heart swelled with emotion as you listened to Charles’ words, your eyes shining with unshed tears. You took a moment to compose yourself before speaking your voice soft but unwavering.

“Charles, Charlie.” You begin and your voice starts to tremble with emotion the more you speak. “When we first met I never imagined that our paths would be so intertwined, that I’d reach a point where I can’t imagine living without you. In you I have found a partner in crime, in life. You’ve showed me so much love that I never experienced before and for that I’ll be always grateful, I vow to stand by your side to be on your team, to lift you up when you falter, to love you unconditionally and with every fibre of my being.”

In that moment, those who doubted you, those that thought they won, those that wished your relationship would end, all knew that as you shared your first kiss as husband and wife, that you’re a team, a family, and that nothing can bring you down. You made each other stronger, you made each other happy, and you had your whole futures in front of you to heal all the wounds you had in the past, you’ll both grow and heal and live together.

Your journey is far from over, there’s so much that you’ll face. But you’ll face it together in each other’s arms, where you felt the purest kind of happiness.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

What we know about each Yellowjackets character’s life before the plane crash

Shauna

Not a lot is known about Shauna’s childhood, but it definitely seems like she had an estranged relationship with her parents. It is confirmed that Shauna’s parents divorced when she was younger. Jackie mentioned that Shauna lied to her about her father’s sudden absence, saying that he was traveling a lot because he had become the new president of Hello Kitty (aww Shauna). This suggests that, after the divorce, Shauna had little to no contact with her father. Additionally, Shauna never even mentions her parents in the adult timeline, which may imply that she is no longer on speaking terms with either of them. Further emphasizing this distance is her childhood bedroom, which appeared to be in an attic. Whether she chose to sleep there or not, this detail speaks volumes about how separated or neglected she felt by her family.

Shauna had been best friends with Jackie since grade school, although their relationship was strained by jealousy and Shauna's feeling of living in Jackie's shadow. Nevertheless, their love for each other ran DEEP (a little too deep). Shauna’s jealousy of Jackie led her to lose her virginity to Jeff, Jackie’s long-term boyfriend, behind Jackie’s back. The night before the crash, Jeff and Shauna slept together again and she became pregnant with his child.

We also know that Shauna was a straight-A student and received admission to Brown University right before the crash, and she was a very good soccer player (she was very fast according to Coach Martinez!) even though she apparently didn’t even like soccer.

Shauna was most likely a Defensive Midfielder on the soccer field, given that her jersey number was 6. This means that she was in charge of acting as a shield in the midfield, breaking up attacks, covering teammates, and intercepting passes.

Jackie

Jackie appears to have come from a wealthy family given how massive her house was (complete with those fancy mansion columns). She was an only child and lived with both her parents. Jackie’s parents seemed to put a lot of pressure on her to be perfect, and we see that they tend to brag about her achievements (even after her death), which highlights their high expectations for Jackie’s success. Jackie’s mother may have had a dependence on prescription drugs, as she mentioned that her mom was on “ten different kind of downers”, some of which (Valium) Jackie stole to fall asleep on the plane.

Jackie was popular in school and was the captain of the Yellowjackets soccer team (more expectations that she had to live up to). She was said to possess great influence over others due to her natural leadership skills and magnetism. She had been dating Jeff since freshman year, although she mentioned having broken up with him multiple times, so it seems like it was a tumultuous relationship. She refused to have sex with him due to wanting to make losing her virginity special. Jackie planned to go to Rutgers for college and be roommates with Shauna.

We can assume Jackie was a forward/striker on the soccer field due to her jersey number: 9. This means her primary role was scoring goals.

Natalie

Out of all of the Yellowjackets characters, Natalie’s life pre-crash is explored in arguably the most detail. We learn that she came from a low-income family and lived in a small, cluttered trailer with her parents, both of whom appeared to struggle with drinking and drug problems. Her father worked a blue-collar job, possibly as a mechanic, given the (tire?) patch on his work shirt, while her mother, Vera, seemed to stay at home, often drinking and sleeping throughout the day. We also know that Nat’s father was physically and verbally abusive to her and her mother.

Nat’s best friend was Kevyn Tan, whom we first see her with when she is 14 or 15 years-old, although it seems like they had been friends for a while before that. Kevyn had a significant crush on Natalie, which she was unaware of. When Nat was 14 or 15, her father found Kevyn in her bedroom one day and berated Nat, thinking that they were sleeping together. This escalated into her father beating her mother, prompting Natalie to grab a gun and attempt to shoot him. However, she forgot to take off the safety. Her father then took the gun but accidentally shot himself in the head after tripping on the stairs.

It is strongly implied that Natalie's mother blamed her for his death, as she makes comments in the present day like, "You never know what you have until it gets ripped away from you." This suggests that Natalie had a cold and distant relationship with her mother.

It appears that Nat spent much of her high school years experimenting with drugs and sex to cope with her guilt and had gained a reputation at her school for being sexually promiscuous and a “burnout.”

Somehow she ended up playing soccer, and she was likely a right midfielder or winger given her jersey number: 7. This means she was in charge of attacks in the midfield and passing the ball to other teammates closer to the goal.

And one more interesting detail: Nat was definitely a hardcore feminist in her teen years, as we can see riot grrrl posters all over her childhood bedroom walls.

Travis

We get very little information about Travis’s life before the crash, but we know that he lived with his father, Bill, his little brother, Javi, and his mother. Travis stated that his father was “a shit dad” who “didn’t even like him,” so he clearly did not have a good relationship with his father. Additionally, before leaving to get on the plane, we see that Coach Martinez leaned in to attempt to give his wife a kiss goodbye, but she turned away and appeared stiff. Travis rolled his eyes at this. My guess is that Coach Martinez cheated on his wife and Travis knew about it. His parents’ relationship was strained after the affair but they stayed together for the kids, and Travis resented his father for it. Just definitely seems like the context behind that scene.

Travis seemed to hold some resentment towards Javi as well given his harsh treatment of him even before the crash, perhaps because he received more attention and care from their father. We also know that Travis was bullied since 7th grade after he had spinal fusion surgery and Bobby Farleigh made up the rumor that he got one of his ribs removed to perform…certain acts on himself, earning him the nickname “Flex.”

Van

We got a brief scene in the pilot episode of Van’s home life. Like Natalie, Van also appears to have come from a low-income home. Van’s father was likely not involved in her life, as Van’s mom seemed to be the only option when she needed a ride to the airport and her father was never mentioned. Van’s mother was an alcoholic, as she was laying passed out on the couch and Van had to slap her to wake her up. It seems like Van had to take on a parental role with her mother and likely had to raise herself for the most part. In the adult timeline, Tai mentions that Van had always had a strained relationship with her mother.

Van went to New York City once for her 7th birthday and wanted to do the carriage ride in Central Park, but she was taken to see Cats instead. She dreamed of going back to NYC and doing the carriage ride ever since.

Van is the Yellowjackets’s goalie, and it seems like she and her teammate Taissa had a romantic relationship before the crash (or were at least flirting a lot).

Lottie

Lottie’s pre-crash life gets explored in a little more detail. Lottie grew up in a very wealthy family. Her father, Malcolm, is a businessman who seemed very strict and controlling. Lottie’s mother, Emilia, seemed more soft and understanding of Lottie’s potential gifts. We see that, as a child, Lottie often experienced strange visions, including a time in which she started to scream in the backseat of the car while her parents were at a red light, which ended up preventing them from getting into a car crash when the light turned green. It is implied that Lottie experienced these visions often. Lottie’s parents argued over the nature of these visions, with Malcolm saying that Lottie had psychological issues and needed to be fixed, while Emilia argued that Lottie had a gift for seeing the future. Lottie was placed on medication for schizophrenia, and she is seen taking this medication the morning of the crash.

Lottie had a disconnected relationship with her father. It seems like he never understood her and neglected her as a result. It is implied that he wasn’t around much due to his work. Lottie said that her dad paying for the private plane to take the Yellowjackets to Nationals was “basically his only form of parenting.”

Lottie, according to Coach Martinez, is a talented soccer player with great footwork. Lottie is likely a Defender on the soccer field, given her jersey number: 5. This means she was in charge of keeping the other team from scoring goals and stopping attacks.

Taissa

Tai appears to have come from the most well-adjusted household among the group. She lived in a nice home with both of her parents, who seemed supportive, as shown in their brief interaction in the pilot episode. Her mother offered to drive her to the airport, while her father was cooking breakfast. He reminded Tai that "the most important thing is to have fun," which conveyed a sense of care and encouragement. Despite this, Tai was always intensely focused on success and hard work. As a star player on the soccer team, she was implied to be the best player, according to Coach Martinez.

When Tai was little, her grandmother got sick and Tai often visited her on her death bed. Not long before her grandmother’s death, she saw a “man with no eyes” in the mirror of the bedroom and began to scream. Tai saw this man, as well, and also began to scream. At her grandmother’s open-casket funeral, Tai noticed that her grandmother’s eyes were missing.

Tai was likely in a romantic relationship with Van before the crash.

According to the Pilot episode script, Taissa is the star midfielder of the Yellowjackets. Her jersey number is 8, also supporting that she is a Central Midfielder, which is often considered to be the most difficult position on the field. This means she acted as a link between defense and attack in the midfield.

Misty

Misty was clearly a social outcast before the crash. She was bullied throughout her school years. One classmate, Becky, frequently targeted her with prank phone calls, spreading rumors and mocking her with her friends. During one of these calls, Misty quoted Plato, hinting at her intelligence and academic inclinations. Misty clearly loved learning and equipping herself with knowledge, as she obsessively took Red Cross babysitting classes, had a great deal of medical skills, and paid close attention in Coach Ben’s health classes. Misty always craved the feeling of being useful and needed by her peers. This was most apparent in the scene where Allie broke her leg—Misty was the first to spring into action, trying to help, although her attempt was unsuccessful.

We can also see that Misty may have always had some sociopathic tendencies, as she is seen watching a rat struggle and drown in a pool with no emotion on her face the morning before the crash.

As the Yellowjackets’ equipment manager, Misty didn’t play soccer herself but still found a way to be involved with the team. Her responsibilities likely included maintaining equipment, ordering new gear, and issuing uniforms to the players.

[baronessvonglitter]

Halftime Show

Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Dave York, Frankie Morales, Marcus Moreno x f!sexworker!reader (lucky girl)

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: you're an escort hired for a private Super Bowl party hosted by a mysterious client and his four friends

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, reader's work name is "Angel", reader is a sex worker, mildly dubious consent (though she does state that the men can do as they want, it's her first experience in sex work), rough sex (but no violence done to reader), group sex, threesome to sixsome, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, double p in v, anal sex & fingering, multiple penetration, hand jobs, face fucking, facial, verbal abuse/humiliation, squirting, swallowing, creampie, spitroasting, reader gets slapped w/a dick for a bit, porn without plot, you know.. all the sweet stuff.

Author's Note: another cross-post from AO3 but honestly, football is barely mentioned so if you want you can ignore the whole Super Bowl aspect. Y'all might know by now I love a little romance in my smut but this particular fic has zero romance. Reader is there to do a job and leaves having done it very well. Also.. I'm considering creating a part 2 featuring more Pedro Boys, so any input on that is welcome!

FULL MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

DAVE YORK MASTERLIST | JAVIER PENA MASTERLIST

It's your first day as an escort and you're a little nervous. Okay, a lot nervous. You never know what you're going to expect from clients, but these guys you're about to meet have been pre-screened and even had to turn in blood tests just to be considered as clients. The escort service you work for is very prestigious. You're even driven to the location by a security detail who is tasked to wait outside for you. This makes you feel a little better.

You take a quick look at your outfit before you leave the car. The rule is you show up in character and leave in character. No real names, no background stories, just a persona and an exchange of goods. Simple as that. Should be easy enough.

Taking a deep breath, you exit the car and go up to the front door.

The doorbell rings, and Dave York springs from the sofa, a little smirk on his lips. "Guys, I think she's here," he announces, and the rest of the group look up from the Super Bowl game, groaning when Dave mutes the sound even though it's just gone to commercial.

"Who?" Frankie Morales asks, swigging a beer.

"The halftime entertainment," Dave answers mysteriously.

Marcus Moreno and Joel Miller trade inquisitive glances. Javier Peña raises his brow. He knows what Dave means.

Dave brings you into the living room and you take a quick survey of your surroundings: the home is nicer than most, two stories, decorated tastefully but with an obvious woman's touch. You give him a once-over. He's forty-ish, handsome, clean-shaven.

"The wife got the house in the divorce," Dave tells you, as if reading your mind. "This is my last weekend here, so let's make it count!" He raises his glass of whiskey to the guys, most of whom also salute with their drinks. They are all eyeing you like a pack of dogs that haven't eaten in days.

Marcus, a kind-looking man with dark eyeglasses who gives you Clark Kent vibes, smiles awkwardly at you, blushing. "Aren't you going to introduce us?" he asks Dave politely.

"Angel," you give your working name, smiling at each of the men. They're all cute: some scruffy, some dapper.

Dave smirks. "I'm Dave, and these are my buddies Marcus, Frankie, Joel, and Javier." Each of the guys smiles or nods at you as they're introduced.

"I heard you guys are looking to get wild," you say, opening your winter coat to reveal your see-through lingerie. Joel, Javier, and Dave whoop in excitement. Marcus and Frankie are more reticent but can't take their eyes off you. "What do you plan on doing with little ol' me?" you ask innocently, kneeling on the cushioned ottoman in the middle of the living room. You glide your hands over your body and smile as the men shift in their seats, watching you, getting hard already at the idea of you offering yourself.

Dave is the first to put his hands on you, first on your hips then grabbing your ass. Joel, an older man with graying hair and green flannel shirt, interrupts him, rising from his seat. "Now, who told you you get to go first?" he asks in a deep voiced Texan accent.

"First? We're running a train on this girl?" Javier asks from his seat, a cigarette burning between his lips. He's dressed like someone from the 1970s but his clothes fit him well, accentuating a lean physique.

"You can do whatever you want with me," you tell them with confidence. "But of course, no hitting, no biting, no leaving marks." You are resolute on this, as is your employer.

"Hell, darlin', we're not monsters," Joel says, his eyes full of concern for you. The others chime in that they aren't into really rough stuff. Only Dave looks a little disappointed by your rule.

"I'd expect you to be more methodical about this," Javier tells Dave, rising from his seat and casting an amused glance at his friend. He eyes you up and down then reaches into your bra to cup your breast while his other hand dives between your thighs. "Christ, she's already wet. And so fucking tight. You haven't been doing this kind of work long, have you, baby?"

"You all are my first clients," you admit, your breath hitching as his thick fingers tease you.

Javier manages a small smile then looks over at the group. "You haven't thought about these guys," he tells Dave, and nods at Frankie and Marcus. "They're completely baffled by this."

"We're not, I know exactly what's going on," insists Frankie, an adorable middle-aged guy wearing a t-shirt, cargo pants and baseball cap. His innocence is palpable and quite touching.

Dave and Javier's hands are still on you, grabbing and groping. It's a good start. "I'm paying for her. I should get to go first," Dave complains.

A few of the guys (well, okay, Javier and Dave) start to bicker about it, fueled by testosterone and alcohol. Joel strides up to you, effectively taking you away from Dave and Javier. "It's kind of a shame that no one's puttin' her feelings into consideration. She's gonna be providin' a huge service for us. Least we can do is give her a little pleasure beforehand." With that, he takes you and places you on the ottoman, kneeling between your open thighs. He rips open the crotch of your lingerie and dives in, sucking on your pussy. Your initial shock gives way to thrill as you register the warm, wet stiffness of his tongue rasping your folds, your clit, not taking his time about it. Your fingers curl into his hair as you lift your thighs back. You're still on the clock, still giving a show, even if this part is currently for your benefit. With Joel's aid you manage to take the now-ruined lingerie off and are naked but for your knee-high stockings.

"Way to get the party started," Javier says approvingly. "I'm not about to waste any time." He goes to you and sits you up. You take a moment to admire the bulge in those tight trousers before he pulls them down enough to take out his thick shaft. You obediently open your mouth to accept it and he slowly moves into your throat, allowing you to get used to him. Saliva pools in your mouth as you start to moan around his dick, still exhilarated by Joel's ravishing you with his tongue. You feel a hand massaging your breast and look over to see Frankie, his puppy dog eyes wide with wonder, as if he can't believe you're real.

"That feels so good," you tell him, sensing he likes praise. He lights up, encouraged by you, and continues to pinch and pull at your nipple before sucking on it, extracting a pleasured moan from your lips before you go back to sucking off Javier.

Marcus and Dave stand back. Marcus looks flustered and Dave has his hands on his hips, making a face. He's figuring out where to squeeze in but at the same time doesn't want to share.

Meanwhile you're keeping busy with Javier's cock in your mouth, Frankie's mouth on your breast, and Joel still lapping at you between your thighs. The most exquisite feelings comes over you and your scream is muffled as you come so hard, your body spasming while surrounded by these men. It's the most sensually charged moment of your entire life.

Joel lifts himself up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "She's wetter'n a cucumber in a convent," he chuckles, standing and trying to get the feeling back in his knees. Frankie then moves down to finger you just as Javier is on the verge of coming. Just as he gives a strangled growl, spilling his cum into your willing throat, you feel one of Frankie's fingers in your ass. You gasp and clench around him as Dave takes Javier's place. Your body is buzzing with energy, with lust.

"You're gonna earn every penny," Dave growls, thrusting into your mouth as if he hates you. You don't have a gag reflex but you pretend to choke on him, bringing tears to your eyes.

Frankie starts to undo his pants then quickly steps away. "I'm, uh, not ready yet."

"Let her take care of it," Javier says, lighting up another cigarette.

"No smoking in here," Dave warns, his eyes still on the mascara running down your face.

"Fuck you."

You start stroking Frankie, smiling at the plumpness of his cock, uncut. He's gazing down at you with tenderness in his eyes.

"Marcus, you joinin' us?" Joel asks, getting ready to pull down his jeans.

Marcus watches from the adjoining kitchen, his beer growing warm in his hand. "Maybe.. in a bit." He smiles nervously.

Joel shrugs and unzips himself, releasing his thick, veiny cock. It's all you can do not to stare at it in wonder.

"Hey, I was gonna go first," Dave says aggressively.

"You snooze you lose. Aren't we all gonna get a turn?" Joel smirks before aligning himself to your opening. "Such a tiny, perfect little pussy.. you're gonna be completely wrecked when we're done with you, babygirl..."

Your eyes widen when he begins to slide into you, but you're already slick enough to take him. You remove Dave from your mouth so you can watch Joel's cock disappear inch by inch into your cunt.

"Don't forget about me," Dave warns you, tapping his dick against the side of your face. You compliantly return to sucking him off and he grunts contentedly in response. At the same time Joel pushes in to the hilt. "Hell she's taking every inch of me," he groans. "What a good little slut she is.."

"Well shit, don't stretch her out before the rest of us," Dave complains.

"That's not a particular worry of mine," Javier smirks, getting himself ready again as he goes to your free hand, opposite Frankie, who is already hard and ready. Joel is building up a nice tempo, sliding deep inside your pussy, Dave thrusts avidly into your mouth, Frankie and Joel are watching you as you zealously prime them for whatever they want to do next.

"Oh my god!" Frankie's eyes go wide and without warning he comes on your stomach and you make a sound of surprise when you feel the warm stickiness of him on your skin. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," you tell him with a smile. "Think you've got another one in you?" you wink and scoop his cum into your mouth as Frankie watches in wonder.

Dave seems upset that you keep removing him from your mouth to talk to Frankie, but Frankie looks so happy that you're not grossed out or upset. Dave grabs hold of the back of your head and rams himself in your throat. "Less talking, bitch," he growls.

You would give him a death glare but then you feel Joel speeding up, his thrusts strong, the loud slapping of your flesh fills the air. Before you know it you're throbbing around him, milking him as you feel him finish inside you. He doesn't stay long, and soon Javier takes his place. "Flip over, cariño," he says, moving you on all fours. Dave takes over from the front, Frankie strokes himself while fondling your tit. Javier grabs your ass and slides in, letting you feel every inch of him as you moan around Dave's cock. He cums soon, spraying the back of your throat with his thick white cum.

"Get in there, Frankie!" Javier encourages, pumping away none too gently as he watches your ass ripple with each thrust. "Marcus get over here and do something or you'll miss out!"

Marcus seems frozen to his spot but Frankie follows orders and you open wide to receive him. He looks down at you like you're some kind of miracle, and you make sure to look at him the same way, charmed by his good nature.

Javier leans close to you. "I'm gonna put it in your ass, cariño."

"Do whatever you want," you purr.

He pulls out of you and you feel a warm glob of saliva at your rear entrance. Javier smears it around your puckered hole and eases himself in. You gasp, fists clenching the edge of the ottoman. "Fill all her holes, boys," Dave says, watching from the side. "That's what she's here for."

Frankie pulls away from your mouth. "Let me get under you." he says, and Javier pulls out enough for you two to get positioned. Frankie aligns himself at your entrance and sinks in easily. "Jesus, you feel so good, Angel.." He thrusts up into you as Javier continues to fuck your ass. The three of you are a fusion of lust and frenzy. Joel watches, running his tongue over his lips, still tasting your sweet essence. Dave tells everyone he's next to claim your ass. Marcus has since inched closer, undeciding yet if he's going to join, or how. He's obviously hard, his eyes dark with craving.

"Marcus," you mumble as he approaches your side. "Fuck my mouth," you beg.

He suppresses a gasp but he unbuckles his belt. "I haven't.. in a while.."

"That's okay.." you smile at him, helping him pull down his pants and briefs, running your nails over his solid girth, and he immediately rises to the occasion. "You were shy before, but not now," you notice, and give his cock a couple of gentle tugs before taking him into your waiting mouth, just the tip, and letting him go in as deep as he wants.

Javier speeds up, fingers digging into your hips as all your cries fill the room. He comes, filling your ass as he grunts savagely, causing you in turn to come, clenching around Frankie who buries himself deep inside as he lets go. Once Javier pulls away Dave takes over, gripping your hips and moving you against him.

You finger your lonely pussy, unable to make yourself feel as good as any of these men have. “Oh god, I want all of you at once.. please!” You beg.

Marcus approaches you and lays beneath you as Dave moves away, scoots up so he’s practically standing over you. Joel claims your mouth and Javier lets you pump him with your fist. Frankie approaches from behind and at the same time Marcus enters you from beneath. Two men fuck your cunt, stretching you, ruining you, and all you can do is give them what they want and then ask for more.. one man in your mouth, in your hand, in your ass.. you are working for every penny just as Dave said.

You're practically dazed by the countless feelings of pleasure coming from every man inside you, the way they move, the way they taste, how their hands grope your ass or your breasts, your hips.. you're just a receptacle for them, a plaything. This allows your brain to soak everything in without having to think. Just feeling. None of them really care about your pleasure, not at this point. You're just a means to an end, and you like it. You've never felt more alive.

"God!" you gasp as you feel yet another wave of absolute euphoria threaten to take you under. You don't even bother to hold back. As soon as you come you feel them all come with you, like tiny explosions set off in a chain. You gulp down Joel's spunk as Dave spills himself inside your ass, and Marcus and Frankie throb then release, one only seconds after the other. Javier takes control of himself from you and spurts his cum onto your face. For the first time ever in your life, you squirt, gasping at the relief and suddenness of it. The six of you try hard to catch your breath, all of you taking in the moments of this night.

"I don't think I'll be able to cum for weeks," Joel says, chuckling as he pulls up his pants.

Showered and dressed, you leave in a skimpy outfit that covers more than the lingerie did, as Dave uses the escort agency's app to send you a very generous tip from himself and the rest of the guys. The guys, cleaned up and all in relaxed moods, watch the game, not even upset that they missed most of the second half. You take your money and leave, blowing a kiss to the guys.

"God damn, you hired a good one," Javier mutters to Dave.

"Let's make this an annual thing," Dave smirks. "Next one's on you, Peña."

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

[ybklix]

𝔩𝔦𝔎𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔡𝔬

⭒˚‧♱ pairing: ceo!seochangbin x fem!reader ⁺‧₊˚ ♡ summary: Your new boss is quite interesting, so the night lends itself to a few drinks and the discovery of never-before-explored bodies in such an inappropriate but magnetic act. ₊ ⊹⋆ 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 — 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: MDNI, smut, dom!changbin, sub!reader, dilf!changbin, oral sex, praise, deepthroat, fingering, sir kink, pet names (some dreg), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, choking, spanking, tit slapping, unprotected sex, creampie, cheating, adultery, implied age gap. word count: 7.5k

♬⋆.˚ like lovers do by hey violet

(𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 '𝟮𝟰) - 𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 03: lover

movie inspo: the housemaid (2010)

You didn’t have to feel ashamed, even though a part of you did, you were young and the job was temporary while you tried to establish yourself and get a better one, besides, you would live there for a while and you would stop bothering your parents in the meantime since you still lived with them, your siblings would stop bothering you telling you that you were already an adult and you should look for your own life and stop depending on your parents, stop bothering you while they rubbed on your face their orderly and balanced life.

It was not a desperate action, it was a decent job with excellent pay, only that the thin stigma of it all made you somewhat nervous, you were naive, young and had a lot to lose if you did not start working now so your best option for the moment was to accept the offer of practically a stranger in whom you trusted, Kang Gahyeon, a housekeeper who had been working practically all her life for a particularly rich family, the Seo.

Gahyeon was an acquaintance of the housekeeper of your former female professor at your university in your senior year. You met your teacher casually one night and, among certain confessions you told her that life was being hard on you and she somewhat embarrassed suddenly blurted out that a wealthy young family she knew needed a nanny to stay at home to take care of their little 6-year-old daughter as the wife was very pregnant of 35 weeks; that if you were interested she could pass on the contact to you as she knew you had experience babysitting children as you used to do it as a little extra job while you continued with your studies.

You thought about it for a while and then agreed without further ado, then you met Gahyeon, who gave you the general details of the family and the kind of work involved; you really thought you would be a simple babysitter, but in your teacher’s vague words, she forgot to mention that the whole job was as a housemaid.

You overthought it again, maybe because just thinking about it seemed slightly humiliating, serving rich people while wearing a uniform, something too old-fashioned to be real, you hadn’t even taken the time to think that there are still such jobs, that people still dress and are disciplined before with much more wealth and social status people. But you felt trapped and the pay was so tempting, even though part of you thought it was logical that it was since you didn’t know what kind of people those with so much power really were.

You accepted naively, with a six-month contract, at least the time needed while the mother-to-be focused on taking care of the babies and you helped them with the little one. You accepted, even when your mother told you that you could wait and look for a better job offer that did not resort to the old systems, which were still very much in place today, of social oppression. You called her an exaggerator, telling her that Mrs. Kang claims that the Seo are nice, somewhat cold, but they are decent. You took the job believing it would be a bit of your beginning of independence and adulthood.

And there you were, in the huge, beautiful mansion in the hills that would be your sort of home for the next few months, or at least a spacious room next to little Dahae’s room.

You stood still in your place, watching Mrs. Seo with surprise, Seo Haeun, doing yoga and pelvic floor exercises with the help of a young instructor. You fixed your gaze on her big and notorious uncovered pregnant bump, it looked like she was going to explode and it was true in a way, Haeun was expecting twins. She ended up tired and panting as the yoga instructor helped her to stand up and then she sat on the couch catching her breath as Mrs. Kang stood beside her to pass her water to drink.

You watched her, with your hands clasped together in front of your body, Haeun was beautiful, she was one of those women whose huge belly and big breasts made her look even prettier, her hair was straight, dark, silky mid-length, her eyebrows straight, small and youthful heart-shaped face, big eyes, button nose and round plumpy lips, she was like a little doll, the kind of beauty you want to keep just to yourself. Haeun was a model, but overseas. She sipped from the water as she stared at you, standing in front of her from a distance.

You introduced yourself to her, saying it was a pleasure.

“Welcome” she said to you, handing the glass of water to Gahyeon, “Well Mrs. Kang recommended you, you must be good. She will tell you what to do and show you around. Dahae should be here at 1:30 for you to meet her, take care of her, and help her with her homework. You can go to see your room and change your clothes.”

She was direct, her tone and expression were monotone, and you saw the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead and breasts one last time before following Gahyeon to your new room. She handed you your uniform clothes, all black and white, skirts and dresses; you bit your lip still unsure if wanting to serve a rich family was the kind of job you were looking for... but you were already there.

“Do I have to wear heels?” was what you said with a smirk as you saw three pairs of black silhouette heels, and then you saw the exact same shoes on Mrs. Kang.

“The clacking of the heels is what keeps them alert to know every place you’re at and that you’re not loitering where you shouldn’t.”

Minutes later you were ready, looking at yourself in the mirror with a blank mind, thinking that at least the uniform was tailored for you, the skirt fit your silhouette and was just mid-thigh length. This would be your new life, a distraction, and a new beginning.

You helped Mrs. Kang cook and at exactly 1:25 p.m. you went outside the house to wait for the little Seo girl who arrived seven minutes later in a black car accompanied by serious men dressed in suits that looked like bodyguards.

You smiled at the sight of the little girl who was looking down at the ground and had no expression. Her eyes were just as big as her mother’s but the rest of her face looked different, maybe she looked like her father. Dahae almost overlooked you but raised her gaze as she walked near you.

“Hi, I’m Y/n, I’ll be your new babysitter” you told her cheerfully, gently touching her shoulder so she could give you her backpack.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n. I’m Seo Dahae” the little girl replied, in a monotone tone, and continued her walk home as if nothing.

You followed her somewhat hurriedly and confused, the girl had a warm and kind look but her attitude was completely cold and distant.

“You can change and get ready to go downstairs to eat with your mother, okay?” you said, following her to her room.

“Okay, thank you, Y/n. I can change by myself.”

You smiled at her, feeling like you were looking at and talking to a small adult, her appearance was innocent because she was small and she was a child... but there was something about her that made you insecure, she was serious, quiet and so far you’ve only seen her blink as if she was disconnected to her childhood. You left her backpack in her room.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything and for us to go downstairs together.”

You didn’t think she would be a difficult child, after all, she was just a child, plus you thought growing up with money was a somewhat different experience than what you knew in your childhood, evidently.

The day was normal, after lunch, you cleaned up, and you helped Dahae with her homework, took little orders from Haeun, and watched from afar her little routine like a pregnant wife who spent all day at home. At dinner once again it was just Haeun and his daughter at the table while Gahyeon blurted out a little comment on the air saying that Changbin will be late tonight.

You knew little about them, it really didn’t cost you anything to google their faces or occupations but you were so immersed in your mild embarrassment that you decided not to and played the little game of seeing their faces for the first time in person. You knew that Gahyeon had been working for the Seo’s for a while now, she first worked for the parents of your new boss, Seo Changbin, she practically raised Changbin and was his nanny and as soon as he got married, she followed him to his new home, now working for his family, having a long history with the Seo.

You had dinner in the quiet company of the slightly old housekeeper woman, cleaned everything up, and were ready to end your day when the sound of the doorway alerted Mrs. Kang’s senses.

“He’s here.”

Was all she said and walked out of the kitchen. You blinked in confusion, hesitating whether to follow her but the ideal was to do so, so you hurried your pace behind her but Gahyeon was already standing well to the side of the entrance of the house.

“You don’t always have to greet me, Mrs. Kang, it’s late, you can go to rest” you heard a man’s voice and saw him pass by as soon as you stood next to your co-worker.

The man did not notice your presence and continued on his way, Mrs. Kang went after him and you followed her again.

You fleetingly saw the man’s back, wide arms, gray suit, and short black hair, quickly deducing with obviousness that it was your boss, Mr. Seo Changbin.

You followed her into the living room, where you finally appreciated your boss fully. He sat on the couch, sighing slightly wearily as he unbuttoned his suit jacket.

“Daddy!” happily exclaimed Dahae who was watching some TV before going to bed, rushing over to hug her father.

You were surprised for a second as it was the first time in the day you saw Dahae smile, sound, act, and look like a real six-year-old. You knew immediately that her relationship with her mother was slightly cold and distant. Changbin smiled broadly reciprocating his daughter’s hug and giving her a resounding kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, there, what are you doing up this late? You have school tomorrow,” he said tenderly.

“Daddy, have you met Ms. Y/n? She’s my new nanny, I like her, she’s nice.”

Dahae settled her little body next to her father as a confused expression formed on his face. You blushed at the little girl’s confession, you were happy to be able to like her.

“Y/n?” Changbin looked around in confusion.

And there you were, standing at Mrs. Kang’s side. He caught your gaze and before you could say anything your co-worker stepped forward to speak.

“This is Y/n, sir. Your new employee.”

Changbin grimaced a little as he heard Gahyeon speak formally to him and refer to him as sir, when he thought their relationship was already closer for all the years she worked for him.

“Nice to meet you. I am Dahae’s father, Seo Changbin. I hope you feel comfortable in the house.”

“Nice to meet you, sir” you replied shyly almost in a whisper.

Submissiveness and excessive modesty made you blush a little, usually you were a submissive person, you pleased others and tried to always be as nice as possible and at least now you would earn money for that.

Changbin gave you a small smile and you saw the details of his face, alluring sleepy eyes, straight nose, and featherly lips. He also watched you thinking that he had never had another maid this young before, most of them had been ladies with children in their thirties. He sighed, interrupted his thoughts, and went on to say:

“Now that Dahae has a babysitter, I’d like you to accompany her to school and pick her up.”

You nodded, biting your lip slightly nervously.

“Okay, sir.”

“Alright, little one, let Y/n take you to bed. I’ll go upstairs with your mom” he said again tenderly looking at his daughter and then turned to you again, “Mrs. Kang you can rest now, good night. Same to you, Y/n, as soon as Dahae falls asleep.”

You nodded frantically and approached the little girl, also approaching Changbin and breathing in his strong manly scent of exquisite perfume. You held out your hand and Dahae took it.

“Good night, daddy.”

“Sweet dreams, my girl.”

Changbin pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, acting disinterested but as soon as he had you close he took the opportunity to see you in full view, from the exposure of your legs to your slightly tousled hair bun. You felt his gaze and got nervous, thinking maybe the skirts were a little short.

You finally finished your first day, took a shower, and fell into your bed, tired of wearing heels all the time. You checked your phone before you fell completely asleep, messages from your mom asking if work was treating you well and from your best friend telling you if Seo Changbin was more handsome in person.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next morning you took Changbin’s breakfast to his office where he was comfortably reading the newspaper and then playing the piano for a while. Once again you felt a heavy gaze on you, but you thought you were paranoid.

He only said a soft “Thank you, Y/n.” And he would follow you with his gaze until you walked out of there.

You liked Changbin a little bit… you felt that attraction of which you thought only you felt it. You couldn’t help the fact that it crossed your mind that he was handsome… and if you didn’t know how to control it, and if he didn’t have respect for his wife, something fatal but avoidable could happen, but it was just a silly and passing thought, affairs between a boss and his maid were so typical, but you weren’t like that. You were there to respect them and for the job.

After Haeun and Dahae had breakfast, Haeun kissed her husband goodbye with a kiss and a simple “Have a good time at school” to her little daughter, and you walked her to the car to drop her off at school.

“I’m glad you could drop Dahae off, usually boys did that but… they were boys, nothing like the warmth of another girl for her” Changbin commented as he checked his phone.

You didn’t have much to say and that Changbin could tell, you were of few words.

Dahae was in between the two of you, still it was inevitable for Changbin not to observe your serene face looking out the window, your neck adorned with a thin golden necklace and your chest slightly uncovered by the illusion of cleavage given by your open buttons of your white blouse, he couldn’t help but lower his gaze down to your chest and watch the calmness of your breathing until he lost his sight on your thighs and how your skirt was lifted up. He didn’t want to accept what was happening to him but he was beginning to feel and think it more and more.

