#all you have to do is be mature enough to look at a piece of media and say “this isn't my jam”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 20th-26th 2025

On time this week, woohoo! And less thsan 40 days until season 8B !!

Special mention to all of @tizniz's drabbles that I've been reblogging, which you can find on her tumblr or on ao3 at E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection !

Let me know if I'm missing a tag for someone!

Complete

home is where you've called my name by atlasblue85/ @atlasblue85 (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 3K | General): Buck plays a game with himself. It goes something like this: for every house Eddie outright rejects, he adds an item to his list of why Eddie shouldn't move to El Paso. He doesn't know what the threshold is, that magic number that will make him finally speak up and express his thoughts to Eddie, but until he finds it, this is how he's coping. They're up to nine so far. Nine perfectly good houses, nine reasons Eddie shouldn't go.

you're a dog (i'm your man) by withmeornotatall / @chronicowboy (Dog Shelter AU | 3K | General): "Hey." He turns around, leans against the doorframe, tries to look casual. "Maybe, only if you're free of course, you could come round and let Chris pick out a band aid for you tonight. Don't want you bleeding out before you can get your Spider-Man band aid." Buck lights up like the fucking sun. Oh no. Eddie has one rule: never take a dog home. But he thinks Buck might be worth the risk. (OR: eddie is a dog trainer with patience, buck is a shelter worker with more bark than bite)

🔥 My Mouth Don't Move When I'm In Too Deep by taegyungie (PWP, Semi-Public Sex | 7K | Explicit): But here’s the thing: Eddie’s taken giant mouthfuls of life and chewed every last one of them up. He’s taken enough, he’s still taking enough - he doesn’t want to be the one to ask for it. All he can do is offer himself up, over and over, and hope that Buck will finally get the hint and dig his claws into what’s been his from the very start.

🔥 Five Years by aubrey_writes (Blip AU | 8K | Mature): Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence.

Liminal Space by ameliahart (NDE, Getting Together | 8K | Teen): Eddie Diaz dies on a sunny afternoon in January. It seems fitting, he thinks, that it should happen like this: trapped beneath three floors of a collapsed apartment building, a piece of rebar through his right lung, and his eyes on the love of his life. Because of course Buck is here with him, watching horrified as Eddie’s love and life bleed out around him.

Buck, Bedbugged and Bewildered by writedontfight (Post-S8A AU | 8K | Explicit): Buck gets bedbugs, so he's staying at Eddie's until they're gone.

🔥 everything you need (put all you need in me) by jaekyu (PWP, FWB | 9K | Explicit): Eddie imagines it. The faux-domesticity of grocery shopping with his best friend and full-time fuckbuddy, filled up with come like a jam donut or something. It would be kind of ironic. It would be definitely, wholeheartedly, totally erotic.

My boy only breaks his favorite toys by paleredheadinascifi (Amnesia, Post-S8A | 10K | Teen): Eddie wakes up five years in the future. It turns out five years is all it takes to ruin a friendship and run your life into the ground. Or, Eddie gets hurt and his apparently now ex-best friend Buck hops on a plane to El Paso. They figure out what the fuck happened together.

🔥 Firelight by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Post-S7, Monster Eddie, HOH Buck | 61K | Explicit): When, in the worst of missing Christopher, Eddie suddenly finds himself having literally turned into a monster, Buck - who is also dealing with a newfound hearing loss diagnosis - is willing to do anything to protect him. Even from himself. OR: Eddie is a creature from Swedish folklore, feat. HOH!Buck

WIP

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 35/? | 23K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

35. 44. A goodbye kiss, but neither of you can quite let go 

🔥 An Angry Blade by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-8x05: Masks, Cursed Buck | 1/6 | 8K | Mature): Buck finds out that the curse of Billy Boils is VERY real, and far more complicated and dangerous than he could have expected.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 12/? | 76K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 8/? | 37K | Teen): Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

Podfic

Sunlight is Fire (Burning is a Matter of Degrees) by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Incubbi Buck, FWB | 1-1.5h | Explicit): In the wake of Buck's leg injury, Eddie learns that his friend needs some unusual methods to help him recover. Eddie's willing to do whatever it takes to help Buck, and it's not like this could make his quiet pining any worse, right?

Bed Sharing Concerto in Monsterfucking No. 3 by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Human Buck, Only One Bed | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck has the worst fucking luck. His only consolation here is that Eddie’s with him, so at least he’s not alone in a cabin with no Wifi, no central heat, no cell service, and no proper winter gear. The water works, the pipes haven’t frozen (yet) so at least he can get briefly clean. He’s so focused on scrubbing the day away that it’s not until he gets out and heads into the bedroom that he realizes— There’s only one bed.

A Chorus of Howls by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolves, PWP | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck is running through the woods. He’s on two feet, four, two again, dodging around trees, kicking up dirt, leaping and landing hard. Behind him, sometimes, he thinks he can hear another set of feet—a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, black on black, shadow on shadow— There. There. He can smell his pursuer’s blood and he runs faster, fast as he can. He’s not going to lose. His blood is up and running and so is he.

Duet for Two Monsters by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Succubus Buck | 20-30min | Explicit): Buck’s been meaning to tell Eddie for a while, now. Especially now that they’re both single again. He needs to tell Eddie, because he’s pretty sure—he thinks he’s sure—that Eddie loves him back. And he won’t be intimate with Eddie without telling him. Of course, it’s a bit hard to start that conversation, on a logistical level. Hey so I have horns and a tail and feed off people’s orgasms, fun, right?

🔥 [Podfic] Buddie, It's Cold Outside by diazaster287 // fic by terranobis (Christmas, Hallmark AU | 1-1.5h | Not Rated): Big City businessman Evan Buckley travels to a small town Christmas Village in an attempt to save his personal and professional life, but when he meets the local father Eddie Diaz, he finds that he just might get the greatest present he could ever ask for.

[yunholic-jongholic]

Control and Chaos | C.JH x Reader

SUMMARY | You are going out in public with a remote-controlled vibrator. Your boyfriend, Jongho, the little piece of shit he is, has a good time going through the various settings and watching you squirm in your seat and try to act normal.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | One Shot, SMUT, NSFW, Toy kink, Teasing, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Unprotected Sex (Don't do this fellas), Masterbation, Slight Car sex, Pet names, Dirty Talk, Explicit Content (I might have missed some... so be warned!)

WORD COUNT | 1.5k

AUTHOR NOTE | Y'all don't know how obsessed I am with this man. I have like 4 drafts of Jongho fics in the making because I am insane. ANYWAYS this is for my Ribo Sister-Wives! Enjoy!

•

"It's not my fault you lost the bet," Jongho teased, snickering at your frustration. You groaned in irritation, dreading the outcome of the bet. Desperate, you begged him to let you off the hook, but he only made it worse with a single sentence.

"Let’s go out for lunch!" Jongho smirked, handing you the toy with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut, your eyes practically throwing daggers his way. With a huff, you sat on the bed and reluctantly picked up the toy. Meanwhile, he headed downstairs, patiently waiting for you to hurry up. You slid your skirt down and pushed the toy inside you. You put your clothes back on and run downstairs.

Jongho wraps an arm around you, guiding you outside toward the car. Once you decide on a destination, he drives you to a nearby cafe, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Which, when you both arrive and sit down, is when Jongho turns the toy on. You gasp out lightly, face turning hot, and you cover your mouth, not wanting to be loud.

"Jongho.." You breathed, almost moaning his name. He smirks in response, seeing you completely helpless and embarrassed. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" Jongho extends his hand toward you, silently inviting you to take it. Reluctantly, you place your hand in his, digging your nails into his palm as you focus on your breathing—inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly—until the tension within you begins to subside. You already were soaking up in your seat.

"You know what you want?" Jongho teases. You cross your legs and nod, trying to keep normal. He stares lovingly into your eyes. You shift your legs and let go of his hand. He watches you as you try to remain calm. Soon the waiter comes by and takes both of your orders, while you start telling the waiter your order Jongho turns up the control on the toy causing you to let out a whine. You immediately covered your mouth coughing trying to play it off.

"That... will be all, thank you!" you manage to blurt out, your voice shaky as you try to act natural, silently praying the waiter doesn’t think you’re weird. Jongho sees your struggling and you shift your legs again trying to get comfortable. you practically hum trying to cover up your moans. You get up and tell Jongho you are going to go to the bathroom.

"You better not going in there to masterbate." Jongho warns you. You roll your eyes and ruffle his hair.

"Well between you and I, I am about to cum on that seat, so I rather do it in private." You whisper to his ear, and he goes silent just staring at you. You see him get up and he whispers back, "Y/N, you are not allowed to go off in private. That is against your punishment on the bet." You look away trying to hold your moans in telling him you don't care anymore, but it's too late.

You felt your stomach go into knots as you ran to the seat practically grinding on it. You cover your mouth moaning into it, legs trembling as you came. Jongho stares at you in shock, completely not expecting you to be that loud. You looked down seeing him already getting hard.

"I need to go somewhere private... Please Jongho." you start begging him feeling completely aroused. Jongho just stares at you still shocked as he covers his lap with the clothed napkin. He shakes it off and soon your food arrives. You don't even want to eat anymore.

"Y/N, you got to keep going. you got 2 hours left." Jongho appreciates you for even going on this far, but you can't do anymore. You felt overstimulated already and begged for him to at least turn it down and he does what you ask.

After eating, he drives you to get ice cream. You keep trembling as the overestimated feeling grows more and more. Jongho offers to share with you as you sit together on a nearby bench. Your stomach twists into knots once again. You grip the armrest tightly, trying to steady yourself. Jongho immediately turned it on high, seeing your reaction. You threw your head to the side, grinding down, and soon you came again. You felt incredibly soaked and sensitive. You whined, begging him just to take you home.

"Please, Jongho! I am begging you... I need to get home and be fucked!" You leaned in close, your voice sharp as you snapped a whisper into his ear, nearly moaning his name. You saw him get hard again this time, not able to cover it up. He curses softly and grips your arm, taking you back to the car.

"Can I take it out now?" You moan rubbing your inner thigh, looking at him desperately. He gulps in telling you no. You whine and have the perfect idea to tease him now when he is driving. You lift your skirt and rub your two fingers over your soaked panties moaning his name.

"Jongho..." You moan out. Jongho sees what you are doing, and his breath hitches seeing you touch yourself.

"Stop it. You are not allowed to touch yourself until we get in bed." Jongho sternly speaks out. You don't listen and moan pulling your panties to the side.

"You can't make me stop... You are driving." You tease wiggling in your seat, getting comfortable. Jongho groans, and you see his bulge showing. You decide to talk dirty to him as you play with yourself.

"Y/N. Stop it or you will not be fucked." Jongho hisses as he glances at you now paling his pants. You smirk, pressing down and rubbing your hand on his bulge. He moans out and slaps your hand away.

"Fucking damn it Y/N." Jongho curses and you just hum in response. You both finally arrive home, and you slip your skirt over your thighs again and playfully run inside, Jongho right behind you. He immediately grips your waist when you go to the room and pins you against the door, closing it. You gasp, feeling his bulge rubbing against your thighs. He immediately starts making out with you ripping your clothes off.

"Who is the needy one now?" You gasp for air laughing teasingly. He holds onto you as you both continue to make out, his tongue sliding into your mouth fighting over dominance. Tongues tangled into each other as he finally pulled the vibrator toy out of you. You moan softly as he holds it and turns it off. The toy is completely covered in your slick.

"Fuck." He curses dis-attaching his lips away from yours as he throws the toy off and unzips his pants springing his already hard cock free. You whimper, wanting to be touched again. Jongho takes you to the bed, giving his cock a few strokes.

"Fucking hurry up!" You hiss. Jongho groans as his tip pushes into your entrance. You moan feeling extremely sensitive but aroused still. "I need you to pound into me." You begin to grind your hips on him, making you take him deeper.

"Fuck... you are still fucking wet..." Jongho moans as he starts moving. You grip and dig your nails into the sheets below you. "You feel so much better than the stupid toy" you comment whimpering at how overly sensitive you are almost cumming right there. Jongho starts thrusting in harder and faster, causing you to throw your head back, biting your lip and digging your nails into the sheets. He groans, lifting your leg over his shoulder and gripping onto it. You feel his tip kiss your overly sensitive sweet spot, causing your moans to get higher. Jongho knew that's where he needed to hit, and he continued to thrust in that direction.

"Jongho I'm so fucking close!" You huff moaning loudly sliding your hand over your cunt placing a finger over your clit rubbing circles. Jongho pushes your hand away and does it himself. You throw your head back, gripping his wrists, becoming a mess underneath him.

"I love you so fucking much" you look into his eyes a complete mess. He thrusts into you and leans down to kiss your neck, leaving marks on your skin.

"Please... I'm so close!" You dig your nails leaving marks in his wrists as he rubs circles going harder on your clit. "Come with me, baby..." he whispers in your ear, causing you to tip over the edge. You moan loudly nearly screaming as you squirt on his cock. He soon cums in you after you. You pant heavily as he pulls out. He sits beside you, seeing how much of a mess he made out of you.

"I love you so much." You whisper, panting, and he smiles, kissing your lips softly before saying it back.

"We should do another challenge tomorrow!" he teases with a playful grin, though you have a sinking feeling he’s not entirely joking.

•

Good night. Make sure to like and repost if you enjoyed it! I am also still welcome to take recommendations! -N

[triaelf9]

sees a post that's like "LOOK, LOOK AT ME I HAVE TERRIBLE MEDIA LITERACY LOOOOK AHAHA ISN'T THAT FUNNY"

Checks bio

"I'm 21"

Ah, yes. You're in the age group to have been hit by the resurgence of purity culture. I'm so sorry.

[xoxojuyo]

Out of reach pt.1 - jungkook

𐙚 summary: you meet the man of your dreams during a flight, but he seems to be out of reach…

𐙚 pairing: lawyer!jungkook x nepobaby!reader

𐙚 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS SERIES CONTAIN MATURE CONTENT

𐙚 word count: 1,8k words

𐙚 warnings: jungkook is older than reader, they get very comfy with each other super quick, hold ing hands, kissing, jungkook has a gf, infidelity

𐙚 a/n: this is meant to be a series, it’ll get filthy in the future. Hope you enjoy it 🤍 pt.II

The soft hum of the airplane engines filled the air as you settled into your seat in the first-class cabin of Flight KE902 from Paris to Incheon. You tucked your Hermès blanket neatly around your lap, ready for the long journey home. The lavish seat next to you was meant to remain vacant—an indulgence your parents had arranged for your privacy. After all, the daughter of South Korea’s leading pharmaceutical magnates and Cartier’s latest muse wasn’t accustomed to sharing space, much less during a 12-hour flight.

You glanced out the window, watching the Paris night fade into streaks of neon blue runway lights. You had just begun flipping through the latest issue of Vogue when a deep, polite voice interrupted your tranquility.

“Excuse me, miss. It seems this is my seat.”

You looked up, momentarily caught off guard. A man stood before you, tall and striking, with features so sharp they might have been carved from marble. His tailored suit spoke of understated luxury, and the faint shadow of a smile hinted at an effortless charm.

“There must be a mistake,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “This seat wasn’t supposed to be occupied.”

The flight attendant quickly stepped in, bowing apologetically. “Ms. Choi, I’m terribly sorry. This is Mr. Jeon Jungkook, one of our Diamond members. Due to unforeseen circumstances, we had to reassign this seat to accommodate him. I assure you it won’t affect your experience.”

You hesitated, your mind whirring. Jeon Jungkook? The name sounded familiar, but before you could piece it together, he spoke again.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Jungkook said, his tone professional yet warm. “I’ll do my best not to intrude.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Jeon Jungkook? The lawyer?”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a modest nod. “I see my reputation precedes me. And you must be Choi Y/N. I’ve read about you in Forbes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You read Forbes?”

“I do my homework,” he replied, settling into the seat beside you. “It’s useful to know the people shaping the world around me.”

You couldn’t suppress a small smile. “Flattery doesn’t work on me, Mr. Jeon.”

“Good to know,” he said, leaning back. “But who said I was trying to flatter you?”

The tension melted into a curious ease as the plane taxied for takeoff. As the flight attendants began their safety demonstration, Jungkook turned to you.

“Paris, huh? Business or pleasure?”

“An event with Cartier,” you replied, your voice laced with practiced grace. “And you?”

“Business, mostly. Though I was hoping for some pleasure before a client emergency pulled me back.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets flustered by emergencies.”

“I don’t. But I’ve learned that flying halfway across the world is part of the job description,” he said with a rueful smile. “And you? Flying solo?”

You hesitated for a moment. “It’s… just a preference of mine.”

Jungkook chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Let’s just say the airline played matchmaker tonight.”

You smirked, feeling the ice between you dissolve. “A bold assumption, Mr. Jeon.”

“Call me Jungkook,” he said. “If we’re stuck together for the next 12 hours, we might as well get comfortable.”

As the plane ascended into the midnight sky, the cabin lights dimmed to a soft amber glow. You adjusted the recline of your seat, sneaking a glance at Jungkook as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He caught you looking and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Long flight ahead,” he said. “What’s your go-to in-flight entertainment? Movies? Reading? Sleeping?”

“None,” you replied, crossing your legs elegantly. “I usually work or… just stare out the window.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Workaholic?”

“Efficient,” you corrected, your lips curving into a small smirk. “What about you?”

“Depends on the company,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks but masked it with a soft laugh. “And here I thought lawyers were all business.”

“We are,” he admitted. “But even we need a break every now and then. Maybe this is mine.”

You talked intermittently for the next hour, the conversation flowing effortlessly from topics like your favorite cities to your least favorite airline meals. Jungkook’s laugh was infectious, and you found yourself smiling more than you had in days.

At one point, the flight attendant approached with the dinner menu. Jungkook, ever the gentleman, gestured for you to choose first.

“The lobster risotto.”

“Good choice,” Jungkook said, handing his menu back. “I’ll have the same. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”

“You’re copying me?” you teased.

“Or I trust your taste,” he countered smoothly.

As the hours passed, your initial formality faded into a comfortable camaraderie. After dinner, Jungkook leaned back in his seat, glancing at the champagne flute in your hand.

“Celebrating something?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you said, swirling the golden liquid. “It’s not every day you survive a Cartier event without collapsing from exhaustion.”

“Impressive,” he said, lifting his own glass in a mock toast. “To surviving the glamorous life.”

“And to lawyers who manage to look good while working too hard,” you quipped.

You clinked glasses, your eyes locking briefly. You felt your heart skip a beat, a warmth spreading in your chest that had nothing to do with the champagne.

By the time the plane was over Siberia, the cabin had grown quiet. Most passengers were asleep, but you and Jungkook were wide awake, leaning toward each other as you whispered.

“So, what’s the first thing you’ll do when you get back to Seoul?” Jungkook asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Probably dinner with my dads,” you said. “We have this tradition where our chef cooks my favorite meal whenever I come back from a trip.”

“That sounds nice,” he said, his expression genuinely interested. “What’s the dish?”

“Kimchi jjigae, with extra tofu,” you said. “And you? What’s the first thing you’ll do?”

“Go straight to the office,” he said with a wry grin. “Not as exciting, huh?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know. Something about you being so dedicated is… admirable.”

Your gazes lingered, the silence between you charged with an unspoken tension. Jungkook reached for the blanket draped over his seat and, without a word, tucked it around your shoulders.

“You looked cold,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt natural when your hands brushed against each other on the armrest. Neither pulled away, and moments later, Jungkook laced his fingers gently with yours.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing.

“Maybe it’s the altitude,” he joked, though his voice was soft, sincere. “Or maybe it’s just you.”

Your heart raced as you looked down at your entwined hands. “Do you always move this fast, Jungkook?”

“Only when it feels right,” he said, his eyes meeting yours.

You and Jungkook were still wrapped in each other’s warmth, your voices a murmur as you traded soft laughs and tender glances. His hand rested over yours, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin.

But then, Jungkook’s phone buzzed against the tray table. His expression stiffened as he glanced at the screen, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I need to take this,” he said, his voice tinged with regret.

You frowned slightly, sensing the shift in his mood. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, though his tone didn’t quite match his words. “It’s work. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He stood and slipped toward the bathroom, phone in hand. You watched him go, a strange unease settling in your chest.

Inside the restroom, Jungkook answered the FaceTime call. The face of a woman appeared on the screen.

“Jungkook,” she said, her voice gentle. “I was worried when you didn’t answer earlier. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, his tone measured. “Just caught up with work.”

The woman smiled faintly. “I can’t wait to see you. We have so much to talk about.”

He forced a small smile. “Me too.”

The call ended, and Jungkook stared at his reflection in the mirror, his expression conflicted. He lingered for a moment before returning to his seat.

You looked up as he sat down, your eyes scanning his face. “Everything alright?”

Jungkook hesitated, his hand brushing the back of his neck. “Y/N… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach tightened. “What is it?”

He exhaled deeply, unable to meet your gaze. “I have a girlfriend.”

The words hit you like a cold gust of wind. You blinked, processing, before narrowing your eyes. “What?!”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “But I can’t ignore how… how good it felt to be with you tonight.”

Your jaw tightened. “So you just conveniently forgot about her while holding my hand and—” you stopped, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

You turned away, staring out the window as anger and hurt bubbled inside you. But even as the rational part of you screamed to push him away, your heart ached to stay close.

“Don’t say another word,” you said, turning back to him. “For the next hour, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Just… don’t ruin this.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. “Y/N—”

“Shh,” you interrupted, leaning closer. Your hands found his, and despite the anger simmering beneath your skin, you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling him into a hug.

You stayed like that for a moment, the world outside the plane shrinking away. Then, almost without thinking, you tilted your face up toward his. Your lips met in a slow, hesitant kiss that deepened as you clung to each other, as if trying to capture something fleeting.

~

The announcement of your descent broke the spell. As you disembarked and retrieved your bags, an awkward silence stretched between you. Jungkook carried your carry-on for you as you walked toward the airport exit.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, stopping in the middle of the terminal.

“For what?” You asked, your tone sharp. “For kissing me? For holding my hand? Or for confessing you have a girlfriend after letting things get this far?”

“All of it,” Jungkook said, his eyes downcast. “I shouldn’t have let it escalate. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why can’t we—”

“Because I can’t walk out on her like that,” he interrupted, his voice heavy with guilt. “It wouldn’t be right.”

You stared at him, anger and heartbreak warring within you. “And what about me? It’s okay to just walk out on me like nothing happened?”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, but he took a step back, shaking his head. “I’m sorry y/n, If destiny brings us together again, I promise you I’ll make it up to you.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

You stood frozen, your hands clutching the strap of your bag as your mind raced. You were furious, confused, and utterly disappointed. Yet, beneath it all, a part of you longed for the man who had just walked out of your life.

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 possessive ¡

summary rafe only realizing he's head over heels for you after you give up on getting him to like you, and move on to someone else. jealousy overrules his resist to give you space, eventually confronting you about the situation.

contains jealousy, slight angst, confessions, hurt/comfort, fluff!! wc; 2.7k

a/n fluff and angst yaya this was very fun 2 write ^-^ hope u enjoy!!

You knew it was time to get over Rafe when you caught him laughing and messing around with another girl, while he barely ever sent a smile your way. 

It broke your heart to pieces, the sight of the man whom you loved the most, cracking jokes with a girl he met five minutes ago, when you’ve been trying to pursue him ever since you were teens. 

Your family were good friends with the Camerons, which is how you were introduced to Rafe. After you moved to figure eight, his family were of great help when it came to adjusting. Sarah was kind enough to show you around town, and Rafe… well he was there. 

You developed an attraction to the boy from the moment you saw him, and it just grew from there. You knew your love was unrequited, however, you couldn’t help it, not with the slightest moments hinting that he might’ve been into you.

Whether it was the small smile he’d flash you as a sincere apology, or how protective he’d get whenever his friends try to influence you in a bad way. It all made your pulse quicken, getting your hopes up, thinking that he might’ve had the same motives as you. 

You were in the same friend group, meaning of course, you’d be seeing him often. That was besides the family dinners you shared every weekend, nothing but causing your unrequited crush to evolve into something more. 

You knew Rafe, the boy always kept to himself, the older he got, the more mature he became, distancing himself from his surroundings. That only made you want him more, knowing deep down, there was more to him, not just the cold persona he created for himself. 

You thought it was a fleeing moment, that you’d probably get over him as you grew, but you didn’t; in fact, things only got worse. You started wanting more from him, feeling your heart break a little whenever he introduced you as a family friend, or dismissed his friends whenever they teased you two about being together. 

He’d always laugh it off, brushing off their assumptions with a simple, ‘we’re just friends, she’s like Sarah to me’, and that, it really did it for you. You’d ignore him for a day or two, and give in when he texts you asking whether you were going to show up at the family gathering. 

Sure, he broke your heart, but he was quick to cover it up with sweet words that were the bare minimum to others, but to you? They meant the world to you, and that alone was enough to sum up your feelings for him.

However, this time around, nothing could fix the pang of emptiness that filled your chest, when you spotted Rafe laughing with another girl that wasn’t you, not a worry behind his eyes. He looked happy, that when you saw him, tears instantly welled up in the corner of your eyes, feeling your heart sink to your stomach from the scene you had witnessed.

That was it, your last straw. You decided it was finally time to move on, not able to bear the pain anymore. It was a hurtful sight, really. You validated the fact that you might end up with him one day, your dreams coming crushed when you lost all hopes of ever having him.

It was clear that something was going on between them, hell,  who were you to decide who he ends up with? After all, you were just a family friend to him, nothing more. 

You spent the next few days, weeks, months getting over him, you were determined to do it this time, hanging out less with him, and instead spending more time with the pogues. You started attending less family gatherings, not going unless your parents insisted on dragging you there. 

And when you did join them, you’d avoid the boy with all your might, looking past the puzzled expression that spread across his face whenever he saw you. His gaze would be glued to you the whole night, seeking your eyes with his own, even if it was for a mere moment. 

But you didn’t give him the satifcations. You wanted him to know that you weren’t the same girl who begged for his attention for years, only getting it now that you were ignoring him. 

Rafe on the other hand, well, he can’t state that he wasn’t desperate to find out what went down. Things were normal between you two, until one day, you decided to randomly ignore him, not bothering to text him, or check up on him anymore. 

He tried to crack a conversation out of you, whenever you attended events– which was rarely, now on, merely to be met with a dry response in return. You’d brush off his concerned questions, coming up with an excuse to immediately leave the conversation. 

He had them memorized by now, it was either you getting a phone call, or a text, sometimes needing to use the bathroom came in handy, and the most common one was of course, that you weren’t feeling well, telling him you’ll continue the conversation later on, though that was a lie. 

Rafe was well aware of that. He knew you were upset at him for something he did, that not even the things he usually does to get your attention could solve it. He wishes you discussed your discomfort with him instead of completely bailing on him, refusing to hangout with the rest of your friend group whenever he’s around. 

He can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt his ego, because it did, seeing you give someone the same smile you’d flash him months ago, now desperate for even a single word out of you. For a while, he thought going with the flow would turn things back to how they were, but that only made it worse.

He was starting to miss hanging out with you, having you chill on his bed while he played video games, his whole room smelling like you for days, from being able to recognize your scent on his pillow. 

It bothered him, not being able to hear all about your day, seeing your excitement dedicated to someone else, when it should’ve been him instead. He could only watch you from afar now, gaze burning through your skin until you somehow acknowledged him. 

Going to parties wasn’t fun anymore, he didn’t look forward to events now that you weren’t there, only attending in case he got to see you. He tried, he really did, attempting to get over the uncomfortable feeling rushing through his insides whenever he spots you from afar, wanting nothing but to go up to you, tell you all about how much he missed you.

He knew you though, he was aware that would lead to no good, causing you to further drift apart with the latter, as if it wasn’t bad enough already. He resisted the pang of jealousy that filled through his chest, held back, until he no longer could. 

He couldn’t help the possesivness that washed over him when he spotted you with a man, laughing at a stupid joke he told you while caressing his arms. The little gesture encouraged the latter, causing him to sneak his arms around your waist. 

Rafe’s jaw clenched, tightening his hold around the beer he had in hand, the sight causing anger to bubble up inside him. He wasn’t used to seeing you like this, acting the same way you did with him in the presence of someone else. 

He felt a ping of jealousy, wishing it was him instead, holding you and claiming you in front of everyone else, despite the misunderstanding you had going on. Topper tried to ease up the tension, noticing the way Rafe was intensely staring at you. 

He offered Rafe a drink, telling him to relax and enjoy the party, however, that wasn’t of much help, as his attention was fixed on you the whole night. He tried to resist, he really did, reaching his limit when the boy leaned down to kiss your cheek, the action earning a chuckle out of you. 

That alone, it had Rafe raging, walking towards you with anger visible on his face. He didn’t bother apolgizing to the people he bumped into on the way to you, his mind too accompanied with you to process anything else. 

His breath knocked out of his chest once he was in your presence, your scent instantly filling his nostrils, the same one he’s been grieving to take a whiff of, even for a moment. You turned in the latter’s direction when you sensed him hovering behind him, yet in the other man’s hold. 

“Rafe?” You mumbled over the loud music playing, noticing the look of discomfort on his face. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re coming with me.” He replied, grabbing you by the wrist, merely for you to yank his hand off, immediately growing irritated. 

“What are you doing?” You shot back, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “What the hell, dude? Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

“Mhm, you look real busy, cuddled up in a random dude’s arms.” He scoffed, “Your moment told me to drop you off, I’m taking you home.”

“I'm capable of getting myself home,” your face scrunched with annoyance, reaching out for your phone, checking to see whether your mom texted you. “Besides, my mom didn’t even say anyth–”

“For fuck sake,” he cut you off, tugging you by your arm, this time able to drag you off the man’s side, who stared at you with confusion. “Just come with me, why are you making things complicated?” 

You mumbled a quick sorry to the man, as Rafe dragged you out against your own will, leading you through the dimly streets, until you eventually approached his car. He unlocked the vehicle, opening the door to the passenger seat, silently signaling for you to get in.

“What are you doing, Rafe?” You shouted, shoving him off of you. “What is wrong with you?”

“Get in.” He replied, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“I’m not going with you,” you stated, persistent with your decision. “My mom didn’t ask you to drop me off, I know you’re lying to me.” 

“Get in the fucking car,” he ordered, causing you to slightly wince. Realization washed over him, aware that he was scaring you. “Fuck, I’m sorry– I didn’t mean to–”

“Fuck you,” You hit his chest, attempting to stop him from taking another step forward. “You always fucking do this; every time you see me happy.” 

“Listen, okay– I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you like that.” He muttered, gaze lingering on your arms pressing to his chest. “Let me jus’ get you home, so I know you’re safe.” 

“You can’t do that,” you choked out, feeling tears form in the corner of your eyes. “You can’t do this to me anymore, I won’t allow it.”

“Why not?” He questioned, frustration visible through his voice. “I did it before, why can’t I do it now?” 

“That’s the problem,” you shook your head, gaze finding the ground, afraid you would give in if you saw Rafe. “I don’t want you to treat me the same way you did, I’m tired of you confusion’ me, over n’ over again.” 

“Then what about me?” He asked, causing you to glance up. “Have you considered my feelings when you decided to ignore me?” 

“Why should I?” You scoffed, despite the tears falling down your face. “After all, I’m just a family friend, nothing more.”

“Fuck that,” he spit out, “That’s not a good excuse for you to ignore me. You know how confused I was?” 

You remained silent for a moment, taken aback by the statement. Rafe’s hands found his forehead, letting a stressful sigh escape his throat. 

“You know how hard it was not having you around? I tried, I really did try to get over it, ignore the fact that you’re killing me alive, while being in another man’s arms.” He uttered, exhaling through his parted lips before he continued. “I mean– what even happened?” 

“You–” You started, vision going blurry, your tears like a waterful now. “You led me on, Rafe. Kept me around, despite the fact that you have a girlfriend.” 

“I– what?” He cocked his head to the side, fixing his attention on you. “I have a girlfriend?”

“You don’t?” You sniffled, now just as confused as he was. “Who was that girl you were with at Topper’s party?”

“Val?” Rafe questioned, recalling the said girl you were talking about. “You idiot, is that why you’re upset at me?” 

You flashed him a puzzled expression, watching as a smile tugged at his lips, washing over his frustration. It made you angry for a second, feeling belittled under his gaze, despite the seriousness you had displayed across your face. 

Rafe relaxed under your gaze, and you could’ve sworn his eyes flickered to your lips, but that might be your vision, blurred up with the tears in your eyes. However, before you could further question the latter, he leaned forward, ceasing the distance between you. 

His lips captured yours in a soft kiss, one you’ve been dying for throughout your entire years of knowing Rafe, crushing on him, not being able to reach out and touch him, even though you were dying to do it. You tensed under his hold for a moment, relaxing when he moved his mouth over yours, the gesture bringing you back to reality. 

You returned the kiss, feeling your pulse quicken within every passing moment. You couldn’t believe it, Rafe Cameron, the one whom you’ve been crushing on for years is kissing you, and you loved every second of it.  

The boy pulled away, letting his forehead rest over yours. His nose slightly brushed yours, and he was so close, you could feel his breath fanning over your face. He cupped your face with one of his hands, wiping your tears with his fingers. 

“Val’s my cousin, by the way.” He clarified, chuckling when an audible gasp escaped your throat. 

“You’re kidding.” You covered your mouth, disbelief visible on your face. 

