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burreauxoxo · 2 months ago

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illicit affairs - joe burrow

secretboyfriend!joe x fem!reader

summary: you started out as friends but once things start to progress, it takes more than the threats given to you by the NFL for you two to stop seeing each other.

warnings: use of ‘y/l/n’, secret relationship, swearing (very little)

word count: 3.6k

note: this is my first bit of writing i am posting here on tumblr! i am still learning the ins and outs so tips and tricks are appreciated. any suggestions towards my writing are always helpful! banner below does not belong to me! same for the pictures above! all credits go to the owners!

when it came to working with the cincinnati bengals, it was simple. you edit the film for the players to watch on the many tablets that reside on the sidelines, then you go home.

when you were hired for the job, the contract was extensive. you were to:

1. stay away from the players outside of the stadium if it meant the occasion would lead to foul play.

2. agree on certain clips and informtion being confidential.

3. not discuss what happens to each player if it is not known, public information.

4. and again... stay away from the players if it meant foul play would be the outcome.

you could look at the players or their wives and girlfriends as friends, you could meet for dinner or even post-game celebrations. but if it was a solo outing and things looked steamy, you were conference room bound.

but when it came to a certain quarterback, the temptation was strong. intensely compelling even.

nothing was worth losing your job; and you meant nothing.

very few occasions did you come upon where it was hard to speak to him. just this last time, it had led to an impromptu bathroom break to collect your thoughts. but otherwise, you needed to keep it professional.

professional for the higher-ups and the officials that were constantly hovering over your shoulder and asking you to transfer certain clips to them before they even reached the players.

professional so the players wouldn’t suspect anything.

professional so the fans wouldn't disect the clips or photos of every time you two were seen together.

because only the two of you were to know what has happened and what will happen outside of that stadium.

it all started when you were given a request by a certain quarterback for a clip where people were calling his accuracy questionable. he could have waited for the mass release of the whole game to be uploaded or even ask the coach to put in a request for a certain timeframe so he was able to rewatch this "questionable" play.

instead, he went straight to the source.

"i didn't want any delay, i just need to see what was happening."

that was the main excuse for his sudden knock on the media room door. players rarely came up to that door. but after an outfit change and a long press conference, joe burrow was determined to get that thirty second clip onto his tablet as soon as he wanted it.

but after conversing with you, he knew that wasn't going to be the last time he was going to see you.

it quickly became repetitive. at first, you didn't realize that maybe his visits were intentional. some may call you naive, but you were sure that it was really, truly impossible.

joe burrow taking time out of his day to come see you? yeah right, cue the laughing track.

but when he got closer, pulled out one of the rolling chairs and asked you to explain what you were doing, the heat practically radiated off of your cheeks to represent just how nervous you were. you had just adapted to his random visits, requesting clips. but now, he was acting interested in what you were doing. it was truly impossible.

that was all you could tell yourself. joe burrow was... a lot of things. you, not so much. so what made you different from all of the well-known, famous females he had at his fingertips?

first, he offered to walk you to your car. you had politely declined and said that the pink container of pepper spray you had in your bag would do the job. if you were being honest, the guards that watched over the parking lot were the only things that kept you safe. when it was just you at the end of the night, you'd be too scared shitless to dig for a small pink container, let alone unlock it and coordinate a decent aim to knock them onto their ass.

so, an offer from someone other than a guard or an off-duty custodian was nice for a change. you declined him anyways.

what came with a decline, was a follow-up visit.

"i was wondering if you had any backlog of clips from the game against the commanders? i'd like to revist... you know?"

"i have backlog from the beginning of my stay here. care for a game from twenty twenty-one?"

joe sat there as you looked in the file from the game he wanted. you offered the whole game or him specifically; you had both.

"the whole game works."

with a few clicks and a thirty second wait, you spun your chair in his direction.

"check your tablet." you say and nod your head at the device that sat on his leg while he waited. he seen a gray square start to show up with a loading signal circling in the middle of it. give or take a minute or two, a clip that was an hour and a half long had been uploaded.

"thanks."

you thought he'd head out after that. but he didn't. he asked how long you had and you told him you were packing up now.

you watched him stand up, unknowing of what was to come.

the both of you had stopped at your car first. he lingered for a second before he gave you a look. a look that signified more than you'd like to admit. you insisted on putting your bags and equipment down first and then the conversation could continue.

but before you knew it, the both of you were in the back of your car... the rest of the night simply ahead of you. the back of your car wasn’t ideal, but it kept the both of you away from being seen by anybody.

nights like that one only continued. it happened another time or two before he offered to take you somewhere else.

"no, we shouldn't." you insisted and at the time, he agreed.

the sneaking around didn't stop, it seemed too easy of a task. that was probably the worst thing you had ever admitted.

a few more identical excursions took place before joe stopped agreeing that you two shouldn’t be doing this.

“what happens with us, stays between us. nobody is going to know.”

he melted the worries that swarmed your head. somewhere down the line of history within the nfl, you couldn’t have been the first ones to play the officials and sneak around a couple times.

you finally agreed one night. but that night, wasn’t the end zone. it wasn’t going to stop there.

it got to the point of joe going to a smoothie shop or out for lunch so you would "bump into him." you took it as an opportunity to go for a run since the meetings usually took place in the earlier hours of the day. your landing spot would be the location he told you and the both of you would basically stage a situation.

you ran until you reached the location, you would check your apple watch, you'd walk into the establishment and you'd place an order. when you would turn around, the two of you would catch each others eyes and then act surprised. but, it wasn't going to last long acting that way.

it would become too frequent. the guards that lingered in the gated community that kept watch of his home, would gain recognition of you and would later learn your identity. for some strange reason, you thought that would be the downfall.

and you were right.

it wasn't one hundred percent the security guards fault. he had other places he needed to keep an eye on. as soon as he happened to drive away for maybe five minutes, it was perfect timing for a photographer to capture one single photo of you walking out of joe’s house, him shirtless behind you.

eventually, the developing nightmare landed you in one of those dark and scary conference rooms that you told yourself you'd never be in unless the problem wasn’t you but someone else. your luck had run out. you said it wasn't worth losing your job.

when you unplugged your equipment to load it into your bag for work that morning, a part of you knew it could be for the last time.

each seat in the ominous conference room was occupied by yourself, joe, a handful of higher-ups, your manager, coach taylor, and joe's agent.

the tension in the room was high. you paid careful attention to the many sheets of paper that were floating from person to person at the table. everyone but joe and yourself had a stack of papers in front of them. they all make a signal that was very obviously planned, and pull the photo that was taken of the two of you to the front of the stack.

"miss. y/l/n, you understand why we are all gathered here today, right?" one of the main guys said.

"yes, sir. i do." you replied. you held your hands together in front of you and on the table to appear as professional as possible. you told yourself it was too late but really, it was never too late.

"mr. burrow, do you understand why we are here today?"

"i do." joe says, not one ounce of doubt or discouragement in his voice.

"well then, let's get this show on the road. some time in the early hours of this morning, we received an email that held this photo that depicts the both of you standing in the entry way of mr. burrow's house. miss y/l/n, you signed a contract a few years ago, agreeing on a whole section that is based around fraternization. what comes with a signiture, is agreeing to the consequences, correct?" your manager speaks.

"yes, sir." you nod.

"with that being said, after the both of you are given a chance to explain yourselves, immediate termination will likely take place, just as the contract states. you are given a chance for explaination to really confirm if that route is necessary, but there is photo proof. there is no turning back from that." he adds.

"wait, so she is getting terminated for a two person job? this included the both of us, it is partially my fault as well." joe says.

"we understand that. your contract is constructed differently though. if you land yourself in a position of being with, let's say, an agent, a manager, a coach, or someone from the front office, similar results would occur. but your contract is different from hers here."

“alright. i’d like to explain first. to start, does anyone have a copy of her contract?” joe asks.

you sat there listening to his words, no clue what he was going to say. he could dissect your contract and spill every hidden action you two participated in; if he truly wanted to, he could.

your manager slides over a three-paged packet and lets joe take a look at it.

“here. it states that she is to stay away from players outside of the stadium if it meant the occasion was going to lead to foul play. does having a smoothie count as foul play?” joe asks.

“no, it does not.” your manager says, still not backing down from the strict and solid attitude he stepped in with.

“does having lunch count as foul play?” joe continues.

“it does not.”

“one of our cheerleaders is great friends with a wife of someone on the team, they went to college together. if she were to go to that players house to either drop something off, visit the wife, or even have dinner as friends, would that count as foul play?” joe asks.

“no mr. burrow, it does not.” your manager sighs.

“okay then. miss y/l/n here did not contribute to any noteworthy foul play and i am here as a witness.”

“joe, you are shirtless while she is leaving your house. what does that say or maybe even imply?” coach taylor says.

“i was working out and she dropped lunch off. she was in the area and asked if i needed anything.”

“would you have proof?” your manager asks.

you both pull your phones out of your back pockets. you both scroll through a couple texts and pull up identical text conversations. you’re telling him you had a doctors appointment in the area and would bring him lunch if he wanted something, and then there was a break in the texts. you didn’t know what he was really doing but it played into the “working out” plan.

“hm, okay. i guess this is why we allow explanations.” your manager says and looks around the table at all the guys who sat there, defeated looks put on view.

“so, nobody is losing their job today?” joe asks.

“no, she is not. we want to instill the rules and remind you that stuff behind the scenes will be investigated if it needs to be. stop with the clandestine meetings and if you two are good friends, then let that show. the secrecy raised red flags but i’m glad you two were able to confirm what was truly happening. on a similar note, if anything is going on between the two of you, now is the time to say so. coming to us and telling us would make the situation a lot better than if we were to find out through the media.”

you and joe look at each other and shrug.

“no. we are just friends.”

it didn’t end there.

joe was asked on multiple occasions if a follow-up meeting was necessary. after you were seen at an event for the joe burrow foundation, you received an email. after you were seen participating in bye week shenanigans, you received an email. you wore a jersey with the number nine on it and guess what, you received an email!

you had talked to joe many times about just telling them because this something, was becoming obvious. ja’marr was calling you “joe’s girl” and joe wouldn’t deny it. you’d go no longer than a couple days without seeing each other. the eye contact alone would cause a ruckus if an outsider happened to see it.

but it was the times joe told you to clean up after yourself once you were leaving his place for the first time in a couple days. you’d thought about leaving a small trace of you behind in case something else was going on. but at this point, it was truly impossible.

the more he’d mention not to leave things behind, the more you thought this was going to fade out. you stopped mentioning the possibility of speaking to the higher-ups about the two of you. you stopped offering your support.

it was until he mentioned you coming to a basketball game with him that you felt like calling it off. you didn’t want to look like a fool. people were already calling you “his side piece.”

that was the last name you wanted to be called.

so once you showed up at his place, ready for the game that would take place later on that day, he felt something was off.

“you could have said you didn’t feel like going.” joe admits in the silence.

“i wanted to go.” you say, silence falling over the two of you once again.

“listen, if telling your manager and my coach and whoever else makes you feel better, then let’s do it.” joe finally says.

“it wouldn’t just ‘make me feel better.’ that isn’t even what’s on my mind.” you say.

“okay then, what is?”

“i know you like your privacy and your own space and whatnot, but why do you make sure i have all of my stuff cleaned up before i leave? am i not the only one or am i in the way of something?”

“no, not at all. i was just trying to play along with the story we have going. if someone were to come over here and see your stuff everywhere, then it says a lot.” joe explains.

you believed it. it was a reasonable meaning.

“you know, i would have agreed to getting fired that day if it meant things would work out.” you admitted.

“what? absolutely not. it’s a job we both took part in. if i wasn’t being fired too then how is that fair and do you feel like things aren’t working out right now?”

“i don’t know.”

joe came closer to you, eyeing your features.

"i will find a way to make sure all of this works out." joe says.

the pit that grew in your stomach, triples in size due to the sudden use of your nerves. what did he mean by that?

the night went on just as you expected. there wasn’t much time left until the game would be over and a winner would be declared. joe sat with his arms crossed, a small smile still displayed on his serious face. on occasion, you’d glance over and admire his features and how he focused on a different team for once.

the way he followed each player as they ran up and down the court. the way he’d celebrate a score when a basket was made after a serious battle between the ball and the surrounding players. it was nice to see him enthralled with something other than the game he played for a living.

you had noticed that a “kiss cam” was being displayed on the screens, broadcasting various couples to the whole arena.

it stunned you when your figure next to joe’s was displayed on said screen. the noise in the arena picked up as joe leans into you some, turning your face to look towards him with his pointer finger and thumb. his other arm was resting behind you; the moment looked too casual.

a feeling like no other, his lips on yours for not only the whole arena to see but for all of the viewers to see. feeling like one of the first times you shared a conversation with him, the heat radiating off of your cheeks was almost too hot to handle.

you kept as calm as you could, smiling through the adrenaline that was coursing through your veins. that same adrenaline didn’t leave you for the rest of the night. once you and joe were escorted out of the arena, you both knew you’d be receiving an email about what had happened, maybe even a conference room invite.

the two of you seen it coming, so why stop now?

the next morning, joe had practice to be at. you were cuddled in a ball of his blankets when you were woken up by your phone ringing multiple times back to back.

joe.

“hello?” you ask.

“they want you to meet us here for a meeting. none of them look happy but… what can you do?” he jokes.

now wasn’t the time for jokes if none of them looked happy. but you still climbed out of your warm cave you made with his comforter and got up to change. throughout the duration of preparing yourself, you contemplated a lot.

this could be it. you could be losing your job. over some frivolous actions. it was official… joe burrow clouded your ability to make better decisions.

once you made it to the stadium, the speed behind your steps kicked up a notch. you walked with confidence to show that you don’t buckle under pressure.

entering the conference room with a professional demeanor, nobody batted an eye once you found a seat next to joe.

“so, here we are again.” your manager says, a new stack of papers in front of him.

“let’s not lollygag. why did neither one of you think that stepping forward with honesty was the better move to make?” one of the officials says.

“cut the ‘we are just friends’ shit too. it’s obviously not true.” your manager says.

“we were just about to contact you guys.” you admit.

“you sure about that? you looked pretty preoccupied last night.”

“i have a draft in my emails.” you jump at the opportunity to say.

“keep it. since we’ve been here once before and since we offered many follow-up meetings to avoid this exact moment, there will be consequences.” your manager says.

“sir, we are adults. we have free-will. we both have proved that we can keep our work lives at work and home life at home. we keep things professional around here, so what could possibly be wrong?” joe taunts.

“that’s why termination would be the go-to but due to previous knowledge, i am going to propose an offer of a thirty-day suspension.” your manager says.

“while active on a thirty-day suspension, you are to not step foot on the stadiums premises unless permission is granted and nothing before approval. you and mr. burrow here have represented a civil relationship and there is nothing more we ask for. we do recommend minimal contact the day of the game for focusing purposes.” an official says.

“i would also recommend an nda. either both parties can sign one or i could just print one on mr. burrow’s behalf.” joe’s agent says.

“that would be unnecessary, she is already under a contract.” your manager says.

“just for safety purposes. mr. burrow is a very private person and i would hate for anything to be released against his wishes.” he continues.

“no, she doesn’t need to sign an nda.” joe cuts in.

his agent is silent from here on.

once the respective papers were signed and you agreed that the thirty-day suspension was necessary and valid, you packed up your stuff and made your way back home.

you were sitting on the couch when a call from joe came through.

“i can’t believe we pulled that off.” he says.

“see, i told you i’d do whatever if it meant things would work out.”

“and i never doubted you once. thank you for sticking it out with me.”

SILENTLY LOSING MY MIND OVER UPLOADING MY FIRST PIECE OF WRITING!!! I HATE THIS!!

if you want to be added to a taglist, let me know!! <3

#cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #football #nfl #fanfic #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n

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ch33z3grits · 1 month ago

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Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

warnings: 18+ mdni, heavy angst, parental issues (especially daddy issues), mentions of sexual coercion, description of panic attacks, CRASHING OUT, dark romance, manipulation, possessiveness/obsessiveness, mentions of arson

word count: 11,953

a/n: ngl this part has a lot going on y'all 😭 but stuff is really hitting the fan now! i rushed editing because i'm working for the rest of the night, so pls forgive any mistakesss. Enjoy! Also, shout out to all those who comment and reblog 🥹🫶🏾 i greatly appreciate it

Terry's song: Floor 555-XXXTENTACION | Camille's song: I'm Tired-Labrinth, Zendaya

Pt. Seven

Terry

Terry seemed stoic as he looked around the unassuming bar, but a dull anxiety twisted in his chest. The cryptic message he received the night before, from someone claiming to be a friend, had gnawed at him all day. His mind went through endless scenarios as he sat in back-to-back meetings with Houston's top attorneys. He barely registered the names and faces around him, his thoughts consumed with concern about who he could possibly be meeting. Was it a set-up? Was it just bullshit? He couldn’t wait for 7:00 PM to arrive so he could finally wrap his mind around the situation.

But now, the time had finally come. He slid into a booth, his eyes briefly darting to the clock on the wall. 6:40. Twenty minutes early, just the way he liked it. He didn’t want to walk into any more surprises. To distract himself, he tapped away at his phone. But his attention shifted as he sensed someone approach his table. At first, he glanced up lazily, thinking that it was probably a waiter or another patron. But his eyes did a double take when he recognized the familiar cut of the woman’s hair. His pulse quickened in surprise, but he kept his composure as she slid into the seat across from him.

It was Kali. Camille’s doting, loyal best friend. Someone Terry had crossed paths with only a handful of times. Since receiving that message, Terry had spent countless hours turning over possible identities in his mind, trying to predict who the mystery person might be. But he had never once considered her. Now, as she sat across from him, he couldn’t help the storm of questions flooding his mind: How did she get my number? Why all the secrecy? What does she know about me and Camille?

She gave him a partial smile as she set her bag next to her, prompting Terry to slide his phone into his pocket.

“Terry, it’s good to see you again,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. Terry quickly analyzed her body language and demeanor. Although friendly, she was keeping her guard up. Her no-nonsense attitude was evident in the minor stiffness of her shoulders and the seriousness of her eyes. Her smile was polite, but it also held a quiet intensity. This isn’t just a conversation, Terry thought. It’s an interrogation. He tilted his head, letting his curiosity crack through his facade. “It’s good to see you too, Kali. Forgive me if I’m jumping ahead, but what is this about?”

She drummed her fingers on the table slightly, never breaking eye contact with him.

“I know you're probably wondering why I had to be anonymous when I reached out,” she began. “But I needed to see if my gut was right. I needed to see if you really have feelings for Camille.” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Honestly, Terry... I just want the best for my friend,” she said, her voice softening. “She’s such a sweet girl who deserves someone who will treat her the way she deserves to be treated. And from what I’ve seen, that might be you.” Terry almost smirked.

“You probably didn’t realize it,” she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, “but I saw the way you two were at the hospital. The way you looked at each other. All that unspoken tension. I even noticed how you kissed her hand.” She lowered her voice, the words taking on a more confidential tone.

Terry clenched his jaw at the mention of the hand-kissing. He should have been more aware of his surroundings that day, but he was too caught up in his mistake. The memory of that moment, the tenderness in his touch, the closeness between him and Camille, made him feel vulnerable. Please don’t use this against me, he thought.

“That’s how I got your number, by the way,” she added. “You wrote it down on her visitor sheet.” She paused, taking a slow sip of the water a waiter had brought earlier, her eyes still locked on his.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” she resumed, “is that I like you for her. But that’s just based on what I’ve seen so far. In reality, I don’t really know you. So I’m here to see if helping you out is worth it. If it’s the right thing for me to do.”

