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lovelyspring7 · 1 month ago

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Black Pearl (Pt. 3) | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook always got what he wanted. And he wanted you. Dangerous. Obsessive. You ran, but he was never going to let you stay gone. Because pearls aren’t born from perfection. They’re born from pain. A wound, buried deep, pressed and shaped until it becomes something rare. Precious. And you? You were his pearl. And this time, he won’t let you slip away so easily.

Word count: 17k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader.

Warnings: Yandere, smut (praise kink, soft dominance, oral, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mild breath play), stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour, self starvation, self inflicted injury.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Author's note: The final chapter of the Pearl series is here! It’s truly been a journey, what started as a simple one-shot has now transformed into a full three-part series lol. Can’t wait to know what you guys think of this long awaited chapter! Don’t be a silent reader, show some support and feedback!💜

Read Part 1 Here | Read Part 2 Here

Jungkook couldn’t sleep.

For the third night in a row, the bed felt too cold. Too empty.

The penthouse, with its towering windows and sprawling view of the city, offered no comfort. The soft hum of traffic below only amplified the silence pressing in, the void you’d left behind. The space where you used to sleep, beside him, against him, was untouched. Undisturbed.

The scent of you was already fading. That delicate trace of vanilla, once clinging to his pillows, was now nothing but a phantom he couldn't chase. And still, it haunted him.

His hand drifted across the sheets, fingers searching for a warmth that wasn’t there. How many nights had he held you close, pressing his lips to your hair as you slept, the steady rise and fall of your breath easing something sharp inside him?

Now, there was nothing.

All he had was silence.

He missed your laugh, that soft, breathless sound when he held you too long while watching late-night movies. The way you’d roll your eyes, teasing him for being too clingy.

You were his. Safe. Perfect. Until you weren’t.

And now, the pain in his chest twisted deeper with every hour you were gone.

He had been patient. He had given you space. Three days. Three days too long.

And all it had done was prove what he already knew.

You weren’t safe out there. Not without him.

And if you wouldn’t come back willingly? He’d bring you home himself.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened as he sat up. His black hair strands over his forehead, messy from restless tossing, the ends curling slightly against his temples. He dragged a hand through it, pushing it back in a slow, frustrated motion.

The pain of your absence wasn’t just a wound.

It was a void.

And he was done waiting.

The rain pounded against the thin windows of the dingy motel room, a relentless rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The air smelled of damp carpet and stale cigarettes, the kind of place no one asked questions, a perfect hiding spot, for now.

You sat on the edge of the unmade bed, arms wrapped around your knees, your body trembling despite the layers of clothing you’d borrowed from Bora. The oversized hoodie swallowed your frame, the scent of her perfume lingering faintly as if it could somehow protect you from the icy grip of fear pressing against your chest.

The cash Bora had given you was already running low, the stack of bills feeling smaller each time you counted it. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow shifting outside the window made your pulse race.

He could be out there. He was out there. But you couldn’t think about that. Not yet. You have made it this far. You had escaped him, for now.

The cheap motel phone sat untouched on the nightstand. No messages. No calls. No way to reach out. You couldn't risk it. He had made you disappear once already, who's to say he couldn't erase you completely this time? But even as you tried to calm yourself, your mind whispered cruel truths.

He’s looking for you.

He never stopped.

And deep down, you knew that this wasn’t freedom.

The shower sputtered weakly, lukewarm water cascading over your shoulders as you stood under the spray, hands tangled in your wet hair. The tension in your muscles hadn’t eased, it felt as though it were pressing into your bones. You had been running on fear for days. The motel’s water pressure barely did anything to wash the grime from your skin, but it was the first moment of quiet you’d allowed yourself. Alone. Hidden. At least, for now.

You tilted your head back, fingers massaging your scalp, when-

There.

A small bump.

You froze, fingertips brushing over the back of your neck again, right at the base of your hairline. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but unmistakable now that you’d felt it. Your pulse roared in your ears, the water no longer soothing but deafening.

No. No, no, no.

It couldn’t be.

A tracker.

The nausea hit fast, your stomach twisting as panic set in. You pressed both palms against the cool tiles, breaths shallow, the water blurring your vision as it ran down your face.

That son of a bitch.

He had tagged you.

A shaky, horrified breath escaped your lips. You needed to get it out. Now.

Ripping the towel from the rack, you wrapped it around yourself and stumbled out of the bathroom, dripping water onto the worn motel carpet. The tiny blade you’d swiped from the first-aid kit sat on the nightstand.

Your hands shook as you dialed the front desk.

“Front desk. How can I help you?”

“I-" your voice cracked, but you forced it calm. "I need a first aid kit delivered to my room. Please, it’s urgent.”

“Of course, ma’am. Someone will be up shortly.”

You hung up, staring at your reflection in the dim motel mirror.

It’s fine. You could do this.

The first slice was brutal, the sharp sting making you wince as the blade nicked the sensitive skin at the base of your neck. Blood beaded instantly, but you pressed on, teeth gritted as you dug deeper, forcing yourself not to stop.

And then, there.

A hard bump.

It shifted beneath your fingers, foreign and wrong.

You had to get it out.

Pinching it, nails slick with blood, you yanked the tiny object free with a wet snap. The pain was instant, sharp, but the chip, barely the size of a grain of rice, sat trembling in your palm.

You stared at it, chest heaving. He had tracked every move you took.

Rage burned hotter than fear. Without hesitating, you slammed the metal edge down on the chip, grinding it into the nightstand with all the force you could muster. The delicate material cracked under the pressure, shattering completely beneath the blade.

Gone.

You won.

A knock echoed through the room. The first aid kit. Relief flooded you so hard your knees almost buckled. Finally.

Without hesitation, you unlocked the door, the towel still clutched loosely around your chest, hair dripping down your back.

You swung the door open wide.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Dripping from the rain, black hair clinging to his forehead in damp strands. Soaked, but unmoving. Water streamed down his pale skin, tracing the lines of his jaw.

The first aid kit you had asked for was clutched loosely in his hand.

His eyes, darker than you’d ever seen, seemed to pierce through the dim light, stormy and unreadable, yet fixed unrelentingly on yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. You couldn’t breathe. The towel slipped an inch lower on your shoulder, the sting at the back of your neck flaring as the open wound met cold air.

His gaze dropped.

Saw the blood.

You didn’t even get a chance to speak before his hand shot out.

Fingers wrapping around your throat.

Not choking. Not yet. Just holding. Firm enough to pin you against the doorframe as his other hand slid up the side of your neck- brushing over the cut, making you wince. Then he saw it. The torn skin. His thumb grazed the blood on your skin, his breathing ragged, his soaked shirt clinging to every tense muscle.

When he spoke, it wasn’t loud. It was soft. Deceptively calm.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

You swallowed harshly, pulse hammering beneath his touch. His cold fingertips against your raw skin sent a shiver through you, but it wasn’t from the pain. It was the look in his eyes, dark, calculating, unreadable.

“I asked you,” he repeated, softer this time, more dangerous, “what did you do?”

Your eyes flicked toward the crushed remains of the tracker, the fragments of it scattered across the nightstand. His eyes followed. And then something shifted behind those dark eyes. Understanding. Realization.

His fingers curled tighter around your neck, but it wasn’t the pressure that scared you most. It was the heartbreak you saw cracking through his rage. You swallowed hard, voice trapped somewhere between a sob and a whimper.

He studied the wound at the back of your neck. For a moment, his lips parted like he was about to speak, but instead, his hand dropped to your wrist, holding it firmly but without the earlier desperation.

You winced as he turned you slightly, his eyes narrowing at the crimson streaks staining your skin. The cut, still raw, an angry slash where you’d torn the tracker from your flesh. His jaw flexed, the tension visible in his shoulders as if the sight of you hurt was somehow a personal attack.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself,” he muttered under his breath, voice lower now, controlled. But his hand trembled slightly as he released your wrist, his fingers ghosting over the wound again, almost hesitant. Almost gentle.

You stayed frozen, heart hammering, the sharp pain pulsing with every beat. Without another word, Jungkook turned, reaching instead for the small first-aid kit you’d called down for.

He unzipped it with a single sharp motion, tossing the contents onto the bed with practiced efficiency. Alcohol wipes, gauze, antiseptic, a small roll of medical tape. His hand hovered briefly over the disinfectant before grabbing it, his knuckles pale with restraint as he returned to you.

“Sit,” he ordered softly, nodding toward the bed.

You didn’t move. Not right away.

The flare in his eyes returned, but he didn’t force you. Not this time. He just stared, voice tight. “Please.”

Slowly, cautiously, you sank onto the edge of the bed, the towel still damp around your body as you watched him kneel before you, his damp hair curling over his forehead. His soaked clothes clung to him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or care. All his focus was on you.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, peeling the cap off some bootle with a soft pop.

You flinched when he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing the wound fully. The cold air made the cut throb, but it was nothing compared to the sharp sting of whatever he was using. You gasped, body jerking slightly as the pain flared.

“Easy,” he murmured, his free hand bracing your shoulder, thumb tracing soothing circles against your collarbone. “It’s almost done.” His voice was softer now, less like the man who had just cornered you and more like... something else. Something frighteningly tender.

He was quiet as he worked. His fingers were precise, methodical, but the way they lingered, soft brushes against your skin. When he secured the gauze with medical tape, he finally exhaled, his hands lingering at the sides of your neck for a heartbeat too long. His head dropped forward, his damp hair brushing your shoulder as he stayed there, breathing deeply, as though he was grounding himself in your presence, trying to steady the storm beneath his surface.

You could feel the tension in his body, as though he might shatter if you moved. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Because despite everything, despite the anger, the fear, this closeness felt dangerous in an entirely different way. His warmth, his tenderness, it whispered of something terrifying. And yet, when he spoke, the tenderness cracked.

His fingers ghosted over your jaw, so light you barely felt them. But the way his voice broke sent a chill through your veins. “You never stopped running. You never even looked back.”

“You thought you could just leave me,” he whispered, voice trembling with restrained fury. “That you could run, disappear, like I wouldn’t burn the whole world down looking for you?”

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you blinked them back, chest heaving. “You... you chipped me Jungkook. You didn’t give me a choice.”

His lips twisted, something bitter curling the edges of his mouth. “I gave you everything. I made sure you were safe, well taken care of. Protected, loved…”

You shook your head, struggling to speak as his grip lingered. “That’s not love, Jungkook. That’s control.”

For a moment, the storm in his eyes faltered. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking, “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

The vulnerability was so brief, so fleeting, it almost felt like a trick. But you saw it, the cracks in his armor, the fracture behind his anger. And then, just as quickly, it was gone. His jaw clenched.

“You’re coming home,” he said, voice resolute, as if there had never been another choice.

You shook your head, “No. You can’t-”

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” his breath warm against your face. “I told you before. I would never hurt you. But this? This? You’re hurting yourself. You’re lost without me.”

“I’m not-”

“You are.” His voice was a low snarl now, but there was an ache beneath it. “You think this is freedom? Hiding out in a place like this? Looking over your shoulder every second, terrified? That’s not living, baby. That’s suffering.”

You tried to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge. He was a wall, an immovable force caging you in.

“I was fine before you,” you whispered, voice cracking.

His lips curled into a bitter smile, shaking his head. “No, you weren’t. You were lonely. You were scared. You let men watch you every night because you thought you had no other choice. But I” His hand brushing over your waist. “I gave you one. I took care of you. And you ran.”

Your entire body trembling as the weight of it crashed down. He was everything you feared. Who did he think he was? Twisting your choices, your pain, into something he could control.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

His eyes darkened, “no.”

And just like that, the storm returned. His grip shifted, rougher now as he cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’ve had your freedom,” he hissed, the pain in his voice undeniable. “Three days. Three days without me, and look at you. Bleeding. Shaking. Scared.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t listening.

“I’ve been generous, haven’t I? But I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “And if I say no?”

The answer was already there in his eyes. The anger. The twisted devotion.

“Then I’ll give you what you want,” he said softly. “You want to be alone?”

His hand fell away from your face, his expression hardening, voice chilling.

“Then be alone.”

Your stomach twisted as the meaning sank in, but before you could process it fully, Jungkook moved, so quick, so controlled. His hand clamped around your wrist as he pulled you forward with terrifying ease.

“No!” you gasped, struggling, twisting against his grip, but it was like fighting against iron. “You don’t get to- Jungkook, let me go!”

He didn’t speak, didn’t react. His face was void of emotion now. When you twisted harder, thrashing, his grip only tightened, dragging you toward the door.

“Please,” your voice cracked, desperate. “You can’t do this!”

“I can,” he said darkly, yanking the door open. “And I will.”

The storm outside raged as he hauled you into the rain. You fought, kicking, clawing, nails digging into his wrist as the cold downpour soaked you both. But it didn’t matter. He barely faltered.

You caught glimpses of him through the rain, the sharp lines of his jaw, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he held you fast. His soaked shirt clung to him, but his expression remained blank. Detached.

Like he wasn’t even there.

“Stop! Jungkook, stop! You can’t make me stay with you!” you screamed, voice raw, trying to dig your heels into the wet pavement.

He said nothing.

The sleek black car waited just outside the motel. The door opened with a mechanical click as Jungkook shoved it open, dragging you inside despite your thrashing.

“Get off me!”

But the door slammed shut, trapping you.

The rain blurred against the glass, muted as the lock clicked softly into place. Jungkook climbed into the driver’s seat, soaked to the bone, silent. His chest heaved, hair plastered to his forehead, but he refused to meet your eyes. The quiet inside the car was deafening.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Please.”

Still, nothing. Just the sound of the rain and the steady hum of the engine as he pulled onto the street. The city lights bled past in streaks of white and orange, distorted through the water clinging to the windows.

The fight in you was waning, your body exhausted from struggling. Still, you refused to give up. Not yet.

You pressed yourself against the door, heart hammering. “Where are you taking me?”

A beat passed.

Then, finally, his voice broke through the quiet.

“Home.”

----------

The rain pounded harder against the windows as the black car sped through the city, the rhythmic drumming a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence inside. The leather seats were cool beneath your bare legs, the damp towel clinging to your skin, and every bump in the road made you acutely aware of how exposed you were.

Jungkook hadn't said a word since he said where he was taking you. His steady grip on the steering wheel was far too calm for someone who had just dragged you from a motel against your will.

You shifted uncomfortably, clutching the towel tighter around your chest, heart still racing. The streetlights flickered past, blurry through the rain, but your mind kept circling back to the same desperate thought. Someone could see you.

A girl in a towel, dripping wet, visibly distressed, someone might notice. Someone might help. The tension only thickened when Jungkook’s voice finally cut through the quiet, low and steady.

“Change into these.”

Your head snapped toward him just in time to see him reach toward the backseat, one hand still on the wheel. He tossed a bundle of clothing onto your lap, his sweatpants, a black hoodie, and a pair of flip-flops. The fabric was warm, soft, and smelled unmistakably like him. You stared down at the clothes like they might burn you.

“No.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Put them on."

You shook your head, pulse hammering harder now. “No.”

His gaze flicked toward you, dangerously calm. “You’re soaked. You're freezing. Put them on.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady despite the panic rising in your chest. “I’m not changing.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

You gripped the towel tighter, not saying anything. The brake lights ahead glowed red, painting his face in shadows as he slowed for the stoplight. And then, he turned to you. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You think someone will save you?”

You stayed silent, too afraid to answer.

He didn’t blink. “Listen very carefully.” His voice was soft, “You will put those clothes on. Now. Or I will pull this car over and dress you myself.”

Your breath caught. You could feel the weight of his control in the way he said it, the promise behind those words leaving no room for argument. A car passed by in the opposite direction, headlights flashing across his face. The shadows in his eyes deepened, unrelenting.

“I’m being generous,” he whispered. “Don’t make me remind you what happens when you push me.”

The stoplight turned green. The car surged forward. And you knew, deep down, he wasn’t bluffing. With trembling hands, you reached for the hoodie.

The hoodie felt heavier than it should have, the fabric warm but stifling as you unfolded it with shaky fingers. Your heart pounded as you clutched the material, hesitating, half-expecting him to reach over and force it onto you himself. He didn’t. But his silence was far worse.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of rain against the windshield, the soft hum of the tires on wet pavement. Jungkook’s knuckles stayed pale against the steering wheel, his profile carved from stone, unreadable and cold.

You bit your lip, turning slightly in the seat, as much as the seatbelt allowed, and slowly, so slowly, peeled the towel away just enough to slip the hoodie over your head. The fabric swallowed you whole, the sleeves hanging past your hands, but at least it covered you.

The scent of him hit you instantly, familiar, overwhelming, like the last three days had never even happened. Your stomach twisted violently, teeth sinking deeper into your lip as you fought the sting behind your eyes.

You weren’t free. You’d never been free.

The sweatpants were next. The damp towel fell away entirely as you wiggled into them, struggling with the heavy fabric. They were far too big, bunching awkwardly at your ankles, the waistband nearly slipping down despite the drawstring tied tight. The flip-flops came last, the rubber cold against your still-damp feet.

You felt ridiculous. Humiliated. But most of all, trapped.

Jungkook hadn’t said a word. Just a few glances your way as you finish dressing.

The city lights blurred outside the rain-streaked window, neon reflections rippling across the glass. The tension was unbearable, pressing in on all sides.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper.

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. Then, with agonizing slowness, his fingers flexed on the steering wheel. His gaze remained fixed on the road, but his voice, when it came, was devastatingly calm.

“Because you belong to me.”

Your breath caught. “No, I-”

“You do.” The words lashed through the air, sharp enough to cut. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking just beneath the surface. “And you’ve already proven you can’t be trusted on your own.”

You shook your head. “I was fine.”

“You were bleeding in a motel room. Alone.” His voice dropped lower. “That’s not fine. That’s you falling apart without me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the rain anymore. The car slowed. The entrance to his penthouse garage loomed ahead, the metal gate rising automatically as he approached.

Panic gripped you in full force, your hands curling into fists against the hoodie. “Jungkook, please, just- just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I won’t.”

His head turned, his eyes met yours fully. The look in them shattered your words completely. Deadly. Devastating. And worst of all, aching.

“I already let you go,” he whispered. “Three days. I gave you three days. And all you did was run yourself into the ground.”

The car pulled into the garage with a soft hum, the doors locking the second it came to a stop. The rain had slowed, a dull patter echoing in the silence.

You were trapped. Completely.

And you could feel it in the air, the shift. The way his control tightened like an invisible leash. Jungkook exhaled, his hands finally leaving the wheel. For a long moment, he just stared ahead. Silent. Tense.

Then, without warning, he turned to you. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

“Come inside.”

You shook your head violently.

“Fine.”

The sound of the driver’s door opening made your stomach twist. He walked over and opened your door.

“Jungkook.”

His hands were gentle when they closed around your wrist. But firm. You fought, thrashing in the seat, but his grip only tightened, dragging you forward until your feet hit the garage floor. The damp flip-flops slapped weakly against the concrete, barely making a sound.

“Don’t,” you gasped, twisting. “Please!”

He didn’t respond. He just scooped you into his arms, your body going weightless as he carried you toward the elevator, holding you close like you were fragile, like he cared. But you knew the truth.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and your heart nearly stopped.

No.

Not here. Not again.

You fought harder, hands pushing at his chest, but he didn’t budge. His grip stayed, his face betraying nothing but calm control as he stepped inside. The doors slid shut.

And you knew.

You were back in his world. And no one was coming to save you.

----------

The penthouse loomed, all glass and cold marble, the rain blurring the city skyline beyond its massive windows. The space was as you remembered, pristine, expensive. But there was a weight now. A darkness you couldn’t shake.

The elevator doors slid shut behind you both with a soft chime, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Jungkook’s arms remained locked around you, holding you securely against his chest as he carried you through the silent halls.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

The only sound was the faint hum of the rain against the windows and the measured rhythm of his breathing, calm, controlled. But you could feel it, the tension tight beneath his skin, the restraint in every step he took.

“Jungkook, put me down” your voice cracked. He didn’t. Not until he stopped. In front of a door you didn’t recognize.

You stiffened, stomach twisting. “What is this?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words. The door swung open with a quiet click. The room inside stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t like the rest of the penthouse. No sharp, black marble. No cold steel fixtures. This was... warm.

The walls are painted in a soft colour, the exact shade you’d once offhandedly mentioned loving. Shelves filled with your favorite books and ones you've wanted to read. The bed, covered in rose-scented sheets you recognized instantly, and a cozy reading nook, complete with a folded blanket draped carefully over the cushion.

It smelled like you. It felt like... you.

Jungkook’s arms finally loosened. Gently, he lowered you onto the bed. The plush mattress sank beneath your weight, but the moment your feet touched the floor, you recoiled, heart slamming against your ribs.

“This, this isn’t…”

“Yours,” he finished, voice soft. He crouched before you, at the edges as he met your gaze. “This is yours. I made it for you.”

Your breath hitched, horror crawling up your spine. He had built this. Every detail. Every scent. This wasn’t care. It was a cage disguised as a gift.

You shook your head, throat tightening. “You can’t, you planned this. You can’t just lock me in here and expect me to follow though.”

His hands caught your face, cupping it so gently it almost felt like a lie. “I’m giving you a choice.” His voice trembled, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as his gaze bored into yours. “I’ve been patient. I let you run. I gave you time. And all you did was tear yourself apart. You were hurting.”

His voice broke. “And I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

You shook your head violently, but his grip only softened, his forehead pressing to yours, damp hair sticking to your skin. “You’re mine,” he whispered, “Stay with me. Love me. Try to love me back.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t force love, Jungkook.”

His face twisted, pained, but still, he didn’t let go. “I’m not forcing you,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “I’m saving you.”

You tried to pull back. His grip didn’t budge.

“So what?” your voice shook. “You’re going to keep me locked here? Make me stay until I say the words you want to hear?”

The answer was already there. Written in his eyes. The ache. The obsession. The broken devotion. His hands dropped. And the softness was gone.

“Then be alone,” he said, voice hollow.

Before you could react, he stepped back.

The door clicked shut.

You lunged for it.

Too late.

The lock engaged with a soft, damning click.

“Jungkook!” Your fists slammed against the door, voice breaking. “Don’t do this! Let me out!”

Silence.

No footsteps. No threats. Just you. Alone. In a room made for you.

It wasn’t love. It was a prison.

And Jungkook wasn’t going to let you go.

----------

Day 1

You screamed at the door. Pounded your fists until they ached, your throat hurting from calling his name over and over. No response. No one came. A small, square opening at the bottom of the door, just large enough for a tray, slid open on silent hinges. A meal. Gourmet. Expensive. The kind of meal you used to love. You didn’t touch it.

Day 2

You stayed curled on the floor, refusing the bed. Refusing comfort. The room, so carefully crafted to mimic everything you loved, only made it worse. His presence clung to the sheets, to the perfectly chosen vanilla-scented candles on the nightstand. You couldn’t escape him here. But it wasn’t the comfort he wanted you to feel.It was control. And the silence pressed heavier with each passing hour.

Day 3

Your stomach ached. The small panel slid open again. Another tray appeared. Steaming food, carefully arranged, as if he had personally chosen every dish. The scent lingered in the air longer this time, making your stomach twist painfully. But you stayed on the floor, glaring at the tray like it was poison. Until the hunger gnawed so deep it felt like your ribs might cave in. You gave in, just a little. Two bites. A few sips of water. It was enough to take the edge off. Barely. But you hated the way it felt like you had given up.

Day 4

You spoke aloud, just to hear something. Your voice cracked, hoarse from dehydration. A whisper.

The silence mocked you.

Day 5

You ate half the meal. Not because you wanted to. But because you had to. You were trembling. Dizzy. And the tray slid open like clockwork. Silent. Unchanging.

Day 6

You were counting the ticks of the clock.

Waiting.

Day 7

You were trembling. Dizzy. Your stomach had dulled into something hollow, no longer sharp but lingering, a constant reminder of how weak you’d become. The tray slid open. Silent. Unchanging. A fresh meal. Water. Neatly arranged, as if this wasn’t a prison but a carefully curated illusion of care.

You stared at it for a long time. You didn’t touch it. Not yet.

The silence felt heavier today, pressing in on all sides. The ticking of the clock had become unbearable, a steady, relentless rhythm mocking the pulse hammering beneath your skin. The books on the shelf blurred together when you stared at them too long. The soft sheets felt like a trap rather than comfort. And the loneliness, the loneliness was suffocating.

You sat on the floor, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to your chest. The hunger gnawed, but it wasn’t the worst part anymore. It was the quiet. No voices. No sound beyond the clock and the faint hum of the ventilation system. You hadn’t heard him. Not once. Not his voice. Not his footsteps. Nothing. And somehow, that was worse than his presence. Because deep down, you knew he was watching.

You could feel it. That unbearable tension in the air, the invisible weight pressing down on your chest. You imagined him behind a screen somewhere, waiting. Studying. Calculating how long it would take for you to break completely.

And the most infuriating part was...

It was working.

You hadn’t eaten everything on the tray the last few days. But you’d eaten enough. And with every bite, shame curdled in your stomach, the bitter truth settling in. You were already losing.

And Jungkook knew it.

----------

Day 8

The door slot slid open at the same time it always did, another tray. But this time, something was different. Beside the untouched plate of food sat a cup of tea. Your favorite. Steaming. Fresh.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at it, the familiar scent filling the room, so gentle yet overwhelming. It wasn’t just tea. It was a message. A whisper through the silence.

I’m still watching you.

You clenched your jaw and shoved the tray back toward the door without taking a sip.

Day 9

The hunger was unbearable now. You hated the way your body trembled when you stood, knees buckling. The pounding in your skull made everything blurry, the edges of the room tilting.

When the tray arrived this time, you didn’t shove it back. Not right away. Your stomach had gnawed too deep, wearing down your defiance. You forced yourself to eat. Just a little. Enough to stop the dizziness. The tea was gone this time. The blanket you had ignored for days? You dragged it onto the bed that night, curling beneath it despite yourself. Pressing your face into the pillow, trying to block out the smell of him lingering faintly in the fabric.

You hated how much you missed the sound of his voice.

Day 10

It was quiet.

You found yourself standing in front of the bookshelf, fingers trailing over the spines. The books were yours. The same worn covers, the same creases where you had folded pages. You pulled one down, a comfort read. Something you knew by heart. And a piece of paper fluttered from between the pages. A note.

Four words, written in the same sharp, elegant script you knew far too well: “Reading this again baby?”

You crushed the note in your fist, heart pounding so violently it hurt. You hated him. Hated the way he was always in your head. But hours later, you still found yourself reading the book. Turning the pages like they might somehow drown out the loneliness.

Day 11

You woke suddenly that night. Not because of a nightmare, but because of a sound. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate, right outside the door.

Him

You froze, breath caught in your chest, listening as the steps paused. He's here. He's right there. Your heart pounded louder. Waiting. He’s going to come in. He has to. But the door never opened.

The footsteps faded. You stared at the door for a long, long time after that.

Day 12

You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first. The words just spilled out, a broken whisper into the empty room. “Why are you doing this?” Silence. “Why won’t you face me? Say something! Anything. If you’re watching, just- just talk to me!” The only answer was the steady ticking of the clock. And somehow, it was worse than hearing his voice.

Day 13

The tray arrived. This time, along with the untouched food, there was something else. A small music box. You hesitated, fingers trembling as you lifted it. Delicate. Fragile. When you twisted the key, a soft, haunting melody filled the room. The same song you’d hum when showering. He remembered. He always remembered. With a broken sob, you hurled the music box across the room. The melody cut off with a sharp, metallic crack. Shattered. Just like you. But later that night, as you sat curled in the corner, you found yourself picking up the broken pieces.

Day 14

The silence was unbearable now. You were curled beneath the blanket, barely able to focus, when the static crackled softly through the ceiling. You jolted upright. His voice, smooth, calm, filled the room.

"You're not eating enough."

Your breath caught. Hands clenching into fists. “Stop it! Just leave me alone!”

The speaker remained quiet for a moment before his voice returned, quieter. Steadier.

"You can keep fighting me... but I won't let you waste away."

Rage flared hot. “You’re trying to break me! You don’t care. You never cared.”

Silence.

You screamed, hurling the empty tea cup across the room. It shattered against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because deep down, you could feel it. The cracks forming in your defiance. And Jungkook knew you were breaking.

Day 15

It was the middle of the night when the speaker crackled again. You were half-asleep, curled on the bed with the blanket wrapped tightly around you. When his voice cut through the quiet, your eyes snapped open.

"Did you sleep better tonight?"

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. Your throat felt tight, sore from days of yelling that had long since stopped. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though no part of you felt fine.

There was a pause, a soft static hum lingering before he spoke again.

"I miss you."

You shut your eyes, fighting the tears burning at the corners.

Day 16

The next time the speaker turned on, his voice was softer.

"I only want to keep you safe. Look at you now... You're just hurting yourself. This isn't what I wanted."

You stayed silent, curled on the floor, facing away from the door. Your chest ached as you pressed your hands against your ears. But even then, you could still hear him. Gentle. Soothing. "You don’t have to be alone." You hated how badly you wanted to believe him.

Day 17

The next food tray wasn’t like the others. There was food, yes. But also, a single white rose. Beautiful. Your stomach twisted as you stared at it. The same flower he had given you when you first started to meet. A symbol. A reminder. You wanted to throw it away. Smash it. Instead, you set it carefully on the nightstand.

Day 18

You woke up shaking. A nightmare, dark and suffocating. The room felt smaller today, colder. Lonelier.

You sat by the door, knees drawn to your chest, speaking to the silence like it might answer back.

“Jungkook... please. Just talk to me.”

Silence.

You pressed your forehead against the wood, voice breaking. “Please...” But he didn’t answer. And somehow, that hurt more.

Day 19

The tea returned. This time, it wasn’t just tea. A slice of strawberry cake sat neatly beside it. The kind you used to share with him, back when he’d seemed... softer. Safer. You stared at the tray for hours. The sweetness felt too much like a trick. But eventually, you caved. The tea was warm, the cake sweet and rich on your tongue. Comforting in a way you hadn't felt in weeks. You hated that it made you feel better.

Day 20

You were pacing. The walls felt closer. The silence is heavier. The loneliness clawed deeper with every passing hour. You found yourself lingering at the door. Waiting. Listening for footsteps. For him. But no one came. You whispered into the empty air. “I hate you.” But it sounded so much weaker than before.

Day 21

The speaker crackled back to life just after you had finished eating. You didn’t even flinch this time. "I’m proud of you." His voice was low, soothing, so calm it made your chest ache. "You’re taking care of yourself again. That’s good. I told you I wouldn’t let you hurt yourself."

You stared at the untouched rose, wilting slightly in its glass. "I’ll be with you soon." And you didn’t know whether the fear twisting inside you... was still just fear. Or something worse.

Day 22

The speaker remained silent all day. No soft reassurances. No sweet words drifting through the room. Just silence. And it was louder than anything else. You found yourself pressing your ear against the door, straining for the sound of footsteps. Waiting. Hoping.

But there was nothing.

Day 23

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The weight of the quiet pressed too hard, suffocating every thought in your mind. So when the speaker finally crackled to life that evening, you spoke first.

"Jungkook?" Your voice was fragile, breaking with every syllable.

The silence lingered. Then, softly "Yes?" You closed your eyes, hating how much relief bloomed in your chest just from the sound of him.

"...Why won’t you come in?"

The pause that followed stretched too long. Then, his voice returned, softer. "You’re not ready yet."

You clenched your fists, trembling. "You don’t get to decide that!"

"I do."

And then the speaker cut off.

Day 24

The next tray arrived with something new.

Resting beside the plate was the pearl necklace.

Untouched. Perfectly intact.

You stared at it, pulse rising, throat tightening as you remembered the weight of it against your skin, the way he’d fastened it himself the night he gave it to you.

There was no note. No message. Just the necklace. A silent reminder. You left it on the tray. But you didn’t push it away.

Day 25

The room felt utterly unbearable now.

No matter how you shifted, how you paced, there was no comfort. The books blurred together. The food was tasteless. The scent of the room.

You wanted out.

Just... anything but this silence.

You whispered, voice broken, “Please... I’m sorry.”

But there was no answer.

Day 26

The tears came unexpectedly.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the sobs shook your chest, your body trembling as you curled into the bed.

It wasn’t just the loneliness anymore.

It was the pain of being ignored.

You had screamed his name a hundred times before.

But tonight, you whispered it like a prayer. "Jungkook... please."

And he still didn’t come.

Day 27

You heard it.

A soft click. The sound of the lock shifting.

You sat up so fast the room spun, heart racing as you stumbled toward the door, pressing both hands against it.

It didn’t open.

But it was unlocked.

For the first time.

Your pulse pounded louder than ever before. Was it a trick? A test?

You stood there for hours. Waiting. Listening.

But nothing else came.

Day 28

You didn’t move.

The isolation had settled deep in your bones by now, making you feel weightless and heavy all at once. You had stopped marking the days, though you knew it had been weeks. Your loneliness had shifted into something quieter, emptier. You had forgotten the sound of your own voice, the rhythm of real conversation.

So when the door creaked open and his figure appeared, the sight of him knocked the breath from your lungs.

Jungkook.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in black, as calm and unreadable as ever. But something was different. His eyes. They lingered longer, tracing over the fragile state he had left you in. The trembling of your hands as they rested limply in your lap. The way you curled in on yourself at the edge of the bed, too exhausted to even flinch.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t step closer.

But he didn’t leave either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He was there. Watching.

“Why…” Your voice cracked, hoarse from disuse. “Why are you here?”

No answer.

His gaze dropped, just briefly, to the half-eaten tray of food from that morning.

The silence stretched. He was giving you nothing, no hint of emotion. And somehow, it hurt.

You hated him.

You missed him.

“Say something,” you whispered, voice breaking as you gripped the sheets beneath you.

His lips parted. Just barely. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was gathering himself.

“You’ve proven you can live alone.”

Your breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping you, though there was no humor in it. “You call this living?”

Jungkook’s face didn’t change. But there was a softness. “No,” he said quietly. “This isn’t living. But you made your choice. You didn’t want me.”

Your pulse pounded so loud it drowned out the rest of the room. He was turning this on you. Making it your fault. And the worst part? It was working. The walls felt smaller. The air colder.

“I never wanted this. I wanted to be left alone, not be lonely” Your voice cracked, rising slightly. “You’re the one keeping me here. You.”

He stepped closer.

Not threatening.

Not towering.

But calm.

Dangerously calm.

“I gave you everything,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “And you ran. So I gave you what you wanted. Isolation. Freedom from me. And look what it’s done to you.”

You hated the way your body reacted to his presence. The way the sound of his voice filled the void you hadn’t even realized was so loud.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden. Weak. And when it fell, Jungkook’s expression shifted, just for a heartbeat. Regret.

“I won’t keep you in here forever,” he continued, quieter now, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I just need you to understand. I can make it better for you.”

The words hung heavy between you, poisoned with manipulation you were too tired to fight.

You shook your head, tears streaking faster. “You’re lying.”

His head tilted slightly, dark eyes searching yours with unnerving patience. “Am I? Look around you. Have I hurt you?”

No.

But the absence of pain didn’t make it right.

“I don’t want to feel like a prisoner,” you whispered.

“You’re not my prisoner. You’re here because I care. I want you safe. And you can have more than this. But you have to stop fighting me.”

He reached for you then. Not harsh. Not demanding. Just a careful, gentle touch, fingertips brushing the damp tear from your cheek. You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not completely.

The weight of his hand was warm. Familiar. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a threat.

It felt like relief.

His voice was a whisper, coaxing. “Let me take care of you. Let me make this better.”

You hated him for it.

You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

And when his hand lingered, waiting for your answer, the worst part was how quiet the room felt when he finally stood, turned, and left.

The door locked behind him.

And you felt colder than ever.

----------

The lock clicked open.

This time, when the door swung open, he didn’t stand in the doorway like before.

The hall beyond was empty.

You blinked, heart pounding as you stared into the open space, pulse thrumming in your ears. He hadn’t spoken through the speaker today. No roses. No food tray.

Just the silence, and this.

You should have run. Should have bolted straight for the exit. But your legs didn’t move. Not out of fear. Out of something worse.

The endless days of nothing. The quiet that pressed so hard against your ribs you thought you might break under it.

And that was the moment you realized, this was intentional.

This was another test.

A crackling whisper brushed through the speakers, making you jump.

“You can come out now.” His voice. So calm. So controlled. “I’m not keeping you in there anymore.”

You hesitated, arms wrapping tighter around yourself.

Your steps were slow as you crossed the threshold, the numbness in your legs reminding you just how long it had been since you’d moved beyond those four walls.

The penthouse was silent.

Spacious. Beautiful. The floor-to-ceiling windows revealed the cloudy city below, so far away it felt like another world entirely.

You barely had time to process it before you saw him.

Jungkook sat in the oversized armchair near the windows, legs spread, forearms braced on his knees as he watched you. No threat. No chains.

But the weight of his presence was more suffocating than any lock.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

His lips pressed together. But he didn’t get up. Didn’t chase you. His voice softened, low and coaxing.

“You’ve been through a lot. I just want to talk.”

And then you noticed it.

The couch. A folded blanket. A steaming cup of tea on the coffee table, the scent wafting faintly.

No.

He wasn’t trying to trap you.

He was making it look like comfort.

You shook your head. “I don’t want this.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair. “I know. But you need it.”

A pause. His dark eyes swept over you, scanning every tremble, every sign of weakness you couldn’t hide. “You need to rest. To heal. You’re… you’re hurting yourself more than you realize.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How convincing.

And you hated yourself more for wanting to believe it.

But you stayed frozen.

That was when he stood.

Slow. Unthreatening. His hair hung over his forehead, sleeves rolled up to reveal the tattoos along his forearm.

And when he approached, he didn’t grab you.

He just… reached.

Fingers brushing your wrist, barely a touch. Just enough to let you feel the heat of him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. You know that?”

Your throat closed.

You didn’t fight when he guided you gently toward the couch. The blanket was warm as he tucked it around your shoulders, the tea, hot, fragrant, pressed into your trembling hands.

And then he knelt in front of you.

Not towering. Not intimidating.

Just watching.

You stared at the cup, trying to steady your breath.

It was too much. The silence. The quiet care.

This wasn’t control. This was… kindness.

Wasn’t it?

Jungkook’s voice broke the quiet. Softer now.

“You’re safe, baby. You don’t have to be scared.”

And for the first time since he took you

You felt like you were breaking.

Jungkook exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly when you didn’t resist. His gaze stayed on you, lingering on the faint tremble in your hands.

He stayed silent, letting the tension breathe. Letting the quiet speak louder than words.

Until he reached out again.

Slow. Deliberate. His fingers brushed your cheek, so gentle it felt like a question.

You flinched but didn’t pull away. Not fully.

His eyes darkened. Something flashed behind the calm exterior, but he didn’t press. He just held his hand there, warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

The words made you freeze.

Sorry?

His touch lingered, and for the first time, there was no trace of that quiet control. Only something vulnerable.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued, voice breaking just slightly. “I just…” His thumb pressed a fraction deeper, tilting your face to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

The worst part was, you could hear it. The sincerity beneath his words.

And you felt yourself softening.

No.

You clenched the cup tighter, forcing your voice to steady. “You didn’t really have me in the first place, Jungkook.”

His expression shifted.

Not anger.

Worse.

Disappointment.

He lowered his hand but didn’t move back. “I kept you safe. I made sure you were taken care of. And I gave you time. To think. To understand.”

You shook your head, pulse spiking. “You locked me away. That’s not care.”

“You were hurting yourself.” His voice sharpened. “Running around, starving yourself. Bleeding in some filthy motel room.” His jaw flexed, the calm mask cracking just slightly. “Tell me what part of that was freedom.”

You didn’t have an answer. Not one you could say out loud.

Because deep down, you knew.

You had been falling apart.

But that didn’t make this right.

Jungkook’s hand closed over yours where you still gripped the cup, his warmth sinking into your skin. His voice softened again, calmer. Dangerous.

“You’re not a prisoner.”

You swallowed hard.

The door was still locked. You both knew it.

And yet…

You didn’t fight when his thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“You’re here because you belong with me,” he whispered. “And I know you can feel it. Even now.”

The worst part was, he wasn’t wrong.

Because after weeks of isolation, weeks of silence and aching loneliness…

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The way he made you feel.

Or the fact that, for the first time,

You didn’t want him to leave.

And he knew it.

Jungkook didn’t speak again. He didn’t have to. The quiet filled the space between you, heavier than before but softer too. Less suffocating. His presence lingered like the scent of him, clean, warm, familiar in a way you wanted so badly to resist.

But when he finally stood to leave.

“Wait,” your voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

He paused, fingers curling into his palm at his side.

But he didn’t turn around.

“I…” Your throat tightened painfully. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Betrayed, by yourself.

Jungkook turned back, his face unreadable, you hated how desperately you searched for softness in his eyes.

But it was there.

Beneath the control.

Beneath the satisfaction.

He stepped closer, moving so carefully, as if not to startle you. His hand rose, fingertips brushing along your jaw in a touch so delicate it sent a shiver through you.

“You don’t have to be,” he whispered.

His thumb stroked gently over your cheek, and you hated how your body melted into the contact, how your eyelids fluttered shut despite every part of your mind screaming at you to stop.

“But you have to let me take care of you,” he continued, voice lower now. “No more fighting. No more running.”

You nodded.

Barely.

And his breath caught like you’d just given him the one thing he’d been waiting for all along.

Jungkook’s thumb traced over your cheek, lingering just a moment longer before he finally spoke again, voice hushed, coaxing.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just let me in.”

The words felt like velvet, soothing you, wrapping around the emptiness he had left behind for so long. You hated how desperately you clung to the warmth of his hand against your skin.

You should have felt disgusted. Angry. But all you felt was… relief.

Jungkook’s hand fell away, just for a moment, and you nearly leaned into it, craving the contact you had sworn to resist. But instead of pulling back completely, he reached for you again, his fingers curling gently under your chin, guiding your face to meet his eyes.

No anger. No coldness.

Just patience.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he murmured, searching your face like he was memorizing every fragile piece of you. “You don’t have to hurt like this. I can make it better. But you have to trust me.”

You blinked, heart pounding.

“I… I don’t…”

The words wouldn’t come. Your mind felt too foggy, too heavy with exhaustion.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he shifted closer, slowly lowering himself to sit beside you. His presence was overwhelming, but not in the suffocating way you had feared.

Not yet.

You hated the warmth his nearness brought.

Hated that it felt good.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. Vulnerable.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught, throat tightening painfully.

“I shouldn’t feel like this.” The confession escaped you before you could stop it, trembling and broken.

His head tilted, eyes narrowing just slightly, but not in anger. He looked almost… wounded.

“Like what?” he pressed gently.

You shook your head, biting your lip hard to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Like I need you.”