“Mhm, I’m not.” He sneaked his arms around your waist, a teasing grin forming on his lips as he pecked your temple. “She was visitin’ the island, so it caught me off guard when I saw her.”

“Right.” You replied, too embarrassed to meet the boy’s gaze. “That’s…”

“Cute,” he snickered, continuing your sentence. “You’re so adorable, I didn’t know you were ignoring me ‘cause you were jealous.” 

“Shut up!” You shoved his shoulder, “‘s not funny.” 

“I thought you knew how I felt about you.” He started, embracing you in a hug as his chin gently rested on top of your head. 

“How you felt about me?” You repeated, feeling your face heat up. 

“I like you.” He confessed, “I like you so much, it hurts seeing you with someone else, knowing I should've been the one in his position.” 

You froze in your spot, eyes slightly widening at the confession. Your heart was beating so hard, you were afraid it might pop out of your chest any second now. You were in a state of disbelief, mind too hazed up to comprehend what the boy said. 

The Rafe Cameron likes you, out of everyone else, you. Teen you would be screaming and fanning herself right now. 

“How was I supposed to know that?” You muffled against his chest, fingers fiddling with the buttons attached to his shirt. “You always ignored me, y’know.” 

“That’s not true,” he pulled away, “Everyone in our friend group knows I like you, I was scared it might make you uncomfortable, that’s why I always brushed it off whenever they teased you about me.” 

“You’re so stupid,” you chuckled, sniffilng once more. “I’ve liked you for years, you know that?”

“Oh, I know now.” He cupped your face, a knowing smile suppressing it’s way across his. “Never ignore me again, tell me next time something bother you, okay baby?” 

You nodded, nuzzling your face into his chest once again. You let silence seep through the air for a moment, enjoying the comfortable hug Rafe wrapped you in, letting the boy rock you back and forth. 

“I had no idea who that man was, by the way,” you clarified, cutting through the quietness. “I jus’ went with the flow in hopes of getting you riled up.”

“I knew it!” 

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[lacydollette]

Lol, this is from my own current personal angst in my life but I was thinking it can be used for an angsty Rafe x Reader. I have very low self esteem, I don't think I look pretty so I have a hard time accepting that a guy could be interest in me or find me appealing, especially cuz guys have called ''mid''. Right now I'm talking to THE sweetest guy. THE most greenest flag of all. Super respectful, mature and kind. I had a freakout and pushed him away, wanted to stop talking. He got super upset, send me a drunk text basically being like ''I'm so attracted to u and your everything I've ever dreamt of. I just wanna make you happy and make you smile. Your so special to me. I keep saying that your beautiful, amazing and gorgeous but you won't hear it. Please don't let your insecurites get in the way of us. I fkn miss you'' I mean...hey feel free to take whatever inspiration you want from that, change it, build on it, whatever you want! We just want a sappy head over heels Rafe who is heartbroken being pushed away (but with a happy ending)

a/n tysm for sharing this with me! and please don’t let your doubts get in the way of your happiness. you are BEAUTIFUL and you MATTER ❤️‍🩹 i hope u like this little piece.

warnings rafe cameron x fem!reader, reader with low self esteem, situationship, angst, fluff, rafe being a sweetheart

Rafe couldn’t really tell when it started, but he could feel it in your forced smiles and short responses. He tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the ache in his chest told him otherwise. Every attempt to figure out what he had done wrong was met with your dismissive shrug and a short, “I’m fine.”

But what Rafe didn’t know about was the chaos in your mind. You liked him—really liked him—but your insecurities were keeping you from letting yourself fall completely. You couldn’t ignore the way girls seemed to flirt with Rafe at parties, the way people whispered that you weren’t pretty or cool enough, to be with someone like him. It didn’t matter how many times he told you that you were beautiful—the doubt in your mind drowned out his words. So, you began to pull away, convinced it was only a matter of time before he realized you weren’t what he wanted.

And that’s why Rafe ended up going to this party alone, although it should have been a night that you two spend together. You had promised to go, only to back out at the last minute with a stupid excuse about not feeling well. Rafe knew you were lying. Obviously he didn’t want to go without you, but after Topper wouldn’t stop begging him, he gave in.

He spent the first hour trying to lose himself in the crowd, nursing a beer and pretending to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but it was useless. Every girl who tried to flirt with him only reminded him of you, and every drink made the knot in his chest tighten. Eventually, he escaped out into the yard, needing space to think—or maybe just to breathe.

The cool night air sobered him slightly, but not enough to stop him from pulling out his phone. His fingers hovered over your contact before he finally hit call. It rang three times before you picked up.

“Rafe?” You said softly, voice trembling slightly. You winced at how vulnerable you sounded.

“hi, baby.” he said, his voice breaking slightly before going right in. “What’s going on with you? Please, just tell me. Did I do something? Did I hurt you somehow? Because if I did, fuck I swear to God, I didn’t mean to.”

Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your stomach. He sounded so desperate, so unlike the confident, self-assured Rafe you knew. You didn't know what to say, how to explain something you couldn't even fully understand yourself.

“Talk to me, y/n,” he pleaded. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep guessing what’s wrong. I care about you too much to lose you like this.” His voice cracked, and he raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over. “I’m completely crazy about you. I don’t care about anyone else. You’re it for me. You’re the only one I want.”

Your heart shattered at his words. He cared about you, really cared about you. But how could he? How could someone like Rafe Cameron, with his perfect smile and effortless charm, care about someone like you?

"Rafe..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. “No,” he interrupted. “You have no idea how much you mean to me. I think about you all the time—when I wake up, when I go to sleep. You’re all I want, y/n. And if there’s even a part of you that feels the same way—then please, stop pushing me away.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Rafe leaned against a tree, his heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else. Then he heard you breathe out, followed by muffled sobs, which you tried so hard to suppress by pressing your palm over your mouth. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words sink in and erase all your doubts. But the fear was still there.

“I didn’t think I was enough for you,” you finally whispered, voice trembling. “You could have anyone, Rafe. And people keep saying I don’t deserve you, and maybe they’re right.”

“Are you kidding me?” he said, his voice rising as he couldn’t believe that you’d actually think that. “Baby, you’re more than enough. You’re everything. Don’t let what other people say get in your head. They don’t know you. They don’t know us.”

Your sniffle came through the line, and he could picture you wiping your tears, head bowed like it always was when you were upset. “I just… I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back,” he replied softly. “You’re the only thing keeping me sane.” He paused. “Please, just let me in. Let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and you believed him. Believed that he was serious about you two. “Okay.” You said. Relief washed over him, and he exhaled shakily. “Okay,” he repeated, his lips curving into a smile. “I’m coming to you right now.”

Your eyes widened, “No, Rafe, you don���t have to—”

“I want to,” he said firmly. “Stay where you are. I’m coming to you. We’ll figure this out together.” And with that, he ended the call, his heart pounding with determination. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. You were his, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

[havenhyunjin]

daisy - hyunjin

a continuation of is it casual now?

—Surely that was all that was going to happen; Hyunjin was going to agonizingly friendzone you again, even if he maybe wanted you too. Complimenting you, saying he didn’t deserve you, repeating that he loved you had to be just a way for him to try to let you down easier. word count: 4.8k

warnings: mature, explicit sexual content ahead. 18+ only please! best friends to lovers; angst; hurt/comfort; mild alcohol intoxication; unprotected consensual sex (be responsible); oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie.

a/n: this is an accompanying written piece of the text au "is it casual now?". i believe it can be read as a stand-alone, but the texts are cute too. <3

The daisy necklace felt cold and heavy against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that was wrong, and yet it was an anchor at the same time. Perhaps that was the problem; anchoring yourself to land that seemed to want nothing but to get away from you. 

Surely, Hyunjin didn’t mean for anything to escalate to this point. When he insisted you remain best friends, like you’d always been, the rationale was to avoid exactly what was happening. He knew two things for sure: Relationships end, and he couldn't live without you. The only logical step was to keep things between you two platonic; that way it wouldn’t end. 

He failed to take into account another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently. 

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on breaking hearts. 

As of right now, it manifested in the hot tears streaming down your face, sitting on a lonely bench in the middle of the night. It manifested in the alcohol sweating off your pores, failing to make you forget. It manifested in your shaking hands, holding your phone as you try to separate yourself from this narrative once and for all. 

please let me come get you. we have to talk in person, we can’t do this over texts, you read Hyunjin’s messages, having half a mind not to cave in instantly. The masochistic part of you that had accepted the crumbs of Hyunjin’s love was clawing its way out, but she was kept at bay. 

You couldn’t take another “just friends” speech from him, and you told him as much over angry, sad texts. As if he was helping your masochistic part give in to him once again, he replied that he loved you. He loved you so much his world was spinning off its axis, terrified of losing you. 

Theoretically, that was all you would ever want to hear, but you heard it all before too. And of course, you didn’t want to lose him either, but your soul was dying a little bit more every day that you saw him and you couldn’t envelop yourself in him to show him your love. You said you needed time and space to move on, and be capable of being his friend. 

He pleaded to let you see him once again. You tried fighting back one last time. The resolve quickly faded. Maybe you were a weak woman in love, but anyone else would’ve given in too. i love you, i need you. please, daisy. i don’t want you to get over me. you’re the most wonderful woman in the planet and i don’t deserve you, but i will try. 

Agreeing to see him by turning your location back on for Hyunjin to find you, anguish, regret and hope merged into one convoluted emotion that you were far too wrecked to process. You didn’t even have enough time to try to stop crying when you recognized Hyunjin’s car on the street in front of you. He ran to you, and before any other thought crossed your mind, your brain betrayed you by noticing how stunning he looked. As if he didn’t look like that all the time, and as if your brain hadn’t fantasized about him enough times to last you your whole life. 

His hair was tied in a messy half ponytail, wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. His face was contorted in emotions you couldn’t read, not for lack of trying. His eyes were desperate, his hands were shaky, his steps were steady, his mouth was unmoving. 

“Daisy, it’s fucking freezing,” was the first thing he said in front of you, immediately taking his jacket off to give it to you. You didn’t want it, you knew it was a torture device, but it happened too quickly for your dazed mind to protest. He didn’t really talk as he helped you up from the bench, leading you to the passenger seat of his car, and you were simply moving automatically. He put your seatbelt on before closing the door behind him and walking to the driver seat. All you did was close your eyes, not ready to face him again, not ready for more rejection than your sanity could take. 

Surely that was all that was going to happen; Hyunjin was going to agonizingly friendzone you again, even if he maybe wanted you too. Complimenting you, saying he didn’t deserve you, repeating that he loved you had to be just a way for him to try to let you down easier.

Your internal dialogue raged on, because Hyunjin simply drove in silence in the direction of your apartment. Surely he would be leaving you there to cry yourself to sleep once again as soon as he said whatever he needed to say.  

When he parked his car, he also opened the door for you and tried to help you out but you flinched away from him. His touch didn’t just electrify you; it burned through your layers of clothes like the daisy necklace did. The sharp reminder of your anchor sailing away. 

“Daisy, can I come up? I’ll leave as soon as you’re inside if you want me to,” Hyunjin said, wincing after you flinched away.

His heart was aching. His internal dialogue was as tragic as yours. He knew for sure you wouldn’t give him a second chance at being brave enough to love you. He knew this was going to be the last time you’d let him that close to you. He knew you didn’t trust him anymore.

All he was hoping for was a few more minutes with you as you went up the elevator and before you closed your door to him forever. All you were hoping for were a few more minutes with him before you had to say goodbye to him out of pure survival instinct. 

So you agreed for him to walk you to your door. You saw him punch in your code, and open the door for you. You put your head down as you walked in, and hesitantly turned around to face him, reaching to take his jacked off yourself. You willed yourself to look into his eyes. 

Hyunjin was crying. He was trying hard to keep the tears from falling, he was furrowing his eyebrows and he wasn’t looking back at you, instead staring at the corner of your wall behind you. 

It’s not like you hadn’t seen him cry before. He cried watching Inside Out, when you graduated, when he laughed too hard, when his little fish died. But this wasn’t the same. His lips quivered a little, his eyes were almost closed, his cheeks were red, his hands were closed in fists. He was in agony. 

Your masochistic side, and the side of you that loved Hyunjin like the forest loves the flame, teamed up against your decision to say goodbye. You could not bear to see him hurt that way, even if it meant more pain for you. So you wrapped your hand around his wrist and led him inside, speechlessly closing the door behind you. 

“Daisy, I…,” Hyunjin started to talk quickly, knowing you were granting him the chance to do so. You closed your eyes, ready for the big blow. Ready for a wretched feeling of heartache you never thought Hyunjin would cause you. Ready for him to close the possibility of ever letting you love him. Ready for him to never take the leap for both of you. Ready for your fears to drag you away from each other. 

You weren’t ready for the soft, cold hands that wrapped around your cheeks, and the hot minty breath against your face. You weren’t ready to find a pair of brown, yearning eyes looking deep into yours when you opened them. You weren’t ready for the touch of his nose against yours as he leaned in. You weren’t ready for the all consuming feeling of his plump lips on yours. 

But you welcomed it. You welcomed it like the feeling of a warm blanket on a rainy day, like the smell of your childhood pillow, like the taste of your favorite candy on Christmas, like the sound of a perfect melody, like the sight of a sunrise. You welcomed it like finally coming home. 

The daisy necklace felt hot against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that you desired standing right in front of you, somehow anchoring you and making you fly away at the same time. Perhaps that was the paradox; anchoring yourself to land that you thought was drifting away, but right now was holding you like a treasure. 

Surely, Hyunjin didn’t mean for anything to escalate to this point. When he insisted you needed to talk, he logically knew his first step couldn’t be to kiss you. He knew two things for sure: You couldn’t just be his friend, and he couldn't live without you. The only logical step was to communicate your feelings, fears and concerns to each other; that way he wouldn’t have to live without you. 

He failed to take into account another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently. 

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on magnetic forces between you two. 

As of right now, it manifested in a kiss that would put every other epic kiss to shame. It manifested in your hands wrapped around his neck, holding onto him for dear life. It manifested in your heavy breathing as you both gasped for air, immediately crashing back into each other. 

You didn’t really have to talk anything out anymore. Your bodies melting into each other, transforming into a single entity was enough of a declaration, but Hyunjin wouldn’t have it that way. He needed to know that you knew. 

You hesitantly pulled back as he grabbed your chin to create a small distance between your lips. 

“Baby, I love you,” Hyunjin said barely above a whisper. Barely above a prayer he hoped would be heard by you, his goddess. 

“I love you,” was all you could truly reply. What else could you say? How else could you say it other than dripping with devotion? 

The pieces of the puzzle fit together perfectly, the cracks in your heart embalmed in healing, gently, kindly, steadily by his four words. 

You leaned your face into his right hand, almost unconsciously, craving Hyunjin’s warmth. His heart did somersaults, and he wanted nothing more than to give you every bit of affection you could ever crave until the day he died. 

“I know what I said before, and what I thought was the best, but I was wrong. I was so wrong, Daisy,” he said as he pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, unable to look at you until he cleared the air, otherwise he’d just give in to your lips again. “I thought everything would be better if we didn’t take the risk of us not working out.” 

You nodded, attempting to ease his mind showing him you understood the reasoning. You tried to open your mouth, but he wasn’t done talking, so you simply placed a hand on the nape of his neck to try to soothe him. 

“I know it’s dumb and cliche, but I couldn’t have you be another thing that didn’t work out in my life. I’ve done stupid shit, I’ll probably keep doing stupid shit, and I got all this baggage you already know about, and it isn’t an excuse but I just thought I should save you the trouble of dealing with it more than you already do,” Hyunjin rambled on, stumbling into his words and thoughts. He had planned out his speech, at least parts of it, but it was all coming out messy. He wanted to organize his thoughts, but he was desperate for you to understand that he wanted you, needed you, loved you, and the past few days weren’t because he saw you as just a friend, but because he saw you as so much more.

All you could do was make him look you in the eyes, forcing eye contact to ground him. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up. I won’t. I’ll be everything you need, if you’ll take me,” Hyunjin murmured, his eyes nearly watering as his emotions overcame him. 

“I’ll be everything you need too, if you’ll take us,” you replied, holding your faith in him close to your heart. He wouldn’t hurt you; not on purpose, not irretrievably. He would do everything to fix what needed fixing, he wouldn’t leave you hanging, he wouldn’t take you for granted. He would love you. You would love him. 

“You’re already everything,” he blurted out, as sincere as he’d ever been, before crashing his lips back into yours. 

Hyunjin knew he wasn’t done expressing his feelings and fears, and that there were some that he barely even recognized. But he also knew he would have the time to do that, and you would be gentle enough to grant him that grace. You wouldn’t judge him, you wouldn’t run out of patience, you wouldn’t walk out on him. You would love him. He would love you. 

So Hyunjin gave in to you, and you gave in to him.

His kiss was desperate and passionate, leaving you breathless and dizzy, trying to steady yourself on his chest. Any alcohol in your system had already been replaced by the adrenaline of holding your entire world in your hands, and finally being able to be this close to him.

Soon enough, you started leading him to your room, even with an unmade bed and a few scattered items. He wasn’t unfamiliar to your room, knowing the scent, layout and quirks of it very well. However, he suddenly felt like an outsider you were inviting in for the first time, and he wasn’t sure of what to do. Hyunjin’s mind started to race. Did you want to sleep? Did you want him to hold you? Did you want more? Did you want to wait? 

As his thoughts started rushing, your touch was the one to ground him yet again as you motioned him to come closer to you, kneeling on the edge of your bed with him standing in front of you. He didn’t need words, your hands under his clothes touching his skin telling you everything he needed to know. You wanted him as badly as he wanted you, and you needed to feel close to him. 

His shirt came off first, your core warming at the sight. Greek gods would be put to shame besides Hyunjin, sculpted and soft against your fingertips. He was shy under your intense gaze, opting to help you out of your blouse instead. Once he caught a glimpse of your skin under the soft lamp light, he was done for. Still asking for your consent when unhooking your bra, you nodded and threw it at the floor yourself. 

Hyunjin watched as you laid down under him, your breasts slightly moving and your nipples hardened with the temperature change. He knew he was staring far too much, but anything he had ever imagined before paled in comparison to what he was seeing. Any dreams and fantasies he’d had of you naked underneath him as he touched himself, were far off the real thing.

You blushed at the attention on your chest, pulling Hyunjin in for a kiss as he went into bed with you. He happily returned it, and quickly moved his hands to unbutton your jeans, humming while asking for permission once again, as if you were ever going to say no to the man you desired with every cell of your being. 

You lifted your hips up enough for him to pull down the item along with your underwear, and you couldn’t help but whine as you felt yourself truly exposed beneath him. He only barely noticed, busy admiring every curve of your legs, thighs and most of all your naked pussy. 

His cock was painfully hard, twitching at the mere sight. He didn’t know how he was not going cum immediately upon tasting you, feeling you, but he would be damned if he didn’t have you right now. 

Hyunjin gently spread your thighs, whimpering ever so silently as he looked at your slick folds. “You’re so wet, my baby,” he looked up, making eye contact with you and licked his lips. 

The sight was a pure, unadulterated wet dream. You should be even more wet, having the most beautiful man in the world between your thighs, lowering his sinful lips and tongue on your sex. 

You arched your back and instantly held the roots of his hair in your hands as he licked a long, tortuous stripe around your slit and pussy lips. Kitten licks right into your already swollen clit followed, and you shut your eyes closed cursing under your breath. “You taste like fucking heaven, baby,” he said right into your core, making you whine. Hyunjin was slowly, almost imperceptibly, rutting his hips against the bed to give some attention to his clothed, aching cock, drunk on your taste and moans. 

He was a man starved, alternating between fucking his tongue right into the hole he would fuck with his fingers next, picturing how tight and good you would feel around his cock later, and giving fast consistent ministrations to your sensitive clit. 

You would never last long, much less as he worked one finger inside you wrapping his lips around the bud. He was met with more resistance pushing a second finger in, his long hands proving to be a challenge to take like you knew his dick would be, but you were excited to have it. 

Hyunjin never stopped his consistent pace on your clit, relaxing you and recoiling you at the same time. He knew he needed to prep you with at least three fingers if he was going to fuck you, feeling how tight you were, vibrating in anticipation. He worked slower, almost painfully so. Once he felt his index and middle finger slide in and out of your pussy with ease, he leisurely pressed his ring finger to your entrance. 

You were lost in the feeling, grinding yourself on his hand and moaning his name over and over again. You took all three fingers in, opening up for him even more as he scissored them inside of you, not once stopping his steady, erotic make out session with your clit. 

Hyunjin was all about pleasing you, so he curled his fingers inside of you, drinking in your every movement, sound and wetness pouring out of you. “Let go for me baby, give it to me,” he encouraged, only barely stopping his constant stimulation on your clit. 

You were soon enough cumming in his mouth and hand, giving Hyunjin the sweetest taste he ever had in his life, and seeing stars, cross eyed at the feeling of an angel gifting you the first orgasm of the night. He cleaned up the remnants of your orgasm, not baring the idea of any of it going to waste and smiling up at you. You smiled back, chuckling shyly, as he climbed up to kiss you for you to taste yourself on him. It was intoxicating, remembering him eating you out as you tasted the evidence. 

The aftershocks of the high subsided once you remembered Hyunjin hadn’t cum yet. He wasn’t even fully undressed, and suddenly you couldn’t bear the thought. Half sitting up, you undid his belt impatiently and helped him as he pushed his pants and boxers aside, kneeling on the bed. He was fighting every impulse to moan at every single friction, at just the sight of your hands so close to his leaking cock. 

Your mouth was watering, pressing your thighs together even if it meant overstimulating your sensitive core. Hyunjin’s effect on your body was insane, amping up every passing second. He was decidedly big, and you silently thanked him for how he opened you up before. You ached to have his thick cock deep inside you, and you also craved the taste of him on your throat. You thought you should do the latter, returning the favor, but Hyunjin quickly pinned you back down to the bed. 

“Baby, I want to fuck you,” he whispered against your ear, his hands running along your waist and finding the flesh of your breasts. He continued by pressing sensual kisses on your neck and groping your tits, “Will you let me fuck you, Daisy?” A smile was on his face as he realized how you were only wearing your half daisy necklace, and he was wearing his. A wonderful, possessive reminder. You were finally his, and he had always been yours. 

“Hyun, please,” you barely whimpered out, dazed in lust, lightly scratching his back as you felt his cock so close, yet so far from your hole. You didn’t even have to beg, he would give you anything and everything you could ever ask for. 

As he positioned himself over you, while you spread your legs for him, he framed your face between his hands on the bed supporting him. You looked into Hyunjin’s eyes, knowing they were matching the passion behind yours, and knowing you both understood how life-changing this moment was. 

You put your hands on his neck as he finally pushed inside you with a soft thrust. Hyunjin went slow, intentional, as he felt you adjust bit by bit. He didn’t break eye contact, even though he was ready to cum any second. You felt so tight, warm and wet on his cock, he could barely even think, he could barely do anything other than look at you and understand he was home. 

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he said as he began to bottom in, leaning in to catch your lips in a kiss he hoped conveyed the wave of love combined with lust that he was feeling. “You were made for me, baby,” Hyunjin continued praising you, because it was truly all he could do. 

And you were made for him. The stretch stung, but pain melted into pleasure all the same as he kissed you, as he whispered all those sweet, dirty words. Soon enough it was all pleasure, it was all him finally inside you, finally taking what was his. Your moans were nearly uncontrollable, even more so as he began thrusting into you at a delirious, gentle pace. 

“You feel so good,” you whimpered into his lips, punctuating each word with his thrusts. Hyunjin almost smirked, beaming off your praise. He wanted to pick up the pace, but he also never wanted the moment to end. He was losing it, the taste of your pussy still lingering in his tongue mixed with the pleasure he felt as he fucked all his love into you. It was enough to bring him to heaven. 

He pulled your legs higher up, wrapping them around his waist to take you deeper. As you moaned in a higher pitch, he swallowed the sweet sounds into his mouth. Every emotion was heightened; the desperation, satiation, love, adoration, yearning, all enveloped into the intensity of your sex. 

“So fucking perfect,” he mumbled softly, barely above a prayer he wanted only you to hear. You knew you’d kneel to pray to him just the same. All of his movements and words made your cunt clench, feeling impossibly full and yet like it wasn’t enough. Like you needed him to be whole. At every spasm, Hyunjin’s cock twitched inside you, controlling himself not to let his impulse to press you face first into the mattress and take your pussy from behind win. He knew he could do that another time, and he knew he needed to show you his devotion right now. 

You could feel him restraining himself, and with one quick moment you pushed him to the bed on his back for you to straddle him. His cock slipped out with a pop that you both groaned at, and he immediately held onto your waist as a reflex, looking at you quizzically. 

“Let me ride you, baby,” you asked softly, positioning yourself over his cock and taking it inside you again at a new, toe-curling angle. 

Hyunjin could’ve cum right then and there, holding on to your soft skin. As you started bouncing up and down his length, he didn’t know whether to focus on your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, the erotic sight of where you two were connected, or the near pornographic vision of your tits moving in his face along with your necklace, his necklace. 

He was gone. He had been gone for years, knowing deep down nothing would ever satisfy him if he couldn’t have you. And now that he did, now that you were truly, genuinely taking your place as his goddess divine on top of him and his cock, he also realized he’d never be truly satisfied. He would never get enough of you, but he would spend every waking moment of his life adoring you. Even if centuries wouldn’t be enough with you, he will gladly spend his lifetime worshipping you, and every inch of your body. 

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself up to begin tracing kisses, love bites and marks around your neck and breasts. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he declared, swore, between every single kiss.

Your movements were becoming more erratic when riding his cock, your words barely making their way out only because you couldn’t fathom not saying I love you back. Everything you did brought you closer to your high, and you could barely take it anymore. Even less when Hyunjin pressed his thumb right into your clit, and took one nipple into his mouth, licking circles in it. He was trying to make you cum before him, relishing in the sweet sounds coming out of your mouth. You were going cross eyed at all the stimulation, feeling the coil inside your stomach so close to snapping. 

“Fuck, just like that baby. You’re taking me so well,” he hummed, encouraging you as you picked up the pace riding him even if your legs felt like they were giving out. 

He placed you down on the bed as he felt your legs faltering, thrusting into you at a harder, faster pace. You held him by his arms, spreading your legs and closing your eyes shut as your moans became uncontrollable. His name was all that you even remembered, whining it out for him to dream about forever. 

“Finish for me, baby,” he said, kissing you deeply, his cock inside you hitting just the right spot for the coil to snap. 

The earth-shattering orgasm hit you all at once, tidal waves flowing over you as Hyunjin held you in the aftershocks. He fucked you through it, your pussy spasming, almost pulling him deeper inside you and letting him reach his own high. He filled you up with his pearly white cum, and you felt complete. 

He didn’t let go of you, as he laid in the crook of your neck panting, still inside you. He put only slightly more weight on you, careful not to hurt you, but relaxing into your body. 

You were breathing heavily too, still riding the ecstasy Hyunjin made you feel. As he felt you shaking, he pulled out and laid down beside you holding you into his chest. “I got you, baby. I got you…” he softly whispered in your ear, placing a kiss on your temple. You hugged him tight, smiling as he traced patterns on your back. “You are perfect,” he repeated, as he kept telling you before. 

You looked him in the eyes, the crystal glaze of love over them, and pecked his lips softly. You looked at his daisy necklace, reaching out to touch it with your fingers and tracing your own patterns on his chest and neck. No words were needed, the air between you two only trapped inside your bubble of a dream come true.

“I love you, Daisy,” Hyunjin promised once again. “I love you, baby,” you promised right back. 

The daisy necklace felt like safety and protection against your skin. It was a sharp reminder of all that you held dear to your heart, and it was the ever-present anchor that tied you to your one true love. Perhaps that was the endgame; anchoring yourself to the land that you had made your home in. 

Surely, Hyunjin had willed this all to happen, even if he didn’t realize it. As he held you close, skin to skin, his every desire and need was fulfilled. He knew two things for sure: He was yours, and he couldn't live without you. All he could do, all he wanted to do, was to make you his, until the very end. 

He now knew another unequivocal truth: You loved each other ardently. 

It is the kind of love you can’t contain. The harder you try, the more it will manifest on everyday choices, on shared moments, on new opportunities. 

As of right now, it manifested in the calm and warmth of his embrace. It manifested in the kind, caring kisses you pressed all over his face. It manifested in your souls molding into a single one. 

[sashi-ya]

𝑪𝑼𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑭𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑫𝑶𝑴 「 part 1 」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: yes! first Kaiju no. 8 fic ever! idk how many of you would like to read from Kaiju but I've been obsessed with it lately, and especially with Soshiro. it's pretty short and wrote it cause I needed to think of other things after studying. So yeah, enjoy! tw: there aren't "sex" scenes, however mdni as it has suggestive language, nudity and mature content. (thank god for this manga having almost every character above 25!). Pretty much inspired on Soshi's backstory from Kaiju no 8 side B, so expect fluff too. what happened on the following days? more Soshiro smut, here. masterlist

“I can’t take the suit off” you murmur, trying to lower the front zipper. The mission took much more than what you expected, and the kaiju stench is making you nauseous.

For the time being, most of your squad members have already jumped into the showers. But you, still trying to get out of the suit, haven’t.

“I… this shit… why is it not working?” you protest, forcing the zipper more and more, but it hasn’t been able to go down past the beginning of your chest.

You try to look for the intercom; pressing it to call the Operations leader Konomi, will surely help you out with the captive suit. But, you can’t find it. Did you lose the little intercom before coming back to the base? Or did it fell around there?

Everything seems to be flaunting tonight. It’s late, you are tired. You’ve been hit several times by different Kaiju, but none of them -luckily- was able to injure you.

However, you begin to feel an incredible -and uncontrollable- heat coming from the suit itself and reaching the inner layers of your skin and organs.

You don’t panic. At first.

You definitely panic two minutes later, when the heat is unbearable and the pain in such restrictive jail is almost deadly.

“Help…” you whine, not loud enough to be heard by anyone else. Or at least, definitely not enough to be listened over the lively chattering coming from the showers.

But it hurts, as much as the acid of those despicable monsters when their core explode. And it really begins to interfere with your breathing, and thus, with your consciousness.

“Help me… I’m burning…” you scream louder this time. But no one comes, and your knees hit the ground in pain.

Tears flood up your eyes, your nails aren’t enough to tear the thick skin of Izumo Techs’ innovative suit. No guns are enough, probably, even if you had the chance to go grab yours… it wouldn’t be useful.

You pray, you wish for someone to cut that trap into pieces.

“H- help… me…” “WHAT IS IT?!”

In between blurred eyes and painful frown, you device an angel of slanted eyes and deep purple hair.

“I… the suit… it’s boiling… it’s overheating… I can’t take it off” you grasp a little bit of air and try to communicate -effectively- the reason of your suffering.

“Stay quiet” he commands, and you comply. There is nothing you wouldn’t do to go against his orders.

An immediate relief comes with enough cuts that you couldn’t even see. Completely naked, completely soaked in sweat. There you lay, panting, with still stings of pain reverberating all over your skin.

“Come here” he says, ripping the remaining pieces off the suit still ferally attached to your burning skin. And as feral as the suit is, the feral his hands are when ripping its pieces away.

“Vice-captain Hoshina… th-thank you…” you cry, completely unaware of your impure show off.

His eyes open widely, and for the first time you see the beautiful bloody irises he usually keeps hidden away. But his expression is not jovial, nor even neutral. He is by far worried.

Probably for the first time in ages, the blades have fallen to the ground and with those same hands he saved your life he hurries to carry you to the men’s showers.

At the speed of light, cold water begins to gush from the showerheads. Your body feels instant relief; so much there is even some vapor coming from your skin.

As it bathes you, it also bathes him.  Completely dressed, Soshiro gets drenched in the same water as you. And, as his hair becomes wet, one of his hands moves it out of his face, revealing his façade completely.

Your arms hang from his shoulders into his back. Your knees, fight to keep you standing up even if the one actually holding you up is no other than him.

Soshiro is completely mute, and so do you. There is, maybe, no need to speak.

He lets his jacket slide through his shoulders to finally fall into the shower’s floor. The compressive shirt underneath gets also wet, becoming something like a second skin of him. Showing off the hours of training, and why he is the vice-captain of your division.

Immorally, you that were on the brink of death a couple of minutes ago, now feel in heaven because of your saviour. Because of your blades wielding hero.

Once again, he was able to save a life with those thinly cut masses of iron.

His hand, with soft but still steady pace, clean something off your back. And for that your breasts are pressed against his chest. You can see his neck from the side, as he tries to take a deeper look at your shoulder blades. You inhale the scent of his skin, a mix of sweat from the last battle and manly hints of fresh perfume.

“You got them almost engraved on your skin. What the fuck? The suits aren’t supposed to hurt you this way” he whispers, close to your ear. “We should go to the medical pavilion, now” he adds.

You nod, feeling how everything has started to spin around you and your stamina decreases more and more.

“Thank you, Soshi- Hoshina fuku Taichou…” you babble, realizing your faces are closer that what they should ever be and your arms and his are interlocked pretty strongly to the other’s body.

He takes a deep breath through his tiny nose, looking at you with lazy eyes. Just a tiny line of red is visible, as tiny as the opening of his lips that let prominent fangs barely flash.