Terry’s initial surprise morphed into respect. He leaned back slightly in his seat, letting her words settle. She had come at him with such directness, such unflinching confidence. It wasn’t easy to impress him so quickly, but Kali had done it with grace and precision. Terry’s posture softened. He wasn’t worried anymore. He was more than capable of getting Kali’s blessing.

Terry folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward. His voice was calm but laced with a hint of amusement. “I gotta say, Kali,” he began, “I respect your approach.” He leaned in just a fraction more. “Please, ask away. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Kali hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done my homework on you,” she said, her tone remaining serious but laced with a hint of admiration. “I know the basics. Your military background, your golden-boy status in the legal world, and the wealth you’ve accumulated from your various businesses. But what really interests me is where your mind is when it comes to Camille.”

She leaned in just a little more. “So, let me ask you this. In a perfect world, where Camille wasn’t engaged to that motherfucker Aston, what would your intentions be with her?”

Terry couldn’t help but let a soft chuckle escape. His thoughts shifted to a world where Camille was free, where no one stood between them. The idea was a fantasy he had imagined more than once.

“In that world?” he began. “My intentions would be exactly what they are now. Instead, I could actually act on those intentions fully. I would court her, take my time, treat her like a princess. And then, marriage would be the end goal.” His words were measured but heartfelt as he watched her reaction. “She’s far too precious to settle for someone so… undeserving,” he grumbled bitterly.

Terry let that sink in for a moment, before continuing. “Not to be cocky, but I know Camille would love being with me. I’d cater to her every whim, she’d never have to worry for any reason.”

He propped his arms on the table, his voice more vulnerable. “But more than that, Kali... I can honestly say that I’m in love with her. I want nothing less than the best for her. I’d move heaven and earth to make sure she never had to feel stressed or unhappy ever again. I would happily give her that life, at whatever cost.”

Kali practically turned into butter right before him. Her eyes softened with respect and admiration, her shoulders relaxed. Even though she simply nodded, he knew she was impressed by his response. He had her.

But as much as he enjoyed the feeling of winning her favor, Terry’s mind was already working. He needed to steer this conversation in a direction that would give him something in return. He needed to understand what Kali could offer him at this moment. So he turned to his favorite manipulation tactic: feigning innocence.

Terry offered her the sweetest smile. “I’m hoping I’ve passed your little test, Kali,” he said, his voice laced with deliberate humility. “But now, I have to ask. What do you really think I can do? You see, Camille... she’s just so loyal. Nothing I do gets through to her. Every time I try to suggest that I’m interested, she shuts me out. I’ve been nothing but patient, but her engagement feels like a wall. I don’t think I stand a chance. What could I possibly do to break through that?”

For the first time since she sat down, Kali’s confidence wavered. Her gaze dropped, fingers absently using her straw to stir her water. A heavy sigh escaped her lips before her eyes reluctantly met Terry’s once more.

“Honestly, if you’d asked me this yesterday, I wouldn’t have had an answer. Camille would never have even entertained the idea of leaving Aston. But now…” Kali’s voice faltered, clearly holding back something crucial. Terry sensed her hesitation and silently urged her to open up. She sighed again. Sensing an opportunity, Terry decided to give her a nudge.

“Hey, whatever we talk about here stays between us,” Terry said, his tone both reassuring and insistent. She nodded.

“Not to put her business out there, but something happened last night. I don’t know what exactly, but now she’s actually considering leaving him. Like to the point she’s making plans to move out of their apartment. He’s always made her unhappy since…never mind that…” Kali waved her hand dismissively, making Terry internally groan at her refusal to dive into more details. “But recently, things have been different. And whatever last night was, it might have given her the courage she needed. She deserves so much better, but I know how hesitant she can be when it comes to breaking free from him. So, I was hoping…”

Terry’s blood boiled at the thought of how Aston had been treating his woman and the toll it had taken on her. But Terry’s smile remained soft. “So, you want me to pull her away from him. Be more forward with her about how I really feel? Let her know she has options outside of him?” he chuckled.

Kali bit her lip, a gleam of mischief flickering in her eyes.

Terry nodded, his mind already racing through possibilities. She had just given him the green light, blessed him with her approval. He could work with this, he could push harder now. He would take advantage of the fracture in the relationship. And he would start with the little bits of information Kali casually dropped. By the end of the week, Camille would have no reason left to stay with Aston. He’d make sure of it. Hell, he might even use a particularly important event next Saturday to finalize everything.

Camille

Camille sat on Kali’s couch, her body stiff as the person across from her continued to speak in a distant voice about her return to Aston. Each word barely registered in her foggy mind. The past almost twenty-four hours of drowning in sadness had left her empty and numb. But perhaps, in some strange way, this numbness was a blessing. If she could feel something right now, she wasn’t sure what would happen. The thought of lashing out frightened her, so she sat in stillness, her face unreadable, hoping the emptiness would be enough to hold her together.

Camille couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The man sitting across from her, who just moments ago, listened as she shared what had happened to her the previous night, was now relentlessly urging her to go back to Aston. He wanted her to pretend and put on a mask of normalcy, as if everything was fine. After everything she had shared, all the raw confessions about how miserable she had been, this was his answer? Forgiveness, he said. His words felt like a slap. She couldn’t understand how he could be so insistent.

The man who was supposed to love her more deeply than anyone else, the one she was supposed to look to for guidance and safety. He was supposed to be her protector, the number one man in her life. But now, as she sat there, looking through him, she grew more numb as the seconds passed by. He wasn’t really her father. No, he was a puppeteer. Pulling away at her strings, trying to control the most important aspects of her life. How could he do this? How could he look at her, after everything, and still try to bend her to his will?

“Camille, sweetheart, please, just hear me out,” Colin DeWaterson Sr. said, his voice heavy. He leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Now, what Aston did, what happened, it was absolutely unacceptable,” he continued, his voice tight. “And I will make sure he gets what he deserves,” he added with a firmness that felt like the faintest attempt at reassurance.

His gaze softened slightly as he continued, his tone shifting to something gentler. “But Camille, this was just a blip in the relationship. A freak accident, something that shouldn’t have happened. Aston’s never hurt you before, right?” His eyes searched hers, seeking any flicker of agreement, any sign that she might see things his way. “He was very apologetic when we talked. I promise, I’m positive this will never happen again,” he insisted, as though his belief in Aston’s remorse superseded her feelings.

Camille forced herself to tune back into the conversation, but her only movement was the subtle shift of her eyes locking onto her father. Her body remained coiled in a protective, defensive posture. Legs drawn up tightly against her chest, arms wrapped around her knees. She wanted to disappear into herself, a small, silent ball, and hide from the world that was pressing in around her.

As he droned on, Camille couldn’t even begin to understand why her mom and dad were there in the first place. Surely, Aston’s father must’ve reached out to them after hearing about his son’s outburst, triggering the DeWatersons to catch the first flight to Houston in some desperate attempt to smooth things over. But how they had gotten Kali’s address was beyond her. She never gave it to them, and she sure as hell hadn’t invited them. But the more she thought about it, the more upset she became, quiet anger rising within her like a slow-burning fire.

Her father hadn’t even bothered to wish her a happy birthday yesterday. But now, here he was, moving mountains to fly all the way to Houston, all because the McCoy family had gotten involved. Aston’s tantrum, Aston’s mistake, Aston’s chaos, that’s all he cared about. The nerve of it. He couldn’t even acknowledge her pain or her needs, but somehow, he found the energy to cater to the McCoy family’s crisis. All she could focus on was the simmering anger building within her, the bitter taste of being ignored and forgotten and used as a pawn.

Camille’s gaze flickered toward her mother, sitting silently beside her father, compliant as ever. She caught her mother’s worried expression. It was a look Camille had seen before, but never like this, not with this intensity. It should have been there. Camille had always gone back to Aston, no matter what he did. Every betrayal, every careless mistake, every reckless act of disregard for her well-being. She had forgiven him time and again, from the cheating, to the times he’d forgotten to pay their rent, to the unforgivable moment when he tried to press charges against Kali. Each time, Camille had swallowed her pride and returned to him, hoping that things would be different going forward.

But now, everything was different. This was the line she would not cross. She was certain. She would not be one of those women who stayed silent, who allowed a man to abuse her and walk away without consequences. The thought of Aston’s hands on her struck her with a cold wave of disgust. She wasn’t going back this time, no matter how many times her parents tried to convince her to forgive him.

“Camille, sweetheart, can you please listen to me?” Her father’s voice pulled her attention back to him, but she didn’t respond. She just stared at him, cold and unwavering. Her father sighed before he turned helplessly toward her mother.

“Can you please talk to your daughter?” He pleaded as he gestured toward Camille’s unmoving form. Her mother, however, simply bit her lip, as she shook her head and lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Colin…” Her mother’s voice was barely audible. “But you got us into this mess yourself.” She paused, her voice tightening as she met her husband’s eyes. “You tell her what you did. Why we’re here.”

Her father’s shoulders sagged as he exhaled shakily, his fingers tapping nervously against the arms of his chair. He deliberately avoided meeting Camille’s gaze, which had shifted to something more curious now, searching his face with intensity.

“Sweetheart, I-I really messed up, okay?” His voice faltered as he spoke. “Please, try not to hold it against me, okay?” He searched her expression, hoping for some flicker of understanding, of forgiveness, but Camille only narrowed her eyes. Why is he acting like this? she thought, her heart racing. Her father stumbled on, voice trembling. “Camille, I’m sorry…b-but you can’t back away from this marriage–”

Before he could finish, Camille cut him off with a humorless snort, the first sound she had made since their arrival.

He let out an awkward, nervous laugh. But it was her mother who broke the silence next, her patience finally wearing thin. With a sharp sigh, she spoke in a tone so uncharacteristic of her, it made Camille’s brow raise in surprise.

“Colin, hurry up and tell her,” she snapped, as though she had finally had enough of quietly enduring her husband’s decisions. This wasn’t the gentle, reserved woman Camille had always known, and that unsettled Camille more than anything her father had said.

Colin cleared his throat, trying to gather his words. He closed his eyes again. “Camille... this marriage isn’t just about you marrying into a rich family,” he started, his voice wavering but firm. “Hell, it isn’t even about me trying to make this family as socially relevant as possible. It’s because I…I-I made a mistake. Probably the worst mistake of my life. Now, we owe that family a lot of money, enough to destroy us financially if this agreement doesn’t go through. Your inheritance. Your siblings’ inheritances. All of our property... Your mother’s cancer treatments, your brother’s psychiatric care... all of that will be ripped from us if you don’t marry Aston. It's all laid out in a legally binding agreement.”

Camille’s body went rigid as her mind tried to process what he was saying. She sprung up into a sitting position, every muscle in her body tight, her hands gripping the edge of the couch.

“What?” Her voice cracked as she barely managed to squeeze out the word. We would lose everything? she thought.

She had already accepted the fact that she would lose her inheritance, that she could never have the life she had sacrificed so much for if she refused to marry Aston. But her family, they were too dependent on the luxuries they had, too tied to their privileges. Losing everything, their money, their possessions, would send them spiraling into a darkness she knew they wouldn’t survive. And her mother’s treatments, her brother’s care…those were essential for them to keep going. The repercussions would be catastrophic. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that happen. She loved them more than anything.

But she couldn’t stop the rage that surged through her. “And you fucking agreed to that?” Her voice shook, unable to comprehend that level of betrayal. “In a goddamn contract?!”

Her chest tightened and her vision blurred as the first signs of a panic attack crept in. Her heart pounded in her ears, each beat growing louder, faster. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Her stomach churned violently.

“Camille, please... j-just let me finish,” her father stammered, his voice cracking as he gestured with trembling hands for her to calm down. She let out a bitter laugh, one that felt foreign in her own mouth. “Yes, please, continue,” her voice full of disgust, wiping tears from her face. He winced at her tone, a ripple of guilt passing over his face, but he pressed on.

“This whole... fiasco has spooked the McCoys,” he continued, his voice low, almost apologetic now. “They want to add a new clause to the contract, and you’ll have to sign it this time. For us to be released from this debt... you’ll have to marry Aston within the next sixty days, and promise to get p-pregnant before the year ends.” He finished, his chin tucking into his chest as if the shame of it were too much to bear.

Camille’s body began to shake uncontrollably, her ears rang, and her leg bounced rapidly. This was beyond anything she had imagined, beyond a nightmare. She was suffocating, and there was nowhere to run.

A sob tore through Camille as she dropped her head into her hands. This can’t be fucking happening, she thought.

Her father’s voice broke through her spiraling mind. “Camille, I know this is hard to digest, and it’s not fair to you at all! But please... our family has no other way out of this. We need you to reconsider–”

Before he could finish, the creak of the front door opening interrupted him, followed by the sight of Kali standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. But once she saw Camille sobbing uncontrollably into her hands, her surprise turned into fury. Without a second thought, she shoved the door open further, propping it open with her body.

“Kali,” Mr. DeWaterson quickly shifted gears, his voice laced with forced enthusiasm. “It’s lovely to see you again–”

“I think it’s time for you both to leave,” she declared, her tone final. She propped the door open wider, a clear invitation to get out, leaving no room for negotiation.

Mr. DeWaterson paused for a moment, caught off guard by Kali’s assertiveness. But after a brief moment of hesitation, he rose from his chair, knowing that any confrontation right now wouldn’t work in his favor. He straightened himself and quickly walked through the door, avoiding Kali’s cutting gaze.

His wife lingered for a moment longer, her face showing that she was conflicted. Her eyes were on Camille, her heart visibly torn as she watched her daughter crumble. But eventually, she just patted Camille’s shoulder lightly. Without another word, she reluctantly followed her husband. Before stepping out, she gave Camille one last glance, guilt and sorrow flashing across her features. But her eyes landed on Kali’s sneer and the moment was over.

Kali slammed the door before rushing to Camille’s side. Although she didn’t have the words, she wrapped her arms around her trembling friend, trying her best to give her comfort.

A few minutes later, Camille’s tears finally stopped. The ache in her chest dulled. The numbness returned. But something was different about it. This numbness ushered in defiance. Rebellion. She was tired of being suppressed by obligation, tired of doing what others expected of her.

No matter how upset she was, she couldn’t let her family spiral into destitution, couldn’t watch them lose everything they relied on. As much as it tore her apart, she knew what she had to do. She would sign whatever damn contract her father needed her to, no matter how horrible the terms were. She would sign her life away to someone she could barely stand to look at, someone who had already taken so much from her. But for now, she was prioritizing her freedom.

She decided that the next sixty days would be the most liberating of her life. No more playing the dutiful daughter. No more walking on eggshells or adhering to the suffocating rules imposed on her for as long as she could remember. She would finally do the things she’d longed for. And she wouldn’t apologize for any of it. Not to her parents, not to anyone. She was done living for their approval, done trying to meet their endless expectations. No matter the consequences.

And next Saturday? It was the perfect opportunity to start.

Watkins & Grant’s highly anticipated summer gala, an event that raised money for various charitable causes, was just days away. It wasn’t just a night of exquisite food and lavish entertainment, it was an event that could open doors. Known for its exclusivity and opulence, the event would draw in the who’s-who of powerful figures from the legal, business, and philanthropic worlds. Because of that, her father begged her to get them as many tickets as she could. She could only snag two, so her father and mother would be in attendance.

At first, she hated the idea of her parents observing her social mannerisms while she was at a work event. And, of course, Aston’s family would be in attendance too. But she couldn’t care less about that now. Instead, this would be her chance to make sure everyone knew that she was fed up with it all.

Stephanie's song: Toxic-Britney Spears

Stephanie

Stephanie felt like she was on cloud nine as she snuggled into the arm of her date to the Watkins & Grant gala. Being on the arm of Terry, dressed in the finest jewels and most beautiful gown, had Stephanie smiling from ear to ear. It was the perfect ending to a perfect week. Monday had marked Terry’s return to the office after a three-day conference hosted by a rival firm, and Stephanie couldn’t deny the thrill of having him back in the building, giving her some much needed eye candy. Tuesday had brought a delightful surprise: Terry asked her to be his date to the gala. Though the invitation sent her heart racing, she held her excitement back. She was more than ecstatic that he was finally giving her the attention she craved, but Stephanie wasn’t about to make it too easy for him. So, she set the terms: If he spent the night at her place, she'd consider his offer. So she spent Tuesday night with her ankles on Terry’s shoulders, getting the good fucking she deserved. On Wednesday afternoon, Terry had generously offered to buy her a dress for the event. Two hours and $6,000 later, Stephanie walked out of an upscale department store with a new evening gown, a gorgeous clutch, and the most beautiful heels. The price tags were enough to make anyone’s stomach drop, but Terry didn’t flinch. He brushed it off with a nonchalant smile, as though he'd just picked up a quick meal at a fast food place. The indulgence was effortless for him, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction knowing how easily he could spoil her. Thursday, Terry took her out to lunch, letting her feast on the finest sashimi in the city. And Friday, she convinced Mr. Grant to give her the day off to indulge in some much needed beauty treatments. And the cherry on top? Camille, that constant thorn in her side, was nowhere to be seen. Stephanie welcomed the absence of Camille’s insufferable googly eyes aimed at Terry. If it were up to her, Camille would never return. But knowing that her disappearance was likely temporary, Stephanie savored the bit of absence she could get.

She looked up at Terry, who looked edible in his navy blue and black ensemble and wire rimmed glasses, as he led them through the entrance of the event. She bit her lip as she eyed him up and down, sighing as she felt a heat pool between her thighs. He just makes glasses look so sexy, she internally swooned. Stephanie couldn’t help but smile as she soaked in the envious glances and admiring stares that followed them wherever they went. Men and women alike flocked to Terry, eager to shower him with exaggerated compliments, their voices dripping with flattery as they shoved business cards into his hands. Powerful men cast heated, hungry glances her way, their gazes lingering just a little too long, while women studied her with a mix of envy and longing, silently wishing they could be her.

Each look, each gesture, fueled Stephanie's confidence, making her feel invincible. She reveled in the attention. The energy of the night felt electric, as though everything was aligning perfectly. She was certain that whatever came out of this evening would only serve to her benefit, solidifying her future. And it would all be thanks to the small vial tucked away in her clutch.

That aggravating witch had finally gotten back to her Thursday night, letting her know that the love potion was ready. The anticipation had been eating at Stephanie, and she could barely contain her excitement when she made the drive to the shabby building to pick it up. The small, heart-shaped bottle had her in awe. The deep red liquid inside swirled all on its own, moving like liquid fire, full of life and power.

The wait had been exasperating, but she had to admit, it was worth it. Though she would have preferred it to be ready earlier, the timing now felt almost symbolic. Tonight was the night. The gala had become the perfect stage for her plan. Terry, standing at her side, was practically shouting to the world that she was his. This was their moment. Their debut. The world would see them as a couple, and in that spotlight, Stephanie was ready to make sure that they truly were. Once she slipped him that potion, nothing would be the same. He was going to be so wrapped around her finger, he would practically worship her like she was his patron goddess. And she wasn’t going to waste any time making that her reality.

With a soft smile, she unwound her arm from Terry’s and leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek before lightly patting his chest, a perfect display of affection. “I’m going to grab a drink from the bar, baby. Do you want something?” she asked, her voice sweet and innocent. Inside, she silently urged him to say yes, her heart racing with the thrill of what was about to unfold. Please say yes. Please say yes.

