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bbdeongi · 2 months ago

Note

hear me out on hongjoong with a praise kink.. like he will be slamming into you while telling you how such a good girl you are and how youre doing so well for him

MY GOOD GIRL

It was a stormy night, the rain pounding against the windows of the studio as you made your way inside. The faint hum of Hongjoong’s music greeted you before you even opened the door to his recording space. He had been here all day, lost in his work, as he often was. But tonight, something had drawn you to him—maybe the storm, or maybe just the longing to see him.

As you stepped into the dimly lit studio, your eyes immediately found him. He was hunched over the soundboard, his fingers deftly adjusting levels and tweaking knobs. His black hoodie clung to his frame, his silver chains catching the faint glow of the lights. He looked up when he heard the door click shut, his sharp gaze softening when it landed on you.

“Love?” he said, his voice low but warm, as if your presence alone brought him comfort.

You didn’t say anything, simply walking over to him and slipping your arms around his neck from behind. He tilted his head back, a smirk playing on his lips as his hands came up to rest on your forearms. “What are you doing here this late?” he asked, though there was no irritation in his tone.

“I missed you,” you replied simply, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, turning in his chair to face you fully. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer until you were standing between his legs. “Missed me, huh?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave. “You just couldn’t wait, could you?”

You shook your head, your cheeks heating under his intense gaze. “No,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

His smirk deepened as he stood, towering over you despite his smaller stature. His hands never left your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you against the wall. The sound of rain against the windows faded into the background, leaving only the sound of your breathing and the faint hum of unfinished music playing in the studio.

“You should’ve known what would happen when you came here,” Hongjoong murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate when I’m thinking about you all the time?”

Your heart raced as his words washed over you, his hands tightening on your hips as he pressed closer. “Then stop thinking,” you whispered, your voice bold despite the heat flooding your face. “And just... do something about it.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

The studio was filled with nothing but the sound of the music looping softly in the background. Time felt like it had blurred, the storm outside mirroring the storm between you and Hongjoong.

At some point, your shorts had been discarded, forgotten in the heat of the moment. His hoodie was gone too, leaving him in nothing but his dark joggers, which hung low on his hips. The way his hands gripped your thighs as he lifted you against the wall made your breath hitch, his strength and control undeniable.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips ghosting over your jaw as his hands roamed your skin. “So perfect for me. My good girl.”

The praise sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t hold back the quiet whimper that escaped your lips. Hongjoong smirked against your neck, clearly pleased with your reaction.

“You like that?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with affection. “Of course you do. You love it when I tell you how good you are for me, don’t you?”

You nodded breathlessly, your hands clutching at his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself. His words, his touch, the intensity in his gaze—it was all too much, yet somehow not enough.

“You’re so pretty,” he continued, his voice softer now as his hand brushed a strand of hair from your face. “I don’t think you realize how much you drive me crazy, Y/N. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours again, claiming them in a kiss that left you breathless. It was fervent and possessive, yet tender, as though he was pouring every unspoken word into it.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his emotions. “You’re all I think about. All I want.”

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he held you against him. The heat between you was almost overwhelming, but it was the look in his eyes—intense, almost reverent—that made your heart race.

“You’re mine,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Hongjoong’s hands gripped your thighs tighter, his breaths uneven as he held you close against the wall. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and filled with an undeniable hunger, but there was something tender beneath it—a care that made your heart flutter even amidst the storm brewing between you.

“j- joongie..”

His hand left your hip, moving to tug at the waistband of his joggers. He shifted slightly, just enough to let them fall to the floor, pooling around his ankles. He smirked as he caught your gaze dropping for a moment, his voice low and teasing.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his. “I want you focused on me—only me.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks heating under his commanding tone. His confidence was intoxicating, the way he moved so effortlessly, like he was in control of not just the moment but the very air around him.

“Better,” he praised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips, a stark contrast to the tension coursing through both of you. “That’s my good girl.”

He slipped down his pants and boxers, revealing his hard cock, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as though savoring every second. The air in the studio felt heavier, charged with something unspoken yet undeniably powerful. His hands returned to your hips, sliding beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pulled you even closer.

“Do you trust me?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer now, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.

“Yes,” you whispered without hesitation, the word carrying more weight than you realized.

Hongjoong’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile before he leaned in again, his forehead resting against yours. “Good,” he murmured. “Because tonight, it’s just you and me. Nothing else matters.”

He bent you over his desk, and without any warning, he started to pound into your dripping cunt making you instantly grip the desk as the room quickly filled with moans.

Hongjoong's eyes were dark with desire as he pushed you, his hands gripping your hips as he moved inside you with a fierce intensity. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, making you moan and gasp in ecstasy.

"Fuck, you feel so good my love," Hongjoong breathed, his voice rough with desire. "You're perfect, baby. Just like that. "

His words only served to fuel the fire burning within you, and you arched your back, meeting his every thrust with a hunger of your own. The sounds of your bodies colliding filled the room, mixing with the music playing in the background to create a symphony of passion.

"take my cock.. like the good little slut you are..” He moans into your war as his hands grip your waist, fucking you ever so fast. He pulled your hair, making your head go back and earning a loud whine from you. “Aw, poor little slut”

“j- joongie.. f- feels so good” you moan out while scratching at the desk. Your legs felt like jello but hongjoong held you. “i- i- oh god..!”

Hongjoong’s hands gripped your hips firmly as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. His voice was low, teasing but commanding, as he murmured, “Take it like a good girl and stop whining.”

You tried—really, you did—but the intensity was overwhelming, and a soft whimper slipped past your lips. He paused, a playful chuckle rumbling in his chest as he lifted his head to look at you. His eyes glinted with amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

“That’s whining,” he said, his tone laced with mock disappointment as he tilted his head. “I thought we talked about that?”

“I’m sorry,” you managed to whisper, though the breathlessness in your voice made it hard to sound convincing.

Hongjoong didn’t buy it for a second. His smirk deepened as his hand slid from your hip to your lower back, pulling you even closer. “Sorry?” he repeated, his voice dropping lower. “What’s the matter, baby? Too much?”

You shook your head, but the way you bit your lip gave you away. He hummed softly, clearly pleased with your struggle to keep up, and his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along your spine.

“I think you like it when it’s too much,” he teased, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Don’t you?”

Your silence only encouraged him further. He leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as his hands explored your body with practiced ease. There was a softness in his touch, a contrast to the teasing edge in his words.

“I’m not being too rough, am I?” he asked, his tone suddenly softer, more careful, as if to reassure you that he was paying attention to your every reaction.

You shook your head again, this time more confidently, and Hongjoong smiled, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Always so good for me.”

Hongjoong’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly, and you could tell he was plotting something. He paused for just a moment, his hands still firm on your hips, before a sly smirk crossed his lips. Without warning, he gripped your thighs and hoisted you up effortlessly, moving you like you weighed nothing.

“Hongjoong!” you gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders for support as he turned and set you down on the cool surface of his desk.

The sudden shift had your heart racing, and the combination of his commanding presence and the heat in his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. Hongjoong didn’t say anything at first; instead, his fingers trailed up your thighs, spreading them apart as his eyes roamed over you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“You look so perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “My little cockslut..”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck, biting just hard enough to leave a mark before soothing the spot with his tongue. You were so caught up in his touch that you barely noticed him reaching over to press a button on his desk. A soft click filled the room, and your eyes darted to the faint red light blinking on.

Your stomach flipped. “Wh- what are you doing?” you stuttered, your voice shaky with a mix of nerves and arousal.

Hongjoong’s smirk deepened as he straightened up, his hands sliding back to your hips to pull you closer to the edge of the desk. “Shut up, whore” he said simply, his voice firm but teasing.

Your cheeks burned, and any protest you might have had dissolved when he leaned down, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was rough, demanding, leaving you breathless as his hands roamed your body with a possessive urgency. You couldn’t help but moan as you felt your cunt throb again.

One of his hands slid down, gripping your thigh and pulling it up over his shiulder as he pressed himself against you. His cock hitting your cervix, The friction made you gasp, and Hongjoong took advantage, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss.

“Such a good little cunt for me,” he murmured against your lips, his fingers digging into your skin as he moved his hips just enough to tease you. “So eager, aren’t you?”

You could only nod, your hands gripping the edge of the desk behind you to steady yourself as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His dark eyes were filled with hunger, and the way he licked his lips made your pulse race.

Without warning, Hongjoong adjusted your position, his hands guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he thrusted over and over, back into you. The sudden fullness made your head tilt back, a choked moan escaping your lips.

“mngh- j- joong!”

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rough and low as he began to move. “Take it all, baby.”

The pace he set was relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body as you clung to him. Your hands scrambled for purchase, one gripping his arm while the other pressed against the desk for support.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “Make those pretty little noises for me.”

You couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from your lips, a mix of whimpers and moans that only seemed to spur him on. His grip on your hips tightened, pulling you against him with each thrust, the desk creaking slightly under the force.

“You like that, don’t you?” he taunted, his voice filled with both amusement and lust. “You love being my good little cockslut, hm?”

The heat pooling in your core intensified with every word, and you could barely form a coherent response. Hongjoong’s hand slid up your side, his thumb brushing over your lips before slipping into your mouth. You felt like you needed to cum..

“Look at you,” he said, his tone dripping with dominance. “So desperate, so perfect for me.”

You whimpered around his thumb, your eyes fluttering shut as the intensity of the moment threatened to overwhelm you. But Hongjoong wasn’t done with you yet.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, his free hand gripping your chin to tilt your head up. “I want to see that pretty face while I ruin you.”

You obeyed, your gaze locking with his as he continued to move with purpose, each thrust drawing you closer to the edge. The red light on the desk blinked steadily in the background, a reminder of how much he wanted to capture this moment.

The combination of his words, his touch, and the way he looked at you was too much, and you felt yourself spiraling. Hongjoong noticed immediately, his smirk returning as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

Your moans filled the room.. someone could probably hear outside but he didnt care.. “G- gonna cum..”’You stuttered..

“Fuck- c- come on, baby,” he urged, his voice softer now but still dripping with control. “G- gonna cum too.. f- fuck such a tight little pussy..”

He shot his load into your cunt, cum dripping out.. he thrusted slowly pushing the sticky fluid in and out of your hole.. as he did that you squirted all over him and oh boy it was a sight to see..

“Oh shit.. you just fucking squirted.. need to make tou do that again” oh you were in for a long night..

A few days later you walked in his room quietly, not wanting to make your presence known just yet. Hongjoong had made a sont with your moans in it.. from that day you were wt his recording studio.. you were so embarrassed and were a blushing mess when you found it..

your eyes landed on his phone. He had opened up the tradk—the one with your moanint, your sighing, those little sounds you didn’t even realize you made when you were with him. Your face immediately went hot, realizing what you were seeing.

The track was playing loud enough that you could hear your voice mixing with the melody, echoing through the room. Your brain barely registered what was happening as you approached him, almost in a daze. The frustration came rushing back, and without thinking, you yelled, “KIM HONGJOONG.”

He jumped, startled, and quickly turned his head to look at you, his face the picture of innocence. But that smirk—oh, that smirk—told a different story. His lips curled upward as he set the phone down and leaned back on the bed, clearly amused by your sudden outburst.

“Love,” he said, his tone too casual, “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him, though your cheeks were a furious shade of red. “You didn’t expect me to find out about this either, did you?” You pointed at his phone, voice rising with every word. “You made a whole damn song with my m- moans in it! Are you serious, Hongjoong?”

He chuckled, clearly not fazed by your anger. In fact, it seemed like he was enjoying it. “I thought you’d think it was cute,” he teased, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I mean, you make the most adorable noises..”

You were struggling to keep your cool. “It’s embarrassing! You let the guys hear it, Hongjoong! The whole group!”

He leaned back in bed, crossing his arms behind his head, eyes still twinkling with amusement. “Well, yeah, they heard it. And you know what they said?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew exactly where this was going, and you hated it. “Wh- what did they say?”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “They said it was... hot. They all thought it was really hot.”

Your jaw dropped. “W-What?” You stuttered, the shock evident in your voice. “They thought what was hot?!” You felt your body flush even more, your face on fire.

Hongjoong leaned forward, his gaze never leaving yours. “They liked it, baby.. They said it was... sexy. Especially the way you sound when you’re really into it. Seonghwa was the first one to say it sounded endearing. He said it added something to the track, like a... special vibe.”

The words seemed to hit you like a freight train, leaving you stunned and speechless. Your heart was racing, your face burning hotter than it had ever felt. You stood frozen for a moment, trying to form words but coming up empty. All you could do was nervously fiddle with your hands, unable to meet Hongjoong’s eyes.

“I—I can’t believe this,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “This is so embarrassing.”

Hongjoong’s grin only deepened. “Why? They liked it, Y/N. And it’s not just them. I think it’s hot too.”

You felt your entire body heat up at his words, and you stammered, trying to gather yourself. “H-Hongjoong, you—you can’t be serious. You’re messing with me, right? The others? The members? You... you really think they—”

“Yeah, they all agreed,” Hongjoong said, his voice low and teasing. “They were all about it. And honestly, I think they’re right.”

Your face was practically burning at this point, your mind still reeling from the shock. The last thing you expected was for Hongjoong to tell you that everyone thought your sounds were hot. You had to swallow hard just to catch your breath, your thoughts completely scrambled.

“Hongjoong, I—” You stopped yourself, not even sure what to say. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You wanted to be angry, to yell at him some more, but your body felt like it was betraying you. You could barely even form a coherent sentence, let alone express how embarrassed you were.

And then, just when you thought you couldn’t get any more flustered, Hongjoong dropped the bomb.

“Actually, the guys were saying something else, too,” he said casually, leaning in as though he were about to share some big secret. “They said... they wanted to fuck you one day.. try you out”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “W-What?!” You stammered, your brain struggling to process his words. “No! No way! You’re joking!”

“I’m not,” Hongjoong said with a completely straight face, his smirk widening as he watched your reaction. “They’re curious.. They wanna see if they can make it work in a track of their own.”

You could feel your heart stop in your chest. “Are you serious? You’re telling me the guys want to—” You stopped yourself, completely at a loss for words. “B- but are you not gonna say know?! I- im yours..”

Hongjoong was fully enjoying your reaction now, sitting back and watching you stutter and fluster. He was having the time of his life, and you couldn’t even be mad at him. Your cheeks were burning, your pulse racing, and you were way too embarrassed to keep pretending you weren’t affected by what he was saying.

“You are mine.. my good girl,” Hongjoong added with a playful grin, “But, they were really into it. So maybe ill let them feel your little cunt..”