Soshiro’s chest goes up and down, harder every time. His muscles tense more and more, especially the ones on his neck. His hug gets even tighter, pulling you so closer that ever before.

“It’s… ok…” he barely words; something is affecting that man… and it’s probably all your body, all your still warm skin being his for at least a couple of minutes, the way your lips have become red and pouty, your sloppy eyes and the warmth of your breath closer to his mouth.

“What happened!!??” “Vice-captain?!” “are you two allr-“ the girls scream in terror. Probably, once they were out of the showers they faced the dantesque scenery of blades lying on the ground and a anti kaiju suit completely destroyed and fuming scattered all over the floor.

Within seconds, not only the officers of squad 3 have reached the place but also the men. Some of them, thinking not the worst… but probably that Hoshina fuku Taichou and you have finally caved in for lust.

With a fast reaction, Soshiro grabs the coat of his own uniform to cover you up. And with a much more severe tone ever heard, he orders Kikoru to call Mina and Okomi and let them know he is taking a badly injured officer to the medical pavilion. As for the rest, a scary deadly look over his shoulder was enough to make them run away from the place allowing him to pass.

You, however, couldn’t quite experience such happenings, as your consciousness had fade away right before your comrades arrived.

A soft white light shines in between your shut eyes; the sound of unknown solitude reaches your ears as well as the synchronic beep of your heart reflected on a machine.

“What-“ you mumble, regaining consciousness. Your body feels cold, and you are thankful for that. Your limbs are heavy, but you can move them. Your lips and mouth are dry, but you smile as you remember vague flashes of Soshiro and you under the shower.

You finally open your eyes to discover you are indeed at some kind of medical facility, soon remembering this is the place you all come when you are severely injured after battle.

Everything on your body seems to be on its place, and for that you breathe alleviated. Thankful to your hero, you wonder how to thank him when you are out of here… or maybe, you just plan to leave the squad as he has seen you completely naked.

“I didn’t know you were awake already” a well-known voice scares you away. You try to stand up, but his hand stops you from doing so.  “I couldn’t sleep, I was worried for you” he says, with that sweet funny tone he often uses to communicate.

There is, as far as you could see, anyone around but you and him. Soshiro, who apparently couldn’t sleep, has come to see you.

Your cheeks burn, and it’s not because of a defective suit now. It is because, you are deeply embarrassed, and still, something inside you is jumping with genuine happiness to see him here.

“I’m ok, Sir. But.. you didn’t have to come! I’m deeply thankful for you saving my life, and I promise you I will replace the uniform you got all wet” you say, trying to look away from him who has came closer to your bed.

Soshiro bursts out laughing, the way he only knows how to. He grabs his stomach, and soon flashes of the way those abs looked with wet fabric sticked to them, makes you shiver.

“You- you should worry for your own suit! Not mine!” he continues laughing while, little by little, he ends up sitting right on the bed. “By the way, you know why your suit almost killed you?” he asks.

You swallow. What- why is he sitting next to you?

 You shake your head in denial, out of words, because you couldn’t think of a reason for such big flaw on that impressive technological miracle.

Soshiro, who is well known for being at least a little bit irreverent -and that’s exactly what you love the most about him-, gets himself comfortable next to you. He lies back, as you move to the side to make him some space.

Now, the scent of his skin is clean and delicious -even more than earlier-. And you can smell it, because there isn’t much room to be separated on a single bed.

“Well… you had a piece of Kaiju tooth stuck on your lower back. Therefore, the suit either processed it as a threat or… it reacted with the pieces of kaiju within it. In any case, you will be given a new one in a couple of days” he tells you, with his right arm stuck underneath the back of his head.

His bicep, perfectly moulded to be strong, but still lightweight to be as agile as possible, protrudes with the hem of the compression shirt around it. Does he really know how sexy he looks? Or he is absolutely unaware of the effects he has?

“Oh…” you sigh. You take it as a personal failure; how were you not able to see it? “Don’t worry, this incident helped them to investigate further security measures… however, isn’t your back hurting?” he asks, this time turning to you.

You deny, again, without any words coming from your mouth. But there isn’t much you could do, when Soshiro turns you around so that your back faces him.

“You do, in fact, have a big bruise. I should report this, too” he comments, as his soft index travels down your spine, to the small of your back.

Your eyes, opened big enough to look like moons, have stopped seeing all around and all you can think of is the proximity of that man to you.

“You good?” he murmurs, ignorant of everything happening to your body. “Ye-yes, vice-captain. I wanna thank you for taking care of us the way you do; hadn’t been for you, I’d be dead by now…” you pull those words from who knows where, even if your muscles seem paralyzed from his touch. Your speech sounds like those you give when you follow commands during battle.

He laughs; this time softer and sweeter. You can feel his body coming closer, enough to feel the tip of his nose grazing your neck.

“We should have each other’s backs in here, or else… but most importantly, being told my blades will not be useful to fight and protect, you remind me once again that they indeed can” he whispers, making your skin shiver.

It’s clear that he wants you. And you want him, too.  And you always knew, and he always knew. And all of them, too.  Why, just now, on a place where you should be monitored, there were nobody around if not?

“Can I rest here for a minute?” he asks, as his forehead lands on your nape. “All the time you want, Vice-captain” you answer back, smiling softly.

You slowly relax, as his hand slides in the most delicate way towards your belly to hug you. Your hand, also delicate, fall on top of his, confirming how much you would love for him to touch you like this forever.

“Call me Soshiro when we are like this, ok?” he murmurs, planting the first kiss right on your shoulder.

You turn around, slowly. Even if you would love to stay the way you were, you can’t stop yourself from wanting to see his face.

“Soshiro…” you whisper, coming closer to his lips. “That’s better…” he smiles, kindly.

And one kiss, and then another came by… and thankfully, that night, there were no more Kaiju around.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part seven)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe feels like he’s come undone. The string that just barely keeps him composed has unravelled. There’s no use in trying to tie it back together. Not when you’re holding him like this.

You’re standing in your bathroom as he cries into your shoulder, your breaths intertwined. His knees are weakening and it’s getting harder to hold his weight as he leans on you.

Your arms are loosely encircled around his neck and you collect every bit of strength you have in you to hold him up. You can feel the moisture from his tears dampening the fabric of your shirt, hear the gasps of breath spilling from his mouth. You can’t help but cry with him.

When you slowly glide a hand up the back of Rafe’s head, stroking his hair, he cries harder, his body thrown off center even further after being touched so gently. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you in closer.

Rafe’s chest is burning, his hand still aching from nearly punching the life out of your ex-boyfriend. His legs are giving out and he realizes just how much he’s bearing down on you.

“Shit,” he grumbles, angry at himself for hurting you. “Sorry.” He straightens, pulling back just a bit, your cheeks touching.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice sounds just as fragile as the atmosphere between you. You’ve never wanted to take care of someone more than you do right now. “Let’s go to my room.”

You keep all the lights off as you pace upstairs. When you reach your room, Rafe sits on the edge of your bed, sniffling.

You watch his darkened figure angrily swipe at his tears. You settle beside him, your heart stinging, the side of your thigh pressed against his.

“I…” Rafe’s voice is hoarse. His heart is racing. He’s failing at choking down his sobs. “I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you say. You watch him helplessly, eager to do whatever you can to ease his pain, to make him more comfortable.

You wipe one of your own tears away and rest your hand on his shuddering back, feeling how damp the cotton of his shirt is, surely from sweat.

You can’t get how he looked leaning over Ty out of your mind, the way he struck him over and over. When his friends pushed him up against the wall, he looked so angry and lost.

“Are your pajamas in the other room?” you ask.

Rafe nods. You rush away towards the guest room.

He feels completely powerless to his own body. He’s lost every bit of composure he thought he had. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, sitting in your room, crying this hard in front of you.

He should’ve known being around you long enough would wear him down. His mother may be gone, but the weight of losing her never will be, and every time he looks into your eyes or feels your skin on his, he remembers that he’s carrying that weight everywhere he goes.

When he’s in this state, he takes whatever he can get his hands on to get wasted enough to forget. But he doesn’t have anything to numb his agony.

You return holding Rafe’s sweats and t-shirt and see him hunched over your bed, his head in his hands. You sit next to him again, his clothes bunched up against your chest. His breaths are short and uneven.

“I can help you get changed,” you say, words faltering between your tears. “And I can ramble or I can be quiet or whatever you need to fall asleep.”

Your chest aches even more at the desperation in your own voice. It reminds you of being ten years old, standing at Rafe’s bedroom door, offering to do anything just to carry a piece of his pain for him.

He rejected you then. He’s rejected you a thousand times since. But tonight, he lowers his hands from his face and turns his head just enough to catch your gaze.

“Okay,” he murmurs, throat thick with tears.

He remains sitting as you stand and lean over him to bunch the bottom of his shirt in your hands.

You pull the fabric up over his torso and he lifts his long arms for you. Your eyes are better adjusted to the dark now, allowing you to see the way his chest is rising and falling as he breathes through his cries.

In any other scenario, undressing him like this would feel suggestive, but the intimacy between you is innocent. You’re helping a friend in pain. At least, you hope he considers you a friend now.

The cotton of his pajama shirt is soft between your fingers as you draw it over his head. He finds the strength to pull his arms through the sleeves and then shuffles to unbutton his jeans. You help him take his jeans off and replace them with his sweatpants.

Rafe still doesn’t get why you think he deserves your unconditional kindness. But then he remembers what you said downstairs. You said he’s good. When was the last time someone called him good?

It’s been years since he thought something positive about himself. But maybe you’re right. Maybe whatever good you see in him really is there.

He pushes himself up to his feet to brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall and you quickly change into your pajamas in the dark and get ready for bed.

When Rafe comes back into your room, his strides are slow and his shoulders are hunched as he settles into your bed.

“Do you need ice for your hand?” you whisper. “Or some water?”

“No,” he responds. He shifts, head resting on your pillow, and swallows hard, never having had a harder time saying what he wants before now. “Just… come to bed.”

It’s jarring. The same man who’s spent years averting his gaze the second you walked into a room, who found the quickest way to end every conversation you tried to start, doesn’t want to be apart from you for even a minute.

You sink into the mattress next to him, bodies turned towards each other. His breaths continue to hitch with his cries. It’s like he’s letting out all the tears that he’s repressed tonight.

You find his hand and stroke it gently, fingers running over his swollen knuckles.

One of the last times someone tried to help Rafe was when the paramedics arrived on the side of the freeway. They were asking him if anything hurts. If he could slowly get out of the car.

The rain was falling from the dark sky in hard, heavy drops and he had to shout for them to hear him. He kept telling them to check on his mom. They told him someone was already with her. He told them they should all be checking up on her and not him because he was fine but she wasn’t breathing.

“What are you thinking?” you ask. After a moment, he answers.

“It never gets easier,” Rafe says, his tone teetering on whimpering. His grief is still eating him alive. It never stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your tears hot against your cheeks. “Did you… ever get any help? Anyone to talk to?”

“No. At the beginning…” His mind flashes through how much the therapist he saw after it happened reminded him of his mother. Since he was ten, all he’s done is run from every reminder. “No. I couldn’t.”

You inch closer to him, holding his hand tighter, your legs tangling together.

“How about your family?” you ask.

Rafe can’t do this.

“Distract me,” he whispers. “Please distract me.”

You scramble to find something, anything to talk about. You think back to the start of the summer and the hopes you had before your ex started tormenting you both in and out of your relationship.

“I haven’t been off the island as much as I’d like to,” you begin. You press your hand against his chest to feel his heart, gauging if your words are helping. “I was thinking to go into the mainland some more this summer.“

You start to talk about how you’ve daydreamed about seeing what kinds of things the world has to offer across the water.

Rafe shuts his eyes, letting your sweet voice permeate the air, filling him with a quiet warmth like it always does.

You chase away the demons when you speak to him like this. You short-circuit the painful thoughts that rush through his head. You blur the terrifying images he sees. And it’s so much better than any drug he could ever take.

Slowly, you feel the pounding in his chest recede into softer, further apart thumps. His breaths are still sharp, but his sobs aren’t as hard. You comforted him like this when you were kids and it grants you a sense of pride that you can still soothe him.

Minute after minute, Rafe’s crying loses its intensity, and finally, he dozes off with your hand pressed against his sternum.

Your eyes gently flutter shut. The sound of his deep breathing alleviates you after what may have been one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You fall asleep feeling the pulse of a boy who lost his innocence too soon.

Rafe can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply. He drifts into consciousness feeling rested for the first time in ages.

You’re facing him, your hand cupped around his, his knuckles up to your lips as you sleep. He watches you in awe.

At some point in the night, he remembers shuffling awake and feeling your lips press against his sore hand, kissing him and calming him in your dazed state.

Rafe looks at the way your eyelashes curl over your closed eyelids. You were so patient with him, letting him cry as hard and as long as he needed to.

Can he actually do this? Can he have you in his life in a real capacity, instead of just inside this arrangement to keep you safe? Can he let you in while keeping something so painful from you?

You still don’t know the whole of it. He never wants you to. He’s not sure what to do, so he slowly shifts out of your soft bed.

It’s a few minutes past nine when you make your way downstairs. Rafe is sitting in the front room. You had hoped he’d stay in bed with you this time.

“What time are you meeting the lawyer today?” he asks once he sees you.

“Ten.”

“I’m going with you,” he says. He told you he wouldn’t leave your side and he’s not breaking his promise.

You nod, staring at him. It feels like there’s distance between you again. Does he regret last night?

“How are you?” you ask quietly, leaning against the wall.

Rafe’s eyes flit to you. When he sees the sorrow in your expression, he tells you the good instead of the bad.

“Had a good sleep,” he tells you. He looks away again. “Thanks for…”

“Of course,” you say once you realize he won’t finish his sentence. “Any time.”

Rafe rubs his knees, his hands running over the denim of his jeans, remembering how you took them off for him last night. It’s embarrassing to think about how he broke down in front of you.

“I need to go home,” he says, “to shower and get some clean clothes. I’ll come back.”

You watch him leave and you lock the door behind him. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable after everything last night. You try not to let it get to you. But it gets to you. Because it’s Rafe and his effect on you has always been to impossible to avoid.

You arrive at the lawyer’s office in your car with Rafe in the driver’s seat. You asked not to take his bike simply because driving out in the open like that was daunting. Your nerves are sitting heavy in your stomach. It still feels unbelievable that Ty has gone so far that you had to get the law involved.

Rafe asks you if you want him in the office with you. You do.

You settle across the desk of the kind-faced lawyer, your hands clasped tightly together. She tells you how sorry she is about your circumstances and that your court date has been set for a week from today.

She explains the process of getting a permanent protective order and goes through the evidence you have. Rafe looks over at you every so often, his chest pinching from how worried you look.

“Do you have any questions?” she says.

“The police told me that if he violates the order, I should report it,” you say. “Is there someone on the case I can call? Or should I go to the station? Or the courthouse?”

She shakes her head in disappointment, looking genuinely sympathetic of your situation.

“What happened?” she asks. “I can relay it to the police. You don’t have to worry about going to them. I’m here to make this easier for you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “He ran up to me last night, yelling about how I went to the cops. I think he was going to…” You look at Rafe, your lips twisting. “I think he was going to hurt me but my friend stopped him.”

You wonder if friend is a generous title for what Rafe is to you. Or maybe not generous enough.

“He knew you went to the police last night?” she says. “I called them before our meeting. Your ex-boyfriend was informed of the temporary order this morning.”

Your body flushes. Ty didn’t know about the court order last night. But he knew you went to the police.

“He was probably following me yesterday and watched me go to the police station,” you realize, eyes darting to Rafe again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see him. Did you?”

“No,” he says. He was extra vigilant yesterday. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“The parking lot wasn’t that full,” you stammer. “I didn’t notice a car following us or anything. How did…”

It hits you. Maybe he hasn’t been tailing you like you thought. Maybe he’s had another way to know where you were without having to be there.

“What if he’s… tracking me somehow?” you ask the lawyer. “That’s illegal, right?”

“Yes,” she tells you. “He’d be criminally charged.”

You look down at your lap. Just like yesterday, fear makes you feel like you’re leaving your own body.

You pull your phone out of your pocket. It’s the only thing you have with you constantly. He could’ve put something in it. You stare at it in your shaking hand.

But why did you find footprints in front of your house a few nights ago when a tracking device would have told him that you were at a party down the street? What reason would he have to be creeping around your empty home?

Unless it isn’t in your phone. It has to be in something else you own. Your mind is racing. Your car was parked in front of your home that night. You walked to the party. Maybe Ty thought you skipped out on it. That you were home alone.

The footprints never made sense. Until now.

“Could it be somewhere in my car?” you ask her.

You struggle to keep your composure as the lawyer talks you through what would happen if they find something and link it to him. Depending on the judge, it could mean jail time.

You thank the lawyer when you leave, taking her advice to drive your car to the police station and have an officer search it.

It all happens so fast. You watch two cops inspect your car. You hear one of them mumble “I think I found something” to his coworker. Your stomach drops.

Rafe is standing next to you the entire time and when he sees the small, white box dropped into a plastic evidence bag, he has to step away for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in anger and disbelief.

There was nothing, nothing you could have done to deserve any of the shit this creep put you through. Learning that he was aware of your every move for who knows how long makes Rafe’s skin crawl. Beating the shit out of him last night wasn’t enough.

You’re silent when you leave the station. Rafe keeps looking over at you as he grips the steering wheel.

You’re gazing ahead, your stare distant, your body curled like you’re trying to make yourself smaller so nobody can see you.

He’s livid that the cops didn’t think to investigate further. You had to come to the conclusion yourself that your ex was tracking you.

“It’s their job to figure this kind of shit out, but you had to do it for them,” he mutters angrily. “And they seriously told him to stay away from you just this morning?”

“Yeah,” you say flatly. You’re in a fugue state. Your heart is racing. It’s hard to breathe. Your skin feels cold.

“Did you eat?” Rafe says.

You shake your head no.

“You need to eat.”

“So do you.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he says with a huff.

“I’m always going to worry about you,” you say absentmindedly. Your words are so simple, but they make his stomach go numb.

You approach a red light. Rafe taps his thumb against the wheel. He needs to make things better.

“We’ll pick some food up, alright?” he says.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When you see you missed a call from your dad, it’s what pulls you back into reality.

“I have to call my dad back,” you mumble. You rub your forehead in frustration. You can understand why Rafe always wants to be distracted. It’s so much easier than dealing with a scary, painful reality.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asks.

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to. But he knows he doesn’t. Finally, you accept that Rafe isn’t just looking out for you only because he feels like he needs to. He wants to.

“He’s not going to believe that we’re…” you trail off.

In this second, Rafe decides having you in his life is worth reliving any echos of the past. He’ll just bury the truth deep enough that he’ll forget it exists. He can do it.

“Friends again?” he says.

You meet his eyes and when your lips pull into a small smile, so do his. You don’t have to wonder if he’s still stuck in the idea that this will only be temporary anymore. It’s a ray of light in the darkness that’s become your life.

A car honks impatiently behind you and Rafe looks ahead to see that the light turned green. At the same moment he groans “shut up” to them, you mutter “relax”, and you both chuckle at your shared frustration.

Rafe pays for the takeout and when you arrive home, you sit at the kitchen island together to eat. You don’t have much of an appetite, but you take as many bites of your lunch as you can to gain the courage to call your dad.

“I think I can do it,” you say, picking up your phone. Rafe nods and watches you with softened eyes as you put the phone on speaker. After a few rings, your father answers.

“Hi,” you say. You take a deep breath. “First of all, I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry. But I ended things with Ty after you left and he’s been taking the break-up really badly. I… had to get a restraining order yesterday. I know it sounds crazy-“

“What? Are you alright?” your father asks.

“I am.” Your eyes meet Rafe’s. “I found a lawyer. And Rafe’s been helping me through all of it. I’m with him right now.”

“Cameron?”

“Yes,” you say. You’re not sure what your dad may say about who he knows to be your estranged childhood friend, so you rush to your next sentence. “Can you come home?”

“Of course. I just told your mom to start looking for flights,” he responds. “Are you… a restraining order? How - what has Ty been doing?”

You suddenly don’t feel as capable to speak as you did minutes ago. Retelling it yet again feels agonizing. You look at Rafe in desperation. He holds his hand out to you and you pass him your phone.

You watch as Rafe speaks to your father, addressing him as sir, reassuring him that you’re not alone or hurt. He walks back and forth through your kitchen as he speaks.

You watch his tall figure pace in front of you. He has the sense to give your dad a watered down version of the past few days. He mentions how Ty has tried to get into contact with you and the tracker the cops found, but he leaves out things like last night’s fight.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” your dad eventually says with a worried sigh. Rafe’s eyes find yours.

“It’s no problem,” he responds.

After your father says the earliest flight they could find would have them arrive home at eleven p.m. tomorrow, he tries to reassure you, telling you it’ll all be fine.

You hang up and go back to trying to eat. Rafe sits beside you.

Curiosity starts to prick at Rafe. If you’re really going to be friends again, he’ll see your parents around more often. Your dad sounded appreciative on the phone, but maybe he was just being polite. He’s not so sure they like him.

“Do your parents ever ask about me?” Rafe asks.

“They used to,” you say. “But I asked them to stop a long time ago.”

His eyes remain focused on you. He’s waiting for details.

“I just said we grew apart,” you add. “I didn’t want to tell them you wouldn’t talk to me.”

Rafe looks away in shame. The fact that you haven’t told them what really happened reminds him of what he heard the day you were in Sarah’s room. You never let anyone say anything bad about him. She always knew you liked him.

Rafe’s heart-rate quickens at the idea of you having those kinds of feelings for him. While his sister probably only said that because she’s under the impression you’re dating, the thought of you feeling the same thrill he does when you touch won’t leave his head.

It feels good to imagine you liking him like that. And he’s used to chasing whatever feels good, so he’ll allow himself to feed the delusion.

“I’ll be different,” Rafe says. “I won’t act like that anymore.”

You smile. Things don’t feel as cold as before. Not even close.

“Good,” you say. “I don’t know how we can be friends if you do.”

Rafe’s dimples dip into his cheeks when he smirks, relieved but not surprised that you’re being so compassionate.

The sight of his smile makes your problems feel a hundred times lighter.

After the takeout containers are empty and in the trash, Rafe cocks his head as he looks at you, more nervous that he thought he’d be to propose this.

“You said you wanted to get off the island,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” you say with a laugh.

“Now.”

You recognize Rafe’s family’s boat bobbing in the gentle water when you reach the docks after a quick drive to the marina. The afternoon sun is hidden by clouds, adding gusts to the warm summer air.

Rafe is quick getting the boat ready for departure. You sit on the bench behind the helm, watching him start the boat and navigate into the dark blue sea.

After a few minutes of quiet, the only sound being the rippling water and humming motor, you stand beside Rafe, seeing the coast in the far distance.

“We don’t have to dock anywhere if you’re cool with that,” you tell him. “Honestly, it feels really good to be out here.”

“You don’t want to go to the mainland?”

“No,” you tell him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. “This is better.“

You step out to the bow, leaning over the point of the boat. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you as you stand ahead of him. In this moment, finally, he’s not in the past. He’s living in the here and now.

You look back at him every so often, the smile on your face so beautifully genuine that it makes him swear he’ll do whatever it takes for you to smile like that as much as possible.

It’s nearing sunset when you get back to the docks. It feels so easy to be with Rafe. It’s like you’re kids again, no discomfort or sorrow or anger between you, just two souls that don’t need to second-guess if the other wants to be there.

“I’m exhausted,” you say as you both enter your house.

“From what?” Rafe teases, watching you reset the security system as he shuts the door. “I drove the whole time.”

“Does it have to be a competition of who’s more tired?”

“Yeah. It does,” he responds, stepping close to you as you punch in the numbers.

“You really haven’t changed at all,” you say with a happy shake of your head, turning to face him.

“What’s that mean?” Rafe asks, his tone low and amused.

“It means you always wanted to win at everything.” You cross your arms and tilt your chin to look up at him, taking in the way his windswept hair has fallen over his forehead. You want to brush it back.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“It’s just an observation.”

“What else have you observed?” Rafe asks.

He lifts his arm to lean against the wall, tilted over you. Your eyes drag over the planes of his handsome face, wondering if it’s just you that feels like you’ve been angling towards flirting with each other all day.

“About you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, squinting in a self-assured way.

Just a few nights ago, it still felt odd having him in your home, standing right here, but now, it feels natural. Rafe slipped back into your life, nearly effortlessly. You’re sure it’s because you’ve always held a place for him in it in case he ever wanted to come back.

“You’re just as protective as you were then,” you say. “No. More protective, actually.”

You don’t think the Rafe you knew before the accident would have ever resorted to violence. But you don’t tell him that.

“You’re honest,” you say, a grin on your face. “And fun. And I think you have a ridiculously strong sense of responsibility. How am I doing?”

Rafe looks down, his tongue jutting beneath his cheek as he huffs a chuckle.

“Only for you,” he says solemnly.

“What?”

“I only feel a sense of responsibility for you,” he says. He gazes at you again. “Before you came asking for help, I really didn’t give a shit about anything.”

You almost have to steady yourself. Your playful smile drops, your lips parted even though you can’t think of anything to say.

You stand in the moment together, facing each other, eyes locked.

A few nights ago, he snapped at you, saying that you don’t know him. But you think you do. Because the way he’s staring right now, almost slack-jawed, looks like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time.

You’re frozen, but if he makes a move, even leans forward an inch, you know you’d close the distance.

He doesn’t, though. So, you step back.

“I need to shower,” you say with a short laugh. “I smell like the sea. Do you wanna have dinner after?”

Rafe nods, offering you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You replay the day in your head as you shower. Mostly, you replay the moments you caught Rafe looking at you. You knew you always had love for him in your heart, and over these past few days, you can’t deny that it’s grown stronger.

And you wonder, and hope, that maybe the friends thing isn’t an official title. Because you want more.

You change into fresh clothes in your bedroom and head out into the hallway. When you round the corner, Rafe is coming up the last few steps of the staircase.

“Hi,” you say, approaching him to stand only a foot away for him. You place your hand on the bannister, mostly just to have something to do while your stomach flutters.

He stares down at you, the smell of your shampoo now committed to his memory. He’s been overthinking downstairs, aimlessly striding around, unsure if you feel the pull between you too, but so damn willing to take the risk.

Maybe you’ll shoot him down. But not knowing for sure actually hurts at this point.

“What?” you ask with a smile. “You okay?”

Rafe’s eyes search your face.

“I…” he begins. Rafe steps forward, mainly to see if you tense up and move away. But you don’t. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About what?”

“When we kissed the other night.”

The air goes thick, your throat suddenly dry. You remember how intoxicating it was kissing him. How it was just a tactic to chase away his friends. How hard it was accepting that it was all for show.

“I have to know,” he rasps. “Did you feel anything or was it just me?”

Your eyes fall to his lips. You’ve gotten used to things not feeling real by now, but not in a good way. This is like you’re living in a dream.

“It wasn’t just you,” you find the courage to say.

It’s all Rafe needs to hear. He leans forward. His lips brush against yours. Your breath catches.

You’re floating in the feeling of him on the cusp of kissing you. Finally, he closes what little distance remains, capturing your lips softly, gently, alleviating the years of pain you both held for so long in a way words never can.

His mouth is hot, his hands skimming over your hips as your lips weave together. Your heart pounds even faster when you feel his tongue dip into your mouth, running over yours.

You pull him in closer by his shoulders, impatient. Rafe can’t stop his groan when he feels your torso curve against his. He needs this. He needs you. A fire in him has been set alight and he’ll go as far as you’ll let him.

“Can we go to your room?” he mumbles, his nose nudging yours, the weight of his words not missed by either of you.

“Yes,” you whisper. You begin to step backwards, pulling him with you.

You settle on your bed, the hallway light spilling into the room, and lie on your back as he hovers on top of you.

Your kisses are growing deeper and hungrier. Rafe can’t believe this is happening. He feels nothing but fortunate right now, and he hasn’t felt like luck has ever been on his side.

He dips to kiss your neck and you run your hands through his soft hair, realizing your breaths have become short and eager. It feels so right to have him on top of you like this.

Rafe’s lips are soft as he trails kisses over your skin. Your arms hook around his body, drawing him in closer, allowing you to feel him growing under his jeans.

He stills for a moment in case it’s too much for you, but you roll your hips beneath him, and the fact that you want him as badly as he wants you makes sparks erupt through him.

One arm holds him up while the other moves over your side, fingers hooking below the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he huffs against your neck as he starts to drag his hand up under your shirt. You nod and your skin blooms in goosebumps when he reaches your chest, gently palming you.

He sharply inhales as he feels over your bra, starting to rock against you.

“Am I going too fast?” Rafe whispers. He couldn’t forgive himself if he made you uncomfortable, even for a second.

“No,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

His lips find yours again as he caresses you. Your hand trails down his firm body and when you close your fingers around his length over his jeans, he kisses you harder.

“How’s this?” you ask when you pull back, starting to stroke him slowly.

“Fuck,” Rafe says shakily. “That’s good.”

He captures your lips in his again as you touch each other so tenderly, both your chests heaving.

You feel his hand drag down your stomach and rest on your inner thigh, gently squeezing. The anticipation, the thirst you feel for him is overpowering.

You arch your back, inviting him to touch you where you need him most. When his palm grazes between your legs, the feeling makes him twitch in your hand.

He brushes against you with languid, sweet movements, kissing your lips over and over again. Slowly, his fingers go to the band of your pants.

“Yes,” you whisper before he can even ask.

When Rafe feels you completely, no barrier in the way, it’s like he’s drunk. Moans spill from your mouth as he caresses you, his fingertips moving with gentle glides. Everything about you is perfect, down to the sounds of pleasure you make.

You shift to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper, feeling him buck up against you. You finally wrap your hand around him and he groans.

You kiss each other over and over, lips moving eagerly while your hands move slowly. When you start to stroke him faster, he follows your pace.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths now and you finally let go, writhing beneath him as you meet your peak. Rafe is shuddering seconds later, euphoric in the climax you’ve given him.

You’re blissed out, skin covered in sweat as you lie next to him. You feel so weak and tired and happy, resting your head on his shoulder.

You wake up in darkness. You search for him next to you, but he’s gone.

When you go downstairs, you find Rafe sitting in the kitchen. Your eyes meet and you smile, albeit a little nervously about what just happened upstairs, about how you took your friendship to a new level you can’t come back down from.

“Another observation I’ve made,” you start to joke, “you always leave me to wake up alone. How long was I asleep?”

He cracks a smile, but you can see it’s disingenuous.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not long.”

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Rafe responds. The faraway look in his eyes tells you otherwise. You come closer, standing across from where he’s sitting.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t.” Rafe shakes his head. It’ll reopen a wound in him and cut open a new one in you. He should never tell you.

But your words from earlier ring in his head. You called him honest. And he’s not. He’s a liar. And now he’s derailing.

“Do you…” you begin. “Should we not have done that? Do you regret it?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Then, what is it?”

“Don’t…” Rafe looks away. “Don’t push. Please.”

Normally, you wouldn’t. You never have. But you feel painfully vulnerable. What you just shared was so meaningful. At least, to you it was. Why is he closed off again? Why do you deserve this?

“What’d I do?” you ask, your voice starting to tremble.

Rafe stands from his seat, raking his hand through his hair. He was sure he was strong enough to repress this. He’s always been an expert at escaping reality.

But being around you weakens him. He’s starting to panic, starting to feel his blood go hot.

Giving into his physical impulses upstairs made him lose any power he had left. He’s in love with you. He knows that for a fact. But how can you love someone while you also blame them for the worst thing that ever happened to you?

“I… I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can’t what?” you ask. “What’s wrong?”

“I never… I can’t tell you.” Rafe’s breaths get shallower. “I can’t tell you.”

You step in front of him, your hands softly resting on his chest.

“You can tell me anything,” you say.

“We can’t do this,” Rafe mutters.

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your heart breaks all over again. “Don’t go back to treating me like this. Please.”

“We can’t do this,” he repeats.

He’s losing it. He can’t leave the house. He’s here to keep you safe. But he doubts he could even drive right now if he had the opportunity. And he has no substances running through his veins, dampening the pain.

He has nothing.

“Why?” you ask, dread filling you, tears starting to form. “Why? Whatever it is, we can talk about it and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Why?”

“Because it already happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Your tone is frantic now.

“It already happened!” he shouts.

Rafe’s stomach twists with self-hatred when he sees you falter, your eyes widening with shock. He startled you. He’s scaring you, just like your ex does.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. His hands find your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. “Let’s forget it, okay? Let’s have some dinner and forget it.”

But you’re already crying.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“What already happened?” you ask. You’re not sure if it’s just anxiety crawling up your body or a painful sense of intuition. But something tells you that whatever he has to say will shatter you.

“Rafe,” you say. “Please tell me.”

He drops his hands. You’re begging now. He’s infuriated that he couldn’t just keep it together. The loss, the heartbreak, the regret fills him all at once.

“We were…” He looks away. He can’t bear to see your face when he says it. “We were in the car because of you.”