He gave a brief nod, his attention mostly on the person’s hand he was shaking, but managed to give her a sideways glance. “Yeah, can you get me a bourbon on the rocks?” he asked. A smirk curled at the corner of Stephanie's lips. The request for dark liquor was the perfect opportunity, just what she had hoped for. She suppressed a chuckle as she replied with a bright smile, “No problem.” With a slow, deliberate sway of her hips, she glided across the polished floor toward the open bar. Everything is falling perfectly into place.

Aston's song: When Will I See You Smile Again?-BBD

Aston

The ride to the gala was silent. Painfully silent. The kind of silence that amplified every unspoken word. Aston didn’t expect the journey to be filled with light conversation or laughter, but the quiet felt suffocating. He sighed and stole another glance toward Camille, who was curled up on the opposite side of the car, her arms tightly folded across her chest, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window.

They hadn’t spoken at all since her birthday, since things had gone horribly wrong… The tension was palpable and he couldn’t shake his regret. The only reason they were even sharing this ride was because her parents communicated how much was riding on her cooperation, how much was at stake if she refused. Still, even with their pressure, she barely made any effort to go beyond the bare minimum.

Aston’s mind wandered back to that night he lost control. He cursed himself for how he had acted. He had never been like that before, and it sickened him to think back on it. But it ultimately wasn’t his fault. Something had triggered his outburst, whatever shit Terry’s goon had slipped him to heal his injuries. But that wasn’t an explanation he could share with Camille. He could never tell her the truth about his gambling. If she knew, it would ruin him. The engagement was already hanging by a thread, and the last thing he needed was for her to pull away completely. He still needed her to sign that renewed contract, to make everything official.

Aston had no idea what had gotten into his parents. He knew there was a debt involved on the DeWaterson side of the arrangement. But a debt worth everything they own and then some? It was nothing short of egregious. But what really left him reeling was the addition of a pregnancy clause. He doubted Camille would even let him near her for that to become a reality. He would give her the space she needed, though. He would be patient, wait for her to warm up to him again. If it took months, years, he didn’t care. In the meantime, he would satisfy his urges through his old lovers.

His thoughts were momentarily broken when, from the corner of his eye, he caught Camille shifting slightly in her seat. She subtly adjusted her gown, smoothing the rich fabric across her lap, and Aston found his breath catching. She looked stunning. The cobalt blue of her dress clung to her form, the deep hue accentuating the richness of her dark brown skin like it had been crafted just for her. A diamond tennis bracelet glistened on her wrist, its subtle elegance matching the sparkle of the earrings that swayed gently as she moved. Her hair was swept up in a sophisticated updo, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbone. Aston adjusted his growing erection, reminding himself that he couldn’t get lost in her, or any other woman, tonight. He had to remember that he came to this event for reasons beyond networking and elbow rubbing.

For the past week, aside from bombarding Camille’s phone with messages, Aston had been consumed by a different obsession. Every spare moment was spent scouring the internet, searching for any shred of credible information about vampires. He had hoped for something real, something tangible, but most of his efforts led him to Twilight fanfictions or Dracula essays. Hours wasted on fantasy and folklore. He was about to give up until he stumbled upon a Facebook group that seemed promising.

The group owner was a curious character. His posts were chaotic, filled with disjointed rants and a sense of paranoia. But there was also something oddly compelling. The way he described his encounters with supernatural creatures sent a chill down Aston’s spine, reminding him of the terror he’d felt during his own encounters with Terry. That same paralyzing fear. That same helplessness.

Aston posed a question to the group: How can you kill a vampire?

The replies started flooding in, most of them dismissive or cynical. Many claimed that killing a vampire was impossible. They could only be weakened, some said, but even that required an absurd amount of effort. It was too complicated. But then, among the sea of useless responses, the group owner chimed in. His reply stood out from the rest.

Aston’s pulse quickened as he read it. The suggestion was exactly what he needed to hear.

Aston’s fingers brushed against the inside of his suit jacket, checking once again that the small glass vial of sulfur was still tucked away in the inner pocket. According to the mysterious group owner, the sulfur could be used as a poison for vampires if administered in the right dose. For Camille’s sake and his own, he prayed that the perfect opportunity would present itself, that he’d be able to slip the sulfur into Terry’s drink. Killing the vampire was the only option he felt would secure their safety, to rid himself of the constant, creeping fear that Terry’s power and influence would one day consume them both.

As he walked inside with Camille, guiding her through the grand entrance of the event, his focus sharpened. She was tense beside him, but her unwillingness to engage or make eye contact was the least of his concerns. His eyes swept across the crowded ballroom, scanning the sea of well-dressed guests, the vibrant chatter and clinking glasses an overwhelming backdrop to his singular purpose. There, at a tabletop near the center of the room, he finally spotted him. Terry. His eyes locked onto the supernatural, and for a split second, time seemed to slow. Terry stood confidently, chatting with a small group, his predatory aura unmistakable even amidst the glittering social scene. But it was the moment when Stephanie handed him a drink that motivated Aston to make his move. Perfect.

Without another thought, he gently detached himself from Camille as he veered off in Terry’s direction.

Terry

Terry gave Stephanie a thin, tight-lipped smile as he took the glass of bourbon from her hand, his fingers brushing hers in a way that could almost be mistaken for intimate, but there was no warmth behind the gesture. His eyes never quite met hers as he accepted the drink. His mind was elsewhere, running through the same thought he’d been repeating to himself all week: She’s a part of your plan. He couldn’t afford to forget that, or else he’d risk losing control.

Stephanie had been clinging to him all week, her needy presence aggravating him beyond reason. Her incessant chatter, all surface-level and lacking any real substance, got on his nerves. He tried to hold his composure, focusing instead on the endgame, getting back into her good graces long enough to get what he needed. From giving her a minor shopping spree to dicking her down on her apartment’s floor, each move he made this week involving her was calculated to make her feel valued for just a little while longer. She had no idea that she was a pawn in his larger scheme, and that, soon enough, he’d cast her aside. But for now, he needed her compliance.

His patience, however, was wearing thin. The constant attention, the shallow remarks, the way she seemed to think every word out of her mouth was an invitation for him to dote on her, it was all about to make him lose his mind. When she offered to get him a drink, he felt relieved. Finally, a moment away from her. A break from her desperate need to be the center of his world.

Terry made his way through the crowd, maneuvering with ease as he greeted familiar faces and exchanged handshakes along the way. His destination was the center of the ballroom, where an empty table top awaited him. Once he reached it he scanned the room briefly as he pulled out his phone.

He quickly sent a message to Jabari. ‘Y’all good?’ he typed. Within moments, the reply came: ‘Ready. Just give us the word.’ Terry smirked. He typed back, his fingers quick on the screen, ‘Good. 30 minutes.’ Terry had positioned Jabari and his most trusted subordinates inside Aston’s apartment to create the perfect storm for an “accidental” fire. He had spent days ensuring every element of the setup was precise, no trace of malice, no hint of foul play. The fire had to appear natural, unpreventable, as if it were merely the result of an unfortunate mishap.

As Terry slid his phone back into his pocket, his mind wandered to Camille. Even though she had moved out of Aston's apartment, he knew she probably still had a few things there, maybe even a few things of sentimental value. It pained him, the idea of her things being a casualty, but he quickly pushed the thought aside, convincing himself it didn’t matter. In the end, he would replace it all for her. New clothes, new furniture, anything she wanted. He’d make sure she had better than what she left behind.

It was twisted, he admitted to himself. But it was for the best. Camille needed to start fresh. The apartment, the remnants of her life there, it all represented a tie to the past, a past he was determined to sever. Once that apartment was gone, there would be no reason for her to ever go back to living with Aston.

He noticed Stephanie making her way back toward him, drink in hand. A low groan rumbled in his chest, but he masked it with a practiced smile. As she neared, he reached for the glass.

“They recommended this. Tell me what you think,” Stephanie purred as she batted her lashes at him. Terry nodded absentmindedly, lifting the glass to his lips. But just before he could take a sip, his gaze locked onto Aston, who was making his way through the crowd with a determined look on his face, focused on him. Terry smirked as he set the glass down, his hand resting casually on the table as he turned his full attention to Aston’s approach.

Stephanie’s voice faltered. “I-Is there something wrong?” she asked, her eyes darting between Terry and the glass.

Terry didn’t spare her a glance. “Nah,” he said nonchalantly. “But can you do me a favor?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, the words already tumbling out. “Can you grab me some hors d’oeuvres?”

He had no idea what Aston wanted, but Terry wasn’t one to turn down a little entertainment. Whatever the man had to say, Terry would listen, just for the amusement of it.

Terry caught a glimpse of Stephanie from the corner of his eye, watching as her smile faded before she turned and walked off. But he didn’t bother to pay it any mind. His attention quickly shifted elsewhere, focusing on the approaching figure of McCoy.

He tilted his head slightly, studying McCoy as the man closed the distance between them. Aston had been intentionally avoiding him all week. Whenever their paths crossed in the hallway, McCoy had been quick to turn in the opposite direction, his eyes avoiding Terry’s altogether. During team meetings, McCoy kept his gaze trained on the table, never meeting Terry’s eyes, as if silently pleading to be left alone. And then there were the days when McCoy had locked himself away in his office, missing his usual rounds through the building. At first, Terry had enjoyed the absence of McCoy’s presence. He hated seeing the motherfucker’s face.

But then, there was Camille. The more she called out sick, the more Terry began to grow suspicious. Was she really unwell, or had McCoy done something to her? Terry had sent her a quick text to check in, and she had assured him that she was indeed sick, her response laced with just enough sincerity to put his mind at ease. But still, something felt off.

Even now, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Aston was the type of person that made sure he looked socially presentable at this type of event. And that included having a woman on his arm. And yet, there was no sign of Camille. The absence of her was unsettling, and Terry’s suspicion only deepened.

As McCoy reached him, he broke his chain of thought. “Terry, it’s good to see you!” McCoy’s voice rang out, greeting him as if they were old friends. Terry instinctively raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing McCoy’s every movement. Instead of pressing for answers right away, Terry chose to play along, letting the conversation unfold at McCoy’s pace. Whatever McCoy’s angle was, Terry was certain he'd figure it out.

“You know, we should talk,” Aston said, still acting as if they were close friends. Terry just narrowed his gaze. “Where’s Camille?” he asked, his words coming out through clenched teeth, though his smile remained perfect. Aston quickly scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll turn up. She’s probably talking to her parents… or mine,” he added with a nonchalant shrug, as though it were no big deal.

Terry’s heart dropped into his stomach. Her parents are here? He had to meet them. His old research told him that her father was an asshole too absorbed in bootlicking. Her mother, on the other hand, was a pushover, easily influenced, easily won over. The more people in her life I get on my side, the better, he thought.

Aston leaned in closer, his breath warm against Terry’s ear. “I’ve got some new details concerning that contract,” Aston whispered, his voice low as he gave him a knowing look.

Terry’s brow furrowed in confusion. What was he playing at? Aston glanced down at Terry’s glass, his eyes lighting up. “Before we get into that, though, I think I’m gonna have what you’re having,” he said, motioning toward Terry’s drink with a casual nod. “I’ll be right back.” With that, Aston patted Terry’s shoulder before turning and making his way toward the bar.

Terry squinted after him, watching as Aston weaved in and out with ease. There was something off about that whole interaction. Aston had nearly crumbled in front of him no less than a week ago. The man practically pissed himself when Terry ripped another man apart in front of him. Ever since, Aston had been avoiding him like the plague, keeping his distance, hiding in his office, trying to stay under Terry’s radar. But now? Now, Aston was acting like none of that had ever happened.

I’ll play along, Terry thought. It didn’t matter what Aston’s angle was; Terry was ready to match him, move for move. Whatever the man was up to, Terry was more than ready to let him think he had the upper hand.

Terry lifted his glass once more, the amber liquid catching the light as he brought it to his lips. But this time, his attention was quickly pulled elsewhere, by someone far more captivating. It had been a week since he’d last seen Camille, and the sight of her now stopped him dead in his tracks.

Her hair was styled up, an elegant twist that framed her face perfectly. The makeup she wore was subtle yet flawless, highlighting her natural beauty. And that dress…the deep blue fabric clung to her every curve, hugging her body in all the right places. It was the kind of dress that made heads turn, the kind that made a tent form in his trousers.

His eyes followed her every move. She navigated the crowd with grace, her presence drawing the eyes of everyone around her, but there was something different about how she interacted with them. People approached her, offering polite greetings, extending their hands for introductions. But Camille simply nodded, her responses cordial but distant as she gently but firmly declined further conversation. She moved through the crowd like she was in a world of her own, detached, almost untouchable.

Terry blinked, surprised by her behavior. Camille didn’t strike him as the type to brush people off in a setting like this. She was always charming, always engaging, always making sure she played the part of the graceful socialite. So why is she brushing everyone off? He felt a rush of curiosity and concern.

Terry pushed his way through the crowd, the lively atmosphere fading into the background as his focus zeroed in on Camille. Once he reached her, he gently grabbed her arm, drawing her attention. For a moment, she looked like she was about to brush him off like everyone else. But as soon as her eyes met his, her dismissiveness melted away, replaced by a warmth that made his chest tighten. A soft, breathy giggle escaped her lips, and before he could react, she eagerly pulled him into a hug.

This wasn’t the stiff, churchy side-hug he got from her on several occasions in the office. No, this was something far more intimate. All of her body pressed against his, all of her softness and femininity wrapping around him, dizzying him. Terry instinctively pulled her deeper into his embrace, savoring the feel of her against him. He breathed her in, the scent of jasmine and vanilla enveloping him, groaning as his hardened cock twitched. They swayed gently in each other's arms, the moment stretching out longer than it should have. But Terry didn’t care. He wanted to soak in every second of it. But, as with all good things, the moment came to an end. Camille slowly pulled away, and though Terry silently protested, he let her go too.

“So, you finally feeling better?” Terry asked, his eyes tracing her face and figure, not even bothering to hide his appreciation. Camille smiled softly, her lips hinting at something more.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Terry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. That’s a strange response, he thought. He parted his lips to press further, but Camille was quicker, her gaze softening as she took a small step back.

“You look so handsome,” she said, her sweet smile deepening. His dick twitched again. I would look even better on top of you, he thought.

“I’d love to stay and chat,” she continued, her tone turning a little more apologetic, “but I’ve already pissed off your girlfriend once. I don’t want to cause any more problems…”

Terry’s mind stuttered, trying to process what she just said. What the hell is she talking about? The confusion was written all over his face as he blurted out, “Wait, what?”

Camille opened her mouth, but before she could say another word, she was cut off by a squealing voice. “Terry! Terry! There you are!” The sound of Stephanie’s shouting cut through the air, and Terry’s stomach twisted in annoyance.

He turned instinctively toward the voice, his frustration mounting, only to see Stephanie barreling toward him. He simply rolled his eyes and shook his head before he turned back to Camille, but the space where she had been standing was now empty. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. Fuck, Terry thought, clenching his jaw. What the hell is going on tonight?

Stephanie wrapped her arm around his, holding a plate of finger foods up to his face with a bright, expectant smile. Terry barely glanced at it before brushing it aside with a scowl. He couldn’t do this right now. He pulled his arm free, walking away from Stephanie without a second glance, heading straight back toward the table where his drink sat, and where Aston was already waiting.

Stephanie huffed behind him, her annoyance evident, but Terry couldn’t give a fuck. Everyone’s acting weird tonight, he thought, his jaw tightening with each step. And I fucking want to know why. He knew Aston’s slimy ass was probably his best bet, so he slipped back on his professional mask to jump into whatever game he was playing.

“Terry, I leave you for one second, and you just disappear,” Aston chuckled. Terry shot him a tight smile, masking any distrust he felt.

“What can I say? I couldn’t possibly miss out on saying ‘hi’ to Camille,” Terry replied. Aston’s playful demeanor flickered for the briefest moment. But Terry saw it. Aston only chuckled again as Terry reached for his drink.

“Cheers,” Aston said with a grin, raising his glass and clinking it against Terry’s with a quick motion. Aston took a quick sip, his eyes looking at him expectantly. Terry narrowed his eyes, studying him carefully, but he raised his glass to his lips anyway. But, before he could even taste the drink, a burning stench filled his nose. His supernatural senses flared with alarm. He didn’t need to pause to identify it. Sulfur. It was a scent most of his kind were trained to recognize immediately. A substance whose potency was capable of weakening creatures like him. It couldn’t kill him, but it would a bitch to deal with if he ingested it. Agonizing pain that would last for days, leaving him vulnerable.

Terry clenched his teeth, forcing himself to swallow the instinctual hiss that rose in his throat. His eyes threatened to shift, a familiar hunger creeping up. The urge to let his true nature surface was almost unbearable, but something else bloomed within him, a dark sense of amusement that almost made him laugh. The little bitch is trying to poison me, he thought. The realization was almost too rich. Aston’s bitch ass thought he could slip something like that past him. The audacity was laughable.

For a split second, Terry considered acting on impulse, gruesomely killing Aston right there. The idea was tempting. Terry could feel the predator in him stir, aching to lash out. But then, a thought stopped him cold: That wouldn’t be fun. It would give him momentary satisfaction, sure, but it would also expose him. No, Terry realized, I can do something far more entertaining.

A devious smirk spread across his face as he set down his glass on the table with a soft clink. Panic flickered in Aston’s eyes, a fleeting shift of unease. But Terry remained composed, hoping it would calm him down.

“Speaking of Camille,” Terry said, his voice casual, eyes never leaving Aston’s, “I want to introduce myself to her parents. Can you point them out?” He spoke, watching as Aston’s eyes flicked to the glass in his hand. Aston shrugged nonchalantly, though his lips twitched slightly. “I mean, they could be anywhere…” He trailed off. Terry’s eyes bore into Aston, leaving no room for argument. Aston exhaled sharply and set his drink down with a small thud, finally turning his attention to scan the room. Terry, however, moved with purpose as his fingers swapped the glasses, eager to see how this would unfold.

Camille

“Young lady,” Mr. McCoy growled through clenched teeth. “This behavior is beyond unacceptable.” Camille just stared at him, her defiant gaze unwavering.

For the past ten minutes, she and her parents had trailed behind Aston’s parents like obedient shadows, compliant as they were paraded around the room. The sight of her father, practically kissing the ground Mr. McCoy walked on, made her stomach twist. He clung to his every word, nodding eagerly as if he were some sort of untouchable god. It was sickening. At every corner, the oil tycoon introduced them to various business partners or old friends. People who neither Camille nor her parents had the slightest real interest in. And yet, her parents threw themselves into practiced introductions with exaggerated warmth, a performance they had long since perfected.

Normally, Camille would have gone along with it, but tonight, she refused. Instead of the rehearsed enthusiasm her parents displayed, Camille gave nothing more than curt nods and stiff, half-hearted handshakes, deliberately distancing herself from the spectacle. Her parents and Mr. and Mrs. McCoy chuckled awkwardly at her behavior. They had tolerated her rudeness up to a point, but Mr. McCoy, clearly losing his patience, had reached his limit.

“Yeah, arranged marriages seem to have that effect,” Camille shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her mother gasped, sharp and involuntary, while Aston’s mother’s jaw dropped so dramatically that Camille half-expected it to hit the floor.

Mr. McCoy, visibly taken aback, stammered for a moment, his face turning a shade of red that matched his fury. He took a moment, clenched his jaw, then spun on his heel, disbelief etched deeply in his features. His eyes locked onto Colin DeWaterson, and the anger in them was unmistakable.

“Get her under control. Now,” Mr. McCoy commanded. Colin, sensing the pressure, tried to defuse the situation with a weak, nervous smile. He turned his attention to his daughter, his face tightening with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration.

