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whataperfectwasteoftime · 3 days ago

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Love and Other Curses - Part Two

Pairing: Dragon!Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 10k

Part 2 Summary: You've discovered the Prince’s secret identity, and finally understand the reason why he revoked his proposal of marriage. But as the two of you continue to fall for each other, can you convince Marcus that not only will you marry him just as he is, but also that your love is the key to breaking an ancient curse on an entire kingdom?

Warnings: Extreme cheese and flowery language; shape-shifting Marcus Pike; curses; implied virgin reader; arranged-ish marriage; yearning and self-loathing that will break your little heart; non-human genitalia; human-dragon hybrids; kissing, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, extreme size difference of genitalia; PiV sex, oral sex (m reciving), a bit of monster!cock worship because HE DESERVES IT. Let me know if I missed something.

A/N: There are two epilogues on this baby because I didn't want it to end. Moodboard with the assistance of @pedropascalsx who worked her magic and made Dragon!Marcus come to life in all his dark green and iridescent glory <3 Sorry for the delay on this! I was at a conference for most of this week. Was hoping I'd have some free time to post it, but as you can see... I did not :) ENJOY!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part One

You wake up with Marcus’s name on your lips, the image of his naked body seared in your memory.

You don’t know what came over you last night. You pushed him too hard, demanding answers that he was hardly ready to give you, and you’re sure that the aftereffects would be felt for days–the prince holding you at arm's length, closing himself off to you in the same way he’s closed himself off from the world for so many years. Would he even be there for dinner tonight?

Your stomach churns with unease, so rather than take your usual breakfast, you dress and go outside to walk through your favorite garden to clear your head. It’s quieter than usual this morning; the birds seem unusually timid. You look to the horizon, wondering if the weather is going to turn, when you see the reason for their quiet: the glint of dark, iridescent green poking up from behind a tall hedge. You sigh, your lips pulling into a crooked smile despite your heavy mood. Perhaps it’s a good sign that he can’t seem to stay away from you, even when he’s hurting. Your pace quickens.

“I’m beginning to see a pattern to your behavior, dear dragon,” you say gently as you come around the hedge to find your beloved beast lying on the grass, looking as forlorn as a dragon can. His golden eyes stare at you questioningly.

“Yes, I’ve figured it out,” you continue as you sink down to your knees beside his large head. “Whenever you’re feeling too vulnerable to face me as a man, you take this form instead.”

Dragon-Marcus doesn’t bother protesting, but you can tell by the worry in his eyes that you’re correct.

“That’s why you didn’t come for me yourself after you sent me that letter,” you add, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “You were too scared: What if I didn’t show? What if I found you to be objectionable as a man? What if—”

The beast closes his eyes in shame and tries to turn his head away from you.

“No, stop,” you whisper, tears welling up in your eyes as he turns away. You decide not to let him, scooting along on your knees until you’re in front of him again. “I didn’t think any of those things, you silly creature.”

You reach up to run your hand up and down the bridge of the dragon’s snout, soothing him. In his animal form, it’s so much easier to understand his pain. Animals express their emotions so much more readily than humans, you think to yourself. Despite his enormous size–and the fact that you know that he can turn back into a man if he wanted–this moment reminds you of times growing up when you’d calmed a feral cat, or befriended a mistreated dog… and it makes you realize just how similar humans are to other creatures. Or, perhaps, how much more like humans animals are than people realize.

Dragon-Marcus moves again, but instead of turning away, he lays his massive head on your lap. He doesn’t put much of his weight on you–you think even his head might crush you–but rather gently rests it there, a show of affection… and trust.

In turn, you lean forward and press your upper body against him, laying your head just above one of his large golden eyes. “Silly beast,” you say again, sniffling a little as you do, “I think I might love you no matter what form you take.”

The dragon makes a soft rumble of surprise, a question if you’ve ever heard one. His head lifts again, moving until both of his eyes are looking right at you.

“Is that so strange?” you ask softly. Before you can think better of it, you lean forward, pressing your lips to the top of his snout. His scales are warm and smooth against them, and your eyes flutter closed as you imagine Marcus as a man, his large hands holding your face in place as he kisses you back.

That night, Marcus’s gold waistcoat matches the gold embroidery on your midnight blue gown. When you open the door at his cautious knock, you can’t help but reach out and touch the fabric, placing your palm on his chest with your heart in your throat. You want to throw your arms around him, but suddenly, you find that you’re also too scared to act when he’s a man–tall and muscular and hot-blooded–and looking at you as though you were an oasis after he’d been wandering in the desert for weeks.

“How do you do that?” you laugh softly, your voice only wavering a little as you trace your finger over the gold material.

The prince’s smile is warm and teasing. “You have to allow me some secrets.”

He holds out his arm for you, but you hesitate, hating the chasm that seems as though it’s growing between you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, staring up at him with sorrowful eyes. “Last night… I was rude–”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his expression full of pain. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I–I frightened you.” “No you didn’t,” you counter softly.

“Regardless,” Marcus says, “I shouldn’t have said the things I said.”

“I feel much the same,” you tell him. “Perhaps we could start over?”

The prince smiles, slowly and hesitantly. “Y-Yes,” he whispers with gratitude. “Yes, let's start over.”

You carefully slip your fingers into the crook of his arm before he can even offer it, wanting to feel the comforting warmth of his skin beneath yours. Neither of you speak as you walk to dinner, and even after the awkward exchange, the silence still feels comfortable and companionable.

As usual, the palace cooks offer a veritable feast, the table laden with far too much food for only two people. Several servers lay down their trays and back away quickly as the butler fills your glasses with wine.

“Thank you.” You smile politely at the butler. As usual, he doesn't answer you or return your smile. He nods curtly and exits again without turning around.

“I don't think your servants like me all that much,” you comment with a sad sigh.

“It isn't you. They fear me,” Marcus explains.

A peal of laughter escapes you before you can stop yourself and the prince’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your mirth.

“But–” you sputter out, still giggling, “–you're the kindest and gentlest person I've ever met.”

Marcus’s eyes suddenly turn melancholy. “It is a well-known fact in this kingdom that those with my… affliction…” he drops his gaze to his plate, poking at his potatoes with his fork. “Well, let’s just say that it's only a matter of time before we lose our humanity.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I traveled with you for nine days as a dragon, and you were just as gentle then as you are now.”

“It won’t always be that way,” he says bitterly. “Sooner or later, the beast takes over. Throughout history, everyone has always succumbed to the monster.”

“And so they fear you,” you exhale softly, thinking to yourself. “And they leave you alone.”

“I told you,” Marcus murmurs. “It’s a lonely life.”

“Any person would lose their humanity in solitude,” you say, sitting up straighter in your chair, looking wide-eyed at the prince. “Perhaps the madness isn’t caused by what you think it is. Perhaps it’s… self-fulfilling: everyone has either isolated themselves, or pushed others away due to their fear, and they become the beast because there’s nothing left to be human for.”

“You don’t know that.”

“What if the ancient text you found was right all along? Love is the answer, not because of magic, but because love is found in other people!” You smile triumphantly; you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life.

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Marcus says sadly.

“What?”

“It’s too late for me.”

“You still have your humanity,” you argue indignantly.

“The transformation has already begun,” he points out, his voice dark and haunted. “I was too late.”

You swallow thickly as you think about what he showed you the night before. It was shocking, yes, and intimidating… but something about it fascinated you, and you’ve thought of little else but finding a way to see it again.

“Perhaps it will reverse in time,” you concede, although you find yourself wishing that weren’t true.

“That’s not how it works.”

“Even still,” you continue, refusing to believe that the thoughtful and good-hearted man before you could ever turn into a monster, “a physical transformation does not necessarily mean a mental one.”

“I… appreciate your persistence, I truly do,” Marcus sighs, his shoulders slumped in resignation, “but even if you are correct, I cannot, in good conscience, bind you to a man who can’t even give you a wedding night.”

There’s a finality to his tone that tells you to drop the subject. Any further coaxing would likely shut him down again altogether, and you couldn’t bear to see the pain in his eyes last night when he ordered you away as though his heart would break.

“I want to play a game,” you announce cheerfully, hoping to bring him out of his hopelessness. “The study with the fireplace, I noticed it had a chess board in it.”

Marcus brightens. “You know how to play?”

You press your lips together guiltily. “I don’t. My family never had one. But…” you bite your lip, looking up at him shyly, “perhaps you could teach me?”

“Should I call you by another name while you’re like this?”

You’re walking through the garden again with the dragon–who is also Marcus, the prince, but it feels rather odd to call this beast ‘Marcus.’

Rather than answer, he noses one of the flowering bushes.

“This one?”

Huff.

You smile and clip one of the blooms, adding it to the growing collection in your basket. You’d wanted a bouquet in your room, you told the beast when you saw him wandering the palace grounds this morning, and that he should help you choose it. And so here you are, strolling together, picking flowers for your bedside table.

“I could call you… Greenie,” you tease as you select a peach-colored rose and add it to the pile.

The dragon snorts in amused indignation, strongly enough that a little spark bursts through the air and lands on a patch of grass, starting a small fire. You raise your eyes in surprise as you quickly extinguish the ember with the bottom of your shoe.

“Can… can you breathe fire?” you ask him, stunned at this talent he’s hidden from you.

Huff.

“Wait–when we were attacked by wolves that horrible night… why didn’t you do that before they jumped on you and hurt you?”

The dragon turns and faces you head-on, giving you a serious, solemn stare.

“What?”

Still giving you that earnest look, he nudges your shoulder with his snout.

“Oh,” you exhale as comprehension dawns. “Because of me. I can imagine the fires could easily get out of hand. You didn’t want to risk burning me.”

The beast nods and gently nudges you again, and your heart bursts with affection.

“Sweet, gentle creature,” you whisper, kissing the bridge of his nose. “You’re five times the size of the largest horse, and yet I imagine you could hold one of these flowers between your massive teeth and not damage a single petal. How could I ever believe that you’d hurt me–as beast or man?”

The dragon closes his eyes as you lean into each other for a quiet moment before pulling away and looking at you once more with those deep, brown-and-gold orbs.

“You have the prettiest eyes,” you tell him, tenderly tracing the scar underneath. “I think that’s why I always knew. The moment you approached me in the garden, I felt as though I’d known you for an age.”

You begin walking again, your attention caught by something that looks similar to purple wisteria growing near the little fish pond you’re so fond of.

“I want to be married out here,” you whisper as you carefully clip a sprig of purple. “I-I mean, if we married. If… if you wanted to–” you stammer.

The dragon suddenly spreads its wings and launches into the sky, the blast of air sending your basket tumbling to the ground, its contents spilling out over the cobblestone. “Hey!” you cry in frustration as you watch him streak rapidly across the sky and around the castle, out of sight. “You… you irritating man!”

Forgetting your bouquet, you stalk angrily across the grounds. You’re going to find him, this infuriating prince who flees whenever you seem to get closer. You’re going to find him and give him a piece of your mind.

You throw open the castle door and shriek in surprise as Marcus is there, wide-eyed with surprise himself, his hand still held aloft as if to push the door open.

“You!” you cry, uselessly shoving at his chest. “You have no right to–”

The prince surges forward, takes your face in his hands, and kisses you deeply. You make one final noise of protest before you melt, meeting his desperation with equal measure. He kisses you like he no longer needs air, like his entire world depends on your lips on his. He kisses you like he loves you. And you kiss him back.

“Where–” he gasps breathlessly between more hungry kisses. “Where are–” kiss “–the flowers?”

Rather than answer, you kiss him again, and Marcus hums in contentment. The deep sound vibrates throughout your body, too, and you gasp softly, trying to catch your breath. When you open his mouth to him, though, he tilts his head and deepens the kiss instead. At the touch of his tongue sliding gently against yours, your knees wobble as you whimper into his mouth. Marcus’s strong arm wraps around you and holds you steady, and for the first time you can feel the whole of his body pressing against you.

His chest his broad, his stomach soft, and all of him impossibly warm. And further down–oh, you can feel him, thick and long and rock hard against your stomach. Your knees threaten to buckle further, so you cling to his shoulders for dear life as he licks further into your mouth.

“Oh, Marcus,” you murmur as he slides his lips over to your cheek, nipping gently at your jawline.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps roughly. “I wanted to wait–I wanted—until after dinner, but you said–you said those things about–about marrying me in the garden, and–”

“Of course I–” you begin, but he cuts you off.

“No, wait–I have…” he reluctantly releases you to reach into his pocket. “I didn’t want to wait one more moment. Just… please, if you’ll still have me.” He produces a large, deep green emerald, and his eyes are wild and searching as he takes both of your hands in his free hand and holds the ring up to show you. “I wanted to give you this the moment I first saw you sitting in the garden, but I promised myself I’d try to let you go, after–after what happened.”

“It will be okay,” you whisper, your lips trembling with emotion as you smile tearfully. “We’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to let me go.”

“I don’t think I can,” Marcus admits solemnly. “I want you by my side always, my lifelong companion. I asked this in a letter to you once, but I want to ask you again, face to face–now that we truly know each other. Dearest… will you marry me?”

You let out a happy sob as you nod furiously. “Of course I will.”

Marcus chokes out a little laugh of his own as he gently slides the emerald onto your left hand. “Dearest,” he whispers, palming your cheek after he finishes with his task, “you’re trembling. Are you—you’re not—”

“I’m not scared,” you promise. “You could never scare me.”

“Foolish,” he murmurs, but he lowers his head to meet you again in a gentle kiss.

“When will it be?” you ask over dinner. Rather than sit in the formal dining hall, the two of you are seated on the floor next to the roaring fireplace in your favorite sitting room. The bouquet you picked this morning sits on the low table between two soft chairs, the two of you having gone back to collect the fallen flowers after Marcus’s hasty retreat from the garden.

“When will what be?” the prince asks, looking over at you tenderly.

“The wedding, of course.”

“Oh,” he chuckles softly. “Whenever you want.”

“Tomorrow?” you suggest, only half-joking.

Marcus blinks, his lips parting in surprise. “Oh–well, I had hoped to at least make some preparations around the castle,” he says with a small, worried frown. “And we’ll need someone to officiate…” he presses his lips together, thinking. “One week from today?” he asks hopefully.

You smile widely. “One week from today,” you agree.

He gently taps his glass against yours, and you both drink to seal the promise.

Hours later, after dinner has long-since been finished, the two of you remain by the fire, lying entwined on the soft rug. You lazily watch the embers pop and hiss, the flames warming your face as Marcus’s body warms your back. His fingers trail up and down your bare shoulder, and you shiver despite the heat.

You turn in his arms, facing your intended. “I don’t want to wait a week,” you admit in a hushed voice.

He presses his lips to your forehead in response, and then pulls back, looking at you, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Marcus,” you whisper.

“I know,” he soothes, tracing your jawline with one finger. “I know.”

Your lips meet again, even more passionately than before. Every time you kiss, you both seem to grow bolder and more impatient, until your fingers are clutching desperately at his collar and Marcus’s hand is sliding dangerously down to grasp your hipbone. You press ever closer, seeking the soft strength of his body and the hard, thick ridge between you that he doesn’t bother to hide. Something deep inside of you aches, an emptiness so profound that you know can only be filled by him and you tremble with want, with the desire to feel whole again.

Somehow, in this desperate scramble of bodies, you find yourself on your back, with Marcus pressing down on top of you, his legs on either side of you as he kisses down your throat and to your collarbone, stopped only by the hem of your dress.

You squirm helplessly, your hand trying to reach the buttons in the back and crying out in frustration when you can’t get purchase on them.

“Shh, let me,” Marcus whispers. “Turn over for me, dearest.”

You twist in his arms, coming to rest on your stomach as your prince gently unfastens one button at a time, kissing each inch of newly revealed skin until he reaches the small of your back. Slowly, you turn back around, holding his gaze with your heart in your throat as you start to drag the front of the dress down.

“You don’t have to–” Marcus murmurs, even as he hungrily rakes his eyes over your form.

“It’s only fair,” you tease softly, giving him a shaky, nervous smile.

The prince flushes deeply and looks away in embarrassment. You sit up, reaching for his jaw and turning his face back toward you as you remove the dress, and then the slip underneath, leaving you bare to him.

Marcus’s fingers are trembling as he traces the swell of one breast, his dark amber eyes watching the path of his hand on your body. You reach for him, pulling uselessly at the buttons of his shirt until he gets the hint and rips it off himself, leaving him bare-chested. He lowers you back down to the rug, then, and you gasp at the feel of skin on skin. His lips are everywhere–kissing your lips, your neck, down to your breasts, before gently taking one nipple in his mouth and chuckling softly as your back rises off of the floor with a sharp gasp.

“Please,” you whimper over and over, “Please.”

Your fingers reach for the straining tip of his huge erection, and he hisses as you make contact. He grasps your hand, bringing it to his mouth instead to kiss each fingertip in turn as he shakes his head. “Not tonight–not that. You’re not ready.”

“Marcus–” you whine squirming your hips against the solid bulge.

“One week,” he promises. “Not until our wedding night.” He kisses your lips softly again. “I want you to be ready,” he whispers against your mouth. “You’re not ready yet–but I can change that.”

His dark eyes are full of promise when he instructs, “Lay back.”

Your chest heaves lightly with anticipation as you comply, but you trust your intended completely and utterly. He holds your gaze as he slides down your body, until his lips are inches from the soft thatch of hair at your center.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly, and you nod immediately.

Satisfied, Marcus gently spreads your legs apart with one hand until you’re on display before him. His breath shakes as he looks at you in awe, his lip trembling with want before he lowers his head and buries himself between your thighs.

You cry out immediately at the feeling of his lips on your core. It’s too intimate, too overwhelming, and you’re so worked up that each lick of his tongue sends sparks up and down your entire body. You gasp and squirm and tremble, and Marcus has to hold you steady with one hand as he seems to bury himself even deeper–his nose rubbing against the little bud at your apex and his tongue flicking back and forth inside of you. You can’t control your body, the noises you’re making–nothing matters except for this, except for Marcus’s mouth on you, in you, causing the ache building inside you to grow, until–

“Oh!”

Something breaks inside of you, you’re sure of it. Your core clenches around Marcus’s tongue over and over again as waves of pleasure hit you. Just when the sensation is too much, he finally pulls back, and you collapse back onto the rug, panting with exertion.

“Again,” he rasps, his lips glossy and eyes bright with hunger. “Please.”

All you can do is nod, and Marcus lowers his head again.

The feeling of his mouth on you is just as delicious as the last time, but this time, he slips one finger deep inside you, and you arch off of the rug with a broken cry of his name.

“I know,” he whispers, soothing you. “I know it’s a lot. Can you take another?”

You’re desperate for it. The emptiness still aches inside of you, and you want him to make it go away.

“Please,” you whimper.

The second finger is harder, and you whine softly as he enters you again. Marcus laps gently at the little bundle of nerves, and the wave of pleasure it produces helps to ease his way inside. Slowly, slowly, he begins to move them in and out, never taking his mouth off of you as he slides against your walls. It’s even better than before, it’s incandescent–you’ve never felt anything like this–and then his fingers curl upward, seeming to hit something deep within you that has you shaking and crying out as you fall apart in his arms once more.

You think you might sleep. All you know is, when you open your eyes again an eternity later, Marcus is still holding you tightly, pressing kiss after kiss on your forehead and whispering soft praises against your skin.

“It’s late,” he murmurs when he feels you stir. “We should go to bed.”

“Don’t,” you murmur, clutching at him. “Don’t go.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he promises. “But we can’t sleep here on the stone floor.”

Marcus sits up and lifts you effortlessly into his arms. You immediately tuck your head into his shoulder and he stands, carrying you–still naked, but you can’t find it in you to care–to his quarters and laying you on his bed before draping the warm blankets over you and climbing in beside you. You curl into him, seeking his warmth, before falling asleep once again.

You never want to spend a single night alone again–and it doesn’t seem like the prince would allow it, even if you did. He seems to have an insatiable hunger to be near you–taking your hand in his when you walk in the garden, kissing your shoulder when you read by the fire, tangling your legs together when you eat your meals, and of course, the way he takes you apart with fingers and tongue every single night.

Every time, he gives you more–two fingers, then three, then four–and you take it all greedily. You know what he’s doing; you remember the size of him as he stood before you that fateful night: his entire length must be the width of his whole hand, perhaps even thicker at the base. He’s preparing you–so patiently, so lovingly–but the notion of taking all of him on your wedding night frightens you as much as it excites you.

The castle becomes busier over the next several days, as preparations are made for your upcoming nuptials. Flowers are placed everywhere, musicians are hired, and the best baker in all the kingdom is summoned for your cake.

“Will there be many people?” you ask as you walk through the newly flower-lined halls.

Marcus frowns, shaking his head. “I told you, the entire kingdom fears me.”

Pain stabs through your heart at his words. You’re going to fix this. You must. “Then what is all the fuss for?”

The prince cocks his head in confusion as he smiles at you. “Why, it’s for you.”

Your mouth drops open. “Just me?”

He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Of course. I thought you knew.”

“You needn’t go through all of this trouble just for me,” you say, amused.

Marcus palms your cheek and traces his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone as he looks at you thoughtfully. “I want to,” he says simply.

On the night before your wedding, Marcus is quiet, his mood more subdued. Since your official engagement, he’s been incandescent–smiling more, laughing and joking playfully, even twirling you around to no music at all. You wonder if it had only been a distraction, if he’s still secretly terrified of the monster he’s so certain he’ll become.

“Are you all right?” you ask quietly over dinner, placing your hand over his and looking at him worryingly.

“I–I must ask a favor,” he replies, not meeting your eyes.

“Anything.”

“This has been the most wonderful week of my life, spending every minute by your side,” he begins, looking nervous.

You beam. “I’m so glad–”

“But I–” he swallows, troubled.

“Go on,” you prompt him gently.

