#and he said to the man runnin the stand

[greetings-from-the-eraser-king]

They have the same dynamic nothing can change my mind

(this is a post about hlvrai)

[h-ski3]

i cant handle it every time I see a post with a lemonade stand I fight the urge to comment "hey...... do you happen to have any grapes? asking for a friend. he's a duck." and its getting veeerrrrryy tempting.........

[arsdago]

1 singular daan

[shhitskinkytime]

We out here doin foolish shit (washing the dishes)

And thats on not being able to stand up straigh✌️🖖

*wobbles away*

[minsu-the-cowardly-human]

Abstract portrait of my 30 year old self I did for my art final! B] tried to show my optism and anxiety(?) so ye :3

[ariichive]

WHITE DAY ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

celebrating white day with the man who’ll do anything for you <3

cw: gen. neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, moze is a bit weird, sliiiight possessiveness, astral express sunday, kissing, lmk if i missed anything :)

boothill, aventurine, jing yuan, mydei, anaxa, sunday, moze, and phainon ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

boothill ᯓᡣ𐭩

you giggled as boothill led you through the empty, infamous clock studios theme park. "this can't be allowed," you whisper-shouted at him, who had a ginormous grin.

boothill, however, only flashed you that devil-may-care grin of his, tipping his hat back as he casually strolled forward, seemingly not bothered by the rules—or the late hour. “aw, darlin',” he drawled, looking over his shoulder at you, “ain’t no harm in a lil’ late-night stroll. the park’s still runnin’. they got their folks takin' care of the rides, but they ain't watchin' every corner.”

you shot him a disbelieving look, glancing around at the still-bustling park—there were still families and groups laughing, enjoying the remaining hours. but with how boothill had his hand around yours, there was no turning back.

“boothill, there’s security everywhere. we’re gonna get caught.”

“nah,” he said, a wink thrown your way as he led you further into the park. “what makes you think they can catch us? you just gotta know where to go and when to disappear.”

“and you know where to go?” you said, trying to sound incredulous, but you couldn’t hide the excitement rising in your chest.

“oh, darlin’, i’ve been around these parts enough to know where the real fun happens after hours. all the good stuff happens behind the scenes,” he said, eyes gleaming with mischief. “we’re just gonna skip the line and see the real show.”

it was a known fact boothill was a wanted man; ipc and other factions wanted his head.

you laughed, shaking your head. “you’re absolutely insane. this is—”

“fun?” he finished for you, smirking as he pulled you toward one of the smaller, quieter corners of the park, away from the main attractions. “that’s exactly what it is. don’t let the suits and tie-wearin’ folks fool you, sugar. there’s always something hidden behind the curtain.”

you followed as he led you down a narrow, slightly hidden path between the many gift shops and food stands. there were fewer people here, and the sounds of the park seemed a little more distant. a quiet buzz lingered in the air, one that made your heart race with anticipation.

“what are you planning?” you asked, your voice low now, the playful tone taking on a hint of curiosity.

“i’ve got some connections ‘round here. places they don’t show the public. places you might not expect.” boothill's grin was unrelenting, his eyes scanning the area, like he was constantly on the lookout, always one step ahead.

you furrowed your brow. “so we’re sneaking into some secret area where nobody goes?”

“exactly,” he said, his voice dropping to a quieter, more dangerous tone. “and you’re gonna love it. it’s the part of clock studios they never show—the real behind-the-scenes stuff. think of it as a treasure hunt, sugar.”

you swallowed hard, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline you got whenever boothill pulled you into one of his schemes. “and what’s the treasure?”

boothill sent you a smile, one that was more gentle than the previous ones. "you just gotta see for yourself. just a lil' somethin' to show you how much i enjoy spendin' time with ya.”

you raised an eyebrow. "oh really? and what makes you think i want a date in the middle of clock studios at this hour?"

boothill grinned wider, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "because i know ya, darlin'. you got a wild streak in ya. and i can tell you like a bit of adventure—so i figured we'd skip all the usual fancy stuff and give ya a night you'll never forget."

you snorted softly at his confidence. “well, i’m curious, i’ll give you that.”

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he led you down the winding path, eventually reaching a large, circular room lit by soft lanterns hanging from the ceiling. as the door closed behind you with a soft click, you took in the scene before you.

there, in the middle of the room, was a cozy little table set for two. delicate white candles flickered on the table, their soft glow casting dancing shadows across the walls. the table was covered with a cloth, and on it, there were plates of food, wine glasses, and a single rose in the center.

your breath caught in your throat. “boothill... is this...?”

“yep,” he interrupted, chuckling. “a lil' somethin’ special just for you. dinner in the heart of clock studios.” he motioned for you to sit down. “now, don’t be shy. i reckon you’ll like it here. no crowds, no distractions, just you, me, and some damn fine food.”

you shook your head, still trying to wrap your mind around the situation. “this is... unbelievable. you really planned all this, didn’t you?”

“sure did,” he said, pulling out the chair for you like a gentleman. his usual rough demeanor was softened by the genuine care in his eyes. 

you squeezed his hand, your heart beating a little faster as you looked into his eyes. "this... this is perfect, boothill. thank you."

“anything for you, sugar,” he replied, his smile softening as he poured the wine. “anything for you.”

aventurine ᯓᡣ𐭩

"w-what the—"

when you woke up, you were met with an eerie sight. two beady eyes stared back at you from the foot of your bed, gleaming in the dim light. your breath caught in your throat as you turned to the side, only to be greeted by another pair of eyes—this time from the nightstand.

you froze, unsure whether you were still caught in a strange dream or not.

then, hurried footsteps approached, the blinds were thrown open, and bright daylight poured into the room, revealing the full scope of the situation.

the room was filled with them—hundreds of teddy bears. stuffed animals of all sizes, arranged in perfect rows, surrounding your bed. their stitched eyes all seemed to glisten with an unsettling lifelike quality, staring at you from every angle.

“a-am i still dreaming?” you whispered, unsure whether you could still trust your senses.

you shut your eyes tightly, squeezing them shut in a vain attempt to block out the madness. but when you opened them again, the bears were still there, their beady eyes gleaming.

before you could say anything else, a voice that was too calm for the situation echoed through the room.

"not exactly the reaction i was going for. how unfortunate."

you snapped your head toward the window, finding the source of the voice: your lover, aventurine. he stood there, leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he observed your shock.

you exhaled a breath of relief—at least he wasn’t part of the teddy bear invasion. his gaze, filled with gentle amusement, was the only familiar thing in the room that grounded you in reality.

“aventurine...” you trailed off, still trying to process what was happening.

“yes, yes, i know.” he straightened up, stepping into the room, his voice smooth as always. “you were probably expecting something a bit more romantic, were you not? perhaps a flower delivery or a candlelit dinner?” he gave a dramatic sigh. “but no, instead, you get this."

his arms gestured around the room, and you couldn’t help but blink at the absurdity of it all.

“what... what is all this?” you asked, your voice wavering with confusion.

"well, my dear, some would see it as a heartwarming gift from their lover. but, i bet you see it as more of a... heart attack."

"i wanted to do something memorable." he looked down at the stuffed animals thoughtfully before letting out a soft laugh. “i suppose, after all the chaos, the gesture doesn’t quite come across as I intended.”

you took in the various different bears, realizing how cute most of them were. you smiled softly, knowing he had good intentions. "it's cute, that one has the same glasses as you." you pointed to one perched on a high shelf.

"ah, not the same glasses, i'm sure those didn't even cost half as much as mine," he flaunted confidently, "but yes, quite similar."

you rolled your eyes affectionately but couldn't hide the smile on your face as you looked at him. “you’re unbelievable.”

“ah, but you love me for it, don’t you?” he teased, his voice warm as he leaned in closer.

you couldn't help but laugh softly, reaching up to gently cup his cheek. "i do, more than you'll ever know."

his expression softened, and for a moment, the ridiculousness of the situation melted away, leaving just the two of you—surrounded by stuffed animals, but wrapped in a moment of shared warmth.

"well, then," aventurine said, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek. "i’d say this surprise was a success after all."

"for you, maybe." you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "but next time, let’s go for something less... beady."

he laughed, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he kissed your forehead. "i’ll take that into consideration, love."

jing yuan ᯓᡣ𐭩

it was normal for you to wake up before jing yuan. often, the man would cling to you and mutter 'five more minutes' before falling back asleep for another hour, giving you enough time to get ready and out the door before he wakes. his warmth was always a comfort, his breath soft and steady against your skin. you could feel his arms tighten around you in his sleepy, possessive way, a silent plea for you to stay in bed with him.

this morning, however, something felt a bit different. his usual murmurs didn’t come, and when you turned your head to look at him, you noticed that jing yuan was already awake, his amber eyes watching you intently.

“you’re up early,” you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

he gave you that half-smile of his, the one that always made your heart flutter. "couldn't sleep," he said, his tone low and a little too smooth.

"really? that's kinda hard to believe," you said jokingly as his hand found comfort at the top of your head, stroking you gently.

“you know i always get up first,” you said softly, glancing at the clock.

“yes,” he replied with a lazy grin, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that made your chest tighten. “but i was enjoying the rare moment when you’re still here with me."

you smiled, though a part of you couldn’t help but notice how tightly he was holding onto the bed sheet, how his hands lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

"how about we get up together?" you suggested, teasing him with a gentle nudge.

he sighed dramatically, but then his hands pulled you back toward him, his body pressing against yours with a sense of finality. "i don't want to," he murmured, his voice almost childlike. "you're all i need right here."

his words sent a flutter through your heart, and you couldn’t help but melt into his embrace.

"do you wish to help me tend to my garden today?" he said gently, continuing to caress you. he was on the brink of falling back asleep.

you hummed softly, feeling the warmth of his touch, the tender way his fingers ran over your skin. the thought of spending the day with him, surrounded by the scent of fresh flowers and the quiet peace of the garden, sounded perfect.

"i would love to," you replied quietly, your eyes closing as you leaned further into him, letting yourself feel his presence. "but only if you promise not to drag me out there too late."

jing yuan chuckled, the sound low and soothing. "i’ll make sure we take it slow, just like now. no rushing." his hand slid to your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against the top of your head. "we’ll spend the whole day there if you want. just the two of us."

you smiled, a sense of calm settling over you at his words. it was always the simple moments with him that made you feel the most at ease, and the thought of being by his side while surrounded by the beauty of nature felt almost too perfect to be real.

"you make it sound so perfect," you murmured, resting your cheek against his chest. "i think i could get used to this."

"good," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "because i’m not letting you go anywhere today." he tightened his hold on you, but it wasn’t suffocating—it was comforting, a reassurance that you were his, and he was yours.

"i’m not going anywhere," you whispered back, feeling your heart beat in sync with his. "not when you make staying so easy."

he gave a content sigh, his lips pressing gently to your head. "i promise [name], you'll forever live easy with me by your side."

moze ᯓᡣ𐭩

moze dragged you into another dark alleyway, hand over your mouth. he brought his lips close to your ear, "i walked by them thirty-eight days ago around this time." he whispered gently as he glared at the couple the two of you were watching.

"this is my third time following them since, and not once has the man noticed," he tsked in disapproval.

you bit his hand gently, causing him to let go of the hold he had on your mouth. "so... why drag me into this?"

"do you not find joy in following around such ignorant people?"

you thought about his question for a second, truly thinking it over. well, it would probably be entertaining.

you decided to let him have his fun for the day. besides, this was practically a date.

"a filthy man like him does not have what it takes to be in a relationship." he continued to mutter more to himself, a dark shadow casting over his face.

you glanced at him, feeling a shiver of both unease and excitement crawl up your spine. there was something magnetic about moze, his dark intensity and sharp observations always keeping you on edge, but also pulling you in. you couldn't deny the thrill of being part of whatever strange little world he inhabited.

"you really hate him, don't you?" you asked, your voice low, trying to keep your amusement from showing too much.

moze didn't respond right away, his eyes never leaving the couple as they walked past the alley. he seemed to be weighing his words carefully. finally, he let out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh. "it’s not hate," he said slowly. "it’s... disappointment."

you raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "disappointment?"

"yes," he muttered. "people like him don't understand the weight of commitment. they wear their affection like a mask, pretending to care, when they don't even know what it means to truly invest in another person." his voice dropped to a near growl. "they’re fools. dirty fools.”

you tilted your head, studying his profile. there was a certain calm, almost cold certainty in his words, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to him in a way that made your heart race.

"and what about you, moze?" you asked, your voice teasing. "do you know what it means to truly invest in someone?"

he turned his gaze to you, his eyes sharp and calculating. for a moment, he didn’t speak, just studying you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"i followed you for over a month before our first interaction. during that time, i learned all your favorite foods, hobbies, and even your favorite book."

he ended your question at that.

"you... actually, i'm not that surprised."

moze didn’t smile. his expression remained unreadable, though there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes as he watched your reaction.

"i told you," he continued, his voice low and steady, "i invest in the details. when something interests me, i pay attention." he stepped a little closer, his presence filling the space between you. "and you, [name], have intrigued me from the moment i laid eyes on you."

"oddly enough, you're such a romantic in your own, moze way."

he hummed in approval, gently taking your hand in his. "if you prefer, we could find a different activity. i simply wanted to spend time with you on an excursion that wasn't dangerous."

"we could go for a walk," he continued, his tone thoughtful. "a peaceful one. no hiding, no stalking, just... time spent together." his words held an edge of something deeper, as if the suggestion itself was a rare offering from him.

you were taken aback. moze, the man who had watched you from the shadows, who seemed to find thrill in the darker aspects of life, was now offering something simple, almost mundane. it was a side of him you hadn't seen before, and it made you wonder what else lay hidden beneath his carefully crafted exterior.

you hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "alright," you said, voice soft but steady. "let’s see how that goes."

moze gave a small, approving smile, the flicker of warmth in his eyes making you feel like you were the only person in the world. "good," he said, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "then let’s enjoy the day."

mydei ᯓᡣ𐭩

"this one's really good," you said as mydei fed another home made pastry to you. he hummed, deep in thought as he took mental note of all the flavors you seemed to like thus far.

"figured you would like the freshness of the strawberry and sweetness of the chocolate." he held another chocolate covered strawberry up to your mouth, which you ate without hesitation.

you smiled at him, feeling the sweetness linger on your tongue. "you know me too well," you said with a playful grin, leaning back slightly as you rested against the plush cushions. "but seriously, these are amazing. when did you even have time to make all of this?"

mydei chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "i make time for things that matter," he replied, his voice low and warm. he was always like this—calm, thoughtful, and careful with you. "besides, watching you enjoy it is worth every second."

you raised an eyebrow, your heart fluttering a bit. "you're so sweet," you said, though you weren't sure if you meant the pastry or him.

"i try," he said with a teasing smirk before reaching for another treat, "but if i'm honest, i think you’re the one who's sweet. i just… enhance it."

his words made a gentle warmth spread through you, and you found yourself leaning closer to him, almost instinctively. "enhance it?" you repeated with a small laugh. "that’s one way to put it."

"well, i’m not one to leave things half done." he smiled, his gaze flickering to your lips for just a moment before returning to your eyes. "and you, my [name], deserve more than half of anything."

"you're spoiling me," you said with a soft laugh, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. "but i don’t mind."

mydei’s eyes softened, a gentle smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "i’m happy to spoil you, [name]," he said quietly, his voice low, almost like a secret shared between the two of you. "you deserve it."

"who would've thought the prince of kremnos was such a sweetheart?" this time, it was your turn to take a sweet delicacy and being it up to his mouth.

mydei raised an amused brow at your gesture but didn’t hesitate to accept the treat, lips brushing ever so slightly against your fingertips as he took a bite. his golden eyes flickered with something unreadable, something almost dangerous, as he chewed slowly, savoring both the taste of the pastry and the moment between you.

"only for you," he murmured after swallowing, voice dipped in something almost intoxicating. "i don’t make a habit of spoiling just anyone."

you felt a warmth crawl up your neck, but you held your ground, refusing to let him fluster you so easily. "oh? so i should consider myself lucky then?" you teased, though there was a genuine curiosity beneath your playful words.

mydei chuckled, low and rich, resting his chin in his palm as he studied you. "very lucky," he answered, his gaze never wavering. "because once i decide someone is mine, i don’t let go."

phainon ᯓᡣ𐭩

phainon had been gone for a few days, his whereabouts unknown to you. it was extremely worrying, especially since he stopped answering his teleslate.

as the days passed, you found yourself staring out the window, lost in thought. the only thing that kept you going was the belief that he would return, that he had a reason for being gone, no matter how hard it was to wait.

then, one evening, as the sky burned in hues of blue, a soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. you froze. for a moment, you thought you had imagined it. but then, there it was again—a gentle, familiar rhythm.

your heart pounded as you hurried to the door, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the handle. when you pulled it open, your breath hitched.

phainon stood there, his clothes dusted with travel, silver strands of his hair catching the evening light. despite the exhaustion lining his features, there was a soft smile playing at his lips, his eyes warm as they met yours

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teased, though there was a gentleness in his voice.

“you—” your voice caught, a mix of relief and frustration bubbling up. “where have you been?! do you have any idea how worried i—”

before you could finish, he lifted his hand, revealing a small, elegantly wrapped box. “i know, i know. and i’m sorry,” he murmured. “but i had to find this.”

your frustration faltered as your eyes fell on the box. carefully, you took it from him, untying the ribbon with hesitant fingers. as the lid lifted, a soft gasp escaped your lips.

nestled inside was a necklace unlike anything you had ever seen. its chain was delicate, shimmering like bright stardust, and the pendant—a gemstone that seemed to shift colors under the fading sunlight, like the twilight sky itself trapped in crystal. it was breathtaking. if you had to guess, he had found the luxurious gem and then had it made into a necklace.

“phainon…” your voice was barely above a whisper.

"it's a necklace from aedes elysiae, well... what's left of it." he mumbled the last part more to himself.

a once glorious civilization, a place that most believed never existed, spoken of only in half-whispered legends, it was a remnant of beauty and tragedy.

you looked back at him, eyes wide. "you went... back there?"

phainon gave a small shrug, but there was something distant in his gaze. “i had to.” his fingers brushed over the lid of the box before retreating. “the place was beyond repairable, not a single structure in sight. but even in its ruins, i knew there had to be something... anything left worth saving.”

your fingers curled around the necklace, feeling the cool weight of it against your palm. "but why go so far? why risk it?"

he let out a quiet breath, gaze flickering away for a moment before settling back on you. “because i wanted something as rare as you. something that carried the weight of history, of stories untold. something that—” he hesitated, his voice dropping lower, “—would remind you of me, even when i’m not around.”

your chest tightened, a rush of warmth blooming in your heart.

carefully, he reached forward, taking the necklace from your hands and stepping closer. his fingers brushed against your skin as he clasped it around your neck, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"it suits you," he murmured.

your fingers ghosted over the pendant, the weight of it somehow comforting. "you really..." you started, unsure of what to say. there was so much—gratitude, relief, something deeper you couldn’t quite name.

he smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. “no need for words.”

but even so, as the evening light cast long shadows around you both, you knew that this moment—this gift, this feeling—would stay with you forever.

anaxa ᯓᡣ𐭩

anaxa was never one to partake in festivities that landed on the calendar. that, however, changed when he started dating you. it was almost irritating how mushy you made him feel.

which he made it known, never one to shy away from his feelings of devotion to you.

"these flowers were grown by me by hand. it seems it was useless to try to create something that matches your beauty."

your fingers curled around the stems of the flowers, holding them close to your chest as you let the warmth of his words settle in. anaxa was never one for grand displays of affection, but the way he showed his devotion—subtle, unwavering, and entirely sincere—always left you feeling breathless.

"you act like you’re forced to say these things," you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eyes. "but i think you secretly enjoy being this romantic."

he scoffed, his expression remaining unreadable, but the way his fingers twitched at his sides betrayed him. "enjoy is a strong word," he muttered. "i simply refuse to be inadequate when it comes to you."

you chuckled, shaking your head as you reached out, looping your arms around his neck. "you’re terrible at hiding how much you love me, you know that?"

anaxa let out a small sigh, his hands settling at your waist, pulling you in until there was barely any space left between you. "if you already know, then i see no reason to deny it," he admitted, his voice quieter this time, almost as if the words were meant for you and you alone.

he leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. "besides, if it makes you happy, then i don’t mind indulging in a little sentimentality."

your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. "just a little?"

he exhaled, shaking his head. "fine. a lot," he conceded, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

you held onto him a little tighter, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. "then i guess i’ll just have to make sure you keep indulging me," you whispered against his skin.

anaxa hummed, tilting your chin up with a single finger before capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. "you never had to ask."

you pulled away with a smile, remembering the flowers in your hand. "say, i never took you much as the gardening type."

"you humor me, gardening is an essential part of science and understanding the reality of this world. it would be foolish of me to be clueless."

you chuckled, twirling one of the blossoms between your fingers. "of course, trust you to turn something as simple as flowers into a lecture."

anaxa scoffed, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "if you listened more closely, you'd see there's value in my words." he reached out, plucking the flower from your grasp and tucking it carefully behind your ear. "besides, these were grown with a purpose. for you."

your teasing smile softened at his words, fingers brushing over the delicate petals. "so, you really did all this just for me?"

"obviously," he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"you’re so—" you started, but he cut you off, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his.