“Camille,” he began, his voice strained, “You’re not doing anyone any favors acting like this.” His tone shifted, becoming more forceful, more authoritative. “Now, if this continues, the McCoys may feel inclined to return to the contract–”

Camille let out a dismissive scoff. She was done, completely over this suffocating evening. Her frustration was boiling over, and she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Go to hell!” she snapped, her voice loud enough to pierce through the murmur of the surrounding guests, drawing their attention.

Without a second thought, she pivoted on her heels and stormed away. She didn’t need to see their reactions, didn’t want to. All she wanted now was escape. She wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, her legs simply carried her away. The farther she got, the lighter her breath became, but it wasn’t enough. She needed more distance. She needed space to breathe.

And then, her eyes caught a promising sliver of reprieve. The doors to a balcony, barely cracked open, offering a hint of cool, fresh air on the other side. Without a second thought, she moved toward them, the promise of solitude and a few moments of peace waiting just beyond that door.

Camille stepped onto the outdoor terrace and exhaled shakily. The cool evening air kissed her skin. She leaned on the railing as she tried to steady herself, to calm her frustration. Her father’s attempt to scold her still rang in her ears. She blinked rapidly, fighting to keep the tears at bay.

She was grateful that the area was practically empty, save for one event staff member who gave her distance. All she could focus on was the overwhelming weight of it all. The cruel realization that this was her reality. Yet, she had no choice. Another heavy sigh escaped her lips. Her gaze shifted upward, settling on the moon hung in the sky.

“Camille?” A voice whispered her name. Deep, familiar, and impossibly close. It immediately made her nipples harden and heat pulse in her core. She gasped as she turned to the side, finding Terry standing right next to her. His intense, concerned gaze was locked on hers. For a split second, she was frozen, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. The way he was looking at her, so close, made her aware of how little space there was between them. Instinctively, she took a small step back, trying to put some distance between them. But Terry didn’t look away; his eyes stayed on her, unwavering and full of something that made her pulse quicken.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly, his voice rich and soothing. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the movement momentarily flooding her mind with the dirtiest thoughts. “I just wanted to check on you… you don’t seem like yourself.” The words wrapped around her, an overwhelming ache swelled within her.

Camille fought the emotions threatening to spill over. She wanted, no, needed, to tell him everything. To pour out her feelings, to tell him how suffocating her life was, how trapped she felt, how disillusioned she was with Aston. She wanted to confess how every glance, every stolen moment with Terry made her heartache in a way she couldn’t explain. But instead, she plastered on the most convincing fake smile she could muster, and turned her face away from him.

“I’m fine, Terry,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound light. “I really appreciate your concern, but like I said, you’re gonna get me in trouble with your girlfriend.” She let out a soft laugh as she looked back at him, hoping it would lighten the mood. But Terry didn’t laugh with her. His expression remained unreadable, too serious for the teasing remark to land. His gaze only made Camille feel exposed.

“I don’t know where you’re getting this from, but I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said, his voice steady and calm.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What? That’s not what I heard–”

“What you heard was a lie,” he interrupted, his words sharp as he closed the space between them. Camille’s breath caught in her throat. The gap between them was now nearly nonexistent, and with it, the world around them seemed to fade away. All Camille could focus on was him.

“In fact, I don’t have a girlfriend because I’m too interested in the woman in front of me.” He said, placing a hand on her waist. Her mouth went dry. She hadn’t expected that. At all. Her pulse hammered in her ears, the sound deafening, as Terry’s presence overwhelmed her senses. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she tried to process what he said. “T-Terry, I had no idea…”

“And that’s my fault,” Terry began, his voice heavy with sincerity. “I should’ve let you know my intentions a long time ago,” he continued. “But I didn’t want you to think I wanted to mess up your life… or try to sabotage what you’ve got going on here. But I have to be honest, Camille… I want you. In every way you’ll let me have you.”

Everything around her seemed to blur. Her logic demanded she step back, shut it all down, walk away. But in that moment, her resolve shattered. Without thinking, without hesitating, she pressed her lips to his with a sudden urgency that took them both by surprise. The kiss was deep and hungry, as if she were pouring everything—every bit of longing, frustration, desire, and confusion—into that one connection. Terry wasted no time kissing her back. He met her intensity, responding with equal fervor, as if he, too, had been waiting for this moment. He wrapped his arms around her waist, deepening the kiss, dominating the interaction. His lips moved over hers expertly, making her whimper as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It was like they were transported back to that night at Crimson. Passionate, explosive, soul-touching. He was pulling her into a world that she had no desire to leave, happily melting into his arms.

His thick lips sucked her lower lip into his mouth, demanding her to submit to him and open her mouth, which she happily obliged. Immediately, his tongue dived into her mouth, making her moan into his. One hand slid down to cup her ass while the other snaked around the back of her neck, locking her in place. Her eyes became half-lidded as she let herself fall into complete bliss as she let him claim her lips.

“My goodness!” A shriek rang out from behind them. Camille’s heart skipped a beat as the voice jolted her back to reality. She instinctively pulled away from Terry, her breath coming out in short, uneven gasps, her lips swollen, and her head spinning. Her head snapped toward the source of the outburst, landing on her mother, storming toward them with a furious expression. “Unhand her. Now,” her mother seethed, her voice low but full of wrath directed at Terry. "Mom...please," Camille groaned. Terry’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t argue. He slowly unfurled his hands from around her, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary before he released her completely. Without another word, her mother grabbed Camille’s arm, her fingers digging into her skin. “You’re out here acting like you have no sense while Aston’s in there losing his damn mind,” her mother hissed. Camille’s brow furrowed in confusion. Losing his mind? What is she talking about?

Stephanie

Stephanie stumbled backward as she locked eyes with Aston. His gaze was wild, manic, fixated on her and following her every move with an intensity that made her skin crawl. His words spilled from his mouth erratically.

She was just looking for attention, something to dull the sting of how Terry had brushed her off. Her curiosity burned inside her like a wildfire as she watched Aston and Terry earlier. The two men had always loathed each other. They wouldn’t have engaged in conversation unless it was super important…or it was something about Camille. And she was desperate to know. Once Terry abandoned Aston to go upstairs, she seized her opportunity, trembling with anticipation as she approached Aston.

For the first fifteen minutes, Aston was normal. His words were vague when she prodded him about the conversation with Terry, but he seemed eager enough to shower her with compliments and throw her lustful stares. She basked in the flattery for as long as she could. But suddenly, his demeanor shifted. The compliments grew more intense, his gaze more fixed. As if obsession gripped him out of nowhere. An obsession with her. Aston was acting as though she was the very air he needed to breathe, as though her existence was the singular focus of his mind.

“Stephanie, baby,” he gasped, the sound jagged and frantic, devoid of sanity. His face, trying to decide whether to break into laughter or to drop tears. Stephanie glanced around the room, her gaze darting nervously from one face to the next. Several of her coworkers seemed to be watching them with varying degrees of curiosity. A flicker of relief washed over her. Good, she thought. I have an audience... someone will help me.

He took a stumbling step toward her, his movements uncoordinated and sloppy. “B-Baby, please!” His voice cracked, the words hanging in the air like an unwelcome plea. “Why are you looking at me like that? I-I need you. I love you!” The plea grew louder, more frantic. His voice had risen now and she felt a chill run through her. How could this night have gone so wrong?

One moment, Stephanie was being paraded around by Terry, being the envy of the night. But now, everything had shifted. The guy she had rejected nearly two years ago was standing before her, snapping without warning. She continued to take slow, measured steps back, every instinct telling her to distance herself. She refused to respond to him. But he just kept talking. Kept pleading.

“I know I’m engaged and everything,” he said, his voice trembling now, but rising in pitch, “but I can get rid of Camille! Make her disappear!” His eyes widened and tears began streaming down his face. “W-Would you like that?” Stephanie’s stomach twisted. She kept retreating, but it felt like no space was enough, no distance wide enough to escape.

“And, and, and I know I’m not Terry,” he stammered, as if he could make her understand his tortured logic. “I know that’s where your heart really is. But I can love you better than he ever could!” His laugh was sharp, a manic cackle. But Stephanie didn’t laugh. She didn’t do anything but stare at him with terror. His laughter died in an instant, his expression darkening. “Baby, why aren’t you saying anything…” he whispered, his voice barely audible now. He stopped moving for a moment, standing there like a statue, his gaze fixed on her, waiting for a response that would never come. Stephanie’s gaze flitted around the room, looking for any way out. The crowd was thickening, a group of onlookers silently forming a circle around a nightmare unfolding.

“You fucking heard me,” Aston bit. His eye began to twitch as he resumed stalking her. “I said why aren’t you answering me, bitch!” Stephanie jumped, her body trembling slightly.

“Aston, bud,” Glover, one of their older male colleagues said, approaching Aston cautiously. “Just calm down man. This looks really ba–”

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Aston let out a guttural scream and, without warning, snatched the nearest flower arrangement from a table, glass and greenery scattering in all directions as he hurled it violently at Glover’s feet. Stephanie and the others nearby screamed before they began to scramble in every direction, desperate to escape Aston’s madness. But Aston moved faster than she could. At an unnatural speed, his body lunged forward, cutting off her only path to safety. Her heart slammed into her chest as he blocked her in, towering over her. His face was inches from hers now, his wild eyes burning with fury. His lips pulled back revealing bared teeth. The predatory intensity in his gaze made her lip tremble. She could do nothing but stare into his face.

“I’ve been the perfect man for you since the day we met,” he gritted. “I could’ve given you everything if you had been fucking patient! But no. You decided that being Mr. Grant’s slut was the better deal…” he said, the last sentence barely above a whisper.

“Fuck you,” she cried, attempting to push him away. But he didn’t budge, as if he was full of demonic strength. He gave her a psychotic grin. “Fuck me, huh?” He whispered, backing away from her slowly, his smile never fading. He turned to the people cowering in different positions around him. Some behind table tops, some behind decorations. Some even behind other people.

“All of you act like I’m a fucking nobody! Well, go fuck yourselves! I’m the heir to a goddamn oil empire! I deserve some fucking respect!” He screamed. Stephanie’s heart beat pounded in her ears as she slowly began to move from her spot. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as she saw security approach the area. But the sound of more glass breaking brought her attention back to Aston. He had flipped a floor length flower arrangement,glass shattering as it hit the floor.

“Instead, you all give your praise and admiration to undeserving fucks like Terry Richmond. He’s a fraud! A fucking freak of nature! He’d tear us all apart if he could! You know why?! Because he’s a bloodsucking, murderous, psychotic vampire!” Stephanie stiffened. How did he know that about Terry? How long has he known that about Terry? Stephanie momentarily slipped into her own head as she thought about what he just said. She thought she was the only one that knew about Terry’s nature.

Stephanie watched him with curiosity as the security team slowly closed in around him. His eyes flashed with defiance as he sized them up. Without warning, one of the security guards lunged, but Aston sidestepped the attack. He rushed towards a second guard, but three of them pounced on him simultaneously, bringing him to the ground. Their collective weight managed to limit his frantic movements. Still, his mouth kept going, a cascade of frantic screams and curses. His body thrashed relentlessly. Slowly, the chaos began to subside as he seemed to wear himself out, his screams growing more hoarse and spaced out. The guards began to drag him away. But something caught Aston’s attention, reigniting his fury. Stephanie followed his line of sight.

There, standing high above them on the second floor, was Terry. His posture was unbothered, leaning casually against the marble as though the chaos below him was nothing more than entertainment. Like he was a king quietly observing a court jester. His face showed indifference. But his eyes flickered with sinister amusement.

Next to him, an older Black woman held an appalled Camille close.

“Camille!” Aston began to shout. “I know I haven’t been who you deserve. I’m sorry that you’re stuck with me! But, please listen to me! Don’t trust Terry! He’s not what you think! He’s not what any of you think! He’s a fucking vampire! Nothing but pure fucking evil!”

His shouts grew fainter as the security team escorted him out of the building. Around her, a buzz of murmurs grew louder, the crowd trying to make sense of the madness they had just witnessed. A few approached her, their expressions filled with genuine worry. “Are you okay?” one woman asked hesitantly. “Do you need any medical attention?”

But Stephanie didn’t respond. Her thoughts, however, were anything but quiet. They kept spiraling back to Aston’s words, those chilling accusations. A bloodsucking, murderous, psychotic vampire.

She turned her gaze back to the second-floor balcony, her eyes locking onto Terry.

There he was, his eyes trained on Camille beside him. The soft flicker of affection in his gaze was undeniable. The sight burned into Stephanie’s mind, making her blood boil. Something had gone horribly wrong tonight. That much was certain. But she needed answers. And she would get them no matter what.

----------------

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree @solunaseira @hotebonynearby @key05marie @moebuttta @winorlosetogether @nohatingpplbczhtingpplr @alexinmotion @queencb2462 @kismet83 @bruleecream @playingaymes

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #rebel ridge #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black character #aaron pierre fic #aaron pierre x black!oc

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explicit-tae · 1 year ago

Text

Little Doe

An alternate world in which Predator Hybrids are the top of the Hybrid hierarchy. It’s Valentine’s Day and you, a Prey Hybrid, decide to help a Predator Hybrid through their heat. @whipwhoops @seokjinkismet @bloodline1632 @darkuni63 @babycandy111

Word Count: 5.161

Warning: smut, hybrid/shifter universe, wolf hoseok, doe/deer reader, heat/rut sex, dirty talk, licking, oral sex, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, knotting, biting, impregnation/breeding kink,

Valentine’s Day Masterlist | Alternate Universe

“Jung Hoseok.” the man says, arm spread out to offer his hand to you. You take it with a smile, shaking it. His grip is firm, but polite.

“Y/L Y/N.” you introduce yourself before sitting down behind your desk. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jung-ssi.”

“Hoseok is fine.” the man smiles, flashing you a pair of perfect teeth.

Your body flushes and you nod. “Yes, Hoseok.” you murmur, slightly embarrassed by your sudden change of attitude. “I-I got your paperwork. It appears to me that you are a Predator Shifter…?”

You were what was called a “heat partner”. In a world where Shifters walk freely alongside humans, predator Shifters and prey Shifters such as yourself, it was important for Shifters to have something for themselves. Such as a heat partner when they aren’t “mated” to anyone.

Heat partners are exactly what they are described, perfectly designed to assist a person through their heat - male or female. You had made the business proposal back in college and the business has since grown national - even as the CEO, you participated (only when top dollars were made to be earned).

Such as now, with Jung Hoseok.

The man is charming, you’d admit. Tall with broad shoulders and a sculptured face. Smooth skin with soft eyes and a pair of heart-shaped lips. In order to afford your services, the man was obviously wealthy - having stated in his application that whatever price you listed was what he was willing to pay.

The kicker was - he was a predator Shifter. Your agency does strictly prey. That didn’t mean that you didn’t open another separate business for Predators - you had! You, however, were not running said business.

“Yes, I am.” Hoseok nods his head after your question. “I take suppressants to…mask my scent.”

No wonder, you think; There wasn’t any scent on him and that meant that he was dousing himself with suppressants on the daily. The thought frightened you a bit - just what type of Predator was he?

“As you know, Jung - Hoseok,” you begin. “We typically serve Prey Shifters here. Is there a certain-”

“Excuse me.” Hoseok suddenly interrupts. “I’m well aware of what agency I applied with. You are the person I’m looking for, after all.” Hoseok is direct when he speaks, never faltering and not a stutter in sight.

A predator indeed.

“Y-Yes.” you nod your head. “I’m aware, but-”

“Money is no issue.” Hoseok speaks. He was pleading, his eyes staring right into your own. He swallows. “I…I prefer not to have predator Shifters for my heats.”

You didn’t realize your hands were gripping his paper work in your hand until it began to crinkle beneath your fingers.

“As you know we do not ask our customers certain questions due to confidentiality. However, you being a Predator Shifter, I must.”

Hoseok nods. “You’re asking what Shifter I am?”

You nod hesitantly. “I’m a deer.” you tell him, watching and waiting for his reaction.

Hoseok nods. “I can smell you.” he murmurs, voice low that it causes goosebumps to litter your skin - thank god you wore a long-sleeve shirt. Your head was ringing with alarm bells to get as far away from this man as possible.

“I-I can't smell you.” you try to smile but it appears more as a grimace. “If I may ask…”

Hoseok is hesitant, but he answers nonetheless. “A wolf.”

Hoseok can hear your heart increase by the second, pounding so loudly out your chest that he has to suppress a growl - something he does on instant rather than anything personal.

“You’re frightened.”

Terrified. “N-No-” he stuttered, shaking your head. You were lying to comfort him, but your sudden demeanor change told him everything he needed to know.

“Please.” Hoseok sighs out, utterly desperate. “I cannot handle other wolves or predators. They’re…” his nose curls. “...too dominant for me. They fight me.” he speaks, tone low. “You Prey are soft and sweet. Submissive.”

Now he looks like a creep, Hoseok thinks. Your eyes are wide and you want to run as far away as you can, but you’re a deer caught in headlights - literally.

“I-I-” you’re unsure what to tell Hoseok. You’re frightened, yes, but overall, you wanted to help him. He had come to you specifically - the reason you’re unsure - but he wanted help. It’s an unusual request. Not very many Predators come here and pay for Prey, but it isn’t uncommon for them to hookup outside of their heat cycles.

“I have a set price an hour…”

Hoseok licks his lips with anticipation. “Yes.” he nods hastily. “I would like to pay you more if you’d like.”

“That won’t be-”

“I want you to stay with me the entire week.”

Hoseok hears it again, your heartbeat racing.

“I’m not going to eat you, Y.N.” Hoseok says, his eyes flickering with something different, however. “It’s just…I…I need you there with me all the time.” he doesn’t elaborate further and you’re far too afraid that if he does, you’ll back out of the deal.

“I’ll need to see the place before your heat starts.” you slowly nod your head, placing his paperwork down. “Does tomorrow work for you? It’s for my safety.”

“Of course!” Hoseok nods. “Anything you need.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Well, for now we can sign paperwork.” you open a draw to your desk and grasp a black pen to sign your name on said documents. “If you’d like to take it home with you and read through it, you can.”

Hoseok nods his head and takes the documents in his hands. “Thank you.” he grins your way. “I’ll have them signed tomorrow.” he begins to stand, as do you. “Thank you for your time, Y/L-ssi.” he gives you his hand once more and you return the smile shyly.

“Y/N is fine, Hoseok.” you tell him, grabbing his hand to shake once more. You yelp when Hoseok lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it. His lips are soft, his dark eyes flickering up to look at you.

The drive to Hoseok home was a long one - understandably. He, after all, was a wolf shifter and like yourself, preferred to reside in a forestry area. The trees are high into the sky and the scent is natural. The area is quiet as you park your car, eyes roaming the large cabin in front of you. It’s at least four stories built with the finest wood with high ceilings windows. There’s multiple lights shining onto the porch that wraps around the entire cabin.

You can smell them - not Hoseok, but more wolves. The smell is intoxicating, filling your senses and having you stiff in your spot. You swallow, your deer screaming to run away - far, far away from here.

Your eyes widen when the door of the cabin opens suddenly and behind it is a tall man. His eyes are on you in an instant and you’re unable to move or look away.

“You must be…Y/N?” the man says, strolling towards you. His footsteps creek above the wooden stairs as he makes his way towards you. “You’re a doe…” the man sniffs the air, an obvious attempt to smell you.

“You're scaring her.”

Oh no.