(part eight)

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[edenesth]

02. The Gentleman — By Order of the Black Pirates

An 'Ice On My Teeth' Comeback Special Series

Pairing: gang member!Seonghwa x fem!reader

AU: gang au

Word Count: 21.5k

Summary: The Black Pirates' poised diplomat, celebrated for his refined demeanour, sharp wit, and unmatched negotiation skills, is always in control. But his composure falters when he encounters an unwilling captive trapped in the Red Room—a ruthless training ground for spies. Driven by an unexpected urge to save her, he finds his carefully maintained boundaries beginning to unravel.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Trigger Warnings: violence, torture, abuse, human experimentation, scars, murder, language, contains dark themes in general

SERIES MASTERLIST | ATEEZ MASTERLIST

"Ooh, look who's in charge of the Red Room alliance now," Wooyoung teased, sauntering into Seonghwa's office with his usual swagger. The eldest, meticulously double-checking the contents of his briefcase for the upcoming critical meeting, barely spared him a glance. "I'm busy," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Go bother someone else."

Unfazed, the Charmer smirked and plopped into his brother's vacant chair, spinning it around before propping his legs up on the desk. "Oh, come on, hyung. You're about to be surrounded by women—not just any women, mind you—the finest of the fine. Think you could put in a good word for me? Maybe convince Hongjoong hyung to let me tag along? You know we'd make an unbeatable duo." He winked cheekily, his grin as mischievous as ever.

Seonghwa sighed, snapping his briefcase shut and securing the safe after confirming everything was in place. He turned to face the younger man, his expression deadpan. "You? Of all people?" he scoffed. "I'd sooner bring Yunho—if only he were available. A word of advice: focus on your own mission. You can't even handle one bodyguard, let alone navigate an entire organisation of trained spies."

Wooyoung gasped dramatically, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Ouch, hyung! Why so harsh? Last I checked, Cap's the one nursing a broken heart, not you."

At that, the Gentleman's demeanour shifted, his gaze sharp as he stepped forward and smacked the younger man's feet off the desk. Wooyoung stumbled forward with a surprised yelp, glaring up at the elder. "That's quite enough, Woo," Seonghwa said sternly. "I'd advise you not to push your luck with Hongjoong right now. One Mingi is already more than enough."

There it was—the unshakable calm and maturity of the Black Pirates' eldest member. Even the most chaotic among them couldn't rattle him. Recognising defeat, Wooyoung grinned sheepishly, standing to nod at his brother. "Fine, I'll behave since you asked so nicely," he mused, watching Seonghwa nod in approval and stride toward the door. "Safe journey, hyung. Get back in one piece."

The taller man paused, glancing over his shoulder to offer one of his rare, gentle smiles. "I will," he replied confidently. "When have I ever let you down?"

For fuck's sake, who the hell was I kidding?

Now, he wished he could smack himself across the face for his foolish confidence. If only he had known how it would all turn out, how the plan would go sideways so suddenly. He reclined against the stiff guest room bed, the pristine white ceiling offering no answers to the storm brewing in his mind. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to sort through the frustration. The weight of his earlier decisions pressed against his chest like an iron vice.

Just what in the world was he doing? He replayed the day in his head for the thousandth time, dissecting every detail. The mission had started seamlessly—his confidence unshakable. He had left the mansion that morning, projecting the poise expected of the Gentleman, cautioning his brothers to behave in his absence, and promising Hongjoong he'd return triumphant.

His arrival at the spy training facility had gone smoothly, his awe carefully masked by quiet professionalism. The place's grandeur was undeniable—dark, imposing, yet breathtaking in its meticulous design. He marvelled silently at how these women had built something so formidable, so self-sufficient, despite centuries of systemic oppression.

The security was tight, the multiple checks before getting to the building's main entrance were a testament to their efficiency. By the time he was greeted by Madame Scarlet, an elegant woman who appeared to be in her fifties and the enigmatic founder of the Red Room, his admiration had only deepened.

"We hope you had a wonderful journey here. The Red Room welcomes you, Captain Kim of the Black Pirates," the woman had said, her tone formal yet inviting.

Seonghwa had bowed lightly, offering his most disarming smile. "Thank you, Madame. But I must clarify—the Captain was unable to attend due to urgent matters back home. I am his right hand. You may call me Gentleman Park."

The lady's subtle reaction—a raised brow and the slightest tightening of her lips—didn't escape his notice. Still, he handled the rest of the meeting with the same elegance, navigating their discussions with ease. Everything had been on track.

Until it wasn't.

One step—one final step—was all it took to close the deal and forge the alliance. All he had to do was say yes and sign the contract. He cursed under his breath, recalling the words that had left his mouth—words that had deviated from every carefully laid plan.

"I would like to think this over a bit more. While I agree that this would be in both parties' best interests, I would just like to spend some more time here to have a clearer picture of how things work, to better understand our ally, if you will. I hope that's alright with you."

The room had stilled, the practised neutrality of the Red Room's representatives masking their surprise. But one person couldn't hide their reaction—the sole reason for this madness—you.

He saw it, the way your shoulders stiffened, the slight lift of your head as you dared to glance his way. Your wide eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him disappeared.

That moment was his undoing.

It was supposed to be simple: finalise the alliance, leave without looking back, and report a flawless success to Hongjoong. But you... you had thrown a wrench into his perfect plan.

The deal could have been closed smoothly, had it not been for one of the trainees who captured his attention almost the moment he stepped through the doors. You stood out like a sore thumb among the neat lines of female operatives in training—your trembling eyes and subtle gulp betraying your struggle to hold back tears. Maybe you were just having a bad day, he reasoned, perhaps a failed performance during a gruelling session. Training couldn't be easy here; the Red Room was notorious for its brutality.

But his curiosity refused to fade. Throughout the visit, his gaze kept drifting to your fragile, trembling figure trailing behind Madame Scarlet and her trusted aide. It wasn't just your withdrawn demeanour or the way you seemed to shrink into yourself—it was the unmistakable fear etched across your features. Pure, unadulterated terror surfaced when a trainer called on you, and in that fleeting moment when your eyes met his, there was desperation—a silent plea for help that cut through his composure like a blade.

You didn't belong here, not even the slightest. Something deep within him stirred, a compulsion he couldn't ignore—a need to act, to intervene, to save you.

His reasons for staying defied logic, and he knew it. By lingering, he jeopardised the alliance, risked his position in the gang, and invited potentially disastrous consequences. Yet the pull was undeniable—an unrelenting drive to uncover the truth about you and why he couldn't let you become just another face in his memory.

Now, in the stillness of the guest room, Seonghwa sat up, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. With you finally out of sight and his mind beginning to clear, the sharp sting of rationality returned. He couldn't help but imagine how the rest of the gang would react once they learned of his recklessness. Everyone had trusted him to seal this alliance, especially Hongjoong. The man was already grappling with enough turmoil—this was the last thing he needed.

And then there was Mingi. If he messed this up, the Firestarter would never let him or the Captain live it down. Not that the tall bastard's teasing mattered in the grand scheme of things, but the stakes here were monumental. This alliance was vital; without it, the White Serpents could easily exploit their instability. So, what the hell was he doing, letting himself get derailed by a girl—a trainee, no less? If only he had minded his own business, he'd already be on his way home, mission accomplished.

But no, here he was...

Yet, deep down, he couldn't shake the memory of your terrified expression. That raw, unfiltered fear—it wasn't something he'd seen in a long time. Not like this. Fear wasn't new to him; in their line of work, it was an almost daily occurrence. But those pleas for mercy typically came from people who deserved their fate, criminals and scumbags who'd wronged others. This, however, was different. Your fear wasn't rooted in guilt but in helplessness.

For a brief moment, Seonghwa wondered if this was what Hongjoong had seen, too. Was this the same spark that had ignited his leader's own impulsive choices?

Shaking his head, he let out a quiet groan. Even if he wanted to help you, how? He had no plan, no resources. He was alone here, without the gang's collective strength. Yunho and Yeosang's clever solutions weren't at his disposal, nor were San and Mingi's brute force. Jongho's unshakable composure, which always kept their missions on track, was sorely missed. Hell, he even found himself longing for Wooyoung's antics, if only to lighten the suffocating tension.

If Hongjoong were here, none of this would have happened. The Captain would have stayed focused, unyielding. But then... what would have become of you?

"Goddamnit," he muttered under his breath, the weight of frustration and uncertainty bearing down on him. He dragged a hand through his hair, his voice dropping into a bitter whisper. "We're fucked."

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The dim light of your cell-like room flickered faintly, casting long shadows against the stark walls. Sleep, elusive as ever, teased the edges of your consciousness but refused to claim you. Your mind was restless, tumbling through a cascade of thoughts, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they weren't entirely about the nightmare you endured daily.

They were about him.

The man—the Gentleman, as Madame Scarlet had introduced him—was unlike anyone you'd seen before, not just because he was the first male face in years, but because he looked at you as though you were more than just another broken thing in this place. His dark eyes had lingered on you, his gaze following you like a soft, unspoken question. You felt it, even when you tried not to.

You had no idea why he stayed. It was madness, sheer idiocy, for him to risk what should have been a clean, uncomplicated deal. That was how it always worked—outsiders came, signed the agreement, and left as fast as they arrived, never daring to peel back the pristine mask of the Red Room's operations. But he didn't follow the script.

Why?

The question burned in your chest, twisting into an unfamiliar ache. You wished it were annoyance, that you could dismiss him as another arrogant man playing a dangerous game. But it wasn't. It was fear—raw and desperate fear—not for yourself, but for him.

He had no idea what he had walked into. You could tell he wasn't oblivious; his calculating demeanour and sharp wit proved that much. But he was still a fool to stay. What did he hope to accomplish? Surely, it wasn't because of you.

Your heightened senses—the ones the Red Room had painstakingly sharpened until they bled into paranoia—picked up on every stolen glance, every small, deliberate movement. From the moment he entered, you knew he had noticed you, not just as an anomaly but as something... else. You'd been trained to anticipate motives, to understand what people wanted, but his attention baffled you.

It scared you.

The others didn't miss his glances, either. You'd caught the sidelong looks of the senior operatives, the way Madame Scarlet's lips had curved just slightly at the edges, a subtle acknowledgement that she was watching too. It was only a matter of time before they decided he was a liability.

If he stayed, they'd break him.

You clenched your fists tightly against the rough sheets beneath you, trying to quell the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to drown you. Emotions—weaknesses, as they called them here—were the enemy. You had learned that the hard way. But now, despite everything, your heart betrayed you, pounding with the terrible clarity that he wouldn't last a day if he truly understood what went on here.

You shut your eyes, trying to block out the memory of his face, his voice, the ridiculous bravery in his words as he locked eyes with you and said he needed more time. If he knew—if he lived even a fraction of what you endured—he would've bolted at the first opportunity.

"Fool," you whispered into the stillness, your voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the facility. "What did you get yourself into?"

You hated him for staying, for giving you this fragile, fleeting sense of hope that things could change. You hated him for being so careless with his life. And yet, more than anything, you hated yourself for wishing—just for a moment—that he might be strong enough to do what you couldn't.

Run. Escape. Fight.

Save himself.

Because if he stayed, the Red Room would devour him whole, just as it had done to you.

Perhaps it was already beginning to.

On the other side of the building, the guest room felt colder than it should have. Seonghwa, too, lay sprawled on the rigid mattress, the pristine white walls around him offering no comfort, no reprieve from the maelstrom of thoughts battering his mind. He flipped onto his side, then his back, then his stomach, a frustrated growl escaping his lips as sleep evaded him entirely.

His mind was a battlefield, each thought warring for dominance. Was this all a trap?

It would make sense. The Red Room was too efficient, too methodical, to let someone like you slip through the cracks unnoticed. Maybe your fear, your weakness—it was all calculated. Perhaps they had planted you there, your trembling frame meant to bait him, to test him. Maybe the terror in your eyes wasn't actual terror at all but a meticulously crafted act designed to lure him into a false sense of sympathy.

What if you were a rebel?

His fists clenched tightly against the sheets, jaw set as the possibility burned in his mind. If you were working against the Red Room, you'd have every reason to use him, to exploit the cracks in this precarious alliance. And if you weren't a rebel, then what? Were you a spy? An assassin in training? A failure?

"Dammit," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. He couldn't shake the image of you—those wide, haunted eyes that seemed to plead with him, even though you hadn't said a single word. He cursed himself for the millionth time that night.

This wasn't like him.

He wasn't the kind of man who acted rashly. Calculated precision was his forte, keeping his emotions locked behind an impenetrable wall. Yet the moment he saw you, it was as though something inside him had cracked, and all the logic he prided himself on was thrown to the wind.

What the hell was he doing?

His brothers were counting on him. Hongjoong, who had trusted him enough to send him in the Captain's stead; Yunho, who would've meticulously planned every contingency if only he'd been given more time; Yeosang, who'd always had a knack for seeing through deceptions; Mingi and San, whose combined strength could've handled this mess in a fraction of the time. Even Jongho, with his unflappable calm, would've been a better choice to stand in this precarious position.

And Wooyoung... God, Wooyoung would never let him live this down.

The Gentleman sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, head cradled in his hands again. He felt the weight of their expectations, of the responsibility he carried, bearing down on him like an iron chain. He had to get this done. He had to sign the deal, leave, and return home with good news.

Not fuck this up over some girl.

You weren't supposed to matter. You were just another face, another casualty of this ruthless place. He had seen plenty like you before—broken people trapped in broken systems. He had told himself he was immune to that kind of thing, that the world was too harsh for him to care.

And yet, when he thought of you, the logic he so carefully cultivated unravelled.

The terror in your eyes wasn't like the fear he was used to seeing—the kind born of guilt or desperation. This was deeper, rawer, something that twisted in his chest in a way he didn't understand.

And he hated it.

He hated that he was here, that he'd let himself get dragged into this, that he'd let himself care.

But no matter how much he hated it, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was already in too deep.

"Tomorrow," he muttered, his voice a low growl in the empty room. "I'll get it done tomorrow."

He repeated the words like a mantra, as if saying them enough times would make them true. He would go through with the deal, close this chapter, and walk away.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

Things weren't really going to go his way.

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Come on, you can do this.

It has been hours since the chamber door hissed shut with a deafening finality, the sound echoing in the narrow space like a harbinger of dread. You sat on the cold metal chair, your wrists clamped to the armrests by invisible shackles of terror. The fluorescent lights buzzed above you, their harsh glare illuminating every crack and scratch on the otherwise featureless walls. No windows. No exit. Just four oppressive walls closing in on you with every passing second.

The robotic voice came through the unseen speakers again, its clinical tone devoid of any humanity.

"How do you feel?"

Regret. Endless regret.

You squeezed your eyes shut, teeth clenched as if that could hold back the flood of emotions threatening to betray you. Your hands trembled in your lap, but you forced them still, your fingernails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood.

"Nothing," you whispered, the lie cracking in your throat.

The tears you had fought so hard to suppress welled up in your eyes. Regret clawed at your insides like a caged animal, howling against the walls of your mind. It had been there since the day you were dragged into this living nightmare, growing stronger with every dehumanising test, every soul-crushing exercise designed to strip you of your essence. But they couldn't know. They could never know.

"Tell the truth. How do you feel?"

The voice was a hammer against the brittle shell of your composure, striking again and again.

You let out a shaky breath, your chest tightening as if a vice had clamped around your lungs. "Nothing," you repeated, louder this time, willing yourself to believe it even as the walls seemed to close in on you.

The isolation chamber had become your recurring purgatory. You had been here so many times you'd lost count, but the panic never abated. No matter how many hours you spent in its suffocating grip, the claustrophobia seeped into your bones like a cold fog.

The lights dimmed suddenly, plunging you into darkness. You stiffened, knowing what was coming next. A low hum reverberated through the walls, growing louder until it drowned out the sound of your own heartbeat. The vibrations rattled the chair beneath you, a disorienting rhythm meant to shake loose any remnants of control you clung to.

Your mind spiralled back to where it all began.

Regret.

You were just a struggling college student, barely scraping by, when you saw the advertisement. It promised compensation for volunteers to participate in what seemed like harmless clinical trials or government-sponsored programmes. The language was vague, but the money was too tempting to ignore. You signed up, thinking it was your ticket to financial stability.

And then they took you.

Regret.

You learned too late what you had walked into—a secret experiment buried in the heart of this monstrous training facility. Madame Scarlet's calculating gaze haunted you at every turn, her icy demeanour radiating an unsettling confidence. She watched your every move, her success hinging on breaking you, the so-called pioneer of their new programme.

Regret.

You were their first, their proof of concept. The goal: emotion suppression and control. To strip operatives of fear, guilt, and compassion, leaving only a cold, efficient shell. They chose you because of your heightened emotional sensitivity, believing that if they could break someone like you, they could break anyone.

And so they broke you.

The lights flickered back on, brighter this time, the sudden glare piercing your eyes like needles. Your breathing quickened, panic clawing at your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn't let them win.

"Repeat your response. How do you feel?"

Your lips quivered, the taste of iron on your tongue from where you had bitten the inside of your cheek. You couldn't let them see.

"Nothing at all," you said, the word hollow and lifeless.

The voice paused, as if deliberating. Then, with clinical detachment: "Well done, Subject 01. See you in your next session."

The door hissed open, and you sagged in the chair, your body trembling with the effort of holding yourself together. You were alive. For now. But the endless regret followed you like a shadow, a constant reminder of what you'd lost and what you could never reclaim.

Fortunately or unfortunately, you weren't the only one drowning in regret. Unbeknownst to you, someone else shared the same sentiment.

The dining room exuded a haunting elegance, its dark, polished wood surfaces and deep red drapes creating an ambience that felt both regal and oppressive. Seonghwa sat stiffly at the long table, his hands clasped on the white tablecloth as he worked to maintain a composed exterior. The weight of his regrets pressed down on him like an anchor, but his resolve was firm.

Today, he would end this. No more distractions. No more detours.

He tightened his tie, adjusted his cuffs, and forced a charming smile onto his face as Madame Scarlet settled into the seat opposite him, her presence both commanding and chilling. Her sharp gaze landed on him, and he inclined his head respectfully.

"Good morning, Gentleman Park. I trust you had a restful night?" she greeted, her voice smooth and calculated.

"Good morning, Madame. I did, thank you," he lied, his tone courteous but distant.

This was it. Today was the day he would close the deal, leave this place behind, and never look back. No more pity for doomed souls. No more foolish meddling. He had learned his lesson the hard way.

He was done—done trying to help people whose fates were already sealed. He should have learned from his past mistakes, should have known better than to get involved. But flashes of a helpless child's face resurfaced in his mind, haunting him. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, willing the image away.

That child… the one he'd thought he was saving, only for his interference to lead to a fate worse than the one he'd tried to prevent. The memory was a dagger he couldn't dull. He had sworn back then that he was finished with helping anyone. From the moment he became a sworn member of the Black Pirates, he had vowed to leave his misguided sense of justice behind.

With a deep breath, he straightened his suit, slicked back his hair, and forced his face into an impassive mask.

This is it—no more nonsense.

But then you entered the room, and every shred of determination faltered. Oh, fuck me.

Your entrance was unassuming, yet the impact was seismic. The elegant wisteria ruffle lace ballerina dress you wore flowed around you like a delicate mist, a stark contrast to the utilitarian uniform he had seen you in the day before. You looked almost otherworldly, as though you didn't belong to this cold, merciless world.

His breath caught, and he cursed himself silently. He quickly averted his gaze, chastising himself for the slip. But it was too late—the image of you was already seared into his mind.

You bowed respectfully to the founder, then to him, your movements poised but weighed down by an invisible heaviness he couldn't ignore.

"Ah yes," the lady said, a hint of amusement lacing her words. "Our star trainee has arrived. Gentleman Park, you mentioned wanting to better understand our work and methods. As requested, we have arranged for only our best girl to accompany you."

Seonghwa's polite smile tightened, his jaw clenching slightly at her words. Our best girl.

The way she said it unsettled him, her tone almost lecherous, as though you were a prized possession rather than a person. He caught a fleeting look in your eyes—disgust, fear, or perhaps both—before you quickly masked it with a practised smile.

His stomach churned. Something was deeply wrong here.

You moved to take the seat beside him, your steps graceful but hesitant, as though the act of simply approaching carried an unspoken risk. He noticed the stiffness in your posture, the way your hands folded tightly in your lap as if to stop them from trembling.

The elderly woman continued speaking, her voice droning on, but the gang member could no longer focus. He nodded along automatically, his mind elsewhere.

You were too composed, too controlled. Every subtle movement screamed restraint, like a bird in a gilded cage. And while he knew the Red Room's operatives were trained to suppress emotion, there was something uniquely disconcerting about your demeanour. This wasn't the hardened stoicism of a seasoned spy. This was survival.

Why were you so different from the others? Why were you here?

The questions swirled relentlessly in his mind, chipping away at the resolve he had built that morning. Curiosity gnawed at him, and worse—a protective instinct he didn't want to feel.

He stole a glance at you, catching the way your gaze remained fixed downward, avoiding both him and Madame Scarlet. The tension in your shoulders was palpable, and he swore he could feel the unease radiating from you.

What were they doing to you?

The founder's voice snapped him back to reality.

"Gentleman Park, I trust you will find her guidance enlightening. She is one of our finest examples of what the Red Room can achieve."

He forced another smile, though his mind was spinning. "I look forward to it," he replied smoothly.

Beside him, you shifted slightly, your hands tightening in your lap. He wondered if anyone else noticed the subtle cracks in your otherwise perfect facade.

As the conversation continued, Seonghwa found it harder to concentrate. The more he observed you, the more his suspicions grew. Every interaction, every gesture seemed to hint at something darker lurking beneath the surface.

And despite the thousand regrets that weighed on him, despite his earlier resolve to stay detached, he felt the pull again—that unshakable need to understand. To help.

But helping had only ever led to ruin.

Under the table, his fists clenched in frustration. No more distractions, he told himself, repeating the mantra like a prayer.

Yet as you sat quietly beside him, your presence a silent cry for help, he couldn't help but feel that fate had other plans.

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The dining room was suffocating. Every clink of cutlery, every flicker of the ornate chandelier above, felt like a weight pressing down on you. You sat rigid in your chair, the elegant wisteria dress clinging to you uncomfortably—a constant reminder of how little say you had in your own existence here.

The meal in front of you might as well have been poison for all the effort it took to take a bite. Every mouthful felt like swallowing stones, your throat tightening against the gnawing anxiety twisting in your gut. You tried to focus on anything but the endless discomfort—tried to ignore the way your skin crawled at the thought of what Madame Scarlet had planned for you.

Your mind drifted back to earlier, to the icy shower they'd thrown you into after pulling you from the isolation chamber. You'd been scrubbed raw, the roughness of their hands leaving you feeling violated, though that was nothing new. That had been your reality since the day you were dragged into this hell. But today was different. Today, they'd put you in this dress.

You knew what it meant.

The dress marked you as "special," a chosen one to entertain the esteemed guest. But this dress… this wasn't like the others. The fine fabric and intricate lace were almost too much, too extravagant. And that terrified you. This wasn't going to be simple. Whatever they had planned for you—and perhaps for him—wasn't ordinary.

You risked a glance at the man seated beside you. Gentleman Park of the Black Pirates. He didn't belong here, not like the others you'd encountered before. He was the only one foolish enough to willingly extend his stay in this nightmare.

Why?

Before you could dwell on the question, the elderly woman's smooth voice broke through your thoughts. She was halfway through one of her rehearsed speeches—the kind meant to dazzle and manipulate—when her right-hand woman entered the room, leaning down to whisper something in her ear.

Her sharp eyes flickered, and she nodded, her painted lips curving into a smile. "Goodness, I'm so sorry to have to excuse myself, but there is an important phone call that I must take," she said, her tone dripping with saccharine politeness.

The man beside you inclined his head slightly. "Of course," he replied, his voice courteous but distant.

Madame Scarlet turned to you then, and you immediately straightened in your seat, your spine going rigid under her gaze.

"I shall leave you in the good hands of our chosen one," she announced, her smile growing sharper. The weight of her words made your stomach churn, and your blood turned cold as she continued, "I trust you to take care of our guest, darling. Show him around a bit, dance for him, won't you? Do what you do best."

Her wink sent a shiver down your spine.

"The success of this deal depends on you, I'm afraid," she added with a lilting laugh that felt like nails against your skin.

You swallowed hard, lowering your gaze as you bowed your head. "Yes, ma'am," you said softly, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your insides.

The Gentleman beside you cleared his throat, the sound breaking the heavy silence. "Don't worry about it, Madame," he said, offering a polite smile. "I'm sure this young miss will do excellently."

You caught the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw as he spoke, his discomfort almost palpable. But that didn't stop the lady from seizing the opportunity to twist his words.

"Oh, I'm sure she will," she said, her grin turning suggestive, her tone dripping with implication.

The room seemed to freeze.

You felt your cheeks flush with humiliation, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. This was nothing new; you were used to being reduced to a pawn in their games, to being paraded and objectified.

But the gang member's reaction caught you off guard. His polite smile faltered ever so slightly, and you saw the flicker of realisation in his eyes—realisation of how his words had been twisted. He cringed, his discomfort evident as he averted his gaze, a faint flush colouring his cheeks.

"I didn't mean it like that," he murmured, almost to himself.

But the damage was done. Madame Scarlet's laughter echoed through the room as she swept out, leaving you alone with him.

The silence that followed was suffocating. You kept your gaze fixed downward, your hands folded tightly in your lap as you tried to make yourself invisible.

For his part, Seonghwa stared at the table, his mind racing. He hadn't meant it that way, hadn't meant to disrespect you or contribute to whatever hell you were enduring here. But the way the elderly woman had twisted his words, the way she'd left you here as if you were some sort of offering… it churned his stomach.

The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on. You tried to steady your trembling hands by folding them in your lap, resisting the urge to fidget.

He cleared his throat again, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He could still feel the weight of the founder's suggestive tone lingering in the air, her insinuations poisoning the atmosphere even after she was gone.

You didn't dare to look at him, your eyes fixed on the untouched plate of food in front of you. The silence stretched between you, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the distant clinking of cutlery from the other rooms.

He studied you from the corner of his eye, his brows furrowing slightly. There was something deeply wrong about all of this. He couldn't place it exactly, but your subdued, tense demeanour set off alarm bells in his head.

"Look, I... I really didn't mean it like that," he said suddenly, his voice low but firm.

You blinked, startled by his words. Slowly, you turned your head to glance at him, wary and confused.

"I mean what I said earlier," he clarified, his expression earnest now. "About you doing excellent. I just meant… I trust you're good at what you do. Whatever that may be."

Your lips twitched in the faintest semblance of a bitter smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. Good at what I do? You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. What were you even supposed to be good at here? Surviving? Being obedient? Being… entertaining?

"Thank you," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was the safest response you could muster, even though the words felt hollow.

Seonghwa's jaw tightened. Your tone only deepened the unease coiling in his chest. He leaned back slightly, forcing a casual posture, though his mind was anything but at ease. "They really put a lot of pressure on you, don't they?"

Your fingers tightened in your lap, but you didn't answer. It wasn't safe to.

"I'm sorry," he added after a pause, his voice softer this time. "If I made you uncomfortable earlier."

His apology caught you off guard. You glanced at him again, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. But his eyes—dark and guarded—seemed genuine.

"It's fine," you murmured, though the words tasted bitter on your tongue.

It wasn't fine. Nothing about this was fine.

The silence that followed was heavier than before. The man struggled to focus on the reason he was here, on the deal he needed to secure, but your presence was proving to be a distraction—a quiet, aching reminder of things he'd tried so hard to bury.

He hadn't come here to get involved. He hadn't come here to care.

But the way you sat there, so small and subdued, made it impossible not to wonder. Impossible not to remember.

His thoughts drifted unwillingly to a certain little boy from his past—the one he had failed so utterly, so completely. The one whose blood was on his hands, no matter how many times he told himself he'd been trying to do the right thing.

And here you were now, another fragile soul caught in a similar cruel web.

He clenched his fists under the table, willing himself to stay focused. He couldn't let himself care. Not again.

But then you spoke, your voice trembling just enough to make his heart lurch.

"What deal is she making with you?" you asked cautiously, barely looking at him. "If you don't mind me asking."

The question threw him. For a moment, he didn't know how to answer. Madame Scarlet's words echoed in his mind: The success of this deal depends on you.

He hesitated, studying your expression. Your guarded eyes, the slight furrow of your brows, the way your hands trembled ever so slightly in your lap—it all spoke of someone desperate for answers, for any shred of control in a situation that offered none.

"I'm here for… business," he said vaguely, trying to sound nonchalant.

You didn't press him further, but your expression betrayed your thoughts. Business. Of course. That's all anyone came here for. Deals made in shadows, forged with blood and broken spirits.

He didn't miss the way your gaze dropped back to your lap, your shoulders sagging slightly as though his answer had only confirmed what you already knew.

Something twisted in his chest—a pang of guilt, perhaps, or regret. He wasn't sure anymore.

"Listen…" he began, his voice low and hesitant. "Whatever this is… whatever they're making you do…"

You looked at him sharply, your eyes wide with alarm. "Don't," you whispered urgently, cutting him off.

Seonghwa froze, startled by the intensity of your reaction.

"Please... don't say anything," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "It'll only make things worse."

The fear in your voice was palpable, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He nodded slowly, though the knot in his stomach only tightened. He didn't know what they'd done to you—what they were still doing—but he knew enough to see the cracks in your facade, the quiet desperation you tried so hard to hide.

And despite every warning screaming at him to stay out of it, he felt the pull again. That damnable instinct to help. To fix. To save.

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"Dance for him, won't you?"

The phrase echoed in your head, relentless as you changed out of the heels they'd given you and slipped on your worn pointe shoes. Your fingers trembled as you tied the ribbons securely, each movement automatic from years of practice. Ballet—your biggest nightmare—had been drilled into you until it became second nature. It was one of the Red Room's many requirements, justified with cold rationale: flexibility, endurance, stealth, elegance, performance. They were all virtues of an operative, but here, ballet wasn't just about utility. It was a tool of awe and seduction, a weapon veiled in grace.

Perhaps, on some cruel level, this was what you did best—or what you were left with no choice but to excel at.

You stepped into the mirrored practice room, the walls reflecting infinite versions of yourself. The grand mirrors felt more like prison bars than windows of elegance.

And there he was. Seonghwa sat stiffly in the centre of the room, the single chair isolating him like a king on a throne. Except he didn't look like a king. He looked like a man caught in the wrong place, his discomfort etched into every line of his tense body. His hands gripped his knees as though anchoring himself, and when you entered, his gaze darted to you and quickly away again, like he couldn't bear to watch but couldn't bring himself to look away.

You curtsied, the movement sharp and deliberate, your head dipping just enough to complete the mockery of submission. "Enjoy the show, Gentleman Park," you said, your voice carrying an edge of bitter politeness.

His jaw tensed as he sat up straighter, trying to project composure. "Please, you don't have to do this," he said, his voice tight, a plea slipping through the cracks.

A smile ghosted across your lips, brittle and humourless. If only that were true. Madame Scarlet's orders weren't optional. If you refused, she would know. She always knew. And the consequences of disobedience… No, there was no room for refusal.

"Nonsense," you said, shaking your head as though dismissing his concern. "You are our esteemed guest, and I have been bestowed with the duty of entertaining you. So, please—allow me to do what I do best." The words were delivered with a practised calmness, but the insincerity in them hung heavy in the air.

Seonghwa slumped back into his chair, defeated. He didn't believe you, and you didn't expect him to. His hands fidgeted on his lap, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he watched you take your place. The way you carried yourself—head high, movements precise—might have fooled anyone else into thinking you were eager, even proud. But he wasn't fooled. He could see the misery you carried like a weight on your shoulders, even as you rose to your full height, poised and elegant.

And then you began.

The first step was light, a delicate glide that barely disturbed the air. Each movement flowed seamlessly into the next, your arms creating arcs of motion while your legs executed every step with breathtaking precision. The choreography was mesmerising, a performance of impossible beauty.

But to him, it was unbearable.

You were stunning—he couldn't deny that—but beneath the grace and poise, he saw the truth. Every pirouette, every leap, every extension of your arm carried the bitterness of a caged bird forced to sing. This wasn't a gift. It was a sentence.

He clenched his fists in his lap, nails digging into his palms. This was his fault. If he hadn't asked to stay, hadn't let Madame Scarlet pull him into this world, you wouldn't be here, dancing for him like a puppet on strings. He should have known better. He always did this—lingered too long, cared too much, and inevitably made things worse.

When will I learn?

His gaze dropped to the floor as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of you, but it was futile. Flashes of the past flooded his mind. The boy's face haunted him—a child he'd thought he was saving. His naivety had cost that boy everything.

He could still feel the small hand clinging to his, the hope in the boy's eyes as Seonghwa had whispered promises of escape. He had meant well, but his actions had backfired spectacularly. The traffickers had found them, dragged the boy back, and exacted a punishment so horrific that he could barely think of it without feeling sick.

He had thought himself a hero, but he had been a fool. Good intentions didn't save anyone—they only destroyed.

Now, as he sat there, forced to watch your anguish play out in the guise of artistry, that guilt returned with a vengeance. He wanted to save you, to rise from his chair and demand that you stop. But what good would it do? He knew better. Intervening would only bring more pain, more suffering, and this time, it would be yours.

"No more," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "No more of this madness."

As you spun into another turn, the sight of his head bowed, his attention elsewhere, sent a jolt of despair through you. I've already lost him, you thought, the words clawing at your confidence. A failure, even at this. So much for excellence. The self-criticism came sharp and unrelenting, and in your distraction, you misstepped. Your foot slipped out from under you, and you tumbled forward, a small, startled yelp escaping your lips.