The words felt like betrayal. A surrender you hadn’t meant to give him.

But instead of pouncing on it, instead of twisting it into something cruel, Jungkook exhaled a slow, steady breath. His hand moved, not to restrain you, but to cup your face again, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“You do.”

You felt your pulse stutter.

“But that’s not weakness,” he added, his lips parting as his gaze softened further. “It means you’re finally being honest with yourself.”

You wanted to fight him. To tell him he was wrong.

But your body had stopped listening.

His touch felt too steady. Too comforting after so much silence.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded, barely.

Jungkook didn’t speak immediately. He stayed close, his hand lingering on your face, thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if grounding himself in your presence.

“Let me help you, just for tonight.”

You hated how those words sank into your chest, how warm his touch felt after so many cold, empty days. But you were too weak to fight. Too lonely to push him away.

Jungkook guided you carefully to your feet, the weight of his hands steady but never harsh. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force. But you knew, somehow, that there was no choice. Not really.

The bed was as you remembered, too soft, too perfect, like it had been crafted to comfort you in ways he never should have known. He helped you sit, kneeling briefly to smooth the blanket over your lap. Every movement was precise. Practiced.

You should have felt caged.

Instead, you felt seen.

And you hated it.

He stayed by the edge of the bed, watching you carefully. His dark eyes traced the curve of your face, the trembling rise and fall of your chest, like he was memorizing every vulnerable piece of you all over again.

Then he shifted.

Slowly, he reached for your wrist, fingers brushing your pulse. Not restraining. Just… there.

His hand lingered, when the warmth of his palm closed gently over yours, anchoring you in that quiet, unbearable moment.

You didn’t pull away.

You didn’t want to.

“I missed you.”

You closed your eyes.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

And that was all it took.

Jungkook shifted, closing the space between you so carefully it felt inevitable. His hand cupped your face, his thumb catching the tear, wiping it away like it physically pained him to see it fall.

You flinched, but not from fear. It was the tenderness that hurt more.

"Don't cry," he whispered, so gentle it made you want to break apart completely. "Not because of me. Not anymore."

Your lips parted, breath shallow, and for a moment, it felt like he was waiting. Not for permission, but for the final thread of resistance to snap completely.

You leaned into his touch. Barely. But it was enough.

Jungkook's eyes darkened, something unspoken lingering behind his gaze. His thumb traced your cheek one last time before his hand fell away, leaving your skin cold in its absence.

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he spoke quietly, carefully, as if testing the fragility of the moment.

"No more silence, not when you’re with me."

You should have said no. Should have pushed him away and demanded your space back.

But you didn’t.

You nodded.

And when he shifted onto the bed beside you, when he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head against his chest as the warmth of his body bled into yours...

You let him.

----------

The next morning came softly.

Sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, casting pale gold patterns across the walls. You blinked awake, the unfamiliar warmth pressing against your back making you still for a heartbeat before you remembered.

Jungkook.

His arm was still wrapped around you. Loose but present, his palm resting over your hip, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He was close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against the back of your neck, the steady weight of him on you in ways that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

And as much as you wanted to hate it, there was a part of you that had craved this, the safety of being held. The feeling of not being so completely... alone.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly, the tension breaking as Jungkook stirred behind you. His grip tightened, not harsh but possessive, and you felt him exhale slowly, his lips brushing just above your shoulder as he murmured, half-asleep.

“You’re still here.”

His voice was deeper, softer in the haze of waking. But there was something heavier beneath it. Relief.

“I... didn’t want to wake you.”

He stilled, fingers flexing slightly where they rested against your waist. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, he drew back just enough to press his forehead lightly against the curve of your neck, voice barely a whisper.

“You never have to wake up alone again.”

The words sank into you like a promise. One you weren’t sure how to feel about.

You nodded once, throat tight. But you didn’t pull away.

Not yet.

When you finally shifted, pushing yourself upright, Jungkook let you go without protest. His eyes followed your movements, dark but calm as he sat up as well, the sheets pooling around his waist.

You expected him to say something. Maybe a demand. Maybe a reminder that you were still his.

But instead, he only offered a quiet, “Are you hungry?”

It caught you off guard. The simple, human question. You blinked, unsure how to answer, until your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

You nodded.

Jungkook didn’t move right away. He just watched you, gaze softening, lingering on your face as if he were committing this moment to memory. Then, without another word, he stood up and disappeared into the kitchen.

You stayed there, frozen, the sheets warm where he’d been. And for the first time, you felt something you couldn’t quite name.

Not freedom.

But not fear either.

The scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen, warm and rich, grounding you in the present. You sat there, fingers curled loosely in the sheets, listening to the soft sounds of Jungkook moving, the quiet clink of plates.

Everything felt so... normal.

And that was the most dangerous part.

You should have felt restless. On edge. But instead, the tension had dulled, replaced by something you couldn’t explain. Your chest felt heavy, like something you had been bracing against was finally slipping. And it left you hollow.

When he returned, a tray balanced effortlessly in his hands, the sight struck you harder than it should have.

Two plates. A cup of tea. A cup of coffee.

Like you were just any other couple sharing a quiet morning together.

He placed the tray on the bed, careful, measured. The food was simple. Toast, eggs, a bowl of cut fruit.

You hesitated, waiting for the catch. Waiting for the control.

But it didn’t come.

Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed, close but not touching, and for the first time, there was no expectation in his expression. No pressure. Just quiet observation, his gaze tracing the delicate way you curled your fingers around the teacup.

You took a sip, letting the warmth settle your nerves.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible.

Jungkook’s eyes softened, a flicker of something almost... hopeful.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, voice low, but so achingly tender it made your throat tighten again.

You lowered the cup, unsure why his words felt so heavy. So final.

The silence stretched as you picked at the food, the tension shifting into something unfamiliar. Not fear. Not anger. Just... quiet. Comforting. His presence filled the space without suffocating it, his gaze never leaving yours but no longer pressing in the way it once had.

And you hated how easy it felt. How his care felt so real.

You should have been angry. You should have resisted.

But all you could feel was the warmth lingering in your chest.

Jungkook finally broke the silence, “Are you... feeling better?”

You knew he wasn’t just asking about your physical state. You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then, with quiet honesty you couldn’t explain.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched, so subtle you barely noticed. But you saw it. The way his fingers curled slightly against his thigh, like he was restraining himself from reaching for you.

The thought of him doing so didn’t feel bad? It felt... safe.

That moment lingered between you, the silence stretching just long enough to feel fragile. Like if either of you spoke, it would shatter whatever fragile peace this was.

Jungkook didn’t move, his gaze still soft but searching, as if he were waiting for something he wasn’t ready to name. His hand, so close on the bed beside you, flexed as though he was fighting the urge to touch you again.

You should say something. Set a boundary. Remind him that this, whatever this was, was not real.

But you didn’t.

Because for the first time in weeks, there was no fear twisting in your chest. No loneliness gnawing at the edges of your mind. Only warmth. Only him.

You felt it when his gaze dropped, lingering on your lips for just a heartbeat too long. The tension shifted, heavier but not threatening, intimate in a way that made your pulse race.

You were the first to look away, blinking down at your hands curled around the tea cup. The heat of it seeped into your palms, grounding you as you struggled to steady your breath.

And still, he said nothing.

Until.

“Can I hold you?” His voice quietly asked.

You swallowed, heart hammering, the vulnerability in his words cracking something deeper inside you. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t forcing. He was asking.

And you hated that you didn’t know how to say no.

You nodded.

Barely.

But it was all he needed.

Jungkook moved carefully, cautiously, as though afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast. His hand lifted first, brushing your wrist, fingertips tracing the inside with a softness that made your breath hitch. And then, slowly, he shifted closer, drawing you into him.

The heat of his body pressed against yours, his arm curling around your waist as he tucked you into his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Calming. And when his chin rested lightly against the top of your head, a broken breath escaped you.

You should pull away.

You should hate him for making you feel this, this way.

But all you felt was your chest easing as you sank against him, as the tension melted away and left only the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And when he whispered, “I missed you,” voice so low it barely reached your ears, you didn’t stop the way your fingers curled into his shirt.

You didn’t stop yourself from believing him.

Because, in that moment, you missed him too.

----------

The minutes passed in quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier with each heartbeat. His arms stayed wrapped around you, steady but never tightening, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as you both stayed like that, eating your breakfast.

And you hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest. He smelled the same as always, clean, warm, familiar. The scent that had once felt suffocating now felt like a strange kind of comfort.

It made you wonder when you’d stopped fearing his touch.

You shifted slightly, just enough that your head rested more fully against his back. His fingers brushed your waist, light but grounding, and you felt the subtle way he reacted to your closeness, his breath catching, his hold instinctively tightening just the slightest bit.

You should speak. You should break whatever spell this was.

But instead, your voice betrayed you.

“I missed you too.”

The words barely left your lips, so soft you thought he might not hear. But he did.

Jungkook stilled beneath you. Completely. As if those words had stolen the breath from his lungs.

You felt it when he exhaled, shaky but measured, his face pressing closer, lips just above your hair. His hand shifted from your waist, fingertips tracing along your spine in slow, careful circles, like he was trying to soothe you but couldn't quite stop himself from savoring the moment.

“Say it again,” he whispered. His voice was not demanding. Just... desperate.

You hesitated, teeth sinking into your lower lip. The walls you’d tried so hard to build felt paper-thin now. Crumbling. You couldn't let yourself lie.

“I missed you,” you repeated, voice quieter but steadier this time.

Jungkook made a sound, low, pained, almost like a sigh of relief, and then his lips pressed softly against your temple. Not forceful. Not possessive. Just... there. The kind of touch meant to soothe. To comfort.

But it left your skin burning.

His voice, rougher now, broke the quiet again. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You should have argued. You should have reminded him that taking you, locking you away, controlling every piece of your life, was hurting you.

But in this moment, with his warmth around you, with your body pressed against his, the words caught in your throat.

But because his voice sounded too real. Too genuine.

And you were so, so tired of fighting.

So instead of speaking, you let your fingers curl just slightly tighter against his chest.

And when he pressed another kiss, so soft, so reverent, to your forehead, you didn’t stop him.

You let it happen. You didn’t want him to stop.

His lips lingered against your forehead, warm and gentle. His breath fanned softly against your skin, but he stayed still, holding you in that delicate silence where neither of you spoke, both too caught in the weight of the moment.

You felt the tension low in your stomach, the heat of his body so close, too close. And yet you didn’t move. Didn’t stop the way his fingertips brushed along your waist, tracing lazy circles like he was memorizing the shape of you.

You hated how badly you wanted more.

The way he made you feel so seen, so painfully aware of every inch of your body pressed against his. The steady strength of his arms. The soft way he held you, careful but possessive, like you were something he couldn’t bear to lose again.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling tighter into his shirt as your heart pounded louder than the thoughts screaming in your mind.

Stop. Don’t do this.

But then his lips grazed your temple, slower this time, lingering longer. And when he whispered your name, just your name, like it meant everything, you felt your resolve slip further.

“I missed you, so fucking much,” he whispered again, voice rougher now, closer. “More than you could ever understand.”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you tilted your head just slightly, just enough for his lips to go lower, brushing the curve of your cheek. His breath caught, so did yours.

His hand flexed at your waist, fingertips pressing a fraction deeper, grounding you both in that unbearable closeness. You could feel his pulse beneath his skin, the steady rhythm matching your own, too fast, too desperate.

“I’m right here,” you whispered back, the words slipping free before you could stop them.

Jungkook’s breath deppend. And then his lips were closer, brushing the corner of your mouth, lingering in that unbearable space just shy of a kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

The question shattered something inside you. The gentleness. After everything, after all the ways he had broken you down, he was asking.

You hated how much you wanted to say yes.

Your lips parted, trembling as you nodded once, the faintest movement. But it was enough.

Jungkook closed the space between you, his lips pressing against yours, soft but deliberate. The kiss wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rough. It was slow, careful, his mouth moving against yours like he was memorizing every second, savoring the way you let him in.

You melted against him, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your hand slipped from his chest, fingers curling into his hair as the kiss deepened. His other hand slid up your back, pressing you closer, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. You hated how much you didn’t want it to end.

Jungkook’s lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, shallow, as he searched your face. The tension was unbearable, the heat crackling in the air between you, electric and undeniable. His hand, still cradling your jaw, shifted, thumb pressing lightly at your chin, tilting your face just enough to keep you open for him.

This wasn’t soft anymore. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, he barely contained as he fought not to lose himself in you.

“You don’t hate me,” he whispered, voice rough now, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “Say it."

Your pulse pounded, your chest twisting, heat spreading low in your belly despite every voice in your mind telling you to stop. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered back.

And then he kissed you.

Harder this time. Deeper. His hand curled tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left between you. The kiss was consuming, dizzying, his tongue parting your lips in a slow, deliberate slide that left you breathless.

You hated how much you wanted it.

The warmth of his body, the way his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, spreading heat along your bare skin, it felt too good, too real. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss until your body melted against his completely.

“Look at you,” he whispered against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re finally letting me in.”

You whimpered, torn between defiance and submission, but the way his body pressed into yours was relentless. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach twist with want. And you hated yourself for how badly you wanted for more.

“This is what you needed, wasn’t it?” His lips brushed along your jaw, “You needed me. You were always mine. And now... you're finally ready to admit it.”

“Jungkook,” you gasped, but it wasn’t a protest. Not anymore.

It was a plea.

He felt it. Heard it. And the darkness in his eyes only deepened.

“Say it.” His fingers trailed lower, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing, barely touching, but enough to have your breath catching. “Say you want this. Say you want me.”

Your body betrayed you completely, hips arching into his touch, heart slamming in your chest. Every trace of resistance felt like it was slipping through your fingers, lost in the haze of him.

You whispered it.

“I want you.”

The words broke something in him.

His mouth crashed against yours again, hungrier this time, his grip bruising as he pulled you closer, pressing you back into the sheets. His body covered yours, the heat of his skin searing against you as he moved, lips tracing your neck, hands exploring every inch of you like he had finally won.

Because he had.

Jungkook’s breath shuddered against your skin, his forehead pressed to yours, the heat between your bodies smoldering, thick with tension. His grip stayed gentle, but you could feel the way he trembled, the way he fought every instinct pressing him to lose control. His hand brushed along your waist, fingertips tracing so lightly you barely felt it, but it was enough to make you shiver.

The darkness in his eyes wasn’t anger. It wasn’t dominance. It was hunger, desperate, consuming, and yet so carefully restrained.

He was holding himself back.

You could see it in the way his jaw flexed, the way his breathing stuttered when your lips parted, so close to his, yet not quite touching. His thumb along your cheek, as if memorizing the shape of you, as if this wasn’t enough, could never be enough.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough, thick with need.

You didn’t answer with words. Your body spoke for you, arching just slightly, leaning into him instead of away. Your skin burning beneath the whisper of his touch. And he saw it. He felt it.

He kissed you again. His hand slid up, cupping your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to taste you the way he’d been holding back from for far too long.

A soft, helpless sound escaped you, muffled against his mouth. And that sound undid him.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped, voice breaking as his lips grazed the sensitive spot below your ear. “You feel perfect.”

You gasped as his teeth caught gently, nipping just enough to make your pulse spike. And still, he was holding back. You could feel the tension radiating from him, the way his hands trembled as they mapped the curve of your waist, the dip of your stomach.

But then his hand brushed lower.

And you froze.

He felt it instantly, the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched, not in pleasure, but fear.

Jungkook pulled back, his face hovering inches from yours, brows furrowed with concern as his gaze searched yours. His voice was softer now, careful. “Baby... what’s wrong? Did I-?”

You shook your head quickly, shame burning your cheeks. “I...” The words caught, and you swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “It's just been a while since….”

Silence.

The tension shifted. But it wasn’t the kind you expected. Jungkook didn’t pull away. He didn’t look frustrated or disappointed. If anything, his gaze darkened, softer, but more intense, his thumb stroked along your cheek, reverent.

For a heartbeat, he was silent. Then he exhaled slowly, like he was grounding himself, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips brushed yours, gentle this time, coaxing. “I’ll be gentle. I’ll take care of you. Just... let me.”

You nodded, but your pulse hammered so hard you thought he could feel it where his chest pressed against yours.

Jungkook’s touch shifted, his lips returning to your throat, his hands sliding lower, exploring. Slow. Unhurried. He kissed his way down your collarbone, lingering, tasting, savoring every inch of skin he could reach. His hands explored your sides, your waist, the curve of your hips, never pushing, never rushing, just admiring.

When his fingers brushed between your thighs, you gasped, body arching instinctively, and he froze again, watching your reaction with careful, deliberate patience.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, pressing a kiss just below your navel, waiting for your answer.

You nodded, breathless, the heat blooming under his touch so consuming you could barely think.

“Words, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing lower, his voice huskier now.

You swallowed, voice trembling. “Yes. Please... don’t stop.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and restraint. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, grounding himself as he fought to maintain control.

His grip trembled slightly as his hand brushed beneath the hem of your shirt.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His fingertips grazed the fabric, waiting. Giving you a chance to pull away. “Let me see you... please.”

You swallowed hard, heat blooming low in your stomach. The feeling was unbearable, spreading through you in a way that felt both terrifying and... so painfully good. Your hands curling into the sheets beneath you, heart pounding as he slowly began to lift your shirt.

Your body tensed. The vulnerability of it all, the way his dark eyes stayed fixed on yours, not even glancing lower yet, made your throat tighten.

“Jungkook...” your voice was barely a whisper, shaky and unsure.

A groan rumbled low in his chest. The shirt slipped higher. Over your ribs. Up to your collarbone. His gaze never faltered, never dropped, holding yours like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered.

You exhaled shakily, nodding, and with careful patience, he peeled the fabric over your head, letting it fall forgotten beside you. His eyes finally dipped lower, trailing over your bare skin, his lips parting just slightly like the sight had stolen the breath from his lungs.

“God, you're perfect.”

A flush burned beneath your skin, heat creeping all the way to your ears. Your hands instinctively moved to cover yourself, but Jungkook caught your wrists gently, stopping you before you could hide.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

His lips returned to your neck, pressing soft kisses along the delicate line of your throat, trailing lower as he shifted down the bed, his mouth exploring every inch of skin he bared. Slow. Reverent. His touch ignited something deeper.

When his hands found the waistband of your shorts, you stiffened again. His thumbs traced slow circles at your hips, and when he finally met your eyes again, his expression wasn’t demanding. It was patient. Tender.

“I want to make you feel good,” he murmured, voice raspier now. “Will you let me?”

You nodded, chest heaving as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, inching it lower, pressing soft kisses to your stomach as he guided them off your legs. Your underwear followed, and you barely had time to process the sheer vulnerability of being so bare before he spread your thighs gently, pressing his palm to the inside of your knee, urging you open.

You tensed instinctively, thighs trying to close, but his grip was steady.

“Shhh,” he soothed, voice soft. “Let me take care of you, baby. Just relax.”

Your pulse hammered, the vulnerability making you feel lightheaded, dizzy, but the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, like you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched, made it impossible to pull away.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh first, lingering there, lips soft and patient, before trailing higher. Your breath caught, your body trembling beneath his touch as his mouth moved closer.

“You’re so sensitive,” he whispered, voice thick, his breath fanning against your bare skin, making you shiver. “So perfect.”

And when his tongue finally pressed against your core, soft but deliberate, you shattered.

A gasp broke from your lips, your back arching as the sensation flooded through you, overwhelming and unbearable all at once. Your hands flew to his hair, unsure whether you wanted to pull him closer or push him away, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t hesitate.

He held you steady, his hands gripping your thighs gently, keeping you open for him as he worked you apart with slow, torturous strokes of his tongue, learning your body, savoring every reaction.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me hear you, baby.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, too consuming, and when his fingers joined, circling you in perfect rhythm, your entire body jolted beneath him, your thighs trembling against his shoulders.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke.

His response was a groan, the vibration against you making your stomach tighter, the pressure building unbearably fast. His hand slid higher, pressing gently against your stomach as if to hold you still, to keep you grounded as he brought you closer and closer to the edge.

“Princess,” he whispered against you, his tongue circling that sensitive spot again, sending you spiraling. “Let me feel you come for me.”

And when you did, when your body finally gave in with a cry, shattering completely beneath him, he didn’t stop. He kept pressing soft kisses along your trembling thighs, easing you through the waves of pleasure until you were boneless beneath him, breathless.

Only then did he rise, his lips brushing yours, tasting you as he whispered softly.

“That’s my girl. You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me.”

He hovered above you, his body warm, solid, grounding you as you shook beneath him. His lips brushed along your jaw, slow and tender, whispering soft reassurances against your skin. “Shh I've got you, I’ve got you, baby.” he murmured, his voice a gentle hum, low and comforting.

“Breathe, baby,” he coaxed, lips brushing your ear as he trailed his thumb along your trembling thigh.

His hand slid lower, caressing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch gentle. You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the slow, insistent nudge that made you tense instinctively

He moved with infinite care, easing just the tip of himself inside you. Your body resisted, stretching around him in a way that made you gasp, your grip tightening on his arms.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with restraint, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, you’re doing so well for me.”

His hand dipped between your thighs then, circling that aching bundle of nerves with slow, deliberate motions, coaxing your body to relax, to surrender to the pleasure he was giving you. The tension ebbed, replaced by a deeper warmth, a slow ache that wasn’t pain but something else entirely.

“That’s it,” he praised softly, pressing just a little deeper, the fullness making you whimper. “You’re taking me so perfectly.”

His lips finding yours again in a kiss both sweet and desperate. “You feel so perfect,” he groaned, pressing deeper, stretching you inch by inch, the sensation so overwhelming yet so right.

“Almost there, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with praise, his fingers still working you in time with his slow thrusts.

And when he was finally fully inside you, when your body clenched around him in a way that made his breath catch, he stilled, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering, “You did it. You’re mine now, baby. All mine. So perfect… so beautiful.”

“That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his hips barely rocking forward, just enough for you to feel the movement, the way he filled you completely. “Tell me how it feels,” he coaxed.

“It… feels good,” you whispered, breath hitching as he pressed just a little deeper, his body moving in perfect rhythm with his hand.

A soft, trembling moan spilled from your lips, shaky and unrestrained.

“I know, baby,” he cooed, his breath warm against your ear. “I know it’s big, baby. But you can take it, can't you?”

The pleasure swelled higher, overtaking everything else as his hips moved more fluidly, his thumb pressing just a little harder, matching the steady rhythm of his thrusts. The tension inside you coiled tighter, unbearable, and the way he watched you, like he was unraveling right along with you, was enough to send you spiraling.

“Jungkook” Your voice broke on a whimper, your body arching into his touch, trembling as the heat burst inside you, shattering everything.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his voice thick as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering as he buried himself deeper, holding you so close, so completely his.

He felt you tighten around him, your muscles clenching instinctively. You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders, and he kissed your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, soft and coaxing. “Such a good girl, taking me so well.”whispered, his tone laced with that condescending pout.

His grip on your hips tightened just enough to hold you steady, his chest pressing flush against yours as he filled you completely, stretching you inch by inch. The burn of it was sharp, overwhelming, but he didn’t let you retreat. He kissed the corner of your mouth, his voice a low, soothing whisper against your lips.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay… I know it’s a lot,” he cooed, his breath warm as his lips trailed down your neck.

You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body clenched around him, the ache mingling with unbearable pleasure. He paused, barely moving, giving you time to adjust, but not without teasing.

“Feel that, princess?” His voice was dark against your ear, praise dripping from every word. “Feel how deep I am? Stretching you open, taking me so perfectly. My good girl.”

Your walls fluttered around him at the praise, the fullness making you pulse with unbearable need. His hips shifted, deeper, faster, and the pressure made your breath stutter, a broken gasp leaving your lips.

“That’s it,” he groaned, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “So tight- so fucking perfect for me..”

His fingers traced down your trembling body, circling lower. Teasing. Testing. Then pressing exactly where you needed him, a firm, slow stroke against your swollen clit. Your body jolted, hips bucking into his hand.

“Just like that,” he praised. “I want you to fall apart for me, princess.” His pace fast as he thrust deeper, harder, but still painfully controlled.

A strangled moan slipped from your lips, head tipping back against the pillows. Every inch, every pulse of his body against yours sent you spiraling closer.

"Say my name," he growled, voice thick with need, the demand pressing into your skin as his hips rolled deeper, dragging a gasp from your lips.

“J-Jungkook-”

And with one final, punishing thrust, he pushed you over the edge. Your body clenched tight around him as the pleasure hit.

His body stayed flush against yours, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he buried himself completely inside you, holding you there, so deep, so full it made you whimper softly. His lips brushed along your temple, soothing yet possessive as he whispered, "Shh, baby... just stay like this for me."

His hand slid up your waist, fingers splayed wide, anchoring you beneath him as he kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and lingering. You clenched involuntarily around him.

He stayed buried inside you, stretching, filling, refusing to move. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, keeping you close

“You okay, baby?” He asked softly, a tenderness lingering in the words, but there was something deeper, almost hesitant, like he was holding something back.

You nodded, though your body felt heavy, boneless beneath him. He saw it, the tension behind your eyes, the worry you couldn’t quite voice.

He lingered inside you a beat longer, his hands cradling your waist, before he slowly, carefully eased out. You whimpered at the loss, body clenching around the emptiness, and he kissed your forehead as if to soothe the throb he’d left behind.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispered, slipping from the bed. His absence felt colder than it should have, and when he returned, the damp cloth in his hand, his expression was quiet, too quiet.

He cleaned you with such care, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, but his eyes lingered longer than usual, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

After he finished cleaning you up, he helped you into a fresh pair of clothes, carefully smoothing the fabric over your skin as if tending to something fragile. His own shirt hung loosely on his frame, his hair falling into his eyes as he pulled you close. His warmth surrounded you, steady, grounding. His hand traced those soothing circles along your back, lips grazing your hairline.

“I’ll take care of you… always,” he whispered, the words a vow more than reassurance.

Minutes passed, the quiet stretching comfortably between you, until your voice broke it, hesitant but firm.

“Jungkook… I need the morning-after pill.”

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but you felt it. His hand paused, resting lightly against your hip as he exhaled, steadying himself.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured, voice soft but tighter than before, laced with something heavier. He kissed the crown of your head, holding you so close it almost hurt. “We’ll take care of it first thing, I promise.”

But when his lips pressed to your forehead again, lingering this time, you felt it. You knew he wanted something different. Something he knew you weren’t ready for yet.

----------

Late afternoon. Outside, the city moved on without you, cars honking, people living, oblivious to the silence pressing against your chest.

In here, the world was still. Controlled.

Jungkook sat across the room, seated on the edge of the grand sectional, reading through paperwork like it was any other day. Like you weren’t trapped here, your life rewritten by his hands.

But the pressure was unbearable now, pressing so tightly against your ribs it hurt.

He had stolen your freedom, hidden you from the world, branded you as his. You were supposed to despise him. Fear him. And yet... you couldn’t untangle the warmth from the pain anymore.

The sweater wrapped around your body, the one keeping you warm, smelled like him. The meals he cooked, the gifts he brought you, the way he was always there, hovering silently as if his presence alone could make up for the control, it made everything so confusing.

You hated him? You couldn’t stop craving him.

“Jungkook.”

His head snapped up instantly, the dark, unreadable gaze locking onto yours as if the mere sound of his name was all it took to demand his attention.

“Yes, Princess?”

The endearment made your throat tighten. It felt real when he said it. Like you were his world. But you weren’t his world, you were his prisoner.

And yet...

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding in your ears.

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

The papers fell forgotten. He was up instantly, crossing the space between you with that silent, predatory grace. Close but not touching. His presence was too much. Always too much.

“I’m listening.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. He couldn’t intimidate you into silence this time.

“I don’t want to live like this.”

Silence.

The tension in his face shifted just slightly, the smallest crack in that perfect, controlled mask. His lips parted, but no words came.

You continued.

“I know you care about me. I know you love me too much to let me go freely. But, Jungkook, I feel trapped. You control everything. My clothes. My food. My freedom. I miss some parts of my life. My classes. My friends. My family.”

His brows furrowed. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if forcing back words.

You took a breath.

“I can’t be yours if it means losing everything else. I can’t be your precious pearl if I’m just something you keep hidden away.”

His jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides as he turned away, pacing toward the window.

The reflection in the glass made him look even colder. Detached.

But you saw through it.

“You think I’ve taken your life away from you,” he said, voice tight.

“No- well yes,” you whispered, throat closing. “You have.”

The quiet was deafening. His back remained to you, shoulders tense, head bowed slightly as if weighing every word.

Then, so quietly you almost missed it.

“I had to protect you.”

The words sliced through the tension, rough, pained.

He exhaled, voice lower now.

“You were putting yourself in danger every night. Dancing for strangers. Letting men stare at you. Touch you. They didn’t deserve to see you like that.”

You stiffened. “It wasn’t like that-”

“Yes. It was.”

He turned then, eyes darker, filled with something too complicated to name.

“I watched. I saw the way they looked at you. They were never satisfied just watching. They wanted to consume you. Tear you apart. You would’ve let them if it wasn't for me!”

You flinched.

His voice dropped. “I couldn’t stand it. Seeing you let yourself be treated like you were nothing when you-” His voice broke, the rawness seeping through his control. “You’re everything. And you didn’t even see it.”

The anger drained from his face, replaced by something worse.

Vulnerability.

“Jungkook,” you whispered, chest tight.

He shook his head, turning back toward the window, his reflection fractured in the glass.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he rasped, voice broken now. “Because no one else ever stayed.”

The truth in his voice left you breathless.

You thought of the wealth he came from. The cold, distant parents. The hollow loneliness that shaped him long before you.

You finally understood.

Your hand brushed his sleeve.

“You don’t have to keep me like this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m not leaving you. But you have to let me have some part of myself back. Let me go back to school. Let me see my family.”

His head shook instantly, jaw tightening. “No. I made sure of it. The world... they think you’re gone.”

“But you can undo it.”

He froze.

You forced yourself to keep speaking. “You have power. You could make this disappear. Make them stop looking for me. I can live again, and I’ll...”

You hesitated, voice shaking.

“I’ll stay. Willingly.”

His eyes snapped to yours, searching, desperate.

“Willingly?”

You held his gaze, pulse unsteady, then gave a slow nod.

“I won’t leave you. I just... I can’t stay if you keep me like this. I need to feel like myself again.”

For a long, painful heartbeat, he said nothing.

And then his hand cupped your cheek. Tender. Devastating.

His thumb brushed your cheek. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

And then, brokenly,

“I can give you that. If it means you’ll stay with me... love me. I’ll undo some things. School. Your family. The reports. I can... I can make it all disappear.”

His forehead rested against yours. His voice barely a whisper.

“Just don’t leave me.”

And the worst part?

You whispered back.

“I won’t. I promise.”

But the tightness in your chest whispered the truth you weren’t ready to admit.

You were falling for him.

----------

A year had passed.

The world outside shifted, seasons blending into each other. The penthouse no longer felt like a cage. Not when you stayed every night by choice.

You stood now in front of the floor-length mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl necklace Jungkook had fastened around your neck just an hour earlier. His pearl. His perfect, untouchable treasure. But it didn’t feel like possession anymore. Not in the way it once had.

Not after everything you’d both endured.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his reflection across the room. He stood near the windows, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored black suit, the city a blur of lights behind him. The sharp cut of his suit only emphasized the strength he carried so effortlessly, but his face was different now, softer, less guarded.

Yet even with that quiet vulnerability, the way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, precious, hadn’t changed. His gaze followed every detail of you, lingering where the fabric of your dress hugged your waist, heat in his eyes, reverence in his stillness.

You still felt it. That ache. Not the old ache, the pain of being trapped. This was something deeper, heavier. An ache you couldn’t explain, except it felt like trust.

Like love.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, closing the space between you, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed a kiss just beneath your ear. His hands slid to your waist, steady, grounding you against his chest. "You're going to make me lose my mind tonight."

A smile tugged at your lips despite the flutter in your chest. "You say that every time we go out."

"And every time, it’s true."

The feeling inside dulled, replaced by something warmer. Something you hadn't fought in a long time.

Jungkook had changed. Slowly. Carefully. The control was still there, woven into the very fabric of who he was, but not like before. No more locked doors. No more isolation disguised as protection.

You were finishing your final year of university now. Just weeks away from graduation. And he had kept his promise, your name cleared, your life restored, the whispers of your disappearance carefully erased like they had never existed.

And tonight, you were late for dinner with his mother.

The thought made your stomach twist. He felt it immediately, he always did.

“Hey.” His hands shifted to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones. “You’re overthinking again.”

You swallowed hard. “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She thinks I’m... I don’t know. A distraction. Or a gold digger or something.” You exhaled shakily.

Something flickered in his eyes at that, pain, just barely contained. His fingers tightened, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle.

“She doesn’t know us. Of you.”

Your heart pounded as you nodded, leaning into his touch. His lips found yours, slow and deliberate, a kiss meant to soothe, to reassure. When he pulled back, it wasn’t enough. You were too close. You needed him close.

But he smiled, a hint of mischief softening the intensity in his eyes. “We’re already late. But first.” His hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving a sleek black envelope with a silver wax seal. “I have something for you.”

Confused, you blinked. “What is this?”

“Open it.”

You carefully broke the seal, heart thudding as you unfolded the thick paper. The header was instantly familiar. Jeon Industries. But lower, Co-Chief Executive Officer. Official Offer of Partnership.

Your breath caught.

“Kook...”

His lips twitched, almost shy, a rare sight. “You’re graduating soon. You’ve worked so hard. And I…” His voice dropped, softer, vulnerable. “I want you with me. Not just here. But at my side. As my equal.”

You stared at the offer, words blurring as the weight of what he was offering sank in. Co-Chief Executive Officer. Power. Trust.

It wasn’t control.

It was faith.

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Your voice trembled, the words too small for what this meant. For how far you’d come together.

“Say you’ll think about it.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, gentle but possessive in that way he still couldn’t quite shake. “Say you’ll stay. With me. Always.”

Emotion swelled in your chest, and this time, you didn’t fight it. You reached for him, pressing your lips to his with a fierceness that startled even you, hands curling into the lapels of his jacket, needing him closer.

When you finally broke apart, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“Forever,” you whispered.

His lips curved, but it wasn’t playful this time. It was raw. Honest.

“Good. Because I was planning to keep you anyway.”

A laugh bubbled up, light, genuine, effortless. This is us now. Complicated. Imperfect. But whole.

He kissed your forehead once more before straightening, smoothing his tie as he murmured, “Now, let’s go. We’re already late, and my mom... she’s terrifying when she’s waiting.”

You rolled your eyes but let him lead you toward the door, his hand laced with yours, grounding. Reassuring.

This was your life now. A life you had chosen. A life where both of you were still healing, still learning, but together.

And neither of you was going anywhere.

----------

The pearl rested against your collarbone, cool, delicate.

A perfect thing. Untouched. Just like he wanted you to be.

But pearls weren’t born perfect. They were born from wounds.

A grain of sand, sharp, intrusive, buried so deep in the flesh it festered, twisted, until the ache became something beautiful.

"Love me. Stay with me. Try to love me."

You had said yes.

Not because he held you too tightly. Not because he asked.

But because, somehow, the ache had become him. Embedded too deep. Impossible to remove without breaking you open entirely.

Not trapped.

Not broken.

Shaped into.

His pearl.

861 notes · View notes

shellshocklove · 5 months ago

Text

brat four: everything is romantic | joel miller

pairing/au: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel's brat summer has come to an end.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, use of pet names, angst, fluff, smut, brat tamed? reader, dom!joel, a hint of sub!joel? manhandling, oral sex (69-ing), cock worship, pussy pronouns, a little dacryphilia, degradation (whore, slut), multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!), one (1) use of the word 'daddy', no use of y/n

a/n: here is the final chapter! thank you as always to @dustydaddyyy! 💚 without her i don't think would've been able to finish this.

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

He was used to being listened to, your father, his voice weighty although every word he spewed was superfluous. You watched how his jaw moved, up and down, up and down, almost like he moved in slow motion, the spit splattering in big drops.

"–I need you to smile with your eyes this time– the social media intern told me a lot of people on twitter said you looked like you didn't want to be there… are you even listening?" he spat.

Never in your life had you wanted to roll your eyes as much as you wanted to now. Something ripped deep inside your heart, at a wound that had never really closed. You were used to the feeling; a quiet rage simmering under your skin at yourself for feeling it still.

"Dad, I already told your secretary weeks ago that I can't be there–"

"I don't fucking care–" he cut you off, "I tell you to be somewhere and you'll be there, understood? Don't forget your place, now."

The threat didn't sting as much as it had a few years ago. What used to scare you in the past, now only managed to make you angry. You had packed your bags already. The summer was over, your last year of post grad was waiting, along with your new internship, you couldn't just miss the first few days because your father needed you to stand behind him and smile (with your eyes) at a fundraiser.

It was ridiculous.

Oh, how stupid you'd felt when he'd arrived at the house, thinking he was there to say goodbye, to be a father for once.

Turns out you were ridiculous.

"Or else?" you spat out so quickly you didn't have time to regret it.

His eyes hardened, eyes growing cold as he dug them deep into you. The words you'd spat out had hung over your conversations with your father for years, but never had you spoken them aloud. He made you feel so small, he'd always made you feel small, and you were done with it.

He stepped closer, the kitchen island the only thing separating you now, and raised a finger at you. "What did you just say?"

Behind your ribcage your heart beat out of your chest, pumping your rage throughout your body. Images flashed before your eyes, a supercut of your childhood, of the countless times he'd stood over you with poisoned words.

"I said: or else? You need a hearing aid or something?"

Your father stepped around the island, and a fear gripped around your throat, your legs backed off on their own accord. He froze then, a pleased smile tugging at his face, ripping it apart. You felt sick to your stomach.

"Or else…" he started, "I'll cut you off. If you're gonna be an ungrateful bitch like this, I ain't giving you a penny– I'll have you removed from my will, I'll disinherit you, you understand?"

"You wouldn't dare," you tried to argue back, but your voice lacked bite and your anger.

"Oh, sweetie, I'll do it with a smile."

Looking at your father, how pleased with himself he looked, you felt your whole body deflate. How could the man who gave you life, who put you on this earth have so much hatred in his heart for you? What was it about you that was so hard to love?

"It would be a relief," he continued, but his voice sounded far away, "to finally be rid of you."

"'m sorry to interrupt y'all talkin'," Joel's drawl cut through the room, "we're finishin' up out here 'nd we need your final approval."

Joel was looking straight at you, but it was hard to interpret his face. Something dragged across it, like he fought to keep himself in check, but softening at the edges as he looked at you.

How dared he? How dared he look at you like that?

“I’m paying for this nonsense so I’ll be the judge of that,” your father huffed, pushing past you to slip out into the backyard, leaving you alone with Joel.

Suddenly, the room felt awfully stuffy, something heavy growing between you and Joel. He must've caught the end of you and your father's conversation. A mix of anger and embarrassment simmered at the bottom of your stomach at the thought.

You'd done exactly as he'd wished; you'd slipped quietly out the door at the wedding and left your dignity behind. The summer never wanted to end, and seeing him day in and day out, working away in the backyard stung more than you'd ever admit out loud.

So you'd kept your distance, leaving early to mill about downtown, trying to fill your days with anything to keep you from thinking of him. Joel wasn't worth the energy. Joel was a bug under your shoe to crush.

(Joel was all you ever thought about.)

At night a childish desires would plague you. The dark conjured them forth, made your mind lenient with hope, hope that he'd storm into the house like some love interest in a romcom to beg for your forgiveness, or he'd kiss you, or fuck you, or everything all at once.

When morning came, and you caught his eyes as you slipped out the house, you were reminded of the coldness in his voice, and not the warmth of his touch. What was the real Joel? Maybe it didn't matter? Joel had been fun until it wasn't anymore, a fling for the summer, nothing more– never anything more, because you didn't fall in love.

Love.

What even was love? Was it the way Joel looked at you right now as he stepped closer?

No.

You hated him.

Tears pushed at the back of your eyes, a lump building in your throat as you held them back. How could you ever love someone who'd treat you like that? You needed to leave; you'd rather die than Joel see you cry. Your father you could handle, that old wound would never close and the pain was numbed long ago, but Joel was like a wound to the gut that wouldn't stop bleeding.

"Hey," Joel's hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you back from leaving, "You okay?"

This motherfucker.

"Why do you care?" you bit back through your tears, because why did he? Why did he care? He'd been pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with you. "You didn't sign up for my antics, don't you remember?" you tore at your hand, and you slipped between his fingers.

Pushing through the door, you ran up the stairs to your room. Joel didn't bother with a reply, and you hated how it stung in your chest. The door slung shut behind you, and you collapsed on the bed. Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you wouldn't let your tears fall. Instead, your curled your knees to your chest, and focused on your breath.

Breathe in, slowly, steady, and then out again.

Again, and again.

Breathe in, and out.

Again, and again.

A knock at the door startled you, and you couldn't tell if you'd fallen asleep or lulled yourself into a false sense of peace. Sitting up, you wiped at your eyes, before jostling to your feet when the door opened.

There he stood, Joel, in the doorway of your childhood bedroom, rough jeans clasped in by a tool belt. He didn't belong in here, you didn't belong in here – not anymore. He didn't say anything, only looked around the room, like he was looking for you. Maybe he was? This was where you'd been born – the girl who felt like a complete mess – the disguise masquerading like a brat.

"What do you want?" you spat.

A frown pulled at Joel's face, and his eyes tried to catch your gaze, which you desperately avoided.

“We’re all finished up out there,” he told you, fingers twitching at his side, “We’ll be out of your hair in a couple of minutes.”

Why was he even in your room? Your dad had been out there, he’d talked to him, probably gotten the okay from him. Everything was taken care of… so why was he here?

“Okay, that’s fine,” you nodded, keeping your voice cold and devoid of any emotion. Joel cleared his throat uneasily.

“... your dad, uh, left.”

His tone was difficult to read, something akin to pity legible between the lines. You gave him a dry, sardonic smile.

“Of course.”

You scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself as you turned your back on him, looking out the window. Of course you weren’t even worth a goodbye. You wanted it to hurt, but you’d been rejected by him your whole life. Never ever did you want it to happen again, but now you braced yourself for Joel’s rejection, of the sound of his footsteps getting quieter and quieter as he walked out of your life.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel said quietly, and you couldn’t hold back your head from looking past your shoulder. His eyes had found your packed bags left by the door, the bags now fuller than when you’d arrived at the start of the summer.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” you countered. You wished your voice was harder, more accusing, but it just sounded meek.

“Looks like you’re leavin’ for good.”

“I am.”

A frown pulled at Joel’s face. Confusion and sadness? You couldn’t tell what it meant, couldn’t understand him– and maybe you never had. Maybe you’d just gotten ahead of yourself, put meaning where there wasn’t any. Confused attention with adoration.