Another wolf emerges from behind the door. He’s a little shorter and behind him, yet another one, as tall as the first one. They all surround you, tall and dominant.

“Your heart's beating so fast, little doe. We’re not going to eat you.” the second one laughs heartily. “My name is Jimin. Hobi told us a Prey was coming.”

“I’m Jungkook.” the third one says, circling around you for a better view. “You’re very brave. We don’t get a lot of doe’s around here.”

There’s a growl that has you cowering - as do the other three wolves. You’re now visibly trembling, arms wrapped around you. You knew that the three meant no harm - they appeared younger than you and overall playful. As a deer shifter, you were just naturally terrified of any predator and being on their territory didn’t make it easier for you.

“Go somewhere else.”

That was Hoseok’s voice speaking now and your eyes glance upwards from the ground to see him towering behind the three wolves.

“I am so sorry.” Hoseok’s voice lowers when the three men scurry off, both apologizing and snickering. “They mean no harm. They’re just…playful.” he sighs. If you turned him down now he wouldn’t be upset with you.

“I-It’s okay.” you curse at the stutter in your voice. “D-Do they live here?”

“Somewhat.” Hoseok nods. “This,” he mentions to the large cabin behind him. “is my home. They come and go. They have their own homes on the land we’re on now.”

Hoseok picks up on your unease - it was natural. You were in a wolf's den surrounded by them. As a prey, you were like a shiny new toy to them.

“Please come in.” Hoseok offers you his hand to take. “It’s completely safe. They would not be here when I’m in heat.”

You allow Hoseok to show you inside the large cabin. The scent is heavy of wolves and it causes you to stick besides Hoseok as he was the only familiar person you knew.

“I want to show you something.” Hoseok squeezes your hand encouragingly. “It’s where we’d be staying next week.”

You nod your head.

Hoseok ventures deeper into the cabin. It’s warm and would be inviting if you weren’t a Prey.

“I’ve been using suppressants to mask my scent but here,” Hoseok stops before a wooden door. “is where I can be myself. The scent will be…powerful.”

Powerful indeed. Upon opening the door, you’re hit with a scent so prudent. You’re stunned for a second, eyes widening.

“That’s…your scent?” you whisper out.

Hoseok lightly tugs you inside the room. It’s large and appears to be like a bedroom, a large bed in the middle of the room. Behind it, a large ceiling window showcasing beautiful scenery outside. To the right is a door slightly cracked, you assumed a bathroom. On the far left is a bookcase with a desk.

“This is my den.” Hoseok speaks, releasing your hand but remaining close. “Similar to a nest.”

Hoseok watches the way your eyes scan the room. He senses that his scent is overbearing to you, dominant. For the last few weeks he’s been scenting it to assure that it smelt like him; that he’d be comfortable in the room for his rut.

“I hope it isn’t too much.” Hoseok speaks after five minutes of you calming yourself down.

“No!” you shake your head, turning to him. “I know nesting is important to those in heat or ruts.” you tell him truthfully, having done so yourself.

Hoseok grins at your statement. “Yes.” he nods. “I was wondering…if I could have something of yours. To remain here.” he swallows, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You lick your lips as your body heats.

“If it’s too much-”

“No!” you interrupt. “I-I don’t mind.” you assure. You were here to help Hoseok soon and if this is what he wanted, then so be it. After all, he was a client paying top dollar for your services. “Is my jacket alright?”

Hoseok nods his head with a shrug. “Y-yeah.” his cheeks reddened.

You remove your jacket and hand it to Hoseok, body heated.

“I…” you lick your lips. “...can scent some more things in here. If it would make it better?”

Hoseok’s eyes widen a bit but he nods hastily. “Y-Yeah! You can.” he responds all too quickly. “Would you like something of mine? So you can become accustomed to it?” he offers.

You nod your head as well, encouraging grin on your lips. “Yes, that’ll be nice.”

For the last week you made sure to leave Hoseok’s scent on yours - and it caused stress amongst the other Prey’s at the office. Your assistant was the first to cower, not walking into your office due to fear - she was a rabbit shifter - and instead, called you from her own office opposite of yours. “The scent is that powerful? You recall asking her, surprised. “It’s only his shirt…”

Your own scent was covered in Hoseok’s and by the time it was for you to go to his home - coincidentally starting on Valentine’s Day - your scent was the acute one. However, it calmed you, as crazy as it sounded, because now you were accustomed to Hoseok’s scent. You’re thankful that you were able to ease your way into it instead of being overwhelmed like you were the week prior.

Like promised, you sensed no other wolves shifter in the area and you were thankful for that. Being around Hoseok was enough for you - you’re not sure if you could handle a whole pack of wolves sniffing around you.

Hoseok had sent you a message a few hours earlier telling you that the door was unlocked when you arrived, along with more messages. You’re appreciative that he offered to supply your food, stating that he has already filled his home with various fruits and vegetables to satiate your diet.

You clench your bag in your hand as you enter Hoseok’s home. It’s eerily silent and you wonder just what the man was doing. You don’t dwell, however, and instead make your way down the long, wooden hall to where his den was at.

You open the door to the den and find Hoseok inside. He’s asleep, sweat lining his forehead and he’s shirtless, the comforter only covering the bottom half of his body. You close the door behind you and exhale, placing your bag on the ground and making your way towards Hoseok.

You tilt your head to the side and snort. “You are kinda cute.” you murmur, placing a hand onto his forehead to wipe the sweat away.

It was the early stages of Hoseok’s head and he was only experiencing light chills and normal arousal - as the days led up, he would be utterly needy.

You dip down into the bed beside Hoseok, slowly to not wake him. You lay on your side and close your eyes. You’ll be here when Hoseok wakes up.

You’re unsure when you fell asleep and for how long, but the large window that once shined with natural light now only displays a full moon.

You moan sleepily when the sensation runs through you. Your hips are being gripped, sharp fingernails digging into your skin.

“You smell so good, little doe.”

Goosebumps gather onto your skin at the voice - deep, raspy and full of needy lust. Hoseok was awake, grinding into you from behind. His lips are pressing wet kisses to the skin behind your ear, a low growl mewling from his lips.

“Y-You’re awake.”

“I smelled you from my sleep.” Hoseok’s lips are now on your neck, inhaling your scent. His mouth is salivating. “‘wanna taste you, little doe. You’d let me, right?”

“Yes.” you nod weakly, whimpering.

“So good, little doe. So submissive like how I’d known you’d be.” Hoseok flips you onto your back and cages you beneath him. Your eyes meet the obvious bulge in his shorts. His hands tug at your clothing harshly, tearing the fabric apart without a care in the world.

You don’t respond, only gasp at the action - and it drives Hoseok’s wolf crazy. This is what he needed during a time like this; someone who wasn’t going to put up a fight against him. Someone who was going to submit to him like his wolf wanted; someone like you.

“Such soft, pretty skin.” Hoseok mewls, his tongue poking out and dragging along your bare skin. His tongue is so warm and slimy, but you’re overly aroused. “Scent so amazing and tempting, little doe.”

A strangled moan releases from your lips when Hoseok’s tongue dips down between your breast and slides past your stomach. He pries your legs open and growls, eyes completely dark with lust. He inhales your arousal and doesn’t hesitate to dive right in. His tongue laps between your folds hungrily, nails digging into your soft thighs.

Your back arches, legs widening. This was your first time with a Predator, with someone so dominant. Prey’s weren’t quite vanilla as one thought, sure, but a wolf was different.

“H-Hoseok, please.” your hand tugs at his hair, unable to take anymore pleasure. Your eyes flutter open to look between your legs - a mistake. Hoseok was already looking at you, dark eyes zoning into your own. It causes you to freeze, unable to look away from him. Your arousal leaks over his tongue and his lips and like a man starved, he licks it all up.

“Little doe,” Hoseok growls, a trail of saliva dropping right onto your clit. “so sweet and all for me.”

You don’t get to talk, Hoseok is faster than you. Two, long fingers enter you swiftly - deeply. He pumps with vigor, determined to coat himself completely in your sweet arousal. Your pussy is tight around his fingers, squeezing and squelching for more.

“Does it feel good, little doe?” Hoseok questions rhetorically. You’re a moaning mess who’s coating his fingers with sweet honey, of course it felt good.

But, Hoseok was a wolf. He was dominant and confident - he wanted to hear you say it.

“Y-Ye-”

Hoseom bites your inner thigh, teeth sinking into your skin.

“Y-Yes!” you screech, jerking. Your hands find your naked breast, eyes continuing to flutter with pure pleasure.

Hoseok’s fingers were scraping against your walls, hitting your sweet spot with each pump. His teeth grazes past your skin, lips pressing a firm kiss to your clit. His stamina is immaculate but what did you truly expect from a wolf?

Hoseok likes to watch your face as he pleasures you - his tongue flickering against the swollen bud as his fingers ram so deep inside of you that you’re screeching out in ecstasy. He loves to watch the way your eyebrows would scrunch together and the way you would gasp so loudly. His lips and chin are coated in your essence but he does nothing but savor the sweet, submissive taste that he has desperately longed for all week.

Hoseok’s calloused hand slams against your thigh harshly just as he feels it begin to close in on him. His eyes are furious at the audacity that you’d attempt to stop him from devouring you. He forces you against his tongue, two fingers never ceasing their movement. The noises he made we just as lewd as yours; slurping as if it’s a five course meal; and to him, it is.

“So ready to be full of me.” Hoseok groans against your clit, his eyes zoning in on the way your pussy squeezes his fingers, juices sliding down the palms of his hand and hitting his wrist. “Need to prep you first, little doe, before I take what’s mine.”

You weren’t sure you could handle Hoseok fucking you - you were overstimulated now. Tears brim your eyes with the amount of pleasure, and now with the way he spoke to you with such a sultry voice - you weren’t going to leave here alone, surely.

Talking was a bit difficult, but it was evident Hoseok wanted you to speak to him - to show him just how submissive you were. You nod your head and murmur a soft “please” and it’s all Hoseok needs to truly make you cum. Your thighs shake in his grasp and your moans grow higher and higher. They bounce off of the walls of his den and your body begins to shake rapidly beneath him.

Hoseok encourages you to grind against his tongue, to take him just as much as he was taking you, but as of right now you couldn’t - and that was alright with him. You were going through your own high, your senses clouded in Hoseok; his scent looming over you dominantly and all you could do was lay against the soft bed as you cum the hardest you’ve ever had.

Hoseok wish he could have a picture of you like this - maybe even a painting in his den. Just for his eyes only to witness the beauty that was you, naked and covered in your own arousal and sweat and fully submitted to him. It’s a sight he would forever keep in his thoughts.

You’re panting, slightly trembling with overstimulation.

You bring out something in Hoseok - similar to a hunger that could never be satiated. If he could have you on his tongue for hours, he would. The bulge in his underwear is tight and screaming at him to let it be free.

“Little doe,” you hear Hoseok call you, calloused fingers grasping your jaw to look at him. “even as you lay here trembling, your pussy longs to be filled, doesn’t it? I see you clenching around nothing, wishing it was me.”

You moan faintly, nodding your head. Even if you came as hard as you did, you in fact did want Hoseok to fuck you. The idea frightened your deer - you never had wolf and you’re sure he’s never had deer either. But the thought excites you just as you know it excites him.

You, weakly, sit up, eyes blinking innocently at Hoseok. He watches you, unmoving, as your hands settle at his own hips. “Wanna taste you now.” you murmur at him, lashes blinking upwards at him.

Hoseok growls, a deep rumble coming from his chest that startles you. You watch him with wide eyes and wait for him to speak.

“I want to see your sweet lips around me, little doe.” Hoseok allows your hands to dip beneath his shorts. For a moment you’re stuck when you in fact tough his clothed cock. It twitches when it comes in contact with you, an obvious need to be touched.

You gulp when you actually do see it in front of you. It’s large and veiny, the tip leaking with pre-cum and even if it does appear threatening at it’s large size (larger due to the rut and the need to breed), you’re mouth salivates to suck it.

Hoseok stiffens with your tongue licks up his slit, coating your warm tongue with the precum. Your hand wraps around the base and you waste no time in circling your tongue around the tip.

Such warmth and pleasure drives Hoseok crazy and he doesn’t hide his moans or grunts. He’s unmoving, unblinking as he watches you take him into your mouth, deeper and deeper.

You’re positive that you’d come to regret doing this - but you were full of arousal and lust for the man and needed everything he had to offer. You begin to suck onto his cock as if your life depended on it. The tip hits the back of your throat and your eyes water, but it would be a lie to say that you weren’t aroused.

“Such a slutty doe you are.” Hoseok hisses, the filthy sight of you makes him want more. “So frightened by me but still want to be stuff full.”

Hoseok yanks your hair roughly and instantly, you submit - just how he wanted. He begins to thrust inside of you, taking your mouth as his own. He hits the back of your throat with each thrust, a strangle moan meeting him when he gets there. Your thighs clenched together for friction and your pussy does the same, wishing it was this very cock ramming inside of you.

Hoseok's throat growls once more - so beautiful, he thinks. Tears streaming down your eyes and coating your puffy cheeks as he buries his cock deep in your throat. “When I look at you, I can see a sweet little doe in those eyes…” Hoseok was going to cum, never truly meaning to last long. But during his rut, he could cum so many times and still be hard within seconds, so did it truly matter? “...but then I look deeper into these eyes, and I see that devilious side to you.”

You moan, vibrating against his shaft. Hoseok thrusts deeper and deeper until you feel the salty substance reach your tongue. It’s warm and overpowering, but you’re forced to take it all - and never once do you complain or protest.

Hoseok yanks you off of his cock with a pop, saliva and cum dripping down the sides of your lips. Hoseok forces his own lips - so soft, you think - against yours in a needy, dominant kiss.

“Your pussy is calling for me, little doe. Begging to be stuffed with my knot.”

“P-Please…” you murmur weakly, full of need.

Hoseok snarls and within seconds, he flips you onto your front. He forces your legs apart and once more, snarls at just the visual in front of him; a wolf’s dream.

You yelp when you feel a harsh slap onto your ass, stinging. One hand slams against your back to remain firmly against the bed while the other digs its nails onto your waist.

“Gonna fuck you full of my pups, little doe. Breed you just nice.” Hoseok grumbles, speaking more to himself, but you hear every word and damn did it sound nice.

Hoseok centers himself at your entrance, a grunt releasing from his throat. He rubs the tip between your sweet folds and then sighs shakily at how heavenly you feel.

“My sweet little doe…such a slutty body you have.” Hoseok begins to enter you, your walls completely heavenly; so tight, wet and serene.

Hoseok gasps fully when he’s inside of you completely. You do the same, a small sense of discomfort at the size of Hoseok, but you felt amazingly stuff as you had been wanting to.

Hoseok isn’t able to control himself and you’re glad that you prepared for such. He begins to pound into you with such need; deep and fast. His abdomen slams against your ass as he tries to go deeper with each thrust.

You cry out in pleasure and discomfort - it was going to take getting used to getting fucked by someone as dominant as him. But even your moans were that of pure desire, legs widening a bit more just to have in you deeper.

Your pussy is pulsating, Hoseok notes, and it drips all over his bed. He doesn’t stop his assault, unable to. Your moans give him the fuel to continue on, such sweet and submissive moans and wolf needs to hear when claiming what was theirs.

By the time Hoseok was done with you, you were going to be bruised with finger and hand marks. Hoseok grips onto your skin so tightly, but there’s no complaints your way. “Such a sweet pussy taking a wolf so well. A prey could never satisfy you like this, little doe.”

Hoseok wants to hear you say it. A hand claws at your throat and he pushes you back against his bare chest. Your breast bounces in the rhythm of his powerful thrusts. “Say it, little doe. After I’m done here with you, your pussy would only ever want a predator.”

Your hands find his thigh, muscle flexing when you do. It’s a small sign of resistance and that’s something Hoseok didn’t like.

“Stop trying to run, doe. I already got my hands on you, you aren’t going anywhere.”

You came at the words, so hard that you began to shake. Your arousal leaks down your thighs, but Hoseok was nowhere near done with you. He now has the desire to see your face as he fucks you and turns you around fully before him like a ragdoll. Both hands snake beneath your thighs as he enters you, thrusting just as powerful as before.

Your face contorts with pleasure, eyes widening just to snap shut and moans pooling out your sweet lips.

“Pretty little thing,” Hoseok presses open mouth kisses against your face. His bed rocks and shakes vigorously, hitting against the tall window. “all mine to breed. You’d want that, wouldn’t you? To be bred by a wolf.” Hoseok spits, teeth clasping down at delicate skin.

“Y-Yes!” you cry, arms wrapping around his shoulders to bring him close. Your lips find his, both tongues devouring the other. You’ve dealt with many ruts and heats, but this one was far more intimate. Hoseok was a talkative person and it was difficult to not submit to the man.

Hoseok snarls. “Gonna give you all my pups, little doe. Get you nice and round just for me and me only.”

There was something about being predators and their need to breed that now has you wishing he’d do just that. It was the sex speaking to you - and his rut speaking to him - but all you could think about was being so full of his cum that breeding a few of his pups didn’t scare you.

Jung Hoseok was a dangerous man.

“Want your knot.” you screech, your fingernails clawing at his back for him to give you what you wanted. “Want your pups.”

Hoseok was going crazy - his wolf was screaming at him to take you fully, bite that spot on your neck and take you as his; then you’d truly would be having his pups like your fucked out self wanted. But his sane part manages to hold himself back from his wolf claiming you.

“Gonna cum in you.” Hoseok grumbles, pushing you back against the bed and fucking right into you. His cock is so enlarged due to his rut and the knot in his system. A small bulge is seen in your stomach with each thrust and Hoseok had one goal in mind.

You’re unable to speak as Hoseok presses your knees to your shoulders and pounds sloppily in you. His eyes are watching you, unmoving and not blinking. There’s a growl that reaches your ears when Hoseok comes closer. He’s dangerously close to your neck, teeth blaring. Your heart skips a beat, frightened with the sounds his wolf is making and your deer wants to run for its life from the predator.

“Gonna make you mine, little doe.” Hoseok’s voice is deeper than before, his breath tickling your skin. “Only mine to fuck pups into.”

You’re far too consumed in cumming for a third time that you don’t notice the meaning of his words until his teeth are biting the soft, delicate skin of your neck. You scream out in pain, pussy clenching around his cock just as he’s cumming. His cock swells inside of you, his knot pooling deep inside to do what it’s intending on doing.

You remain completely still and silent, your high and submissive nature not allowing you to protest, even if the pressure was becoming unbearable. Hoseok holds you close, his throat growling lowly, tongue twirling on the mark he has left freshly on your skin. When his high dies down, he’s positive he’s going to be in a world of trouble for marking you as his own - and the pain his wolf is going to feel if you reject him.

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amywritesthings · 10 months ago

Text

press four for more options. | part two.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.5k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - smut, alternate universe (modern), sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub, guided masturbation, pet names, nipple play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part one. / part three. | masterlist

2-5-1-2.

It’s an easy enough combination to remember, being Christmas Day and all.

Pressing 2, 5, and 1 is easy. The final '2' makes you second guess yourself.

You’re not sure why you’re panicking. He’ll pick up.

(It’s literally his job, idiot.)

Fuck it.

Your index finger hits the '2' and the hashtag to finalize the combination.

When you hear the line go dead, you tense every muscle in your body.

No breathing.

No blinking.

Just waiting for that silky, sultry siren song to come over and confirm your bias that it’s the single sexiest voice you’ve ever heard.

—but it’s that automated lady you tried to bypass from the menu.