“I must tell you that I… become restless, if I don’t… transform. It feels a little as though there’s a muscle that won’t stretch, or a pang of hunger that won’t be sated, if I don’t… feel the wind on my face, just for a short time. It won’t take long,” Marcus assures you.

“You’re seeking my permission?” you ask, confused as to why he would feel as though he had to ask.

“It pains me to leave you alone in my–in our bed,” he says regretfully. “But I–I need… In order to be completely present, completely human… I need this tonight.”

You lean forward, taking his face in both of your hands, soothing him. “You don’t have to ask,” you tell him patiently. “I love you exactly as you are, scales and all.”

Marcus stares at you in utter reverence. “The day I first laid eyes on you… I never would have imagined in my wildest dreams…” he murmurs, full of wonderment.

“I think it was the magic,” you say confidently. “It brought you to me.”

“That, or your stubbornness,” he teases, playfully chucking you under your chin.

“What will you do?” you ask. “Tonight, I mean. Where will you go?”

Marcus shrugs. “Probably just fly around for a little while, shake the cobwebs off. Maybe–” he flushes, ducking his head bashfully, “–find a deer, or something. I wasn't kidding about the hunger.”

“Promise you'll take me with you, one day,” you whisper. You close your eyes, remembering how sunsets look from high in the air, how exhilarating it was when he would swoop towards the ground.

Marcus is quiet for a few moments, watching you. Then, suddenly, his lips curl into a mischievous, boyish grin as he extends his hand. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Let's go,” he says, the gold flecks in his eyes seeming to sparkle. “Now. Tonight.”

As comprehension dawns, your smile spreads to match his. Giddily, you grab his hand, and the two of you rush from the hall and out into the twilight.

“Don't look.”

“Why not?”

“Just… don't, okay?” Marcus wheedles. “Turn around.”

You sigh in mock exasperation and obey. “Why can't I see?”

“It's not exactly pretty, shape-shifting,” he says from behind you. “And besides… I typically undress, so I don't rip any clothes to shreds.”

“You're naked as a dragon?” you squeak.

“Dragons don't wear clothes,” Marcus says defensively, and you dissolve into giggles until you hear the sound of giant footsteps behind you.

You grin instinctively at the sight of the dragon. In the low light of dusk, his scales are a deep, smoky green, and the light of the full moon causes his wings to shimmer with muted purples and blues. He shakes his massive head back and forth much like a dog shaking itself dry after a swim, and, as his wings stretch out to their full length, he lets out a deep sigh.

You're standing near a mostly-empty shed near the castle stables. Mostly empty, because Marcus’s discarded clothes are now there, and the large leather saddle that you first sat upon during your journey takes up the majority of the small building. An attendant appears, seemingly out of nowhere, to assist in buckling the straps around the creature’s massive belly.

You give dragon-Marcus a quick hug around his snout before gleefully hopping into the saddle and securing yourself tight.

You've come a long way from your first time. Rather than cling to the saddle for dear life, squeeze your eyes shut, and pray for the ordeal to end, you watch in anticipation as the dragon’s wings spread wide, then shriek in delight as they begin to beat loudly and you take to the skies.

The moon and stars seem almost reachable up here. Keeping one hand holding tight to the leather, you give into temptation and raise the other, stretching out your fingers and pretending to catch the clouds themselves. You can tell that Marcus is going faster than he used to with you by the way the moisture is drawn from your eyes and across your cheeks. His wings still and stiffen as he glides and swoops through the night air, and you can't stop smiling as your stomach seems to rise and fall with each change in altitude.

Finally, after what must have been many miles traveled but only an hour or so in the air, he gracefully touches down in a lush meadow near a tall outcrop of rocky cliffs and lowers down to let you off. A loud, rushing noise disturbs the quiet night and at first, you think it's the wind blowing violently through the trees, but you realize quickly that the leaves are completely still.

You look around, confused, searching for the source of the noise, but the moon is behind a small cloud, and it's too dark to see anything. You give Marcus a questioning glance, and he jerks his head toward the cliffs. As you walk closer to inspect them, the moon breaks free and moonlight gleams down on the two of you, making Marcus’s wings erupt with brilliance, illuminating the meadow, and revealing the tall, narrow waterfall that cascades into a small lagoon at the foot of the cliffs.

You shoot a tear-filled smile over at dragon-Marcus. You know he chose this destination with you in mind without having to ask. He shuffles forward and opens his gigantic jaws wide to catch the falling water, and you laugh as it splashes everywhere, falling into his eyes and sends little droplets onto your dress. You reach your hand out as you carefully step closer, reaching as far as you can without falling into the water, until you can finally catch some of the cascade in your palm.

You bend down, wiggling your fingers in the little lagoon, and find that it's still slightly warm from the late spring sun. A wild, silly idea flashes through your mind, and the moment you make eye contact with the dragon, you can tell from the sudden narrowing of his eyes that he has an inkling of what you're about to do. He gently shakes his head back and forth, but you're already rising to your feet and stepping backward, your hands coming to the back of your dress to undo the buttons.

Marcus growls low in warning, but you only laugh as you make quick work of your dress and underclothing, and, stark nude in the moonlight, you jump into the water with a triumphant whoop.

Your cheer turns into a yelp when the water turns out to be much colder than you expected.

Trying not to shiver, you look back at the shore. If a dragon could look unimpressed, Marcus certainly does now.

“Come in!” you call out. “The water is fine!”

The dragon snorts, and turns away–but you discover quickly that this was intended to be a feint. Before you can react, to swim away or cover your face, he jumps.

One may as well have thrown a small house into the little pool. The wave is so colossal that you're surprised there's any water left. It soaks you completely from head to toe, and the sudden rush of cold sends a shockwave through your body.

“You… beast!” you shove at his belly uselessly.

Marcus whuffs and shakes his head, clearly laughing at you, and you can't help but join in, although your lip is beginning to tremble. Still, you aren't going to let the cold deter you from your goal: you stride forward toward the waterfall until it's pounding down on your head. You raise your arms up overhead and tip your head back, taking full advantage of the shower.

With your eyes closed, you don't see the dragon move to block the water until it ceases thundering down on you. Looking up, you laugh again as you see Marcus trying to crowd unsuccessfully underneath the same waterfall.

You lose track of how long the two of you play in the water. You alternate between swimming back and forth and ducking in and out of the waterfall until your fingers are pruned and you're boneless with exhaustion.

When you finally get out of the water, you're shaking uncontrollably.

“I'm-m an i-imbec-cile,” you manage to stammer out. “W-Way too c-cold.”

You're sure Marcus would agree if he could, but rather than give you a derisive snort, he hums deep in his throat, a little noise of concern as he curls one wing around you.

You whimper pitifully and press against the warm, soft scales of his belly as his wing shields you from the chilly air.

“Forgot how… w-warm you are,” you murmur, closing your eyes in contentment. You'll dress in a minute and you'll fly back to the castle, just as soon as you stop shivering…

You don't remember falling asleep.

When you open your eyes again, the bright sun is forcing its way in through the gap between Marcus’s wing and his body. You gasp, sitting up in alarm.

“Marcus. Marcus! The wedding!” You probably should have thought before startling a great winged beast curled up next to you, but thankfully he only jerks slightly upon waking, a confused, sleepy rumble vibrating your body.

You both jump up and stare at each other in sheer panic before you start laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. You grab your dress and pull it on, but while you can manage to undo the buttons on the back yourself, fastening them back up is another thing entirely. You give up with a frustrated cry and decide to leave the thing loose. You don't bother with shoes, as your feet are still muddy from the late-night swim. Barefoot, and with your dress hanging open, you jump on the dragon's back and fasten yourself in before laughing, “Go! Go!”

You shoot into the sky with a surprised scream of terror.

“Too fast! Too fast!” you yelp, but Marcus's only response is a loud roar. You hang on for dear life as you rocket through the sky back to the castle, alternating between screaming in terror and laughing until your lungs ache.

In no time at all, the castle is approaching rapidly. Marcus touches down–less gracefully than usual–near the front gate, directly in front of the disapproving eyes of your maidservant, Annette.

You stumble off of his back with muddy feet and your dress hanging open in the back. One look back at dragon-Marcus has you dissolving into peals of laughter once more, and you slump forward onto his snout for one last giggling kiss on the tip of his nose before he takes to the skies again–presumably to get ready for the wedding that you both might still be late for.

You scurry down the halls after Annette–still giggling under your breath and smiling from ear to ear as though it were the best day of your life. And, you suppose, it is… so far. You have a feeling that the best days with your husband-to-be are still ahead of you.

Annette, however, looks as though she's preparing for a funeral rather than a wedding.

He's a good man,” you insist as she scrubs the evidence of last night's adventure off of your body in the bathtub. “The curse isn't what you think it is.”

“You are still a stranger in these lands,” Annette says. “You don't understand what you are dealing with.”

“I understand my husband,” you say confidently. “And I believe in his humanity, and in mine. The entire kingdom can turn away, but I never will.”

“I will give the prince credit,” Annette says with a small, affectionate smile in your direction. “If he was to choose the one woman who could break his curse through sheer force of will, he chose correctly.”

“Then believe me when I tell you this,” you say with a soft smile. “There is no amount of curse that could dull our love for each other, and that's why we will always prevail.”

“The longer I know you,” your maidservant says as you towel off, “the more I know that to be true.”

Your heart begins to pound as you're helped into the ornate white gown that has held a place of honor in your closet even before you arrived at the castle. Annette fastens the necklace you had chosen from the castle vault earlier this week: a sparkling cascade of emeralds that match your ring–and the beautiful deep-green hue of Marcus's dragon form–perfectly. The way in which the jewels glitter on your neck give off the illusion of scales themselves, and you smile at the subtle homage to the first form in which you met–and loved–your intended.

It feels like fate, like this moment was written in the stars at the beginning of time. And now, as the lace veil is placed over your head, you're ready.

Your garden is even more decadent than usual. Flower petals cover the stone pathways, with more gently cascading from the trees above as you walk slowly through the hedges toward the prince. He's waiting for you under an archway laden with wisteria, and you smile as you notice that, due to the man's height, some of the blossoms are disturbing his hair.

Your gazes are locked on each other as you slowly approach. Marcus’s eyes are bright with emotion, his lips parted in awe at the sight of his bride.

You long to launch yourself into his arms as soon as you come to stand next to him, but you force yourself to stand still and dignified as the officiant gently winds a braided gold cord around your joined hands.

Marcus’s voice breaks only a little as you recite the ancient vows:

I promise to be your grounding strength, like the earth beneath us. I vow to bring joy, like the gentle breeze that lifts your spirit. I will be your warmth, like the fire that keeps us safe, and I promise to flow with you, like water, through all the changes of our lives. With these cords, I bind myself to you, in love and respect, in all seasons.

The music swells and more petals cascade down upon the two of you as you share your first kiss as a married couple.

“Thank you,” Marcus whispers against your lips. “Oh, dearest, thank you.”

Night falls, and yet the two of you still dance slowly together in the garden, kissing and laughing and talking together. You've celebrated, you've feasted, and now all that remains is the rest of your lives, forever entwined.

And, of course, your wedding night. As darkness falls, your kisses grow fuller with promise, until you finally whisper, “Take me to bed, Marcus.”

There's a fire already blazing in the fireplace in Marcus’s quarters. You stand patiently facing the bed as the prince carefully unfastens every tiny button at the back of your wedding dress, unlaces your corset, and slides off your undergarments. He takes your hand as you step forward, away from the pile of discarded clothing. Only the emerald necklace remains, the jewels sparking in the firelight and looking all the more like dragon scales.

You reach back to find the clasp at the base of your neck, but Marcus stops you with an awe-filled smile.

“Leave it on,” he requests quietly.

His eyes are dark with lust as he lays you down on the bed you now share. “I want you to promise me,” he rasps huskily, “that you'll tell me if it hurts. If it's too much.”

“Love, it won't hu–”

“Promise.”

You palm his cheek gently. “I promise.”

You stare up at your husband in wonder and anticipation as he unbuttons his own shirt, casts it aside, and then reaches for the fastenings on his trousers with shaking fingers.

The fear is on full display in his beautiful dark amber eyes as he lets the fabric fall, revealing himself to you once more.

Your breath catches as the sight before you. Moving slowly, so as not to scare him, you reach up, tracing the soft, barely-there swell of his belly, following the very human trail of dark hair down, down, until your fingers brush against the very not-human scales at the base of his manhood.

Marcus stiffens and sucks in a breath at the first touch of your fingers. His eyes close and his eyebrows knit together as though he were in pain.

“It's okay,” you whisper, trying to soothe him. “Love, it's okay.”

You grow bolder, curving your hand around his girth–although he's far too thick to grip entirely–and slowly run your palm up the iridescent scales, from the base of him to the very tip. When you reach it, Marcus’s head tips back and he moans softly.

The scales are soft and vulnerable, like the ones on his belly in dragon form. You’re thankful for that; you were a little nervous that they’d be rigid and sharp, but they're smooth and yielding, and the ones right on his tip are almost velvety in texture. You smile and bring up your other hand to stroke him as well. With both of your hands involved, you're finally able to wrap around his entire girth. The sound that escapes Marcus as a result is a deep, broken thing, almost as if the action pains him.

“Oh love,” he whispers, his voice rough and breaking. “Oh, love…”

“Is this all right?” you ask nervously.

“Yes. Yes,” he groans. “I'm sorry, I just–I didn't ever think that this–that anyone would want to–”

“I know,” you whisper, reassuring him. “It's okay.”

You continue your gentle exploration of your husband, touching the ridges and bumps curiously, trying to imagine how it will feel inside of you. You don't stop until Marcus is panting, his eyes closed in ecstasy or frustration, you can't tell which. Finally, when you press one fingertip against the little slit at the tip, he breaks.

“Please, dearest,” he chuckles breathlessly. “Oh, love, have some pity.”

You giggle softly, smiling up at the man you love. You meet his deep, emotion-filled eyes, and the mood between you sobers.

“Marcus,” you say quietly, “make love to me.”

He nods solemnly, lovingly. Reaching over to his bedside table, he procures a little vial and holds it up to show you.

“I took the liberty of getting this from the apothecary,” Marcus says. “It's a kind of oil, but safe for–for inside.” He reaches down and traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “It should help it to not hurt,” he explains. Softer, he adds, “I don't want it to hurt.”

“You could never hurt me,” you say with absolute certainty.

Marcus stares at you, his expression full of awe. He surges down to kiss you desperately, over and over, your bare skin sliding deliciously against each other. He crawls down your body and laps at you hungrily. He adds one finger, then another, and another, until his whole hand is buried inside you and you're rising off the bed as you come undone.

Your chest is still heaving softly with exertion as Marcus is moving up, up, up your body, kissing a path all the way until he reaches your lips, and you shiver in delight at the realization that you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You watch in awe and trepidation as Marcus shakes some of the contents of the vial into his palm and rubs it over his manhood until it's shiny and wet with slick. He applies a little more to you, indulgently rubbing the slippery fluid over your folds and slightly inside.

“Promise again,” he demands roughly, even as he hovers over you, his thick length lining up with your core. “Promise you'll tell me if I'm hurting you.”

You take his face in your hands and kiss him sweetly. “Yes,” you promise. “Yes, Marcus.”

His tip notches at your entrance, and your eyes meet as he finally, finally begins to slide home.

He's prepared you so diligently and thoroughly, but you both know that he's still just a little bit larger than four of his fingers. The slight increase in size overwhelms your senses, and you gasp and whine at the intrusion. Two instincts battle inside you: the desire to squirm away and the need to be filled even more–but you find that you can do nothing except whimper softly for your husband.

“Breathe,” Marcus reminds you, his eyes sweeping over you, cataloging every reaction to make sure he isn't giving you too much.

You nod and force yourself to do as he asks, and although your breaths are shaky and labored, the slow inhales and exhales allow you to relax enough for him to keep going, pushing forward bit by bit, stretching you open, filling you utterly and completely.

Once he gets a little ways in, it becomes ever so slightly easier to take, and you tip your head back and moan in ecstasy as the pressure inside of you builds to a crescendo.

“So pretty like this,” Marcus murmurs. “So perfect, so lovely. You shouldn't be giving me this, and yet you are, oh Gods–” he groans as you squeeze him tightly.

Suddenly, it feels as though there's no more of you that you can give him. With a soft cry of discomfort, you touch his shoulder. “That's–I can't. Not anymore…”

Marcus nods. You can still see the shimmering green of his base; you think he's only around halfway buried inside you, and at the realization, you look at him in panic.

“It’s all right,” he says quickly. “I won't go any further.” His breath shakes as he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and he begins to slowly rock his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his impossibly-large manhood back and forth against your walls.

The sound you make, you think, is unhuman. You don’t even know if it’s a wail of pleasure, or of pain as Marcus takes you. All you know is that the sensation is so immense, so profound, that you’ll be forever altered after this. You cling to your husband, your fingers scrambling to find purchase at his neck and shoulders as you search for anything to anchor you.

Marcus seems to be deeply affected as well; he drops down, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he whimpers deeply with every gentle thrust. Putting his weight on one elbow, his other hand snakes down between your bodies and rubs small circles around your little bundle of nerves.

It takes longer than usual for the tension to build inside of you than it does with Marcus’s tongue and fingers. The pressure inside of you is simply too consuming, too distracting, but your husband is a patient man, and he methodically takes you higher and higher–and when you finally fall, the waves of pleasure are far more intense as a reward. Your muscles relax, and your core seems to open for him even further, and he takes advantage–seeming to know instinctively that you can take just a few inches more.

“I—I’m not going to last,” Marcus gasps. “It’s too good–been too long, I–mmph–”

“That’s probably–ah!–preferable,” you manage to answer.

Both of you giggle breathlessly. Marcus raises his head to gaze into your eyes, and he’s still smiling when his hips begin to stutter and lose their rhythm. He cries out into the room as he suddenly stills, and you let out a moan of your own when you feel unnatural warmth blooming inside of you as his spend buries itself deep.

You slump boneless with a violent shudder when Marcus carefully and slowly withdraws, leaving you feeling empty and vulnerable. You aren’t sure if it’s the sudden void he seems to have left behind that aches, or if you’re just now reacting to the fullness from before, but the sensation overwhelms you, and tears spring to your eyes.

He notices immediately and springs to action, pulling you against him so fervently that his grip distracts you from your aching core.

“I have you,” Marcus repeats over and over, peppering kisses on every inch of skin that he can reach. “I have you, dearest, I’m right here.”

You hold him back, just as tightly. “I love you,” you whisper. “I love you.”

Late morning sun streams in through the windows when you next open your eyes. The fire has died sometime in the night, leaving only glowing, golden-red embers, and the room is both too bright and too warm. It’s perfect. You sigh as you stretch your arms overhead indulgently, causing your husband to stir from sleep as well.

“Good morning.” Your voice is thick with sleep, and so is his reply.

“Good morning.”

You hum in appreciation as he leans forward to give you a gentle kiss before sitting up in bed. The covers fall to his hips, exposing the iridescent tip of his manhood, and he sighs.

“I was rather hoping to wake up this morning and discover this had all been fixed while I slept,” he grumbles.

“Supposing you were fixed, only the things you’ve always claimed to be broken are, in fact, misguided.”

You gently draw the covers back further and admire how he glints in the sunlight. His shaft isn’t as rigid now, but the length and girth of him is still considerable.

“Could I kiss you there,” you muse thoughtfully, “as you have kissed me on many occasions now?”

“K-Kiss–” Marcus sputters, seemingly unable to speak further.

“You put your mouth on me, and I fall apart,” you say with a sly smile. “Would it be the same for you?”

Your husband falls back on the pillows, pressing his hands into his eyes as he groans. “She’s going to kill me,” he deadpans, speaking to the ceiling rather than to you. “I brought her here, married her, and now she’s going to kill me.”

You giggle at his antics. “Then am I to assume that it would feel just as good?” you tease playfully. You lower your head and give in to the temptation to see what those soft, velvety scales would feel like against your lips.

“Mmph!” Marcus shudders violently at the touch of your mouth, but it only serves to encourage you. You give him kiss after gentle kiss, letting your lips drag indulgently against the smooth, shimmering scales. You move down, exploring the way they become more rigid as you approach the base, breathing in his scent deeply with every inhale. Emboldened, your tongue darts out to lick a long line back up again, all the way back to the tip, and your husband nearly arches off the bed with a broken moan of your name.

You want to catalogue every inch of his length, every noise he makes as you move your mouth along the ridges and veins of his shaft, up and down, up and down, until he’s throbbing and achingly hard.

“How can I…” you pause, furrowing your brow as you try to find the words for what you want to ask. “Last night, when you let go at the end–how do I—?” you trail off, looking up at Marcus hopefully.

He stares back as though he can’t believe what you’re asking him. “Oh. Oh. Oh dearest, you don’t need to–it would take… You’d have to put your–your whole mouth on me, and it wouldn’t fit, it wouldn’t work, it–”

You silence his rambling by doing just that. You have to open your mouth so wide that the edges of your lips pull uncomfortably, and you can only fit the soft head of his shaft within you, but the animalistic sound that escapes him as you swallow even the littlest bit of his manhood is well worth the effort.

You work at relaxing your jaw and throat as you take him just the tiniest bit deeper, and then, thinking of how he moved within you the night before, begin gently working him up and down with your mouth. You can feel your eyes watering, your nose running, and everything mixes together with your saliva to run down the rest of his shaft that you can’t even come close to reaching.

Marcus’s own hand wraps around himself, and he begins to move up and down, matching the rhythm of your mouth. He pants and gasps loudly as you gain confidence and speed, until finally–

“Love, stop!” he cries, and you lift your head in surprise just in time for him to spill his seed over his own bare chest instead. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him throbbing rhythmically, emptying himself until there’s nothing left.

“S-Sorry,” he chuckles bashfully. “I didn’t want to–Well, it’s a lot, and I didn’t want to hurt you or cause you to choke.”

Slowly, you begin to laugh as well, until the two of you are grinning like the two enamored idiots that you are.