The sound shattered his trance. His head snapped up, eyes wide with alarm. In an instant, he was on his feet and kneeling before you. The swiftness of his reaction caught you off guard, but it was the touch that followed that left you paralysed. His gloved hands found your bare shoulders, steadying you with gentleness so foreign, so alien to you, it almost broke you.

Concern radiated from him—real and unguarded. It was something you hadn't felt in so long that it almost hurt more than the fall. Your chest tightened, the ache unbearable. Why was he doing this? Why was he making it harder to keep the walls up?

But you couldn't afford to dwell on the warmth of his touch, nor the kindness in his gaze. The room felt smaller, suffocating now, as the weight of your mistake bore down on you. You had tripped, faltered—something they would undoubtedly notice. And in the Red Room, mistakes weren't just mistakes. They were crimes. Punishable ones.

Shit.

The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, and it took every ounce of control not to let the panic show. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, but as you did, your gaze flickered past him—toward the cold, unblinking lens of the camera perched high on the wall. You knew it was watching. They were always watching.

He followed your line of sight, turning his head slightly. By the time his eyes returned to yours, you had schooled your expression into something harder, even as your heart hammered in your chest. The trembling breath you took gave you away, though, as you leaned closer and whispered, your voice barely audible, "Never let your guard down. Not here. No matter how untouchable you think you are, no one is immune to the hands of the Red Room. Not even you, Mr. Park."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could respond, you tilted your head ever so slightly, drawing his attention to the camera again. That was when it hit him. The room wasn't just a stage—it was a cage. For you. For him. For both of you.

When his gaze returned to you, your words came softer but with an edge sharp enough to cut. "If you know what's good for you, you'll finish whatever business brought you here and leave. Today." Your voice wavered, but your warning was resolute. "Do yourself a favour. Go. Run while you still can. And forget."

The words cut through him, a dagger sinking deep into his chest. He stared at you, his throat tightening, the air around him thick and suffocating. He hated this—hated the helplessness, the way your truth wrapped around him like chains. The echoes of his past whispered cruelly in his mind: You can't save anyone, not without destroying them first.

After a long, agonising silence, he released you, his hands falling away slowly, reluctantly. The absence of his touch left you colder than you wanted to admit, but you forced yourself to push that feeling down, deep where it couldn't hurt you. This was for the best. It had to be.

He nodded, the motion stiff, his jaw tight. "You're right," he said finally, his voice strained, every word sounding like a defeat. "I'll go."

You offered him a sad, weary smile, one that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Good."

The weight of your final word lingered in the air between you. As if on cue, a firm knock on the door had you both stiffening, like deer caught in headlights. The door creaked open, revealing the founder's right-hand woman. "Gentleman Park, the Madame is ready to see you again," she announced, throwing you a sideways glance that sent chills down your spine.

It did the same to him. Rising to his feet, Seonghwa hesitated, casting one last glance in your direction. His eyes spoke volumes, but you knew there was nothing he could do. And then, with a quiet exhale, he turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Your knees buckled, and you sank to the floor, the ache in your chest blossoming into something unbearable. You pressed a hand to your heart, willing the trembling to stop. But it didn't. It never did.

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The founder's voice was a symphony of mockery, laced with faux regret. "Oh dearie, I heard our star trainee did not perform too well. We deeply apologise for that, Gentleman Park," she said, her smile sharp and deliberate as she gestured to her aide. The woman stepped forward with a sleek black folder, placing it delicately on the polished mahogany table between them. "Rest assured, we will train her better. We do not tolerate such mistakes in the Red Room. Please know that through this alliance, we will only provide our best spies where needed. After all, one bad apple does not define an entire tree, now does it?"

Seonghwa's stomach churned at her words, the subtle cruelty wrapped in politeness. He straightened in his seat, his jaw tightening. "Not at all," he said quickly, shaking his head. "There's no need to apologise for that. She did—" he hesitated, swallowing down the knot in his throat, "—amazingly."

Madame Scarlet tilted her head, her smirk widening as if she found his words amusing. "That was hardly amazing," she countered, her voice silk laced with venom. "There's no need to be lenient on her behalf. She lost your attention early on and completely butchered her routine. A failure through and through." Her eyes glinted as she slid the folder closer to him, a pen perched on top. "But we appreciate your understanding. If all is well, the Red Room is happy to finally solidify this treaty with the Black Pirates."

His hand hovered over the pen, his fingers trembling as he picked it up. He tried to steady his grip, but the weight of her words bore down on him like a crushing tide. Look at what you've done, his mind hissed. Your hesitation, your distraction—it's your fault she'll suffer for this. She'll pay for your mistakes.

The pen hovered over the pristine paper, but his vision blurred as a storm of conflicting thoughts raged inside him. You need to leave, he reminded himself. That's the mercy you can give her. Don't make it any worse by staying.

The faces of his brothers flashed in his mind—waiting for him, relying on him. He couldn't jeopardise their safety over this. Caged birds like you existed everywhere, caught in a world of power and cruelty he couldn't fix. He had to let it go. This isn't your battle.

His resolve hardened as he straightened his back, forcing all thoughts of you from his mind. He tightened his grip on the pen, its barrel pressing against his fingers with an almost painful intensity. It would all be fine, he told himself. As long as he got out of here, far away from whatever nightmares took place in the Red Room, it wouldn't be his problem. None of it ever was. He exhaled shakily, lowering the pen to sign.

Then, a sudden, sharp thud jolted him from his thoughts.

He froze, turning toward the source of the sound. Through the decorative latticework of the lounge's window, he caught a glimpse of movement in the corridor beyond. His breath hitched as his eyes landed on you—stumbling, tears streaking your face, a trainer gripping the back of your neck like you were some unruly beast.

The trainer yanked you forward, her other hand poised in warning, but it wasn't the rough handling that made his chest tighten—it was the bruise blooming dark and vicious on the side of your face. Even from a distance, his sharp gaze caught the slight trembling of your legs, the way your breath hitched as you struggled not to cry out.

This is what "train her better" looks like, he realised, the Madame's earlier words reverberating cruelly in his head.

His heart clenched, a searing ache spreading through his chest as the sight of you being dragged away ignited something primal within him. The pen in his hand creaked under the force of his grip, nearly snapping in two. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a shaky breath to steady himself.

But he couldn't.

The image of you—broken, trembling, afraid—was etched into his mind, refusing to let go. Every instinct screamed at him to do something, to stop pretending he could walk away unscathed. The storm inside him threatened to break through, but he forced himself to bury it, replacing the turmoil with the practised mask of a Gentleman.

He set the pen down deliberately, the click of it against the table sharp in the heavy silence. "No," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.

Straightening in his seat, he lifted his head, a disarming smile curving his lips despite the turmoil beneath. "I agree, Madame," he said smoothly, his tone light and persuasive. "It would be our greatest honour to solidify this union. But where's the rush?"

The lady raised a sharp eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Do you reckon it would be alright for me to stay another day or two?" he continued, the words flowing effortlessly despite the storm within. "I believe it would be to our benefit to get to know one another better before taking such a significant step."

Her eyes flickered with intrigue at his sudden shift in tone. Her sharp smile widened, but it was the calculating glint in her eyes that unsettled him. "Hm, a Gentleman who values thoroughness. How admirable," she purred, leaning back in her chair as though savouring the upper hand she thought she held. "I see no harm in prolonging our discussions. After all, alliances built on patience tend to be the strongest, wouldn't you agree?"

Seonghwa nodded, though his throat felt dry, each word a bitter pill. "Absolutely."

Inside, his heart was a cacophony of regret and determination. The image of you, bruised and terrified, was burned into his mind. The sight of you being hauled away like some disposable object clawed at his resolve, unravelling all the arguments he'd carefully constructed to justify his departure. You can't save her, you fool, a voice whispered in his head, cold and unforgiving. You'll only make it worse. For her. For yourself. For everyone.

But another voice—quieter, trembling yet insistent—refused to be silenced. What if you can?

The Madame's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. "Well then, Gentleman Park, consider yourself our guest of honour for another day... or two, if you'd like." She gestured to her aide, who deftly whisked away the unsigned contract. "We'll arrange better accommodations for you. Do let us know if there's anything you require during your stay."

His lips curved into a polite smile, though his stomach churned with unease. "Your hospitality is most appreciated."

The elderly woman inclined her head graciously, but there was no mistaking the glimmer of suspicion in her eyes. "It's always a pleasure to work with someone who values... thoroughness," she repeated, her words deliberate. She waved a hand dismissively. "You're free to explore as you please, though some areas remain restricted for your safety, of course."

Seonghwa bowed his head in acknowledgement and rose to his feet, his body moving automatically, though his mind was elsewhere. The moment he stepped out of the room, the air felt heavier. He couldn't shake the image of your trembling figure, the bruise on your face, the sheer hopelessness in your eyes.

He paused in the corridor, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. Get it together, he told himself. One wrong move and you'll only get her killed.

But what was the alternative? Walking away while you endured unspeakable horrors? Letting his silence serve as complicity in your suffering? He felt as though he were drowning, the weight of his choices crushing him from all sides.

The sound of muffled cries pulled him from his thoughts. His head turned sharply in the direction they came from, his steps unsteady but driven by an undeniable force. He trailed the sound through the maze-like corridors, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind screamed at him to stop, to turn back before he did something reckless. But he couldn't. Not when the echoes of your pain were right there, slicing through the walls like jagged glass.

He rounded a corner and froze. Through a half-open door, he could see you kneeling on the floor, a trainer standing over you, barking orders. Her boot slammed into your ribs, and you crumpled further, a choked gasp escaping your lips. The sight hit him like a physical blow, and he felt the air leave his lungs.

He should leave. He should turn around, walk away, and pretend he'd seen nothing. That's what he'd been taught—to compartmentalise, to prioritise the bigger picture over fleeting emotions. But as he watched you struggle to breathe, watched you choke back sobs and force yourself to stand under the trainer's cruel gaze, something inside him snapped.

This wasn't about logic. It wasn't about alliances or gang politics. It wasn't even about you, not entirely. It was about what this place represented. The Red Room was a cesspool of power wielded without mercy, a machine that broke people and discarded the pieces. And you—you were a living reminder of everything he despised about this world, everything he'd tried to escape.

He turned on his heel, his jaw set, his movements deliberate. There was no time for hesitation. No time for second-guessing. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now, before his courage faltered. He made his way back to the lounge, his stride steady but his heart pounding.

Madame Scarlet raised an eyebrow as he re-entered the room. "Back so soon? I trust everything is—"

Fuck it.

"I have a request," Seonghwa interrupted, his voice calm but firm. He saw her brows lift in surprise, but he didn't give her a chance to speak. "I'd like to oversee her training."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Her expression shifted, her eyes narrowing with interest. "Her training?" she repeated, her tone laced with curiosity. "And why, pray tell, would a Gentleman of your standing wish to concern himself with such matters?"

He met her gaze, unwavering. "If this alliance is to succeed, I want to ensure that every asset provided is of the highest quality. She shows potential, but she needs refinement. Let me handle it." His lips curved into a disarming smile, one that masked the storm raging beneath the surface. "Consider it my contribution to strengthening this partnership."

The founder studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she leaned back in her chair, her smile returning. "Very well," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "Let's see what Gentleman Park can do."

He inclined his head, hiding the relief that flooded through him. He had no plan, no clear idea of how to fix this. But for now, he'd bought you time. And he'd be damned if he let that time go to waste.

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"He's extending his stay... indefinitely?!" Wooyoung burst out, pushing his chair back with enough force to send it skidding against the floor. His voice, sharp with disbelief, rang through the meeting room. "What in the world is going on there?!"

Hongjoong sighed deeply, pressing his fingers against his temples as if willing away the tension. "That's what the messenger said. I don't—"

Mingi cut him off with a scoff, leaning back in his seat with arms crossed, his expression a storm of frustration and doubt. "First, it was a day. Then another. Now, who knows if Seonghwa hyung's ever coming back? What kind of lion's den did you send him into, huh?" He tilted his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So much for being the 'best leader.'"

Jongho shot him a warning look and reached out as if to calm him, but the taller man pulled away, his resentment tangible.

The Captain's gaze turned icy, his composure hanging by a thread. "What exactly are you trying to insinuate, hm?" His tone was sharp, the growl in his voice betraying the pressure he was under. His mind was already a whirlwind of guilt and worry. First, his love was sent away, and now his closest brother was stranded in that infamous and dangerous training facility. What was keeping him there? Had the Red Room made unreasonable demands? Was the alliance at risk? Why hadn't he gone himself instead of sending Seonghwa? He should've been the one bearing the risk.

The Firestarter laughed bitterly, rising to his feet, his frustration reaching a boiling point. "What I'm saying is that you think everything's fine just because you were noble enough to send her away? Don't act like we haven't noticed you're still wasting our resources to keep tabs on her, to protect her from afar!" His voice was biting, the weight of his accusation filling the room.

Hongjoong stood as well, the anger in his chest clawing its way to the surface. "Watch your damn mouth, Song Mingi," he snapped, his voice low but dangerous.

Before either could escalate further, San slammed his fist on the table, the resounding thud silencing the brewing argument. "Will you two just stop already?!" His tone was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. "Is fighting about the same damn thing over and over going to bring Seonghwa hyung back? Will it help us figure out what's happening to him?"

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The Tempest sighed, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He hated this—hated how divided they'd become, the bond they once shared splintering under the weight of their choices. They used to be united, inseparable. Now, everything felt fractured, and the cracks were only growing. Didn't they see how short life was? How fragile their bond could become?

"Listen to me," San continued, his voice quieter now but steady with resolve. "I say we go after him."

The leader's jaw tightened. His instincts screamed at him to agree, but Yunho shook his head, breaking the silence. "Absolutely not," he said firmly. "We can't make a hasty move like that. What if it backfires? What if we put him in even more danger?"

Yeosang nodded, his voice calm but resolute. "Exactly. Have you all forgotten the code for danger? If Seonghwa hyung were truly in trouble, he would've used it. Whatever's happening, it doesn't seem like he's in immediate danger."

"Not yet, at least," the Anchor murmured, drawing everyone's attention. His voice was quiet, but the weight of his words settled heavily over the group. He opened his notebook, flipping through its pages until he found what he was looking for. "If we're serious about helping, we need to focus on crisis management. Let's map out every possible outcome and prepare contingency plans for all of them. We need to be ready for anything."

The room fell into a heavy silence as Jongho's words sank in.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. He hated the idea of waiting, of being passive, but he knew the youngest was right. Losing his temper, indulging in Mingi's provocations—none of it would help their brother.

"That's the best course of action for now," he admitted, his tone quieter but steady. "Thank you, Jongho."

The team nodded in reluctant agreement, though unease lingered in the room. As they began strategising, one truth resonated in each of their hearts—no alliance was more important than Seonghwa. He was family, and they weren't about to let him go without a fight—even if it meant jeopardising the entire deal.

Forgive me, my brothers.

While the Gentleman shared their sentiment, something else weighed heavy in his mind as he strode through the shadowed halls of the Red Room, every step measured, deliberate. His brothers—his family—would never understand this choice, this betrayal of their trust. But they weren't here. They hadn't seen what he'd seen, hadn't felt the cold weight of torment that clawed at his insides. For now, he had to shut them out. He had to focus.

Stopping just outside the door where he had last seen you, the memory of your broken form flashed like a burn mark across his mind. He straightened his shoulders, setting his expression into a mask of indifference—a carefully crafted lie. The trainer inside sensed him immediately, turning to meet his gaze. Her eyes, calculating and hard, met his as though he were an accomplice rather than an outsider. Seonghwa offered a curt nod, polite but distant, and received the same in return.

His gaze flickered to you, and time seemed to stretch thin for a moment.

There you were—collapsed on the cold floor like a discarded doll. Your body was unnaturally still, save for the faint tremble in your fingertips and the shudder of your uneven breaths. Whatever they'd done to you had left you completely drained, your small frame appearing even more fragile than before.

The trainer crouched beside you, the scrape of her boots against the floor grating against his ears like nails on stone. The gang member remained rooted to the doorway, his body rigid, his expression unreadable as she reached out to you, fingers threading mockingly through your tangled hair.

"Look at you," she sneered, tucking a strand behind your ear with a gentleness so condescending it twisted something sharp in his gut. Her hand shifted, suddenly locking around your jaw with enough force to make you flinch and whimper. "This should teach you. The Madame has high hopes for you, little one. Stop disappointing her like this, will you?"

Your red-rimmed eyes rose weakly, glazed and unfocused, but you managed the smallest nod, your breath stuttering painfully in your chest.

It wasn't enough.

Her grip tightened cruelly, claws pressing into the soft skin of your cheeks until you whimpered again, the sound soft but devastating. "Answer me," she demanded, her tone low and icy.

"Y-yes, ma'am," you choked out, the words barely more than a whisper.

Satisfied, she released you, and you slumped forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Seonghwa's fists curled tight at his sides, his knuckles white from the pressure. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to tear her away from you, but he forced himself to remain still. The mask didn't crack—not yet. When the trainer finally turned her gaze to him, he managed to shift, allowing a smug, composed smile to play on his lips as though none of it mattered to him.

"You've worked hard, comrade," he said smoothly, his voice calm and polite. "Let me handle the rest."

The trainer smirked, standing to dust off her hands as though your pain had tainted her. "How kind of you, Gentleman Park," she cooed, her mockery like acid on his ears. "Very well, then."

With one last unsettling grin, she turned on her heel and marched off, her boots echoing ominously down the hall until she disappeared.

The silence she left behind was suffocating.

He remained still, standing by the door, though his chest burned with the need to move—to act. He was cautious, his sharp mind reminding him of the cameras lurking in unseen corners. He couldn't afford to rush to your side, not yet. Any show of care, any crack in his facade, would confirm their suspicions. They had eyes everywhere.

He forced himself to stay rooted in place, his gaze lingering on you as you stirred faintly. Slowly, painstakingly, you began to force yourself upright. Seonghwa's heart twisted at the sight of your trembling hands and the way your body shook with every small movement. It was as though each muscle screamed in protest, but still, you pushed forward. The sheer determination etched into you was unlike anything he'd seen. You weren't just enduring—you were surviving.

Blinded by pain, you didn't notice him.

Your silent tears fell unchecked, and you hugged your bruised arms to yourself as you limped toward the exit, your steps slow and agonising. Every inch you covered showed your strength, but it also burned an ache deep in his chest. You shouldn't have to fight this hard just to move.

Finally, you reached him. Your head was still lowered, so at first, you only saw his shoes. You froze, your breath hitching sharply. Slowly, your wide, tear-streaked eyes lifted, and when you registered him standing there, shock overtook your features.

Your legs wavered, weakened beyond their limit, and you began to fall forward.

That was it. Seonghwa moved without thought, his body acting on pure instinct as he lunged to catch you before you hit the ground. His arms came around you securely, holding you steady. You gasped softly, fresh tears clouding your eyes as you struggled weakly to push yourself away from him.

"Stop it," he murmured, his voice low but steady, as he bent to scoop you into his arms. "You're hurt enough as it is."

The fight left you at his words, and you slumped against him, the side of your forehead pressing tiredly against his cheek.

"You goddamned idiot," you whispered brokenly, your voice trembling as quiet sobs escaped you. "I told you to go. You're going to get yourself killed…"

Your words hit him like stones, each one carrying the weight of your desperation and anger. You hated him for this—for being so stubborn, so damn stupid. And yet, there he was, carrying you like you weren't a burden at all.

You hated him for giving you hope. Hope that maybe the world wasn't entirely cruel. Hope that not all humans are monsters. Hope that maybe, someday, you'll get to escape this hell.

He didn't speak, but his hold on you tightened just a fraction as he carried you toward your room—the place they'd told him was yours at least. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the Red Room, not the cameras, not the precarious alliance.

All that mattered was you.

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Seonghwa tightened his hold on you as he carried you through the cold, labyrinthine corridors of the facility, the weight of your frail body pressing against his chest. Every step he took was deliberate, his movements careful to avoid jolting you any further. He didn't speak, the silence filled only by your shallow, uneven breaths and the faint sound of his boots against the hard floor.

Somewhere along the way, he felt you soften in his arms. The tension in your body—a tension he imagined had been present since you first stepped foot in this hellish place—began to ease. Your head nestled into the crook of his neck, and your arms, though weak, clung lightly to him as if afraid he might disappear.

Then, your breathing evened out, soft and rhythmic, and he realised with a pang in his chest that you had drifted into sleep. He couldn't explain the mix of emotions that overcame him. Relief? Guilt? Fury? That here, in this wretched place, in the aftermath of torment, his presence could bring you enough comfort to let down your guard. It shouldn't be like this. You shouldn't have had to fight so hard just to feel the smallest sliver of peace.

You, meanwhile, were lost in the strange sanctuary of his embrace. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, the gnawing sense of danger and fear slipped away. You couldn't understand why—what it was about him that allowed you to let go—but it was undeniable. The warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, the steady strength of his arms around you—it was unlike anything you had felt since the days when life was simpler, kinder.

Your mind wandered back to those days. College. Classes. Part-time jobs. A life that was chaotic in its own right but filled with a kind of normalcy you now yearned for. You missed that life, the one where being tired meant something as mundane as staying up late to study or pulling extra shifts. Not this. Not exhaustion born from fear, pain, and endless suffering. You wished, futilely, that all of this was some terrible nightmare you could wake from.

But it wasn't.

As if your subconscious sensed the reality of your surroundings, your eyes shot open, your body jerking in reflex. A cry of pain escaped your lips as fire shot through your nerves, the abrupt movement too much for your battered body.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," came a deep, familiar voice, steady and calming. Gentle hands pressed against your shoulders, guiding you to lie back down. "Don't push yourself."

Your gaze darted toward him, and the memories came rushing back. Park. The Red Room. The training. The punishment. It all settled over you like a heavy fog, suffocating and undeniable.

Blinking against the dimness, you squinted at your surroundings. The room was unfamiliar. Plain walls, a bed—a proper bed—and a small desk. Your breath hitched in disbelief.

"Wh-where the hell am I?" you croaked, your throat raw.

Seonghwa frowned, his expression confused but soft. "It's your room, is it not?" he replied, his tone gentle, almost questioning.

You let out a humourless laugh, shaking your head weakly. "My room?" you repeated, incredulity lacing your words. "People like me don't get rooms."

Your voice was a whisper now, bitter and hollow. "They lied to you."

The implication of your words made his chest tighten painfully. His mind raced with the possibilities, each one worse than the last. Where have you been sleeping? On the floor of some cold cell? In a corner, chained, left to fend off the darkness alone?

He didn't ask. He couldn't. Not yet.

Instead, he looked at you, his jaw tightening as he swallowed back the anger boiling within him. You didn't need his rage right now—you needed his steadiness.

"I'll make sure they don't lie to me again," he said quietly, a promise woven into his words. He reached for the blanket at the edge of the bed and gently draped it over you. "For now, just rest. You're safe."

Safe? Here...?

You sighed, shaking your head. "I don't think that's something within your control, Mr. Park. Clearly, they're deceiving you for a good reason. If you know what's best for your own safety, you'd go along with their every wish and leave this place at your first chance."

Your eyes burned with tears forming in frustration, but you were too drained to argue, muttering weakly again, "Why... God, why are you even still here? You're insane..." You trailed off, the blanket's warmth and the bed's softness—luxuries you hadn't known in so long—lulling you into an uneasy but welcome stillness.

Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he really was insane for this. But Seonghwa knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he walked away today and left you behind, he would never be able to live another moment in peace.

As he sat by your bedside, his dark eyes lingered on your face, the faint lines of pain etched into your features even in sleep. He couldn't stop the rush of emotions building within him—a storm of guilt, admiration, and something else he couldn't quite name.

Your earlier words echoed in his mind. "Why are you even still here? You're insane..." Even in your weakened state, you had been more concerned for his safety than your own. How was it possible for someone who had suffered so deeply, endured such unspeakable cruelty, to still care for someone else? For him, a stranger who had inadvertently become the reason for your suffering.

His chest tightened painfully as he thought back to the chain of events that had led to this moment. If he hadn't pushed so hard for answers, if he hadn't drawn their attention to you...

I'm so sorry. You suffered all because of me.

His jaw clenched. It wasn't your fault. None of this was. You had simply been caught in the crossfire of forces far beyond your control. And yet, you bore the weight of it with a quiet resilience that humbled him.

If only he knew the truth—how your unyielding empathy had been the very trait that had landed you in this nightmare. The kindness that allowed you to care for others, even at the cost of your own well-being, had marked you as a failure in their eyes. To them, your compassion was a flaw to be eradicated, not celebrated. If their experiments had succeeded, if they had stripped you of every last shred of emotion, perhaps you wouldn't have to feel any of this now. Perhaps it would have been mercy.

But mercy wasn't what they had given you.

Seonghwa exhaled shakily, forcing himself to focus on the present. His gaze dropped to the small bundle he had brought with him—an emergency kit he'd tucked into his coat before leaving his quarters. Pulling out the small jar of ointment, he opened it carefully, its sharp medicinal scent filling the air.

This seemed as good a time as any to use it.

He dipped his fingers into the ointment, its cool texture spreading easily against his skin. His movements were slow and deliberate as he leaned closer to you, his free hand brushing your hair aside to get a clearer view of your wounds. You stirred slightly under his touch, but he froze, waiting until your breathing evened out again before continuing.

As he worked, the Gentleman couldn't help but notice the scars that marred your skin, each one a painful testament to what you had endured. His hands hovered over the worst of them, as if hesitant to touch. But he pressed on, spreading the ointment with a feather-light touch, determined not to wake you.

The faint lines of pain on your face seemed to soften as the salve worked its magic, and he found himself watching you again. Not just your wounds, but you—the curve of your cheek, the faint flutter of your lashes, the subtle rise and fall of your chest. He wondered how someone who had been through so much could still carry this quiet strength, this humanity that he wasn't sure he would have been capable of holding onto if he were in your position.

Something shifted in him then, something he couldn't quite name. It wasn't just guilt or admiration anymore—it was something deeper, something that unsettled him even as it stirred a strange sense of purpose within him.

"You shouldn't have to feel this," he murmured softly, the words meant more for himself than for you. "None of this."

His hands paused briefly, trembling as the weight of his emotions threatened to spill over. But he steadied himself and resumed his task, meticulously tending to your wounds until every last one had been treated.

When he finally sat back, exhaustion tugging at his own body, he couldn't bring himself to leave your side. Instead, he stayed there, his gaze never straying far from you.

Seonghwa had made many promises to himself over the years, but as he watched over you in the dim light of the room, he made one more—a silent vow that whatever it took, he would find a way to free you from this nightmare. Even if it cost him everything.

I won't leave you behind... not this time.

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The next morning unfolded in a fog of tension and fleeting memories that lingered in his mind as he sat across from Madame Scarlet. The dining room, grand and dripping with opulence, felt more like a gilded cage than a place of comfort. The soft clink of silverware and the hum of hushed conversation grated against his nerves, the air heavy with artifice. His grip on his utensils tightened as your words echoed in his thoughts, each syllable etched with quiet despair.

"It's not as simple as you think, Mr. Park. There's more to this place than merely spy training. They have more... elaborate plans. And I'm... part of that plan."

Your voice had wavered, the fear laced within it unmistakable. He could still see the way your eyes darted to the door, your movements taut with the paranoia of someone constantly monitored. Your unfinished confession repeated itself in his head like a haunting refrain.

"I'm not just a regular trainee here... I'm—"

The memory was interrupted by the sharp sound of boots in the hallway, the rhythmic echo cutting through the tension like a blade. Your voice had faltered, replaced by a gasp as the footsteps grew louder. And then she had entered—the woman you called your trainer. Her expression was stern, impassive, as she spared Seonghwa a curt nod before dragging you away without explanation. The sight of you, so resigned yet terrified, had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Before he could so much as process what had happened, another figure had arrived, the right-hand woman, beckoning him to breakfast as though nothing had transpired.

And now, here he was, a mask of calculated charm concealing the storm within as he faced the Madame. The founder, draped in her cold authority, watched him with an unsettling smile, her words poised and deliberate.

"So, you find our ways effective?" she asked, her voice dripping with saccharine diplomacy. "I knew we could trust decisive men such as yourself from the Black Pirates to agree with our methods."

Her praise felt like poison, each word curdling in his gut. Seonghwa forced a smile, swallowing his revulsion with practised ease.

"Of course, Madame," he replied smoothly, his voice betraying none of the turmoil beneath. "It is only necessary. After all, the best diamonds are produced in the rough."

Her approving nod was like ice slipping down his spine. As she turned her attention to the next topic, his thoughts drifted back to you, unable to ignore the gnawing questions.

What were you going to say? If you're not just another trainee, then what are you? What twisted plans are they weaving around you?

He pictured you before this nightmare—living a life untouched by the horrors of this place. Perhaps you had once been a girl who laughed freely, who dreamed without fear. The thought felt like a knife twisting in his chest.

What are they doing to you now? What are they turning you into?

"Gentleman Park?" Madame Scarlet's voice cut through his spiralling thoughts, sharp and expectant. He blinked, his façade unbroken as he nodded and delivered a fabricated report of your supposed punishment. Each lie tasted bitter, but he forced it down.

I'll find out. Whatever it takes.

Deep under the building, the isolation chamber felt alive, its oppressive darkness wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. The relentless hum of machinery echoed in your ears, each vibration a cruel reminder of your imprisonment. Your body trembled, exhaustion weighing heavily on your limbs, but it was nothing compared to the weight of your thoughts. Then came that voice, cold and devoid of humanity, slicing through the silence.

"How do you feel?"

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as a spark of anger flickered to life. "Nothing," you bit out, your voice shaking with frustration. But even as you said it, the word felt hollow, a lie you couldn't quite believe. You didn't feel nothing—no, it was anger, sharp and scorching, that had taken root inside you. Frustration flared hotter with every second, fed by the memory of Seonghwa's words, echoing in your mind like a cruel whisper.

"I'll be here to stay... indefinitely now."

You had stared at him, disbelief coursing through you like a tidal wave. "Wh-what do you mean indefinitely?" you had asked, your voice unsteady, heart pounding with the weight of implications you couldn't yet comprehend.

He hadn't looked at you, his gaze fixed on the jar of ointment in his hands. You hadn't noticed it then, but now, in the suffocating dark, the memory of his careful hands tending to your wounds replayed with an unexpected tenderness. The way his fingers had moved—gentle, deliberate—like someone who cared. His voice, soft and almost hesitant, echoed in your mind.

"I... proposed to oversee your training."

You had blinked at him, confusion and frustration crashing together in a storm of emotions. "What...? Why? Whatever for?" you had demanded, searching his face for answers.

And then his eyes met yours. Determination burned there, fierce and unyielding. It caught you off guard, stole the breath from your lungs. "I'm going to help you," he said, his voice steady, as though the very idea of failure didn't exist.

The memory of his words ignited a whirlwind in your chest—anger, disbelief, and something else you weren't ready to name. Help me? The thought had made you scoff, a bitter laugh escaping before the tears threatened to follow. You had shaken your head at him, the hopelessness in your heart spilling out like poison.

"You don't even know what's happening here—hell, you don't even know me. Why would you risk everything for someone like me? You can't save me from something you don't understand. And they... they'll never let you find out."

You remembered the crack in your voice as you pointed to yourself, desperation seeping into every word. "This... this isn't something you can fix, Mr. Park."

The robotic voice snapped you back to reality, the chamber's suffocating atmosphere closing in again. "Subject 01, how do you feel?"

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to steady your breathing. You needed to focus on something, anything, to keep the darkness at bay. And there he was again in your mind, that damned determination lighting up his face. His words refused to let go of you.

"Well, they don't have to let me. I'll find out myself, one way or another. And besides..."

You could see it so clearly—the way he smiled at you then, soft and genuine, so different from the carefully constructed smiles he wore for everyone else. It wasn't fair, the way it disarmed you, the way it stirred something you didn't want to feel.

"I have you."

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but this time they weren't born of despair. They carried something heavier, something far more dangerous. Hope. And you hated him for it—for giving you something to hold onto when you had spent so long letting go.

The voice interrupted again, clinical and uncaring. "Subject 01—"

Your eyes flew open, defiance blazing in them as you glared into the black void where you knew the camera was. "Nothing at all," you said, your voice steady, though the fire within you burned hotter than ever.

"Wonderful," the voice responded, its detachment grating against every nerve.

But for the first time, you didn't care. Your focus was sharp, your resolve harder than steel. You would convince him to leave, to abandon this reckless idea before it consumed him too.

And yet... a part of you wanted him to stay.

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The week crawled by in a haze of calculated cruelty and simmering defiance. With Madame Scarlet's permission, Seonghwa was now a near-constant presence in your training sessions, his sharp eyes watching from the shadows or perched casually at the edge of the room. Most of your sessions, anyway. The ones he was allowed to witness.

The others—those sessions—took place far away from his sight, shrouded in secrecy and hidden deep within the facility's labyrinthine corridors. Those sessions were the ones that drained the light from your eyes and left you stumbling back to your dormitory, wearier and more hollow than before. And each time, he noticed.

Though the trainers and the founder kept him occupied with mealtime conversations or endless discussions about "enhancements" to your regimen, he saw it. He saw the shadows under your eyes deepen. He saw the tremor in your hands as you reached for water. He saw the stiffness in your movements, as though your body were fighting a losing battle with pain.