"so what?" he asked, voice low, gaze intense.

you swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth of his fingers against your skin. "so… good to me."

a rare, almost smug smile graced his lips. "i would hope so," he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to tickle your lips. "it would be unacceptable otherwise."

sunday ᯓᡣ𐭩

it wasn't known to most how much of a sweet tooth sunday truly had. when he was still known as the head of the oak family, he never had time to induldge in sweet treats.

on the astral express, however, was a different story.

the party car had something special, something amazing.

"shush" was its name.

sunday had quickly discovered that the little automaton, despite its strange way of speaking, was an invaluable source of sweets. and the best part? you would often come by to enjoy a treat with him.

"another?" "shush" asked in its usual monotone, holding up a plate of intricately decorated pastries. "you have already consumed three. should i prepare an intervention?"

sunday smirked, reaching for a sugar-dusted tart. "should i prepare an intervention for your terrible sense of humor?"

"shush" whirred, as if contemplating its response. "humor analysis... failed. please consume more snacks to compensate."

he chuckled, sinking into one of the plush seats as he took a bite. the caramel filling was rich, the crust perfectly flaky. he exhaled through his nose, savoring the taste.

“so this is where you’ve been hiding.”

before sunday could speak, "shush" did for him. "sunday is a frequent patron. valued customer. concerning sugar intake."

sunday sighed, setting his pastry down with a faint shake of his head. "i do believe i liked you better when you weren’t so talkative." sunday turned his attention back to you. "come, sit with me [name]."

you wasted no time to take a seat next to him.

"i trust you’re not here simply to watch me indulge," he mused, reaching once more for his half-finished pastry. "if so, i must insist you partake as well. it would be unfair otherwise."

“how could i deny such an offer?”

you picked up a small, delicately frosted cake from the tray between you, twirling it between your fingers before taking a tentative bite. it was light, airy, dissolving sweetly on your tongue. sunday watched your reaction carefully, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

"good, isn’t it?"

you nodded, swallowing before answering. "i suppose i can see why you keep coming back here."

sunday hummed in quiet amusement, taking another slow sip of his tea. "there is something rather charming about the simplicity of it all, isn’t there?" he mused, almost to himself. "a moment of quiet, a pleasant treat... a rarity, once upon a time."

his voice carried something wistful, something almost unspoken. you wondered if he realized how much his words revealed.

"then you should enjoy it as much as you can now," you said softly. "you deserve that much, don’t you?"

sunday looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. then, slowly, he smiled—just a small, quiet curve of his lips, but warm all the same.

"perhaps," he murmured, fingers grazing the edge of the teacup. "and if that is the case… would you care to indulge with me a little longer?"

there was something about the way he said it, so effortlessly graceful, yet sincere. an invitation not just to share another dessert, but to share this moment, fleeting as it was.

and as you reached for another pastry, you decided—perhaps you would stay a little longer after all.

[ravenslvt]

☆ ryomen sukuna x f!reader ☆

cw: college au! smut! rough! degration! drabble

first thing you thought when you saw this man:

‘oh. i wanna fuck him.’

the way he acted like he absolutely hated you, always hiding a smirk when he caught you staring at him. his arms, his face, his muscles, his fucking tattoos.

“jesus. stop staring at him like that.” megumi would groan at the sight of you oogling the man. you’d blink up at him. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

your mind went crazy at night thinking about him. picturing him relentlessly pounding into you until you’re crying. a strong hand around your little throat.

don’t get started on his voice. the way he’d casually degrade you made your legs quiver.

“what the fuck are you looking at?”

the way you’d go over to him and yuji’s shared apartment just to hear him go “why the fuck is this bitch here?”

oh you loved it. and he knew it too.

that’s why when you stayed on yuji’s couch after a night of drinking, you casually thumbed at your phone, sending drunken misspelled texts to your friends.

‘hed so ficking hot giys’

‘seroudly i bet his duck is huuuuge’

your insistent typing got interrupted by a sudden groan behind you.

“why the fuck are you here?” sukuna stood behind the couch, looking over your shoulder. you quickly shut your phone off, turning to him.

your eyes almost popped out of your head at the sight of his shirtless chest.

you hadn’t even changed out of your bar clothes yet, still in a short little skirt and a low cut top. you don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your attire.

“dressed like a slut too. are you begging to be fucked or something?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. your cheeks heat, looking away from him.

“no… just didn’t bring extra clothes” your thighs clench together to calm the heat from down there.

he hums, walking to the fridge for some water.

“and i’m not a slut!” you work up the courage stand, to practically yell at him, despite how weak your voice sounded. this makes him turn around.

“really? you sure look the part.” he chuckles.

“fuck you.” you spit out at him, making him smirk.

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he quirks his head, eyes raking over your now standing form. the way your skirt hiked up just above your thighs.

okay, you were fucked.

“fuck! s’too much.” you mewl into the cushion of the couch, sukuna’s big veiny cock pounding into your tight little cunt. his hands gripping tightly at your hips, his pelvis meeting your ass with a loud clap at every thrust.

“you wanted this, didn’t you?” he laughs at your cries, his tip kissing your cervix every time he enters you, fucking you from behind.

he leans closer to your ear, his consistent deep trusts along with your moans were the only thing that filled the silence of the living room.

“runnin’ that fucking mouth and can’t even take dick.” he growls, grabbing your wrists and pulling you back to bring your bare back against his chest. you were covered in a thin layer of sweat, panting, all while he still had his full stamina, fucking into you ruthlessly.

you were embarrassed by the sheer wetness of your cunt, how the squelching noises proved how insanely bad you wanted him.

you whine when he lets go of your wrists, bringing his free hand to your throat, pressing you against him. using his other arm to wrap around your middle to hold you in place while he pumps into you.

“s’kuna!” you cry out, tits bouncing with every thrust. it was borderline painful the pace he was fucking you, but you loved it. you craved it. you spent countless nights fucking your little fingers imagining it was him.

“your pussy’s suckin’ me in like a fuckin' slut. thought you said you weren’t one? guess you’re a liar too.” he chuckles, hand tightening around your neck, partially cutting off your airflow. your hands go to reach behind you to tug at his hair, but he stops you.

“don’t fucking touch me.” he seethes, your cunt uncontrollably squeezing around him from the degration, making him groan and roll his head back.

“fuckk, you like that don’t you? so pathetic. suckin’ me in so well, though.” he grunts out between each thrust. you were so close, and he could sense it.

“g’nna cum.” you whine, hands gripping the edge of the couch.

“no, you’re fucking not.” he lets go of you, your upper body falling back onto the cushion below. you let out an exasperated scream when he suddenly pulls out of you completely. you crane your head back as far as you could to look back at him. he just has a smug ass smirk on his face.

“want you to beg for it.”

your mouth falls agape for a moment, but immediately closes.

“p-please, wanna cum so bad!” you try grinding back into him, but he holds you steady.

“surely you can do better than that, baby” his hand comes down to place a firm smack on your ass, making your eyes squint closed for a moment. you huff, pouting up at him.

“need your cock so badly, sukuna! p-please let me cum i need it!” you pathetically plead. you could feel the way you clenched around absolutely nothing, missing the presence of him inside of you.

“that’s more like it.” he quickly presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance, slowly easing in, stretching you out all over again.

“my own personal slut" he groans, feeling you clench around him.

his pace is even more brutal than before, his dick easily finding your sweet spot and hitting it over and over until you were practically drooling on the couch. his eyes glued to where you two meet, a ring of white around his cock.

your nails dig into the cushions below you, heat pooling in your lower abdomen. you were probably tearing the poor fabric apart at this point.

his fingers grip at your hips, pushing you up and down his cock. you were sure he was holding you so tight there will be bruises the next day.

suddenly his pace gets faster and sloppier, his cock pulsing inside of you. you bite your lip to prevent yourself from screaming out, feeling blood bloom from where your teeth meet your lip.

“gonna let me cum inside? be my little fuck toy i can do anything i please with?” he pants out, groaning at the way you clench around him.

“yes! yes, please do! o-oh my god!” your vision goes hazy as you cum around him, milking his cock fully as he follows suit, pumping his cum deep inside your weeping cunt.

you were pretty sure you blacked out for a second.

you collapse on your shaky arms, trying to move away from his unending thrusts. he pulls you back with a growl.

“the fuck are you going? we’re not done.” he starts back up again.

masterlist

[kill4luvina]

"Right thru me"

Onyankopon x Black!Reader

Summary : You and your man been havin' this dumb argument, and he know you so well it lowkey freaks you out. Especially today because he already had your whole routine down from prior nights when you'd act up exactly like this.

CW : SMUT, Pussy Slapping, Overstimulation, reader tryna run from the dick,Unprotected sex, (probably a lil more),not proof read. (This is a really really old draft im posting.)

" What are we doin'? Could you see through me? 'Cause you say, "Y/N," and I say, "Who, me?" And you say, "No, you," and I say, "Screw you"

Your jaw would drop as your stared at your boyfriend after hearing the bullshit that just came out his mouth. "You blowin my shi, like shut the actual fuck up." You'd say before turning your body away from him annoyed as fuck. "Mamas, you know damn well this ain't worth gettin' all worked up about," Ony would say, glancin' at you for a sec before realizing you were genuinely mad.

"Mamas… can you at least finish my hair before you get mad…?" he'd ask, getting up from where he was sitting and slowly walking over to you. You'd turn your back quickly, throwing the comb you had from doing his hair straight at him. He'd catch it, pissing you off even more as you stormed off into your room, leaving him completely alone in the living room.

He already knew you'd be in your room hitting your vape like a mad woman just out of pure anger. "Mamas.." He'd call from the opposite side of the door, slowly opening as you two make eye contact. "Come back please," he'd plead, already knowing you'd say no as you'd turn your body so your back was now facing him.

You'd hit your vape a couple of times before feeling a small kiss in your neck. "I'm sorry.." He'd whisper softly, knowing this always made you weak. Even before this, in a life before when it came to him his soul knew how to make yours feel better no matter what.

"Why would you say that..?" You'd ask firmly, trying to stand your ground. You'd be caught off guard feeling Ony's warm hands up against your skin. He'd softly play with your tits under your shirt leaving soft love bites on your neck. "You know I don't mean it.." he'd whisper.

"Onyyy-" you'd moan eyes rolling back as you felt his dick hitting you in all the right places. Your pussy creaming all over his dick as he gave you slow deep strokes. "You like that?" He'd ask, slapping your ass as he kept a constant speed.

"Oh-- oh my god.." You'd cry as you felt him pull out slapping his dick against your pussy. Slowly pushing himself back in you'd push your hips back so it'd slip in faster. He'd softly whimper, his eyes focusing on how your pussy swallowed him whole.

"Mama's, stop acting like you can take this dick.." He'd slap your ass getting a gasp out of you. "Y-yes I can!" You'd try to say as you started fucking back into him trying to prove him wrong.

"You always saying that shit until I'm rearranging your guts and you runnin'.." He'd said as he used a hand to push you head down into the bed, already aware of what your stubborn ass was gonna say. "Onyy, fuck mee" you'd whine getting your head pushed down, arching your back more for him.

"mmhm," He'd say putting a leg up onto the bed, as he started to pick up his pace. His eyes focusing now how creamy he could make your pussy, your moans getting louder as you tried your hardest to keep fucking back into him to prove him wrong.

Your eyes getting blurry the moment you felt a slap to your ass, whining you'd turn to look up at him. "Ony, stop being so mean.." You'd weakly let out as you kept fucking yourself onto his dick, he'd raise a brow before pulling out and slapping your pussy. "Ony!" You'd moan the mixture of pain & pleasure confusing you.

He'd go right back to fucking you, but this time his thrusts were deeper, quicker and much more rough. Not even a minute passes by and your cumming, your eyes rolling so far back as your pussy tightened around him.

"See, look at you, a mess." He'd say still fucking you, at the same pace but even rougher. "O-onyyy, too muchhh." you'd cry tears already rolling down you cheek as you felt him speeding up his pace. "But you can take it, right?" He'd continue as he'd slap your ass here and there.

"Can'ttt" you'd cry, reaching a hand back to attempt to push him back. "Mama's, what i said abt running from the dick?" he'd ask ignoring your silly attempt as he picked the pace up fucking you even deeper. "ddont rememberr" you'd babble out feeling like you couldn't remember anything.

"yeah, alright. just move this fucking hand."

" You make me laugh, you make hoarse from yelling at you And getting at you, picking up dishes, throwing them at you "

[covetyou]

tool time

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cock worship, self imposed denial, blue balls for all, that tool belt, pet names (darlin', baby), mentions of oral sex and p in v, very brief mention of alcohol, no/pre-outbreak TLOU, no use of y/n. word count: 3k summary: He was always there to pull you both back from the brink, though you weren't sure there was any saving you this time. And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

A/N: it has been one year to the day (and almost to the minute) since I published sleepless in 2023. happy anniversary to the fic that started it all. thanks to all of you for sticking with me, and thanks to Joel Miller for always being That Man.

thank you to @sp00kymulderr and a conversation months ago at this point that inspired this fic 💛

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"Y'Starin'?"

You were. From the moment he walked in, actually.

Then, from the moment he slung that thing low around his hips this morning, you knew you were done for. Four weeks of pain and struggle, all for nothing.

The best laid plans, you guess, as you grunt back at him with a shrug.

It was on you, really. You were probably setting yourself up for failure the moment you had your first grownup sleepover with one Joel Miller. Sensible people don't do that to themselves. Not when they have rules to keep to. They may have been your own rules, but that was besides the point. Rules were rules, and you never did like breaking them.

Watching Joel move and shift, his bulge in his denim framed neatly by the leather of his work belt, you had a feeling breaking this particular rule wouldn't upset you for long.

Six weeks. That was the rule. Just two painful weeks away. Six weeks, and then you'd be free from this forced celibacy you'd put yourself into. It was a test for yourself more than anything - always too eager to throw yourself into intimacy with people who didn't care and, if you were being honest, with people who you didn't care about either. You figured if you wanted different, you'd have to make it different.

You just didn't account for the first man in your life after a months long dry spell to be Joel Miller.

From the day you said those words into his mouth - six weeks, give me six weeks and I'm all yours - he'd been all in. He told you he could wait as long as you needed, and from the moment he said it you believed him. The problem was, from the moment he said it, you also wanted to fuck him about it.

But you couldn't, because that was exactly the rule you were trying to keep to. No sex for six fucking weeks.

You weren't even sure why you picked six weeks in the first place. The exact whys of it all went out of your head the moment Joel committed to your stupid, self-imposed rule without question. Those reasons why grew further from you each and every week he calmly stopped your dates from going too far with a gruff don't wanna break your rules, baby.

Even when you were forced to stay the night after one too many drinks, or when a make-out session got too heated, there he was to pull you both back from the brink.

Though, you weren't sure there was any saving you this time.

And it was all because of something as simple as a tool belt.

You'd seen him in it before. It wasn't new. It was quite old, and worn, actually. Usually you'd simply see him throw it into the back seat of his truck, or onto his counter, or over his shoulder. On one occasion you'd caught him on his knees, belt strapped around his hips as he fixed up a broken cabinet in his garage.

It did the same to you then as it did now, but this time it was staying on and not being hastily discarded with an oh shit, I'm runnin' late.

Now, he stands and shifts his hips, legs crossed at the ankle, the bulge in his denim so perfectly framed you're sure the sight will be burned into your vision for ever.

"You're doing that on purpose."

Your eyes are looking through him. Fuck knows you can't look at him. Not right now, not when two billion reasons not to break your one rule couldn't hold you back from just doing it.

"Doin' what?" he asks in a voice so innocent you almost believe him. Until he shifts once again, hips rocking in your direction, the denim bunching between his legs over his soft bulge.

"Stop it, Joel."

"Stop doin' what?"

Maybe he doesn't have a clue what he's doing to you - what he's been doing to you every day for weeks. Maybe he's oblivious, or too innocent and pure and good to know just how ravenous you're feeling for him right this moment, or maybe he's hoping he isn't seeing the way you're looking at him, ready to devour him in one, so he stands some chance of getting to work on time.

Yes, you could be strong and ignore the way his hand engulfs the coffee mug he's drinking from - strong but delicate in a way you know it to be by how he lets his fingertips dance up and down your side in the dead of the night. You could look past how his eyes flick down your body, stood stiff and still as far away from him as you can get in your tiny little kitchen. You could even ignore the way he licks the dregs of coffee from his lips, swiping his hand across his chin as his cup clinks down on the counter.

But then, those strong, delicate hands find purchase on his belt, hooking through a loop you saw him tuck a hammer into that day in his garage, and - as though you hadn't decided from the moment he put the belt on his hips - the last crumbling ruins of your resolve crash to the ground.

"Fuck it."

"Darlin', you -"

You cut him off with a kiss - striding across the kitchen to grab him by the shirt before he could even realize what was happening.

"Shut up," you breath into his mouth, silencing him more with the pressure of your lips on his than with the words on your tongue.

Joel, still trying to be a gentleman, keeps his one hand planted on the counter, the other on his belt, white knuckle gripping as he tries to keep up with your frantic kisses. You bite and nip at his lips, the fire in your belly not letting up even though you're well aware neither of you have time for this. And, though his hands are still, he kisses back with a fire to match, setting the ruins of your rules ablaze right there on the kitchen floor.

But then you're gone, and he's chasing a mouth that's no longer there.

His eyes snap open just as you slip down his body, your hands releasing from his shirt to slide down the length of his torso as you descend.

"Darlin', I -"

"Shut up, Joel," you growl again as your knees collide with the kitchen tile. It's not comfortable, and it's certainly not romantic, but it's what you need, so you'll take it.

"Your rule, baby, I don't wanna -"

"Fuck my rule, Joel."

Your eyes drop from his to the belt in front of you, then lower still to the soft lump in worn denim. You'd only been this close in your dreams - and there had been a lot of them lately. Waking up wet and sticky between your legs after a Joel sleepover was something you were now well accustomed to. While the you of your dreams could make the man come in two seconds flat some nights, the real you - the one on their knees in their kitchen - didn't have a clue what got his blood pumping and his heart racing.

You press a lingering kiss to the front of his jeans anyway. Just to see, really. Then, by the way his eyes widen, pupils blowing black in his warm eyes, and his breath hitches, you have a feeling you won't have much trouble at all finding out what makes Joel Miller tick.

You chain together another kiss, and then another, and then another, pressing your soft lips to the rough denim as you listen to his ragged breaths.

"I -"

"Shut up."

You don't want him to speak. You don't want him to be sensible, or to stop you, not when you've already waited so long. Not when his cock is right in front of you, separated by nothing but a zipper and some fabric.

You press a firmer kiss to him, breathing deeply and letting your eyes slip closed as you inhale. He always smells so clean in the mornings, but this time it's mixed with something else. The soft scent of his laundry detergent is still there, but there's the earthy smell of his leather belt, just a few inches away from your face. It smells of wood and dust and metal - the fixtures and undoubtedly a few errant screws and nails dumped into the pockets and pouches accounting for the latter. Then there's something else too, as you take another breath, groaning against the denim that you nuzzle your face into, feeling him twitch beneath your cheek.

He likes this. If the stiffening lump beneath your lips, pressed against your nose, rubbed against your cheek is anything to go by, he likes this a lot. Who could blame the man, really. He'd waited as long as you had. Four weeks for you had been four weeks for him. Four weeks of you trying to break through his resolve, to crack him so he was to blame for your broken rule and not you. Four weeks of you edging closer and closer to his waistband each time you kissed on the couch. Four weeks of your hips shifting back into his crotch every night you went to sleep.

"You smell so good, Joel," you groan into his crotch, letting your head rest against his thigh as you sink lower on your knees. Your head feels floaty on your shoulders, and you wonder if he can feel the hot warmth of your breath against his cock through his jeans.

His thighs tense beneath your palms as you steady yourself on him. You should probably slow down, you think, but no sooner is the thought in your head when your fingers are already creeping up and up to stroke across the soft leather of his belt.

You want to pull it off and pull his jeans down and finally taste him. You want to leave it on, slung around his hips as it is, holding onto it to anchor yourself to him as he slides into you. You want to feel it slapping against your ass as he fucks you, face down into the mattress screaming his name.

Instead you pull, tugging his hips closer to your face. He grunts above you, shifting his own hips again as his cock swells in his pants, undoubtedly uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. You want to take it out - you could take it out. You could see it for the first time right now, right here. You could taste it if you wanted to. You'd imagined it enough.

But you don't.

Even through your desperation, there were things you still wanted for that first time with Joel Miller. Fantasies of the belt, and the need you had for him right now couldn't sway you from that, at least.

You'd have him stripped bare, and you would be too. Hands and mouths and tongues would explore first. And then, when the desperation got too much to bear, he'd slip into you like he'd always belonged there, sliding down to the root and burrowing himself in you.

"I don't want you to do anything you'll regret, baby," he whispers, holding your hand against his thigh, stilling you for just a second.

You could sob at how good he is, even now as you try to ruin him on your knees.

"How could I regret this," you murmur, white hot heat radiating off his cock as it throbs right beneath your chin. "Please, Joel. Fuck my rule. I don't care. I just want you."

You watch as his resolve begins to crack, shattering first in his eyes as he spares a heated glance down at you between his legs.

"Fuck."