“Then it’s my business,” Joel said, almost angry. “If you're goin' away for good then I’d like to know 'bout it.”

“Why?” you snapped, your voice biting, “So now you don’t like it when I disappear quietly? You should make up your damn mind, Joel.”

Your words seemed to stun Joel into a surprised silence. If he wasn't going to leave you alone, you'd be the one to walk out instead. You didn’t have to stay here any longer and listen to him pretend to care, not when he’d made it so clear he didn’t.

The thought gnawed at you, simmering down your anger and draining you of any substantial fight. You didn’t need to re-hash this. Tonight you were going home, to your real home, and you'd never see him again. What was the point in making this harder than it had to be? You’d always thought you were tough, you are tough, and maybe all this pain had its benefits; you'd built up a bit of a callus. You were tough skin where nothing could pierce through to the core.

“Look, I don’t need to go over this again, okay?” you let out, your voice a strange mixture of anger and defeat, “I got the message, loud and clear, now can you fuck off?”

This was the first time you’d sworn at Joel like this. You wished your voice was angrier, or cold and calculated, like how his own voice had sounded when he kicked you out the door at the wedding. Instead, there was a raw undertone in your voice, a hurt you hadn’t intended for Joel to hear.

Joel's silence rubbed at you, rubbed your skin raw. You wanted him to scream at you, raise his voice and say something entirely too hurtful. At least then it would feel okay, you could leave with a good conscience. It just didn't work out. When Joel didn’t move, your jaw clenched, nose drawing an irritated breath.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

You turned towards the door, managing two or three furious steps before Joel spoke.

“Red,” he said suddenly.

It was just one word, but it was that word. Your word, our word. It stopped you in your tracks, turning to look at him with shock on your face.

“What did you say?” you asked him, and for the first time today, Joel gave you a look you could entirely decipher: he looked sad, almost in a desperate way.

“Red... “ he repeated, and you watched how his fist clenched by his side, “‘means stop, right? Can we just take a second and stop this, please?”

When you said nothing, he continued, “This ain't how I want us to be leavin’ things.”

“Us?” you echoed incredulously, “I’m pretty sure you made it very clear there was no us.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Joel let out in an exasperated breath, "Look… I should've never said those things to you, especially when–"

“Don’t,” you said, your tone and gaze full of warning.

Don’t bring him up.

This was not a topic of conversation you were open to having with Joel.

"No, listen to me," he commanded, "D'you realize the situation you've put me in? You're the governor's daughter– d'you think I haven't seen him on TV? Seen his ads, and the pamphlets, and all his 'family values' politics? But I had you all wrong… How was I s'posed to know this was how he treated his daughter?"

Joel shook his head in anger, gathering a stuttering breath, "You don't deserve that shit, no one does. You're good, I can tell– even when you put on that little act that makes me want to fuck the daylights outta ya."

You fought it with every fiber of your being, but you felt something inside you soften as your eyes moved to meet Joel’s, the corners of his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile.

“You were an asshole to me,” you told him, trying to save any of the resolve and anger you had left.

“I was, and ‘m sorry 'bout it, 'nd I wish I could take it all back,” he told you earnestly, “But your behavior wasn’t perfect either... next time you want to be my date to somethin', at least give me a chance to ask you first, princess.”

“Next time?” you questioned, and you couldn't help the raise of your eyebrows.

"Well, at the risk of soundin' like a kid still in high school– I like you, okay?" Joel confessed, and you felt a heat coat your cheeks.

Joel was right – this felt like high school.

"Are you asking me to go steady with you?"

You couldn't help it, you had to push at him, but the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth made it worth it. His laugh sounded like home, and you felt yourself slip under.

Again, and again.

"Not yet," he answered, taking a step in your direction. "I wanna get to know you first, take you on a date. There’s something special ‘bout ya, I’ve seen it.” He took another step.

"You do know me," you told him.

Joel shook his head, closing the distance, "I know a brat with your name, but I know she ain't the real you." A large palm cupped your cheek, making your eyelids flutter at the touch.

"Stop hidin' from me," he whispered.

Inside, you felt something crumble as a tear made a river down your cheek. You felt yourself frown at the feeling, surprised by your own reaction. Joel's thumb rubbed over it, catching it, catching you.

"I don't know how," you confessed. The words tasted acrid on your tongue, and as you let them settle another tear ran down your cheek. Once a tear had broken free, you couldn't stop them.

"Oh, sweetheart," he cooed, your tears wetting Joel's hand as he wiped at your cheeks.

"Please don't, Joel," you begged through a shuddering breath, "I don't want your sympathy."

"It ain't sympathy. I fuckin' care ‘bout you– there's a difference."

His words hit you in the chest, knocking the breath out of you. I fuckin' care 'bout you. No one had told you something like that before; no one had cared for you or about you before. More tears streamed down your face, and this time you couldn't hold back your sob. Joel's arms were around you in a second, pressing you tightly to his chest, as a comforting palm held the back of your head.

"I didn't know," you whispered into his chest, staining his t-shirt with your tears.

"I know," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your temple, "It's okay, princess."

His lips were so soft against your skin, so gentle, and warm. Tilting your head back, you caught his eyes, watched the deep whiskey color seeping with warmth. Without thinking you leaned forward, brushing your lips over Joel's in a kiss, a first kiss.

What his lips would taste like, you'd daydreamed about before; mint-y, sugary sweet or deep like embers? Joel didn't taste like either, he tasted like Joel, like a comforting hug, like the ecstasy of an orgasm, like a home. When you pulled away, you kept your eyes shut, not wanting to let go of the feeling of him just yet.

"Listen…"

The deep bass of Joel's voice soothed your eyes open where they stared right into Joel's. His voice had sounded steady, but his eyes gave his worry away.

"At the wedding–" Joel's voice stalled.

His eyes rested at something behind you, dancing back and forth as he searched for his words. With a shake off his head he let go of your body, taking with him the soothing safety he exuded. Looking around your room for a moment his eyes settled on your bed. He looked so out of place in your room, your mattress giving way for him where he sat at the edge.

Joel let your words sit between you, as his teeth caught on his lip, chewing. "Do you…" Joel trailed off, before he drew a deep breath. "I need ya to be honest with me now, no more games–"

"Okay…" you breathed out, your heart drumming in your chest.

Joel chewed on his lip again, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown as he searched for his words. "What was all this to you? That night at the club I thought you were pullin' my leg– why in the hell did you approach me?"

This time your face scrunched in a frown, "Why are you asking me this?"

"Just humor me, please."

Taking a deep breath you grabbed the back of your vanity chair, turning it to face Joel before you sat down. "Well, if I'm gonna be honest…" you started, "I was just looking for someone to buy me a drink. You were sitting there all alone so I thought why not. I liked that you made me work for it, it was fun, and hot, and I really wanted you to fuck me."

It was hard to interpret Joel where he sat, nodding his head with his eyes glued to the floor as he listened to you speak. "Why?" he said, looking up and finding your gaze.

"Why?" you couldn't help but chuckle, "Are you serious right now? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror– looked at your dick?"

A shy smile coated his face, and you swore you saw the apples of his cheeks flush pink. "I've looked at myself in the mirror, princess, and I ain't as young as I used to be."

"Is this why you're asking? Because you're older than me?" you wanted to know.

"I'm askin' because I'm old enough to be your daddy." In his eyes you could see a glimmer of something like shame. It was contagious, snaking its way into your chest where it squeezed around your heart.

"Are you ashamed of me?" This time you needed him to be honest, but still, you couldn't help but feel a nervousness trickle through your body as you awaited his answer.

"No," he said quickly, "It ain't that…"

"What is it then?" You almost didn't want to ask, your head swimming with answers before he could utter them.

"I'm ashamed of myself," he confessed, you felt the words run ice cold down your back. "I get that everythin' is different now– with datin' 'nd all. Nothin' wrong with a one night stand… but I'm too old to be someone's fuckbuddy. I can't be that guy for you."

"I d-don't want you to," you rushed, surprising yourself as you stumbled over the words.

The corner of his mouth twitched, a small smile telling you he didn't believe you.

"Well, you tell me nothin'. The little persona you put on is fun for sex, but it ain't fun when it has repercussions in real life. When you showed up at the wedding… I panicked, okay? For you it's all fun 'n games, but for me that's my family. What was I s'posed to say if they saw you, huh? Tell 'em that's the girl I'm fuckin'? Pretty sure my daughter would have a fuckin' aneurysm."

Joel shook his head as a shaky breath sifted through him.

"I shouldn't have said all that shit to you– I shouldn't have used that tone, but I couldn't let it continue like that… I don't want casual with you– I ain't got the energy for that sorta thing. I wanna know where I stand, I don't wanna keep guessin' what you're thinkin'… I can take your attitude, but at least be forthright with me." Joel's eyes found his hands folded in his lap.

"Okay…” you hesitated for a moment, “I think I might be falling in love with you," you confessed. The words fell out of your mouth before you could think them through, and you let them. Somehow, you weren't afraid anymore. You'd already lost the people who were supposed to be closest to you, supposed to be your family. There was nothing else to lose, just Joel, just a love.

He looked up from his lap, "You think or you are?"

Your teeth came down on your lip, chewing at a loose piece of skin as your eyebrows pulled together in a frown. "I am… I think–" you tried, your finger pinching the bridge of your nose, "I've never been in love… I don't know."

The heat rising in your cheeks had you look away from him. Across from you Joel rose to his feet and closed the small distance between you. A heavy palm found your cheek, turning your face slowly.

"D'you wanna find out?" he smiled, the rough pad of his thumb skating softly over your cheek. Joel towered over you, but you didn't feel small… you felt protected. The realization had tears press behind your eyes.

"Heyheyhey," Joel cooed, while his other hand found your cheek, "It's okay."

Drawing a shaky breath, you told him, "It's not, Joel, I'm leaving– tonight." A tear broke loose as the words left your lips.

Joel's thumbs wiped at your tears before he crouched down between your legs with a groan, his knees popping loudly. "You don't need to do anythin', princess. Y'can stay at my place until you figure things out–"

You shook your head as more tears ran down your cheeks. "I'm moving back to California, I was only supposed to stay here for the summer," you told him, "I have one year left of my engineering degree at Berkeley, and I'm starting a new internship job on Monday."

"Oh," Joel let out. If he tried to hide his surprise, he did an awful job at it; it almost made a smile crack between your tears.

"You should check your face Joel,” you told him, your tone as light as you could manage it right now, “I know you're old, but in this millennia, girls can be engineers too," you tried to jest.

He let out an incredulous breath, before he let go of your face, "I know that– but California… it ain't exactly a short drive."

In your chest, you felt a twinge, "And you don't exactly text."

Joel fell silent at your words, head dipping forward, and you swore you could hear the cogs turning in his head. With a groan he stood to his feet, backing up to sit at your bed again.

"Look," he started, his eyes catching yours, "I wanna give this a go, if you wanna give this a go."

"I do," you hurried, and Joel nodded.

"You leavin' makes this a hell of a lot more complicated…" he sighed, "If we're gonna do this thing, I wanna do it right… take you on a date– treat you right."

"I'd like that," you smiled, and you knew it was the truth.

Dating had been a means to an end; free meals in the exchange for mediocre sex for a month or three (or however long it took you to die of boredom). Dating Joel would be different; it would be real. At the start of the summer, you hadn't realized how starved you'd been for something like this, how you'd filled up on emptiness all your life and mistaken it for love.

"I got 'nother job lined up startin' next week, but I should be able to take the weekend off in a month or so," Joel told you.

Inside your chest, you felt like you'd swallowed a bag of butterflies. "You wanna come visit me?" you asked, a genuine smile tugging at your lips.

"'f you'll have me, princess."

Rising from your chair, you crossed the space between you on eager feet, slotting between his spread legs. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you let your thumb run over his beard, the thick bristles tickling your skin. His face softened in your hands, and inside you felt the wound torn open by Joel, start to close up.

There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d give up the opportunity of being with Joel, but there was one condition…

"Only if you promise to never treat me like that ever again. I'll stomp on your fucking balls– is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Joel said, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth.

Pleased, you climbed into his lap, locking your arms around his neck as you felt his large palms settle at your hips.

With your face only inches from his own, you commanded, "Say that again."

"Yes…" he grinned, his hands sliding lower to grip your ass, "Ma'am."

Pressing your lips against his, you felt something heavy fall off your heart. A weight so heavy if Joel's hands weren't on you, you'd float away. Joel licked into your mouth, deepening the kiss and exploring your mouth. Your fingers threaded through his hair, pressing him closer and closer to your body. You wished you could meld with him, become one, something strong and resilient.

When your hips started to grind against the hardening bulge in his pants, you mumbled against his lips. "One last time for the road?"

His laugh tasted sweet like honey, and you tried to lick up every sugary breath of it. His hands on your ass tightened as you rolled your hips again, his fingers making dents through the rough fabric of your jeans.

Pulling away, the sound of your wet lips smacked against the walls. Joel's grin looked infuriatingly cocky as he took in the state of you; your lips rawed and sticky with spit, and your eyes filled to the brim with lust.

"I ain't fuckin' you again until I've taken you on a date," he told you with a light smack against your ass.

"You can't be serious," you whined, head tilting as you pushed your lip out in a pout.

"Oh, I'm dead serious, princess. I'm gonna do this right, 'n that means you gotta be a good girl f'me 'n behave." Joel's voice dropped an octave as he whispered the last words in your ear, and a shiver ran down your back at the promise.

"But not too good," you told him, a smile coating your lips.

"No, I like you a little bratty."

"When does you flight land again?"

Propped up in bed, fluffy pillows soft against your back, you pressed your phone to your ear. A month had never passed as slowly as these past weeks. The new internship and settling into your new classes might've had something to do with it – you'd been overwhelmed with work – but the promise of Joel at the end of it had you longing.

"Five thirty– I already told ya yesterday, princess."

He did, right after he'd guided you towards a shaking orgasm just from his words. Joel had promised to text, but he was awful at it. You know he'd tried, replying to your texts sporadically throughout the day, but you'd quickly given up on anything substantial from him in that department. When he'd suggested a phone call before bed you'd grimaced at the thought, but hearing the deep bass through his drawl every night had you convinced without a fight – especially when you'd managed to tease him into spilling filth down the line.

"I know… but in my defense I was a little out of it," you reminded him.

Joel's chuckled, a deep rumbling laugh that dripped like honey in your ears. "Really? I couldn't tell," he teased.

"Shut up," you laughed.

"I don't think you want that," you could hear the grin coating his face.

He was right, you didn't want that. What you wanted was to talk to him all night, hear the static bass of his voice in your ear. It didn't matter what he said, what language he spoke, if the lilt was high or low, you just wanted to talk to him. But more importantly you wanted him in your bed – so you told him just that.

"What I want is: you here, in my bed, right now with your cock inside me," you pouted.

Your words pulled another laugh from Joel. "Well, then, you ought to be patient, princess."

"I'm very unfamiliar with that concept," you told him, a teasing lilt covering your words, "I'm used to getting what I want."

"Oh I know… but we ain't doin' this again, princess…" he told you, his voice dropping with sternness, "As a matter of fact, I don't want you touching yourself at all until I can get my hands on you. 's that clear?"

"Do you promise to punish me if I do?" you wondered, your teeth coming down to nibble on your bottom lip through a smile.

"I promise to keep my hands to myself and my pants buttoned for the whole weekend– does that sound like a nice punishment, brat?"

"Jesus christ," you sighed, "I guess I gotta be good until tomorrow, then."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised through a laugh.

"You better," you teased.

Pulling into the parking lot next to your apartment building, his words skipped around your brain. I'll make it up to you.

Now well into September, the days close to knocking on October's door, Joel had been a constant presence in your head ever since you’d left Austin. Your thoughts of him wandered away in your classes, conjuring him forth when you slipped a hand into your panties, and even filled up your dreams.

But the flimsy fantasy version of him was nothing compared to the solid form next to you. In the parking lot the sun slipped beneath the skyline and the golden orange light coming through your car windows kissed Joel's cheek, and bathed him in the last drops of the sun.

He was here, finally, his hand brushing against yours as you led him inside.

"It ain't how I pictured it," he spoke; the leather strap of his bag slipped from his shoulder.

You hadn't realized that you'd held your breath before it released at his words. It was like you'd been waiting for your bubble to burst, that he wasn't really here, forever a static voice speaking down your phone. But his voice was clear, and deep, and real; and Joel was flesh and blood standing beside you in your apartment. You didn't need to hold your breath anymore.

"How did you picture it?" you asked, genuinely curious as you led him deeper inside your apartment.

"I don't know…" he trailed off, his eyes darting through your space, "Bigger, maybe?"

You hummed, following his eyes as he took in your space – the furniture you'd picked out special, and the art you hadn't had time to hang yet – it was a one-bedroom, but it was enough for you. The previous year you'd lived with roommates in a fancier apartment closer to campus. Socially it was great living with your classmates, but they were all boys, and at one point when the apartment looked especially dirty, you'd considered hiring a housekeeper. But the downsides weighed lightly against the upsides, and you’d never felt lonely, not like you'd done home in Austin.

"I don't want that anymore… there's nothing lonelier than a big house." The words settled between you, a comfortable silence while you tried not to think about what Joel was thinking, as you felt his gaze burn at your cheek.

“Come here,” he said, slipping an arm over your shoulders, tucking you close to his chest. “Let’me look at ya.”

The rough pads of his fingers pushed at your jaw, tilting your head to look at him. A soft smile blossomed over his face, his eyes deepening with a soothing warmth.

"You see something?" you asked, your eyes flicking to his lips.

"You ain't lonely anymore," he told you before he leaned closer in a kiss.

The brush of his lips had your eyes fluttering shut, and the press of his lips against yours awakened a burning pit in your tummy – the flames licking at your insides and igniting your want. The words he’d promised you over the phone played like a broken record in the back of your mind.

I'll make it up to you.

Clawing at the hair at the nape of his neck, your desperate hand pulled him closer, eager to fill your tank up on Joel.

“Bedroom,” you mumbled, the word fanned against his lips, "It's been so long and I deserve it– I've worked all fucking week."

"Deserve it, huh?" he hummed, pulling away to catch your blown out and moony eyes.

"Yes, Joel," you whined, pressing your lips against his again. But Joel wouldn't have it, letting you get one good kiss in before he pulled away again, eliciting a pouty whine from your throat.

"Patience," he told you, teasing smile hanging off his mouth while the hand splayed across the side of your face tightened. "I already told ya, I ain't fuckin' you until you've taken me out."

Letting out an petulant huff, you stepped away, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, now I'm taking you on a date?" you asked with the raise of an eyebrow.

A smile tugged at his lips as he regarded you, a teasing glint in his eye. Hooking an arm around your waist, he pulled you closer, "Yes, you ought to wine and dine this old man after a long day of travel."

"Well you could've told me earlier," you moaned, leaning back in his embrace with drama, your arms still wrapped around yourself as you looked at him through your lashes. "All the good restaurants are probably full at this hour…" you trailed off, "let's just get take-out," you said, pleased at your work-around.

His other hand joined the other on your waist, "Nah-uh, princess, ain't a real date until we're eatin' out."

Raising an eyebrow at him, the innuendo wasn't lost on you. With a knowing shake of your head, you told him, "No, you just want me to beg."

Joel's eyes narrowed playfully at you, his head tilting in a playful scrutinized way, "Well, you beg so pretty f'me."

This time you were the one to narrow your eyes at him, your face scrunched together in the slightest frown. Staring at him like that, you tried to break him down, but Joel was used to your antics, and he didn't break.

Letting out another fussy huff, you said, "So… if I take you out to eat, you'll fuck me after?"

"If the foods good," he teased, one hand sliding down to squeeze your ass.

He was insufferable, you thought through a sigh, rolling your eyes at him as you slipped from his grip.

"Come on then, old man."

After a change of clothes and a visit to the bathroom to freshen up, you pondered over your usual 'rule': You didn't fuck on the first date. Sure, you weren't a stranger to a one night stand after a night out, but if a man were to take you out, you wanted to at least give it a shot before you gave it all up.

"Usually, I never fuck on the first date," you told him as the elevator hummed around you. Joel's hand rested comfortably at your lower back, and you found that you liked it– liked his casual show of affection. You didn't know why you said it. Maybe as a last resort to convince him to click the button to your floor and take you back up to your bed?

Joel didn't look at you as a smile that gave nothing away spread across his face. His response was cut off by the elevator dinging, and with his hand at your back he guided you out the elevator.

"Well, too bad for you then, princess," he hummed teasingly in your ear, which earned him a playful shove before you led him down the street.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced over Joel's face, the bright neon light tugging at his features in playful shadows. Overhead, the sky had darkened with night over the parking lot. It was empty, safe for the food truck parked by the entrance.

Before you'd moved back home to Austin for the summer, you'd been apartment hunting in this area. It was by sheer luck you'd found it, so close to your internship job with only a couple of blocks away. And when the sun hung high in the sky, this parking lot filled with hungry office workers eager for a well made burrito or taco. You knew because you liked to watch them from up high, the building where you did your internship giving you the perfect view of the small ants. Sometimes one of those ants was you.

The tired wood of the picnic table felt rough against your skin and it wobbled slightly if either of you put too much weight on it. In the background the truck generator hummed away between your bites, but somehow this felt perfect.

"How's your taco?" you asked, a smile hanging off your lips as you broke the comfortable silence that had settled between you and Joel.

"God damn good," Joel nodded, taking another bite.

"Right?" you smiled, a proud warmth settled in your chest. "Looks like I'm getting my dick wet later," you teased.

The laugh that rumbled out of Joel's chest, bubbled up inside you, feeding you more than the tacos. It almost took you by surprise, the feelings he'd conjured forth inside you, stronger now in his presence. Maybe all those #1 hits, and romcoms were right after all?

"We'll see," he winked.

Gulping down his second taco, Joel wiped his hand on a napkin before he wrapped a hand around his beer bottle. He watched you with a smile, how you tried your best to bite into your own taco without everything falling out.

"Too big f'you, princess?" he teased, "Shouldn't be a problem f'you, huh? You've taken bigger than that."

"Ah!" you exclaimed, mouth too full to say anything else. Kicking your foot under the table, you hit his shin lightly in a reprimand.

Joel only laughed it off, before taking a swig of his beer.

“That’s it,” he said, his eyes falling on you playfully, “Good girl.”

You couldn't hold back from letting out something between a snort and a sound. It resulted in an unceremonious amount of salsa to drip out of your mouth and onto the plate, which only made Joel laugh harder as you struggled to swallow down the huge bite of taco.

When you finally managed, you gave Joel a half-pointed, half-amused look, “Asshole.”

“You love it, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle, and somehow the light words hit a little harder than you'd thought. Could you love Joel? Maybe you already did.

Shaking your head, you tried to rid yourself of your new discovery. “Don't be a brat Joel,” you said in a sing-songy voice, trying to hide your growing smile behind another bite out of your taco.

Joel chuckled again at the inside joke, and a sense of pride grew in your chest. “That a threat, baby?” he returned, raising a single eyebrow as he regarded you.

You gave him a nonchalant shrug as you swallowed down your taco. “Just a warning,” you told him simply, and now Joel’s lips curved into a smirk.

“A warning, huh?” he repeated as his eyes ran down the length of you and back up. He took his time, making sure you felt his gaze over your skin before he uncrossed his arms and leaned towards you over the table, “Thought I was the only one handin' out warnings ‘round here.”

“Roles can change,” you replied simply, your own smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. Joel crossed his arms under himself this time, still leaning on the table as he considered you, twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah?" he tsk-ed, "Y'gonna give me a run for my money, princess?” he asked after a second, his voice a fraction deeper than it was before.

“Shouldn't be too hard,” you told him with your sweetest smile.

Joel only looked at you as a smile tugged at the side of his mouth. The dark brown of his eyes coaxed you deeper, drew you in, like a magnetic force pulled you across the table.

God, you wanted him.

It was an almost overwhelming thought, Joel was too overwhelming. To settle your brain, your cleared your throat, looking away first.

“You, uh–… you want any dessert?” you asked, trying not to act flustered, "Their churros are really good."

“Y’haven’t even finished your taco, princess,” he pointed out with an amused lilt to his voice.

Right.

Continuing your act, you snorted as you picked up your last taco. “I meant after, obviously.” The smile on Joel's face had a hot flush of warmth climb up your neck to your cheeks.

“‘m alright f’now I think,” he said with a nod towards his plate, where he had one last taco left.

As you and Joel ate your last tacos, he told you about the lady he'd been sat next to on the flight. A real southern lady, he told you, "like sittin' next to the mouth of the south." The genuine tiredness in his voice as he talked about it, had a cooing laugh escape you, and you reached out your arm across the table to slot it in his.

When both of you were full and satisfied with tacos, Joel cleaned up your plates while you fished a cigarette from your purse. You offered one to him as he sat down, to which he shook his head, "You know those'll kill ya."

Tilting your head, you rolled your eyes at him with a smile, "I know."

Joel watched you light your cigarette, the flame brightening your face for a split second, before he spoke up, "I've been meaning to ask ya…"

"Hm?" you looked at him, inhaling the first tar-y breath and exhaling away from him through the side of your mouth.

"How'd everythin' go with your…" he hesitated, "Uh, your father."

Joel watched how your face changed at the mention of him, how you looked away from him like the words had stung you.

"I ain't gonna say I wasn't eavesdroppin' on y'all's conversation," he confessed.

Drawing a deep breath, you flicked the ash into your empty beer bottle. "It went like it always does," you shrugged, "He threatened me some more, and then I threatened him back. He's more concerned about his reputation than me, so I told him I'd post the truth about him if he disinherited me… shut him up real quick."

"I'm sorry, baby," Joel said with a shake of his head, "That ain't how you're s'posed to treat your kids."

"Well," you shrugged, taking another drag. "I'm used to it," you exhaled.

A silence settled between you, the only sound the sizzling burn of your cigarette as you took another drag, and the quiet humming of the truck generator. His words settled in your chest, and a curiosity you'd previously strangled resurfaced. Joel had a daughter.

"Was it hard, um…" you struggled to find the right words, pinching your eyebrows together as you searched. Joel leaned his elbows on the table, tipping it towards him, listening intently. "For your, uh, daughter when you got divorced?"

"Divorced?" he questioned, bushy brows pulling together in a confused frown. A second passed as he searched your face for answers. "Oh, right," he chuckled, his face smoothing out as he sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I was never married to Sarah's mom– I've never been married, baby."

"What?" Now you were confused, sporting the same frown he had, "But you said–"

"Yeah, I know," he cut you off, "But technically you put the words in my mouth, 'nd I didn't know where all this–" he pointed between you, "–was headin' so I… I just let you believe it."

"Oh."

“Sorry,” Joel said after a second as he processed your answer, “Probably should've said somethin' but–”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, “I didn’t really ask, did I? Just assumed.”

Another silence fell over the two of you while you inhaled another breath of smoke. Joel watched you, studied you as he gulped down the last of his beer. Placing the bottle gently down against the wood, Joel continued.

“So no… Never got married, and never got divorced.”

“What happened?” you asked him gently, not sure if he wanted you to ask or not, “With Sarah’s mom?”

Joel looked down at his lap for a second, like the answer laid in his lap before he looked up with a shrug. “There ain’t much to tell, honestly… high school sweethearts, just a couple of stupid kids who made a stupid mistake.”

“But you kept the baby?”

“Yeah,” Joel said through a sigh, “We live in Texas darlin’, and back then it… it just wasn't an option for us.”

Joel shook his head, before he cleared his throat. “Anyway, we convinced ourselves we’d set up our own little family, neither of us would go off to college and we’d just work… I got a carpenter job, she waited tables– it was a total fantasy in hindsight, of course, but we didn’t know it then.”

You listened intently as Joel opened up, and noticed how he avoided your eyes. He played it cool, but you could clearly see from his body language, that this wasn't a topic he spoke about often. The realization felt disjointed, a happiness inside you at being trusted by Joel dulled by the pain hidden behind his words.

“Pregnancy was fine, even the job was goin' okay, but as soon as Sarah was born it all went to shit… we had no idea what we were in for and it was hard. We were overworked, broke, exhausted and covered in poop and puke, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Wow, you make parenthood seem like such a joy,” you told him sarcastically, trying to draw a smile across his face, but Joel only snorted.

“Whoever sells that lie should go to jail,” he said with a scoff, “Let me tell you– there ain’t nothin' harder in this world than raisin’ a child.”

This time you had to look away from Joel, the words tugging at something in your own heart; that wound that never closed. Was that why he hated you so badly? Why she didn’t want to see you? That couldn't be right, they never even tried. But you remembered those who did, the revolving doors of all the nannies who'd held you when you'd cried, blew on your knees when you scraped them, played with you in the tree house, and tucked you into bed. You were half-way through your twenties now, it was time to grow your old wounds – it was time to finally let go.

“It was too hard for her, I guess… one afternoon I came home from work and she’d packed all her bags, left Sarah in her high chair with a note– 'I'm sorry' it said. I never heard from her again, but her parents told me she’s livin’ up in Seattle now. They didn’t hear from her for a while either– almost had the police involved…”

Stumping out your cigarette, you reached across the table for his hand, “What did you do?”

“I was angry first, called her 'bout a million times 'nd got an out-of-service message, which meant she’d dumped her phone already… when it sunk in I wasn’t going to see her again I was scared shitless… here I was, barely twenty years old with a six-month old baby and no freaking idea what I was doin', and the one person I was s’posed to be doing it with had just disappeared into thin air,” Joel explained, before he let out a sigh, “Poor girl probably had some kind of postpartum depression, but we were so overwhelmed with the baby we could barely keep our lives together– 'nd I was so preoccupied with Sarah I never really addressed it… in hindsight, I feel like I failed her, y’know? I should’ve noticed, paid more attention to what she needed… I never wanted to fail my family ever again.”

"So you raised your kid.”

Joel gave you a nod, as he pursed his lips together. “I raised my kid… 'nd Tommy helped me a lot. He was just a kid, 'nd he didn't have to do it, but he moved in– watched Sarah while I was at work up until he joined the army 'nd I could afford a sitter…" Joel trailed off, his eyebrows knitting together as his breath stalled in his throat.

"I remember one night…" he started, "Sarah screamed so loud, kept on cryin' 'n cryin', and I couldn't figure out what she wanted. I'd walked around the whole house, carried her for hours until it felt like my arms were gonna fall off. It would be so easy to just give up right then 'nd there… but as I looked at her, at my perfect little baby I promised myself that I'd never make the same mistake again as I had with her mother– I'd always put my babygirl first no matter what…”

Joel let out a sigh as his eyes finally caught yours.

“I guess that’s why I was so mean with you, when you showed up at the wedding. This is my family, y’know? They mean the world to me, always been my priority, always will be… I didn’t want the decisions that I had made to affect them,” he sat up a little straighter, squeezing your hand before he looked at you intently, “I realize now that wasn’t fair to you either, so ’m sorry ‘bout that–”

You shook your head, biting down on the underside of your lip as you fought the tears that pressed at the back of your eyes. Never in your life had something so rudimentary as family mattered in your life. Family to you was something to escape, a randomized lottery that assigned you to people you had nothing in common with. Not once had it occurred to you that your actions could have had consequences for Joel's relationship with his family – and never did it occur to you that those relationships mattered.

“No, I’m sorry,” you told him, with an embarrassed shake of your head, “When I showed up at that wedding… I– I was only thinking of me and what I wanted, not about any consequences it could have for you… I guess I’m not really used to the idea of thinking about what or who matters to others… especially family.”

The last word died on your tongue as your eyes found your lap. The weight of what you'd said, penetrated through your heart, made you hear it for the first time. Across from you, Joel was silent for a long time as you sat with your confession, digesting it at your own pace.

"I know…" Joel suddenly said with a squeeze of your hand, "I forgive you."

His words had a finality to them you found hard to believe. There was no bite of anger, or falseness hidden behind sincerity, only the truth.

"I forgave you weeks ago, baby, after…” He let the words die on his tongue but you knew what he meant – after he’d seen you with your father. “Let's leave it in the past, ‘nd focus on enjoyin’ these days together.”

Joel didn't give you an opportunity to reply before he stood to his feet, reaching out a large palm for you to hold. Slotting your hand in his, he guided you past the food truck and out onto the street, holding your hand the whole way home.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," you said softly, leaning against the doorframe to your bedroom.

Joel was already under your covers, propped up against the headboard where he scrolled on his phone. He didn't look up right away, so you took your time to study him as you walked closer with slow steps. One graying curl hung over his forehead, his head tipped slightly forward as he tapped with one finger. His tanned exposed skin looked soft like silk, and you wanted to trace your fingers down the graying thatch of hair speckled down his chest.

At the sound of a quiet wosh! he finally looked up from his phone.

His glasses sat low on his nose where behind the glass his eyes rolled over you, and the brand new set of lingerie adorning your body. The transparent mesh was the perfect shade of green, one that complimented your skin so well it might as well have been made specifically for you. The bra was simple with embroidered flowers weaved through the mesh. The same embroidered flowers adorned the thong, barely concealing your mound. Usually, you wouldn't go for something like this, it wasn't your style– too cute, but there was something about it that made you feel so sexy. Maybe it was the mesh, the way the thin string of the thong split your cheeks in two, or maybe it was the small bow at the back.

You knew you looked hot, but you hoped Joel would like it anyway, you’d bought it just for him.

Joel placed his phone slowly on your night stand, a wide grin spreading across his face. Then he leaned forward slightly, scrunching his face together in a playful squint, "So, this is whatcha look like!?"

You couldn't contain the giggle slipping through your teeth. Joel's smile hung loose, and he leaned back casually, silently inviting you into his lap.

"I like them… You look hot in them," you told him, climbing up in his lap.

"I use 'em only for readin'," he explained, taking in the sight of you before him with wandering hands.

His rough palms over your skin left goosebumps in their wake. You let him touch you, let him familiarize himself with the fabric as you leaned forward and slipped the glasses off his nose.

"You're somethin' else aren't you, princess?" The low timber in his voice had a wetness soil your panties.

"Do you like it, Daddy?" you wondered breathlessly as one of his fingers slipped through the thin band of your thong where it traced the skin underneath. "I missed your birthday… but I hope this makes up for it?" you asked, a lilt of innocence coating your words as you rocked your hips against his.

Joel's smile sat wide and toothy on his face; forming small creases around his eyes. Under you, you felt his hardening cock grow. You couldn't help but rock your hips again, chasing the feeling of him after waiting so long – you needed him now.

"Y'look real pretty, princess… so beautiful– how'd I get so lucky, huh?"

One large palm cupped your cheek and brought you closer to his face. His lips tasted fresh and mint-y when he brushed them over yours in a soft kiss. Under your skin your body buzzed with anticipation. His kiss was short; leaving you wanting more, always wanting more.

"Too bad you don't fuck on the first date," he teased, leaning back and letting his hands fall to your ass where they landed with a playful smack!

Jumping slightly from the impact, a breathy whine escaped your throat, "I can make an exception."

"Really?" he grinned, raising a single eyebrow at you, "Just f'me?"

Pushing out your lip, you gave him an impatient pout. "You promised you'd make it up to me if I didn't touch myself…" you moaned, "And I didn't."

Joel tilted his head in feigned sympathy; his hands on your ass drawing soft circles into the skin. "That's sweet, princess," he hummed before he let out a forced sigh, "I did promise ya, didn't I?"

"Yes," you nodded with a rock of your hips against his hard cock.

"Alright then," Joel said, his fingers finding the bow at the back of your thong, "Let me make it up to ya."

The silk bow keeping the thin strings of your thong together dwindled into scraps with one tug from Joel. Something drew your closer, like something bright and loud inside your chest clawed out for him. This time it would be for real – no more act to play, and no more hiding. The thought bubbled with nerves in your throat.

After discarding your thong in the bed sheets to get lost, Joel's hands cradled your face, bringing you closer. The crook of his nose grazed gently against yours before he pressed his lips against yours.

You let yourself be explored by him, savoring the way his tongue tasted in your mouth, how he took the lead like it was the most natural thing in the world. Inside, you felt like you were about to burst; so many pent up feelings finally breaking free from his kiss. You couldn't help but grind against him; the fluffed duvet in the way of any real friction the way you wanted it, but you craved him either way.

"I know, baby," he hummed against your lips, "That pussy's aching f'me ain't it?"

"Yes," you breathed through a whine, "Please, Joel."

"Alright, princess," he soothed, "So polite for once, huh?"

"Yeah, you better savor it," you teased against him, "Because it's not happening again."

With a breathy chuckle, he pulled away to tap at the thick of your thigh. Twisting your eyebrows together in a confused frown you got off his lap. Between your legs you felt your arousal stick wetly against your inner thighs as you sat back on your knees beside him. Joel pushed the duvet away before he shuffled down the bed, exposing his body, before he laid his head down on the pillows.

"C'mon then," he waved his hand at your expectantly. "Let me take care of ya."

Not moving, your frown grew deeper at his words while your hands collected like a nervous tick in your lap.

"Sit on my face, baby, let me taste that sweet pussy."

Sit on Joel's face?

Your teeth came down to nibble on your bottom lip, as a small shiver of insecurity raced up your back. It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? You shifted on your knees unsteadily, the mattress dipping you forward where his body weighed it down.

You couldn't look at him, so your eyes found your hands in you lap. Why did you need to go through this again? What was his obsession with it exactly? To see you humiliated? And not in the fun way.

"Hey… you okay?" Joel asked, his tone low and soft. He sat up on his elbow, his body turned curiously towards you.

The way he looked at you, his eyes dark and warm and full of… something, had your cheeks filling with a blazing heat. Shaking your head, you tried to will the embarrassment away. You didn't want him to see you like that– it wasn't supposed to be like this, not this time.

"Yes." You pulled yourself together, lips tugging at a teasing smile you hoped would put Joel at ease.

Leaning forward – making sure to push your ass out and arch your back for him – you tugged at the waistband of his underwear where you could peek the outline of his hard cock straining against the cotton. Before you could pull them down, Joel's hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Tilting your head curiously towards him, you could see a smirk coat his face.

"'s that whatcha want?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, and you nodded. "Greedy girl," he tsk-ed through his grin.

His strong hands were around your waist before you had time to think, manhandling your legs over his chest, exposing you and your wet center to his waiting mouth. A panic gripped your heart then, and you sat up with haste, slipping off his body.

"Don't do that, Joel," you let out, your tone laced with an unintended annoyance.

A frown pulled at his eyebrows as he sat up; his eyes bounced over your body and then your face.

"Red?" he asked, concern spilling across his face.

A sigh fell from your lips as a hand came up to rub at your face. When you didn't say anything right away, his hand caught your own, pulling it away while his other soothing palm found your cheek.

"Red?" he asked again, a little sterner – demanding an answer.

You shook your head in his hand, the words on your tongue failing you.

"What is it then, princess?"

The tenderness in his voice almost broke you down, hacking at the crumbling wall shielding you from him. Joel cared about you. He'd told you that, came all this way to make it crystal clear. So why couldn't you let him?

"Do you wanna get your dick sucked or what?"

Shaking off his palm you could feel ashamed later for slipping into your outdated disguise. This was how the sex with Joel was supposed to go – how it always went. But Joel wouldn't have it.

"Well, now I'm sayin' it– Red."

Inside, your heart sunk like a stone in water, and before you knew it you felt tears fight their way forward. You'd ruined it– your perfect day with Joel was ruined. Cautiously finding his face, you expected Joel to be angry, but the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at you hit you like a sucker punch.

"Let's stop for a minute, baby. Clearly there's somethin' botherin' you. I knew I saw it last time– what's goin' on?" he wanted to know. "Tell me," he grabbed your hand, slotting your fingers together as he held your gaze with an intensity that burned. "'n no more hidin', remember?"

No more hiding.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you managed to push back your tears as a stuttering sigh escaped you.

Okay.

Opening your eyes slowly, you gathered your courage. "I feel like I'm ruining everything," you confessed, your voice breaking a little as you told him the truth.

"That ain't true," Joel frowned, "'f you don't want this anymore, we can stop–"

"I don't want to stop," you cut him off, "I want this– you so badly! I've been thinking about it all day– all month long, b-but I…" you stuttered.

"But you don't like oral?" Joel finished for you, his frown deepening in confusion.

You shook your head, "I– um… no, not really."

Joel was silent for a second, eyes boring into you as you tried to avoid his gaze.

This was embarrassing.

“There a specific reason f’that, pretty girl?” he asked you as his hand holding yours tightened just a little while dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Your cheeks burned furiously as you looked at Joel, trying for a nonchalant shrug. “I-It just–… it doesn’t feel good.”

At that, Joel raised a single eyebrow in surprise, considering you.

“It doesn’t feel good?” he repeated, "I seem to remember you enjoyin' yourself last time…" You watched how a frown pulled at his face, his own words sinking in and replacing them with a sliver of doubt. "Or am I wrong?"

This time, Joel was the one who wouldn't meet your gaze, acting surprisingly bashful. Quickly, you shook your head, "No."

Joel's face twisted into a sad smile, and the way he looked at you told you he didn't believe you. "Y'can be honest with me. If I did somethin' you didn't like– you gotta tell me."

"It wasn't you who did it," you muttered, voice low like a whisper, the only way the words could leave your lips.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Joel let out in an exasperated sigh, his tone backed up by anger. Squeezing your hand again, he demanded your attention. "Who did then? Tell me, baby– some twenty-somethin’ asshole say something he shouldn’t have?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words, surprised that he wasn’t even that far off, and the memories pushed their way forward. It’s not supposed to look like that, is it? His mocking laugh echoed in your head. The way he'd licked your mound with a scrunch of his nose as you'd wished you could've sunk through the bed.

Even though you hadn’t uttered a word, Joel had read your expression telling him he'd hit the nail on the head, and now his brows knitted into a frown.

“Baby,” he told you, his voice so tender it made your head spin. One of his hands let go of your palm, bringing his fingers up to graze the pads softly over the edge of your jaw. “We’ll do whatever you want, it’s your choice… but I wantcha to know that I think you've got the prettiest fuckin' pussy I’ve ever seen– the sweetest tastin' too.”

Dropping your head, you squeezed your eyes shut. Joel's hand slid from your jaw to cover the side of your face, the palm covering your ear and half the world disappeared. You were silent for a second, before you took a small breath.

“You mean that?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, princess,” he told you, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, “m’not lying either, you know… it’s the only fucking thing I can think about, only thing I wanna see when I’m fucking ya– wanna see just how good she looks wrapped 'round me.”

You couldn't fight the smile from breaking, your eyelashes fluttering bashfully as you turned your head. "You can't just say that… this is supposed to be a tender moment."

Joel's laugh rumbled through his chest. "I'm a contractor, princess, I ain't no poet. I dunno how to wax poetic 'bout your pussy."