They dropped the little girl off first as Changbin changed the direction of travel, usually they would drop him off first but now it was the perfect excuse to have some time alone with you. You got out of the car to walk Dahae to the school entrance where a teacher was receiving them, but then you felt Changbin’s presence beside you, squatting down and waving goodbye to her.

You both got back into the SUV, you tried to fix the length of your skirt and he did nothing but stare at you again; questions flooded his mind, you looked so young, so pretty… why would you work being a simple maid.

He cleared his throat and said:

“I hope you liked your first day.”

You turned to look at him and smiled, it hadn’t been bad, but you had no choice either. You weren’t crazy, but you felt a certain tension in the air, his muscular presence made you nervous, the way his suit fit him drove you slightly crazy, fitted to his strong proportions.

“It was nice.”

“So… how old are you? You look young…” he spoke, staring at you. You answered, not sounding nervous and suddenly he blurted out something that somehow made you tingle.

“And do you have a boyfriend?”

“No” you answered unsure, there was really no one in your life, other than another friend with benefits that… now that you thought about it you missed him.

Mr. Seo left you breathless and slightly aroused, but now you lived under his roof and had no privacy… you wondered if Han Jisung would like to have a fuck again, you needed distraction as you felt out of yourself, plus the good feeling of an orgasm.

He smiled happy to know you didn’t have someone waiting for your caresses, he believed you, your look was so docile and sincere it drove him crazy.

“I was asking out of curiosity, you are very young and now you are practically living in my house maybe you like to go out, I don’t know” he excused himself, “I also hope you are doing well with Haeun’s friends today, anything let me know.”

You had completely forgotten. Mrs. Seo’s birthday celebration with her close group of friends. Tomorrow you would accompany them to their home in the mountains to take care of Dahae and work for them, on Seo Changbin’s wife’s real birthday. Mrs. Kang had told you in whispers that as much as Haeun takes care of herself since her dream was a natural childbirth and as much as she loves to conceive Changbin’s children, millionaires from her womb, she felt slightly insecure about her appearance so she didn’t go out much and ideally would just bring her friends home.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

It was certainly a long day, her friends were not equally as decent as Haeun, you felt their slight dismissive glances and the comment behind your back of, “She looks so young, are you sure she's doing a good job?” “I could never have a maid that young hanging around with Chan in the house.”

Haeun answered them with, “She’s nice and gets along well Dahae, plus Changbin is never home, he just comes in to sleep.”

Then they proceeded to judge her because her husband was never home.

You found it amusing how you were suddenly a threat, yes you found your boss attractive, but he was still your boss and you literally just washed his wife’s clothes.

But the real day came which changed everything. Seo Haeun’s birthday, she asked to be in privacy and intimacy in the house near the mountains with her small and dear family; honestly, you were not contemplated on the trip, you started to work on Thursday morning, and weekends were your days off but you barely had two days working so your official break started next week and Haeun took the opportunity for you to go with them and help them a little bit watching Dahae.

Once again, a driver took them there as Haeun claimed that Changbin was too exhausted to drive. You didn’t talk much to Dahae’s parents, you did more with Dahae herself. You took orders of them, took care of the little girl, prepared food for them and felt the tension, sensing the double intentions of Changbin’s closeness as he asked you what you cooked and if you needed help, gently pressing his body to yours, you had liked it, but you had to stop him right away. It wasn’t appropriate or right.

You continued as if nothing, trying to forget what was going on while you started reading a book acting indifferent, while they enjoyed their activities as a family, singing happy birthday to Haeun, eating cake and then opened a lot of gifts that were already in the house, it felt like Christmas, or at least seeing them from afar smiling under the warm light, as a family while she opened gift after gift.

But night came, you put Dahae to bed, read her a story and watched over her sleep for a while until you could go to the guest room, where you again had time for your tormenting thoughts, you got rid of your uniform and made yourself comfortable in your panties, no bra and a small white top loose to your body and breasts. You washed your face with cold water, thinking it was what you deserved after biting your lip and lightly fantasizing about your boss, a handsome millionaire, married and family man. You remembered again his closeness, the light touch of his body as he gently put his hands on your elbows while you chopped vegetables and he gently rubbed behind you, Changbin was crazy and you thought you didn’t know what the fuck was happening to you.

On the other hand, having their little privacy gave Haeun a hormonal burst with an uncontrollable urge to have sex, she was so horny that her husband got ready, drank some of his favorite wine, and lay down next to his wife who was wearing a sexy silk nightgown. Haeun was already feeling insecure, it was awkward to kiss her husband, for her it felt that way, with a huge bump in between, still she found a way to stroke her husband’s cock to get him hard, she was already so aroused and wet, ready to take him so once she felt Changbin’s throbbing penis in her hand, in one swift movement, Haeun slid his cock inside her making her cry out softly, Changbin moaned at the surprise where he felt his member being embraced by his wife’s walls and she began to ride him, turning her back to him.

“Babe, turn around, I want to see your pretty face” Changbin moaned, stroking his wife's back under her clothes.

Changbin couldn’t help but think for a moment of his maid’s young body. Haeun moaned in excitement, feeling her husband’s cock fill her completely but slowly her gasps of excitement were turning to pain, she was starting to feel uncomfortable in addition to the slight embarrassment she had about her physical appearance, ceasing to enjoy sex and creating a huge insecurity that Changbin didn’t want to fuck her like that, but that wasn’t it, both their minds were getting busy.

Changbin noticed Haeun’s behavior, she was suddenly moaning in pain and her movements were small, soft and inconsistent, ceasing to stimulate him sexually, it wasn’t working for either of them, so Haeun, worried and frustrated pulled out of her husband, lying down beside him grievingly.

“I’m sorry” she said, almost on the verge of tears.

Haeun adored Changbin, and loved pleasing him but felt sexually useless once her belly started to grow and grow. She also adored the idea of starting a big family and the desire to carry on the whole Seo dynasty, but her initial plan was only another child at a time, not two which she was unexpectedly burdened with.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay” Changbin comforted her, admiring her beautiful and slightly swollen face, but now he was sexually frustrated, his penis was flaccid but the sensations were at the surface, “You can use your mouth...” he whispered to her.

But Haeun refused, she already felt uncomfortable with her body so she was indisposed to more sex. She slept, but Changbin couldn’t, he stared up at the ceiling, naked... hesitating whether he should give himself and seek pleasure tonight or go to sleep.

He stood up, washing himself a bit, evading the thoughts and went back to the room, sitting on the couch while watching Haeun sleep, then started drinking more and more wine getting slightly drunk, but very conscious of his actions.

Changbin sighed and acted slowly on pure impulse, he put on his expensive silky robe, took another clean glass, and walked to your room, psyching himself up that it would only be a one-night stand... that you would extract some of his frustration out of him if you accepted... or he just wanted to have a conversation with someone different, all the time it was all about his work and business, then he would come home and exchange at most 100 words with his wife and then go to sleep, he wanted some fresh air for a second.

It was a cold night in mid-October, the wind was blowing and branches from a dry tree were banging and scraping against your window. After your little crisis, you decided better to enjoy the small comforts of being a guest in the Seo house, your own relaxing bathroom with a bathtub in it, so you immersed yourself in the warm water, relaxing your body and enjoying your solitude, but what you didn’t know was that you were not alone at all.

Changbin entered your room stealthily, making a minimal noise which you suddenly became aware of and immediately thought of Dahae, since the rooms were in the same hallway and maybe she couldn’t sleep.

“Dahae, is that you? I’m in the bathtub” you raised your voice.

Seconds later there was no answer and you sighed, you were with your back backward to the half-open bathroom door, and you thought maybe it was nothing more than a simple sound. But what you didn’t know was that it was your boss, secretly peeking through the half-open door, seeing a bit of your naked body enjoying the bathtub.

Changbin’s body and every one of his senses began to react, he caught a glimpse of your round breasts and soft nipples in the water. He sighed and placed the wine and glasses on a small table in the room.

You were startled again by a noise, which could be heard nearby, and suddenly you felt the fear of a presence in the room. You got out of the bathtub and dried your body, quickly put on your bathrobe and somewhat frightened you went out of the bathroom to the bedroom, 99% sure that it was just your imagination and you were just checking out of curiosity, but you gave a little jump of impression when you found Changbin standing in front of the window drinking a glass of wine, watching you with a dark look and wearing only his underwear with a loose, silky and open purple robe.

You looked at him confused and almost swallowed nervously at the sight of his exposed semi-naked body, the smoothness of his muscular, worked abdomen and his lower body only covered by black boxers.

You were speechless and clung to your bathrobe as underneath you were naked.

“I can’t sleep… let’s have a drink.”

He came dangerously close to you with the empty glass and the bottle of wine in his hands, his eyes on the target, almost seducing you slowly.

You watched him, not wanting to tell him he had to leave. Changbin poured the wine into the glass, swirling it gently and passed it to you. He watched you expectantly, waiting for you to drink it and you did.

“You’re a good girl, I can tell,” he said, happy, handing you more of the wine.

There was no need for so many words in such a heavy atmosphere and tangible tension, you wanted to touch him, to get closer to him… and it was obvious he was dying to do it too.

“And you don’t talk much… why, darling?”

You became agitated at his comment alone and said, “I don’t have much to say…”

“Well I want to know everything” Changbin smiled at you tenderly as the bathrobe looked big for your shoulders, “Everything about you…” he whispered, returning to his game of seduction, but it was you who had him seduced and captivated, “Oh can we not talk too much…”

Changbin was so hard and aroused, the silence overwhelmed him and your submissive posture had him trapped. He took the glass from your hands and you caught his gaze, seeing him with bright eyes that you were about to throw it all away and say yes to everything, at least tonight.

“Let me see…”

Changbin murmured, completely lost in desire, tugging at the knot of your bathrobe to remove it slowly and gently, enjoying the sensuality of your body being exposed, the bareness of your shoulders and then the garment opening completely revealing your silhouette, until dropping the garment to the floor.

You bit your lip so fucking aroused, enjoying the strong gaze of your boss on your naked body. He began to caress you, finely tracing a path with his fingertips: from between your breasts, down your abdomen, your mons pubis, your thighs and your inner thighs, tickling the skin of the outer lips of your pussy, almost making you gasp.

“You are so beautiful.”

He babbled, letting himself go as he never had before, almost gasping for breath, appreciating your body and the expressions on your face at the same time. His hand came up, massaging your breasts. Changbin licked his lips, finding your breasts supremely soft and squeezable, your nipples so pinchable, hard and appetizing, responding to every stimulation he gave to them.

A moan escaped your lips as you enjoyed his hand all over your breasts, treating them gently, squeezing them hard, touching them as he pleased.

“Fuck” he gasped, excited, his cock throbbing after hearing your first soft moan, “You like that, sweetheart?”

You felt an infuriating tingling in your pussy that burned inside you. Your face was red, and your breasts and nipples were sensitive to his constant stimulation.

“Y-yes” you answered with difficulty.

He smirked smugly and in one swift movement put the glass and bottle of wine back on the small table to return again to you, your still in place and stunning naked body.

“Would you kiss me, sweetie?” he hissed sizzlingly close to your face.

You nodded without breaking eye contact and rushed at him until you joined your lips in the most passionate and forbidden kiss.

Changbin grabbed your ass and pulled you close to him, feeling the softness of his marked pecs press against your breasts and the stiffness of his cock against your body. You put your arms around his shoulders and hugged him, deepening the act. Both of you were slowly losing your sanity more and more. Changbin kept massaging your ass until he suddenly started to spank it hard, making you moan between his lips and the sound of your skin being slapped hard became present, you were starting to become more intensely aroused.

He tugged gently on your hair, pulling you away from him and leering at you.

“Are you going to be a good girl? Answer me.”

Changbin gave you another spank, exciting you further and you moaned in an audible squeal.

“Shh, sh-sh. We have to be quiet” he spoke again.

You nodded feeling your bottom burn with pain, “Yes…” you replied and the word hung in the air because you didn’t know how to refer to him, whether with honorifics, whether to call him by name, he noticed.

“It drives me fucking crazy when you follow my orders and call me sir” he blurted out suddenly with a half smile.

Your ears turned red, there was some humiliation but it made you so excited.

“Yes sir” you crooned softly, causing Changbin’s cock to throb in desperation.

“Get on your knees” he ordered you quietly in a thick voice, “And use your mouth.”

You looked him in the eyes for a few short seconds and obeyed his command, your folds slick and your nipples hard, you replied once more, “Yes, sir” only to see his satisfied face.

You sighed half-heartedly, eagerly pulling down his boxers, releasing his hard, slightly thick cock with its red tip. You were about to take it in your hands, but Changbin came up with something better:

“Ah, ah, just use your mouth, princess,” he said again, “Don’t use your hands. Put them on your thighs.”

You raised your eyes to look at him with big pleading eyes, your mouth salivated and you positioned your face so you could lick his length with just your mouth, feeling his throbbing cock on your tongue. Changbin moaned in pleasure, seeing your submissive position, your hands almost digging into your thighs, only using your mouth to grab and stimulate his erection. He grabbed you by the hair.

“Look at you…you’re a good girl gone bad.”

You looked at him again, it was harder that way, just using your mouth, you tasted him, you wanted to play with his soft glans and seeing you so helpless, made Changbin take the base of his cock and guided it into your mouth, he moaned, self-pleasuring himself in your cavity, resenting the softness of your cheeks and pushing himself deeper and deeper until he reached your throat. You whimpered with his cock in your throat, about to move your hands, but remaining submissive and obeying what he said was igniting every part of your body. Your tears began to flow, you clenched your thighs in desperation as your pussy still throbbed for action.

“Ah, fuck, you take my cock like a fucking slut” he moaned, grabbing your hair and starting to gently thrust into your mouth, “Touch yourself, your little whore, fuck.”

You looked up at him again in supplication and your trembling hand began to caress your dripping pussy. Changbin continued to fuck your mouth, thrusting in and out of your throat, pounding your tract, leaving you sore and drooling as with your fingers in your vagina you tried to recreate the rhythm of his ramming. He continued to cum in you, shooting his cum into your mouth and abruptly pulling his member out of you, holding it in his hand as he gasped and let out a small shot at the corner of your lips, but you managed to get yourself overstimulated.

“Come here, stand up and sit on the bed” he ordered you.

You obeyed him, taking small embarrassed and excited steps to the bed, you were a mess, eager to have an orgasm.

“Yes, sir” you provoked him, sitting down and lightly caressing your breasts, looking innocently at him, inviting him to come closer.

Your boss undressed completely, dropping his robe to the floor and approached you with his eager erect cock. Changbin wiped your face and kissed you sweetly again, exploring your cavity, tasting a bit of himself and as you parted for lack of air with swollen lips, he practically pushed your body so that you fell back on the bed, in contrast to his warm and nice kiss.

Changbin positioned himself on the bed, spreading your legs and appreciating your shiny, swollen, used pussy, quickening his pulse.

“Look at this fucking pussy, fuck, ahh” he moaned, engrossed at the sight of your cunt, slapping your vulva in moderate force, making you stir from the excitement and the impact on your sensitive area.

With his left hand, with his soft, manly thumb he attended to your clit, while his right hand brought it to your entrance, inserting three fingers into you slowly, you bit your lip holding back a moan and Changbin waited for you to adjust to the sensation to start playing with your entrance roughly, his hand taking in intense vibrating motions and abusing your cunt, making you squeal and wallow in pleasure. He smiled, seeing how much you were struggling to keep from making so much noise and what could be heard were your soft sighs and the splashing of his fingers in you. You couldn’t take it anymore, you cum once… twice… making a mess and Mr. Seo still kept stimulating you, until he stopped before bringing you to a third orgasm, he appreciated your anatomy again and rubbed his cock in your folds ready to truly feel you.

“You’re so wet, baby fuck, this pretty pussy is ready to be fucked, mmh.”

He pushed into you, stretching your entrance, making you arch your back and enjoying every inch inside you. He began to fuck you hard, manipulating your body to his pleasure, bringing one of his hands to your neck and the other roughly covering your mouth so that only airy choked moans came out of you. You were beginning to see stars, you had never felt this used, dirty and well fucked as your boss was doing it to you… who began to short your breath with a strong hand on your neck. Changbin had never felt this powerful, not even with all the fortune in the world… possessing your body was a completely different experience, which brought him to his most intense orgasm. Turning you into a pair of lovers.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── By Sunday afternoon you were back at the mansion, there kept being complicit glances between you and Changbin, you were in shock… unable to believe that you had completely given in, it was so wrong, but the connection with Changbin had felt so good.

Returning to your normal life as a maid you rarely saw Changbin again; you gently asked Mrs. Kang if she might know where he was to which she replied maybe in his office. You managed to slip away from Mrs. Kang’s side for a moment and seeing no one around, you took off your heels and walked quietly to his office, you didn’t know what you might say… but something in you wanted to see Changbin again, alone.

His door was half open and you peeked your head in to catch a glimpse of him on a hectic phone call, you admired him, finding him so attractive when he raised his voice and realized he was always working.

You went back to hiding in the wall, stopping yourself and wondering what you were doing… you looked like an immature, deluded little girl. But you weren’t so silly, you knew exactly why you were sneaking back out and looking for him again, you needed him again.

You stopped hearing his voice and out of curiosity you wanted to peek out again, you almost bumped into him as he was about to leave his office. You looked up to see him.

“You were looking for me?” he said in a smug tone and a half smile.

You shook your head frantically, scared looking at him with your docile eyes wide open, making him chuckle at the sight of you with that expression, being caught, your heels in your hands.

“Come here” he said again, holding you tightly by your forearm, pulling you inside.

You almost whimpered at his rough grip but he released you at once, closing the door.

“What is it you were looking for?” he spoke, defiantly, “You must be here and coming back because you want something… what do you want?”

Changbin moved dangerously close to you, almost pushing you into the door.

“What are you playing at…?” he muttered through his teeth.

He was already pinning you against the door, it was driving him crazy the way you were acting like a frightened little creature about to be devoured. His nose brushed yours and his right hand began to caress your thigh, slowly moving up to under your skirt. Your breathing began to hitch, you were so anxious and excited for your boss.

“Use your words. Now. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Your whole body flipped. You wanted him to come back to make you exhausted and sore, to make you whimper and make a mess. His left hand went around your neck, and his thumb played with your lips, gently dabbing it on your lipstick. You were about to speak, but a loud push from the door interrupted you.

You both separated, stepping away from the door and from each other. Mrs. Kang appeared without knocking and struggled with the door.

“Mr. Seo. Dinner is ready.”

She observed your full body with a cold gaze and noticed that you were not wearing your shoes, the uneasiness of your body, and Changbin’s amused expression. Kang Gahyeon had been working for rich people for decades. It was impossible not to know their every secret and move. She was the real eyes of the house. She was already getting suspicious of the tension between you and Changbin, and she didn’t like it at all.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were impatient. You’d be lying if you claimed you weren’t waiting for Mr. Seo, but you were already naked on your bed hoping to see him come through your door. You got all ready for him, or at least you fixed your hair, putting it in a nice cute bow and subtly did your make-up, thinking if you should wait for him with a baby doll or completely naked.

Time passed and he didn’t show up, so without realizing it you fell into a sleep, but fifteen minutes later, he finally appeared, wearing his pajamas, white sleeveless t-shirt tight to his body, and blue soft silk pajama pants. Changbin saw you asleep, with your face towards the ceiling, he smiled tenderly and gently pulled off the sheet you were covering your body with, revealing your naked body. He licked his lips and the urge to touch you came over him again, caressing your body finely with the back of his fingers, tickling you and causing you to open your eyes slowly, meeting Changbin’s strong silhouette.

You smiled at him. Thinking he had come to see you… but once again doing so with his whole family around was so risky, but you wanted to convince yourself that the walls of the mansion were thick and you couldn’t be heard.

“You were sleeping, princess” he whispered to you.

You grabbed his hand that was still caressing your abdomen and sat up in your bed, denying.

“I’m awake now” you replied cheerfully.

“Were you waiting for me, little angel?”

The nickname made you shy and Changbin bent his body to be at the level of your face, delicately taking your lips to kiss them, gradually raising the temperature of the situation, taking advantage by grabbing your breasts, squeezing them, and slapping them from time to time leaving you sensitive, sore but aroused, you whimpered a little as his left hand circled around your neck and the other went down to your moisten vaginal lips, stimulating you and inserting two fingers into you, then he pulled your face away from him as he pulled your neck, leaving you missing his lips and looked at you with a perverse smile as he controlled the pleasure of your core.

You whimpered in delight at the pace of his fingers inside you and his thumb caressing the rest of your pussy. On the other hand, Changbin almost cum in his underwear at the sweet sound of your moans and your soft sensitive core receiving his fingers, ecstasy came over you and you took it, collapsing in your first orgasm on his fingers, but he kept stimulating you. Changbin released your neck and began kissing you, moving his mouth down your body, sucking your already sensitive breasts, filling you with a pleasurable wave of pain, he kissed and gently licked your abdomen, still penetrating your insides and exciting you again, until his face leveled with your exposed, swollen pussy, to begin playing with it with his mouth.

“You taste so fuking delicious, fuck” he babbled, licking all over your vulva and sucking your clit.

You moaned, biting your lip to keep from doing it so loud. Changbin savored your first orgasm and more of your fluid coming out of you, you were on the edge, unable to feel anything but pleasure, unable to think of the guilt you should be feeling, to think and stop him, both of you couldn’t stop playing with each other, exploring each other’s bodies secretly.

When Changbin sensed your frustration and overstimulation, he turned your body quickly, to fuck your pussy as he delighted in ramming into your ass, he covered your mouth to hold back the loud grunt that was about to come out of your mouth as you felt him inside you and he lost himself completely in you, satisfied by the sensation of your dripping center consuming his cock. You both sighed and he began to pound into you hard and steady, letting that room hold every gasp and steamy sigh, playing with each other like lovers do.

It was a bad idea to think that no one could hear you, because in the darkness lurked the one woman in the house who knew absolutely everything. The floor of Dahae’s room was above her room, as soon as she heard footsteps she did not hesitate for a second to go and see, so that in the end she confirmed and witnessed the grotesque act that was taking place in your room. An act of infidelity, passion, and lust, coming out of your room the sounds of the moans of both of you and your skins colliding that upset her gradually. The lady who raised Changbin felt disgusted for him, rejection, and contempt for you… she knew that the infidelities of a rich man towards his wife was something almost inevitable, but she never got to think it of Changbin. But she wasn’t going to allow that to go on in that house or outside of it. She had to get rid of you now or expose your little secrets.

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @lailac13 @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @oddracha @hyune-sssne @velvetmoonlght @shadowhunterathene @compersian @binniesbabe @strayywayy @mallielovssyou @isabel-018 @paborachaslvt @tirena1

[yuebinnie]

Proverbs 5:19

☾ Pairing : Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Fem!Reader

☆ Warnings : mdni. Priest!Alastor, implied chubby!reader, noncanon Alastor, dubcon, coercion, blasphemy, abuse of authority, blood kink, blood drinking, squirting, multiple orgasms, fingering (f receiving), cunnulingus, catholic prayers used in a sexual context, scriptures used to coerce, cum eating, size kink, loss of virginity (implied, not talked about), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, literally just smut

☾ WC : 9.8k

☆ A/N : Taking a break from Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea to write Alastor smut ^^ This contains heavy Christian imagery, so if it's something you are uncomfortable with, this fic might not be for you! I really enjoyed writing this; it's my first time writing smut for Alastor, so hopefully I do not disappoint you all. I also posted the fic on AO3, if you'd prefer reading there. Have fun!

There was something about going to church that felt incredibly soothing. The deafening silence every time you walked in during the early hours of the day, steps echoing against the painted ceiling and colourful rose window, the shadows dancing behind the burning wicks of the candles set on each side of the main aisle, the smell of dust dancing in the air like a reminder of how desolate the people who came to visit truly were. You had not always been religious, but you had found peace in believing that there was a divine truth, that being good in this life would give you eternal bliss.

The church was a small one, and an old one; how it was still standing you had no idea. It was annexed to a small decrepit churchyard with moss-covered headstones that dated from at least two centuries ago. To any passersby, it'd be believed to be abandoned, as the outside of the building was quite literally falling apart, the bricks slowly eroding and the tiles covering the roof covered with the same moss as the headstones. The exterior appearance did not matter however, only the inside did; that's where God resided after all.

Despite its age, the inside and of the church was well kept. Yes, the rose window was cracked, and, as an attempt to keep the place as pure as possible, electricity had never been installed. The candles did the job of keeping the inside lit, and as for the temperature, well, dressing warmly was mandatory during the colder months of the year. The benches were old and the varnish that had once covered them was long gone; dents and chips could be found here and there, but they were still sturdy. The altar was small and simple, a wooden thing settled on a small stage that hovered only a few inches above the floor. Near the entrance sat a confessional which reeked of mould, but in the absolute presence of God, the smell was easily forgotten.

You had a habit of going to pray most days when you were not bedridden from the exhaustion of spending the night reading your favourite verses. 5 AM; the perfect time to pray, just as the world welcomed the sun's warmth and light. Very rarely did you meet anyone else; it had happened a few times, mostly old people nearing death coming to ask for absolution for their sins. Otherwise, the only person you had seen was the priest, whom you only had spoken to once or twice. He would look at you while you kneeled and mumbled prayers and verses, a smile plastered on his face.

It was the only downside of it all, that unsettling presence. The priest, a handsome man you had apologized to God for finding attractive, was always smiling. It was a bone-chilling sight; it made you feel as though he could see right through you, like he had access to every single thought that cluttered the inside of your mind. He had asked for your name once and had told you to have a 'delightful rest of the day'. That day had turned out to be horrible, as you had learned your grandmother was diagnosed with stage four cancer and only had a few months left. You had prayed for her, but God had decided to take her, nonetheless. Your subconscious had linked the priest's words as a direct cause of your grandmother's tragic diagnosis, and you had tried your best to avoid talking to him ever since.

When you woke up that morning, sweaty and feeling stickiness between your thighs, you felt sick to your stomach remembering the dreams that had plagued your mind in your slumber. A faceless man, dragging his lips down your stomach, his fingers touching your body in a way that was so sinful; the only logical explanation was that you had been visited by an incubus, an agent of evil. God was testing you, letting evil reach you to see if you'd be as faithful as Job or if you'd succumb to sin like Eve had. You cleaned yourself and changed your nightgown to proper clothes, putting a slightly warm coat on before leaving your house.

The sun had not yet started to show itself, and a thick fog floated above the quiet streets. The sky was covered with grey clouds that seemed to hang low, you wondered if you could touch them if you reached up, but your mind was too preoccupied with your predicament to try and touch something so close to Heaven. Mind running faster than a hare trying to escape a wolf, you tried to convince yourself simple prayers would do, but a loud voice kept coming back, telling you this could only be forgiven by confessing. The thought of having to talk to the priest whom you had convinced yourself was the catalyst of your grandmother's death made you want to cry, but the thought of failing God and disappointing Him was far more upsetting. You reached the church as the first rays of light made the dew covering the Earth glisten, taking a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Your eyes fell upon the priest, who was bent down in the middle of the aisle, a long match in his hand as he lit the candles up. You froze, your eyes running across his shoulders and back. The door closed loudly behind you, and you jumped; the man's head snapped in your direction, his smile growing when he saw who had just walked in.

"You are quite early today, my dear," the priest stated simply, his focus going back to the unlit candles that still begged to melt under the burning flames. "Luckily enough, our Creator does not sleep; we're under scrutiny every second of our time on this earth."

You gulped at the words, the implications they held. You crept closer to the man, fidgeting as you thought of what to say. You let out a small quiet sigh, biting down your bottom lip as you stopped and stood a few feet away from him. The man straightened up and turned in your direction, his head tilted to the left as his gaze travelled across your face, "Oh my, whatever has you this upset?"

Your cheeks flushed as your eyes shifted from his eyes to the floor, the shame of what you had yet to confess weighing down your shoulders like the cross your Saviour had carried through heat and pain. You felt tiny, the priest towering over you; he had to be close to two feet taller than you. Had this been how Lucifer felt when he was at last pushed to meet his fate in the depths, a force greater than all administrating the final judgment? Sinfully powerless, a mere weak being? Tears gathered at your lower lash lines as you spoke, oh so quietly, your voice like the echo of an echo, "Father, I have sinned."

Seconds passed, silent ones, before the man hummed and walked past you, making his way to the front of the church. You twirled around, your eyes landing on where the priest now stood, in front of the old rotting confessional. You gulped, nodding to no one in particular before slowly making your way to the man who was stepping into the booth, the door closing behind him. You did the same, slowly closing the door after giving the empty church one last look, your eyes lingering a few seconds on the nailed Christ resting behind the altar, seemingly judging you.

You sat down, cringing at the creaking of the wood beneath your weight. The grille was pulled up, the silhouette of the man on the other side vaguely distinguishable. You took a deep breath, then spoke softly as you brought your right hand to your forehead, the gesture almost instinctual, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." You put your hand on your thigh, staring at the unmoving priest, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It is.... too much time, since my last confession. I am a university student, in my last year to obtain a bachelor's degree." A low hum was heard, and you shifted in your seat, trying to find the exact words for your confession.

"Father, something terrible happened last night. In my weakened sleeping state, evil befell me. I was plagued with sinful dreams. You must understand, I am thoroughly devoted to Christ and our Lord, never have I let a man, or anyone, disgrace the body I was given; never have I had thoughts or dreams of this kind. I fear my will is not strong enough, that this evil shall come back and torment me. I fear I will fall into sin, just as our first predecessors did. I am nothing but willing, Father, so please, do help me. I am sorry for all these sins, and the sins of my past life."

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen down your rosy cheeks, your eyes glued on the silhouette of the man beyond the grille. His silence made you want to cry even more; were you a lost case? Had your fate already been sealed, your soul now tainted because of the touch of evil in such sacred places? You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth as you waited, seconds becoming minutes.

"This evil you speak of, what exactly has it done to you?" His voice seemed to have dropped lower, the sound a bit raspier. You furrowed your brow slightly at the question; you had been clear about the incident. As if feeling your hesitation, the priest continued, "Ma chère, only by knowing exactly what this evil put you through can I give you absolution."

You felt a blush creep up your neck, and flinched as the crack of thunder was heard beyond the church walls; your heartbeat quickened, was this Him telling you to obey?

You let out a small breath, before speaking up, the words shaky, "As I slept, this evil... Entered my dreams. It took advantage of my defenselessness. It disgraced my soul and my body. Upon waking up, there was... Remains of the sinful things it had my body do." You could feel the man's stare on you despite the grille separating you, causing yours to drop to your knees, feeling vulnerable.

"What sinful things did it inflict upon you?" Rain had started falling, as if the sky itself cried for you; the sound of it hammered against the roof, a continuous wail of grief for your poor soul.

"Father, I don't understand how this is necessa-"

"Do you not want absolution? Do you desire to be locked out of His kingdom? The choice is yours," his tone was harsher, demanding, even. You gulped and shook your head; no, that was not what you wanted. It was the furthest thing from it.

"I apologize for questioning your words, Father," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your coat, "From what I can remember... This evil took the shape of a man. A faceless man. I was in bed, and it joined me, and... We, uh, we kissed. It took my nightgown off." Your hands felt clammy, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together as you recollected the events of your dreams. "It kissed my breasts, then my stomach. It went... Down there, and stayed there until my whole body tensed up. Afterwards, it pushed itself inside me, it thoroughly disgraced my body. When I woke up, my body showed signs that it had reacted to the defiling. Father, please, believe me when I tell you that I was coerced by evil."

Thunder was heard again, breaking the silence that had settled between you and the priest. As the minutes passed, you became uneasy; was the man disgusted with you? Could he sense the sins radiating from your being? He cleared his throat, breaking your train of thought. Your eyes went back to his silhouette, waiting for him to speak up.

"I fear this is beyond the power bestowed upon me, dear," his voice was silky, it made warmth spread inside your chest, as if the vibrations it had created affected your very cells.

Your eyes widened; that was impossible. You had confessed and explained the evil that had haunted you. You had done exactly what He told His followers to do, confessed and asked for forgiveness. You shuffled closer to the grille, tearing up as you begged, "Father, please, there must be a way. I will do anything; I will suffer just like our Saviour has if it's what it takes. I'm supplying you, help me get rid of this evil."

“Very well,” the man said. You watched as his silhouette stood up and opened the door of the booth before it disappeared. The door of your little chamber opened, and you turned your head to look at the tall priest, who adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you. You took a few seconds to really look at him. Despite his smile that made shivers run down your spine, the man was handsome. His skin was tan, his hair dark and styled in an old-fashioned way. His features were sharp, intimidating, almost. Towering over you, his shoulders were wider than some quarterbacks’, and his waist was ridiculously small compared to them. His hands seemed to be twice the size of yours, and you found yourself wondering how he managed to button up his shirts with such big hands.

You looked back at his face as you blushed, realizing the man before you knew of your body in such intimate ways. You slowly stood up as you held his gaze, unsure of what to say next. He took a step aside and gestured for you to step out of the confessional, before closing the door behind you. The priest smiled down at you, “Follow me, dear.”

He started walking down the aisle, the flames of the candles on each side of it dancing as he passed by. You hesitantly followed him, looking out one of the small windows to see the rain pouring onto the world as lightning illuminated the sky. He stopped at the altar and turned to you, his smile ever present. You stopped in front of the stage; sinners did not belong anywhere close to that sacred place. The man stayed silent and with a gesture of his hand, permitted you to step up. You gulped and got on the stage, feeling extremely out of place.

“There is one way for you to repent,” he began, his stare fixed on you, “Though it is a bit unorthodox. The choice is yours, but you must remember that there is no place for sinners in Heaven.” He watched as you nodded quickly; you were eager to be forgiven, to go back to being free of sin. The corner of his lips twitched before he uttered one word, “Strip.”

Your eyes widened as your face turned a deeper shade of crimson. Stripping? You searched his face for hints of dishonesty, hoping he was playing a sick joke on you, but to your dismay, he was serious. Your body was frozen as you looked at him, not even the booming thunder making you flinch.

You opened your mouth to ask why, but the man beat you to it, answering your question before you even uttered a word, “Only by showing Him precisely how this evil tainted you can you be absolved. There is no need to be shy, ma chérie; isn’t He all-knowing? All-seeing? Wasn’t the shame of nudity created by His first creations’ sin? There is no purer form of devotion than to go beyond the embarrassment and bare yourself to Him; than to accept the vulnerable nature of your existence.”

He brought his right hand up to lay it flat against the wooden altar, observing you as you fought an inner battle with your dignity. His words were true, the wisdom of a man devoted to God, of someone who knew scriptures and their meaning. As if feeling your unmoving incertitude, he spoke up once again, “Proverbs 28:13.”

You blinked up at him, mind searching for the verse you had read many times before. You licked your bottom lip with your tongue before reciting softly, “He who covers his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes them will have mercy.” The priest hummed, and you raised your gaze to the crucifix hung on the wall behind the altar, feeling as if He was patiently waiting for you to submit to His will. You puffed out a small breath as you nodded to yourself, a hand coming up to the zipper of your coat, slowly bringing it down to then shrug off the piece of clothing and letting it fall on the floor.

You could already feel the wet cold seep through your thin sweater, but you ignored the feeling as you grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it up until it was completely off you; it dropped, finding its place next to your coat at your feet. Your eyes were unfocused, staring into thin air as you slipped your thumbs under the elastic band of your skirt, pushing it down so it pooled at your ankles. You stepped out of it, getting slightly closer to the priest whose gaze was burning your skin despite the goosebumps covering it. You brought a hand to your back, unclasping your bra before slowly taking it off, baring your breasts to the man. Your nipples hardened as the freezing air licked them and you bit hard down your bottom lip as you slid your underwear down your legs, then stepped out of your shoes, leaving you only wearing your lace-arbored anklets.