It enraged him, but he hid it well. He always hid it well. Instead of letting his anger show, he catalogued each new bruise and each broken look. He filed it away as fuel for his determination.

Today was no different. Another training session, another round of impossible tasks. The founder herself was present, her sharp gaze piercing through the room like a predator sizing up prey. She pushed you harder than ever, setting you up for failure with tasks that even the strongest would falter under.

"Faster," she barked as you stumbled mid-sprint. "You call that speed? A child could outrun you."

The other trainees averted their eyes, some wincing at the venom in her tone. But you kept going, jaw tight, pushing your battered body to obey despite its protests.

When you managed to finish the drill, she sneered. "Pathetic. And here I thought we were cultivating something special."

Seonghwa, standing to the side with his arms crossed, broke the silence. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. "I've seen worse recover faster. She's more resilient than you think, Madame."

The founder turned her sharp eyes on him, her expression unreadable. "Resilience isn't enough, Gentleman Park. What we need here is excellence."

"Excellence takes time," he replied smoothly, his face a mask of polite detachment. "And she's proven capable of rising to challenges when given the opportunity."

His words deflected her attention just enough to ease the pressure on you. And you hated it.

You hated the way he intervened, hated the risks he was taking by challenging the founder—no matter how subtle. It was reckless. It was dangerous. And it was entirely unnecessary.

When the session finally ended, you didn't linger. You stormed out of the training hall, your body aching and your mind racing. But as you turned the corner into the hallway, there he was. He leaned casually against the wall, waiting for you with an unreadable expression.

Your anger boiled over. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" you hissed, marching up to him. "You don't need to make my battles yours!"

His calm demeanour didn't waver. He straightened, meeting your glare head-on. "I'm not trying to fight your battles."

"Then what the hell was that back there?" you snapped, gesturing wildly toward the training hall. "Do you have any idea what you're risking? Why do you keep—"

"I'm just trying to make sure you live to fight them," he interrupted, his voice low but steady.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath hitched, the anger in your chest faltering as something else crept in.

His gaze softened just slightly, but the determination remained. "You don't have to like me being here. Hell, you can hate me for it. But if I can take even one ounce of that weight off your shoulders, then it's worth it."

Your fists clenched at your sides, words caught in your throat. You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to believe him, didn't want to let that flicker of hope take root again.

But damn him, he made it so hard.

You're being stupid, Park. You'll regret this.

Later that night, the training room was cloaked in dim light, the overhead bulbs casting fractured shadows across the walls like shards of glass. It was late, long past curfew, but the ache in your chest and the founder's voice echoing in your mind wouldn't let you rest. The sting of humiliation lingered like a wound left raw, and you poured it all into the combat routine—every sharp strike and block an attempt to claw your way free from the weight crushing you.

But your body betrayed you, trembling under the strain of endless days without reprieve. Exhaustion blurred the edges of your movements, and frustration burned hotter with every imperfect step.

The quiet sound of a door opening went unnoticed until a voice sliced through the haze, steady and low.

"Your form's a little off."

You spun around, fists raised on instinct, only to find Seonghwa leaning against the doorframe, his presence unassuming yet commanding. His gaze lingered on you, calm but observant, and it unsettled you in ways you couldn't name.

"What are you doing here?" you snapped, wiping sweat from your brow, your voice sharper than you intended.

He stepped closer, each movement deliberate but unthreatening. "Couldn't sleep," he said simply, his tone betraying no judgement. "Figured I wasn't the only one."

Your glare hardened, walls snapping into place like armour. "I don't need you here. Go back to your room."

Instead of retreating, he crossed the room with measured steps, his eyes flicking over your stance. "You're letting frustration get the better of you. It's making you sloppy."

His words struck a nerve, cutting deeper than they should have. "I don't need your help," you bit out.

"I'm not offering help," he countered, his calm tone steady as steel. "Just advice."

Before you could fire back, he gestured to the training mat. "Show me what you're working on."

For a moment, you hesitated. Letting him see you like this—raw, vulnerable, struggling—felt like exposing a wound to someone who could twist the knife. But there was no mockery in his gaze, no condescension. Just an infuriating patience that chipped away at your defences.

Reluctantly, you demonstrated the routine, your movements sharp but uneven. He watched silently, his brow furrowed with concentration, and when you finished, he stepped closer.

"Your footing's off here," he said, nudging your leg into position with his foot, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric. "And your weight—it's leaving you open to counters."

You flinched at the proximity, but he didn't retreat. Instead, he adjusted your arm with a careful, steady hand. "Try it again."

This time, your movements flowed with more control, more precision. When you stopped, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Better. But there's still something missing."

"What?" The word slipped out before you could stop it.

He stepped behind you, his hands hovering just above your arms, his voice a quiet murmur. "You're too rigid. Combat isn't just about strength—it's about flow. Anticipation. Trusting yourself."

His closeness was overwhelming, the heat of his presence and the steadiness of his breathing weaving into the moment. His hands guided your movements, the gentleness of his touch unravelling something tightly wound inside you.

The routine transformed, no longer a drill but a dance. Each motion flowed seamlessly into the next, and for the first time, you felt a sense of grace beneath the weight of your exhaustion.

"You're stronger than they'll ever give you credit for," he murmured, his voice soft, like a secret meant only for you.

And just as the moment began to settle, he stepped away, leaving a hollow space where his presence had been. You stood there, breathless and unmoored, the room suddenly colder without him near.

He turned to leave, his steps quiet, but something within you resisted. Before you could think better of it, you called out, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Mr. Park... thank you."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"Seonghwa," he corrected, his smile faint but disarming. "Just... call me Seonghwa. And you're welcome, my lady."

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the stillness, your thoughts tangled and your heart betraying you in ways you hadn't thought possible.

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"Message from Seonghwa hyung."

Jongho's voice cut through the suffocating silence of the Captain's office, and Hongjoong's head shot up from his hands immediately. The younger man stepped forward, closing the door firmly behind him before placing a neatly wrapped package on the desk.

"He sent this through the secret messenger," the youngest continued, his tone laced with urgency.

The leader's stomach churned. That alone spoke volumes. Seonghwa wouldn't have risked using such a method unless it was vital. His hands trembled as he tugged at the twine, unwrapping the package with uncharacteristic clumsiness.

"A secret messenger…" he muttered under his breath. "If the Red Room finds out—"

"They won't," Jongho interjected firmly. "He knows what he's doing. But you need to see this, hyung. It's important."

The package fell open, its contents spilling across the desk in a disorganised heap: photographs, documents, and a few unmarked videotapes. Hongjoong froze, his unease morphing into dread. With a sharp nod toward the small TV in the corner, he gestured for the Anchor to play the first tape.

As the screen flickered to life, a chilling silence settled over the room.

The grainy footage revealed sterile white rooms filled with cold, metallic equipment. A girl restrained on a table. Her eyes, wide with terror or dulled by sedation, seemed to pierce through the screen. The audio crackled with muffled voices—clinical orders interspersed with the occasional scream.

"What the fuck…" Hongjoong whispered, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the desk.

Jongho's face remained impassive, though his jaw was set tight. The footage shifted, showing a stark, windowless chamber—a single chair in the centre equipped with electroshock restraints. The same girl. The same hopelessness.

"This isn't just training," the youngest said, his voice thick with disgust. "This is something else entirely."

The Captain's fingers sifted through the documents spread before him: test results, progress notes, and schematics outlining the chilling details of the experiments.

"They're not just training spies," he murmured, his voice hollow. "They're manufacturing weapons. Breaking people down and rebuilding them into... into something inhuman."

His hand faltered as he reached the bottom of the stack. A profile sheet caught his eye, its clipped photograph grainy but unmistakable.

A lab rat.

No—a person.

His stomach dropped as he scanned the page. The subject's identity was stripped away, replaced with a mere clinical description:

Female. Mid-twenties. High pain tolerance. Physical capabilities surpass expectations.

Jongho broke the silence, his voice grim. "They're trying to turn her into a machine. Stripping away everything that makes her human."

"And Seonghwa..." Hongjoong's voice cracked, the weight of it crashing down on him. His eyes caught the scrawled words on the package's exterior:

Project Android by the Red Room.

A cold shiver ran down his spine. The eldest wasn't there for diplomacy anymore. He was trapped in the epicentre of something far darker than they'd ever anticipated.

The leader slammed the final page onto the desk, his gaze locking onto a message scribbled in their coded language:

"Keep this evidence safe. I'll work on getting her out while securing this deal. I'll use the code if I need help. For now, have faith in me. Sorry for letting you down, Joong."

His jaw tightened, his gaze snapping to the Anchor. "We need to come up with a backup plan. If things go south for him—"

Jongho nodded sharply. "And the girl?"

For a moment, Hongjoong faltered. The weight of it all—the impossibility of what they were up against—threatened to break through his composure. But then his resolve returned, hardened like steel.

"We don't leave anyone behind," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "Not if we can help it."

He leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing through contingencies. Sure, the Black Pirates weren't exactly saints, but even they had their limits.

And this?

This crossed every single one of them.

Back at the Red Room, Seonghwa could only hope his package had reached its destination safely. It was the sliver of hope keeping him tethered amidst the suffocating tension that defined this place. What you didn't know—what no one knew—was how far his determination had driven him. Every moment he wasn't with you or under the watchful eye of Madame Scarlet and her loyal hounds, he was spying. Not because he trusted the system but because he trusted himself more.

He knew he couldn't endure this oppressive environment much longer, and he refused to leave without you. So, he worked tirelessly. Nights passed with little sleep as he used his sharp senses and meticulous skills to catalogue every camera, memorise the labyrinth of hallways, and navigate spaces no one else dared to. His stealth was unmatched, a testament to his experience. At times, he found it bitterly ironic—this was a spy training facility, yet he roamed freely, undetected, a shadow in a house of shadows.

He'd known for some time now what you were to this place. He knew the pain you carried, the torment hidden behind the veneer of precision and obedience. But he hadn't found the courage to confront you about it, not until tonight.

Like many other nights, he found you awake past curfew. Tonight, you were in the ballet practice room—the same room that had led to your punishment, all because of him. This time, you finished your routine with precision, each movement a testament to your perseverance. When you stopped, his soft applause startled you, but only for a moment. By now, his late-night appearances had become so common you no longer questioned them.

And yet, you feared the comfort they brought you. Comfort felt dangerous here.

You sighed, turning away as the corners of your heart warmed against your will. "Can't sleep again, Mr. Park?" you asked, your tone guarded but laced with weariness.

He clicked his tongue in mock annoyance as he sat beside you, just far enough to respect your boundaries but close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence. "Told you to call me Seongh—"

"Mr. Park," you cut him off, sharp but not unkind. Your eyes met his in warning, firm enough to halt his words.

He sighed in surrender, leaning back against the mirror beside you. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the tension between you as palpable as the moonlight streaming through the tall windows.

You broke the quiet, your voice hesitant but unwavering. "Why..." The single word hung in the air, weighted with the unspoken questions you hadn't dared to voice until now. "Why are you still here? Be honest with me. You're Gentleman Park—a feared member of the Black Pirates. Mercy isn't exactly your calling card. And yet, you're here. Risking everything. For what?"

His lips curved into a bittersweet smile, his eyes unfocused as if staring at a memory only he could see. For a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. Then, in a voice as soft as the moonlight, he began.

"I once tried to save someone like you," he said, the weight of his confession pressing against the fragile quiet of the room.

"When I was young, before the Black Pirates, I wanted to make a difference. Believe it or not, I was studying to join the police force, still naive enough to think I could change the world." His voice carried a bitterness that made your chest tighten. "One day, I met a boy begging on the streets. He looked so lost, so scared. I found out he was trapped in a human trafficking ring. I thought I was saving him when I helped him escape."

You watched as his expression hardened, his jaw clenching against the flood of memories.

"For a little while, I thought I'd done it. I believed I'd saved him. But those bastards retaliated. They found him again. And they punished him." His fists curled tightly in his lap. "What they did to him… It was worse than anything he'd suffered before. And he didn't survive."

Your breath caught at the raw anguish in his voice.

"I thought I was his hero, but I was the reason he suffered more. After that, I joined the gang and stopped trying to save people. I told myself the world didn't need heroes—it needed survivors." He looked at you then, his gaze piercing but soft. "And then I saw you. At first, I thought I'd learned my lesson. That getting involved would only make things worse. But—"

"Your first instinct was right," you interrupted, your voice calm but resolute. "You should've left me behind."

Seonghwa flinched, your words slicing through him. "You don't mean that," he said softly, almost a plea.

"Don't I?" You turned to face him fully, your eyes sharp but heavy with exhaustion. "You think I don't know what I am to them? What I am to this place? My life is already ruined. But you… Look at what you've dragged yourself into because of me."

The words hung in the air, a thick, suffocating silence settling between you. If you thought your harshness would drive him away, you were wrong. For, instead of retreating, something inside him warmed, a flicker of hope igniting in your pain. You weren't angry at him for making your life worse. You were still thinking of him. You were still asking him to leave, to protect himself. And that thought alone was enough to keep him from walking away.

"No," he said at last, his voice steady, more resolute than you'd ever heard it before. "My first instinct was wrong. The old me wasn't strong enough to protect the people I cared about. But now, I won't make the same mistake. This time, I'll protect you. No matter what it takes."

People he… cared about? Me?

The weight of his words hit you like a freight train. For a moment, you were speechless, the walls around your heart trembling under the sheer force of his unwavering conviction. He wasn't just speaking to you; he was believing in you. And for the first time, a small, fragile seed of hope took root inside you. Maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could trust. Someone you could believe in.

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"Quick, in here!" Seonghwa whispered urgently, pulling you into the narrow closet in the corner of the ballet practice room. The door shut softly behind you, his hand lingering on your wrist to steady your trembling form. You were both about to leave for the night when the unmistakable echo of footsteps down the hall froze you in your tracks. Instinct took over as you tugged him toward the nearest hiding spot—the changing room.

The space was suffocatingly cramped, every breath shared between you as you tried to steady your racing heart. The faint rise and fall of his chest told you his was no calmer. Only a sliver of moonlight seeped through the slats of the door, illuminating the tension that now filled the air.

You swallowed hard, throat dry as you became painfully aware of how close he was. Barely an inch separated you, his broad chest right there, the faint, intoxicating scent of leather and spice curling around you. When your eyes met his, they held a storm of unspoken emotions. Another inch closer, and your lips might have touched. The thought made your breath hitch, but the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to the danger at hand.

The two of you froze—not from the proximity this time, but the unmistakable panic that crept in as the footsteps entered the room.

Turning away from him, you leaned forward slightly to peek through the slats in the door. As you shifted, your hair moved, revealing the nape of your neck. In the dim light, Seonghwa caught sight of something he hadn't seen before—seared into your skin was a barcode. Below it, the words: Subject 01.

He stiffened behind you, and though the footsteps eventually faded, it wasn't until silence filled the room again that you dared to exhale.

"She's gone," you whispered, relaxing slightly as you turned back to him. You reached for the door, but his grip on your arm stopped you.

"Did it hurt?" His voice was soft, almost tender, but the barely concealed edge betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Did what hurt?" you asked, frowning. Then his gaze dropped to the back of your neck, his fingers brushing the spot lightly, almost reverently. The touch sent a shiver down your spine. Realisation hit you like a wave. He'd seen it.

The gasp that left your lips was involuntary as you instinctively stepped back, but his hold on you was firm, steady, as though he feared you might crumble under his touch.

"It's okay," he murmured, his tone calm despite the fire in his eyes. "I know. I know everything—what they've done to you, what they plan to do. I know that you're... Subject 01 of Project Android."

His words sent a chill down your spine. The strength drained from your legs, and you would have fallen if not for his steady arm supporting you. "H-how…? They'd never—" you stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

He sighed deeply, leaning forward until his forehead rested gently against yours. His breath was warm, grounding, even as your mind spun in chaos. "Like you said," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of bitter irony, "I'm Gentleman Park of the Black Pirates. There's nothing I can't uncover when I put my mind to it."

Your hands balled into fists against his jacket, your voice trembling with anger and despair. "So you knew?" you asked, incredulous. "And you stayed? Do you have any idea what these people are capable of? You should've signed that contract and left. There's nothing you can do for me. Like you said, doomed souls are everywhere. I'm just another one."

Your eyes narrowed, challenging him. "Why are you even here? Why are you working so hard for me? It's not because of me, is it? It's because this experiment poses a threat to your crew. If Project Android succeeds, it'll be a threat to the Black Pirates too, won't it? That's the real reason—"

"Stop." His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn't answer. Then his expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a raw, unfiltered vulnerability you hadn't expected. "You silly girl," he said, shaking his head lightly. "Do I really seem like that to you? After everything I've told you? It's… it's because I can't leave you here."

The quiet admission hit you like a punch to the gut. His voice was raw, carrying the weight of emotions he wasn't trying to hide. "I tried convincing myself this wasn't my fight," he said, his tone steady despite the tremor of emotion beneath it. "That it wasn't my place. But I can't look away—not from you."

You stood there, stunned, his words unravelling every defence you'd spent years building. For so long, you'd believed no one cared, that you were nothing more than an expendable experiment. And yet here he was, defying all logic, holding on when anyone else would have let go.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like more than just a declaration of resolve—something deeper lingered in his tone. But there was no time to entertain such thoughts. Survival was the only thing that mattered now.

"Seonghwa…" His name escaped your lips in a fragile whisper, but he shook his head gently.

"We'll talk later," he said firmly, the resolve in his voice leaving no room for argument. "Right now, we need to focus on getting you out of here."

And for the first time, you didn't argue.

The hallway was eerily silent as he guided you through the winding maze of corridors. His hand hovered near your arm, not quite touching, as though even the smallest contact might betray too much. You followed in reluctant steps, each one heavier than the last as the realisation sank in: he wasn't leading you to the fake room they'd assigned you for appearances. No, this route was different. Familiar.

Your heart clenched when you recognised it—this was the way to your actual room. Or cell, as it truly was. The sterile walls, the reinforced door, the cold, suffocating solitude that awaited you there. He really did know everything.

Your thoughts spiralled as you walked. Did he also know how you ended up here? Did he also know the pieces of you that had been stripped away, piece by agonising piece, until nothing but a shell remained? Did he also know about the dreams you used to have—the kind of dreams the old you had cherished? The ones where you imagined falling in love with someone kind, someone who could see the best in you? Someone like him.

But he wasn't supposed to be here, warming the frozen corners of your heart, making it ache in ways you'd long forgotten. He wasn't supposed to make you hope.

"We're here," his voice broke through your thoughts, soft yet steady. You stopped, realising you'd reached the corridor just outside your cell. He'd led you to a blind spot—where no cameras could see—but this was as far as he could go.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stared at the path ahead, the one that led to your isolation, and swallowed the lump in your throat. "We are," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"Seonghwa," you started, your gaze dropping to his hand. Your fingers twitched, hesitant, unsure whether to reach out. The war between your heart and your mind raged louder than ever. Before you could decide, he closed the distance, his larger, warmer hand enveloping yours.

Your breath caught as his touch sent a jolt through you. His grip was firm yet gentle, grounding you in a way nothing else ever had. You looked up, finding his eyes already on you—deep, searching, and unguarded in a way that made your chest tighten.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice a soft murmur that carried so much weight it made you dizzy. He didn't know it, but your world shifted with the way he looked at you, as though you were the only thing that mattered.

You opened your mouth to speak, only to falter as the emotions welled up, threatening to spill over. Gratitude. Guilt. Longing. Words felt inadequate. Instead, you squeezed his hand, a small, fragile gesture that felt monumental in the space between you. "I…" You swallowed hard, summoning the courage to continue. "I just want to thank you for trying so hard. For… caring."

His brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting you finish. "I need you to know," you continued, your voice trembling. "It doesn't matter if I get out of here. I'm just… glad to have met you."

Your heart ached with the weight of the truth behind your words. You knew what you were saying wasn't fair to him, that it sounded like a goodbye. Slowly, you began to pull your hand away, but he held on, his touch firm yet tender, as though he couldn't bear to let go.

And then he did something that made your breath hitch—something you didn't expect.

Leaning in, Seonghwa pressed his lips to your forehead. The gesture was soft, deliberate, and filled with more emotion than any words could ever convey.

Your eyes closed instinctively, your breath catching as his warmth lingered. When he pulled back, his gaze burned with a fierce determination that left no room for argument.

"No," he said, his voice low but resolute. "Don't say that. Don't act like this is the end. I already have a plan, and rest assured…" His hand tightened around yours, his determination radiating through his touch. "I will get out of here tomorrow—with you."

The certainty in his voice left you stunned, your chest tightening as tears brimmed at the corners of your eyes. For a fleeting moment, the silence between you spoke louder than any words could. How...? you wanted to ask, but the question stayed lodged in your throat. You were exhausted—exhausted from fighting, from merely surviving. For once, you wanted to let someone else carry the weight for you. So, you didn't question him.

You simply nodded, unable to summon your voice. Turning to walk the final stretch alone, your steps felt heavier with every inch that separated you. Still, an inexplicable pull made you glance back one last time. His eyes were on you, unwavering, filled with a promise that neither of you dared put into words.

The moment stretched, unspoken yet profound, and though nothing was said, everything was understood.

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"How has he been?" Madame Scarlet asked, her tone sharp and expectant as she gazed at your trainer.

The woman lowered her head respectfully before responding, "He's… unexpectedly cooperative and professional, ma'am. He's provided us with some excellent ideas for enhancement and has never once intervened in any of Subject 01's training—the sessions he was permitted to supervise, at least."

The founder raised a brow, a self-satisfied grin curling her lips. "Hm. Perhaps the Gentleman truly does admire our ways," she mused, leaning back in her chair. "I suppose his extended stay would only be beneficial to us. After all, we'd be foolish not to recognise his value as an influential figure within his group. His prolonged presence serves as leverage. Keep him close—subtly manipulate his loyalty and extract information. The Black Pirates wouldn't even realise we're gaining the upper hand in the alliance."

A low chuckle sounded from the doorway, smooth and familiar. "How smart," Seonghwa drawled, stepping into the room with deliberate confidence, "but not nearly smart enough."

The founder's grin froze, her eyes snapping to the intruder with disbelief. You followed closely behind him, your heart hammering as you caught the flash of unease in her expression—a crack in the armour of control she always wore.

"G-Gentleman Park," she stammered, rising from her seat. Her composure wavered, but she quickly tried to mask it with a welcoming smile. "You're surprisingly early today. And you, my darling," she said, her gaze shifting to you with forced sweetness. "Aren't you supposed to be—"

"At her daily isolation chamber session?" the gang member interrupted smoothly, his lips curling into a sardonic smirk. "Ah, Madame, do you take me for a fool?"

The trainer stiffened, her hand twitching toward her hidden pistol. Madame Scarlet's smile faltered as her eyes flicked to the briefcase in his hand. Her mind raced, trying to assess the situation.

Seonghwa stepped closer, placing the briefcase on her desk with a measured grace. "I believe I've overstayed my welcome," he said casually. "On behalf of my Captain, I declare it's time to finalise our alliance and take my leave—on one condition."

The lady narrowed her eyes, her voice cold and sharp. "Name it."

"I'm taking her with me," he said, gesturing to you without hesitation.

The founder's face darkened, her calm slipping further. "Over my dead body," she hissed.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "That can be arranged."

The trainer moved, but he raised a hand in mock surrender, laughing lightly. "Relax. I'm only kidding. How would our alliance flourish if you were dead, Madame?" He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes, though his tone carried a weight that silenced the room.

"You're playing a dangerous game," Madame Scarlet warned, but her voice lacked its usual confidence.

"Oh, I never play without knowing I'll win," he countered, his smirk sharpening as he opened the briefcase. Inside lay meticulously organised files, a hard drive, and a stack of DVDs. He slid a folder across the desk toward her.

"In here," he began, his voice dropping to a measured calm, "you'll find all the proof you need of your inhumane operations. Experiment logs, surveillance footage, and even testimonies from staff who've grown tired of being complicit. What do you think would happen if a third party were to get their hands on this?"

The lady's hand trembled as she opened the folder. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes scanning the damning contents.

"You wouldn't," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, I would," Seonghwa replied, leaning forward slightly. "And I'll make sure your rivals and the authorities receive copies if you refuse my terms. Imagine the chaos that would bring to your empire."

Her composure shattered for a moment, her nails digging into the desk as she glared at him. "You underestimate me."

"No," he said, his voice soft but firm, "I don't. I know exactly who you are, Madame Scarlet. That's why I'm giving you a choice: agree to let her leave with me, or watch your empire crumble under scrutiny."

Her fury was almost tangible, her chest rising and falling with barely contained rage. But she was cornered, and they both knew it.

Madame Scarlet's nails dug into her palm, her usual composure shattered as she took a step closer to him. Her voice, laced with venom, quivered just slightly. "You realise what you're risking, don't you? My network reaches farther than you can imagine. The Black Pirates may be formidable, but do you truly believe your Captain will protect you once I make you a liability?"

Seonghwa didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Oh, Madame, threats only work when they hold weight. Do you think I'd walk in here unarmed? The Captain knows everything. This"—he gestured to the briefcase—"was sent with his blessing. Your reach ends where my ship begins."

The elderly woman's jaw clenched, her desperation now thinly veiled. "If you expose me, you'll bring chaos to yourself as well! The Black Pirates thrive on secrecy and reputation. Do you want to be the man who compromises that for some… experiment?" Her gaze flickered to you, cold and calculating.

"Nice try," he said, his tone turning colder. "But let's not pretend this is about me. The difference between you and me is simple: I protect the people I care about. You exploit them."

She growled in frustration, turning her attention to you. "And you?" she demanded, her voice suddenly softening as she changed tactics. "You're really going to leave with him? After all we've done for you?" Her words dripped with artificial kindness, a mask of sympathy stretched over her true intentions.

"I saved you from a life of obscurity," she continued, taking a step closer to you. "You'd still be a nobody if not for me. I gave you a purpose, a reason to exist. Is this how you repay me? By abandoning everything I built for you?"

You hesitated, her words striking a nerve. But the warmth of Seonghwa's hand slipping into yours steadied you, his unwavering presence a reminder of what truly mattered. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face her fully, your voice trembling at first but growing stronger with every word.

"You didn't save me," you said, your eyes locked on hers. "You broke me. You took everything I was—everything I could have been—and turned it into a weapon. You didn't give me a purpose; you stole it from me."

Her face darkened, but you pressed on, the weight of your emotions spilling over. "And now, you want me to feel sorry for you? To believe that what you did was for my own good? No, ma'am. The only thing you ever gave me was pain. And I refuse to let you keep me in chains any longer."

Her façade cracked completely, her expression twisting with rage and disbelief. "You ungrateful—"

The Gentleman's voice cut through her outburst, sharp and final. "Enough." He stepped between you and the founder, his presence a wall of protection. "You've lost, Madame. Accept it with what little dignity you have left."

Her hands shook, her gaze darting between the two of you. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. The power she had wielded so effortlessly for years was gone, slipping through her fingers like sand.

As the gang member led you out of the room, you cast one final glance over your shoulder. Madame Scarlet stood frozen, her empire teetering on the brink of collapse. The desperation in her eyes was a silent scream, her ironclad control shattered. For the first time, you felt no fear, no guilt—only a liberating wave of freedom as the door began to close behind you.

But then, in a heartbeat, that freedom threatened to slip away. Your blood ran cold as you spotted your trainer's hand darting to her concealed weapon as she muttered one last, "You're not going anywhere." The barrel of her gun gleamed, aimed directly at your saviour's back.

"Seonghwa—" you started, your voice catching in your throat.

He didn't need the warning. As though he had anticipated every move, he spun around with fluid precision. The room seemed to freeze, the air electric with tension. Before she could even pull the trigger, a single gunshot cracked through the silence.

The trainer's body crumpled to the floor, her lifeless eyes wide in shock. A gaping wound marred her forehead, blood pooling beneath her as her weapon clattered uselessly from her grasp.

You stood rooted in place, your breath caught in your chest. The woman who had tormented you for so long was gone—forever silenced, her cruelty ended in an instant. A part of you felt the weight of her death, but a stronger, quieter part of you reveled in the knowledge: she could never hurt you again.

Seonghwa lowered his gun with practised ease, his expression unreadable as he turned to the elderly woman. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, mock apology dripping from his voice. "Oops," he drawled, his tone light but laced with menace. "I warned you there'd be consequences."

He took a deliberate step toward her, the dominance in his presence impossible to ignore. "This alliance between us is hereby solidified, by order of the Black Pirates. I trust the terms and conditions are now clear, Madame Scarlet?"

Her gaze flickered from the corpse of her loyal trainer to his unyielding stare. Fury bubbled beneath her trembling exterior, but she nodded sharply, biting back the venom she longed to unleash.

As Seonghwa turned back to you, his hand steady and reassuring on the small of your back, you caught the flicker of regret in the founder's expression. She had underestimated him, underestimated you. Letting your paths cross was her greatest mistake—a mistake she would carry for the rest of her life.

With every step you took away from that room, you felt the weight of your chains fall further behind. This time, freedom was not just a fleeting thought—it was real. And nothing could take it from you now.

The tension in Seonghwa's shoulders finally eased as he guided you into the sleek black car waiting outside—a vehicle Hongjoong had discreetly arranged to ensure your safe departure. The weight of what had just transpired lingered heavily in the air, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the Gentleman allowed himself a quiet moment of relief.

The engine purred to life, and as the car rolled away from the Red Room's shadowed compound, he turned to you. His smile was soft, almost hesitant, as his dark eyes met yours. There was no victory in his expression, only a quiet resolve.

"You're safe now," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "With me."

But even as he said it, his mind remained sharp, calculating. He knew the cost of what he'd done. The alliance between the Black Pirates and the Red Room is now balanced on a precarious thread of necessity rather than trust. Madame Scarlet's eyes would always be watching, her reach always extending, waiting for an opportunity to regain the upper hand.

And then, there was home. The gang wouldn't welcome you without question. The members' wrath would be swift and fierce—his brothers would demand an explanation for his actions, for the risks taken, for the unknown you now represented. What would they do with you? The uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed it aside for now.

The road ahead would be anything but easy, but Seonghwa had made his choice. He couldn't promise to bring you back to the life you once had, couldn't undo the scars left behind. But what he could do—what he would do—was protect you. No matter what it took, he vowed to keep you safe.

As the car disappeared into the night, leaving the hellhole behind, he leaned his head back against the seat. His fingers brushed yours, a silent reassurance. Whatever came next, you would face it together.

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"Huh, so he actually managed to threaten the Red Room and come out on top?" the figure mused, his lips curving into an impressed pout. "Looks like the rumours about him weren't exaggerated after all. The Gentleman really isn't someone to be underestimated."

With a smirk, he snapped the file shut and tossed it carelessly onto the pile beside the Captain's already-closed dossier. "Too bad he's gained a weakness in the process. Watching the Firestarter's reaction to this is going to be... entertaining."

His subordinate stepped forward, handing him another file. "Indeed, sir. But for now, the Enforcer appears to be making some interesting moves at the Prestige Asylum."

"Oh, is he now?" The figure's grin widened. "How charming."

So, uhh... if I said I wasn't at all feeling pressured while writing this after the amazing reviews Hongjoong's chapter received, I'd be lying. I'm worried it might be slightly disappointing since this contained a lot less of the 'romance' aspect compared to the Captain's story - but I wanted it to be realistic, and realistically speaking, I don't think the danger would leave them much space for romance.

Anyway, I still hope you enjoyed this! I'm super excited to hear what you all think about the concept and whether or not you've noticed the subtle details relating to the ATEEZ lore.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

General ATEEZ Tag list:

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By Order of the Black Pirates Tag list:

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[trashytracktales]

I absolutely love your writing!!!!!! I have a bit of a longer request, you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to.

Lando and y/n meet through a mutual friend, and they both feel an immediate attraction. A few months later, they’re on a group trip—maybe at a beach villa or a mountain house for skiing. One day during the trip, they both decide to stay in, each thinking they’re alone.

Lando, believing he has the place to himself, starts masturbating on the sofa in the living room. Around the same time, y/n comes into the living room, planning to watch TV. She spots Lando on the sofa but doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing as she was behind the sofa and a few steps away —until he moans her name. She kind of hides herself and spies on him until she gets enough courage and goes to him and asks him if she can help him and basically she goes on her knees right in front of him and starts sucking him off and he’s so surprised and turned on that he doesn’t know what to say or do other than moan her name and praise her

Deep in the Alps | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── Sorry for keeping you waiting, I had a few works in progress + another request that came in before this one. Enjoy 🤍🎀

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𐙚 summary ──── What begins as a private moment turns into something unexpected and, with a few days of vacation left, Lando is determined to make every moment count, setting the stage for an unforgettable getaway that blurs the lines between friendship and something far more... exciting.

𐙚 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, slight fluff & smut, teasing, explicit language, horny thoughts, masturbation, blow job & oral sex ─ (m)receiving, low-key whiney Lando.

𐙚 word count ──── 4.1k

𐙚 date ──── Dec. 2, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── The amount of Lando requests I get is stupid. Keep 'em coming 🤞🏻

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

OF ALL THE people in his friend group, Lando looked forward to winter break the most. He loves summer, but nothing compares to a holiday deep in the Alps, away from cameras and prying eyes.

Their cabin is covered in a generous layer of snow that glimmers like a sea of diamonds under the pale winter sun. The air is crisp and cold, and everyone is excited for today, considering how much it snowed last night.