You begin in earnest then. Your hands that were stilled go back to kneading, pawing at his thighs, reaching round to grab a handful of his ass as you press kiss after kiss to his cock, dampening the fabric of his jeans with your saliva.

"Wanted it for so long," you breath. "Need it. Fuck, Joel."

You're babbling into his crotch. You know you are. You don't care. All you care is about the wet heat between your legs and the cock in front of you, swollen and desperate as you are wet and dripping. In this moment you're made for each other, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing, as he throbs, pulsating with each kiss you press to him.

He gasps suddenly and you're pulled out of your trance, looking up at him as a wet patch blooms on the front of his jeans.

"Baby, you can't -"

"Don't you want to?" you ask breathlessly. "Don't you want to know what it's like?"

"I do - jesus fuck - I do, we just don't got the time."

You groan into his crotch. He's right. Of course he is. Still, you don't stop. He can feel your breath hot on him through the denim, you're sure of it. You want - need - him to know how much you want him. You need him to carry it with him all damn day until he's aching and desperate and ready to fuck you the moment he sees you.

He's not looking down at you the next time you cast your eyes up. Instead his head is titled skyward and his jaw is open in a soft moan you can barely hear from the blood pumping in your ears. The hand that was on his belt has joined the other, gripping the counter, twitching as if itching to grab at you when you run your teeth over the now solid mass in his pants.

"I want you," you whisper. "Wanted you for weeks."

You let your hands take over, cascading up and down his strong thighs, scraping nails down and dragging delicate finger tips up. With one more kiss to the heavy weight at the front of his jeans, you bring your hand up to cup him, palming the heat between his legs and gasping at the feel of it.

He feels so heavy, and warm, and perfect in your hand.

"Fuck," you hiss, squeezing gently at his covered cock. "Joel."

"Unngh."

He's wrecked. If his breathing and the way he can't look down at you is anything to go by, he may be past the point of no return. It sends a thrill through you, ruining your clean panties even more as the realization strikes you.

You could make him come like this.

And you shouldn't. The sensible part of you knows that. You know he doesn't have anything else to change into, and you know that time is rapidly ticking away by the ache gradually throbbing in your knees.

But, you could - and that just makes to too hard to resist.

So, you continue on, pressing kisses to his cock, wishing desperately you could cradle the heft of his balls in your hand as you took his head into your mouth. Your teeth nip at his thighs, scrape gently across the sides of his bulge. And then, your tongue slips out from between your swollen lips, and you lick gently at the precum seeping through his jeans.

You moan. Whine, really. Whimper, if you were being really honest with yourself. The rough fabric on your tongue and the bitter salt of his precum on your tongue almost have you coming right there on the kitchen floor. You quiver instead, holding it back as you spread your legs, desperate for relief that you don't have time for.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me -"

The vibration of his phone in his pocket, twinned with a harsh beep, startles both of you. You look around, confused for a moment, before Joel scrambles for his back pocket.

"Tommy, hey," he says, clearing his throat. Tommy's voice booms back down the receiver. He's outside. Sorry I'm late, he says, and you could laugh if you weren't so painfully turned on and wrecked from the few minutes you'd spent on your knees acquanting yourself with Joel's cock.

"Yep. Uh-huh. Be out in a sec. Sure."

There's nothing but silence and the sound of your breathing when he hangs up. You can't bring yourself to get up any more than he can bring himself to walk away.

"We gotta get goin'," Joel finally says, hearing an impatient beep of a car horn outside.

"Tonight," you say with certainty, still on your knees. "You're fucking me tonight, Joel."

He helps you up, fingers twitching as they hold your waist. You don't have time for what you both want. Even a kiss could turn into something neither of you could pull back from now. You move to the door, together and desperate and messy in ways neither of you can say out loud, because the clock is ticking.

"Joel," you say, holding back a smile as you walk to your car. "Might wanna check the front of your pants."

He looks down, his cock still hard and uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. He'd hoped the short walk to the door would releave some of the pressure, but it doesn't. And then he sees it - the dark bloom of wet denim, evidence of the twin effort between you and his cock to ruin his day in the best possible way.

Joel shifts his tool belt, letting it sit lopsided on his hips. You can see by the look in his eye that he wants to push you up against your car and kiss you like he means it. You can see by the way his fingers grip that loop in his tool belt once more, holding onto it for dear life, biting at his inner cheek.

"Tonight," he growls, when he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before stalking away to the waiting shadow of Tommy's truck.

You watch the leather of his belt slap against the full meat of his ass with every step, and you smile. Just one more day - ten more hours - and the denial would be over, the belt would be off and you'd finally, finally, get what you so desperately wanted.

Fuck your rule.

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[far-away-from-tulsa]

Sat in a stiff chair in the school office with bruised knuckles and dried blood under his nose, Darry Curtis knows he fucked up real bad.

It ain’t really even his fault, ‘cause he didn’t want to find his little brother gettin’ pushed around by his teammates—Darry’s friends, for God’s sake. He didn’t want to punch Paul when Paul grabbed Sodapop’s jacket and tugged, rippin’ the fabric and tearin’ a line straight down the seam of Soda’s favorite thing.

Darry just saw Soda’s eyes well with tears. And it was instinct to punch punch punch.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the office door bangin’ open and he spots his father.

Darrel—not Darry, ‘cause he would never go by Darry, he’s a full name and look me in the eyes when you speak to me, boy kinda guy—Curtis stands in the doorway lookin’ pissed to all hell, and Darry knows he gonna need a Hail Mary to get outta this.

His dad and the principal—no matter how many times the guy has said his name, Darry can’t remember it for shit—exchange some quiet words with grim looks on their faces before Darry’s called back into the principal’s office.

He’s always found it weird that the principal has an office inside the office, but he can tell that’s not his biggest issue right now when his father’s pushin’ his shoulders down and he’s plopped into another stiff chair across from the principal—God, the hell is this guy’s name?—and sent such a stern look that it makes him feel like he ain’t sixteen anymore, but six with mud cakin’ his face and snot runnin’ down his nose.

Principal dude sighs very loudly and very obnoxiously before sitting his chair on the other side, leaning over with his elbows on the desk like he’s tryna be sympathetic, as if Darry ain’t just another greaser wreakin’ havoc in his school.

“Darry, you’re a great kid. Your grades are remarkable, and your football playing is some of the best ever seen at this school. You know right from wrong. So why’d you attack those boys, kid? Most of them are your teammates, your friends.”

He says it all soft and gentle like, tryna get shit outta Darry like he ain’t accusin’ him of attacking people.

Darry didn’t attack nobody; those kids—Paul, God, Paul—fucked ‘round with his brother and found out the hard way.

Darry doesn’t respond. Rule number one of being a greaser: you shut your damn mouth about everythin’ and nothin’. He wipes under his nose, spottin’ more blood, crimson and wet, on his knuckle. It must be runnin’ again.

“Darrel,” his father growls, in a tone that says open your mouth before I open it for you. “Answer the man. Why’d you attack those boys?”

Darry shrugs, head down and blood drippin’ onto the chair. He can’t find it in himself to care much.

The principal sighs. “You have so much potential, Darry. Don’t throw that away in the name of violence.”

That stirs somethin’ inside Darry, somethin’ deep in his gut.

“I didn’t attack no one,” he says quietly, lookin’ up into the principal’s eyes. “They were pickin’ on my brother. Someone needed to do somethin’.”

The guys eyebrows raise, and Darry’s a bit surprised that his dad’s silent. He’ll probably get chewed out in the car.

“Is violence ever the answer?” the principal asks, and Darry can tell he’s fightin’ a smiles when Darry bites his bottom lip and looks away, mumblin’ a no, sir. “Exactly. I expected better from you. I think a five day suspension should be enough time to reflect on your actions and write those boys an apology. When you come back, I won’t be having to call your father here again, will I?”

Another no, sir and a coupla exchanged words later, Darry finds himself in the passenger’s side of his dad’s truck.

His dad’s grippin’ the steerin’ wheel so tight it might just snap under all the pressure as the pull outta the school parkin’ lot.

He’s in some deep shit now.

There’s a tense sorta quiet for three minutes and nineteen seconds—Darry counted—before his father finally says, in a low, whisperin’ voice, “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Darry doesn’t have an answer for that, ‘cause he don’t even know himself. He leans against the car window, hearin’ the birds chirpin’ away.

It’s April. Only two more long and dreadful months before Darry can get outta this hell hole, ‘way from the shit-talkin’ Socs that call themselves his friends before goin’ back to whisperin’ when they think he can’t hear ‘em. Away from the place that makes Paul an enemy and not . . . whatever they are.

“Y’know, your mother and I expect ya to be a role model. Your brothers look up’ta ya. You can’t be doin’ shit like this and expectin’ no consequences ‘cause whether ya like it or not, Darrel, this town won’t give ya any breaks.”

Whenever his dad gets madder and madder, his accent comes out stronger and stronger, slippin’ into his normally warm southern tones, like the one Darry would hear whenever they’d go visit his grandparents. Somethin’ like wind chimes and spun sugar. They ain’t wind chimes and spun sugar now.

“They were pushin’ ‘round Soda, what was I ‘posed to do?” Darry’s gettin’ madder too. Everyone always says they’re too alike.

Eyes on the road. His dad hasn’t looked at him once, even though he’s always preachin’ ‘bout the importance of eye contact and what it says ‘bout a person.

“What ya were ‘posed to do was stay outta it, Goddamnit. Soda ain’t need his big brother fightin’ all his battles. Kid needs to toughen up.”

Darry says nothin’. Wipes his bleedin’ nose on his hand. Soda shouldn’t need to toughen up. He’s fulla smiles and bright eyes, bouncin’ ‘round the house and knockin’ into things like a newborn fawn with wobblin’ legs and a nose to the wind.

It ain’t fair how Pony’ll need to toughen up too, washin’ his hands of the stories he makes Darry tell him at bedtime and the flower crowns he makes in the summer, forcin’ Darry to wear one and makin’ him pinky promise to keep it on forever, as if Darry would ever take it off.

It ain’t fair how Darry’s gettin’ suspended and chewed out by his father while his teammates and Paul are bein’ slapped on the back and fist-bumped and told how brave they are for standin’ up to a big bad greaser like him.

Ain’t none of it fair, but life as a greaser rarely is.

[beloveds-embrace]

I don't know if you've done something like this before but dukedom with a florist/botanist reader

The scent of fresh lavender and damp earth clung to your fingertips as you arranged the last bouquet of the morning, tying it off with a delicate ribbon. The small flower shop you owned, nestled near the outskirts of Duke Price’s grand estate, was quiet save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

You often supplied flowers for the manor- centerpieces for dinners, fresh herbs for the kitchen, roses for the gardens- but you had never once met the Duke himself. You had not met much of his household, either, though that wasn’t too surprising; there must be at the very least a hundred workers there.

But fate had other plans for you.

The bell above your shop door chimed, and you turned, expecting one of your usual customers. Instead, a broad-shouldered man strolled in, his sleeves rolled up as if he had just left a heated kitchen.

“Ah, finally found ye,” he said, his accent thick with a lilt. “Was beginnin’ to think this place was a myth.”

You blinked, setting down your shears. “Can I help you, sir?”

He grinned. “Johnny MacTavish. I run the kitchen over at Price Manor.” He leaned on the counter, glancing around at the hanging bundles of herbs and freshly cut flowers. “Kyle- that’s the head butler- told me you’ve got the best lavender around. I need some for a honey cake I’m makin’, and we’re runnin’ short.”

You hummed, already moving toward the drying racks. “You’re in luck, then. Just harvested some fresh stalks this morning.”

As you carefully wrapped the bundle for him, Johnny watched you with a curious expression. “Never seen ye ‘round the manor,” he remarked. Then gave you a grin. “But I seen ye pretty flowers ‘round often.”

“I usually deliver when you’re busy in the kitchen, I assume,” you said, handing him the wrapped herbs with a soft smile. “Though I’ve heard of you. Your bread is very popular.”

He grin widened, pleased. “Aye, I do my best.” He took the bundle, fingers brushing yours briefly. “Might have to find excuses to come by more often. You’re far more charmin’ than the usual market vendors, lass.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I imagine you say that to all the merchants.”

“Only the ones worth complimentin’.” He quipped, winking before heading out the door.

And just like that, your first thread into their world had been woven.

A week later, you found yourself face-to-face with the Kyle Garrick, the Duke’s head butler, standing at your shop’s doorstep in the early morning light.

“Apologies for calling on you so early,” he said, tone smooth and professional, eyes warm enough to replace the sun. “His Grace is hosting a dinner, and we’re in need of arrangements.”

You nodded, ushering him inside. “Of course. Any particular requests?”

Kyle glanced over the selection of flowers, thoughtful. “Something warm. Rich colors- autumnal, perhaps?”

You set to work, carefully selecting blooms that matched his vision, all the while feeling the weight of his gaze on you.

“You work quickly,” he observed, amusement and approval in his voice. “These will look wonderful when they will be used, I have no doubt.”

You glanced up, catching the small smile on his lips. “Years of practice.”

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, arms folding over his chest. “Johnny was right. You’ve got a charm about you.”

You raised a brow, finished with the arrangement; of course, this was simply to show him what you’d be making in hoards for the dinner. One arrangement was most definitely not enough. “Are you two always this flattering?”

Kyle smirked. “Only when it’s deserved.”

“He said the same thing!”

They weren’t the only ones you ended up interacting with; you had heard of Duke Simon Riley before. A man as mysterious as he was respected. Some said he was cold. Others said he was simply a man who valued silence over frivolous conversation. But all agreed that he and Duke Price were close friends.

So when he stepped into your shop one evening, his imposing frame half-shadowed by the setting sun, you were caught off guard.

“You’re her, then.” He said without much preamble.

You frowned, the little flower pot in your hands held carefully. “I… beg your pardon?”

“The florist.” He glanced around the shop, his expression unreadable beneath the mask of neutrality he wore so well like a lot of other nobles- though in your opinion, no one did it quite as well as him. “You’ve made quite the impression.”

Setting the pot down, you fingers tightened slightly around the stem of its rose. “I wasn’t aware I was being … observed. Forgive me for the use of such a word, sir, but-“

His gaze flicked back to yours, and he shook his head. “No apologies are needed. I understand, but… we notice things. Especially things worth noticing.”

We?

A beat of silence passed before he finally moved closer, picking up a baby’s-breath from a basket. His fingers, surprisingly gentle, brushed over the little flowers.

“They say flowers speak in their own language,” he murmured. “What would this one say?”

You swallowed, carefully choosing your words. “Baby’s breath represents sincerity and- and everlasting love, sir.”

Simon hummed, tucking the sprig into his coat pocket. “…Fitting. I shall return soon.”

And just like that, he was gone- even before you could tell him he would always be welcome (even if he was so strange).

And at last, you met Duke Price himself.

Deliveries to the manor were routine, but you never expected to meet the Duke himself. That changed one crisp afternoon when you arrived with your arms full of flowers, only to find the man himself standing at the doorway.

He was an imposing figure- broad shoulders, sharp blue eyes, and a well-tended-to beard flecked with gray. But when he smiled, it was warm, not intimidating.

“You’re the florist, then.” He mused, looking over the bouquet, unintentionally reminding you of Duke Riley’s words.

You managed a curtsy, despite your hands being full. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Beautiful work,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him inside. “Kyle, Johnny, and Simon have spoken highly of you.”

You hesitated, surprise blooming on your face. “They… have?”

He let out a deep chuckle. “Indeed. Said you’re clever with flowers. And sharp with words.”

Embarrassment crept up your neck. “I didn’t realize I had an audience.”

Price halted mid-step, turning to face you fully. His sharp blue eyes met yours, steady and intent.

“You have one now.”

There was something in his gaze- something deep, and it sent a quiet thrill through you, like the first whisper of a storm on the horizon.

(That first whisper, you’d eventually learn, would be their starting attempts of courting you).

[luvbabydoll]

heaven beside him, hell inside him — chapter one

a series made by © luvbabydoll

warnings — reader is described to be more on the “chubbier” side.

a/n — may not be accurate when it comes to the cod universe (i don’t play cod fyi)

the fairground stretched wide under the texas sunset, bathed in that golden glow that made everything look warm and easy. it had all the fixings of a proper county fair—kids running around with sticky fingers from candy apples, country music twanging from overhead speakers, the distant whirr of the ferris wheel spinning against the horizon.

tf 141 was scattered across the crowd, watching, observing, but for once, relaxed. they’d spent too many months in the dirt, in the dark, with blood under their fingernails. this? this was civilization. a rare bit of normal.

soap was the first to comment, eyes flicking over to a large barbecue stand near the center of the fairgrounds.

“christ,” he muttered, nudging ghost. “would ye look at that? proper texas-sized barbecue goin’ on over there.”

ghost didn’t bother responding, just lifted his chin in acknowledgment, eyes scanning the massive booth. there were banners strung overhead, long tables piled high with smoked meats, and a man at the front, sleeves rolled up, tending to the grill like he was born to do it.

didn’t matter. they weren’t here for that.

but then—

a blur of movement.

three small figures darted through the crowd, little cowboy boots kicking up dust, weaving between fairgoers until they stopped right in front of them, wide-eyed and staring.

the kids.

they were young—no older than six or seven—all blonde-haired and blue-eyed, with sun-kissed skin from too many summers spent outside.

and they were staring at them like they’d just seen superheroes.

one of the boys grabbed onto his mother’s dress, tugging insistently. “mama, look!” he pointed, his little voice ringing with excitement. “they’re soldiers! just like daddy!”

that’s when they saw you.

you turned at the sound of her son’s voice, smoothing down the fabric of her sundress before finally glancing up—

and fucking hell.

soft curves, delicate features, and that unmistakable southern charm that knocked the wind out of them. your sundress, a light floral thing, swayed gently as you moved, cinched at the waist in a way that made every single one of them take a second look.

you were as pretty as a damn picture.

the kind of woman men fought wars over.

“oh, sweetheart,” you sighed, crouching to their level, brushing a gentle hand over one of the boy’s hair. “you gotta stop runnin’ off like that, sugar. you’re gonna give your mama a heart attack.”

your voice was as sweet as honey—thick, dripping with warmth, every syllable slow and southern.

soap—forever the first to flirt—grinned, squatting slightly to meet the boys' height. “aye, lads, yer daddy’s a soldier, is he?” his scottish brogue was thick, but the kids didn’t seem to mind, looking up at him like he was the coolest thing they’d ever seen.

you laughed, standing up straight again. “oh, he sure is. and these little rascals think that means they gotta tell everybody about it.” you gave them an apologetic look, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “i’m so sorry if they’re botherin’ y’all.”

“not at all,” price said, voice deep and distinctly british. he nodded at the boys, giving them one of his rare, softer smiles. “they’ve got the right idea. takes a lot of guts to serve.”

you beamed at that.

“my husband always says the same thing.”

something about that sentence sat wrong with them, but none of them could put a finger on why.

they kept talking—easy, too easy. you were polite, warm, completely unguarded in the way you spoke to them. you asked them where they were from, how long they were in town, and if they’d gotten a chance to try some real texas barbecue yet.

and the way you talked—so effortlessly sweet, slipping in casual darlins and sugars—made soap want to drop down to one knee then and there.

the smallest boy tugged on your dress again, bouncing slightly. “mama, can we get funnel cake now?”

you let out a soft little sigh, shaking her head with a smile. “lord, you boys are worse than your daddy, i swear.”

soap raised an eyebrow. “he got a sweet tooth, does he?”

you laughed, head tilting just slightly, your cheeks glowing warm under the sunset.

“oh, you have no idea,” you teased, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “i always tell him i married a man, not a kid.”

they all chuckled at that.

you were charming as hell.

if you weren’t married, soap probably would’ve been on his knees already, offering her his last name right then and there.

but then—

“sugar!”

the voice was loud, familiar—a slow, easy drawl that made every single one of them freeze.

they turned, eyes scanning the crowd.

you turned too, her expression instantly softening, fond in a way that sent something cold trickling down their spines.

“comin’!” you called back, giving them a sweet little smile before turning to leave. “it was real nice meetin’ y’all. if you need anything while you’re in town, don’t be shy, alright?”

and then—you walked away.

they watched you go.

watched the way your hips swayed under that light sundress, the deliberate way you moved, the way your sons tugged at your hands as they neared the barbecue booth.

they should have looked away.

but they didn’t.

instead, they watched as you stepped right up to a man—your husband—who greeted you with a bright, boyish grin.

he scooped up one of the boys effortlessly, settling him on his hip, while the others clung to his legs. and then—right there, in front of everyone—he kissed you.

not just a peck.

a real kiss. hands on your waist, pulling you close, like you were something precious.

the same hands that had once ordered them dead.

the same fucking man they thought they’d killed.

ghost exhaled sharply.

soap stared.

price ran a hand down his face, eyes narrowing.

and when graves finally pulled away, murmuring something against his wife’s lips that made her laugh—that was when it hit them.

soap was the first to speak, voice low and gutted.

“no fucking way.”

ghost didn’t say a word—just clenched his jaw, adjusting his gloves.

and price, ever the calm one, took a slow sip of his beer before muttering—

“son of a bitch.”