“What should,” he doubles over with giggles, “should we do for the rest of the day, dearest wife?”

You almost can’t answer through your own laughter, but eventually you manage, saying, “I think breakfast is in order… but after that, I think we can come up with a few more ideas.”

Epilogue

Deep in the Obrage Mountains in the far northern reaches of the kingdom of Azethia, sits a small highland village.

Situated in the shadow of the range’s highest peak, Wyverncroft Mountain, the citizens of the village are quite accustomed to seeing large, winged silhouettes against the clouds on a clear day, but dragons are solitary creatures, and rarely come close to the town itself.

Imagine their surprise, then, when one morning after a great storm had come and gone, blanketing the village in deep snow, one of the beasts touches down on the outskirts, its landing muted by the blizzard.

What shocks them even further, however, is the young woman who disembarks from a large leather saddle on the creature’s back and approaches the townsfolk, who have all come to gawk at the sight.

“Excuse me,” she calls out brightly. “Would anyone be able to trade for some bread and cheese, possibly some wine? Our provisions were lost during last night’s storm, and we need some sustenance before we begin our journey back home.”

No one answers.

“We have plenty of coin,” she continues hopefully. “Just no bread.”

Finally, the baker steps forward. “I have bread,” he begins suspiciously. “But pray tell me: what is a young maiden doing on the back of a colossal beast in the wilding peaks? There are no other settlements for many leagues…”

“Oh, we’re on our honeymoon,” the maiden laughs. “I come from very far away, where there are no mountains to speak of, and I wanted to see their splendor for myself.”

“Your… honeymoon,” the baker repeats. He looks left and right, but there is no husband to speak of.

The townspeople stare at the newcomers. The girl–and the beast–stare back. The only sound that can be heard is the rustle of branches as a flying squirrel hops deftly from one tree to another, and–

SNAP!

Everyone jumps as the dragon suddenly darts its head upward to capture the little animal in its strong jaws. It bites down only once, and then swallows its catch whole.

Several of the villagers gasp in fear, and the maiden gasps too–before punching the great creature squarely on its foreleg, just below the shoulder.

“Rude!” she hisses. “Can you not wait five minutes? You can have yourself an entire herd of deer for all I care, but not before I get my breakfast.” She turns back to the baker with a wide smile. “I’m deeply sorry,” she says sweetly. “We’ve been holed up on the peak for two days waiting for the storm to pass, and we’re both famished and a little short on manners.” She shoots one last glance at the beast behind her, and it whuffs in annoyance, flapping its wings impatiently.

The villagers hastily give her bread, cheese, and wine as requested, plus a little pouch of dried berries from their summer stores, as the girl had given them far more gold than the meager offering of food was worth.

She thanks them generously, and the dragon seems to bow its head deeply with gratitude itself. Then, she climbs back into the saddle and the two strangers rise back into the sky, heading south. The villagers watch them until they’re out of sight.

Epilogue 2

When Prince Marcus, as you predicted, does not make any additional transformations into a fearsome dragon, you make it your life’s work to travel the kingdom of Azethia–made faster by flying through the sky with your husband–to spread your message of love and acceptance, rather than fear and shunning, of the kingdom’s afflicted.

When it becomes clear that the prince will remain of sound mind and human body, you are eventually crowned king and queen at a crowded and boisterous coronation that brings revelers from far and wide, even from outside of the kingdom. Of the foreigners that come, your family, of course, are your most beloved and esteemed guests. And, to your overjoyed gratitude, they elect to stay in the castle with you–and none too soon, because, if your suspicions are correct, you will need all hands on deck for the part of your life that comes next.

The twins, Sophia and Elias, come into their powers at around three years of age, and it takes the combined effort of you and Marcus, your family, and all the castle’s servants to contain the little toddlers that can shape-shift and sprout wings whenever they so choose.

Rather than being raised in fear of their abilities, Sophia and Elias are celebrated and encouraged (for the most part, except for when they accidentally set fire to various rooms in the castle). You can see, in every year that passes, how Marcus begins to heal–growing into a confident and benevolent king with a razor-sharp wit and boyish smile reserved for those who know him best.

The twins grow and mature until they are sent away to a university in neighboring Oloslokar, and Marcus’s hair is silver at the temples and his beautiful, amber-brown eyes are surrounded with laugh-lines. (“Both are entirely the fault of my wife and children,” he likes to say with the deepest of affection.)

You grow older, too; your body softens and changes shape after bearing the twins (and enjoying the exquisite meals from the palace chef), becoming–as Sophia used to say when she was smaller–‘Well-suited for warm hugs.’ And those you give generously–to those who come to ask favors of the now-beloved royal family, and to your family, and your children, but most often to your husband (no matter what form he happens to be in).

When the castle becomes too quiet again, the two of you take to the skies, travelling to every corner of the world that you can manage to reach.

Your favorite place, however, remains to be a small, unassuming green meadow next to a cliff, where a little waterfall cascades into a lagoon that’s never quite warm enough for a swim.

And yet, somehow, the two of you still manage.

fin

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal #the mentalist

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swanimagines · 2 days ago

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Hi! How are you? Since I've loved your last Morpheus fic, can I request: “F18. Smiling while kissing” also with Morpheus, please? Thank you so much, have a good day :)

Prompt: F18. Smiling while kissing

LITTLE HAPPINESS

When you were a child, or a preteen really, you had a silly game with your friends. Each of you were presented with three fairytale characters and you needed to pick one you’d kiss. And during one game, you had chosen to kiss the Sandman.

One of your friends had raised his eyebrows at you. “Sandman? Are you sure? I bet he’d probably accidentally make you sleep for long periods if your lips touched.”

You had shrugged. “I wouldn’t really mind, sleeping feels great.”

Another friend sighed. “Well, I guess it would be better than the sickness that causes people not being able to sleep at all, or sleep very little at a time.”

Little did you know back then that ten years later you would be working as a servant for none other than Alex Burgess, and you would actually meet the Sandman himself. It hadn’t been a demon in the basement like rumours told you. It was something — or someone — who had to be set free. You found out that it was him who was responsible for people not being able to sleep, or rather Alex’s father had been the one to trigger that, but this creature, person, whatever he was, was the missing piece.

So you worked on it for weeks, but eventually managed to let him out of his cage. He disappeared after that, but a few weeks later you got him to visit your dreams, and things had proceeded from there into more… romantic route. It had been rather slow and neither of you really expected it, but it had still just happened.

And when Morpheus started inviting you to his palace every night while you slept, your relationship just kept deepening until one night, he just quietly approached you as soon as you stepped into the throne room. You stood there, heart pounding, looking at him. Something was different.

“What is it?” you asked, looking around.

He licked his lips, pausing. “Nothing. I… I wanted to tell you something.”

But he said nothing, because he knew you already knew what he wanted to say. You had fallen in love with each other, he wanted to ask how you felt about it. But seeing you, sensing how you felt, surrounded by his Kingdom… words weren’t needed after all.

So instead of asking that, he reached out, grazing your cheek. He asked a different question, one you had waited for a long time without realising it. “May I?”

You knew what he meant, and you swallowed before nodding. He smiled, took another step closer, cupped your cheek… and carefully pressed his lips to yours.

You stood there frozen for a second, before you finally dared to kiss him back, slowly letting your hands wander to his shoulders.

But after a moment, a flashback struck through your mind and you couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of that little game you had played with your friends, breaking the kiss for a moment.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, frowning slightly but he had a smile on his face now as well.

You shook your head, breaking eye contact with him, but kept grinning. “Just a stupid thought.”

“And what is that ‘stupid thought’ you have?”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed. “A long story which prompted this, but if I ever said I’ve actually been kissed by the Sandman himself, my childhood friends would think I’ve finally lost it. We speculated that if I was ever to kiss him, he’d accidentally make me sleep.”

He cocked an amused eyebrow. “You have talked about kissing me before?”

You felt blood rushing into your cheeks. “Um, yeah. Technically? I didn’t know you’re real and not just some silly story parents tell their children to get them to sleep back then though.”

Morpheus chuckled, pulling you closer again. “I won’t make you sleep with my kiss unless you want me to.”

You grinned. “Well, some nights that would be a nice way to fall asleep with. But maybe not every time.”

And your lips met again, you two standing there in the throne room, moonlight casting shadows across the windows as you and the King of Dreams held each other, having found love for each other.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless #the sandman #morpheus imagine #the sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #female reader #romantic #reader insert #my works

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viperwhispered · 11 months ago

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I just wanna take a moment to say thank you for always being around to chat since I don't have many to talk to about TWST. I also suck at characterization so I don't write many fics. But I was very happy when you used one of our discussions for Revel in You. I don't mind if you use our convos to write, just be sure to credit the source.

On that note: saw your smut posts. Here's an idea: Jamil celebrating his promotion to being a Housewarden.

It's Friday, there's an enormous party going on to celebrate Jamil and Kalim's new roles and the successes of the first month with this new dynamic. While Jamil is more accustomed to the spotlight, he still gets "tired out" and leaves it to Kalim to keep the party going and organize the clean up crew. After all, he's due for a more private celebration of his own.

Fun fact: for a good chunk of snake species, the male will bite the females neck to hold them down while mating.

Imagine Jamil relentlessly taking his beloved from behind, deciding they're wriggling a bit too much. Delighting in the sounds they make as he pulls them towards him by the hair, he just bites the back of their neck as his body pins them to the bed. They'll probably be annoyed by morning, but Jamil's already got some concealers beforehand.

Did I forget to mention it's a Friday, Jamil no longer has roomates, and pretty much the entire dorm is still partying to loud music several hallways away?

Also worth mentioning that, as a healthy mature couple, all of Jamil's jealousy and possessiveness is addressed in a healthy manner so the relationship never turns toxic. This statement does not apply to the bedroom.

Aww thank you, always happy to talk with you too 😊 Plus like, if you’d rather talk over messages sometime in addition to the asks, feel free. (And this applies to anyone else reading this post too.)

Yeah iirc I was thinking a bit if I should ask you about using that ask as a jumping off point for To Revel in You, but I figured I was using it more as inspiration rather than rewriting anything you wrote or anything like that. And that since you sent that ask in the first place, I did kinda assume it would be okay to build off it. But good to hear I wasn’t wrong in thinking so, and glad you liked it.

As for characterization & writing: it really is a matter of practice, I’d say. Plus, like, everyone is bound to interpret the characters in a different way, or focus on different aspects of them. Which can be freeing, in a way, knowing that you can bring to the table something that no one else can, certainly not in the same exact way you would.

Also I was actually thinking of asking for some writing prompts since the current wip seems to need a bit more time to marinate, and here you are with perfect timing.

So let’s see what I can do with this concept.

If it wasn’t obvious: smut ahead. Written with fem / afab reader in mind but I think this could be read gender neutral as well since the only specific body detail mentioned is that reader has hair long enough for Jamil to grab.

The day - and the week, and the month - had been such a whirlwind that even Jamil had had trouble keeping up with it all.

Tonight, Jamil had basked in the praises from his dormmates, their congratulations and glowing words - and noted the cautious looks of those who still had not forgotten the events of his overblot.

He had enjoyed food that was not made by him, watched others fuss over the preparations and the serving - well, as much as he had been able to keep himself from giving direction. Still, even he had not been able to oversee every single detail, as much as he wanted to.

After all, both you and Kalim had been quite insistent, in your own ways, that this celebration should be for him, not by him.

So Jamil had danced, eaten, drank, listened, talked, so much so that now when the night was beginning to turn towards morning, he had more than had his fill.

Besides, tired as he may be of the crowd, there was still something on his agenda that he was more than happy to indulge in.

You had been teasing him with promises of a more private celebration - starting from when the party was decided on all the way to when you had been dancing together earlier - and Jamil intended to finally collect his reward.

You were outside for a moment of fresh air and quiet when Jamil found you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and nipping your ear.

“I remember someone promising to be mine tonight,” he murmured, voice low and husky.

You shivered, feeling Jamil’s lips on your neck. You’d half expected him to be too tired to turn your teasing into action. Yet, you certainly welcomed this turn of events, your own tiredness washed away by Jamil’s eager touch and his tempting whispers.

“You know me. Always love - ahhh - spoiling you,” you said - your words turning into a gasp when Jamil licked the side of your neck.

In no time at all you found yourself in Jamil’s room - as easy as it was to be distracted by each other, you both still preferred the privacy over lingering in the common areas of the dorm.

Jamil’s mouth was hungry on yours, his hands working quickly to rid you of your clothes.

Sometimes you wondered just how much Jamil was holding back in the presence of others, for him to get so ravenous as soon as you two were alone.

Not that you were any different, pulling away that long belt from Jamil’s hips so that you could slip your hands under his shirt, your lips covering every available bit of his skin with kisses.

It was always delicious, your naked bodies tangled together. That heady feeling of each other, both of you grasping and kissing wherever you could, like you could never quite feel enough of the other.

“So what would mister housewarden ask of me tonight?” you asked with a playful grin, nuzzling your nose against Jamil’s.

There was undeniable hunger in the way Jamil looked at you, yet also the warmth and softness of your lover that always filled your heart to the brim.

“Just all of you, albi,” Jamil murmured, pushing you down onto the mattress.

You’d entertained ideas of a celebratory blowjob, of taking care of Jamil tonight. But if he’d rather help himself to you, you were certainly not going to say no.

A few orgasms later and Jamil was pounding into you, firmly holding onto your hips while your face was pressed onto the sheets. His cock was invading your insides so hard, so deep, leaving you nearly senseless. You jolted helplessly every time Jamil slammed his way all the way in, the pleasure bordering on pain as it shot through your nerves.

“Ahhh, Jamil…” you whimpered, barely aware of the spot of drool you’d left on the bed.

“Too much?” Jamil muttered, one of his hands leaving your side to instead trail a soothing path along your spine.

“...No.”

It was a lot, your senses nearly overtaken by the intensity of it all - yet you didn’t want anything less.

Still, you couldn’t help squirming, your body twitching with every thrust, yelps and moans pushed from your throat no matter how much you tried to hold them in.

“Hold still,” Jamil grunted.

He gathered your hair in his hand, making you gasp when he tugged. You could feel the pull on your scalp, almost like Jamil wanted to rein you in - or pull your face away from the sheets so that he could hear your cries more clearly.

“You’re all mine tonight, aren’t you? Mine to have, mine to enjoy,” Jamil breathed to your ear.

“Yes, yes, yes…” you whined, aroused beyond belief.

Always his, just as he is yours - but you had no time to vocalize that thought before Jamil’s weight pushed you prone on the bed.

Your gasp was cut short, turned into a sharp cry when you felt moist pressure at the back of your neck - a bite, you realized, some instinct telling you to keep still.

Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. Jamil’s hand, still gripping your hair. His mouth, latched onto your skin. His body, holding you down.

The weight of him against your back was almost suffocating, yet in a delicious way. Like you could be closer to him like this, more connected than just skin to skin contact - or penetration - could provide.

You could feel the rolling of Jamil’s hips against your backside, the way his cock was dragging along your insides. Not as harshly as before, yet intense enough to keep you trembling and whining with the little breath you could take.

And Jamil’s mouth, his teeth, never letting go. His muffled groans such a delicious sound, making you clench around him.

Such sweet torture, and you never wanted it to end.

Taglist since this turned into fic: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @perilous-pasta @twstgo @cannedpickledpeaches

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #ner talks #ner writes #chatting with folks #lex752 #embarrassingly enough I still haven’t read Jamil’s bday vignettes and they probably would’ve been useful for the early parts here #but oh well it is what it is #for some reason I’m just so used to writing smut in present tense (especially if it’s second person)#so I really kept on going back and forth with the tenses while writing #hopefully I caught all of those and got my tenses in line #but if you see something silly feel free to let me know #banged this out kinda quick as a little intermission treat #honestly just the kind of writing I was craving for for today so ty again for this ask lex!

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cheriecoke · 1 year ago

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after some thinking, i’m going to put a pause on all my jjk wips & work on some other things <3

#thanks for all ur kindness btw #& i’m sorry if you just follow me for jjk :(#i think this is the best thing for me to do regarding my feelings around the fandom & the only way i can truly put some distance between it #which this doesn’t mean i’ll stop writing for it forever <33 just for at least a couple weeks !!#i’m sorry this probably seems really silly and dramatic but #i just havent been happy on tumblr :(#& i won’t change my url or theme or anything !!! just loving kento from a distance lol #love u all so very much !!!!#and i just wanted to let you know in case you think i’m dropping kento forever (im not) or you’re waiting on something #but also feel free to unfollow if you don’t want to see my other work lol #i’ll also probably not consume much content of it either very sorry to my jjk mooties :(((

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void-my-warranty · 11 months ago

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(part 1 here if you missed it)

“Simon.”

He looks up from his breakfast, hair rumpled and eyes a little bloodshot. There’s a bit of panic in them, though, at your deathly serious voice which he basically never hears.

His stomach clenches with dread, forcibly swallowing down the bite of food that’s not nearly chewed enough, and straightening up in his chair.

You sigh. “Why don’t you want to marry me?”

He’s so tunnel-visioned in on losing you that he has to blink a couple of times, mentally shoving one issue away and wrenching something unexpected into its place.

“What—“

You cut him off with a rushing tide of anxiety. “If it was just needing to wait, then I would understand. I totally, totally get wanting to be sure, you know? But everyone thinks we’re married already, and that’s weird, Si. And you never let me pay for anything, and it’s starting to make me feel like you want to keep things separate, like you have one foot out the door already.”

Your chest heaves with the pent-up emotion of working these things over and over in your head for the last few days and coming up with no other logical answer.

He frowns in confusion. “You… want to marry me?”

You laugh at first, shocked and bitter, thinking he’s got to be kidding. But then his face smooths over into that unreadable, self preservation expression which you hate, and you realize he’s just an idiot. “Yes! Of course I do.”

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and looking like he’s not quite sure this conversation is really happening.

“FUCK!” You stand up and slam your palms on the table in frustration, then point at his tea. “Take a drink.”

At first you think he won’t. His eyes are tracking over your face, your aggressive posture, and then they finally drop to his mug. Simon obediently gulps a few swallows of tea, then sets it back down to have both arms free for self defense.

You step around the table, no matter that you’re quite unthreatening in your little PJs and no bra, and plant your hands on each of his shoulders.

“Simon. For fuck’s sake. Why are you telling everyone we’re married?”

Oh, god. You never see that. That ruddy flush blooming in the bottom of his cheeks? You never see that.

“Cause…” he swallows, his eyes flicking down to his tea you made for him, and then back to your face. He’s struggling, hard. “You are something like that, to me.”

You let out a relieved breath, sliding your hands up to his hot cheeks. “Okay. Then why haven’t you asked me to marry you, Si?”

“I’m sorry—“ he starts, but the crack in his voice makes him hide it by clearing his throat. “I’m sorry, if that’s something… you’ve been wanting, love. Didn’t think... you’d say yes to a… a bloody…” He trails off, unable to come up with the proper derogation.

“A bloody idiot,” you supply, sliding your ass onto his lap and looping your arms around his neck.

He blinks suspiciously fast, clearing his throat again and hooking his elbow around yours to drain the last of his tea.

“A bloody idiot,” you say a little softer, kissing his scarred cheek, “who makes me so happy that I can’t imagine loving anyone else like I love you. Of course I want to be your wife.”

"Mmm," he wraps his arms around you, almost painfully tight. "Say it again."

"I want to be your wife, you silly Englishman."

"Ahh," he nuzzles his face into your neck, mumbling against your skin, "didn't catch it. Once more?"

You laugh and twist away from the tickle of his mouth. "You. Me. Married or else."

"Don't need to twist your arm?"

"No." You drop your chin down to find his mouth with yours. "Just ask nicely."

Drabble masterlist

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost x reader #dinnertime

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moonlightazriel · 10 days ago

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Main Masterlist

Nanami hated seeing you in distress. No matter what was the cause, a big presentation or something as silly as donating blood, he hated seeing your furrowed brows and the nervous habit of pressing your nails into your palms. He wanted to go over there and pull you by the hand, forcing you to stop just so he can squeeze your much smaller one in between his fingers, to reassure you everything was going to be fine.

But the thing is, Nanami Kento is also a reserved man. Which meant he couldn't simply go over to where you stood in line for the blood donation day you were helping promote at the office and do any of the things he knew would calm you down. Simply because no one knew the two of you were married.

Surely they knew you two we're close, always having lunch together, not knowing that the well crafted bento box was made by your skilled hands. They also knew that the golden ring adorning Nanami's finger meant he was married to someone, but that someone never showed up at the office, not even once. Which made everyone wonder what his mysterious wife looked like. If they only knew they have already met her.

He preferred it that way, not having anyone snooping in his relationship and trying to ruin the perfect routine he created for himself, if they knew about the two of you, the pestering and questions would be constant, and he really wanted to avoid that. So he swallowed hard, opting for nodding your way, trying to express that you could do it.

But he watched as you sat down on the chair, nervously eyeing the big needle, while the nurse prepared to put it in your arm, and his feet moved on its own accord. It looked like you were about to pass out any minute and he knew that you would feel really embarrassed if you did pass out in front of the whole office.

So ever the gentleman, he grabs your free hand, drawing your attention to his face, a warm smile just for you, you watched surprised, as well as everyone else around the two of you, as he pulled your hand to his lips, giving you a comforting kiss. You didn't even felt the needle piercing your skin, you didn't feel anything with how fast your heart were beating right now.

He held your hand during the whole procedure, ignoring the stares and whispers of his colleagues, only focusing on keeping you calm enough to endure the donation, he knew that you were so kind that you were willing to put your wellbeing aside to help others, that's why he wanted you to know that he appreciated that. So when the nurse finished, handing you a juice box, he helped you up, one hand still holding yours and the other resting in your waist.