You buried your face in your hands, utterly mortified. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you did this. Why did you put that in the song?”

you suddenly felt something that made you freeze—a hand. Two hands, firmly placed on your ass.

Your head shot up so fast you nearly whiplashed yourself, eyes wide in shock. And there, standing behind you, was none other than Mingi, grinning like a devil. You could feel his cock rub againsr you..

Before you could even speak, he gave you a playful, exaggerated squeeze, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Y/N,” Mingi said, his voice thick with mischief, “I’ve gotta admit, I really liked those pretty noises.. They’re... memorable.”

Your eyes darted over his shoulder, and to your utter horror, the rest of the members were standing behind him, all of them watching with knowing smiles. Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San, and even Jongho—every single one of them was smirking, clearly enjoying your mortification.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” San teased, his voice light and playful. “We’ll keep the track between us... mostly.”

“I think we should try making a track with your ‘sounds,’ too,” Yunho chimed in with a grin, winking at you.

You were so flustered you couldn’t even move. “W-What?! No! No way!”

The guys laughed, their teasing laughter echoing around the room, while you stood there, face completely crimson, utterly overwhelmed.

Hongjoong got up and walked towards you, Mingis hands slowly wrapped around your waist.. “Told you they liked it, Y/N. You’re really popular now.”

You buried your face in your hands, wishing the ground would just swallow you whole. The rest of the members continued to laugh, clearly having the time of their lives at your expense.

you mumbled in your head, thinking maybe its a joke.. maybe theyre just joking about fucking you..

At least... that's what you told yourself.

———————————————

BONUS

it was currently 9pm. The bedroom was dim and the curtains covered the dark night outside. The room was filled with whining, moans, skin clapping, and wet noises..

“I- i- fuck- sannie- cant take it anymore!” You whined out as he had you in doggy position.. pounding into your ass. Jongho was under you, fucking your cunt with his cock.. you leaned over to take yeosang in your mouth.. wooyoung was ontop of you, humping your back and playing with your boobs as he got off..

the other members had their turn too.. especially hongjoong. They were sitting across the room jerking off at the sight.. Hongjoong was proud.. smirking..

what have you gotten yourself into..?

#ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez hongjoong #kpop #kpop smut #hongjoong #hongjoong smut #smut #ateez

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irisintheafterglow · 7 months ago

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...said you like my eyes (and you like to make 'em roll)

summary: you marry hoshina soshiro. it's just a business deal...right?

wc: 1.2k

cw/tags: implied fem!reader, explicit language, marriage of convenience, childhood friends to rivals to lovers, pining but he's SO mad about it, tension breaking and a lil steamy towards the end (but nothing explicit), intentional lowercase (i didn't mean for it to be this long but here we are)

note: hello iris nation today i offer you hoshina brain rot because this bowl cut bastard has been nothing but the forefront of my mind for the past week. hope you enjoy LOL

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

"oi." a small bubble mailer is unceremoniously tossed onto your desk and you don't bother looking up at who threw it. "wear that."

"hello to you too, vice-captain. what a lovely day it is!" you remark without pulling your pen from the document you were signing, your voice mockingly sweet. he can't stand you. "oh, i'm doing well," you continue with the imagined conversation, "just doing paperwork and wondering what my wonderful fake husband is up to."

"careful how loud you say that," he warns through gritted teeth, "or you put both of our jobs in jeopardy."

"i'm aware, hoshina." you sigh, finally looking up from your paperwork at the package in front of you. "trust me, i'm not trying to mess this thing up just as much as you are," you reassure him before dropping your voice to a nearly imperceptible volume. "as difficult as you make it, sometimes." you catch the muscle in his jaw clench and smile inwardly at your victory in making him tick.

"just open that and put it on. i have work to do." you frown, gesturing at the stack of papers that appeared on your desk that morning and were nowhere close to being finished.

"and you don't think i don't?"

"open the damn package."

"what do you say first?" you smile at him condescendingly and watch his frown become deeper. rolling his eyes, he pushes the mailer closer to you before muttering a quiet, "please." you reluctantly open the package, dropping the small gold circle inside into your palm. it's a testament to your working and romantic relationship with hoshina that your first reaction is to snort. "what the hell is this?"

"we're married, aren't we?" he scowls, annoyance overtaking his typically-amused face. "might as well look the part."

"how thoughtful of you," you say with no inkling of gratitude, slipping the ring into its proper spot on your left hand. "huh. perfect fit."

"that's a surprise," he mutters and you narrow your eyes, suspicious of what he meant by that. "i mean that i bought it off a discount site, not that i thought the ring wouldn't fit on your finger or something," he quickly corrects, his unhappiness and irritation clear.

"you got me a wedding ring off a discount site?" you bark out a laugh and admire the shining band in the light. "is this even real gold or is it painted plastic?"

"don't know. didn't bother looking," he mumbles and you gape at him and his pure level of indifference. "just wear that so no one gets suspicious about us."

"what about you?" he fishes under the collar of his suit to reveal a similar ring dangling at the end of a small chain. "aw, maybe you can give that one to your real wife one day. maybe she'll be stupid enough to believe it's real." he scoffs, turning to leave.

"i don't need another wife; i already have my hands full with you."

---

"they won't think twice if it's us marrying each other. not when they look at both of our histories," he explained to you on an off-base excursion, away from prying eyes and recording cameras.

"what's in it for you?" you take another sip from your drink, something you forced hoshina to buy for you for making you travel so far off base. it was like you were kids again, sparring with tree branches in the afternoon and spending all your money on sugary drinks. "isn't it bad to be making attachments, especially ones in the defense force itself?" he shrugs, calmer than you'd ever seen him since you were transferred to the third division. you remember the first time he saw you on base, immediately ordering you to run laps for some made-up reason. so much for childhood best friends turning into kaiju-fighting partners, you thought to yourself.

"people will stop asking me to use my benefits on them, for one," he says. "it'll also stop the brass from bothering me about next-of-kin type stuff."

"oh, so you want me to deal with the repercussions if you die? how thoughtful," you deadpan. "and in exchange, i get more benefits too?" he nods, refusing to look at you. come to think of it, you'd only faced him head on when you first arrived on base. shaking your head, you ask hoshina a question that'd been lingering your mind since you first saw him after he left to join the defense force. "why is this the most you've spoken to me since i transferred? what happened to growing up together and joining and-"

"questions like that have no place in this arrangement," he cuts in, a shadow casting over his eyes that you couldn't read. "so don't ask them." you huff through your nose before deciding not to press the subject further.

"strictly transactional, right?" you murmur, the barest hint of sadness detectable in your voice.

"strictly transactional," he affirms.

---

"mmm, now what happened to 'this is strictly transactional,' husband?" you smirk against his lips, his hands desperately roaming anywhere he can reach on your body.

"shut the hell up." after months of avoiding you and willing the ache in his lungs to subside, something in him had begun to bend when he saw what you were wearing to the defense force banquet. whatever it was completely snapped when you brushed your hand against the bicep of some nobody from another division. the interaction made his vision bleed scarlet and it took all his energy to remain cordial as he all but dragged you out of the ballroom.

"ask nicely and maybe i'll think about it," you murmur.

"shut the hell up, please," he rasps, breathless from kissing you in a dark, quiet back hallway of the banquet hall.

"kiss me harder and i will," you counter and he just laughs, pinning you back against the wall. one of his hands runs up and down the side of your thigh, the other holding you close by the back of your neck. "what's gotten into you? not that i'm complaining, but-"

"do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" hoshina can barely breathe, every single one of his senses overtaken by you. your perfume, your skin, your eyes, your lips. he was sinking into an indulgence that he'd never allowed himself to have, and it was intoxicating.

"i think i can make several educated guesses." he rolls his eyes but is barely able to stay away from you and your smart mouth. "but really," you say, gently pushing him away and you swear you hear him groan in frustration. "what's going on, soshiro?" soshiro. he liked it when you said his name.

"i'm done pretending that i don't care about you anymore," he admits, his face burning from adrenaline and embarrassment. "i'm fucking sick of acting like you don't matter to me." you blink at him as his eyes burn molten-red.

"why did you act like i was a burden?" your voice cracks and something in hoshina's chest wrings. "why were you so mean for so long?"

"i was hoping i could scare you away," he replies guiltily after a tense moment. "i was hoping that, if i was mean to you...you would leave the force and you wouldn't get hurt. i just wanted you to be safe. all i ever wanted was for you to be safe."

"and you thought marrying me to get your benefits would keep me safe?"

"i've had better ideas," he concedes and you crack a smile. he mirrors your grin, kissing you sweetly. "can i make it up to you?" his hands travel more dangerously over your exposed skin, sending shudders down your body. "i promise i can...make amends to your liking." you hum, tugging him out of the nearest exit.

"i think that can be arranged."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#kaiju no. 8 x you #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kaiju no.8 x y/n #hoshina x you #hoshina x reader #hoshina x y/n #kn8 x you #kn8 x reader #kn8 x y/n #hoshina soshiro x you #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro x y/n #soshiro hoshina x you #soshiro hoshina x y/n #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina fluff

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haobubbles · 2 months ago

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REACTION: when they figure out you’ve hidden something from him

pairing: boyf!zb1 x gf!reader

genre: pure fluff

tw: excess of cuteness (😭), mentions of food

roxy speaks: PLEASE!! give me recommendations bc idk what to do anymore hahaha. i tried to make the title shorter (and the reactions too ngl) BUT i found out that’s not my talent!! enjoy🩷

also! dedicated to hao's bf @axiiyangs ily thank u for helping me :( <3

kim jiwoong - his dog keychain

we all know how much jiwoong loves and appreciates having a dog in his life. it’s his little companion, so, during their world tour and he went shopping with matthew to a local market, he found a keychain that slightly reminded him of his dog, so he decided to buy it.

since then, he’s been keeping it with his keys and he froze when he saw how the keychain was apparently gone. his first thought was a burglary, but he dismissed it when he realised nothing else from his set of chains was missing. only the keychain.

“hey, y/n, have you seen my keychain?” he asked when he came inside his room, seeng as you were lying on his bed.

“don’t you have it in your hands right now though?”

“i meant the dog keychain” he made emphasis on the word dog, becoming a little bit impatient when a glint caught his eye.

smugly, he walked towards where you were lying, quickly pecking your lips, leaving you stunned by the randomness of his act. still frozen, you saw him walk away, holding the keychain with his hand as he had seen it behind you, when you faintly hear him say “you play again like this and you’re not seeing my dog for the next 4 months”

with a giggle, you rapidly walked to the bedroom’s door seeing him walking away facing you, smiling at your antics.

“i promise not to when you promise me you’ll get one similar for me!”

“you got it beautiful” he winked at you before disappearing from the dorm.

sung hanbin - your shared promise ring

it had been less than 5 months when hanbin decided to get you both promise rings as, after 4 years of relationship, he was sure there was not going to be anyone else in his life but you.

he had bought it as a surprise for your 4th anniversary and he had been wearing it ever since, well not always. when he performs on stage, besides having to wear the outfit and accessories his stylist chose, but he doesn’t wanna run the risk of exposing you both.

so, when he came home after a tiring day of pre-recording, he found it odd that you rushed him into the shower, but paid no attention to it. while you heard the water running, you took the chance to hide his ring, which was patiently waiting for its owner in his nightstand, in your pocket.

while rubbing the towel on his wet hair, he made his way to his wardrobe and after throwing on a comfy hoodie and his pyjama pants, he made an attempt to reach for where the ring should have been, only to find the black surface empty.

“oh no..” he muttered

“why? what’s wrong han?”

“i..i might have lost the promise ring. i promise i left it here this morning! maybe one of the guys too-yeah it was probably matt-but he wouldn’t do that he knows how much it means to me. he wouldn’t do it-“

“hey hey hanbin” you interfered when you realised his panic state. it surely wasn’t the reaction you were expecting “i’m sorry i wanted to joke around a bit but now i feel so bad..” you said in barely a whisper, holding out your hand with his ring.

“oh so it’s here! i didn’t lose it thank god” he sighed while taking you in his arms “i’m really sorry hannie..” “it’s okay but maybe you need to tone it down a little bit. a plushy or something but never! never this ring. it means too much for me”

“..you’re kinda making me feel wor-“ “OH MY GOD i’m so sorry i’ll shut up now” he kissed the top of your forehead and you stood trapped in his arms for a while, until yujin yelled for help with the on-going fight for the control of the tv remote.

it wasn’t what you were expecting for this afternoon, but at least no one got hurt, you said to yourself. a plushy will do next week, you thought.

zanghao - his violin bow

you were in a rush, and not in a “i have to run down the street” tye of a rush. you were trying to mischievously hide the bow of your boyfriend’s violin however, you were still stuck on where to hide it.

it had been days since you felt you had spent some proper quality time with hao, always busy with his packed schedule, and when he got home he practiced with his violin, leaving you all by yourself in the living room. you were fed up with it so you decided to take a part of his instrument in hopes that he’d finally notice his girlfriend.

still deep in thought, you heard a strange noise behind the door and later on you heard how someone was just opening the door. that someone was zanghao.

running to the furthest room from the door, you tried to hide the bow in the kitchen but, where?

“y/n! i’m home” you could hear from the living room.

worried about being caught, you decided to climb the counter to be able to reach the top shelf. what you didn’t have in your plans was, though, wearing socks. the moment you tried to stabilize yourself you slipped from the polished counter and while you felt your life slipping off your fingers, you felt two strong arms grab you.

just like in a movie, zanghao effortlessly helped you step on the floor, and before you could run away from embarrassment, he grabbed your wrist.

“you better have a good excuse for risking your life like that y/n.” was how his scolding started. he wasn’t very harsh with his words but you got the message loud and clear, he was just worried about the possibility of you ever getting hurt when he’s not around.

“i just..i’ve seen you act differently towards me these days because you were too focused with rehearsals and your violin so i tried to hide the bow..” you trailed off, head hung low, embarrassed to admit that you were jealous of a lifeless object.

“and it takes you risking YOUR LIFE to tell me?? you’re stupid” he said while grabbing your chin, making you look up at him “my stupid though. come on, let’s order food and catch up. by the way, you try any risky activity of this type again and i’m ending you before you have a chance yourself”

“i love you too, i guess?” you replied, making him giggle at how fast you could read between his words.

seok matthew - his microphone

it wasn’t an object that he often used, so when you organised a sleepover at your house with some friends, you decided to give it a good use and just place it where it initially was without anyone noticing.

however, today luck wasn’t on your side because matthew decided to sing a couple of ballads to you specifically, when he saw his mic wasn’t in the cupboard of the living room. in fact, it wasn’t in the dorm.