"I don't need you to do that," you told him through a laugh, turning your head back to look at him.

"Good," he smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

He studied you for a beat, before he leaned back against the pillows with an inviting raised arm. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep, baby."

“Sleep?” you asked him, the disappointment evident in your tone, “But, I–… I haven’t even sucked your cock.”

“Y’gonna let me eat you out?” Joel returned, and you crinkled your nose.

“Joel,” you whined, dragging out the vowels as your hands covered your face. A small laugh escaped Joel, and quickly his hands came up to gently pry yours away.

“Baby, I don’t wantcha doin' anythin' that makes you uncomfortable, but I also wanna make you feel good,” he told you, “I don’t believe in one-sided exchanges, and if m’honest, the only thing I can think about right now is buryin' my head between those pretty thighs and makin' you scream my name for the next five hours.”

The casual confidence in his voice sent a shudder down your spine where it pooled between your thighs. He did make you come last time, you remembered, and it had felt really really good. Still, that old insecurity at the back of your neck clung to you like a poltergeist. After a second of silence, watching the conflict on your face, Joel drew a deciding breath.

“Tell you what baby,” he said as you felt his hands gently grab at your waist and pull you towards him, “Think I know a way we can both get what we want.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked grudgingly, “What’s that, hm?”

Joel leaned forward and slotted his lips against yours gently, pulling you deeper into a sense of safety. After a second he pulled back, teeth trapping your bottom lip.

“You still have to sit on m'face,” Joel told you with a smirk, “But I’ll level with ya princess, you can do whatchu want, and I’ll make sure to keep ya distracted… promise.”

A beat passed as you let his proposal settle between you. A thought of how you could always say your safeword if you absolutely hated it crossed your mind. He'd established it so early in your relationship, set the boundaries between you clearly and you knew Joel would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do.

Drawing a deep breath through your nose, you let out a breathy, "Okay."

Joel's smile brightened before he leaned closer to press another gentle kiss to your lips, "Attagirl."

Turning you around, Joel helped you swing your leg over his broad chest where his palms settled over your hips. Maneuvering your hips backwards he positioned your exposed cunt to his face.

Afraid to put your whole weight on him, you hovered, your knees digging deeply into the mattress on either side of his head. As reassuring as Joel had been, being this exposed still made you nervous, and you couldn't help the way your body tensed up. Trying to distract yourself from what Joel thought about you, you focused on your distraction; Joel's straining cock hidden away behind the woven cotton of his underwear.

Pulling at the elastic band, you slowly revealed the length of him inch by inch. A pleased smile tugged at your lips as you took him in your hand; his thigh reacting in a twitch at your touch. He still had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen, veiny and thick, and perfectly heavy in your hand. Leaning down, you pressed a light kiss to the skin right above the base; the dark and silver wiry hair tickled your skin as you inhaled the masculine musk of him – of Joel, your Joel.

Joel's greedy fingers dug deliciously into your skin, as his dominant hand glided up your back, pushing you to lay your weight on him. You couldn't see what he was doing, only feel the hot breath of him so close to the core of you.

"She looks so pretty drippin' f'me," his voice rasped, placing a fluttering kiss through your folds, "'n she tastes even better."

You couldn't help the stuttering breath that escaped you, your eyes squeezing shut as Joel licked a stripe from your clit to your hole, tasting you unabashedly with a content hum. His fingers dug deeper into your skin as you whined, holding you firmly against his mouth to keep you from squirming away.

Focusing back at your task at hand, you tightened your fist around his cock, gathering a blob of spit in your mouth and let it slowly drip down the length of him. You watched your spit run over your knuckles before you started to work your hand up and down his length, thumbing over the head to mix your spit with the precum sprouting from the tip as you wet his cock with slick squelching tugs. Against your stomach, you could feel his chest vibrate in a content hum.

Kneading your ass cheeks firmly, Joel spread you apart for him before you felt him spit harshly against your cunt. The spit ran down your folds, gathering at the flat of his tongue where he circled it around your clit. You tensed at the contact, your face pulling together in the slightest of frowns of pleasure.

"Shit," you let out in a breath.

Pleased at the reaction he'd pulled from you, Joel hummed against your cunt, wet and spread open for him to devour. "Yeah? That feel good, princess?"

"Uh-huh," you moaned, your hand stilled at the base of his cock, as he traced circles around your clit with his tongue.

Cocking his hips, Joel reminded you of your neglected job. Pulling yourself together, you tightened your fist around him again. Mesmerized, you lowered your head and dropped open your mouth, slapping the wet length of him against your waiting tongue. Pleased, you hummed at the first salty taste of him, the familiar heaviness of him in your mouth. Enveloping him in your mouth, you closed your lips around the mushroom tip to tease the head with your circling tongue, making him twitch in your mouth at the new stimulation.

The way his mouth had latched around your clit, sucking and flicking it expertly, made it hard to concentrate. So much was happening all at the same time, his tongue devouring you, urging you towards a long awaited orgasm, but judging from the way he started to buck his hips into your mouth, you figured the same thing was happening to him.

Trying your best to keep your focus, you started to bop your head. Relaxing your throat, this new angle made it easier to take the hefty length of him down your throat, and you found that you liked it. Pushing your head deeper, you gagged yourself on him, loving the feeling of how he filled up your throat with each bop of your head.

On his tongue your clit pulsed with need, and you found yourself moaning around his cock, making Joel's hips buck from the vibrations in your throat. Joel ate your pussy greedily, drinking up every whimper and moan your body produced as he coaxed you closer and closer with just his tongue.

You couldn't stay still, even with Joel's fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your ass, branding you as his. With your head clouded in lust, you didn't realize you started to push back against his tongue, chasing the high of the swipes and zigzags of his tongue through your soaked folds. "Feels so fucking good," you mumbled, lips pressed to the side of his cock while your head was clouded in cotton candy bliss.

Choking yourself on his cock again, you pulled yourself under the blanket of tranquil arousal, your head filled with nothing except the way Joel took care of you, and how good his cock felt in your throat. Your desperate hands found his heavy balls, cupping them gently before you rolled them in your hands, earning you a deep rumbling groan.

"That's it– play with my balls, baby– good girl," he moaned into your pussy.

His praise settled in your tummy like a warm cup of tea on a cold day. The wet breath of him against your throbbing clit was almost too much to take, and now you started to grind against this face, fucking yourself against his tongue as you chased your high that just continued to build, and build, and build. His rough hands on your ass guided your movements, and when your thighs started to tense with arrhythmic shakes, he latched onto your clit and sucked.

"Come on baby… that's it– good girl," he hummed, "Come f'me, princess."

Pulling off his cock with a wet pop, your head came to rest over the thick of his thigh as your body started to shake and wither with your orgasm. You felt him grunt against your cunt, his tongue never ceasing to assault your aching clit. He lapped greedily at you, tasting each drop of your blinding ecstasy. His cock sat heavy in your hand, small wet whimpers puffing against the wet skin of him as you rode out your high.

In your chest, you could feel your heart grow larger, bursting out of your chest for Joel, like it reached its hand out to intertwine it with his.

When the tension in your body let go of you and your grinding hips faltered, you sat up slowly, sliding down his chest on shaking legs as you beared your weight on his thick thighs. His hefty cock laid heavy and throbbing against his stomach, smeared and glistening in your saliva. With a curious tilt of your head, you wrapped your hand around him, his hips bucking as you jerked him slowly.

"Fuck," he spat.

Looking over your shoulder, Joel looked a mess coated in your arousal. The coarse salt and pepper hair of his beard glistened in the dimmed light as he turned his head to the side, pushing it deeper into the pillow while you teasingly skated your fingers down the length of him. His moan vibrated through his chest, and a smile followed a pleased prickling feeling of pride in your chest – pluming yourself at having a man like him at your mercy, your eyes found his cock again.

In your hand you felt him throb; the thick vein down the underside of him protruded with need. His hands found the thick of your thighs, palms spreading over your skin like an afterthought before they settled at your hips. Leaning down, you longed to feel him fill up your throat again – finding you liked this new angle.

Placing a pouty kiss to the head, you licked at the pearling precum. Did it always taste this good, or was there just something so obsessively special about Joel? Humming contently, you hollowed your cheeks around the head, before you dropped your jaw to slowly ease him back down your throat.

Joel's hands on you tightened like he was holding on for dear life, as another pleasurable moan fell from his lips.

"Shit– you love that cock don't cha– love sucking cock like a good whore."

His words had you whimpering around him – he was right after all, you loved sucking his cock. You wished you could see him, see the way his eyes squeezed shut as you took him deeper. A rush of arousal pooled in your tummy at the thought, ready to gush over the greying hair scattered over his chest.

Starting up a bopping rhythm again, an obscene gagging squelch escaped your throat at every bop, filling your bedroom with filth. Joel's mouth wasn't any better, rambling degrading praise that only urged you on. When your hands found his balls, slicked up with your runaway spit, his fingers dug harshly into your ass cheeks.

"Stop, baby… I'm so fuckin' close."

Pulling away, you dropped your head to his thighs, laying down gently with your hand still wrapped around him at the base. Tightening your grip around him, Joel's breath stalled in his chest, and you couldn't help but place a soft kiss down the length of him.

"Baby," he said sternly, and a bubbling laugh escaped your lips.

Loosening your grip, his cock slapped against his skin where the head wept onto the skin below his belly button. His hands on your ass pushed at you, and you slid your body off him, your thighs sticking together wetly as you sat back on your knees beside him.

Sitting up against the headboard, a soft groan fell from his lips. His gaze over you was blown out and wide, and his grin wide with teeth.

"Come here," he ordered, the crook of his arm open for your body to slot into.

His other hand fell at the top of your chest, sliding it up around the back of your neck, holding you. The heavy weight of his touch had you pliant and loose in his hands; your eyelids fluttering with desire. He could do whatever he wanted to you in that moment, and you'd let him, but the only scandalous thing he did was kiss you.

He tasted like you, and you as him, and nothing had felt more right. Somehow, he maneuvered you onto his lap, distracting you with his kiss as he positioned you how he wanted.

His leaking cock pressed into your stomach, and if you hadn't been so distracted the visualization would spark a thought of how deep inside you he'd reach, would graze you. Instead, you licked into his mouth, your desperate hands finding his cheeks where his beard prickled your palms.

"You want that cock inside, don't ya, princess?" he nudged between kisses, slipping a hand between your bodies to angle the tip of his cock to rub through your folds, circling it around your aching hole.

The new stimulation had you pulling away from his mouth with a hitched breath, "Please– been so long."

Pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck, a sticky sheen of desperation clung to your skin as you lifted your hips. He slid the bulbous head through your seam where you dripped over him, coating him in your slick arousal.

"Go ahead, baby, sit on that cock, take what you need," Joel's voice rumbled against your skin.

Lowering your hips, the blunt fat head of his cock pushed past your folds and nudged at your opening. He let you take the lead this time, letting you control the pace at which you worked inch by inch of him deeper inside you. The stretch of him always burned deliciously, an aching pleasure that you didn't think you'd ever get enough of.

When you finally eased yourself down on him, your hips flush with his, a guttural moan fell from Joel's lips. Sitting on his cock like this, he reached deeper than he'd ever done before; a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself. It was almost too much, your thighs clenched as they fought to move back up.

"There you go," he cooed, "So fuckin' tight f'me."

"Joel," you whined out in a heavy breath, digging you face deeper into the crook of his neck.

"'s alright," he soothed, nosing down the length of your jaw, "'s all yours, use it princess– get yourself off on my cock."

You couldn't help the whimper you stuck to his skin as you felt him flex inside of you, your walls fluttering around him desperately as you rocked your hips into him. The wiry hair at the base of his cock nudged against your throbbing clit, the new angle prodded at the spot inside that made your hips stutter.

Joel let you do all the work as you lifted your hips, slowly at first, and lowered yourself down on him. Looking for more leverage, you forced yourself to sit up straight, your hands digging into his shoulders as you pushed back on him at an increasing pace, using him for your own pleasure.

"Such a good girl, keep goin', just like that," he praised from under you, watching how your eyebrows creased as your eyes shut at the increasing pleasure.

Moving your hips at an unabashed pace, Joel's hands found yours to intertwine with. "Come on, baby, don't stop now, ride that cock, bounce on it like a good slut," he encouraged, pushing back against your hands.

Lost in the fog of your own pleasure, desperate pleas and whiny breaths were the only coherent sounds falling from your lips, the feeling of him filling you up repeatedly, too good for words.

When your thighs burned with effort, you slowed down your bounces and fell against his chest to catch your breath. Swiveling your hips between chasing grinds, the desperation in you still chased your orgasm.

"Gettin' tired, princess?" Joel asked, his voice full of faux pity. His hands untangled from yours to fall at your back, his fingers teasing over the band of your bra. "Need me to do it f'ya, huh?"

Hooking his finger under your bra strap, he pulled, letting it smack harshly and quick against your skin in reprimand. You jolted against him, letting out a whine and a "Yes, please," as the end of him poked at your spot at the movement.

Unhooking your bra, Joel cast it aside, getting lost in the duvet along with the rest of your underwear. Cupping your ass, he squeezed a good handful before a hand came down in a stinging smack!

What happened next was nothing short of instinctive. Keeping you steady in his lap, Joel thrusted up into you, setting a brutal pace. Bouncing in his lap, you felt like a rag doll. Rolling your head back, you met every thrust, felt every vein, and every ridge of him, as the fat head repeatedly hit the spot so deep inside you. When your vision started going spotty with pleasure, and Joel's lips spilled filth between his grunts, you were tethering right on the edge.

"Keep goin'– good girl, earn my fuckin' cum."

"Y'want me to fill y'up don't cha? Have it leakin' outta you all night."

"Come on, princess, I know you're close, give m'cock a big squeeze."

The noises spilling out your throat were breathy and whiny, harmonizing perfectly with the deep guttural grunts out of Joel. When his hand reached between your bodies, the flat callused pad of his thumb putting pressure down on your clit, it was all too much.

With an arch of your back, he tipped you over the edge, the pleasure rolling over you like a blinding wave. Your body went rigid for a moment, your cunt squeezing around him like a vice, before the tension released in a stuttering shake.

"There she goes, my good girl," Joel praised, but his voice was far away, like someone had stuffed cotton in your ears, or pulled your head under water.

Prolonging your release, Joel never stopped his thrusts, only slowing them down as he sped up his fingers on your clit. Your mouth dropped in a quiet scream, your face twisted in pained pleasure as a stream of liquid gushed from your cunt.

You didn't notice the surprised look on his face, or the way he groaned out, "Fuck– you're amazin', princess– 'm comin'." But you felt the way his cock twitched inside you, pulsed thick spurts of his cum as he filled you deep and steady with his hot release.

Caught up in his own pleasure, Joel sunk down the bed, dragging you with him. The feeling of his cum filling you up, branding you as his, had you withering with another gush of release over his thighs. Your skin stuck to his, and with this new angle his cock slipped out of you from the force of your orgasm.

Everything was sticky, everything was hot. Riding out the last buzzes of your ecstasies, you could still feel how intensely your clit throbbed as Joel's heavy release dribbled out of you, making a mess over his wet thighs and softening cock.

You didn't realize you were crying until Joel peeled your cheek from his chest, two large palms cupping your head to thumb at the wet tears.

"'s okay, baby, you're okay," he cooed, wrapping his strong safe arms tightly around you, while you clung to him like a koala bear. "I'm here."

It was only two words, but it was just the two you needed to hear.

Joel was here.

"Thank you," you whispered, afraid your voice would break if you spoke louder.

"You did so good f'me," he cooed, as your heartbeats steadied.

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, Joel turned to the side, dragging you with him. Your limbs were coated in your releases, and sweat clung to your skin, but it didn't matter as he pulled you closer. You didn't know how long he held you, how many kisses he pressed against your skin, but you could never get enough.

When he finally pulled away, you whined, your fingers digging into the flesh of his arm.

"Please don't leave," you whimpered, your brain scrambled with vulnerability.

"'m not leavin', pretty girl, but ‘m gettin’ you cleaned up. That sound alright?"

Getting out of bed felt like moving through molasses, but Joel was patient, helping you to the bathroom on your wobbly legs. Finding a washcloth in your cupboard, he dampened it with warm water before he dragged it down your thighs, catching the mix of your combined release where it had started to run down your leg.

"Made a mess didn't we?" he teased with a wink.

Shooting him half of a smile, you only nodded, tiredness pushing at your eyelids. Joel didn't push, only cleaned himself up before he told you to pee while he changed the sheets. When you finally emerged from the bathroom, Joel invited you back in his embrace, curling himself around your body in a safe weight as your eyelids started to droop to the feeling of his soft kisses against your skin.

When you woke, the bed was empty. Looking around the room a coldness ran through you as you started to wonder if last night had all been a dream. But then you heard a low hum of music coming through the open bedroom door, along with the smell of breakfast cooking, and the coldness melted away.

Grabbing your robe off the hook by the door, the music got louder as you padded into your kitchen. Joel stood with his back to you, already dressed as he pushed gently at the eggs frying in the pan. With a look over his shoulder, Joel noticed you and the smile that spread on his face as he took you in in all your morning glory, had a warmth tug at your heart.

"You ain't got no coffee in this house," he told you, turning back to the eggs.

"I usually go down to the coffee shop on the corner," you shrugged, sitting down at the table.

"That ain't real coffee, princess," he clicked his tongue playfully, sliding the eggs carefully onto two plates he'd set aside with two pieces of toast ready.

"Thank you serf," you joked as he placed one of the plates in front of you. It earned you a genuine laugh as Joel sat down opposite you.

"You're welcome, brat," he smiled.

There was something so romantic about the way he said it, all casual and smirking. And when you caught the way his eyes glinted as he looked at you, you found yourself thinking that if this was love, then you thought you could get used to it.

For the first time in your life, you wanted to fall in love.

Again and again.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #brat!reader #pedro pascal

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marysfics · 17 days ago

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Home Was a Place You Couldn't Let Her See | Part 1

She was the sun in your storm.

Angst, Fluff

A note before you begin: This story explores themes of toxic family dynamics and their impact. It's a multi-chapter fic, and I'll aim to post new chapters every Saturday. I appreciate you taking this journey with me.

The first time you saw Alexia Putellas, she was a vision in motion. Effortlessly juggling a football with the tip of her cleats, golden-brown hair tied back in a messy ponytail, she commanded attention without even trying.

You weren’t sure why you noticed her in the first place—maybe it was the sheer confidence radiating from her, the easy laughter that bubbled out when she almost lost control of the ball. But from that moment, something about her drew you in.

You, on the other hand, were the kind of girl who faded into the background. You kept your head down, navigating life with the quiet precision of someone trying to become invisible. Your home life demanded it—any misstep, any attention, could have consequences far worse than being ignored. But Alexia? She radiated light, warmth, something you couldn’t quite name but desperately craved.

It started with small, stolen glances. You sat two rows behind her in Spanish class, watching as she drummed her fingers absentmindedly against the desk while the teacher droned on. Then, one day, she caught you staring. A smirk played on her lips.

“Like what you see?” she teased, her voice soft enough that only you could hear.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, a nervous chuckle escaping you. “Not really,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed you.

She laughed, tapping her pen against her notebook. “Liar.”

Your first real conversation happened at lunch. You usually sat alone, picking at whatever meager meal you managed to bring from home. That day, Alexia slid into the seat across from you, setting her tray down with a grin.

“You’re always so quiet,” she observed, resting her chin in her hand. “Why is that?”

You shrugged, offering a noncommittal response. “I don’t have much to say.”

She studied you for a moment before tilting her head, her gaze piercing. “Or maybe you just haven’t found the right person to say it to.”

Something about her words resonated deep within you, a place you rarely allowed anyone to touch. You wanted to believe it was that simple. That you could just talk, be honest, without fear of repercussions. But honesty had never been kind to you.

Still, you found yourself gravitating towards her. It became a routine—Alexia waiting for you after class, walking with you through the halls, making a point to sit next to you whenever she could. She was persistent, in the way only someone with an unwavering heart could be, and slowly, gently, she chipped away at the walls you had so carefully constructed.

One afternoon, as you both sat under a sprawling oak tree after school, she nudged your shoulder. “Tell me something about you that no one knows.”

You hesitated, your gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the bark. “Why?”

She smiled, a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Because I want to know you.”

You glanced at her, then looked down at the grass, plucking at the blades. “I hate thunderstorms,” you admitted quietly, the words barely a whisper.

She raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? I love them.”

You shook your head, a shadow passing over your face. “Not me. They make me feel… trapped.”

A flicker of understanding crossed her features, but she didn’t pry. Instead, she reached for your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours. “Okay,” she said simply. “Next time there’s a storm, I’ll be there. You won’t be alone.”

Your heart swelled in a way it never had before. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

The first time she held your hand during one of her games, you were surprised by the jolt of electricity that shot through you. You had never really cared for football, but she had insisted you come. When she scored, her eyes immediately found yours in the crowd, a triumphant gleam in them. After the match, when she jogged over to you, sweat glistening on her forehead, she grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You’re my good luck charm now.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I didn’t do anything.”

She grinned, that infectious grin that made your stomach flutter. “Still, you should come to all my games. Just in case.”

But there were things you never told her. You never let her walk you home. You avoided the topic of your family with careful precision, steering conversations elsewhere whenever they got too close. You could feel her curiosity, her worry, but you couldn’t risk her knowing the truth. If she knew, she might try to fix it. And no one could fix what was broken inside your house.

Still, being with Alexia was an escape, a reprieve, even if only for a little while. When she kissed you for the first time under the fading light of a sunset, her fingers tangled in your hair, you thought maybe—just maybe—you had found something worth fighting for.

But secrets have a way of surfacing. And love, no matter how strong, can only withstand so many walls before it begins to crack.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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aurynsia · 4 months ago

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Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 5

James Potter x Reader

Summary: The search for your mystery suitor draws to a close as you finally make an advance on your lovesick admirer…

Warnings: Extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, some subtle wolfstar action in the background, idiots in love, oc!friends, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, secret admirer trope, strangers to friends to lovers, James gets his confidence back, aggressive flirting, NOT EDITED!

Word count: 2.6K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“Hi boys, hi Jamie!” James almost fell off his chair, gripping the table and steadying himself. Sirius snorted at the flustered boy, stumbling and flailing at the nickname.

You had approached the Marauders that morning with books piled in hand, fulfilling Remus’ offer to study with them once again that weekend. With Charlie and Hope using their free time to visit Hogsmeade, you were left to flirt with the young Potter all you desired.

You had told your friends about the growing suspicion surrounding the boy that morning, and James was about to find out just how dedicated you were to the investigation.

James watched you eagerly, eyes wide at the sight of you sitting next to him once again. “Hi, love,” he sighed, still staring in awe at your freshly washed hair and bright smile. While he tried to match your style with the affectionate nickname, his voice was laced with shaking nerves as he sought that courage that came so naturally around other girls.

The other boys were openly snickering at his lovestruck face, assuming you had caught onto James’ enamoured gestures by now. Remus pushed the History of Magic textbook between the two of you, though he didn’t say a word about actually using it. He was far too fascinated with the promising tension developing between you and his friend.

“I’ve been having the most eventful week, lads,” you began, motioning for the boys to lean in closer, with James inching his chair across to touch yours. “Someone in this school has been sending me love letters.”

After a beat of shock, all four boys started rambling exclamations of surprise and curiosity, as if they didn’t already know about your secret admirer. James gulped at your confession, mentally cursing himself for waiting just too long to react naturally. “Oh, really! That’s news! Do you, um…have any idea who it is?”

You met the boy’s gaze and whispered, “I have my theories…I mean, so far we’ve deduced it’s a boy with high intelligence, a good heart, and a crippling obsession over me.” James’ breath hitched, eyes flickering from yours to Remus’, before landing back at you.

“Well, I can’t blame him love! Who wouldn’t be obsessed with a pretty thing like you,” Sirius smirked, “In fact, I have some theories of my own about who this boy could be…”

“Well, my suspects have been narrowed down to about five Gryffindor boys, and I’m really hoping it’s the cutest one,” you held back a giggle at James’ parted lips. He prayed to Merlin that you could possibly consider him an option, let alone think that he’s the one you found the most attractive.

“But to be honest, with the way he writes about me I think I’d jump him the second he reveals himself to me, handsome or not,” you said noncommittally.

In that moment, James threw all his reservations out the window. He no longer cared if you noticed his obsession with you, the lingering stares, the flustered reactions. He wanted all of you, and he just had to do something about it. There was no point in letting his nerves dictate his behaviour around you, not after you had just given him the James Potter Flirting Experience™ opportunity of a lifetime.

“Well, say you did care about what the boy looks like…what’s your type?” James leaned closer to you, a softened grin lingering on his lips as he spoke teasingly.

You gasped, clearly shocked by his sudden change of behaviour, but responded nonetheless. “Oh I don’t know, probably…” you looked James up and down, slowly taking in his form.

“Someone tall and athletic. I definitely prefer kind boys, but he can have a little mischief to him. Probably someone with darker hair- make that curly dark hair. Light brown eyes have always caught my fancy, oh! And I love a good pair of glasses, especially when they come with a big brain and a handsome face behind them.”

James was only inches away from your face now, his small smile had grown into a stretching, flirtatious grin, smirking at you with red cheeks. His hair was curling around his smitten face as he bent to meet your eyes, forearms crossed and resting on the table.

Three mouths hung open at the explicit display of attraction in front of them, eyes sliding back and forth between you and James, as if following a thread of affection forming between you two.

“Well, are there any boys on your list that might…match that description?” Peter squeaked to break the tense silence. You held James’ gaze in your own, smiling innocently at the boy like you hadn’t just made his entire week.

“There is one, he’s my primary suspect. Though, I’m not sure there’s much evidence to prove it’s him sending me the letters…” You broke his gaze, finally looking around at the other curious faces surrounding you. “It could just be wishful thinking.”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

After finally making some productive efforts to study, you and the boys began claiming your belongings that were scattered across the table and making your way to dinner.

Walking down the hallway, James matched your pace and gazed at you through his thick lenses. “So, I know you and your friends normally sit at the end of the table during meals, but we were wondering if you lot wanted to sit with us tonight,” he quickly explained as the Great Hall came into view. “I…we really enjoy your company, and honestly we regret not befriending you sooner.”

Remus and Sirius had their backs turned to you and James, though you had a feeling they were quietly giggling together at his attempted invite. “Only if your friends agree, of course! No pressure…” he trailed off, looking anywhere but your eyes as his constant fear of rejection returned and sparked nervousness in his unsure voice.

“I’d love to sit with you! I mean, all of you. I’ll grab my friends,” you replied as the doors to the hall opened and you made your way inside.

“Brilliant.”

Scurrying over to your friends, you cleared your throat and made your announcement. “My dearest, loyal companions. For one night, and one night only…can we PLEASE sit with the Marauders? I think James and I are really making some progress here and they’re honestly not that bad!” Ok, maybe more of a blurted confession than an announcement, but the intention was there.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to it, if it means so much to one of my best friends. But what happened to the Gryffindor ego that seems to follow those boys around everywhere they go?” Charlie asked, a tinge of confusion lacing her giggling voice.

“I haven’t quite figured that bit out yet, but I think there’s more to them than meets the eye. They’re actually quite lovely,” you explained, watching your friends slowly stand from their places at the table and fall into step with you, plates in hand, agreeing in their trust of your judgement.

“You know,” Hope whispered as you approached the group, “I’m really proud of you. You’re opening up, it’s refreshing to see. And you’re starting to convince me that this house might actually be not so bad, after all. You’re really brave.”

You grinned at the girl, arm taking her shoulders in your grasp and squeezing in appreciation. “That means a lot, Hope, thank you.”

“Hey! We didn’t think you’d come!” Remus exclaimed as the three of you piled into the space saved next to James. “Although, James did get you a plate of food in anticipation.”

You glanced at the boy’s bashful smile, then down at the plate he placed in front of you. Charlie, Hope, and the remaining Marauders shared knowing looks.

“Oh! This is my favourite! How did you-“

“I see you take a serving every night-“

“Thank you, Jamie, you’re so kind…”

The nickname came to you naturally as your rambling distracted you from considering what you were saying. His cheeks glowed with that familiar red tint, grinning at you with squinted eyes and a puffed chest.

The conversation carried naturally between James’ friends and your own, all giggling and smiling at each other’s witty remarks. As the night continued, you found yourself slowly leaning more into James, a service to his heart which he gratefully accepted with open arms.

His arm moved to rest across your back, hand pressed into the seat beside you and inching you slightly forward on your chair, a position that almost mimicked an embrace without being too daring.

You felt warm near his toned chest, glancing at him affectionately every now and then. You missed every time he glanced back with that same lovesick expression.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask! Seeing as we have a curfew for the next few days, and the History of Magic assignment is due next week, I thought you might want to pop by our dorm to study sometime.” Remus had been such a supportive new friend towards you over the past few days, intentional or not, so you nodded eagerly at his proposition.

Walking back to your dorm after a long dinner filled with laughs and smiles, you and your friends wished the others goodnight as you parted ways. Your eyes lingered on James, as his did you, before turning to your group with a smile. The silence only lasted a matter of seconds.

“OH MY GOD HE’S OBSESSED WITH YOU!”

“Charlie! Keep your voice down!”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

James started jogging to keep up with Peter and Sirius as they left the grounds of Hogwarts. Escaping the school was a three man job, much to James’ disappointment. Remus was left in the dorm to study with you, meaning he was obligated to join the trip. What could be more important than spending time with you?

“C’mon, Prongs, head up! You can get some sweets to woo her with on our way back,” Sirius reassured him. The days spent studying with you meant the group had missed the school allowed trip to Hogsmeade, something James insisted would be worth sacrificing every butterbeer for.

“We’ll be quick, I promise! You know I can’t survive without sugar in my system!” Sirius continued rambling as the three entered Honeydukes just before closing.

James quickly gathered a bag of chocolate frogs, buying way too many for just one person so he’d have an excuse for offering them to you. They quickly payed and dashed out of the store as the workers began to turn off the lights and lock the doors.

The walk back to Hogwarts was cold and windy, but James didn’t care. He’d get to spend time with you in the comfort of his own room, all the people he cared the most about in one place. He was planning how he would confess to you on the way back, playing out every scenario in his mind.

The best case in his imagination was simply holding up a blue envelope, wiggling his eyebrows, and grinning at you like a fool while you jumped into his arms and kissed him to death.

James had a stupid look of burning adoration on his face as the three finally entered the common room and headed to their dorm.

“Honey, I’m home!” Sirius called to Remus as he opened the door. “We brought necessary supplies and-“ He was cut short by the sight in front of him. Slowly, he inched further into the room, rounding the corner and letting Peter in with a gasp. Peter then made room for James in the doorway, glancing at him with sympathy.

The chocolate frogs dropped to the floor.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The night was quiet in the Marauders’ dorm room. Remus had taken his seat on his bed as you were sat at his desk. The soft scribbling sounds of pen against paper filled the otherwise silent space as the two of you enjoyed the warmth of your newfound friendship.

After a few hours of comparing notes, quizzing each other, and chatting about your friends, Remus stood from his bed. “I might go get changed and wash up, you need anything?”

You glanced at your almost empty pot of ink, then to the fading pigment leaking from your quill. “Do you have any spare ink?”

“I don’t have any, but James definitely would. He wouldn’t mind you using it, Merlin, he’d probably thank you for touching his possessions. Try his desk over there,” he nodded across the room, leaving you to search for supplies with a chuckle.

Moving to James’ desk, you carefully shifted through his neatly organised stationary. Textbooks lined the point where the desk met the wall, and you spotted an unopened bottle of ink right next to the stack.

As you reached for the bottle, you noticed something sticking out of the closest textbook, one for your shared Potions class. The paper was dusted in a light blue shade.

You shouldn’t look through other people’s belongings, you thought, and bit back the curiosity nipping at your integrity.

You turned back to Remus’ desk, ink in hand, knocking the textbooks over in the process.

“Godric! So clumsy…” you mumbled, picking up two textbooks, a few pages of notes and…a baby blue envelope.

You stared at the material in your hand, brain refusing to believe what your heart knew to be true. Your eyes slowly drifted from the envelope in one hand to the notes in the other. The stationary, the handwriting, the nervous interactions…it all made sense.

“Honey, I’m home! We brought necessary supplies and-“ Your eyes met the source of the sound, Sirius standing in the doorway with his mouth agape. He slowly entered the room, followed by Peter, then by James.

Your face glowed with a guilty expression as James dropped his most recent purchase. You stared at him in confusion, which he returned with a look of embarrassment. You then remembered to address the elephant in the room: the envelope in your hand.

“Oh, Merlin, James- I’m so sorry! I ran out of ink and Remus said you wouldn’t mind if I used yours while he went to wash up, so I took it and knocked over all your books in the process, it slid out and I didn’t know what to do, it’s all my fault! I’m so sorry, I didn’t want it to happen like this…”

James’ expression shifted sympathetically at your rambling, composing himself and moving closer to your worried form. The other boys quietly walked back out of the room, giving you some privacy as they shut the door behind them.

“No, darling, don’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault,” he said with faltering confidence, “I meant to tell you, I really did. I was going to talk to you after my next Quidditch match - assuming we would win - because I needed the confidence to tell you. I’m so sorry, love, I really am. I hope you aren’t…disappointed…” he looked at his shoes, voice nothing more than a whisper.

“Did you mean it?”

“W-what?”

“Everything you wrote to me, did you mean it?” You clarified, a hopeful feeling washing over you. James gulped, shifting his weight between his feet as he blushed harder than ever before. “I meant every word.” It came out as a hoarse whisper as he choked on his nerves.

“Good, because I really like you, James. I honestly always have and I hadn’t even said a word to you until this year- But I desperately wanted to believe you were behind all of this, because I think you’re so charming and smart and, surprisingly, very kind.” You caught your breath after your confession, heart racing as a proud, self-assured smile emerged on your otherwise shy face.

Silence fell upon the room. You searched each other’s gaze for any evidence of ingenuity or doubt. You found none. James eventually made a sound from his parted lips.

“Willyougooutwithme!?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

AN: Oh my god this is a long one! But you KNOW I had to make some serious progress on this relationship >:3 I hope this reveal hit the spot! I’m going to be a bit busy over the next few days but I’ll definitely try to post the next part ASAP (as soon as I’ve written it ;-;) Again I’d just like to say thank you so much for all the love on this series! This is my first real writing project in a while so it’s been a blessing to have so much support so early on in my blog’s lifetime <3 Be sure to comment to be added to the tag list and like/reblog if you enjoyed!!

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Tag List:

@1-queenofpotatoes-1

@caspiankingofnarnia

@thesuitelifeofafangirl

@moonydoodlez

@fionnalopez

@kawaiiarbitervoid

@kc2sstuff

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@probabydeadbynow

@ilovejamespottersomuch

@mqg125

@sofiacblair

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fushiguruuzzzz · 2 months ago

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+ CHAPTER EIGHT // ALPHA DISCOUNT

series mlist

Tags — mentions of alcohol again, mention of prostitution (humorous), Toge acting like he’s not a nepo baby, 1/2 chapters taking place at this particular show Words — 0.8k

Since becoming popular enough to have regular shows, the pressure had led you to develop your own pre-concert ritual. Not that you’d really established it as that, but you always seemed to find yourself sat cross legged on the edge of the stage, swirling your overly fruity drink around your cup as the people filtered in. You relished in your secluded silence for the time being because for now, you were nothing but another figure in the midst of the bars smokey haze. You weren’t a performer, the only eyes on you were those that cared or those that would never get the chance. If there was a show, the band knew that until the lights dimmed and the microphone was plugged in, you’d be in the by your lonesome.

Your usual bright, picture perfect demeanour felt as though it was dulled as the nights hours progressed. As the moons cool light bled through the windows, the pink ribbons hanging loosely from your hair appeared almost like a gentle red. Fitting, wasn’t it? It matched your cheeks when you saw him, and the lipliner you ever so meticulously applied in the mirror only minutes before. It matched the person that seemed to possess you when that microphone was in your hand and your friends behind your back, all doing what you loved. And when your eyes met his across the room, everything heightened.

As if your mind had called out to him, the silhouette of a smirking blond cut into the corner of your vision. “Whatcha thinking about?”

An invisible force tugged at your lips, willing you to smile as you craned your neck towards him. “Toge,” you breathed, before processing that he’d asked a question. “Mm, nothing much.”

He quirked a brow, and the way his eyes caught on the subtle crease in your brows wasn’t missed by you. His face twitched as if preparing to speak, but you were quicker than that. So instead of admitting you’d been thinking about a lot of things, and that he was all of them, you changed the topic with a quick glance around the room.

“Did your friends come with you?”

He paused for an instant, purple eyes blinking stupidly before he collected himself. He nodded, gaze flicking to an area nearer to the door. With the attention came the not-so-obvious averting of their gazes—even the mean looking green haired woman had been eyeing you.

“…yeah,” he winced, a breath of embarrassed laughter exiting him. “I think they’re just surprised you’re actually talking to me.”

You hummed questioningly, chin moving to rest in your palm. You watched him intently, appreciating the pause between his responses and feeling oddly enamoured by every contort of his face.

You don’t know if it was the alcohol, but you swear that his breath stuttered when his eyes locked with yours. It was covered up with a playful response before you could dwell on it, though. “Believe it or not, most girls aren’t exactly drawn in by second hand embarrassment.”

You had to bite your cheek to resist from laughing, the fear that the alcohol on your breath would hit him overriding the amusement bubbling in your throat. “I guess I’m special, then.”

He looked up at you, looking just a little more earnest than the moment called for. “Yeah,” he said, voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

Things were silent for a moment, similar to how they’d been only a handful of nights before, when you spent hours crouched laughing over the side of the bar. Toge felt his palms growing clammy and his heart beating a little too fast for how sober he was, and he was suddenly aware of his need for a drink. He looked at the clock and noticed he didn’t have much time left with you anyway, that he was probably holding you back from necessary preparation.

He cleared his throat and wiped his hands on his shirt. “I’ll let you get to your uh…” he motioned to the clumps of instruments and chords nearby. You nodded, though feeling a little hollow with the ending of the moment.

“I’ll be watching you. Don’t mess up,” he grinned, hands jamming into his pockets.

“I’ll do my best,” you chuckled.

He spared you another toothy smile before turning on his heel, leaving you sitting on the edge as you had been before. Except now you felt warmer, and suddenly the love songs you sang weren’t all in vain.

Get a load of these LOSERS (I’m lonely)

Next chapter will be the same night/show but I’m breaking it up into 2 so you’re less mad at me

while gang staring like “how’d he do that”

Toge has like. Never had a girlfriend so she is in fact special

Happy new years / New Year’s Eve chat new year same series unfortunately I acc fw them tho I didn’t wake up until noon today for some reason so um yeah! guys what if the world ends and we all go kaboom when the clock hits midnight hmmm

Taglist — closed 50/50

@anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @adoresia @auroratumbles @sh0ot1ngst4r @soobin1437 @mystic-megumi @cinnamxnangel @lizbix @s3ns4ti0n4l @anonnieghost @s4toruz @gumims @bubybubsters @k4ss11333 @rreveurdoll @kaged-kitty @rwura @aldebrana @hqnge @good-mourning0 @daisies-and-domming @vi0let-writes @dazaisfavgf @hearts4aloise @coolgirl458 @keyaea @jealovsie @sirenla @academiq @mammoanlmao @moonchhu @ichcocat @blubearxy @hayl09 @q2uq2u @potteraep @fiannee @lailakys @jxisnwaol @treeguzzler @yatiimariiee @zayuriluvs @kr1nqu @cloudxox @azinniyaa @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @rottingvxmpire @gradmacoco @spkyssn

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smau #jujutsu kaisen #inumaki toge x reader #toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #toge inumaki #inumaki toge #jjk inumaki #jujutsu kaisen inumaki #inumaki x reader #inumaki smau #toge jjk #toge x you #toge smau

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hypnobeauty · 1 month ago

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A Chance Encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 5)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, fluff, slowburn, pre-squid game, slice of life. a/n: hello! bigger chapter for you guys! some more background on our girl and other people in her life. next chapter is the date. i'm currently on a trip with friends, so posting schedule might be crazy. enjoy xx as always, comments are appreciated ♥ taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon - comment if you’d like to be tagged.

part 5. nerves and anticipation

hyun-ju’s eyes opened before her alarm buzzed—a habit she hadn’t been able to shake even after leaving the military. twelve years of structure and discipline didn’t disappear in a matter of months. the steady rhythm of her mornings was a comfort, even now.

she swung her legs off the bed, her muscles stiff but familiar with the motion. stretching her arms over her head, she felt the faint pull of her shoulders, then stood to stretch her legs. the sheets were swiftly pulled taut and tucked neatly, her bed transformed with military precision.

padding to the bathroom, hyun-ju caught her reflection in the mirror. she stared for a beat longer than usual, then peeled off her clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin before stepping into the shower, turning the knob toward the coldest setting. the icy water shocked her system into wakefulness, a ritual born of her time in the military. in those days, mornings had started early—often before the sun had risen. as a sergeant first class, she had been responsible for overseeing her unit’s readiness and welfare. she would lead them in grueling physical training sessions at dawn, barking commands through frosted air as their breaths formed clouds.

by midmorning, her time would be consumed by inspections, briefings, and tactical drills. she had thrived on the structure, finding solace in the rhythm of endless tasks. between training her soldiers and mentoring junior officers, she had carved out time to pursue a degree in business administration at the korea military academy. the balance was precarious, but hyun-ju had been proud of the way she managed it all, even if the exhaustion had been bone-deep.

but it wasn’t all discipline and grit. she’d been a mentor, too—a steady presence for her team. her soldiers had come to her with everything from strategic questions to personal fears. she’d thrived on the structure and camaraderie, even as it tested her limits. now, the rigor of those days was a memory, but her mornings remained sacred.

after drying off and wrapping herself in a towel, she began her skincare routine, methodically layering products while her mind wandered. teeth brushed, hair brushed, oiled and tied, she returned to her bedroom to pull on her favorite sports bra, loose joggers, and an oversized shirt. she was sitting to put on her socks when the alarm on her phone buzzed.