"I'm so proud of you honey, for organizing this whole campaign and for donating it yourself, despite your fear. But please, next time choose something that doesn't terrify you this much." He whispered in your ear, kissing your hair in the process.

"If they ever let me do something again." You said, pointing to the eager coworkers that started to approach you. Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a migraine setting in, but for you? It was always worth it.

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shanieveh · 1 year ago

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to all the boys i've loved before !

— genshin men receive your confession letter that you accidentally sent

he doesn't care (HE WON AT LIFE) - albedo, cyno, diluc, neuvillette, tighnari, xiao, scaramouche

His face, although one with his usual stoic expression was now screaming how God had blessed him and when you finally left, apologizing for the inconvenience and asking if he felt the same way. OF COURSE HE DID?! HE LOVES YOU MORE THAN ANY—

"Yeah sure you're okay I guess."

Nailed it. And as your flustered face starts to run away from him, he was now thinking what place will you guys settle in? When will he buy the engagement ring. You know, the expected. After all, there was no way he would give back the heart you gave him.

teases you to oblivion - childe, itto, kaeya, kazuha, lyney, pantalone, heizou, venti, xingqiu,

"Ho ho.... so you like LIKE me?"

He was hiding his red face underneath the words of teasing and fun. Yeah, he liked you back, but where's the thrill? A letter is just... well, a letter. He wanted to hear it from you, he wanted you to say it so many times for it felt like the blood to his heart. He needed this.

And although it may look like he was not taking your confession seriously, he does. Every word you said embedded in his head, and it's a crime for him to let you forget it. He plans to make you remember that silly letter you wrote at 1:43 AM for the rest of your life.

becomes a blushing mess - bennett, chongyun, freminet, gorou, thoma, capitano

When he read the whole thing, the happiness he felt turned to nervous immediately. What do you mean you liked him? Did the manifestations worked or something? Was he finally blessed with this beautiful angel after beng miserable for so long? YOU ACTUALLY LIKE HIM?

He wanted to party! No, but what if you decided to not like him anymore? After all he had many bad qualities. He was panting, frantically, the whole area heard it. YOU heard it. Will that make you like him less? Oh god... oh god... he was sure to admiring you from afar. But this?

"U...uhm I-I also feel the same way..." And with that he ran for his life.

thinks you guys are now married - alhaitham, ayato, baizhu, kaveh, zhongli, wriothesley

Oh so you like him? When's the wedding? He was now thinking of a designer for your wedding fits. After all, his partner deserves the very best. Do you want to be child free? Is there a need for him to make a planned parenthood account? What will your retirement plan be? Do you plan to be buried with him or separate? Thoughts like these raced through his mind.

The letter gripped by his hand, you were afraid to be rejected. And when you were about to speak and confront the silence he moved and folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Next time, it will definitely be a ring.

"See you at 5, sweetheart."

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99woez · 10 months ago

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don't talk about it ᰔᩚ j.sc

warnings. smut, best friend!sungchan, roommate!sungchan, arguing, it's a dumb argument but you are fighting this man, physical fighting, just shoving nothing crazy but a physical altercation starts this all, unprotected sex, hair pulling, some angst? idk if i missed something let me know! i also did not proofread this because i got out 5k words in one night which is crazy for me. anyways, enjoy!

wc. 5k

summary. your best friend embarrasses you in front of your campus crush. so, of course, you decide to fight with him in the living room and learn some interesting things about him in the process.

Sungchan had always been stupidly large, in your opinion.

He was so large that you couldn’t resist the urge to playfully test his strength, curious to see how his fit frame would react to your playful jabs or if he would sway with a gentle nudge. He would playfully push you back, never with full force, but these light-hearted scuffles became a regular part of your friendship. It was a source of joy, a shared silliness, it meant everything.

Except for the times it did.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, oh my god!” You shouted at your so-called “best friend,” shoving hard into his chest. This shove wasn’t like the ones you usually gave him. This one was harsh and mean. There was not a semblance of anything alluding to happiness on your face as you looked up at Sungchan with knitted brows and parted lips, shoving hard into his firm chest once again, this time with a shout of frustration.

If we’re being honest, you two have been drinking. It’s not like you’re shitfaced and neither is he, but the alcohol is just enough to make the world blurry at the edges and your words harsher than you typically allow them to be. His chest, solid as a boulder beneath your pushing palms, doesn't yield like it usually would during your fond roughhousing. He stands firm, his expression teetering between annoyance and worry.

"Stop it," he gruffly says, grabbing your wrists mid-shove. Just like that, the playful laughter that usually echoes between you two gets choked in the tension-filled silence. You try to yank your hands-free, but his grip is firm yet gentle. He was never rough with you, even when the fights turned serious like this. It was a rarity for things to turn nasty, but sometimes Sungchan was so oblivious you couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out at him, especially with a few mixed drinks in your system.

“Let go,” You snapped. Sungchan leans in with a tilt of his head, letting out a “Hm?” as he does so, challenging you.

“Chill out first.” That did the exact opposite of chill you out. You hated it when he took that tone of voice with you, as if you were some child that needed to be put into a timeout.

There were many things you loved about Sungchan: His kindness, his dedication to anything he sets his mind to, his eyes, you loved a lot about Sungchan, but there were many things you couldn’t stand about him. He was oblivious to the simplest of social cues, he got loud when he was drunk, and the way he comforted people was an absolute joke. If you hadn’t known him for more than half your life and shared an apartment with him, you would’ve ditched him when you two graduated high school.

But you didn’t. Now, you’re stuck with a big, dumb roommate who loves telling the men you like that you like them. God, Wonbin was never going to talk to you again after the scene Sungchan caused trying to get him to give you his number. You still can feel the embarrassment hot in your veins, making you lurch forward and finally give his chest a shove that makes him stumble a few steps.

“I won’t chill out! I won’t! What you did was fucking rude!” You yelled, pointing a finger in his face to punctuate your words and get your point across. Sungchan scoffed, turning his head away from you, but you could see his tongue press against the inside of his cheek, making the skin push out slightly. It was a habit of his you had noticed when you two went to parties together in college. It’s what he does when he’s annoyed and holding himself back, beating someone’s ass. It’s a rare occasion for Sungchan to beat someone’s ass, but when it did happen, it was always deserved. Typically, it would be a drunk guy who wanted to buck up to the biggest guy at the party, a one-sided battle of masculinity that Sungchan always won, no matter who came up to him. You’ve only seen Sungchan throw a punch twice in your entire friendship.

Once, when you were in high school, and the last time was at a party during your junior year of college when a man put his hands on you despite you telling him to fuck off. The other times, he had simply told you about when you’d see him in the kitchen with littered bruises on his body. You think about that night more often than you’d like to admit. Sungchan didn’t hesitate to throw a punch for you, knocking the man clean out by the time he was done with him. It lit a fire in you that you’re not proud to admit. There was just something in his eyes that rubbed your brain right. You would never admit it, but were desperate to see that look again. You wanted to see him angry, to watch him lose control no matter how fucked up it sounds.

“Get your hand out of my face,” Sungchan told you firmly, looking you in the eyes to get his point across, but you weren’t deterred. You step closer to him, finger still in his face.

“No. Not until you apologize. Admit it was rude. You were rude.”

“I wasn’t fucking rude,” Sungchan argues, swatting your hand down when you don’t move it from his face. You bring it back up without a care of the consequences, resulting in a game of him swatting your hand down every time you bring it up.

You two look stupid. Thank God this is in the privacy of your living room.

“You had no right-”

“You were never going to talk to him if I didn’t! You’re a chicken-”

“I’m not a fucking chicken––Oh my god, don’t call me a bird.”

“You’re such a fucking chicken, dude. Do you remember how long it took you to even talk to Shotaro? Months. ‘Took you months to even say hi to him, and that’s because-”

“Shut up.”

“That’s because I had to step it! I was the one to get you to talk to him!” Sungchan continued with a shit-eating grin, voice picking up volume as he leaned down to get closer to you as if you couldn’t hear him clear enough, pointing to himself like he had won some kind of award. Your already flushed cheeks begin to heat up when you remember the Shotaro incident of 2022. He always brought up Shotaro, and even if it was just to pick on you playfully, it still struck a nerve. You were more shy than Sungchan ever was, always letting him start the conversations or introduce you to new people. Half of your friends are Sungchan’s friends; half of the people you’ve dated are because Sungchan knew them first. Every connection in your life could be traced back to Sungchan, which drove you insane.

“Now, you want to talk all this shit because you got embarrassed I had to step in again and help you get some dick,” Sungchan pressed, his grin turning into a smirk as he nodded at his words, feeling them in his being because they’re true. You stared at him with contempt, teeth grinding as your fists balled up tightly. “You should be thanking me. You’re so ungrateful for everything-”

You lunged at him. You swear you don’t have control of your body when you do it, you just throw your entire weight into his chest and hope for the best. Sungchan let out an “Oof!” sound when you collided with him, staggering back and hitting the ground with you on top of him. You act as if you two are playfully wrestling, but none of your movements have an ounce of playfulness in them. You straddled his hips firmly as you shoved at his hands harshly to get them away from grabbing you. You knew once he got his hands on you, it was over. He’d flip you two over, and it’d be done. You couldn’t let him win this. You couldn’t do it. You had to prove it to him.

You don’t know what it was, but you had to prove it.

You grab his hair tightly, jerking his head off the carpet to distract him, tugging hard on the brown locks. Sungchan lets out a yelp that sounds pathetic. His eyes squeezed shut as his large hands wrapped around your wrist to try and pull you off of him.

“Not fair-” He started. You shake his head, eliciting another yelp from him.

“Shut up. Shut the fuck up,” You spat at him, shaking him again. His face contorted in pain and confusion, groaning softly as he did what you told him for once. You couldn’t believe he actually listened. Truthfully, you didn’t think you’d get this far. You’re not exactly sure what to do next. So, you shake his head again, making him hiss when you tugged harder on his locks. “Can’t fucking stand you, you know that? You’re such a jerk sometimes. Just big, stupid, and taking up space.” You shake his head around with every word, watching him drop his hands and put them up in front of him in faux surrender, but he doesn’t say anything. He only whined and grunted when you pulled on his hair harder than usual.

You waited for him to spit something back at you, to call you a coward, to say you needed him, but nothing but pants left his plush lips. You furrow your brows in confusion at his silence. Sungchan was never quiet. You shake him again.

“Hello? Say something!” You shake his head again, this time back and forth. You won’t lie. It was fun to have him like this. He acted like some kind of puppet that you were the master of, pulling him around in whichever direction you wanted him to go in, and he just took it. Sungchan sighed in defeat, keeping his eyes shut tightly.

“My dick just twitched.”

Oh.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Your hands, which had been roughly pulling at Sungchan's hair, suddenly freeze. Your heart pounds in your chest as you gaze down at him, cocking a brow at him. His face is flushed a deep crimson, though whether from embarrassment or something else, you can't tell.

"I said," he starts again, much slower this time, swallowing hard, "My... my dick just twitched."

You blink at his repeated confession, not expecting him to repeat the words. There’s a tension growing between the two of you that you’ve never felt before, making your throat dry as you stare at Sungchan’s embarrassed face, watching his chest rise and fall as he pants beneath you. Flashes of what he’d look like without his shirt flash in your brain, wondering what sounds he’d make as you sink down on him, how his eyes would look, how the muscles would ripple under his––Jesus Christ, get it together, girl. You remind yourself, clearing your throat down at him.

“Like…Seriously?” Sungchan nods at your dry words, opening his eyes slowly to look up at you. A switch in your brain is flipped when you see his big brown eyes. He looks utterly pathetic like this, hair in your hand revealing his forehead, eyes pleading for something silent, and lips in a perfect soft pout. You wanted to take his picture like the actual definition of pitiful.

You chuckle at him, shaking him again and tugging his hair hard to see if it really did anything for him. He whines again, shutting his eyes as his hands lurch towards your hips, holding tightly with a sharp breath through his teeth. You smirk at his reaction, raising your brows in slight shock it was this easy to get him going. Maybe it was the alcohol, you think. You’ve seen Sungchan shove his tongue down girls’ throats just mere minutes after he met them, but this is you. You’re his best friend, his roommate, the girl who beat his ass for talking to her crush for her. You know you’re pretty, and Sungchan is just a man, but you’re still caught off guard by it all.

Your palm still cradled his scalp, thumb lazily tracing small circles at the base of his hairline. Sungchan’s hands on your hips squeeze gently, fingers digging into your flesh just a bit more than necessary and causing a shiver to wind its way up your spine.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and claimed Sungchan's lips in a rough, desperate kiss. His taste was different than any guy you've ever kissed - salty with a hint of beer and lime from the drink he had tonight. You wrapped your hand tightly around the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you as your other hand found its way under his shirt to feel his warm skin. You didn't let up when he moaned into your mouth, feeling your touch while he tentatively kissed you back. Your anger turned into desperation quickly as you slipped your tongue into his mouth, tasting him fully now. His lips were soft and plush against yours as they parted slightly to let you in further. You moaned the moment your tongues slid together, digging your nails into his toned chest as he pressed in further, sucking softly on the slick muscle in your mouth.

Sungchan's hands moved up your body, gripping your waist and still pulling you closer. The fabric of your shirt scratching against his rough palms made you shiver with anticipation for more contact. You grind down on him out of instinct, feeling the bulge in his pants grow as he groans against your mouth, wanting more from both of you. His scent filled your senses - a mix of sweat and cologne and something uniquely Sungchan that made you want more.

The sound of his rhythmic grunts filled the room, a mix of desire and surprise in every breath he took. His fingers dug into your skin through your shirt, and you moaned into his mouth once more. Your breath hitched when he bit down on your lower lip gently, making you gasp and whimper into the kiss before breaking it, desperate for air. You gasp softly when you part, watching with hazy eyes as he pants as well, lips slick with spit and typically wide eyes heavy with lust.

You tug at his shirt, nodding before he has any time to say something that will kill the mood.

“Take it off.”

And he listens like a dog, pushing himself up and pulling his white T-shirt over his head, tossing it aside before wrapping his arms around your torso and pulling you flush against him. There are no thoughts in your head right now, only Sungchan, touching Sungchan, kissing Sungchan, fucking Sungchan––Holy shit, you were totally going to fuck Sungchan. That hits you harder than you thought it would. You’ve thought about it before. How could you not? He’s beautiful, kind, and built like a God. Of course, you thought about fucking Sungchan. It was nothing like this, however. Typically, you thought of him having your face pressed into the mattress, back arched, and fucking you from behind like he was getting paid. You would’ve never guessed you’d be on top, but it’s not like you can’t get into it for Sungchan. You’d do anything for Sungchan.

"Are you sure?" Sungchan whispers against the skin of your neck, his hands finding your hips again to steady you against him, his bare chest warm and firm. You're taken aback for a moment, not expecting the question. But then you realize that he’s always been considerate, even when he’s on the verge of losing control.

"Yeah," you say firmly, the word slipping out without thought and causing heat to flare in Sungchan's eyes.

Without hesitation, you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head swiftly. The cool air hits your skin, making goosebumps spread across your chest and arms. Sungchan's eyes widen as he takes you in, his gaze making you feel exposed and powerful. You struggle to pull your jeans off, having to crawl off of him to kick them off in haste. You hate how desperate you look but can’t bring yourself to care. Sungchan rolls on his side when you crawl off of him, lingering towards you like a lost puppy. His eyes watch as more of your skin is revealed to him, letting out a groan when he sees the smooth skin of your thighs.

Before you have the chance to climb back on top of him, he leans in, kissing the side of your thigh with a moan. You let out a gasp in shock but watched him with parted lips, threading your hands through his hair again as he dragged his lips all over the expanse of your thigh, leaving a trail of glistening spit as he did. He grabs your ankle, pulling you towards him roughly, making you fall back onto the carpet with another gasp. You don’t argue for once; you are too invested in what Sungchan will do next, even if you care.

His lips pepper kisses across the inside of your thighs, nipping at the sensitive skin with deep breaths as he inched closer and closer to your core.

He licks his lips as he hooks a long finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. A moan leaves his lips when he sees your pussy for the first time, looking down at it like he’s looking at a coveted piece of art. You watch him closely, ears turning pink as he lifts two fingers to his lips, licking the tips of them before bringing them down between your legs to rub circles into your clit. His gaze stays on your cunt, watching how the pretty pink flesh moves beneath his fingers, biting his bottom lip when he hears you let out a whine, seeing your thighs tremble at just the slightest touch. Finally, his dark gaze lifts to meet yours.

With his eyes trained on yours, he presses a long finger inside you. A sigh leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, gripping the carpet with one hand while the other dug into your side, biting your bottom lip as he pressed another finger inside. You moan this time, feeling your walls begin to stretch for him. You hear him groan quietly, making your eyes open. You’re immediately met with his gaze that never left your face. He looks like he’s in a trance, staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You can’t tell how it makes you feel, but you feel hot, like you’re boiling from the inside out. It aches, but it’s so intoxicating that you want more of it.

You whimper at how his fingers slickly slide out, then back in, watching him get lost in the sight of your reactions. You’re so wet for him. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you got so quickly. You swallow thickly as your chest rises and falls with each pant. His eyes stay on your face as his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing slow circles that make you shiver with a choked-out moan. His free hand cups your jaw, tilting your head back slightly, forcing your lips apart to look deeply into your eyes as he watches you crumble under him.

Feeling emboldened, Sungchan takes his fingers out of you slowly, letting out a long moan when they leave you empty. He lays a line of sweet pecks against your inner thighs, leaving tiny bites and nips on the soft flesh until he reaches the hem of his boxers. With a breathy "Fuck," he tugs them down enough to reveal his hard cock pressing against the fabric. You gulp as it springs from its confines, averting your eyes momentarily before snapping them back up to challenge his gaze. His thick length twitches with anticipation before he guides it towards you, slick with pre-cum leaking from the tip. Your heart stops for a beat before racing wildly in your chest again.

"Wrap your legs around me," Sungchan orders softly, not breaking eye contact even when you hesitate for a second before obeying. He grunts when he feels your folds pressing against his cock, pushing inside without a moment’s hesitation. He slides in so easily, groaning at how smooth the glide inside you is. He sounds as beautiful as he looks, making you moan as well. The way his cock splits your walls apart for him is delicious, to say the least, as a euphoria fills your veins as your walls spasm around him with another moan, this one airier than the one before.

“Fuck,” Sungchan curses, fingers digging into the carpet next to your head as he looks down at where your bodies were connected before back at your face. You two lock eyes again, making your heart hammer in your chest harder than before. Still, you meet his gaze with a quiet whimper, hands wrapping around his strong biceps as you bat your lashes at him.

“Feels good, Sungie?” You ask in a too-sweet voice. You rarely whip out for him unless you ask for a favor, like getting something off the top shelf or making him finish your short answer response questions because you don’t want to. Sungchan would do anything for you, and you’d do anything for Sungchan. He takes a deep breath at your tone, lips curling into a smirk before he bites his bottom lip, nodding.

Then, his hips roll into yours.

Sungchan's thick cock feels even better than you could have ever imagined, stretching you wide and fulfilling you completely. His hips roll into yours slowly, making you moan and whine beneath him with each gentle thrust. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, his smirk turning into a grimace as he leans down to capture your lips in a rough kiss.

Your walls clamp down on him at the contact, purposely trying to get more friction between the two of you. Sungchan groans against your lips, slipping his hands under your back and lifting you up onto his lap effortlessly. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his hard chest pressed against yours. Your heart pounds in your chest as he starts to fuck you properly now, eyes closing at the sensation that washes over you. You swear you can feel his heartbeat against your chest, but you convince yourself you’re just dreaming it.

You feel every inch of him inside of you, making your walls tighten around him with every snap of his hips into yours. A tiny sob leaves your lips when he hits that spot inside you that has you seeing stars. You dig your nails into the flesh of his shoulders, jaw-dropping and eyes rolling back at how your body moves like a rag doll and at how sharply his hips snap up into you. He groans into your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin before sucking softly to soothe it with his tongue. You can't help but shudder in his lap; this feels so good that it hurts. His hands hold you in place, one on your waist and the other cradling the back of your head as he takes rough control of the kiss again, teeth scraping against soft skin with every thrust. He pants against your lips, moaning your name softly and how good you make him feel. It's all too much for you; all too real with Sungchan, yet so not real. You’re fucking your roommate on your living room floor––You’re fucking your best friend on your living room floor.

Your hands find their way into his hair again, holding onto him tightly as he continues to fuck into you like your his, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck and over your collarbone. You mewl at the feeling, arching your back into his chest as he hits that sweet spot inside you once more. You could feel the warmth spreading through your veins, making you dizzy with need. The room spins around you as he thrusts harder, faster, deeper into your already aching pussy. His moans mix with yours, their tongues meeting in a messy kiss that speaks volumes about how much you both want this.

Your legs quiver as he takes control of the situation, fingers digging into your skin softly before trailing up to caress your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra. You let out a strangled cry when he pinches at one of your nipples roughly, making you moan into his mouth even more, looking down to watch him work with a breath through your teeth. Your hands' card through the hair on the back of his head, eyes shutting to focus solely on the pleasure coursing through your veins with every drag of Sungchan’s cock against your walls.

"Sun-Sungchan," you whimper. The sound of his name on your lips is like music to his ears. Your body is sweaty and flushed, a beautiful sight for him to feast his eyes upon. He growls lowly when he finally meets your gaze again, heat pooling in your lower belly at the raw desire he displays.

“You’re so fucking good, baby. ‘Should’ve fucked you soon, hm?” Sungchan groans, his voice creased with effort as he continues to pound into you. You can’t help but respond with a needy whimper, skin burning under his touch as you nod your head dumbly. You feel him everywhere, and it's overwhelming - the way he’s stretched you wide open, the way he feels pushing deep inside of you, the way his hands are holding you in place as if afraid that you'll slip away from underneath him.