“Please enter your credit card number, followed by the expiration date—”

“Oh, Goddamn it,” you groan, shouldering the phone to shuffle your purse around.

Eventually after some digging, you find your card before she can continue a second loop of her payment spiel.

You can’t believe you’re legitimately putting your credit card information out there for anyone to steal.

Yet, if Annie’s been doing this for ages, then it ought to be safe.

Right?

After typing in the necessary numbers and confirming they’re correct, you’re so out of your own head that you don’t even realize the line switches from slight static to smooth nothingness.

“So you finally called back.”

“Shit!”

The buttery smooth greeting — or lack thereof — makes you nearly drop your phone.

You gasp and manage to catch the device just in time to hear a chuckle, graveled and low, on the other end.

“And just as jittery as last night.”

“Levi,” you greet breathlessly, straightening your outfit like he can actually see it.

You swear you hear a smile in his voice.

“Hey, baby.”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“Or do you prefer it when I call you Scarlet?”

You prefer literally anything he’ll give you, is what you want to say back, but you don’t want to automatically appear as though you’re ready to be walked like a dog at minute one.

“I’m… fine with ‘baby’,” you confess after a beat, focusing on the swirl of the marble counter below you just to dissociate to his voice.

“Thought so,” he arrogantly states before making this grunting noise, like he’s rolling his body in a chair to get more comfortable. “Are we talking again?"

"Is that alright?"

"You know it is." Levi's voice lifts, softer now. "And how's your Saturday so far?”

“Very mundane and super lackluster,” you admit. “I’m sure you’ve had a much more interesting day than me.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replies without skipping a beat.

“No?” you ask with a smirk. “I’d say getting people off with the sound of your voice makes for a pretty interesting job.”

“Who said it’s only just my voice?”

Son of a bitch.

The phone shifts from your right shoulder to your left.

“It isn’t?”

He makes a noncommittal hum, and it runs straight to your core. “That's confidential, sweet Scarlet."

"Boo," you joke. "You're no fun."

"You haven't seen me at my fun yet," he corrects. "Speaking of fun: how are you not hungover?"

“The power of heavy tylenol and H2O? Which... I have to apologize that."

"For what?"

"Uh, I pretty much poured my heart and soul out to you last night.”

He chuckles. "I didn't mind it. Feeling any better about that situation?”

“I haven’t really thought about it since last night, so you’re already a miracle worker.”

"Oh?"

"Yeah, no joke."

“Huh." He clicks his tongue. "And what have you been thinking about?”

You say it without realizing you’ve said it out loud:

“You.”

Both ends of the phone go silent.

Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to take a pan out of one of the cabinets to bash your head in with anguish.

“In, like, an interested sense.”

Shit, that isn’t much better.

“An… interested sense,” he repeats, slower this time. His vowels dip deep.

“Oh no,” you bemoan. “Okay. Let me restart: I mean it in like a — you were on my mind? Today, sort of way. So I called.”

“...uh-huh.”

“Because the call ended so quickly!” you add. “I didn’t think it was going to end so abruptly at the fifteen minute mark, but I wasn’t done talking to you, so I called again.”

“You’re shit at asserting yourself, aren’t you?”

His words make you blink twice.

“Huh?”

“You don’t like making decisions or having to explain things,” he replies without judgment. “You think if you want something, then it makes you selfish.”

Ouch.

“Well, when you put it like that,” you reply in a bitter, yet lifted tone of surprise.

You hear a noise on the other end. A ‘tch’ if you can make it out.

“Sorry," he apologizes. "Too far?’

“No! Too real,” you admit with a small laugh. “And I’m sure you don’t want to play analyst-therapist tonight, so.”

“I’m here to do anything you want,” he reminds, syrup-y sweet.

“Anything?”

“Mostly anything,” he adds, and there’s a tiny chuckle bubbling between the words that makes your heart flutter. “Can’t hold a tune worth a damn and I don’t know how to speak some languages, so there are limitations.”

You laugh despite yourself, feeling your stress melt.

Then—

A small groan, like his head's tilting backwards. “Damn, I like hearing that.”

You turn away from your kitchen counter, subconsciously padding to your bedroom. “Hearing what?”

“Your laugh,” he explains. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully.

Dark hair. Gray-ish blue eyes. Sharp nose. High cheekbones.

Fit.

When your eyes flicker to your own bed, you try to picture a version of him waiting there.

He could be leaning back on his elbow, button-down shirt splayed open like a newly-peeled present.

Maybe his legs are parted.

Maybe he stares at you like you’re all he could ever want.

His voice cuts through the fantasy, causing your breath to catch.

“What do you want, baby?”

Then it drops an octave lower.

“...c’mon, be selfish for once.”

For once.

Like he can read your soul through a damn cell phone.

But Levi is right — your entire short-lived relationship with Porco and just about any other man before him has been through a small lens. Fitting in the middle seat just to never make any noise. To bend with the curve rather than against it to create your own path.

It’s just a sex hotline, but for some reason, his words resonate.

Be selfish.

Wasn’t that the point of calling in the first place?

“Anything?” you repeat a second time, much softer.

Levi shuffles on the other line then exhales like he’s getting comfortable.

“What do you need?” he asks, tone low and words slower.

Purposeful.

“What do you want?”

You close your eyes, drawing in a slow, steady inhale.

Are you seriously doing this?

No more overthinking.

“Should I... get comfortable?” you ask, too afraid to say what it is that you want.

What you’re about to do.

“Mm, you near a couch or a bed?”

“A bed.”

“Don’t get on it yet,” he orders, “but walk towards it. Bend over it.”

Jesus Christ.

“Bend over it?” you ask with a shaky breath of disbelief.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You’re home from a long day. I’m home from a long day. All you’ve wanted all day is to have someone tell you what to do, right?”

As much as your face feels like it's on fire, you slowly walk to your bed and put the phone down between your splayed palms.

You press the speaker option to ‘on’, and feel a wave of arousal hit your gut when you hear him sigh through the phone.

“I thought you said you wanted me to be selfish,” you remind, bending over your bed.

“You’re allowing me to take charge,” he retorts with little hesitation. “You’re letting me take care of you the way you always should’ve been taken care of. Your ex-boyfriend has no fucking clue what he’s missed out on.”

You exhale, trying to keep it together.

“Levi—”

“I’m right here, baby,” he huskily promises. “Right here. Not leaving you.”

You feel ridiculous.

You’re so turned on it’s almost laughable.

“You ready to let me take control?” he eventually asks, and you nod like he can see you.

“Yeah, I’m— I think so.”

“I like using a red-yellow-green light system,” Levi hums. “Red’s a hard stop. Yellow is negotiating, a slow down to check in. Green means you’re in.” He pauses, and you lean down closer to your phone, bending further. “Color?”

Even on speaker, his voice rips straight through you.

“Green,” you decide, blurting before your brain can catch up.

“Good girl.”

You’re not going to survive this.

“Are your lights off?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he decides. “I want you to crawl slowly onto the bed now. Can you do that for me?”

Your hand slides obediently, passing over the phone as you begin to rest one knee on the mattress. It dips with give.

“All the way up to your pillows, then you can lay on your back — but keep your eyes closed.”

“Okay.”

Eventually you drag your phone with you as you crawl to the headboard of your bed, only to then slowly turn around and drop to your back.

“Are your eyes closed?”

With the phone speaker right at your ear, it almost lends itself to the fantasy of him hovering above you.

His lips dip at the edge of your ear, the static lost to you.

“Yes,” you exhale, relaxing into the bed.

“Good. You’re doing so good for me already, and we’ve barely started.” He pauses, shifting once more. “What’re you wearing, baby?”

“Something so not sexy,” you joke, and it earns a breathy laugh from him.

“Bet you can make anything sexy,” he tells you, and it shoots straight to your lower belly.

“How would you know?” you ask, your hand already reaches for the hem of your shirt. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“No, but I hear you, and it’s fucking delicious.”

Your breath hitches, and you can hear it; the smile in his voice.

“Take everything off, except your underwear.”

“Bra, too?”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he tells you, and it’s much less breathy. It’s certain, like he wants to check in — make sure you’re just as into it as he sounds. “Would you rather I help you take that off?”

Your brain blanks.

Slowly you push your jeans off first, kicking them to some unknown corner.

Then you rise, ripping your t-shirt off of your body, until you’re sitting in your mismatched bra and panties.

“How would you take it off of me?” you boldly ask, though you can’t quite get rid of the shake of anticipation in your voice.

“Fuck, I’d love to,” he grunts, and your face burns. “I’d be so busy pressing small, slow kisses to your neck. Reach up and touch your neck for me. Feel how I’d kiss it.”

You do.

As surprised as anyone else, you reach up and press your fingers against small parts of your neck, earning him a tiny gasp and noise of want.

“Dragging down to your throat.”

You press two gentle fingers to your skin again, following his path, before slamming your thighs together to try and relieve the heat between your legs.

“My finger would just… slip, right under the right strap of your bra.”

Your fingers dance across your collarbone, slipping your middle finger just under the delicate strap to mirror.

With your eyes closed, the motions lend to an almost out-of-body experience.

Like your hand trailing down your body isn’t yours; it’s his.

You’re his, right now.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, and you nods furiously.

“Very.”

“Good. Let me pull the other one down. I wanna see how pretty my girl is.”

The praises, the way he so easily speaks this way, has you all sorts of flustered.

Slowly you raise your other hand to pull down the strap, and whimper when you tug down as far as you can.

Your breasts spill out over the cup, allowing your hardened nipples to greet the night air.

“Can I touch you?”

The words almost make you open your eyes, as if you’ll see this mystery man hovering over you.

You know he's not here.

You wish he were right here.

“Yes.”

“How do you like to be touched, baby? Show me.”

“Levi,” you whine, allowing your shaky hands to run along your breasts.

You’re afraid, you’re exhilarated, but when you finally pinch the little buds and roll them between your fingers, you’re too far gone to care.

“Fuck—”

“Feels good, huh?” Levi’s own breathy voice interrupts your curse. “You look so beautiful like this. Letting me play with you— God, I could do this for hours—”

“Want you to.”

You don’t even recognize your own breathy tone.

Hell, you only hear him.

You only feel him.

“Need more,” you pant, and he hums with amusement.

“No,” he replies, “think I’m gonna play with you a little more right here for now.”

You accidentally pinch your nipples, harder, like he’s teaching you a lesson.

“Levi.”

“What, is my girl getting impatient?”

His girl.

You don’t even know him, but you’d sure as hell like to be.

(How easy is it, for you to fall so fast from your judgmental high horse when Annie first slipped you this number — only for you to be moaning on your bed, hands groping and kneading your breasts, for a man you didn’t know?)

“Y-You said,” you stammer, “to be selfish, and I want—”

“Shh, I’m gonna take good care of you, okay?” Levi interrupts on the other end. “But you have to do something for me, too.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you holding back on me. No shyness. No second guesses. I want you, I want to hear what I do to you. Is that understood?”

You can’t take it.

Your one hand leaves your chest to skim down to your belly, unable to wait any longer.

“I want you to touch me,” you hiccup.

“Yeah?”

His voice wavers in the response before it strengthens. Demands.

“I want those panties gone first. Take them off and spread your knees. Feet flat on the bed.”

No need to be told twice; you hastily pull your panties down your hips, your knees, until they pool at one of your ankles.

Your knees knock together before spreading, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“I want to touch you, too, baby.” Levi swallows, coating his throat. “How wet are you for me?”

Fingertips run past your lower belly to touch the apex of your thighs, gasping with surprise and relief when you feel that familiar electricity.

“Really fucking wet,” you admit.

The groan he emits is delicious. “Fuck.”

For a moment, you feel completely out of your depth.

This is meant to be a sex hotline, but there are lines blurred in your mind. Something about the sheer image of him leaning back into his chair, fucking a fistful of his cock while he has a phone operator headset against his ear, only turns you on that much more.

“If we had time, I’d spend all night memorizing what you taste like. What you feel like. How you let go — for me, only for me.”

“Only for you,” you promise, unable to stop yourself from drawing circles over your clit.

You moan, head bent back against your pillow.

“Fuck, you’re touching yourself, aren’t you?” he asks, and his voice seems less controlled now. It’s got a hint of raggedness, and it only quickens your pace. “You feel amazing, you know that? Such a pretty pussy, all spread and wet for me—”

“Shit, Jesus, Levi,” you gasp, knowing that you’re not going to last long. You’re too wound up from the night before. “If you keep talking like that—”

“What, are you gonna come for me?” Amusement tickles the question. “Oh, you can come for me, baby, but I’m gonna need at least two from you tonight.”

Your fingers press a little harder to your clit, and you keen.

“Wh– At least?”

“As if I’d ever be satisfied with only one,” he murmurs. “No, I wanna watch you come apart. Feel it on my fingers with those cute little contrac—”

That’s it.

You moan louder than you expected, the taut bowstring suddenly snapped in half.

You arch off the bed, relentlessly rubbing your fingers against your body to ride out the insane orgasm that you — that Levi has given you.

Even if you’re blissed out, you hear it on the receiving end:

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Fuck, you sound amazing. I know it’s gonna be tough, but keep going for me, okay? Don’t stop.”

“It’s sen– ha, sensitive!” you whimper, wanting to stop your hand.

“Mm-mm, you said you’d be good. Be selfish, baby. Give me two.”

“But Levi!”

Everything is on overdrive.

Your hand; your body; your mind.

You imagine he’s hovering over you, working you with his hand with a near-sadistic relentlessness.

As you battle your own refractory period, your toes curl, teeth clenched.

You want to be good.

You want to be so good.

And somewhere in that overwhelming intensity, you feel it: the ebb and flow of pleasure returning, crawling through your veins and forcing you to not give up.

To give this to him.

Then you hear it: panting.

As if he’s getting off to this himself. Your eyes snap open, wide, to an empty room.

When your cheek turns to the phone, you confirm that’s what you hear:

Ragged breaths, albeit softly, with added grunts of control.

Like he’s holding back.

Something about that image of him in a chair, his hand relentlessly pumping his cock in time with your hand, your whimpers and moans, does damage.

“I need— mm— want— please.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Levi promises, though his voice is weaker. You can even hear him swallow again. “Right fucking here, wanna hear you cum so bad.”

Maybe you really were pent up enough for two, because soon you’re slipping — falling — into that blissful nothingness while your body clenches on itself, clit fluttering from a second release.

It’s less intense, but that doesn’t make it any less good.

Everything throbs in your body as you come down, panting, with a slight sheen of sweat on your skin.

You turn to your phone, totally gone in the bliss of the aftermath.

Levi has grown silent as well; only light puffs of air come through the speaker now.

“Feeling better?” Levi asks with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Shut up,” you answer with a gentle laugh of your own. “I’m… shit. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

That statement gets Levi to laugh, and your heart feels twice as full.

“That’s one way of pillow talk, I guess.”

The man pauses.

“Are you alright?”

As if he’s truly concerned, worried about your wellbeing.

You don’t allow yourself to fall for it, not completely.

This is his job — even if it felt so real, in the moment.

“Much better,” you promise, smiling to yourself.

“Happy to help,” he hums, his voice returning to that stormy swirl of seduction and softness.

The sobering reality of an empty bedroom should deter you, but all you can do is smile.

(When is the last time you genuinely felt giddy? Excited? Satisfied?)

“Hey, Levi,” you murmur eventually, slowly sitting up to unhook your bra and toss it away. No need to keep it on.

“Yeah, baby?”

You’ll never get over the way he sounds when he calls you that.

It’s permanently stuck to your frontal lobe, obscuring any other logic or reality.

“Am I still allowed to call?”

“Allowed?”

“Yeah, even though we…”

“What, you think you get one experience and your membership is up?”

Levi chuckles, shifting in his seat — or bed — or wherever he is.

“You can call me anytime you want.”

“Any?”

“Between company hours, yeah.”

“Even to talk?”

“Of course,” he answers, softer this time. “Always to talk. Go get some rest.”

“Mm,” you mumble, turning on your side as exhaustion takes over. “I will, but only because I want to and I’m being selfish.”

It surprises you to hear him laugh again, but it’s louder now.

More prominent.

As if he genuinely enjoyed your joke.

Get your head out of the clouds, girl, is what you want to say to yourself, but you can’t be bothered to care.

“Good. You earned it.”

A noise emits from your tired throat to acknowledge him, too sleepy to formulate a real sentence.

Then his voice drops to a whisper, for your ears and your ears alone.

“Goodnight, baby.”

You press the ‘end call’ button and fall into the deepest sleep you’ve had all year.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part two of P4! This is insane. I still cannot believe the feedback I got in part one. Seriously, you all made my June. I hope this next part has satisfied your curiosity of how Levi would be a hotline operator.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x female reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #aot fic #snk fic #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #fic: press four for more

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chatlote · 21 days ago

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Thank you everyone for all your questions. I will be putting an end to this askblog after this post and returning it to its owner. I didn't know what to expect when I created it, certainly not this… but I guess this wasn't such a bad ending.

Without further ado, here's my replies to all the questions I left unanswered. And goodbye.

During these past few years I had a lot of time to think, and I realized I care about being useful, or meaning something to someone. That's why I kept working at the rehab center after settling my debt with them, though I was never all that good at caring for the people there.

In terms of physical objects, I've come to care about my home and possessions quite a bit. I didn't have many things that were my own when I was the detective prince, but this home is something I worked for and gained all through my own efforts.

Ten years is a long time. I pride myself in being resourceful but even then I'm unsure if I would survive that long.

… Though in some ways I feel as if I've been lost these past few years too.

Watch movies, especially the ones that make me think more deeply about myself. I find the journey to find oneself quite inspiring. The original featherman movie trilogy is quite good at that.

I wasn't miserable in those interviews, but well… I suppose I wasn't quite myself in them either.

In relation to your questions: 1-I have picked up writing, mostly of the mystery genre, I have no plans to publish this, especially since some are inspired by confidential cases, but I enjoy it. 2-I have not travelled outside of Kyoto since moving here, I have not been recognized more than a handful of times, I keep my hair up and dress differently so no one connects the dots. 3-Galaxy Studios Park is just a short train trip away, I loved visiting when they had some special rides and attractions dedicated to last year's featherman movie. (Not that the movie was that good, but it was still fun. The wait for the rides was a nightmare, though.) 4-Yes. I enjoy no longer being in the public eye. It's freeing being allowed to be myself, even if I'm still figuring out who 'myself' is. 5-No pets, but have considered getting them... now that Akira is here (and seems intent on staying) I will have to discuss it with him.

I'm in a Reddit thread for ARG's, they are intriguing, and harmless, but still exciting to try to solve. Unfortunately, I can't participate in many due to parts of the mysteries being related to real world locations.

I think they are nonsense, no one's fate should be decided by another, much less by pieces of paper, they are also obviously just vague enough so that it applies to anyone. Still, I know Akira likes that sort of thing, so I try to not...judge too much.

Taiyaki, I wasn't the biggest fan before, but there's a vendor near where I live, I especially enjoy the matcha flavor since it's not overly sweet.

Boring. I'm stuck in bed because I have a leech clinging onto me, otherwise, I suppose it's an alright day. If you meant yesterday… it was stressful, but it worked out.

I saw this ask before deciding to leave because I realized if I left him to his own devices he would blow up half the city trying to find my apartment.

Thank you, I think. I just wear them when I'm at my laptop, the blue light filter is helpful.

I got worried of what he would do once he came to the town I've started calling my new home. Can you blame me?

It was... alright. It still feels a bit surreal, I'm still not sure if this is happening or a dream. But it's nice to know he still cares.

... Yes. It seems as if you are correct.