6:30 a.m., right on schedule.

in the kitchen, she boiled water for black coffee and set out her pills for the day—vitamins, hormone supplements, phytoestrogens, collagen. beside them were her gym staples: creatine and bcaa powder. after swallowing the pills with a gulp of water and sipping her coffee, hyun-ju laced up her sneakers, grabbed her phone and headphones, and headed out.

the faint hum of seoul awakening surrounded her—bakers pulling down shutters, early commuters shuffling to the bus stop. she greeted mr. soo, the building janitor, with a polite nod before breaking into a light jog. her pace quickened as her muscles warmed, the steady rhythm of her feet striking the pavement grounding her in the present. by the time she reached the gym, she was ready for the burn of leg day. the familiar ache in her quads and calves was like an old friend, a reminder of what her body could endure.

after her session, hyun-ju walked home, stopping by a fruit vendor to grab an apple. she peeled the sticker off absentmindedly as she walked, biting into the crisp sweetness and savoring the small indulgence. back in her apartment, she showered again, made a quick breakfast, and settled at her desk with her laptop.

job hunting had become a necessary part of her routine, though not one she enjoyed. she scrolled through listings, tailoring her résumé to each one. she wasn’t applying for anything lofty—assistant positions, entry-level management roles—but the rejection emails piled up all the same.

it wasn’t her qualifications. she knew that. her degree spoke for itself. her twelve years in the military had taught her leadership, logistics, and discipline. she could oversee teams, conduct training, handle logistics, and more. but none of that seemed to matter.

hyun-ju suspected why. the truth was, being trans made her an easy target for rejection. employers didn’t say it outright, but she saw it in their hesitation, the way their smiles faltered when they met her in person.

the thought stung, but she pushed it aside. she had other things to focus on today.

the rest of her morning passed in small, familiar rhythms: emails, light cleaning, and a quick lunch. by early afternoon, she was heading out again for her endocrinologist appointment. the check-in on her hormone levels was routine but reassuring—a reminder that her body was aligning more closely with her sense of self.

from there, she walked to her therapist’s office, the quiet space a sanctuary from the noise of her thoughts.

“i still feel stuck,” she admitted, her hands gripping her knees. “like i’m not moving fast enough. not doing enough.”

her therapist’s voice was calm and measured. “you’re doing what you can, hyun-ju. progress isn’t about speed—it’s about showing up for yourself, day by day.”

the words echoed in her mind as she left, the late afternoon sunlight painting long shadows on the pavement.

with time to spare before her evening support group, hyun-ju headed to her favorite café. the scent of roasted coffee beans and the low murmur of voices welcomed her as she settled into a corner seat with her laptop.

she had planned to work on budgeting for her next surgery, but your laugh caught her attention first, light and easy as you chatted with the barista. when your eyes met, her pulse quickened.

the conversation that followed was natural, though hyun-ju felt a mix of relief and guilt. you’d teased her gently about her unread messages, and she’d explained, hesitantly, how much she had overthought replying.

by the time you left, her heart felt lighter. the warmth of your presence stayed with her, your parting words—“see you tomorrow”—echoing in her mind.

hyun-ju lingered at the café long after you had left, her laptop open in front of her but forgotten. the noise of the café—the soft murmur of conversations, the occasional hiss of the espresso machine—faded into the background as her thoughts took over. she had tried to focus on her spreadsheet, crunching numbers for her next surgery, but her mind kept drifting back to you.

you had been kind, patient even after weeks of her silence. your teasing had been gentle, and your warmth felt genuine. it was disarming. hyun-ju wasn’t used to people like you—people who stayed, even when she gave them every reason to walk away.

she closed her laptop and stared out the window. the evening light stretched shadows across the pavement, and she wondered if she was finally ready to let someone into her carefully constructed world.

her thoughts drifted to the support group and the friends who had helped her get this far. she hadn’t been looking for a support group when she found it, but it had become a cornerstone of her routine, every thursday evening. the meetings were an anchor, a place where she could exhale and be herself without fear of judgment.

hyuk, one of the first friends she’d made there, was impossible to miss. his energy filled every room he entered, his sharp humor often breaking the tension during heavy discussions. hyuk was a dj—loud, lively, and unapologetically himself. he had once shown her a gallery on his phone of all the noise complaints he’d received from neighbors.

“what can i say?” he’d joked. “some people just can’t handle the bass.”

his girlfriend, mina, was his opposite in many ways—soft-spoken, with a melancholic air that balanced hyuk’s boldness. she attended the group occasionally, offering her perspective as the partner of a trans man. mina’s kindness was unassuming, but her insights often stayed with hyun-ju long after the meetings ended.

hyun-ju had other friends there, too. autumn, an american, and jaidee, a thai woman whose stories of her homeland painted vivid pictures in hyun-ju’s mind. through jaidee, hyun-ju had learned about the strides thailand had made in lgbtq+ acceptance. she dreamed of visiting one day, maybe even moving there to find the kind of freedom she longed for.

the group was a patchwork of stories and identities, each person carrying their own struggles and triumphs. for hyun-ju, it was a reminder that she wasn’t alone—that there were people who understood, even if the rest of the world didn’t.

a week ago, after a meeting, hyuk and mina had pulled her aside. the support group meeting had just wrapped up, and hyun-ju lingered by the snack table, fiddling with the edge of a biscuit. across the room, mina caught hyun-ju’s eye and waved. hyuk followed her gaze and grinned.

“you’re not sneaking out without talking to me, are you?” hyuk called as they approached.

“i wasn’t sneaking,” hyun-ju said, though her tone lacked conviction.

“you absolutely were,” hyuk teased, gesturing to a pair of empty chairs in the corner. “c’mon. spill it.”

mina offered her a cup of tea. “peppermint. figured you’d like it.”

“thanks,” hyun-ju said, cupping the warm drink and trying not to meet hyuk’s expectant gaze.

hyun-ju hesitated but followed them, sinking into one of the chairs as mina sat on hyuk’s lap, her legs crossed neatly.

“so, what’s got you looking like you’re carrying the weight of the world?” hyuk asked, leaning back with his typical grin.

mina gave hyun-ju a kind smile, her soft brown eyes full of curiosity. “if he’s being too pushy, just tell me. i’ll rein him in.”

“no, it’s fine,” hyun-ju said quickly, her fingers tightening around her tea. “i just… i think i messed something up.”

hyuk tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. “with who?”

hyun-ju hesitated, glancing between them. “there’s this girl. she helped me after my surgery—got me home and everything. she gave me her number, but… i haven’t replied to her messages. it’s been weeks.”

mina leaned forward slightly. “that’s really sweet of her. why haven’t you replied?”

“i don’t know what to say,” hyun-ju admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “and what if i say the wrong thing? or what if she doesn’t actually like me that way, and i’m just reading into things?”

hyuk blinked at her. “how many messages?”

hyun-ju pulled out her phone and reluctantly handed it over. hyuk’s eyes widened as he scrolled through the unread texts. “hyun-ju, this is brutal. she’s practically writing you a novel.”

mina peeked over his shoulder, wincing. “oof. yeah, this isn’t great.”

hyuk grinned, holding the phone up like it was evidence in a trial. “you’re leaving her hanging like this? no wonder you’re fidgety. the guilt must be eating you alive.”

“it is,” hyun-ju admitted, burying her face in her hands.

mina reached out, patting her arm. “it’s okay. you can fix this.”

hyuk let out a soft snort. “you’re overthinking this. she wouldn’t have given you her number or sent all those messages if she didn’t care. you think she’s texting you for fun?”

“hyuk,” mina said gently, placing a hand on his arm before turning to hyun-ju. “what he means is, she sounds like someone who genuinely wanted to connect with you. what’s stopping you from reaching out?”

hyun-ju shrugged, staring at her tea. “i don’t think i’m ready.”

mina tilted her head. “ready for what? a relationship? a conversation? something more?”

hyun-ju opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words. “i don’t know,” she said finally. “sometimes it feels like… like i’m not enough yet. like i need to be further along before anyone would really want me.”

hyuk let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “hyun-ju, listen to me. i have been there before, okay? you’re enough right now. not next year, not after your next surgery, not when you feel like you’ve checked all the boxes. right now.” he frowned and sighed before continuing.

“sorry, but that’s crap, and you know it. you’re enough right now. you don’t have to hit some magical milestone to deserve to be happy.”

“oh, absolutely,” mina said dryly, rolling her eyes. “but seriously, hyun-ju, the right person isn’t going to care about where you are in your journey. they’ll care about you.”

hyun-ju blinked, her eyes stinging. “but what if i ruin it? what if i say the wrong thing, and she decides i’m not worth it?”

hyuk gave her a pointed look. “and what if you say the right thing, and it turns into something amazing? you’re too busy focusing on the worst-case scenario to see the best one.”

mina reached over, her voice warm. “hyun-ju, it’s okay to be scared. but don’t let that fear make decisions for you. even if she doesn’t feel the same way, at least you’ll know. and if she does… well, isn’t that worth the risk?”

hyun-ju exhaled shakily, the knot in her chest loosening just slightly. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“take your time,” mina said, her smile kind. “but don’t wait so long that you lose the chance.”

hyuk grinned, leaning back in his chair. “and when you do text her, let me know. i want updates.”

hyun-ju laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “thanks, both of you.”

“anytime,” mina said, standing and brushing off her skirt. “now, we’ve got a party to drag you to this weekend, so get ready.” hyun-ju groaned, but the smile lingering on her lips was genuine.

so when hyun-ju walked into her support group later that evening and locked eyes with hyuk smiling, he gave her a grin and a knowing look.

“well?” he asked, crossing his arms.

hyun-ju smiled. “we’re going on a date tomorrow.”

“finally,” he said, clapping her on the back. “now don’t mess it up.”

“thanks for the vote of confidence,” hyun-ju said dryly, but her smile lingered.

the following night, the weight of the day began to shift. therapy had left hyun-ju with a lot to think about, and the memory of her conversation with you at the café lingered in her mind like a warm ember. the way you’d smiled at her, the light teasing in your tone, the easy way you’d leaned across the table as though the space between you didn’t exist—it had all felt surreal.

now, standing in front of her wardrobe, hyun-ju realized she was nervous.

she wasn’t the type to get flustered easily. growing up, she’d been the one to speak up first, the one who led the charge in games and group projects. even in the military, she’d been confident and self-assured, her voice steady as she commanded her unit. but this—getting ready for a date with you—felt entirely different.

her fingers trailed over the hangers, her eyes scanning the options. most of her wardrobe was practical—clothes meant for comfort or the gym. but tonight wasn’t about practicality. tonight was about showing you a side of herself she rarely let others see.

she settled on a sleek black turtleneck that hugged her figure without feeling too tight and a pair of loose black trousers that tapered neatly at the ankles. simple, understated, but polished.

after laying the outfit on her bed, she turned to the mirror. her hair had grown longer over the past month, the ends now brushing her shoulders. she brushed it carefully, smoothing out any tangles, and debated whether to leave it down or tie it back. after a moment’s hesitation, she decided to leave it loose, the straight strands framing her face.

her makeup routine was straightforward—just enough to enhance her features. a touch of foundation, a hint of blush, a swipe of eyeliner to accentuate her eyes. she paused when she reached for her lipstick, her mind flashing back to the way your gaze had lingered on her lips at the café. she chose a soft, rosy shade, something subtle but noticeable.

by the time she was dressed, her nerves had settled into a quiet hum of anticipation. she checked her reflection one last time, smoothing the fabric of her turtleneck and adjusting her hair.

her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she smiled when she saw your message:

“just finished getting ready. heading out soon. see you at 7!”

hyun-ju’s heart skipped a beat. she typed back quickly:

“can’t wait. i’m on my way now. i’ll share my location with you.”

she grabbed her coat—a long, dark wool one that had been a gift from her mother two winters ago—and wrapped her blue scarf around her neck. the scarf was soft and worn, the kind of item that carried memories with it.

as she stepped out of her apartment, her breath visible in the crisp evening air, she felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. the last time she’d let herself hope for something like this, it hadn’t ended well. but tonight, she wanted to believe.

your apartment was a flurry of activity as you got ready, ha-neul sprawled on your bed, her face stuck in her phone, offering unsolicited advice.

“can i crash over tonight?” ha-neul asked “viktor is going to mine to get his stuff, i don't want to see his fugly face.”

“yes.” you said from your place on the floor in front of the mirror, where you finished your makeup.

“are you really going to wear that?” she teased, pointing at the outfit you’d laid out.

“yes,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “it’s a date, not a fashion show.”

ha-neul sat up, smirking. “but it’s your first date with her. you have to make an impression.”

“i think she’ll survive if i don’t show up looking like i stepped out of a magazine,” you said, though your tone lacked conviction.

ha-neul raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. and yet, you’ve tried on three different pairs of boots in the last ten minutes.”

you threw a pillow at her, laughing despite yourself. “fine, maybe i’m a little nervous.”

“a little?” ha-neul said, dodging the pillow. “you’ve been talking about her nonstop since the yesterday.”

you paused, your cheeks warming. it was true—you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about hyun-ju. the way she’d apologized for not replying to your messages, the softness in her voice when she said your name, the way her dark eyes seemed to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts.

“she’s… different,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

ha-neul’s teasing expression softened. “i know. that’s why i’m rooting for you.”

you smiled, turning back to the mirror. your outfit was simple but flattering—a fitted coat over a sweater dress, paired with tights and heeled boots that added just enough height to make you feel confident. you added a pair of earrings, small and understated, and ran a hand through your hair.

when your phone buzzed with hyun-ju’s message, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“can’t wait. i’m on my way now. i’ll share my location with you.”

“she’s on her way,” you said, glancing at ha-neul.

ha-neul let out a dramatic cheer. “look at you, all giddy. go get her, tiger!”

“shut up,” you said, laughing as you grabbed your bag.

as you headed out the door, your phone buzzed again. this time, it was hyun-ju sharing her location. you opened the map, watching the small icon that marked her position move steadily toward the restaurant.

in the backseat of the uber, you snapped a quick selfie, angling the camera to catch your best side. the photo was playful, your lips curved into a soft smile, your eyes bright with anticipation.

“on my way,” you captioned it, hitting send before you could overthink it.

her reply came quickly:

“you look amazing. i’m waiting inside. it’s too cold to stay out.”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. hyun-ju’s straightforwardness was one of the things you liked most about her.

when hyun-ju saw your selfie, her heart skipped a beat. you looked radiant, your smile soft and inviting, your confidence practically leaping off the screen. she stared at the photo for a moment longer than necessary before typing her reply.

inside the restaurant, she sat at a corner table, her hands resting lightly on the surface. the room was warm and inviting, the soft hum of conversation and the faint clinking of glasses creating a cozy atmosphere. she glanced toward the door every few minutes, her anticipation building with each passing second.

when you finally walked in, hyun-ju stood, her breath catching as your eyes met. you smiled, your face lighting up in a way that made her chest tighten.

and just like that, the nervousness melted away.

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maskedbyghost · 3 months ago

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Shadows of Obsession (part 12)

part 1 last chapter, full of fluff and smut, so MDNI, +18 content, that's it. they are just fucking and loving each other.... ok bye.

Simon’s eyes were fixed on her, wide awake long before the sun began to filter through the curtains. His body lay beside hers, close enough that their legs tangled beneath the blanket. Her head rested on his chest, the steady rise and fall of her chest a calming rhythm beneath his hand, which gently stroked her hair. He couldn't bring himself to move, to even blink too quickly.

He could hardly believe she was there, with him, in his arms. It felt like a dream, the aftermath of everything that happened between them, the words they’d both said in the heat of the moment, all fading into the background.

Everything about her was perfect—the curve of her lips as they relaxed into a smile even while asleep, the gentle way she nuzzled closer as though she too had nowhere else to be. He never thought he’d deserve something like this, but here she was, tangled in his arms like she was meant to be there forever.

She shifted slightly, stirring in her sleep, and Simon’s heart skipped a beat. Her eyelashes fluttered, her nose crinkling in the way it always did when she woke, and for a split second, his mind was filled with nothing but the instinct to pull her even closer, to make sure this reality stayed unbroken. He wasn’t going to let her slip away. Not again.

Slowly, he let his thumb brush against her cheek, the motion gentle, as if she might disappear if he touched her too hard. Her breath hitched, and her eyes opened, blinking in the soft morning light. For a brief moment, she looked disoriented, but then she lifted her head just slightly, meeting his gaze.

“You’re awake,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Mhmm,” Simon murmured against her head. There was no mistaking the soft obsession in the way his gaze drank her in. “I can't believe you're really here.”

She chuckled softly, her hand sliding across his chest, fingertips grazing the place where his heart beat fiercely beneath his shirt. “Of course I’m here," she said sleepily. “Where else would I be?”

Simon's hand moved to cradle the back of her neck, guiding her back to his chest. “Don’t ever leave,” he said, as he kissed the top of her head, then pressed his lips there a second time.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, the sleepiness fading slightly as she settled into him.

And for a moment, as they lay there together, the outside world didn’t exist—just the two of them in their little bubble, wrapped up in their version of love. Simon couldn’t stop looking at her, still unable to fully believe this was his reality. That she was his. That she hadn’t walked away, that she was here, and he could hold her forever if he wanted to.

For once, he felt nothing but peace. And as long as she stayed there, in his arms, the rest of the world could wait for a bit.

A few hours later, the kitchen smelled of coffee, sizzling bacon, and something sweet—maybe pancakes, maybe waffles. But all that really mattered to her was the sight of Simon, standing at the stove in nothing but some gray sweatpants. The way his broad shoulders moved as he flipped the bacon, the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he added just the right amount of batter to the pan—it was domestic in a way that still caught her off guard.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him, arms crossed over her chest, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

She knew what he was like now. She’d seen the cracks in him, the parts of him that still bled even after he tried to heal them. Simon’s love was never going to be gentle; it would never be neat, wrapped in clean little bows with easy promises.

He had fought, broken, and rebuilt himself piece by piece, and in that wreckage, he had found a love that wasn’t pure, but real. His love was possessive and obsessive, a deep craving that would burn through anything standing between him and what he desired.

But even in his darkness, in the parts that still unsettled her—she saw how desperately he needed her, how much he cared in ways that words could never explain.

It was a love she hadn’t expected to survive—hell, sometimes she didn’t think she could survive it. But when she looked at him now, doing something as simple as cooking breakfast like it was just another day, she knew that she had made the right decision.

He looked over at her, catching her watching him as he set the bacon on a paper towel to drain. His lips curled softly, his eyes twinkling. “You gonna stand there all morning, or are you going to come get some?”

Her eyes flicked to his, noticing how that small smirk lit up his entire face. She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she took a step closer, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched him.

Her arms shifted, slowly uncrossing, just a little more open, and in a heartbeat, she found herself leaning into him. Her fingertips brushed the side of his arm as she passed, the warmth of his skin heating her own.

When she got close enough, Simon reached out, a firm hand capturing her waist and pulling her in until their bodies were close enough that there was no denying the tension between them.

The scent of bacon was still thick in the air, but all she could focus on was Simon. The heat of him, the way his thumb gently traced along her skin, as though he had to touch her constantly. His fingers curled to the back of her neck, tugging her closer until their breath mingled.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” she murmured, her voice hushed, teasing him the way he so often teased her. Her hands slid up his chest, lingering there like she could memorize the way he felt with every inch she touched.

He chuckled, low and rough. “Not when it comes to you.”

He moved his hand, cupping her chin and tilting her face upward just enough for him to lean in, his lips hovered an inch away.

"You were staring," he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against hers with each word, so close, so close that it sent a flicker of heat sparking through her body. "You want me that bad, huh?"

A spark of challenge ignited inside her as she lifted one hand, brushing the edge of his lips before sliding it lower, slowly, tracing the edge of his jaw. “Just as much as you want me,” she replied.

His lips caught hers then, in a kiss so deep and consuming that she forgot about the warmth of the stove and the plate of breakfast still waiting for them. His body was tight against hers, and the kiss was hungry and insistent. His hands roamed, greedy, pulling her in like he couldn’t keep away from her. His touch was like fire—his palm on the small of her back, the other sliding through the hair at her neck, keeping her locked to him.

She didn’t pull back. Not even when his breath hitched against her cheek, when his lips trailed down her neck, desperate, marking. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer until she felt his heart beating rapidly, just as out of control as hers.

“You’re trouble,” she muttered, her hand slipping into his hair.

A grin tugged at his lips. “And you love it.”

She pulled him back to her lips again, everything else fading out entirely. What mattered now were the hands that always seemed to find their way back to each other, the burning pull of their connection, and the way Simon always found a way to make her crave him more.

Simon’s boots thudded heavily against the floor as he made his way back toward his office, his thoughts preoccupied with the mission ahead. He needed to focus, to get into the right headspace. But when he rounded the corner, his eyes automatically locked on her. She was standing in the hallway, talking with one of the younger soldiers, a man Simon didn’t recognize.

At first, Simon just watched from a distance, waiting. But then the guy's laugh carried across the hallway. And that was it.

The soldier—probably some rookie, trying to make himself look good in front of her—was clearly making an attempt to flirt, leaning in just a little too close for Simon’s liking. It wasn’t the usual professional interaction Simon was used to seeing. No, this was different. This guy was pushing the limits.

“I don’t know, you’re a pretty cool girl. We should grab a drink sometime, just the two of us. What do you think?” The soldier grinned, his hand casually brushing along her arm. He was way too touchy, and it sent a violent surge of possessiveness through Simon’s veins.

He was already heading toward them, but when he saw the soldier reach out to touch her arm—his fucking hand on her—his heart raced. Every instinct in him screamed to act. To remind this guy exactly where his place was.

By the time he was near enough, Simon’s expression was cold. “You want to do what?”

The soldier whipped around, startled by Simon’s low voice. His face turned pale the moment he recognized Simon—the imposing figure of his lieutenant, fury practically emanating from his every movement.

"Uh, sir, I—" the soldier stammered, clearly caught off guard. He stood rigid, but Simon didn’t care. His eyes bore into the man, the unspoken warning clear: Leave. Now.

The soldier managed a nervous laugh. "I didn't realize—"

Simon stepped forward, towering over him in an instant, his fist clenched at his side, his glare more threatening than anything the soldier had ever seen. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it,” Simon growled. His voice was like a snarl, a sound that promised nothing but pain. The soldier instantly stiffened and, without another word, backed away, his face pale as he turned and fled in the opposite direction.

Simon didn’t spare him another glance. His focus was solely on her now.

She stood still, her lips slightly parted, watching him with wide eyes. She wasn’t scared—no, that wasn’t it. There was amusement dancing in her gaze, maybe even a little surprise, but Simon didn't care about any of that. His possessive need surged again, filling him to the brim.

Without any words, he strode over to her, grabbed her wrist with his, and pulled her toward him. “We’re done here. Come with me.”

She didn't resist—she never did. Instead, she only gave him a teasing smile. “You really scared him off that easily, huh?”

He didn’t respond at first, just kept pulling her toward his office. But as soon as they reached the door, he spun her around, pushing it open with his shoulder, and slammed it shut behind them. His pulse was pounding, his body rock hard with need, and it only grew when he saw the way she raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the whole thing.

“You,” Simon gritted out, his voice low, barely controlled, “are mine. No one’s gonna touch you but me. Ever. You don’t let anyone think they can come close.”

Her smile softened, almost teasing. She stepped closer, her breath hitching as he backed her up toward the desk. She didn’t argue, didn’t even say a word. Simon could see it in her eyes—she loved the fire, the way he wanted her, needed her in a way that no one else ever could. And honestly, neither of them had a problem with that.

He pressed his body into hers, his breath hot against her ear, one hand snaking around to grip her waist possessively.

“Are you mad?” she murmured, unable to hide her amused smile.

“Mad?” He leaned in to whisper against her neck, his lips brushing against her skin. His voice was rough. “You think I’m mad?” His fingers tightened on her waist, lifting her effortlessly. “No. I’m fucking pissed. At him. And you...” His lips pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “You know what you do to me.”

She gasped, her back arching as he walked the rest of the way toward his desk with her in his arms, both of them already too tangled up in each other to care about anything but the moment. As he sat on the desk, pulling her between his legs, the world around them vanished.

“No one’s taking what’s mine.”

Her body pressed even closer to him, and she chuckled breathlessly. “And what is yours, Simon? Everything?”

“You’re fucking right it is.” His mouth was on her neck again, his hands moving urgently to unbutton her shirt, his fingers grazing along her skin as he pulled it open. “Don’t even think about trying to pull away. I’m not done with you yet.”

With her hands still on his shoulders, she smirked, her fingers brushing his neck with a soft touch. “I think I’m beginning to like this possessive side of you.”

Simon grinned fiercely, his eyes dark with need. “Good. You don’t have another choice.”

In an instant, their clothes were scattered haphazardly on the floor as their bodies became tangled in desperate need. Simon’s hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, urging her closer, hungry for the feel of her skin beneath his. Every inch of her seemed to ignite under his touch, and she shivered, caught in the overwhelming intensity of him.

With one powerful motion, Simon shifted their position, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the table. His eyes darkened as he stood between her legs, his hands tracing the lines of her body as though committing her to memory as if there was no possible way he could ever get enough. His lips found the curve of her neck first, hot and needy, his mouth trailing over the sensitive skin there, kissing his way down to her collarbone. Each kiss was slow, savoring every inch of her.

She moaned softly, tilting her head back to allow him better access, her breath hitching as he continued his slow journey. His lips moved lower, brushing over her breast, teasing the sensitive skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that had her body trembling with anticipation. His fingers grazed over her side, gently tugging her closer, his lips curling into a smile against her skin when she gasped at the sensation.

Simon’s hands drifted further, cupping the curve of her waist before he kissed lower, pressing his lips against her stomach, the heat of his breath making her stomach tighten. His kisses were like fire, licking at her skin, worshipping her in a way that left her breathless.

“God, I need you,” he murmured against her skin, his voice rough. His hands gently pried her thighs apart, his gaze dark and filled with need, devouring every inch of her as though she was all he could see.

He went lower still, his mouth trailing along the top of her thigh, the slow, sensual path towards what he craved. His lips brushed against her skin like a promise of what was to come. She gasped at the touch, feeling every part of her body tighten in anticipation, her fingers gripping the edge of the table for something to hold onto as Simon’s movements became more urgent, more possessive.

Everything about the way he kissed her—every stroke of his tongue, every teasing nip—was a declaration. The depth of his need for her came in waves, and she wanted nothing more than to surrender to him completely.

He leaned in, his lips teasing along her most sensitive spot, his tongue slowly drawing circles against her, savoring the feel of her trembling beneath him.

Every movement was purposeful, dragging out her moans as he focused on the area that made her arch toward him.

"Simon, please…" Her breath was shallow and desperate, and her words made him lose control, feeding into the hunger he couldn't suppress.

His hands gripped her hips tighter as he deepened his attention, coaxing her closer to the edge.

She whimpered, her body unable to hold back, and as the overwhelming sensation crashed over her, she tried to muffle her scream of his name, clenching the table beneath her. He didn’t stop, not until she was trembling in his grasp, completely undone.

He stood up, kissing her with such intensity that it stole her breath away.

"I’ve got you," Simon muttered between kisses, his forehead resting against hers. “I’ll always have you.”

Every kiss was a promise. Every touch was a statement that there was no turning back from this. Not for either of them.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing more. And he gave her all of it until the whole world seemed to disappear outside of that office. Just the feel of his skin against hers, the thundering rhythm of their heartbeats tangled together, a symphony of emotions they couldn’t untangle.

Simon lifted his head, his fingers brushing against her skin, watching the way she responded to him, eyes darker than usual, pupils blown with desire. “You have no idea how much I want you," he whispered, each word dripping with emotion.

“Then show me,” she said, pulling him back into the kiss, her voice soft.

And this time, Simon didn’t hold back. In one swift motion, he filled her up, making her gasp and grab onto his arms for support.

“Fuck, baby.” He whispered, eyes closed for a moment before he quickly opened them again. He didn't want to miss even a tiny bit of an expression on her face.

Ever since their first time together, he had been utterly captivated by the sight of her face in those intimate moments—every subtle change in her expression, every soft breath escaping her lips, the way her eyes fluttered closed as pleasure overtook her.

It was as if he couldn’t get enough, drinking in every detail with a hunger that felt almost possessive. And now, in this moment, nothing had changed. She was still his greatest obsession, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, his heart racing in sync with each soft gasp she gave.

He moved slowly, savoring each delicate expression that flickered across her face as his hands gently roamed over her. Every moan, every breathless whisper of his name made him feel like he was losing himself in her, as though she was a world he could never fully possess, yet desperately needed.

His eyes never left hers, his gaze growing darker as he took in every detail, studying her body as though trying to memorize it, to make it his in a way words never could.

His hands slid beneath her, gripping her in an intoxicating way. She didn’t know if she was still on the desk or if she’d been lifted into the air—Simon’s touch was enough to make everything feel weightless, his fingers finding her, teasing and stroking until she was helpless to do anything but arch into him, chasing the release he promised with every shift of his body.

“Si—” Her voice barely formed, as if she couldn’t piece together coherent words.

He kissed her roughly, a taste of urgency seeping through him as he stole her breath, his body pressed into hers, too much, everything spinning. His lips moved to her ear, voice a guttural growl. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice almost cruel in the way it twisted something inside her. “Every inch of you is mine.”

Her fingers clutched at his hair, trying to ground herself, but it was no use—Simon was making sure she didn’t have an ounce of composure left. He was in a frenzy, and so was she. Her thoughts were slipping further, spiraling down into a dizzying haze where all that mattered was his hands, his mouth, his scent invading every space of her mind.

She could barely hear herself, too consumed by the ache between her legs, by the way his fingertips drew magic across her skin. “God, Simon, please...”

He grinned against her skin, drawing back slightly to look her in the eyes—dark and intent on her. “You want more of me, baby?” His hand gripped her even harder.

Her mind couldn’t keep up, couldn’t think past him as he took what he needed from her.

They were both close and it took only a few more deep thrusts from Simon to get them over that beautiful edge. He groaned as her eyes rolled back, screaming his name one last time.

Simon’s grip tightened around her as they held each other, their breath ragged, but the connection between them unbreakable. She held his gaze, eyes locked with his, unable to look away as they both hung in that moment of shared release.

He pulled her even closer, his large hand gently cradling the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair. She smiled softly, a satisfied curve of her lips that made him feel like he had all the world’s treasures right there in his arms. He kissed the top of her head, pressing his lips against her hair as if sealing their moment with a promise.

“Mine, always,” he whispered into the soft strands, his words barely audible.

She smiled again, more radiant now, her head leaning into his touch, the last remnants of their shared passion still buzzing between them. “I’m yours,” she murmured, her voice sweet, the words weaving into the air between them like a gentle melody. “Only yours.”

He tightened his arms around her, breathing in deeply as if grounding himself in the warmth of her skin. Every inch of her felt perfect, every part of this moment carved into him. “Good,” he muttered, “because I’m not letting go.”

She was content and happy in the most beautiful way. As she nestled against his chest, feeling his heart slow and steady beneath her ear, her smile lingered, a feeling of home settling over her.

In his arms, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

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

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn @bimboghostface @kylies-love-letter @ghost-haunts-me @lostmypopsicle @tired-writers-world

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x you #simon riley smut #ghost cod #cod simon ghost riley #cod smut #simon riley

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ohbo-ohno · 2 years ago

Text

don't leave me locked in your heart (chap 1) - ghost x soap x reader

summary: Soap sees you dancing at a bar and decides you'd make the perfect anniversary present for Ghost, so he tempts you into going home with him one night and simply… doesn't let you leave in the morning.

word count: 11.9k

cw: NONCON!!!! dark!!! noncon somnophilia, kidnapping, noncon gags and bondage, rough sex, oral sex, the sex goes from consensual to dubcon to noncon, first chapter is almost entirely soap/reader

chapter 2/2 here, read on ao3, see the pinterest board

You've been dancing with the same man for the last three drinks. You haven't seen his face yet - you're a bit scared to turn around at this point, having built him up in your head so much that you're expecting no less than a modern Adonis - but his hands are rough and confident, and he certainly knows how to move his hips against yours. He's got some sort of sixth sense for how to drive you the most insane to the beat of every song, and you can only hope you have the same effect on him (which if the hardness against the small of your back is anything to go by, you do).

Every time you dip off the dance floor for another drink, he's right there waiting when you get back. You never see him, can't figure out which of the writhing bodies he must be, but within less than a minute of being back with your refill his hands are running up your hips again.

You might not know it was the same man if he didn't have the most distinct scent you've ever smelt on someone. Cigarette smoke, and a clashing air of what has got to be two separate colognes - wood and pine but also lemon and... you want to say basil. Regardless, it's distinct and strong, even in the packed crowd. All he has to do is tuck you into him long enough for you to inhale once and you know your partner's back.

You figure you'll see if he wants to go home with you. In a few more songs.

For now, you keep dancing. Hips grinding into his along with the heavy bass of the music, free hand following both of his as they track up your stomach, rolling your face into his cheek where his chin is hooked over your shoulder, eyes shut as you lose yourself in the movement and the music.

At the end of the song you quickly down the rest of your drink, eager to have both hands free, and pass it off onto the tray of some poor waiter who's decided to cut through the crowd instead of going around.

The man behind you straightens again as the song changes, his movements slowing to match the new tempo, chin grazing the back of your head now (and oh the idea of how big he must be sends a shiver up your spine).

You place your hands on the outside of his thighs, feel the rough denim tight around his muscular legs and dig your nails in. His chest rumbles against your back and his next grind is harsher, so you drag your nails up, up, up, stroking his sides, his shoulders, and finally wrapping your hands around the back of his neck.

He bends down a bit, for your sake, and tucks his face into your neck. You feel lips moving over the column of your throat, tongue and teeth skimming the sensitive skin for just a second.

You hum, the buzz settled over your brain making everything feel so lush and good and explore with your hands for a bit. You don't have much range of motion, but through just a bit of searching you figure out he's got a mohawk, one just grown out enough for you to wrap your fingers in and pull. Which, of course, you do.

Your mystery man lets out a groan, one that you can't hear but can feel as he bites down and shakes his head, just a bit. The animalistic movement tugs a high whine out of your chest, and the whole process repeats again - each tug harsher, each bite stronger. You worry you'll soak right through your panties at the rate the two of you are going.

Two songs later, your partner growing increasingly touchy as you stroke his hair and neck, you're spun around suddenly. You stumble a bit, teetering on your sky high heels, but his arms grip just beneath your ribs to steady you. You glance up sharply, eyes narrowing.

The first thing you see is a smirk.

He's handsome, your partner. Certainly no Adonis - he's far too... rough around the edges for that - but an undeniably good looking man. His mohawk is a deep brown, matching scruff on his cheeks (not enough to be a beard but enough to scratch against your skin), dark blue eyes that crinkle at the edges, thick and dark eyebrows, a strong jaw and a strong nose. All handsome pieces that fit into a puzzle just slightly off on this man, like a grid moved one unit to the left. His nose has a bump on it that you can only assume is from being broken one too many times, a scar bisects the edge of his left eyebrow and stretches almost to his eye, and his eyes are dark with an unmistakable hunger where they bore into yours.

He's just your type.

You let yourself go a little loose, lean more of your weight into his hands and rest yours against his pecs. Your nails dig in just a bit, to see if there's any give. There isn't much - he must be muscular under the tight black shirt he's wearing. You glance down quickly, to see if maybe you can get a peek at his physique, and sure enough his shirt rides up just enough that you can see a sliver of taut muscle. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you drag your eyes back to his.

"Hi, lovie," the man says, cocky grin on his lips as he strokes up to your ribs and down again. A little girlish giggle bubbles in your throat, and you tell yourself it's the alcohol that makes the cheesy nickname work.

"Hey yourself," you murmur back, equally cheesy. It must work for him as well as it did for you, considering how much his smile grows.

He has fucking dimples. Dear lord.

He dips his head down to you, tugging your body further into his and moving his hips to the faster beat of the new song. You're almost resting against him, his thick thigh squeezed between your legs and your weight pressed against his chest. Still, you do your best to gyrate along with him.

"'M Johnny," he says, forehead pressed against yours, eye contact still unbroken.

You breathe out your name in return, hips jutting against the thickness of his thigh where it rests against your aching core. He repeats your name, then pushes his leg up just a bit more with a smirk on his lips. You tip forward a bit, biting his chest through his shirt in response.

He only groans, one hand dropping to the small of your back to force you into a deeper arch.

"Want you to come home with me tonight, lass. You wan' that too?" His accent - Scottish, it's like some angel shaped him perfectly for you - has thickened as your dance continued. His head dips to your throat again, mouthing at the think skin just below your ear. He keeps speaking before you can answer his question, almost muttering to himself at this point. "Promise I'll take good care of you, give you the best night of your life, give you everythin' you've ever wanted. That sound good, baby?"

"Jo-Johnny," you gasp out, hand weakly patting at his chest as your grinding hips bring you closer and closer to a peak you're not sure you want to reach in the middle of the dance floor. "Please, please take me home with you?"

His breath hitches right beneath your ear, then you feel his lips stretch into a smile, feel teeth pressed against you. "Yeah? Want me to take you and fuck you good, huh, lovie?"

You let out a little whine, tugging at his hair as you continue to rut against him, becoming more and more uncoordinated as his hand presses harder against your spine to encourage you.

"Hm, how about you go ahead and come for me now, lass? A little warm up, to show you how good tonight'll be." You keen plaintively at the words, tucking your head into his neck to hide your face, and he rumbles against you. "Yeah, just like that. C'mon, come for me pretty girl."

He slips a hand up your dress, the one not keeping you in an arch, and his finger dips confidently past your panties to tweak your swollen clit. His breathing grows heavier against you, but his fingers don't falter, strumming at you over and over until you go stiff with a full body shudder. You bite down onto his neck to keep from crying out, but he doesn't bother to smother the deep groan from his chest.

Before you've fully recovered, Johnny's pulling you off the dance floor, hand locked around your elbow to keep you from falling. Your knees nearly knock together as you try to keep up with him, still more than a little dazed.

This isn't like you. You've always been hyper selective with the men you take home, never gone out without telling someone, certainly never let anyone get you off in public. But as you follow this Scot out of the bar, vision hazy from the alcohol and the orgasm, you can't find a single piece of you that worries this might not be the right choice. Every part of you clambers for more of him, and you're not in any mood to deny yourself. Surely you've earned a bit of reckless fun.

Johnny glances over his shoulder, his dopey smile breaking you out of your thoughts. You can't help but smile back, snuggling into him when he tucks you under his arm as you finally step into the cool night air.

-----

You thrash your head against the door, eyes rolled back in ecstasy and mouth dropped open as Johnny licks desperately at your cunt, lacy black panties left loose around one ankle.

He's almost nasty about it, hand gripping your thigh so tightly you know there'll be pretty finger-shaped bruises come morning, slobbering so much that you can't tell how much of the wetness between your legs is your slick and how much is his spit. His head is ducked beneath your dress so you can't see his expression, but you can feel his moans and groans against your core. He's got to be just as into it as you are, if the thrusting motion of his hips is anything to go by.

He's driving you insane. Two fingers buried deep inside you, thrusting as quickly as his tongue flicks over your clit, leaving you panting and quivering. Every few moments he wraps his teeth very lightly around your clit, gives the bud a quick but soft squeeze and rumbles deep in his throat, and every time you shout with pleasure. He moans along with you, pulling his fingers out fully to bury his tongue in your hole, groaning again as he sucks down as much of your taste as he can. When you give a sharp yank of his hair in response he's quick to stuff you again - three fingers this time - and go back to sucking on your clit like it's his favorite candy.

It doesn't take long for him to get you off. His clever tongue, the punishing pace of his fingers, and the evidence of his own desperation have you coming less than five minutes into the whole ordeal, loud moans spilling through slack lips, uncaring of thin walls or anyone unfortunate enough to be in the hallway.

Once he deems you finished he leans back on his heels, grinning up at you with a mixed expression of pride and smugness, jaw and lips absolutely soaked from his ministrations.

"You taste delicious, lass. Can't wait to do that again, but I need my cock in you soon or I might fuckin' die," he chuckles. You can't believe he's capable of being so nonchalant when you're not sure you could form a full sentence in your current state, especially considering the very obvious bulge in the front of his jeans, the one he finally grinds his hand on when he catches you looking.

You hum a bit, running a hand through his mohawk and scratching your nails lightly across his scalp. His eyes drift shut and he leans into the touch, hips rutting into his own hand, the big scary Scotsman made soft by a few pets. You don't feel so thrown off by your inability to speak anymore.

He stands after a few moments, and you're reminded of how big he is. Without your heels you just come up to his shoulders, and his shoulders themselves are wider than your body. You could hide behind this man, completely invisible, and it makes you wetter than you would've ever imagined.

"C'mon, darling," he grunts, locking his hands beneath your thighs and confidently lifting you. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, luxuriating in his warmth as he presumably moves the two of you to his room. You kiss up his throat, sucking little love bites into his tanned flesh and smirking at the responding squeeze of his hands against you.

Johnny drops you rather unceremoniously onto his bed, and you can't help but laugh a bit as you bounce. He steps away for just a moment to turn a lamp resting on the bedside table on, then goes to turn off the overhead light so you're both bathed in a warm glow. You watch the way his jeans hug his ass as he moves, then can't move your eyes back to his in time as he moves around.

He smiles at you, the arrogant man. "Likin' the view, hen?"

You just leans back on your elbows, humming a note in your throat as you try and lay as seductively as possible in your rucked up dress.

His smile is one of pure sin as he steps back to the edge of the bed and tugs his shirt off before reaching down to undo his belt. You stare for a moment before wiggling out of the tight dress you'd worn, blindly throwing it across the room.

His eyes light up when he sees you weren't wearing a bra, a groan bubbling out of his chest as he reaches to paw at your tit with one hand and continues to undo his belt with the other. He hardly gives you a chance to look at him (more accurately, the show he's giving with that fucking belt) as he crawls on top of you, fingers twisting harshly at the nipple he's already got a hold of.

He dips his head down to yours for a kiss, and you gladly give it to him. You feel your slight nervousness disappear as he reciprocates your desperation through he kiss, lips eager and tongue searching. He's drooling against you, spit dribbling into your mouth as he grinds against your stomach and plucks at your nipple.

You whine high in your throat, writhing beneath him. The tug at your breast begins to hurt as he pinches and pulls, but you grow all the more slick between your thighs.

After what feels like an eternity of the most erotic make-out session you've ever experienced, you clumsily drag a hand up to push at his forehead so you can get a deep breath in.

Before you can really even pull away, his free hand shoots up to pin your wrist beside your head, fingers tight around the delicate bones as he nips punishingly at your lips.

There's a part of you - buried beneath the lust-driven haze, probably - that gets a little freaked out over his tight hold. But the part of you in control, the horny part, loves being pinned and moans high in your throat.

A moment later Johnny pulls away from your lips, staring deep into your eyes. He seems to be looking for something, but you can't do much more than blink up at him in the state he's left you. After he's found whatever it is he wanted, he smiles down at you and dips quickly to land kisses all over your face.

You giggle again, body cooling just enough for you to feel more in control as his hands move to rest beside your head. "Johnny," you laugh as he nuzzles his nose into your cheek.

"Yeah, lovie?" he murmurs, smile audible in his voice.

You hiccup a bit when his hands come to rest on your breasts, cupping them and running his thumbs across the undersides. "Johnny, need you," you hum.