Your heart beats furiously against your chest, matching rhythm with the throbbing ache between your legs. You're close, too close, but not quite there yet. Sungchan seems to sense your growing desperation, the flash of triumph in his eyes telling you he knows exactly what he's doing to you. He reaches down and begins rubbing slow circles on your clit again, thumb pressing against the sensitive nub just enough to make you cry out in pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your throat, teeth dipping into your soft flesh, causing a sharp gasp from your lips. You nod frantically in response, words failing you as white-hot pleasure courses through your veins. He laughs softly - a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine.

The way you melt against him is intoxicating. He grunts, unable to think straight as he feels his own orgasm building up. His hips move even faster, his cock sliding in and out of your welcoming heat with each thrust. He groans against your skin, panting heavily as he fucks you like it’s his last dying will, wet sounds filling the room that mixes with your pants and moans. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sounds you’re making, cheeks growing more read because of it. Sex is so embarrassing sometimes.

He pulls away from your neck just a little to look into your eyes, panting heavily as they roll back in pleasure. Sungchan's lips curl into a smirk at seeing how lost you get. Your walls tighten around his cock once again as you cum around him, making Sungchan's eyes roll back into his head and tilt his head back with a melodic groan that has you moaning as well. You feel him tremble beneath you as he finally cums inside of you, making you smirk softly as your hands run up and down his back.

You throw your head back and cry out his name, orgasm hitting you hard and fast like a freight train. He watches as you finally hit your peak, jaw-dropping at how gorgeous you look when you feel good. Your walls clamp down around him, and your muscles spasm in ecstasy; even through the haze of pleasure, you feel every drop of his cum spilling into you, the heat of it searing into your core. Your body convulses and shivers under the onslaught of pleasure, your voice breaking on Sungchan's name.

Sungchan stays still for a moment longer, his cock still buried deep inside of you. His chest heaves against yours, ragged gasps filling the space between your sated bodies. He blinks slowly, his gaze holding yours captive as he pants out your name. You take his face into his hands with a deep breath, leaning in and kissing his lips without a second though. He moans into the kiss, holding your wrists gently as he does so.

You both stay like that for a while. Bodies joined together in the aftermath of your shared orgasm. The only sounds in the room are your gasping breaths and the rapid beat of your heart pounding in sync. Cautiously, Sungchan pulls out of you gently, making your pussy squeeze around nothing instinctively at the loss, a soft whimper leaving your lips.

He rolls off to one side, pulling you with him so that you're tucked against his side. His arm wraps around you and keeps you close to him, fingers dancing along your sweaty skin lightly. Neither of you speak for long moments, too wrapped up in trying to regain control of your breathing and coming down from your highs even to fathom thinking of words right now.

Eventually, though, Sungchan breaks the silence with a soft whisper, "You okay?"

Your lips twitch into a tired smile against his chest, pressing a small kiss there before nodding. "Yeah," you huff out after a moment, "That was…"

"Crazy," he finishes for you, making you shut your eyes with a laugh, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah…That was crazy,” You whisper, moving your head to rest on his chest to soak up more of his warmth. Your cheek squishes against his chest as you lay there, looking down at his spent cock resting against his thigh. It hits you that you’re both naked and just had sex on your living room floor. This calls for a conversation at the least but you can’t drag yourself to start it, completely spent from what just occurred.

So, instead, you close your eyes.

You’ll deal with it in the morning.

#sungchan smut #jung sungchan smut #riize smut #riize scenarios #sungchan hard hours #riize hard hours #sungchan x reader #99woez #riize imagines #riize x reader

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minkieater · 3 months ago

Text

EIGHT FIRST DATES ꨄ︎

003 》 KIM MINGYU

maybe boys your age just weren’t your thing. after a sudden lunch date, you were already half convinced the search was over— had you found the man you were bringing to your family’s thanksgiving? how will chan take the news?

wc ~10k | mentions of death, age gap, mingyu is hot, smut mdni, fingering, dirty talk

you’d thought about yunho’s words all the way until your head hit the pillow saturday night. no one’s ever said anything like that to you before– no one’s ever needed to.

you knew yunho only cared for you the way your family, san and yeosang cared for you, but you couldn’t shake it. maybe it was just your brain on overdrive after the previous forty eight hours, maybe you were making something out of nothing.

yunho’s always been nothing but honest with you, he wouldn’t say something without saying it. he had no reason to beat around the bush, if there was any bush to begin with.

so— you shook it off and texted mingyu. at approximately nine forty eight in the morning on a sunday, feeling like you hadn’t gotten any sleep at all.

you: hey this is tiny from last night :)

— incoming call from kim mingyu…

you shot up in bed, your soul nearly leaving your body as you pressed the little green circle, your tired voice stumbling out a meek “h-hello?”

“hey, it’s mingyu,” he sounded chipper, as if he’d been awake for hours already. you shot a hand through your hair, hopping out of bed as if he could see you through the phone.

“i know who you are, i texted you,” you said, then shook your head, eyes screwed tight. you didn’t know if he’d hear the humor in your voice or if you sounded rude over the phone, you tried to play it off with “what’s up?” as you paced around your bedroom.

“just finished up a meeting, heading home now. did you just wake up?” you could almost see his face over the phone, hear his smile. you threw your head back, all worries forgotten, knees bending to sit back on your mattress– he’s so hot.

“maybe,” you bit your lip, fighting a smile. the little balls of cotton that had pilled up on your comforter were suddenly the most interesting thing ever, mindlessly rolling them between your fingers as he spoke.

he laughed through the phone, a hearty chuckle that was music to your ears, “you think after you have a cup of coffee to wake your pretty head up, you’d be free to meet me for lunch?”

your eyes shot open, jaw falling open, “today?!”

“yes today, silly girl, are you free?” you glanced around your room frantically as if something in there would give you the answer, but as you looked at your calendar hung on the wall and there was nothing but blank space under today’s date, there was zero reason to say no.

you nodded as your words came out, “i- um, yeah i’m free.” your voice had become quieter, more coy— you couldn’t believe your own decision.

“perfect, i have a place in mind, do you want me to pick you up or would you prefer to meet me there?” oh, your mind was in shambles. too many questions, too many decisions, far too soon after opening your eyes.

“i wouldn’t want you to come all the way to get me, i can meet you,” you reassured him, a nervous chuckle following your words.

“it’s no problem sweetheart, whatever you’re comfortable with. i’ll text you where and you let me know, yeah? i’m thinking two, does that work for you?” his voice was saccharine— you swooned over how sweetheart danced off his lips all the way through the speaker of your phone. you laid back, flat against your mattress, massive smile on your face.

all you could respond was a breathy “that’s perfect.”

you’d never gotten in the shower so fast in your life. with your hair still wet, a robe wrapped around your body, you raced down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, smiling to yourself because mingyu was the one who mentioned coffee in the first place.

ace was sat on the counter of the island, your sister’s head in the refrigerator, both chatting before you padded into the kitchen.

“vi, grab me the oat milk please?” you asked as you poured your coffee into your mug. sixteen and in her sassy phase, vivi was an enigma, you swore she assumed the world revolved around her.

she handed you the flavored oat milk with a lifted top lip, “gross.”

“first of all, it’s good. second of all, you say that every time as if i drink nut milk out of choice. i don’t want to be glued to the toilet all day,” you poured your milk into your cup, giving it a swirl before taking a sip. so good.

she cracks a smile, “crazy how a wee sip of milk can take you down. weak shit.”

you roll your eyes then look to ace for help, who just throws his hands up in defense with an amused smile. him and vivi must be friends today.

as you make your way out of the kitchen, vivi calls after you, “tiny, can you take me to work later?”

“i won’t be home!” you yell back from the stairs, making your way back to your room.

you had barely even started doing your hair before vivi was on your bed, a thousand questions on the tip of her tongue. “what are you doing that you won’t be home? all the boys are coming here.”

“i know more people than just them, you know,” you rolled your eyes, your hands in your hair.

a sarcastic chuckle fled her lips like she was waiting for that answer, “like who? karina, sakura?”

your jaw locks, as if hanging out with your cousins was embarrassing. it was true that you didn’t bring your friends from school around, or hung out with any of them much outside of classes. the boys had met some of them, the few times you’d brought them to the frats with you over the years — that quickly ended when ace hooked up with one too many of your friends.

“i’m going on a lunch date,” you pointed your gaze at her through the reflection of the mirror, “can you leave so i can get ready?”

with raised eyebrows she stood, “dad says you’ve been going on a lot of dates lately.”

your entire body tensed, “matt should mind his own business.”

“i don’t think it was an insult,” she shrugged, “i think it’s good you’re finally getting some.”

you turned your entire body around to face her and snapped, “i think everyone should stop talking about what i’m doing, especially matt who has no fucking business talking to my little sister about who i’m seeing.”

mascara coated lashes blinked at you, not an ounce of sincerity in her voice as she plainly said, “you really need to talk to someone, tiny.”

“get out of my room, vi,” you turned back around, fighting every ounce of anger in your body, only taking a deep breath as you watched her blue hair bounce out of your room. hearing her refer to matt as dad always made you see red, something you couldn’t let go of, you weren’t sure if you ever would.

you got ready with a scowl on your face, waiting until the last second to put on mascara just in case tears decided to show themselves– in situations like this, they always seemed to.

you decided you’d meet mingyu, the restaurant he chose for lunch was only thirty minutes into the city and you didn’t want to risk repeating what happened with chan. when you briefly looked at the menu online before choosing an outfit, you nearly choked on air when you saw the selection of food and the prices.

this was not a chill lunch date— this was a lunch date.

you panicked the entire car ride, realizing you didn’t know shit about mingyu. you didn’t think meeting hyunjin was sketchy because you knew so much about him already, you spent days talking to him and learning about him before you went out, it was the exact opposite with mingyu. you’ve met him, but you didn’t know him.

on top of that, no one knew where you were going, no one knew who you were meeting, which was a first — if your armpits weren’t dampening at a rapid pace you could probably convince yourself it was exciting.

mingyu is older, that much you know. the owner of a distillery, absolutely. wealthy enough to take you on an expensive lunch date, that was new information. your heart only pounded harder against your chest when you pulled into a parking space.

“hey, sweetheart,” and just like that, your heart calmed in your chest, your breathing became normal. he wore black denim jeans, a light gray shirt that clung to every inch of his chest, the light band of skin around his wrist where his watch sat yesterday told you he was sporting a tan. golden, muscular, kim mingyu was anatomically perfect.

he had to lean down to kiss your cheek and you burst into flames where his lips met your skin. fingers fidgeting with your sleeve, the toes of your shoes touching, you felt so small under his gaze it was electrifying.

“mister kim, right this way,” the hostess approached you, two menus in her hand, the other pointed in the direction of your table. she sat you at a window table, a four top, you and mingyu sat across from each other closest to the window. you placed your purse on the chair next to you, your armpits beginning to dampen all over again. you needed to relax.

“how are you?” he asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips. you cracked, you must’ve been radiating nerves, a smile breaking out on your own cheeks.

“good, slightly nervous, but good,” you nodded through a laugh, getting the words out with enough life to hopefully hide the real amount of nerves you were feeling. this was all so new.

“nervous? no,” he gasped as if that was the silliest thing he’d ever heard, “how’s the little drunk blondie? did you get him home safe?”

“tucked him into bed and everything,” you nodded before you realized how that sounded, your eyes widening. “then i left– i just tucked him into bed. he was really drunk.”

“you don’t have to do that,” he pulled the menu into his hands, “i scouted you while you were on a date already, i’m well aware.”

your cheeks flushed as you grabbed your menu, grateful to have something to occupy your hands. your mouth pulled to one side, top lip swallowing your lower one. there was so much you wanted to know about him.

your waitress came over and got your drink orders, mingyu also ordered a couple of his favorite appetizers, which you were grateful for, you hadn’t deciphered a single word off the menu yet.

“speaking of blondie, you said he’s a friend from class, right?” mingyu met your gaze over his menu, “what are you studying?”

“education, i wanna be an elementary school teacher,” you nodded, “i’ve wanted to be a teacher ever since i can remember.”

you caught a glimpse of his canines in a smile, “are your students gonna call you miss tiny?”

you lifted your eyebrows, “that’s not a bad idea, actually. easy to pronounce, good for when i’m teaching phonics, too.”

he releases amusement through his nose, “you sound like a teacher already.”

“i should, i’m graduating this year,” you rack your eyes over the menu again, you almost wished they had a kids menu– there were too many options.

“are you getting your bachelors degree?” he asks, settling himself into his chair, leaning into the back of it. you wished the table wasn’t between you– you wanted to see him leaned back, manspreading in all his glory.

you nod in response and he points his eyes, “so that makes you… twenty one?”

“twenty two,” you correct, holding up two fingers. he shakes his head, smiling in disbelief, and all you can conjure up is “what?”

“i knew you were young, i was just thinking like twenty five young,” you think all the blood drained from your face as you stared at him, you must of had your question written all over your face. he holds up three fingers on one hand and makes a zero with the other, looking uneasy behind his hands.

mingyu is… thirty. oh. you knew he was older from the jump.

you lifted an eyebrow, “so?”

he smiles. “i figured that would be a deal breaker.”

“it’s not every day the owner of a distillery hands you his business card and also happens to be under the age of thirty,” you shrug, “i don’t see why it would even be a concern, i’m an adult.”

he purses his lips, “your nickname is fitting, miss tiny.”

you roll your eyes again, “okay, your turn, thirty-year-old-distillery-owner kim mingyu.”

you didn’t know when you got comfortable, when words started freely flowing from your lips without a second thought, but you didn’t want it to stop. mingyu was too easy to talk to, the walls you had just put back up had come crumbling down within minutes— it was as if yunho didn’t say anything at all.

the waitress drops off your drinks and appetizers then takes your entree order, you ordered whatever was least intimidating, the menu was so vast you couldn’t focus enough to even read the whole thing.

“i’ll start with the distillery,” he says after a sip of his drink, he ordered his own brand of whiskey— neat. “i think it’s obvious i inherited it, the company was established in 1917, hence its name, by one of my ancestors back in the day. it trickled down the family tree until my dad inherited it in the seventies, then it became mine a few years ago.”

“so you’re a nepo baby?” you gave him a cocky smile as you picked at one of the appetizers, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

he tried to frown through a very clear smile, his lips scrunched together, “technically, yes, but i did go to college, i double majored in business and marketing with a minor in finance.”

“the fuck?” your eyebrows flew to your hairline, a hand covering the food in your mouth. “how the hell did you have the time? the energy? the brain?”

he laughed, “like you, i knew what i wanted from a very young age, what was waiting for me in the future. seventeen’s been alive for over a century, i’ll be damned if it dies with me.”

you sat back in your seat, letting a breath out, processing the insanity that is a double major and a minor in those fields. “you’re fucking crazy.”

“i did it, though,” he cocked his head to the side, pointing a finger at you, “look at me now, seventeen is sold in over one hundred countries, in thousands of stores, distributed through retail outlets, liquor stores, and major chains. it’s insane to me that i can get it in places like this,” he looks around you, “we’ve had to expand production capacity twice in four different countries since i’ve been CEO.”

“damn,” you blink, “you’re like, kind of an important person.”

he chuckles, “no, i’m just a guy that fucking loves whiskey. the first time i can remember trying it was when i was fourteen, my old man told me to ‘take a sip and be a man about it’.”

“my dad let me try red wine when i was probably eleven,” you shrug, “i did not like it, i spit it on the floor and cried. still to this day it’s not my favorite.”

“red wine is easy work,” he raised a brow, “be a man about it.”

you smiled, “trust me, i’ve tried.”

the rest of lunch came and went with constant conversation, you talked with full mouths and a competition of who’s voice could be louder, the both of you having stories that reminded the other of another story, the cycle beginning and never ending. after your plates were cleared and your drinks were empty, the talk still flowed, so deep down a rabbit hole you couldn’t remember where the conversation began.

mingyu reminded you of someone– you couldn’t put a finger on it, there was something about the tone of his voice, how he teased you, how he spoke with such a maturity yet accompanied by a silliness, it was almost nostalgic with how comfortable you felt with him. it was like you’d known each other forever the way you spat stories back and forth, it was like talking with yunho, yeosang or san– except your memories weren’t shared. refreshing couldn’t even begin to describe it.

the lunch began with you soaking through your shirt and a heart pounding against your chest, but ended with sadness, clear disappointment that it was over. you didn’t hide it, you couldn’t if you tried with the way mingyu hugged you goodbye.

“what’s your schedule look like for the rest of the week?” he asked as you stood beside your car, your back leaned against the driver’s side door and mingyu towering above you.

“classes wednesday, thursday, friday. they all finish around three,” you nodded, “but other than that, i’m totally free.”

he turned his head to the side, looking at you through lowered brows and pointed peripherals, “no job?”

you playfully smacked his arm, giggling, “i am very blessed and grateful for the life i live.”

“i’d hope so,” he smiled, “i’m free most nights, i’m super free wednesday night, my meetings end early that day. come over to my place and i’ll cook for us?”

you gave him a look that said be for real, “you just want to show off your supposed super awesome and amazing cooking skills.”

“what’s wrong with that?” he smirked and you nearly jumped him, “if i were you, i’d be jumping in excitement to feast on my super awesome and amazing cooking skills.”

“i guess,” you sighed as if you had no other option, “depends what you’re making.”

“i guess you’ll have to find out,” he mimicked you with a wink and you were transported to less than twenty four hours ago, when he stood behind the bar, his bar, and winked for the first time. you think you might be the luckiest human on earth. “i’ll call you after my work dinner.”

“work dinner still sounds wrong, you need to come up with a better name for that,” you leaned up off your car to give yourself space to open the door, a part of you hoping he’d kiss you goodbye.

“now it will never get a new name simply because it bothers you,” he doesn’t step back, instead he closes the distance, before you know it his hand is under your chin and his lips press to your cheek, his other hand reaching behind you to open your car door.

your cheeks flush, eyes focused on the lips that just touched your cheek as he pulled away. he noticed, of course he did, a cocky smirk growing, “come and see me on wednesday for the rest.”

you’d make a noise of disgust if it didn’t completely work on you, your abdomen clenched at his words. you needed him more than you’ve needed anything else in your entire life, there was no question about whether or not you were seeing him on wednesday. from the moment you saw him you were wrapped around his finger— hopefully you really would be on wednesday.

“goodbye, mingyu,” your cheeks flushed, trying to sound normal, ignoring how your entire fucking body went hot as you climbed into your car, “thank you again for lunch.”

“bye, miss tiny, talk to you later,” he closed your car door with a smile, and then he was off to his own. when he was out of view you took a deep breath, then squealed. you couldn’t wait to tell everyone about him.

he did call you sunday night, but also monday morning, monday night, tuesday morning, tuesday afternoon and tuesday night. even wednesday morning when he knew you were walking up to your first class, kim mingyu couldn’t leave you alone. you talked about anything and everything, he told you about his day, you told him about yours, you even let yeosang yell hello into the speaker once (it was actually against your will).

you didn’t give anyone any details— what you shared with yunho you kept with only yunho, you came home sunday with a big dumb smile on your face, sitting on your couch with your mind still standing outside your car with mingyu. the boys had asked, nosy as they are, but you couldn’t bring yourself to share any details or even tell them what you had done. maybe that was your problem, maybe hyunjin would’ve worked out if you never said anything in the first place.

you shook your head at the thought, hyunjin had a one track mind when it came to you. maybe a part of you wanted to keep mingyu all to yourself, you wanted to share your excitement only with him, or at least wait it out until there was more to tell. you’re optimistic, you could see something blooming with mingyu, you could see yourself being with him long term— you knew your family would eat him up. but one question sat at the pit of your stomach, one you tried to keep buried, one you shouldn’t worry about because no one else’s opinion of mingyu should matter except yours.

standing outside the double doors to your class, you took a deep breath. chan hasn’t texted you since saturday other than ‘thanks for taking me home’ on sunday, you haven’t texted him other than responding to that one singular message. tuesday night you’d prepared everything you were going to say to him after class, how to let him down easy.

“hey!” his smile was as bright as it usually is, shaggy blonde hair cascading down his forehead, oversized hoodie hugging his frame.

“hey chan,” you returned the smile, setting up your laptop and books around you. you were nervous, palms slightly sweaty, hands not fully stable as you prepared your deskspace.

“so, i have a proposition for you,” he starts, body turned fully towards you. oh no, is he asking you out again?

“proposition?” you quirked a brow, still not giving him your full attention as you logged into your computer, pulling up today’s lecture.

“my roommate won’t stop talking about you,” he says so casually it catches you off guard. you stare at him with a blank look, he has your full attention now, fingers stilling on your keyboard.

“…roommate?” you ask, face contorted into something of confusion and surprise, until you remember the chipmunk that you fed a wave in chan’s kitchen. “oh, brown hair, glasses?”

“yes! his name is han jisung, he keeps begging me to set you guys up,” chan shakes his head, still wearing a smile, “he keeps calling you an angel sent from above. we don’t have girls in the apartment very often.”

“chan, i’m confused,” your eyebrows are furrowed now, you turn your body to face him as your fingers reach your temple. “i took you home after our date, and now you’re trying to set me up with your roommate who i only caught a glimpse of in your kitchen?”

he pulls his lips together, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head, “i didn’t know how to tell you because it sounds mean no matter how you put it, but i think we’d probably be better as friends.”

you blinked at him, jaw slack, you thought he was going to say the exact opposite of the words that left his lips. you didn’t know if it was worse or better that you were going to say the same thing to him, but for him to beat you to it? sickening.

“i’m sorry! please don’t hate me,” he pouted, grabbing your hands with his own, “i had a really good time, i’ve been dying to go to that distillery for ages, i’m eternally grateful you went with me.”

“i just… don’t think there’s anything between us romantically,” his cheeks were bright pink, a weak smile on his face, “but there could be between you and jisung.”