“y/nnnn. what did you do with the mic?” he asked with a hint of curiosity

“what do you mean? what mic-oh. isn’t it in the cupboard?” you wondered as you vividly remembered how you had left it there.

“it isn’t around the dorm at all. i’ve asked the guys and they have no clue. now tell me, where is it? have you hidden it??” he teased, having fun with your clueless “act”.

“no matt i swear i left it there in the cupboard”

“so you did take it!” he said, your silence to the response, assuring his prior statement.

“no ballads for you then” he declared, though when he saw you had no clue what he meant, he elaborated “i was going to sing you a couple of ballads with the mic, but as it’s apparently gone, there’s no ballads for you!”

“noo matt why are you so mean?!”

“bring me back my mic and we’ll talk about it. until then, no more ballads. or pop songs. NO MORE SINGING UNTIL I GET IT BACK”

even if he made you promise to not tell anybody, he did end up singing those ballads to you, regardless of the whereabouts of the microphone.

when you went back home, you realised it was on the sofa and you sent a photo to matthew, promising to bring it back the next day you meet.

kim taerae - his favourite book

it was another tranquil evening at your apartment where you were spending some time with your boyfriend and your little cousin, as your parents had to be the one taking care of the toddler but as soon as you told them tae was coming over, they left you the house for both of you.

taerae had just excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving his book where he was sitting, when your cousin, who took the chance he had left, decided to hide tae’s book.

you were so lost in thought you couldn’t realise your cousin not paying attention to the tb characters anymore and her high-pitched giggles around the whole room.

when taerae came back, he found your little cousin sitting where he was before, and he quickly panicked thinking how she could have sat on his book. when he realised it wasn’t possible, with almost a whisper, he talked to the little girl.

“hello pretty. are you enjoying this episode?” when she nodded her head, he tenderly patted it with his left hand and added “i was wondering if you know where my book is? i left it here where you’re sitting right now, but it’s now gone”

“a book? no idea. you should maybe ask y/n!” she answered taerae with a giggle.

“oh i see..” and with a stronger voice he said “y/n! care to tell me where my book is?” he asked innocently while approaching you.

“what? it’s now where you left it?” you said absentmindedly, and taerae took it as a sign you were hiding it from him. with a long step, he leaned forward and started ticking you, asking for his book back.

“i…swear i..don’t know..where..it is!” you yelled in between laughs. while taerae didn’t let you get away from his grasp, your cousin silently went to look for the book, and when she came back, she jumped on taerae’s back “taerae live my cousin alone!! it’s here. your book is here see? now live her alone!” she stated, leaving you both quite startled with her confession.

he carefully put her down and when he looked at her, with her furrowed eyebrows because of the annoyance of him bothering you, he said to her “i’ll give you 3 seconds before you end up like your cousin”

and with that, all you could hear were screams and yells and constant footsteps from both, as your cousin was now fighting for her life or more figuratively, to not open the giggling box.

shen ricky - his black card

for you, taking ricky's black card wasn't a joke anymore, it was a challenge. you knew your boyfriend was the son of consumerism, always buying things and normally for everyone but him. you knew he could afford all of it, this lifestyle, but you wanted to see how long he could last without making any purchase at all.

the days kept passing though, and you hung out with ricky, you even went on dates, and everything was normal. he could still pay for things which made you think that it was possible that his dad gave him his own card, or maybe another one to use.

on a friday evening, away from his schedule, you decided to go on a fancy restaurant as you both were in new york because of your jobs. wobbling your leg, you felt more impatient as the time passed and it felt like a bomb was ticking inside your head. a bomb ticking to explode with the truth.

"so ricky, have you noticed something strange this week? or this month?" you said when you couldn't keep the secret anymore.

"..no? why though. was there something i needed to notice? has something happened? are you alright?" he asked preoccupied, holding your hand across the table.

"no no i'm fine. it's just that i don't know if you noticed that your black card was missing" you smiled at him feeling like a 5-year-old apologising to their parents.

he stood there unfaced and then, he only reacted "it's fine i just did a new one. can i know why you took it though?"

you blinked at him, not expecting him to dismiss it that fast "i just wanted to know how much you could last without buying anything"

the conversation between you continued as normal, skipping the fact of you hiding his own card from him.

"so..you pay for today right? i am kinda without a card because someone decided to take it.." he teased you when the waiter walked over to your table with the receipt. before you could take it seriously, he had already placed his new card on top of the table.

kim gyuvin - his funko pop

it had been a few days since you mentioned gyuvin his funko pop, curious about the importance of the toy to him. everytime you asked him the question 'what would you do if someone took your funko?' he first asked back 'do i see them taking it?'. when you replied with a no, he stated 'then i would open a police investigation' he said without a second thought.

trying to dare him, you decided to place it somewhere else around the dorm (yujin kept it in his drawer). when you both went to his room for some peace and quiet time together and he realised his treasure wasn't there, he turned around slowly.

he knew it was weird enough you had been asking him about his limited edition funko for the past week but it disappearing? something was definitely fishy.

now facing you, he wrapped his arms around you and just stood there embracing your figure. "so.. are you letting me go or you got a new idea of cuddling to show to the world?" you joked around however, when you felt him strengthening his grip around you, you whined and told him "gyu just let me gooo"

he shaked his head as a no, and then said "not until you tell me where the funko is"

let's just say you didn't jump out of the window because that involved both of you jumping. thatboy refused to let you go until you showed him (practically showing it in front of his face) that his funko was safe and sound.

cute cuddling session after! but with a new addition, his funko pop.

park gunwook - his chapstick

you don't know how many times you had asked gunwook to let you try his chapstick but he took his hygiene and the wellbeing of his skin too seriously, so he never let you try his, always telling you how he would buy the same one for you.

tired of that day never arriving, as it had been about 6 months from his promise, when you knocked on the door of his dorm and hanbin received you, saying how he still had about 5 mins. to arrive, you already know what to do.

what you didn't plan, though, was how long you were going to take to identify it. as he took his skincare very seriously, you may have forgotten how he actually owned about 40 to 50 chapsticks. just seeing the full drawer made your head spin, not knowing how to reference them between each other.

you tried to rummage through it (and put an order to it while you were at it), classifying them based on their colours. just when you were choosing based on the scent between the last four, gunwook walked inside his room, already knowing you were there because hanbin told him.

"y/nnn-what are you doing?" panic oozing of his voice when he saw all of his chapsticks on his desk

"i was just ordering them!" you assured before he could think anything else but he was a step ahead of you, already knowing what you were searching for.

"wait don't tell me you were looking for this" he pointed to the chapstick he had just gotten out of his front pocket. by the face expression you made, he could already guess he was right, so he burst into a fit of laughter.

"you're incredible please. you looked through all that to no avail" he continued laughing, your stoic face adding fuel to his current laughter. "okay no need to rub it in jeez.."

"sorry sorry i'll make it up to you kay?" he said while grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the entrance door of the dorm.

"where are we going?" you wondered, not expecting your boyfriend to answer as he loved to surprise you.

"to buy yours. duh. i promised it to you and it's been way to long" he kissed the back of your hand, still holding it on his, as a gesture of apologising for taking too long to fulfill his promise.

han yujin - his airpods

if there was one thing that drove you up the wall, it was the unnecessary times when your boyfriend used his airpods to annoy you while you were talking and pretending not to talk to you.

yujin is known for his playful personality but sometimes it got unbearable to feel alright when once a week, he made you feel like a burden by using his airpods.

sick and tired, you decided to talk to gyuvin to help you with the situation. you received a solution, although not what you expected. gyuvin told you to prank him back, plain and simple. he even said he'd help you with it.

that's how yujin's airpods ended up under gyuvin's pillow, in gyuvin's room, where gyuvin had had strictly prohibited yujin from the entrance.

yujin's wittiness had helped him find out you had taken them from him and he knew you wouldn't take them somewhere he would have access. and that was the problem. he tried to talk it out with gyuvin, telling him how he would fix things with you and would never do it again but seeing how he didn't even bulge, he decided to use his plan b: blackmailing.

when he decided to innocently ask you for them, acting as he had no clue you had taken them away from him, he said “oh so you might not know here they are..guess there’s no facetiming while playing roblox until they appear”

"WHY? I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING THOUGH???" you protested

"i know but i can't just put the phone in speaker in the middle of the night, it would bother the others"

"since when do you care 'bout that?" you tsked.

you did, in fact, end up asking gyuvin to give them back because yujin had become insufferable enough to threaten you to kick you out of the dorms (jokingly, of course). then he shared his snacks with you while you two played together, pretending he was too full from what he had eaten with the members (spoiler: he had eaten some french fries) because he felt sorry for taking the payback a little too far.

after the deep conversation you two had, he surely wasn't going to repeat the scenario of the airpods. he would find something else to bother you with though, you could be sure of that.

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alittlegiraffe · 16 days ago

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Based on this request from @tomdayaloveforever:

Simply amazing 🤩 I have one more request: In the 90s/2000s, married to a supermodel (people speculate because they got married quickly and Eminem is Eminem). During a Victoria Secrets fashion show, a singer who attacked their relationship was going to perform and when Marshall's wife was going to enter, the singer's sound was cut to a diss song by Marshall playing while his wife parades with a chain with his name/initials around her neck.

Title: Runway of Defiance

The air was electric in the bustling backstage of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Supermodels flitted between stylists, makeup artists, and wardrobe assistants, each one a vision of glamour. You stood among them, the newest face in the lineup, and the wife of none other than Eminem.

Their marriage had been a whirlwind—a lightning-fast romance that captivated the tabloids and sent gossip columns into overdrive. Many doubted the union, speculating it wouldn’t last. Others criticized you for tying the knot with the controversial rapper, while some outright dismissed your love as a publicity stunt. None of it mattered to you though. You knew the truth of your connection, and so did Marshall.

Tonight was your night. Your debut on the Victoria’s Secret runway was a dream come true, but the whispers backstage were hard to ignore. Scheduled to perform was pop singer Roxy, who had made her disdain for you and Eminem’s relationship publicly known. The feud between Eminem and Roxy had only fueled the media firestorm, and tonight promised to be another chapter in their ongoing saga.

As you slipped into your final outfit, a stunning ensemble of shimmering silver, a stylist handed her one last accessory: a delicate yet bold chain with the initials "M.M." embedded in diamonds. She smiled, feeling a surge of confidence as she fastened it around her neck. This wasn’t just a piece of jewelry—it was a statement.

Out on the runway, Roxy’s set began. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the tension brewing behind the scenes. You waited for your cue, the familiar nerves tingling through you as you took a deep breath.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Just as Roxy launched into the chorus of her hit song—one infamous for its not-so-subtle digs at you and Marshall—the music abruptly cut out. The speakers crackled, and the room held its breath. Then, a familiar beat dropped.

Marshall's voice boomed through the venue, the diss track he’d recorded in response to Roxy’s jabs playing loud and clear. The crowd gasped, the atmosphere thick with shock and anticipation.

You stepped onto the runway, your head held high. You moved with grace, your every step exuding confidence. The chain around your neck caught the light, the "M.M." glinting with each stride. The audience’s eyes were glued to you, captivated by the audacity and brilliance of the moment.

Marshall had orchestrated this. His way of standing by your side, even when he wasn’t physically there. It was bold, defiant, and so very him.

As the diss track continued to play, you finished your walk, pausing at the end of the runway to flash a knowing smile. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the room electric.

Backstage, the producers scrambled, Roxy fuming as she stormed off. But you didn’t care. You had made your statement, and it was clear: you were a team, and no one would tear you apart, especially not pop stars and media outlets.

As you exited the stage, your phone buzzed in your dressing room. A text from Marshall.

"You killed it out there. Proud of you. Love you."

You smiled, and your heart swelled with love. You had faced the world’s judgment, but with Marshall by your side, you felt unstoppable. Together, you were a force to be reckoned with—a love story that no one could rewrite.

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

The aftermath of the Victoria’s Secret fashion show was a whirlwind. Social media exploded with reactions, from adoration to outrage. Headlines screamed about the unexpected diss track, labeling it everything from a power move to an outright scandal. Yet, amidst the chaos, you and Marshall had found solace in each other.

Back at your home in Detroit, you sat on your couch, scrolling through the flood of news and comments online. Marshall, his signature smirk playing on his lips, glanced over at you. "Looks like we broke the internet."

You chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder. "Was that the plan? Become the first couple to cross the tabloid rumors and make it online?"

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "The plan was to show them we don’t back down. No matter what they say."

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze. "You didn’t have to do that, you know. I could’ve handled it."

"I know you could’ve," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "But I wanted to. No one messes with my wife and gets away with it."

His words sent a warmth through you, the kind that only he could ignite. Despite his tough exterior and sharp tongue, Marshall had always been fiercely protective of you, your love a sanctuary from the relentless scrutiny of the outside world.

As the days passed, the buzz around the fashion show didn’t die down. Invitations for interviews and talk shows poured in, each one eager to get their perspective on the night’s events. But you and Marshall remained silent, choosing instead to let your actions speak for themselves.

One evening, as you sat in your living room, you were scrolling through fan reactions on a chat board, you paused on a particular post. It was a fan art of your runway walk, the chain around her neck prominently displayed, with the caption: A queen standing by her king.

You showed it to Marshall, who grinned. "Looks like they get it."

You nodded, your heart swelling with pride. "Yeah, they do."

Still, not everyone was pleased. Roxy’s camp had issued a statement, calling the incident "unprofessional" and "disrespectful." Rumors swirled of a potential lawsuit, but you weren’t worried. You knew Marshall had dealt with worse before, and together, you could handle anything.

One afternoon, as you enjoyed a rare moment of peace in your backyard with the girls, Marshall’s phone buzzed. It was Paul, his manager, with news that Roxy had indeed filed a lawsuit for defamation and breach of contract.

Marshall sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Looks like it’s time to lawyer up."

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "We’ll get through it. Like we always do."

He nodded, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering resolve. "Yeah, we will."

As the legal battle loomed, you decided to take control of the narrative. You agreed to an exclusive interview with a respected magazine, one that had always treated you with fairness. The feature would focus on your journey from a small-town girl to a supermodel, touching on your marriage with Marshall, but with an emphasis on her resilience and strength.

The interview was a hit, painting you not as a mere extension of your famous husband, but as a force in your own right. It resonated with fans and critics alike, shifting the public perception in your favor.

When it became apparent that Roxy had lost the fight in the press, the lawsuit was eventually dropped. So you and Marshall celebrated quietly, toasting to your victory with glasses of champagne in their living room.

As you clinked your glasses, Marshall leaned in, his voice low and filled with affection. "No matter what comes our way, we’ve got each other. That’s all that matters."