"Hm?" He murmurs, shifting so he's kneeling above your torso, focused on your tits now instead of your face. "Whatcha need from me? Huh? Need me to play with these pretty nipples some more?" He leans down, nipping playfully at your hard peaks as you beging to squirm. He moves from one to the other, driving you mad with the sharp clip of his teeth and the warm wetness of his tongue.

"No-ooo," you gasp out at a particularly hard bite. "Need- need your- " You're cut off when he pinches both of nipples at once, twisting them and pulling up until the spark of pain pushes just past pleasurable. "Ah!"

"What was that, lassie?" With tears blurring your vision, you swear his smirk is mean this time. "I can't give you what you want if I don't know what it is." He lets go of your left breast, reaching up to give you a few little taps on your cheek, enough to rattle your brain. "So, what'll it be, lovie? What do you need from me?"

"C-cock, Johnny, need your cock," you groan, knees hitching around his hips and torso writhing as you try to free your throbbing nipple from his captive hold.

He grins down at you, loosens his fingers and strokes over the painful bud at your long whine. "There we go, sweetheart. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Johnny shifts his grip to your armpits, and all you can do is blink a bit in shock as he hauls you up and puts you where he wants you. Which is, evidently, leaning against the few flat pillows he's got at the top of his bed. He mutters to himself as he lays you out, calloused hands spreading your knees and pushing your ankles up, up, up, only stopping when you whine at the stretch.

"Wanna watch your face the first time - can't wait to get in that tight pussy, love. Can see you clenching on air from here, you poor thing. Just need something to stuff you, yeah? Need a thick cock for that pretty little cunt to squirt on? Hm? You gonna be be good and let me give you what you need, baby?"

His slew of filthy words drag you deeper and deeper under. By the time you'd made the walk to his place the buzz you'd gotten at the bar had almost entirely worn off (enough for you to even seriously question your choice for a moment), but you feel drunker now than you have all night.

Johnny reaches over once you're settled where he wants you, tugging the bedside table's drawer open and pulling out a small silver packet. You're momentarily stunned as he pulls the condom on, unable to believe that you were about to let this man - this stranger - fuck you without protection.

The thought flies out of your head when he leans back over you, hands stroking tenderly up the outside of your thighs and to your ribs, then back down again, a slow tease you only manage to handle a few seconds of.

"Johnny," you whine, reaching up to tug his face closer to you. He indulges you with a smile, hands stroking your inner thighs as he teases you with chaste kisses across your lips.

"You ready for me, baby?" He breathes against you, forehead against yours and eyes as intense as they've been all night.

You keen high in your throat, arching your back to thrust your pussy just that much more forward as the head of his cock brushes your clit. "Johnny," you repeat. "Need you. Please."

His smile only grows. "Anything for you, lovie."

You hadn't gotten a good look at it, but you can tell now that Johnny's cock is thick. You gasp and moan in tandem with him as the head spears you open, the burn of the stretch spurring you into humping what little he's got stuffed into you.

Johnny grunts, one hand smacking against the headboard and he other squeezing your thigh as he pushes his way inside, not giving you any time to adjust to the monstrosity his cock seems to be.

When his balls finally meet the backs of your thighs just moments later, you both let out loud groans. His head falls back and through the haze of your lust you admire his naked chest, leaning forward as much as you can to rake your hands through the small amount of hair there. A pair of dog tags rest high up, just below the hollow of his throat, and you give the necklace a little tug, trying to get him to move.

He hisses through his teeth, suddenly yanking himself almost entirely out of you. He stays there for a moment, just the tip of the tip still buried in your heat, and looks into your eyes. Again, like he's looking for something, but you have no idea what. If you did you'd show him immediately, you'd do whatever you needed to get him to fuck you in this moment.

And again, a moment later he seems to have found whatever he wanted. His lips twitch up and he hunches over you a bit, the hand not on the headboard moving up to the crease of your thigh.

"Ready?" He whispers, eyes darkened with the same lust you feel overtaking you.

All you can do is nod.

Your head barely makes the movement back up before he's slamming into you, knocking the breath out of you and your whole body back into the pillows. He's immediately relentless, animalistic thrusts that pound at your most sensitive spots.

You let out a wail, admittedly a little loud for an apartment, and the hand that was resting on the headboard snaps down to cover your mouth. His wild eyes meet yours, and Johnny growls low in his throat, baring his teeth as he pace quickens even more.

"God, wish I could hear you scream, love. Wish it more than anythin'. But we can't be gettin' a noise complaint, huh?" he says between huffs of breath. It gratifies you to know he's just as affected by this as you are. Your mouth opens beneath his palm and you lave your tongue out, stroking across the lines and callouses.

The action draws a deep groan from his chest and he straightens up, hand still over your mouth and pace not slowing a bit. His eyes are transfixed on where he's plowing into you, and after a moment of staring he ducks his head a bit and spits where the two of you meet, making the whole ordeal even messier.

The visual makes you moan against his hands, your own fingers squeezes desperately around his wrist as your singular hold on reality.

Johnny smiles at you, a cocky man who knows exactly how good he's fucking you. "Yeah, love? That feel good?" All you can do is nod, hardly able to hear him past the blood rushing in your ears and the squelching sound of your fucking. "Gonna come for me, then? Show me how good I make ya feel?"

You whine a desperate sound in your throat and tap your fingers urgently against his wrist, well aware of the fact that you very rarely come without at least some stimulation on your clit. Johnny's hand shifts to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over your lips.

"P-please, Johnny," you gasp out, eyes wet and wide. "Need- need you to touch my clit, please?"

Johnny's head drops to your shoulder as he moans low and loud. His lips shift to that sensitive spot below your ear as his hand moves to slide the heel of his hand over your clit. "Fuckin' love to hear you beg, lovie. Can't get enough o' it."

The added stimulation of his rough grinds against your bud combined with the continued pace of his thrusts has you coming in what must be record time, every muscle tensing and a sharp "Ah!" tearing out of your throat as Johnny fucks you through it.

He doesn't cover your mouth this time, just leans his cheek heavily against yours and breaths in all the noises you can't trap. His free hand forces your knee down to the bed when you start to almost fight the strength of your climax. Your walls squeeze him so tightly he'd have been forced out of you had he not already been forcing himself in.

"God fucking damn it, lass, you're choking my cock," he groans, accent growing thicker the more he sinks into his own pleasure. "Such a good fuckin' girl, fuck."

"Yes, yes, feels so good, Johnny, so good," you babble thoughtlessly, feeling out of your mind with pleasure as the relentless pressure against your clit continues even after your orgasm.

"Yeah?" His voice is unsteady now, thrusts a little bit sloppy as he nears his own peak and you go limp beneath him. "You goin' cock drunk on me, lass? Huh? Yer losin' yer goddamn head on my dick, fuck, I'm not gonna last, love."

His hands move to your hips, thrusting you down at the same time he thrusts up, and you cry out in ecstasy, overstimulated and losing all ability to think past the massive cock bruising your pussy.

"Jo-Johnny!" you cry out, reaching another peak just on the tail of the last one, shocked by your own body. You jerk underneath him, nails leaving bright red lines down his pecs when you drag them violently down his torso.

His last few thrusts are the harshest yet, prolonging your sudden orgasm and bringing him to his own as he finally stills balls-deep inside you, letting out a deep groan into the juncture where your shoulder meets your neck.

The two of you lay there for a moment, slick with sweat and panting against each other as he slowly goes soft inside you. Johnny's nearly gone limp, and his weight is heavy in a comforting way against you, even if his hips spread yours just enough to strain your muscles.

He starts to move again after a moment, little aborted thrusts accompanied by whines and groans from him as he overstimulates the both of you. You reach a hand up to push at his forehead when it all verges on too much for you, but he's too out of it to realize and just keeps moving his hips, bumping your clit with each halting thrust and seemingly driving himself insane.

After a few moments of this you start to squirm, ready to pass out after a satisfying fuck. You whine his name, moving your hand from his face to the bottom of his mohawk. When he still doesn't stop, you wrap your fingers in his hair and tug, a sharp noise all you're capable of to communicate what you need.

He stills suddenly, then makes a sound you can only call a snarl, teeth latching onto the meat of your shoulder and digging in. The sudden and sharp pain draws a high pitched noise from your throat, and he jerks his head back and forth a bit as his hips punish you with a few sharp thrusts.

"Johnny!"

He pulls his head back, eyes locking with yours. Despite seeming more in control than you for most of the act, you can see now just how far gone he is. Johnny's mouth hangs open, drool dripping past his lips from his work against your skin, his eyes dark and hazy as he stares into yours. A few moments later he stills then then pulls out, drawing twin moans from the both of you.

Before you even know what's happening, you're flipped onto your stomach. You blink blearily at the wood in front of you, trying to push up on your hands and shifting your legs closed.

"No," Johnny growls from behind you. His right hand goes to your left shoulder, pulling you tight against his body where he grinds his dick and up down your soaked slit. His left hand clumsily forces your legs apart, just shoving your thighs open until you lose your balance and are forced to your elbows.

He thrusts there for a few moments, and to your surprise his cock gradually thickens, then grows hard in your slick. You've still hardly realized what's going on when he pulls his hips back, lines up his cock, and pushes back into you.

The two of you let out twin noises of pleasure - his tinged with desperation and yours with that spike of pain that comes from overstimulation.

Johnny fucks you just as hard this time as he did the first, but the position manes he's nearly fucking your cervix. Each thrust forces a sharp noise out of your throat, and this time he doesn't silence you. He uses his hold on your shoulder to really fuck you, so rough you're nearly sure his hips are leaving bruises against the back of your thighs.

Despite the undeniable pleasure coursing through you, the little sparks of pain from your clit bring you out of your daze a bit. Your hands fumble in front of you, jerking back and forth and back and forth along with the rest of your body as Johnny's pace stays strong. After a few moments of desperate searching you finally manage to grip what must be a slat in the headboard.

Feeling a little feral, you grab it tightly and tug yourself forward, away from the brutal cock trying rearrange your insides.

It's not the right choice. The slight resistance against Johnny's grip on you rips an angry noise from him. He slams a hand down on the back of your neck and wraps his fingers in your hair, forcing your face into the mattress and dragging you back by his relentless grip. You keen, high and pathetic, and his only response is a rumble deep in his throat.

He stills for a moment, buried deep inside you still, and you can feel him shifting around behind you. You blink the tears from your eyes and stare dazedly at the dark gray of his walls, feeling like one big throbbing ache. A moment later you see his foot land on the bed at the bottom of your vision, and the hand not holding you down forces you into an arch that borders on painful.

Face smushed into the mattress, chest and stomach nearly flat to the bed and hips canted high in the air, pussy swollen and leaking - you can't even image how much of a whore you must look like.

Johnny doesn't seem to care too much. He leans his weight against you, leveraging his body weight into his thrusts as he starts his violent movements again. His teeth lock onto your shoulder blade, pressure strong and sucking. Every thrust forces a little uh from your lips, and every noise from you just pushes him further.

He moves his bites every few thrusts, and you know your back will be decorated in bruises come morning. When he starts to really lose his mind, when the span of your shoulders is aching and wet from his spit, he leans his forehead into the center of your spine and adds more weight behind his thrusts, slowing down but forcing what feels like the entirety of his strength behind each one.

With his hips tilted slightly more downward he absolutely plows into the sensitive spot against your inner walls. The first time he hits it, you cry out a noise of pure pleasure and another "Johnny!". He pauses for a moment, then lets out a moan of his own at the tight grip of your cock and sets out to hit that spot on every thrust. You start to sob a bit, high pitched little wails coming from your lips as the pleasure becomes overwhelming while still not being enough for you to finish.

He seems to realize you're not coming anytime soon only a few thrusts later, and somewhere deep in your mind you wonder if the multiple shifts in angle are meant to be for your benefit. He growls again and you feel the hand on your back creep around to your stomach then down to your clit, where two of his fingers begin to stroke and pluck at your most sensitive area.

The sudden onslaught at where you're most sensitive combined with the merciless attack on your g-spot had you rearing up, wild shouts coming without your consent. A snarl tears from his throat as the hand at the base of your skull muscles you down again, his body fighting yours as you instinctively look for a reprieve from the stimulation.

"Fucking-" he growls. "Fucking take it, goddamnit."

It only takes a few moments with the stimulation on your clit for you to come. The feeling grows from deep inside you, and for a moment you fear you recognize the sensation - it's one that certainly does not belong in this bed.

Before your brain fully connects the dots of what's happening you're swept beneath a tidal wave of sensation, fight leaving your body and leaving you limp as you do your best to squeeze the life out of Johnny's cock. You hear his groan from behind you, loud and uninhibited as he buries himself completely inside you to ride the wave of his own orgasm as you milk him.

"Knew you'd be perfect for us, lass. Look at ya - squirtin' all over me and makin' a mess, fuck. Gonna sleep in it tonight, soak in your scent. Can't fuckin'- can't fuckin' believe my luck- goddamn-"

His body finally falls against yours, cock slipping out of you (to your immense relief) and the left half of his body laid over the right half of yours. For a moment, the two of you pant in sync.

Then he's twisting both of you, rolling onto his right side and pulling you into his chest, tucking your face into his neck as he reaches down to pull the condom off his cock. There's a voice, somewhere deep in your head, that worries about the fact that he used the same condom for two rounds, but the heat of Johnny against you and the soothing pet of his hand through your hair empties your head too quickly for you to focus it.

You glance up at him once he finally settles. The smile on his face now is nothing by dopey and joyous, and you can't help but mirror it even as the ache settles in your core.

He makes short order of getting the two of you ready to sleep with just a bit of wiggling. You've had one night stands before where your partner (or yourself, on occasion) wanted to leave immediately, have even grown to expect it from most men, but there's a spark of warmth in your chest when Johnny tightens his arms around you, your chest against his, his chin hooked over your shoulder and using your head as a pillow, one arm wrapped tight behind your back and the other underneath your head. It feels like there isn't an inch of space between the two of you, and you've never been more comfortable.

You hum happily, still a little drunk from the pleasure, and snuggle your face back into his warm throat. The last thing you feel before falling asleep is a kiss against your shoulder and a hand stroking up and down your spine.

-----

It feels like hours later when you wake up, the room still painted in a soft yellow light but not yet harsh beams of sunlight.

It takes a moment for you to understand what's happening, breath bouncing back onto your lips where you're panting into a man's - Johnny, you remember - neck. You register the fact that your hands are curled between the two of you, your feet tucked between his calves, and finally the feeling of something poking and prodding at your very sensitive cunt.

It still takes another moment for your brain to understand that Johnny must be trying to start another round.

You whine a little in protest, one hand creeping up to wrap around his neck and the other pushing flat against his chest.

"Shhh," he soothes, breath puffing onto your forehead. "I just need you one more time, lovie. You can go back to sleep, promise I won't be rough this time, just need to feel you wrapped around me again, hm? Please, lassie, promise I'll be quick."

He sounds so desperate, a little out of control compared to how he sounded earlier, you're almost tempted to spread your legs and let him have whatever he wants. But then the tip of his cock puts just the tiniest bit of pressure at your hole and your hips instinctively jerk back at the sting, so you whine, "Johnny," mouthing at his chest. "'M sore. You fucked me too good earlier."

The noise that rips from his throat is almost begging, you feel it beneath your lips. His breathing grows heavier "Fuck, 'm sorry baby, so sorry. I'll just- I'll just fuck your thighs, yeah? Yeah, yeah, paint your pretty pussy with me, fuck, leave you soaked like you soaked me-"

"Johnny..."

"I know, I know, lovie, I'll just..." he shifts a bit, leaning his chin onto your forehead and anchoring a hand around your hip to keep you from squirming as his hips begin to jerk without rhythm. His cock is thick where you're most sensitive and you can't keep the high noises and quiet sniffles in as the sensation shoots both pleasure and pain up your spine.

”Hush, lass, 'm almost there, just need you to keep that pussy right there for me, so fuckin' close, just... just keep soakin' me..." he murmurs nearly incoherently against your forehead before his hips jerk to a still. You feel his come paint your thighs and you keen, part of you heartbroken he didn't paint your insides despite the pain.

"Ah, I know, I know, lassie. Here - I'll, I'll get you off too... 'm not selfish, hen, won't leave you wanting. Not like-" he cuts himself off, leaning his head down a bit and honest to god taking your cheek in his mouth, teething lightly at the fat there and soaking your face with slobber. You don't even think about the odd end of his sentence, you just arch into him and moan as his hand slips down to play with your clit.

His legs squeeze yours between them as you start to wiggle, hips thrusting away from the sharp sparks of pain your poor overstimulated clit is feeling.

"Hush, hush, baby just gonna... just gotta get you off real quick, ok? You can go back to sleep after, promise, just gotta make sure... gotta..." his voice trails off into a groan as your cunt twitches and flutters. He takes your lips in a sloppy kiss, more an exchange of spit and rubbing of tongues than anything.

Just as you're about to come he slips a thick finger into your overused cunt, drawing a sharp yelp from your throat, which he immediately sets to settle by licking across and around your slack mouth. "It's okay, it's okay, lovie, just giving you somethin' to clench on, yeah? Givin' your poor cunt somethin' to squeeze on, c'mon, you're alright." His finger begins to move around inside you, crooking, feeling for something until he presses right against your g-spot and you arch deeply into his body, a long moan falling from your lips. "Just gotta... yeah, that it? Tha' what feels good? Hng, you sound so pretty, baby, love your fuckin' noises, christ-"

You come with quiet gasps, the air pouring directly into his mouth just like his words had poured into yours. He works you through it, fingers slowly gentling on your clit and lessening the pressure on your g-spot as your jerking slows before you still and he finally pulls fully away from your core.

"Johnny," you mewl, hand gripping tight on the nape of his neck as you press as much of you to him as you can, slick skin sliding against slick skin. "Not-not again tonight, please, won't-won't be able to walk tomorrow if we keep going.

He laughs deeply against the top of your head. "Not as much of a deterrent as you might think, lassie." His arm wraps around the base of your spine, hand reaching around to rest on your stomach and his other arm wrapping around your neck in what almost feels like a choke hold. He throws his leg over your hip, leaning his body weight onto you and almost crushing you into the bed. "Won't touch you again tonight, promise, okay sweetheart? We'll go again in the morning, but just rest until then."

You choose to believe him and cuddle more deeply into his hold, a deep sigh leaving you as you finally pass out, boneless, against him.

-----

Johnny regrets his promise. He regrets it immensely.

You're so fuckin' pretty beneath him, your hair like a halo around your head, eyes shut and unmoving in sleep, lips parted just a bit to let you breathe comfortably. There's a pinkness on the cheek he'd gotten a hold of earlier (a light outline of his teeth marks that makes his cock ache even after three orgasms), and your lips are still swollen from the work he'd done on them. Christ, you look more fuckable now than you had with your hips rucked in the air, pussy drooling and begging for his cock, squirming before he got a good hold on you and kept you still.

He's not sure he'll be keeping his promise.

He wants to. You're gonna be right pissed at him come morning, he knows it, and the temptation to have you pliant and begging for it one last time is almost more than he can handle.

But no. He made you a promise, and even if he'll betray you in another way come sunrise, he won't betray you in the one promise he's actually made. If Ghost were here, he'd lock a warm hand around the back of Soap's neck, rumble something about "bein' good, Johnny" and take complete control of the situation. It'd feel good, the way it always does when Simon takes over, and Soap wouldn't have to worry about fucking any of this up cause Ghost would set him right back on track if he did.

Of course if Ghost were here, he'd never have met you.

Simon had left their shared flat only three days ago, sent on a mission the PMC they'd both signed with had requested him for. Usually the two of them worked together, neither willing to be separated from the other for long, but apparently this mission just had to be completed by one agent. Soap had pouted about it all morning, until Ghost had forced him to his knees and fucked his throat so good he'd been hoarse the rest of the day.

The first day after Ghost left he'd been... okay on his own. Ghost's mission - simple fuckin' reconnaissance, no good reason Soap couldn't have gone with him - took him far out to the country, so no texts or calls could be received. Johnny settled for spamming him a bit anyway, smiling at the thought of Ghost's inevitable annoyance when he regained an internet connection and felt his phone start buzzing endlessly. Other than that, Johnny spent most of the day cleaning. He's slow at it, but all the better to take up time in the day. He did a little shopping too, filled the flat up so it didn't feel so empty. It was a bit nice to go out in public and not part the damn Red Sea with Ghost at his side. People aren't scared of Johnny in the same way - they see his cheerful smile and laid-back posture and assume he's mostly harmless. He rarely needs to correct them.

Still. Would've been nicer with Simon.

The second day he realized their home felt empty because of the lack of one giant, brooding lieutenant, not the lack of throw pillows (which he didn't even bother to make match, for fuck's sake). This set him off a bit, left him pacing angrily around the apartment and muttering to the walls. Simon didn't have to take the fucking mission, and now he's left Johnny here - all alone! - in the home they bought for themselves to finally find a bit of fuckin' peace. It's not fair.

He'd been unable to take the absolute silence of the flat any longer on the third day, determined to surround himself with distractions. Granted, it's not like the flat is much less quiet with Ghost around, but the man has a presence that fills a room up. Leaves the room desolate and empty when he goes, though, and Soap is quite pissed about it. He'll make sure to let Simon know when he comes back, starts planning his revenge at night when he jacks off to relieve the tension in his spine.

He heads to a bar he knows is always packed that third night, feeling more and more pathetic as he rots away in bed.

It's there that he sees you.

You're on the dance floor alone, hips moving in a way that's got his and every single man's eyes glued to you. You're fucking stunning, sunk into a world of your own as you hit every beat of the music. Johnny can't help himself from moving toward you, shouldering past the writhing mass of people to get to you.

The moment he gets his hands wrapped around your hips he knows. You're perfect in hid hold, his hands fit around you like you were carved by fuckin' God Himself for Johnny. His head drops back as he tugs your hips into his, too caught up in his own head to think about what a scare he must've given you.

You still for a moment, stiff, but when Soap moves his hips away from yours and keeps his movements largely nonsexual (for now), more just swaying with you in his arms, you begin to relax and move with him.

You must feel it too then, right? Surely a young woman, one all by herself, wouldn't be so comfortable with a man she can't even see if she didn't feel the same spark up her spine he did.

The more you let him lead, the more sexual the dancing becomes, the more convinced Soap is that you're simply a gift for him. Placed right where he would see you when he needed you most.

There's a moment you scurry off to get another drink. Soap's eyes remain trained on your ass as you strut and it occurs to him that his and Ghosts' moving-in-together anniversary will be tomorrow - the same day he's set to come back from his assignment.

What better gift could he get than a pretty girl in his bed to welcome him home?

The plan maps itself out in his head as he continues to dance with you, time slipping by as song after song plays, his cock aching in his jeans and begging for release. He figures he'll get in a few rounds of fun with you to knock you out properly. Not a hardship for him - if you fuck as well as you dance it'll be a challenge for him to stay awake.

Once you're well and truly fucked unconscious, he'll begin the process of tying you up all pretty for Simon.

He gets you to their flat, still shocked you let him get you off on the dance floor, and he hardly waits for the front door to close before he's on his knees, nose and tongue buried in your center, feeling near feral with the need to get you off again. He's already fuckin' addicted to you and he hasn't even gotten his cock in yet.

You taste as good as Simon does - just more proof he was meant to find you. Ambrosia and nectar, the two of you.

He feels a little bad, in the afterglow of the second round. He thinks through his second orgasm and sees the way you'd fought against it. He worries, for a moment, that your want to get away was real, not just your body's instinctual reaction. But then you curl further into him, breath warm against his pulse point, and he remembers how clingy you were post-orgasm. All's well that ends well, right?

It's now, post third round, that Johnny watches you. His original movements of rolling you to your back and propping himself above you are meant to make sure you're not waking up any time soon, and he's definitely assured of that.

Still, he can't resist another little test. He prods his pointer and middle finger at the small space between your lips, applying just the slightest pressure. You don't even twitch, breathing steady, but your lips open just a centimeter or so more and he grins at the invitation. He slips the fingers in, carefully pushing further and further into your mouth until you let out a cute little gagging noise, brows furrowing lightly.

He stops there, waiting to see if he's passed your gag reflex without noticing. When you remain still, he lets out a breath of relief.

He pushes his fingers down on your tongue, applying pressure slowly so your brain doesn't suspect anything. In just a moment he's got your mouth fully open, and he can't resist anymore.

He groans a bit, hips thrusting into the bed as he leans in and licks at your mouth. His fingers slip down to hook over your bottom teeth so he can get another taste of your tongue, exploring every nook and cranny of your mouth that he was too worked up to find earlier.

He continues to make out with you until his hips jerk to a still, cum sticky between his abs and the bedsheet.

Then he really gets to work.

Johnny pulls himself away from you, leaving one last kiss on the hickey he'd sucked onto your neck. He moves around the dim room with military stealth, absolutely silent as he collects what he needs.

He's very, very slow as he ties you up. He lifts your body from where you were relaxed, propping you up just slightly against the headboard. He takes your right wrist first, lifting it to to one of the slats and tying the rough rope around and around until you're secured. He does the same with your other wrist, leaving your hands spread wide above you. He knows from experience that the rope is rough, that it'll leave wicked burns on your skin if you're left with any room to wiggle around. So he ties the knots real tight, leaving only room for circulation and absolutely none for movement.

Next he ties your ankles. Again he starts with the right first, lifting and slowly shifting your knee with it at the same time so you don't jerk suddenly and wake yourself. He's glad to see you're decently limber, because he knows you won't feel too sore later as he ties your left ankle to your left wrist. He repeats the process with your right ankle.

Feeling quite proud of himself, Johnny kneels back on his heels to admire his work. The position he's got you in leaves you completely spread, cunt and ass both open and accessible for him. He knows that he'll be able to bend down and reach both your tits and your face while he's fucking you, but you won't be able to do much more than writhe in place. You might manage a few thrusts if you get particularly worked up.

It's the same position that drives him the most insane when Ghost ties him up in it. It's also his favorite.

He grabs the last item after a moment of stroking his mostly soft cock and admiring you. The ring gag is decently large, made for someone with a mouth his size, not yours. It'll leave your jaw sore once he takes it out and the thought makes him frown - it's far too rough for his baby. Unfortunately, Ghost only buys rough toys for Soap, so Soap only has rough toys to use with you.

He hooks the ring beneath your bottom row of teeth then sets out to very slowly ease it fully in to hold your mouth in an o shape, buckling it around your head once he's confident you're as comfortable as he can make you. All the while he fantasizes about all the soft things he'll by you once you've settled in.

Silk rope, of course, and a much more comfortable gag to wear. Maybe one you can chew on a bit - Soap gnaws endless at any gag Simon stuffs in his mouth, but he doesn't want your soft mouth chewing at the hard plastics he prefers. He'll get you all the blankets and pillows you could ever want, too. Lay you in the center of the bed and build a little nest around you, the best things for his best girl, fuck you deep in the silk and fur, sandwiching you between himself and Ghost, the two of them fucking you til you're crying and begging for a break, pretty little pillow held to your chest for comfort while they stretch you to your limit, hiccuping and sniffling into a blanket he bought you -

A noise of discomfort breaks him out of his fantasy. Johnny jerks forward, petting your face and making the most soothing noises he can to keep you from waking up. He gives you his weight, remembering how well you reacted to it earlier, and after a few moments of his attention you go limp again. He licks long and languid into your mouth again, taking a moment to suck on your tongue for own comfort before pulling away.

He strokes his hands up and down the soft skin of your inner thighs as he decides what to do with you now. He hadn't had the forethought to promise not to fuck you, no, he'd been a bleedin' idiot and you said he wouldn't fuckin' touch you until sunrise. He fights to keep his fingers from tightening around the meat of your thighs as he scolds himself, frustrated.

Well... it's not like you would know, is it?

Maybe... maybe he can just eat you out a bit. Yeah, yeah he can go real slow so you don't wake up, bury his face in your cunt til sunrise then wake you up with his tongue. Maybe an orgasm will calm a bit of your inevitable panic?

He smirks and lowers himself to his stomach between your thighs, hands pulling the sticky, swollen lips of your cunt apart so he can lick one thick, broad stripe from asshole to clit. He clenches his jaw tightly, locking a loud groan behind his teeth at the unique mix of your cum and his on his tongue.

A few deep breaths to calm himself down, and Johnny dives into your pussy.

-----

The first thing you feel when you wake up is pleasure.

You know what a tongue on your core feels like. It takes you a moment or two to remember, in the dark of sleep still, that you went home with a man last night. With Johnny, who'd promised not to touch you again until morning.

Well. The quick swipes against your clit tell you he's either a liar, or it's time for you to get up and out.

That's when you realize that something must be wrong. Because there's an ache in your hips, and your arms don't move when you try to reach down and push Johnny's face further into you so you can finish.

Your eyes blink open blearily, confusion creasing your expression.

Your feet are in the air above you. More accurately, your feet are tied in the air above you.

What the fuck?

A cautious noise of confusion tears from your throat as you begin to twist and yank at your apparent bindings in earnest, panic and pleasure making your heart pound against your ribcage.

As you discover the lack of leeway your movements become more and more frantic, uncontrollable noises of pure animal distress coming from you.

Which is when you realize that you're making those noises because you can't speak. There's something locked behind your teeth, tied around your head just tight enough that you can't force the thing out with your tongue. Your breathing isn't restricted at all, and you realize it's because your mouth is gaping open, able to suck in any oxygen you need. As you become more aware of the intrusion, an ace in the hinges of your jaw makes itself known.

Your panic spikes in earnest now, noises becoming just sharp sounds of fear from your throat as you start to squirm away from the invading sensation at you most private area.

Then Johnny lifts himself into your eyeline.

He looks- he looks fine, which just freaks you out more because for some godforsaken reason you'd trusted this man, and now the only conclusion you can come to is that he's got you bound and gagged to his headboard.

What the fuck?

Tears begin to stream from your eyes, first one then more than you can hope to keep track of.

"Oh, lass," Johnny coos, genuine fucking concern carved into the lines of his face. He leans forward and cups both hands around your cheeks, thumbs swiping beneath your eyes to clear away the wetness. His warmth is a shock against the chilled skin of your face, bringing everything into even sharper focus as your head clears more and more. "Hush, don't cry. It's okay, it's okay, 'm gonna take care of you, yeah? Just had to tie you up all pretty for Simon, you wanna look good for him when he comes home, don't you?"

You finally go still at that, desperate movements jerking to a sudden stop. Simon...?

Surely he wouldn't... surely he doesn't mean to share you?

Knew you'd be perfect for us.

I'll get you off too... 'm not selfish, hen, won't leave you wanting. Not like-

Oh god. Oh god, he means to share you. With another man.

"You're gonna love him, baby," Johnny continues above you, either unaware or uncaring of the wave of terror beginning to overtake you. "He seems real mean and scary at first, but I promise he'll be so nice after. I'll make sure he's nice, ok? Won't let him be too mean to my baby. Whatever he'll do, you'll like," he smirks down at you, like you're both in on some joke. "I always do."

He shifts his hands down your cheeks and your neck, landing firmly over your breasts and giving them a tight squeeze. "For now..." he dips his head to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking so softly for a man doing all of this without your permission. "I'll take care of you, yeah? I'll loosen you up so good for him, lovie."

He plays with your breasts for several minutes, drool sliding across your chest when he can't decide which tit to focus on. You begin to shift out of your frozen state of shock, his words slowly registering in your head while he plays with you.

You jerk again, wrists twisting desperately to try and find any sort of weak spot to tug against, air puffing harshly through the gag. Johnny frowns up at you from where he's sucking at your nipple, brows furrowing as he glances between your hands. He pulls himself reluctantly away from you, pushing up and gripping just below the ties with a stern look on his face. "No, lassie. These ropes are rough, I don't want you to hurt yourself just because you're tryin' to get away from a good thing. Stop tryin' to break yer damn wrists, yeah?"

You glare at him furiously, absolutely astounded by the man's audacity. His frown morphs into a smirk verging on mean as he leans closer to your face. "You gon' listen for me, huh? Gonna be a good girl for me so I can finish eating out your pretty cunt?" You let out a sharp noise of anger, lurching forward to try and slam your forehead into his.

He jerks back before you can make contact, shock flashing briefly across his features before a laugh bursts from his lips while you're forced back by the restraints, huffing and puffing angrily. "Easy, lovie. Try somethin' like that with Simon and he won't be so nice as I am."

With that he gives your forearms a little squeeze and a rub, then lowers himself between your thighs to apparently get right back to work. You jerk as his tongue pokes out to prod at your clit, hips thrusting as much as they can in your tight bindings and noises falling past your lips without your control.

Johnny lets out a loud groan at his first taste of you. He scoops his arms under your thighs, hands landing at the base of your spine and your thighs in the crease of his elbows, holding his own face as deep in your cunt as he can and gets to work.

If his work last night was nasty, this is animalistic. He's not doing this for your pleasure, he's doing it for his. His tongue doesn't stay on your clit, it doesn't even stay on your cunt itself - he licks all around your core, the creases of your thighs where sweat begins to drip, even down to your sensitive asshole (you jerk and yelp at the sensation, and you feel the rumble of his laughter as he pushes his tongue in there, thrusting a few times before moving to stuff as much as he could into your pussy).

You fight against it, cunt pulsing and trying to force out the invasion when it ventures there, hips writhing desperately - towards and away, but you don't think about it, you don't want more of this, you want to get away from him and from the pleasure he gives - and your head rolling back and forth on the pillow.

The worst part, probably, is the fact that you can't hide your noises. The gag in your mouth doesn't let you keep anything to yourself, even the tiniest whine or sigh is clear as day with the way your lips are forced open.

You're discovering that grunts and moans of anger, of fear, sound very similar to grunts and moans of pleasure. It makes your eyes well up with tears all over again, which just pisses you off even more.

Johnny's apparently unaware of your tumultuous mental state, eating at your cunt like a fucking Christmas feast.

He seems to decide you should come a few moments later, focusing his attention onto your clit and slipping two fingers inside of where you're neediest and adding a solid pressure against your g-spot. The sudden stretch, the slight sting from last night, draws a high noise from you and your hips jut sharply into the air. Johnny's response is to lightly wrap his teeth around your clit, slowly biting down and gradually applying pressure - tongue still flicking away - until you come.

This orgasm, forced from your body, drives you insane. You shout from behind the gag and slam your head forward rather than back, desperate for the freedom of any movement you can get. Your hips grind as much as they can between the ropes and Johnny's hand, trying to work through the overwhelming sensations for you.

When you're finished, body gone limp in acceptance your brain hasn't caught up with, he doesn't move. His face remains planted in your pussy, breath warm and wet against your sensitive flesh, but his fingers slip from your tender passage. A moment later, once you've calmed down a bit and can't do anything but stare wide-eyed at the ceiling, he heaves himself up to his knees and stares down at your body.

His face is soaked, your slick nearly dripping from his chin. There's a shine on his fucking throat.

Not entirely conscious of your movements, you try to get the gag out of your mouth again. You wiggle your tongue around it, trying to force under the ring so you can... you're not even really sure. Suck it into your mouth and spit it out? That might work if it wasn't tied around your fucking head. Regardless, you can't even get the tip of your tongue beneath the metal, top or bottom, so -

Johnny's loud groan interrupts your thoughts, freezing your movements. He's staring at your lips, pupils blown and chest rising and falling dramatically with his breaths. "Fuck, lovie, keep- keep movin' your tongue like that."

You don't listen but he crawls up your body anyway. You have a moment of panic, worried about this massive man dropping his body weight onto your thighs when he sits his ass down on them and rests his knees right by your ears, but he locks a hand around the headboard and holds up most of his own weight.

Small mercies, you think, then immediately curse yourself for even thinking anything positive towards this asshole.

If you thought you were immobile before, you're really learning the meaning of it now. With his weight resting on you - even just the little bit he allows - you can't move any part of yourself other than your fingers and toes.

"Yer fuckin' mouths so pretty, baby. Just gonna... just gonna fuck it a little, yeah?" Your eyes go wide at his murmured words and he's quick to stroke a hand down the side of your head, thumb tracing the forced shape of your lips. "I'll be gentle, promise, just need to be inside you. Won't even choke you on it, just need..." he trails off as his hips shift forward, tip just barely squeezing past the gag and into your mouth. You let out a high keen, and even the little vibrations make him throw his head back with closed eyes and groan.

He's true to his word, the bastard, only thrusting shallowly in and out as his free hand massages his own balls. You can only sit there, desperately trying to clamp your jaw down until that sends a sharp spike of pain up your skull and drags a high yelp from your throat. Johnny's eyelids briefly lift to check on you but quickly slip closed again.

This feels far more like a violation than his finger had. You're helpless to his movements even more now, simply forced to sit there and keep your tongue as still as possible in an attempt to steal even a modicum of his pleasure.

You don't know how long Johnny plays with your mouth. All you can do is lay there and wait.

Your noises are muffled by the cock in your mouth, and the slow pace seems to be the secret to keeping him relatively quiet. So when there's a loud slam outside of the bedroom, followed by what sound like heavy footsteps, you both take instant notice.

There's a moment where you think, delusionally, that someone must be here to help you. But then your see the rapidly growing elation on Johnny's face as he pulls himself free of your mouth, and you remember.

Just had to tie you up all pretty for Simon.

You're gonna love him, baby.

You can't help but let out a low cry at the realization, tears falling yet again.

Johnny doesn't even comfort you this time, just extracts himself from you and leaves a chaste kiss on your forehead before nearly trotting out of the bedroom, cock swinging proudly between his legs.

-----

Ghost's back. Finally, finally, Simon is fucking back. Soap's so excited by the knowledge that he's able to completely forget about his dick for the few steps it takes him to reach his partner.

Ghost's wearing a hoodie that's tight around his torso (one of Johnny's, he recognizes, knows that means he did miss Johnny, the pain at their separation wasn't just in his head) and low hanging sweatpants with his skull balaclava covering the bottom half of his face, black makeup smeared around his eye sockets from sweat. If Soap weren't hard as a rock already he'd certainly be by now.

He throws himself into his lieutenant's arms with a grin, leaning forward and leaving a loud, wet kiss on the covering over his face. Soap leans back to run a hand through the blonde hair, sees the heat in Simon's eyes and throbs.

Ghost cranes his head down and gives a perfunctory look over his unabashedly naked body and leaking cock. "That needy already, Johnny?"

"Yeah, L.t.," Soap replies, breath still coming out in pants from his grinning lips. "Been playin' with your anniversary present all morning."

Just on cue, there's a sound distinctly like a wail from behind the cracked open bedroom door. Johnny can't help but grin at the sound of your desperation, cock twitching between their bodies.

Ghost's eyes flick over to the door, then an eyebrow cocks above blue eyes. "Anniversary?"

Johnny can't help but roll his eyes, grasping Ghost's wrist and tugging him in the direction of their bedroom. He follows easily. "Don' play dumb, Si. Doesn't suit you."

Ghost doesn't get a chance to respond as Johnny swings their door open, pulling him into the room with the excitement of an overeager pup. "Ta-da," he beams, free hand gesturing to you. "Found her in a club. She's perfect. Feels like heaven around your cock, and fights when you fuck her through an orgasm." He can't help but chuckle, eyes drawn back to your form.

Your own eyes are wide with panic and locked on Ghost. Johnny feels a little bad for you, squirming little pathetic thing you've become, knowing how scary the man must seem to you. Johnny only comes up to Ghost's nose, and he has to suppress a groan at the thought of how wide Simon is compared to him, how the older man is going to absolutely crush you.

A rough and hot hand clamps on the nape of Johnny's neck, and he instinctively tears his eyes from you to Ghost. The man's thumb plucks at the chain his dog tags hang from, leaning just a bit toward his face. "This your gift?"

All Johnny can do is nod, a soft whine creeping out of his throat at the familiar representation of Ghost's control over him.

Simon's eyes crinkle and Soap knows there's a smile hidden under the mask. He leans forward and presses his covered lips to Johnny's forehead. "Good fuckin' boy, MacTavish."

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ariestrxsh · 1 month ago

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dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris set aside your differences to join forces and close on a sweet deal with a local supplier.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 |

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Chris Sturniolo," you sneered, crossing your arms after stepping out onto your porch into the cool air. You'd recognize him anywhere, even if it was just a silhouette of the back of his head at sundown on your doorstep, which was one of the last places you expected to see him.

He slowly turned to face you, a nearly-spent joint between his lips that were curled into a smug smirk. He looked you up and down, admiring the fancy dress and blazer you were wearing.

"What do you want?" You asked, raising an eyebrow as the smell of marijuana filled your senses. This better be good. "You know, ma, I halfway didn't expect you to answer after looking through the peephole," Chris motioned towards the shut door behind you.

You and Chris both knew that in your intertwined lines of business that looking through the peephole in the door was always a must. You never knew who'd be on the other side.

"Hot date tonight?" He wondered, gesturing towards your outfit with the cherry-end of his joint. "Something like that. You better make this quick," you said, cutting through his tendency to beat around the bush and talk in a series of metaphors rather than getting to the point.

"Mind if I come in? I wanna talk to you about something. Business-related," Chris mumbled, blowing out a final puff of smoke and squashing the roach between the ground and his sneaker. You hesitantly let him inside your home, but mostly because you didn't want any passersby to hear your conversation.

"Before you say anything," you said, stopping him before he could speak. You shut the barrier between your living room and the outside world, and you kneeled down in front of him.

"Hey, woah. What are you doing, ma? If you wanted to give me a blow job, you could just ask," he chuckled, smiling down at you. "Ha ha. You're hilarious," you dryly answered, rolling your eyes.

You began to pat him down, starting at his ankles. You lifted his pantleg and unholstered his pistol, placing it on the coffee table next to you. "Come on, ma. You don't trust me?" He pouted at you. "Oh, not one bit," you responded, glancing up at him as you ran your palms across his lower stomach.

You pulled up his shirt a bit to reveal a glock tucked into the front of his jeans. You confiscated it and set it next to his first gun. Your hands moved to his pockets, pulling out his phone and a wad of cash and placing them all on your wooden table with his other belongings.

Chris rolled his eyes and smirked at you as you accidentally brushed against the bulge in his jeans. "Sorry," you mumbled, clearing your throat and standing back up.

You started to feel under his shirt, running your hands and across his chest. "Come on, ma. You got all my guns. What else are you looking for?" He chuckled, looking into your eyes for a few seconds too long. He couldn't deny that he was getting a little turned on by the way your fingers gently glided across his warm skin.

"A wire. I'm not an idiot, Sturniolo. Why the fuck else would you wanna talk?" You snarked back, returning his lingering gaze. There was a thick sexual tension in the air for just a moment.

"Whatever, ma. You really think I'm a rat?" Chris asked, sounding a bit offended and giving you a hurt expression. "Can't be too careful. You know that," you said, running your hands down his arms, trying to ignore how gorgeous his blue eyes were and how the veins on his forearms felt.