The group dynamic is diverse, having friendships that have been inseparable for years, while others are still navigating the early stages of familiarity.

She met them through Pietra a few months ago, but this is the first time she joined the entire group for a holiday. As expected, Lando is the central piece who draws attention through his bad jokes and easygoing charm, being a constant source of amusement for everybody. She, on the other hand, is content to sit back and observe, though she’s found herself smiling at his antics more often than she’d care to admit.

Their days so far have been a blur of early mornings spent carving down snowy trails, afternoons in crowded lodges sipping hot chocolate or mulled wine, and evenings around the fireplace, sharing stories and making more plans to hangout in the future. It was easy for her to fit in because everyone seemed — at least at first — to go out of their way to make her feel welcome and included.

Today, however, a dull headache throbs at her temples, forcing her to opt out of skiing, retreating to her room for a nap and leaving them to bundle up and head out to the slopes.

Lando also stays behind, claiming he’s exhausted from the previous night’s gaming sessions with Max and Morgan. But in reality, he’s just craving a moment of quiet, which is a rarity for him.

Outside, the snow glistens with an almost blinding brightness, reflecting the sunlight in too sharply. Lando had made a point to pull the curtains earlier, and now, the dimly lit living room is perfect for lounging on the couch with a blanket draped over his lap. The movie playing on the TV is a vague blur of sound and color in the background, abandoned halfway through in favor of his phone, which is much more interesting at the moment.

He scrolls through his Instagram feed, pausing on a group photo they took when they first arrived at the location. The image lingers on the screen, and his focus sharpens, studying everybody's face until he gets to her. She’s in the center, barely noticeable because of how small she looks like next to the others, bundled up in her pink jacket, her knit beanie perched perfectly atop her head, with loose strands of hair curling around her face. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, and her smile is soft but radiant.

Lando exhales sharply, the pressure building low in his stomach catching him off guard. He tries to shake it off, tries to remind himself that she’s just a girl that hangs out with them from time to time.

Just a girl. That's all.

However, he can't explain how she managed to get under his skin so quickly. They are polar opposites of each other, and Lando noticed that. She's so quiet and reserved, yet somehow captivating in a way he can’t quite understand — it’s frustrating, really. Maybe that's exactly what gets him, making him wonder what it would take to make her lose that composure.

No. He can't go there.

Although…

He lets his thumb brush against the screen, zooming in on her face. A low groan escapes his throat as he recalls the way she looked last night, perched on the arm of a chair while everyone chatted around her, her lips quirking up at his dumb joke; she was the only one that understood it, and he caught that. Such a stupid joke, it wasn't even funny. But she laughed.

Why does she have to laugh at his jokes? More importantly, why does he want to make jokes all the time, just so he can hear her laugh?

“Get a grip, mate,” he whispers to himself under his breath, his free hand shifting lower, sliding under the waistband of his sweats. It’s instinctive, his body reacting to thoughts he’s been suppressing for a while now. “Not that kind of grip, fuck’s sake.”

He can't stop but think of how she would've laughed at that, too.

Lando closes his eyes, his strokes slow at first as he lets the thoughts flood in — it’s a good thing no one can read his mind at the moment. He thinks of her lips and how they part slightly when she’s surprised, and the way her teeth graze her bottom lip when she’s lost in thought. He can't help but imagine those lips closing around his cock, and what her voice would sound like if he fucked her pretty mouth.

“Come on,” he gasps, frustration tugging at the edge of his patience.

His pace quickens as his mind wanders further, seeing her with his mind's eye lying delicately beneath him, small and innocent, breathing in short spasms, and asking him for more. Her softness and the way she carries herself makes him want to see her like that — in a different light, flushed and undone. The image of her laughing at one of his ridiculous attempts to impress her spurs him on, and his hand tightens, his strokes becoming rougher as his breathing grows heavier.

That's when she realizes what she's walked in on.

All this time, she thought she was all alone and, judging by the scene in front of her, he thinks that, too. Her heart thuds wildly as she tries to process it, too stunned to move another muscle. His breaths are ragged, and she feels the tension radiating off him even from where she stands, frozen in place — at the base of the stairs, behind the couch. She knows she should leave and spare them both from an embarrassing encounter, but something keeps her there.

Closing her eyes, she squeezes the railing nervously. She barely got rid of her headache, but now her head's all dizzy from Lando's rough grunts that are echoing throughout the room.

He sounds as if he ran a marathon, barefoot, in the rain.

He sounds tired, but he's aggressive, like it's making him mad — the rhythmic slap of his fist against skin making her mouth water and stomach tighten.

He sounds... delicious.

And then, her eyes snap open.

She blinks rapidly as if that will help her hear better. His voice, low and needy, whispers her name like a prayer, again and again, a desperate sound that escapes his mouth deliberately. It echoes in the room and within the walls of her skull, pulling Lando deeper into the fantasy that he’s helpless to resist — and her, towards him.

Heat floods her cheeks, a mix of surprise, shock, and something deeper spreading through her as she tries to control her breathing.

How can she simply leave, when her name hangs on the corner of his mouth, so drenched in want? It's too late now. She doesn’t think anymore, doesn’t stop to analyze what she’s about to do; she simply trusts her instincts, as she always did.

Lando doesn’t hear her approach, lost in the haze of his own thoughts, his hand moving rhythmically under the blanket. His moans get increasingly louder, so obscene in her ears. It's like they call for her, alluring and profound, and she can’t say no.

Quietly stepping closer, she leans over the back of the couch, her hand reaching out as if it has a mind of its own. When her fingers slide over his, Lando's body stiffens, his breath catching in his throat.

“Relax,” she whispers, her voice soft and filled with anticipation, causing him to drop the phone somewhere on the couch.

He tilts his head back, wide eyes meeting hers, his face flushed and disbelieving. Her sweet perfume takes over his senses, getting him high on it.

He's surely dreaming, because there is no way in hell that she is real.

“What—”

“It's okay,” she assures him, her hand gently guiding his to resume its movement. “Let me help.”

Lando yelps, his head dropping back against the couch, their faces so close to each other as her grip steadies him, matching the pace he had before. The light weight of her hand over his sends a jolt through his body, his brain so close to shutting down for good, while his chest is rising and falling rapidly as she coaxes him closer to the edge.

What in the fuck is happening?

“Does that feel good, pretty boy?” she asks, her lips dangerously close to his.

Lando nods as his hips jerk involuntarily. He refuses to believe it's because of the pet name she just gave him; he is way too strong to fall for that.

Still, he closes his eyes again, biting at his lower lip to stop his whimpers from cascading out of his mouth. There is a small trace of cold sweat pooling on his forehead as her hand moves with his until his entire body tenses, and he finally lets out a deep, guttural moan, her name falling from his lips again, more like a warning this time. He knows he's close, so he tries to push her hand away to avoid the mess that he's about to make. But she stays ferm, using her free palm to push his head in the crook of her neck and caress his cheek softly. His breath falls hot on her skin, and when she starts encouraging him, it's enough for Lando to let go, thick splashes covering his lower abdomen before he can even think. The rest spills over their their joined hands, managing to get another grunt of pleasure out of him.

“There you go,” she says, tracing her thumb over his cum-soaked head, feeling him throbbing beneath her touch. “Such a hot view.”

For a litte while, the room falls silent except for Lando's labored breathing. She moves to sit beside him on the couch, giving him a moment to recover; his eyes are still closed, because how the fuck is he supposed to look at her now?

After that, she throws the tissue box at him, letting out a soft chuckle at his pathetic attempt to catch it.

Exhaling sharply, Lando drags his hands down his face, still avoiding the eye contact. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

She chuckles again, studying him closely, while he squeezes his eyes shut as if he can erase the last few minutes from existence. Except he doesn't really want to.

They sit in silence for another moment before she shifts, crossing her legs and facing him fully. “Did it happen before?” she asks curiously.

His eyes widen slightly, finally looking at her, “What? Of course not.”

Her brow lifts, amused. “Liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he insists, his voice pitching higher.

Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “You always glance around when you’re lying, like you’re checking to see if anyone buys it. You just did it,” she points out.

Lando sighs, dragging a hand through his curls. “Right. That obvious?”

She leans in, nodding, all the amusement gone. “When?”

He hesitates, clearly debating how much to say, but her expectant gaze leaves him no choice. “It started after the Singapore weekend,” he admits, his voice low.

Her mouth goes dry. That was the weekend Pietra first introduced them. Lando had won that Sunday, and the after party was the craziest she'd been to yet.

“You wore that top, and—”

She frowns. “That top?”

“You know the one,” he says, gesturing vaguely at his chest. “It was black, low-cut, and — look, you just looked really good, okay? I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“My top?” she grins, leaning her elbow on the back of the couch as she watches him squirm.

Your tits, he wants to say, but stops before he embarrasses himself even more.

“You've never said anything,” the girl continues, “Why?”

Lando breaths in slowly, running a hand through his tousled curls again, the tips of his ears burning. “Because of P,” he admits. “She told me how much she liked having you around, and I didn’t want to mess that up. She’d kill me if she thought I scared you off or made things weird.”

Her brow lifts, amusement flickering in her expression once again. “You’re scared of Pietra?”

“A little,” he jokes, though his crooked smile falters under her probing stare. “But mostly, I didn’t want to ruin anything for you. I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut. You seem to enjoy your time with us, and I want you around, too.”

She tilts her head, studying his face in the dim light. His piercing eyes are framed by soft, dark brows, and she can’t help but imagine tracing her fingers through his soft curls. The faint facial hair adds a maturity to his otherwise boyish features, making her swallowing hard.

Bottom line, she is attracted to him, even more so now that she knows the feeling is mutual.

“Well, that’s… considerate,” she replies, her lips curving slightly.

Lando chuckles nervously, though the sound dies quickly when her hand moves, her fingertips brushing over his bicep. The contact is featherlight, but it sets his skin ablaze, his breath hitching as she lets her hand glide down his arm, tracing the curve of his muscle with an idle curiosity that feels anything but innocent.

“And now?” she comes back to her initial curiosity, her voice dipping, almost teasing. “What’s stopping you now?”

His throat tightens, words tangling in his mind as she looks at him, her eyes glittering with something that makes his cock throb against his thigh. Lando was sure that he had her figured out. But now, as she leans closer, her lips parting slightly as if to taste the tension hanging between them, he realizes how wrong he was.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” states Lando, ignoring her question, “The ones who seem all shy and innocent, hm?”

“I am shy and innocent,” she agrees with a nod, which makes him scoff. “Alright, maybe not that shy. Or innocent.”

Recognizing that doesn't make Lando's job any easier. Quite the opposite. He's more intrigued as to what secrets she may be hiding beneath her deceptive surface.

“So… since we agreed on that. Is there something else I can help you with?” she murmurs, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she gazes at him expectantly.

Lando brings his hand to rest on hers, his restraint hanging by a thread. “You don’t—have to.”

“But I want to,” she rushes to say, her tone decisive.

With that, she shifts slowly, lowering herself to her knees in front of him with an ease that makes his chest burn. Her hands rest lightly on his thighs, her gaze lifting to meet his, and in her eyes, he finds no hesitation, no doubt. Only intent, want, and excitement.

Stil, he needs to ask, “Are you sure?” he breathes, his voice barely audible.

Instead of answering using her words, her fingers grasp the edge of the blanket, freeing him from under it. She has to muffle a groan of surprise when she sees all of him in its entirety, still half-hard, resting heavily on his thigh.

“See, I knew you had a pretty cock,” she says matter-of-factly, mostly to herself. “I mean, it makes sense. So is your face.”

Lando’s hands flex at his sides, “You’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, but he doesn’t stop her as her fingers curl around his length, her movements deliberate and sure.

“Oh no,” she teases sarcastically, her grin widening as she leans forward, her touch igniting a fire that spreads through him like wildfire. “I kind of hoped it would be the other way around.”

“That can be arranged,” he assures her, hissing at her movements.

She needs both of her hands to take him properly: one wrapped around the base to hold him steady, while the other pumps him a few times to get him hard, before dragging her mouth down the sides. And, because she's the literal devil, she makes sure she holds his gaze while she takes the head in her mouth — warm, inviting, and so wet.

“Fuck,” he rasps, his hand fisting the blanket at his side.

She starts slowly, testing her movements first. It's a good thing she's already imagined this before, and now her mouth water on its own when she takes him in, inch by inch. Until she gets to her hand that stokes his base lightly. It makes her feel so full, which is ridiculous considering that he's about to fuck her mouth, and not her pussy. Still, her walls clench hard on nothing as she pulls him all the way out.

“Fuck,” he repeats, “Your mouth is so—fucking hell. You feel so good.”

The cold air after she pulls him out is enveloping his needy cock from every direction, forcing a string of whimpers out of Lando’s throat. It only make her smile as she keeps his eye on him, turning back to licking from the base all the way to his tip, where he started leaking in the meantime, as if she didn't help him jerk off only a few minutes ago.

It's hard to stay focused on her when her tongue seems like it wants to send him into a coma, but it's even harder to take his eyes off her. She looks so good on her knees that his hand almost searches the couch looking for his phone to snap a quick picture. Instead, he is content to imprint her on his memory, confident that he won't forget what she looks like, with her lips around his cock, sucking the life out of him as if hers depends on it.

Even so, Lando needs superhuman powers not to grab the back of her head to guide his cock deeper. He can't do that, though. She did offer to suck him off, but Lando doesn't know her limits yet, and he doesn't want to cross them without knowing. Alternatively, his fists squeeze tighter, sliding his body down on the couch to be closer to her.

Luckily, she gets the memo, taking him deeper into her mouth, bobbing her head a few times before she drags her tongue against the underside of his cock. The feeling makes every cell in his body burn, one at a time. He's had people going down on him before, but no one managed to get all of him in one go, and certainly not the way she does — opening up so wide for him until the tip of her nose taps gently on his base, making her drool messily all over him.

It’s almost too much, and so overwhelming that he forgets how to breathe for a few seconds, the tension in his lower abdomen building at an alarming pace.

“Shit, Lando,” the girl sobs, her eyes teary, “You're big,” she adds, her voice raw as she continues working her hand up and down his length, while catching her breath.

He doesn't need an ego boost, but he's happy to take it as long as it comes from her.

Lando's head falls back against the couch in surrender, just as she squeezes at his thigh with her free hand, only to bring him back to her. But the slick, pornographic sound her hand makes as she rubs him sends Lando straight to his own personal heaven, where his senses are activated exponentially. He's far too lost in the way she makes him feel, that only her mouth sucking hungrily on his tip can bring him back. Her tongue starts circling around it, and Lando’s eyes snap open while he rolls his hips back into her mouth.

She moans in protest, pulling him out again, “Eager boy,” she whispers out of breath. “Are you close?”

“Mhm” whines Lando, finally rising his head to look at her.

And what a rookie mistake that was.

Somehow, she managed to keep that innocence he saw in her ever since they met for the first time. Her big, deer eyes looking back at him while her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips swollen and her chin drenched would usually be his undoing. But she’s still mouthing around his cock, holding him in her delicate hand, so oblivious to the fact that Lando will see exactly that image whenever he closes his eyes, for a long time to come.

Starting now.

She chuckles at his choked hum and the way he seems like he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, “Where do you want it?”

Inside your mouth.

All over your tits.

On your face.

Her colorful giggle brings him back once again, realizing much too late that he said it all out loud.

“You look so hot when you're desperate,” she says, her lips shiny with spit and pre-cum, squeezing him slightly as she traces her thumb over his leaking head.

Normally, he’d have words to counter that, but all he needs right now is to cum, cum, cum. Except she unexpectedly frees him from her grip, forcing Lando to snap at the loss of contact, her lips leaving him cold, wet, hard, sensitive, and so fucking close to the edge.

His legs tense, and a low, guttural groan escapes him without permission. “Why did you—” he begins, his voice breaking. His head snaps forward, another whimper slipping from him as he watches her, wide-eyed and wrecked, struggling to catch his breath. “Fucking hell, what are you doing?”

She silences him by peeling her pajama top off in one smooth move, tossing it aside without hesitation. The gesture is rapid and deliberate, and Lando’s jaw slackens as he takes in the sight of her bare skin, the curve of her chest illuminated by the faint light that’s coming from the TV. His hands twitch on the couch as if he doesn’t know whether to reach for her or keep himself anchored to the seat.

Without a word, she leans forward, her eyes locking with his as she takes him back into her mouth. Her gaze never wavers, and Lando feels like he might combust on the spot.

So beautiful.

She smiles, intertwining her fingers with his, while her other hand wraps around his length, stroking him in rhythm with her mouth. The intimacy of it all, the eye contact, and the sheer devotion in her movements make his mind travel far away.

His muscles tighten, his free hand gripping the back of the couch for support as he feels himself throbbing against her tongue. He can barely form a coherent thought, his body shaking with the effort to hold on just a little longer, even though he knows it's a losing battle.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs, his voice raw and heavy with need. “Such a perfect mouth, I’m—”

That’s when she pulls back again, and he curses loudly at the loss of her warmth. But before he can beg her to come back, she leans over slightly, guiding his cock as his release spills over her bare chest, the warmth of it contrasting with the cool air.

“Fuck, baby, fuck,” Lando cries out, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. “That's so hot.”

She lets out a soft sigh, her lips curving into a satisfied smile as she tilts her head, still maintaining that piercing eye contact.

Lando can’t breathe. He doesn’t know whether to apologize for the mess or worship her for the sight in front of him. Either way, he doesn't even have time to decide. The next second, her mouth falls open, sticking her tongue out to rub his sensitive tip against it, cum and spit dripping down all over her chin.

“Holy shit,” he finally continues, his voice shaky as his eyes are raking over her with a mix of awe and disbelief.

His fingers, still intertwined with hers, tighten their grip, and before she can move away, he uses the leverage to pull her on top of him. She gasps softly at the sudden movement, bracing herself on his shoulders, her flushed face just inches from his.

“Oh, hi,” she says, the sudden closeness catching her off guard.

“Hi,” replies Lando with a little smile in the corner of his mouth, “Swollen lips suit you,” he teases, his voice thick with lingering desire and a touch of his usual smugness. His eyes gleam with a mischievous light as he brushes his thumb over her lower lip, smirking when she playfully hits his chest in response. “Although I’d say you’re missing something.”

“You don’t say?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “And what’s tha—?”

Lando doesn't let her finish before closing the space between them, capturing her lips with his. The kiss is messy, unrestrained, potentially gross, but he doesn’t care about the lingering remnants of spit and his cum still on her. If anything, it seems to spur him on, his tongue exploring hers with a slow intensity that makes her feel like she’s the only person in the world that has ever caught his attention.

When Lando pulls back, his lips glistening just like hers, he chuckles, wiping his jaw with the back of his hand and giving her an exaggerated grin. “My turn?”

PREVIOUS LN⁴ ONE-SHOT

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2024

[xomakara]

what do you think about brat!reader that has a fixtation on pulling jaehyuns hair during sex but since he enlisted, brat!reader couldn’t do it because of his short hair and has been bugging him about it through the phone whenever he calls to check in on her and when he comes back home during his break, brat!reader is still pissed about it but jaehyun is in a loving way annoyed with her brattiness and puts her in her place ( if you don’t mind could you write something along the lines of this too 🤗🤗🤗)

Completely Yours

SUMMARY |  Jaehyun gives you unconditional love before he enlists.

PAIRINGS | Jaehyun x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

GENRE |  husband!Jaehyun, soon-to-be-dad!Jaehyun, smut, established relationship

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, filthy dirty thoughts, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), fingering, oral sex (female receiving/male giving), dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, vaginal penetration

LENGTH | 3,543 words

TAGLIST | —

NETWORKS |  @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Hi anon, I know it's not exactly what you requested but I did include a hair-tugging kink in there lol. I hope you still like it regardless. I finally managed to finish this and sure, it's not as long as the other Jaehyun fics I've written, I still hope you all like it. My brain has not been braining for this fic and it has drove me crazy but I really wanted to get this posted before Jae enlisted. I also want to thank @caelesjjk for the gorgeous banner! Please reblog, like, comment, I love you all and I'm gonna miss Jaehyun for the next 18 months. 💚

"Come here, babe," Jaehyun's deep voice is sweet like honey. He's sitting up in bed, blankets over his bottom half and propped up against the headboard, relaxed. His fingers are crooked, signaling you over. "I wanna do somethin'."

There's a devilish curve to his lips, hinting at some mischief. With how hot and cold he's been this last week—all touchy one moment, ignoring you the next—it makes you hesitate in walking over. You eye him warily, watching him coo at you. "What's gotten into you? What do you want, exactly?"

"Just want my wife," Jaehyun replies.

You crawl your way between his legs, knees planted on either side of his thighs. "I'm still mad at you. I hope you know that."

"Still?" His hands fit themselves at your waist perfectly. A kiss finds itself placed right below your ear. Another at your jaw, then to the side of your nose. "Baby, it's only the military. You know I have to go. I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough," your tone is accusatory and petulant; he's aware of this as his fingers dance against the fabric of your silk slip nightgown, stopping just as the hemline hits the junction between your inner thigh and hip. You frown, running your hand through his now short hair. "I miss the longer hair already."

"Gonna miss tugging on it during sex, is that it?" he snorts, blowing raspberries into your neck as he squeezes the globes of your ass with his big hands. You jolt up in response, barely able to smother out the surprised noise from your mouth.

"Y-yeah! I like when it's long...and I get to yank on it and make you make pretty noises. No more stupid buzzcut," you groan, doing your best not to think about what you were going to be without for a whole two years.

"Taeyong's girlfriend didn't complain when he cut his hair," Jaehyun chuckled deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest. "It'll grow back real quick and then I can go back to giving you head while you hold it and tug on it however you like."

“That’s Taeyong’s girlfriend,” you whined. "But you promise, Jae?"

"I promise," Jaehyun bites into the joint between your shoulder and neck and then soothes over it with his warm tongue. He hums, "Time will go by so fast. And, anyway..." his lips are brushing against yours. He still looks so good with the short hair. So handsome when he smiles. His words are full of sureness as he caresses your belly, "you have a piece of me already."

Your heart squeezes at this because he's right. Inside of you, there is already a small fragment of him living and growing, something physical for you to always cherish. "How did you find out?"

His arms wrap around you, snug and warm. Your lips mold against his and he's drinking you in. "I found the test when I was getting the emergency kit before we left for our trip. Why didn't you tell me, baby?"

"I don't know. I… I was nervous. Not about having a baby with you. I'm afraid of...afraid of being by myself without you," the grip around you grows tighter at your confession. "How can I get through the next 18 months without you? Who is going to help me when I get fat and angry with hormones?" You laugh, watery at the sudden sting of tears brimming behind your eyes. The words start to flood past your lips now that you've confessed. "Who will hold my hair back for me when I barf, or massage my aching feet at the end of a long day?"

"I'm always a phone call away, baby. All you have to do is reach out," he hugs you tighter, pressing his lips against the side of your throat. "The guys are always here too, Taeyong's girlfriend and our family. Don't feel like you have to go through any of this alone."

"Promise me you'll call every day? After your shifts? Come home during your breaks?" your hands fidget against his shoulders as they dip beneath your slip, gripping at his bare waist, eager for him. His hips buck into the air a little. You're breathless. "Please?"

"Whatever you want," there's a tentative motion as he strokes a line up your spine. His hands cup your cheeks. "I'll give you everything."

With the tip of his tongue, he nudges your lips apart and slips past. Jaehyun deepens the kiss by nibbling the corner of your lip, slipping into your mouth as you gasp at his little bites, swallowing his moans when you wiggle around in his lap, grinding down slowly.

One thing you and him do very well is kissing. You used to kiss until your mouths would begin to tingle with numbness and you'd have to separate to catch a breath before diving right back in.

Jaehyun tastes the same. His kisses are addictive, hot and demanding like the man himself. "Let me love you in the meantime. Let me spoil my gorgeous wife until the second I leave."

"Jaehyun, the guys are outside," your husband hasn't kept his hands to himself, palms drifting lower to hold the swell of your ass as you attempt to sit up and off him. But the man isn't having it.

"I'm sure the guys are all at the lake or goofing off somewhere," Jaehyun muttered, his lips dragging down the line of your throat to leave marks as he pleases.

"Can't believe you invited the guys on our trip...ah," your complaints weaken out as he gently teases your nipples through the fabric of the slip, touching the wet bud of the other until you start to squirm. "Ah! Babe, knock it off," you squeak, glancing at the door. Your knees tighten their grip at his sides.

"Can't help myself. Got a hot, pregnant wife sittin' on me," it's meant to be a joke but all it does is send your mind on an out-of-control tangent. His eyes drop. "Now, are you going to take care of the problem, or will I need to do it myself?"

"Not my problem that you popped a boner," a squeal of surprise passes from you when he rolls you onto your back, switching your position easily. There's something hungry, unbridled and impatient in Jaehyun's eyes as he regards you. You flush at his heavy gaze and spread your legs so he can nestle further between your thighs. "Jae."

"What does my sweet, gorgeous wife want?" his thumbs slide across your nipples as he takes a deep breath.

"I...fuck, Jae," you huff and grind up against his crotch. Your throat feels like it's tightening. Heat pools in your tummy as the flush moves further down, towards your tits, neck. "I want your mouth."

"Good thing I'm hungry, too,” he smirks.

"Jaehyun," you snap at his teasing, arching when he pulls down the straps and slides the nightgown down your frame.

 "Can't wait to taste you," the bottom hem goes as far as your middle before bunching. A bite to your nipple has you whining, trying to muffle the noises by biting the knuckle of your thumb. "Lift yourself up a little so I can get this out of my way."

Your panties join the crumple on the floor. Then, you spread your legs so that one wraps itself around his shoulder while the other is lifted up and set in the crook of his elbow. His hands lay flat on your belly, right above your pelvis. He nips and kisses all the soft, unmarred skin that he's familiar with. Your heart begins to flutter, making you tingle down below.

"I can't believe that I'll miss you being all round with my baby," Jaehyun murmurs against your stomach. Your body aches for him as the days he has to leave start to come close. There's still time, but that won't matter soon when the separation will set in.

"At least you'll be home during your breaks," you gulp and your head dips back. A light kiss is placed directly on your clit. "That'll make me feel a little better. We'll see you and you'll spoil the hell out of me with your undying love and affection."

"Exactly. The time will be fast, so let me enjoy the moments I still have with you," Jaehyun slides your labia apart and licks a broad strip from your clit to your core. "Mhm. So damn perfect, it tastes good, too."

You squeeze his arm tightly and gasp, his breath is hot and making your whole body tingle with sensitivity as you writhe against the sheets, and he takes this as a signal to keep eating you out.

The long length of his tongue darts inside your cunt as he swirls the tip over the sides. He goes deeper, spreading you wider for his convenience and flicks at a sensitive part that has your legs tensing. He watches, with pleasure, how you shiver when he curls his tongue upward. Then, he presses right under your hood, applying a relentless pressure to the aching spot that has you trembling. The muffled and delicious gasps and whines of ecstasy are music to his ears, as are the satisfied moans you make every now and then when his lips engulf your clit, the vibrations that shudder through the sensitive organ adding to the intensity.

His hand continued to caress your belly. The reminder that a life was slowly forming in you both warms him and makes his throat clench at the same time. He will miss it. Miss your swollen belly, your changing figure, your shifting moods, and cravings, and how his little spitfire will get all hormonal on him.

Jaehyun retracts the point of his tongue from inside and replaces it with two of his fingers. A continuous stream of arousal slips from his digits when he sinks in. He thumbs the side of your engorged clitoris as he pushes into you as slow as his body would allow. There were times he wasn't willing to take it slow, was almost rough, but now was not one of them. He only wanted to hear you fall apart before his departure and milk it for all it's worth.

Fingers moving expertly in you, he moves up to kiss your breast, taking the other nipple into his mouth. His tongue swipes across the protruding nub in a circular motion, pinning the pebble with the point, as his other hand continues to stroke you in perfect harmony. Jaehyun pinches your nipple, lashing the hard, reddening, little peak until you moan at him, back arching and your knees knocking his shoulders.

"What else do you want, my love?" Jaehyun breathes, curling his fingers. "Tell me."

"Jae," you breathed out.

“Tell me, babe. Come on, use that pretty voice of yours,” Jaehyun coaxed.

“Inside!” you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

"Inside? Yeah?" he murmurs. He laps a bead of your cream from the corner of his lips. Aroused, your nipples stand firm as he thumbs them again.

"Put your cock in me," your nails drag a line over his shoulder. "Make love to me."

"Damn, my baby's so impatient," the tone in his voice, all rugged and husky from not saying a word until now, goes straight to the center of your core. The slight quaking that makes itself present in his legs goes unseen to you.

Jaehyun captures you with a brief yet searing kiss. You hum with delight, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding on as he presses his lips to yours. You nudge his nose with the side of yours, offering a smile when he looks into your eyes. The moment lingers for several seconds with him observing you as you catch your breath.

"Tell me," Jaehyun touches his forehead to your collarbone, nuzzling his head on your skin as he feels your pussy constrict around him. He flips his head and kisses where your shoulder meets the collar. "Tell me how you want it."

"Love me, babe. Please," you whisper, eyes meeting him. The head of his cock pushes into you just enough for him to rock deeper in and stretch you slowly. He drags his length through your swollen pussy, slipping in and out to coax himself hard again and again, always returning to his place inside of you, opening and filling your throbbing heat, molding your softness and wetness around his hard cock.

A ragged exhale leaves his lungs as Jaehyun runs his hand down the outside of your leg, clutching your ankle in order to wrap around him. You wiggle against his torso and then rest your leg higher up along the center of his back, knee nudging his tail bone, wanting him deeper inside of you, rolling your hips and chasing the high he knows that you desperately need. Jaehyun rewards you for it by sliding in more, up to the root.

"Oh, shit!" you curse and tighten around him.

He's silent; he loves having sex with you, but there is no room to talk when all you can hear are the squelch of his thrusts and the rickety noise made when his cock enters your throbbing sex and his heavy grunts.

"Almost there?" Jaehyun is quite close, breathing heavily as his skin starts to shimmer in the sunlight.

He pushes inside of you until his hips knock your own. He circles his pelvis, massaging your clit with his dick. The pressure on the swollen nub has you whimpering, struggling to meet his movements until it starts to sting and ache from the constant stimulation and you begin to move away, but he stops the motion with one of his big hands splayed on your hip and holds you steady.

“Jae!” you cried out.

"Hm. Is this what you want? You want this?" he groans, rocking his hips, punctuating the word with another nudge of his cock against you.

A yes bubbles from you, the word leaving your mouth followed by the most desperate moan when the swollen glands hit just the right spot. The ridges on his pelvic bone brush along the top of your slit and bump your clit each time his hips rut forward. The thickness of his penis is evident as he repeatedly pushes and pushes until you take every inch inside.

"Gonna cum?" the man mutters in his most raspiest tone. "It's okay to cum," he grunts, pounding into you harder than before. "Gonna love you the entire time...even if it takes me all night."

You sob with delight as a flash of electricity moves from your pelvis to the very top of your scalp. It was white behind your closed eyes as a shattering pleasure moved down the middle of you. "Ah! Shit. Oh, Jaehyun!"

A single moan escapes his parted lips, sounding strangled and wrecked, before Jaehyun catches and swallows it. He moans it deep into your mouth with one last hard shove, the final shove of his cock. You feel the burst and heat spreading inside. He makes a beautiful face, gasping with the sensation that overtakes him and you catch his orgasm just in time. It's euphoria the way his expression, eyebrows upturned, lips slightly opened. He moans out a gasp and throws his head back, full and handsome, before tipping his chin and pressing his forehead against yours.

You touch his jawline lightly with a fingertip and he opens his eyes to look into yours, finding those crinkles in the corners. The sweat is coating his skin and you admire the red that paints his cheeks and lips. You reach up and run a gentle hand over the skin there, down his chest, before finally letting it settle over his rapidly thumping heartbeat.

"You've made me a complete mess," you huff out with laughter, full of warmth. The light-hearted sound makes a smile appear on Jaehyun's face.

“Don’t worry,” Jaehyun chuckled, “I plan on fixing it for you in a minute. Think you can handle another round?”

"Definitely."

Some months later

"Look at my little princess getting all big," Jaehyun cooed from the tablet screen in your hands. "Daddy can't wait to be home."

"Oh, you care more about your daughter than your wife now, huh?" you situate the phone on the phone stand so that you could bounce the baby in your lap, wiping her chin after the last of her suckling your breast. It was close to time for her to nap, the lightness in the tone of her fussing notifying you.

"I love both my girls. I can't wait to see you both," he mutters, his gaze softening at the two of you.

"We both miss you," you coo, standing to pace about the room with the infant at your chest. There was no stopping the fond look that passed onto your face. He'd been a daddy for three months, was lucky to be there for your labor, and held his beautiful baby girl for the first time in the delivery room. From that moment, your heart had never been fuller. "Here, honey, say hi to daddy."

The phone was in position so the small baby girl could be seen in your arms, waving at the camera with her fist.

"That's daddy, yeah, that's him! That's daddy," you whispered sweetly, resting a kiss on the downy hair atop her tiny head as she babbled. "Say 'hi!'"

"Daddy will be home soon in a few hours," he says, his free hand raising in a wave to the phone. "Then, daddy can hug and kiss his little princess for real. All good in the nursery? Do I need to bring anything home with me?"