You smiled, your heart full. "Always."

Your bond, forged in the fire of public scrutiny and hardened by your unwavering love, remained unbreakable. Together, you stood as a testament to the power of unity, proving that no amount of criticism or controversy could shake the foundation you had built.

In a world that constantly tried to tear you down, you and Marshall rose above, stronger than ever, your love a beacon of defiance and strength.

#eminem x reader #eminem #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers #reader requests #2 posts in one day?#who is she

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iamquiantrelle · 3 days ago

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SO INTO YOU ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕) # wc: 5.9k

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

You were never drinking tequila again. Ever.

The tequila bottle sat empty on your coffee table like evidence from a crime scene, mocking you with memories of last night's social media bravery. Your Grammy awards caught the morning light, their gold surfaces throwing judgmental sparkles across your living room walls. You'd really done it this time - slid into Aurélien Tchouaméni's DMs like your verified check mark gave you the right to disturb his peace at 2 AM.

Your manager Carmen sat in the armchair across from you, tablet in hand as she went through tomorrow's flight details to Madrid. But your attention kept drifting to your phone, to that cursed Instagram conversation where you'd actually typed out "hey, random question but would you maybe want to be in my music video? no pressure lol" - asking him to star in your video for "So Into You," a song that lived in that dangerous space between confession and plausible deniability.

“Earth to lovergirl,” Carmen's professional tone carried just a hint of amusement. “You good? Or still having flashbacks to drunk-texting one of football's finest?”

His response still sat there in your DMs, casual as anything: “The song that's breaking records? I'd be down. Though I have to ask - any particular reason you thought of me? 😉”

You'd screamed into three different pillows after reading that.

“I still can't believe he said yes,” you mumbled, sinking deeper into the couch as Carmen scrolled through your embarrassing Instagram activity history with restrained glee. The evidence was damning: every single post liked within seconds, story reactions that probably made you look unhinged, the way you'd set notifications for his account months ago after that first video blessed your FYP.

It had been innocent enough at first - a clip of him in a post-match interview, fresh taper fade catching the stadium lights. Something about the way he carried himself, that quiet confidence wrapped in genuine humility, had you hitting that follow button before the video even finished. The way he'd laugh with his whole chest in interviews, how he could switch from intense focus on the field to the sweetest smile off it - you were gone before you even realized you were falling.

Your best friend had watched your descent with barely contained amusement. “Not you making a whole Tumblr shrine," she'd cackled one wine night, scrolling through @tchouamenithoughts. “Day 43 of manifesting Aurélien Tchouaméni to ruin my life’? Girl...”

“Listen,” you groaned now, watching Carmen pull up the same account on her phone, “we all cope differently.”

“Cope? You wrote a whole chart-topping song about how he 'controls the game like he could control your heart.' That's not coping, that's down catastrophic,” she said, maintaining her composure even as her eyes danced with mirth.

She wasn't wrong. You'd lost hours to The Bridge episodes, team interviews, even compilation videos of his best plays. You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up hot and bothered from dreams featuring that TCHM chain of his dangling above you, his knowing smile as he– nope. Not going there. Not when you were about to meet him in person.

Your phone lit up with a text from an unknown Spanish number:

“Looking forward to finally meeting tomorrow. Been keeping those 2AM DMs for motivation during training 😊 - AT”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, showing Carmen the screen. “He saved the messages.”

“Of course he did,” she said, checking something on her tablet. “You really think he didn't notice how you watch every single one of his Instagram lives? Even the 3 AM ones after matches where he's just vibing to Afrobeats in his gym? Those thirst traps?”

The way he moved to those beats had no business living rent-free in your head like it did. Neither did the way his eyes got soft when he talked about his family in interviews, or how that dangerous half-smirk would appear after a particularly clean tackle. You'd documented it all on your Tumblr, built whole theories around his personality based on how he interacted with teammates, analyzed every public appearance like it was your job.

“What if he found it?" The thought hit you suddenly. “The Tumblr account?”

Carmen's composed expression cracked slightly with a knowing smile. “Girl, if he has, he still said yes to the video. What does that tell you?”

You didn't want to think about what that might mean. Couldn't let yourself hope that maybe he'd noticed you too, that perhaps those quick likes on your Instagram stories weren't just courtesy, that the way he'd immediately responded to your drunk DM meant something.

Tomorrow you'd be in Madrid. Tomorrow you'd see if that confidence you'd analyzed in countless videos translated in person, if his smile was really as dangerous as it seemed through a screen.

“Make sure you pack some lingerie,” Carmen said as she gathered her things, a slight smirk playing at her lips. “Just in case those Tumblr manifestations worked.”

You buried your face in a throw pillow, but your heart was already racing at the possibility.

**************************************************

The Madrid morning sun painted the makeup room in ethereal hues, casting everything in a dreamlike glow that did nothing to settle your nerves. You sat still as the artist perfected your look - soft glam that highlighted your warm brown skin, each baby hair laid with precision, curls falling in a carefully crafted cascade. The "effortlessly gorgeous" aesthetic you'd aimed for had, ironically, required a 5 AM start.

“He's here,” your assistant's voice cut through your reverie, and your heart performed a gymnastics routine worthy of Olympic qualification.

Here's the thing about Aurélien Tchouaméni - all the 4K footage in the world, every professional photograph, every high-definition broadcast couldn't capture what he was in person. The way he commanded space wasn't something a camera could translate.

He had to duck slightly entering the room (had he always been that tall?), the morning light catching him like it knew exactly what it was doing. The fitted white tee and designer jeans he wore were deceptively simple, the kind of casual that required serious thought. That signature "TCHM" pendant caught the light as he moved, the diamond Cuban link chain you'd written dissertations about on Tumblr proving worthy of every analysis. You'd watched enough matches to know his height, studied enough footage to know his build, but something about him actually being there, all 6'2" of him absolutely dominating the space, had your carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble.

“So," he said, that dangerous half-smile playing at his lips as he approached, “you're the one who slid in my DMs at 2 AM?”

The ground could swallow you whole any minute now. His French accent in person was a weapon that should be classified as illegal. “Listen, about that–“

“Nah, don't apologize," he laughed, the sound rich enough to drown in. "It was cute. Especially that part about my ball control being 'unfairly hot.'”

"Please tell me you're joking," you groaned, but you couldn't help smiling. His presence was magnetic - that quiet confidence you'd analyzed through screens somehow even more potent in the flesh.

"Three fire emojis and everything," he grinned, and you noticed his taper fade was fresh, clearly done for the shoot. The chain caught the light again as he leaned slightly closer, shortening the considerable distance between you. "But for what it's worth? Your voice is unfairly hot too.”

Your cognitive functions ceased entirely. The proximity brought his cologne into focus - something expensive and intoxicating that absolutely wasn't helping your ability to form coherent thoughts. The height difference hit differently in person, requiring you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

“Five minutes to places!” the director's call pierced through your haze, saving you from having to remember basic language skills.

The shoot itself was a study in sweet torture. For the first time in your career, you found yourself flubbing takes - missing cues, getting lost in moments. You, who prided yourself on one-take perfection, needed multiple runs at the simplest scenes. But how could you focus when he kept looking at you like that? The way his eyes would drift slowly down your body between setups, how his hands would rub together - a tell you'd seen in dozens of post-match interviews when something particularly caught his interest. But then again, Aurélien was known for giving everything his complete attention. You'd watched enough footage to know that.

He played his role perfectly - too perfectly, really. Each take had him hitting his marks with the same precision he showed on the field, but there was something else there. Something in the way his hand would linger just a moment too long when helping you up, how his eyes would catch yours in the monitor playback.

“Last setup!” the director announced, and you silently thanked whatever higher power was listening. Your heart could only take so much.

“So," Aurélien said during the lighting adjustment, his voice dropping to a register that did dangerous things to your pussy. “Since you're such a football fan now... maybe you'd want to come to my match this weekend? VIP seats?”

Your heart stuttered. “Yeah? What if someone recognizes me?”

"Let them," he smiled, and that chain glinted again as he shifted closer. "Maybe I want people to know, especially about that DM.”

You couldn't help laughing despite your burning cheeks. "You're never letting that go, are you?”

"Never," he agreed, then added more softly: "But I'm glad you sent it. Been trying to figure out how to slide in your DMs too, especially after seeing all those likes on my gym posts.”

You looked up at him (way up - seriously, the height difference was doing things to you), catching that dangerous glint in his eye. “Oh….”

"Front row seats," he continued, voice dropping lower. "Right behind the bench. That way I'll know exactly where to look after I score.”

Your heart did another full gymnastic routine. “Pretty confident about that goal, huh?”

"I'm confident about a lot of things," he smiled, and that chain caught the light once more as he leaned down slightly. “Like how good those likes looked on my notifications.”

You were going to pass away on the spot. But then his hand found yours, and that smile softened into something more private, more real. “Sure I’ll go.”

Maybe drunk you had known exactly what she was doing after all.

******************************************

Thank god for these VIP seats because the view? Immaculate.

Grandpa Ancelotti finally put Aurélien in his rightful position and oh my god, watching him command the midfield in person hit so different. TV did not prepare you for this. At all.

The way his orange kit stretched across those shoulders when he'd gesture to teammates? Criminal. And those calves? You'd seen them in videos but in person they were actually unreal. The entire package was just unfair - whoever said football kits weren't flattering had never seen Aurélien Tchouaméni in one. His body was sculptural, all lean muscle and perfect proportions, like god really sat down and took extra time crafting him specifically to ruin your life.

You watched him talk tactics with Jude, all authority and focused energy, and the way he carried himself on the field had you feeling some type of way. His whole demeanor shifted during matches - all business and pure power. The intensity in his eyes when he'd call out positions? Yeah, you were definitely going to need a glass of water.

When he made that assist - a perfect pass that had the crowd screaming - you jumped up cheering before remembering you were supposed to be playing it cool. But how could you when he glanced your way during the celebration with that smile?

Every time he'd body someone off the ball, the way his muscles flexed with the effort... Lord have mercy. You'd really thought writing a song about him was peak down bad but watching him work in person? Your brain was absolutely short-circuiting.

During a water break, he caught your eye and adjusted his shirt - a move you'd seen in countless matches but this time it felt deliberate, just for you. The stadium lights hit his dark skin just right, making him look like he was literally glowing. And that jawline? Sharp enough to cut glass.

The final whistle had you watching his post-match routine like you hadn't already memorized it from videos - the handshakes, the quick interviews, the way he'd run his hand over his fresh fade when downplaying how good he was. But then he looked up at your spot again with that private little smile and yeah... you were absolutely screwed.

Because watching Aurélien Tchouaméni absolutely own the soccer pitch? That wasn't just attraction anymore. That was straight up ruination.

You made it to the designated area and only had to wait around 30 minutes before Aurélien showed up, fresh from the shower, dressed casually but still somehow managing to look like a walking problem. A clean black tee stretched across his chest, showing off the definition of his arms, paired with dark jeans that sat just right on his waist. And the way his chain rested against his collarbone? Yeah, this was dangerous.

“You waited long?” he asked, a lazy smile on his lips as he approached, exuding the kind of confidence that came naturally to him.

“Not really,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt.

His eyes dragged over you in a way that felt intentional, like he was cataloging every detail. “Good. Would’ve hated to keep you waiting.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but before you could overthink it, he tilted his head. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “Yeah.”

“Come on, let’s get something to eat,” he said, nodding toward the exit.

You followed him out, keeping pace as he led you to his car — his matte black Lamborghini Urus. Of course. He opened the passenger door for you, stepping back just enough to give you space but still managing to be close, like his presence was a gravitational pull.

“You good?” he asked, one brow lifting as you hesitated before getting in.

You nodded quickly, sliding into the plush seat, inhaling the faint scent of leather and his cologne —clean, expensive, and entirely him. He shut the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side, settling in smoothly before starting the engine. The deep purr of the car filled the quiet, and when he rested one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, your eyes traced the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers flexed slightly.

Yeah, this was setting you off.

Aurélien drove with an effortless confidence, maneuvering through Madrid’s streets like he’d done it a million times — which, of course, he had. As he looped around the Bernabéu, he nodded toward the stadium. “You should come back for a tour.”

Your head turned sharply toward him. “What?”

He glanced at you, amused by your surprise. “You liked watching me play, right?”

Like was an understatement. Watching him on the pitch, commanding the game with precision and strength, was one thing. But now, seeing him here, driving through the city with that same quiet control, his jaw flexing as he focused on the road, his fingers tapping against the wheel — it was too much.

You were obsessed. Fully.

Your crush was sitting mere inches away, effortlessly charming, looking stupid good behind the wheel, and here you were, acting all timid. No. You needed to snap out of it. Because if you didn’t make a move now, when would you?

“You like tacos?” His voice cut through your thoughts as he stopped at a red light, glancing at you with a knowing smirk.

Of course, you liked tacos. But right now? Food was the last thing on your mind.

Because tomorrow night, you’d be on a flight back to LA. Who knew when you’d see him again? Your lives were on different continents. And after everything —after DMing him, after him actually showing up for your video — didn’t you deserve this one night?

Your heart pounded as you turned toward him fully, a slow smile curving your lips. “Tacos can wait.”

Aurélien’s lips curved into a smirk, the kind that sent heat rushing through you. He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Oh? And what are you in the mood for?”

The way his voice dipped on the last word made your breath hitch. He knew exactly what you meant. And judging by the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, he liked where this was going.

“Maybe we can go back to your place?” you suggested, trying to sound casual despite the thrum of anticipation running through you.

He hummed, dragging his tongue across his bottom lip like he was weighing his options. “For something to eat…or?”

“Definitely or,” you giggled, the boldness surprising even yourself.

Aurélien let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he turned onto a quieter road. “Alright. So, UberEats later. Sounds good.”

Your stomach flipped at the ease in his tone, like this was the most natural thing in the world. Then his eyes flicked to you, warm and dark with something unreadable, and he bit his lip. “You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment was soft, unprompted, and it caught you off guard. Your chest tightened, heat creeping up your neck. “Thank you.”

He didn’t rush the drive, taking his time maneuvering through the streets, letting conversation flow easily between you. He asked about your time in Madrid, what you’d done so far, if you liked the city. And the whole time, his voice had that smooth, rich quality that made every word feel like it was meant just for you.

When he finally pulled up to his house — a sleek, modern place with clean lines and warm lighting —you barely had time to take it in before a low bark caught your attention.

Ocho.

The Belgian Malinois trotted toward the door as soon as you stepped inside, his dark eyes locked onto you with curiosity. Aurélien placed a reassuring hand on your lower back, his touch warm and grounding. “Let him sniff you first,” he murmured.