"Alright. Now that I know you're not here to bust me or rob me. What do you want, Chris?" You asked him, sounding annoyed. "You ever think about you and me?" Chris said in a low, raspy voice. "What? You come over to ask me on a date?" You laughed.

"That's not what I meant. You ever think about you and me working together?" Chris asked, clarifying his original question. "You know, it would have been less insane for you to ask me on a date," you chuckled in amusement, heading back over towards the door to walk him out.

"C'mon, ma. We could help each other out," Chris gently grabbed your arm to keep you from walking away. "I know I could help you out. How could you help me out?" You skeptically wondered, narrowing your gaze at Chris.

"I could offer you protection. A lady shouldn't be going on runs alone in this business without a man," Chris replied. "I don't need a man. I can hold my own," you shook your head fervently, crossing your arms and tightening your jaw. You were somewhat offended by his comment.

"I know you don't need a man, ma. Feminism and all that shit. But wouldn't it make you feel safer? Just to have someone to accompany you on your runs? Someone to help take the edge off?" Chris asked, giving you a smug look.

You knew he was right. Drug dealing was a man's world, and there had been many occasions where it would have been safer to have someone like Chris with you. You unclenched your jaw and relaxed your shoulders.

"What's in it for you?" You asked, smirking at him. You mulled over his offer, assuming you already knew the answer. "You know, ma. I'm trying to make more money. Work my way up," Chris smiled at you.

"I don't mean to be condescending, but Chris, you're just a low-level weed dealer. Do you have what it takes to sell the harder shit?" You cocked your head to the side, giving him an inquisitive look, your eyes dropping to his full lips. "You act like I don't know what I'm doing," Chris responded, giving you another hurt expression.

"Chris. Think about it like this. You're like a lawyer, and I'm like a surgeon," you replied, giving him a methaphor he'd understand. "Both valuable skill sets, but if I walk into your courtroom, my scalpel isn't gonna do shit, and if you walk into my ER, your law knowledge isn't going to help you perform an operation."

"Ma, let me prove to you that I have what it takes," Chris responded, confidence creeping into the corner of his lip in a sly smile as he took a step closer to you. You peered down at your watch.

Your connect hated it when you were running late, but even more than that, he hated when you brought unexpected company with you.

"I'm about to go meet my guy right now and make a deal," you hesitantly told him. "So, that's what you're all dressed up for? You got a crush on your connect, ma?" He asked as he motioned towards your dress, giving you a condescending grin and nudging you in the arm.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. "No, Chris. We're meeting somewhere nice. The goal is to not look out of place. Look, I think I have a blazer and some slacks that might fit you in my room. Let's get you changed, because you look like a fucking drug dealer," you chuckled.

"I'll call my guy and let him know a colleague is coming with me," you said, making your way for the staircase "Colleague? I like the sound of that," Chris nodded in approval, following behind you.

"Not yet, Chris. That's just what I'm gonna tell him to avoid having to explain the intricacies. Just keep your mouth shut and don't look them in the eyes for too long," you rolled your eyes at Chris, hastily heading towards your dimly lit bedroom. You opened your closet door and reached towards the back of the rack, pulling out a black suit.

"Here, try this on," you told Chris, handing it to him. He hung the suit over the back of your chair, pulled off his hoodie, and then took his shirt off. Your eyes danced over his shoulders and his chest in the soft lighting, and you subtly bit your lip as you studied his build.

You and Chris may not have exactly been friends. In fact, you'd had a history with him, and the two of you were more like enemies, but you couldn't deny how hot he was. "Mind giving me some privacy, ma?" He chuckled, starting to undo his belt.

"My bad," you said, shifting your gaze away from him and heading out of your room, closing the door behind you. You snuck one last glance at his body through the waning sliver in the door as you pulled it shut.

You went back downstairs to retrieve your suitcase, pulling the address up on your phone and scanning the directions.

A few minutes later, Chris came down. He stood in front of you, presenting the blazer and slacks that were just slightly too long for him, and the two of you giggled. "You know, it's not a perfect fit, but it's close enough," you replied, heading towards the door.

Chris followed, getting into the passenger seat as you pulled open your driver's side and climbed in beside him. You dialed your connect as you backed out of your driveway, turning on your headlights, and throwing your car in drive once you reversed out onto the main room.

"What's up? You on your way?" The man on the other end of the phone answered. "Yeah, just letting you know I'm bringing my business partner with me. We're about ten minutes away," you said, looking over at Chris who reached for his joint that he had tucked behind his ear, and as he went to light it, you smacked the lighter out of his hand.

"What the fuck?" Chris asked in a voice just above a whisper, furrowing his brow at you. "It's room 152 when you get here," your guy told you over the phone. "Okay, see you soon," you replied, ending the call and snatching the joint from him.

"You're not smoking that shit in my car. I swear to God, Chris, if we get pulled over and you give the pigs a reason to search us, not only will it be the last run you ever make with me, it'll be the last run either one of us makes period because we'll both be sitting in prison," you told him, tossing the joint into your cup holder.

"Relaaax," he told you, drawing out the word. "No. If you're working with me, you follow my rules. If you relax, you get complacent. This is exactly why I don't do runs with weed dealers," you stated, shaking your head and regretting your decision to let him join you on your reup.

"Okay, ma. Damn. I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so serious," he said, raising his hands in a defensive position. "Never break more than one law at a time. If we're ever doing a reup, we use our turn signals, we go the speed limit, and we don't stink up the car with pot," you responded, paying more attention to the road than you were to Chris.

"Alright, ma. I got it," Chris said, his tone softening. "Also, I know you can get away with smoking some of your own shit, because you just sell weed, but when it comes to the hard stuff, you don't get high on your own supply," you said, letting him in on your code.

"You test the product out on your gums when we pick it up, but that's as close as you get to doing the stuff we sell. The shit we're messing with is highly addictive, and you don't want all your hard-earned money disappearing up your nose," you sternly told him. "Don't worry, ma. I only do the natural shit," Chris said, peering out the window at all the streetlights.

As the two of you pulled into a parking spot outside a fancy hotel, it started to drizzle outside. You put the car in park and reached over Chris, pulling your shotgun out of your glove box. You hiked up your dress and tucked your weapon into your lace garter.

"Damn, ma. That thigh holster is kinda sexy," Chris rasped, his eyes drawn to your legs. You scoffed and narrowed your gaze at him, trying to act disgusted by his comment.

"Turn off your cell. Let me do the talking. I've only been doing business with this guy for about a year, but if he knows this is our first deal together, he'll call the whole thing off," you said, ignoring him and looking dead into his eyes before reaching for your suitcase in the backseat. He nodded at you.

"I'm trusting you, Chris. Don't fuck this up. This is a $300,000 deal that's gonna make me $150k in profit if I play my cards right." Chris' eyes widened. He'd never bought $300,000 worth of weed. Maybe in his lifetime, but not in one run.

The two of you got out of the car, and Chris snatched the joint back from out of your cup holder after turning off his phone and tucked it back behind his ear. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you approached the entrance of the hotel.

The two of you walked through the crowded lobby undetected, making your way up a flight of stairs. You guys headed down the long corridor, both sets of your shoes hitting the hideous paisley-printed carpet beneath you.

You approached the room, knocking softly on the door, and a few seconds later, your connect answered. He looked at both of you, looked both ways down the long hallway, and motioned for you guys to enter. "Okay, I got your stuff. You got my money?" Your supplier asked, presenting a suitcase on the hotel bed that was nearly identical to yours.

There were two men in sunglasses and nice suits who were standing behind him. You acknowledged them each with a nod out of respect, and your eyes wandered back over to your dealer. "It's all right here," you said, tossing your suitcase onto the bed beside his.

The two men in the room popped open the case and started running your cash through a money counter. Chris had been in the drug world for a few years, but he'd never seen so much money all at once, and he certainly hadn't met any dealers that had money counters on hand.

"Hey, I'm Chris. 'Sup gentleman?" Chris acknowledged the other two men as well. "What's your name?" Chris asked, extending his hand and smiling at your connect. "Uh. Miles," he hesitantly replied, glancing between both you and Chris.

Shit, you thought, widening your eyes and thinking about how you were going to ream Chris after this deal for not keeping his mouth shut.

"How you doing, Miles? I know my girl here is a loyal customer of yours, but I just wanted to let you know that I gotta guy that can get us the same shit for about $100k less. I know my girl here doesn't wanna take her business elsewhere, but I've been trying to convince her, because it's kind of a steal," Chris said.

Your jaw slightly fell open, still stunned that Chris was so comfortable talking to such high profile dealers he'd just met. "Who? Is it Diablo, man? That asshole is always trying to take my customers!" Miles slammed his fist down on the table.

"You know I don't like to name names in this industry. You're nicer to deal with anyway. I just was wondering if you could maybe sweeten the deal for us?" Chris asked, pulling the joint out from behind his ear and extending it as an offering.

"If you can knock down the price for us, I'm going to be helping my girl move this shit, so we'll do it twice as fast and be back to buy more in half the time. You'd be making money, really. Then you and your boys can share this joint in celebration of how much abundance and wealth you're going to see this year," Chris smirked.

Miles was silent for a moment as if he were actually mulling over the idea. He peered back at his men, who were both too stunned to speak, but they all shrugged and then silently nodded in agreement. "What do you say? $200k?" Chris inquired, raising his eyebrows and looking between the three men.

"I can't go that low. I got people to pay," Miles sternly shook his head. "How about $250,000?" Chris asked. "How about $275k, and I throw in an extra couple of kilos?" Miles offered. "What do you think, ma? Sound like a deal to you?" Chris asked, acknowledging that this was your deal, and that the final say was ultimately up to you.

Miles shifted his gaze towards you. You were dumbfounded and at a loss for words, but you nodded in response. "Alright. Pleasure doing business, Miles," Chris passed Miles the joint and gave him another stern handshake.

The two men opened up the suitcase they were handing off to you and put back $25,000 along with another two kilos of white powder that were strategically bagged tightly and wrapped snugly in plastic.

Chris' eyes subtly widened as his gaze traveled to the drugs. He had only seen cocaine a few times in his life, and it had always been in small quantities. Never 12 kilos worth. But he managed to keep his composure, hoping they couldn't detect that this was the first deal of this magnitude that Chris had closed, and they didn't.

"You don't mind if I test it, do you?" Chris asked, motioning towards the substance. "Not at all," Miles said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small baggy. He shook a bit of it out into Chris' palm. Chris licked his finger, dipped it into the powder, and ran it along his gums.

"Alright, Miles. This is some good shit," Chris complimented him, and the two of you made your way out the door, suitcase in hand, and you guys glided down the steps and out through the lobby doors.

"Holy shit, ma. I didn't know how much I could feel my teeth until I couldn't," Chris mumbled, surprised by the effects of the cocaine as the two of you stepped out into the rain.

It wasn't until you were each sitting side-by-side in the car that you finally spoke up. "Chris, how did you learn to do that?" You asked, peering over at him, the rain pitter pattering on your windshield. "I know how to talk to people," Chris nonchalantly told you, a smirk playing in the corner of his lip as he shrugged.

"Wait. Who's your other guy who could get it for $200k?" You asked, wrinkling your brows. "There is no other guy," Chris shrugged. "Just used a fake story as leverage. But now I know he has an enemy who's always stealing his clientele, Diablo. You know, kinda like how we were when you were just selling weed," Chris playfully nudged you in the arm.

"What were you going to do if he didn't budge?" You asked, searching his face for answers. "That's the thing. They always budge. He doesn't want to lose out on a sale," Chris told you. You stared at him in silent awe for a few seconds.

"Do you have any idea how much profit you just made me?" You asked him. "I've never been good at math, but I have a vague idea. I wanna split it. 50/50," he gave you a smug look. "How about 40/60," you suggested, raising an eyebrow at him. "Deal," he said without hesitation.

"Chris. That was single-handedly the hottest thing I've ever seen a man do," you admitted, your gaze dancing from his blue eyes to his pouty smile. You wanted to tear his clothes off right then and there and fuck him senseless in the back seat.

"I know, ma. I know. By the way, you owe me a joint."

click to read chapter 2 ✨️

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laurfilijames · 7 months ago

Text

Breathe

Part 7

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 6.9k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Trauma/PTSD/nightmares/insomnia. Unprotected intercourse.

Summary: Unanswered questions amp up every emotion that time does nothing to lessen, and so much uncertainty raises the concern if everything will turn out okay or if moving on is the only answer.

A/N: Less hurt than the last chapter, I promise! Thank you to everyone who was so enthusiastic and responsive to it and made all that angst worth writing!

Photo by @avatarskingdom and edited by me. Please do not use without permission or credit. Headers by the wonderful @spaghettificationandpretzels!

Chapter Playlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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You felt numb as much as you felt angry, scared and heartbroken.

It was all still so surreal, having to remind yourself constantly that Will broke up with you and was gone, the persistent sick feeling in your stomach growing with every thought of his life being at risk and that even though he was no longer yours, you might never see him again.

You did everything you could to understand his side of things, but with that your frustration increased wildly, the fact that he hadn't even given you the chance to be there for him stinging almost as much as him abandoning what you knew, or thought, you had.

Did he really believe you wouldn’t support him, that you didn’t care enough about him to give him space and time while he dealt with all the things he needed to, that your love for him simply wasn’t enough for him to want to hold onto while he was deployed, that everything you thought you had been building was broken and false?

The toaster popped, shooting your slice of bread out, making you jump after forgetting you were even waiting for it.

You ate because you had to, but food tasted bleak and flavourless, and everything that landed in your stomach felt like it sat there and made your nausea even worse.

You had made a whole lasagna earlier just because, giving you something to do for the better part of an hour, but the thought of eating it was so unappealing and you had the idea that maybe you would drop it off for Benny. Taking a bite out of the plain piece of toast, you thought how awful it might feel to go over to the Miller’s house right now, and decided against it, opting to freeze the lasagna for another time instead.

Another bite and the toast was in the trash, and you stood in the middle of your kitchen unmoving, not sure what to do with yourself next.

You hadn’t slept, and whether it was fatigue or just your grief pummeling you, you broke down and sobbed, your body shaking as the memory of Will holding you in his arms in this very spot flooded you, dancing one night while in the middle of cleaning up dinner, pausing almost anything in favour of stealing a piece of each other.

Work was a welcomed distraction, forcing you to go through the motions and function like everything was normal, able to allow you to bury your emotions for the course of a shift and nearly forget about what had happened, only to have it all come back the moment you got in your car and started your drive home, knowing you had nothing to look forward to.

You hadn’t been back to the gym since the day you saw both brothers there all beat up from their brawl with each other, your body too exhausted and weak to even consider working out, but as you sat at your kitchen table with nothing else to do, you went and changed into your gym clothes and drove over.

It was busy enough, observing the evening crowd enough to keep you entertained as you walked on the Stair Master, each step automatic and absent-minded.

Through a few people and machines you spotted Benny, resting on a bench between sets of chest presses, his smile and slightly awkward wave making you feel equally so, and as he stood and started weaving his way over to you, you felt bad that he probably felt obligated to talk to you.

You stopped the machine and stepped down, grabbing your things in the assumption you would probably feel like leaving after this conversation, your water bottle shaking in your hand that trembled with nerves and adrenaline.

“Hey,” Benny said, somewhat hesitantly.

“Hey, Benny,” you answered, smoothing your hand over your sweaty hair.

“How’re you doing?”

You sighed, looking down at the floor as you shook your head. “Do you want the fake answer or the honest one?”

Benny huffed a laugh in understanding. “You look like shit.”

You laughed out of disbelief, bringing yourself to look at him as he scratched his head and tried to recover.

“I mean- fuck.”

“No, I look like shit. Feel like it too,” you confirmed, reassuring his observations.

“Are you looking after yourself?” he asked, his face full of concern.

You shrugged, “As much as I can, I guess.”

He nodded, sympathetic to your feelings. “Are you eating? Sleeping?”

“Here and there. Not much of both if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, I get it. Just do your best even though it’s hard.”

You hummed. “Does it get any easier?”

He tilted his head a bit. “Does what get easier?”

“The worry, the waiting…”

“Oh, uh…” he pulled his ball cap up off his head, smoothed his hair back and placed it back on again, this time backwards. “Yeah, I guess we all just get used to it in a way. But I’d be lying if I said that everyday you’re half expecting to get that phone call…”

He saw the tears in your eyes well to the surface, and unlike most times, Benny felt a bit speechless.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” you admitted, your words not even directed at Benny, but rather said aloud simply because you couldn’t keep them in.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” you went on, wiping your eyes and shaking your head like it would suddenly shake away your feelings. “I’m gonna get going, see you later.”

“Yeah, of course,” Benny responded, his voice soft. “Hey,” he called after you, making you pause and turn half-way to face him.

“Just don’t give up on him yet.”

You gave a weak smile. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.”

You made it to your car before you really fell apart, the tears coming down your face so hot and fast you could barely see to unlock the door, and when you flopped down into the seat, you rested your head against the steering wheel and wept.

The most overwhelming sense of panic came over you, taking control over everything and trapping you in it, your mind racing with every horrible thought imaginable, and before you could realize, your breathing had turned short and gasping, your mouth desperately trying to suck in air between sobs.

Your hands wrapped around yourself, squeezing you tighter than the grip of the anxiety attack was, feeling your whole body shaking and trembling and all you wanted to do was scream.

That was when Will’s soothing voice popped in your head, urging you to focus on your breaths and count each one, the sound of the numbers in his even tone allowing you to stop the panic, and you began counting out loud until your breathing eventually leveled out.

How could the same person who was the reason you were feeling this way manage to help calm you, you thought, exhaling slowly as everything around you started to come into focus again.

You ran your hands over your face, your body still shaking with each inhalation though they had become more regular, knowing that as much as you were hurt and betrayed, you still loved Will more than you could imagine loving anything.

Benny’s phone rang not thirty seconds after he’d just hung up, Will’s number lighting up his screen suspiciously close to him ending his conversation with Tom.

He pressed the green button to answer it, and before he could even get out a ‘hey’, Will’s voice stopped him.

“Are you checking up on me?”

“Uhh-”

“I heard Redfly talking to you, idiot.”

Benny scratched his head, trying to gauge which way this was about to go.

“If you’re wondering how I am, just ask me, Ben.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes that’s easier said than done,” he quipped, recalling how many forced conversations they’d had lately where Will gave short, vague answers to everything.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Benny sighed, lifting his arm up in exasperation before letting it fall and hit his side, “I dunno, man, I just thought I’d get a truthful answer out of Redfly over you. He’s with you every day and can tell how you are.”

He heard Will sigh, and Benny took the pause as a chance to give his brother the opportunity to tell him for himself.

“So, how are you, then?”

Will sighed heavily again. “I don’t fucking know anymore. Okay, I guess?” he said, his uncertainty clear.

“Tom said things are going well with the op, and despite it all you seem like you’ve got your head in the game.”

“Yeah, that’s all fine,” Will explained, like his role as a Captain on this tour was the least of his worries. “It’s everything else…”

“Yeah…” Benny agreed, holding space for Will to continue.

“How’s she doing? Have you seen her?”

“Saw her at the gym yesterday,” Benny said carefully, trying to decide if it would be better or worse to tell him she wasn’t doing well, but ultimately knowing if he wanted Will to be honest, he would have to be too. “She’s not doing good, man.”

Will was silent, making Benny pull the phone away from his ear to check if the call had dropped or not.

“I can’t believe I did this to her,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well,” Benny said flatly, “What’s done is done, now you just have to focus on finishing this job and getting back home so you can fix it.”

“Do you think there will be anything left to fix?”

Benny blew the air out of his mouth slowly. “That’s up to you two. If you both want it to work out…”

“That’s what I’m worried about. By the time I get back she’ll have moved on and learned to hate me.”

“You don’t know that,” Benny countered. Able to tell the expression that would be on Will’s face right now, he continued. “She still loves you man.”

“I wish she didn’t. She deserves better, not this shit…”

Benny’s heart ached for his brother, hating that he was going through this on top of being back in action, praying his stress didn’t get the better of him or be the cause of any fatal mistakes.

“Listen, man, I gotta go,” Will spoke, his voice weak and quiet.

“Yeah, okay. Be careful out there.”

“Always.”

The beep of the call ending sounded in Benny’s ear before there was even the chance to consider saying anything else, and he hoped Will would hang onto the thought that maybe it wasn’t all lost yet.

Days turned into weeks, but the amount of time that was passing didn’t help to make things feel any better, making you wonder every day if it would ever stop hurting.

Anger grew as you wracked your brain combing through every detail of every conversation and act that could've led to this, wondering where it was that you went wrong, but you still couldn’t pinpoint the moment Will gave up on loving you or what it was that made him peel away. It almost hurt just as much as him being gone did, unable to know what the cause was so you could try to rectify it and simply get closure as to why it ended, your heart like an open wound that would never heal.

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time before exiting your room, on your way to meet two of your girlfriends for a quiet drink, your attempts to refuse unaccepted.

You couldn’t deny that it would possibly help get your mind off of Will, but you knew it was futile as everything you did and everywhere you went, he was there.

“That guy can’t stop looking over here at you,” Grace said through a grin as she nudged you with her elbow, and you twisted in your chair slightly to follow her gaze.

You took a sip of your wine as you assessed the man with dark brown hair and brown eyes staring directly at you, his smile bright and clean, his lips plump and inviting.

You said nothing as you turned back to your friends, raising your eyebrows as if that was a response that would appease anyone.

“Come on, he’s gorgeous!” Nicole urged, tilting her head indignantly.

“I never said he wasn’t!” you defended, but in your head all you could think was how he wasn’t Will.

“You need a rebound fuck,” Grace suggested, and the thought made your stomach flip.

“I’m not ready for any of that yet,” you admitted, hoping they would understand how raw everything still felt.

“We know,” Nicole sympathized, giving your hand a squeeze as she placed hers overtop, and you knew they would support you in anything whether it was continuing to miss Will with every part of your being or hooking up with the next man who walked by.

“Oh shit, he’s coming over,” Grace blurted, adjusting in her seat as a wide smile appeared on her face.

Your heart plummeted in your gut, and you sighed, praying this wouldn’t be as horribly awkward as you were expecting it to be, trying to find the energy to be kind and cordial despite not wanting to.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” a deep, smooth voice purred behind you, and you felt the demand of his presence as he stood beside your chair.

His eyes were even more alluring up close, and his crooked smirk was equally charming as it was sexy, the dark scruff around his mouth complimenting his olive complexion.

You swallowed, feeling unable to find words, and with a low chuckle, it prompted him to continue.

“I couldn’t help but want to come over to say hi and introduce myself.” He spoke with such confidence, his voice so seductive. “I’m Cam.”

He held out his hand for you to shake, and you did, feeling your hand tremble slightly before he took it in a firm grip and moved it up and down once on your behalf.

You introduced yourself as well as Nicole and Grace who you wanted to kick under the table for how they were gawking at him, but not as much as you wanted to crawl under it to hide away as he pulled out a chair from the empty table beside yours and took a seat.

“Can I get you ladies another round?”

“Oh, yes please!” the girls chimed, seeming completely enthusiastic about him joining you.

You assessed his hand for any ring as he waved the waitress over, requesting for the same drinks to be brought to the table, feeling relieved there was no band wrapped around his ring finger, but something about him still felt off to you.

He’s not Will, your mind reminded you, and you took a long drink of your wine to try to swallow the sour feeling stirring in your gut.

It was comfortable enough talking to him, even catching yourself laughing at some of the things he said and genuinely having a good time, but every time you felt yourself liking something about him, there was one thing you found you didn’t.

He’s not Will.

You found yourself lost in his chocolate eyes as he spoke to you, imagining instead they were clear blue and held a brightness that reflected the love you had learned to see shine through them, only to be reminded that that wasn’t something that existed for you anymore, and you blinked back to the reality you faced.

“Would it be too forward of me if I asked for your number?” Cam asked, his eyebrows raising on his forehead in a hopeful, but confident expression.

“Hm, yeah, sure,” you replied, picking his phone up from the table that he slid over to you and typed your number into a text message along with your name, sending it to yourself.

“I’ll call you,” he said, standing from his seat where he continued to smile at you.

Your eyes followed him as he walked over to the bar to pay his tab, feeling something stir in you as he looked back over his shoulder at you one last time before he sauntered out of the bar, everything about him charming and gorgeous.

But he wasn’t Will.

“Are you going to go out with him?” Nicole asked excitedly, the looks on both your friend’s faces confusing you like you missed something they hadn’t.

“Umm,” you pondered, trying to wrap your head around the situation, the three glasses of wine making your head feel fuzzy. “I- I don’t know.”

You felt like crying, feeling a sense of guilt and anxiety bubble up in you, like you were betraying Will and being unfaithful despite the reminder that he wasn’t yours slapping you in the face and twisting your heart in your chest.

A few days had passed since your night out with the girls, and as expected, a text from Cam had come through asking to take you for dinner, the invitation sitting ignored and unresponded to in your messages.

Every time you opened your phone to reply, you would see Will’s name a few spots down from Cam’s, the contrast between them and what was past and what was present making you wish more than ever that you could go back in time and try to mend whatever it was that took Will away from you.

You didn't recall ever being so irritable, your temper short and your patience gone, a toss up whether you would scream or cry at the drop of a hat becoming the daily gamble.

The gym didn’t even seem to allay these frustrations, and as you tried to adjust the height of the rack bracket and it got stuck, you felt that blanket of red creeping up through you.

Cursing under your breath, you wiggled the pin again and again, tugging and jostling it to try to get it to move, the clanking of the metal against metal drawing attention over to you by prying, judging eyes.

“Need help?”

You sighed with relief, hearing the familiar voice that belonged to Benny, closing your eyes and counting your breaths as he stepped in and adjusted it for you.

“Thank you,” you muttered, avoiding meeting his eyes as shame washed over you.

“You alright?”

You forced the air out of your lungs again, still not meeting his piercing gaze.

“I'm just so angry and there's nothing I can do about it,” you admitted, your tone defeated.

“I understand that,” Benny drawled, leaning against the squat rack.

You felt him studying you, almost as if he was debating saying something.

“He asks about you every time I talk to him…”

It felt like the wind was knocked right out of you, and somehow you managed to speak.

“He does?”

Your bewilderment seemed to confuse Benny, his face screwed up as he looked at you like it was the most obvious and normal thing.

“Yeah?”

You covered your face with your hands, letting out a growl that did nothing to signify your frustration at the situation.

“I still don’t know what I did wrong. He stopped staying the night and became more and more distant each time I saw him…” You paused briefly, trying to put your thoughts in order. “Then he just stopped altogether and the next time we spoke he ended it, and now you’re saying he asks about me?”

“He didn’t tell you about his nightmare?” Benny asked, his shock blatant.

You shook your head, your brows knitted tightly together. “No?”

Benny sighed and rolled his eyes, shifting on his feet as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Jesus Christ…okay,” he groaned, exasperated by his brother’s ability to consistently make things worse.

You stood there unmoving as Benny explained what had happened, going over all the details Will had told him of his nightmare and his reactions to it, and you felt cold despite having worked up a sweat from what you had done in your routine already.

“I told him he wouldn't actually hurt you but he was so messed up from it. I think it was days before he managed to sleep after that,” Benny said, his tone sad. “I've only seen him that distraught after a nightmare a couple times before.”

“Why wouldn’t he have said anything to me?” you asked, your voice a whisper.

Benny shrugged, “I think he was scared. And then knowing he was leaving on top of it…it was just too much for him.”

You nodded, rubbing your hands on your arms for some sort of comfort, feeling like your heart was breaking all over again, but this time for Will rather than because of him.

“I’m not making excuses for him,” Benny went on, leaning with his arms up on the barbell that hung across the rack. “I don’t agree with what he did, I just know how messy things can get in that head of his, and as his brother I kinda always have to have his back, but it doesn't mean I’m on his side.”

You nodded, at a loss for words as your mind tried to process everything.

It was a helpless feeling, having some sort of understanding now but unable to do anything about it, wondering if you should send Will a message or have Benny pass one along, but all you wanted to tell him was you loved him and that was probably something he didn’t need right now.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said softly, all of your anger replaced with sadness and worry, your heart aching in your chest.

Time continued to pass but did nothing to heal, each day marking another one gone without a word between you and Will, leaving you more unclear than ever at what to do, feeling that if he wanted anything to do with you, he would’ve reached out by now.

Not wanting to put Benny in the middle of it, you never once asked him to interfere or treated him as a messenger, only asking how his brother was doing when he hadn’t told you on his own and thankful that he usually would provide an update anyway knowing you were wondering.

The last time you saw the younger Miller you had dropped off a week’s worth of food, having prepped a variety of high fat and carb meals, helping to get him ready for his upcoming fights in a new weight class.

Cooking for Benny was just the type of distraction you needed, feeling useful and productive and able to put this latent energy into something good for someone else, offering to make his meals for him each week so he didn’t have to worry about his nutrition while focusing on his training.

He had told you as he helped unload all the food from your car that Will was due to return home soon, a matter of days or weeks but there was no exact date yet, and every time you went to the gym or to the grocery store, you braced yourself for a run-in with the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You finished washing your face and brushing your teeth, checking your phone one last time before leaving it on your dresser for the night, never getting used to the disappointment you felt at not seeing a sweet message from Will like you used to whenever he wasn’t with you, and still holding hope that whenever it did buzz with a text, it would be Benny saying Will was back.

Your anxiousness was getting the better of you, feeling like it was worsening each day to the point you were struggling to sleep even more than what had now become your normal, never resting for more than a couple of hours at a time if you were lucky.

So many things passed through your mind in those hours spent awake, some of which consisted of that outstanding offer for a date with Cam, not declining it yet despite knowing it was something you didn’t want anything to do with. Nicole and Grace would still bring it up whenever you talked but didn’t put any pressure on you, both of them knowing deep down you were happiest with Will, and you weren’t about to jeopardize any remaining chance with him until you knew for sure that there was an absolute finality to your relationship.

Not feeling tired but knowing you needed to try to sleep, you crawled into bed, nestling yourself under the covers on the side that Will used to occupy, closing your eyes in hopes your mind would drum up the memory of his arms wrapped around you.

You knew you shouldn't do it, knowing it wasn't helping you move on and that some might deem it unhealthy, but every time you laid in bed you imagined him with you and it was becoming the only thing that would get you to sleep.

It had been your haven; the warmth of his body and your limbs tired and wonderfully achy from sex providing all the comfort you needed to drift off, both of you usually able to sleep soundly with the exception of Will having the occasional nightmare until his mind plagued him with the one that he couldn’t get past.

How could it be so wrong to go back to a time when a version of you didn't haunt his dreams, when you had brought each other nothing but love and understanding and a sense of safety and security? You kept replaying what Benny had told you about his nightmare over and over, the sense of guilt you had over it working to torture you just as much as the dream tormented Will.

You sighed, squeezing your eyelids tight, doing everything in your power to recall the feel of his lips on your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin as he wished you goodnight, his beard scratching against you in the most addicting way as he tucked his face as close to yours as he could.

Tears started to spring from your eyes the harder you shut them, thinking how you would give it all up in a heartbeat so Will could be happy and live a life with all of his worries put at ease even if it meant you couldn’t be a part of it.

Will picked at the frayed laces on his boot as he listened to the dial tone, one leg bent to rest on his knee while waiting for Benny to pick up, excited to share the news that he was flying home tomorrow and to get an update on Benny’s training, knowing he had been working hard to put on the last few pounds needed to put him in the Light Heavyweight class.

“Sup, bro?” he finally answered, out of breath.

“Hey, Ben. You running?”

“Just in the middle of some light spars. Got my first fight tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, buddy!” he hollered, his excitement palpable through the phone.

“That’s awesome, Benny,” Will praised, proud of his brother for reaching his goal.

“How’re you doing?” Benny panted.

“I’m okay,” he paused, planting his foot down so both were on the ground and scratching his head. “Coming in tomorrow.”

“Fuck, seriously?”

“Yeah…”

“Shit. The fight is in Fort Myers, I can’t pick you up, man.”

Will tried his best to disguise his disappointment, his leg bouncing as he tried to level his voice.

“It’s fine, I’ll take a cab or get Redfly to drop me off,” he suggested, knowing he wouldn’t even ask his friend since Tom would be so eager to be reunited with his girls.

Benny sighed, “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I’m just sorry I’ll miss that fight.”

“There will be more, don’t worry,” he assured. “Safe flight home, eh?”

“Thanks Benny. Good luck tomorrow. Knock ‘em dead.”

Benny chuckled, “Yeah, I will. See you soon, bro.”

Will ended the call and sat for a minute, the bit of excitement he felt about coming home diminished, feeling a sense of dejection that he officially had no one there for him.

He considered all of his options, the thought of reaching out to you even crossing his mind, but knew that he couldn’t and he would just have to settle for whatever warm welcome the cab driver wouldn’t provide him.

He blew air out of his mouth slowly, starting to feel like he couldn't capture a proper breath, closing his eyes as the sense of self-inflicted and well-deserved dread he was now accustomed to consumed him.

One, two, three…he counted, the numbers switching from the sound of his own voice to yours, repeating them with each breath in and out until he secured a consistent pattern.

Tomorrow.

You knew what it meant without any other context, the single word appearing on your screen from Benny making your heart jump into your throat, and you grabbed the edge of the countertop behind you with shaky hands as you leaned against it.

He had promised to tell you when he knew for sure and here it was, the day you had hoped for for so long, but one you were also terrified for.

Will was coming home.

As a slew of emotions ran through you, it dawned on you that his arrival happened to be on the same day as Benny’s fight, and you wondered if that meant anyone would be there to welcome him home.

You picked up your phone to reply to Benny, thinking of asking him who was planning to pick Will up from base, but as soon as you started typing the message, you hit the arrow to delete it, putting your phone back down on the counter.

It wasn’t your business, you told yourself, fighting every urge to make it yours, the thought of Wil returning home from the hells he faced with no one there for him breaking your heart.

You figured you were the last person he would want to see anyway, and knowing you had the potential to send him even more over the edge made you feel sick, thinking of how much had changed from when you were the one who used to bring him peace.

The flight was long, and it felt like every muscle in Will’s body ached as he walked off the plane and waited to board the bus that would bring them to the base station, feeling so close but still so far from being home.

There was continuous chatter around him, the excitement of all the soldiers about reuniting with their loved ones making Will feel happy and sad at the same time, and he did his best to seem enthused when asked if he was looking forward to going home.

He checked his phone more times than he needed to, having sent Benny a text that he had landed to which he responded with a thumbs up emoji, part of him hoping that there would be something from you, only to remember he didn’t deserve any grace for his actions.

He was getting everything he deserved, he thought as he pressed his head back against the headrest after sitting down, sighing out slowly while closing his eyes, finding it amusing that being alone was something he was both looking forward to and completely dreading.

It wasn’t long before the bus arrived at base, and Will remained in his seat until everyone else had gotten off, not wanting his fellow troops who were so eager to hold their loved ones to be held up by him who was only going to wait for a fucking cab.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way through people hugging, a weak smile forming on his lips in seeing one of his friends holding his newborn baby, and not far off did he watch Tom embrace both of his daughter’s in his arms, picking them up and swinging them around until they were screaming with delight.

After making his way to the doors, he pulled out his phone and looked up the number for a taxi, rubbing his other hand over his tired eyes roughly, praying it wouldn’t take long for one to show up.

The area he stood in was quiet with everyone else still lingering behind, but he glanced up when he noticed a couple walking past hand-in-hand, pausing to steal a kiss.

Will was about to hit the number to dial for Taxi Tampa when he looked up again, his eyes landing on a familiar face and one he couldn’t forget even if he tried.

You had just walked in and were stopped in your tracks as you noticed him at the same time, your face a mix of so many emotions that Will could hardly pick one out.

You gave a small shrug and shook your head, silently explaining that you didn’t really know what you were doing there, and Will all but choked as he tried to take a breath, his shock in seeing you completely overwhelming.

He dropped his bag and let his phone fall on top of it, stepping toward you in purposeful strides, his eyes welling up just the same as yours were.

“I wasn’t sure if I should even come but…I had to show up for you,” you shook out, Will’s hands reaching to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing your cheeks as tears started to fall down them.

He nodded in response, unable to say anything, his own tears breaking their threshold as you grabbed onto his forearms, rubbing them through his shirt as he continued to hold onto you.

He pulled you into a hug, relieved when you embraced him just as hard, feeling himself relax into you, his face nuzzling your head.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, alternating his remorse with ‘thank you’ between pressing kisses onto your forehead and hair, your sobs making your body lurch against his.

Your hands pawed at his back, clawing at his fatigues like you were trying to hold onto him for good, and Will prayed with everything he had that you never would let go.

He wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that for, but he eventually felt himself calm down, relishing in holding you and being in your presence again, knowing he would do everything in his power to make every bit of hurt up to you.

Will inhaled deeply, letting it go slowly out of his mouth, feeling like he could finally breathe properly again after all this time.

It was surreal to be in his arms, his warm embrace something you missed more than you imagined you could have, the feel of his body on yours and his scent surrounding you so familiar.

His heartbeat thrummed in your ear as you continued to rest your face on his chest, hearing his breathing having evened out and realizing yours had done the same.

You reluctantly pulled away to look at him, still keeping your arms locked around his middle. “Should we get you home?”

Will’s mouth turned up on one side, his crooked smirk making you melt.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his hand falling to land on your lower back as you both turned to where his bag was left on the floor.

You expected a moment like this to feel awkward, but it was anything but, like you were learning each other all over again, standing in Will’s room with your arms around each other’s waist, your faces so close and your lips inches from touching.

Finally, Will leaned into you, softly pressing his lips on yours, making you hold your breath as you let your eyes close and kissed him back, a broken moan transferring into his mouth as you forced yourself to try to take in air again.

His hand ran across your back, pulling you close to him as he took a step into you, your shirt slipping up so his palm splayed out on your skin, that sensation alone making you shiver in addition to how good it felt to have his lips on yours again.

Kisses grew more intense as each second ticked by, only pausing when he lifted your shirt over your head, and despite feeling so desperate, you both continued to keep every touch slow and careful.

His fingers pinched the clasp of your bra together to release it, moving the straps down your shoulders until it fell from your body, returning his hands to your arms where he trailed his fingertips up them to your neck and then down to your bare chest.

You found the buttons on his shirt, blindly unfastening each one until you were able to peel it open, feeling his smooth chest and the defined muscles of his torso, his warmth radiating out onto you.

Will reached up to take hold of your face, angling your head to press his tongue deeper in your mouth, stealing every bit of air from you in the process.

Breathe, your mind begged, but kissing him was better than breathing.

The rough material of his fatigues brushed against your nipples, making your breath hitch in your throat even more, your body moving to rub against him again to replicate the feeling.

You were rid of your pants and underwear next, leaving you naked while Will remained in his uniform, but the intoxicating feel of your skin on his bare chest let him know that he needed to have as much skin-on-skin contact as possible, and he tore the garment off his upper body quickly before moving to his pants.

Once you were bared to each other, you returned to your slow caresses, touching and exploring with light fingers and hands, your pleasure brought on purely by love.

You stopped kissing him for a moment, teasing your lips on his until you managed to whisper, your voice thick with lust.

“I need you, Will. I need you inside me.”

His nose nudged your cheek as he agreed with the nod of his head, his hands clasping your face again like he feared if he went too long without kissing you, you would vanish.

He took your hand and led you to the bed, sitting down on it and shifted back slightly where you followed, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, looking into his vibrantly blue eyes as he gazed at you lovingly.

His hands slid all along your back, bringing you closer to his body before they landed on your legs, guiding you to put them straight so they were behind him and you were seated flush against his lap.

You breathed out slowly as your forehead rested against his, feeling his cock settle at your folds, and when you moved your hips ever so slightly, you gasped at the sensation.

Will kissed along your jawline, his hands massaging your hips, ready to assist as you lifted yourself enough to reach between your bodies and take hold of his cock, guiding him to your entrance where you slowly sank onto his length.

Short, shuddered breaths were exchanged between you before you found each other’s lips again, and you gradually began to move together, finding a tempo that sang to you and helped display the love that had been missing.

Will held onto every part of you that he could, grasping at you as you rocked and rode him, his hips jutting up into yours in slow, meticulous thrusts to give you everything you needed, feeling your desperation grow while his did too.

Your clit rubbed against the coarse hairs above his cock, grinding until you were at the edge, the way your wet walls clenched around and encased him driving him to the brink what felt like faster than ever.

Even though you were both quick to arrive at your climaxes, nothing about it was rushed, savouring each movement to get there and not taking a single second for granted, every emotion felt transferred through your bodies.

Will kissed you hard, groaning into your mouth as he came undone, coating your walls and filling you completely with his hot cum that started to leak out of you as you continued to move on his shaft, your orgasm lagging just seconds behind.

Your fingers clawed at the back of his neck, scratching and digging into his flesh as your body took every bit of pleasure from him, the seal of your mouths breaking as you both panted for air, his head falling into the hollow of your neck while yours rested on the side of his, his hair soft on your cheek.

His mouth smeared wet across your collarbone as he moved his face, pressing sloppy, lazy kisses onto your skin as he continued to hold you close, feeling his chest and back expand and contract with each heavy breath while you kept your arms secured around him.

Will brought you with him as he laid down on his sheets, your bodies still connected, his fingertips tracing your hairline before he leaned toward you and kissed your lips again.

After a few more minutes of kissing, you tucked your face into his neck, your legs entwining with his, Will rolling over onto his back where he held your hand and brought it to rest on his chest.

A silent agreement seemed to settle between you to leave the talking until tomorrow, right now needing to simply be with each other, and like nothing had ever gone wrong, Will closed his eyes and fell asleep, his mind and body finding a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again.

---

Part 8

Taglist:

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#will miller #triple frontier #will miller x female reader #charlie hunnam #will miller x reader #will 'ironhead' miller #will miller smut #william miller #william 'ironhead' miller #charlie hunnam characters

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lalunanymph · 1 year ago

Text

sucker punch (m) — sae itoshi

in the pivotal moments leading up to the most significant fight of his career against his estranged younger brother, sae meets a girl who turns his entire world upside down

warnings:- underground fighter!sae, fem!reader, heiress!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears dresses, makeup, heels, etc), language, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, unprotected sex, cowgirl, rough sex, petnames (princess, whore, slut, daddy's girl), choking, power play between sae and reader, degradation, sae is an ass towards reader

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ masterlist ࿐ྂ

✯ chapter 1

Sae didn’t believe in love.

Growing up in a harsh part of Tokyo where he had to fend for himself and his little brother, Rin, gave him an understanding that the world was a cruel place. Yet even crueller were the promises of a happy ending he read in crumpled up paperbacks the old bookstore down his apartment would throw out after it started to yellow.

It was always the love stories that rarely got sold.

Boy meets girl, they fall in love, they fight, they reunite and they live—

“Happily ever after,” Oliver’s voice slammed him out of his reverie. Those heterochromatic eyes prodded him when his silence got too loud.