I always recommend the classics of the mystery genre, Conan Doyle and Edogawa Ranpo. But... Well, if you like rivalries between thieves and detectives I recommend checking out Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes.

...Not my type of song.

Turns out he is not as harmless as I previously thought.

I very much doubt that anyone else from the queer community has a similar relationship to ours. If so, my condolences.

I don't think I will be waking up alone ever again. But while I was on my own… I just looked for the small things I still cared about. Working on a rehab center helped. You get a lot of coworkers that are constantly mentioning that as long as you keep going, you will find a purpose in your life again.

And so I have.

---

That was all the questions I received. I will be logging off now permanently.

Thank you again. I was angry at first of how several of you got Akira even more pumped up into finding me, but I not understand your intentions were not malicious ones. We have a lot to talk about still, but I am... looking forward to it, I think.

Goodbye. Goro Akechi, former detective prince.

#goro akechi #the detective prince #this post turned out quite long so i put it under a read more #i will now go wake up akira so we can have lunch #goodbye and thank you

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novascharms · 3 months ago

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teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 1.9 chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

four

tuesday, january 21st you got the text during your last class of the day. it wasn’t often you received messages during school hours—everyone knew you well enough to understand you probably wouldn’t answer, especially not in class. but something about this one made you check your phone anyway.

you cast a quick glance at your geography teacher before sneaking a look at the screen, hiding the phone behind your laptop. rafe’s name lit up on the display, and your chest tightened slightly as you opened the message.

you started typing a response, what time is the appo— but froze mid-word. it sounded abrupt. rude, almost. with a small sigh, you backspaced the entire line, the screen going blank. after a moment, you began drafting a new response, this time carefully weighing your words.

you nudged hazel, who was focused on the board. she turned to you, raising a brow. “hm?”

“are you still going to the library after class?” you asked quietly.

she nodded. “with ivy.”

“i’m coming with you,” you replied, leaning back in your chair.

what you didn’t tell her—or ivy, or anyone—was the small, inexplicable crush you were starting to develop on rafe cameron of all people. it wasn’t that you didn’t know who he was. of course, you did. you just hadn’t paid much attention to him before. but now? now you seemed to notice him everywhere. in the halls, in the cafeteria, in classes you were pretty sure he didn’t even belong in.

you noticed how he and his friends were louder than most, how there was always one girl lingering close to him, and how, somehow, he still found the time to acknowledge you. it wasn’t much—just a wave, a quick smile, the way his eyes always seemed to find yours in a crowded hallway. it was subtle, effortless, but you were starting to realize rafe had a thing for eye contact.

“i thought you had to tutor the soccer guy?” ivy teased as the three of you headed to the library after school.

“he has a name,” you chided lightly. “and he has to take his dog to the vet, so we’re rescheduling.”

“still can’t believe principal oakley showed you his report card,” hazel remarked, shaking her head and you were fully expecting rafe to have some kind of reaction to that. a report card was something so.. personal. he didn't seem to care that you saw his. he'd yet to say anything about it.

“soooo… what were they? his grades?” ivy pressed, her curiosity bordering on relentless.

“no,” you said firmly for the fifteenth time, shaking your head. she'd been trying for days now, aching to know what kind of results he'd gotten for the first semester. you'd told her no over fifteen times. it didn't matter that rafe probably didn't care. it was confidential. right?

“why not?” she whined, dragging the word out. “i want to know how smart y/n’s boyfriend is. sue me.”

your heart stumbled at the word, your cheeks warming.

“shut up. she’s doing this for her recommendation letter, right, y/n?” hazel added, her tone more practical.

you didn’t answer, eyes fixed on the book in your lap. everything about this felt confusing, uncharted. you’d never been one for crushes. school had always been your focus, your only real commitment. there wasn’t time for boys, and yet here you were.

“wait,” hazel said, her voice rising in excitement. “is this your first crush? oh my god, it is!”

your face dropped into your hands as the librarian hissed a sharp shh!

ivy leaned closer, grinning ear to ear. “and it’s on him. i knew it.”

“i’m blaming my lack of experience with boys,” you muttered. “how am i developing a crush in under two weeks?”

“crushes only last two weeks,” ivy said matter-of-factly.

“what?” you gaped at her. “seriously? what if it lasts longer?”

she gave you an exaggeratedly pitying look. “then it’s true love,” she sang dramatically, laughing as you groaned and buried your head in hazel’s shoulder.

“this doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” hazel said softly, wrapping an arm around you.

“sure. because falling for someone who probably won’t even remember my name by next year is totally ideal,” you shot back. “it’s just transactional for him.”

“maybe it started that way,” hazel said, squeezing your shoulder. “but it doesn’t mean that’s how it still is. honestly, it’s impossible not to like you.”

you smiled faintly, though you weren’t sure you believed her.

“and if he doesn’t, well…” ivy grinned mischievously. “my mature side says his loss. but my insane side says you’ve got the key to the office, and i’m not against swapping a few b’s for d’s.”

you laughed despite yourself, knowing full well you’d never. deep down, all you wanted was for him to succeed.

you tried to shake the thoughts as you walked home, the sound of your family’s usual chaos greeting you at the door.

“no football at the dinner table,” your mom said firmly, wagging a finger at your sister, who held up a basketball instead.

“this isn’t a football, mom,” she argued, earning only a dismissive wave.

your mom began ladling food onto plates, and the familiar rhythm of family mealtime unfolded. the salt and pepper shakers made their rounds, the salad bowl was passed from hand to hand, as your dad threw one bad dad joke after the other.

you were mid-bite, slicing a piece of meat, when the doorbell rang. your younger siblings jumped up simultaneously, vying for the chance to answer it. your dad’s sharp look froze them in their tracks, and you chuckled, shaking your head as you stood to handle it yourself.

you swung the door open, your heart skipping at the sight before you. rafe stood there, a golden retriever puppy cradled in his arms, its floppy ears and wide eyes making your insides turn to mush.

“oh my god,” you breathed, a smile spreading as you practically melted at the sight. “who’s this cutie?”

“this is dona,” rafe said, his grin easy and warm. “he just got the all-clear from the vet, so he’s officially back to causing trouble.” he leaned down to kiss the pup on the head, his affection palpable.

“i’m so glad he’s okay.” you reached out hesitantly, your fingertips brushing the soft fur. rafe nodded, watching you with a gaze that felt… too deep, too knowing. for a moment, the world quieted, and you found yourself unable to look away.

“a dog!” your little brother’s excited shout shattered the moment. you flinched, scooping him up just in time to stop him from barreling into rafe. “easy there,” you chided gently, laughing at the amusement dancing in rafe’s expression.

“is that a dog i hear?” your mom’s voice floated from the dining room, followed by her sudden appearance in the hallway. “oh, hello! y/n didn’t tell me we had company tonight.”

“mom, this is rafe,” you said quickly. “i’m tutoring him, remember?”

“oh, of course! i remember," your mom says brightly, her welcoming grin widening as she steps closer. "would you like to stay for dinner, rafe? young minds need to be fed!"

you step in quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush, "we'll just g—"

“i’d love to, thank you,” rafe cuts in smoothly, his smile unwavering as he stepped inside. your jaw dropped slightly. meeting the parents already?

your mom clapped her hands in delight. “wonderful! we always have room for one more.” she bustled back toward the dining room, leaving you staring at rafe in stunned disbelief. he shot you a raised brow and a teasing smile. “smells delicious in here,” he said lightly, as if he hadn’t just upended your evening plans and casually leans down to scoop your little brother into one arm while holding his dog in the other. the sight is absurdly domestic. your brother chatters excitedly, and rafe responds with effortless charm, telling him something about the dog's favorite tricks.

your heart does not flutter at this scene. absolutely not.

at the table, your sister is the first to pipe up. "dad, can we get a dog?" she pleads, her eyes lighting up at the sight of rafe’s dog lapping up the bowl of water you'd hastily put down.

your dad doesn’t even look up from his plate. "so it can meet the same unfaithful end as your hamster? i don't think so."

the table dissolves into quiet laughter, you and rafe chuckling along.

"what’s his name?" your mom asks, directing her question to rafe as you sneak a glance at the dog curled obediently by his legs.

"dona," he replies.

your dad looks up with a bemused expression. "you named your dog donna?"

"y/d/n," your mom admonishes gently, giving him a look.

rafe shakes his head, clearly unbothered. "not donna," he corrects with a small smile. "dona. after diego maradona."

your sister nearly rockets out of her seat. "maradona?!" she exclaims, her face lighting up like a firework.

"who's that?" you ask not enjoying the fact that you're being left out of the loop.

"only the greatest soccer player in history!" your sister and rafe dive into a passionate, almost fifteen-minute-long ode to the legendary soccer player. she glows with excitement, her hands flying as she talks to rafe who is smiling from ear to ear the entire time.

when you finally retreat to your room with rafe in tow, you close the door behind you, raising an eyebrow as he sprawls across your bed like it’s his own.

"i didn’t expect your family to be so…normal," he says, his tone teasing but curious.

you cross your arms, leaning against the door. "what exactly did you expect?"

he tilts his head toward you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "for them to be more like you."

the words hang in the air for a moment before they sink in. "i’m normal!" you exclaim, your voice rising in protest.

rafe props himself up on one elbow, his eyes twinkling with amusement as they flick toward the oversized calendar pinned to your wall. "sure. except for the five-foot planner dictating your entire year."

you bristle, glancing at the meticulously organized calendar. "i like certainty," you mutter, your voice quieter now. you sit on the bed facing him.

his gaze shifts to your picture wall, his eyes skimming over the neatly arranged photos. "so…you never stray from the plan?"

you shake your head, your hands folding neatly in your lap. "apart from this," you gesture vaguely between the two of you, "which, trust me, it's truly hurting me inside to not follow my schedule." your voice is so serious that rafe lets out a quiet laugh, his shoulders shaking.

"no parties? no last-minute road trips? no sleeping in?" he prompts, his tone laced with incredulity.

the last part hits a nerve, and your mind flashes back to the time you were so sick in middle school that your dad had to carry you to the bathroom. the only time you’d ever missed class.

"nope," you say with a firm shake of your head.

rafe leans back against your pillows, the casual intimacy of the gesture making your breath hitch. you know your pillow will smell like him tonight.

"and you don’t even want to?" he presses, his tone gentler now.

you meet his gaze steadily. "what i want is to be a powerful woman," you say, your voice unwavering.

his expression softens. for a moment, he just looks at you, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. "you already are," he says finally, his voice low but sincere. "you’ve got power over me. i’ve never opened my algebra book this much in my entire life."

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

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asiantransformations · 3 months ago

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Prologue - A Deal with the Devil

Mr. Chen sat at his grand mahogany desk, the faint glow of his jade desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular features. In one hand, he swirled a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he leaned back in his chair. Before him lay a file marked Confidential—a dossier on JunHao, the man who had once been an untouchable icon of success, strength, and masculinity.

“JunHao,” Mr. Chen murmured, savoring the name like a delicacy. “You had it all, didn’t you? A thriving business, a loving girl, and a body that could make even gods envious.”

He glanced at the photo pinned to the top of the file. There JunHao stood, shirtless on a magazine cover, his sculpted physique the picture of perfection. The biceps that could stretch the seams of any suit, the chiseled abs, the confident smile—it all reeked of success, of invincibility. But Mr. Chen saw something else. Ambition. Greed. A man who had soared so high he never bothered to look down.

And that was where Mr. Chen came in.

He had orchestrated the entire downfall with surgical precision. Junhao’s business, a chain of high-end fitness centers, had been booming. But like many businessmen who thought themselves untouchable, JunHao had been careless with his partnerships. He hadn’t noticed when a shell company, quietly owned by Mr. Chen, began acquiring shares in his supply chain. He hadn’t realized when critical shipments of equipment were delayed or canceled, choking his operations.

Then came the financial strain, and with it, the loans.

“Desperate men make desperate decisions,” Mr. Chen muttered to himself, taking a sip of whiskey. He remembered the day JunHao had walked into his office, his broad shoulders weighed down by stress, his usual aura of confidence cracked.

“I need a loan,” JunHao had said, his deep voice betraying a hint of desperation.

Mr. Chen had leaned back in his chair, feigning concern. “A loan, you say? From me? The terms would have to be… unconventional.”

JunHao had hesitated, but he was a man with his back against the wall. He had signed the contract without reading the fine print. It was a devil’s bargain, one that Mr. Chen had designed with a very specific clause: in the event of the business fails, all of JunHao’s assets—all of them—would transfer to Mr. Chen.

It wasn’t just the gyms. Not just the properties or the accounts. It was everything JunHao had. Without him realizing, it included his body and the ownership to it.

————————————————————————

The collapse had been swift. Within months, Junhao’s business was in shambles. The loans he had taken to save it became an anchor, dragging him further into the abyss. And when the inevitable happened—when Junhao defaulted—Mr. Chen made his move.

He had summoned Junhao to his private estate, the contract in hand. Junhao, now a shadow of his former self, stood in the opulent office, his powerful frame visibly worn by stress. "Guess your business failed and everything of yours is now mine!"

“You can’t do this,” Junhao had growled, his fists clenched.

“Oh, but I can,” Mr. Chen had replied, his tone calm and cold. “You signed the contract. You agreed to the terms.”

“I’ll fight this in court!”

Mr. Chen had chuckled darkly. “You won’t get the chance. The clause is binding, immediate, and irrevocable. I don’t just own your business, Junhao. I own you.”

Before Junhao could react, Mr. Chen had signaled to his guards. They restrained the struggling man as Mr. Chen retrieved a small vial from his desk—a blend of ancient Chinese alchemy and cutting-edge bioengineering.

“This,” Mr. Chen said, holding the vial up to the light, “is your key to freedom—or, rather, mine.”

Junhao’s eyes had widened as the liquid was injected into his neck. He had thrashed against the guards’ grip, but it was no use. The process was instantaneous. A searing pain had coursed through his veins as his consciousness was pulled away from his body, drawn into a swirling void.

When Junhao woke, he found himself in a frail, elderly body, his once-pristine physique now a distant memory. Across the room, Mr. Chen stood in front of a mirror, marveling at his new form.

“This… is perfection,” Mr. Chen had said, flexing his biceps and running his hands over his chiseled abs. He turned to face Junhao, a smirk playing on his lips. “You should be proud, Junhao. Your body will be put to far better use in my hands.”

Junhao had screamed, lunging at Mr. Chen, but his new, weakened body betrayed him. The guards dragged him away as Mr. Chen laughed, his deep, commanding voice echoing through the halls.

“You should have read the fine print, Junhao,” Mr. Chen had called after him. “You’ve given me everything. And I do mean everything.”

Mr. Chen stepped out of the private chambers in only his underwear, feeling the weight of JunHao's powerful form. His every movement felt fluid, controlled, and effortless. It was a far cry from the frail, aging shell he had once inhabited. As he walked down the hallway, he marveled at the strength that now surged through his limbs, the sensation of each muscle flexing with the slightest movement.

He flexed his biceps—massive, round, and hard as stone—and let out a deep, satisfied breath. It was like a drug, this power. His former body, though fit, had never compared to the raw might he now commanded. These arms—these biceps—could easily crush anyone who dared to oppose him. The veins that snaked across his skin pulsed with vitality, evidence of his newfound strength. Every push, every pull, every lift was easier now, as if the world itself bent to his will.

He grinned, eyes tracing the contours of his new physique in the mirror as he walked past. The chest—wide, firm, and densely packed with muscle—caught his attention. His pecs were like slabs of stone, firm and unyielding, pressing against the tight shirt he had chosen to wear. When he flexed, the movement was hypnotic, a showcase of sheer power. The depth of his ribcage felt more pronounced, the muscles more pronounced, each fiber finely sculpted to perfection. He could feel the strength of his lungs, the way they expanded and contracted with ease, fueling his movements.

His mind raced with the possibilities. In this body, he was capable of feats that would’ve been impossible in his former, weaker form. There was no limit to what he could do, no obstacle he couldn’t crush beneath his new strength. He felt like a god, a man whose very presence commanded the room. Every glance from a passerby, every flicker of acknowledgment from those around him—he could see the admiration, the envy, the lust in their eyes.

But it wasn’t just the physicality that set this body apart. It was the knowledge embedded in every fiber, every cell of this machine.

Now, Mr. Chen stood in front of the mirror in JunHao's—his— gym, his reflection a living testament to his triumph. He flexed his biceps, marveling at their sheer size and power, and smirked as he ran his fingers down the ridges of his abs. His servants were in awe of what he attained.

“This body,” he said to himself, his voice rich and resonant, “isn’t just a vessel. It’s a weapon. A masterpiece.”

Mr. Chen lifted the weight, a staggering amount, effortlessly. As the barbell rose and fell in perfect rhythm, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Every inch of JunHao’s body was designed for optimal performance. His shoulders were broad and thick, built for lifting, carrying, and crushing. His legs were powerful pillars of strength, veins and tendons twisting beneath the skin as they absorbed the pressure with ease. His calves were muscular and solid, able to sprint for miles without tiring, propelling him forward with each step.

He was a walking weapon—a machine capable of destruction.

The gift of virility was perhaps the most intoxicating. Mr. Chen had always been a man who desired control over everything, and now, he had control over the most primal part of his new form. He could feel the sheer force of Junhao’s masculinity coursing through him, the power in his loins that seemed to radiate outward, a constant hum of energy that never faded. His once-feeble self had known nothing of this.

This was a different kind of strength.

It wasn’t just about physical satisfaction. It was about dominance—asserting control over the very essence of another person. The body’s virility wasn’t a mere function of attraction; it was a weapon, a means of asserting his superiority, of owning and controlling.

The mind that came with this body was just as powerful as its physical form. Junhao’s intelligence had been sharp—business savvy, ruthless in his own right. But now, those instincts and ideas had become Mr. Chen’s. He could feel it—the knowledge embedded deep within the muscle, the experience that came from years of competition, of pushing himself to the limits. Every decision Junhao had made, every business deal, every negotiation—it was all there, like an archive waiting to be unlocked.

Mr. Chen felt as though he were walking in the footsteps of a man who had already laid the path for success. Every strategy, every move he needed to make, was now at his fingertips. JunHao’s thoughts, his methodical and strategic way of thinking, now surged through Mr. Chen’s mind as though they had always been his own.

He could feel the instinctual knowledge of how to read people, how to control a room, how to exploit weaknesses. His ability to manipulate, to strategize, to make others bow to his will—it was second nature now.

Every touch felt electric, as if JunHao's body was awakening to its new owner, recalibrating itself to fit Mr. Chen like a finely tailored suit. Every nerve ending seemed to buzz, hyperaware of his movements, responding to his commands with an eagerness that was both exhilarating and addictive.

Running his hands over his chest, Mr. Chen marveled at the power beneath his fingertips. The solid ridges of muscle, the soft yet firm hairs brushing against his palms-it was all so alive. His previous body had been stiff, sluggish, and unresponsive, a constant reminder of his age. But this? This was perfection incarnate, and it responded to him like a finely tuned instrument.

He progressed to his bedroom and then on the full-length mirror that dominated the corner of his suite, captivated by the sight before him. Mr. Chen wanted to explore this new opportunity in private. As he flexed, his reflection seemed to shimmer with vitality, every muscle rippling beneath his skin in perfect harmony. The sheer control he had over this body was intoxicating.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A faint warmth began to build, spreading through him like a slow burn. It started in his chest, radiating downward with an intensity that took his breath away. By the time he noticed the faint wet spot forming on his underwear, it was too late to deny it-this body wasn't just alive; it was thriving, responding to his every whim with an energy that left him breathless.