You extended your hand slightly, letting Ocho inspect you. The dog’s ears twitched before he gave a small huff, seemingly satisfied.

Aurélien grinned. “Good boy.” Then, switching to French, he said, “Va dans ta chambre.” (Go to your room.)

Ocho obeyed immediately, padding off toward what you assumed was his designated space.

“He’s well-trained,” you noted, impressed.

Aurélien shrugged, closing the door behind him. “Had to be. He’s my best boy.” Then he turned to you, his gaze softer now. “You want anything to drink?”

The fact that he even asked — so polite, so sweet —made your heart squeeze a little.

You shook your head. “I’m good.”

Still, he grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and a water anyway, tucking them under his arm before reaching for you. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Come on.”

As he guided you upstairs, his lips found the side of your neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses against your skin as you walked. His goatee tickled, the warmth of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

By the time you made it to his bedroom, you were already gripping his arm, steadying yourself against the dizzying effect of his touch.

Aurélien smirked as he nudged the door shut behind you. “Still thinking about tacos?”

Not even a little bit. “No.”

He placed the Gatorade and water bottle on the bedside table then Aurélien’s hands were warm against your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he pulled you in. His lips found yours, soft at first, tasting, teasing, savoring. The kiss started slow, a gentle exploration, his lips moving against yours in a way that had your heart thudding in your chest.

But then his hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your hips, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, turning hotter, messier — needy. His tongue met yours, stroking, claiming, pulling soft moans from your lips that he swallowed greedily.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of your mouths working against each other, the wet slide of tongues, the occasional breathless sighs escaping between kisses. His fingers trailed up your back, making you arch into him, pressing your body flush against his. The heat between you was dizzying, his scent — fresh, clean, and something uniquely him —wrapping around you like a drug.

Your hands roamed, exploring the hard planes of his back, the ridges of muscle beneath his skin. He groaned into your mouth when your nails scratched lightly at his nape, the sound vibrating through you and making your thighs clench.

His hands moved with purpose now, sliding under the hem of your top, pushing it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to strip it from you. Then he went for your bottoms, peeling them away, leaving you in just your underwear. His dark eyes roved over you, taking you in, heat flickering in his gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands were back on you, caressing, exploring, like he needed to feel every inch of your skin.

You didn’t hesitate, your fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. He let you pull it over his head, and your breath hitched when you got a full view of him — his abs looked even better in person, all taut muscle and definition, a masterpiece carved in 4D.

Your fingers traced along the ridges, relishing the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

Aurélien groaned, low and deep, his head tipping back slightly. “You’re really testing my patience, bébé.”

You smiled, dragging your fingertips lower, teasing along the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers worked at the button, then the zipper, easing the denim down his hips. He helped, pushing them the rest of the way until they pooled at his feet, leaving him in just his Aime boxers.

Your breath caught.

He was hard.

The thick outline of his length strained against the fabric, the sight making heat pool low in your belly.

Your hands ghosted over his erection, barely grazing him, but it was enough to make him suck in a sharp breath.

“Shit,” he hissed, his hips jerking slightly at the contact.

You muttered an apology, but he just shook his head, eyes dark with heat. “It’s okay, bébé.”

Then his lips were on yours again, stealing the breath from your lungs, guiding you toward the bed. You barely registered the feel of the mattress beneath you before he was pressing you down, his body hovering over yours, his heat surrounding you.

And from the way he looked at you — like he was about to ruin you — you knew you were in for it.

His hands skimmed down your body to unclasp your bra then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs with agonizing slowness. His gaze roved over you, hungry and heated, before he lowered himself between your thighs.

His mouth found your skin, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your navel downward, making you shiver in anticipation.

And then — oh.

Aurélien’s lips, his tongue, the warmth of his breath against your pussy had you gasping, your fingers tangling in his curls as he worked you over with a skill that had your thighs trembling.

He was deliberate but messy, completely focused on you, his lips wrapping around your clit while his tongue moved in slow, devastating circles. When he slipped two fingers inside, curling them just right, a strangled moan escaped your lips.

“Tu prends si bien, bébé,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you whimper. His fingers stroked inside you, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and your hips bucked instinctively. He just chuckled, holding you in place as he kept going, kept building you higher, until—

And then he pulled away.

A whimper of protest left your lips before you could stop it, and he smirked at your pout, his thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth like he was savoring the taste of you.

“Be right back,” he said, pressing a final kiss to your inner thigh before moving toward his dresser.

You pushed up on your elbows, watching as he pulled out a condom, then hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down. Your breath hitched at the sight of him — thick, long, and impossibly hard.

Aurélien caught you staring and smirked. “Like what you see?”

You swallowed, your cheeks heating. “Obviously.”

That made him chuckle as he rolled the condom on, then returned to the bed, his hands guiding your legs further apart as he settled between them. One arm reached behind you, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under your lower back, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with arousal.

His lips found your neck as he nudged himself against your entrance, teasing you with shallow strokes, making your body crave him even more.

And as he finally, finally pushed inside, a deep moan left your lips, because — oh. Oh.

This was happening. Your crush, your fantasy, your dream — was now your reality.

His thrusts were slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you, filling you, but it didn’t take long before the teasing gave way to something deeper, more urgent. He kissed you through it, all tongue and heat, swallowing your moans as his hips found a steady rhythm.

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with pleasure. “So wet for me.”

The chain around his neck swung forward with every movement, the cool metal brushing against your skin, dangling just above your face, and god, he looked beautiful like this — face twisted in pleasure, jaw clenched, brows furrowed, dark eyes locked on yours like he never wanted to look away.

“Tu es si belle,” he groaned, dropping his head to your neck, dragging open-mouthed kisses along your throat before moving lower. His tongue flicked over your nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched off the bed, hands tangling in his curls as you whimpered his name.

Aurélien pulled back slightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he released you with a wet pop. His eyes met yours, dark and full of intent.

“Turn over for me,” he said, voice like gravel, thick with desire.

You swallowed, your body already obeying before your mind could catch up. He sat back, watching you get on all fours, his large hands smoothing over the curve of your ass, squeezing each cheek once before dragging up your spine. The way he looked at you, eyes burning with hunger, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then he ran a hand through his curls, exhaling sharply before gripping your hips and lining himself up again.

And when he pushed back inside, deeper than before, a broken moan fell from your lips.

“That’s it, bébé,” he murmured, his fingers digging into your skin as he started to move, slow at first, teasing. “Taking me so well.”

His pace quickened, the sound of skin on skin filling the air, along with the low, guttural groans spilling from his lips. His chain swung again, the rhythmic clink of metal adding to the mix of sensations that had you spiraling.

“Feel me?” he rasped, dragging a hand up your spine to fist your hair gently, pulling just enough to make you arch. “So deep inside you. Fuck.”

You whimpered, barely able to form words, barely able to breathe with how good he felt, how he filled every inch of you like he was made for this.

“Talk to me,” he urged, voice raw. “Let me hear you.”

“I’m—” Your words broke off into a moan as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

“Yeah?” he taunted, a smirk in his voice. “Right there, huh?”

You could only nod frantically, your body trembling as he picked up the pace, chasing both of your releases. His angled his hips once more and that made you let out something primal.

“Damn, yes fuck me back,” he crooned just before you felt his lips touch the middle of spine. You shivered at the sensation, moaning out his name like a prayer.

“Aurélien….”

He rocked into you harder, faster and it made your toes curl. He was relentless and you loved every second of it. The sounds you both were making was the perfect lullaby of lust and pleasure.

“Mm…shit….Aurélien.” You couldn’t stop from moaning his name and judging by the way his hands gripped your hips each time, you could tell that he liked it.

Soon, you both were pushed over that edge, moaning as your orgasm overwhelmed your entire body. After awhile, you felt him slip out of you and then the bed shifted as he moved to throw out the condom.

Your body still hummed with the aftershocks of pleasure, limbs heavy, breath slowly evening out. You were probably a mess — hair wild, lips swollen, body still flushed with heat — but Aurélien? He looked unfairly good.

He was leaning back against the headboard, his chest still rising and falling steadily, dark skin glowing under the dim light. The chain that had been dangling in your face minutes ago now rested against his collarbones, catching the light with each small movement. He reached over to grab his Gatorade, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip before setting it on the bedside table.

Then, he turned to you, dark eyes scanning your face, something soft in his expression. “You want some?”

You shook your head, not because you weren’t thirsty, but because you couldn’t stop staring at him.

His lips quirked slightly. “You must really like me.”

The way he said it wasn’t cocky or teasing — it was knowing, like he’d been piecing it together all night. And maybe he was right, because you couldn’t help the dopey-ass smile that spread across your face.

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head before exhaling through his nose. “I like you too. Wish you didn’t beat me to sliding in the DMs first, though.”

You lifted a brow. “You really mad about that?”

He made a little face, scrunching his nose slightly, which was unfairly adorable for someone who had just rearranged your insides. “Not that much,” he admitted. “But I would’ve liked the chase.”

You scoffed, rolling onto your side to face him. “The chase? What are you, a lion?”

That made him smile, a real one, warm and lazy, like he was letting his guard down completely. “When a guy likes a girl, he usually asks her out first,” he said simply. “You were in my likes, I was in yours… I was about to slide through, but yeah, you beat me to it.”

Your stomach did a little flip.

He reached out then, running a hand down your arm before linking his fingers loosely with yours. “But I’m gonna do the rest, okay?”

Your breath caught, your heart stumbling in your chest. This was Aurélien Tchouaméni, your crush, your dream, and now, here he was — holding your hand, looking at you like this wasn’t just some one-night thing.

“Okay,” you whispered, squeezing his fingers lightly.

His smile widened, and then he tugged you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before settling beside you, keeping your hand in his like he wasn’t planning to let go anytime soon.

You couldn’t help but stare at him — at the strong lines of his face, the sharp jaw softened by the faintest hint of stubble, the fullness of his lips, the way his lashes rested against his cheeks when he blinked. He was so beautiful.

“What?” he murmured, catching you staring.

You shrugged, biting your lip. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

How crazy it was that you were here. That this wasn’t a dream. That your crush — the man who dominated the midfield with an effortless cool, the one you’d written lyrics about, the one you’d been too shy to DM for the longest time — was lying next to you, holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“About how wild this is,” you admitted.

Aurélien chuckled, his dimples flashing as he turned onto his side, propping his head up with his free hand. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “I mean, this time yesterday, I was just hoping you’d even notice me at the game. Now I’m in your bed.”

That smirk made a reappearance, but his voice was soft when he said, “I noticed you way before the game, bébé.”

Your stomach flipped. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” he said easily. “You think I wasn’t watching whenever you posted on Instagram? When you DM’d me?”

Your face warmed. “You didn’t answer right away.”

He grinned, teasing. “Had to make you sweat a little.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Wow, so you really are a lion.”

“Gotta keep things interesting,” he mused. Then, more seriously, “But I was always gonna answer.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. Like he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel good. Like, in some way, he’d been waiting for this too.

You swallowed. “And now that I’m here?”

Aurélien’s eyes darkened slightly, but there was something tender in his gaze as he squeezed your fingers. “Now,” he murmured, shifting closer, “I’m making sure you come back.”

Your breath caught, and before you could think of a response, he kissed you.

It was slow this time, unhurried, like he wanted to take his time tasting you. His lips moved against yours with an intoxicating rhythm, deepening the kiss little by little until you were completely lost in it. His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

And maybe he did. Maybe this wasn’t just for tonight.

Maybe, just maybe, this was only the beginning.

Aurélien pulled back just enough to search your face, his lips still brushing against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm as he studied you with that knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

“That song,” he murmured. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

Your heart stuttered.

For a second, you thought about playing coy, maybe teasing him a little, but what was the point? He already knew. You could see it in the glint of amusement in his eyes, the confidence in his voice.

You sighed, defeated but grinning. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “It’s about you.”

Aurélien chuckled, shaking his head like he’d known it all along. “I knew it,” he said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You should write another one.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Another song?”

“Mm-hmm.” His fingers brushed down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. “One about tonight.”

Your breath hitched at the implication, at the way his voice had dipped lower, rougher.

You bit your lip. “Might have to.”

Aurélien grinned. “Good,” he murmured, kissing you again. “Make it a love song.”

#quainwritings #aurelien tchouameni #quain’s masterlist #aurelien tchouameni x black oc #aurelien tchouameni fanfiction #aurelien tchouameni x black reader #aurelien tchouameni x reader #aurelien tchouameni fanfic #aurelien tchouameni fic #aurelien tchouameni imagine #footballer x reader #real madrid fanfic

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dj-bouto · 2 years ago

Video

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LBA K7 [032-A] feat. Gypsy, Funk de fino, Vainqueur, Chain Reaction Reco...

Afterhours with friends, recorded somewhere Under an eastern Roof, France / 1996. Keywords : Gypsy / Funk de fino / Vainqueur / Chain Reaction / Berlin / Moritz von Oswald / Galaxy / Psyche/BFC / I Believe / Octave One / Ludovic Navarre / Djax-up-beats / Guidance / Elypsia… #detroit techno #deep techno #dark techno #chillout #tech house #audio #Detroit Techno #Tech #House #Deep #Techno #Dark #Techno #Chillout

#detroit music #gypsy #vainqueur #chain reaction records #maurizio #carl craig #octave one #ludovic navarre

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heliosunny · 7 days ago

Text

Yandere!Sugilite x Reader

A devoted servant rescued from slavery, you have always strived to meet Sugilite’s expectations, earning his favor and trust. To you, it seems like fate that he has saved you, but the truth is far from that.

The grand halls of Sugilite’s estate had long since become your home, a place of silken comforts, gilded expectations, and the unspoken weight of his favor. He had plucked you from the depths of slavery, refined you, molded you into someone worthy of standing beside him. You had proven yourself time and time again, meeting every expectation, anticipating his needs before he even voiced them.

And yet, tonight, all of that seemed to tremble on the edge of ruin.

You stood before him in his private study, candlelight flickering against the polished surface of his desk. The air was thick, not with incense, but with unspoken accusations. Across from you, Sugilite leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, gloved fingers tapping idly against the armrest.

The moment he had called you in for a "progress update," you knew the real reason behind his summons.

"Tell me" he murmured, his voice as smooth as the gemstone he was named after, "what exactly were you doing behind my back?"

You swallowed hard, maintaining your composure. You had seen him interrogate others before—his methods were never crude, never cruel. But his power lay in the way he unraveled people, in the way he made them doubt themselves under his gaze.

"It was a misunderstanding" you said carefully. "There was no affair."

Sugilite watched you, violet eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Is that so?"

He didn't believe you. Not yet.