The man lifted a hand in your direction, a silent request for you to grab it. You did so all while avoiding looking up at him and followed him as he made his way behind the altar, his fingers squeezing yours slightly, “Our Lord blessed you with rare beauty, dear one, what a shame it led evil to you.” You gasped softly as his other hand wrapped around your waist, your eyes shooting up to look at him. He was still smiling, though his eyes seemed clouded with something you could not put your finger on.

He let go of your hand and grabbed the other side of your waist before effortlessly hoisting you up on the altar, the skin of your ass stinging from the cold of the wooden surface. Your gaze was questioning, and the man recited, his voice low and quieter than it had previously been, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” You gaped at him; a true man of God, that’s what he was. “Offer your body to Him, and you shall be absolved. Show Him what evil has done to you, so He can forgive and make you pure again,” he held your stare, his pupils slightly dilated. You nodded once, and the priest stepped aside, leaving you to face your Saviour in your naked glory.

You slowly leaned back, using your left elbow to not completely lie down on the wood. You brought your trembling right hand to your lips, the tip of your index finger stroking the pink flesh as you recalled where the lips of the faceless man had touched you. They lingered there for a few seconds before dipping to your neck, dancing around the column of your throat as your eyes fluttered shut; if goosebumps had not already been covering your body fault of the moist cold, they would have appeared, the feeling titillating. Your chest rose and fell in a timely rhythm as you dragged your touch to your breasts where your finger gently caressed your right nipple. Your lips parted, small breaths making their way out as you gathered with your small hand the heavy fat of your breast, squeezing. You could feel the stare of the priest on you, but you attempted to ignore it as you kept going.

Your fingers went down your stomach, using your nails to slightly scratch the skin, and they stopped a few inches below your belly button. You opened your eyes and looked at the crucifix; His peaceful expression, despite being nailed and in pain, gave you courage and you spread your legs, giving your Saviour the perfect view of your most intimate era. You nibbled on your bottom lip as you slowly brought your fingers down, choking on a soft moan when they made contact with your clit. The simple touch made your composure fall a little, your lips parted as your face reddened, feeling more exposed than you had ever felt before. You gently pushed against the bundle of nerves, gasping as your fingers started to move, following a small eight-pattern.

You could feel your heartbeat thundering against your ribcage, matching the loud striking of the heavenly fire against the earth beyond the safety of the church walls. Soft pants left your mouth as you started working on yourself, closing your eyes to focus on the memories of the previous night. Every touch and stroke were vividly drawn in your mind, your fingers moving in an almost instinctual way, leaving you a whimpering mess. You moved your elbow that was holding your weight, slowly leaning your back against the cold wood, before bringing the now free hand to your face, covering your mouth with it as your thighs trembled. Your body was thrumming, humming with new sensations, your mind as foggy as the early morning that had welcomed you when you had stepped out of your home.

Lost in pleasure, you jumped, your eyes shooting open as you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist, the priest looking down at you, his own eyes sharper and darker than they had been earlier. Your fingers nestled between your thighs stopped moving as you stared at him, but he tsked, “My dear, you must not hide anything from Him. These lovely, sinful sounds you make, are not to be repressed. Let them be; let Him hear what evil inflicted upon you,” his voice sent a chill down your spine, your back arching slightly. You watched as the corner of his lips twitched and let him pull your hand away from your mouth, gulping as you nodded weakly. “Good girl.”

Your breath hitched at the praise, eyes not leaving his’ as your fingers started to move once again, bringing your legs up to rest your heels against the altar, spreading your legs a bit more. As if in a trance, your gaze fixed on the priest as you moaned and gasped, your hips twitching as you rubbed your clit. You saw his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes narrowing as you used your free hand to caress the skin of your stomach, slowly inching towards your left breast. Your fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance, and with a bite on your bottom lip and a pinch of your nipple, you pushed your middle finger all the way to the second knuckle, your eyes widening at the feeling. You let out a throaty whine, pressing your head harder against the wooden surface that supported your weight. The cold was long forgotten, your body covered in a thin layer of sweat, muscles spasming here and there.

You slid your other hand between your thighs, the digits quickly finding your clit and gently stimulating it as you managed to push your finger further inside yourself. The faceless man from your dreams had used three fingers, and you could only wonder how your dream self had taken them, as you were struggling with a lonely, short finger. Despite the uncomfortable feeling, you bit down your lip and pushed your index alongside the finger that was already pressed inside you. Your face scrunched up at the stretch, a silent sob echoing through the dimly lit space. You felt your walls clench around your digits, your free hand still working on your clit as a way to make the dull ache more bearable. You waited a minute, giving your body time to adjust to the feeling, before carefully pulling the fingers out and thrusting them back in, a surprised whimper leaving your lips as a new feeling started to blossom in your lower stomach.

You arched your back and started speeding up the motion of your hands, unable to keep quiet as your body grew warmer and more tense. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at the priest, who was as still as Christ watching you from His cross on the wall. As you exhaled, you pushed a third finger in, welcoming the stretch with a high-pitched whine. Your knees dropped down onto the altar, leaving your womanhood fully exposed; you watched as the man glanced at where your hands were working in tandem to replicate almost exactly what the evil from your dream had done to you. You gathered the little concentration you had left and started muttering through gasps and moans, “Compassionate Father, you are the Lord who rescues His people. When I am overwhelmed with shame, help me find solace in you. You have said that you will help—though my sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are as red as crimson, they shall be like wool. Remind me that I have been purified by you, that the curse of sin and evil is no longer upon me. In your powerful name, Ame-” You were cut off by a large hand wrapping around your lower face, the feeling making your body jolt.

Right, it had to be the same as the dream; you had not uttered a prayer in it, far from it. You closed your eyes, moaning against the palm covering your mouth, as you focused on the growing tension in your core. Every second felt like minutes and every minute felt like hours as you quickly thrust your fingers in and out, all while you rubbed and nudged your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable, your whole body twitching as your hips tried to follow the movements of your digits as if they had a mind of their own. The priest moved his hand away, and you opened your eyes to watch him bring it to his mouth where he licked his palm, which was covered with your drool.

Something snapped inside of you and a loud sob made its way out of your throat as your muscles tensed up, your walls clenching tightly around your fingers as you stilled them, your mind unable to think about anything beyond the blinding pleasure that took over your body. Your eyes rolled back, pitiful sounds leaving your mouth as your back arched from the altar, your thighs squeezing together, trapping your hands between them. This felt so much better than it had felt in your dream. You teared up; the Lord’s love was so strong; evil could not even compare.

After a few seconds, your body relaxed, and you were left panting and sweaty, as if you had just run a marathon. Slowly opening your eyes, your vision became clearer as you blinked, a smile tugging at your lips as you looked at the crucifix, then up to the priest who had not moved. You removed your hands from between your thighs and brought your left one up to wipe the pearls of sweat on your forehead with the back of it. You wrapped your right arm around your chest, trying to hide your breasts as you spoke up, your voice small but hoarse, “Have I done it, Father? Am I free of sin? Has our Lord given me absolution?” Hope lingered; you had done what you were told to do, you had been good, and your Lord was good and forgiving, He had to have seen how faithful you were.

The man’s eyebrows raised before he let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly, “My dear, this was only your confession. The truest and purest form of confession.” Your smile dropped. You looked at him as he made his way closer to the wall, where he stopped in front of the crucifix that had observed you as you worked on yourself. His chin tilted up as he looked at it, before his head slowly turned to look at you, “But confession is not enough for this type of sin, sadly; you must also be cleansed.”

You sat up, your brows furrowed, watching as the man stepped closer to you. He stood in front of you, his right hand coming to rest on your thigh, just above your knee. His touch was warm and inviting, but you still wondered what his words meant, so you asked, “Cleansed?”

His thumb stroked your skin as he hummed and brought his other hand up to your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it, “Yes, dearest, cleansed. Your body was defiled by evil, it must be purified. You’ve shown our Lord and Saviour how, and now He shall reclaim your body as His’.” You looked at him, your eyes round and big, trying to make sense of the words that had just been spoken. A small pout appeared on your lips, and the tall priest bent down, his face now closer to yours as he said, his voice slightly louder than a whisper, “You are so easy to read, you know? But to ease your confusion; I shall represent our Lord and make you pure again.”

You froze, the realization of what the man meant hitting you just like David’s stone had hit Goliath. You gaped at him, your mouth opening and closing, searching your brain for the right words to speak, afraid to insult God and the man who stood before you. You gulped and said after taking in a deep breath, “Our Lord… I cannot think of mentions of this procedure in the scriptures,” you blinked, your eyes shining as you looked into his’. “Father, has this procedure been tested before? Where does it come from?”

His long fingers dug into the fat of your thigh as you saw the muscle of his jaw clench, a small whimper leaving your lips at the feeling. He kept squeezing, his creepy smile growing, “Are you implying my authority was not given to me by our Lord? That my will does not stem from His’? That I would go against scriptures, something I have devoted my life to?” You shook your head quickly; you had messed up. You were to never question the words of a priest, for he was much closer to God than you were, and you had done just that. This evil needed to leave; it made you do, think and say things that would only make you unworthy of Heaven.

“Father, do forgive me! This evil, it has taken control of my body and sou-”

“There’s no need for that. I shall make your sins a purest white than Abraham’s sacrificial lamb. You will be reborn a new woman, utterly sinless,” he inched his hand higher on your thigh, “That is what you want, isn’t it? To let your God make you pure again?” You gave him a slow nod and his smile widened as he brought his free hand to his face, removing his glasses and putting them on the altar next to you. He nudged your knees open and settled between them, sliding a hand against the back of your head as he sang praise to you, “What a good girl you are, ma chère.”

His lips smashed against yours and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to follow his lead. The hand resting on your thigh slid to your waist and forced you to get closer to him, his chest pressing against your naked breasts. You moaned into the kiss, pictures of your dream flooding your mind, causing you to wrap your legs around his tiny waist and arms around his neck. You ran your fingers through his hair, letting the man run his tongue along your bottom lip, your mouth opening slightly in response. His kisses travelled down your chin, to your throat, his teeth nipping at your skin as you let your head fall back, giving him better access.

His mouth slid to your chest, and you lowered your chin to look down at him as he wrapped his swollen lips around your left nipple. You grabbed a handful of his hair and pressed him closer to you, arching your back slightly. His eye shot up to look at you, humming against your skin, the vibration leaving you a whimpering mess. He separated from your pink, wet bud with a last lick, smiling as he flicked your other nipple with his thumb, “So eager for absolution, aren’t you?” Your soft pants were interrupted with a small gulp as you nodded once again; there was nothing you wanted more. He ran a hand up and down your thigh before grabbing it and removing it from his waist, doing the same motion with the other one a few seconds later. You silently watched as he kneeled, his face a few inches away from your exposed core. The sight made your heart skip a beat.

Something caught your eyes on the wall, and you looked up, seeing a rainbow light up the crucifix hung on the wall; the rain and thunder had dissipated as suddenly as they had appeared, and sun rays were beaming through the colourful tainted glass of the rose window at the entrance of the church. A small smile tugged at your lips, this had to be a sign you were on the right path. You bit down your bottom lip and gazed down, seeing the priest eyeing your womanhood, a hungry look on his face. Your cheeks reddened as you waited for the man to do something.

He slowly inched closer, and let his nose nudge your puffy clit, causing you to gasp softly at the feeling. You felt something warm run up and down your slit, your grip on his hair tightening as he flattened his tongue against your entrance. Your brows knitted, a small noise leaving your lips as he started to move his wet appendage up and down, moving his head slightly as he did so to get his nose to bump against your clit with each lick. His hands went to your ass, and he brought you even closer to his face; you wondered how he could even breathe.

Your mind started to wander as pleasure slowly took over your limbs; was the man between your legs mistaking you for a wine-filled chalice? The slurping noises his mouth was making against you travelled through your body and rendered you dizzy. You pushed his hair back from his forehead and his eyes shot open to look up at you as his fingers dug into the fat of your ass. His pupils were dilated to the point that you could barely see his iris and there was wetness spreading on his cheeks and nose. Lips parted, you sighed and slightly scratched his scalp with your nails, leaving the man groaning as his stare was still fixed on your face. One of his hands made its way down your thigh and disappeared from your view before it reappeared; a dainty wooden-beaded rosary was dangling from his fingers.

The priest took his mouth away from you, a wide smirk painting his lips as he grabbed your wrist and dropped the prayer beads in your much smaller palm. His other hand came forward and started stroking the skin of your inner thigh as he wrapped his long digits around yours, forcing you to hold the rosary. He licked his bottom lip before speaking up, “You know how this works, don’t you?” His smile grew as he watched you nod, “Perfect. Recite them in your head, except the Five Decades; you must recite those aloud. It’s Thursday, so Luminous Mysteries. Whatever your Lord has planned next and does to you, you must keep going, understood?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Use your words, dearest.”

“I understand, Father,” you said, your voice small.

The man hummed and let go of your hand, dropping it to your other thigh, massaging the skin there as well. His gaze dropped to where your thumb moved to make the Sign of the Cross on the small crucifix pendant. You closed your eyes as you started reciting the Apostles’ Creed, surrendering your body to the faithful man kneeling before you. His lips pressed against you as you finished the first prayer, your finger moving to the first bead. He fell into a now familiar rhythm, leaving you incapable of staying silent as you breathed out soft moans. Something prodded at your entrance and slowly slipped in as you fell back against the altar with a thud. You arched your back as it kept going, much deeper than you had reached with your fingers. It pumped in and out a few times before the man added a second finger, the pressure and stretch making you whimper.

His tongue kept alternating between sucking on and flicking your clit as you busied yourself with prayers. The priest hummed against you before removing himself; you opened your eyes and lifted your head from the wooden surface, eyes widening when you saw blood on his chin and bottom lip. He removed his fingers from you and showed them to you; they were bloody too. You stared at him silently, uncertain of what to say, but he broke the silence, “See what the evil has left in you? Aren’t you so lucky your Lord is ever so forgiving? That he’s cleaning you up to make you free of sin?” You nodded and bit the inside of your cheek. His eyes were gleaming as his fingers went to your lower stomach, smearing the blood on your skin, which made goosebumps appear.

You studied his face, his sharp, dark hooded eyes were staring at you under his defined eyebrows, his plump lips were stretched in a smile; his tanned cheeks and chin were coated with a sheening coat of your wetness and blood. His hair was now messy—your doing—and his fingers were slowly making their way back to your slit. Without thinking about it, you reached out and cupped his cheek with your free hand, rubbing your thumb against his bottom lip. His tongue darted out to lick your digit as his fingers sank back in you, knocking the breath out of you. Your eyes closed shut as you gasped, your hand falling from his face to rest on your hip. You heard him laugh under his breath before the warmth of his mouth was back on you. Your mind reminded you of the rosary you were holding, and you started reciting the Hail Mary.

As you neared the end of the Glory Be, you felt the man add another finger, the stretch making your eyes tear up as you mewled weakly. The words of the prayer passed in your mind, disappearing as he started to thrust them in and out. Your walls clenched tightly around his digits as your chest rose and fell quickly, panting as your body tried to get adjusted to the burning feeling.

Your fingers landed on the first Decade, and you gathered all your strength to start reciting the prayer, your voice shaky, “Then Jesus came to Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying ‘I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?’ But Jesus answered him, ‘Let it be so now; for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.’ Then he consented.” You were interrupted by a yelp as you felt the priest’s teeth grazing your clit, your free hand landing in his hair, gripping it. Your hips kept twitching as you kept going, stuttering through the words, “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and lo, a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.’”

The drag of the man’s fingers had turned pleasurable, and you felt your muscles tense up, the feeling in your lower stomach rapidly growing. You pushed on the back of his head, searching for more friction, and you moaned out loudly when he started mumbling against your clit as his fingers kept moving, “Oh my Jesus, forgive me of my sins, save us from the fires of hell; lead all souls to Heaven, especially those who have most need of your mercy.” You could not register the words but the movements of his lips on you made you come undone, your back arching from the altar as your thighs trapped his head in place, your hips lifting to follow his fingers and urge him to press his tongue harder against you. Your every muscle tensed up, crying out as the waves of your orgasm hit you just like the Red Sea had crashed into the Egyptians as He closed its parting. You spasmed around him, your walls trying to push his fingers out, and you felt wetness drip down your ass.

He separated from your clit, kissing it softly as he removed his digits from you, slowly standing up as you cracked your eyes open, your body still jolting randomly as it calmed down from your high. The light coming from the rose window had moved, and from your angle, it looked like a halo surrounding the priest’s head; a breathtaking sight that had you gape in awe. You watched as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, taking his Roman collar off and letting it fall to his feet. Your wetness was dripping from his lips which were harbouring a soft smile, his hands moving unhurriedly to unbutton his cassock. His eyes travelled up and down your spent body, then to the rosary you had forgotten you were still holding; you clenched your fingers around it and moved to a new bead, your lips moving silently as you recited the Hail Mary in your mind.

You kept your eyes on his hands as they reached the last button, the man shrugging off the black piece of clothing, revealing he was wearing a white tank top and black pants underneath it. You gulped at the true size of his shoulders; you had thought his cassock gave the illusion he was large, but even with it off, he looked huge. The smallness of his waist only accentuated how massive the built of the priest was. He had muscles but they were lean; despite it all, he looked strong and exuded a masculine aura that had you squirming in place.

Your observations were interrupted by his voice, “Do you feel like the weight of your sin has lessened, ma chère?” You dipped your chin once; you did feel lighter. The man grinned wider as his hands wrapped around your waist, bringing your torso up effortlessly so you were now sitting. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning over so his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, whispering, “You did so well, dear, you’re almost as pure as the day you were born. There’s only a step left in this procedure, but it will hurt at first.” He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed forward, forcing you to bury your face in the crook of his neck. You inhaled and felt his fingers massage your scalp gently.

He smelled so intoxicating; a mixture of moss, rain, coffee, tobacco and a hint of something floral emitted from his skin. You realized you had pressed your lips against the man’s neck when you felt him tense up, his hand stilling in your hair. You backed away slightly, blushing so brightly you were grateful he could not see your face, muttering an apology. His body relaxed again, and he hummed, “There’s no need for apologies. Bite down my shoulder—don’t be scared to bite hard—it will make you focus on something else.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant but pressed your lips together when you heard a zipper, followed by the shuffling of clothes between your bodies. You brought your hands to his chest, the rosary still in your hand, fingers fidgeting with the beads as you felt one of his large and cold hands spread your thighs a little further apart. You felt his fingers run up and down your slit and you gasped at the feeling, your nails slightly digging into the muscles of his chest. A wet sound travelled up to your ears and you closed your eyes, a shiver running down your spine when you felt a hand drop to your hip, kneading the fat there, and his voice, now a low murmur, “Bite down.”

You barely had the time to process the words that you felt pressure against your entrance which ceded, your walls wrapping around something so thick you shrieked before sinking your teeth into the man’s shoulder. It felt like you were being split in half; the thickness slowly forced its way inside you as tears gathered at your lower lash lines before they dripped down your cheeks. You bit down harder and pulled away quickly when you felt iron-tasting warmth coat the inside of your mouth, but the hand still in your hair pushed you against the bleeding bite mark, the priest almost growling, “Bite, and drink. At this moment, I am God; I am Christ. His blood is mine, and my blood is His’. Savour, dear one, and let me cleanse you inside out.” You let out a shaky breath before sinking your teeth back in his flesh, your brows knitting as he pushed his length an inch deeper inside you, “So obedient.”

You let the blood fill your mouth and swallowed, cringing at the taste but unwilling to go against Heavenly orders. Your arms snaked around his waist as he kept slowly pushing himself into you. The pain was unbearable, but your mind went to Christ, and how much he had suffered for the sins of all; the ache between your legs was a pinch compared to what he had endured, so you toughened up and let your tongue lap at the blood. Your brain felt foggy, and you could only take it as a sign that it was your body reacting to being filled with the divine energy pouring out from the priest. His length reached deeper than his fingers had, and you wondered how much of it you had left to take in.

You soon had your answer, the man stilling as his pelvis pressed against yours; he was so deep in you, stretching you so wide. Your mouth detached from his neck, and you pressed your forehead against his skin, panting loudly as you tried your best to relax your walls around him. The hand that was in your hair made its way to your waist, squeezing gently as you felt his lips press against your ear once again, “Your Lord is so pleased with you; you’re taking his cock so well. You’ll be redeemed in no time.” He slowly pulled out, leaving only his tip in, before thrusting in you at a medium speed, leaving you sobbing against his neck. It was overwhelming, the feeling of his length rubbing your inside and the warmth spreading in your chest, God’s love making you burn up. The feeling started to transform from pain to pleasurable pressure, your pained cries turning into needy moans.

You had managed to reach the tenth Hail Mary in your mind, your fingers reaching the second Decade. You whimpered out the beginning of the Second Luminous Mystery, “On the third day there was a marriage at Cana in Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there; Jesus also was invited to the marriage, with his disciples.” The priest started moving faster, his hips meeting yours at a much quicker speed; you whined as his tip hit a certain spot inside you, the rosary dropping on the floor as you dug your nails into the man’s shoulder blades. You could not concentrate on anything other than the drag of his length against your walls, panting and gasping each time he bottomed out.

He slightly pulled away from your body and looked down at you, his hips still moving as he brought a hand to grab your jaw from under, forcing you to look at him. He eyed you before crashing his lips against yours, moaning as he tasted his blood in your mouth. You slid your hands up to his hair, tugging at it and scratching his scalp as your teeth clashed together, tongues dancing. You pressed your chest closer to his’ and sighed as your nipples rubbed against his tank top, the feeling sending electric shocks to your core. You parted away from his lips, catching your breath, and your eyes opened and landed on the crucifix watching you; you smiled softly—oh how good was His clemency. Your gaze went back to the priest who was slightly panting, his lower face covered in blood—just like yours— as he smirked at you, sliding his hand to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly.

In half a second, he pulled out and manhandled you, so you were now bent over the altar, your breasts pressed against the wooden surface as your feet dangled in the air, his large hands holding you up. His knee nudged your legs open wider and you felt him slip back inside you, the new position bringing a different sensation. His hips met your ass, and he started thrusting into you eagerly, loud smacks echoing through the church. You held yourself up on your elbows, holding your head up as you looked at the front door; if someone were to walk in, they would see the priest cleansing you, a Godsent blessing.

Your elbows started to tremble, and the man noticed; he slid a hand below your stomach and hoisted you up against his chest, your back pressed against him. He held you up, his arms wrapped around you as his pelvis smacked against your ass, your feet dangling one foot above the floor. He slid a hand down, his fingers running down your slit, groaning as he felt where you two were connected. He ran them up again and pushed his middle finger against your puffy clit, gently rubbing it as he kept working himself in and out of you. Your head fell back on his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, kissing and nibbling at the skin.

You truly never had felt anything like this; if you had been a fool, you’d have thought you were glowing from how fulfilled you felt. The familiar tension grew in your lower stomach, lewd noises leaving your mouth as the man dug the fingers of his other hand into your flesh, holding you closer to him as his movements became erratic. His groans and grunts were sending shivers down your back, only adding to the multitudes of sensations you were currently drowning in. As if he could feel you were close to reaching your orgasm, he mumbled against your neck, “Let go, ma chérie. Let evil leave your body, let God replace it with goodness.”

Your breath hitched and with a few more nudges on your clit, the pressure building inside you snapped. Your vision went white as you came, the feeling different from your previous releases. Even through the waves of pleasure, you could feel something drip down your thighs and could hear squelches as the priest kept thrusting his length in you. Your mouth was open, silent cries leaving your throat as you clenched tightly around the man. You felt his lips move against your neck, but you were too lost in feelings to understand what he was saying.

Your tensed-up muscles slowly relaxed as the remains of your orgasm washed over your body. You whimpered as the man kept moving, your core feeling overstimulated by his length still burying itself inside your sensitive walls. He quickly pushed your front back against the altar, grabbing your hips as he moved both his hips and yours in sync, your nails digging into the wood as your ass smacked against him. His thrusts were harsh and fast, leaving you breathless; tears were streaming down your cheeks at the delightful ache.

His hips stilled, his length buried deep inside you, as he groaned lowly. You felt your inside be flooded with warmth, whining as you dropped your forehead against the wooden surface, the cold of it grounding you. You were panting, the warmth creating a pleasant pressure inside your core as the priest rubbed his thumbs over your Venus dimples. He stayed inside you for a few more seconds, before easing out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He once again manhandled you so you were now sitting facing him, holding your limp body up as he dragged a hand up your moist thigh, grinning, “See this wetness? It was the remains of evil leaving your body.” His hand reached your slit and he gathered a sticky white substance on his fingers, bringing his hand up close to your lips, “And this is goodness. Do remember, my dear, your sins are scarlet and they shall be as white as snow.”

You gaped at him; he truly was a man of God. He pushed his fingers past your lips, and you let him, wrapping them around his digits as your tongue licked at the goodness. The taste was bitter, but as your eyes met his’, all you could think about was how caring and selfless the man standing in front of you was. You had come to him, worrying about your purity, and he had completely cleansed you of sin and given you his own God-gifted goodness, not asking anything in return. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brushed your cheek with the back of his index, his smile not faltering, “What is this look you are giving me?”

You blinked a few times, your cheeks flushing as you realized you had been staring, “Father, I must thank you. My body and soul were barren, and you made them anew again. I do not know how I could ever repay you.” His eyes narrowed at your words, his hand reaching to grab his glasses before he put them on and ran a hand through his hair. It dropped to your thigh and drew shapes on there, his gaze not leaving yours.

“Alastor,” he said simply before stepping away from you and bending down to grab your clothes. Your expression turned to a confused one as you watched him slip your underwear up your legs, your skirt following. You let him dress you, his fingers skilfully clasping your bra behind your back before he motioned you to lift your arms so he could slip your shirt back on. Once dressed he let his hand lay on your thigh again, before he spoke up, “My name is Alastor. Call me by it and your debt is repaid.” He grabbed one of your hands and dropped the rosary in it before grabbing your waist and helping you down the altar, “Keep this, use it whenever you feel evil is near.”

You nodded up at him and smiled, your grin faltering for a second when you saw that the crucifix on the wall had detached and was now hanging upside down. Oddly, you thought nothing of it and you looked back at Alastor, your smile spreading wide, “Thank you, Fa—Alastor.” You squeezed the rosary between your fingers, watching as he bent down once again, but this time to grab his cassock and Roman collar. You stood silently as he buttoned it up and placed the white collar around his neck. He straightened the fabric with his hands, before meeting your eyes.

“You look quite a mess, dearest, you’d better go home and clean yourself.”

Your hand flew up to your face where dried blood was caked on your chin and around your mouth, and you felt a blush creep up your neck at his words; he did not look any better. Despite it, you nodded, shifting on your feet as you thanked him once again, “I cannot express how thankful I am, Alastor, truly. You, uh, you should probably get cleaned up too; people would probably wonder why there’s blood smeared on their priest’s face.” The man chuckled and nodded before bending down to grab your coat, handing it to you once he straightened up. You took it and quickly slipped it on, putting the rosary in one of the pockets.

You clasped your hands together and bit down your bottom lip as the man put a hand against your back and urged you to walk with him. You walked down the main aisle silently, stopping once you had reached the end of it. You turned to him and opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it, “Go, now. Enjoy your newly found purity.” You smiled and dipped your chin once; he grinned back, “I will see you tomorrow, though I am hoping you will not walk back in here with that same pitiful expression you had earlier.”

You let out a small laugh as you gestured that you agreed before giving him one last glance and turning around, walking towards the door. You could feel his stare burn holes in your back but ignore the feeling, pushing against the door and stepping outside, the sunlight momentarily blinding you. You sighed loudly, looking around to make sure no one was close; the last thing you wanted was someone seeing you limp, your face bloody. You began to make your way back home, ignoring the way your thighs stuck together from your and Alastor’s bodily fluids. You thought about his words, and strangely, you found yourself disagreeing; you hoped the faceless man would come back. You had tasted true goodness, the powerful and unconditional love and mercy of God, and you wanted more of it.

[violetsiren90]

Make Me

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut; platonic(?) fluff; BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom (and such a good one); MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play if you squint; mentions of wet dreams and sexual fantasies; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling in a domination context; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace but also the absolute best; Hobi in the studio 👀; wrestling (sexual context); spanking (sexual context); p*ssy-stepping; p*ssy slapping; sexual frustration; some initial shame and embarrassment (reader needs to work some things out); reader tries to run away from herself a bit; temporary ghosting; working through new desires and feelings; dirty dancing; ALL the communication; establishment of sexual roles/partnership; talk about birth control and protection; Hobi curses a LOT during domination scenes; leash/collar play; oral sex (male receiving); throat fucking; Hobi slaps Reader's tongue with his c*ck; cum swallowing; aftercare; restraint play (sex swing, heehee 😈); manual clitoral stimulation; teasing; unprotected vaginal sex (reader is on birth control & previously consents); female orgasm from vaginal penetration; very brief implication of a possible brush with subspace.

Word Count: ~16,000 (Double its originally intended length, oops 🙈)

Author's note: HOLY HECK IT'S FINALLY HERE. When I say I had the time of my life writing this...like, wow. I was already under Hobi's spell, but now I am OFFICIALLY down in the worst way. This fic and it's premise were completely out of my comfort zone, but I couldn't be happier that I ventured into this world, because the research alone has given me so much respect for the BDSM community, and specifically the dom/sub relationship. I hope I did as much justice to that very special dynamic as possible between these two characters (with whom I have deeply fallen in love). If you read this, I hope so very much that you enjoy it!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Acknowledgements: The biggest of thanks to @orchidyoonkook who not only beta-read this fic multiple times, and is practically the voice of this Jimin, but also gave me so much wonderful insight into the BDSM communicty from that big sexy brain of hers (which contains an incredible amount of knowledge about so many things, let me tell you!). But most of all, she gave me the encouragement I needed to get this out of my imagination and onto the page, even when I was doubting myself the most. Yoons, I love you! Couldn't have done it without you. 💕

"What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

     You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

     "Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

     The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair. 

     "Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes. 

You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

     Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

     You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

     "Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

     He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

     "He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me." 

     At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech. 

Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening. 

You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath. 

     Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down.

It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

     "Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

     "I told him…

“What?”

“I said..."

     "What?"

     "Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

     You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come. 

You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried. 

Did you just fuck things irrevocably up? 

That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit. 

Shit.

     "Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

     He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

     "Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

     You don't answer him. You can't.

Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his gray sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

    "Is it?"

    You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him - standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

     "Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

     He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bear.

     "You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

     He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

     "...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

     "Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

     You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

     "Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?" 

     "When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

     But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom - 

     "When you're a filthy, pathetic little slut."

     A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together – whether to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure. When he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes flutter frantically open. 

     "Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?"

Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long – something that yearns to feed.

     You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

     "I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins. 

His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want – your friend. 

Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

     "Y-yes! Yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

     So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body.

You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.  

     "A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his saccharine words.

     You blink, your mind running up against the sudden pet name – one that he has never uttered in a tone like this before – as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous. Something simple maybe...a flower...?

     "Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

     "Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever – okay? You say that. Foxglove." 

     You nod.

     "Say it for me," he whispers, and you shiver again. Fuck.

     "Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

     "Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

     You scramble to find your voice.

     "Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

     He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

     "I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

     He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

     "See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

  He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

     "Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

     "No, Hobi," you whisper. 

And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

     "That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

     You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and absolutely exhilarating.

When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want.

You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

     "You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

     "Make me."

     His eyes go wide and wild.

     "So that's how it's gonna be?"

     The words are heavy and dark, but you think his mouth twitches up at the corner when you arch a recalcitrant brow in response.

     He hums and licks his lips, and you're on the verge of saying something about getting on with it when his hand darts out and fists a chunk of your hair, yanking it back with a force that makes your head spin. He's glaring down at you with eyes so hard and menacing that your rebuttal dies on your tongue. The hand at your nape squeezes and the pressure that seers your scalp is exquisite, spilling a moan from your lips as your arousal becomes more than you are capable of repressing.

     "Don't you challenge me, brat," he rumbles from low in his chest as his hand twists against your head and lowers your back to press against the black leather.

     You whine in protest, and your palms fly up to shove at him, but his reflexes are like lightning as he snatches your wrists away to pin them above you. Your head spins, eyes losing focus as your whole body flushes with warmth in the wake of his domineering aggression. 

     You wriggle in his hold, relishing in how his grip tightens and the cold steel in his eyes glints as you resist him.

     A knee slides between your legs as he leans over you menacingly, close enough for the padlock charm around his neck to lightly tap your raised chin. Good girl, it seems to whisper in Hoseok's voice, stay put.

     Yeah, fuck that.

     You snatch the necklace up between your teeth and yank it to the side where it bites sharply into the corner of your mouth.

     The sudden motion catches him off guard and he falters, crashing down on top of you with a noise of surprise and losing control of your hands.

     You scramble against him, rolling both of you to the floor with a thud.

     Your heart is hammering in your chest.

     You hear him grunt, his strong hands grappling with your thrashing form, and you catch just a glimpse of his shining eyes and white clenched teeth as he flips you over onto your stomach, hands in a vice grip at the small of your back and your cheek pressing into the cold, hard laminate.

     You start to move again but he pushes his weight into the slender fingers splayed over your spine with a low rumble in the back of his throat and you still with a groan.

     You're pressed so deliciously firmly to the floor. You can feel arousal soaking your panties as your nerves alight everywhere he has wrested control of you. You can hear him pant, proof of his efforts, and the image of his provoked expression from seconds previous flashes through your mind.

He seemed so cool and collected before. So unbothered. To think that his blood is up and because of you? You let out a trembling breath.

     "Fuck," he hisses lowly, then bends to bring his lips to the shell of your ear.

They're soft as they drag over your skin there, feather light. Your whole body shakes, and you feel his mouth pause.

     "I don't know who the hell you think you are," he whispers cruelly, "But you were right about one thing...you're not a good girl. You're a disobedient little harlot who needs to be taught the rules of this house." 

      You whimper pathetically as he presses into you even more intensely, restricting the expansion of your lungs.

     "Now," he says nosing at your exposed neck as he begins to pull away, "how about we teach you a lesson or two, hm?"

     You feel his weight leave your back, and see his figure rock back on his heels out of the corner of your eye. You are just on the verge of retaliating again when you let out a yelp at the sudden shock of your hips being yanked upward by the back belt loop of your denim shorts. Hoseok lets go of your hands and they fly forward to brace yourself as your ass raises into the air and your knees move toward your chest.

     And all at once you know what's coming and you feel your pussy clench in the mere anticipation of -

     Smack!

     You let out a wanton wail as the sharp crack of his hand against your right glute jolts through your body like a lightning strike and ends with a slam at your swollen clit.

     Again - harder! Your mind screams. So you press out a whinging moan of complaint.

     SMACK!

     It has the desired effect.

     CRACK!

     Your jaw is slack, but no sound escapes as he punishes you. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts. As if he's attempting to brand your ass with the shape of his hand. But holy hell is it making you drip. Every slap jolts your body and brings the tiniest friction to where you're neediest. Where you've never been needier in your life.

     Please punish my pussy....

     You try to mumble the words but all you can do is drool onto the floor as he deals out pleasure and pain from above.

     And then he stops. You feel hands deftly and swiftly rolling you to lie on your back.

You blink up through bleary eyes, drawing a hand across your mouth to wipe the spit away. Your shoulders are sore.

     He's leaning over you, a hand still on your hip, eyes scanning your face.

     "What? Did you say something? You need to speak up."

     His tone is still biting but his eyes seem to hold a genuine question. Concern.