“i– i don’t know what to say,” you felt dumbfounded, you were sure your face reflected that. “i’m flattered your roommate is interested in me, but i don’t think i’m interested in him. at least not right now.”

chan lets go of your hands, his pout turning into a frown. “that’s okay, let me know if you change your mind. he goes to school here, he’s getting his bachelors in music composition. he’s really funny, super cool and ridiculously smart.”

you nod, “i’ll let you know.” bringing your attention back to your laptop, all you could think was how much you wanted to tell mingyu— he’d find the entire situation hilarious. you could see him throwing his head back in laughter, teasing you for taking care of the little drunk blondie for an entire night just for him to break things off with you.

the more you thought about it, the more that very thing began to irritate you. you barely heard a word out of your professor’s mouth, the lecture falling on deaf ears, only contemplating why chan broke it off with you first. you were pleasant, caring, let him do what he wanted without complaint, even cleaned up after him— and he had the nerve to say you weren’t compatible? irritating.

as class ended, you packed your things up in record speed, hustling out of your lecture hall, but chan was quick to follow you. you didn’t necessarily hide the shift in your behavior, head in your laptop all class, not even looking at him once, even when he asked you questions you gave him curt answers and zero eye contact.

“wait! what the hell,” he called after you just as you made it outside, wind whipping at your skin, blowing your hair in every direction.

you stopped in your tracks, snapping your neck to look at him, “what else can i do for you?”

chan looked confused now, his eyebrows knitted in such an adorable way it irritated you more. he sounded surprised as he asked, “are you mad at me?”

“can i ask you something?” you didn’t wait for his answer, “why did you say there’s nothing between us romantically? you basically said we’re incompatible.”

his lips flattened, he sighed as he looked down before saying. “i did not say we’re incompatible, i said we’d be better off as friends.”

“i agree with you, but i want to know why you think that,” you stood your ground, arms crossed, probably with steam shooting from your ears into the chilly october air, your frustration was clear.

“fine. i was drunk, not blind,” he threw his hands up, “you didn’t seem to be into the date we were on at all, your head was somewhere else the second you got into my car. which was fine, i figured maybe you were having an off day, but then we got to the class and all you looked at was mingyu. i knew then that you just weren’t into me.”

you purse your lips, cheeks flushing, it was embarrassing how quickly your anger turned to regret. you had no reason to be irritated in the first place, chan made his decision based on how you made him feel.

“i’m not angry at you,” he shrugged, “and it didn’t really hurt my feelings. i think you’re cool and i want to be friends with you, going to the distillery was still a really fun experience.”

“chan, i’m so sorry,” your palms hit your forehead, voice going weak. “that wasn’t fair to you at all.”

“don’t get all sad, i said it didn’t hurt my feelings,” when you looked back at him he was smiling, hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “thanks for apologizing, if you wanna make it up to me you can go out with my roommate so he’ll leave me alone.”

a smile broke out across your face, sniffing from how unusually cold it was. “i’ll think about it— just to make it up to you, though.”

he rolled his eyes playfully, “i think you’ll really like him.”

you ran a hand through your hair, “i do need a boyfriend before thanksgiving.”

your hand clasped over your mouth— you couldn’t believe you let that slip. chan looked at you like he was lost, “what do you mean by that?”

you sighed, defeated, thinking maybe chan was a good person to talk to about it. he wasn’t in your circle, wasn’t biased to anyone— plus he was no longer a contender. “let’s go get coffee or something, i’ll explain it all to you.”

you and chan sat at the coffee shop on campus for an hour, you got everything off your chest. from how your cousins treated you, your sister, your entire family at this point to how you quickly came up with a lie to get them off your back. you told him about hyunjin, about mingyu, you told him everything and he listened to every word.

you talked not only about the other men, but about your date with him, too. you talked everything out together down to the last detail, chan’s humor made you feel better, as if you had no worries in the world and your date with him was just two friends hanging out in the first place. you felt relieved after talking it out with him, he understood you, your feelings, even your thought process, giving you advice as much as he eased your worries.

you didn’t think it was possible for you two to be friends after going on an entire date together, you didn’t think it’d be possible for anyone to. but with the person chan is kind, understanding, empathetic, he was more human than most people you’ve encountered at your university— you were relieved to know you could stay friends and keep him in your life. your boys would like him.

then mingyu called, disrupting your coffee friend date entirely. chan was wiggling his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes, picking up your phone.

“hey sweetheart, how was class?”

all of your worries seemed to flee.

mingyu texted you his address, telling you to come over around six thirty. being after four already and he lived thirty minutes away, you panicked. you rushed home, nearly hitting four other cars on the way there, not even stopping to say hello to your family before you were taking an everything shower.

knowing everyone was home, you were grateful no one stopped in your room to talk to you as you got ready, your lack of time to properly prepare had begun stressing you out before you walked in your front door. by six you were actually ready, a shock to everyone who would hear that sentence, and proud of yourself.

your plan was to sneakily leave through the front door, quiet as a mouse. you didn’t want to be asked any questions, divulge any answers, no one needed to know anything about your whereabouts for the night.

your twin and your friends sat in your living room, vivi on the farthest corner of the couch, all eyes pointed at the flat screen tv hung on the wall. you stayed close to the wall as you snuck around the corner, tip toeing through the entryway to the front door. as your fingers reached for the knob, you peered over your shoulder, only catching yunho’s eye before you slipped through the heavy slab of wood. you didn’t give him time to make a sound before you were gone.

getting to mingyu’s house was hard, you hated driving in the city, but getting up to his place was even harder. he told you to tell the man working the desk your name and he’d guide you the rest of the way, but his instructions seemed too plain to get there, considering there were only two steps: get in the elevator and press ‘P’.

there was a special elevator off to the side of the lobby in his building, which seemed more like a hotel than anything, and the man working the desk had to swipe a card to let you in. you did as you were told, confused as ever, pressing P as soon as he swiped the card– the button all the way at the top of the operating panel. only as you moved upward in the elevator and you passed the top floor did everything begin to click– mingyu lived in the penthouse of his building. the penthouse.

your nerves seemed to wake up as the elevator opened up, met with a full living room, all cream furniture and floor to ceiling windows. you were floored, not wanting to take a step forward until you sniffed. like a dog, your nose pulled you forward, the smell of whatever the hell mingyu was cooking completely entracing you.

stood at the stove, his back to you, your nerves were so overwhelming you nearly turned around and got back in the elevator. old jazz music played through his apartment, the smell of dinner and mingyu flooding your nose as you looked around for a moment before greeting him — you needed to process.

white marble countertops accented by a deep, ebony wood in the kitchen, cream tiled floors, a navy sectional in the living room accompanied by a matching ebony coffee table, a massive flat screen tv on the wall– you should’ve seen this coming. you knew he was wealthy, but this was more than anything you could’ve imagined. the place was so clean you were sure you could slide your finger across every surface and there would be no residue, you were willing to bet that not even a speck of dust sat on the ceiling fan that hung at least twelve feet above you. you were in heaven.

“you scared the shit out of me,” mingyu called from the kitchen, taking his apron off as he rounded the corner of his kitchen island, “quiet girl.”

he snapped you out of your shock, ease consuming your now cold-sweating body, looking at him with a smile as you slipped off your boots by the elevator door, sock-covered feet padding along the cold tiled floor all the way to where he stood. he wrapped you in a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he said, “i’m happy you came.”

“me too, whatever you’re cooking smells amazing,” you say as you look up to him, arms still hooked around his waist, it was concerning how quickly his embrace could snap you out of a spiral. “this place is fucking incredible.”

“thank you,” his smile is infectious, so wide you couldn’t possibly wipe your own off your face. “hope you like steak– cooked with dairy free butter.”

“you remembered!” you exclaim, following him around the corner of the island, eyes looking from dish to dish laid out across the island. he really went all out, vegetables and sides and even a small charcuterie plate full of cheese and fruits. you looked up to him again, “all these, too?”

“come on,” he shook his head as if you were silly for even asking that question, “wouldn’t want to upset the tiny tummy.”

your face flushed, you couldn’t believe your eyes, ears or nose– you told him once in quick conversation on sunday that you were lactose intolerant and he remembered, he made an entire dinner based around your restriction. you looked up at him with stars in your eyes, and he knew it, too.

“i can’t believe this,” you shook your head as you stared the charcuterie board down, you were starving and the plate was calling your name.

“sit and eat, we still have some time before dinner’s ready,” he slipped the apron back on over his head and you stifled a giggle at the sight before planting yourself down on a barstool on the opposite side of the island, picking at the plate of fruits and cheese. you took it easy on the cheese, just in case —you couldn’t help it— the fruit was more than enough for an appetizer.

your head nodded along to the jazz music as he stood at the stove, cooking the steak, bouncing over to you every few minutes to steal a grape or plant a kiss on your forehead. it was oddly domestic, as if you’d been here before, meant to be in this exact situation. he asked you about class, you asked about his meetings, you went back and forth until he was plating everything, ignoring you every time you asked if he needed help— he answered the first time, he was done with the question after that.

“where do you wanna eat?” he looked to you across the island after everything was plated like you were at a michelin grade restaurant, maybe he was a chef in a past life. “we can eat at the table, on the couch, i can come sit next to you and we can eat here.”

you shrugged, “wherever you want to eat, chef, your house your rules.”

the corner of his mouth lifted, “i’ll come over there, don’t want the princess to have to move her seat.”

you looked up at the nickname, in your twenty two years of life only one other person had nicknamed you princess. you hadn’t heard the nickname since you were twelve, it was more comforting than you expected it to be.

mingyu noticed your look, tilting his head to ask, “what?” as he moved your plates to your side of the island.

“i just like that nickname,” you smiled before taking a sip of your drink, the surfside mingyu so graciously stopped at the liquor store to get– you make one joke about enjoying seltzers…

“thank you for cooking,” you said as he clicked his glass of whiskey with your can, and he nodded in appreciation.

“let’s eat!” he said with a wide smile, excitement exuding from his skin, you could see he loved cooking, especially for someone else. it made you curious about his other hobbies, what else he enjoyed besides cooking and seventeen, what made him as enamored as you were just by him. you wanted to know everything– every detail he wanted to share you’d embrace with open arms.

the food didn’t just smell amazing, it tasted incredible— super awesome and amazing cooking skills, indeed. he seemed like the type to be talented at everything, the jack of all trades, you could just tell. he was perfect boyfriend material, he checked off everything on your more shallow list– with time, you were sure he’d check off everything. you could feel it.

you spoke as you ate, from how he learned to cook to how he expanded his skill, the other things he had interest in– he loves dogs, he likes to clean, fix anything that’s broken (he likes to figure it out himself), interior design, he likes to drive and insists he doesn’t have a driver, he likes fashion, you learned he speaks fast when he really enjoys something. you were precise with your questions, asking him specific details about things he enjoys just so he’d speak more, you loved every minute of it. you learned so much in such a short time, you became so engrossed in the conversation he ended up getting a lot out of you, too.

it’d been at least forty five minutes since you finished your meal and you were still talking — you bickered about doing the dishes and you finally won, insisting that he at least let you load the dishwasher while he washed them. he agreed with a sour look on his face and your smile was nothing short of victorious, and then your conversation picked up right where it left off. you talked about yourself, how you like to clean, keep a tidy space, your family, your friends, your plans for the future, the upcoming holidays– he almost got it out of you, but you kept your composure, not repeating what happened with chan.

by the time you made it to the couch, you were going back and forth about how you grew up, talking about your families. you were facing one another, you were sitting the same way– one leg on the couch, the other touching the floor, leaning your side against the back cushion. his couch was as comfortable as it was beautiful, navy velvet so soft to your skin you sunk right in.

“okay, what’s something you’ve done since you were young, and you still do to this day?” he kept his eyes on you, soft and focused, making sure you knew he was listening.

you squinted as you thought about it, racking your brain for any traditions you’ve kept with your family. “we have a holiday tradition,” you smile, cheeks flushing, not one hundred percent sure if you really wanted to talk about it– but it was the only thing you could think of, and at this point you trust mingyu enough to speak on it. “we’ve done this since i was twelve— our entire family comes over to my house, my mom and stepdad host, we have over seventy people in the house for thanksgiving and christmas. it’s my mom’s family, my dad’s family, my step dad's family, plus yeosang, san and yunho’s families, too.”

“how the hell do you cook for that many people?” mingyu stares at you in shock, eyes wide and eyebrows high.

“cook? please, we cater,” you shake your head, “we all stand in the kitchen before we eat and we talk to my dad. whoever wants to, we just talk out in the open as if he was in the room, or telling stories about him. sometimes my dads’ friends stop by too, they did that more often when we were younger, but they’ll stop by and talk to him or even about him, too. my mom will always tell the same stories of how they met, how me and my siblings came to be, the days we were born, how they named us. it’s important to us around the holidays.”

you watched mingyu’s expression soften, but he also looked as if he was thinking, processing. he finally spoke, a hush to his words, a delicacy you were expecting, “i had no idea, i’m so sorry.” his hand felt warm as he laid it on your knee, “i love that tradition, i don’t doubt he’s there with you every time you talk to him.”

you gave him a smile, “thank you, it’s my favorite part about the holidays. after that i usually get berated for the rest of the day, if that counts as a tradition, too.”

he gives you a confused look through a laugh, “i don’t think that counts. we have a somewhat similar tradition– every year at christmas we make a toast to the ancestors who have owned seventeen, paying respect to the men who have made our lives what they are. we just added my grandpa to the list a few years ago, it’s special.”

“i love that so much,” you smile, “showing gratitude to the men who have supported your family all these years. that’s incredible.”

“it’s nothing like paying tribute to a lost parent,” his smile is a sad one, “but the holidays are such an emotional time, it’s important to keep their spirit alive. can i ask about your dad?”

“absolutely,” you nod your head, smiling at him, you were surprising yourself now. you didn’t talk about your dad with anyone other than your family and your boys.

“when did he pass? how?” he asked, leaning his arm against the top of the couch, elbow bending to hold up his head.

“my twin and i were twelve, my sister was six. ten years ago,” you nodded, thinking about the dinner you had with your family earlier this year, marking the decade of his passing. “fatal car accident, drunk driver hit him on his way home from work– he was a lawyer.”

he groaned, “i’m so fucking sorry, that must’ve been awful for your family to go through.”

“thank you, still is sometimes,” you shot him a tight lipped smile, “he was an incredible man, i’ve forced myself to burn every moment spent with him to memory, i think about him everyday.”

“what’s your step dad like?” he changed the subject and your body went rigid– you hated talking about matt. “when did your mom remarry?”

“eight years ago, i was fourteen. too soon, if you ask me,” you shift your legs, fighting your discomfort, “matt is… something. my siblings love him, vivi was too young to remember much about our dad, so matt was quick to fill the spot. same with ace, he gets along with matt, ace needed a father figure after he passed and matt fit right in with them. happy family,” your smile doesn't reach your eyes.

mingyu points his eyes at you, “but you…?”

“i don’t like him, point blank period,” you release a nervous chuckle, “i despised him when i was thirteen, when they started dating, i didn’t go to their wedding. i hung out with my grandma, my dad’s mom, all day instead. me and matt have never seen eye to eye on anything.”

“why? is it just because he’s… not your dad?” mingyu crosses his arms, not in a judgemental way, but showing he truly just wanted to understand. “you don’t have to answer that.”

“you’re fine, it’s fine,” you shook your head, “he just isn’t the same to me as he is to ace and vivi, and that’s probably partially on me because i never let him in. i hated him when i was younger because he isn’t my dad and he never will be, i thought my siblings looked at him like a replacement and it made me sick.”

“i know he has good qualities but we never formed a bond, i never gave him the opportunity to. he tries to parent me even now and it’s almost funny at this point, i can’t bring myself to accept him. he will never be a parent to me, he’s just a guy who lives in my house.”

mingyu’s nod is slow as he processes, arms uncrossing to put one up on the back of the couch again, “what do your siblings think about him?”

“vivi fully thinks i have issues, ace sees my side a lot, he understands me. tries to be a buffer between matt and i, defends me to matt but defends matt to me,” you couldn’t believe that you were letting all of this information out so easily, but it made you feel better knowing mingyu was the one receiving it.

“of course he does, you got the twin thing going on,” mingyu nods, “i’m happy ace is at least on your side. i’d like to meet him, eventually.”

“meet ace?!” you ask, eyebrows raised, then you thought about it for a second — ace would probably like mingyu, and mingyu would probably like ace. “actually, he’d probably like you.”

“probably?” mingyu puts a hand over his heart, eyebrows furrowed and jaw agape like that hurt his feelings, “everybody likes me.”

you giggle, “ace wouldn’t be the hard one to crack, matt would probably like you, too. my friends would be the ones giving you a hard time.”

“ah, yeosang, san and yunho, right? the three musketeers?” he smiles, “most guys would be terrified if they had a beautiful girl over and her three best friends were guys.”

you laugh, “not for nothing, you and yunho are probably matched in height– he’s the scary one. the other two are just stupid, but they’re my people.”

“he might be as tall as me, but is he as big as me?” mingyu wiggles his eyebrows, making you laugh again. “i want to know your people.”

“yunho is just as tall, but san might be as big as you,” you lift your brows with a tilt of your head, “but you guys could go to the gym together, bunch of doritos.”

that made mingyu’s head fall back in laughter, you joining him before he reaches over to grab your hand, his face falling serious. “thank you for sharing all of that with me, i know it took a lot to be able to say all of that.”

you nod, “for some reason, i trust you. i know we just met,” you shrugged, cheeks flushing, “i don’t know, there’s something about you, i guess. i really like you.”

a smile spreads across mingyu’s face and you feel him tug at your wrist, pulling you forward. you were already inches apart before, but now you’re nearly in his lap, faces mere centimeters apart. your ears burn as he looks into your eyes, searching for something you couldn’t place, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“i really like you, too,” he smiles for a split second before he leans forward, attaching his lips to yours, and in that moment you feel every puzzle piece in your brain fit into place. every single feeling of nostalgia, feeling so comfortable with him so fast, sharing so much about yourself when you barely knew the guy– this was why.

everything about kissing kim mingyu felt right, as if you were searching for this your entire life, as if all of those years spent alone and uninterested in dating were actually spent waiting for him. every decision you’ve made, every person you’ve met, the dates you went on before this– it was all to lead you to him. sparks, fireworks, whatever people say about meeting the one, you could add to the conversation now because you understood.

he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth and you moan. you couldn’t help it, couldn’t fight it, every single nerve ending in your body was on fire. his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, your hands flying up to his shoulders, wanting to feel every inch of him.

“been waiting to do this,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot on your mouth, eyes closed.

you smile into the kiss, his words amplifying your hunger, your hands trailing from his shoulders to his chest, laying your palms flat against his muscled chest. you broke the kiss again, “you’re so fucking sexy.”

“i should be saying that to you,” his hands move from your neck down your back until they scoop under your ass, pulling you onto his lap with ease as he shifts to sit forward, your bodies fully changing position. you gasp at the movement, wrapping your thighs around him, hands clinging to his shoulders again. the thought that he could flip you around with as much ease as he just showed you had your brain doing cartwheels, you could tell just by looking at mingyu that he was strong, but him proving it was a completely different story.

he caught your lips with his own again, hands still under your ass until they moved to your hips, digging his thumbs into your skin. you moaned into his mouth at the feeling and he let out a deep groan, rocking your hips forward. when you felt him beneath you, you couldn’t help but gasp, another sound of pleasure escaping your lips and he smiled into you, whispering, “want you so bad, princess.”

your head falls forward, eyes screwed shut, the stimulation too good to be over layers of clothes. you blamed his actions on sunday, you’ve been thinking about him like this every night before bed with a hand between your thighs, now it’s actually happening. you supposed this is what it was like to be with someone you connected with on a deeper level, your body was responding quicker than your head was, getting lost in a fog, hands trailing to his neck, his jaw– you needed to feel all of him.

he let out a grunt, “take it easy,” he stilled your hips with massive palms, you hadn’t even realized you began moving on your own. “tonight’s about you.”

“want you so bad, gyu,” you were breathless, you sounded like an animal– voice shaky, nearly whining because he stopped you.

he chuckled, voice octaves deeper than it had been, “you’ll have me, but not yet.”

you sat back on his thighs, baffled, eyebrows knitted in clear irritation, “what do you mean, not yet?”

his smile only grew, “i’ll take care of you, i promise,” he spread his thighs which in turn spread yours, his hands trailing up your legs from your knee to your hips. “so spoiled already, what am i gonna do with you?”

you watched his hands travel across your body, back involuntarily arching at his touch, mewls slipping from your lips. you were losing it– fuck waiting, you needed him, you reached for his zipper.

he grabs your wrist before you reach it, making you whine. “did you not hear me when i said tonight’s about you? is your pretty head already too fuzzy for you to think correctly?”

you pouted, looking up to him, trying to mimic chan’s doe eyes as best you could. “please,” you begged, “want to touch you so bad.”

“begging will get you nowhere,” he leaned back on the couch, a sense of authority filling the space between you, curbing your behavior entirely. “you’ll take what i give you, right?”

you nod, falling into submission with ease, and the smile that grows on his face is despicable. he praises, “good girl, thought so,” before he tugs your wrists forward, and your lips are on his again.

they’re nastier this time, all tongue and teeth, and his hands are everywhere. on your back, on your hips, on your chest, the noises you let out would be embarrassing if you could think about it for longer than half a second. when his thumbs travel up your inner thighs you stiffen, your back arching, moaning into his mouth and he laughs, his chest rising into yours.

“relax for me, princess,” he says into your mouth and you obey without even thinking about it, body sinking into his. he slips his right palm between your legs to cup your center over your pants and you grind yourself into him involuntarily, releasing a gasp as you finally get stimulation where you needed it most.

your head falls forward again, breaths growing heavy at the contact. he switches to two fingers instead, adding pressure along your clothed slit, pausing at your clit to rub small circles. you moans are pathetic, grinding into his hand, begging for more but you didn’t dare say it.