[nemo-writes]

𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖿 141 𝗁𝗎𝖻𝖻y 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝖽(𝗌) 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌 ; 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 ── .✦

masterlist

── .✦ 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖾 ; "𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾."

the golden light of the setting sun painted the small plaza in warm hues as you strolled along, hand in hand with your six-year-old daughter. she was a chatterbox as always, her little voice bubbling with excitement over everything and nothing at once.

john, walking just ahead, paused and turned to face her, tipping his hat back slightly so she could see the seriousness in his blue eyes. “right, love,” he began, his voice low and steady, the tone he used when he wanted her to really listen. “we’re goin’ to play a little game, yeah? if you ever lose me or your mum, you’ve got to stay put—don’t wander, don’t move. we’ll come find you. got it?”

she tilted her head, brows furrowing. “but what if i can’t find you?”

“you don’t find us, sweetheart,” he corrected gently, crouching to her level. “we’ll find you. but only if you stay put. like a statue. no runnin’ off, no matter what. understand?”

she nodded solemnly, her little face a picture of determination. “i’ll stay like a statue!”

john smiled, tapping her chin before standing. “that’s my girl. all right, let’s practice, then.”

with a satisfied nod, he began to walk away. his long strides took him toward one of the shopfronts, and you could see the faint twitch of a smile on his lips as he glanced back briefly under the brim of his hat.

you watched from a nearby bench, amused by your daughter’s dramatic stance, her little legs stock-straight as she stared after him. for a moment, she stayed put, her face scrunched in concentration.

but then—without a sound—she took a step forward.

you tilted your head, leaning forward slightly as you realized what she was doing. step by step, her tiny feet padded behind john, her movements careful and deliberate as if she were sneaking up on him. she kept her eyes on him like a hawk, completely ignoring everything else flitting around nearby.

john, oblivious at first, continued walking, his focus on the shops ahead. but when he slowed and turned to check on her, he froze.

there she was, just a few steps behind him, her little hands clasped in front of her and her face a picture of innocent curiosity.

john’s shoulders stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as he let out a low chuckle, turning fully to face her. his expression was caught somewhere between exasperation and pride.

“my love,” he said, his tone equal parts scolding and affectionate. “what are you doin’? you were supposed to stay put.”

she blinked up at him, her big eyes wide and earnest. “i was followin’ you, daddy!” she said proudly, as if that had been the plan all along.

john sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before crouching down to her level. “you’re not supposed to follow me, sweetheart. the whole point is for you to stay where you are so i can come find you.”

her little face scrunched in thought, clearly processing his words. but then she smiled, cheeks wide and full, and said, “but i found you instead!”

your husband let out a defeated laugh, shaking his head as he reached out to pull her into his arms. “you didn’t exactly follow the rules,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “but I can’t be mad at you for stayin’ close to your old man, can i?”

she giggled, throwing her arms around his neck. “i did good, daddy?”

john sighed again, though there was no hiding the warmth in his voice. “not quite what i was goin’ for, love,” he admitted, holding her close. “but yeah, you still did good. shows you’ve got a sharp little mind, doesn’t it?”

he stood adjusted her on his hip as she beamed with pride. you took that as your cue to step in, walking up to join them with a knowing smile.

“well,” you said teasingly, “i’d say this was a very price family sort of lesson—failed the test but still managed to come out on top.”

john gave you a wry smile, tipping his hat slightly. “she’s got a bit of her mum in her, too. can’t let go of a good plan once it’s in her head.”

you laughed, brushing your fingers through your daughter’s hair as she leaned her head against john’s shoulder. “you’re lucky she’s such a daddy’s girl, or you’d never live this down.”

“lucky?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “that’s the only reason i get away with anything.”

as the three of you began to roam around the place together, you couldn’t help but think that while the lesson may not have gone as planned, the love and pride in john’s eyes made it a success in its own way.

── .✦ 𝗀𝖺𝗓 ; "𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗇𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌."

you’d been watching kyle for days, curiosity bubbling as he worked away at something with an intensity usually reserved for his missions. he’d commandeered the dining table, surrounded by scraps of paper, a glue stick, markers, and even a small pile of printed photos. every time you asked what he was up to, he’d just give you a sly smile and say, “you’ll see, love.”

now, as he gently guided your little girl to sit cross-legged in front of him on the living room rug, you stood in the doorway, arms crossed with quiet amusement. whatever he’d been crafting so fervently, it was clearly for her.

“right, sweetheart,” your husband began, his voice warm but serious as he produced what could only be described as a makeshift booklet. it was a little wonky at the edges, with a cover decorated in bright colors and a drawing of a smiling stick figure family labeled us.

“what’s that, daddy?” your daughter asked, her big, curious eyes locked on him.

“this,” he said, holding it up with a little flourish, “is something very important. it’s all about what to do if you ever get lost, yeah? or if you ever need help.”

her little face lit up with interest as he opened the first page. inside, in bold, clear letters, he’d written her full name. next to it was a printed photo of her grinning proudly, and underneath, her age in big, colorful numbers.

“first things first,” he said, tapping the page gently. “what’s your full name?”

she hesitated for a moment, then carefully recited it, stumbling just a little on the middle name.

“that’s my girl!” he praised, ruffling her hair. “now, next page.”

he turned it, revealing a neatly written list of phone numbers—yours, his, and one for emergencies—all accompanied by little drawings to make them easier to remember. your number was next to a doodle of a phone with “mummy” written in bold letters, while his had a little stick figure in a cap labeled “daddy.”

“this one’s mine,” he explained, pointing to his number. “can you say it back to me?”

your daughter scrunched her nose in concentration, repeating the numbers slowly and carefully. she got a few digits wrong at first, and kyle’s patience was infinite as he gently corrected her, coaxing her to try again. when she finally got it right, he beamed so brightly you thought his smile might split his face.

“that’s it!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together softly. “you’re so clever, love. and pretty, too. smart and pretty—how did i get so lucky, eh?”

your daughter giggled, covering her face with her little hands, clearly preening under his praise.

“wait, there’s more,” your husband said, flipping to the next page. it was a hand-drawn map of your neighborhood, with a small printed photo of your house glued to one corner and a bright red “x” marking it. “this is where we live. if anyone ever asks, you tell ‘em, ‘that’s my home.’”

he traced his finger along the path he’d drawn, explaining it step by step as she followed along with wide, fascinated eyes.

stepping closer, you leaned on the edge of the couch, watching them with your heart melting into a puddle. “you’ve really outdone yourself, kyle.”

he glanced up at you, sheepish but clearly proud. “eeah, well, i just wanted to make sure she’s prepared, you know? can’t be too careful these days.”

“and the drawings? the photos?” you teased lightly, gesturing to the colorful booklet.

“thought it’d make it more fun for her,” he admitted with a shrug. “seems to be workin’, yeah?”

your daughter nodded enthusiastically, clutching the booklet like it was her most prized possession. “can we do more, daddy?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“course we can, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice soft as he cupped her round cheeks. “you’re already doin’ so well.” he turned back to you with a grin. “you see that? she’s a little genius.”

you chuckled, sitting down beside them and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “she’s also very lucky to have such a thoughtful dad.”

kyle leaned into your touch, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to his daughter. “right, love, let’s go over the numbers one more time. just so you can show mummy how clever you are.”

your daughter giggled, ready for the challenge, while you watched the two of them with a full heart, knowing this was a memory you’d treasure forever.

divider credit

[aspenmissing]

ʀᴜɴᴀᴡᴀʏ ʙʀɪᴅᴇ ᴘᴛ 2

ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 12217 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ/ꜱᴘɪᴄᴇ/ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ ᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴏɴ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

VANDER

The Last Drop pulsed with life, thick with the scent of sweat, cheap spirits, and something burning in the back that smelled almost edible. The air was warm, heavy with voices—laughing, shouting, singing off-key. It was alive in a way Piltover had never been.

Y/N kept her hood up, letting the dim lighting and thick haze of the bar shield her. Even so, she felt eyes on her. Zaunites weren’t used to someone like her in a place like this. It wasn’t just the fabric of her cloak, stitched with precision by hands that had never known hard labour. It wasn’t even the outfit beneath, fine and delicate, a stark contrast to the grime-streaked floor.

It was the way she carried herself—like someone who had never belonged in the Undercity.

But she didn’t belong there, either.

Her fingers curled around the glass set in front of her, its surface cool against her palm. The amber liquid swirled under the lantern light, rich and deep. She had no intention of drinking it.

She just wanted to touch something real.

“Don’t see your kind ‘round here much.”

The voice was deep, roughened by time and too many cigarettes. She glanced up and found the source—a man leaning against the bar, watching her with an unreadable expression.

Broad shoulders. Thick arms. The kind of presence that made a man stand out in any room, even one as loud as this. He looked like he belonged here, a man shaped by the weight of something heavier than most could carry.

She had never met him before, but she knew of him. Everyone did. Vander—the man who kept Zaun standing, even when the rest of the world wanted to see it fall.

Y/N’s fingers tapped lightly against her glass. “And what kind is that?”

Vander’s gaze flickered over her, assessing. He wasn’t subtle about it. “Piltover girl.”

The words stung more than they should have. She wasn’t wrong to be here. She wanted to be here.

She wasn’t sure where else to go.

“I needed a drink,” she said, voice barely above the hum of the bar.

Vander huffed a quiet chuckle, wiping his hands on the cloth tucked into his belt. “That so?” He gestured to the untouched glass. “Not doin’ a great job of it.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Not sure where to start.”

“Depends what you’re runnin’ from.”

Her grip tightened around the glass.

He saw too much. Even without knowing her name, he had already pulled at the threads of truth beneath the silk and lace.

Vander nodded toward her hands. “You alright, love?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Instead, she sighed, shifting slightly on the stool. “You get a lot of runaways in here?”

“More than I’d like,” Vander admitted, resting an elbow on the counter. “Though most don’t look as well-fed as you.”

She let out a humourless laugh. “Guess I’m not very good at it.”

“Maybe not.” He considered her for a long moment. “But somethin’ tells me this ain’t your first time sneakin’ out.”

It wasn’t.

She had fled before—twice, to be exact. The first time, she hadn’t made it past the front gates before they caught her. The second, she had reached the docks. This time, she had made it all the way down to Zaun.

Progress.

But she had always known how this would end.

That’s why she didn’t flinch when the doors to the bar slammed open, or when the heavy boots of Piltover enforcers stomped across the floor.

She didn’t even turn around.

“Y/N L/N,” one of them called out sharply. “You’ve been ordered to return home.”

A few heads turned. A few shoulders tensed. But no one stepped in. Zaunites knew better than to get between Piltover and their problems.

She could feel Vander watching her, felt the weight of his presence at her side.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Took you longer than usual.”

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably. “Come quietly, and your father will—”

“I know the speech,” she interrupted, pushing back her hood. “I wrote half of it for him.”

Vander didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze sharpening. She glanced at him, offering a small, wry smile. “Told you I wasn’t good at this.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening.

“You don’t have to go,” he said quietly.

She swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat. Don’t make this harder.

“If I don’t, they’ll bring more,” she muttered. “And next time, they won’t ask nicely.”

Vander exhaled slowly, looking like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched as she reached for the glass in front of her, lifting it to her lips.

The liquor burned as it went down, sharp and punishing. But at least this was a choice she got to make. She set the empty glass down with a quiet clink, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned to the waiting guards.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

They stepped forward, their hands closing around her arms—not rough, not cruel, just final. Vander didn’t stop them. But he didn’t look away, either.

His gaze stayed on her, steady and unreadable, like he was committing this moment to memory. Like he was trying to figure out whether this was the last time he’d see her—or just the beginning of something neither of them could name.

Y/N exhaled slowly, forcing down the lump in her throat. Then, just as they reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time.

“See you later, Vander.”

=

The first time she came back, she barely made it through the door before the guards found her. The second time, she got a drink in before they dragged her away. By the third time, Vander already had a glass waiting by the time she sat down.

He didn’t even have to ask what she wanted. Just set the drink in front of her with that knowing look, his arms braced against the bar as he leaned in slightly.

“You’re gettin’ predictable, love.” His voice was warm, teasing.

Y/N huffed, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she wrapped her fingers around the glass. “I’d call it improving. Last time, I made it a whole hour.”

Vander chuckled, a quiet rumble deep in his chest. “And the time before that, forty-five minutes.” He tipped his chin toward the door, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Not much longer ‘til you make it a whole night.”

She grinned, taking a slow sip of her drink. The burn was sharp, but familiar now. A taste that had come to mean freedom. Even if only for a little while.

“That the gambler in you talkin’?” she asked, raising a brow.

Vander smirked, shifting his weight against the counter. “Just callin’ it how I see it.”

Something about the way he said it made warmth creep up her spine.

The first time they met, there had been caution in his eyes, suspicion. He had been wary, watching her like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. But things had changed. Somewhere in the past few weeks, between the stolen moments and the drinks she never got to finish, something had shifted.

She wasn’t just some Piltover girl anymore.

She was his runaway.

Even the guards had stopped being rough when they came for her. By now, they had accepted their fate as much as she had—tired men chasing after a noble girl who refused to stay put.

“Lady Y/N,” one of them sighed, stepping up to her side. The exhaustion in his voice was almost comical. “Again?”

Y/N groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “Just let me finish my drink.”

The enforcer glanced at Vander, as if hoping for some kind of help.

Vander just shrugged, casual as ever. “She did just get here.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

The guard sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Five minutes.”

Y/N grinned, lifting her glass in a silent toast to Vander before taking another sip.

=

Months passed, and the game never changed. She ran. They found her. She ran again. But it wasn’t just a game anymore—it was a life, a second home carved out in the Undercity, slipping between the cracks of her rebellion.

Every time she made it to The Last Drop, Vander was waiting. Sometimes behind the bar, already setting down a drink before she pulled back her hood. Other times mid-conversation, nodding at her in quiet acknowledgment while others wisely chose not to question her presence.

She wasn’t just some Piltover girl anymore. She was theirs.

Powder saved her a seat, chattering about her inventions. Claggor taught her how to cheat at cards while Vi teased her mercilessly. Even Mylo, ever skeptical, had begrudgingly stopped acting surprised when she walked in. And Vander? Vander just watched. Never asked why she came back. Never pushed for answers she wasn’t ready to give. He just let her be.

Maybe that’s what made this so much harder.

She traced the rim of her glass, staring into the amber liquid. Tonight, the drink tasted different—bitter, heavy, like something had already been lost before she even spoke the words.

Vander was watching her, arms crossed, brow furrowed slightly. He had already picked up on it—of course he had. He always did.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “I talk too much?”

He smirked, but there was something softer beneath it. “A bit.”

She turned the glass in slow circles against the counter, focusing on the way the light caught the liquid inside. The warmth that settled in her chest had nothing to do with the alcohol. It was just him. Just the way he was there, solid and steady. For months, she had convinced herself she had time. That if she just kept slipping through the cracks, she could keep coming back. But Piltover had finally found a way to cage her.

She swallowed hard. “I can’t come back.”

Vander stilled. Not much, just enough. Just a shift in the way he stood, the way his fingers twitched slightly against his arm. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Didn’t demand an explanation.

She hated that about him. Hated that he made it easy. Hated that he never forced her to say things out loud, because now, she had no choice but to do it herself.

She tightened her grip around the glass, the words tasting like poison as she finally said them. “My father—he’s arranging a marriage.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “It’s been decided.”

Vander exhaled slowly, and for a long moment, he just stood there. Not surprised. Not angry. Just steady. Like he had known this was coming, even if she had refused to admit it to herself.

“When?” he asked quietly.

“A few weeks.”

A slow nod. Thoughtful. His eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained calm. “You gonna go through with it?”

She let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Not much of a choice, is there?”

“There’s always a choice.”

Y/N looked away, jaw tightening. “Not this time.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick.

She wished he would say something—anything. Tell her she was being foolish. Tell her she was right to go. Tell her not to go. But Vander wasn’t that kind of man. He wouldn’t give her an answer because he knew it wasn’t his to give.

She inhaled sharply, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Guess that’s the end of my little rebellion, huh?”

His lips quirked, but it wasn’t really a smile. “That what this was?”

She swallowed against the ache in her throat. “Maybe.”

Another silence. Longer this time. She could feel it slipping away. This. Them. Whatever it was. Whatever it could have been if she had just—

Her fingers clenched in her lap. “Say something.”

Vander’s jaw tightened. His fingers tapped idly against the counter, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

“You’ll be miserable.”

The words hit her like a punch to the ribs. She forced out a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to her own ears. “You don’t know that.”

Vander just looked at her. Didn’t need to say anything else. She dropped her gaze, swallowing hard. He was right.

Of course he was.

She wanted to tell him—wanted to say the things she had been biting back for months, to admit what she already knew deep down. That no matter how far she was taken, she would always find her way back to him.

But instead, she downed the rest of her drink, set the glass down with a quiet finality, and stood. Just like the first night they met, she turned toward the door. No guards would drag her away this time. She was walking out on her own. At the threshold, she hesitated—just for a second—before glancing over her shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time.

And she smiled.

“See you later, Vander.”

His expression didn’t change. He just nodded, slow and knowing. “Yeah,” he murmured.

The doors opened before she could push them herself. The enforcers were already there, standing just outside, waiting. But something was different this time.

They weren’t pulling her away. They weren’t dragging her from the bar like before. She was already leaving. And that, if anything, made it worse. For the first time, they almost looked sad. Not because they had to bring her back. But because they knew.

Because this time, she wasn’t coming back.

=

The morning of her wedding was quiet. Too quiet. No laughter, no clinking glasses, no whispered conversations drifting through the halls like they should have been. Even the enforcers outside her door weren’t speaking, their usual idle chatter replaced with silence. They knew. Everyone knew.

This wasn’t just a wedding. It was a sentence.

Y/N stood before the mirror, barely recognizing the girl staring back at her. The dress was beautiful—perfect, her mother had said. Delicate lace, soft silk, every pearl and embroidered detail crafted with precision. Yet, all she saw was a cage. She looked like the woman her father had shaped her into—poised, polished, silent. A bride. A bargaining chip. A prisoner.

Her fingers curled into the fabric at her sides, nails pressing into the fine silk as if she could rip through it and break free. Every stolen night in Zaun, every unfinished drink at The Last Drop, every teasing smirk from Vander—it had all been borrowed time, a dream that had to end.

And now, here she was. Standing in a dress she never wanted. Walking a path she never chose.

The fight was over.

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing hard, forcing down the ache rising in her throat. This was it. This was—

Tap.

Her breath hitched.

A soft, deliberate tap against the glass.

Her eyes snapped open, heart hammering, pulse roaring in her ears. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she turned toward the window.

And there he was.

Vander.

Standing on the narrow balcony, broad shoulders barely fitting in the small space, his storm-coloured eyes locked onto hers. The morning light caught the silver streaks in his hair, but nothing softened the intensity of his gaze. He was calm, steady—dangerous in the way only certainty could be.

Her breath left her in a sharp exhale, disbelieving. “You—what the hell are you doing here?”

Vander smirked, slow and knowing, fingers still resting against the glass. “Came to steal a bride, what’s it look like?”

Her stomach twisted painfully, breath catching in her throat. She stared at him, at the sheer audacity of him standing there, calm as ever, as if this wasn’t completely insane. As if they weren’t in the heart of Piltover, with enforcers right outside her door, with her entire future hanging in the balance.

“You can’t just—” She shook her head, words failing. “Vander.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, tilting his head. “What? You gonna tell me you wanna go through with this?”

She swallowed hard, fingers tightening in the fabric of her gown.

He watched her carefully, voice softer when he spoke again. “You say the word, love, and I’ll walk away. But if you don’t wanna do this—if you don’t wanna marry this bastard—then come with me.”

A pause. A choice.

His voice dropped lower, quieter. “Ain’t no one gonna stop you this time.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. No one was coming to drag her away. No one was forcing her into anything. This time, it was up to her. She inhaled sharply, gripping the skirts of her dress.

And then, without another word

She ran

SILCO

The rain hit the cobblestone streets in rhythmic patters, coating Zaun in a silver sheen. It was late, past the time anyone decent should be out. But then again, you had never belonged to a world of decency.

The first time you ran away, it was not truly by choice. It was by design—by greed, by the hunger of parents who had spent their whole lives clawing for something better. They had seen their opportunity in you.

“He’s your chance,” they had said. A man from Piltover, polished and wealthy, who had looked at you like a prize rather than a person. “A life up there is better than anything you’ll ever get in this gutter.”

And for a while, you had believed them. Because what else was there? Zaun, with its decay and danger, had been your whole world. And Silco—Silco had been a part of it. A boy who had grown into a man alongside you, who had been there in every quiet moment, every stolen night. But he had no gold, no promise of a clean future.

Your parents wanted wealth. Stability. A way to claw their way out of Zaun’s grasp, even if it meant selling you to a man who could afford to take you with him.

And so you had gone.

Now, you were back. A ring on your finger. A ghost of a bruise on your wrist. And nowhere left to go but here.

Tomorrow, you would marry him.

Tonight, you needed to see Silco one last time.

The door to his office creaked as you stepped inside, water dripping from your clothes onto the floor. The familiar scent of whiskey and smoke greeted you, wrapping around you like a warning. He was behind his desk, as he always was, a half-empty glass resting in his hand. His gaze lifted slowly, trailing over you, and you braced for the impact of those sharp, knowing eyes.