     Warmth floods your chest as it registers that he wants to be able to hear you if you need him to. If you want to stop. But the light has never been so goddamned green.

     "Want..." you murmur, "...more, Hoseok."

     He curses, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he leans forward to take your jaw in his hand again. He rakes his gaze over your soft, swollen features, unfocused eyes, and heaving chest.

     "Look at you so fucked out and all I did was smack that gorgeous ass." 

     He licks his lips, shaking his head in seeming disbelief as he releases your chin with a little shove. He leans back, dragging his hands over your bare thighs.

    "More, hm?" he hums. 

     You nod eagerly.

     He purses his lips and considers you through narrowed eyes, and you sense that if you want him to give you what you so desperately desire, you're going to have to show him you can take it - and take orders. You lay still, hands twitching at your sides as you look up at him through wide eyes. 

     He continues to run his fingertips up and down your legs as he breathes out a long relenting sigh.

     "Alright," he relents, "You took your punishment well, so you should be rewarded, I suppose."

     You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, your heart rate rising again at the prospect.

     He tilts forward, looming over you again as he asks the question you've been dying to answer since you woke up breathless all those weeks ago.

     "What does my little brat want me to do to her? Let's see if she can use her words."

     You blink up at him, unsure if you have permission to speak...or how to put your request into words that won't make you want to immediately melt through the floorboards.

     "Cat got your tongue?" Hoseok sneers, pretty, heart-shaped lips curling up at one side.

     His hat discarded in your tussle, wavy brown tresses hang down over his brow and his eyes sparkle darkly through them. His features are so beautiful - their loveliness thrown into sharp relief by the flinty pitilessness of their expression.

     You're tempted to continue simply soaking him in, if not for the pounding ache in your core demanding that you find your voice.

     "I...I want..." your lips tremble as you will yourself to tell him what you need.

     Perhaps he senses that you require a little encouragement, because his eyes harden and he digs the edges of his nails into the flesh of your knees, causing you to yelp and moan and then...

     "I want you to step on my pussy! Please..." You press out your request with the last of the breath in your lungs.         

     Hoseok's eyes flutter shut at the last word of your plea.

     "Say that again," he commands in a husky whisper, and even without further specification, somehow, you know.     

     "Please..." You groan, letting your legs drop open demurely.

     His eyes are still closed, but he can feel the action with his hands, which have now slipped just inside your knees to your inner thighs. He inhales deeply through his nose, before exhaling with a shuddering breath. When his lids languidly raise again the piercing onyx of what they have unveiled is pinning you to the floor with more deadly force than even his hands ever could. Your pulse pounds in your cunt, your head still swimming from your previous position as he pushes himself up to stand. 

     As you blink up at Hoseok towering over you, standing between your splayed thighs with his midnight gaze boring into the damp denim covering your heat, something inside you long ajar quietly but firmly clicks into place. 

     "Tell me, brat" he seethes, eyes roving your trembling form stretched out beneath him, "Who makes the rules in this house?"

     "Hoseok-ssi," you whimper, so needy the ache is beginning to hurt.

     Every cell of your body is awake with a desperate anticipation that only he can satisfy...or deny.

     You have never felt more alive.

     And then something happens and your brain shuts off entirely. 

Everything vanishes: the studio, the traffic outside the western window, the city of Seoul and South Korea and the whole goddamned planet rolling around in the Milky Way. Nothing exists except the tip of Hoseok's Air Jordan ghosting over the swell of your crotch. 

     Your mouth waters as his foot slowly slides forward, then goes completely dry as you feel it settle with the sole aligned directly with your slit. His eyes flick up to your face, but you can't hold his gaze for more than a millisecond as he begins to apply pressure to your mound.

     Your eyes roll back in your skull, head lolling as your neck goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream as the man above you presses down with a low hum over your sex. The seam of your shorts is biting deliciously into the tender flesh of your clit, sending shockwaves through your core like a live wire, and when he rolls his foot in a circular motion you think you see god. 

You do scream then, but it's nothing more than a strangled sound in your throat as your fantasies materialize and he leans his weight into his stance, punishing the soft fat of your cunt with the sole of his shoe.

     You're going to cum. He's barely touched you and you're going to cum. He seems to see it in the twisted ecstasy of your features as his lids hood his eyes and filth begins to spill from his lips.

     "Do you like that, brat?" he taunts, "That's what you get when you're a good little girl for Hoseok -  you get your pretty wet cun-"  

     Click jangle clack - boom boom boom! 

     Hobi springs away from you, hopping back on one foot with wide eyes as a succession of rapid knocks follow the stilted motions of the locked door handle. You scramble up from the floor, heart pounding and breath coming fast as you toss yourself into the corner of the couch. 

     Boom, boom, boom!

     "Hyung, are you naked or something?" comes a familiar if muffled voice from the other side of the wall.

     You fumble for your phone and Hoseok runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath before pulling open the door.

     The man belonging to the impatient knocks and muffled accusations stumbles headlong into the studio, the locked entrance against which he had pressed his ear and most of his weight having been pulled out from under him.

"Jimi...nie...?" Hobi greets his bandmate and his eyes track the other's toppling form with surprise and a hint of agitation. 

     Yoongi ambles in casually behind him, sipping a dewy americano through a straw, a beanie sitting atop his ashy locks gnomishly.

     Jimin nimbly pushes himself to a stand from where he had crashed against Hobi's desk, not a strand of his coiffed platinum blond hair askew as he spins around face to the dance captain. But before he can get out a greeting or an excuse for his manner of entrance he freezes as he spots you in the corner.

His eyes flick to Hobi's hat on the floor, then to the pink flush on the apples of his friend's cheeks. When Jimin's eyes slide back over to where you are curled into your nook, eyeing him warily over the tiny shield of your phone, his plush lips slowly spread into a sickeningly devious smile.

     Hobi scoops his hat up off the floor and tugs in back on before taking a seat, carefully, you notice - thighs pressed together and leaning forward - in his rolling chair. The implication of his posture has you sweating into your shirt.

You need to get it the fuck together.

     "If I would have known you were here I'd have brought you a kimbap," Jimin says, wicked grin still plastered on his face as he holds up a plastic convenience store bag.

     You blink. 

     "Oh, uh, that's okay..." you bluster, waving your hand. "I'm not hungry anyway." 

     It's true. You just lost your appetite for the foreseeable future, stomach a raging sea of nerves as Jimin places the bag on the desk.

     Yoongi shuffles over to sit at the other end of the couch, raising his free hand and drawing his mouth into a straight line in greeting. You manage your own tight-lipped grin and flash him a peace sign, hoping you did it quickly enough that the tremor in your hand went unnoticed.

     "To what do I owe this visit from my bros?" Hobi asks from where he's turned toward his computer screen to save the neglected file. 

His voice is cheerful, but you can hear the strain - how it's pitched just half a tone too high - and Jimin's eyes are still on you.

     "I dragged Yoongi hyung out for some fresh air. I took him to lunch and grabbed you a snack on the way back."

     "Yah, you took me to lunch? Then why did I pay?" Yoongi grumbles from beside you, his bare features pinched into a grumpy pout that makes him look particularly feline.

     "Because you love me," Jimin coos at him and the older musician's mouth quirks up into a smile he can't seem to repress. 

     "What are you working on, Hoba? Which track?" Yoongi murmurs around the straw between his lips, blinking patiently as Hobi seems to shake himself, pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair before readjusting it on his head and swiveling back toward his computer screen.

     He hits play on the track and Yoongi leaves the couch to join the other two.

     This is all so normal, so typical of the guys - the affectionate repartee and chat about ongoing projects. And on an average day, you'd have joined right in. 

But today is not an average day. 

No.

Five minutes ago, you were spread-eagle on the floor six inches from where Jimin stands, with Hoseok's shoe on your bits.

     You have to get out of here.

     "I'm, uh, I'm gonna head out, boys," you muster, making a beeline for the door as soon as the inertia of your decision gives you the courage to peel yourself from the corner of the couch.

     "You're leaving?" Jimin's voice quips in a saccharine whine, with the slightest edge that makes you avoid his eyes as you slip out with a parting wave.

You do catch Hoseok's expression, whose head snaps up at your parting movements. His brows furrow and his lips part, looking as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't.

     And then you're gone.

    Your smart watch trills as your heart rate enters cardio territory. Your chest is heaving, breath coming heavy as the pliant cushion of your couch gives way to the crown of your head pressing back into it, eyes pinched shut and hand shoved down your pants. 

The bullet vibrator you have pressed to your clit is doing everything it should, and you feel it coming - your orgasm. 6:12pm on a Tuesday and it's already your third self-love session of the day. 

You tense your thighs, urging the building pressure in your core to boil over, and quickly. You groan and grit your teeth as your administering hand starts to shake. You writhe and whimper for a moment. And then it's over.

     You stare up at the ceiling of your apartment, breathlessly huffing out a despondent sigh as the empty ache in your chest returns. It has become your loathsomely devoted companion in every waking moment over the last ten days, filling you with an unshakable restlessness and sickly discontent.

     Nothing can slake it. Not reality TV. Not Cabernet Sauvignon. Not overtime hours. Not ASMR wood-soup videos. Not yoga. Not Ben and Jerry's. Not midnight runs on your NordicTrack. Not fucking yourself to climax on every single goddamned toy you own. 

     The little monster you roused the weekend before last in Hope World hasn't returned to sleep. No. She is wide awake. And she seems to grow more ravenous with each passing day. 

At first you tried to ignore her, but she kept you up into the long, bleak hours of the night. And so, in a fuzzy, staticky haze some time after midnight a number of days ago you typed some words into a search engine that would probably have your assigned FBI agent doing a spit-take.

     The thing is, you'd never seen "50 Shades of Grey", you'd never been interested. It wasn't as if you were a prude - hardly! You have always enjoyed sex, both intimate and recreational. In fact, it has always been one of your favored methods of blowing off steam, and you knew quite well how to please yourself and how to guide partners in doing the same.

     You have never had problems in taking what you wanted in life, in taking charge and ensuring that things play out your way – it's what makes you so good at your job, and valued by your peers who know that they can rely on you to take the reins and rise to the occasion.

     So when you suddenly stumbled unprepared into the world of BDSM, your visceral reaction to the concept of submission left you wondering...why?

Why, why, why? 

Why does this do it for you? Why did your very linear, stable existence have to be completely disrupted by this discovery? And most urgently of all, why, for the love of everything sacred, did all the porn in the whole wide world fail to accomplish even a fraction of the effect of Jung Hoseok's size 9 sneaker? It's all too overwhelming to process.

     You let out a frustrated whine as you pull your sticky, cramped hand, still clutching the little purple bullet, from the confines of your pants. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table and you can see the notification is from Jimin. You've been ignoring his calls and pleading texts to meet up, or just pick up. You can't face him. Not after ghosting Hobi.

     You feel a pang twist in your stomach as you haul yourself toward the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away the guilt you feel for ignoring Hoseok outright. He texted you almost immediately after you left the studio, asking if you were alright. You let him know that you were, with just one word: yeah.

     You had typed and retyped that response. "Yeah, thanks" seemed too weird. Like, thanks for what? Almost making you cum with the tip of his shoe? No. "Yeah, sorry" felt pathetic. What were you apologizing for? It seemed to imply...regret? Or fault. Neither of which would have come from a genuine place. And beyond a simple affirmation, you certainly didn't have words. So, "yeah" it was. He tried to call you later that evening, but you didn't pick up. You were already way up in your head by then. It had been radio silence since.

     You toss a coconut steamer onto the wet shower tiles and sigh, catching a glimpse of your face in the bathroom mirror as you slide the glass door shut.

     "Coward," you mutter as you close your eyes and slip under the cleansing stream.

     You're wrapped up in a blanket cocoon and sipping a cup of sleepy-time tea, trying to distract yourself from the messy tangle of emotions waging war across your various chakras with season two of Single's Inferno, when a knock on the door startles you out of your simmering reverie. You heave yourself off the carpeted floor of your living room and scoot toward the door like a fleecy Jabba the Hutt to peek through the peephole.

     Your vision is obscured as another eye looks back at you from the other side of the concave glass. You jump back, dropping your blanket shroud in a pile around your feet and let out a yelp of alarm. You slam a hand over the peep hole as giggles erupt on the other side.

     "Yah! I know you're in there - so let me in!"

     Your entire body sags against the door in relief as you recognize the voice of the would-be intruder. You swing the door open to grant him exasperated entrance.

     "Park Jimin, you just took ten years off my life! Creep," you bluster, gathering the blanket up around your body as you retreat back into your apartment. 

You plop down again in front of the TV, knowing that Jimin came to either talk you into going out or to just talk, and either way, you are truly not in the mood. Your friend snickers behind you, sauntering into your kitchen. He returns with a beer, bringing the frosty green bottle to his lips before sinking into an armchair and regarding you with an expression that waivers between amusement, pity, and disgust.

     "You look awful," he remarks, taking another swig as his gaze roves your unkempt appearance.

     Your features twist into a frown, eyes never leaving the television.

     "You don't get to barge into my apartment, steal my booze, then insult me, Park," you snip, burrowing further down into the fluffy mass encasing your body.

     Jimin raises a brow, a small smile still playing on his lips as he follows your eyes to the television where YouTuber Dex and professional model Lim Minsu flirtatiously splash about in a ridiculously opulent indoor swimming pool.

     "Fuck, Dex is hot," Jimin mutters.

     "For some reason he reminds me of Jungkook," you smirk, glancing over at him for the first time since he arrived.

     He grimaces theatrically.

     "I don't see it."

     The contestant on the screen flashes his Paradise companion a blinding smile and raises a tattooed arm to cut through the water, content to show off his stroke precision as his date watches on. The resolve on Jimin's face falters .

     "Yeah, well...Dex is hotter."

     You scoff.

     "Yeah, no. Kook-ah is definitely hotter."

     "For the love of god, just don't tell him that, okay?" Jimin pleads, "That kid is insufferable enough these days."

     "You love him."

     He hides a smile behind another sip of Hite.

     "Why did you ghost Hobi hyung?"

     Jimin blinks innocent eyes at you, as if he hasn't just dumped the last week and a half of silent agony over your head like a bucket of ice water. But the chill is momentary, because the next second your body feels like an oven. You stammer.

     "I-I...ghost him? I didn't ghost anyone...I'm busy...I..." you trail off weakly as your friend's unimpressed and knowing gaze bores into your soul.

     You sigh and scrub your hands over your face.

     "Because I'm a big chicken, okay?" You murmur into your palms.

     You don't know why, but you feel like crying. When you pull your hands away from your face, Jimin must see it because suddenly he's on the couch wrapping you in the kind of hug that reminds you why he's your ride-or-die, and in the safety of his embrace the tears begin to fall. Days of being alone with yourself and your conflicted feelings pour from your ducts and onto the front of Jimin's bright yellow flannel. He coos words of reassurance, admonishing your tears, as he strokes your hair.

     "Talk to me, you silly goose," he hums with an endeared chuckle. 

     You sniff and hiccup as you pull away, wiping your puffy eyes.

     "I don't even know what to say, Minnie...I don't know what's wrong with me..."

     Jimin smiles and grabs a few tissues from the box on the coffee table, dabbing them against your nose.

     "Well, first of all, nothing is wrong with you. But second of all, tell me what is bothering you."

     You heave a dramatic sigh.

     "If I tell you, you have to swear - and I mean swear - that you will not make fun of me or tell anyone else. And I mean not Taehyung, not Yoongi, not anyone, you hear me?" 

     He smirks, but nods in assent. You narrow your eyes at him.

     "Say it. Out loud." You demand warily.

     Jimin rolls his eyes and throws up his hands.

     "Yah! Okay! I won't tell anyone," he quips mockingly.

     You sigh again and draw your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. If this gets too hard to talk about with eye-contact at least you'll have a place to hide your bashful face.

      "I..." you start softly, not sure where to begin except the beginning, "Re-remember that thing I told you when we got plastered a little while back...about...Hobi?"

     Jimin's lips quirk at the corners as he nods.

     "Well...the thing is...wait!" You cut yourself off, suddenly gripped by a notion that has you prematurely flustered and indignant. "What did he tell you?"

     Jimin shakes his head, a small smile still playing on his full lips.

     "Nothing," he responds, looking you dead in the eye in a way that has you almost believing he's telling the truth. 

     "No, really," you press.

     Jimin leans back against the arm of the couch from where he faces you, running a hand through his hair and drawing his legs up to criss-cross in front of him.

     "Jagi, this is Hobi hyung we're talking about. You think he would do that? He has too much respect for you. He would never. Not to anyone. Not even me."

     Your chest floods with relief, affection, and regret. Fuck. Of course he wouldn't. He was too mature of a person for that. Too considerate. Too lovely. And you hadn't even had the gumption to speak to him for the last ten days beyond a mono-syllabic SMS. Jimin watches your expression do emotional acrobatics.

     "So..." he offers encouragingly, "something...happened....between you guys, right? That day Yoongi hyung and I showed up? We...uh...interrupted something, didn't we?" He can't help a devilish smile, eyes twinkling as he carefully phrases his query.

     You bury your face into your knees and squeak out an affirmation. Jimin lets out a bright laugh and you immediately raise your burning face in a scowl.

     "Hey! You said you wouldn't-" 

     He waves his hands in apology as he attempts to gain his composure.

     "Mianhae, mianhae! I'm not laughing at you!" He insists, leaning forward to grab your swatting hands by the wrists.

     "Sounds kind of like you are!" You huff, yanking your arms from his grasp.

     "So..." Jimin hums, tilting his head to track your gaze as you try again to hide your face, "If he's down, and you're down...what's the problem? Why did you run and hide? Did your feelings change?"

     You slowly raise your eyes to his, searching them as you decide just how much you're willing to tell him right now. You chew on your bottom lip as you realize you need to get it out. All of it. You drop your legs to mirror Jimin's posture, lowering your defenses with your millionth-and-first sigh of the evening.

     "Okay...well..." you muse, fiddling with the blanket still draped over your lap. "You know how I told you that stuff that I...dreamt...about Hobi?"

     Jimin nods.

     "Well...something did kind of happen...and well..." you trail off as Jimin raises his brows expectantly.

     "Oh, fuck it!" you bluster, exhausted by your own attempts at delicacy. "He dominated me and I liked it. I really really liked it, okay? And it freaked. me. the fuck. out. Like...I've neeeeever felt that way before about fooling around. It wasn't just fun, or, like, pleasurable...it was...almost..." you search for the words as Jimin stares at you raptly. "...Freeing? Like, a relief. Like, a 'where has this shit been all my life' moment."

     Jimin hums and nods, interlacing his fingers and leaning his chin against his knuckles.

     "Like...I don't know...I'm a very independent person. And capable. And, yeah, things have been crazy stressful at work, and I have a lot on my plate...but I handle it, you know? In fact, I don't just handle it, I kind of...enjoy the pressure of leadership and responsibility? It drives me. I've always been like that, in every area of my life..." 

     Jimin smiles and lets out a sound of recognition.

     "So the one who wears the crown is wondering why it feels so good to be...subjected?" He waggles his brows. You roll your eyes.

     "Grow up, dude."

     "Am I right, though? I'm right."

     You find yourself chewing your bottom lip again.

     "Essentially. I like power. I like control. What is this sudden obsession with losing it? It's...scary. And confusing."

     Jimin smiles. 

     "You know, it's actually not that uncommon, from what I understand," he states, reaching for his abandoned beer on the coffee table.

     You quirk an eyebrow.

    "I mean, everyone is different, and this is a journey you're going to have to take for yourself to get the answers, but from what I know about the BDSM community, it's not unusual for people who are in positions of power to crave a bit of a...reprieve."

     "Really?"

     "Yeah," he nods, reclining back again against the arm of the couch, "The bedroom is a good place to let your walls down. Maybe the only place, for some people. And with a trusted partner it can even be healing to play a different role than you do in other parts of your life."

     It's your turn to smirk.

     "You talk as if you know," you prod playfully, shoving your toes into his shin. He smiles that wicked smile of his and you laugh.

     "What I'm trying to say is, maybe it's not just about the...dynamics. Maybe it's also that it's Hobi hyung. He knows you. You know him, too. You trust each other. Maybe you could get to know each other in a new way. Be something for each other that you both need." He takes the last sip of his beer and twirls the bottle in his hands, gazing at you with a gentle thoughtfulness.

     You nod slowly, digesting his newly offered perspective.

     "So," you muse, raising your eyes to him again, "You think he needs it too?" 

     Jimin shrugs. 

     "Only he could tell you that for sure. But I do know this, he's awfully good at being bossy, and doesn't get a lot of opportunity to run the show - outside of dance practice, that is."

     Chuckling nervously at the thought, you try your best to conceal the spark that has crackled to life from the burning coals inside you at the mention of his natural command of authority. 

     "Hey," Jimin posits with a grin, "Maybe if he's spanking you he'll go a little easier on us when we screw up the choreo..."

     "EXCUSE ME THE FU-WHAT?!" You shriek, snatching up a throw pillow to beat him mercilessly as he falls in raucous laughter to the floor.

     Turning to glance over your shoulder at your reflection in the mirror, you smooth your hands over the back of the svelte black bodycon number you've donned for the evening. You're a vision in monochrome, having paired your LBD with sleek stilettos and dark smokey eyes with heavy lashes.

     Your phone buzzes, indicating that your ride share is close by. Butterflies flutter in your belly as you reach for the finishing touch to your outfit: a velvety black choker with a sliver o-ring studded in colorless topaz. It's just fashionable enough to still look like a necklace, but it gives you a bit of a thrill to know that it's not. To know what's tucked inside your purse to accompany it. To wonder if, going unnoticed by most, it will catch a certain pair of dark eyes.

     The drive across town to reach the Jihope residence never felt so long. You try your best to calm your nerves over the last few blocks of distance - it’s just a party, after all, and kind of a silly one at that. 

During Jimin's last visit, he mentioned that he and Hobi would be throwing a Black Day party for all of their single friends the following weekend, and after dodging his attempts at socialization so religiously of late, you felt you owed it to him to attend.     

     Black Day had never been something your group of friends had ever observed before, but it was incredibly chic to do so this year, for whatever reason. And of course, all the organizing duo of the soiree needed was the slightest excuse for Jimin to party and Hobi to host.

     Upon arriving at the building, you can already hear the music pumping from the top floor, and the chatter of guests spilling out onto the terrace. You present your ID to the security guard at the front gate, and are escorted to a private elevator that whisks you up to the penthouse. Being quite successful and comfortable yourself, you still find yourself surprised when reminded of the sheer net worth of your humble, down-to-earth Bangtan pals. Hobi is worth the most, and while he is an excellent investor and a generous philanthropist, he also likes to show out, and in style.

     You take a deep breath as you buzz the bell.

     The door swings open to reveal a handsome young man in a black t-shirt tucked into baggy dark-wash jeans, his fluffy brown hair parted in the middle and his ears glinting with rows of silver hoops. His round eyes scrunch into little moons and he flashes an adorable toothy grin, endearingly lopsided where it stretches deeper against the little orbital piercing at the right side of his bottom lip.

“Noona!" he growls, pulling you into a bear hug. "Where have you been? The last two times we went to noraebang there was no one to sing Through the Night with me!"   

     "Ah...hah...", you nervously chuckle, pulling away from his embrace as you search your brain for an excuse other than business.

     "I'll sing with you, Googie!"  

     You turn to see your salvation from further explanation in the form of a giggling young woman bouncing up to clutch Jungkook's arm and steady herself as she sways on her platform heels. She smells like soju and fruity perfume.

     You smirk and thank her, patting her hand where it clutches your friend's tattooed forearm before she's dragging him away down the hall.

     "Make sure she stays hydrated!" You call after him with a shake of your head, making your way through the throng of guests to the bar area. 

     The furnishings of the residence are a study in classy postmodern minimalism, punctuated with abstract urban art – though you notice that some of the Kaws pieces are missing, likely stored away for safekeeping from rowdy party-goers. 

     The sleek chrome and granite full-service bar is stocked with liquor and beer, and a commissioned mixologist is crafting darkly colored cocktails. A buffet-style spread offers the traditional jjajangmyeon and an assortment of other delicious eats.

     The spacious dining area is littered with small tables draped in black linens, each bearing centerpieces of hellebore, leather leaf, black carnations, and eucalyptus. The living room has been converted to a dance floor, complete with a glittering disco ball. House music booms through the built-in speaker system as guests in groups and pairs move to the beat.

     You glance over a drink menu of themed cocktails as a voice sounds from over your shoulder. 

     "I recommend the Down With Love."

     Turning, you flash the speaker a grin.

     "Alright, but is it giving Judy or Barbara?"

     Taehyung raises a disparaging brow.

     "It's a gimlet. Judy, obviously."

     You chuckle, putting in your order for the suggested beverage.

     "You look good," he remarks, gesturing at you with the unlit cigarette tucked between his first two fingers, his other hand slipped into his pocket as he leans against the wall.

     He doesn't look bad himself, you think, in his black satin top and flared Merlot trousers.

     "Thanks," you smile as the bartender hands over an inky concoction garnished with a grapefruit slice twisted into the shape of a heart and run through with a toothpick.

     You eye it skeptically.

     "How do they make it black?"

     "Activated charcoal. C'mon."

     Tae links your arm through his and weaves through the bustle to a table of familiar faces. Yoongi raises a whiskey tumbler in greeting and you clink your glass with his, sliding into a chair next to Taehyung and reaching over to give Namjoon's arm an affectionate squeeze. It seems that all the members have turned up, save Seokjin, who's been a taken man three years strong.

     You fall into easy conversation with the boys, and just when your difference of opinion with Namjoon over Lee Bul's latest installation piece is developing into a full-blown debate, Jimin slides up to the table and spills onto Taehyung's lap.

     "None of you are dancing!" He whines breathlessly, poking Tae's cheek as the other man smiles shyly.

     "Jungkook is," Yoongi rebuts, taking another bite of jjajangmyeon.

     He's not wrong, though to your amusement, the maknae appears to be getting danced on more than anything else.

    "Where's Hobi hyung?" Tae queries, prodding gently at Jimin's full cheek in return.

     Jimin's eyes dart to you, a smirk spreading slowly across his lips as his gaze rakes up from your heels to the choker around your neck.

     "Good question," he hums, rising to take your hand and pull you up from your seat. "Let's go find him."

     Jimin heads for the French doors at the far end of space that lead onto the terrace. They're propped open, and cool evening air floods the apartment, keeping the atmosphere from suffocating under the warmth of body heat and the scent of rich food.

     "Jimin!" You hiss, as you approach the rooftop patio, "What are you doing? This is the opposite of subtle!"

    He laughs merrily.

     "You're so cute when you're flustered!"

     You don't have any more time to grumble as you emerge under the darkening sky, just beginning to speckle with stars barely visible against the glow of string lights wrapped around the cozy outdoor enclosure. There's a small electric fire pit surrounded by plush patio furniture, and live greenery all around.

     The energy is much more relaxed than within, but even so, you feel your pulse quicken as Jimin guides you toward a small group at the corner of the terrace. You recognize a few of the men and women gathered as industry producers, but none of that really matters because all your brain can register is him.

     And holy shit does he look good.

     He's arresting sophistication and effortless elegance. A silk charcoal dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, ripples along the lines of his torso - save where the top three buttons have been neglected to expose the smooth planes of his toned chest. His lean, athletic legs seem even longer than usual in fitted black slacks, his pretty wrists and fingers sparkling with jewelry where his thumbs are slipped into his pockets. His hair has been slicked back from his face, and his eyes are just barely obscured by a pair of lightly tinted wire-rimmed aviators. That brilliant, warm heart-shaped smile cuts through all the sharp darkness of his garb, and your breath catches in your chest when Jimin calls out to him.

     "Hyung!"

     As Hoseok's eyes meet yours the grin stretched across his face falters, but he quickly regains composure.

     "Eyyy," he greets you, striding forward and wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a side hug. Of course he smells as incredible as he looks.

     "Hi, Hobi," you murmur a bit shyly, returning his embrace.

     "Hyung," Jimin pouts cutely, "Save us! She was putting our guests to sleep talking to Namjoon-ah about art theory."

     "Hey," Hobi chides in a warning tone, cocking his head to the side to glance down at you. "Don't enable the poor guy – he needs to get laid."

     "Well nobody is going to approach him if she's hanging around looking like that." Jimin gestures casually, a mischievous twinkle glinting for a moment his eye.

     Hobi's arm slips off your shoulders to grasp your hand as he steps back. He's never been good at keeping his feelings from his face, and the look trained on his features as he appraises you has you thinking you made the right decision when you put on that dress.

     "How about we keep you out of trouble and on the dance floor, hm?" Hobi says with a sly smile, raising your hand and tilting forward in a posture of invitation.

     You roll your eyes playfully, unable to bite back a smile of your own as you motion for Hobi to lead the way, careful to avoid Jimin's eyes as you let the rapper guide you back into the thrumming pulse of the festivities.

      He gently pulls you onto the dance floor and tugs you into him, keeping a hold on your right hand as he slips the other just below the curve of your waist. You settle into an easy step to the lively beat. Hobi's eyes search your face as you tilt it up to him, running a hand up his chest to adjust the collar of his shirt with a sigh. You fiddle with the soft fabric between your fingers.   

     "I'm sorry, Hobi," you murmur, just loudly enough for him to hear.

     When he just smiles a bit sadly you feel your heart squeeze and you drop your head to his chest. You will yourself not to cry as he slows his movements, slipping a knuckle beneath your chin to raise your gaze to his own.     

     "Hajima," he protests, "Let's talk later. Right now, how about we just have some fun? I missed you."

     His expression is sweet and earnest and you feel like your chest might not have room for anything more than your complete and utter affection for this man. 

     "I missed you too," you admit with a little grin, pressing yourself against him just a bit more firmly and gazing up at him through widened eyes. He blinks for a moment, and then suddenly, there it is again, blooming across his lips - that blinding gorgeous smile, and that heady, infectious laugh.

     In one quick motion, he spins you around to face away from him as the music drops to a deep, throbbing EDM number, his fingertips grazing your hips and his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

     "You did, huh?" he purrs. "Alright, then...show me how much." 

     You suck in a breath because you don't ever think you'll be ready for how quickly he can turn that dark, deep voice in his chest into something that makes you feel like you're astral-projecting. Your first instinct is to push him away, make him take it from you...but this moment isn't for that. After your exit last time around, you’re determined to make him so incredibly certain that you want him. That you need him. 

     You lean back into him and, whispering a silent prayer of gratitude to the goddess of stilettos, press your ass firmly into his groin. You feel the air leave his lips in a hiss against your neck, and his hands slide to squeeze your hips and tug your body even deeper into his. You grind back against him as your body undulates with the hypnotic rhythm of the beat, but it's not long before he's taken over guiding the motion of your hips to match the rolls of his own. 

     Your eyelids flutter. You've never been this close to him. Sure, in the studio, things had gotten hot and heavy - but you had only been in his hands. He had only touched you to move you, still you, punish you. Now you are flush against his body, and everywhere you touch as he rocks you in tortuous waves against him tastes like the first sumptuous bite of a forbidden fruit. 

You can feel him beginning to swell against the plush of your ass, but even that isn't what has a familiar ache throbbing at the apex of your thighs – it's the effortlessness with which he wrests control of your body, your mind...your very being down to its most primal core.

     Hoseok's hand skids up your side and slips over your collarbones.

     "I like this necklace," he mumbles into your hair.

     You turn in his arms, slipping your fingers around the back of his neck as you raise your lips to his ear.

     "I'm disappointed in you, Hoseok," you tut, "It's not a necklace, you know." 

     He doesn't respond, but focuses on bringing his leg to slot between yours, hiking your dress up enough to tease your mound with brushes over the front of his thigh. You swallow a moan.

He's toying with you, but you won't give in. Not so easily. Not yet.

     "I guess you could call it a choker..." you rasp, trying to keep the tremor from your voice as your face presses into the side of his jaw, "That is more descriptive of its actual purpose, I suppose."

     For one millisecond in the fabric of time and space you feel his pace falter as the words spill from your lips - then he runs his hand up your back, slipping two fingers under the tight strip of velvet surrounding your throat.

     For the first time since you started dancing, you look at him. Crystalline beads of sweat have broken out on his brow, and his mouth is set in a stern line, his eyes hooded and dark as tugs his fingers back to command a view of your gaze.

     "Are you telling me," he grits out lowly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip so bruisingly you gasp, "...that you showed up to my party wearing a fucking collar?" 

     You don't answer him - instead you let a wicked smile slip over your lips, refusing defiantly to drop his piercing stare. He has stopped moving you against him, stopped moving entirely. His hands are firm but still where they hold you as his eyes bore down.

     "Are you out here trying to finish what we started?"

     You tilt your head back, narrowing your eyes seductively.

     "What do you think?"

     You watch a thousand and one thoughts race through Hoseok's mind as his eyes drop to your neck again and he swallows thickly.

     "Oh, fuck it," he hisses, turning and catching your hand to pull you impatiently through the crowd. 

     You barely have time to wonder what he's thinking or where you're headed when, at the opening to the hall, he spins to grasp your waist and tuck you into a small alcove. He does it so quickly and with such force that you nearly topple the potted plant on the stand beside you.

     He pushes himself against you, the tip of his nose brushing yours, and his firm body pressing you to the wall. He holds your wrists in his hands, pinning them to either side of your body. You let out a tiny whimper.

     His peppermint breath fans over your cheeks.

     "I was going to wait," he whispers loud enough for you to hear him clearly over the music from the room behind you. "I was going to ask you...to stay. After..." he traces his nose along the ridge of your cheekbone as he squeezes your wrists tightly, his nails nipping into your skin. "But you come here with the audacity to tease me like that? Out there, in front of everyone like a desperate little slut?" 

     His mouth is hovering over your ear as he speaks, sending shivers cascading down your spine.

     "I'm not a patient man," he mutters darkly, and you feel your pussy throb.

     You struggle slightly against his grasp, and he growls lowly. Turning into him, you press your mouth against his throat, letting your teeth graze his skin as you respond.

     "Then don't be."

     It's all the permission he needs. He snatches you away from the wall, dragging you down the hall toward the master bedroom at the far end. Your heartbeat hammers in your chest as you gaze at the dark mahogany door growing closer and closer with every stumbled step you take to match his hurried pace.

     He turns to glance over his shoulder, and you follow the action as he grips the handle, turns it, and...

     "What the..." Hoseok mutters, rattling the handle forcefully before raising his fist to pound against the door. "YAH! UNLOCK THIS DOOR!" He booms. 

     You hear muted voices and sounds of scurried movement from within. He bangs again and again until the door swishes open to reveal a flushed and flustered Jungkook, still fumbling with the button of his jeans.

     "Hyung! S-sorry, hyung, I was just...we were..."

     "OUT." Hoseok demands icily, pushing the door inward on its hinges to reveal the peppy, strawberry-scented young woman from before hurrying forward to tuck herself behind Jungkook as she draws a hand across her smeared lipstick. 

You bite back a grin as you watch them scuttle down the hall before Hoseok shuts and locks the door behind you.

     "That kid...seriously," he grumbles. "He knows my room is off limits."

     You chuckle, despite his lack of amusement, and he takes your hand again, drawing you toward a small couch at the far side of the large room. You take in your surroundings as you cross the space - similarly furnished to the rest of the apartment. The furniture is sleek and modern, Kaws sculptures and collectible figurines occupy tables and shelves. There are a few live plants, including one hanging from a large hook in the ceiling near a massive, raised canopy bed.

     He draws you to sit beside him, a crease still pinched between his brows, likely from having to evict the irksome intruders. You laugh softly and run a thumb over his forehead.

     "They're gone!" you chuckle, "Don't let it bother you so much. You'll get wrinkles." You tease, and his face softens.

     He catches your hand in both of his as it lowers. He sighs.