“Sae, were you even listening to what I just said?”

The younger man slid his apathetic teal eyes to his comrade and friend. He gave a noncommittal shrug.

Aiku sighed. His frustration was threatening to boil over. It would be a month till the U20’s biggest match against Blue Lock and their starfighter was a million miles away.

“I said: We can try the underhanded tactic to bring either Isagi or Rin down and then go for the throat. The money will be ours and we can make enough bank to last us for a year. Neither of us have to fight again. That will be our happily ever after.”

Sae was tired of listening to miracles. He stood up abruptly and nodded.

“Whatever. I’m heading home now.”

Aiku didn’t stop him from leaving, and neither did their other comrades.

Shouldering his heavy parka onto his sore shoulders, Sae stalked out of the U20 facility and to his car. The interior stank of takeout, sweat and the tinny rust of blood. He gunned the engine, but it faltered. Cursing under his breath, he tried again. And again.

But, the stupid engine refused to start.

Contemplating if he should just push the damn car back to his apartment, he almost missed a soft voice clearing her throat.

“Do you need help, sir?”

Sae was about to retort that he had it under control and she should mind her own business, when he caught sight of you.

Dressed in a simple, beige A-line piece that showed off your legs and arms, a chain dangling from your neck and a pair of sunglasses perched on your head, you were the picture of quiet elegance. The fancy clothing couldn’t contain the humble appearance of your smile when you motioned to his car.

“I have a pair of jumpstart cables. You could borrow them.” He still hadn’t responded to you. “If you want,” you added hastily, not wanting to seem pushy.

Sae blinked. His silence stretched on without an intermission.

You faltered and let your embarrassment swallow you whole. In hindsight, Sae found it adorable how you flushed and stuttered like you wished your entire existence would melt away just from his unresponsiveness.

“Sure. That would be great.” After a beat of hesitation, he added a word which seemed foreign coming from his rough and rude tongue. “Thanks.”

This should be the part of the story where boy meets girl.

Sae jump started his car with your help, and as a treat for your kindness, he invited you to a late night izakaya selling his favourite kombu ramen. You were a stranger passing by, someone from the upper end side of Tokyo who noticed him struggling and decided to help.

You told him you knew what it was like to struggle and not be aided. Sae wondered what you could’ve possibly meant when he caught sight of the signet ring on your right hand. A mark of an elite.

He straightened, unintentionally freezing over. You didn’t know him; didn’t know that he was one of the men your world employed as free entertainment for nights when they craved a hit of violence. The both of you were as different as day and night.

“So, what do you do for a living?” you had asked him.

Sae decided to tell you a lie. “I’m a blue collar worker. Delivering stuff.”

“Oh.” You took a look at the finished bowls and beers, the order sheet at the edge of the table. As if understanding what you were planning to do, Sae snatched the bill right in front of your extended hand. He couldn’t resist the small smirk decorating his face when you started to huff and pout.

“My treat,” he murmured, removing his battered wallet from inside his pant’s pocket. “And then we’re even.”

Except, he never did want to draw a tie or cut them off with you.

Sae studied your car number plate, memorising it and used some of his connections to dig up more information about you.

He didn’t have to look far.

Your family were well-known as some of Blue Lock’s biggest sponsors, a direct rival of the U20 faction. Born from a history of blood and violence, your grandfather had been the first pioneer of a fight club that eventually changed the trajectory of his and many other poor men’s lives. As the money poured in, so did the promise of more extortion and exploitation.

Sae reasoned that he should’ve hated you. After all, you were partly the reason why he had to fight for a living.

But, he was intrigued by you. Your gentleness, your humble disposition.

You were a rare jewel he had to unearth.

One day, out of the serendipitous blue, life seemed to listen to his wishes and granted him a rare glimpse into your world.

As one of the rising Platinum fighters who everyone could bet on, Sae was invited to a networking gala hosted by none other than Ego Jinpachi himself. A raging egoist of a man who held his fighter’s lives in his palms like a deranged puppeteer, Sae found himself sitting opposite Rin and his bloodthirsty mentor.

Such a sight would not be unsettling.

As two opposite ends of the fighting arena’s spectrum, Sae and Rin drew lots of attention from potential investors.

The story of two brothers, once tightly knitted and now estranged only to eventually meet in the ring as opponents one day, was a huge investment factor. Filthy rich men with more money than God flocked to both Aiku and Ego to have a hand in orchestrating one of the biggest, historical fights in all of Tokyo’s history.

And tonight, Sae had to face each of them, wondering who would be the one to bolster up his gear or bet on whether he would emerge victorious against his brother. On the opposite side of the table, Rin was detached and uninterested.

Both brothers barely said a word to each other all night; didn’t even glance at the other from across the table.

This apparently caused quite a stir with the investors who were taken by their stone cold treatment of one another.

It’s a tragedy, isn’t it? To face one’s own blood in a ring and fight to spill it?

Sae felt his brow twitch, and the room was starting to cave in. He needed to leave for some air or he would lunge across the table and sock these lofty motherfuckers right in their faces.

The garden was a work of art designed by Ego’s careful hands. After stumbling out of the mansion’s door, he tried to hide himself behind a hedge, staring up at the starless sky as his heart continued pounding in his chest. Sae fully expected to be alone, and not to find a familiar face outside just a few feet from him, nor for you to still recognise him despite the slicked back hair and fancy suit.

“Sae,” you smiled, red lips parted to reveal a row of perfect teeth. You put out your cigarette into a Roman pillar column, leaving a halo of ash and a burnt skid on the otherwise pristine concrete. Sae thought it was rather rebellious of you to do that. “Fancy meeting you here.”��

Tipping your head to the side, you studied him. His flushed cheeks, tight lips.

“I thought you said you were a blue collar worker?”

He decided to come clean, spitting out the truth in equal parts aggression and apathy.

“I’m an underground fighter.”

The auburn-haired man fully expected you to crinkle your expression in disgust. Not nodding in understanding.

“I figured. Most blue collar workers don’t have bruised knuckles.”

Unconsciously, he tightened his fists, feeling the callouses and the split skin stretching across his knuckles. “If you knew who I was, then why didn’t you say something?”

Why didn’t you leave?

Rich girls like you had no use for men like him. He was a stain under your shoe, a man with a God complex high off a violent occupation with no God in sight. But, you only smiled at his question.

“You didn’t fawn over me even when you noticed my ring. I like that.”

Somehow, you had gotten close enough for him to smell the vanilla from your hair. Sae tipped his head back, turning his gaze to the side; the action pressing him deeper against the brambly hedge walls. “Whatever you think will happen tonight will not happen.”

He pretended like his heart didn’t skip a beat when you reached for his hand, so much rougher compared to your soft ones. You circled your thumb over the bruise on his palm, increasing the pressure till he felt the wound throb.

“Stop that.” But, he didn’t pull his hand away.

You grinned. “What do you think will happen tonight, Sae?”

His handsome, arrogant face broke out into a sneer. “Just because you order men like me around every single damn day doesn’t mean I have to give into your whims, princess.” He wrenched his hand from yours, trying to ignore how much your touch singed his skin. “And don’t ever touch me again.”

Brushing off your crestfallen expression, he strode back into the mansion, feeling more breathless than when he abandoned the suffocating room full of investors and back-talk about his skills. Rin had left a few minutes after he had, and with his little brother out of the room, he could finally relax.

Except, you chose this moment to enter the same room.

Immediately, everyone stood up.

“L/N-san. Welcome.”

You weren’t the teasing, sweet girl in the garden anymore. Instead, you wore a look of fabricated disinterest, roaming your eyes over every single man. Lingering your searing gaze on his own wide ones before turning to Ego.

“My father sent me here as a representative. Now, which star player do you recommend I speak to first?”

Everyone started to clamour, calling for your attention like dogs scraping at their master’s legs for the last bone.

Eventually, Aiku was the one who cleared his throat loud enough to get the entire room’s attention. Through the hazy tobacco smoke, he cut a handsome figure in his suit, languidly rising to his feet and gesturing at Sae.

“L/N-san, Itoshi Sae is one of U20's undefeatable players. A 6-streak win and low possibility of injuries. A prodigy. You should speak to him first, miss.”

Sae felt like you were analysing him through his suit.

After a beat of tension, you nodded. “Fine. Send him up to my private room.”

You turned and left. Sae stood up, hesitantly casting his gaze to a triumphant Aiku.

“Are you sure she is the richest one out of these assholes?” he murmured under his breath.

Oliver chuckled.

“The richest. With her backing, we’re practically golden. Now, go and woo her. You’ll do great.”

Straightening his tie, Aiku sent him off with a wink. Unlike the atmosphere at the garden, this time, Sae was aware he had to be on his best behaviour—which was a challenge considering he had already rudely brushed off a potential investor.

Fuck, he swore internally. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why had he been so brash with you?

There was no use in crying over lost chances. He had to man up and knock on the door to your office—face you when he had already insulted you right in the face.

Sae braced his hand on the red oak, breathing in deeply. Here goes nothing. He knocked three times.

“Come in.”

You were sitting on a sofa, legs crossed and expression neutral. Not once did you give him a look like you were hurt from his rejection in the garden. Instead, you stood up, gaze cold and faraway.

“So. You’re the prodigy, hmm?”

Sae kept his eyes lowered, not touching yours. “Yes.”

You patted the sofa seat next to you, gesturing for him to come over. “Sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

Gingerly, he sat down on the other end of the sofa, putting enough distance between the two of you not to make things any more awkward than it already was.

The silence dragged on. Sae stared at the fireplace—the flickering embers throwing lengthening shadows around the room. He counted the cadence of your breath; discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his expensive slacks.

You broke the silence first with an airy giggle.

“I had no idea I was speaking to such a talented young man.”

He looked up and caught the barest hint of a smirk on your pretty lips. Swallowing his dry throat, Sae croaked, “And I had no idea you were… influential.”

You chuckled, placing your hands on your demurely on your lap. “It’s not me. It’s my father. I’m just his representative. You see, he’s currently bed bound from an injury and doesn’t have any sons so it’s up to me to oversee his work.”

Sae responded to your words with a heartfelt nod, wishing he could turn back the time and slap his old self from pissing off a very powerful investor (and a very beautiful woman).

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Glancing at him up and down, you chuckled. “I guess we’re at an impasse here. And to think I nearly committed indecency by proposing you come back to my place.”

The memory of your hand in his sparked like a flame in his mind, burning his skin.

“Yes. To think we could’ve done something like that.”

Your eyes lowered to his hands. His pretty teal gaze flickered to your exposed throat.

“It would be horrible.” Your foot brushed his knee. Sae tightened his hands into fists.

Despite the warning bells going off in his head, he relapsed back into his impulsivity, letting it taint his next move with his debilitating habit of never saying no to danger.

“Disgusting,” he retorted, smoothly playing your game.

You gasped, low and quick, when he stretched his hand out to graze your bare shin. He almost smiled at your eagerness.

Pretty rich Daddy’s girl with not a shred of self-preservation in her…

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you mumbled, uncrossing your legs and inching closer to him.

“We shouldn’t,” he confirmed, gruff and sure, but his body was betraying him; moving to meet you in the middle of this wide sofa.

There was something mesmerising about your eyes and face. It entranced him, kept him hooked on the curve of your profile and those alluring lips.

Your breath brushed his cheek, warm and inviting. “It would cause a scandal.”

Sae curled his palm over your jaw, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “It would.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb. Such a simple gesture made a thrill of electricity run up his spine, painfully shocking him to the heat pooling right in his groin.

“People will talk.”

He was growing tired of this lame cat and mouse game. Moving closer, he bridged the gap, resting his large palm on your lower back to nudge you not-so-gently onto his lap. The weight of you felt familiar—right. This close, your scent of vanilla was stronger, nearly overpowering him.

Before his lips brushed yours with an intensity that nearly made you dizzy with lust, he mumbled:

“Let them.”

“Sae,” you mewled, nails stabbing into his fleshy biceps.

He had you pressed against your own bedroom door, creaming right on his cock like the perfect little whore you were. Your makeup was ruined, red lipstick smudged and eyeliner crinkled in the corners.

You had let him push your dress to the side, your panties ripped and in tatters on the floor. Sae was quick to fuck you the moment you gave him the green light to, and like the scrappy underground fighter he was, he never missed out on seizing a golden opening.

Your thighs were trembling around his waist, struggling to hold yourself up right. Sae’s mouth devoured your weak mewls, and you let him paw at your covered breasts, ripping the dress down to expose your stiff, bare peaks.

“No bra?” He murmured into the heat of your mouth.

You shook your head, a breathless laugh tumbling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I—mhm—don’t like to wear one.”

“In a room with the other men…” Sae trailed off, a frightening flash of jealousy igniting his veins. The thought of any other man seeing those perfectly suckable nipples even through the silky hint of your dress made him want to break their teeth.

His growl reverberated against your throat, and you were thrown onto the bed, his larger frame crowding you into the sheets.

Sae hitched your thighs up to his shoulders, those teal eyes alight with feral lust.

“Slut.” He slid his cock back into your throbbing depths the second that degrading pet name slipped out of his mouth. “Whore. You could’ve shown them what was mine—what belongs to me.”

He bunched your cocktail dress out of the way, exposing your tits and pussy right into the cold air of your stuffy bedroom.

“Mhmf,” your eyes rolled back into your head. You were panting, bullets of sweat dripping down your face. “I-I belong to you? Says who?”

The Prodigy nearly broke the headboard into two when he slammed into you, hard enough for the entire bed to shake. Your squeal rebounded across the room, sparking his filthy satisfaction.

“Me,” he growled breathlessly. “I said it. You belong to me.”

Curling one hand possessively around your throat, the sloppy sounds of your two sexes meeting together sent him on a hazy high. Those teal eyes were glazed over, the broad muscles on his back twisting and flexing with every thrust into your tight, welcoming heat.

Sae was careful not to choke you too hard, but hard enough for your mouth to fall slack, pathetic whines and drool slipping past your slick lips.

Your toes were curled tightly in his periphery, one hand in between your legs to frantically rub your clit.

“Fucking whore,” he grunted, trying not to swoon at how pretty your sweat-covered skin looked like in the dim moonlight. “Daddy’s girl taking this dick like a champ.”

“Sae,” you dragged out his name. Ending it with a choke.

Sae felt your walls rippling around his cock, and he wasted no time in diving headfirst in between your cleavage to nip and suck at your plush fat; nursing on your nipples like a man close to starvation.

You seized, back arching and he felt those perfect velvet walls choke on his dick. Squeezing down on him.

“Cumming for me already?” He spoke in between harsh exhales. “Fuck. Fuck. This pussy is fucking perfect. I want you to cum for me—only for me. Do it, Y/N. Milk this cock, Princess. Let me fucking fill you up—fuck.” His choked moan made you see stars; the hand around your throat was now gripping your hair, forcing your feverish lips onto his.

You practically ripped at his dress shirt, tearing two buttons off to scratch down his chest. Animalistic whines and low grunts filled the heated space between both your mouths. Sae tasted like champagne and regrets, his tongue lapping right at your teeth.

With one last hard thrust, you broke around his cock, triggering his warmth to fill you up.

Sae slumped onto you, and you dug your heels into the band of his slacks, pushing it further down his toned thighs to expose the rise of his firm ass to your wandering eye.

Your nails bit into the plush globes, raking down his thighs. You played with his balls, squeezing on them lightly to take every drop. Unable to resist taking all of him however you could.

Sae smeared hot kisses down your throat, on your jaw and across your heaving mouth; completely smitten by how cockhungry you were.

The both of you sat in the filth of your mutual mistake, stewing in the greasy silence until you nudged his shoulder. The look in your eyes was glorious; an opponent about to make her next move. Usually, he would push back—never surrender.

But, something locked his muscles in place, keeping him focused on the rise of your shoulders—the dip of your collarbone painted in his hickies.

He let you push him back onto the bed, watching intently as you ripped the expensive dress right off your frame, gesturing to his still clothed torso.

“Take it off. Let me see you.”

Like the obedient fighter he was, Sae unbuttoned his white dress shirt, letting it melt off his broad frame and onto the floor. Scars littered his milky pale skin, catching your curiosity. He silently observed as you straddled his thighs, working his cock back to half-mast with your much smaller fingers. All the while your other hand never stopped caressing his broad pecs and chest; tracing his scars.

Sae didn’t know what possessed him to sit still and watch you.

It was like seeing a painting coming to life; the remorse which melted into determination right in your fiery eyes.

He let you sink down his cock, bracing your palms right on his shoulders. You bucked your hips slowly, grinding down on him with a painful passion; almost like you were afraid of making any sudden movement.

Sae found his large palms slotting perfectly on your hips, holding you right in place.

Pleasure unfurled itself down your body, bending your spine back. It soused across your face, turning your determined stare hazy. You locked eyes with him, and he didn’t dare look away.

“Feels so good,” you managed to pant. “Your cock feels so good.”

He undulated his hips upward, instinct pushing him to surge towards the opening of your cervix. “Yeah?” he almost growled. “Can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself—you’re such an eager slut.”

Despite you being on top of him, Sae was still in charge. He clamped a hand around your throat; yanked on your hair until your neck snapped back and your cry bounced across the room.

“Ride me,” he spat and then licked his lips. “Prove to me that good whores deserve to cum. Make me proud, baby.”

Sae was entranced; unable to tear his eyes away from your pussy leaving milky rings of cream around his cock.

“Mhm,” you tearfully whined. “Yes, yes! I wanna make you proud—wanna make you cum again.”

A thick arm swept you to his chest, muffling your cries right into his throat. Sae bit down on the tender juncture between your neck and shoulder, bucking his hips up into you with enough ferocity to nearly throttle you off the bed.

“Fuck—” he snarled, grabbing at every inch of your skin; spanking your ass, groping it, raking his nails down your back.

Doing everything he could to get you melting for him.

“Give it to me, baby.” Not an order; but a desperate plea. “Cum for me—make me cum. Pretty girl. Pretty baby—g-gonna make me lose my mind—”

“I’m cumming!” Your hitched gasp rang loudly in his ear, like an explosion of joyous surrender. “S-Sae, I-I’m—”

Your walls rippled around him for the second time tonight, and for the first time ever, Sae found a new rush in his life that wasn’t centred around bruised knuckles and split, bloody teeth.

He welcomed it—that surge of crazed passion, so different from when he was about to snuff a man’s life out with his bare hands. Felt it twist his bones, break his soul.

The world exploded in a white ball of heat again, right into the depths of your body, his heart shattering into dust.

Sae tasted your honeyed whisper of his name on his tongue, felt your tears stain his throat.

He held onto you as tightly as he could, afraid that if he opened his eyes, he might find himself back in the ring, the glaring lights forcing your smile from his memory.

But, the jeers and cheers never came. The bell never rang.

It was the sweetest fight he had ever lost.

This was the part of the story Itoshi Sae never expected.

Sae never had a home. His old apartment was recalled back by a shitty landlord who didn’t care about two orphans trying to stay afloat with what little money their dead parents had left them. When social services had taken Rin away, they tried to get him, too, but he was faster.

Swiftly escaping out the window, Sae recalled nothing else but memories of wet underground passageways, nights rummaging through garbage bins and saddling up to the closest homeless community for warmth and company.

Eventually, he met Aiku and everything else that transpired before he became The Prodigy was history.

Fighting was all he had ever known. Violence and terror were all familiar flavours on his tongue.

But tonight, in your sheets, Sae found another sensation creeping up his unsuspecting body that he could not quite name. It was sticky and hot, curling down his spine like a languid rush of lava to pool somewhere deep in his chest when he took in the sight of your pussy wrapped around his cock.

He fucked you deep and hard, like he was trying to erase that sensation. But, you brought it back to the surface with your fingers in his hair, your lips on his and the sweet moans of his name brushing his hot ears.

Where it was easy to repress his entire soul away from the world, Sae struggled to keep his emotions in a tightly shut jar under your gentle attention.

Sae never believed in love; never believed in someone else’s goodness long enough to be confident in his own grace. But, he supposes that tonight’s encounter with you was the closest to love he could ever get.

You let him stay the night, comfortable with him warming your sheets. Sae spent the entire sunrise staring at your face, memorising the curve of your nose and cheeks. That strange sensation was back again, this time stirring him to brush a piece of hair from your temple.

But, like every good love story, it would not be the same without personal demons haunting every sentence.

Sae wasn’t good for you; he knew that. You were a whole station above him, impervious and untouchable.

Unlike fighting, there was no prize in the arena of love. No fame, no glory.

Sae wasn’t sure what would be at the end of this chapter, and a part of him, the scared little boy who had been abandoned by forces beyond his control, didn’t want to stay to find out.

Nothing good would come out of this if he pursued a story that he didn’t know an end to.

The morning after, he had vanished, and you woke up alone in this too big apartment; smell of cedar and oranges still lining your blankets.

Like it was a dream or a memory you could not quite shake off, you wandered down the halls, rustling every corner to find a shred of the man you had trusted enough to let into your inner world. But, he hadn’t stayed long enough to give your world any colour.

The cold walls adorned with art your father had personally picked out for this apartment didn’t reflect your taste or your fondness as you stared at them, hard coals for eyes. The picture in front of you was of a woman, running free in a grassy sea. Above her, a weak sun shone down, illuminating her golden hair.

Monet must’ve been the inspiration for this work, and though the French painter was known for his art that brought a sense of peace to the viewers, this particular one did not inspire the same notion. Perhaps it was the clinical wall it was attached to, or the furniture surrounding it that did not give off the warmth a serene painting like this was supposed to emote.

Whatever it was, you didn’t dwell on it long; turning on your heel and stomping back to your orange-cedar scented sheets, trying to ignore the pathetic ache in your heart which echoed the indent on the empty side of your bed.

#sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #sae x you #sae x reader #blue lock #sae smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock smut #series: sucker punch #🦢 writes

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venusacrossthestars · 1 year ago

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your hands in mine

Pairings- Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

WC-1k

warnings- fluff, thunderstorm, 1 sexual-ish innuendo

A/N: this is something special for @arieslost and her obsession with hands, especially Charles' hands. I wrote this and am posting in today (3/12) in honor of our 3 years of friendship. I wouldn't be who I am without her. nyoom duo till the end.

f1 masterlist

The roll of thunder is what startles you out of your slumber. Senses clouded by the lingering effects of sleep. For a moment you are unsure as to where you were. This looked nothing like your apartment. Another wave of thunder brought back the realization, I spent the night at Charles’.

You and the Monégasque driver had spent the entire day together, doing everything and nothing. He had a week off between races and was adamant about spending it all with you, not that you were complaining. This night had been no different. The two of you had gone out for a nice dinner, a little local spot near Charles’ flat that had live music. Your walk home was filled with a comfortable silence, which was one of your favorite things about being with Charles. The two of you didn’t need to be in constant conversation with each other, just each other presence was enough.

The peacefulness followed the both of you as you worked through the motions of your nightly routine. Yours ended with reading a few chapters of whatever book you were reading and Charles practicing the piano. Kissing him before you each went off to do your own routine was the last thing you could fully remember. You must’ve fallen asleep out on the balcony and Charles must’ve carried you to bed.

Turing over in Charles’ arms was a task easier said than done. Anytime the two of you spooned his arms would magically become vice grips, impossible to get out of. However, Charles must have been equally, if not more, beat than you. The rain helping lull him to sleep as it had done to you, his arms were lax across your middle, making it easier to roll over to your opposite side.

As the wind picked up, a cool breeze swept through the open windows making you nestle further into Charles’ bare chest. Your hands coming to rest across his chest. Another thing to love about him, he always slept shirtless. It was impossible to deny how handsome Charles was, and contrary to popular belief of the media, you weren’t with Charles only for his looks and fame, though it was a perk. You didn’t care about any of those things. When he was with you he wasn’t Charles Leclerc Prince of Ferrari, he was just Charles and that’s all you needed.

The rain began to pour harder and you couldn’t restrain yourself from staring at Charles’ sleeping figure, it was as if Michelangelo personally carved him out of marble. His sharp features only a tad more relaxed in his slumber. Shamelessly, you move your hand from his chest and lightly begin to trace his face with the backside of your hand, carefully trying not to wake him. Content with your mapping skills you move your hand back to his chest, now mindlessly drawing shapes into his tan skin.

You continued your drawing, listening to the sounds of the storm as it raged on, lost in your own world. You would’ve stayed like that for longer if it wasn’t for a practically bright flash of lightning followed by a wave of thunder that had enough force to shake the room. This startled Charles from his slumber, which in turn startled you.

“We should close the window before the floor gets all wet,” Charles mumbled out, still in the clutches of sleep.

“Too comfy, don’t wanna move,” you mutter into his skin.

Charles slides out from under you, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

“I’m going to be right back, mon cheri, do not worry.”

With your eyes well adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom, you can make out the outline of Charles’ back, along with the muscles that flex as he closes the window and redraws the curtains that have been blown open. You watch shamelessly. How can a man be that perfect?

“See something you like?” Charles teases, standing at the foot of the bed.

“Best view in the city.” Your answer seems to satisfy Charles as he climbs back into bed, back to your previous position.

Now, instead of your hands tracing Charles’ features it is Charles whose hands soothingly roam your arm. On one particular ticklish pass of his hand, you let out a small giggle and before he can go back to try and tickle you again you grab his hand.

With his hand in yours, you bring it to your lips and press small kisses against each of his knuckles. Happy with the amount of kisses you have given him you bring his hand back down and absent-mindedly play with his fingers. Charles, still awake, says nothing and continues to let you do as you please.

“I love your hands,” you admit.

“I know,” he chuckles out, “I like my hands too, especially when they are wrapped around your throat.”

You gasp at the statement, “you pervert. I’m complimenting you and your head is stuck in the gutter.”

“It always is when you’re around.”

You roll your eyes at his comment and he pinches your side in retaliation, “you can’t even see what I did.”

“I know you, and I know you just rolled your eyes at me.”

Well, he’s got you there. You stop messing around with his fingers and now it is Charles’ turn to fiddle with yours. He copies your motions, bringing your hand to also kiss each knuckle. Instead of stopping as you did with his, he lightly massages the meat of your palm.

You are fighting the feeling of sleep, but it is a losing battle between the massage Charles is giving you and sound of the rain hitting the now closed window. Charles mutters something that your foggy brain is unable to catch.

Laced with sleep you ask, “what did you say?”

“Just that I love your hands too.” Charles says while kissing your ring finger but you are too far gone to hear the last part. “And one day I’ll put a ring on your finger and be able to call you mine forever.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff

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padfootagain · 7 months ago

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Love in Verses (I)

Chapter 1 : ‘And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately’

Hi, everyone!!! I’m so glad to finally start posting this series! I know I’ve been talking about it for a while, and I thank all of you for being interested and even excited about it! I hope you won’t be disappointed!

The first chapters will set the plot into motion, of course, we need to get the story going!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3502

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange— The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It’s new.

The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all the jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I’m glad I exist.

Wendy Cope, The Orange and Other Poems, 2023

There was sunshine upon the Liffey that morning. A scent of new beginnings in the air, a whisk of excitement in the breeze.

You took a deep breath before entering the college grounds. This was what you had worked so hard for, for so long…

You were finally working in a university, you were a researcher, you would be teaching to younger generations about your passion. And every time you thought about that truth, that new reality, your heart made a happy jump, and a grin formed on your lips.

You were there. At long last. You had a teaching position, you had money for your research, and you had this at Trinity College, no less.

For now, there were no students, the grounds were empty, filled with nothing but old stones, bending trees and sunlight. The year had not begun yet, it was still the early days of August, filled with warm weather, summer storms and a tinge of sun here and there. It seemed that your first day was one of those sunny, warm days that felt too much like vacation time to work. A good omen, if you had ever seen one. A good omen for your life that seemed to fall perfectly into place these days. Professionally, you were achieving your goal today, with this position in the best university in Ireland. Your family was proud, and so were you. And on a personal point of view, you were engaged, to be married to a successful man. You glimpsed at the diamond on your finger. You didn’t have a date for the wedding yet, but you were aiming for spring of the coming year. Frank had proposed during the summer, while you were on a trip for your vacation in Wales. You smiled at the memory. You were lucky this year, your life was perfect, or at least, successful. You were ticking all the right boxes. What else could you ask for?

You walked between the still frames of Edmund Burke and Oliver Goldsmith, stepping finally on the grounds of Trinity College. And you took a deep breath as you stepped into the entrance hall, crossing the building to reach the first courtyard hidden inside. You gathered your thoughts, tried to slow down your beating heart that was pounding with nerves and excitement.

You were to meet one of the fellows of your department, Professor O’Connell. You had never met the woman, but she seemed kind enough on the phone, if strict in her tone. You checked your watch, but you were still seven minutes early. At least, you would not make a bad first impression because you were late…

You hurried under the archway at the centre of the yard, glancing at the forbidden green grass on both sides, and the tall buildings that surrounded it. You tried to calm yourself, thinking that you were an assistant professor already, even if this was your first stable job, that you knew what you were doing, that the papers you had already published were proof of your academic success and your worth as a researcher. You could do this. You could do this…

You walked towards the English department with hesitant steps, trying to follow directions on the various signs scattered across the grounds. A fifty-something woman waved at you from afar though, she seemed to be waiting in front of a building. You smiled, hurried towards her, hoping that you were not mistaken and that she was, indeed, the woman you were looking for…

“Y/N Y/L/N?” she asked, and you nodded your head with a grin.

“Yes! Professor O’Connell, I assume?” you answered, offering her your open hand, which she took with a smile.

“Oh, Lydia is more than enough. How are you?”

“Grand… grand…”

“Welcome to Trinity, I guess. I’ll guide you for a quick visit of our building, and then leave you in the competent hands of our HR department for you to sign off some paperwork. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She guided you across the large stone building in which you would be working from now on. You easily got lost in the maze of corridors, staircases and halls you were crossing. Still, she showed you the cafeteria in which you were introduced to a few of your new colleagues, some of the classrooms, and finally she guided you to the HR, where a middle-aged woman gave you some paperwork to sign.

Lydia was waiting outside, ready to guide you to your office. A new maze of corridors opened before your feet, but you said nothing, figured that you would eventually get used to it. You took a turn to the right to another corridor, headed straight for the door a few steps ahead. Wooden, with two plaques fixed on its surface.

Dr. Andrew Hozier-Byrne

Dr. Y/N Y/LN

Your heart skipped a few beats at the sight of your name there, engraved in copper.

“You’ll be sharing your office with another of our assistant professors,” Lydia explained. “Andrew arrived last year, he’s working mostly on 20th century literature… but I’ll let him talk your ears off about his research.”

She knocked, didn’t wait for a response before opening the door.

The office was tiny, to say the least, but it was enough for the two desks and chairs set there, a wardrobe and a few shelves. There was a poster of Johnny Cash on one of the empty spots on the white walls, and a large window facing the door, behind one of the desks. The other desk was set on the left-side of the room, a tinier window behind it.

A man was sitting in the chair behind the desk in front of the larger window, and he looked up as the door opened and Lydia walked in, you following close behind.

“Good morning, Andrew,” Lydia greeted her colleague with a smile. “This is Y/N, our new assistant professor, who’s going to share your office this year.”

Andrew’s eyebrows arched slightly, although he still gave you a warm but shy smile, standing in a hurry. You couldn’t help your surprise as he stood up, towering you with an intimidating height. He seemed to have long hair, that he had tied in a bun. You studied his features, something kind and gentle made his hazel eyes shine, a short beard coloured his cheeks. He readjusted his glasses, as he quickly stepped around his desk. He was wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans, there was a brown jacket thrown on the back of his chair.

You looked up at him as his smile widened just a little, still polite but with an extra-touch of kindness now. His body was intimidating though, and the fact that he was handsome wasn’t helping. He bent to avoid the lamp that was hanging from the ceiling.

“Of course! Erm… hi, nice to meet you,” he greeted you, offering you his open palm, avoiding eye-contact. You weren’t expecting how soft his voice was, how quiet his tone sounded. If his height gave something intimidating to his appearance, his voice countered that feeling, and you immediately felt more at ease.

“Hi! It’s very nice to meet you too, Andrew!”

“Alright, I’ll leave you to settle,” said Lydia, addressing you. “My office is down the corridor, if you need anything. But I’m sure Andrew can help you with the rest. The HR gave you everything you needed to access a computer?”

“Yes, I’ve got everything.”

“Good. Settle this morning, we’ll have a talk about your research this afternoon. The meeting for the upcoming year and classes is set later this week, you’ll get all the information you need for your teaching then.”

“Alright, thank you so much.”

She gave you a bright smile, before walking out of the room.

You were left alone with Andrew, who gave you another shy smile, rubbing at his palms.

“Erm… right… obviously, there is a large selection of desks you can choose from in this room,” he joked, his tone still stern, and you noticed how he was biting the inside of his cheek.

But you laughed good-heartedly at his joke, and he raised his eyebrows at your reaction.

“Hmm… I guess I’ll take this beauty over there,” you said, dropping your bag on your desk.

“Good choice,” he nodded, fleeing your gaze again. “Erm… I’ve emptied a couple of shelves over there for you too, and made some room in the wardrobe as well.”

“Thank you,” you smiled up at him and caught his eyes again, noticed their pretty hazel shade.

You turned on your computer, looked through your papers for the password that had been given to you so you could log in.

“So… what’s your research about?” he asked, a little awkward, shifting his weight while burying his hands in his pockets.

You noticed how he was bending his head and shoulders a little, as if to look smaller than he was.

“I work on feminism and the use of the female gaze in literature, as opposed to the male gaze.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you noticed how his gaze lit up with interest.

“Oh… that’s so interesting!”

You were surprised by the earnestness in his tone. The academic world was a particularly misogynistic one, after all. Most men in your field were enemies rather than allies.

“Yeah… I… I think so too,” you smiled, cursing yourself for your naïve answer. “I mean… If I chose to work on that, it means that I’m interested in it, but…”

He chuckled, the sound as quiet as his voice. You were still surprised by it, by the contrast it offered to his intimidating stature.

“Totally, yeah…”

“What about you?”

“20th century literature… mostly modernism and contemporary poetry. So… Lots of Joyce, Woolfe, Heaney and the likes.”

“Nice! That sounds interesting.”

“I mean… I teach a lot about modernism, but my research is more focused on poetry, especially poets who are currently writing.”

“That’s pretty rare, to have scholars studying contemporary art, instead of… dead people.”

You both chuckled at that.

“Yeah… but I… I mean… I value a lot the political weight of art, so… I find it more interesting to study something that talks about our current problems, rather than the problems from… four centuries ago or something...”

“Can’t argue with that,” you nodded.

You exchanged a smile, noticed that Andrew was relaxing as well by now.

“Erm… I’ll let you settle down, but… tell me if you need anything. Oh, and…”

Andrew nodded towards an empty frame tugged away against the wall, in a corner of the room.

“There’s an empty spot on the wall, feel free to hang something you like in it. As long as it’s decent enough.”

“Oh… I will refrain from a poster of my naked celebrity crush then,” you joked, making Andrew laugh again.

“Please, refrain. Although, I will accept your latest pagan ritual to summon Chtulhu or something…”

He tensed again, bit the inside of his cheek, as if he regretted his joke, but you laughed, and he seemed a little surprised by it.

“Dully noted… so, I can bring my pentagrams at work?”

His smile widened.

“Feel free to do so. I can produce the goat for the sacrificial ritual, if you need.”

You chuckled again, and Andrew bent his head, but you noticed the way his shoulders relaxed.

“Right, sorry for the weird humour,” he apologised anyway, and walked back to his desk. “Tell me if you need help with anything. I have a couple of things to take care of, but I can show you around if you need.”

“Okay, thank you! Yeah, that would be grand! And no need to apologise, I have a rather dark humour too.”

You exchanged a smile, before both of you would focus on your computers. You managed to log into almost everything, started to create documents and files for your research, downloaded a few articles that you needed to read this week.

It was almost noon when Andrew looked up from his screen again.

“Erm… is everything alright for you?” asked Andrew, his voice still as quiet.

“Yeah… erm… I just can’t log into something.”

Andrew stood up, bent to avoid the lamp again.

“Can I take a look?” he asked softly, and he walked around your desk when you nodded.

He helped you log into the software you needed, showed you a couple of things that you would need to use often.

“Would you like to get lunch?” he asked you with a timid smile.

You answered with a bright smile.

“Yeah, sure!”

“Did you bring some food?”

“Erm… no…”

“That’s fine, no worries,” he chuckled at your sudden hesitation. “We have a cafeteria in our building, for the staff. But it’s more suited for a coffee break than anything else. You can’t buy food there, except for a few snacks from a vending machine. There’s an electric kettle, a coffee machine… there’s a microwave and fridge too, if you… like… want to bring your own food. But nothing to make proper food. We can go to the cafeteria on the campus, though.”

“Okay, that would be nice! Are you waiting for anyone else for lunch?”

But Andrew shook his head.

“Most people in the department are gone to a conference in Cork for three days,” he explained.

“How come you didn’t go?”

But Andrew merely shrugged.

“I wasn’t invited to be a speaker, and to be honest, it was mostly about subjects I’m not particularly interested in. Besides, someone had to stay behind to keep the new lecturer company,” he smiled with a tinge of mischief, and you liked the sight.

He waited for you to gather your things, and you walked together out of the building. Andrew showed you around the campus a little bit, mainly the library and a couple of buildings where you could be asked to teach. You followed him to the cafeteria as well.

“Do you eat here often?” you asked, as you took a look at the food that was available that day.

“When I can. It’s not bad. But students come here too, so you should come only if you can avoid the worst of the crowd. As this year hasn’t started yet, we’re in the clear for a few more weeks.”

You ordered a sandwich, while Andrew bought a salad, and you walked together to one of the many empty tables.

“Lydia told me it was your first job as a professor?” asked Andrew, before sipping on a glass of water.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve obviously been teaching and working in research for a while, but it’s my first year since I got that title,” you answered with a smile.

“Have you talked about your classes with Lydia yet?”

“No, not too much. I should be able to create a couple of lectures based on my research, but for the more… general stuff, nothing.”

Andrew nodded.

“Yeah, you might inherit some of the classes no one really wants to do, as you’re the newbie.”

“Did it happen that way for you?”

Andrew nodded again, but shrugged right after, swallowing a mouthful of salad.

“I mean, you’ll stay in something you’re used to, don’t worry. But a lot of people are holding the classes they enjoy teaching. You’ll have a limited choice in your field.”

“Any class that you’re hoping to drop?”

“One of them is bound to religion and religious references. I should be able to pass it to someone else this year. We’re exchanging. I’ll get a class on Yeats instead, which is much more in my area of expertise… and interests.”

“Not a religious guy, are you?”

He chuckled.

“Not really, no.”

He didn’t elaborate on the subject, and you didn’t want to push him, happy enough that your colleague and office-roommate was talking to you and acting with benevolence.

“Where did you teach before Trinity?” you asked instead, changing subject.

“Cork for a while, but my partner works in Dublin so I really wanted to move back on the west coast. And then I had the opportunity to come to Trinity last year, when I got the rank of assistant professor, so I didn’t really hesitate. What about you?”

“I taught for a while in Belfast, and they offered me a job when I became assistant professor. But I really wanted to teach at Trinity, so I applied and… got the job! My fiancé is working about halfway between Belfast and Dublin anyway, so it didn’t change much on his side.”

Andrew nodded.

“Relationships can be tricky with academic jobs, especially with how few the teaching positions can be.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure.”

You had gotten a yoghurt for dessert, and Andrew some dry fruits. He handed you the packet, a questioning rise of his eyebrow as a silent enquiry. You smiled, opened your hand and he poured some fruits in your palm.

“Anyway, I hope you’ll get interesting classes, and especially that you can teach about your research. Aside from being interesting for you, I think it’s important to develop what you’re working on in our field.”

You smiled, and he seemed to notice, giving you an awkward smile of his own in exchange.

“Thanks. I think so too.”

“But I have a more important question to tackle.”

You raised a questioning eyebrow, inviting him to go on.

“What poster are you going to put in that empty frame?”

You couldn’t refrain a laugh.

“I have no idea,” you admitted.

“Well, think about it. The decoration of our office is at stake, that’s serious business.”

“Of course, of course. Definitely my number one priority.”

“Good, it should be. My Qi is very sensitive to that kind of stuff.”

You both laughed, and you felt yourself relax again.

You had a good feeling about Andrew, about your shared office, about your new job, about this whole life that was ahead of you.

The world was smiling to you, even the weather was on your side. What could possibly go wrong?

You were so excited to go home and tell everything to your fiancé. Frank got home before you did, you lingered a little longer than anticipated because you asked Andrew questions about how the university worked, the power dynamic in the department, the people you should avoid and those who were nice to talk to. And you wanted to tell Frank about Andrew too. You were so relieved that the colleague sharing your office was nice, kind even.

When you stepped inside, Frank was watching TV. He had ordered some takeaway, and was eating in front of a stupid show that was on, more focused on his phone than on the tv anyway. He jumped when you entered, put his phone away in a hurry.

“Hey, babe!” you greeted him with a grin, bending to kiss him as he sat on the couch.

“Hi! I ordered food for tonight,” he said, nodding towards the Indian food that was scattered across the coffee table.

“Nice!”

“You’re home late.”

You grinned, nodding your head.

“It went amazing!” you jumped up and down excitedly. “First, a senior professor, Lydia, came to pick me up and showed me around. She seems very strict, but nice as well. Apparently, as long as you do your job well, she’ll be on your side. I went to the HR to sign some papers, and…”

You noticed that Frank wasn’t paying too much attention anymore, so you rushed your explanation.

“Anyway, I’ve met a few colleagues, and especially Andrew! We’re sharing an office. He’s been of great help throughout the day, and he’s very sweet! Which is surprising given that he is quite literally a giant!”

“You’re sharing your office?”

“Yes!”

“With a guy?”

“Yes. His name is Andrew! He’s been teaching at Trinity for a year.”

You noticed the way Frank refrained from making a comment, knowing you would call him out for being jealous. You refrained a sigh.

“He lives near Dublin with his partner too. He’s specialised in poetry.”

Frank seemed to relax, and you struggled not to be annoyed by his reaction.

“It’s grand that your first day went fine, babe,” Frank gave you an earnest smile.

“I’m just so relieved that the guy sharing an office with me is not some… misogynistic gobshite. I mean, I don’t know Andrew very much, but he seemed to be more on the feminist side of the spectrum, so I’m sure we’ll be able to get along.”

“That’s nice.”

He didn’t ask any further question but he was still looking at you. You sat down next to him, and he handed you some food he had ordered for you. It wasn’t your favourite, but you liked it.

He opened his arm for you to settle against his shoulder, and you happily obliged. You thought about all the details you wanted to say, but knew would bore him. You chose another question instead.

“What are you watching?”

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