“Y/N,” Silco drawled, voice as smooth as ever, but undercut with something unreadable. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the soaked fabric of your cloak. “I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

A beat of silence. Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “Strange. I recall you once saying Piltover had everything you needed.”

The sting of his words wasn’t unexpected. You had left him behind once before, choosing another man, another life. One built on bright dreams and whispered vows. And yet, here you stood, back in the depths of the Undercity, a place you had tried so hard to forget.

His gaze flickered downward. His eye, sharp and unforgiving, lingered on your wrist, where the bruise—faint but unmistakable—peeked from beneath your sleeve.

His expression didn’t change. But something in the air did.

“Who?” The single word was quiet, but it carried the weight of a storm.

You exhaled sharply, tugging your sleeve down. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, but it does.” Silco stood, his movements slow, measured. His gaze never left you as he came around the desk, stopping only when he was close enough for you to feel the warmth of him. “I assume he is the reason you’re here?”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to say no, wanted to say you had come back for him, that you had realized too late where your heart had always belonged. But the words refused to come.

Instead, you whispered, “I made a mistake.”

Silco’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Then, just as quickly, his mask slipped back into place.

“Did you?” he murmured, reaching out, fingertips just barely grazing your chin, tilting it upward. His eye searched yours, waiting, measuring. “And now you’re here. With a ring that isn’t mine.”

Shame burned through you. “I didn’t come to ask for help.”

“No?” His voice was a blade now. “Then what did you come for?”

You swallowed. “To say goodbye.”

Silco stilled.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “Tomorrow, I—” The words caught in your throat. “Tomorrow, I marry him.”

His expression didn’t change, but the silence that followed was unbearable.

Silco’s fingers ghosted over your wrist, his thumb brushing against the faint bruises with a gentleness that didn’t match the sharpness in his voice. “And this? Does he treat you well?”

The lie sat heavy on your tongue. But Silco had always seen through you.

“He’s not you,” you admitted.

Silco exhaled slowly, as though steadying himself.

“I thought I had to do it,” you continued, voice barely above a whisper. “My parents—they sold me to him. A means to an end.” You let out a bitter laugh. “They said love would come after wealth. But it never did.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might lash out, might demand that you stay, might try to fight for you the way you had once wished he would.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped closer, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. “You still have a choice, Y/N.”

Tears burned behind your eyes. “No, I don’t.”

His hands came up then, framing your face, tilting your chin so that you had no choice but to look at him. “Then why are you here?”

Your breath hitched.

And then, finally—

“Because I love you.”

The moment your lips met his, the world outside ceased to exist.

It was all Silco—his hands, his touch, the heat of his body pressed against yours. The rough fabric of his vest beneath your fingers, the scent of smoke and whiskey filling your senses as his fingers tangled into your damp hair, pulling you deeper into him.

You had kissed him before—years ago, in secret, before everything had fallen apart. But this was different. There was no uncertainty now, no hesitation. This was desperation. This was finality.

His hands roamed over your body as though trying to memorize every inch of you before you slipped away from him again. And you let him, let yourself drown in the feeling of his touch, the way he held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable.

His lips ghosted over yours between breaths, whispering against your skin. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes heavy with longing, with pain. “I had to.”

Silco’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a touch so reverent it made your chest ache. “You’re cruel, Y/N.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I know.”

His lips found yours again, deeper this time, more claiming. His other hand slid down to your waist, gripping you firmly, like he was trying to keep you tethered to him. His voice was lower, rougher when he spoke next.

“Tell me you don’t love him.”

You let out a shuddering breath, pressing your forehead against his. “I don’t love him.”

His fingers dug into your waist, possessive. “Say it again.”

You kissed him, pouring everything into it—every regret, every unsaid word, every stolen moment between you. “I don’t love him,” you murmured against his lips, again and again, until the words blurred between kisses, until the truth settled into your bones.

Silco pulled back just enough to study you, his single eye dark and searching. “And yet, you’re still going to marry him.”

Your heart clenched. “I have no choice.”

His grip on you tightened, but his voice was eerily calm. “There’s always a choice.”

You shook your head. “Not for me. Not anymore.”

For a moment, you thought he would fight you on it, that he would demand you stay. But instead, his expression shifted—something raw, something resigned.

“Then I’ll make sure he never touches you again.”

You inhaled sharply, your hands pressing against his chest. “No, Silco.”

His jaw clenched. “Why not?”

“Because I won’t be the reason you start a war,” you whispered. “I won’t let you burn Piltover to the ground for me.”

His gaze flickered with something dangerous. “I’d burn the whole world if it meant keeping you.”

Your breath caught. You knew he meant it. You had always known.

But that wasn’t why you came. You didn’t come for war, or for vengeance. You came for him.

So you reached for him again, pulling him down to kiss you, slow and deep, as if this could be enough, as if it could make up for everything.

His hands slid over your hips, gripping you tight as he guided you backward, until the backs of your knees hit the couch. You let yourself fall, pulling him down with you, letting him press you into the worn fabric as his mouth found your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm, his voice raw with possession. “You’ve always been mine.”

Tears burned behind your eyes as your fingers tangled in his hair. “Then take me. One last time.”

A growl rumbled low in his throat, his lips crashing against yours again as he pressed his body flush against yours. The weight of him, the warmth of him, the way his hands held you like he was terrified you would slip through his fingers—it was everything you had ever wanted.

And for one last night, you let yourself belong to him.

=

You woke before the sun rose, still wrapped in Silco’s arms. His breath was slow and steady against your shoulder, his body warm against yours beneath the thin sheets. A rare moment of peace.

For a fleeting second, you let yourself stay there. Listened to the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, felt the gentle weight of his arm draped over your waist. His grip had loosened in sleep, but not completely—like some part of him still feared you’d disappear the moment he let go.

And maybe he was right to.

A soft chill crept through the air, your bare skin prickling in response. It wasn’t until you shifted that you realized something heavy and warm was draped over both of you—his jacket.

At some point in the night, he must have pulled it over you, shielding you from the cold. The familiar scent of him clung to the fabric, a mixture of smoke, steel, and something undeniably him. You swallowed hard, fingers curling into the worn leather.

Silco wasn’t a man of grand gestures, of whispered affections. But this—this silent, protective act—meant more than any words ever could.

And it made leaving all the more unbearable.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, trying not to wake him. His fingers twitched in protest as your warmth left his side, but he didn’t stir. You sat at the edge of the couch, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself as you gazed at him.

Even in sleep, he was himself—sharp angles and quiet intensity, the scarred side of his face half-hidden against the pillow. You memorized him, let your eyes trace every detail like it was the last time you’d ever see him.

Because it was.

Your limbs ached, your skin bore the imprint of his touch, and yet, it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Silco’s jacket was still around your shoulders when you stood, its weight like an anchor, like a promise that had come too late. You wanted to keep it. You wanted to keep a piece of him.

But that would be cruel.

So, with trembling hands, you slipped it from your shoulders and laid it carefully beside him. Your fingers ghosted over the lapel, over the familiar worn seams.

A part of you ached to wake him, to tell him you had changed your mind, to let him pull you back into the warmth of his arms and never let go.

But you had no right.

You made it to the door before his voice stopped you.

“Y/N.”

You turned, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him—half-illuminated by the faint glow of the lantern, hair tousled from sleep, the sheets pooling at his waist. His single eye locked onto yours, heavy with something you weren’t ready to face.

His voice was quiet, rough with sleep. “Stay.”

Your heart cracked. You wanted to. You wanted to so badly that it physically hurt. But you couldn’t. So instead, you gave him the only truth that mattered.

“I love you.”

Silco inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach for you. But he didn’t. He only watched as you turned and slipped out the door, disappearing into the fading darkness. His jacket lay abandoned beside him.

And when he finally reached for it, it was cold.

=

The church was suffocating, its silence heavier than the officiant’s words. Air pressed against your chest, thick with expectation, as you stood frozen at the altar, heart thundering beneath layers of silk and lace. Stained-glass windows painted fractured hues of gold and red onto the marble floors, casting you as an illusion on the verge of shattering. Piltover’s elite sat poised, gloved hands folded, their sharp gazes pinning you in place. Trained for this moment, conditioned to be the perfect bride—a symbol of unity, power, and wealth—you felt instead like a prisoner in a gilded cage.

Your fiancé—your husband-to-be—smiled, calm and certain, as if your fate had already been sealed. His fingers curled around yours, firm and unrelenting. But your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out the murmured vows. You could still feel Silco—his hands, his lips, the ghost of his touch still clinging to your skin. The way he had whispered your name, the way he had told you you still had a choice.

And yet, here you were.

The officiant’s voice barely registered, his words blurring into nothing as your mind swam in an ocean of doubt.

"Do you, Y/N, take this man as your lawful husband?"

The words rang hollow.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly in your fiancé’s grasp. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your chest ached, a war raging inside you.

Say it. Say yes. Say something.

You couldn’t.

A cold sweat prickled at the back of your neck. The officiant was waiting. Your fiancé’s grip tightened just slightly, his smile unwavering, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—were anything but soft.

He knew. He knew you were hesitating. And then—

Boom!

The grand church doors burst open, crashing against the stone walls with a deafening bang. Gasps erupted from the pews, women clutching their pearls, men rising abruptly from their seats. The air turned electric with tension, fear rippling through the pristine congregation as booted footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

Zaunites.

The scent of smoke and gunpowder clung to them, an unmistakable stench of the Undercity—your city, the one you had tried to leave behind. They moved with practiced ease, fanning out through the church like a silent threat. Not reckless, not wild—intentional.

And in the centre of it all, flanked by his men, stood Silco.

The breath left your lungs.

He was still, a commanding force, his long coat billowing as he strode forward with the slow, measured steps of a man who knew he was untouchable. His mismatched eyes cut through the crowd, through the suffocating air of gold and wealth, and landed directly on you.

The church had never felt smaller.

His face was unreadable, but his anger was palpable. Not rage—control. A dangerous kind of fury, a silent promise.

He took you in, his gaze sweeping over your pristine wedding dress, the silk gloves on your hands, the delicate gold chain around your neck. Everything about you was wrapped in Piltover’s claim.

A slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

"Well," Silco drawled, voice smooth as ever, but undercut with something sharp. "Apologies for the interruption. But I believe the bride has some unfinished business."

The reaction was instant.

Your fiancé stiffened beside you, stepping forward as though to shield you from the man before him. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded, voice sharp with authority.

Silco barely spared him a glance. His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering. “I should be asking you that, considering you’re trying to wed a woman who doesn’t want you.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade.

Murmurs broke out among the guests. Shocked gasps, whispers of scandal, of impropriety. The officiant took a nervous step back, his hands trembling over his book.

The guards stationed at the doors exchanged uneasy glances, hesitating. Zaunites weren’t common in Piltover’s sacred halls, and none were foolish enough to test the man before them. Silco wasn’t just any Zaunite.

Your fiancé scoffed, turning his glare on you now. “This is ridiculous,” he spat. “Tell them, Y/N. Tell them you chose this. Tell them you want this.”

Silco tilted his head, watching you with unnerving patience. He said nothing. He didn’t need to.

Because this was your choice.

The weight of expectation pressed against you. Your parents, your fiancé, the glittering world of Piltover—everything that had been set out for you.

But then there was Silco. Waiting. Hoping. Loving you in a way no one else ever had. Your lips parted.

“I—”

Your fiancé squeezed your hands tighter. “Say it.”

You flinched. Silco noticed. His patience evaporated in an instant. His men raised their weapons as he took another step forward, his voice dropping into a dangerous growl.

"Let. Her. Go."

Your fiancé hesitated, but only for a moment before he yanked you toward him, an unmistakable warning in his grip. “She’s mine.”

That was the final mistake.

Silco moved in a blur.

A blade flashed in his hand as he grabbed your fiancé by the collar, yanking him forward with terrifying ease. The polished steel kissed his throat, forcing him to still.

The church fell silent once more.

Silco’s lips curled into something sharp, something deadly.

“She was never yours,” he murmured.

Your fiancé swallowed hard, his confidence flickering under the weight of Silco’s unwavering stare. “You wouldn’t,” he spat. “Not here. Not in Piltover.”

Silco’s smirk was razor-sharp. “Wouldn’t I?”

A tense beat passed.

And then—

"Silco."

Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but it sliced through the thick air like a knife.

His grip on your fiancé tightened for a fraction of a second before, with a sharp tch, he released him, shoving the man backward with enough force that he stumbled.

Your breath trembled in your chest.

Silco turned to you then, stepping closer, his presence consuming. “Say the word,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost pleading. “Say the word and I’ll burn all of this to the ground.”

Your fiancé was still sputtering behind you, his voice distant, irrelevant.

But it didn’t matter.

None of it did.

Not the gasping nobles in the pews. Not the shocked officiant, clutching his ceremonial book like a shield. Not the weight of expectation that had been suffocating you for years.

Nothing mattered except the man standing before you.

The man who had come for you.

The man who had always been waiting for you.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, your hands trembling at your sides as your heart pounded against your ribs, caught between fear and something rawer, something inevitable.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

Silco didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Only studied you with that unreadable gaze—like he was looking past the silk and jewels, past the gilded chains Piltover had wrapped around you, seeing only the girl he had always known.

The girl who belonged to him.

"And yet," he murmured, voice low, steady, certain, "here I am."

Slowly, deliberately, Silco lifted a hand.

His fingers curled beneath your chin, the calloused tips brushing against your skin with a featherlight touch. It wasn’t forceful. It wasn’t demanding. It was a question.

A challenge.

A choice.

For a moment, time stretched between you, an eternity wrapped in a single breath. The air felt thick, electric, as if the entire world teetered on the precipice of this moment. As if the very foundations of Piltover held still, waiting—watching—to see what you would do.

And then—

You chose.

You surged forward, closing the space between you in an instant. Your silk-gloved hands fisted into the front of his coat as you crashed your lips against his, pouring everything you had into him. Every ache, every regret, every moment of longing you had swallowed down in the name of duty—it was his now.

A scandalized gasp rippled through the pews, but the sound barely registered in your ears.

The world fell away, dissolving into nothing.

Silco caught you with a steady, unshakable grip, as if he had been waiting for this, expecting it, counting on it. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling you deeper, his other hand finding the small of your back and pressing you flush against him. There was no hesitation, no restraint—he kissed you with a hunger that set your veins on fire, a desperation that spoke of years lost, of a future he was willing to burn the world for.

And you let him.

You melted into him, into the taste of whiskey and smoke, into the warmth of him, into the rightness of it all.

You had spent years convincing yourself this feeling wasn’t real. That you had outgrown the girl who had once stolen away into the depths of Zaun to be by his side. But the truth was clearer now than it had ever been.

This was where you belonged.

When you finally broke apart, your chest was heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Silco didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t so much as breathe as he stared down at you, his single eye flickering with something dark and unreadable, something alive.

And then, with the kind of certainty that made your knees weak, he extended his hand—palm open, waiting.

"Let me take you away from this place." His voice was a whisper between you, a promise wrapped in smoke. "Back to where you always have belonged. Right beside me."

An invitation.

A vow.

You took it without hesitation. The moment your fingers slipped into his, the weight of everything disappeared.

Behind you, the church erupted into chaos. Women shrieked. Noblemen shouted in outrage. Your fiancé was yelling your name, his voice desperate, angry, humiliated all at once. Your mother’s sharp, disbelieving gasp cut through the clamour like a blade, her voice rising in a breathless, horrified whisper.

"What have you done?"

But you didn’t look back.

Not when you stepped down from the altar, silk dress trailing behind—a life never truly yours; not when you passed your parents’ stunned faces, their broken ambitions never meant for you; not when Silco led you through the grand doors, his men shielding you from the world you left behind; not when the cold air hit, Piltover fading into fog while Zaun’s smog called you home; not when Silco pulled you close, draping his coat around you, his lips a silent promise against your temple.

And for the first time in your life—

You knew, with certainty—

You had made the right choice.

MEL

You and Mel grew up together, bound by the expectations of your high-status families but tethered more deeply by the quiet understanding that neither of you quite belonged within those constraints. From the moment you met, she had been a steady presence—sharp-witted, observant, the only person who ever made you feel truly seen.

There had always been something effortless about your bond, an unspoken ease in the way you moved through each other's worlds. In the grand halls of the Medarda estate, where golden sconces bathed the marble floors in soft, flickering light, she was a force of nature—draped in silks, adorned in gold, commanding attention with the mere arch of an eyebrow. And yet, in the quiet of her private quarters, beneath the carved ceiling where the glow of candlelight softened the sharp edges of expectation, she was simply Mel.

You spent endless afternoons there, the scent of ink and aged parchment thick in the air as you played chess across an opulent mahogany table. The game was an excuse, really—an intellectual battleground where the real war was waged in words. Strategy and sacrifice. Power and defiance. She could read you too well, saw past your carefully maintained indifference.

It was inevitable that the conversation would return, time and time again, to the future.

“They’ll expect you to marry one day,” Mel mused one evening, turning a rook between her fingers, its polished surface gleaming in the lantern light. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but her gaze was calculating, golden eyes sweeping over the board, then to you.

You scoffed, flicking a pawn aside with deliberate carelessness. “Marriage is a gilded cage,” you muttered. “They talk about alliances, but really, it’s just another way to control us.”

Mel hummed in consideration, tilting her head slightly. “And you?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more pointed. “What will you do when they demand it of you?”

There was no hesitation. No second-guessing. “I’ll run.”

She laughed at that—a soft, breathy sound, edged with something like amusement but not quite. Her fingers hovered over the rook for a moment longer before placing it down with a decisive click. “You always say that,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Because I mean it.” You leaned forward, bracing your elbows against the table, eyes locked with hers. “I won’t let them decide my life for me.”

A flicker of something—doubt? Curiosity?—crossed her features. She studied you for a moment, a slow, deliberate assessment. Then, in a voice quieter than before, she asked, “And if you found someone worth staying for?”

The question stole your breath for half a second. Not because you hadn’t considered it before, but because of the way she asked it—soft, careful, as if the answer mattered more than she’d ever admit.

You hesitated, the pieces on the board suddenly feeling insignificant compared to the weight of her words. The candlelight caught the gold in her eyes, turning them molten, unreadable.

“Maybe,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter now. “But only if it’s my choice.”

Something in her expression shifted, but whatever it was, she kept it to herself. Instead, she reached for her queen, dragging it forward across the board with deliberate grace.

“Check,” she murmured, but there was no triumph in her voice—only something softer, something uncertain.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were still talking about chess at all.

=

Years passed, and what began as a quiet companionship deepened into something undeniable. The stolen glances, the lingering touches, the way Mel’s voice softened when she spoke your name—it had all woven into something more. Something unspoken, yet understood.

You had spent years convincing yourself that it didn’t need to be said aloud, that as long as she looked at you that way, as long as her hand lingered on yours for just a moment too long, you could be content. But love had a way of making itself known, carving its mark into every stolen second you spent together.

And then, in a single moment, your world shattered.

The letter came without warning, a summons to the grand hall of your family’s estate. You had barely stepped inside when you saw them—your parents, standing rigidly at the head of the long, polished table, their expressions carved from stone. A sealed letter rested between them, the wax crest unfamiliar, its meaning heavy with expectation.

Your father’s voice was devoid of warmth. "You are to be married."

The words struck like a physical blow.

"To a nobleman from the Southern Territories," he continued. "This union will solidify an alliance that has been years in the making. You leave in a fortnight."

The room seemed to tilt around you. Your pulse roared in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of your own breathing. Married. Sent away. Torn from Mel.

Your lips parted, but no words came. A thousand thoughts, a thousand refusals clawed their way to the surface, but all that escaped was a broken whisper.

"No."

Your mother exhaled sharply, her fingers pressing to her temple as if speaking to you was an exhausting effort. "You will do what is required of you, Y/N. This is not about love—it is about duty."

Love.

Mel.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. "And what of my own will? My own happiness?"

Your father’s gaze was like steel, unyielding. "You are not a child, and this is not a fairytale. You will do as you are told."

The words slammed into you, suffocating, final. You felt the walls closing in, the weight of expectation pressing against your ribs until you could barely breathe.

But you would not break here.

You turned on your heel and fled before they could say another word, the heavy doors slamming shut behind you. Your feet carried you without thought, without hesitation, down the stone paths and through the winding streets until the towering gates of the Medarda estate loomed before you.

The guards barely had time to react before you pushed through, heart hammering as you rushed through the familiar halls, past the towering marble columns, past the velvet-draped corridors.

You found her in the gardens, where the air smelled of roses and the last golden rays of sunlight turned the sky into a watercolor of amber and violet. She was leaning against the stone railing, her silk robe pooling around her in the evening glow.

She turned the moment she saw you, her golden eyes sharpening with concern.

"What happened?"

The words came out in a rush, like a dam breaking. "They’re sending me away. To be married."

Mel stilled, every trace of ease vanishing from her expression. Her grip tightened around the marble ledge. "No. No, they can’t."

You let out a bitter laugh, though it was anything but humorous. "They can. And they will."

Mel’s hands found yours, her fingers strong but trembling, like she was willing herself to stay composed. "You told me you would run," she whispered, searching your face. "You told me you wouldn’t let them decide your life."

Tears burned at the edges of your vision. "I was a child. I didn’t know how ruthless they could be."