     "I needed a bit of water thrown in my face anyway," he smirks, and you glance down bashfully. "Before anything really happens, I think we should have…a conversation." 

     You nod in agreement.

     "Can I start?" you interject and he nods in return.

     You huff out a long breath.

     "I want to apologize for how I reacted...last time."

     He smiles wryly.

     "It was all very new and sudden to me, and...I don't know...I freaked out."

     Hobi squeezes your hand.

     "You have no reason to be sorry about that. I should have never initiated like that somewhere that wasn't really private. I just got caught up..." he shakes his head.

     "No! Me too! I'm glad it happened. I..." you trail off, feeling your face heat. "Oh, fuck, I don't know how to say this..."

     He claims he's not a patient man, but he waits, watching with tender eyes as you choose your words.

     "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it...like..." you take a deep breath as you gather the courage for vulnerable transparency.

     You remember what Jimin said. It's Hobi. You are safe with Hobi.

     "It was like nothing I've ever felt before. Like a release...more than sexual, you know? Like, freedom. Like, I felt so alive."

     He smiles, nodding his head in understanding.

     "I..." you continue, still nervous but with mounting confidence as he makes you feel heard, "I would like to...explore this part of myself, this new world," you gesture, "And...well, I would love for you to be the one to guide me."

     You raise your gaze to his. His eyes are shimmering. He slowly raises a hand and brushes his fingers over your cheek.

     "It would be my honor," he murmurs earnestly.

     A smile blooms across your face and your chest fills with warmth. You raise your hand, curling your fingers into his where they rest against your jaw. He drops your hands, still holding on, to his knee.

     "Can I ask how much you know about the community?" he queries, tracing his thumb softly over your knuckles.

     "A lot more now than I did a couple of weeks ago!" you respond with a laugh. "I know that I'm a sub, but one that likes to...fight back a little bit?"

     Hobi smirks, pocketing his tongue in his cheek. His eyes glint.

     "A brat," he answers. 

     "...Yeah."

     "Want me to work for it."

     Your mouth quirks up in a grin.

     "The harder the challenge the bigger the payoff," he hums, glancing thoughtfully down at your joined hands.

     "I think," he says after a pause, "Since you're new to all this, we should start slow. I already know some things you enjoy, and vice versa. But part of this kind of thing is about testing your limits. You're going to come across things you don't like, too. I need you to be able to tell me. Without a second thought. Seriously."

     He looks at you intently.

     You smile.

     "I trust you enough to know that you’d stop if that’s what I wanted. I may enjoy being dominated but I do still know what I want. And with you...I..." You tug at his hand, "I know I could say what I...need.”

     He huffs out a little breath, his brows drawing together as he regards you in reverence.

     "You know you can be that way with me too, right? Needy?" You ask softly. "I want...to take care of you, that way. Maybe we can...take care of each other." 

     You're not looking at him. You can't. It's all incredibly intimate and strange. When he doesn't respond, you begin to wonder if you said something you shouldn't have. And then your doubts vanish as quickly as they had appeared when you feel his arm slip around your shoulders as he pulls you into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin.

     Your heart sings.

     After a long, quiet moment, Hobi pulls back to look at you. 

     "Should we set some rules for ourselves?" he asks.

     You purse your lips and nod. Admittedly, you had come with a few in mind.

     "I think...we shouldn't kiss. Well, not on the mouth. It's...I don't know. I think it might make things confusing."

     Hobi looks thoughtful, nodding slowly.

     "Which brings me to my other thought," you chew your lip. "I think this should just be about sex. We're friends, and I want to keep that aspect of our relationship strong and uncompromised."

     He smiles. 

     "Makes sense to me. But..." he says with a raise of his brows, "If we do start seeing other people, I think we should tell each other. Especially if they're going to be people we're fooling around with."

     You give an enthusiastic hum of assent.

“I don’t have a partner at the moment,” you shake your head, glancing up at him.

“Me neither.”

He clears his throat and shifts his stance.

“When we’re…together,” he gestures in the space between you. “What about protection?”

You blink thoughtfully.

“I’m on birth control.”

He nods.

“Okay…would you want me to wear a condom?”

You feel heat creep up your neck as you meet his gaze with a shake of your head.

“Not unless you wanted you.”

He stares at you for a long moment before chuckling and shaking his own head.

“Ay, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You smile and pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

     "Oh! And we already have a safeword!” you remind him with a grin.

     "We do," he acknowledges, his eyes dropping to the glinting metallic ring adorning your throat.

     Your smile falters and your heartbeat quickens…and when he looks back up at you it's like whiplash as he sets you reeling again with a dark, hungry gaze.

     "If that thing isn't a necklace," he rasps, reaching his fingers up to touch the cold silver, "How about we put it to its proper use, hm?" 

     You shiver, pressing your thighs together as your heartbeat drops to your clit.

     "Yeah..." you whisper, your breath already starting to come quicker as you reach for your bag and fumble with trembling fingers with the clasp. 

     Hoseok's brow knits as he watches you open the purse, reaching in to produce a length of light chain about three feet long with a velvet strap on one and a claw clasp on the other. You double it up and dangle it from your hand, your heart thrumming in your chest as you raise your eyes to his.

     "You can put it on me," you purr, "...But you'll have to take it from me first."

     Click.

     That ineffable thing, that invisible force he wields that arrests you has slipped back into place. You can feel it, pouring off him in devastating waves...and you're already starting to drown.

     It didn't take him long to wrestle the leash from your grasp. Now you're on your knees before him, hands at your sides as he leans forward to affix the chain to the o-ring at your neck. You're breathing hard from your struggle. He stands to his full height, wrapping the links around his hand until the line is taught. He clicks his tongue condescendingly.

    "What am I going to do with you now, hm?" he murmurs, tugging at the chain briefly so that you lurch slightly forward. You whine complaintively.

     "Quiet," he hisses in warning. 

     You bite your lip. You need to obey now. Your panties are soaked and you can feel the turgid swell of your clit with every slight motion of your body. If you are good for him, then maybe you will be rewarded. Being a good girl should earn something. Right now, you will take anything.

     Hoseok glowers down at you, tilting his head to the side as his eyes trail over your features, coming to rest on your pouted lips. He wets his own.

     "You like to run that mouth of yours...how about we see what else it can do?"

     Holy fucking shit. You feel saliva begin to pool under your tongue, your eyes flicking down to the bulge at the front of his slacks. You start to raise your hands toward his belt but he yanks sharply upward on the chain, the metal ring biting into the underside of your jaw, ripping a mewl of discomfort and impatience from your lips.

     He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head as his lips curve into a cruel smile.

     "So eager that she can't even wait for permission?"

     You whimper again, biting your lip as he laughs darkly above you.

     "My little whore wants something, doesn't she?"

     You give a silent nod, letting your tongue slip out to wet your lips and watch his eyes darken as his pupils swallow his deep brown irises.

     "Mmm..." He hums in consideration, bringing his free hand to cradle your chin. "I've told you before, sweet thing, if you want something, you have to ask for it."

     Your eyes blink languidly as you look up at him. Your head is swimming as you sway on your knees, the dizzy helplessness of being spun between degradation and endearment hanging over you like a heavy trance. His fingers tighten around your jaw.

     "Come on..." he coaxes in a chilly whisper, "Use that pretty mouth to ask Hoseok."

     You swallow thickly.

    "Wan..." you start softly, but his grip on your jaw sharpens.

     "Speak up, I can't hear you," he commands reproachfully.

     Heat swells up from your neck and sweat begins to tickle your hairline. You know what you want, you've been thinking about little else since he was pressed against you on the dance floor...but the thought of giving your filthy, aching desires shape has every inch of your body trembling.

    "Wan...want..." you struggle over his fingers pressing harshly into your cheeks. 

     He tuts, and the look on his stony features suddenly warns you that if you don't overcome your nerves...

     "Wan' your cock!" you choke out desperately.

     Hoseok's lids dip slowly and his lips part, as if your words have been injected into his veins, and you think you could fucking cum at the sight. His eyes flutter open again and he gazes down. You fight for patience and composure with each maddening second of silence that passes. You can feel your pussy clench and your hands follow suit. Hoseok catches the motion. A sickening grin spreads over his lips.

     "Want this cock, hm?" he hums, releasing your chin from his grasp to palm over the clothed swell inches from your lips.

     You whimper pathetically, letting your eyes slip shut. Fuck you want him. You want your mouth around him. You want to choke on him. You want the thick, sticky milk of his release on your tongue.

     "So tell me, brat," he hisses, wrapping another loop of chain around his palm so that he holds you on a mere few inches of leash. "How do you want my cock?"

     Any shame has been dispelled from your being in the presence of your burning desire, and you raise heavy, lustful eyes to his dark ones.

     "Wanna suck it off."

     You can see his chest beginning to rise and fall with more effort as he pulls you by the leash, in tortuously slow deliberation, until your lips are ghosting over the zipper of his slacks. He glares down at you, the corner of his mouth curling up in a sneer as he holds you in place.

     "BEG."

     A violent tremor of arousal jolts through your abdomen and you gasp.

    "P-please..." you stammer dumbly against the soft, dark cotton.

     "Again."

     "Please..."

     "Please, what?" 

     "Please..." you breath shakily, "Will you fuck my mouth?"

     You feel him twitch under the vibration of your supplicating words. 

     "Alright," he relents in a rasp, "But keep those hands at your sides, understand?”

You nod.

“Unless,” he tugs at the chain again,”You need to stop. Then you grab my leg and squeeze.”

“Okay.”

“What are you going to do, baby? If you need me to stop?”

“Squeeze your leg.”

“That’s right,” he hums and the repeated instruction.

     You chew on your lip as he pulls off his belt and slips open the button, giving a tug at your collar. As you look up at his hooded eyes, you know exactly what to do.

     You nose at the seam, trying for one moment to ignore the throbbing bulge against your cheek as you find the zipper with your teeth and drag it slowly downward, your eyes never breaking his burning gaze. 

     "Good girl," he hisses, pushing his pants down his hips to reveal a pair of tight, black boxer briefs, a sizable strain pulling at the flexible fabric where he's hard beneath them.

He hooks two thumbs into the elastic and tugs down, his fully erect cock springing free to bob against the side of your face. A sticky streak of precum smears across your cheek as you seek his head with your lips, barely having time to register the smooth tip, or the pretty, pulsating veins as you rush to swallow him whole.

    Hoseok lets out a long, deep groan as you suckle greedily around him. Allowing your spit to slick his shaft you pull back, keeping just the crown between your lips as you worry your tongue along his dripping slit.

     He's rock hard and heavy on your tongue as you lean in to take him farther down your throat, bunching your hands into your dress at the aching urge to cup and stroke the velvet skin of his scrotum.

     "Fuck," he grits out from between clenched teeth, "That's right..."

     You bob lower and lower on his shaft, seeking to take as much of him as you are able. When you feel his tip brush the back of your throat, you moan around him. His free hand flies into your hair, and suddenly he's yanking you off of him. You cough and splutter at the sudden motion and he tugs the chain so that you raise watery eyes to him. He releases your hair to absently stroke himself as he lightly pants over you.

     "Asked me to fuck that throat. Think you can take it?"

     You nod as you attempt to wipe drool pooling on your chin into your shoulder.

     "Words," he pushes, snapping the chain around his wrist.

     "Yeah," you mock, matching his tone, a spark of defiance reigniting inside you.

     Hoseok lets out a hollow laugh.

     "So confident. We'll see about that."

     He slips two fingers of his free hand into the strap of your collar and tugs you back toward his cock. You open wide, extending your tongue to catch the head and pull him between your lips.

You move to swallow him again, but he halts you.

     "Keep still," he mutters coldly, and the fingers at your collar hold you tightly in place as he slowly slides his hips forward in a thrust that has him inching toward your soft palate.

Your eyes water, but you have never been more determined to fight your gag reflex as he pulls back and pushes in again, deeper, his cock tapping again at the back of your throat.

     "Goddamn, you really can take it," he groans in a shaky voice. "Such a good little slut for Hoseok. Such a pretty, filthy little mouth."

     Your nostrils flare as you draw air through your nose, and you swallow, the muscle of your throat contracting tightly around him. At this he seems to break, suddenly pulling back his hips to snap them forward as he sets a rough, self-indulgent pace.

     Your eyes water, spilling over from the brutal stretch and sting, but you dig your fingers into your thighs, determined to take him as long as you possibly can.

     You start to feel light-headed, and just when you think you're going to have to tap out for air, Hoseok's pulling you off of him and wrenching your face upwards to run his wild eyes over it.

    You gasp for breath a moment, and then you're opening your mouth to him again, blinking up through bleary eyes in a silent, hungry plea. He shakes his head slowly as he gazes down at you, chest heaving.

     "Shit, look at you..."

     You're a site. Tears and mascara streak your cheeks, saliva and precum slick your chin and neck, your parted lips swollen. Hoseok's fingers twist where they're still hooked into the collar. 

     "You still want it, don't you? My god..." he smears the tip of his cock along your bottom lip.

Your eager tongue wriggles forward to brush over him again. He swallows, and with a growl he slaps his cock down harshly over it. You let out a little sob as your soaking, aching cunt clenches around nothing. 

     "Alright," he mutters in a husky whisper, "Gonna fucking ruin that tight little throat. Gonna fill it the fuck up. Blow my load all over that nasty little tongue. And you want that, don't you? Wanna be Hoseok's pretty little cumslut, hm?" 

     You nod, and then remember the rules.

     "Yes," you croak, and open wide for him again.

     He grits his teeth and tugs at the collar to pull you slowly over him again with a shudder. You've proven more than capable and it's not long before he's chasing release at a punishing pace. It's sloppy and desperate - the hollow, wet sounds as he fucks your face a pornographic symphony. 

Suddenly you think you can feel his cock twitch and jerk as it hammers into your mouth, and when he grows so incredibly hard, you know he's about to reach his peak.

     You lock eyes with him through your tears, watching his features strain to maintain their composure. Without warning he grabs the back of your head and slams into you, arching over as he cries out.

     And he cums.

     Thick ropes spurt down your throat as he quivers and throbs.

     The moment he's spent his last drop of release he fists into your hair and roughly pulls you back, letting his softening cock fall free. You gasp for breath, coughing as you choke down the last remnants of his seed. Lips trembling, your eyes search his face for what you so desperately need...and you find it.

     His lids are heavy over his eyes, mere glistening slips of midnight visible as they gleam down at you; his beautiful lips are parted as he pants, the honey planes of chest glistening with sweat where his shirt fails to obscure it.

     He's breathless and sated and glorious, and you bask under the intensity of his gaze. He releases his hold on your collar and lets the leash clatter to the ground, bringing his hands to your face. He cups your cheeks, brushing his thumbs over the streaks of tears.

     "So, fucking good for me," he mutters shakily, his brow drawn, "Such a pretty, perfect little brat." 

     Your eyes slip shut under his words of praise. You could move mountains if he asked you to, you were certain. In this moment, in this space, anything for this man. Everything.   

     You feel his hands leave your face as he moves to help you stand, before tugging his briefs back into place. 

The heat of the moment past, you become acutely aware of the stinging soreness in your knees as you struggle to your feet – and the sticky ache of persistent hunger throbbing between your thighs. You teeter on your heels as blood rushes to your lower legs.

Smiling, he reaches out and pulls you to him gently by the waist, swiping a thumb over your chin.

     "You were a good girl, baby. So, so good," He coos in a husky whisper. "You remember what good girls get, hm?" He's still calling the shots and demanding answers, but his eyes are soft as they regard you.

     "A reward?" you answer hopefully.

     He hums in assent.

     "That's right, baby. That's right," He brushes at the smeared makeup under your eye. "But let's get that messy little face cleaned up first." 

     After unfastening your collar he sits you down on the bed, bringing makeup wipes to gently dab away the proof of your efforts, and offers you a bottle of cool water. He comes to sit beside you, eyes tracking you attentively as you drink.

     "Want Hoseok to take care of that needy little pussy?" he asks, with a smirk.

     "Fuck yes," you breath as you lower the bottle from your mouth.

     He arches a brow, and you purse your lips in an attempt not to grin.

     "Please," you add in correction.

     "Mmm," he acknowledges thoughtfully, turning to gaze over his shoulder at the spider plant hanging from the ceiling a few feet past the other side of the bed.

     "Does my little girl want to try something new?" he asks, his eyes still on the suspended planter.

     You feel your pulse quicken and stomach twist in anticipation.

     "Yes, Hoseok, I trust you," you respond without reserve.

     He flicks his eyes to your face, brows drawing together. He wets his lips and huffs out a breathy laugh.

     "You have no goddamned idea what you do to me when you say shit like that."

     You look away, smiling brightly as you preen under the heat and affection of his gaze.

     He reaches for your hand and guides you to rise to your feet.

     "Alright, ditch the dress," he orders, gesturing with a flick of his chin as he leans back on his hands and spreads his thighs in a posture of recline.

     You step back to give yourself space, already weak in the knees at the prospect of stripping for him. You steel your composure, a spark of boldness lighting in your belly. Taking a few steps away and turning from him, you look back over your shoulder to watch his face as you reach behind to slowly drag the zipper down your back. You make a slow, sensual show of peeling the garment from your body to reveal a lacy black balconette bra and matching thong. Stepping out of the dress and tossing it away, in nothing but your lingerie and stilettos, you stride back to stand patiently before him.

     He leans forward and runs his hands up the sides of your thighs until they reach your hips where they slide back to squeeze the meat of your ass.

You bring your hands gingerly to his shoulders. 

Tugging your body toward him, he draws himself to the edge of the mattress, pulling you between his thighs as he uses his sharp, white teeth to nip along the soft flesh of your belly. He sucks harshly at some places, leaving flushed little souvenirs of claim in his wake. You don't hold back the proof of your pleasure - repaying his ministrations with gasps and low moans as his hands and mouth explore you.

     Hoseok raises his face from your skin, his pupils wide as his gaze settles at your breasts. 

"Bra off," he commands, squeezing your ass again as you reach back to unfasten the clasp and pull the straps from your arms.

     He hisses and grits his teeth, raising greedy hands to knead at your supple flesh, before pulling them away to twist and slap at your nipples. 

You groan and throw your head back, relishing in the shocks of sensation – gushing, as if you could ruin your soaked panties any further. As you press your trembling thighs together he glances down at the last remaining vestige of your modesty, lips spreading into a wicked grin.

     "You know I can fucking smell it - how wet you are? My god, want you to wear it like a perfume, fuck..." He runs his right hand to rub against the dampness that has the lace clinging to your slit.

     The moan you let out is so needy it's practically a sob. Hoseok laughs low in his chest.

     Suddenly he’s standing and spinning you around, leading you to the end of the bed. He places your hands on the footboard and instructs you to bend over, sliding your hips back until your ass is on full display. He runs his hands over the bare flesh of your cheeks.

    "Now," he growls, "Can't fuck this ass until it's properly marked, can we?"

     You swallow and let out a whine. The blood is already rushing to your head in a familiar surge and in the split second of silence before impact, you know what's coming - the anticipation somehow even more intoxicating when you remember how it feels when he...

     Smack!

     You whimper, your fingers gripping the bed frame as he delivers blow after searing blow. When he has satisfied himself with the flushed tone streaking the globes of your ass, he gives it a final squeeze, commanding you to wait where you are.

     You hear him as he moves to the side of the bed to pull an object from beneath it. He seems to be grappling with something - the clink of metal and soft rustle of leather interrupting the sudden heavy hush. He returns to your side, taking your hands from the bed and bringing you to stand. As he leads you to the far side of the bed, you see it: hanging from the large hook in the ceiling that once bore the spider plant there is a large leather contraption. You've never seen one in real life, but you know what it is.

     "You have a sex swing?" you murmur in awe, momentarily forgetting yourself as you reach out to brush your fingers over the soft leather. There are buckle straps at different places and a metal bar running across the top. He lightly grips your waist, turning you to face him again. He dips his head forward and you inhale the cool mint of his breath.

     "Gonna put you in it," he murmurs, "You remember our word, right?"

     "Yes," you breathe.

“Say it.”

“Foxglove.”

He smirks.

     "Good girl. Panties off," he instructs.

     You couldn't be more eager to pull the sopping fabric down your legs and toss it aside, but when you reach to remove your shoes, he catches your wrist.

     "I didn't say you could take those off, did I?" he reprimands, and your pulse begins to hammer in your throat.

     He’s gonna fucking strap you to this thing in your goddamned heels.

     You comply with him as he helps you into the seat, fastening your wrists together to a strap that has them raised above your head. After securing your hands, he raises your legs, carefully stretching them so that your feet are on the outside of the wide set cables, hooking your heels to catch on the bar across the top to hold your legs, spread wide, in place. With each restriction he checks in, making sure you’re completely comfortable with his choices. 

When he finishes he comes to stand before you, heaving out a sigh through his nose as he trails a hand down the back of your thigh.

     "Look at you," he groans as his eyes rake over your body.

     You can feel your pussy leaking. Your heart pounds. The muscles in your legs strain a bit from the stretch and the bindings nip into your wrists and feet. You are completely exposed to him...and it is utter perfection. Like you were made to be at his mercy. You blink up at him through the fuzzy haze that keeps intensifying as you relinquish yourself deeper and deeper into his control.

     His eyes slip shut for a moment and he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head before bringing his lips to graze against the back of your calf.

     "Hoseok..." you whisper, trembling. 

     His eyes open and lock with yours. You hold each other's gaze in silence. 

Nothing needs to be said - you both know. You both understand.

     He unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, and after discarding his briefs he is as naked as you are. With one hand he grips your leg, slipping two fingers of the other to slide through the swollen, sticky folds of your cunt. You cry out, your pelvis shuddering - so ripe to be touched that the contact sends a shock like an electric pulse through your being. 

     "What a pretty fucking pussy...so desperate for me," he mutters.

     You watch his beautiful fingers as they slip through your glistening lips and over your throbbing clit before he pulls his hand up. He lets it hover in the air for a moment before bringing it down with a harsh smack against your mound. 

A scream strangles in your throat as he repeats the motion again. Your whole body shakes with arousal. 

He clenches his jaw as he trails his fingers down to your aching hole, dipping in shallowly to gather your bountiful slick. He raises his fingers to his lips, tasting you as he watches you tremble beneath him. He withdraws them with a pop.

     "You know how much you like that? Getting this little cunt slapped?" His eyes trail down. "You're dripping down your fucking ass."

     Shuddering violently, you whimper, tugging impatiently at your restraints.

     "Yah," he warns, and you still. "Guess you're ready for me, huh? Just like that day..." He smirks condescendingly. "You're always ready, aren't you?" He hisses. "Need me so fucking badly...all of the time."

     You sob as your walls contract again and again. He takes his cock into his hand and slides it through your folds, teasing the tip over your clit.

     It's euphoric, but it's not enough. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you fight your own desperate need until the copper taste of blood seeps across your tongue. Somehow, it doesn't even hurt – you can't feel anything past the need for him to fill you. You feel his tip prod your entrance and you gasp.

     “Look at me," he rasps.

     Your eyes snap open. Your legs are shaking, vibrating the entire apparatus as he finally, slowly, sinks into your wet heat. The stretch of him is exquisite, and your eyes roll back in your head as he groans, steadily pulling back to push into you again.

“Shiiiiiitttt…” he hisses through his teeth, “Fucking made for me. Does my little brat like that? Hoseok’s cock stuffing that tight little cunt?”

“M-more…p-please…” you mewl, nearly unable to even form the words as his ridges drag deliciously along your taught walls.

     You're so incredibly worked up that already you can feel a climax building in your belly, and he's only just started to fuck you. Unable to touch him any other way, you squeeze around him tightly.

     He lets out a grunt, picking up his pace as he uses the mobility of the swing to pound you onto his cock. 

You cry out, your head rattling against the leather as stroke after stroke sends you hurtling toward your high. Your mouth hangs open, and your vision begins to blur at the edges, the position of your arms making it harder to breathe. It’s going put you over the edge. He catches your glazed stare.

     "Don't you fucking cum until I say," he grits out breathlessly, and you let out a wail, head falling back. 

     You can feel yourself barely holding on as he slams into you, teetering on the edge as you hear his voice.

     "Whose little whore are you?"

     You try to speak but the words won't rattle out of your chest.

     "Whose?" he booms.

     "Yours!" you press out in a sob.

     "Who do you kneel for?"

     "You!" 

     "Who owns this pussy?"

     "Y-you!"

     "And who the fuck am I?"

     "HOSEOK!"

     "Cum, slut." he growls.

...And you free-fall through time and space.

     The summer evening air is warm against your skin as you step out under the rose gold twilight. Behind you the chic dining venue is still abustle, and you wave coworkers a fond farewell as they head off to continue the evening with karaoke. It's been a big day for you, and there's someone you've been waiting to talk to.

     You press the green call button and wait as the line rings.

     "Yeoboseyo?" 

     The warm voice on the other end has a smile blooming on your lips.

     "Hey, Hobi-ssi!" you hum.

     "Hey hey!" he chrips, "What's up?"

     "Oh, nothing," you respond casually, "Just got done with a company dinner. Someone got a promotion, so we all went out."

     There's a pause on the other end.

     "Oh," answers slowly, "That one you put in for?"

     "Mhm."

     You hear him scoff in amusement

     "Well, at least you seem to be taking it well."

     "I'd say I'm taking it extremely well, which is only natural, considering I got the job."

     "Yes, well...wait, YOU WHAT?!"

     You pull the phone momentarily away from your ear as his joyful, raucous laughter blasts through the speaker.

     "You're gonna make me go deaf!" You chide. Your smile is brighter than the setting sun.

     "I'm so proud of you."

     "Thanks, Hobi."

     "You should celebrate!"

     "I did go out with my work friends...but..."

    "You should come over," he interjects.

  The register of his voice has changed. You recognize the new one.

     "Yeah?" you swallow, as your heart rate quickens. "Well...what if I do want to go to karaoke?"

     You wait for his response, watching your ride share pull up to the curb.

     "Yah - you gonna be a good girl…”

     You hold your breath.

     “...Or do I have to make you?"

-FIN-

[badwolfrose34]

Girl in the Fireplace Rant (cont.)

There was at least some engagement on my last post about this so I decided I will in fact post a follow up. GitF was 100% a bad faith episode. Moffat wrote it because he is classist and misogynistic and hates Rose. Unfortunately, part of his purpose for the episode was to show that the Doctor will always prefer a “classy” aristocrat over Rose and he wanted to have her treated as nothing. So, all of us Rose fans have to come up with a headcanon that undermines the writer’s intentions.

I think the most common one is to believe the episode was the Doctor’s attempts to push Rose away because of her mortality and how that scares him.

That never worked for me because a major part of the Doctor’s character is his protectiveness. He would never push her away to the point of danger or abandonment. For me, I feel that fictional or not, the actions of the Doctor in that episode would be entirely unforgivable if they did happen. So my headcanon is that this episode was a nightmare Rose had.

If you are like me are also one of the fans for whom the pushing her away theory doesn’t work, read on for my explanation of why I don’t think GitF could be an actual event within canon. Moffat may be a BBC writer but it doesn’t give him a right to completely undermine the show, it doesn’t actually belong to anyone outside of financial concerns. If you’re content with believing he needed to push Rose away and that the episode did happen, you can ignore this.

Why the events GitF did not happen within canon (but could’ve happened as a nightmare)

1. Doctor Who canon is very loose as it is. With multiple writers across multiple mediums, things do contradict each other and us as fans get to decide for ourselves what fits with canon and what does not.

2. The Doctor has been clearly shown to be in love with Rose. He is protective of her to the point that if a decision will kill everyone else but give her even a slight chance of survival, he can’t actually make that decision. He almost did in Dalek, but after she didn’t get through the barricade the first time he was incapable of significantly reducing her safety for the good of everyone else. He snapped awake from a regeneration coma just because Rose said “help me”. He freaked out when Cassandra had her body and again in Tooth and Claw when she was in trouble. If you count Stone Rose that almost certainly took place before GitF and he once again, lost his mind over Rose being a statue.

I do understand seeing Sarah Jane age freaked him out. And I could’ve understood him distancing himself from Rose a bit in some way. But his instinct to protect her is so strong he’d never sacrifice her safety to push her away. Leaving her alone with clockwork for an extended period of time while he partied and invented drinks is impossible enough. Let alone the way he believed he’d have no way back to the ship when he went through the time window for the last time. Not only had he just promised she could spend the rest of her life with him, but her and Mickey would’ve likely died alone on that abandoned spaceship.

Simply, it’s just too out of character to happen within the rest of the Ninth and Tenth Doctors’ canon.

3. The horse. I have been a big horse person my entire life. Horses have extremely strong flight instincts. Even the most trusting and well trained horse in the world is never going to jump through reinforced glass. I do realize as Sci Fi fans we have to suspend disbelief for a lot of things. But we are never given an explanation as to why this horse would behave so dramatically differently from another horse. Every bizarre thing we accept in the DW universe is explained to some extent. There is a book where the Doctor tames a horse with psychic paper. But that horse is never asked to violate its instincts. That horse behaves as any other tame horse behaves. That is an example of acceptable DW suspension of belief. There is still a sci fi/alien technical explanation and I can absorb it. I cannot absorb a horse jumping through a firm glass window unless they were running from something even scarier. No matter how well trained a horse is, it’s not jumping through glass just because a humanoid asked them to. Nothing was chasing Arthur and his body language did not suggest any kind of fear to indicate he was running from something even scarier. All the droids were already in the other side of the window as well. It’s simply bizarre and impossible, even in a sci fi snow. Within this very show the Doctor states you can’t hypnotize someone beyond their survival instincts. I believe this applies to horses and a horse’s instincts is to avoid jumping through or into a reinforced barrier.

Next, we are given no explanation as to how this horse jumped through glass unscathed. Glass that was said to be so strong only a truck could break through. Horses are also extremely delicate and many have fatally injured themselves just playing in the paddock. Even for injuries not that extreme, every horse person knows that even small things result in giant vet bills.

Finally, it is once again grossly out of character for the Doctor to take a living animal and make them do something he previously calculated would required a truck.

4. Things are back to normal as if the episode never happened by the Rise of the Cybermen. If the Doctor had really developed feelings for another woman so strong that he would leave Rose for dead, then lost her, would he just be back to being the same old Doctor the very next episode? I doubt it. The Doctor is also a character known for holding on to guilt. Even if Reinette was mechanism to push Rose away, the way he abandoned her would’ve caused enough guilt he wouldn’t just be normal the very next episode. The show carries on as if Reinette never happened because Reinette never happened.

The only reference to that GitF is some clockwork droids in John Smith’s journal. Which could be explained by another encounter with the droids or by the Doctor looking at Rose’s mind to see the nightmare. Which would be an intimate enough moment to imprint on John Smith’s subconscious. The words “a girl in every fireplace” can once again refer to the Doctor seeing Rose’s nightmare or another off screen adventure entirely. There is no reference strong enough to confirm the actual events of GitF ever happened. The show functions exactly the same way without it. Because, it never happened.

5. The events of the show make perfect sense as a nightmare in Rose’s head. Take it from someone with a degree in psychology. Rose has abandonment wounds from Jimmy Stone. She also has abandonment wounds from her father dying when she was too young to understand it. School Reunion, the episode right before GitF triggers her abandonment wounds by making her see the Doctor has previously left companions and did not come back for them. It also makes her wonder if she is special to the Doctor. These doubts combined with her past trauma are a perfect recipe for her to have a bizarre nightmare where she gets abandoned in the most horrific way after the events of School Reunion.

I will leave you all with my fic where this was all a nightmare. Or you can write your own if you prefer. My point is that for those who feel the way I do about this episode, we do not have to accept the events as canon. We do not have to believe the Doctor has ever treated Rose this way except in her worst nightmares.

Update to address Deep Breath:

1. Doctor mentioned seeing clockwork droids before, but we know that the Doctor has many off screen adventures. He could’ve encountered the droids at any other point in his entire life besides GitF.

2. As for that episode stating the SS Madame De Pompadour existed, that still doesn’t confirm anything. There was a real life ship called the USS Queen of France. This was named for Marie Antoinette. Jackie dated a sailor once and Rose had a friend named Keisha whose brother was a sailor. This means Rose could’ve heard one of them discussing historical naval ships. This how she would imagine a ship named after Madame de Pompadour in the first place. She and the people who built the SS Madame de Pompadour and SS Marie Antoinette would’ve simply drawn inspiration from the same place. Also, there’s the fact that someone named a fictional ship Titan many years before Titanic ever existed.

Update 2: Rose was going to get an A level in French if she hadn’t run off with Jimmy. So she could’ve reasonably been familiar with some aspects of French history and able to imagine all of these things in a dream, even if it wasn’t a historically accurate dream, everyone knows weird things happen in dreams.

[flwerswrld]

relationship headcannons ୨୧ | hsr men

cw: lowercase intended, tooth rottingly fluffy, slight crack if u squint, gender neutral!reader, established relationship for all characters, grumpy x sunshine if you squint (caelus), sick!reader (dan heng), dan heng being a worrywart, marriage #4lifers >_< (welt), flustered geppie, ooc for probably all of them...😞 whoopsies i haven't written fanfic in like 4-5 yrs

character/s included: caelus, dan heng, welt, gepard landau

caelus ♡

- biiiiig cuddler :3

- like this man is ON YOU.

- march has multiple photos of you two attached to the hip (one where u guys were literally HANDCUFFED to each other. caelus wanted to try the idea out, might write a whole other fic just on that)

- literally anything could remind him of you

- he sees a bag of chips? oh, they're y/n's fav, oh i'm thinking of my partner now, oh how i love my partner :3

- ^ literally his thought process

- adding to the last point, he'll find or buy random things to give to you because he thought you'd like it/it reminded him of you

"caelus, are these... cat keychains?" you ask, the gift random, but definitely not unwelcomed, conveyed by the growing smile on your face. "they reminded me of us." he replies, his shoulders moving up and down in a noncommittal shrug. "i'm the orange cat, and you're the black cat."

well... now that you look at it, the keychains do remind you of you and caelus' relationship dynamic. the ginger cat— a tabby, it seems, is laying on the black cat's belly affectionately, the aforementioned feline having an annoyed frown on its face.

"it's cute." pressing a kiss to his cheek, your then soft smile grows into something more joyful. "thank you for the sweet gift, caelus."

and caelus swore to the aeons themselves that he was having heart palpitations from the feeling of your lips on his cheek.

dan heng ♡

- way less affectionate compared to how caelus is, not because he doesn't love you, but because he's more reserved

- doesn't mean he doesn't cuddle, he loves it when you and him have a nice snuggle sesh after a stressful day (but shhhh don't tell him i told you, it's supposed to be a secret 🤫)

"you're sure you don't need more tea?"

- prefers to show you his affections through acts of service rather than words or physical touch

- he's so dorky ugh i want him so bad

"dan heng, i'll be fine—" another coughing fit ensued, the hacking so intense dan heng backs away. "yep, more tea for you." he mumbles under his breath. "and more soup."

he reminds me of a mother hen... you think, sipping on your mug of tea that your lovely boyfriend had made for you. the beverage is hot and relaxing, feeling like a smoldering fire was in your belly whenever you swallow it.

"you know..." you start when he comes back inside your room, looking at your boyfriend with a hint of a smirk on your face. "you remind me of a mother hen, sometimes."

and you almost laugh at the disgruntled expression that appears on his stupidly handsome face. "i do not act like a mother hen—"

"oh, come on! you know you do, babe!"

with his cheeks turning a shade of light pink at the nickname, he sighs. "you can call me whatever you want, just drink your tea, for the love of aeons." he replied begrudgingly. "then give me a kiss!" you shoot back, weakly puckering your lips. "then i'll drink my tea, eat my soup, and then take a niiiiiice long nap."

dan heng stands there for a second, weighing his options. on one hand, he gets to kiss his partner — whom he loves very dearly he might add — to get them to eat their soup and drink the tea he had prepared for them. the only problem is that they're sick.

oh, fuck it.

pressing a kiss to your lips, he sighs into it, pulling away after a few seconds. "there. better now?" he asks.

he got sick two days later, but to him it was worth it.

welt ♡

- this man KNOWS how to treat someone right. i just know it in the deepest parts of my soul.