“yeah, there you go,” he encourages, voice low and directly in your ear as you grind against his fingers, he doesn’t stop talking, “gonna cum on my fingers when i haven’t even taken your pants off? my girl is so desperate.”

your moans raise in pitch at his words, the slight degradation only getting you there faster, you could taste your orgasm. you didn’t know you were into that kind of thing— you never had any experience in it, you and mingyu certainly didn’t talk about it beforehand.

“go ahead, princess, cum for me,” he encourages and you lose it, unraveling on his hand, his words tipping you over the edge. your moans are strangled in your throat as you finally release, breath stilling as your head sinks entirely onto his shoulder, his hand still riding you through it. when you back off his touch he halts his movement, bringing a hand up to your hair, fingers lightly scratching your scalp as he praises you. “so good for me, baby, did so good.”

you whimper in response, body completely spent on his lap, limp hands resting on his chest as his thumbs sneak down to hook in your waistband. you could hear his grin in his words, “i hope you don’t think i’m done with you yet, wanna see your pretty face cum on my fingers.”

you lifted your hips off of him and he slips the fabric down your legs one after the other, your brain completely fogged over, too fucked to do anything else but comply. you’d do whatever he said in this state, as long as he kept talking to you.

when you sat back down on his lap his thighs were spread again, your legs sat wide over his own, pussy on display for eyes that couldn’t see it. he bared his teeth in a smile, head laying atop the back of the couch, looking at you through lowered eyes. it should’ve been mortifying, being so exposed to him when he hadn't even taken his shirt off, but the feeling didn’t come to mind when he looked at you as if he'd eat you alive.

“so good,” he praised, the smile not once leaving his face, “you wanna cum again, don’t you baby?”

you nod, whimpering, hips bucking into nothing beneath them. mingyu was so hard, you could see the ridiculous tent in his pants, you were nearly drooling at the sight. you want to see him, touch him, taste the full length of him— it was cruel how he was keeping himself from you, but you still didn’t tell him, maybe he’d praise you more if you didn’t.

“say it,” his hands were on your bare hips, the skin on skin contact had you heaving. you couldn’t form any words other than make me cum, begging three times before his hands moved.

his fingers moved to your core and his lips were on yours again as his fingers slipped inside, index and middle, immediately curling inside of you. you plunged forward, your entire abdomen folding, the slight overstimulation combined with how thick his fingers felt inside of you was devastating. you were louder now, moans turning to cries, hips driving forward to match the thrusts of his fingers.

“fuck, mingyu,” words returned to you, a moment of clarity in the midst of the fog, “feels so fucking good, please don’t stop.”

“there she is,” his lips attached to your jaw, kissing down your neck as his fingers created a rhythm, “came back to me, hmm?”

“yes,” you moaned out, words breathy and light, “want you to watch me when i cum.”

he groaned, head falling back onto the couch again, his other hand reaching forward to rub your clit again. you cried out curses, watching mingyu as he watched you. you whimpered, “wanna feel you so bad, want you to fuck me gyu.”

his eyebrows furrowed, jaw going slack, quickening his pace on your clit. you could feel another orgasm forming in the pit of your stomach, eyes falling shut, head lolling forward before you snapped it back upright. he wanted to see you, you’d let him have whatever he wanted.

“so close,” you cried, he was so fucking good at this— not once did the rhythm he created falter as you thrashed against him, following your hips with experienced fingers. “gonna cum, gyu.”

“cum all over my fingers baby, give it to me,” he leaned forward, catching your lips with his own in a kiss before he growled, “cum for me.”

the order had you seeing stars behind your eyelids, your body obeying without you even processing it, shaking in his arms as you got lost in your orgasm like a fucking riptide. this one was far more powerful than the last, it took you longer to ride out the full length of it, the aftershocks hitting you in tremors.

“good girl, that was so hot,” his voice was strained as he praised you, clearly trying to hold himself back, but you couldn’t place why he wouldn’t do anything about it.

“want you inside,” you said into his neck, head fallen onto his shoulder by now, small aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. his hands rubbed your back, soothing touches to bring you back, a huff of amusement leaving his lips.

“you’re insatiable,” he teased, hand dropping to leave a small tap on your bare ass. “you’ll have me another night.”

“why?” you whined, body curling into his further, arms laying limp at your sides, “you don’t wanna fuck me?”

“don’t do that,” he planted a kiss to the side of your head as his hands continued, leaving calming strokes on your back, “be patient.”

you sit up slowly, “i don’t want to be patient.”

“then call up the blondie,” he shot you an amused smile, “i’m sure he’ll be glad to fix your issue.”

“mingyu,” you huffed, “that’s not funny. i’ll be patient.”

“never heard a woman complain after coming twice,” he shook his head, watching with careful eyes as you stood off his lap, reaching for your pants.

“i am so sorry that i want your cock so bad i’m begging for it,” you teased back as you slipped them up your legs, a playful smile on your lips.

he lifted a brow, “touché.”

you stayed at mingyu’s place for hours after, half listening to whatever movie he put on his tv while you fought to not get lost in conversation. it was too hard when he put on a romcom, the first time he nitpicked a detail the fight was over, entering a debate about how stupid it was for the main girl to be interested in the man who was clearly an asshole. mingyu thought it was stupid, you stood up for the girl– you’ve been there too many times to not stick up for her. at least half the movie was spent talking about the movie.

you spent the other half of it lazily kissing, hands traveling across each other’s skin, he let you maneuver your hands under his shirt, feeling his chiseled abdomen, his chest, his back— you were right, every part of him was strong. his fingers had slipped under your pants again, the movie was over for far too long before the two of you had come up for air.

but he still didn’t take it further— didn’t let you touch him below his belt. you couldn’t understand why, until he finally gave you a reason, “i just want to wait, i know it’s old fashioned. don’t make fun of me.”

your body went hot, you were now convinced that anything he did could turn you on. “until when?! marriage?!” you joked, and he only responded by pressing his lips to yours again, effectively shutting you up.

you didn’t want to leave– you knew mingyu had meetings early the next morning, you had classes, but his couch was so comfortable, the blanket he threw over you was so cozy, you couldn’t fathom going outside in the cold air or sitting in your car that would take way too long to warm up. you felt like you were in your own bubble, just you and mingyu, no one knew where you were or what you were doing. you didn’t want it to end.

you checked your phone after hours, your phone screen flooded with notifications. you scrolled through as mingyu traced patterns along your stomach over the blanket, his head lying just below it, both of you sideways on his massive sectional.

8:28 pm

yeo: tiny are u alive

8:51 pm

yeo: tiny i am getting nervous yeo: pls answer

it being past ten now, you were scared to continue scrolling.

9:23 pm

sannie: yeo is tweaking sannie: he is telling ace lol

you sighed, eyes closing, your bubble was burst.

9:31 pm

yeo: ace did not gaf yeo: bro said ur prolly on another date yeo: good luck have fun get some

you swiped out of your groupchat, seeing an unopened text in your thread with yunho.

10:01 pm

yunho: worried about u yunho: hope this one’s treating you better

you smiled, fingers typing away– yunho was the only one who knew who mingyu was.

10:23 pm

you: dont be worried im fine you: hes perfect he's the one you: thanksgiving secured

the bubble appeared in seconds, then it went away.

— yunho liked your messages.

8fd masterlist | main masterlist

tags :p @chimivx @emmxxsworld @alisonyus @livixcore @skzswife @dawn-iscozy

#8fd #8 first dates #kim mingyu #mingyu x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #seventeen #svt x you #svt au #svt x reader #svt smut #ateez x reader #skz x reader

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eternalsunrise · 7 months ago

Text

shower talk.

deadpool (wade wilson) x f!reader

wc: 750 (drabble)

tags! established relationship, sexual & murder references (duh)

notes! wade brainrot is so bad idk, logan fic coming soon pls forgive me

wade often barges into the bathroom while you’re in the shower just to sit on the toilet seat and rant about the mission he just went on, or even to ask what takeout you want for dinner. couldn’t it wait until you had clothes on? sure, but he wants to talk to you now.

unexpectedly, you decide to take a page out of his playbook.

you’ve just walked in the door after your 9-5, throwing your keys and bag haphazardly across the room in frustration. you spy the familiar rumpled up red and black suit on the floor, wade was home. you had complained last week about deadpool tracking blood into the apartment after his “work.” it seemed your boyfriend had listened and obliged. if it weren’t for your bad day, the image of him cupping his crotch as he scrambled naked into the bathroom would’ve made you smile.

you hear the water still running, but you finally understand how wade feels, this can’t wait. you open the bathroom door and throw the toilet lid down, unsure if wade even heard you enter over the sound of his own voice belting hall and oates’ greatest hits.

you sit down and let out an overdramatic sigh. your boyfriend’s voice quiets down halfway through “out of touch”

“honey bear? you’re home! these stab wounds will heal in about two minutes then you can join me. i know how you feel about seeing intestines, and i don’t want to make you gag…well scratch that i do sometimes—“

“i fucking hate men.”

you hear the sound of the shower curtain opening slightly, and wade’s head peaks out, looking at you with wide eyes, “woah language, babydoll! you know degradation turns me on.” his head tilts to the side, noticing the distress written on your face “but i have a feeling this isn’t about me…”

you spare him a narrowed glance, then watch as his head disappears. the curtain closes and you hear the water hit skin again as he resumes his shower. he’s giving you time to speak. remarkable.

“you remember that guy i told you about? the one that gave me major creep vibes? and was just an all around dick?”

you get a hum in response, and you can’t see it, but you know wade is physically biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything. it’s endearing in a way.

you rub your face with your hands, the memory of what you’re about to say lights the fire of anger again, “well. guess who got that promotion i was being eyed for? i’ll give you a hint, it’s not someone with a vagina! and on top of that, i saw him try to look under my skirt as i was leaving! that fuck.”

you almost regretted telling him that last part, knowing where this was going. but your mind was clouded by frustration, and the water was already turned off. the rings screech against the metal shower rod as wade throws the curtain open, reaching over your head for a towel. “okay sweet thing. where does this cock suck and fuck live?”

your eyes catch a glimpse of red turning pink as it swirled into the tub drain. you shake your head, suddenly realizing the severity of what your mercenary boyfriend was implying. “no no babe please it’s not that serious! and you just got home. not to mention if people found out, you’d get in so much trouble all because of something silly that happened to me and—“

a long finger is placed over your lips. you’re eye level with wade’s v line, partially covered by the towel now wrapped around his waist. you trail your eyes upward, locking them with the one who interrupted your rambling.

“shhh. nonsense kitten. now. you’re going to tell me this guy’s address, and i’m going to go out for…” wade uses his free arm to look at a make believe watch, “hmm, about an hour. while i’m gone, you’re going to change out of this sexy pantsuit. then have a glass of wine, and touch yourself while you think of me fondly. i’ll grab dinner on the way home. yes?”

when you nod with wide eyes in agreement, he removes his finger, bending down to meet your face, “atta girl.” he praises as his lips graze your own, kiss light as a feather. he clears his throat then, patting your cheek a few times as he stands up to walk out of the bathroom. whistling as if murder was all in a day’s work (you suppose for him it is)

you sit there stunned, wondering if you just got your coworker murdered….and why you were so turned on.

#deadpool x you #marvel #marvel fic #deadpool and wolverine #marvel x reader #x reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson #deadpool fic #deadpool #wade wilson x you #deadpool smut #mcu x reader #mcu #mcu x you #deadpool x reader #deadpool fanfiction

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penascigarette · 3 months ago

Text

smooth operator ch 2. this bitch bites

Joel Miller x f!phone sex worker

➴wc: 7k | summary: you accidentally send a picture of yourself to joel which results in a video call

➴warnings: mdni, fxm phone sex, m&f masturbation, dirty talk

➴an: hi! tysm to everyone for all the love on the first part of this silly little series. I've been having so much fun writing and interacting with everyone. y'all are the best. feel free to come scream with me about this or anything <333

masterlist | series masterlist

For the rest of the night, your mind plays your conversation with Joel on repeat.

Elliot is asleep when you barge into his room, itching to share your dirty little secret. His limbs are sprawled like a starfish, his mouth hanging open, a light snore escaping him. He looks so peaceful that you decide against waking him. Instead, you sneak back to your room, feeling as if you'll explode if you don't tell someone soon. You’re a talker, and keeping this bottled up feels like pure torture.

Blowing a breath out, you stare up at the ceiling. How you feel isn’t easy to explain.

Your body is more satisfied than it’s been in a long time, aching for more.

Your heart agrees, thrilled at the thought of a forbidden relationship with this sexy, mysterious man. It hasn’t felt much since your last boyfriend—only pain and disappointment.

Your head, though, is another story. It reminds you how much trouble you could get into. Jane has a strict no-relationships rule between workers and clients, fearing the temptation to give free "sessions" or show favoritism. She’s all business, no play.

Dread swirls in your stomach. What you’ve done is dangerous, even if it was ridiculously mind-blowing. Joel wants a repeat; if you deny him, he could tell Jane.

You could always deny it… say it was just part of the act.

But your heart hates that thought. Even considering letting Joel down makes it ache as if you’ve already done it. How can you feel so much for someone after one phone call?

Because it’s exciting, the bad girl in you whispers.

You’ll get into trouble, your rational side argues, but it’s outnumbered.

Think about how amazing he made you feel, your body chimes in, tingling in remembrance. You came harder than ever, and he didn’t even touch you.

“God,” you groan, pressing your palms into your eyes until they hurt and you see funny lights. “I need sleep.” With no way to figure it out on your own, you know you need Elliot. For now, you push the thoughts away and try to rest.

Before you open your eyes, you know you’ve woken up ridiculously early. Something feels different—a sensation you can’t quite place.

You don’t have the cozy, half-asleep feeling you usually enjoy. The blankets aren’t warm or soft enough, and you’re itching to get up and do something. So, you throw the covers off, get dressed, and spend extra time on your hair and makeup. The effort gives you a bounce in your step, though the knot of unease in your gut remains.

Grabbing your phone, you head to the bathroom, use the toilet, and brush your teeth. There’s no noise from Elliot’s room—you doubt he’ll wake up for another hour. You go downstairs instead.

The kettle is still full from yesterday, so you flick it on and get your coffee ready. You debate making breakfast but decide against it—eating without Elliot feels wrong.

Less than a minute later, the water boils. You pour it into your mug, watching the steam rise before curling up on the sofa.

Being awake this early makes you feel like you could get so much done. Maybe you’ll work out after coffee, or tidy up and throw out the takeaway boxes before more clutter piles up.

But your mind drifts back to Joel. You wonder about his morning routine. Does he put effort into his appearance because he’s good with women? You imagine him with a six-pack… God, you hope he has one.

No, stop, you think, shaking your head. What does it matter? But the thought of him only makes your fantasies steamier.

Your plans are forgotten, and you spend an hour imagining every inch of him. You don’t even notice your coffee going cold until Elliot flops onto the sofa beside you.

“There you are,” he says groggily, rubbing his eyes. “Ooh, you made coffee.” Without asking, he takes your mug, grimacing after a sip. “This is cold. How long have you been sitting here?”

“About an hour,” you admit with a shrug.

“Oh.” His brows lift. “How come, honey?” Concern laces his tone.

“I have something to tell you.” Finally, the words spill out, and you shift to face him.

“Did you finally shave your legs?” he asks, deadpan, taking another sip of coffee.

“Shut up. It hasn’t been that long, okay? This is serious.”

“Fine.” He smirks. “Go on.”

“I had phone sex last night.”

His brow furrows. “Sweetie, phone sex is your job. Are you feeling okay?” He places a hand on your forehead.

You roll your eyes, batting his hand away. “Not like that! I got off with him.”

Elliot’s jaw drops. “You… you flicked your bean to a client?”

Guiltily, you nod. “In my defense, he has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. And he’s amazing at talking dirty. Better than me!”

“Really?” Elliot’s skepticism is written all over his face.

You nod, leaning closer. “He said things like… ‘spread yourself open’ and ‘you’re such a good girl for me.’ He even told me to force my clit out of its hood! Most guys don’t even know what a that is!”

Elliot blinks, grabbing a cushion to cover his lap. “I completely understand.”

You laugh, though the thought of getting in trouble dampens your mood.

Elliot waves dismissively. “Just don’t tell anyone. I won’t either. In fact, I expect details from future calls.”

You snort. "I don't know if there will be any more."

He looks at you like you've grown another head. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to get in trouble for this," you admit, biting your lip for a moment. "Even if it was incredible."

"You won't get into trouble." He sounds so sure. "Seriously. I may or may not...have done the same thing. More than once," he mumbles the last part.

"What!?" you exclaim, wondering how the hell you're only just hearing about this. "Why haven't you told me?" You poke your bottom lip out at him. "You're keeping a lot of secrets from me lately."

He pinches your lip between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to pull it back into your mouth. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I don't tell you every time I jack off to porn, now do I? As for my date with Danny, I told you as soon as I had the balls to."

"But it is a huge deal," you argue.

"Yeah, to you, but...you're a bit of a prude."

"I am not. How can you be a prude when you work as a phone sex operator?”

"You are," he teases lightly. "When you had that one-night stand after you and Ben broke up, you cried for three days."

Your shoulders slump, and you mumble, "I was ashamed."

"Well, you shouldn't be," he says firmly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is beautiful. And fun."

"That's easy for you to say," you point out. "You're a man. Women get labeled and judged." And oh boy, do you hate being judged. It's why you don't tell people what you do for a living.

He softens at that. "You shouldn't be so worried about what people think of you. You only live once."

"I know," you mumble, not knowing what to say to that. Because it's true—you shouldn't be so concerned about others' thoughts of you—but it's not something you can just switch off. You change the subject. "So tell me about the times you've...you know." You know it’ll make you feel better.

"Well," he licks his lips and puts one hand on the back of the sofa while the other holds his coffee. "The first time, I can't even remember his name. He called when I was in the middle of getting off, and we ended up getting off together with my porno playing."

You both laugh at that.

"The second time," he continues, a certain fondness in his tone. "Was this guy called 'K.' I don't know why. There was just this... attraction, and we did it. Then it just became this thing."

You frown in confusion. "A thing? Does that mean you still do it?"

"Yep," he pops the 'p' with a grin. "He doesn't call very often, though."

"I can't believe..." you break into a breathless chuckle because here you are, worrying your ass off, and it's actually no big deal. Well, as long as Jane doesn't find out. "This is crazy."

"Maybe," Elliot shrugs and then wiggles his eyebrows. "But isn't it so much more fun that way?"

You have to agree.

___________

That night, you find yourself itching for Joel 's call. You’ve even stripped yourself naked in preparation. If that’s not eager, you don’t know what is.

Every time your phone rings, your heart leaps into your throat. It's ridiculous to act like this because of a man you don’t even know, but for some mysterious reason, he's caught your attention, and you're not letting him go anytime soon.

When it turns out it’s not him on the other end of the line, you find yourself entertaining the idea that he lied when he said he’d call again tonight. Maybe he only said it to keep you happy, or he hadn’t known what else to say.

Although he seemed interested. Interested enough to ask for your real name...you’re not counting him out quite yet. The night isn't over.

It takes another two phone calls before his name finally flashes on your screen.

Almost immediately, your stomach twists with excitement, and an ache starts to form between your legs. You're nervous but in a good way. It reminds you of the very first time you had phone sex with a client. When you manage to calm yourself down, you answer the phone, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Hey, you." Does that sound okay? You hope so.

"Hey," he greets, his voice wobbling just a little. Maybe he feels the same way you do. "How've you been?"

You blink, momentarily stunned. Did he really just ask that? None of your clients ever ask how you’re doing. Not that you’re complaining—it’s nice to be treated like an actual human being instead of just a way to get off.

"I'm great," you say honestly. "What about you?"

"Much better now," he replies, and you bite the corner of your lip to keep a goofy smile from breaking through. "I have to say, I've been thinking about you all damn day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk around with a near-constant boner?"

You’re already gushing down below. Squeezing your thighs shut at the image he’s planted in your mind, you reply breathlessly, "Can't say I have, but I know what it's like walking around with a fountain in your panties all day long."

His laugh is dark. "A fountain? Sounds like someone's been thinking naughty thoughts."

"More than one, actually."

"Mm," he hums in approval. You hear rustling in the background as if he’s settling in. "Tell me one of them."

There are so many to choose from, but one stands out. "Okay," you say, licking your lips. "But you can't laugh, okay?"

"I wouldn't dare," he assures, though you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Right." You take a deep breath. "So... it's a student-teacher fantasy."

"Ah," he responds knowingly.

"Yeah, so, you're the teacher, and I'm the student." Christ, you can’t believe you’re actually saying this. It feels stupid and embarrassing—so much easier to talk about other people’s fantasies than your own. "I have detention, and it’s just you and me in the classroom. You’re looking over schoolwork, and since you’re distracted, I decide to, you know."

"Say it." It’s a command, and the increase in his breathing tells you this is getting him just as hot as it gets you.

"I play with my pussy," you admit, scraping your teeth along your bottom lip. "I slip my hand down my panties, find my clit, pinch it, and rub it. I hold back my moans because I don’t want you to hear." Without realizing it, your eyes shut, and your hands wander down your body, acting out the fantasy. You’re already wet—so wet it surprises you, soaking your thighs and dampening the sheets.

"Fuck," he draws the word out. "You think you’re being quiet, but you’re not, Princess. And your pussy’s so fucking wet I can smell it from my desk."

"God," you choke out, your breath hitching. "I don’t care that you know. I’m too close—I don’t even care if you see." You’re not lying; you’re so close, but not ready to finish yet. Leaving your clit alone for a moment, you slide two fingers inside yourself—they glide in easily. "In fact, I move further down the chair and spread my legs so you can see what I’m doing."

Both of you are worked up now. You hear him stroking himself hard in the background.

He growls dangerously. "I know exactly what you want, Princess. I come over to you, throw the table out of my way, and sink to my knees. You’re so fucking wet I can see everything through your white panties. It’s clinging to your slit and your poor swollen clit."