But, to your relief, he let you go.

For now.

You knew better than to assume the matter was over. Sugilite was meticulous—he would investigate, would ensure there was no deception. However, fate had other plans, and he was far too busy to waste time chasing shadows.

As a high-ranking member of the Strategic Investment Department within the Interastral Peace Corporation, he had been sent to resolve a tax dispute on a distant planet. The matter was convoluted, tangled in bureaucracy and corruption, and rather than entrusting his subordinates, he turned to you.

"I’ll require your assistance in this matter." he had stated simply, offering no room for refusal.

And so, you found yourself in a foreign world, navigating the intricacies of corporate politics alongside him. It was here, amidst the ledgers and negotiations, that you stumbled upon something that hit far too close to home.

A case of slavery, much like your own.

It was deep into the night when you approached him in the hotel, the glow of the city outside casting faint reflections against the glass. Sugilite stood near the window, still clad in the elegance of his tailored uniform, his tie loosened ever so slightly—a rare glimpse of something unguarded.

"You’re still awake" he mused as you entered, glancing over his shoulder.

"I had an idea..." you said, stepping forward. "Regarding the slaves we found in the records."

He turned fully now, watching as you placed a data pad on the nearby desk. You had spent hours combing through files, identifying loopholes, strategizing a way to use the IPC’s influence to free them.

But as you spoke, laying out your findings, Sugilite remained silent.

And then, finally, he sighed, setting his gloves aside as he leaned against the desk.

"You misunderstand something." he said.

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

His gaze met yours, unreadable, piercing.

"Do you think I make a habit of saving people?" he asked, voice quieter now, almost amused.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"You weren’t chosen because I had some grand sense of justice." Sugilite continued. "I chose you because you caught my eye." He tilted his head, watching your reaction. "If it had been anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered."

The weight of his words settled over you like a chain, invisible but unyielding.

He had saved you. He had given you purpose. But in the end, was it ever truly freedom?

And yet, despite everything, you still owed him.

"You… wouldn’t consider doing the same for them?" you asked cautiously.

Sugilite smiled—small, knowing.

"I don’t waste my efforts on just anyone."

The answer was clear.

You were his exception. No one else.

The estate’s grand halls were as pristine as ever, untouched by the events that had unfolded beneath the surface. Yet, within the privacy of Sugilite’s office, an entirely different tension lingered.

You stood before him, your heart hammering in your chest, still shaken from the night’s ordeal. The scent of ink and parchment filled the room, but neither of you cared for work at this moment.

Sugilite sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable, fingers idly tracing the rim of a glass filled with dark liquor. The glow of the city outside barely reached him, casting his eyes into an abyss of shadow and dim light.

"So" he murmured at last, "what exactly were you trying to accomplish?"

You swallowed hard. "I only wanted to help them."

Sugilite sighed, setting his drink aside as he leaned forward.

"Help" he echoed. "A noble sentiment. But hopelessly naive."

Your fingers clenched into fists. "I thought—"

"You thought you could do something I hadn’t already considered?" His tone was not cruel, but there was something there—something dangerously knowing.

You had expected him to be furious when he found out what you had done. Expected him to reprimand you, to tell you how reckless you had been.

But he was too calm.

Too composed.

As though he had known all along.

And the truth?

He had.

From the moment Sugilite had noticed your restless gaze upon the IPC reports—your poorly masked determination to act on your own—he had predicted this outcome.

He let it happen.

He had known you would sneak out. Known that your kindness would make you easy prey for those who sought to manipulate it.

So he had orchestrated the perfect scenario.

The slavers you had hoped to rescue? A trap.

But not a trap set for them.

A trap set for you.

Sugilite had allowed their operation to continue under careful watch, ensuring they remained desperate enough to accept a lone visitor like you. Then, he had stepped in at just the right moment—timing his arrival perfectly to play the role of your savior once more.

Just as he had before.

You were never in danger.

The plan had never been yours.

And now, as he sat there watching you—his favorite servant, his carefully cultivated creation—he knew that after tonight, you would only be more bound to him than before.

You, of course, did not see the full picture.

You only saw the man who had once saved your life saving you again.

You only saw the hand that pulled you from ruin, not the one that orchestrated the fall.

Sugilite’s lips curved into something almost fond as he spoke his next words.

"This is the second time I’ve had to rescue you." he murmured, tone gentle yet firm. "It won’t happen again."

You lowered your gaze, guilt and shame flickering across your face. "I understand."

And that—the quiet submission, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of your mistake—was what he had truly wanted to see.

Not gratitude.

Dependence.

Because no matter how much freedom you thought you had…

Sugilite knew.

You would never escape the hand that had saved you.

And he would never let you go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #sugilite #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #sugilite hsr #honkai star rail sugilite #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader

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seasaltandcopper · 2 years ago

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Humiliation Prompts

These are all presented as sfw by default (but can be interpreted otherwise if that’s your preference)

Humiliate them by:

♠ Making them beg

♠ Forcing them to strip

♠ Spitting in their mouth

♠ Making them kneel

♠ Dressing them in a degrading outfit

♠ Mocking them for involuntary reactions

♠ Forcing them to lick something off the floor

♠ Hurting them in front of a mirror so they’re forced to watch

♠ Keeping their hands bound to make basic tasks difficult or impossible. Bonus: punish them for failing or making a mess

♠ Feeding them spoiled or disgusting food

♠ Hosing them down with cold water

♠ Calling them a mocking nickname or title

♠ Forcing them to crawl on their hands and knees

♠ Leaving them with obvious, hard to hide scars

♠ Branding them as a sign of ownership

♠ Forcing them to divulge past traumas or secrets

♠ Altering or ruining a part of their appearance they take pride in

♠ Rendering them mute or forbidding them to speak

♠ Making them lick clean someone’s boots/shoes

♠ Assigning them menial labor/chores

♠ Showing them off as a trophy at a party. Bonus: the party is for their enemies OR former allies/coworkers

♠ Offering them up as the entertainment to party guests to do with as they please

♠ Making derogatory comments about them to others (with them in the room/in earshot) Bonus: force them to agree with these assessments

♠ Gifting them as a slave/servant to someone they formerly outranked

♠ Leaving them at the mercy of strangers in a public display (stocks, pillory, cage, chained to something, etc)

♠ Grinding their face into the ground/mud/a mess they made. Bonus: With a foot on the back of their neck or side of their head

♠ Recording them being punished/tortured/etc. Bonus: send these to friends and family OR release them publicly online

♠ Fitting them with a collar

♠ Muzzling them

♠ Making them perform tricks or skills on command

#whump prompts #whump prompt list #humiliation prompt list #whump #writing prompts #prompt games #ask prompts #breadcrumbs #people seem to like my other prompt lists so here's another

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anaconamor · 9 months ago

Note

Hey Ana!😊

i was wondering if you could write a headcanon of 'jude is the type of boyfriend to' kind of thing.

i love your fics a lot :)

hii anon!! ofccc!! 🤭🤭 also check out @redeyegrl recent fic!! as it’s super similar to this!! 🫦🤍

the type to wake you up when he has a bad dream, and want to be held.

get pouty when you refuse to show pda in public and just kiss you to show you off.

send super annoying texts throughout the day because he misses you dearly! especially when he’s away!

play with your hair! twist your hair around his finger! taming it out too see your shy face! or knowing it helps you sleep so he does it after you have a long day!!

calls you when he’s out of town or vice versa, and he’s wanting to hear your voice because your voice relaxes and soothes him!

the type to hold your hand and place kisses on it! or when your mad at him he knows to hold your pinky because he can’t stand being away from you even if you’re upset! and because it makes you feel safe.

the type to prank you or scare you around the house by hiding in corners or rooms! record your reactions and post them on special occasions!

he’s the type of bf to play with your rings, bracelets, necklace with his initials when cuddling because he’s entranced by them! or when in a social setting just to push away his nerves and focus on the small diamonds and or chains.

buy you sweets and crisps/ chips when your on your period! or coming back from going out because they’re your comfort snacks! leaving notes on them by wishing you a good day kr reminding you he loves you!

the one to share his airpods when traveling together because sharing music was a way of bonding! loves to see your reactions to unanticipated songs!!

get mad and needy whne you’re not giving him attention!! literally begs and forces you to stop what your doing to give him a kiss or hug! arms holding you tight afraid to let go and you’re just laughing!

FOREHEAD KISSES!! at home or when in public! it’s his love language and they can’t but make you feel giddy inside!! his lips leaving a warm feeling when he does!!

asks “do you love me?” when he upsets you because he’s so afraid to lose you! or be angry for the rest of your life! makes you laugh because he is literally frowning!

the type of bf to fall asleep on you no matter where you are!! on your shoulders, your back, stomach, sometimes even your thighs or legs because he needs to be aside you when he sleeps!

granting any wish or favor for you because he loves to make you feel like the only girl in the world! wanting to see the brightest smile because it warms his heart and head!

kiss you when you’re rambling on and on about stuff that doesn’t make sense! knowing his kisses or get even his touch calms you down instantly! telling you to relax and breathe!!

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader

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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months ago

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Tag, You’re It — Part 3

Dark!feysand x reader

a/n: Should have never said the word love. Threw a toaster in the bathtub. I’m sick of all the games I have to play.

warnings: noncon/dubcon; threesome fmf; facesitting; dumbification; light praise kink; minor use of shadows; spitting; light impact play

word count: 7,332

-Part 2-

The door dully swings open, but you don’t bother opening your eyes.

It hasn’t even been a full day since they last took you from your cage. When they’d manipulated and mangled your mind, when they’d forced you to yield the few things you still had control over. The one place even they hadn’t tried to completely disrupt.

From the pace of the footsteps, you know it’s the High Lord who’s come to visit, the memory of chains and whips rising to the surface. This will be the third day in a row you’ll be denied peace and privacy.

You open puffy eyes wearily, noting the familiar glint of violet as he peers at you, a slight frown tucked in the edges of his mouth. Before today you might have been pleased with his displeasure. Not today. It’s just another expression to record.

He crouches down to where you’re huddled in your corner, tucked away and wrapped beneath the one blanket you were given. His hand reaches forward, fingers dipping under your chin so he can look at you properly. Examining the goods, probably. Guessing whether you’re well enough for him to fuck.

“Did you not sleep, little lynx?” He asks lowly, quietly. Observing you keenly.

You give no reaction, the words passing into your mind without registering. Too tired to respond. Too empty to give.

His brows narrow. “I thought you were going to be good?” He goads, angling your jaw to rise a little higher. “We came to an understanding, didn’t we?”

Silence and a blank expression.

Rhys frowns, then his hand is lightly gripping the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he leans forward, free hand bracing himself on the iron bars as he presses his mouth to your own. Tongue plying you open, he kisses you deeper, facing little resistance as your lips part beneath his own. Not so much as a whimper rising up to greet him.

He nips at your lower lip, canines lightly dragging over the softness, but you give nothing. Something’s wrong here, he can sense it, already reaching out for his High Lady.

Rhys? Purrs that voice that has heat warming his skin.

Come in here, he requests lowly, pulling back to allow her the sight he’s seeing—the vacancy behind your eyes, the general lack of reaction, the absence of life.

Is she okay? Feyre asks, all sexuality vanished, replaced by cool suspicion and slight wariness. A single note of concern.

Rhys’ thumb strokes over your cheek, his pulse spiking as he bites back a pleased grin at your complaisance. She’s at her breaking point.

His High Lady understands, swift on her feet as usual. They’ve discussed this moment, how it will occur and what they should do as it passes. How to push you over that breaking point without shattering you entirely, more along the lines of heating you until you’re soft and pliable—all for daemati hands to reshape and rehabilitate. You’ll be exactly as you were, only you’ll have always been theirs. No human man with his sweat and breath to contaminate your reactions to them.

Blankly, you watch him. Even in your dazed and depressed state you recognise the glaze of his eyes, a small part of you shrivelling further knowing she’ll be along soon. Having to watch as she violates your trust again and again, never stopping and never learning. Never changing.

“Will you stand for me, little lynx?” The High Lord asks lowly, pleasure enriching his sonorous drawl, deep and rolling, easy to listen to and adore. But you remain still, keeping to the small hollow you’ve carved for yourself in the depths of your mind, watching silently.

Violet gleams, though he doesn’t seem to mind your disobedience, not as darkness releases the chains locking you, overwhelmingly strong arms pulling you up from the blood-red carpet of the cage, putting you effortlessly over his shoulder as he takes you to their bed, settling you down. You make no effort to move, and he gives you no instructions to follow, both listening as a set of footfalls approaches softly from the hall.

The door swings open, clicking shut as blue-grey eyes brush over you instinctively with a flash of attentiveness you think you recognise before it’s locked beneath hard ice—the High Lady. Not your dear friend.

“How is she?” The High Lady asks hungrily, gaze raking over your naked form in a way that almost has you tempted to shrink away. Almost. But remembering what they’ve done, the indignities they’ve forced down your throat…you don’t care.

“She’s ready,” you hear the High Lord reply, and you move your gaze to the ceiling, studying the plain pattern—the wooden beam branching across the middle.

Footsteps approach, but you don’t care as her fingers trace down your sternum, over your stomach. Not even as she grazes your breasts, or thumbs against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs…none of it matters anymore. You’re inside your own mind, and safe from them. Curled in a darkened corner, alone and abandoned.

“She seems so unresponsive,” Feyre hums, amusement lacing her tone in a way that should set warning bells ringing, but you remain silent. Rhys’ arm slides around her waist, broad palm squeezing lightly as he idly examines the pliable look to your body. Relaxed and uncaring. The perfect subject for dark fantasies.

“Enjoy her,” Rhys drawls, glancing at his mate sidelong. “This is the first time she’ll let you have her without quarrel. If there’s something you’ve wanted to try…now’s the time.” Something shifts within her at those words, colour flushing her skin sinfully, teeth tugging at her lower lip. You watch as Feyre’s eyes glaze before a faint smile is appearing on Rhys’ mouth, pleased with whatever idea his mate has come up with. Something you doubt you’ll enjoy, if it’s piqued his interest so obviously.

“As you wish,” Rhys says lowly, violet eyes flicking over you once more, before departing, leaving you alone with his High Lady.

Blue-grey eyes turn to you, raking down over your bare form, soft and so touchable. So many things she would love to do to you, with the tip of her tongue, the ridges of her nails…the sharp sting of her teeth…

“It’s just us now, sweet girl,” Feyre murmurs, moving closer, allowing her fingers to trace the curve of your ankle at the edge of the bed, running over the bridge of your foot, watching how your toes curl away from her touch, unable to completely lock her out. “Just me and you, how it used to be. Do you remember those times as fondly as I do?”