Mel exhaled sharply, her hands rising to cup your face, her thumbs brushing against your cheekbones with a tenderness that nearly undid you. "You were brave then," she said, her voice fierce, steady. "Be brave now. If we fight, if we stand together, we can find a way. You don’t have to do this alone."

Your lip trembled, and you leaned into her touch, your forehead resting against hers. "What if we lose?"

Mel’s breath ghosted against your lips as she whispered, "Then we lose together. But I will not let them take you without a fight."

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and Mel caught it with her thumb, her other hand still gripping yours as if she refused to let go.

And then, as if something inside her had finally shattered, she spoke the words you had longed to hear but never dared hope for.

"I love you," she whispered, the words slipping past her lips like a vow. "I have always loved you. And I will not stand by while they take you away from me."

The breath left your lungs. You had known, in the quiet spaces between moments, in the way she looked at you, in the way her fingers lingered at your wrist when no one was watching. But to hear it, to have it spoken into existence, was something else entirely.

Your hands tightened around hers. "Mel," you whispered, her name a prayer on your lips.

The wind stirred between you, rustling the leaves, carrying the weight of your choice on its back.

This was everything you wanted, everything you had feared you would never have. And yet, duty loomed like a shadow over your happiness, threatening to swallow it whole.

=

The fortnight passed in a blur of whispered plans and stolen moments, of desperate strategies and half-formed hopes.

Mel was relentless—poring over maps, calling in favors, speaking in hushed tones to the few people she trusted. Every night, as the world slept, you met beneath the veil of darkness, your hands intertwined as you planned your escape.

“We’ll leave before dawn,” she had told you just the night before, her voice unwavering, golden eyes blazing with determination. “I have everything arranged—a ship, safe passage. We’ll be gone before they even realize what’s happened.”

You had clung to those words, to the dream she painted, to the idea of a life beyond the cages that had been built for you.

But dreams are fragile things.

Before the sun had even begun to crest the horizon, you were torn from sleep by the rough grip of hands on your arms.

You fought, thrashing, kicking, nails clawing at the hands that held you, but there were too many—guards clad in your family’s colors, their grips unyielding as steel.

“No,” you gasped, struggling as they dragged you from your bed. “No, let me go!”

The silence of the estate swallowed your cries. No servants, no distant echoes of life—only the muffled shuffle of boots against marble and your own ragged breaths.

Panic clawed at your throat.

They had known. Somehow, they had known.

Your father stood at the foot of the grand staircase, his posture rigid, his expression carved from stone. Beside him, your mother lingered in the flickering glow of the lanterns, her face unreadable.

“This is for your own good,” she said simply, as if that made any of it better.

The doors swung open, and the cold morning air struck like a blade against your skin. Outside, a carriage stood waiting, its dark wood gleaming with frost, horses stamping impatiently against the cobblestone.

“No!” Your voice broke as you thrashed harder, as the guards lifted you off the ground and carried you toward the waiting prison on wheels. “Mel—!”

A cry of rage split the morning stillness.

And then she was there.

Mel.

A vision of fury and desperation, her silk robe billowing behind her as she sprinted from the Medarda estate, bare feet against stone, golden eyes alight with wild defiance.

“Let her go!” she shouted, her voice shaking with rage, her breath coming fast.

She ran toward you, hands outstretched, reaching— But then— A hand shot out, catching her by the wrist, wrenching her back.

Ambessa Medarda

She stood unmoving, her grip firm but deceptively gentle, a force of quiet control against her daughter’s frenzied struggle.

“Mel,” you choked, reaching for her even as the guards shoved you inside the carriage, even as the heavy doors slammed shut, sealing you away.

Mel fought. Fought like hell. She wrenched against her mother’s grasp, heels digging into the stone, her entire body twisting as she tried to tear herself free.

“Let me go!” she screamed, raw and broken, eyes locked onto yours through the small window of the carriage.

But her mother did not yield.

“Enough,” Ambessa said, her voice cool, measured, a quiet force of unshakable will. “This is how it must be.”

“No!” Mel’s voice cracked, her struggles frantic. “She belongs with me!”

The carriage lurched forward. You slammed your fists against the window, eyes burning, throat closing with unshed tears.

Outside, Mel twisted in her mother’s grip, a broken sound tearing from her lips as she reached for you—fingers outstretched, just shy of touching—

And then she was gone.

The estate blurred into the distance, the city shrinking behind you, the life you had known disappearing like a cruel mirage.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your hands trembling in your lap, your skin still burning from where she had touched you last. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But as you stared at the fading horizon, the ghost of her voice still ringing in your ears, you made a vow. This wasn’t over. Not yet.

Right?

=

The weight of the gown felt suffocating.

Layers of delicate silk and lace cascaded over your form, flowing like water but clinging like chains. Every stitch, every pearl embroidered into the bodice, felt like an extension of the prison you had been thrust into. The corset bit into your ribs, each breath a reminder that this was not yours to escape.

The veil, though sheer, felt more like a shroud, draping over you as you walked down the grand aisle of the cathedral.

The air was thick with incense and expectation. Nobles, dressed in their finest, filled the pews, their whispers barely concealed behind gloved hands and jeweled fans. Their curiosity was a vulture circling above you, feeding off the spectacle of your fate.

Overhead, chandeliers bathed everything in a golden glow, their light flickering against the polished marble floors, reflecting in the cold eyes of the man waiting for you at the altar.

Your fiancé.

He was handsome in the way noblemen were bred to be—sharp features, tall, expression as carefully measured as his perfectly tailored attire. His hands were clasped before him, unreadable. He was everything your parents wanted—noble, powerful, an impeccable chess piece in their grand game.

But he wasn’t Mel.

The thought made your stomach churn.

Each step felt heavier, like your feet were sinking into the marble itself, dragging you toward a life that did not belong to you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, suffocated by the weight of expectation.

And then—

Boom.

The massive doors at the end of the aisle slammed open.

Gasps filled the cathedral as heads snapped toward the entrance, murmurs breaking into full-blown panic as a figure strode inside.

Ambessa Medarda.

She moved like a storm, each step a rumble of distant thunder. Her boots echoed against the marble, broad shoulders squared, adorned in gleaming gold armor that caught the candlelight and made her look like something out of legend.

Her presence was suffocating. Absolute. Ambessa Medarda did not make entrances. She made declarations. And this?

This was a declaration of war.

Your breath caught, hands trembling against the bouquet you barely remembered holding.

“What is the meaning of this?” The groom’s father, a lord of the Southern Territories, stood abruptly, his face flushing with anger. “This is a sacred ceremony—”

Ambessa did not acknowledge him. Her gaze found yours first, heavy and assessing, as if confirming you were still whole. Then, without breaking stride, she pulled a parchment from her belt, unrolling it with deliberate care.

“This union,” she said, voice deep, unwavering, “is no longer valid.”

The room went silent.

Your fiancé’s father scoffed, stepping forward. “This is absurd. Who are you to—”

Ambessa’s gaze turned to him, and he froze mid-sentence.

Then, with the patience of someone who had expected resistance, Ambessa extended the parchment to your father.

His hand twitched before he took it, fingers stiff, almost reluctant, as though touching the document itself would burn him. The parchment unfurled with a soft crinkle, the ink catching the candlelight, and he scanned the words hurriedly, his breath hitching with each line his eyes devoured.

Your stomach tightened, an unseen hand twisting its fingers into your gut, pulling. Your father was not an easy man to shake, yet there it was—the shift in his expression, the flicker of disbelief swallowed by something graver.

His face paled.

“This—” The word barely left him, strangled and raw. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his knuckles whitening as his grip crushed the edges of the parchment. His gaze darted back and forth between the inked decree and Ambessa, desperate, searching— for an error, for an escape, for anything that would unravel this.

He found none.

Slowly, as though the weight of the words had turned him to stone, he lifted his head. His eyes locked onto Ambessa’s, burning with unspoken fury.

“You expect me to agree to this?” His voice wavered—not in uncertainty, but in something else, something sharp and disbelieving, yet edged with a helplessness he had not expected to feel.

Ambessa did not flinch. Did not move. Did not waver beneath the storm brewing in your father’s gaze. “This is not a request.”

The air thickened, pressing in from all sides, suffocating in its silence.

Your father’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. You had seen him furious before—rage that scorched, that consumed. But now? Now, there was something else flickering beneath it, something heavier.

Resignation.

Your mother, seated in the front row, remained eerily still. A porcelain figure cast in cold detachment. She did not speak. She did not move. But there was something about the way she held herself, her fingers clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned ghostly white.

She would not stop this.

Ambessa stepped forward, the click of her boots against the marble floor reverberating through the vast cathedral. Her presence swallowed the space, swallowed the room, left no room for resistance.

“You will sign it,” she said, each word deliberate, measured. Unshakable. “Both of you.”

A cold dread pooled in your stomach, thick and heavy.

Your father turned slightly toward your mother, searching, perhaps, for defiance in her eyes. A shared outrage. A reason to fight. But she did not meet his gaze. The quill in Ambessa’s hand gleamed, its tip poised and waiting.

For the briefest of moments, hesitation cracked the air, stretching the silence into something unbearable. Your father’s fingers twitched at his sides, his breath uneven, shallow.

You wanted to move. To speak. To demand to know what this meant. But you already knew.

Slowly, with movements so precise they almost seemed unnatural, your father reached for the quill. The feather trembled in his grip before he pressed the tip to the parchment.

The ink bled into the page, dark and inescapable. His signature bloomed across the document—permanent. Final. Something inside you twisted.

Your mother followed without a word. The scratch of her quill against the parchment was the only sound in the cavernous cathedral, the weight of its finality heavier than steel. Then she set it down.

It was done.

A murmur rippled through the pews, the weight of realization settling over the gathered nobles like a suffocating fog. The shifting of silks, the hushed voices of those watching history reshape itself before their very eyes.

And then—

“What is the meaning of this?”

The groom’s father surged to his feet, the force of his movement sending the heavy fabric of his robes billowing around him. His voice thundered through the high arches, rattling the air with unrestrained fury. His face had darkened, eyes wild with disbelief, with indignation, with betrayal.

He turned sharply on your father, his rage palpable. “What have you done?” His voice was thick, taut with barely restrained outrage. And then, he turned on her.

Ambessa.

His disbelief twisted into something more dangerous, something venomous. “This arrangement was settled. Our families agreed.” He gestured sharply to the parchment still clutched in your father’s trembling hands. “What gives you the right to change it?”

Ambessa barely spared him a glance. “The fact that I can.” A single sentence, wielded with the weight of an empire behind it. Your breath hitched.

The nobleman’s lips curled, his nostrils flaring as he fought against the tide closing in around him. “This is outrageous—”

“She will not marry your son,” Ambessa interrupted, the words clean, absolute, carving through the tension like a blade. “She will marry my daughter.”

The hush that followed was deafening.

It slammed into you, left you adrift, unmoored. The weight of a thousand eyes pressed in from all sides, heavy, suffocating.

Your father’s grip on the parchment twitched, but he said nothing.

The groom’s father’s gaze swept across the room, searching, desperate, waiting for someone—anyone—to challenge this. Someone to fight.

But no one spoke.

And then, his gaze landed on you.

“You think you can just take her?” His voice was bitter, thick with incredulity, seething with unspent fury.

Ambessa Medarda did not flinch. She did not shrink beneath his anger, nor did she offer any hint of apology. She merely inclined her head slightly, expression unreadable, gaze as sharp as a blade.

“I did not take her,” she said smoothly. “She was given.”

A pause. A beat of silence so sharp it could cut. She flicked her gaze to your father. His silence was damning. You exhaled, the weight in your chest tightening like a vice.

Ambessa turned back to you. “Come.”

The moment stretched, thick with something unspoken. Your chest tightened. Your breath shuddered. Your mind raced, grasping at strings, desperate to catch up.

But fight for what?

A future you never wanted? A man who had never once truly looked at you? A life built on obligation, duty, sacrifice— for everyone but yourself?

Your fingers loosened.

The bouquet slipped from your hands, the delicate petals hitting the marble with a soft whisper, the sound swallowed instantly by the vastness of the cathedral.

A murmur of scandal rippled through the gathered nobles, whispers like a thousand tiny knives scraping against your skin.

But you did not falter. Lifting the heavy skirts of your gown, you stepped away from the altar. Gasps echoed through the cathedral, rippling outward like a tidal wave. But they no longer mattered.

You did not spare your fiancé a glance. You did not look at your parents. You only followed Ambessa—toward the life that had been stolen from you.

Toward the woman who was waiting for you.

=

The ride back was silent for a long time.

The weight of your wedding gown pooled around you, heavy and untouched. You barely felt it now. Your pulse had yet to settle, the echoes of the ceremony lingering in your mind like a dream you had just woken from.

Ambessa Medarda did not speak without purpose. She had made her move, disrupted a marriage that would have cemented political ties, and now sat as if nothing had happened at all.

Finally, she spoke.

“I still see love as weakness.”

You turned your head to look at her. She wasn’t looking at you, her gaze fixed on the window, her expression as unreadable as ever.

“I built everything I have because I was willing to make sacrifices,” she continued, voice steady, resolute. “I have never let emotions cloud my judgment. And I do not believe I ever will.” Then, for the first time, she looked at you. “But I know my daughter.”

The weight of those words settled deep in your chest. Ambessa studied you for a long moment, as if calculating, measuring something unseen. Then she exhaled, the faintest hint of frustration flickering across her face.

“And I know that if I had let this marriage happen, she would never forgive me.”

Your throat tightened. Mel.

This—this wasn’t for you. It was for her.

You swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “Did she…?” The question felt fragile, hesitant. “Did she ask you to do this?”

Ambessa’s lips twitched in the faintest semblance of amusement. “Mel does not ask for things. She fights for them.”

The ache in your chest grew sharper.

“She loves you,” Ambessa said simply, as if stating a fact rather than something profound. “Enough that she would have burned every bridge, toppled every alliance, if it meant getting you back.”

The breath left your lungs. Mel had fought for you. Even when you had been dragged away, when she had been held back, when all had seemed lost—she hadn’t stopped. Ambessa studied you once more before exhaling sharply, as if exhausted by the very concept of sentimentality.

“I may not agree with her,” she said, “but I will not stand in her way.”

The carriage rolled on, the weight of her words settling over you like a heavy cloak. And for the first time since you had been taken from her, you felt the stirrings of hope. Because if Mel had fought for you this hard—

Then you would fight just as hard to return to her.

=

The carriage ride had been long and silent, filled with words left unspoken, yet their weight hung between you and Ambessa like a sword balanced on a thread.

You had barely breathed as the Medarda estate loomed into view, its towering columns bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. The world outside felt eerily unchanged, as if the past weeks of your suffering, of your loss, of your fight, had left no scar upon it.

But you had changed.

As the carriage rolled to a stop, Ambessa merely nodded toward the doors, her face unreadable beneath the dim light. “Go,” she said simply. “She is waiting.”

You hesitated only a moment before stepping out, the hem of your abandoned wedding gown catching against the stone. You lifted it, letting the torn fabric whisper against your hands as you made your way past the grand entrance, past the lavish halls, past the life you had once walked alongside Mel without knowing just how much it would come to mean to you.

You found her in the gardens.

She was sitting on the edge of the stone fountain, lost in thought, golden eyes tracing the petals of a single flower held delicately between her fingers.

The sight of her made your chest ache.

This was Mel—poised, sharp, a woman of power and grace—yet here, she looked softer, pensive, lost in a quiet world where war and duty did not exist.

You took a breath before stepping forward, the crunch of gravel beneath your heels breaking the silence.

She looked up.

Her golden eyes widened, flickering with something unreadable as she took in the sight of you—the ruined gown, the exhaustion lining your face, the raw emotion barely contained behind your gaze.

For a moment, she simply stared.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke.

“Y/N…?”

You swallowed hard, barely trusting yourself to speak. “It’s me.”

A sharp exhale left her lips, as if she had been holding her breath this entire time.

And then—

She moved first.

Mel closed the space between you in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you into her warmth, holding you so tightly you almost forgot how to breathe. The scent of ink and jasmine enveloped you, grounding you, anchoring you in a way nothing else ever could.

You felt the tremor in her grip, the way her fingers pressed into your back, as if making sure you were real and not just some fragile dream that would slip through her grasp. Her breath was warm against your temple, uneven, like she was battling between disbelief and relief.

"You’re here,” she breathed, her voice barely holding together. “They let you go?”

You shook your head, pressing your face against her shoulder, allowing yourself to sink into her hold, to let the world outside this moment fade away. "Ambessa took me back."

Mel stilled. “My mother?”

You hesitated, then slowly pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Her golden eyes searched yours, flickering with disbelief, with questions she wasn’t sure how to voice.

“She ended the arrangement,” you told her softly, watching as shock and suspicion warred across her face. “She made sure I would never have to marry him.”

Mel blinked, searching your face for any sign of false hope, of uncertainty.

"But… why?" she whispered, more to herself than to you. "H-How?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves, holding on as if to steady yourself. "Because she made them sign a new arrangement."

Mel stiffened. Her hands, which had been gripping your arms so tightly, relaxed just slightly, enough for her to pull back and search your face. "A new arrangement?" she echoed, golden eyes flickering with wary disbelief.

You nodded, feeling your pulse hammering in your throat. "She dissolved the marriage to him. And in its place… she created another."

Mel stared at you, her breath hitching. "Y/N… what are you saying?"

Your lips parted, but the words felt too big, too impossible to speak aloud. "She arranged for us to be married, Mel."

The silence that followed was thick and unsteady, like the moment before a storm.

Mel blinked once. Then twice. Her fingers twitched against your skin as though her mind was struggling to catch up with what you had just said.

“She… she arranged for—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply, taking a step back as if to clear her thoughts. She ran a hand over her face, golden eyes wide with something you had never quite seen before.

Disbelief. Hope. Something dangerously close to relief.

"You don’t have to," you rushed out quickly, because suddenly, doubt coiled inside you. "I don’t expect—this wasn’t my choice, and I know you never wanted—"

"Stop." Her voice was firm, steady despite the storm brewing behind her eyes. You fell silent, throat tight. Then, slowly, her hands found yours again, fingers threading through yours, grounding you, anchoring herself to you as much as you to her. “Say it again,” she said, softer this time, her voice almost fragile.

Your lips parted, a breathless whisper spilling forth. “She arranged for us to be married.”

Mel let out a sharp exhale, something breaking in her composure. "She actually did it," she murmured, almost to herself. "That stubborn, infuriating woman actually did it."

You swallowed, uncertain. "What does this mean for you?"

She studied you, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "It means…" She took a slow, careful breath. "It means she knows she could never stop me from choosing you. So instead, she made sure you would never be taken from me again."

A shaky breath escaped you, the weight of it all settling in your chest. "And do you—"

She cut you off before you could finish.

With a fierce, certain pull, she brought you into her arms once more, hands pressing into the small of your back, her face buried in the crook of your neck. "Yes."

The word was whispered against your skin, trembling but certain.

Yes.

Yes, she would take this arrangement. Yes, she would stand by it. Yes, she would have fought for you even if it had never been signed in ink. And then—

She pulled back just enough to look at you, golden eyes searching, dark lashes lowered as her gaze flickered to your lips.

You barely had time to take a breath before she kissed you.

Soft at first. Tentative, lingering—like she was memorizing the shape of you, like she was grounding herself in the reality of this moment. Then, all at once, something snapped.

The grip at your waist tightened, drawing you impossibly close. Her hands cradled your face, fingertips pressing into your skin as if she was afraid you might disappear if she let go.

You melted into her, hands tangling in the fabric of her sleeves, the scent of jasmine and ink filling your senses.

This was what you had fought for. This was what had nearly been stolen from you. And yet, here you were. Here you stayed.

As your lips parted, your foreheads pressed together, your breaths mingling in the quiet night, neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

A soft breeze stirred through the garden, carrying the scent of roses and something else—something warmer, something knowing. And from a distance, standing just beyond the grand windows of the Medarda estate, Ambessa watched.

She did not move, did not interrupt.

Her arms were crossed, her expression unreadable, but for the briefest of moments, something flickered across her face. Something small. Something almost like satisfaction.

Then, with a slow, measured exhale, she turned on her heel and walked away. She had done her part.

The rest was yours.

[wwooyology]

Thrill Of The Chase | J.WY

「pairing」 : bf!wooyoung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 5.7k

「synopsis」 : it was supposed to be a cute and sweet date to the corn maze, so how did it turn into cat and mouse chase with your boyfriend? and what was he after? you of course.

「genre」 : smut, horror/thriller, fluff if you squint, dark romance

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, DARK THEMES!!!, cussing, teasing, dubcon/noncon, crying, wooyoung is just a lil insane, chasing with a knife, wooyoung wears a mask at one point, kissing, sloppy makeout, fingering, clit play, choking, hair pulling, slight bulge kink, spanking, dacryphilia, edging, breast play, slight manhandling, overstimulation, finger sucking, unprotected sex, mean dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, squirting, multiple orgasms, wooyoung is kinda sadistic, petnames (babydoll, babe, baby, little mouse...), derogatory names (slut), slight breath play, begging, knife play, blood play, blood eating, wooyoung is just a nasty freak, biting/marking, rough sex, outside sex, creampie, mentions of wearing a mask in a sexual light at the end, implications of multiple rounds, lmk if I missed anything!!