"God."

"My whole mouth slots over your creaming cunt, and I suck the sweet juices through your panties."

Your pussy clenches hard around your fingers. "Jesus Christ. You’re so good." Your hand is practically swimming in your own cum.

"Your hard little nub doesn’t stand a chance against my tongue, and I have you gushing into my mouth in under ten seconds."

You have no self-control. You don’t want to come yet, but your hand has a mind of its own. Before you know it, you’re going over the edge.

"Ohmygod, Joel !" you squeak embarrassingly, thighs shaking around your hand as you rock your hips, trying to prolong the sensation.

"Did you come?" he asks, both amused and proud.

"You didn’t give me much choice," you reply weakly, tiny waves of pleasure still coursing through you as your hand lingers.

"Hey, I’m not complaining, trust me," he says. "The sounds you make when you come are heaven, baby."

You blow a stray piece of hair off your face and finally pull your fingers out. "Have you come? Do you want to keep going?" you ask. "I didn’t even get to the part where I give you an epic blowjob."

"Please, by all means, continue."

You grin. "All right. So after that mind-blowing orgasm, I kiss you so I can taste myself on your lips."

"Fuck, that’s hot, Princess." You hear him stroke himself faster.

"And I grab your tie, walking you back to your desk. I make you sit down." The thought of touching him excites you all over again, and you circle a nipple with one finger. "I kneel between your thighs and unzip your pants. Your dick is so hard it’s leaking pre-cum through your underwear." God, you’re desperate to taste it. You tell him that, too.

"Keep going," he orders, his voice strained.

You do. "I lick the fabric, but it’s not enough. I grab your cock and bring it to my lips. God, you’re fucking delicious. I rub the head all over my lips, needing to taste more of your cum." Shamefully, you mean every word.

"I’m so close, Princess," he groans, his pace quickening. "Just a little more."

"I take you into my wet, warm mouth. You’re so big and hard I can barely fit my lips around you. I hollow my cheeks and suck like I would a lollipop, my tongue stroking underneath your shaft. I can feel you getting close because you start pulsing in my mouth. I go faster, wanting to feel you spill down my throat."

He finally releases with a harsh moan. "Damn, Princess."

You blurt out your name correcting him before you can stop yourself.

He’s still catching his breath. "What was that?"

You repeat your name, unsure if this is a good idea but knowing it’s too late to turn back. "It’s my name."

He repeats it smoothly, the name rolling off his tongue. "Pretty name for a pretty girl."

You scoff, rolling your eyes to stop yourself from smiling. "You don’t know if I’m pretty or not."

"I don’t have to see you to know you’re beautiful."

His words touch you, but you doubt he’s worked all this out after just two phone calls. You humor him anyway. "That’s sweet of you to say."

"I better get going. Gotta get up for work in the morning," he says with a genuine yawn.

"Oh?" you ask, curiosity piqued. "What do you do?"

"I’m a fireman."

Your eyes widen, and you instantly regret asking. Now you’ll be up all night fantasizing about him in uniform. "Oh god, that’s sexy," you blurt out.

"I’m glad you think so," he chuckles. "Maybe we can work it into our role-play tomorrow?"

"That’s a fantastic idea," you agree eagerly.

"All right," he laughs. "Seriously, I gotta go. Sweet dreams princess."

"Yeah," you reply, already looking forward to the next conversation. "You too, Joel."

__________________

"Tell me how big you are," you demand lightly, still tingling blissfully from your orgasm. You finally remove your hand from between your legs and use your damp fingers to trace circles around your hard nipples.

Joel laughs, the sound a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. "It's probably going to sound like I'm bullshitting, but... seven and a half inches."

You decide to believe him. Sure, he could very well be lying—lots of guys do. Practically every man you talk to claims to have a big dick. It’s all part of the fantasy. But Joel feels different. "Wow... that's huge."

Your body responds instinctively, a clench of anticipation as you imagine how full he could make you feel.

"Yeah... well, I've had no complaints," he says, sounding both bashful and proud.

"You sure?" you tease. "I bet there have been a few comments about you being too big or going too deep."

He laughs again. "When I was younger, yeah, but I learned pretty quickly that every woman is different. I like to get a feel for her using my fingers first, see how much she can handle."

You can’t help it; a vivid image of his fingers working you over, his muscular arm straining against your thigh as he tests your limits, flashes in your mind. Jesus, you could come again just from that thought. You stumble out a response. "Oh, I, uh... yeah, that’s good of you."

"Only fair. They're lettin' me have sex with them, least I can do is make sure they damn well enjoy it."

What a gentleman, you think. How many men actually care if a woman is enjoying herself? In your experience, they get off without a second thought for you.

"I wish more men were like you," you tell him honestly.

"Well... I wish more women were like you."

That catches you off guard. "Really? In what way?"

"I don’t know... you’re just so open. Sexually, I mean. You’re not afraid to tell me what you like. You’ve got a great laugh, too. And you’re so damn easy to talk to. I feel like I could tell you everything."

The words make your heart flutter. Compliments from clients are nothing new, but they usually run along the lines of, "You’re so good at talking dirty," or, "You made me come so hard." None of them are as sweet or genuine as what Joel just said.

And none of them make you think about how easily you could fall for him.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, you push it away. How ridiculous. There’s no way you should be falling for a man you’ve never met. You don’t even know what he looks like. Having a crush is one thing, but love? God, I’m turning into one of those women who fall for anyone just because they say the right things.

And the saddest part? You’re pretty sure Joel isn’t even trying.

"Princess? You still there?"

His voice pulls you from your spiral. You don’t know how long you’ve been silent, but the realization is both embarrassing and unprofessional. You’re wasting his time—and his money.

"Sorry, Joel," you apologize. "I totally zoned out. I -I’ll refund you for the call."

"Don’t worry about that," he says quickly. "Please, be honest with me. Did I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to overstep—"

Oh, god, he’s so sweet. You cut him off. "No, no! I swear, you didn’t. I was just... surprised, that’s all," you reassure him. "I really appreciate it. And... I feel the same way." You bite your lip. You hadn’t meant to reveal so much, but the words tumble out before you can stop them. "I feel like... I’ve known you forever."

"I’m glad," he says, relief evident in his tone. "Was worried I’d freaked you out."

"Not at all," you reply with a soft smile.

The conversation settles into a comfortable silence. The reality of your situation dawns on you: You’re discussing feelings—real feelings—with a client. A man you’ve never met. You don’t know his last name. It’s been, what, a week?

But you want to know him. Desperately. Maybe you’re crazy. Maybe you’re just lonely. Or maybe you need something deeper than the physical connection you’re used to.

The sound of a beeping line breaks the moment. "Damn it," Joel curses. "They need me at work. I’ve got to go."

Immediately, you feel a pang of guilt. He didn’t even get to finish. "Listen," you say impulsively, "I’m going to text you my personal number, okay? When you have a chance, call me, and we’ll finish what we started."

There’s a pause. "Wow," he says finally. "That would be amazing. I could text you throughout the day, too... only if you want, of course. Don’t wanna cross any boundaries."

If anything, it's you crossing boundaries. “I’d love that." You respond honestly, your heart fluttering and a fuzzy feeling settles in your belly. You really like him, don't you? Crap.

He chuckles, and you can almost hear his grin. "Good."

—-------‐

How'd the baking go? You still alive?

You breathe out a laugh as you open and read Joel's text. It's been about a week since you gave him your number, and you haven't regretted it for a second.

Like shit, I can't have cooked it long enough because it was still gooey in the middle. But we're all still alive...for now.

You send the text before glancing over at the modeling shoot, which is now where your living room used to be. White material hangs from metal frames, creating a backdrop for the pictures. Standing lights are positioned opposite. The photographer your mom hired is here, and your house is his studio.

Elliot is currently looking through the outfits he and your mom spent all of yesterday shopping for, now hung from a clothes rail. Some of them are latex and kinky as hell, others flimsy and revealing.

Your mom is busy pulling on a gray mini skirt. She’s already wearing stockings, a white, revealing blouse, and a tight gray blazer that cuts off at the elbows. You know she has a pair of glasses to complete her sexy secretary look. All she needs is a messy updo, and she’ll be ready to go.

You have to admit, the fake breasts she bought five years ago look fantastic in that shirt. You’re almost jealous. They look better than yours.

Elliot, meanwhile, is shirtless, with a pair of leather pants covering his bottom half. He looks amazing. His hair is messy, like he just had sex, and he’s debating with your mom whether or not he should use some eyeliner to make himself look darker and more mysterious.

You remain firm in your decision to stay out of the photo shoot. Even though you wouldn’t have to be naked, the idea doesn’t sit well with you. People could recognize you—friends from school, old work colleagues, or that bitch who stole your favorite hair clip in swimming class when you were a teen. The thought of any of them knowing—or worse, judging—what you do for a living makes you die a little inside, even though you know in your heart it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re just too sensitive, you guess.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, signaling an incoming text, and you glance down at the screen, your attention no longer on the shoot. It’s Joel again.

Ah... remind me to do all the baking if I ever work up the courage to ask you out.

Your lips part in shock before they curve slowly. He wants to ask you out? Wow… you trap your bottom lip between your teeth as you type your response.

Deal. You finding that courage any time soon?

You hesitate, then press send before locking your phone and leaning your elbows on the counter in front of you. Your eyes follow your mother’s movements as she practices poses in front of a large, stand-up mirror. You’re on kitchen duty since you’re neither a model nor a photographer, which means it’s your job to keep their coffee topped up.

“What do you think?” Elliot asks, his question floating to no one in particular as he studies himself in a small pocket-sized mirror. A black eyeliner pencil sits in his other hand.

You tilt your head, examining his eyes. One is framed in sharp black, while the other remains untouched. “Go with the eyeliner,” you say after a moment. “It matches your leather look.” You gesture toward his trousers.

Without looking up, Elliot starts lining his other eye. “Thanks, babe.”

You curl your lips in a faint reply, even though he can’t see it. Your phone buzzes again, and you quickly check the message on the screen.

I'm working on it ;)

Good. I'm looking forward to it ;)

You bite your lip, trying to hide your excitement. You don’t want your mom catching onto your texts; without a doubt, she’d know you’re talking to a guy. Then she’d question you until you gave up the goods.

A ping behind you sounds, reminding you that you were in the process of making another round of coffee. Slipping your phone into your pocket, you decide you’d better get the coffee addicts their fix.

The photo shoot ends up being a success—not that you were expecting anything different. They could have been real models, and it makes you wonder why they didn’t pursue a career in it. They’re honestly naturals.

And oh my god, your mom—you’re laughing now—manages to get a date with the photographer. He has to be about ten years younger than her. Not that it stops him, of course. You and Elliot can’t help but exchange glances and giggle knowingly when it’s your mom’s turn to be photographed. The poor guy can’t take his eyes off her.

You hope it goes well, of course, but you doubt he’ll end up being anything more than a fling. Your mom just isn’t one to settle down. Not since your dad walked out when you were a baby and left her with a broken heart. You think she lost her faith in men after that.

Not that your experience with men is much better. Your ex was an asshole who killed your confidence and then cheated on you with someone you had considered your best friend at the time. Pretty clichéd, you know. But unlike your mom, you still have hope that a Prince Charming will come along and sweep you off your feet.

And just maybe, that Prince could be Joel.

Yes, okay, it was still early days to be thinking like that but sometimes...you just know, you know? There’s a fluttering in your stomach—a warmth, a feeling of pure happiness, safety, and understanding. It’s not the same as those first-date butterflies you had with your ex, when everything was exciting and new. No, this is something different, something deeper. You can’t quite explain how—it just is.

"Hey, you’ve got a package down here!" Elliot sing-songs from downstairs, pulling you out of your thoughts.

A package? What could it—Oh! You remember the top you ordered online and let out an excited squeal. Quickly, you step out of the shower. You were finished in there anyway.

"Coming!" you call down to Elliot, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your plain black bra and underwear. You rub the towel through your hair, barely giving a thought to your state of undress as you head downstairs. Elliot wouldn’t care, anyway.

As you step into the room, Elliot whistles from the sofa, his legs tucked underneath him and one arm draped along the back. “Looking hot, girl!” he teases, flashing you a playful grin.

“Thanks, babe.” You lean over the back of the sofa and snag the package from his lap. Tearing open the grey plastic bag, you start digging through it eagerly.

“What’d you get?” Elliot asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Remember that top I showed you and Julie? The white one with ‘This Bitch Bites!’ written on the front?” Your fingers brush soft material, and you pull it free with a triumphant grin. Tossing the plastic to the floor, you hold the top up to admire it.

Elliot throws his head back in laughter. “You didn’t!”

“Oh, I did.” You flip the shirt around, showing it off with a dramatic flourish.

Elliot gasps as if it’s the most magnificent thing he’s ever seen. “I fucking love it! Do they have it in my size?” He reaches out to pinch the fabric between his fingers, giving it an approving nod. “Ooh, I like the material, too.”

“Yeah, I think so,” you say, gathering the shirt in your hands and pulling it over your head. You smooth it down and strike a pose, hands on your hips. “What do you think?”

"Your boobs look awesome in that." Elliot nods approvingly. "Oh! Gimme your phone. I'll take a pic, and you can send it to Julie. I bet she'll wanna see it." He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers expectantly.

You instinctively reach for your pockets, but your fingers brush against bare skin, reminding you that your clothes—and your phone—are upstairs. "I'll go get it," you say, heading off.

After sending the picture, you grab a quick snack before making your way back upstairs. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you know you need to dry it before it starts frizzing.

You sit at your dresser, plug in your hair dryer, and get ready to turn it on when your phone vibrates with an incoming message. Setting the dryer down, you pick up your phone to check the text.

Damn, I hope she does, was the response, leaving you confused.

Julie doesn’t text like that. You know how she is—always shortening her words until they’re barely readable, leaving you and Elliot to figure out what she actually means. And commas? Forget it. She probably doesn’t even know what one is.

You scrunch your nose, confused, your thumb hovering over the screen to text her back when another message pops up. This time, it’s from Joel.

You're fucking beautiful, by the way.

Okay, so that’s kind of creepy. How the fuck does he know what you look like? That’s when it hits you— the previous text was from Joel, not Julie like you’d assumed.

“Oh no…” you breathe, your fingers scrambling to scroll up through the conversation. And there it is. The picture Elliot took of you. You, wearing nothing but your white this bitch bites! shirt and black panties, your chest pushed forward so the writing stretches smooth across the fabric. And that picture? It’s been sent to Joel. Not Julie.

You growl out loud, “I’m going to kill Elliot,” your heart pounds like crazy. You spring to your feet, panic surging through you as you pace back and forth, trying to form a coherent thought. Did he do it on purpose? No, surely he wouldn’t—okay, yeah, he probably would. You groan loudly, covering your face with your hands before falling backward onto the bed. You land with a bounce.

And just when you think it couldn’t possibly get any worse, the realization hits you. “I’m not even wearing makeup, Elliot!” you shout, your voice full of despair.

You know you should respond to Joel, but you're way too busy freaking the hell out.

He knows what you look like. That’s bad. So very bad. Why exactly it’s bad, you’re not sure. But the black hole churning in your stomach insists it is.

He thinks you’re beautiful, a calmer part of your mind whispers blissfully. Without makeup. That part makes you ridiculously happy. But it’s still bad…right?

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you try to think clearly. So what if he knows what you look like? It’s not like he can track you down with just an image. Sure, okay, he also knows your first name, but you don’t even have social media. Good luck with that, buddy!

...Really? Come on.

You shake your head at yourself. You know Joel wouldn’t do anything like that. You’re just freaking out and thinking irrationally. He’s a good guy, and you trust him. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have given him your real number.

Breathing in deeply, you lift your phone to your face and read his messages again.

Damn, I hope she does.

You're fucking beautiful, by the way.

This time, you allow yourself to smile, embracing the warmth that fills your stomach at his words. He’s so sweet, with just the right amount of dirty. He hopes you’re a biter... Naughty pictures flood your mind, and you squeeze your thighs together. You’d be a biter for him any day.

Your thumbs hover over the touch-screen keyboard as you consider what to respond to him. Deciding that honesty is the best policy, you go with:

Sorry about that! It was meant for my girl friend but my other friend is a total dick. I don't make a habit of sending half-naked pics to guys. I'm glad you like it though :)

A thought pops into your head, and you quickly type:

Since you've got a pic of me...maybe you'll be open to sharing one of you?

You nibble at your fingernail as you wait for his response. You hope you didn't make him uncomfortable by asking for a picture, but you honestly do want one of him. You're curious about what he could look like. You have an image of him in your head, but you dare say it wouldn't look anything like him. A few seconds later, you get a reply.

Ah, that makes sense. I did think it was a bit odd since you never mentioned anything about us exchanging pictures. I'm glad it happened, though. Maybe I should be thanking your friend ;)

Your lips curl as you get ready to send him a response when another text comes through.

Sure, you can have one of me as long as you'll excuse my appearance. It's It’s been a rough day at work, and I haven’t had a chance to shower yet.

Again, you start typing your reply, your heart jumping into your throat at the thought of finally seeing his face when yet another text comes through. But this time, it isn’t words; it’s a picture. The picture you’ve been waiting for.

Your lips part and your heart falls back into your chest, doing a funny little dance. A slow breath escapes you as you can't tear your eyes away from the selfie he sent you.

Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe him. whiskey-colored eyes, lips so full it almost looks like he's pouting. A day or two's worth of stubble covers his lower face.

He looks tired but still manages a small, lopsided smile for you. His hair is a mess as if he's spent a good portion of the day running his fingers through it. Full lips and dark eyes. The picture is taken directly in front, and you can see his large Adam’s apple and broad shoulders. His shirt, from what you can make out, is completely white.

“Oh my god,” you mutter in astonishment. Honestly… the guy looks like a model. You find it hard to believe someone like him needs a sex operator to get off. He must have women falling all over him. He's a firefighter for fuck’s sake. It's like every girl’s wet dream.

It makes you wonder if he's telling the truth, or if he's been lying all along and knows exactly how to draw a girl in.

Worried and paranoid, you bite your bottom lip and finally text him back.

Is that really you? Or are you screwing with me?

His reply doesn't come in the shape of a text. Instead, you get a notification about an incoming video call.

Your eyes widen, and your first instinct is to reject it. Having just gotten out of the shower, your hair is wet, and your face is make-up-free. You don’t want him to see you this way, but then you remember that he’s already seen the picture you—well, Elliot—sent him. So, you accept it. It can’t have put him off that much since he's still talking to you.

It takes a moment for the call to connect, and you bite your lip harder.

And then there he is, looking just like he did in his photo. This proves that he'd definitely just taken it moments before, and it was definitely him. You feel guilty for doubting him.

"Wow." His full lips twist into a big smile. "Hey there, beautiful."

Your butterflies return with a vengeance, and you grin back so hard your cheeks hurt. "Hey, handsome." You know your face is burning but you don't even care. You're nervous and aren't afraid to admit it. This is a big step for both of you. Who wouldn't have some kind of nerves? The hand holding your phone up shakes slightly.

He chuckles, rubbing his fingers over his lips. "I can't believe I'm actually looking at you. It's crazy. You're so gorgeous. You're perfect."

Your entire body buzzes at his words, warmth filling you. "Coming from you? You're so fucking sexy I thought you'd sent me a fake picture!"

You both laugh, the sound full of excitement, anxiety, and amazement. "No, no. I would never do that. I'm glad you approve though, I was worried I wouldn't be your type."

You splutter, "Dude...you have to be everyone's type." The nervous laughter continues. Neither of you really knows what to say or how to react, but you can't stop looking at each other with goofy expressions. "How was your day?" you finally decide to ask, figuring that maybe a more casual conversation might help you both get over the shock.

"My day?" He was grinning still, shaking his head. "My day...this has got to be the best day of my damned life."

It’s so sweet you could almost cry. Almost sobbing with tears in your eyes, you respond, “I know the feeling.”

You’re both too overwhelmed to have a normal conversation. You stay on the phone for hours, mostly admiring each other, smiling like idiots, and commenting on your disbelief of the situation. You’re in awe of each other, that much is obvious. Time quickly flies by, and you notice Joel starts to grow more tired by the second.

"Why don’t you get some sleep?" you suggest softly, one hand tucked under your cheek as you lay on your side, snuggled up underneath your duvet. You continue to hold the phone in front of you.

He groans and rubs his eye with his knuckles. It’s adorable to see. "I should...I really, really should." His hand drops, and he focuses on the phone, flashing you a sleepy smile. "But that means hanging up...and I don’t think I’m ready to leave you yet."

You giggle quietly, feeling genuinely happy. "I know the feeling," you say. "But it's getting late, and you have work in the morning. I promise we'll talk again tomorrow night. Plus, I'll be texting you all day, you know that."

He chuckles. "Damn, I just can't get rid of you, can I?" He teases.

"Nope." You pop the 'p', grinning back. "You're stuck with me now."

He sighs dramatically. "What have I gotten myself into?" You both laugh once more. "I'm joking, of course. Who'd wanna get rid of a gorgeous girl like you?"

You hide your face in your shoulder. "Stop, you'll make me go all giddy," you warn him, half serious.

He grins. "That's not gonna make me stop, princess. You're too cute when you're all giddy."

"Oh, Joel ," you sigh lovingly before you realize what you're doing. You can't help it though. He makes you feel so good. So joyful. You can't ever remember having this feeling. It’s as if you're on top of the world.

"Darlin," he purrs back, and your belly flutters. You fall into a small silence, and for a moment, just smile at each other. It’s actually pretty cheesy.

"We should go," you whisper reluctantly.

He nods. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Good night, handsome." Moving the hand tucked under your cheek to your mouth, you blow him a kiss.

He chuckles and acts as if he grabs it before placing it onto his lips and blowing one back to you. "Goodnight, pretty girl."

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