You refuse to reply, and she zips the ridge of her nail up the underside of your foot, making you recoil sharply from the sensation. Her lips curve at the small victory, and a seed of frustration is planted within your chest. Why can’t she just let you be? Why does she insist on bothering, and teasing, and torturing?

She hums, fine with your silence, mattress dipping as she settles, slowly making her way toward you. “I do, and we’ll have them again soon enough,” she admits, a flush on her cheeks, “you just have to go through a little more. A little more, then you can be my sweet girl again. Who I can attend and listen to, who I can laugh with like we used to. Don’t you want that?”

The High Lady pauses at your hips, thumb skimming over the top of your left thigh, eyes hungrily following, before dipping between your legs. But you keep still. Unresponsive.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” she muses, gently pushing your legs apart. Knowing how you detest it far more when they apply themselves to you than when they simply use you for their own ends. It’s so much worse when they touch you, putting their pleasure into your body without your permission, allowing their sickness to take root until it destroys you.

Her tongue licks up your centre, and the pleasure sings dully in the recesses of your mind. She circles your clit with painful familiarity, before attaching her mouth to you, suckling eagerly, tongue swirling as she works pleasure into your thighs and cunt.

Are you enjoying this, sweet girl? Feyre wonders. Come on, tell me how much you like it. How you love it when we touch, and kiss, and lick you here. As if to emphasise, she sucks on your clit harshly, teeth gently scraping before returning to soft and slow licks of her tongue. I know how good it feels, I know how to make it feel good for you, too. Just tell me. With words, or a moan, or the slightest shift of your body—tell me about your pleasure.

You can feel your body heating in response to the stimulus. Warming around you as you tuck yourself deeper into the cool darkness, only wanting to escape.

Feyre hums softly, pushing your legs so they’re bent at the knee, allowing her more access as she laps firmly over your sex, parting you slowly as she drags upward, tongue hardening as she flicks over your sensitive clit, feeling how muscles in your thighs react helplessly. She repeats the motion before dipping lower, nose brushing your clit as she kisses your entrance, lips gleaming as slick gathers in defence, only enticing her further. Promising the reward of your taste…your flavour…feeling your orgasm on her tongue.

Or, you could tell me how you hate it, she goads, able to hear the wicked lilt to her honeyed voice. I know how you love to tell us you hate us. How you despise us, how we’re going to hell? Tell me now. Tell me why. Her tongue strokes over your clit, your breathing becoming shallower, but Feyre knows those are simply your body’s reactions—she wants yours.

The building heat dies away as her mouth detaches from you, slippery slick gleaming on her lips as she crawls higher, straddling your hips as she rids herself of her own clothing. “It seems a shame to waste pleasure on you if you won’t even react to it,” she muses, a flush colouring her cheeks, and you shrink away as you feel her wet sex against your bare skin as she spreads her thighs, keeping you pinned to the bed as she sits. “So I guess I’ll let you have your way, for now. I’ll use you instead.”

Feyre crawls higher, anticipating a gleam in your eyes, or at least a twitch of your hands. A shift of expression to reveal your thoughts, but nothing. Even when she prods at your mind, she gets no response. But Rhys has told her this an important part of rehabilitation, reshaping you into what they want. This numbness, it’s all part of their plan—it will work.

It has to.

Her knees settle either side the top of your head, mattress dipping with her weight, so when she inevitably chooses to sit, she will settle atop your mouth, just as she likes.

“Are you happy down there, sweet girl?” She asks, unable to help the way her fingers long to play with herself, sex heating now she has your eyes on her. Arousal swiftly liquefies, and she touches the pad of her finger to her clit, aching and sensitive, longing to be stimulated. “I’ll make sure to give you a good show, hm? Would you like that?” She laughs a little breathlessly—normally you’d be kicking and screaming; it’s nice in a way to have you so docile. Obedience will come soon after.

Feyre spreads her thighs, and you still hate the way your mouth opens, tongue licking and lapping how they’ve trained you to do. Familiar with the punishment they’d inflict when you kicked off too hard. So you follow through with the motions out of habit, and you curl tighter into a ball, head ducked between your knees as you hold yourself together deep inside your mind.

Above you, Feyre moans roughly, thighs parting wider as she rubs her sex over you, liking how your lips catch on her clit, the way your nose pushes lightly at the sensitive bud. She sits fully, thighs parting as her fingers tangle in your hair, grinding closer, moving how she wants to, following every ache, chasing every spark of pleasure her body guides her with, picturing your mouth parted beneath her heat, tongue laying over your lower lip, allowing her to drag her clit across it.

Rhys, she calls out mentally, where are you?

Already? Her mate muses, that didn’t take very long.

I can’t wait any longer, Feyre replies breathlessly. She’s being so good Rhys. Come in here. Try her with me.

Show me, he sends back, even though she can feel his approach in her bones.

Feyre glances down, showing the way her fingers are carefully gripping your hair, almost tenderly, guiding you to where she wants, hips shifting over your mouth, liking how your tongue feels against her clit but aching for something deeper. Your scent filters through into his mind, those beginning notes of arousal starting to peek through your fear-tinted scent and his pace quickens ever so slightly before silently entering the room. Feyre doesn’t look up, keeping her eyes on yours so you won’t know about the other presence joining you.

“You’re being so good,” Feyre murmurs, fingers pushing hair back from your face lightly, thumb stroking up between your brows as she winds her hips, feeling like if she put her mind to it she could come right then and there, watching as your lids flutter as you taste the flavour of her release. “Keep doing that,” she soothes, “keep behaving, and you’ll feel good in no time.”

You’re so wrapped up in trying to internally shy away from her, so far from the surface of reality that you don’t notice as Rhys slinks in on cat-soft feet. It’s not even until he’s between your legs on the mattress, and his roughened hands slide over the tops of your thighs that the protection you’d been afford until now behind to slip away. Unlike Feyre, he holds no familiarity—he’s unpredictable and dangerous, prone to inflicting you with stinging pain while stuffing you to the brim with pleasure until they’re practically blending together.

Muscles twitch in your thighs, fluttering in your lower stomach, but it’s the only reaction you give as he pushes your legs wider, bending them at the knee and gripping your hips to allow him control over your lower body. Positioning himself as he likes.

The first noise of the night is wrung from your lips as Rhysand slides himself in, settling himself comfortably between your open legs until he’s flush with the soft skin of the backs of your thighs. Feyre’s fingers slide through your hair and you try to turn your head away from the sight, try to clamber and crawl back to the corner you had found for yourself, hidden away from their touches that sink so much deeper than bone deep. Her touch is like the raw scrape of cotton, coarse before it’s refined to softened fibres. You’re grateful you can still pick out the unpleasantness of her palms. They’re warm but calloused enough to catch, sweet abrasion lifting up from your skin into your mind as she leans back, reaching behind herself to swipe her thumb across one of your nipples. Is there a diverged universe where you would have enjoyed her heat and warmth?

It’s been long enough, coping with their hands and warring with their tongues that it doesn’t take too much effort to switch your perspective, your mental opposition steadily eroded with every use.

In this other world Feyre would have found you first. You would have connected, and grown together at a gentle incline. You would have lived together for a short period, while both of you were working but also husband hunting. You would spend evenings speaking about potential matches, but neither of you would ever manage to commit to someone else.

The realisation would start slowly, on your end. Spilling a vase on your bed and so having to sleep in Feyre’s while she was away one night, smelling her in the sheets, feeling the imprint of her body dipped into the mattress and the shallowness of her pillow where she would rest her head. Borrowing a bonnet or a pair of gloves of hers when you were due for a luncheon but without anything to wear, and without any money to afford a new purchase, feeling the fit of her fingers over yours, seeing the colours she had chosen for herself. Eating together in the evenings, starting on separate armchairs then moving to sharing one sofa, until on one particularly cold evening you decide to huddle together and you’d feel the warm press of her side and maybe one of you would even lay your head on the other’s shoulder.

Yes. It would have started slow, and you would have been given the time you needed to accept how intertwined you were with one another.

Rhysand would have never taken her away from you, and you would have never met your husband.

You could keep her, and you would privately share space until neither of you could remember whose comb was whose, or which bottle of perfume was yours and which was hers. There would never have been a divide, and you’d still be together.

Something hot and wet splashes on your cheek, and she’s pulled you close enough to the surface of reality you can make out the slope of her bare shoulders and the heat behind her eyes. Her lashes blink shut but another droplet falls onto your cheek.

She’s halted her movement, raised up on her knees as she stares down at you with gleaming blue-grey eyes. Her breathing stutters as male hands wrap around her waist, scar-flecked fingers gliding up to cup one of her breasts as he holds her by her hips, nosing up the length of her neck. Inhaling the scent of her wavering arousal through the silk of her long hair. You think you see sorrow in her glistening eyes, but you sink back below your surface, refusing to acknowledge or accept whatever she’s fleetingly considered offering.

Feyre’s hold tightens on your hair, feeling as you slip away. Her fingers wrap themselves between the strands, nails dragging across your scalp as she tries to pry you open again in a way she hasn’t seen since she decided to take you. Possibly even longer.

Sweetness, she tries, Sweet girl, come back to me.

More tears drip down onto your cheek but they’re only surface level. Lacking the cruelty to sink any deeper than that.

We can be gentle with you. I can be gentle with you again. But still she fails to reach you. Fails to breech the numbness that’s been slowly spreading through your mind since she decided against you. Decided that she couldn’t wait. Decided Rhysand would be her better option. After everything you went through together.

Rhysand pulls away, his hand lifting from her breast to her jaw as he tilts her face toward him, frowning upon seeing her tear-stained cheeks. It won’t be long now, he whispers into her head. She’s practically there already. Just a little more and she’ll be ours.

That word sets Feyre’s skin on fire. Does she want you to be theirs? Or does she want you to be hers? The thought seems too dangerous to consider now, especially with her mate so thoroughly wrapped around her. She tosses it away, burying it deep, deep down. Somewhere far from the light. Somewhere Rhysand won’t be able to find. Because she knows she doesn’t like how cruel they’re being. How she doesn’t yet fully trust him to handle you. He can have every part of herself, fall into his arms without any sense of his presence and trust he’ll be there, that he’ll catch her, but not this.

Not you.

You’re hers.

Feyre’s hips begin to rock faintly, gliding the dripping slick of her cunt over your already sopping mouth, strands of arousal sticking the two of you together as her fingers soothe through your hair, gentling her touch to that lost intimacy.

A small sound responds to her touch. So small she doesn’t even hear it, only feeling the faintest vibration beneath her, softer even than the beat of your heart.

Her fingers stutter, pulse fumbling as she tries to search for the sign again, now running her thumb over the crest of your cheek. Your tongue tenses beneath her, and Feyre repeats the action, swiping slowly back and forth until a low light is reflecting in your eyes.

Everything seems veiled in a thin blur, lights fuzzy and forms hazy. There’s a small warmth on your cheek, one that’s so achingly distant you force yourself to rise through the thick fog and into the torture of your senses, nerves feeding you the pressure of Rhys’ cock stuffed full inside you all the way to his base, able to feel the heavy weight of him even now. But the touch you’re seeking is coming from Feyre, looking at you in a way you’ve pleaded with her to give you, countless times. Screamed for that look until your voice was gone and torn.

You can’t make out what’s happening but your body falls cold as she looks away from you, meeting the gaze of the male she bound herself to. An unknown amount of time passes like that, but then she’s carefully lifting up from your body, pulling away until she’s out of sight and the world loses its colour, returning to dull shades of grey and sepia. The only thing sharp and cruel enough to cut through your filter being the stark violet of the High Lord’s eyes and this time you react. It’s nothing significant, nothing that would have previously caught their attention, the movement so small, but your eyelids lower by a fraction of a degree, that listless numbness seeping back into your muscles.

Rhysand’s arms band beneath the curve of your spine, palms splaying between your shoulder blades and cupping the back of your head as he pulls you upright. You shudder as he flicks the tip of his tongue over your lips, able to taste his mate there. But instead of deepening the kiss, his eyes seem to gleam with other intentions, and your pulse spikes as he pulls out of you only so he can turn you around.

There, splayed out on the bed, reclining on her back, is Feyre.

Not the High Lady. Not Rhysand’s mate. But Feyre.

Her body looks soft and inviting in a way you’ve not found it since she took you, and though you know her mouth is forming to speak words, none of them reach your ears, sound dulled—one of your first senses to numb. She doesn’t need to say anything though—neither of them do. Nor do either of them even need to give the command for you to know where you’re going, with the way her legs are spread like that.

But Rhys’ palm closes around your throat, fingers flexing menacingly as he brings his mouth to the smooth curve of your human ear. “Behave, tonight,” he whispers, in a voice like night and silk all heated by the intimate placement of a candle flame. “Then it will all be over.”

You’re surprised when he releases you, but only because instead of being dragged back far enough that your face will slot nicely between Feyre’s open legs, her arms lift from the bed. Inviting. Rhys pushes you forward encouragingly, both of them waiting to see what you’ll do. When you remain immobile for too long the High Lord squeezes your throat roughly, making you cough before you’re lowering yourself shakily onto your hands and knees.

Your arms tremble with more than just weakness and terror as your palms press into the mattress, lifting over her open legs instead of sliding beneath them, and part of you waits for Rhys’a bruising hands to grip you by the nape of your neck or jerk you back by your hair to return you to her cunt. But no pain is delivered, and you’re allowed to crawl further up, your body cradled between Feyre’s thighs.

Her fingertips dance over your shoulders and it’s enough force to have your arms melting, settling yourself to her chest, cheek laying between her breasts.

Feyre’s skin is hot, body lush and perfectly curved to accommodate your own. Her arms skate across your shoulders, wrapping themselves across their width, tangling her fingers through your hair, running fingertips through the strands at the ends.

You collapse entirely, the scrape of her nails scratching lethargically between your shoulder blades unlatching a final clasp as your mind spills throughout your skull.

Rhysand’s palms press themselves into the back of your hips, darkness bringing your legs wider between Feyre’s. A shudder runs up your spine as Rhys kneels over you, able to feel the heavy weight of his cock between your thighs, his skin dragging against your own, pinning your legs into the mattress while Feyre remains freely beneath you.

A whimper lifts through your throat as the High Lord spreads you apart and Feyre brushes her lips to the crown of your head. She lies to you over and over again, It’ll be okay; You’re almost there; Just let him settle in; You’ll feel good soon enough, you know you will. Awful, repulsive lies you don’t want to believe, and yet for some reason they feel closer to truth than ever.