"This... this is something else," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face as he pressed his palm against the damp patch, feeling the heat beneath. "You've really outdone yourself, JunHao."

Rather than being embarrassed, Mr. Chen reveled in the sensation. He let the feeling wash over him, leaning into the raw vitality that coursed through his veins. He flexed again, harder this time, watching in awe as his biceps bulged, veins snaking across his forearms like rivers of power. Mr. Chen moaned every so loudly as he groped his new cock. The wet patch grew slightly, and he couldn't help but laugh -a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the room.

"This is what it means to feel alive," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is what I've been missing."

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting his hands roam freely, exploring every inch of his new form. The hard planes of his chest, the taut curve of his thighs, the firmness of his calves-each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through him. It was as if the body itself was rejoicing, celebrating its new owner with a symphony of sensations.

After a few minutes of indulgence, Mr. Chen was covered in JunHao's precious juices which reeked of testosterone, a testament to the new virility. A taste of it sent shockwaves of energy and flavors to his tongue as he forced himself to stand, steadying his breathing as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He wasn't going to let this body overwhelm him-not yet, anyway. There was so much to explore, so much to discover, and he wanted to savor every moment.

He changed into fresh clothes, opting for a tight-fitting shirt that showcased his physique and a pair of jeans that accentuated his powerful legs. As he left the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror one last time and couldn't help but to pose what he had.

"Let's see what else this body can do," he said to himself, stepping out into the night, ready to test the limits of his newfound strength and charm.

Next Part

#asiantransformations #asianmuscle #racialtransformations #asianbodybuilder #asiantoasian #buff asian #buffasian #bodyswap

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hoseoksluna · 3 months ago

Text

THE END OF THE WORLD | pjm

pairing: best friend!jimin x f. reader

genre: fluff

rating: 13+

summary: when you thought your period cramps would bring in the end of the world, you didn't realize your feelings for jimin would get reciprocated in the middle of it all.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: reader is on her period; brief mention of period blood, jimin has a cute (non-sexual) fixation on reader's feet, kissing, anxiety, the problematics of heavy thoughts, insecurities and feeling not worthy of good things.

luna's note: this little thing literally came out of nowhere. i started writing this at work on friday when i had severe cramps and i felt soft enough to write a little fluff. where my jimin girls at? i've been heavily fixated on jimin lately, seeking comfort in him, buying pcs from muse photoshoot bc it's my favorite. the jimin i wrote about is an older, buffier jimin with blond hair bc that's my weakness. i hope you like this figment of my imagination and that it makes you as soft as it made me. i love you all, sending kisses mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl,

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

@ririkookiemonster, @perfectiondazesworld, @kookienooki, @rrosiitas, @kooloveys

@junecat18 @deepops79 @notsevenwithyou @futuristicenemychaos @psychicjellyfishalpaca

@mar-lo-pap, @perfectiondazesworld @blackswanpt2 @rpwprpwprpwprw

The pain that coursed across your lower tummy felt like the world ending, and your boy friend carried more beauty than a mere mortal could ever achieve. Too bad there was that doomful space between those two words that speak of his role in your life, even though his current position suggests such closeness that those letters could easily melt together.

Jimin rests the side plane of his face on the middle of your thigh. You repose on the left side of your bed, seemingly bloodless while you exude liters upon liters of the carmine liquid, which makes you wonder how you’re still alive. The wings of your ovaries constrict and constrict, right under his face, reflecting the membrane of his own pair that you’ve watched grow into those of an archangel throughout the trajectory of your life with him. You try to ignore the pain, even as your features twist in helplessness, and instead imagine the colors that could swift through those feathers.

Pistachio green. Brown that fades into a soft pink. Maybe a little subdued yellow.

You’ve always thought he was an angel by the way his presence in your day simply made it better. More joyful, more loving, more gentle. But the more you blossomed into adulthood with him, and your frontal lobe developed as well as your unconditional feelings for him, the more you comprehended he was your angel. And not just an ordinary one.

He was your archangel.

He would protect you from people that had no space in your life, no luck or love to pepper your nose with. On the packed public transport, he would cover your knees with his hand so no male strangers would touch you with the back of their legs. If a guy came to make a mess out of your life, he would deal with him in a way that would force him to apologize to you and never bother you again. If someone, no matter their gender, caused you sadness in any small or big form, he made sure they regretted it. And, more often than not, your archangel bought you boba.

You must’ve tried all the flavors from your favorite bubble bar by now. And by all means, crème brûlée was your favorite—only because when you drank it for the first time, you realized that you irrevocably loved the boy with the faux blond hair, pillowy lips, kind heart and confidential tattoos. And when this dawned upon you, it seemed as though Jimin knew—because he blushed and didn’t say anything for a while. The unspoken information, kept safely in the cores of yours and his being, not born into this world. That’s why it’s your favorite.

It’s the one that is set on your nightstand right now, unopened, with the straw still captive in the translucent foil. It took only one response to his daily how are you text for him to drive to your usual bubble bar on his way to you, and upon seeing the beige peek through the cup, along with the brown sugar syrup, it’s a miracle your knees didn’t give out on you. The fact he chose this drink over all the other ones you love fed your heart the delusions that maybe, just maybe he loved you back.

That he wasn’t just a kind boy, whose love language was physical touch, and that’s why he’s laying in your lap.

Maybe, if you did any good in your life, Jimin gazes at you from this lower position while fondling your aching tummy because he feels something deeper than a sympathy for you.

The pain almost forces you to ask that life-altering question for clarification. Almost. It is on the tip of your tongue, perfect and fluid, breathless and fearless, but you hold it back because Jimin extends one finger and traces patterns on your bloated belly.

And not just any patterns.

He’s drawing wings.

His own flutter in the air. Green, brown, pink and yellow. As if he’s giving life to them by drawing a miniature version of them on your clothed skin. And as they flutter, they open and close, open and close. They lift him, leave him hovering above you for a mere second while his hands find a good spot on the mattress outside of the lines of your body, until he settles. His body plops down onto yours, bringing in such heat that you softly gasp and close your eyes at the impact, and you don’t know what to feel, what your hands are doing as they lift, too, and interlock behind his neck, and you don’t know what this is.

Is this what friends normally do?

You wouldn’t know. Jimin has been your only boy friend since… forever. And you can’t think properly because the heat penetrating you mingles with your cramps and his body weight messes with your brain, emptying it out until there’s only two sentences that linger.

One: I love you, Jimin.

Two: We are connected beyond the laws of this world, through strings which are transparent.

The second sentence only expands, in metaphorical terms, on the first one.

Jimin’s cheek is reddened by his former position in your lap. A circle of soft and wrinkly skin that must be as warm as the rest of him. His blond hair is a bird’s nest, which an entire league of lesser angels must take care of. And his mellow smile gives off such snug light that it reaches his eyes, dissolving there like sparks of a dying fire.

You love him, and you fail to understand how it has come to be—him laying on top of you. Did you smiling at the cashier in the grocery stop while you paid for your pads earlier get you this blessing? If the world ended in the next minute, you’d be happy, you wouldn’t mind at all because this, this is everything to you. You’re afraid to speak, to break the spell of the moment, and you feign an absolute calmness, not daring to move an inch, despite the fact your internal organs are colored by fireworks that burst and burst as soon as his breathing syncs with yours.

It’s not that your lungs copied his—his lungs copied yours, and there’s something terribly intimate about that.

You can’t halt the scarlet tinge rushing through your cheeks, one of the flower-shaped fireworks flung through you. Jimin’s tender eyes fall to them, one by one, and his mouth cracks the tiniest of smiles, as if he, too, held himself back from ruining the moment. The room is saturated with rosiness that feels light, and you wonder how long has it actually been since you’ve put on these rose-colored glasses.

How strange it is in reality, to love someone without them knowing.

You’re a slave to things hitting you all of a sudden. You tend to live in a dreamy headspace, walking through life seeking the arts, the poems, the book lines that cut through your heart without any ounce of pity, and when reality infiltrates that fog like the winter’s sun, the rosiness loses its hue.

Just like right now.

What are you doing? What is Jimin doing and why is he doing it? It’s not right, it shouldn’t be like this, you haven’t done anything to deserve this. You don’t think smiling at a cashier would make you deserve—

“Is the pain any better?”

His tender voice percolates into your anxious thoughts like a pyrotechnic with colors inside its throat, the very fireworks inside you, and they meet in the middle of your sternum, connecting, clicking, never to be torn apart—at least not for a while. Their bond erases your fear, making space for a clean frame of mind, and your brain cells focus on your aching lower belly. The pain has lessened due to the heat radiating off Jimin’s body and seeping into yours, you let out a long breath that caresses the shorter pieces of his hair, and your muscles loosen, your senses returning to you.

You can smell Jimin.

Apple shampoo, the sweet vanilla of his fragrance, laced most delectably with the manly spice of his aftershave. And the savoriness of his natural scent.

A moment of physical serenity.

Your fingers twitch behind the nape of his neck, pining to play with his hair. You take a lungful of the whole essence of him, your pining dilating as your instinct begs you to fist the downy material of his cashmere sweater, drag him up and bury your nose in his neck.

You do none of those things, however. Your fingers keep on twitching, and so you close them into a fist, holding your thumb for comfort, willing the blackness of your thoughts away.

You nod your head and suddenly, your body does as it pleases. For a reason unknown to you, your free finger taps the center of the back of his neck, and you’re not sure if it was that brief touch that cast such light in his eyes, or whether it was the fact that he’s helping your cramps.

You wish you’d stop thinking at all. It’s exhausting, fighting and analyzing all the fucking time. You wish you could just live in the moment, experiencing the beauty of your senses quietly without any intrusions of your thoughts, and as Jimin sizes you up with all that light glossing over his irises, it seems as though he knows the ins and outs of your daily struggles.

You don’t know that he’s been paying attention all this time. A very close one, at that.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, throwing you off balance enough that your eyes widen and the blood in your veins turns cold. The pain in your belly stops at once as all your concentration is fixed on the call-out. “You haven’t touched your favorite boba. You haven’t said a full sentence since I came over and you keep frowning. What’s wrong?”

His chest lifts and he reaches over to your bedside table, grabbing the drink he spoke of and placing it on your swollen tummy. His teeth rip off the plastic foil over the straw and he plunges it with utmost expertise inside the large cup, setting off the fireworks inside you all over again as if it was New Year’s eve. And maybe it is—maybe Jimin has fast-forwarded the time and given you a chance to make a change in your life, a new year resolution that could make everything better.

If only you weren’t such a coward—a wolf of bravery in a foolish, timid sheep’s skin.

But the tears that rush through when Jimin tilts the cup and the straw to your lips while holding it steady, they have the power to clean you off the old and the ostensibly innate structure of your insecurities. And when they roll down your cheeks and Jimin’s mouth parts in abrupt shock molded by compassion, you sense that their power is bigger than you.

Your lips wrap around the thick straw and suck in the saccharine, creamy delight. It suffuses all of your senses, and once the black, squishy tapioca plops into your mouth, a soothing tendril of joy overwhelms every inch of your being. To such an extent that you begin to bawl.

And splutter out the contents of your mind.

“My mind is always running and I’m so tired of it, like I can’t catch up anymore,” you sob, chewing the boba while your tears freely fall. Jimin continues holding the cup and when your hand wraps around his, the other one encloses around your wrist—the gesture propelling you to spill out more. “I’m always analyzing, always thinking if I’m worthy of this and that. If it’s okay, if I should stop, if I should do something or not, if I—” You sigh, not able to find the words to describe what you’re experiencing. Frustration latches onto you, inciting your anger that begins to ooze out of your every pore. “When you were laying down on my lap, all I could think about was—” You stop yourself, slapping your mouth, realizing that you nearly said too much.

But Jimin knits his brows, and the hand that held your wrist tugs away the limb that halted the flow of your words. “Keep going.”

Your heart pounds, violently. The moment feels too severe, and yet your mind is oddly… silent. As if the anger that washed over you scrubbed it completely clean—clean enough that you perceive this to be an interruption rather than a saving. Your mouth wants to continue to speak and your heart… it pushes the words up your throat.

You feel like puking your guts up, although there’s a strange determination prickling the ends of your fingertips.

You swallow and in the middle of the interlude, Jimin sits up. Sets your boba on the hard surface of your closed laptop nearby. The sudden distance pulls you, as if by a string, to a sitting position as well, and both of you simultaneously criss-cross your legs while your heart threatens to leap out of your esophagus. You’re stomaching the feeling that you’ve done something wrong, which caused him to exit the closeness you were in, and you tense up and nearly tremble with the need to fix it.

Jimin opens his mouth, about to say something, but you’re quicker. You’re going to give him what he asked you, just so you can have him close again.

“When you were in my lap, I couldn’t believe it,” you start softly, graced with the attention of his eyes as they flick up to you in surprise. Your nerve endings sizzle, giving you the words to continue, no matter how devastatingly acute this situation is. “I tried to think of all the things I did that made me deserve having you this close, but I came up short every time. I didn’t understand how our closeness happened to begin with and I didn’t think I was worthy of it. Still do. That’s all.”

You exhale loudly, detecting no heaviness on your chest, but absolute freedom, out of which blades of grass grow, a perfect home for wildflowers. But a cloud extends over it and it begins to rain as you watch Jimin’s natural expression break into a vivid canvas of dolefulness. The eye contact breaks along with it. The faux-blond boy hangs his head low, his long eyelashes flitting, and you think the world is ending right now as you’re taking small, careful breaths, knowing they’re the last ones.

But Jimin’s forefinger finds your big toe, and he plays with it. Moves it back and forth, fondles it, squeezes it. Makes the last seconds of this life a little more bearable before it collapses over your head. Ponders something unknown, seemingly prolonging this end. And when he’s had enough and he fists all of your toes and looks up at you, it’s not that he stops this finale.

He snatches you and takes you to the other world.

“I have something to tell you as well,” he says, his voice coated by that sadness and regret his whole energy is permeated with. He blinks rapidly, running his tongue over his bottom lip inside his mouth, gathering courage or perhaps waiting for your full attention because you’re dipping your gaze in and out of the intimacy of the way he’s holding your foot and the nipping graveness of this moment.

Everything is too much at once.

“I’ve been a fool,” he starts, similarly like you did, biting the bottom lip he moistened as if to punish himself while busying his eyes on your pink toenail. He strokes the lacquer, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve done all of those things and I still do them without telling you the truth, without confessing.” He flicks his eyes up at you from his downward position, elbows propped on his knees, his stature hunched and buffy. Stops the beat of your heart with that brief look as you anticipate his next words. Sighs, the sound loud and heavy, bearing the kind of guilt and affliction that gnaws at the flesh he owns. Your brain turns off and every morsel of your feelings desires to help him, to make him feel better, but the following words that come out his mouth are the last stop to the other world, and everything is born anew. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first saw you. Soaked like a puppy in the rain, waiting all alone for your friends to finish flirting with the guys outside of the club in Hongdae. I’ve loved you since that moment because you were just like me. You weren’t in the mood, you didn’t want anyone to talk to you. I’m still surprised you smiled your beautiful smile at me when I waved at you, that you let me talk to you.”

The memory sails before your eyes like a murky cloud. All of your friends standing under the roof, smoking and talking to guys, not leaving any space for you to hide yourself from the rain. Jimin finding you in that crowd, waving at you, perceptibly softening when you waved back and smiled because you felt lonely, overlooked and profoundly depressed and he was the only one who saw you. The memory ends at the scene when Jimin walks towards you, takes off his jacket and holds it over your head while getting soaked himself.

Your cheeks were dry from your tears, but they get stained all over again as new tears begin to pour, your heart tender, beating hard but quietly from his confession. Jimin moves your foot over to his lap, drifting his fingers over it, and the tickling sensation prevents your anxious thoughts from reappearing. You breathe in his words, letting them in, letting the change in, all while you squirm and hushedly giggle from his tickles.

Strange, strange emotions, towering over you, but they feel right—they feel like heaven, and you think that’s where your archangel has taken you.

He loves you.

You love him and he loves you back.

He loves you.

“I’m sorry that I confused you. I should’ve told you sooner, but I was… afraid,” he says, boring his eyes into yours, sending out the authenticity, with which he covered his words, and the regret he deeply feels. “I was afraid you were comfortable with us being just friends, but still I couldn’t physically keep my distance. It was a mistake on my part, so again I’m sorry I made you feel this way.”

Your heart grows and your body is too small to cage it inside, ferocious and wild with all the love it feels for the faux-blond boy. You feel constricted and you rid yourself of the iffy sensation by inching a little closer and enveloping your arms around his shoulders. And this time, you have the freedom to sink your fingers into his chamomile-colored hair. You have the freedom to feel the softness, to hear his quiet, confidential purr of pleasure from your touch, which essentially spurs you on to move a little further upon this trail of freedom.

“I’ve loved you for a long time, too,” you confess, and it’s the easiest thing your mouth ever emitted. No dark thoughts ruin it, but instead you understand that everything Jimin has done for you was through the strings of love that connect you to him. Your delusions weren’t delusions; they were all true conceptions and they were broiling, begging to be let out. “I fell in love with you because of your actions, because of the way you took care of me, because of the way you treated me. No one has ever treated me like you did. You’re a beautiful person with a kind heart—”

Jimin interrupts you with a cry of your name. He yanks you fully into his lap, wrapping your legs around him to make you comfortable, and he embraces you. Tightly, heartfully. You fit into him like petals to disc florets, and you never want to leave. An ardent awareness of safety swallows you whole, especially when he scrunches up your hair and nuzzles his face in your neck, breathing against you so heavily that your entire world spins.

And then he pulls you away, and asks you the kind of question that deprives you of everything you ever knew, romantically.

“Can I kiss you? Please, let me kiss you. Jebal.”

The smile that stretches over your face aches as you vehemently nod and Jimin doesn’t waste a singular second.

He smashes his mouth against yours, igniting hundreds, if not thousands, of butterflies with a loving fire that they spread across every inch of you. The kiss is deep, and unlike any kiss depicted in any kind of art that you ever longed for. Your mind is gone as soon as Jimin breaks the kiss for a millisecond and goes for another one, seizing your lips, owning them, doing to them whatever he wants. The past world is gone, heaven is in full bloom, with a legion of lesser angels celebrating the kiss of the ending century. The time is gone, too, as both of you kiss until your lips get numb, and the look you give to each other makes those innocent winged creatures cover their eyes in shyness.

The kissing doesn’t stop there.

With every turn of the head, with every peck and with every brush of the tongue, it fulfills everything you ever lacked. You forget every poem you learned. The colors of the paintings you liked pale in comparison. And every book scene you envisioned before you went to bed is filled with emptiness. Jimin becomes the center of your new life that stands above the fictional one you so earnestly wanted, and you tell him of it with every kiss you reciprocate.

With words, too, later when you’ve caught your breath and Jimin is spooning you with his hand on your lower belly, occasionally stretching his neck over your shoulder to take a sip of your delicious boba. And you tell him again in your dreams, where the comprehension that you no longer have to live in your headspace in order to be happy and fulfilled unfolds. You make friends with the angels and tell them as well, watching what they do as they run their fingers through his hair, making mental notes, folding them into your heart.

You do what you learned in the bathroom the following morning, even through the excruciating pain of your cramps. Jimin kisses your feet for it, orders you to rest as he massages them, having brought you some painkillers. And when they take effect and you can function like a normal human being, you note down your first life full of art with him.

And title the first page—“THE END OF THE WORLD, THE BEGINNING OF MINE”.

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