"No, the room is finally fully finished, thanks to the family and the guys. No toys needed, no blankets or clothes," you beam. "But... you can pick up her a few diapers." 

You continue on walking the baby around until she begins to doze off, arms twitching in her sleep, her head laying on your chest, fuzzing and twitching like a kitten. A wide grin spread across the man's face, warm and genuine at the sight, feeling like something within his chest had been suddenly twisted in a pleasing way.

"Only a few more months and I'll officially be home, my love. Then we'll be together, our whole little family. My whole world," he smiled, making silly faces through the tablet. "Babe, I gotta get going now. Johnny is almost here to pick me up."

“Hurry home, fast,” you urge.

“As fast as Johnny can drive,” Jaehyun calls as a goodbye and winks at you.

“Oh god. That might get you home quicker, but I am begging you,” you plead, “Don't let him speed.”

"No promises!" he calls as a goodbye and winks at you.

With that, the call is done and you situate the baby on the playmat, turning on a baby video with music as she snoozes away. You sit, with legs curled under you, waiting for his arrival.

Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, half an hour and still no Jaehyun. He should've been back by now.

After a couple more minutes, the door unlocks and you look over to the door, your husband comes barreling through as quick as his legs will allow. "Jaehyun!"

His feet carry him in an instant, catching your jaw gently, cupping it before dragging the pad of his thumb over your cheek with a love-sick and tired smile gracing his features. 

"I'm home," he whispers softly, lifting you up in a bear-like hug and carrying you the short distance to the sofa before setting you in his lap. "God, how have you been, sweetheart? How's my baby girl?"

"Good and asleep. Tuckered herself out today, too," you lean over him, peering over the back to spot the infant sleeping. "We're both really glad you're finally home." 

You breathe out, laying a loving kiss against his brow. "How long is this break? Do I get to keep you to myself for longer than a day this time?"

"This time is a week," he grinned and hugged you closer, hands going up and down the span of your back. "Just a week. You can keep me to yourself for a week. Plus my hair is a bit longer now for you to pull..." he jokes, wiggling his eyebrows and making you swat at his broad chest.

"Quit! The baby is sleeping," you chide him. But, Jaehyun was quick to make up for his lack of brain cells by leaving open-mouthed, lingering kisses over your neck, not holding back while nipping gently here and there. Your breathless hush becomes a broken groan.

"Did I ever tell you," his voice dropped, turning rough, as he grazed his teeth over the shell of your ear. His smile was wicked and inviting. He'd never looked as handsome as in this moment to you. "I love you so, so much?"

You clear your throat with a chuff, fight a shiver, and narrow your eyes at your husband. "Many times, but remind me once again."

Jaehyun looks you in the eyes, giving your buttocks a hearty squeeze. "Let me prove it, instead."

[jiminscockr1ng]

✩｡°𝄞📹 COVERGIRL 𝄞°✨｡✩

╝ one-shot ╔

╰₊ 𓂂➢ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

╰₊ 𓂂➢ genre: idol x model au, smut

╰₊ 𓂂➢ warn!ngs: unprotected sex, cumming inside, back shots, orgasm denial (kind of), oral !female receiving, slight pain (in beginning), big dick!jungkook, (let me know if there’s more please!)

╰₊ 𓂂➢ summary: you are the cover girl for jungkook’s upcoming clothing line, JJK. said man, just can’t keep his eyes off of you as you model his designs.

╰₊ 𓂂➢ word count: 3.7k

You almost break your fucking neck trying to pose in the six inch pumps you have on—

in front of all of these cameras, in front of all of these people, in front of him. But of course, like the boss ass, talented, flawless model you are, you stay on your ten toes. Falling into another pristine pose matter of fact.

The photographers take their photos of you and the staff on the sides of the room doesn’t shy away from shouting praises at you. You slickly slide your hands into the back pockets of the denim miniskirt that barely covered the curve of your round ass. Back facing the camera, as you turned your upper body to eye it.

A large quantity of “ooh’s” and “aah’s” echoes through the brightly lit room once everyone gets a glimpse of your immaculate figure.

Your eyes couldn’t help but fall on the built individual standing low-key in the corner. He’s been eying you for the past half hour since you stepped out of the dressing room with this outfit. Truth be told, this man has been staring you down since you took his place in front of the cameras. He’s only now mentally undressing you. (not that your current outfit left much to the imagination).

You’re sporting a black tie that hangs over the skimpy white laced bra that’s clutched your chest, hanging on for dear life. On your feet are a pair of plain black pumps and of course— the main piece.

That denim miniskirt you’re wearing. ‘JJK’ initials embroidered on the back pockets, the sides are laced together with black ribbon, and it’s just long enough to walk in— short enough to the point you’d be flashing someone if you bent over the slightest bit.

If he could suck his own dick for making such a masterpiece, he would. But Jungkook would much rather you do it instead, because damn… did you look absolutely heaven sent. ‘Second to none,’ he thought as he watched you from the corner of the room.

Jungkook knew that choosing you as the covergirl for his new line was the perfect idea. He fought for it, fought for you. Having a black woman as the cover model of the Jeon Jungkook’s brand new fashion line wasn’t something the board wanted to approve.

Other than the fact you are black, you’re a fairly new up and coming model, leaving you very little experience. Jungkook discovered your instagram account just a few months before he completed his line. At first glance he knew you were something special. Different from all of the slim, long legged, fair skinned Korean women his team had continuously suggested. There was absolutely nothing wrong with those women— at all.

But Jungkook was looking for something else, something new, fresh, something natural. As an idol, he naturally falls into a clean, pure and innocent category. Despite being a grown ass man. Jungkook desperately is clawing to get out of that box. He wanted to prove it and expose the mature side of him through this fashion line. So no, Jungkook didn’t want a put together woman, or a pretty princess, or even a grunge queen. He wanted a natural sex symbol.

The perfectionist that Jungkook is, he never fails to second guess all of his actions and choices. But you, no— he knew that he needed you.

Needed you to wear his designs, needed you to be his covergirl, needed you all up in his face… amongst other things.

To which you were more than excited to do. Like, be serious! It’s Jeon Jungkook. The man with the mouth watering sleeve of tattoos, toe curling wavy mullet, the gut turning physique.

When his team reached out to you, you were more than ecstatic. You wondered how god had seemingly blessed you with the opportunity to model for the a-list idol.

You’re a huge fan of Jungkook’s music, listening to his panty dropping vocals daily. So the fact that you’re actually modeling for him and the fact that he’s currently staring you down like he wants you to be his last meal has you shaking in your six inch pumps. The unwavering tension between the two of you goes unnoticed by the others in the room.

But the way your smooth brown thighs clenches together definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook… neither does the way Jungkook is holding that clip board over his crotch go unnoticed for you.

Shit. You desperately needed for someone to just—

“That’s a wrap!” You hear someone yell and you let out a sigh of relief. Quickly bowing and spreading “thank you’s” to the staff that approached to compliment you.

You make your way back into your dressing room in the back of the studio. First thing you do is take off the tight tie around your neck, then the pumps off of your feet, exhaling in relief when your feet meet the ground.

There’s still an uncomfortable feeling in between the thick of your thighs. Damn, he really got you all worked up… more than you had realized it seems. You slip the soaked laced thong that matches your white laced bra down your legs and it gets flung into the waste bin. Leaving you naked under the famous miniskirt you still have on.

You distract yourself with the gorgeous sight you see in the mirror, then a light knocking hits your door. Before you could even say “come in,” in walks the finest man you have ever laid eyes on… and the reason why your favorite laced thong is in the trash.

“Hey,” he whispers to which you slightly raise a brow. Because yes, he’s fine as hell but at the same time, who told him he could enter? “Sorry for barging in. I didn’t want anyone to see me near your dressing room.” You nod your head understandingly. That would be a nightmare if anyone saw the two of you interacting and decided to go yapping about it.

Which is why this just so happens to be you and Jungkook’s first interaction. How low of you to get turned on before a proper conversation.

“Then again, I couldn’t leave without speaking to you first.” He smiled softly at you, part of his cute bunny toothed smile beamed in your eyes and the butterflies in your stomach start doing flips.

You return the smile. “Yeah, I guess that would be a bit odd. Ya know, since I’m your covergirl or whatever.” He’s intrigued by your wording. Of course, you are his cover girl, Jungkook knows that. But the way you said it just now sounded so fucking sexy to Jungkook.

“My covergirl?” He sing as he leans his shoulder on the wall. Nodding your head, butt pressed against the vanity behind you— confidently. Because the sexual tension between the two of you couldn’t even be cut by a knife. “Yeah, that’s usually what people call it. I think it’s funny how this is my first time speaking to my employer. Scared of me?” You test. Jungkook’s eyebrows flick up at your ‘sass’.

“Your employer?” You actually let out a little chuckle this time. “Are you gonna keep repeating everything I say?” You sarcastically ask before slickly eying him up and down. The white, short sleeved crew neck he has clinging onto all of his muscles and the exposure of his tatted right arm has tears rolling down your thighs. And the black cargo pants that are swallowing his tiny waste makes you bite your bottom lip. But we must stay focused!

“No, just a little intrigued.” He says, pushing himself off of the wall. “And no. I’m not scared of you. Just figured I’d keep my distance.” He trails off his sentence as you boost yourself up to sit on the white vanity behind you. The miniskirt rides up your thighs even more (if that’s even possible), your thighs press against the vanity top makes them look even more attractive and edible to the man standing in front of you— he almost forgets why he came in here in the first place.

“Why’d you figure that?” You tilt your head to the side innocently. But absolutely nothing is innocent about it. You are purposely teasing him— in attempts to seduce him. See if the good boy, ‘youngest’ is as good as people say he is.

Ask and you shall receive, because Jungkook is once again picturing you without that skimpy laced bra and with your legs wide open. The thought has him hard as a rock underneath his baggy cargo pants.

“Wanted to keep things professional.” He forces out. The underlying message doesn’t go over your head but you choose to ignore it. “So what are you doing here now?” With that, Jungkook lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Stepping away from the wall, he makes his way closer to the large white vanity you’re sitting on.

“I just wanted to compliment you on the amazing performance you did today. Everything went smoothly and it’s been a great week.” He says genuinely and you gladly take the compliment, letting out a small “thank you”— to which he battles.

“No, thank you. You really made this whole thing come to life so really, thank you.” You smile from ear to ear at his sincerity, feeling overwhelmingly gratified and proud… and still wet.

“Well your designs are amazing so you should have majority of the credit— by the way, can I keep this!” Asking, pointing to the miniskirt that hugs your hips. Jungkook’s tongue slides out of his mouth, wetting his lips, slightly playing with his lip ring.

“Of course, it’s all yours. Can’t think of anyone who’d wear it better than you do anyways.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. He didn’t even mean to flirt he just said what he was thinking and it remains true. You are the sexiest woman Jungkook has laid eyes on. And if he doesn’t get out of this dressing room right now, his balls might explode.

But in the midst of the internal war Jungkook’s facing, you hum. “Is that why you kept staring at me all day? At first I thought you regretted your decision.” You say and before you could continue your overly sarcastic remarks he interrupts with the rapid shaking of his head.

“I could never regret choosing you.” Your heart dropped to your ass at his words and you’re scared if you move the wrong way the arousal between your thighs (that has been lathered onto the vanity) may drip onto the floor. Without saying much else, he doesn’t let his nerves stop him from stepping closer to you— nearly in between your legs.

He places his hand beside yours that rests on top of the vanity. Slowly his hand intertwines with yours. His touch so soft; the hair on your neck stands tall. His eyes glazing over your plumped lips, layered in lip gloss that shined under the light

“You’re perfect,” is the last thing he says before his lips slowly meet yours.

You could hear angles singing from close range as you finally snag the taste of his lips. His lip ring tickles your lip, sending a shiver down your spine. A soft moan escapes your mouth and Jungkook feels like he just won the lottery.

His tatted hand glides up your thigh, basking in the feeling of your soft brown skin under his touch. He gently caress your naked thighs, spreading them apart to properly stand in between them.

You let out a little huff as you feel him licking and leaving open mouth kisses against your jawline. “From the first moment I laid eyes on you,” he says in between kisses and you feel his breath on your neck, making your clit pulse. “I knew you were perfect.”

You pull your lips away to look at him. The heavy breathing fills the dressing room as the two of you look into each other’s eyes, the similar look of need in both of your eyes.

You slide your hands up Jungkook’s torso, to his broad shoulders, resting them on his neck. Pulling him down closer to you, you say, “Touch me.”

Which was all Jungkook needed to hear before attacking your lips again, your hand wrapped around his shoulders as you slightly grind into his clothed member. You could feel the bulge through his pants, exciting you even more.

“Oh my god— Jungkook.” You whine when he bites at your neck. His hands move to your chest, caressing your boobs through the fabric of the bra you still had on. Until he unfastens it, sliding the bra down your arms with your help.

His hands worry themselves with the feel of your tits again fitting perfectly under his hold. You bite your bottom lip to hold back the moans from the sensitivity of his fingers pinching your nipples. Within seconds his hands are replaced with his mouth and he sucks and nibbles on your nipples.

Your hips grind faster against his hard-on. “Jungkook, I need you.” You whimper impatiently. He removes his mouth from your chest, giving you a quick peck on the lips before smirking down at you which takes you for a whirl. Taking a step back he looks down in between the close proximity of you two.

He spreads your thighs father apart to reach down under your miniskirt to find your bare pussy wetter than the Caribbean Sea.

“No panties— are you nuts?” He exclaims with the raise of his eyebrows. “If I would’ve known I was talking to you like this I would’ve bent you over this fucking vanity once I walked in.” He sexily groans against your swollen lips. The heat between your bodies are making you even more needy than usual.

The two of you share breaths as your lips hover over the other’s. You gasp heavily into his mouth as his finger drags down your slippery slit.

He lets out a low groan at the feeling of your slickness and the feeling of his dick growing harder inside of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. Making matters worse, you remove your hand from his shoulder to grip the thick bulge between his legs, almost flinching at the size of it. You look up at him with that needy look you have in your eyes that’s driving him up a wall.

“Then do it,” pulling him down to lick up his sharp jawline. “Bend me over and fuck me good.” You whisper into his ear.

Jungkook snaps, he pulls you off of the vanity, pulling you closer to him to taste the sweet taste of your lip gloss again. The kiss is cut short when he spins you around to bend you over the white vanity top, true to his word.

You let out a high pitched gasp as your bare chest hits the vanity top. He stands over your form, hands caressing your thighs, slowly moving up to your plump ass. His hand smacking against your ass echoes throughout the room and Jungkook’s dick twitches at the sight of your ass jiggling.

“So fucking pretty.” He says before crouching down, face all in your cookie. He bites his lips as you spread your legs further apart, desperate for his mouth.

Again, he drags his thumb down your slit and you let out load moan of pleasure from the sensation of his touch. Your hand quickly covers your mouth. “You have to be quiet princess.” The words smoothly passed through his mouth like butter making your knees weak. However, they actually buckle once you feel his tongue swipe through your slick. Your head lowers into your chest to try to keep your composure.

“Mmm,” he moans while licking through your folds, eating your cunt like it’s his favorite meal. “You taste so damn good.” He aggressively spreads your legs wider to attack your pussy with his mouth.

Your legs shake as you fee his tongue going in and out of your hole, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit. The grip of his hand on your ass doesn’t let up as you squeeze your legs together around his head.

“R—right there! I’m gonna—” Your hole clenches around his tongue as you felt your stomach tightening. Just when you feel yourself releasing, he stops. He pulls away.

“What the fuck.” You curse in frustration. He leans his body over yours, gripping your hair to turn your head to the side. You let out a moan at his roughness.

“You’re too pretty to be cursing, princess.” He says against your lips before attacking them with a wet, sloppy kiss. You push your ass against his dick, needy from the absence of his tongue. You whimper against his mouth.

“You want me to fuck you bad, huh?” He teases, roughly brushing his bulge over your wet folds. He lets out a groan at the feeling. “Yes— mm! Fuck, yes Jungkook. I need your dick inside of me.” Jungkook places one last sloppy kiss on your lips, lets go of the grip on your hair and began unbuttoning his pants.

They instantly falls down to his ankles and he lowers his boxer briefs, letting them fall the his ankles as well, his dick smacking his stomach. You can’t see his length that he pumps in his hand behind you— but god, when he starts thrusting it in between your ass cheeks you can feel it.

It makes you nervous because you didn’t expect him to be so big. But you grow more aroused at the thought of him fucking you silly, wrecking your tight little pussy. He slowly rubs the tip of his dick over your folds, coating his dick with your arousal, layering over his pre-cum. “I hope you’re fine with me going in raw, didn’t really have me fucking you in mind before I came here today.” You nod your head faster than you ever did in your life.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Just p— put it in.” He chuckles at your impatience and without a second thought, he slowly thrusts himself inside of you. Both of your moans fill the room as his dick penetrates your tight hole. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls back, just for him to thrust inside of you again.

The pain of his length ripping through you has your head spinning. As he thrusts again, he bends down over your shaky body to leave a light kiss on your shoulder. “You okay?” He softly asks and you hesitantly nod your head with your eyes shut close. “Y— yeah, just getting used to it. I’m… fine.” With that, he softly leave a kiss on your cheek before lifting back up and thrusting into you again.

He whisper out curses as your tight pussy swallows his dick and he relishes the sight of it.

After a few more thrusts the pain subsides and it is quickly replaced with the feeling of pleasure. Jungkook, wraps his hand under you to caress your tit as he continues to plunge himself deeper into your sex.

“Faster p— please,” you whisper out and you couldn’t even brace yourself for the next thrust. His hard dick hits your spot and your knees give out on you. He holds your waist out with his hands as he continuously abuses your hole. Your bodies jerk forward with each thrust.

“Your pussy feels so good around my dick, _______.” He says and you let out another high moan— hitting notes you’ve never hit before. He roughly grabs your hair again, lifting you up to make your back arch. You can see the both of you through the mirror, you can see him fucking you dirty, the way his eyebrows furrow looking down at the way your cunt swallows his length, the sight gets you even more aroused— if that’s even possible.

He finally looks up at you through the mirror. He sends you a smirk before going absolutely feral. “Hold on for me, princess.” His grip on your hair tightens as he fiercely thrusts into you. Faster, deeper, harder, he is literally blowing your back out. Your eyes squeeze shut and loud screams escape your mouth. The hand gripping your hair quickly covers your mouth to block out the lewd sounds you let out.

You can feel the knot in your stomach tightening at the fast pace and the constant pounding on your cervix. The feeling grows with Jungkook wrap his free hand over your thigh to rub your clit as he sloppily thrusts into you.

“Cum for me baby.” He says lowly and out of breath as his pace quickens. Your moans are muffled into his hand while he penetrates your cunt and stimulates your clit. “Fuck,” he says as you cum around his length, your legs shaking as Jungkook reaches his high. The sounds of your juices lapping together fills the room and you feel Jungkook’s warm release flow inside of you.

The two of you breathe heavily as Jungkook’s dick rests inside of you. After Jungkook has gotten his composure back, he pulls out, watching as your cunt discharges his cum down your thighs. Quickly pulling his pants up and jogging over to the corner to grab a paper towel, he comes back to clean you with it.

Your body is still limp over the vanity as he does so. “I hope I wasn’t too rough.” He says. You lift up, standing on your own, pulling the miniskirt down over your ass. Shaking your head. “No,” you let out a little chuckle. “That was amazing.”

Your eyes sparkle as they look up at his. He’s almost hypnotized by them, he drops his head to yours, kissing your lips again, his hands on the small of your back. “You have no idea how long I’ve been holding back.” You giggle at him.

“How long?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hand reaches your face, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he basks in your beauty and the feeling of your arms around him.

“Since the day I chose you as my COVERGIRL.”

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[baronessvonglitter]

Like a Good Girl Should

mom's sleazy bf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 2.7K

Summary: Your mom's sleazy new boyfriend Joel Miller is the last person you'd ever want to be alone with.. so how did you end up on his lap getting punished?

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, sleazy!Joel, dominant!Joel, using panties for masturbation, mention of dad in prison & brief prison r@pe joke, slut shaming reader's mom, mild violence, dubious consent (at first), spanking, thigh spanking, pussy spanking, rough fingering, threat of fisting, squirting, masturbation, ejaculation on body, no use of y/n, pet names ('daddy' and 'sir' for Joel; little girl, baby girl, darlin', sweetheart for reader), no specific age for Joel mentioned but there's still an age gap as reader is in college. (If I've forgotten any, please let me know!)

Author's Note: AKA I've got a hankerin' for some spankerin'!

I've had this fic on my mind for a week and now it's finally out. I tried to make Joel as sleazy as I could without being a total nightmare. Thanks to everyone who showed interest when it was a seedling of an idea. I'm honestly looking forward to writing whatever my next kink hyperfixation will be!

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

divider by @saradika-graphics👑

You fucking hate Joel Miller.

He's the asshole who moved in a few months ago.

With your dad in prison, your mom lamented the loss of a man around the house, until one night she brought Joel home with her after meeting him at a sleazy beer joint. And he never left.

He's offensive in every way: he doesn't pick up after himself, doesn't help out with the chores, drinks milk straight from the carton, and walks around in the morning in nothing but his briefs, proudly showing off his god damn morning wood.

Not that you've looked..

And every night it's the same hectic squeaking of your mom's bedsprings, the same quick, loud shrieks followed by moans that crescendo in pitch until it all falls silent, only to start up again fifteen minutes later.

Not that you listen.

He makes no secret about ogling you, making suggestive comments on your clothing (or lack thereof). You count the days until you have enough saved up to move out while you're still attending junior college.

When your mom's working the late shift at the diner down the road, you do some cleaning up while Joel sits on his ass watching some stupid 80s action movie. You gather your clothes and put them in the washer, one by one, making sure the right things are inside out, and that pant legs aren't twisted up.

You find your favorite pair of panties, hot pink silk, the first nice pair of panties you purchased yourself at a fancy lingerie store. Horror makes your stomach sink when you look closer at the crotch of the panties, seeing a glob of what you're one hundred percent sure is cum.

Joel.

You confront him about it and he doesn't even bother to deny it. He simply kicks back on the sofa (fully clothed for once) and tells you you should take it as a compliment.

You should take him jacking off into your favorite pair of panties.. as a compliment.

Seeing red, you tell him to fuck off, to get out, that you'll tell your mom what he's been doing, but he gets up and towers over you, backing you to the wall.

"You ain't gonna do shit, little girl."

"Try me," you dare him.

The look on his face makes you wonder if he'd rather kill you or devour you on the spot.

"Get the fuck out," you whisper, eyes blazing with fury.

"Listen, little girl, and listen good: I'm here whether you like it or not, so get used to it. As long as your mama wants a piece of this," he cups his crotch as you look away in disgust. "Then I'm stayin'. And as long as I'm stayin', it's my rules that run this place, you hear?"

"You can't tell me what to do!" You shout back indignantly.

He scoffs as you say that, irritation flaring at your defiant tone. He shakes his head, continuing to glare at you. "Oh, yes I can, darlin'. As long as you're livin' under my damn roof, I can tell you to do whatever I want you to do, whenever I damn well please."

"This isn't your fucking house!"

"I'm the only man here, ain't I?"

"Then I'm moving out!"

"No you're not! Don'tcha even think about it!"

"You gonna stop me?"

He lets out a dangerous rumble as you challenge him, his eyes narrowing, practically daring you to push him. "Try it and see what happens."

In your room you grab a duffel bag and cram some clothes and necessary items in there. Already Joel is storming into the hall, his boots loud against the wooden floor.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he shakes his head.

"Told you I'm leaving. Don't know why you won't believe me."

"Where ya goin'? To that lil' drug dealer boyfriend of yours?" he sneers.

"So what if I am?"

"The hell you will. If you let him anywhere near you, I'm breakin' his damn legs."

His eyes go wide as you storm past him and head for the front door. His hand shoots out and grabs your arm before you can get too far. "Oh, no, ya don't," he growls, grabbing and jerking you back toward him. He grips your upper arm tightly as he spins you around to face him.

"Let me go!"

He scowls, keeping you in place in front of him. "No, I'm not lettin' you go, darlin'. Not until you quit bein' a brat and calm the hell down."

"Don't call me a brat!"

He grins at this. "Then stop actin' like one. You've been runnin' your mouth ever since I came here, and now you're makin' threats ya can't follow through on and bein' an uptight little bitch."

"Go to hell!" You spit at him, a glob of your saliva lands on his cheek and he wipes it off with his fingers, putting them them in his mouth to suck it off. You watch with mild disgust even as you're a little turned on.

"Oh, I should put you over my damn knee and tan that sassy little ass of yours until you behave yourself, darlin'."

You cross your arms. "You don't have the balls!"

A smirk crosses his face. "You can see for yourself, darlin'." He cups his crotch, drawing your eyes to him even though you don't want to.

"You really think I'm not gonna put ya over my knee and paddle that cute little ass 'til it's raw?"

"You wouldn't!"

A smirk creeps over his face at the uncertainty in your voice, his hand moves down to your hip, fingers digging in the flesh. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your panties dampen.

"Nah, you're pussy's speakin' for ya. I can see it already, you soakin' up those lil' shorts of yours."

You're too turned on to risk speaking, struggling against him because it's the only way you can fight back, prove him wrong.

"There's no escape from daddy, darlin', You're stuck. And you're gonna be punished until ya behave yourself."

You growl, "You're not my fuckin' daddy!"

He grins at you, grabs a handful of your hair, yanking it brutally to force you to look up at him. "That's right. Your daddy's in prison, probably gettin' passed around like the little bitch he is. I'm your daddy, darlin', and don'tcha forget it. I'm the one protectin' you, takin' care of you, and now daddy's gonna put you in your place."

He jerks you towards the sofa, pulling you over his lap so your ass is squarely on his thighs, your top half pressed into the sofa cushions at an awkward angle, holding yourself up on your forearms so you can breathe, watching helplessly as he pulls down your shorts and panties in one go, leaving your ass bare to him. He drops your clothes to the floor. The way your positioned he can also see your pussy lips, swollen with excitement.

One arm on your back holds you down, the other trails its fingertips across your smooth, supple skin, giving you goosebumps, causing your cunt to clench, much to your horror.

"You've been very naughty today, darlin', haven't you?" he prefaces your punishment, giving your ass a light swat to punctuate his words.

You're too stunned to move or speak.

He runs his large, rough hand over your ass, squeezing one of your cheeks as he looks down at you, his voice low and stern: "Answer me, baby girl. You know you're supposed to answer your daddy when he asks a question." He gives your ass a sharper smack, the sound of his hand on your flesh reverberating in the room, shameful to your ears.

You give a sharp gasp. "Yes! I was being naughty!"

"That's right. You were bein' a bad girl, a sassy little brat who keeps gettin' smart with daddy." He rubs his hand over your ass, then gives it a few little swats, each one harder than the last, building up a stinging heat on your flesh.

You squirm under each spanking, seeking friction for your aching clit.

"Stay. Still," he orders in a growl.

"Daddy, it aches," you whine, not talking about the spankings. There's a wetness growing between your thighs, glistening, catching Joel's attention like a raven sighting something shiny in the grass. He growls, his touch hovering over your folds, not yet ready to give in to your needs.

"I know it aches, baby girl. But it's supposed to. It's your punishment for being a naughty little brat." He doesn't allow himself to focus on it, his hand grabbing your thigh instead. "Open your legs wider," he commands when you try to squeeze them together to get some relief.

Your scent rouses him when you open your legs just a little. He forces them apart and slaps the insides of your thighs, his dick getting harder when you cry out from sensitivity.

"Does that hurt, baby girl?" his voice is mockingly gentle as he runs his calloused fingers over your inflamed skin. When you nod instead of giving a vocal answer he slaps another palm against your already-stinging skin. "Answer me," he warns.

"Y-yes.." you reply, trying like hell to close your legs, but he keeps you down, keeps them forced apart just enough. "Fuck.." you mutter, eyes closed as more of your desire drips out of you, running down your thighs to his jean-covered lap.

He feels your excitement, the warmth you give off, feels your slick dripping out of you like sap from a tree. He knows if he slides inside you right now you'd be hot, wet, accommodating his fingers, his tongue, his cock, whatever else he wants to put in your little fuckhole. But he has control. He waits you out.

"What was that?" he snaps, giving you another spank, slightly harder than before. "Did you just curse at me, baby girl? I don't think I'm gonna go easy on you if you're gonna keep usin' that filthy mouth for that kinda language."

The dark, damp spot you created on his jeans grows, as does his enjoyment. He's hard as a rock, wishing you were placed just so so that you can feel it. He imagines you rubbing your needy unclothed cunt across the crotch of his jeans, satisfying yourself on just his clothed cock.

"Are you enjoyin' your punishment?" He mocks you once again, lightly brushing his knuckles across your puffy, drooling pussy lips, smirking when you whimper and shiver, trying to lift your hips to his touch. "Shh.. you don't get to be greedy right now, sweetheart. This is daddy's time to teach you a lesson. You're gonna be a good girl and let me teach you that lesson, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy," you whine. Your entire body is aflame with need, brimming over with desperation. You'll do anything he wants, suck his cock, take his dick in whichever hole he pleases, so long as your frustration is released, so long as you get to come.

"That's more like it," he praises, his hand moving across your sore buttocks, softly touching before landing another stinging slap. "Good girls listen to daddy, and good girls take their punishments without complainin' and cryin'. They just take it, like a good girl should."

The need for friction, your pussy left wanting and vulnerable, brings you to tears, despite his warning not to cry, "Wanna.. be good for daddy."

"I don't know if you can be good.. don't know if it's in your nature. Got a felon for a father and a whore for a mother. I think you're just plain bad.. might need to stay on my lap for a long time." He lands a slap, watching your ass jiggle with the force of it.

"Please," you whine.

"Aw, what's wrong, darlin'? You seem like somethin's botherin' you." Two more slaps, one on each ass cheek before he grabs one at a time, squeezing hard on the flesh, relishing the heat radiating from your skin, and spanking them again. "How's your ass feel, sweetheart? All warm and tender and sore?" He soothes you with his hand.

"Yes.. yes, sir."

He chuckles lowly. "Daddy likes it when you call him 'sir'. You get points for that, baby girl. Now answer my question."

Question..question.. Every time he speaks, his actions override it, but he did ask how you were feeling, if you were sore. "Yes. But I still ache.. inside."

His cock twitches in his jeans and he adjusts himself beneath you. "Still achin' inside, huh? Need some relief? Need daddy to help you out?"

"Yes, daddy." Your fingers grip the couch cushion.

He gives your hair another tug, yanking your head back, forcing you to look up at him. "What did I tell you just now about callin' me 'sir'?"

Your eyes meet his and you swallow, but your mouth refills with saliva. Your mouth is as wet as your cunt, hoping he'll fill one or the other. Preferably both. "Yes, sir, daddy.. please.. help me."

"You're so sweet when you ask so nicely, beggin' me to take care of you." He lets go of your hair, his hand caressing your lower back and ass in a gentle, soothing way.

"But I ain't gonna fuck ya. You're not my type."

What you get instead is another spanking, then another, and another, until your ass feels raw, until it's nearly numb, then Joel presses two fingers deep inside, cramming you with his thick digits. Gasping a shuddering breath, you push back on him, only for him to take them away, spreading your wetness on your backside.

"You're just like your mom.. needy as a feral cat. Can't ever get enough," he grumbles, giving you another smack before inserting his fingers again, spreading your thighs wide as he shoves them in and out, smiling when he hears your cries of pleasure, the way you squeeze around him as if to keep him there. If it was his dick in there he'd have cum already, you're so snug and wet around him.

He removes his fingers again when he feels you close to the edge and your frustrated groan brings a smile to his face.

"Please, daddy.. sir.. Joel.." Whatever he wants you to call him. "Please don't stop!"

"You're gonna have to be quiet or I'm gonna stick my whole hand in this lil' pussy, stretch it out so nothin' else will ever fit."

You're shivering, your body on edge for his touch, and the fucker knows it. And you know he'll make good on his threat. You force yourself to be quiet, only the smallest whimpers escaping your lips once his fingers slide into you again, this time adding a third finger, unable to help it when you moan, "Oh, god, daddy!"

This time he doesn't pull away, keeping his fingers in a steady thrust inside you, using his free hand to slap your ass, mixing the pleasure with the pain. He parts your thighs further, lifting your hips to smack your pussy, grinning when you jolt forward, crying out, not allowing you to close your legs when you get overstimulated, continuing to land slaps upon your sensitive flesh until you whimper another please, daddy.

He mutters something unintelligible, bringing his fingers back to your soaked cunt, your juices creating an even bigger stain on his jeans. Pumping his fingers in and out, he scratches that itch, finds that spongy tissue inside that drives every woman crazy, and he rubs against it, watching you writhe, listening to your ragged gasps and desperate pleas until you squirt, your fluid dousing his hand and his lap until you beg him to stop when you become oversensitive.

He could continue, he could give you more, go all night, but he doesn't have as much patience as he used to. Positioning himself behind your sprawled out figure on the sofa, he takes himself from his jeans and strokes his length urgently, spilling his cum on your still-quivering ass and your drenched cunt.

Satisfied, he smears his cum all over you with his dick while it's still half-hard.

"Ain't that pretty," he comments. "Now, you ain't tellin' your mama nothin', and we can come to some kind of agreement that benefits us both.. right, my good girl?"

Exhausted, empty, you nod. "Yes, daddy."

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