「notes」 : HAPPY HALLOWEEN BABES!!! 🎃 we can all shout a huge ass thank you to rae for planting this seed into my mind. what she thought was an innocent little thought turned into a huge ass obsession for me. so I gift to you the result of said obsession 🙂‍↕️ I hope that you all enjoy this and stay spooky, my loves, mwah! 💋

now playing ➻ killing butterflies/lou bliss & dead man runnin'/seulgi

It was almost pitch dark outside, the half-moon being the only source of light in the remote area that Wooyoung had taken you to. He wanted to plan a spooky but cute Halloween date for the both of you since he knew how much you loved the spooky season. However, something about a random corn maze in the middle of nowhere didn’t exactly sit well with you. Sure, you loved horror movies, but you weren’t as stupid as some of the movie characters.

But somehow, someway Wooyoung had managed to drag you out here, although he still has another battle to fight. Getting you out of the car.

“Come on, babe, it's really not that bad. I promise.” He pleaded with you, his hand holding onto yours as he gave you his best puppy dog eyes.

The both of you have been sitting in his car for the past fifteen minutes because you just felt uneasy about being in the middle of nowhere, especially at night. Not to mention that there was barely any lighting, meaning one wrong move, and either of you could get hurt. 

“Woo, we literally cannot see a thing out here; we’re gonna get hurt.” You sighed trying your best to not give into his pleading gaze, but you felt your resolve start to crumble when his bottom lip jutted out.

Wooyoung then dropped your hand before turning and reaching back into the backseat floorboards where he had a backpack sitting. Pulling the bag into his lap Wooyoung unzipped it before rummaging around and eventually pulled out a flashlight, a huge grin on his face.

“I bought a flashlight; we’ll be able to see just fine," he told you triumphantly, zipping the bag back up after setting the flashlight down in one of the empty cup holders. You could only let out a defeated sigh, knowing that you weren’t going to be winning this fight. Plus, you were already here, so why not? What’s the worst that can happen?

“Alright, fine.” You nodded your head as you started to unbuckle your seatbelt. Wooyoung let out a loud cheer, causing you to jump before pulling the keys out of the ignition and pushing his door open. A gust of cold wind blew into the car, making you shiver; the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall. Something about all of this just felt off. You couldn’t say what exactly it was, but it was there.

You reached for the door handle, but before your fingers could wrap around the handle, the door flew open, making you gasp softly. Looking up, you found your boyfriend standing there, leaning against the car door, his arm propped on the top and a teasing smirk on his lips. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull you from the car and shut the door behind you.

Standing next to Wooyoung you looked around the area, seeing the corn maze off in the distance. There was an eerie stillness about it, causing a shiver to run down your spine, or maybe that was just the wind. Without the bright sun, it was beyond freezing, the cold wind seeping through your clothes despite the multiple layers of clothing you were wearing. Noticing your discomfort, Wooyoung walked over, wrapping his arms around your smaller frame and holding you close.

You let out a content sigh as you melted into his touch, arms wrapping loosely around his waist, eyes fluttering close as you laid your head on his chest. His warmth instantly ran the cold off, leaving you warm once more.

“You promise that there’s a heater in the middle?” You asked, propping your chin on his chest to look up at him. Even in the dim lighting of the moon, he looked ethereal, and you wanted nothing more than to bite him but refrained from doing so.

Wooyoung smiled before leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead. “I promise that you will love what I have waiting in the middle.” He promised, and you nodded, completely missing the sinister gleam in his foxy eyes.

He pulls away from you and grabs your hand before pulling you towards the corn maze. As the two of you walked hand-in-hand, you really started to notice how remote the area really was. If something were to happen, screaming would be pointless because no one would hear you. Goosebumps littered your skin when you heard the sounds of birds squawking off in the distance; that uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grew. You trusted Wooyoung, though; you knew that he would never intentionally put you in harm's way, so you just swallowed the lump in your throat and continued to follow after your dark-haired boyfriend.

“Watch your step, babydoll; there’s a hole here.” Wooyoung glanced back at you as he shined the light down onto the floor under him. You grimaced slightly when you noticed how deep it was, and the thought of breaking an ankle because of it made you shiver.

You stepped around it before following closely behind Wooyoung, not wanting to stray too far, seeing as he was the one with the flashlight and you had left your phone in the car. Another gust of wind blew past you, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand tall, and your lips started to quiver.

“W-Woo, maybe we should just g-go back.” Your teeth clattered as you wrapped yourself around his arm, hoping to pull some of his warmth for yourself again.

Wooyoung glanced down at you with a sympathetic gaze before shrugging one of the backpack straps off and digging around. After a few moments, he pulled out a pair of hand warmers and handed them to you.

“Here, these should help until we get to the middle.” He whispered softly as he made sure you were set before walking towards the entrance of the corn maze.

You followed behind him once more. However, the moment you looked up, you stopped dead in your tracks. The entrance loomed over you as if waiting for the right moment to snap its jaw around you, and the crops looked to be well over a head taller than you. The moon offered no light to the entrance, almost making it look like a portal to another dimension.

You wanted to reach out and grab Wooyoung to tell him that you could just go back to the safety of your apartment and binge-watch all the horror movies you could think of. But he was already a few feet ahead of you, making his way into the maze.

“Wooyoung, wait!” you called out to him as you jogged towards him. Once you were at his side, he glanced down at you with another teasing smirk, making you roll your eyes.

You stayed right at Wooyoung’s side as he navigated the turns that uneasy feeling never going away, and the deeper you got, the more it grew. There were absolutely no landmarks to tell you whether or not you’ve been in that area, only making you even more anxious. 

“You do know where we’re going right?” You asked, a hint of panic in your voice as you continued to walk, eyes flickering over to Wooyoung for a moment. Your stomach churned as the cool wind blew all around you, making the crops sway.

A loud squawk made you jump, latching yourself to Wooyoung’s arm, causing the male to burst out laughing. You glared up at him before slapping his chest, causing him to jump this time and look down at you with a cheeky smile. However, in the dim lighting, it made it look far more sinister, only making your heart race more.

“Ya know, for someone who loves horror movies, you sure are jumpy.” He teased, poking your side, and you slapped his hand away. Your heart was still hammering under your ribcage as you held onto Wooyoung’s arm tightly.

“I like to watch them, Woo, not become a part of one," you told him, sas tainting your tone, and he shook his head. 

Your eyes continued to scan your surroundings as the two of you walked even deeper into the maze. Glancing back at the way you came, you weren’t too sure if you would even be able to find your way back out. Your heart continued to thump erratically in your chest as the unease crept back in, sinking its claws deeper and deeper until you were almost ready to tell Wooyoung to forget about this whole thing.

Just as you were about to open your mouth, Wooyoung stopped in his tracks, his hands patting down his pockets. You released his arm to let him look for whatever it was he was searching for, but never straying too far. He cursed under his breath before looking over at you and holding out the flashlight.

“Hold this for a second," he said. You quickly grabbed it and pointed down at the ground, where he crouched down, his backpack now in his hands.

Your lips curled inward as you watched him, wondering what it was that he was looking for. The both of you had agreed to leave your phones in the car to just enjoy each other's company so you weren’t too sure. Then the sound of a twig snapping and shuffling from behind you made your body freeze before turning to shine the light in the direction you heard the noises from, completely forgetting about Wooyoung for a second. Your heart started to race as you tried to look between the tall stalks of corn, but you couldn’t see a thing. Swallowing thickly, you continued to look, wanting to make sure that it was just your mind playing tricks on you and not something you should actually be worried about.

“Woo, did you hear that?” Your voice shook as you called out to your boyfriend; however, when you didn’t receive a response, your blood ran cold.

Spinning back around, you found the spot where Wooyoung once stood was empty, and he was nowhere to be seen. Your breathing started to grow rapidly as you whipped around in every direction, trying to find your boyfriend.

“Wooyoung, if this is one of your pranks, it’s not funny.” You called out, tears burning your eyes as your hands shook.

The air around you started to grow heavy as you tried to retrace your steps, thinking that he was hiding around one of the bends, waiting for the perfect time to jump out and scare you. You held back tears as the wind blew around you, blowing your hair into your face. Then suddenly, the flashlight started to flicker, and your heart dropped.

“No, no, no, no, you stupid thing.” You cried as you smacked the palm of your hand with the flashlight, hoping to steady the light, but it was no use as it shut off completely. Leaving you in complete darkness.

Your heart started to beat erratically as you tried to get the stupid thing to turn back on, tears dripping from your eyelashes, “please turn back on.” Pleas and cries fell from your lips as you desperately tried to get the flashlight to work once more.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose as your body went rigid when you felt a presence behind you. Your brain was yelling at you to run and get as far away as possible, but your legs were glued to the ground, unable to move.

“Run.” A voice spoke right into your ear, making you scream, and more tears spilled from your eyes. Before your mind could register it, your legs were moving you deeper into the maze, running around the bends and narrowly dodging some of the looming corn stalks. 

Tears ran down your flushed cheeks as you ran until you ended up in a dead end, causing you to cry out, hands shaking violently.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” You screamed, turning to go back the way you came, but stopped dead in your tracks when you saw someone standing there.

Your ears started to ring, feet shuffling away as your eyes landed on the mask they were wearing. It was a Japanese Oni mask. Your fingers tightened around the flashlight as you backed away, a small scream leaving your lip when you stumbled and they started to walk towards you. That’s when you noticed the moonlight gleaming off of an object in their hand, and your blood ran cold. 

They were holding a knife.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you stumbled back until you felt the corn stalks at your back, meaning you had nowhere else to go. Tears continued to fall from the corner of your eyes as you watched them get closer until they stopped.

“I wanna play a little game…” They finally spoke, causing you to flinch, the mask muffling their voice, making it hard to disconcert who it was. You didn’t say a word as you watched them bring the knife up, head turned to look at it before snapping back to you. “A game of tag, hmm.” They hummed as they moved even closer to you, almost within an arm's reach. Your body then froze, jaw tight as they brought the knife up to your face, the point dangerously close to your cheek. “I’ll give you a ten-second head start, but…” Their hand wrapped around your throat before you could even blink, a gasp falling from your lips as they brought you closer to them. “If I catch you, then I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle.”

Your heart started to hammer in your chest as you realized that this was just some sick and twisted game, but it was the only way you could get out alive. Or so you thought, at least. Just then, the wind blew, and the scent of a familiar cologne washed over your senses, causing your body to go rigid.

“W-Wooyoung?” Your eyes went wind, hands wrapping around his wrist. 

Under the mask, a deep chuckle could be heard, his grip growing tighter, but just enough to make you whimper. He stayed silent for a moment longer, gauging your reaction and loving the fear and confusion in your eyes.

“What do you say babydoll?” The use of his normal pet name for you made your stomach churn, and some of the fear started to fade away. You swallowed thickly, looking at him with wide eyes, but the words wouldn’t leave your tongue. “Wanna play a game?” 

His voice dropped an octave causing your mind to swirl, lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. However, fear starts to etch itself into your skin once more. A part of you wanted to yell at him that this little joke of his wasn’t funny and that you wanted to go home. The other part of you wanted to know what he was going to do, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Now…” He released your neck, allowing you to breathe properly, and stepped to the side, “Run along little mouse.”

You didn’t even think twice before you took off running once more, not bothering to look behind you. Even as fear coursed through your veins, you couldn’t help but also feel excited; something about it made your stomach flutter.

You tried to remember which way you came from, hoping that maybe if you got to the car, you would win Wooyoung’s little game. Yet you were sure it wasn’t that simple because finding your way out seemed almost impossible as you rounded another corner. Everything in this damn maze looked the same, and it infuriated you, tears streaming down your face.

The area around you was quiet, and it gave you a bad feeling, seeing as you were sure that ten seconds had already passed. However, glancing over your shoulder you didn’t see any sign of your masked boyfriend. You weren’t sure whether to be worried or relieved, but you did know that you weren’t going to stop.

A cry of relief fell from your lips when the flashlight finally kicked back on, allowing you to see the path in front of you. Using the light, you navigated through the maze; the cold no longer bothers you due to adrenaline. Tears continued to silently drip from your eyelashes as you rounded yet another corner, but this time you stopped short when you noticed a lantern sitting in the middle of an opening. Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest as you moved closer.

‘Maybe this is the center…?’ You thought to yourself as you took careful steps, unsure of what could be lying beyond the threshold. With each step, you started to feel more and more uneasy, a voice in the back of your mind screaming danger.

The sound of a twig snapping behind you made you turn around, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach, and a scream erupted from your lips. Wooyoung was standing mere inches away, no longer wearing the mask, and a sinister smirk playing on his lips. He quickly slapped a hand over your mouth, muffling your screams as you fought against his hold, forcing you down to the ground.

“I caught you babydoll. You lose.” He chuckled, making you lay flat on the ground, his hand still firmly placed over your mouth. You tried to use your hands to push him off, muffled screams echoing in the dimly lit area. “Scream all you want, but no one is gonna hear you.” His voice taunted you as he grabbed both of your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head, “Now, are you gonna be a good girl and take your punishment, or are we gonna have to do this the hard way?” He asked, a sinister gleam in his eyes as he stared down at you.

Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you stared up at him with misty eyes, fear settling into your bones. Fighting against his hold was pointless; he was too strong—he was always too strong. So you stopped trying, causing Wooyoung to smirk, moving his hands from your mouth, watching in sick amusement as your lips trembled.

“Good girl.” He cooed, leaning closer to your face. Your eyes fluttered as his warm breath washed over your face. His free hand then moved down to your neck, fingers tracing your jugular, leaving behind goosebumps in their wake.

“W-Woo…” Your voice shook as you called out to him, eyes opening once more to find his dark orbs already on you. The way his gaze bore into you left you squirming underneath him, and despite the fear that had its claws sunk into your brain, there was a burning desire in your gut.

“Shhh, little mouse.” He ghosted his lips over yours, and your eyes fluttered shut, awaiting his kiss, but it never came. Wooyoung pulled away from you, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he watched you chase after him, but you could only move so far with his hold on you. The smirk then dropped from his lip before his hand wrapped around your throat, causing a sharp gasp to leave your lips, eyes flying open. “You lost the game, now I get to claim my prize.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, he released your wrists and flipped you over onto your stomach. You tried to turn your head to look at him, but he was quick to grab the back of your neck and held you down in place. His free hand then trailed down your back before he looped his fingers around the waistband of your bottoms and tugged harshly.

“Woo, wait!” You cried out, not ready for the cold to bite at your bare skin as he peeled your pants from your body, a gasp leaving your lips from the sudden chill. The ground was rough against your bare legs as you squirmed in his hold until a stinging pain erupted from your ass.

“Stop moving,” Wooyoung growled, his hand pressing flat on the small of your back, halting all of your movements.

Tears stung in your eyes as you bit your lip, trying to keep from letting any noises slip. The burning sensation was soothed by the cold wind, but it didn’t last long when he delivered a few more sharp smacks to the plump flesh of your ass. Small cries and whimpers left your lips every time his hand came into contact with your skin until he stopped squeezing your ass. His fingers then moved down to your thighs, pulling your legs apart despite your protests.

“You’re such a dirty slut, look at how wet you are.” He taunted you, his fingers dipping between your folds. Your legs snapped shut around his hand when he brushed over your aching clit, this action only angering the dark-haired male. A cry tore from your lips when he slapped your thigh, tears dripping from your eyelashes. “Keep your legs open.” The growl in his voice only left you dripping more with arousal.

“Woo–”

“Shut up and spread your legs.” He demanded, his fingers around your neck tightening, making you whine. A part of you screamed at you to go against him, but the other, louder part of you told you to just listen, and maybe he’ll go easy on you. So you did as told, spreading your legs and allowing his hand to slip back down to your drenched core. “I told you I wasn’t gonna be nice if I caught you, babydoll.” 

Without any warning, he plunged his finger into you, a loud moan falling from your lips as he fucked his digit into you at a merciless pace. You then slapped your hands over your mouth to muffle your moans, causing Wooyoung to chuckle darkly.

“I already told you no one can hear you out here.” He whispered as he leaned down to brush his lips against your ear. You let out another cry of his name when he added a second finger into your soaping heat, scissoring you open.

“Fuck!” You cried out, pleasure washing over your entire being as he continued to roughly fuck his fingers into you. White spots started to dance across your vision as your high crept closer, and because of the hold he had on your neck, making it hard to breathe properly, too.

Just as your high was about to crash down on you, Wooyoung pulled his fingers out, leaving you high and dry. You started to protest but were quickly silenced when he spanked you once again. You gasped at the stinging pain, fingers curling into fists.

His hand holding the back of your neck released its grip, allowing you to breathe properly. However, he combed his fingers through your hair and grabbed a handful. He pulled you up by your hair, causing you to cry out. Your hands flew back to grab his wrist as tears spilled from your eyes. Once you were on your knees, he pulled your head back until you were looking up at him.

“You have no idea how long I’ve thought about having you like this.” He smirked, taking in the state that you were in. Tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, some specks of dirt from the ground were smeared on your cheek and jaw, and god, did you look good like this. Then a dark, sinister gleam covered his iris’.

Your breath hitched in your throat when he brought something to your face. The sharp point of the knife he had earlier traced your jawline; one wrong move, and he would break the skin. You kept completely still as he brought it down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“I wonder how pretty you would look covered in blood,” He tilted his head, watching your wide eyes swim with fear. A gasp broke through your lips when he pressed against the sensitive skin of your neck, the blade easily breaking the skin.

Wooyoung watched with a borderline insane smile as your sweet cherry-red blood seeped from the small wound. He watched it as it ran down your skin until it soaked into your clothes, and his smile dropped, annoyed.

You wouldn’t openly admit it, but there was something exciting about him using the knife against you. The thrill that coursed through your veins was unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you couldn’t help but want more. 

The fear you felt before was almost completely gone as you looked at Wooyoung, lust pooling in your blown-out pupils. Your hands then released his wrist before moving shakily to your coat zipper, slowly unzipping it as his eyes watched you closely.

Once your jacket was off Wooyoung wasted no time in hooking the knife under the thin fabric of your shirt before pulling. You gasped when the sounds of your shirt ripping were heard, and the now tattered shirt was split, leaving you in just your bra.

“C’mere.” He growled, tugging you into his lap which you complied, your hands moving to his shoulders. He then tugged your head back once more, moving his tongue along your smooth skin, collecting your crimson blood in his mouth before biting down harshly, making you cry out.

“W-Woo– fuck!” Your fingers tightened around his shoulders as he continued to bite and suck on your neck.

The pressure between your thighs was almost unbearable, and your hips unconsciously rolled against his, resulting in a deep groan. Wooyoung dropped the knife before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, letting your breasts spill from their confinement.

“Look at you, already so fucked out, and I haven’t done much of anything.” He mocked you, taking in the fucked out expression on your face. His hand then fell to your hip, halting your movements, and you let out a whine. “You wanna cum so badly, then work for it slut.” His voice was low as he released your hair, letting your neck relax.

“Woo…” You whined, but your hips rocked against his nonetheless, the rough fabric of his jeans felt delicious against your aching clit. Spreading your legs a bit more, you fully pressed your hips against his, chasing your high, all while Wooyoung watched with a smug smile.

A gasp fell from your parted lips when he latched his mouth to your breast, nipping at your little bud. A shiver ran down your spine at the sensation, your mind turning to mush as he played with your boobs while you rutted your hips against his.

You could taste your high on the tip of your tongue, and you picked up your pace, needing just a little bit more to finally push you over the edge. However, just before your high came crashing down Wooyoung pulled you off of his lap.

“Woo–”

“Aww, is my little mouse getting frustrated?” He cooed at you, and you wanted to smack him, but you couldn’t even raise your hand before he had you flipped back around. You were on your hands and knees, hips hanging in the air while Wooyoung pressed against your back until your chest was flat against the ground. “Don’t worry, babydoll, you’ll get what you want in no time.”

You turned your head to look back at him, but just like before, he grabbed the back of your neck, halting your movements. Then you heard the sound of his zipper before your body went stiff as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your weeping cunt. Mewls and moans fell from your lips as he teased your slit, and he was soaking in all of your little noises, thriving off of them even.

“Woo, please!" you cried out. The pressure was unbearable, and you needed him to relieve it. Yet he was just toying with you, enjoying the way tears started to fall from your eyes once more.

“Since my babydoll is asking so nicely, who am I to say no? But don’t tell me you can’t handle it.” Wooyoung said before pushing his dick into you all at once, causing a choked moan to tear through your lungs.

He didn’t even give you a chance to adjust before he pulled out and slammed back into you, keeping the brutal pace. Tears blurred your vision as you tried your best to keep up with him, but it was futile. With every thrust, his tip would kiss your cervix, making you see stars.

“Fuck you’re squeezing me too tight.” He growled, free hand holding onto your hip for leverage as he fucked into you, your slick making it easier for him to move.

All that left your lips were moans and cries of Wooyoung’s name, your body becoming unbelievably warm. He chuckled as he watched you lose yourself entirely, but a cocky smirk spread on his lips when he noticed your hips moving back to meet him halfway.

He slowed his movements, “Go on. Fuck yourself on my cock.” 

You mewled as your hips picked up pace, trying to create the kind of friction he was, but it was no use. Pleas spewed from your lips as you started to grow frustrated, and Wooyoung just watched in twisted amusement.