Rhys keeps you spread apart as he presses his cock to your entrance, your hips squirming weakly but your legs are pinned, arms too heavy to argue, locked to Feyre’s chest while she pushes tenderness into your hair. More whimpers spill from your lips as he begins to inch his way in, rolling forward then back, rocking himself further and deeper until he’s once again stretching your limits.

“Careful,” Feyre hisses when she feels you jolt against her stomach, the twitch in your fingertips. You can imagine how his violet eyes gleam with pleasure at your reaction, twinkling as he looks at his mate and bucks his hips softly, eliciting a moan from your mouth. Feyre almost coos at the noise, palms cradling your head as fingers continue to brush through your hair. “Feeling good now? Didn’t I tell you? You always end up liking it.” You try to squirm against her but they’ve sucked out all your fight, leaving you cold and dangerously empty. Space they plan on claiming.

Once he’s all the way in Rhys slides his hands around your waist, darkness looping around your arms and beneath your shoulders to pull you upright. You whimper as cold flushes your bare font, and Feyre growls lowly, making to sit upright before her husband’s darkness ties her back down.

“Rhys,” Feyre growls, “give her back.”

Hot breath tickles the space behind your ear then teeth are nipping at your lobe. Hands invade across your body, breath gasping from your mouth as hot palms soothe the cold of your skin, cupping your breasts. “I’m letting her look,” Rhysand whispers, fingers moving higher to flex around your throat. “Letting her admire.”

The aggression dulls in Feyre’s eyes, a pink colouring her cheeks as she shifts on the bed, opening her thighs a little wider—as if you’ll be awed by the offer and dive right in.

“For someone who’s suffered so much of her life, you’ve been disgracefully ungrateful to my mate,” Rhysand murmurs beside your ear, soft enough you wonder if Feyre can hear him. You don’t like it when it’s only him touching you. Too dangerous. Too reckless. “Aren’t you thankful that she saved you?”

Anger catches like wildfire and you twist your head to look at him but the moment his indomitable violet eyes lock with your own it’s snuffed out, ice skittering up your spine. Rhys smiles, as if he knows exactly how much terror he puts into you. “Aren’t you grateful Feyre came back for you?”

“Rhys,” Feyre huffs, her hips circling with frustration as he keeps her hands pinned to the bed, unable to even touch herself.

“Look at her,” Rhys whispers, close enough you think you feel the flutter of air from his lashes with each blink. Fingers squeeze your jaw but they’re without their usual bite as he directs your attention to his mate. “Isn’t she beautiful? Doesn’t she deserve to have whatever she wants?” Whoever she wants, too.

You try to squirm away but his grip tightens in warning, his free arm banding across your hips as he presses himself deeper into your cunt. “Doesn’t she?” It’s clearly a warning—one of the gentlest you’ve ever received from him. The skin around your knuckles tightens, nails biting into your palms before turning slack, head hanging as you yield one faint dip of your head. All he wants is an answer, and you know if you keep the right one from him… The memory of pain still hasn’t faded from your skin.

Rhysand turns you back to face him, tilting your chin so he gets to look down on you and not for the first time you wonder what he sees. Is there any way he’s oblivious to your disgust? But he lays his mouth atop your own gently this time and you force your body to remain calm, steering away the tension that seeks to thread itself through your muscles.

You know you want us. Rhysand tells you. You know you want her. I know you’ve wanted her, too. You’re the only one refusing to acknowledge it.

Because you’re lying. You think.

Am I?

Tension sears its way through your body as his hand slides down to cup your heat, fingers parting around the thick stretch of his cock. You come every time we touch you, drip down your thighs at the thought of her. You know it would be better to fall into us.

You’re cruel, and manipulative, and barbaric, and-

Loving.

An actual laugh croaks from your throat at that. In what kind of twisted world does anything they’ve done to you be considered loving?

His tongue flicks across your lips then he’s plying you open, swiping along your teeth to taste the inside of your mouth. You’re disgusting, you think, but the thought only echoes through your empty mind. Instead you become aware of Feyre speaking, her voice so at odds to the cruelty of the High Lord. Your body aches to lay against her again, to rest yourself against her body, bare skin on bare skin. Even if it would change nothing, the desire is becoming too apparent to keep denying.

You gasp when Rhys’ hot mouth opens over your throat, sucking marks into your flesh. His thumbs swipe across your nipples, grazing the sensitive peaks and you realise his darkness has retreated from Feyre.

Stark heat flushes your cheeks as you spy the meandering path of her fingers as they trail over her stomach, slipping away between her legs as she runs her hungry eyes over you. You want to hide away from that ravenous hunger. Bury yourself in soft darkness that shields rather than contains. You squeak when her fingers instead lift to graze your cunt, their pads trailing over the bump of your clit. Rhysand groans softly beside your ear as you tighten around him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Feyre whispers, now sitting up from the bed, her hands lifting to wrap around your waist. “So perfect. So pretty.” She presses a light kiss to above your navel, affording a small lick to the bare skin that makes you shudder. It’s too warm in here. Something bubbling beneath your flesh. Her kisses lift higher, until her pink mouth rests between your breasts, and you’re looking down into her blue-grey eyes.

Fingers push between your legs again, sliding up and down over your centre, rubbing over your clit while Rhys keeps himself flush to your back. Feyre brings her fingers back up, a pulse of arousal passing through your body as she pushes her fingers across her tongue, tasting you. A whimper escapes your sealed lips, hips shifting faintly and you’re unsure if it’s out of protest or desire.

“…Feyre…”

Almost as soon as her name is out she’s moaning, fingers returning to your clit to rub and circle. That warmth begins to intensify, a tingling need centring between your legs. Your own hands half-heartedly land on her shoulders, as if trying to push her away but it’s useless even pretending to try. “I’m sorry for stealing you away so suddenly,” Feyre whispers, and you freeze. Staring at her. “But you seemed so isolated. I missed you. I missed being with you. Being beside you.” She kisses your sternum. “I hated not being able to be affectionate with you.” Another kiss. “You don’t understand what it was like.” Kiss. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” she whispers, “but you were never brave enough to follow after me.”

“You walked away first,” you whisper, before hearing how much like a confession it sounds. But Feyre shakes her head. “You denied me,” she whispers, “you denied us.”

“I don’t want both of you,” you cry with more force than you’ve felt in a while. “If I’ve ever felt anything it was only for you.”

Rhysand’s teeth find light placement in your shoulder. Cruel creature, he seems to be saying.

Feyre’s brows curve upward, as if disappointed you don’t like a gift she’s been preparing to share. “You don’t like the feel of his cock?” She asks softly. Again, Rhys groans as you squeeze him. “You don’t like how he fucks you?”

“Feyre, stop.” There are tears in your eyes.

“You don’t like the way his hands feel? What about his fingers?” She licks slowly between your breasts. “What about his tongue?”

“Feyre stop.”

“What about mine?” She continues. “Do you like it when I touch you? Do you like feeling my hands wrap around your skin? How do my fingers feel inside of you?”

“Feyre…” You plead.

“What about my mouth?” She whispers, resuming the idle circles of your clit. “You love my tongue, don’t you? I know you like it when you’ve got fingers inside of you and a mouth over your clit. You like tasting me too, don’t you?”

“Feyre!”

“What about when you’re on your back and I’m touching you like it’s only us?”

“Yes.” You cry, eyes squeezing shut as tears finally fall down your cheeks.

Feyre’s face lights up, and both her hands are cupping your cheeks. Not even a single thought in your head considers resistance as Rhys’ arms release you and you fall with Feyre back into the bed, falling into her arms, falling into her embrace. “Then stay,” she murmurs, stroking your skin, petting your hair. “You’ll learn to like him,” Feyre whispers, “you’ll get used to him. Learn to love it.” You try to shake your head but at last Rhys is moving his hips, grinding up against you so his cock rubs up against those spongey, tender spots. “Sweetness,” Feyre whispers as though she’s sad. “You will,” she promises, “just open yourself up to it. Open up to me again.”

You want to shake your head. Want to demand that they stop. But of course you can’t.

The High Lord bucks his hips and a moan spills from your mouth onto Feyre’s skin. You hate how good he feels. How biologically pleasing he is. How satisfied you are from just having the thick weight of his cock stuffing you full, the touch they have on your skin as if they really want you.

They really do. They wanted you enough to take you. To cling onto you even through every protest and scream.

Maybe they’ve finally done it.

Maybe they’ve finally made their way inside.

The last drops of energy are sapped from your bones as Rhysand begins drawing his hips back and fucking you in earnest, Feyre’s legs bending at the knee to cradle your body with her own. It feels good like this. To have her arms banding around your body while Rhys carefully drags the pleasure from your flesh to the surface. “See?” Feyre whispers. “It feels good doesn’t it?”

You want to shake your head. Want to deny her. Deny both of them.

But you can’t.

You’re only falling deeper.

Moans reach your ears and you know they’re your own. Rhys has always been an expert on pleasure. Knowing where to press and where to push to have sopping wetness greeting him whenever he pleases.

His hips buck sharply, pressing himself deep inside your cunt and you gasp as the solid heat of his chest presses down on your back, sandwiching you so intimately between them. Feyre pushes hair from your temple but you can hardly be bothered to seek him out. Rhys’ tongue licks up your throat, lips splitting in a grin when you squeeze him, your hips swirling faintly to feel him against your inner walls.

“Like that?” He whispers. “After all this time, all your fussing and protests, all for you to hardly be able to speak from how good I’m making you feel, huh?” A moan that sounds too close to agreement escapes your mouth, and Feyre coos as your nonsensical noises. “What a good cunt you have,” Rhys purrs, rocking his hips to yours. “At least she’s always known what she wants, even if you’ve been too pretty and dumb to make up your mind.”

He thinks you’re pretty? A fae thinks you’re pretty?

Rhys’ chuckle is bone deep, dripping into your marrow and filling you with heated arousal that’s too thick and sticky for you to keep yourself together.

“So pretty,” he breathes, wicked amusement clear in his voice. “Pretty, ditzy, and dumb.”

Pretty.

The rest of your thinking is pushed away as Rhys pulls back, the pace deepening; hardening. Your eyes squeeze shut, body limp and pliable beneath his ministrations of pleasure. He’s slamming into you, using the thick length of his cock to push and press and rub and touch every place you could want, muscles flexing weakly in your legs in attempts to push your hips the slightest bit upward from the bed so he might find it easier.

“You’re being so good,” Feyre praises, continuing to stroke your hair, gently petting as she holds you close. “You’re taking him so well. So perfectly.”

Perfectly, she said. Your cunt aches from the praise. A relief from their cruelty.

Rhys touches a spot inside of you and your spine curves, toes curling as embarrassing sounds release from your chest, mewling and whining for him to push against it again. “Rhys…” you plead, fingers trembling as his name teeters off the edge of your tongue. Your hips swirl, mouth opening to ask him again but then he finds it and your eyes roll.

The High Lord’s fingers wrap around your throat, forcing your neck to crane far enough back until you can see him looming above you, so unfairly lean and tall, even to fae standards. His mouth twists into a half-cruel, half-amused smirk, cocking a brow. “More?”

There might be drool spilling out the corner of your lips, “More…” His smirk widens, grip leaving your throat to land a light slap to your cheek before digging his fingers in. “Want my cock? Want it harder?”

“Uh-huh…” It sounds stupid even to your own ears, and humiliating heat warms your features. Rhysand’s laugh is edged with condescending pity, delivering another small slap that has your eyes stinging, “Tell me. Say you want it.”

You stare at him, unable to shake your head. You’re not doing this again, but his cock feels so good coupled with Feyre’s tender touches, fingers playing with your hair while she watches her mate enjoy you. Violet eyes gleam, then a stinging pain smacks against your cheek, fingers digging in to the hinge of your jaw as he spits into your mouth. Your toes curl, cunt squeezing his cock tight as something flutters about between your legs.

“Say it,” the High Lord demands.

“I love it,” you whisper in a rushed breath. “I-…I want it. Please.”

“And what do you want?” He goads, not yet allowing you to swallow.

“You-…” You cut yourself off, gagging beneath his hold, tears stinging your eyes. “You,” you pant, fumbling out words you think he might like. “Both of you. Feyre. Rhys.” Pupils expand as he hears his name in your moan, colour warming his tan skin, “Good enough.”

He releases your throat and you swallow, hauling air down into your lungs only for it to be shoved right back out again, cheek falling to Feyre’s chest as Rhys slams his cock into you, bucking his hips to a brutal pace that might have driven you up the bed if Feyre wasn’t keeping you in place. Your moans fluctuate in volume, growing louder whenever his cock hits that special spot you hadn’t known existed before them.

You cry as the orgasm blazes through your body, every muscle strung taut as pleasure sets you on edge, pulsing through your body with the force of feverish heat. Your hips buck against his, pressing as tight as you can against him as even your lungs seize, rendered silent from the onslaught of searing pleasure. With a final sharp buck, Rhysand finds his tipping point, hot breath panting up the nape of your neck and you yelp as his two palms roughly pin you in place as he fucks out his orgasm, feeling more like his toy beneath the dominating grip.

Hot cum spills into your cunt, spurting out in thick waves that fill you up, feeling the muscles flexing in his thighs every time he slams himself in and your vision turns hazy. Dark spots dance through your vision until all you can sense are tipping colours and a blaze of passion up your spine, liquid heat pooling in your belly. All the while Feyre’s pressing kisses into your hair and stroking the crown of your head, helping you through.

You have no way of knowing how long it’s been when you next open your eyes. You’re in the same position as you were before except a little further up Feyre’s body, hips no longer cradled between her legs but now with your face resting at the junction of her shoulder and neck, breath fanning ticklishly across the intimate expanse of skin.

When your breathing pattern shifts, Feyre tilts her head and you become aware of her arms wrapped around your body. One hand splayed across your lower back, and the other-

Heat swarms your features, squirming faintly to feel more of her, spine curving.

“Awake now?” Feyre asks, rosey lips pulling upwards in their corners. She leans forward, pushing a kiss to your forehead. “Rhys’s gone for the moment but he’ll back soon,” she assures, watching you carefully as she gauges your reaction. Your head lolls, lids feeling heavy, body still tingling from pleasure. “We didn’t want any dripping out while he was away,” Feyre murmurs, her heart beating faster upon hearing your moan when she curls her fingers inside of you, how you circle your hips downward, trying to push them deeper.

In reward for your lethargic adoration, Feyre pushes her two fingers deeper, slowly pumping them in and out, her cunt tingling with need when she feels you squeeze her as if you’re also trying to keep all of him tucked up inside of you.

Just a little longer and you’ll be theirs, forever.

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#dark!feysand #dark!feysand x reader #tag you’re it #tag you’re it part 3 #dark!fic

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