- shows you the animations that he made when he worked as an animator (it probably has 12 episodes, only 1 season, and ended on a cliffhanger 😞)

- HE DRAWS YOU. IDC. his sketchbook is full of drawings of you, random things he sees while out on his travels with you and the express, and other random doodles

- loves sightseeing with you. every time you go to a new planet you guys take pictures together at every tourist spot

- slow dancing w/ him to frank sinatra... it'd be so cute??? STOP STOP EVERYONE SHUT UP FOR 2 SECONDS. ☹️☹️

you felt like life was perfect right now.

with all the drama on penacony being over, you and welt finally had some free time to just chill out and take a breather.

"this is so nice..." you mumble to yourself, the metal of your ring softly pressing against the skin of your finger as your hands rest on welt's shoulders. "slow dancing is so romantic, don't you think?" welt asks, smiling down at you as frank sinatra records play in the background.

"are you trying to seduce me, mr. yang? even after years of marriage?" you ask, smiling when he spins you around slowly to the soft voice of frank sinatra, and the romantic melodies of the instruments. "and what if i am, mx yang?" he leans down in your ear to mumble, his tone teasing, maybe a bit... mischievous?

when the record stops spinning, welt holds you close to him, heat radiating off of him like a radiator. "hm, you're warm." you mumble, letting out a yawn. "like a heater."

hearing your husband let out a little chuckle, he smiles down at you. "you say this every time we hug."

"is it romantic, though?"

there was a pregnant pause, as if welt was deciding on what to say.

"do you want me to be honest or nice...?"

"welt!"

gepard landau ♡

- he's soooo protective ik it :[ like he's always keeping an eye on you while he's on patrol to make sure you're safe (not in a stalker way, just looking out for you bc he cares (⁠◕⁠દ⁠◕⁠))

- gets you something on every holiday, even if it doesn't count as a ‘holiday’. for every valentine's day he buys you chocolates and a cute little teddy bear 🥹🥹 he's so cute

- bc he's so busy with belobog duties(??), he doesn't have much time for dates

- so for the time he does have off, he'll spend with you!! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

- serval is also you and gepard's biggest supporter, and lowkey played matchmaker with you two so you guys could get together

"aww, geppie! this is so cute!" you say, smiling at the rose bouquet and chocolates he had gotten you for valentine's day.

"serval actually suggested for me to buy you them..." the blonde replied, a mixed pile of mush and flustered mumblings underneath his breath. "she said your favourite flowers are roses, so i tried to find the best ones in belobog for you."

you actually think your heart is going to explode. or that you're going to squeeze your boyfriend to death from his cuteness.

and that's exactly what you do, making a mental note to thank serval the next time you see her.

"gepard, you're the best!" you exclaim, leaning your head onto his chest.

"don't mention it, y/n..." he mumbles, praying to qilpoth that you can't hear the relentless beating of his heart, the thumpity thump of it so profound he can feel it in his ears. "it's my duty as your boyfriend to give you gifts."

you also make another mental note: to wife this man up as soon as possible.

[attapullman]

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples. 

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out. 

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge. 

“I can make you a pink lady.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious. 

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip. 

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again. 

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

taglist: @berryvanille @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @maryelizabeth13 @petersunderoos96 @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @sweetwhispersofchaos @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist

[wwaheoh]

“Hey Honey! Could you pick me up from jail?” Zenless Zone Zero x gnReader (Romantic- can sorta be read as platonic?)

Von Lycaon, Zhu Yuan

a/n: Changed the request a bit, since driving without a permit- at least in California, is only an infraction and’ll only get you a fine. With only repeat offenses (charged as a misdemeanor) getting jail time. So I changed it to public drunkenness! You got a little too silly drinking the silly juice and ended up in a silly little room.

a/n²: drink responsibly

a/n³: i know nothing of drinking apart from going to the store to buy gatorade for my hungover brothers

A dry throat, aching soreness in multiple body parts, and a killer headache. These were the first things you felt waking up, slowly rising to sit upright on an uncomfortable metal platform. Shoes hitting the concrete underneath as you looked around in a daze. What happened?

You got drunk as skunk is what happened. A celebration about something or other with some friends, and sooner or later you got drunk. Thankfully you didn’t try to get behind a wheel- bad news is you terrorized a lot of people in your drunken mess and got the police involved and your bum thrown behind bars for the night. No vomit on the ground! Thankfully.

Standing up, you knocked on the jail bars, speaking up with a dry voice, “Uhh, hello?” After a few seconds a police officer walked from behind the corner, a tired look on his face- ah, it seems like he had to deal with your drunk self for a majority of his shift before you passed out. At least he’ll be getting off the clock soon?

“Could I be let out to go home?”

“You’ll need someone to pick you up. Can’t have someone hungover trying to get back home.”

Unlocking the cell, he opened the door and directed you to a wall phone, black with buttons that had their paint pressed off.

They left you to give you some privacy as you dialed in the phone number of your significant other.

“This is Von Lycaon, to whom am I speaking to?”

“Hey honey!”

“Oh! Hi dear, did you just wake? Why are you calling from a different number?”

“Uhm… well I sorta got reallyy~y drunk and sorta scared a bunch of people and then the police came…”

“...”

“...”

“Could you pick me up from the Lumina Square police department?”

“... I’ll be there in five.”

Von Lycaon ended the call, turning to Corin, who had just spilled a drink and who he had been aiding in cleaning the mess up. “Apologies but I must attend to something quickly. Please inform Miss Sebastiane that I will be out momentarily for personal matters.” Corin nodded, having quickly realized who he had been speaking to. “Yes sir!” Before returning to drying the seat.

Stepping out of the building and into the sidewalk, Lycaon began his trip to pick you up. Entering his vehicle, letting it warm up from a night of cool air, before getting it on the road and to the police department. Music that he had been recommended by Miss Ellen playing in the car speakers- a hardcore metal band with a lot of guttural screaming and sharp electric guitar riffs. He likes it.

Pulling into the police department’s public parking, Lycaon parks his car into a free space and exits the vehicle, going to enter the building from the front door. Entering, he nods to the police officer on duty, knowing them due to his duty of turning in criminals he apprehended while serving his ‘Master’s.

“Oh! Lycaon!” Waving your hand through the bars of your cell, you excitedly called his name. He nodded towards you, “I’m here to pick them up.” The officer nodded, standing up and unholstering their keys from their belt before unlocking your cell door and letting you out. “You’ll be off with a warning this time.” “Thank you sir!” You replied with a grateful nod before turning to Lycaon. “Let’s go!”

Leaving the police department with him, the moment he closed the door behind them he turned to you. A disappointed dad face written all over.

“Next time let me accompany you when you go drinking. I have more than enough vacation days saved up.”

“Yes sir…”

He drove you to your shared apartment, taking care to not dizzy you while driving. Preparing a simple chicken noodle soup and filling a cup with water, he fed you and aided as you recovered from your hangover.

You didn’t even need to call her, seeing as how she was right around the corner- having just clocked out from her graveyard shift and being notified of your situation. It was quite a surprise to turn the corner and see Zhu Yuan leaning on the wall with a mildly disappointed look.

“Really?”

“It was a drink at first… but then it sorta became two and before I knew it I…”

“It’s okay. But please don’t make it a habit. Now, let’s get you home, you must be really hungover.”

“Yeah…”

She nodded, taking your hand before acknowledging the other police officer with a grateful- and apologetic, smile. Aiding you in walking by linking your arms together, she took you to the car and helped settle you in. Driving carefully, she made sure not to do anything to set off your hangover- she did not want to vomit all over the insides of her car.

Finally the two of you arrived at your shared abode, with her helping you in before setting you down onto the couch. Entering the kitchen momentarily before returning, she handed you a bottle of coconut water, with you quickly uncapping it and chugging it. Finishing with a satisfied, “Ahh~!”, when the room stopped feeling like it was spinning.

“What would you like for takeout?”

“Burgers!”

“Sounds good.”

“And pizza!”

“Huh?”

“And Chinese food!”

“Whuh- too much!”

“And a burrito!”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Lost Drafts

A Night Forgotten

A woodpecker on steroids had taken up residence inside her skull, and he was hard at work drilling a new home. All his banging around, in fact, was making her quite woozy. Her head spun and her stomach rolled.

“Fuck,” she sighed, as she groggily pushed the too-warm blankets off her chest and sat up. She'd drunk entirely too much last night at her best friend’s wedding reception, hadn't she?

While her best friends had been closing one chapter of their lives as separate individuals to open up a new one of togetherness, she'd lamented that page turning by drinking several shots of top-shelf liquor...which accounted for the giant, uncomfortable hang-over—a sensation she was intimately acquainted with the morning after every one of her friend's weddings that she'd attended over the years.

The last time she'd overindulged like this, she'd ended up in bed with an asshole, her ex-boyfriend, and it had taken two additional years of having him for a boyfriend after that for her to realise what a tremendous mistake it was attempting to make a real relationship out of a drunken one-off.

No good beginnings ever came from desperation, loneliness, and faulty judgement calls. That was, in fact, the recipe for a rather bad ending.

Bah, enough with the depressing thoughts! The real questions were: where was she this time and what had happened the night before, and why THE FUCK did she feel as if the whole world was gently swaying up and down?

Bleary-eyed and woolly-headed, she blinked multiple times to make the room come into focus. Black and white walls, charcoal grey carpeting, large nautical-styled windows to the left that looked out over the ocean.

Nope, not her bedroom.

What the hell.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly over the few pieces of furniture in the vicinity, as if they'd been tossed aside in a hurry without care. Yes, that was definitely her horrid-looking bridesmaid's dress lying in a pool of puffy crinoline and ivory and gold satin on the floor. One of her Dior pumps was visible near the open door, clearly the first of her outfit to be shucked, but where the other might be, she had no clue.

What did she get herself into, and with whom!?

It hurt too much to think, she realised as her head began throbbing in time to her heartbeat. Maybe she shouldn't do that for a bit, and just allow herself to take in the situation and the surroundings without judgment.

First things first, she needed to find out if she was currently sharing this extravagantly large bed with someone, and if so, who that might be. Gripping her pounding head, she slowly turned to look over her shoulder, hoping not to encounter anything shocking.

She supposed she should have qualified what determined the definition of 'shocking' before she'd looked. If 'shocking' was finding a naked man she recognised instantly by his distinctive tapered locs, face down and sprawled out in a deep snooze lying next to her, then she'd hit the mother lode. She was decidedly shocked.

And distressed, alarmed, amazed, and reeling in disbelief, too.

What in the absolute FUCK was Erik Stevens doing in bed with her?! And why were there scratches all up and down his back and shoulders and arms?! And what was with the very clear love bite that decorated the visible side of his throat? And why did his ass have small, fingertip-shaped bruises on them? And why was he clutching her lace panties to his nose as he slept?!

She looked down at her own state of nudity...and at her own set of bruises on her thick hips...and at her bare-lipped pussy, which hadn't been shaved when she'd left for the wedding yesterday afternoon...and at the deeply embedded teeth imprint around her left mocha nipple...and at the giant, loose diamond (was that thing real?!) winking at her from the cavern of her bellybutton where she'd apparently had it pierced.

Oh, no.

With trembling fingers, she reached and felt between her legs for the distinctive moisture that would signal...

Oh, shit.

She was wet and sore—very much so on both counts. There was no doubt about it: she'd definitely fucked her boss the night before.

But how...and why?

[queers-gambit]

Menace

prompt: ( request that i accidentally deleted ) in essence, "drabble about Tangerine going to the bathroom and texting Reader 'come here'."

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 4.4k+

warnings: cursing, OC!Tangerine, we talk mental health (social anxiety), established relationship, busy public work settings, the request and then some, alcohol consumption, smut, bathroom sex at a work event (Cherry, what the fuck?), handguns and mild depiction of violence 'cause it's Tangerine, i give him a 'real' name (Aaron), not edited.

"This is such bullshit, sugar, c'mon, fuck are we doin' here?" Tangerine snipped in your ear, his arm curled protectively around your waist as he glared at those in rich suits and expensive colognes around him. "We don't belong 'round this lot, they're just here t'wave their money. There's no real reason for us bein' here, sweet girl, c'mon, let's just shove off. Better than chokin' on whatever this lot's wearin' - I mean, Christ Alive, smells like a bloody Bloomingdales, don't it?"

You smiled prettily in case of watchful eyes, telling him sternly in a sweet tone, "Lovie, I told you, my boss said we were needed for at least cocktail hour. We can leave before dinner, okay?"

"This is gonna last fuckin' hours, princess, c'mon, we should just go," he grumbled. "Fuck these people and these bullshit fundraisers."

"We'll be okay, I promise," you soothed sweetly, the honest opposite of Tangerine - leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. You were constantly touching one another and early in your relationship, you realized how much you loved kissing him and completely forewent lipsticks or glosses because of it. Another peck and you told him in a soft tone, "C'mon, just remember we said we'd pick up Changs on our way home and there's that bottle of nice Merlot A - I mean, Lemon gave us," you almost used your boyfriend's brother's real name, but caught yourself with plenty of time.

"Hmm," he smirked, his favorite takeout place being a happy distraction. "Cheat day sounds nice, yeah, but still don't make this go any faster, now does it?"

"No, but we're not gonna be here forever," you soothed, turning into his chest to pet the expensive material of this navy three-piece suit. "You look so handsome, my love. Really love seein' you in navy suits, and the white button up looks really clean with it." Tangerine smiled down at you, the bustle around you melting away as he could only hear, see, smell, feel, and focus on you. Then, you spoke coyly as you fixed his tie, "If you behave the rest of the night, I promise I'll make it up t'you. Yeah? Maybe wear that li'l white thing you love?" He perked up, but before he could respond, you ended, "Or maybe I already have it on - anyways, so, listen t'me, I have to go talk t'some people and do the job that pays me, so I suggest you just take a deep breath; get another drink, find Lemon, and then we'll go soon, okay?"

He looked around the usual investors his private employer had to shmooze for donated funding and frowned when he was acutely aware of not just the sheer number, but how many "important" people attended the evening's gala. The Black Market was funded by multiple someones; most of whom were in this very room and while under the radar, it still made Tangerine feel as if a huge target was painted on the building's wall. There was always a need for services outside the law and these richie-riches couldn't take the money with them to the grave, so, they donated money if it meant they were "well taken care of".

The Twins' handler insisted they attend the gala tonight; being well aware that they were more like show ponies for being on display for investors to see. Putting a face to names made myth into reality, and your boyfriend was a hot commodity due to his skill as a contract killer. He and his brother were legends around the various active agencies, investors happy to see their money going to good use; all wanting to know what they had bought for a price-tag of several billion.

The common conversation of the evening was how readily available The Organization was able to offer their services with no questions asked, no matter what. Tan hated these events, feeling nauseated, overstimulated, overwhelmed; overall, exploited by his employer as attendees gossiped about the Bolivia Job, the Kyoto Crash, the Libyan Disaster, and a few other memorable jobs Tan and Lemon were involved in. Their beady little eyes followed him around, mouths hidden behind crystal flutes of champagne, and bodies always shied away from him as if he were a wild beast.

Sure, they pay to sit and gather in the arena, but flee when the raging bull they've helped antagonize gets loose.

Then you came along and took on the brunt end of these social events. Tan was never quite sure how you got involved in this life, you always giving a new answer, but knew you had gone to university for multiple degrees - one being in something called "communications". Now, if you had asked Tan a few years ago, he'd've said that was a bullshit job, bullshit degree, a total waste of time. Now that his popularity had grown and he was exposed to more social obligations, he was was beyond grateful to have someone navigate this with him. Tangerine's bad attitude most of the time was just a deflection, being why you and Lemon could handle him; knowing the lad's anxiety often choked him past logic and made him a sarcastic, violent cunt.

When Tangerine forced himself back to reality after glaring at the other warm bodies mingling around, Tangerine's arm contracted tight enough that he could bring you in for a quick kiss. Quietly, he muttered in your ear, "I'll give you half an hour, darling, no more."

"No less," your eyes rolled but your lips were spread in a grin. He chuckled and softened his expression; whoever might've been watching feeling something akin to shock and awe (like one felt when they saw a lion in person for the first time), knowing Tangerine was a horribly stoic, violent, and short-tempered man. To see him now, amused and soft with such a beauty of a woman - well, it was jarring. He was still known to be an asshole, but it seemed you had a stronger leash on Tangerine than his handler ever did. But perhaps, no stronger than Lemon.

"Right," Tan sighed. "What was first on your list fa' me t'do?"

"You're gonna take a deep breath, get another drink, and then find Lemon," you repeated softly, "but I'm gonna say you owe me a kiss before that drink."

Tan huffed.

"That wasn't a deep breath, Tan, c'mon, we've been over this," you mock glared, feeling both his hands secure to your hips. He pet the expensive silk you wore with his thumbs, the pocket square resting over his heart a tailored square of the same material.

"Sweetheart - "

"In through your nose, out through your mouth, Tan," you cut him off. "Together, I'll do it with you, c'mon. In..."

Tangerine adjusted his stance in those shining Italian leather shoes you gifted him for Christmas that year. He took a steady breath in through his nose when you did, watching for your subtle nod, then exhaling slowly through his mouth - when you did. Again, together, in through the nose, your nod after about seven seconds, then exhaled through the mouth. After one more, you smiled at him in encouragement, both hands splayed on his lapels; his own moving so they coiled around you.

"All right," he grumbled, "yeah, it helps, pretty girl."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Feel better?"

"Don't push it, plum," he mumbled, bringing you in closer so he could kiss the hinge of your jaw, just below your ear while stroking your spine with his fingertips. "Thank you," he whispered, mustache tickling your skin, "always know how t'get me out me head, don't'cha?"

"I try, but you don't always make it easy, you know?" You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth to smother your grin, leaning into his chest. "Kiss me, please, then go get a drink and find Lemon. Don't talk to the investors," you warned, adding, "please."

This made a mischievous smirk spread across his lips, "Awe, hey, c'mon, aren't they here t'see me? I can say hello. You won't even 'ave'ta introduce me, they'll know me."

"Okay, yes, they're here t'see the lot of yah, but they're not here to get yelled at, yeah? Or called cunts? Insulted in any manner?" You sang in a light tone; caressing his cheek to guide him to your lips for a long desired kiss. The hand on his cheek curled around to grip the back of his neck, gently tugging the neat strands of hair as you tried to convey your pride.

Social anxiety was a bitch and though he'd deny it vehemently, Tan was riddled with it. Seeing him endure this evening (despite the constant complaining) was a mighty feat, wanting your kiss to spark something in his gut that would cause his confidence to soar so it'd put a bit of "pep in his step" to get through the rest of the evening.

And boy, did it.

After parting ways, Tangerine was left to get his drink with a full-chub that made him shake both legs out in an attempt to hide his arousal. Yet as he watched you melt seamlessly into the crowd, he couldn't get the picture out of his mind that maybe you were wearing that white thing he liked. Tan leaned on the bar top, cock stirring to life with each passing second; watching you mingle and mix and shmooze investors and wanting nothing more than to interrupt and get you alone. With his drink, he located Lemon, trying to forget the way his cock was begging for attention while you worked your magic on these walking-talking-money-bags.

"All right, bruv?" Lemon asked, the two standing with a few other agents that were wrangled in for the event.

"Hmm?"

Lemon glared, then snickered to himself. "Oh, fuck me, mate, you're fucked, aren't you?"

"Come off it," Tan took another slug from the expensive whiskey glass. "'S only me second."

Lemon blinked in shock, "That's not possible. You hate these fancy things, you don't like bein' sober at'em."

"I've been distracted."

"No shit, 'cause your lady's here, gotta be on your best behavior, don't yah?" Lemon snickered, sighing as he shook his head and accepted the champagne being passed around by a waiter with a full tray. "But enough that you ain't been drinkin'? Yeah, right - oh, shit, wait," he beamed, "didn't Y/N get that administrative promotion? It's that, ain't it? Ho-ho!" He laughed, "Yeah? Don't tell me you've been her arm candy all night, mate?"

"We've been tucked away, actually," Tan admitted, missing the way Lemon blinked in shock 'cause he was searching for you in the deepening crowd. "She knows I don't like these things, right, so, we stood away from 'em all, ova there," he pointed off to where Lemon knew was roped off for VIPs. "We were just talkin', laughin'. She makes these shitty li'l jokes, you know? Kept us more entertained than the rest of these fucks," Tangerine chuckled, hand hiding his grin of amusement as he wiped around his mouth to play it off.

This made Lemon nod with impression, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, but," Tan sniffled, "duty calls, she's gotta work a bit, get some donations goin'. Apparently, I'm not allowed t'talk t'the fancy donors."

Lemon checked his watch, "Fair enough, you did punch that Sultan - "

"Oh, come the fuck off it, that was three years ago! He was fine."

"You broke his nose, mate. You want another?"

Tangerine skulled the last of his drink, shaking his head. "Nah, I'm good, mate. Might be time t'go soon."

"I'll leave when you two do, wouldn't wanna be stuck here alone," Lemon agreed, the two turning away to stand at a cocktail table together and away from the others. "This is why we don't work inna office, this lot - Jesus, fuck. Oh, shit, oi, mate, you seen who all's here tonight? Fuck's sake..."

"Yeah, mate, I've seen 'em all, but there's too many t'know who the fuck you mean specifically." He pulled his phone out as Lemon rumbled on in excited impression about the evening's guests to send you a quick text,

wrap it up, pretty girl. i got things i wanna do to you that ain't for others to see unless they pay.

He could see you from where he and Lemon stood; and when your phone chimed, you checked it almost instantly, smiling at the message. He waited for your rapid reply,

if my panties had a crotch, they'd be soaked. love you in blue 💙

That was enough for Tangerine, who nodded at his brother, "Gimme a minute, yeah? Gonna pop off t'the loo before we go. Have another," he pointed to the drink in Lemon's hand as he backed away, "but not that frilly shit, mate, have a real fuckin' drink. Oi!" He snapped his fingers at a passing waitress, "Sorry, sweetheart, yeah, my bruva, there," he pointed at Lemon, who waved awkwardly, "will take a double whiskey, on the rocks, yeah, and he likes them lemon twists. That somethin' you can grab for him, love?"

"Absolutely," she nodded, high-strung ponytail swishing.

Tangerine snickered lightly, shelling out a hefty tip that she accepted, "And bring him a Lemon Drop shot, too, please."

"Anything else, sir?"

"Ah, if you'd like, maybe your number for him, too?" Tan instigated, hearing Lemon groan and grumble in embarrassment. "My bruva, there, he's bloody golden, yeah? Can't do no better, man just has no flaws - less we count tha' he's a wee bit shy, innit? Pretty ladies intimidate him a bit, but he's the bravest man I fuckin' know. Just gotta warm 'im up a bit, don't'cha know?"

"He sounds like a real gentleman. But maybe I can give mine if you give your number to my friend?" The waitress countered, pointing towards the central bar that the servers operated out of. There was a decently pretty girl with dark hair, twiddling her fingers at them with a pearly grin. "She's sweet, kind, absolutely wild in bed - "

"Sounds like an even deal, sweets, but you see - I've got a woman, yeah? And my lady? Well, she's kinda one of your bosses tonight, so, uh, might not be a good idea now, would it? She gets all territorial, protective, likes what's hers t'be just hers - ain't real big on sharin'." The waitress flushed in embarrassment. "But my bruva, here," Tan pointed back at Lemon while unlocking his phone, "he's a fuckin' don, yeah? Ain't nobody gonna treat cha' t'a better night. Oi, hey, I'll be back, bruv," he called to Lem with a smirk, then reminded the waitress, "double whiskey, lemon twist, on the rocks. And that Lemon Drop, please."

"Of course, sir, right on it," she agreed, Tangerine finally backing away fully. He typed you a new message,

meet me in the bathroom right now

Inside, it was decently spacious; unisex, six stalls, made of pristine marble, veiled fluorescent lighting, and there was a lock on the door - which Tan cared most about.

He planted himself behind the two other men at the walled-off urinals, hands clasping together in front of him. "Right, then, you two," he gestured between them, "got 'bout 30 seconds to finish yourselves and get the fuck outta here." He pulled the usual gun from his waistband, threatening, "Or I'll give you fuckin' fucks a show 'bout all them stories you love whisperin' 'bout. Yeah? How's that? Hey? Thirty! Twenty-nine! Twenty-eight!"

They were barely zipped up and gone by the time Tangerine got to second 21; you entering right as the two were scurrying for the swinging-open door. You yelped a little, jumping out of their way, offering Tangerine a strange look and musing, "Uh, what was that? You fightin' in the privy, again?"

He put his handgun away as he stalked towards you, "Just makin' sure we wouldn't be interrupted."

"Tan, hell no, there's so many people!"

He yanked you from the doorway, making sure it was shut before locking it loudly. "Then we gotta be quick, don't we? C'mon, doll, real fast, bosses won't even question you bein' gone."

"I still have work - "

"Nah, nah," he pawed your gown's skirts upward, "you been teasin' me all fuckin' night, lookin' too fuckin' good - I can't wait, baby. Just look so Goddamn pretty, feels like I'm losin' my mind. Lemme see yah," he got the silk bunched around your waist, gasping loudly when he saw your panties. "You really did wear 'em... Like the good girl you are," he purred, one hand dropping the silk to run his hand over the strappy and lacy material you wore. "Swear I'll take my time with yah at home, the way I want - but can't do that here, just needa be inside yah, sugar, c'mere."

"Baby," you gasped when his fingertips ghosted around your cunt that was bare due to the crotchless cutout. "I only need a-a-a," you trailed off, panting when one finger suddenly plunged into your cunt, "ohhh, shiiiit. Yes, baby, oh, God!"

"Keep talkin'," He smirked, backing you up towards the marble counter. "C'mon, tell me off. Tell me what's more important right now, huh? More important than this? Is it work? Huh? Work got you distracted? Wanna get back t'it instead of bein' here with me?" The heels of your palms slammed into the pristine counter, whimpering when he pumped erratically. "Aht, here you go," he smirked, pausing to pull his hand free of your warmth; seizing your waist and helping hoist you back onto the sink's ledge. Your lips meshed sloppily with his, Tan letting you dominate the kiss because you were mewling - so desperate for him, you were nearly suckling on him; hands trembling as they held his cheeks with your manicured fingertips. When your legs instantly spread to accommodate Tangerine's hulking form, grinding your hips into him, he seethed, "Good girl," before sinking his digit back into your wet heat that halted your ministrations out of pure relieving pleasure.

"You're a menace," you panted against his mouth when you remembered reality, Tangerine's belt rattling open and his zipper teeth shrieking when you shucked them open. "Gimme," you whispered, reaching for him; dropping his pants the rest of the way to take his pulsing cock in hand. "This what you wanted? Right? Why you texted me? Interrupted me?"

"Exactly," he licked his lips before smashing them to yours in a suffocating kiss, always the one to help you push boundaries and do things you never thought you'd ever do if not for him. "Why're you so wet? Huh? Why's that? Had this on your mind, too, didn't'cha, dirty girl? Why else would you wear my favorite?"

"'T reward you for tonight," you panted, giving his cock a few pumps. "'S my scene, not yours, just so fucking proud of yah - for how you did, gettin' through it," you guided him to your weeping entrance after pushing his hand from you, both gasping when his cockhead notched on the lip of your cunt. "Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chanted, praising him as he sunk his hips into your own; effectively blurring your mind.

He grunted, needing a single moment to press his balls between you two as he waited for you to accommodate to his size. Forehead to forehead, your eyes remained shut; breathing the same air, feeling your insides fluttering at the size of him. His mouth was at your ear, demanding, "Tell me again, pretty girl."

You knew what he wanted, letting your legs spread a little wider and held onto his shoulders since this position didn't allow for much else. You whimpered, "You did so good tonight, baby. Oh, fuck, I'm so proud of you - you did so fuckin' good." He groaned and retracted his hips, beginning a brutal pace and messy rhythm to pump himself in deep strokes. You had to hold onto his upper arms now to allow him space to move. "Always so good for me, but tonight? Fuck - you're so good, Aaron. So fucking good - and tonight you were fucking amazing. I'm so proud, so fucking proud of you," you whimpered, his hands holding your hips so the counter could pose as leverage to allow him the angle to pound up into you while shifting you down on him.

"Almost there, baby," he begged, eyes all over. He loved the sight of your 'panties' still on; the criss-crossing of the straps and pattern of the lace still in place while his cock made a mess of you. Your gown glittered in this light, your skin tacky with a thin layer of sweat from your arousal that made him dip low and lick a bold stripe between your breasts. "Lemme see - lemme get a taste, doll, want you in my mouth," he muttered against your cleavage, still holding you on his cock as you pulled a tit free. You gave a shrill yelp when Tangerine surged forward suddenly and bit harshly on your budding, sensitive nipple; but it was in-sync with him changing the pace of his thrusting to something borderline painful.

It wasn't a secret he was well-endowed, there wasn't much to the imagination with the way his suits are tailored.

But having ten(plus) inches; fully swollen, engorged, jackhammering into you at this angle? It wasn't the most pleasurable at first, but with Tan licking, nipping, and sucking at both nipples now, you endured until moaning authentically. You were all but hanging off the counter by now, Tan the only reason you weren't on the floor; using upper body strength to hold onto him while slithering a hand toy your stomach to toy with your enlarged clit.

It took very little time of harsh pressure from your fingers to come undone, pleasure mounting to a crescendo before shattering your grip to reality. With a gasp, your hips humped into Tan's by your own blinding vocation; arms tight around his shoulders to remain upright as you milked yourself.

The contraction of your cunt was all Tangerine needed, and four slaps of his balls later had him doubling over and pinning you in a small slam, chest-to-chest, to the marble.

"Oh, my fuckin' God," you panted in appreciation.

"Shit," he realized, "shit, fuck, did I hurt you? Fuck - baby - "

"I'm not hurt," you panted, keeping a tight hold to refuse him from standing up, "just happy."

He deflated with a small chuckle. In your neck, he mumbled, "I can't feel my legs."

"Wanna sit?"

"Nah, not here," he mused, licking the sweaty skin of your pulse point. "Just had t'wear the li'l white ones, didn't'cha?"

"You get all worked up when I do."

"With good reason, should see yourself the way that I do - Goddamn, doll. My girl's divine, too good for these fuckers out here."

You were about to retort, but there was a loud, rapid banging at the locked door. "Hey! Hey! Whoever's in there! There's people that need in, you fucking arseholes! Get your dick wet at your own place, you broke bitches!"

You gasped and slapped a hand over your mouth as Tangerine finally stood off you, keeping you balanced on the counter as you sat up. "Oh, my fucking God, Tan! I-I-I-I'm gonna get fired! Oh, holy shit! This isn't happening!"

"No - "

"Aaron, we were literally just caught - "

"Hey, hey, just breathe," he paused, sighing as he caressed your cheek. "Let me handle this for us, okay? The way you protect me, let me protect you. Yeah?"

You nodded mutely, looking ready to burst into tears. After Tan pulled out and helped you clean up (ignoring the warm cum that dripped down your inner thighs), he simply wrapped you in his navy suit jacket, rolled up his crisp white sleeves, and pulled out his handgun. "Oh, baby, don't - "

"Trust me," he purred, arm secure around your waist. "Oh... Shit, hang on," he set the gun down to use his hands and fix your hair, your heart soaring by the sweet, domestic gesture. "I got'cha, pretty girl, one sec - there we go, yeah," he smirked, looking proud of himself. "Yeah, all right, there we go," he cupped your cheeks, "all perfect."

"Thank you," you whispered.

"Now, we're gonna walk out with confidence. Just don't stop, don't look at anyone. Actually, look a li'l smug," he instructed. "And we're just gonna grab Lemon and get outta here, yeah?"

You pouted lightly, "After I get the O-K from my boss."

"Nah, we don't ask permission, just forgiveness."

"Terrible philosophy."

"I prefer effective. Ready?" He asked, picking his gun up again. You nodded, latching onto him as his arm secured around you again, then approached the door. He unlocked it loudly and yanked it open, glare instantly taking over his expression as you were met with a gaggle of angry, grumbling patrons. "We got a fuckin' problem?" Tangerine sneered, his gun winking in the dim lighting; those who were waiting instantly backing off.

You did as he advised: didn't look at anyone, didn't stop, looked a little smug. He lead you through the throng of people, hearing a woman sneer under her breath - gasping when Tan turned his gun on her. "Tangerine!" You snapped, the people around you all freezing.

"Got somethin' t'say?" He taunted the woman, who shook her head. "No? You sure? Now?" He asked, shifting the weapon over to her date's forehead. She shook her head again. This made Tan smirk, "Jealousy ain't pretty on anyone, love. Keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"Let's go, now," you insisted, tugging on his unbuttoned waistcoat to walk away together. "Can't shoot everyone who offers insult."

"No, but word will spread," he smirked. "Ain't nobody gonna say a fuckin' word to yah now. And if they do," he shrugged, "you'll tell me. All right, now, uh," he paused you both, nodding ahead, "that's a bit of my doin'. Question is, do we interrupt?"

You peered around a person or two until Lemon and a pretty waitress was in sight. She was giggling and grinning, the two deep in conversation; just enraptured and toying with each other's hands.

"We should probably let him know we're leaving. Maybe text him?"

"So, we are leaving, huh?" Tan smirked. "No more precious work to go run off to?"

Your lips moved beside his ear, licking the shell before speaking so your cool breath fanned over the wet skin, "I can't work with your cum leakin'."

His hand groped your arse cheek tightly, "If you do, I promise t'make yah my li'l Twinkie, huh? Fuck you all night, like you deserve."

"Oh, now you wanna stay? You fuckin' serious?"

"Yeah, but, now it's a game."

"You're a fucking menace!"

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[moonlitstoriess]

Across the Universe-ch.3 (Fenrys x Reader)

Summary: Y/n has everything she needs in life. A family, friends, a safe place she calls home and most importantly a male whom she loves. What happens when it all changes when Y/n finds out about the betrayal of her lover and her so called family? Well, ending up in Terassen and in queen Aelin's court was not what she expected but what she will need to start her new journey full of surprises.

Warnings: Traumatic flashback, brief description of SA, abuse.

See masterlist

A/n: Hey guys! Just a heads up, I gave a brief description of y/n here but nothing too specific as in the end, I want you to imagine yourselves in y/n's place. Hope you enjoy this :)))

Following the Illyrian traditions was very important. Submitting to the males wishes, their desires and orders, being a proper house maid was the future of almost every female unfortunate enough to be born in Illyria. This point was confirmed once more as she stood near the stove in the kitchen, silently humming to herself with the hopes of drowning out the ugly laughters of him and his male friends in the dining room, drinking and burying themselves in all the fat and gluttony.

"Y/n, sweetheart, come here!" There it was, that deceptively caring voice that only came out when he was so drunk that he could not even tell the difference between a goblet and a chamber pot, drinking ale from the latter and declaring it the finest vintage in all the realm.

She knew better than to argue or even think of putting up a fight.

When she entered the room, there were 3 other males with him, all smirking at her while greedily looking up and down her body with eyes that held hunger within them. At that moment, as he got up and went to lock the door behind her, y/n realized her fate. She wanted nothing more than to die right then and there.

"Sweetness, why don't you give us a show first?" one of them said, giving her a disgusting cruel smile that displayed his rotting, yellow teeth.