When he couldn’t wait any longer, he released your neck and grabbed your hair once more, tugging you up until your back met his chest. You cried out when he started fucking into you ruthlessly once more, the new angle allowing him to hit your sweet spot.

“Fuck!” You cursed, eyes rolling back when he moved one hand down to toy with your puffy clit. Your legs shook violently and stars danced across your vision when you felt the knot in your stomach tightened to an unbelievable level.

Your volume only grew louder the more he played with your body, and tears soaked your face. They were quieted, however, when Wooyoung shoved his middle and index fingers in your mouth, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You’re so noisy, baby.”

You wrapped your plump lips around his fingers, tongue dancing along his skin as he continued to fuck into your soaping cunt. He chuckled darkly as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, making you squirm.

“God you don’t have a clue what you do to me.” Wooyoung growled as he moved his hand from your clit to your stomach, “this…” he groaned, pressing down on the visible bulge of his cock on your stomach, “this, little mouse, is only part of what you do to me.”

You moaned around his fingers the more he pressed down on your stomach, making you feel every inch of his cock as he fucked you. The pleasure was making your brain spiral the closer you got to your climax. You wanted to beg him to not stop to let you cum, but his fingers muffled all of your words.

“Are you gonna cum babydoll?” He cooed in your ear, and you nodded, eyes squeezing shut and pushing more tears out.

You felt so close, but this one felt different than your other ones. Your body felt like it was on fire and was about to explode in a matter of seconds. His hand then moved back down to your clit, and you didn’t even get a chance to warn him when your orgasm washed over you.

A loud muffled moan erupted from your lungs as you squirted everywhere, coating Wooyoung’s fingers and clit. 

“Holy fuck.” He groaned, watching you fall apart on his cock.

Your whole body trembled as Wooyoung continued to fuck you through your orgasm, but his pace never stopped. His hips snapped into your with more fever as he started to chase his own high and threw you into overstimulation in the process.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and wrapped them around your neck as you turned your head towards him. His lips then found yours in a sloppy kiss, saliva spilled from your lips. You cried out when he started toying with your clit once more, but your noises were quickly swallowed by his mouth when he sealed your lips with his again.

With a few more sharp thrusts, he buried himself in your cunt, spilling his seed deep into your womb. The warm sensation triggered another orgasm from you, and he let out a high-pitched groan as you milked him for all of his worth.

“Shit, baby.” He whined as your cunt continued to flutter around his sensitive cock, his hold on your body tight. The air was silent as the both of you caught your breath, soaking in each other’s warmth.

Wooyoung let go of your neck, wrapping his arms around your midsection and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your shaky hand came up to run your fingers through his sweat locks, and you laughed softly when you felt him shudder against you.

“You look like you enjoyed that, "you teased him, and he just chuckled before pulling away, staring at you through his eyelashes. The gleam in his eyes made you swallow thickly, already knowing what it meant.

“I could say that to you too, but you can only blame yourself, really.” He teased, pressing feather-light kisses along your bare shoulder and neck, “You were the one that said it’d be hot to get chased and fucked by a masked man.”

“I didn’t expect you to take it seriously!” You exclaimed, looking back at him with wide eyes, and he just smirked.

“Oh, I take everything seriously, especially when it comes to you, babydoll.” His voice dropped an octave, his hands starting to wander your body once more. “Now, why don’t we try it with the mask on, hmm?” Your body shivered at the thought of him fucking you with the mask, and he could tell when you tightened around his half-hard cock. He chuckled, nipping at your skin with a sinister gleam in his eyes. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t waste a second before flipping you onto your back, grabbing the oni mask he was wearing earlier, and slipping it over his face. It was safe to say that you had a very long night in that corn maze, and you couldn’t walk correctly for a few days afterward, but all in all, it was worth it.

Even if you thought you were going to be murdered in the beginning.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[wolfytae-exe]

TEACH ME.(S)

Summary: In which your boy best friend needs help impressing a girl.

Warning: Noona kink, dry humping, implied unrequited love, fwb, raw(wrap before you tap), bottom tyun, grinding/humping, teasing, tempting, nipple sucking, oral(fem receiving), early orgasm, over-stim, multiple orgasms, college au, switch tyun, mean dom tyun, slight pain kink, whiny sub tyun, thigh riding, praise + degradation, name calling + pet names, switch reader, size kink if you squint lemme know if i missed anything

Paring: virgin bbsf!Taehyun + Older!Reader

“I’m sorry- what?” You whisper yell, staring at your best friend. Kang Taehyun, you’ve known him since you both were in the 2nd and 3rd grade. You had fended off tiny little bullies that made fun of him being a child actor with your hot tempered personality.

You always stood by his side, fending off bullies until he grew a pair and was able to stand up for himself, given that only really happened mid-highschool when he began working out.

You are now in your 3rd year of college, him in his second, and sitting in your dorm room.

Your roommate had left the shared space hours ago to go to some frat party so you decided to invite and catch up with your boy best friend.

Everything was just fine, he got in the building just fine, been sitting in your floating chair for hours now, but the moment he began talking about his tiny little crush on the girl in his vocal class, telling you everything he loved about her and how badly he wants to impress her you couldn’t help but be shocked.

Taehyun has only dated once, in middle school. He’s always mentioned how he never felt an attraction to the people around him, even recently claimed to be Aromantic, but with this new found information you couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous.

You’ve never liked Taehyun, never even thought of him anyway other than a friend. Except that one time when you first hit puberty, and after him and his girlfriend broke up, and when his voice deepened, and when he grew taller than you, and when he started working out- but that’s besides the point.

Your jealousy was cut short the moment he asked you for help anyways, he really wanted to impress this girl. “I really like her Noona..” Taehyun whined, hand pressed to his chest simply because thinking about her overwhelmed his heart.

You cocked a brow at him, never seeing him like this. “And I’m supposed to help? I don’t know the girl, she’s probably already impressed by you anyways.” You argue, muttering the last bit under your breath as you pull out your phone to check the time

10:36PM, damn no wonder your eyes were heavy.

Taehyun groaned and sat up from the chair. “But you’re a girl, you can point me into the right direction!” You rolled your eyes at that. “Tyun I’m almost positive you won’t be rejected no matter what you do.” You say as you get up and move to your closet, pulling out of the boys t-shirts, now stuck with the smell of you from the multiple wears.

“I doubt that, she never even looks at me, I sit right in front of her and she’s never looking at me!” He complains, not even bothered as you begin to strip your shirt and shorts. “Look, if she’s not looking at you in the first place then something is already wrong with this picture.” You say before slipping the shirt on, letting it fall over your ass and thighs like a short dress.

Taehyun let’s a pout fall on his face, he was always so open and expressive with you. “God, fine if you really want some advice you need to get out your comfort zone and fuck her.” You bluntly said, reaching under your shirt to unclip your bra. “Why would that help me?” The man sounded appalled, and unbelievably stupid.

“You’re fucking with me right?” you deadpanned before groaning in frustration when your bra just refused to budge. “Help me.” You say before walking and dipping down a bit in front of him. “I’m serious, you shouldn’t joke like that, I don’t just want to get into her pants.” Taehyun responds with frustration before running his hand under your shirt and unclipping the bra between two fingers with ease.

You ignored the shiver that crawled up your spine the moment his fingers brushed your skin. “Tyun look in the mirror. You’re basically a sex symbol, virgin or not I promise you a lot of girls want you, hell she probably wants you too.” You say as you pull the bra out from under your shirt.

It’s silent for a moment, like he was trying to think of some kind of solution to his problem. You took the opportunity to stand up and toss your clothes into the hamper.

When you looked back over to the younger he was just staring. “What?” Was there something on your ass or something? You brushed your hand over your ass to feel for whatever was making him stare so hard. “Did I sit in something? Oh my- am I bleeding?” You gasped out, now panicked and trying to look down.

“You’re okay Noona, no blood, I just had a question.” You let out a sigh at that, falling back into your bed with content. “Yeah?” You responded further. “What do you think?” Taehyun practically whispered the question across the room. “Think about what?” Your eyes squinted, trying to hear him.

Taehyun practically avoided looking at you any more than he has, becoming more aware of how bare you were in front of him. “Me.” He paused as if finishing his question would really change the meaning of it. “Do you want me?” He finished, sinking a little in his seat.

Your eyes widened. “E-excuse me?” You stutter up a scoff, the question making you think about it, what being in bed with him would be like. “You just seem so sure and you’ve known me the longest so I think it’s a fair question.” Taehyun breathes, trying to slow the bouncing in his leg.

Your silence is what answers the question, making him hum when you sit up and avoid eye contact. Taehyun’s the one staring now, legs opening into a more comfortable position. “Noona~” He practically dragged the word over his tongue with a hum and teasing smile.

“You look so guilty, you want me that bad?” He continued before getting up, taking in the way your thighs press together at his words. The moment he starts walking over, your head is up, staring up at him with shame. “So? I can want and know not to touch. Don’t change the subject when we’re talking about your little crush.” You huff, dodging his accusing teases.

Taehyun hums, standing over you with a new found confidence. “Okay, so how do you expect me to fuck her.” He follows up fast, fighting the smirk threatening to give away how much he’s enjoying the power you simply handed to him. “What kind of dumbass question is that?” you scoff, running your hand over the sides of your shirt.

Taehyun just inched closer, now leaned over the bed. “I get you’re a virgin and whatever but don’t tell me you don’t know the birds and the bees.” You say sarcastically, trying to desperately de-escalate the situation at hand.

“Noona.” Taehyuns face remained stoic, he spoke with depth and full intent to continue what he started. “Stop calling me that.” You fought the whimper in the back of your throat, instead breathing out a bit hard through your nose. “I’m only a year older.” You mumble, sucking in when the younger gets a bit too close.

“Teach me.” Taehyun can’t hide the smirk anymore, a wide upturn of his lips making his request sound a lot more dangerous than it was. “Wh- Do you hear yourself?” You’re absolutely bewildered with this mans confidence.

“I’ve never had sex before Noona, I can’t impress her that way, I need to learn first.” There was a slight purr in his voice, and you felt a rush of wetness soak the middle of your panties. “Tyun, I don’t know.. We’re like- Best friends, isn’t it a bit weird?” You confess, trying hard not to react.

Taehyun hummed. “I think it’s just fine, we’ve known each other for so long, I trust you enough, and I’m positive that we’d stay best friends no matter what.” And just like that Taehyun was down on the bed, laying in front of you on his side.

You were still nervous on it, you wanted him so badly, he has always been your type, a nerdy dork turned gym jock with hella musical background. “Are you sure? I just- I don’t need you to regret your decision.” You sigh out, nerves not allowing you to breathe correctly.

“I’ll be okay, please teach me how to please you.” His voice softened, eyes hard yet big. You could feel yourself throb, pressing your thighs harder together. “Okay..” You let out, leaning out of your spot and leaning toward the younger. “First, uhm, okay—“ You stutter, this was so not hot. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?” Taehyun asked under his breath, eyes already on your lips.

That was definitely hot, a whimper left your mouth in response, which caused your ears to burn in embarrassment. “Yes..” You sighed, letting him lean into you and take control, pressing his lips flush against yours softly. With a shiver you followed, closing your eyes and letting your lips move together fluidly, there was so much trust and softness in the kiss you felt yourself melt into him.

Taehyun pulled away a bit quick, a little red in the face. “Did I do good Noona?” He asked, a little more eager for you now, god this man just keeps switching back and forth, does he want to tease you or please you? “So good, touch me- my waist-“ You tried to order, you didn’t mess around a lot, too focused on school to party or do anything other than get your degree so it was a bit difficult to voice what you wanted.

Taehyun was quick to please, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into him and rolling onto his back so you could get on top. “Can I?” He panted, hands running under your shirt. “Not yet- just- just stick to touching me first.” You respond, too embarrassed with your bare body all of a sudden.

The younger just nodded and went straight to your neck, planting small kisses and licks like a cat. “Oh- Tyun-“ You whimpered, pressing more weight of your hips into his. The feeling making a “Fuck-“ slip out from him and warm your skin further. Taehyuns hands found purchase on your hips and began grinding you down, wanting to feel that pulsating pleasure again.

“Fu- Tyun you- you fucking liar-“ You choke up, following his hands and humping his jeans. “You’re good and you know it.” You pant the accusation, a whimper following quickly. “Fuck don’t stop.” Taehyuns hands were far from your body now, moving to remove his shirt. You tilted your head back, feeling his rough jeans rub just right on your clit.

“You’re so hot, using me like this. Use me to please yourself Noona.” Taehyun whispered, the last bit to himself yet loud enough to make you whine in response. The boys jeans were so unbelievably tight, painfully tight, all he could do was moan and buck into you, the motion did nothing but make your hips stutter and stop, all of a sudden overwhelmed with the pleasure.

When you came back too, you looked down at Taehyun, his washboard abs and tight pecs on display. Without a second thought you were in between his neck, planting kisses from his jaw to his throat, a small suck on his adams’s apple before moving down to his chest.

You both made eye contact, lust filled gaze connected with each other instantly before you took his left nipple into your mouth, licking at the tiny bud of nerves. “Ah- Noona please-“ He whined, unable to keep his facade up. Your left hand ran through his hair while your right ran down his chest to his jeans.

“S-so good I- Oh god-“ He stuttered, too distracted by your tongue so foreignly on his nipple to even notice your fingers undoing his jeans, it wasn’t until your hand palmed his cock through his boxers when he noticed, a gasp coming out so hard you felt his chest cave in for a second. “Falling apart just from this? I don’t think you’ll last to fuck a girl, Tyun~” You teased, not expecting Taehyun to buck and moan with no care for volume as a response.

You could feel Taehyun growing in your palm, enough to makes you pull off him and pull his jeans and boxers down to see if what you were feeling was real. The younger let out a whine at the cold air hitting his cock while your eyes widened. “You’re not gonna fit-“ You gasped, looking a little defeated as you eyed the curvy, thick cock in front of you.

His cock curved up onto his abs and you knew if you were to wrap your mouth around him you would dislocate your jaw halfway down. “Please- h-hurts Noona.” He panted desperately, tears welling up at the painful throbbing at the tip of his red cock.

You hesitated for a second before peeling your wet panties off and taking his shirt off your body, tossing it away. “Taehyun if you break me I swear to god.” You spew as you climb back on him. “Do you have a condom?” You ask quickly, it takes Taehyun a moment to realize you weren’t doing anything until he answered so he simply shook his head. “You?” He asked simply, you shook your head. “Maybe my roommate has one- ah!” You yelp put as Taehyun pulls you down to his cock, the tip hitting your entrance before slipping through your pussy lips and over your clit.

“Tae!” You scold, “you cant play like that, you have no experience pulling out.” You continue while he slowly grinds into your clit. “I’ll get soft by time you come back.” The boy whines, “I’ll tell you when I’m about to cum and you can pull me out if I don’t move.”

You let out a sigh. “Not happening.” You hold your ground, you’re not risking it even for your best friend. “Not even if I do this?” He tests before running your clit up and down his cock a bit harder yet slower, letting you feel every vein and fold with the drag. A whimper left you as you looked down at the way his cock pressed flat against his abs, pooling pre-cum into the crevices.

“We can just stay like this- please, just wanna feel you on my cock.” Taehyun begged quietly, eyeing the way your nipples hardened in the cold. The effect those words had on you were borderline embarrassing as you whined and let him roll your hips into his.

“Oh fuck- ‘o good-“ You pant, feeling the way the praise goes straight to his cock. “so good to Noona.” Taehyun bucked at that, fighting the way he wanted to cum already. “‘m good boy?” Taehyun asked with glossy eyes, unable to not melt in your control.

“Such a good boy, Tyunie.” You praise before slowly giving into him and his whining, letting his tip slip in before pulling out and rubbing him down your folds again. You repeated this a few times until he began squirming.

“Noona- ‘m sorry- close-“ Taehyun whined, eyes closing in embarrassment before cum shot over his abs and chest and a raspy moan that came straight from his chest followed.

You let out a moan as his cock twitched against your clit. His cock looked so cute spurting out the white strings of his arousal. A giggle left your lips as you continued your movements, pushing more and more out of him until he was trembling and begging for you to ease up.

“Tyun, Noona isn’t satisfied, how will you ever please your girl if you can’t get me to cum?” You taunted, bringing your nails to his chest and scratching down to leave red marks.

“N-Noona~” Taehyun high pitched purr left his lips in response. “T-Too much-“ he panted. “Hmm, then you need more practice.” You hum, lifting off him and moving to the side while he caught his breath.

You watched the way his cum trickled down his sides before they dripped off into sheets of your bed. “You’re messing up my sheets.” You mutter before swiping a bit off his navel with your finger and licking it off, watching as he stared deep into your eyes.

You hum at the salty taste that sticks to your tastebuds before going down and licking directly off his abs. You’ve wanted to do this the moment he ended up with them, wanted nothing more than to lick them up and down.

Taehyun whined, the feeling of your tongue all over him reigniting that flame in his stomach. “You’re like a half virgin now, how does that feel?” You tease, kissing up his abs to his chest, sucking small hickeys on it. “Did that even count?” Taehyun panted, running his hands over your hair.

“Either count it or we can try over and over and over again.” You whispered, kissing up his chest in between words. “We can set a schedule, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.” You hum, kissing at his jaw before settling close to his face and pressing your chest to his.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Y/N.” Taehyun lets a flushed grin grow on his face. “I’m not threatening you, but I am serious.” You say before rutting onto his thighs slowly. “I’m sorry I came so early.” Taehyun mutters in embarrassment. “You’re a virgin ah- It’s bound to happen.” You pant in reply, letting your arousal wet his thigh.

“God look at you, using me like a slut.” Taehyun hums, before moving his hand to the small of your back to help

control your movements. “What happened to being a good boy?” You tease, a shaky sigh in pleasure following quickly after.

“I know I’m a good boy, letting you use me for your own pleasure, you’re supposed to be helping me but you just can’t help but rut your dirty little cunt on me after i’ve already cum.” Taehyun degrades, eyes dark all of a sudden as his free hand finds your face, thumb pushing your bottom lip down and flattening your tongue.

A wail comes out from your throat as you speed up, the degradation doing nothing but making wanna cum all over his thighs. “You’re bad~” He teases, tensing his thigh muscles under you. “I bet that slutty pussy of yours tastes just as good as it feel though.” He moans out, nails clawing into your lower back just at the thought.

“F-Fuck wh-“ You whimper, why was he being so mean all of a sudden? The pain in your back made tears prick your eyes. “Please- make me feel good-“ You beg, wanting nothing more than to feel his tongue all on you.

“Aww well how can I deny that pretty little look, doll? Move up pretty.” Taehyun commands, fingers digging a bit deeper. “Ah!” You let out before moving fast and lifting off his thigh. You shuffled your hips up, moving above his face. “Y-You know how to do this?”

Taehyun just stared at you, lust haze covering every corner of his iris. “Just sit on my face.” He rasped out while wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to sit completely. “O-Oh..” You sighed as his nose pressed straight into your clit.

It was only when Taehyun opened up his mouth and began eating you out that you really felt the knot in your stomach. “Ah- Tae-ngh~” You moaned, gripping his hair as his tongue pressed into your heat before performing figure 8’s on your clit.

“W-where-“ You panted as your thighs attempted closing on his head. Your heart pounded and you felt a rush of liquid run down your thigh as he hummed into you. His eyes never left you, nails embedded in your inner thigh to keep you open and nose rubbing and bumping into the sensitive bud whenever he dipped into your hole.

“Tyun- Oh fuck I can’t-“ A whine left you as you gasped for air and arched into him, trying to grind against his nose. “Need more~” Pleasure overtook your senses when he let his teeth graze your clit, a scream let out fast and loud before you came hard.

You tried squirming out only to be pulled back in. Taehyun began eating you out more ferociously, a growl bubbling from his chest as his lapped up your arousal. “Ah- Ah~ Tyun please-“ You begged as he began pushing you to overstimulation. His arms loosed for you to get up and he spoke. “Just one more, Noona, a big girl like you can handle it.” He pushed before holding you back down onto his face and ravaging your heat once more.

Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, unable to control the shaking in your lower body. He was turning you into mush, smile evident on his face as you began babbling about not being able to handle anymore. Very quickly you came again, the push was weak and yet Taehyun enjoyed it just as much before pushing you off him and onto the bed.

“I knew you could take it.” Taehyun sighed before looking at your state. You were curled into yourself, catching your breath. “Wh-Where did you learn that?” You panted before uncurling and turning to him.

“Porn.” He simply said before pulling you into him. “You learned how to do that from porn?” You questioned, allowing yourself to be pulled close to his chest. “Mhm, well they did say it gets women coming every time so I just tried it.” He shrugs before pressing small kisses to your neck.

You hummed and closed your eyes. “I’m surprised it worked. Porn is always exaggerated.” You sigh, running your hands down his chest and back up. You both were feeling each other, too tired to do more but still wanting to touch.

“Is your back okay, Noona?” Taehyun muttered into your hair, gently rubbing the marks in your lower back. The small sting caused you to hiss slightly. “Just burns a little..” You respond quietly. “Is your chest okay?” You ask back, remembering the way your nails clawed into him. “Just a little red..” He responded back.

The comfortable silence was enough to put you both to sleep, gentle snores and cuddles in each others arms. Safe to say, you hoped he’d ask for help more often.