And so, as her 16 year old body was forcefully defiled all night long by these vile monsters, as her pleas fell on deaf ears, as they slapped and cut her up for their pleasure, y/n knew that hell would be kinder to her than Illyria and its males.

Y/n's eyes shot open as she immediately jumped up to a sitting position on the bed with a racing heart and a sweat covered body. It had been a while since these nightmares last happened to her. Visions of those horrible, dark times. They started coming back right when Azriel stopped sleeping with her. Now it seems that they have just gotten worse.

"Shhh, oh you poor child, you are safe now."

Y/n turned her head around to see an older female, with graying hair rubbing her back in comforting circles.

She did not have the energy to use her voice, so y/n whispered, "Who are you? Where am I?"

The woman smiled as she calmly explained, "My name is Isolde and I am one of the head royal healers. You are in the healing hut where I have been taking care of you for the past one day."

"I have been in this state for a whole day?"

"Yes. After you passed out, Aedion was meant to come find me but it seemed like Fenrys had a different plan. Oh, you should have seen him when he winnowed here. He was frantic! I never saw him so worried before. He laid you down here on the hut and only said 'Help her, please.' Then he winnowed again and left you here in my care. In the past day, her majesty queen Aelin and the lady Lysandra came down here twice to check up on you, but you were still unconscious."

Fenrys was worried about her? Of course he was worried. They were all worried because y/n is their captive and they could not have her dead before they got the information they needed out of her.

With a scoff, she turned her head around to inspect the room. There were two rows of beds here on each side of the wall and two circular windows at each end of the room. Multiple shelves and tables around the place contained all sorts of books, medications, and some kinds of herbs. The light coming from the afternoon sun cast a comforting glow around the room.

The healer got up and began to gently inspect y/n as she said, "Her majesty said to bring you to her once you were better again. There is a washroom just outside this door on the left and inside you will also find some clothes. Although it was quite challenging to find a shirt that would somehow go through your wings which is why I washed your old shirt and put it back there."

That is when y/n looked down and realized that she was wearing some sort of chest binds and underpants. Oh Cauldron boil her...they had to strip her naked? At her worried face the female replied with a knowing smile, "Yes, I saw your scars and burns but do not worry, I was the only one who changed your clothes so your secret shall go with me to my grave. I swear it."

Slightly embarassed, but grateful nonetheless, she nodded her head and wordlessly padded to the washroom. After washing up and changing into a fresh and comfortable set of brown pants, her old, long sleeved shirt, and new, knee high light brown boots, y/n left the washroom and followed the healer out towards wherever this queen wanted them to be at.

When Fenrys got word from Aelin that y/n was finally awake and that Isolde would bring her to the formal sitting room soon, he immediately raced through the woods in his wolf form to reach the palace in time. He did not know why or how but Fenrys was definetly feeling something unusual and foreign whenever he was around her.

He remembers how, two days ago when Rowan felt y/n's presence within Terassen's teritorry and sent him to investigate, Fenrys did not expect to be dumbfounded by this winged female lying unconscious on the ground. She was ethereal. Her gorgeous, soft hair that he suddenly felt like running his fingers through, her plump, full lips, gentle yet defined features that made her look like a work of art. But most importantly, her unique and breathtaking black wings that seemed to glitter under the sunlight.

And then, when he winnowed them to the formal meeting room, he felt her nervousness and wanted nothing more than to make her feel safe. It did not help that being right behind her meant that he could smell her delicious scent of jasmine and peach. He remembers how, when Rowan took y/n's air out, Fenrys had this sudden and animalistic urge to kill him. Rowan, his closest companion for so many centuries, suddenly became his number one enemy.

Lastly, when y/n fell unconscious again because of shock...Fenrys could not even understand his own actions. He was supposed to wait just like everyone else until Aedion called someone but...he could not stand there and watch her lie unmoving, so he immediately winnowed her to Isolde. Even though he did not visit y/n after that, he would unsuspiciously ask everyone for updates on her. He knew he should not care but, whatever this silly thing inside him was made him care for some foolish reason.

"So what if she fell unconscious? We still need to keep our eyes on her every move. If our assumptions are true, she is a stranger from a completely different world."

Lorcans voice brought Fenrys back from his thoughts as he watched his family argue over y/n and her fate. Lorcan and Elide arrived just this morning from Perranth after Aelin sent word to them.

"I agree. But she also did not seem like a big threat either. She looked quite shocked when she realized what was happening." Lysandra said while glaring at Lorcan.

"And? it all may have just been a part of her innocent act to reach whatever her goal is."

"Lorcan please calm down, we will se-" Elide was cut off by Lysandras voice.

"You really are a soulles creature then aren't you? Gods...She fell unconscious!! How do you act that out?" Lysandra was staring daggers at him.

"Lorcan is right. Unconscious or not, she is a threat to us for as long as she is in here."

"Really Rowan? I ca-"

"Alright that has been sufficient enough, you three." Aelin said as she gave a pointed look to her mate, Lysandra and Lorcan before continuing, "We won't know anything until we speak to her and that means, we also can not come to any conclusions until we get her side of the story. So either you act like rational beings and we interrogate her properly, or you can just leave the room right at this moment because I do not wish to deal with any additional headaches right now." Her queen side truly came out as those turquoise eyes looked harshly at everyone, including Fenrys, and especially at Lorcan.

But no one could say anything else because the doors opened and in walked Isolde with y/n behind her and Fenrys once again had this urge to be near her and protect her from the unavoidable interrogation that was about to happen. She had an indifferent facial expression on that could fool anyone else but not him. Because for some reason, Fenrys could scent her discomfort and curiosity as her eyes looked around the room.

Y/n noted that his room was different from the previous one. Because while the previous one had different colors, this one was covered in various shades of green starting with pale and ending with forest dark. The floor was covered in a beige and green floral patterned rug, in the center there was a small, circular, golden brown table and on each side of it there was a green couch with hints of silver in their patterns. There also was a white marble fireplace that was currently empty. Finally, on each side of the fireplace, there were two floor to ceiling windows that displayed the gardens outside.

The strangers from the other day were all here, some sitting on the couches while others were standing in the center, but there were also two new strangers that she did not recognize. The extremely tall, tan, muscled man with brown hair that reached his shoulders was not the type that could be overlooked. It was as if his presence always demanded attention. Not to mention the fact that those threatening dark eyes were currently staring at her. If looks could kill, y/n would already be dead. Next to him, was a very small, pale woman with dark black hair and the most adorable face. She was also staring at y/n, but unlike the intimidating beast next to her, she was smiling with genuine kindness.

And then there was Fenrys who was leaning against the wall near the window, staring at her. His arms were crossed which made the impressively large muscles under his white tunic bulge and that made her feel hot all over her body. But, she managed to reign in her feelings and stood stoic faced looking straight at the blond, blue eyed female who was now walking closer to y/n.

"Well, I hope you are feeling better now." The female said, standing face to face with her and assesing y/n with her eyes.

"I am, thanks to Isolde." Y/n turned her head sideways and gave the healer, who was standing next to the door, a small yet genuine smile which Isolde returned.

"Yes. Well, she is our head healer for a reason after all. Thank you Isolde, you may leave now."

Isolde did a small bow and then turned to leave. Once the door closed, Y/n's cold facial expression came back on while looking at the female before her and already mapping out her potential exits from the room. She managed find a small but sharp needle in the washroom so, that was her only weapon as her knife was taken from her when she was unconscious. It is not like y/n was sad about it anyways because that knife was gifted to her by Azriel for their 50th anniversary.

"Y/n, come sit. Don't worry no one is going to hurt you...yet." The blond said with a small smirk as if expecting her to be afraid.

But y/n had seen and been through worse situations when she was working for Rhysand and had to go on missions with Cassian or Azriel. Her name though, how did they kn- Oh, yes, well of course Fenrys told them. Y/n cursed herself for ever revealing her name to him and went to sit on the empty couch without showing an ounce of fear. They could interrogate her all they like but they could never break her.

When she saw the tatooed male opening his mouth to say something, she crossed her arms and said with an indifferent tone, "Shouldn't I know your names? I mean, I could refer to each of you by your hair colors like 'silver hair' or 'ugly brown hair'..." at that she gave a look at the tall brooding man and continued, "but I would really rather call you by your names."

The blond female fully smirked before saying, "My name is Aelin and I am the queen of this teritorry. The 'silver hair' is prince consort Rowan and my mate."

"My name is Elide and I am the lady of Perranth" the small woman said while smiling sweetly at y/n before pointing to the still angry-looking giant beside her and saying, "he is my husband, Lorcan. Please do not be afraid of him he is just-"

"Acting like a baby? Do not worry Elide I am not afraid of men that seem threatened by my presence. It adds to my ego and confidence." Y/n said with a smirk as Lorcan got visibly angrier at her while someone on the other side of the room let out a small chuckle.

Aelin was full on smiling when y/n heard another voice, "Finally! Someone who can put Lorcan in his place. My name is Lysandra by the way" the brown eyed female said with a wink. Lastly, leaning against the couch was Aelin's look a like who, with cold eyes that were assesing her said, "Aedion." It seems like all the males here hate her. Well, how fantastic!

"And that is Fenrys, whom I believe you are already acquinted with." Aelin said, gesturing to him. Fenrys, still stuck to his place by the wall, only gave her a quick and wordless nod before looking away.

Rowan sat on the couch facing her and said, "Now, since we cleared that up, y/n, tell us where you are from."

Y/n sighed before telling them about her world, but still keeping some information hidden from them. She told them about the different courts, the type of fae, of Illyria and her wings, the mortal lands and the wars.

When she was finished, they each had different facial expressions while processing what y/n just said. Aedion, seemingly the only one to quickly gather his thoughts asked, "Then, in your world...Prythian? there are many who like you, have wings."

She nodded before saying, "Yes, these wings are specific to Illyria. Those who are from there have these black, bat-like wings. But there also are those with white, feathery wings. For instance, in the Dawn court. Those are called Peregryn."

Rowan asked her next, "And the Night court is where you work?"

"Worked. I was there for 52 years serving its High lord. But then...let's just say I was betrayed. In fact, I was packing my things and getting ready to leave right before I ended up here."

"So you just suddenly ended up here?" Elide asked curiously from her place on the couch right next to Lorcan who had one hand within reach of his knife and the other on Elide's waist. Y/n smirked, he thinks he is so slick but she has already memorized the ways of those like him. Always ready to attack. Which, if he does dare to attempt, the long and sharp needle in her pocket will find its way quicker to his throat than the knife in his hand will reach her.

"No, while I was getting ready to leave, I heard a voice calling me. I did not understand what it was saying and then, I got this deep urge within me to go find its source. So I flew to where it was and found that it was the Book of Breathings that was calling me all along."

At their puzzled faces, y/n asked, "You do know about the Book of Breathings, yes?"

Lysandra and Aelin exchanged a confused yet slightly alarmed look before the former asked, "Should we be aware of it?"

Oh, they definetly had no idea. With no other choices left, y/n explained all about the 3 objects of the Trove, how they managed to gather them, or rather how Nesta managed to gather them, and finally about the Book of Breathings.

Aelin, still seemingly deep in thought said, "That is how you won your war then."

"Well, we also had the upper hand because there were 3 of the most ancient beings, Gods of a sort, fighting on our side. My at the time high lady and high lord made deals with them in order to make them fight for us."

At that, Aelin scoffed, "How fortunate that the Gods in your world atleast agreed to aid you in your wars."

At y/n's puzzled look, Aedion smirked as he said, "My cousin killed the Gods of our world. One of her many titles is Godskiller."

To say y/n was shocked would be an understatement "How? I mean...how do you just manage to kill the Gods? How is that possible?"

Everyone in the room apart for y/n shared a look before Rowan said, "You told us about your world, it is only fair that we tell you about ours."

And so, they all,except Lorcan because he is still a brooding child, took part in explaining her all about their world. They told her about Wyrdgates, Valgs, the king of Adarlan, the Wyrdkeys, the Iron Witches and their matrons, their Wyverns, Maeve, Erawan, the war at Orynth, how Aelin managed to close the gates with her powers, and lastly, about the sacrifice of the Blackbeak witches that gave the upper hand for them to win the final battle. This all happened 3 years ago. It was clear that they left out quite a few things and by the stern looks Aelin was sometimes giving to them, it was about her but y/n did not blame them. After all, she also left out information about how the Night court or any other court in Prythian works, what is Velaris and what was her position at court, how skilled she is at war or just fighting in general, her age, Amarantha's 50 year reign and most definetly, her past.

Y/n had never heard so many shocking revelations at once. What on earth did they go through? So many innocents were being forced to wear chockers or rings with whatever those demons were? The fae of Erilea were definetly different from those in Prythian. But what spiked her curiosity the most, was the information she got on the Ironteeth, Blackbeak witches. Apparently, her wings were similar to those of their Wyverns and from what they told her, y/n felt like she would get along well with them.

She turned her head towards Aelin and asked, "So, now you have no powers left?"

Aelin sighed and came down to sit next to her, which made Rowan immediately come to stand right behind her at the edge of the sofa, watching y/n with a gaze that dared her to even try doing something to his mate and queen. Y/n genuinely smiled, how impressive (and romantic) that he loves and protects her so much.

"Well, I gave most of it away but, there is still a little bit left in me. Not large enough to burn down a forest or create a fire wall but, enough to still remind me of my roots."

Nodding, y/n turned her head to everyone else, landing her gaze on Fenrys, while asking no one in particular, "What powers do the rest of you have? I know silver hair over there has some air power that can take the breath out of your body but...what about the rest of you?"

Lorcan scoffed, "Who do you think you are-"

"Shapeshifting. I can shift into any form of living being." Lysandra cut in after giving Lorcan a death stare. Y/n smirked, she liked this female very much.

After everyone, except for well...of course Lorcan and Elide said what their powers were, y/n noticed how Fenrys never once opened his mouth during this entire process, preferring to stare at her from his spot near the window.

So, she asked him, "Fenry-"

But he cut her off, "Lorcan is right. You are in no position to ask us of anything. Better you shut up than ask things that are of no concern to you. My powers are known to those that need to know of it." and with that, he stalked towards the doors and left the room.

Lorcan was smirking until Elide jabbed him with her elbow, Rowan, surprisingly, did not seem happy and Aedion had an unreadable expression. Y/n thought that maybe just maybe Fenrys would not be against her but...it truly seems like she is the number one enemy of all the males here.

Aelin let out a small cough that drew y/n's attention from the door and told her with an uncertain smile, "You...could stay in the palace, I will have a guest bedroom arranged for you if you wish. And while you're here, we could look into this whole matter of gates and help you find a way on how to get you home."

"Oh no I really should start looking for a way to leave, and besides, your males do not seem to want me he-"

"Finally, something we can agr-"

"No." Elide said, cutting of her husband and then looking at y/n, "The males can go and brood for as long as they like but you are a stranger to our world which means out there you won't find anything. Your best chance is here, within the palace walls."

"Bu-"

"I command it as the queen."

"You are not my queen."

"But you are standing on my grounds and that means, whatever I say is law."

Aelin and y/n stared at one another, unflinching, holding each others gaze before y/n finally said, "Alright!"

Aelin smiled, before saying, "Ladies, shall we escort our guest to her bed chambers?"

Lysandra and Elide both stood which caused their husbands to immediately hug them as if they are newborn babies who could not stand being away from their mother. Y/n's heart ached because that was how Azriel was with her once. What was he doing now? Was he worried for her? She doubted it.

Aelin placed her hand on y/n's shoulder to bring her back to reality, as she softly said, "Come"

When the queen and her two ladies led her to her room, y/n's shock was written all over her face but she did not care. She has lived in and seen luxury for quite a large span of her life now, but not even her bedchambers at Velaris or the ones at Dawn court could ever come close to this.

The room was medium sized which added to its comfort. On the right side of the wall, was a large bed with a golden headboard, pale pink or almost white covers and white, see through curtains hanging above. Next to it, was a small, beige nightstand that had a small vase full of daisies, lilacs and a candle that stood on a small golden holder. Opposite to the bed, on the left side of the wall, was a white table with golden designs around the corners that held a large mirror, various beauty products and a singular vase full of white roses. Right next to it, was a white door which Aelin said leads to the washroom and beyond that, the large wardrobe. In front of it was a small, soft, white chair with golden stag figures over it. In the middle of the room, was a small, low, cream colored rectangular table and next to it, were two light gold lounge chairs. Behind the table and the chairs, was one large floor to ceiling window that was covered by, again, white see through curtains and beyond that, it seemed that there was a balcony that overlooked the vast expanse of this territory. The floor was covered in a large, white rug with pale pink and gold designs all over it. The room smelled of roses, vanilla, and other lovely citrusy scents.

"Aelin, I am so glad you listened to me when I said that we needed to have a feminine guest room for our female visitors." Elide said, gazing lovingly into the room.

"One of the best rooms in the West wing." Lysandra said before winking at y/n.

"Get some rest, I shall have food delivered to you and we can begin tomorrow."

Y/n gave a small thankful nod, but before she could say anything else, a messenger with black hair and gray eyes came into the room, bowed to Aelin and said with a small smirk, "Your message was received. King Dorian can't come now which is why Chaol and Yrene are on their way."

Aelin smiled and said, "Thank you Nox, what about Manon?"

"The queen of witches has not replied yet but it seems she has a lot to do in her kingdom. After all, she has to share it. My guess is that she and Dorian will come together."

"Ah those two, I am counting down the days till I hear of their union." Lysandra said while shaking her head.

When Nox saw y/n, he swept his gaze all over her, smirked even bigger than before, before bowing to Aelin and exiting the room.

Aelin, who saw the whole thing, just smiled shaking her head and said, "Nox Owens. He is...we have been friends ever since I was 18 and now he is my main messenger."

Elide took Aelin and Lysandra's hand and led them towards the door but not before saying, "Good night y/n! See you tomorrow."

And as y/n got ready for bed and ate her food, all alone in this foreign place, she wondered what her future held for her and how she would get home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/n: 4.4k words! Wow... but it was so much fun to write and also why not give you guys some more juicy stuff? Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed reading this and see you in the next chapter <3

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @ladespedidas @mis-lil-red @going-through-shit @kaitttttttt @bunnyredgirl @crazylokonugget @blackgirlmagicforever

[bowlofsoob]

YEONJUN AS YOUR COLLEGE RA

yeonjun x gender neutral reader

strangers to friends to lovers, college setting

started out as you and yeonjun only communicating for things via dorm life but after a party breaks the ice you start to catch feelings for him after becoming friends with benefits

notes; idk if it’s different in other countries but RA means resident advisor and basically it’s the person in charge of your dorm floor and in charge of everyone

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

The night was alive and the air was thick with multiple lights and smoke that you and the other students could have been underwater. It seems your roommates had gone all out with the smoke machines placed at the front of the dorm, blanketing it, as if it was a completely different world compared to the other silent dorms on the same floor.

You awkwardly nursed a cup of beer in your hands near the door as you anxiously wait for Yeonjun to arrive. It was stupid, but if you couldn’t have him you’d at least like to befriend him. Or take a body shot off of him. More so the latter.

“Hey,” you hear, a voice so low in your ear you almost jump and drench yourself in cheap beer.

“Hi,” you swallow, turning around and coming face to face with the man of your wet dreams.

You shove your drink into his hand, “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss the first party of the year,” Yeonjun lazily smiles, downing the cup in a second, not even flinching once.

A group of boys followed behind him, immediately running in and jumping to the music as Yeonjun stayed near you.

“Show me to the drinks,” Yeonjun hums, holding up two bottles he’d brought.

As you both walked deeper into the dorm you could hear the roar of the students and music thrumming straight through your body and into your eardrums. Bodies moved around you like sweaty gnats, the dim lights strung up on the walls being the only source of light guiding you through the hall beside Yeonjun, flickering between violets and hues of blue. It fit the theme perfectly for that night.

Once in the kitchen Yeonjun went to work pouring himself a drink.

“You want one of my famous drinks?” Yeonjun asks, rolling up his sleeves as he leans back on the counter.

“Famous?” you smile, “According to whom?”

A cold glass was shoved into your hand, liquid sloshing precariously against the edge. You brought the drink to your lips, the fizzling sensation causing a nostalgic feeling to wash over you. Yeonjun immediately drank one of his own, gulping it down as you cheered him on. He raised his arm above him once he was done.

“Pretty good, right?” he laughs, already working on another drink for you both.

It was at that moment you were ready to strip right then and there. There was something so intimate about you both being the only ones in the kitchen, red lights flickering every other second and illuminating Yeonjun’s sly smirk. His eyes on you.

“I suppose,” you shrug, “Get a couple more in me and we’ll see.”

“I like your vibe, Y/n,” Yeonjun hums, this time just making one drink and walking over to you. “I call this one the Lover’s Shot,” he slurs, bringing the glass to your lips.

“You use that line on everyone?” you question, letting Yeonjun tilt up your face with his finger and pour the concoction down your throat.

“Nah, specially curated for you,” Yeonjun answers, wiping the astray alcohol that missed your lip with his thumb.

“It’s…something,” you strain, the alcohol burning your throat, but not as much as Yeonjun’s eyes boring into yours.

“Not the best review but I’ll take it,” Yeonjun murmurs, placing an experimental hand on your waist. You try not to shriek as you feel your stomach churn.

You offer no words of protest as Yeonjun’s slender fingers slide underneath your top, caressing your bare skin.

Maybe it was the alcohol filtering your senses but a part of you wanted to make-believe that the entire campus’ crush wanted you too.

“I could show you something a bit tastier,” Yeonjun says, gently pinching your waist.

You feel hot.

“Yeah?” you manage to get out.

“Is this alright?” he innocently murmurs before kissing you on the corner of your mouth.

His breath against your cheek is soft and unimaginable.

“It is,” you answer before moving your head so his lips land on yours instead. You tried not to smile as you felt his pillowy lips upon yours, his other hand on the back of your neck as he tilted it.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as Yeonjun guides you and presses you against the counter, slipping a knee in between your legs as you reach over the tug on his hair.

“My room?” you slip out in between kisses.

“How about mine?” Yeonjun smiles, breath hot on your neck, “Nobody there to bother us.”

That was enough for you.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

the next morning and few weeks;

[koushuwu]

» 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢’𝐦 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 (𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐱) *:･ﾟ✧

» 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hinata shoyo x reader | 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,2k | hq masterlist

» 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: hinata shoyo both lives and loves freely, and he ain’t ashamed. neither is he opposed to sharing some of that loving with a fan, when said fan so clearly finds him cute.

» 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬): afab!reader, multiple writing styles, alcohol consumption, smut, one night stand, feet (a little bit), slight body worship, nipple play, spit, fingering, consensual sex, no editing we die like neji. lmk if i missed something.

» 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @tyga-lily (i hope that it's okay to tag you in this, since shoyo is your mans.)

MSBY!shoyo who has always had a very lively personality, having more than once been referred to as a “sunshine boy”. by many a different person, mind you. so of course it’s only natural that he’d be one to very much enjoy the party scene with his fellow black jackals.

MSBY!shoyo who finds himself the life of the party, with his drawing personality, his carefree demeanor, his quick radiant smiles and his fiery passion. with bokuto by his side especially, it was hard to believe anyone could not enjoy themselves. that is, of course, unless they were sakusa, who’d generally rather be home than on a night out, no matter the company. especially at atsumu’s favorite club of all places.

MSBY!shoyo who’s sending the bartender a bright smile, when he sat a drink down in front of him. “from the young lady over there.”

MSBY!shoyo who had had this happen before, but the bubbling joy never seized to erupt every single time, and he couldn’t help turning that bright contagious smile towards you across the club. his smile widening when you look away, bashful, before meeting his gaze with a fire that matched his own passion to a t.

MSBY!shoyo who got pulled back to the present by bokuto’s chiding “oh, she’s cute.” the electrifying moment crackling but never breaking, as shoyo turned to his friend and teammate with a grin as big as bokuto’s spread across his face. bokuto’s grin rivaling that of shoyo’s in contagiousness. again; unless you’re sakusa, who’d still rather be home, watching on in distaste.

MSBY!shoyo who glanced down at the cocktail in front of him, then looking back up at you. only now you were nowhere to be seen. he scanned the crowd for a glimpse of you, but between the many partygoers, he didn’t stand a chance, instead taking a sip of the vibrant cocktail in front of him. it was good. really good. and somehow that made him yearn for you to return to his line of sight.

MSBY!shoyo who found you later on the dancefloor. the bass was thumping and as he moved towards his table, and there you were. right in front of him, dancing with your friend. or he thought it was your friend. stopping in his track, he watched you spin around. and that’s when your eyes met his. for one split second, you seemed surprised to see him, but then you smiled.

MSBY!shoyo who feels entranced by the smile you sent him. by the glimmer in your eye and by the energy that surrounded you like an aura. who couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the draw you exuded toward him. the draw, that pulled him in, like other people had told him over the years he did to them.

MSBY!shoyo whose eyes followed your movements as you danced. who followed the move of your hands as one found his, and pulled him close. “hinata shoyo, right?”

MSBY!shoyo who knew you were a fan, the moment you said his name, but didn’t even care when you looked at him like that. who’d been with a fan on more than one occasion. it was all the same to him. a nights fun was a nights fun, no matter with whom, to him. but even so, he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t something magnetic about you. something a little out of the ordinary, compared to the rest. but no one asked, so he didn’t tell. at least, not yet.

MSBY!shoyo who couldn’t help but smile even bigger as you pulled him closer. as he pulled you closer in turn, and as you moved with him. as he moved with you.

MSBY!shoyo who despite lacking in some aspects as a kid found his rhythm fast. since going pro and since joining the black jackals. and especially since meeting atsumu and bokuto again, had learned that he, as atsumu phrased it, had moves. he knew how to move and he knew how to guide you as he did.

MSBY!shoyo who’d become so accustomed to the move of his own body on the dancefloor that he’d expected himself not to get flustered when your hand trailed over his skin. but he did. his heart may have stuttered and his movements faltered for a single moment in time. but then the next beat of the music boomed from the speakers and he’d already found his footing once more. 

MSBY!shoyo who knew it was coming, but still felt heat clouding his features when your fingers traced the nape of his neck, testing the waters as you slit them further up, burying your fingers in his beautiful red hair. whose eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time as you moved together.

MSBY!shoyo whose eyes fluttered shut when you pushed up to your toes, lips gracing his softly. he felt it in every fiber. every single cell of his being when you kissed him. when he kissed you back. who felt the entire world fall away as he let himself get lost in the moment. in the closeness and in the taste of your lips. who chased after your lips when you pulled back, that contagious smile still lingering. who opened his eyes to watch you just as you opened your mouth to speak. “i got you my favorite,” you told him. “i wanted to see what it’d taste like on your tongue.” he smiled at that and asked “and? was it to your liking?” your laugh sounded above the music, like a calling to him that he’d never known he longed for. “hmm. hard to tell.” you smiled, pulling him back in by the collar. “might need to have another taste, just to be sure.”

MSBY!shoyo who brought you with him home to his hotel that night, knowing that the tabloids would blow it up, given the chance, but he didn’t mind. shoyo lived his life and he wasn’t ashamed. not one bit and he never would be. he lived and he loved. and he did it freely. especially with someone as cute as you. so he took you to his back home to his hotel.

MSBY!shoyo who spent the entire ride back lively and brightly. not once allowing the mood to turn awkward. not once letting a single uncomfortable silence settle. not that he particularly tried to fill the silence. it was just natural to him. second nature and hadn’t it been what gravitated you towards him? who was delighted to find, that you filled up half of the space and the silence yourself, perfectly bouncing off his energy with your own. it was stunning really, and shoyo found himself drawn to you, just as well as you had been him.

MSBY!shoyo who could still taste you pleasantly lingering on the tip of his tongue as you stepped into the elevator by his side, grateful to have found the streets empty outside his hotel. who let his fingers trace the back of your hands, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips as you turned your hand and interlocked your fingers with his.

MSBY!shoyo who led the way out of the elevator. down the hall. briefly stopping before the door to his room before letting the both of you inside. the room that he thankfully had to himself. could you imagine? sharing a room with sakusa would have given the poor guy a heart attack if he’d known what was about to go down in that very room. truthfully, it probably would anyway, even if it wasn’t his room. but alas. the room was hinata’s alone and he was not about to pass that opportunity by.

MSBY!shoyo who was eager in many a setting, but for once didn’t feel any rush. no better way to get with someone, than allowing the both of you to enjoy the experience. allowing you to indulge. to have fun and take your time. that was his philosophy at least, when it came to sex. especially with one night stands. to kick things back and just enjoy. no rush. no hurry. so he led you inside, guiding you to the bed and gently setting you on the edge and dropped to his knees. not that he was about to propose, but those heels looked awfully painful.

MSBY!shoyo who lifted one of your feet from the floor and undid the strap, sliding it off. and then the other, fingers gliding over your skin in relaxed confidence. something he’d learned over the years that now came to him like second nature. 

MSBY!shoyo who couldn’t read your mind, but definitely noticed the way you admired him on the floor in front of you. who couldn’t read the thoughts on him, that went through your head. he was cute. he had energy. he had stamina. he was fun. he was passionate. he was eager. he had this air around him. confidence. that’s what you saw when you looked at him. and it was sexy. painstakingly so. all these things, something that shoyo didn’t know. but he saw the glimmer in your eye, and who was he to let you wait?

MSBY!shoyo who lifted your bare foot higher in the air, and planted a kiss at your ankle, relishing in the little visible shudder coursing through you. cute. he did it again. and again. each kiss edging just a little further up, tasting the skin of your calf.

“hina—“

“shoyo,” he said. “call me shoyo.” he looked up at you from the floor. a playful glimmer in his eye and a joyful smile at his lips.

“shoyo,” you repeated in agreement. tasting his name as if you hadn’t already put the name in your mouth numerous times before. but never like this though. never with him. always, always, always in conversation with friends. family. fans. but this? this was different.

MSBY!shoyo who relished in the sound of his name spilling from you lips. he smiled. chuckled. he looked up at you, anticipation reflected in your eyes as they followed his every move. every single one of his movements as he moved up further, kissing the side of your knee before licking a stripe up your inner thigh. the fact that you were wearing a dress, no tights, was like a gift bestowed on him as he tasted your skin. your hand shoved into his soft fiery locks as your breathing hitched when he blew his warm breath across the saliva on your leg.

MSBY!shoyo who, despite being eager and energetic, took the time stop and make sure you actually wanted this. who asked you more than once if you were sure. if you were okay with anything he did. because you may have wanted him when you left the club with him, but that didn’t mean you still did. shoyo was a free spirit and a respectful one at that. so he asked. and once he’d got you splayed out on his hotel bed, clothes discarded on the floor, he asked you again. but this time, he asked you something different.

“What do you want me to do?” his breath against your skin sent a shiver through your body as goosebumps rose across your flesh. this time not a ‘are you sure?’, ‘do you still want this?’ or a ‘are you feeling okay?’ but simply a request for you to indulge him. to play with him.

“touch me,” you told him, the alcohol in your system stripping you of any embarrassment sober you might’ve felt by speaking your mind like this. but tipsy you? tipsy you wanted his hands on your body and tipsy you weren’t afraid to say so.

“where?” he asked. “if we’re gonna do this, we might as well have a good time, yeah?” it was more of a statement than a question really, because it was simple. of course you might. and that was the thing shoyo really wanted most. to ensure that the both of you were having the best time that you could on this one night together. you were just about to reply when a mischievous glimmer played in his eyes. “here?” he asked, bringing his hands up to cup your tits. you nodded when he pinched one nipple between his fingers. that made his lips split in a big, beautiful, blinding grin. then he dipped and took your other nipple between his lips and suckled.

there was a breathy sound escaping your lips when his teeth graced the sensitive nub, making your back arch off the bed. he did it again, rolling your other nipple between his fingers at the same time.

“shoyo–” you whined, the last note drawing out as his tongue flicked around your nipple. he looked up at you and finally released you, tongue sticking out and a little bit of spit trickling onto your exposed skin. the glimmer in his eyes was captivating. entrancing. the smile on his face was dazzling. drawing. he was looking at you, as if you were quite literally the only woman in the world, and even if he might not be yours to keep, it never felt forced. maybe because to him, at that moment, you were in fact very much the only woman that mattered, and he absolutely made sure that you felt it.

“where?” he asked you again, this time pausing to let you reply. to let you tell him what and where you wanted him to touch. and so you did. you took his hand in yours and guided it down. down. down. down. until his fingers rested against your sex.

“here,” you said and he grinned back at you. drawing indeed.

“oh? this pretty little lady?” he asked, letting his fingers slide between your folds, feeling the slick against them. “happy to oblige,” he said. you sucked in a breath as his digits danced over your clit. he was good. really good. the playful melody of his fingers was lighthearted. fun. good. perfect. something so different to anything you’d ever tried with any one night stand before, and for a moment you couldn’t believe your luck, that he’d taken you home. you. out of all the people he could have pulled from the bar, he’d picked you. a fan of his no less. the next moment you remembered that you had indeed been pretty straightforward with you advantages from the very start. but who could blame you really? the guy was cute as hell. little did you know that shoyo really hadn’t planned on taking anyone home at all. he never did when these sort of things happened. but your straightforward approach had been exactly what captivated him. you’d let him have a glance, but you hadn’t pushed. not until he was right there in front of you again. and at that point, he’d already been looking for you for hours. the trap already snapped closed, even if you’d never truly expected it to play out like that. but it did.

the temperature rose like a crescendo between the two of you. a moan fell from your lips and shoyo smiled. his eyes locked onto your and held your gaze in place. there was something about the way he looked at you right then, that made it feel impossible for you to look away. so you didn’t.

“give me your hand,” he prompted, reaching out. you placed your hand in his, gaze still interlocked with his. fingers slid gingerly over your skin as he let them glide from your hand, up to your wrist, circling it softly. drawing your hand towards him, he opened his mouth, tongue sticking out. his thumb grazed your palm, then pressed lightly. you straightened your fingers at his silent command. you couldn’t help but feel drawn in by him as he put your fingers to his mouth, tongue sliding in between them. around them. pulling them in. he was mesmerizing. even more so than you’d ever imagined, watching him play or participate in interviews. like he was a completely different league.

as much as you probably could have tried to keep your voice back, you didn’t. you mewled. you keened. and he hadn’t even entered you yet. he hadn’t entered you yet. he should– he bit down gently on your knuckles, and you whined as you felt yourself tightening around nothing. he should–

“shoyo–” you whined. again. but you didn’t care. because you were here and he was here and you were together and that’s what mattered. “inside, too. please,” you pleaded. and he smiled, removing your fingers from his mouth.

“okay,” he agreed. he didn’t press inside. instead he shifted in the bed, placing himself on his knees between your legs. and that’s when your eyes grew wide, because with your hand pressed to the mattress, his fingers caressed your skin. from your wrist, down the inside of your forearm, making you shudder. then, down the side of your ribs, over your hip and then to your thigh. he pushed it down. out. and then he did something you hadn’t expected him to. gaze still trained on yours, he let a dribble of spit fall from his lips. the cold, wet sensation sent a pleasurable ripple through your body. from your very core and through every little inch, ebbing out as it reached your fingertips. goosebumps broke out across your skin, amplified only by the way he looked at you. and looked at you. you looked back. captivated. as if you couldn’t truly look away. lacing his fingers between yours on one hand, the other found your pussy again, tracing through the slick of his own spit and your arousal.

“last chance to back out,” he said when one finger pressed against your entrance. it was soft. imødekommende. understanding. but you just shook your head. you wanted him, and he clearly wanted you.

“not gonna happen,” you told him, tone equally soft. a little teasing. he grinned. he did that a lot, you noted. and then he pressed inside.

shoyo was as giver. he enjoyed the playful thrill of pleasuring his partner. of giving, and giving, and giving. making his partner feel good. happy. it was a feeling like no other. and that was exactly the feeling he reveled in, that very moment, as he worked you open. as he stretched your pussy, first making room for one more finger, and then as he slowly thrust them into your heat, again and again.

your own grip tightened in his, moan after whine after mewl after whimper spilling into the scorching air around you, mixing in with his labored breathing, in a wondrous, beautiful symphony. rising and falling in perfect harmony, the filthy squelches of his fingers picking up pace, bullying into you, making for the steady bass of the sweet orchestration.

somehow, shoyo knew exactly how to angle his fingers to hit just that perfect spot inside. to go just deep enough. honestly that should not have been legal. and yet somehow he managed it.

the hold around your hand loosened, but only long enough for shoyo to nestle the palm of his own hand against the back of yours, digits once again slipping between yours, and squeezed it lightly. it tingled. you didn’t know why, but it did. every little bit of skin that he touched was buzzing, as if electric. charged. charged like the feeling in the pit of your stomach; rising expectantly. reaching. stretching towards the peak of crescendo, each tone strumming higher and higher in pitch. shoyo curled his fingers, thumb caressing your hand as he continued to pump into you. you hadn’t expected him to make you cum, honestly. not because you thought he’d be bad in bed, but first times and one night stands often left a lot to be desired for you, because you simply didn’t know each others bodies well enough. so you hadn’t expected him to manage it. at the very least not this fast. but you felt the rise, rapidly approaching the climax you hadn’t been prepared for. but when he brushed deep inside you once more, you welcomed it, as it washed over you in a delicious flow of heat. it wasn’t fireworks going off inside. it wasn’t an earth shattering crash of pleasure snapping in your core. it was warm, comforting pleasure rolling through you like the waves lapping at the shore on a quiet summer night, and it was perfect. shoyo smiled at the sound of his name, softly sliding off your tongue like a contented sigh. he held you until the waves of pleasure ebbed out, thinning to a pleasant hum.

“good?” he asked you when he sensed you were back. that you’d come down from your high.

“good,” you confirmed, voice soft and flashed him a lazy grin of your own.

“good,” he said, lifting your hand to his lips. they were soft. softer than any guy’s lips you’d ever felt, as he kissed the palm of your hand. then he kissed it again. “i’m glad,” he said, breath hot as it spread against your wrist before his lips pressed against it. your skin tingled. the sensation sending new heat surging down your spine. spreading and once more made you long for his touch. for more. for him. shoyo seemed to sense the charged atmosphere. the way you looked at him, because he chuckled as he kissed your wrist once more.

“shoyo,” you said, and he looked at you, still standing tall between your thighs.

“hm?”

“instead of my wrist, maybe you could kiss me instead. or better yet, you could fuck–” your words cut off when he pressed leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. he guided your hand into his hair as he kissed you, just as you’d asked. his warm cock bumping against your abdomen as he adjusted over you. the kiss was short and he pulled back, nipping at your lower lip as he did. you chased his lips, but he just grinned at your efforts.

“that’s just want i wanted to hear,” he told you and then kissed you again. and again. and again and again and again. and even through kisses, it didn’t take long before shoyo had successfully slid the rubber in place, tip now excitedly slipping through the wetness of your cunt. “how do you want it?” he asked you, and there was another shiver rippling through you. you never thought you’d get excited by talking in bed, but the the way shoyo did it was– well it was hot. incredibly so. something about the way he considered you, even for a one time fling. the sheer confidence of his bright and attentive aura. it gave you the confidence as well, to be free and to ask of him exactly what you wanted.

“from behind,” you said. “i like it from behind.”

“alright, princess. turn around,” he told you. it wasn’t a command. a simple instruction that you found yourself eager to follow. and so you did, feeling his gaze on you as you did. he was admiring you. every single inch of skin. every curve, crevice and crease as you turned. you were beautiful in every sense of the word to him, honestly. he let you settle into the position that was the most comfortable for you, and didn’t touch you before then. as you rested against the bed, ass raised in silent invitation, he finally did touch you. one single finger traced the curve of your spine, from between your shoulders and all the way down to your tailbone. featherlight and burning hot at the same time. he drew circles across your skin before finally resting his palm against your hip. with the other, he lined himself up with your entrance, and then stopped.

“shoyo. fuck me, please.” you told him, before he had the time to ask if you were sure. if you were ready. if you were comfortable, or anything else along those lines. you’d have to admit that it was insanely hot that he did so, but right now– right now you wanted nothing more than for him to get inside you, and you were not going to waste any more time than absolutely necessary before you got what you wanted. shoyo clearly got the memo, because his hold tightened on your hip and his cock pressed against your cunt, stretching as it pushed inside. slowly. slowly. ever so slowly. but oh so absolutely delicious and despite your impatience to have him sheathed inside of you, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

MSBY!shoyo who never had any second thoughts about having sex with a fan. he lived and he loved freely, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him from doing just that, for as long as he was single. and so he chose to love you, that night. to give you everything you wanted. to give you all of him that you wanted.

MSBY!shoyo who’d done this kind of thing more than once. and who’d had a night partner slip him their number before they left more than once as well. but this time. maybe. just maybe, he’d keep it. this time. maybe. just maybe, a one night stand could be allowed to turn into a two nights stand. or maybe. just maybe–

*:･ﾟ✧ thank you for reading ♡

[hisunshiine]

— a wager of lords & love | myg

♔ pairing: noble!yoongi x noble!reader

♔ au/genre: regency era au, arranged marriage au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst

♔ rating: M

♔ wc: 6,813

⚔ warnings: reader’s mom is not alive, era-appropriate sexism, sex jokes, pet names, bedding ceremony, explicit smut: fingering, marking, light breast play, oral (female receiving), vaginal penetration, multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, you will fall so hard for yoongi. 

♔ an: this story was written for Leah | @colormepurplex2​ as part of the BangtanWHQ Valentine’s Event “Picture Perfect”. Thank you to my beta readers: @downbad4yoongi​, @peachiilovesot7​, and @moonleeai​; this story was so much fun to write. Your feedback, as always, was valuable to making not only this story at it’s best but also making my day better when reading your comments. I love regency era au’s and this one only made me fall even more madly in love with Yoongi, and I hope you will too! Please enjoy!

“What in heaven’s name did I do last night?”

Yoongi groans as he rolls over in his plush bed sheets, sunlight streaming through the window at an ungodly hour. Ungodly, because he never sleeps in this late, but the Scottish whisky and late night at Lord Kim Namjoon’s manor has made him act out of character in more ways than one. 

*flashback to the previous evening*

“Yoongi, it has been too long since we’ve gotten together properly. You must come celebrate. It’s not every day that one as young as I is able to acquire more wealth than what feels like the King himself can own.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes from where he stands across the study from his large oak desk, hand gripping the telephone to his ear as he leans closer to the box on the wall to reply.

“I have a plethora of worries, Namjoon, and none of them can be solved by celebrating your wealth.”

“I beg to differ! Come! Have a drink and make merry, partake in some illicit pleasantries. I am sure that’s just what you need to clear your mind and find a resolution.”

“I doubt I will have a resolution by the night’s end, but against my better judgment, I will be there.”

And Yoongi made sure to keep his promise, strolling into the large manor filled to the brim with the most darling of debutantes from Daehurst to Ilsansterchire. He recalls the way the single women seemed to throw themselves at him, all fluttering eyelashes and demure smiles as if they were captivated by his looks and not the wealth they knew lay in wait for his future bride. 

The knowledge of his arrival spread like wildfire through the ballroom and Yoongi had felt himself grow flustered as a gaggle of pristine beauties crowded around him to fight for his attention. He kept his face nonplussed despite the rising anxiety creeping along his outer extremities and towards his chest. Luckily, the arrival of the Earl of Upton Busan and the Marquees of Gwangchester helped reduce the number of women in his presence.

Yoongi remembers pretending to be summoned by a friend, escaping into what he thought was an empty parlor that belonged to the late Lord Kim, but the sitting room, with two walls filled from floor to ceiling with books of all sizes and colors was, in fact, occupied. The large oak desk off to the side held an older gentleman, who also seemed to be happy in his solitude, hiding from the revelry.  

The man moved a jewel-encrusted chessman across a marble chess board before looking up at Yoongi, a slight nod of his head summoning Yoongi over to join him. He produced a bottle of Smokehead Islay single-malt scotch whisky that he’d been nursing, poured Yoongi a hefty serving into a Glencairn whisky glass, which he promptly swirled to open up the aromas for full appreciation before downing the entire portion.

He knows that this was the catalyst for the conversation of what was bothering him, and so Yoongi, lips loosened from his liquor intake, shared to whom he found out was the Marquees of Seoulshire, his predicament. How his late father’s younger brother, jealous of his position, was sowing distrust in the elder’s bloodline, touting the fact that his eldest son was already married and with an heir on the way, when Yoongi had yet to take a woman’s hand in marriage despite being five years older than his cousin.

Typically, this would not be such a strange thing; many male nobility did not wed until their late twenties, and Yoongi only recently turned his twenty-ninth year, but with his estranged uncle vying to take over the wealth and power of the entire family following his father’s passing, Yoongi had to procure a wife, and fast. 

Bonding with the elder nobleman, both introverts sequestered themselves with flowing, piquant beverages, and a small miniature of the only daughter of the Marquees produced for viewing, and thus, a drunken deal was struck for the hand of his only daughter to be wed in one week’s time to the Duke of Daehurst, Min Yoongi. That only daughter being none other than…

You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror. The white dress, with its cut right beneath your bosom, is stifling despite its beauty, and the body of the gown falls along your figure gently. The sleeves are loosely capped, a lace frill edging the cuffs and the line of your decolletage. Your hair is pinned up, with a tiara inlaid with precious stones as the centerpiece to secure the veil flowing down your back in place.

The gloved hand of your maid of honor, Eleanor, who you lovingly refer to as Ellie, reaches up to fluff the veil, nervous energy displacing itself as she holds back from igniting your ire again. You have only just calmed down as your lady’s maid, Charity, places the last of the thrown perfume bottles back on the vanity. You had catapulted them for good reason, you believe. For in a few minutes, you, the unmarried daughter of the Marquees of Seoulshire, will walk down the aisle in the Duke of Daehurst’s manor, towards a man you have never spoken to—have never met—where your traitorous father plans to give you away to become the Duchess of Daehurst. 

“Lady Eleanor, will you please take your spot at the door?” Charity asks quietly, following a quick rap on the door, and you feel your heart begin a mad dash within the cavity of your ribcage. As a woman, you have nothing—no power, no wealth of your own, even your title changes from your father to that of your future husband. Some of the things your father has bought you have traveled from your home to the Duke’s, but other items are expected to be bought new, because even they belong to your father. Your only worth lies in the ability to be a proper match for a nobleman and provide him with an heir to carry on his bloodline. 

A rush of anger quells the sadness this arranged marriage has left you feeling this past week, since your father went back on the one promise he made you: that you could marry for love, like he did with your late mother, rest her soul. 

You scoff at the thought that men should hold any power in society. In one moment, your own father forgot his loyalty as well as his promise to his only daughter. In a drunken stupor, two men agreed to trade you like chattel, your position in life changing in the blink of an eye. Useless, is what they are.

The door is open just a sliver, allowing in the swell of the music, and you hear the creak of the hinges as Ellie disappears down the hall. Your father stands in the corridor, his eyes staring at the floor, unable to meet yours. You can tell he feels rather guilty for the predicament he has forced on you, but with the knowledge that he is not actually mad at the match, you still feel furious. Marrying up in society may afford you a better life, not that you would have had a destitute one with your father’s title, you’d just hoped (and had been promised you would get) to be in love with the man waiting at the end of the aisle for you, instead of dreading the stranger you were about to meet. 

Barely able to focus, you feel out of body as your father wraps your arm through his and leads you down the same path Ellie took just moments before. You can see the archway that leads into the wedding hall where your family and friends wait to observe you promise to obey and cherish a man who was described to you by your father as a “rather strapping young man, who’s quiet but wise and with gentle eyes.”

Taking the turn into the room, all eyes are drawn to you as your eyes are drawn to him. He looks breathtaking. Is this truly the man your father made a drunken deal with? The two of you lock eyes, and you work to fix the shock from your face as his demeanor barely changes. In a blink, your father is placing your hand into the Duke’s, and you are able to take in his features up close.

His face is sharp, eyes angled in a cat-like manner that give the impression he is gazing into your soul and sees the truth you attempt to keep hidden. His hair, wavy and pitch black, is parted to the side where the length falls into his face in an alluring manner. It calls to you, wanting to tuck it behind his ear if only to touch his porcelain skin, unblemished and glowing. 

He watches you closely, eyes traveling across your frame as he follows your lead, drinking you in. You’re sure that you still look flawless, ever the blushing bride that Charity and Ellie made you up to be, and for a moment you wonder if the Duke is as taken by your looks as you are by his, before remembering that he is the enemy. 

The ceremony ends quickly, a recitation of words that will join you in holy matrimony, followed by words promising to remain faithful to one another until parted by death, and you find yourself face to face with the Duke. He takes a small ring from the man right behind him, Lord Kim Namjoon, who you recognize from his many visits to handle business with your father. 

“Like this ring, I shall endlessly provide for you and cherish you, until I no longer exist.”

You can hear Ellie swoon from the low tone his voice takes to deliver the sentiment as he stares into your eyes. Vulnerability flashes for a moment before he looks down, focus solely pointed towards the task of claiming you by way of a golden wedding ring, moonstone inlaid with tiny diamonds surrounding it. 

Ellie nudges you to hand you the ring provided for the ceremony by the Min family. It is a deep ebony, with a single thin gold stripe running across the middle of the band. The top is raised to a plateau, a moonstone carved with the Yeoheung Min Clan symbol set within the ring.  

Taking the regalia from her gloved palm, you recite your part with eyes on him. Despite your anger at the arrangement, he truly is breathtaking. It takes away from the sting of your words just barely, enough that you are able to deliver them without gagging on the bristling words.

“Like this ring, I shall endlessly obey and cherish you, until I no longer exist.”

You barely hear when the minister says that the two of you are free to share a kiss, but you dutifully keep your face calm as your stomach ties itself into knots. 

He leans closer, blush colored lips drawing closer until your eyes close with the contact. So soft…his lips tenderly settle against yours, slight pressure as he angles his head to receive you better, hands falling to your hips gently as he tugs you a step closer and it’s like the room disappears leaving just the two of you in it. 

All too soon the room comes back into focus as he steps away, face blushing as the room erupts into applause and cheer from the audience. The end of the ceremony is like a blur, and the next thing that you are aware of, you are seated for an early dinner and a reception in the Daehurst Manor Great Hall for guests to greet you and your new husband, leave expensive gifts, and offer kind words of advice for a long-lasting, happy marriage.

“Would it be weird to introduce myself to you, seeing as I am already your spouse?”

His voice is intriguing—having barely heard it during the ceremony—a low rumble that has you leaning in to hear him better. 

“I assure you, my lord, weird was deciding for me that I would marry you, without even bothering to meet me beforehand. What if I had been an ogre? But I digress, it’s not any weirder than hearing you call yourself my husband, husband.”

He smiles, one side of his mouth lifting in an amused smirk as he turns in his seat to face you head on. You dislike him even more that your snide remark made not a dent in his armor. No trace of the bashful hue from the kiss lingers, cat eyes glinting with mischief. 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my non-ogre wife. I am Duke Min Yoongi of Daehurst.”

Charity and Ellie can barely contain their laughter as they stare at your contemptuous face. Eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed, you shake your head rapidly in distaste at the bedding ceremony outfit they laid out for you. 

“I simply will not wear it.”

“Please, Lady Min, you will leave him stunned. It’s perfect.”

“Who said I want to stun that man? Besides, I cannot be seen in so little clothing by a stranger!”

“He’s hardly a stranger, love,” Ellie said, ignoring your stubborn nature. “He’s your husband.”

“Yes, my husband whom I have known all of two hours! I’m just expected to strut in wearing this to please him, and then—” you pause, stricken as your thoughts settle on what is expected of you.

“Yes, you will wear this very thoughtful gift from me, and then you will consummate the marriage!” Ellie whispers the act as if conspiring to commit a crime. To be fair, you felt like a criminal for how indecent the undergarments were. 

Laid on the bed was a short, white boned corset, all frill and lace with a matching pair of high waisted drawers. Ellie had also provided a matching pair of white stockings, made of silk and to be held up with ruffled garters at your thigh. There was a silky chemise that you could wear as a tunic to cover yourself, but once in the Duke’s bedroom, he would see you in all of your risque glory. 

“Come now, m’lady, we must finish getting you ready. I am sure the men are chomping at the bit to begin the ceremony.”

Dread fills you as you strip from your wedding dress and step into the lingerie your maid of honor gifted you for your wedding night.

“Well, they can just chomp a bit longer, maybe they can tire each other out enough that I am not needed tonight.”

Having only bathed two hours prior, you are able to skip the bath and spend a few more precious moments with your closest friends. You didn’t have a mother to talk to about things like bedding ceremonies, having learned everything you could from the head house matron, kitchen maids, Charity, and Ellie. Ellie was able to convince her own mother to share a little this past week to help you, but there was still so much you felt you did not know to expect. 

As Charity brushes your hair, Ellie spreads a glittering, perfumed powder onto your skin as she talks in the background of the excitement she feels, but you cannot bring yourself to share in it. With a quick twist and pin, your hair is up and you find your feet leading towards the Duke’s wing of the manor. You can hear the merrymaking from the reception still carrying on downstairs; with a wedding as important as yours, you were sure that the people would be here celebrating your union until the sun began to rise.

The door to the Duke’s room is ajar, loud laughter coming from the well lit room. Ellie walks arm in arm with you as Charity follows behind, seeing you off. As your lady’s maid, she’ll reside with you in the Daehurst manor. The housekeeper stands a few paces from the door to lead Charity to her new quarters. Bidding you goodnight, Charity retires for the evening as you and Ellie enter the bedchamber. It is quite spacious, with a large bed in the middle of the room. To the left of the entryway sits a low table surrounded by a pair of armchairs and a matching loveseat, all framed by a magnificent fireplace. 

Every seat is taken, with three men squeezing onto the loveseat and a sixth perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. You don’t recognize five of the six men, though Lord Kim Namjoon is among them. You do not see your new husband, so you and Ellie remain standing away from the men so as not to be seen as indecent. 

“Duchess! You have arrived for your bedding ceremony, have you not?” A blond haired man nearly falls from the love seat, giggles alerting you to his inebriation. An open decanter sits on the squat table, almost empty. 

“Please, Jimin, on all things that are holy, do not bother my wife.”

Your head whips around at the gravely sound of the Duke’s voice. Yoongi looks freshly bathed, no longer in a suit but in a long tunic that sits untucked over loose, black trousers. His dark hair falls in damp curls framing his face, and you hold in a small gasp. 

“I won’t bother her hole-y, hyung—that’s your job! Get her all hot and bother—”

“Get out.”

The giggling, intoxicated men all look to Yoongi, pouting with various levels of frowns and scowls adorning their faces. You and Ellie watch the interaction, Ellie with a smile at their banter and you with a grimace as you attempt to keep yourself from growing warm at the indecent remarks regarding what is to come.

“But hyung!” You watch as another one pouts, standing from the loveseat to full height to plead with your husband. “You’re the first to be wed, we’ve been talking about being witnesses for each other for years!” 

“Taehyung, you know the plan was to be here when she arrived as a testament to the wedding night, but never to stay. I appreciate your…excitement, but now that you can confirm the duchess’s arrival, you all may take your leave.”

“Appreciate our excitement, but won’t let us stay to watch as you get exci—”

“Jungkook, that’s enough! Out, now!”

With a groan, the three mischievous men begin to walk out of the bedchamber, waving at the older three who are slow to get up. Ellie squeezes your hand in unity before stepping away to follow the boisterous group out into the hall. 

“I’ll see you at breakfast, love. I’ll be traveling back to Seoulshire with your father tomorrow afternoon.”

You can only nod, aware of the plans but seeing her linger to make sure that you are okay. You give her a smile, and she finally steps through the threshold behind the first troupe of men to return back to the room you had prepared in. The last three men follow, greeting you and saying goodnight in the same breath.

“It is a pleasure to see you, my lady. I pray that by morning you are able to turn this peevish man affable.”

“Enjoy your night, Duchess!” 

“Yeah, all two minutes of it!”

Yoongi thunders to the door, shutting it as the group bursts into laughter muffled by the oak barrier. He turns the lock, then turns his back to it to lean against. You can’t help but to watch him, chest rising before he releases a long sigh. He reaches a hand up to his neck, scratching subtly. The sleeve of his tunic slides along his arm, revealing more unblemished skin. His head is facing the carpet, ink-colored hair falling to cover his face—a face you think you could like very much—eventually. Though right now, even the thought is not enough to quell your irritation at your welcoming. 

“I am so sorry for my friends’ behavior.”

His apology startles you. You are not used to men of his prestige to be so easy to offer an apology. During the wedding and at the reception, he appeared stoic, quiet and observing except for the few moments he engaged with you. You assumed it was just happenstance, that he was playing off of your stubborn jests, but seeing him now so open makes you wonder.

“My lord, no need to apologize. They were inebriated and excited for our coupling. Ellie was excited too, though she was better at keeping it hidden.”

“Yes, women do tend to be better at that. More practiced.”

“Do you truly believe that? I have watched my father work, and all noblemen seem to be very good at hiding their emotions.”

Yoongi smirks at your wit, pushing off of the door and walking closer to you.

“You are quite keen, my lady.”

His compliment startles you, as does his encroaching proximity. It is not menacing, if anything you are startled by your body’s response to it. His scent, a heady, woodsy musk infiltrates your senses causing any lingering animosity you had towards your father for this arrangement to seep from you. You’re tired of fighting; the knowledge of having lost before even starting lingering in your mind each time you fight back against the marriage has exhausted you. Still, you want to make sure that the Duke is aware that while you may be acquiescent, you are not easily compliant.

“My lord, I—” you look down at your hands, stumbling over your anger as you collect your thoughts. “I just want to say that I know neither of us wanted this, neither of us knew what to expect until we saw each other today, but I made a vow, so I promise to try my best, but I don’t know what I’m doing or what you expect from me, and I don’t think that I will be good at obeying, so please do not expect that from me. You may be a duke and my husband, but I demand that you treat me as an equal—”

“Shhh…” Yoongi’s thumb and forefinger grip your chin, tilting your head up to face him. You have no idea when he got so close. “I spent quite some time with your father, my lady. He spoke very highly of you and even produced your miniature from his coat pocket to show me. I may have been drunk, but I was not a fool in my decision.” His eyes rove across your face as he gently tilts your head side to side. “You are much more beautiful than the painting captured.”

If he’s hoping that flattery will tamper your annoyance, you feel he will need to try a bit harder. Though, to be fair, his flattery is working on you. Pair that with his face, and he’s doing quite a good job at putting out the fire, but you still remain steadfast. 

“How lucky to be a man. You got to see a sample of the product before buying, while I just had to trust that my father wasn’t so drunk that he sold me to the next man who walked past?” You scoff, crossing your arms as you raise your chin out of his hold in defiance.

“Trust me, princess, the luck was all mine. Had I not been the next man to walk by, who knows what woman I would have had to settle for.”

You can’t believe he’s teasing you. Calling you princess and making jokes off of your distress. You want to smack the smirk off his face. You want to kiss him again like at the altar. You’re clearly confused after such a long day of upheaval. 

“Right, because any woman should be grateful that you chose them? I was promised I would get to marry for love, just to wake up and be told I was marrying a stranger in a week.”

“Are you really angry because of this arrangement? Not that you should be grateful that I chose you, but you should be thankful for the life that you have, even before me. Not everyone lives how we do.”

Shock. That’s the only way to explain what you are feeling. He is not…man-splaining society’s plights to you, is he?

“I quite know this, my lord. I never said I was not grateful for my life, just that I am currently upset at a promise being broken.”

“Princess, I am sure you know this, but in your stubbornness, you seem to have forgotten yourself. You have a good life, you have food on the table prepared daily by the cooks and maids, and are not having to whore yourself out for a few coins to feed yourself.”

“No, I just have to whore myself to you for the rest of my life, provide you with heirs as soon as possible.” You decide to not hold back; if he’s going to be vulgar as a tactic, two could play at that game. “I may not be whoring myself out for a few coins to feed myself, but let’s not kid ourselves. We both know that I am not seen as anything more than a vessel for your cock and your children to use.”

“Tell me, princess, are you upset because you truly think me some evil, vile man, or are you actually more upset that you don’t have a real reason to push me away?” 

Yoongi steps away from you, walking over the bed and settling down on the edge. You can’t help but watch the way his veins move as he leans back and rests on his palms. He’s so handsome and so assured of himself, and behaving as if he doesn’t even care that it’s your wedding night. You really don’t know how to explain how you’re feeling, because everything is at odds. He mistakes your silence during your internal debate as confusion and continues to explain.

“I know I’m not unappealing to the eye, and not an old geezer like many of your friends have had to deal with, I’m sure. We probably aren’t that far off in age difference, if there even is any. We’re young, and while you may be feeling angry about this marriage, I also get the feeling that you’ll be open to letting that anger go soon.”

“I barely know you, my lord, so please don’t take offense to this, but what, pray tell, gives you the feeling that I’ll be letting my anger go soon?” you ask, walking over to where he sits. You feel powerful as you position yourself right in front of him, and being above him like this with his head turned up in order to lock eyes with you, makes his cat eyes look even more alluring.

“Because, my dear wife,” Yoongi leans forward, entering your space as he brings his right arm up off the bed and to your thigh, “of what I plan to do to you tonight.”

Yoongi’s touch is like fire as he drags it up your thigh to the hem of your chemise, using both hands to grip the edge and pull you even closer to him. You inhale a breath, your body giving away just how much he affects you. The last tiny bit of you fights to not give in, that is, until he pouts up at you.

“If you’ll let me?”

Never have you experienced a man handing control over to you like this. All your life, you have been told what to do, how to behave, who to befriend, and even who to marry despite being promised that would be the one area you could decide. But here sits your husband, a man who quite literally holds you in his hands, able to do whatever he wants with your body now that he essentially owns you—this husband of yours is asking your permission to ruin you.

Unable to speak, you simply nod, eyes wide as he stands, and he never looks away from yours until your chemise blocks his view as he pulls it over your head. Now it’s his turn to inhale sharply as he takes in your angelic form. White lace corset ending just below the bust, high waisted lacy bottoms, ruched garters around each thigh with a clasp to hold your silk stockings in place…an angel, indeed. 

Leaning closer to you, his words send tingles down your body as he pleads with you.

“I need you to say it, my lady,” he whispers, “tell me that I can touch you here.” 

You jolt as you feel his hands touch the exposed skin of your side.

“Y-yes,” you say, clearing your throat due to how parched you sound. 

“And can I, say, touch you here?” One hand trails lower, fingers dancing over the front of your drawers as the other holds you in place. Two of his fingers slide between your thighs, pressing against your core, and you sigh out a quiet moan.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good girl.”

His fingers continue to travel back and forth, slight pressure causing you to grasp his shoulders for balance. He drops his head into the bend of your neck, lips leaving wet kisses on your overheated skin. He smells divine, his long hair tickling your cheek as he continues kissing and touching you. Your breathing gets louder, and he responds in kind, speeding up his fingers as you feel yourself ruining your panties for this man. 

“Y-yoongi…that f-feels really good,” you tell him, surprise lacing your whimpers. You don’t want him to stop touching you, if anything you want more. Yoongi’s lips are latched onto your neck, tongue swirling with light pressure as your knees grow weak. With a light nip of his teeth, he pulls away to speak. 

“I want you to always feel good with me, princess.” His gravelly voice is full of yearning, and you can tell he’s just as affected as you are. “I promise you’ll always feel good, if you let me take care of you.”

You can only nod your head, words eluding you as he turns you in his hold, pressing your back to his front while letting his fingers slide inside of your panties and part your lips. You feel his length pressing between your cheeks, thick and firm. He steps backwards with you, pulling you down until the two of you are seated on the edge of the bed. You’ve never been so turned on, dropping your head back to lean on his shoulder as he pulls one thigh to open you up wider. 

You put up no fight, instead grinding down on him as you swirl your hips in time to the pads of his fingers circulating your dripping center. His lips reattach to your exposed neck, this time with more passion and it almost distracts you when his fingers dip inside of you, bucking once in his grip at the welcome intrusion. He’s gentle, only going as far as you let him, and the more he does it, the less you tense up, until he’s gliding in and out of you. 

You’re unable to stay quiet any longer, every breath letting out a moan that is a melody to Yoongi’s ears. 

“I…Yoongi, I think…I’ve never done this before, what’s happening?” you breathe out, and he chuckles darkly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I—”

“I promise it’ll feel good, okay? Trust me, and don’t fight it.”

“But—” his fingers don’t let up, and you squirm on his lap.

“Princess, be a good girl and trust me, don’t fight it—don’t fight me anymore.”

“O-okay, I trust you, Yoongi.”

Letting go, you relax into his hold as he resumes kissing your neck, left hand pulling your chin until your lips meet his in a sloppy sideways kiss. His foot presses against the inside of yours until you groan at the muscle strain. Your legs are so far apart, but it feels even better as his fingers begin a rapid thrusting. He swallows all of your whimpers as you feel your body reaching a peak and it all just feels so good, his free hand leaving your chin to touch your chest, hands roaming as you rock your hips to meet his palm against your sensitive nub and with a simultaneous bite to your bottom lip and pinch to your neglected nipple; you feel yourself combust. 

You swear you see fireworks behind your eyelids as you tremble in Yoongi’s arms, barely alert enough to hear him whispering words of praise as he works you through it. It’s not long (or has it been ages?) before your hands push at his, overstimulation causing you to mewl in frustration. 

It feels good and you don’t want to stop, but your body can’t take more. Not right now at least.

“That’s it, you did so well.”

“Me?” you question, voice raspy. “I didn’t even do anything but sit here.”

“Trust me, you did plenty. I think you can feel exactly what you did to me.” Yoongi alludes with a slight thrust of his hips, and you in fact do feel him.

“That’s because of me?”

“It’s all because of you. Your sounds, the way you were grinding onto me, the way you taste…” Yoongi slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking your essence from his two fingers lewdly. “You made me this way.”

Your face grows impossibly warmer at the thought of the power you have over a man such as he, and your ability to bring him to this level of vulnerability. 

“Does…does it always feel like that?” you question, wondering if it could possibly get better. 

Yoongi can barely contain his smirk, “Oh, dear wife, that was just the appetizer.”

    Lifting you off of his lap, he sets you down next to him so he can stand and shed himself of his clothing. Naked, he stands before you in all of his glory so you can take in just how well endowed the duke is before kneeling on one knee. 

“Can I take these off of you?” he asks, hands gesturing to your hips. You softly say yes, and once your ruined drawers are discarded, he then touches the sides of your corset. “And these?” Nodding, he leaves you in just your silk stockings. “I rather like how these look…”

Still kneeling, he takes your leg and leans you back until you’re sprawled on your back and he has a perfect view of your heated core. He kisses along your clothed leg until he reaches the skin of your thigh, biting lightly until he rests your leg on his shoulder. Turning to the other leg, he does the same, this time going all the way up. You throw your head back into the soft, satin sheets as your hands grip whatever they can. His tongue explores your sensitive area, lapping at your pearl until you’re incoherent, hands tugging at his long tresses to guide him where you want him.

There are no words to describe how Yoongi is making you feel. You’ve never felt this way before, so powerful or in control. You wonder if he’ll always be this willing to hand over the reins. Either way, you plan to savor it. 

The sounds coming from between your thighs are obscene, but the louder and sloppier Yoongi is, the better it feels. 

“Yoongi, oh!” Your toes curl as another wave of euphoria grips you. Tender kisses along your stomach just barely keep you from floating away as Yoongi brings himself higher and higher along your body. His teeth nip at your breasts, teasing as he laves his tongue around your nipples, perky against the air in the room. Chest heaving, you try to gather your wits as Yoongi’s naked body lays along yours, his hands on either side of your chest as he massages them, spending ample time tasting everything your body has to offer. 

“My lady, if you’re ready, I’d rather like to feel you.”

In your post climactic haze, you try and understand what he’s asking.

“Feel me?”

“Yes,” he says, kissing your neck and you don’t understand how your body can still crave for more just from his lips on your skin, “I rather ache for you, princess.” The meaning becomes clear when he adjusts himself over you, and you feel the thickness against your thigh. You are aware of what he needs, how he means to alleviate his ache, and for a moment, you’re scared.

It all fades away as he kisses you, his lips soft against yours as he soothes away the worry. 

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. If it hurts, just tell me to stop, okay?” he presses another kiss to your lips, and you melt.

“Okay,” you whisper as you pull away from the kiss, “I trust you.”

He smiles, this time a genuine one at your words before kissing you again. You feel yourself getting lost in it when a pressure at the apex of your thighs causes you to gasp. Breaking the kiss, you look between your body and Yoongi’s watching as his cock, flushed and rigid, breaches your core. He’s going slow, and he lowers himself back down to kiss you more, wanting to take your mind off of the pain as he fills you. 

“You’re…impossibly tight…” he pants, and you would laugh if you were in the mindset, but at the moment, you are all consumed by Yoongi. He pushes another inch, stopping to allow you to grow accustomed to him, and you know that this is unusual for a wedding night—you have heard the horror stories from other women, and this has been anything but. Yoongi has made sure to let you have ownership of your pleasure tonight, and even now, he looks to you for confirmation that he can continue on without hurting you.

Raising your hips, you help guide him in the rest of the way, and he grunts as his forehead touches yours. His arms shake as he holds himself above you, wanting to take you with haste, but knowing he must control himself for now.

Reaching for him, your palms settle on either side of his face, bringing him closer to kiss you as you roll your hips against him. He huffs, pulling out to give you a good, even stroke, and you nearly scream at the pleasure and pain of it. He apologizes against your lips, but you shake your head, urging for more. He complies, though slower this time, not wanting to scare you off from sharing his bed. Yoongi is so gentle, sweet even as he swivels his hips, and you move your hands to grip his hair and his shoulder, leveraging to meet him with every gyration of your lower body.

A few tugs to his hair leaves him cursing in gratification, and soon you feel his hand reach to your leg to lift. His thighs speed up as he thrusts haphazardly into you before you feel a hot release of his seed filling you and spilling out around his cock, now lazily unloading itself as he slows with each jolt. His release provides you with just what you need to follow him, walls clenching around him to milk the last drop.  

Sighing, the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, Yoongi’s fingers smoothing your hair as yours play along his chest, a feverish color now spread across his decolletage after your love making. 

“I’ve never experienced such a blissful feeling as this,” you admit. 

“Likewise, my lov—my lady.” Yoongi corrects a slight slip of the tongue. 

“It’s okay, I think I could quite like being called your love,” you tease, though your words ring true. You now know what you felt with Yoongi. Liberation. A freedom you have never felt as a woman, provided to you in the most surprising of places: the arms of a man.

At breakfast the next morning, Ellie can’t help but notice the way you seem to glow as you sit at your husband’s side. The two of you can’t stop touching, whether it be holding hands or light touches to each other's arm as you two talk with the others who stayed overnight. Being married may not have been what you had seen for yourself a week ago, but after last night, you have a feeling that you could fall deeply in love with your husband, the Duke, and he with you, his Duchess. 

“Marriage isn’t all that bad, is it, my love?” Yoongi whispers as the maids pass around the breakfast foods, and you shift your gaze to the marks you left barely hidden by his collar from an early morning romp. 

“No, my love, I rather find that you have proven me wrong, and I quite like that.”

“And I quite like you.”

“You had better!”

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